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monzamash · 4 months

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smile you're on camera — lando norris

when miami hits different... lando norris x you (femreader) | 1.8k rating – 18+ (sex, coarse language) masterlist

“That all looked sufficiently cringe.”

Lando’s gruff laugh echoes as he slid the balcony door open for you. You had been watching him for the past half hour filming promotional content for the Miami GP, each one cheesier than the last and you couldn’t help but admire his work ethic – even if it meant watching him make a complete fool of himself in the blistering heat.

A grumbled “you’ve got no idea” paired with a deep sigh in reply was all you were going to get and a sweet kiss pressed to the back of your head.

He helped you collect the book you’d abandoned in lieu of watching him glow in the golden hour and retreat inside from the humidity, still suffocating as the sun set off in the distance. The sweet relief of the air con as you stepped inside provided a little bit of respite while Lando shuffled around the room, closing windows and doors, trapping what cool air you did have inside your hotel room.

“I have something to show you…”

Lando sheepishly declares as you splay out on the hotel bed, grumbling through a jaw splitting yawn, “What is it?” “I stole it.” That got your attention, shooting up from where you were laying down, “But I’ll take it back tomorrow… after we’ve used it.”

Sitting in his hot little hands was a camcorder that had seen better days, scratches on its lens and all. Lando watched your shocked expression fall to one of annoyance as you sat back on your hands, eyebrow quirked and scowl present on your pretty face.

“Absolutely not.”

“Aw come on,” He drawls, holding the camera up to his eye – the other squinted behind the viewfinder, “I swapped in one of my SD cards and I know you’re into this kinky shit. Admit it…”

Lando kept the camera up, the little red light that was on all of those old school recorders flashed in the dark. Your eyes were rolling when his grabby reached out for your hip, “You’re out of your mind.”

“That’s the effect you have on me, baby.”

A soft hum slips from your lips feeling the pads of his fingers tracing down the outside of your thigh, too easily convinced by the man who consumed your every thought; every desire. You missed him when he was gone, the days spent with him slimmer as the season lulled on. So, maybe having something to reference on those cold, lonely nights was excuse enough to indulge the idea. And he was right – you are into this shit.

“Just make sure you can’t see too much,” You whisper into the air, giving the green light.

Lando’s little noise tells you everything. He's excited about this; you can tell by the way he nips and presses a couple of sloppy kisses to your cheek before scurrying off to set up the camera. He was a giggly mess thinking about how fucking lucky he was to be with someone who was up for anything. Equal parts classy and devious – just the way he likes it.

“Hop up on the bed so I can frame you,” He sweetly instructs, eyes trained on the small screen lighting his dark features, ocean eyes a moody blue.

You do as you’re told and crawl up onto the comically large bed, propped up on one elbow with hair a mess. Lando smiles when he shifts focus onto you – the sheer white dress you were wearing flaunting everything he loved about your body. All curves and supple skin, pebbled nipples peaking through – the silverware you had secretly added to them as a surprise for him peaking through under the fabric.

“You are so fucking pretty,” He almost whimpers; a warm flush washing over your sticky skin. It was hot in the room you were in and the way Lando was eyeing you from behind the camera was searing.

“Can you take the dress off for me?” his voice was a lower octave than before, eyes still watching your shadowed body moving across the messy bed.

“Not sure how to make this look sexy but…” You huff, carelessly tearing the thin material over your head and throwing it to the side, “your wish is my command.”

Lando chuckles quietly and strides over to you, no longer able to keep his hands off what was his. He hopes there’s enough space on his card for what he was about to do to you – because in reality, this was selfishly for him to indulge in when you weren’t near, to feel like you were close when you’re a million miles away. You sat on the edge of the bed, eyes following his as he reaches out and presses down your hair, frizzed up by the dress sitting on the floor beside his feet.

“So cute,” He admires, “And somehow even sexier…”

He leans down and meets your craned neck halfway in a tender, reassuring kiss, “If it gets too weird just say, baby.”

His words were just loud enough for you to hear, not for the camera – just you, “Oh, you know I will.”

He laughs into the kiss, knowing that you were in full control of this situation – he was under no illusions when it came to your dynamic. It was laced through your entire relationship, the fair balance of power – of give and take. But tonight, all he wanted was to make you feel good and so he rested between your already shaky thighs and pried them apart, basking in how seduced you are by his little ploy.

“You pretend like this shit doesn’t turn you on but look at you,” He revels, one solitary finger brushing languidly through your folds and earning an impatient growl.

Lando wasn’t in the mood for teasing – the battery life on the camera and your legs wrapping tightly around his head made sure of that. He helps you shuffle back on the bed, hands gripping your hips as he rearranges the shot – you caught a glimpse of the blurry reflection of the two of you naked on the camera lens and it sent a pang of doubt down your spine, chilling.

“I hope we don’t look disgusting when we watch this back.” It was an honest thought – one you hope doesn’t kill the mood.

“You look so unbelievably hot,” Lando hums, kissing the top of your shoulder before pressing his hand to your lower back, “Lay on your front and I’ll fuck you like this…”

You raise a sceptical eyebrow, “From the back? This is getting real porny now.” But of course you do it, positioning yourself on your stomach, backside up with a playful smirk that had the man behind you grinning like an idiot.

“Might as well put on a bit of a show just in case this does get out somehow,” Lando teases, earning a swift round arm to the ribs. He grimaces in pain but you knew behind those flirtatious blue eyes, he loves it.

“Well you better fuck me good, huh? Wouldn’t want people thinking you’re a dud shag…” Now it was your turn to taunt and Lando’s reaction was the exact one you were praying for.

A hasty smack to your ass that had been brushing against his clothed cock for better part of a minute; it wasn’t a hard but it certainly wasn’t timid, either and the moan that slipped from your lips had him itching to rearrange your insides. He smoothed over the reddening mark and pressed a sweet kiss to your spine before pushing down the waistband of his sweatpants, freeing himself between your thighs.

“Don’t hold back those sweet sounds, pretty girl. I wanna hear you, okay? I want everyone to hear you…”

“Same goes for you, handsome.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you surrender to the delicious stretch he gives you. Weakly pushing back but making no head way in adjusting. A whimper falls from your mouth before the squeal when Lando lunges forward, pushing deeper with a sadistic grin lining his bitten lips. He was sweating already – tanned skin glimmering against the darkening sunset while every muscle on his stomach contracted, delving further into your depths.

“That’s it, Lan,” You sputter out, blowing stray hairs out of your face so you can get a good look at your boyfriend, “Move it just like that – yes…”

And he did, rotating your hips tantalisingly slow to begin but gradually building up his long, delectable strokes – the sounds of skin slapping and shallow breathing heightening all of the senses. In the midst of his relentlessness, you manage to slip your hand between your thighs, toying with the sensitive bud begging for your attention. Lando’s strained hum of approval when he felt your back arching sent a rush of blood to your fingertips.

“Tell me how good it feels when you play with yourself?” He asks, hunched over and kissing the nape of your neck when you opened your eyes, giggling at the wispy curls tickling your skin, “Is that how you do it when I’m not around?”

“God, yes… But wish you were always here, baby.”

“Do ya imagine me fucking you like this, huh? Begging for that pussy to come around my cock?” He probes, receiving a moan in response – your brain short-circuiting from the orgasm quickly approaching, easing you over the edge.

You buried your head at first, shying away from the little red light flashing in your rolling eyes until Lando gently encouraged you to ‘show him your pretty face when you come undone’. It was all whispers and moans and absolute bliss when you resurfaced, pupils blown out from both sides as Lando reached over you and flipped the small preview screen around.

“Look at yourself,” He grunts into your neck, losing control of every single fibre of his being as he pumped into you.

“Fill me up, Lan. Make a mess…”

“If you say shit like that to me, you're gonna make me– fucking… fuck,” He sputters out, chanting your name, and before you can even blink, you feel that familiar twitch inside you.

The one that almost always triggers another high, extremely close to losing yourself to the white hot pleasure all over again.

Lando collapses into your slick back, his warm release pooling as he catches his breath and holds you tightly. You look up at the camera – the red light still flashing as you muster up every ounce of energy remaining and pick it up off the tripod. You hold it stupidly close to his flushed cheeks that are pressed into your skin, eyes closed.

“Any last words before I turn this off?” You ask, Lando slowly lifts his chin up and rests it next to your face. You smile at how equally fucked out and sleepy you both appear, blissfully satisfied by your work. His voice is gravelly when he tries to speak, clearing his throat before trying again.

“Um, yeah so make sure you like the video and subscribe if you haven’t already…”

“Stop!” You shout and smack him in the shoulder – Lando groans with faux pain into your neck as you turn the camera off and wriggle out of his strong grasp.

“You are unbelievable!” You jest, swatting his tickling fingertips away.

“What? I could’ve said stay tuned for part two…”

a/n – happy new years everyone x

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 x reader #monzamashmasterlist #smile you're on camera fic

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bloatedandalone04 · 8 months

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Shadows Of Your Heart

➪the one where anakin makes it up to you after being distant during a mission.

Warnings: brief angst bc i have no self control, fluff, anakin being cold for a quick second, a bit of a confusing setting bc i couldn't think of good enough plot to start off with, my bad, more fluff bc i was asked nicely and i intend on delivering like i always do♡

Word Count: 1.6k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

“I have to speak to Obi-Wan,” you say quickly as you pick up the device from off the floor. Anakin gives you a weary look as he steps towards you, blindly strapping his saber back onto his belt. “Anakin.”

He stands in front of you, as unimpressed as ever. “What?” He stubbornly asks when you give him a stern look.

“Don’t be so sharp with me. All of this could’ve been prevented,” you gesture to the bar patron who was currently lying face down on the floor of the pub.

“I find that hard to believe,” he muttered as he glared down at the man.

When he looked back at you, he took in your expression of annoyance that you poorly hid. “Anakin,” you warn again, ready to call it a night and head back with him. You were tired and the events that took place a few minutes prior had severely worn you out, and Anakin only made things harder when he couldn’t control his emotions and took it out on the patron.

“Y/n,” he said back and you just huffed, holding the device out to him.

“I need to speak to Obi-”

“Go speak to him,” he cut you off, taking the device from you with a surprisingly gentle pull, despite you physically being able to feel the anger radiate off his body. It was so like him; to be cold towards everyone else but caring towards you, even when he was not in a good mood at all. “You come find me when you’re done.”

He turned to you, giving you the opportunity to locate his mentor, but you didn’t want to leave things like this, especially when you and him would be sharing a bed later. “Anakin,” you called out to him, watching as he stopped walking and turned back towards you. “Everything is fine. We did good.”

“Yeah,” he answered shortly, glancing back down at the man who was groaning as his flesh burned and peeled away from his body. “Don’t worry about him, I’ll take the blame for all of it.”

He was being so closed off and sharp with you. It irked you and you wanted to stay and talk it out with him, hating having to leave things like this. “Don’t be like that,” you tried to talk him out of the angry stupor he was in, but you knew you didn’t have enough time to calm him down.

“I thought you needed to see Obi-Wan,” he gave you a cold look and you stepped away from him.

“I did, I do, but…” you trailed off, playing with the sleeves of your robe. “I want to talk to you, too, Anakin. I don’t want you to be upset with me.”

Anakin sighed and the crease in his brow softened. “I’m not upset,” he says quietly and you raise a brow at the obvious lie. “Not with you.” He corrects and you stare at him for a few seconds before nodding.

“Alright,” you murmur and reach your hand out to him, wanting to give him a proper goodbye, but he just moves away.

“I’ll see you soon,” was all he said and walked away, leaving you to watch as his form retreated until you could no longer see him.

It was a little while later when you returned to your room, exhaustion filling your every sense as the events of the day weighed down on you.

Anakin wasn’t back yet, but that was to be expected. Usually when he is as fired up as he was earlier, he stays out as late as he can in an attempt to cool his body and clear his mind before returning to you.

If he doesn’t walk off the anger, he ends up taking it out on you, and then he feels even worse when he sees the emotion he caused you to feel all over your face. You understood for the most part, but it still stung whenever he shut you out like he did earlier.

While you put in a decent effort, you still weren’t able to find him like he told you to once you were finished with Obi-Wan. He kept himself well hidden and out of sight, making you only able to go off of the emotional connection you had with the Jedi. You could feel that he was still angry even hours after the bar incident, so you decided to just go home and wait for him there.

You had just finished getting dressed for bed when the door opened and in walked your boyfriend, who looked so defeated. You refrained from taking him into your arms and instead waited for him to make the first move.

He does a few seconds after entering the bedroom. “Hi,”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “Hi,”

He moves further into the room and silently sets his lightsaber down onto the dresser before turning to you. He wore a look of guilt and a sheepish smile as he stepped towards you. “I’m sorry for how I left things before,” he says quietly, taking your hands in his and walking backwards towards the bed. You let him pull you to stand between his thighs once he sits down and continues, “I was out of line and frustrated and I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

His hands slip from yours and settle on your waist while you gently begin to massage his still tense shoulders. It was no secret that Anakin is a very passionate guy and cared a lot, but he was also stubborn and got worked up easily. The littlest things set him off on a bad day, but those days thankfully didn’t happen too often.

Anakin pouted slightly when you didn’t answer him, but he also knew you weren’t too angry with him as you hadn’t pulled away from him. He leaned into the softness of your hands, suddenly wishing he got home sooner so he could feel your gentle touch a lot earlier than right now.

“I should’ve stayed and talked things through with you when you wanted to,” he picked back up on his apology, his fingers bunching up the fabric of your gown. “I’m sorry, my love. I know you don’t appreciate it when I get like that.”

You just shake your head and slide your hands upwards so they are caressing either side of his face. Running your left thumb over his scar, you lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. “But I put up with it because I love you,”

He lifts his gaze to meet yours once you pulled away and mirrored your small grin.

“We’re a team, you and I,” you remind him and stroke your thumb across his cheek. “And, yes, I do like talking things through with you, but I also like giving you your space, Anakin. Whenever you need it, just tell me, but don’t push me away.”

Anakin raises his hands so his fingers are wrapped around your wrists, and he places a kiss on your palm. “I won’t,” he promises, placing your hand back on his face and leaning into your touch. “I won’t, I promise you. I’m sorry for acting so cold to you before.”

You shrug. “It was an intense mission,” you try to defend him.

But he wasn’t having it. “That doesn’t make it okay,” he pressed, his hands returning to your hips as he let out a sigh. “I don’t want you to make excuses for me or my actions, alright? Not when they resulted in me lashing out on you.”

“You didn’t really lash out on me, Anakin,” you insisted as you moved to sit next to him on the bed. “You just needed space.”

“I did,” he replied, pulling you towards him so your legs were draped over his. “But not anymore. I don’t want you to feel like I’m pushing you away or that I don’t want you near me. I want you all the time, every day. I’m sorry if I made you believe otherwise.”

You grip his shoulders as you move even closer to him. “It’s okay, Anakin, really,” you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’m not mad or upset. I just worry about you. You can let me in, you know. Whatever it is, I’m here.”

“I know,” he raises his glove covered hand and uses his thumb to pull at your lower lip. “I know, my sweet girl. I don’t deserve you.”

You open your mouth to protest but he quiets you with a chaste kiss.

“But I love you,” he said once he pulled away and rested his forehead on yours. “I don’t think I could ever stop loving you.”

Grinning, you move further onto the bed and pull him with you, not caring that he was still in the clothing he wore during the mission as you tugged him to lay down next to you. “I’ll never stop loving you,” you trace his scar with your index finger as he wraps his arms around you. “And I promise you that, Anakin.”

Anakin nodded once before pressing his lips to yours in a much more passionate kiss than before. He sighed into the kiss when he felt you relax in his arms, and he knew that someday soon he would not be able to hold off on asking you to marry him any longer.

The thought both terrified and excited him, but he knew he’d be okay in the end because he had you.

And, like you had proven and promised, you had him as well.

bloatedandalone04 actually wrote fluff for once?!

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aelinschild · 2 months

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Paradigm; side by side

˙✧˖ March 1st: Morning

Main Masterlist | Paradigm; side by side Masterlist |

SYNOPSIS: Storms often come after the sun. WORDCOUNT: 620 WARNINGS: none!

Huge thank you to @throneofglassmicrofics for organizing! Make sure to check out other works over on their account!

There was a lulling of delayed movement, calm strokes repeated endlessly.

Just outside of the rolled-down window, wind passing by in a gentle caress. Twisting and twining her hair, braiding it together by the hand of nature. Glaring off the water and reflected in burnished irises. The sun had only begun its slow trek across the sky.

Great strokes of pinks and oranges, bright as a summer garden. Weaving in, out, around clouds heavy from a misty evening.

Her fingers tapped a unconscious beat on the steering wheel, gold heirloom rings clicking gently. Warmed from the heat of the blood pulsing under fair skin; soaking up the dregs of sunlight as it passes through her car.

Aelin was less nervous now than she was at the beginning of her trip. Setting off before her sleeping city rose, closing doors and locking them with a finality that shook her hands. Counting steps, breaths, blinks. Everything that she was, left on the cold pavement. Watching in acquiescence, cool indifference behind it.

The heat of the now rising sun warmed the piece of her she had forgotten of.

From her last stop on the great stretch of highway, she could estimate the time to her destination. Minutes, now. A map highlighted with cherished stationary sat beside her, a companion in spirit. Alongside the rest of her worldly possessions, sprawling from the small space of the boot.

Time was passing differently, like shedding the weight of a clocks hand, replacing it with a shadow. Flowing naturally, unhurried in all aspects. There was no urge to choke the seconds out, to pause the current to admire the sea. Aelin felt the change in her bones, just as the scene from her fantasies appeared.

A cottage by the sea.

Two weeks ago, there was an explicit end. She had to be out, out, out. Her small apartment in the city was no longer hers, the lease trickling away, exchanging her for someone new. She had nowhere to go. That was until she found Rowan.

The advert was… unfortunate. Lacked the geniality one would assume came with a seaside cottage. Each picture was slightly askew, just a fraction off its axis. Snapped like an afterthought. Described in clinical terms; two bedroom, two bathroom, small kitchen, and good outdoor space.

The woman – Rowan – was kind enough. The rent was shockingly economical. A deal far too good to be true, Aelin had thought. No chance this was really an opportunity that had just… appeared for her. So, she had sought out the catch.

But, there was none.

Rowan had been straightforward in her communication, expectations, and dealings. And days later Aelin had boxed her life away, tucked into a rusting car. Enough cash for the first few months of rent, and a box of pastries and some wildflowers as a thank-you gift.

Stood before the seafoam coloured front door, surrounded by a weather worn wrap-around porch, her mind wandered. Imagining herself out here, sat under the sky as it danced through its emotive number. Scribbling away in notebooks, listening to the ruffle of the grass. Living in step with a mighty beast, watching its crawl up the surf. Following its retreat.

Too good to be true.

She had knocked, had texted an hour ago that she would be on the final leg of the journey. Hand clasped soundly around the wildflowers, the smell of jam scones. The pitter-patter of footsteps rose. They sounded… heavier?

Just as Aelin had moved to peer into the open window, curtains pushed back, seafoam shifted to cotton, shifted to a man.

“Aelin,” He spoke, voice like a storm crashing on the rocks of a forsaken shore, “You’re earlier than I had expected. Come in.”

Taglist: @mariaofdoranelle , @goddess-aelin

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#throne of glass microfics #rowaelin #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin fanfiction #aelin x rowan #aelin galythinius #rowan x aelin #rowaelin au #throne of glass fic #sarah j maas #sjmaas #sjm #aelinschild

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the-pen-pot · 4 months

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The stench of its fur: musk and stale blood. Muscles bulging beneath its pelt as it moved, too quick for anything but a creature of magic. Obsidian claws, sharp and black, raking the ground beneath its feet as it watched him with all the intensity of a predator latching onto its prey. The serpent in the place of its tail, reared back and ready to strike.

Fangs sinking through his chainmail and into his sword-arm. A shout: Merlin's voice, rough over words Arthur did not know. His blood burning through his veins.

Merlin's eyes, dazzling gold.

Cold raked its talons across him, making him shudder, touching everywhere except the hot, heavy throb of the wound on his arm. He shivered, torn right through as fever consumed him. Maybe this was yet another dream. A figment. Nothing more than the shattered glass of his own addled mind, slicing at him.

He tried to rouse himself, to open his eyes and find Merlin.

Merlin, who had magic.

The thought skittered away from him, retreating to hide in the shadows. Arthur could not recall ever being so tired in all his life. He kept struggling to marshal his wits, only for them to slip through his fingers. Questions bobbed through his aching head, lost and untethered.

Was he back in Camelot? What day was it? Time was like air, impossible to catch, and whenever he dropped the thread of his thoughts, he could not be sure whether he fell back into slumber or merely lost a moment. His mind was wreathed in fog. Memories loomed from it, grim silhouettes that took on definition only to fade once more.

Merlin.

Magic.

A cool cloth blotted across his brow, dripping fresh water against his mouth. He licked at it, parched, but his request for a drink was little more than a cracked moan of sound: pained and wretched. He would be embarrassed by his own weakness if he were not too broken to care. Yet it did not seem to matter that he could not find the words. The mattress dipped. An arm slipped beneath his shoulders, supporting his weight as a cup pressed against his lips.

He drank greedily, rivulets running over his chin to collect in the hollow of his throat. Someone bade him to sip, not gulp, and he tried, but his body cried out for the water: feral in its thirst.

His stomach ached and clenched. There was one dizzy, awful moment where he thought he might just expel it all again, but he mastered the urge as he was eased back to the pillows' embrace, lain upon them as if he were something fragile, liable to shatter. His lashes fluttered, his eyelids too heavy to lift, leaving him in the strange, disjointed shadows between dreams and the waking world.

Those hadn't been Gaius' arms cradling him. It had not been the old man's strength raising him up. He did not need his burning, aching eyes to confirm it, not when he could smell the herbs-and-clean-sparks fragrance he knew always clung to Merlin's skin and hair. The perfume nestled in his clothes, too, mixed with laundry soap. It was familiar: comforting in a world that seemed to know only pain, and Arthur's fingers twitched against the blankets, grasping for something that seemed forever out of his reach.

' – delirious, Sire.' Gaius' old voice seemed to come from very far away. He sounded as if he spoke from another world, eerie and lost within the veils. 'The fever must break soon.'

'And if it does not?'

His father. Broken and bloody over the rack of his own guilt. Braced, as always, to rule and rule and rule despite his tragedies. Did he even see a son in the poisoned shell upon the bed, or was it merely an heir failing to live up to his duty? A dynasty in pieces?

'I fear the prince's strength will be spent.'

There was a noise then, a tiny crack of sound that Arthur suspected was a figment of his fevered imagination. Yet when his father spoke again, the strain in his voice was evident.

'Heal him, Gaius. There must be something you can do?'

'I will try everything in my power, Your Majesty.'

'Use any means necessary. Any means. No questions will be asked.'

If Arthur had the strength, he would have laughed at his father's hypocrisy. He knew what the King asked of Gaius. Once again it seemed that, when all else failed, Uther would turn to the magic he reviled. Now, it was not only the poison that burned in Arthur's blood. Rage blazed alongside it. It surged, rising ever higher in the name of those he had seen led to the executioner for no greater crime than trying to save a loved one from the vagaries of fate.

By his own laws, what Uther asked of Gaius was punishable by death, and still, he did not hesitate.

There was a whisper of cloth and the click of a door in its threshold. In its wake, the silence was punctuated only by the crackle of the fire in the grate. Someone shifted nearby, the mattress bobbing like a small boat in a calm harbour.

'Arthur saw you.' Gaius' voice was closer now. 'You're certain?'

'Yes.' That reply contained multitudes in a single word. Merlin should not sound like that – hurting, resigned: a man already condemned. 'He looked right at me. I saw him see.'

'He might not remember.'

'He will.' A hand rested on his brow: long fingers cool against his arid skin. They teased his sweaty hair back from his brow and brushed over the vault of his temples as if he were something fragile to be treasured. 'He'll know I've lied to him all this time about what I am. What I can do.'

Merlin's words hitched, wobbled, broke. A breath stuttered between his lips, crying out for comfort which Arthur was powerless to give. He could not so much as lift a finger, let alone stir himself back to awareness. It was like he was present but not, an unwilling eavesdropper to Merlin's grief.

'Yet you will heal him.' It wasn't really a question. Gaius said it as if he knew that any alternative would be unthinkable. How easy it would be, Arthur thought, for Merlin to do nothing. He could let him slip from life, vanquished by his fever, and take his secret with him. It was no small thing, after all: a death sentence. Perhaps his father had said no questions would be asked, but it did not matter. If Arthur awoke with accusations of sorcery on his lips, Merlin would not be spared.

He wanted to speak, to promise that it would not come to that, but he could not form the words. Only tiny, tight breaths escaped him, broken upon the blade of his pain. He was a prisoner in his own body: a captive in poison's chains.

'Yes.'

'I see.' Gaius sighed, a world-weary sound, full of melancholy. 'I will pack your bag, just in case.'

It took Arthur's tired mind far too long to unravel that statement. It wobbled in and out of the haze of his mind, baffling – until it dawned, cool, crisp and cruel: a winter's daybreak.

Gaius was packing in case Merlin needed to flee. Not from Uther, who would assume the spell was Gaius' work and turn a blind eye, but from Arthur. Until that moment, he had never realised the truth. He had thought Merlin was a permanent fixture in his life. A certainty. Now, there, in fever's haze, he saw that Merlin was instead always on the cusp of leaving. The secret he held was not simply words unsaid. It was a breach waiting to yawn between them. A precipice. A desolation.

Merlin had lived for years in Camelot with one foot always out of the door.

And Arthur ached for him.

'Clǣnsiġe besmitenblod.'

The magic came upon him, as soft as moonlight. It did not blaze and burn, but seeped across his skin, sinking to flow through his veins and nestle in his bones. It captured the sharpest edges of his pain, peeling them back until he was free of their clutches. His fever roiled, then simmered, ebbing in the tiniest of increments as Arthur lay before it: a victim of its ferocity.

Yet, at last, power's cool balm suffused him. The haze lifted and the shadows retreated, and Arthur's mind, exhausted and battered by a battle he could never have won alone, finally cleared.

He opened his eyes, gritty and disgusting, to blink at the canopy of his bed: a splash of crimson that may as well as be as big as the sky. The blankets weighed him down, pinning him to the mattress, and his body panged with the bitter recriminations of flesh that had fought too hard for its own survival.

Merlin still whispered those same, soft words in a language Arthur didn't know, his voice broken with exhaustion and his eyes shining gold between the seam of his lashes.

Arthur twitched, and Merlin blinked himself awake from his reverie. The invisible net of magic that had woven itself through the chamber spun away to nothing, its gossamer fading from Arthur's senses. For a moment, they stared at each other, and Arthur saw the split-second when Merlin's courage – and he would never, ever again call him a coward – abandoned him.

'Don't.' Arthur gritted his teeth against the ache in his arm as he grabbed Merlin's wrist, stopping him before he could turn-tail and flee. Merlin could break away with ease if he tried, but instead, he hesitated, his body turned towards the door but his gaze, familiar blue now, taking in Arthur where he lay. 'Don't go. Please.'

He could feel how Merlin shook beneath the grasp of his fingers: a subtle tremor born of true terror. And how could he blame him? One word from Arthur, and the guards would come running. Merlin's life would be forfeit.

He had magic, and he had used it to save Arthur's life.

And this was not the first time.

'Merlin, please.'

Maybe it was that last word that did it. After all, Arthur rarely bothered with his manners outside of court. He was a prince, and he was to be obeyed. His father would be appalled to hear him almost begging a servant, and yet the words fled Arthur anyway, desperate and hollow. A strange dread had awoken in his chest, one that told him that if Merlin ran now, then he would never see him again – he would never get the chance to explain, or to listen, or to thank him.

'You should rest,' Merlin rasped, his grief like a bruise upon his voice. Any other man of Arthur's acquaintance would try to hide their feelings, but Merlin had never been one to bother with that. Not once in all the time Arthur had known him. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and it meant every emotion was there for Arthur to witness: guilt and terror, remorse and heartbreak. Yet beneath that, there was relief, as if some huge burden had been shed.

Cautious, Arthur increased the pressure of his grip, no longer merely hanging on to Merlin's arm, but tugging him towards the bed. He did not have the strength to sit up and face this. The aches careening through him warned him to not even make the attempt. Yet nor could he do it at this distance, held at remove. He needed to see Merlin, cast not just in the stark shadows and highlights of the fire, but right at his side.

'Come here?'

'I don't think –'

'I won't hurt you. I would – I would never hurt you.' Arthur swallowed hard, putting as much of his certainty into his gaze as possible. 'Magic or not.'

There. Confirmation, not accusation – but important all the same. In many ways it would be so much easier to pretend it never happened - to feign ignorance and let things carry on the same, but he couldn't do that. He did not want to do that. There, on the fading cusp of fever and delirium, all Arthur cared about was the man at his side. He wanted to know him, all of him, everything he put on display and all that he kept hidden.

That would never be possible if they couldn't face the truth.

He saw the moment of Merlin's collapse, saw it in the sway of his body and the tears threatening to spill over his lashes. It was no swoon. Rather, it was a body sacrificing all its strength beneath the flood of its own emotion. Merlin sagged to sit on the bed as if he couldn't stand a moment longer, his shoulders rounded and his head bent, one hand pressed to his mouth to stifle to the sob that threatened to tear itself free.

'I'm sorry.' It sounded as if it was punched from him, little more than a breath given shape in a scatter of syllables. 'I wanted to tell you, but –'

But his father was the bloody tyrant of Camelot, and Arthur had been taught his whole life to hate magic.

Arthur shook his head, stifling a grunt of pain as he plucked at Merlin's sleeve, tugging at him, nudging and pulling and shoving with all the pathetic tatters of his own strength until Merlin seemed to get the message.

He hesitated for a moment, indecision flickering over his tear-stained face before he sagged down to lie in the empty space at Arthur's left side. He did so on top of the covers, chaste and acceptable, though something in Arthur despised even that much distance. He had a feral urge to wrap Merlin in his arms and make sure he didn't slip away in the night. He still looked wary – a horse about to bolt – and Arthur scrambled through his sluggish mind for the right words to rein him in.

'You saved me.' He wet his lips, rolling on his side so they were facing each other, the space between them intimate and warm. They were like a pair of brackets, their knees knocking, and Merlin's hands clasped in the blankets. 'More than once, I suspect.'

He reached out, cautious, at first insinuating only his smallest finger into the lax curl of Merlin's grasp. Yet it was the leading force in a battalion. The others soon followed, until he was holding Merlin's hand in earnest, his fingertips exploring familiar calluses and the spaces between, the sharp angle of his knuckles and the occasional scar that painted his skin. It was easy to see, in retrospect, how wilfully blind he had been. Now, through the lens of magic, he could see the truth of so much of his good fortune.

'You saved me even though it would have been far safer to let me die.'

Merlin shook his head, and Arthur smothered a smile to see the gaze behind those spiky, wet lashes spark with outrage. Yet he didn't give Merlin a chance to speak. Instead, he squeezed his hand, ushering him back to silence with a simple pair of words.

'Thank you.'

A shivering breath whispered past Merlin's lips as he released it, closing his eyes for a moment and shaking his head against the pillow. 'You aren't... angry?'

Arthur pulled a face at that. He was. He suspected he would be, anyway, once his strength had returned and the full measure of all this had sunk in, though possibly not for the reasons Merlin assumed.

It stung that he had lied, but Arthur could not honestly say he would have done any differently in his place. Not considering how much was at stake. Instead, his anger frothed and simmered around the notion of Merlin taking one look at Camelot – at all its rules and risks – and deciding to use magic anyway. As if he thought anyone, anywhere, was worth the cost of his own life!

'A bit,' Arthur acknowledged at last, knowing that Merlin would catch him out in a lie. The truth was written all over his face, after all. He was too weak and spent for royal masks now. 'Later, maybe a lot, but Merlin, not enough to – to condemn you. Not enough to make you leave.' His voice cracked on that last word, thinning to almost nothing at the thought of him gone from Arthur's life, never to return.

In his youth, he had imagined capturing a sorcerer in Camelot. He had envisioned the adoration of his people and his father's pride as the fiend was dealt with. They were childish fantasies, of course, and he had grown out of them some time ago. Now, all he could think of was the need to protect Merlin, to keep his secret and hold it close, away from the prying eyes of his father and anyone else who would see him burn.

'Stay?' The word slipped out of him, small and hopeless, painfully young even to his own ears. Part of him felt he had no right to ask it of him. How could he, when every day Merlin lingered here, he risked his life merely by existing. Yet nor could he hold it back.

'I'm right here, Arthur.'

'I don't just mean now. I mean – the bag Gaius is packing for you.' He let his eyes roved over Merlin's face, the slant of his brow and the sharpness of his cheekbones, the pink of those full lips and the scatter of stubble across Merlin's jaw that suggested the depths of his vigil.

'You heard that?'

'I heard everything, including what my father said. He is – his hypocrisy is...' Arthur trailed off, unable to speak of it. It sickened him right down to his bones, and he forced himself to push it aside. This was not about his father, not really. This was about him and Merlin. He could not expect Merlin to peel aside all the shadows of his secrecy with nothing offered in return, and he tightened his grip anew, drawing his hand towards him as he made his promise.

'I will never let him hurt you, and I will never be like him.'

Perhaps it was the lingering veils of fever's ebb that dismissed his caution. Maybe it was simply that he was too tired to hold back his natural inclination, but the brush of his lips over Merlin's knuckles, soft and sure, sealed his vow.

He heard the catch in Merlin's breath and saw the hope – desperate and wild – that flared in his gaze. Yet there was belief there, too. Whatever else Merlin thought of him, whatever fears he harboured, he did not doubt him, and Arthur's heart swooped and thrilled in his chest to see it.

That was a sensation that intensified a thousand-fold when Merlin shifted closer, bowing his head over their joined hands and brushing his lips against Arthur's fingers. 'It's for you, Arthur. My magic, I mean, and I will never allow it to be used against you or your kingdom. I swear it.'

Arthur's throat clicked as he swallowed, feeling the noose of uncertainty loosen around his neck. He had not wanted to give credence to that subtle fear, and yet he could not deny it had pressed its mantle across his back. Yet in Merlin's eyes he saw the truth of what he said: loyalty and devotion on unapologetic display, irrefutable.

There would be time, later, to plumb the full depths of Merlin's secret. There would be the opportunity to learn all that he had done in Arthur's name, the good and the bad, but in that hallowed moment, they built the foundation of something new between them. It was writ in soft, shared breaths and the press of Merlin's brow against his own. It wove around them in the warm air and eased aside the aches in Arthur's muscles.

It began then, not with a kiss – which would come a little over a week later, hot and desperate and all Arthur had ever craved – but with two oaths shared, as solemn and certain as a hand-fasting.

And those were promises they would keep, day-by day and year-on-year, as Merlin led Arthur into the brightness of that promised golden age.

#Merlin #Merthur #Happy Ending

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haru-sen · 3 months

Text

Breaking His Silence Pt 2

Finally got around to finishing this, a mere 4,865 words later, lol.

CW: Smut, biting, some blood (have you seen those teeth?), misunderstandings, Warlock Tav is a dumbass.

Part 1

“You spent all that time chasing me around.” You rested a hand over the one still fisting the front of your robes as you sat astride Zevlor. “Well, you caught me, Hellrider. Now what?”

He stared up at you, shock rendering him mute, those flame-colored eyes wide. It was hilarious really.

He smelled like smoke, metal polish, and that sharp clean scent of divine magic that made your nose twitch. He was not a conventionally handsome man, almost too lean, with sharp features, and deep grooves in his face. But you liked the look of him. And well, there was something very appealing about all that strength leashed behind tightly wound reserve.

You held onto the fist gripping your collar, your other hand resting on his cheek. He burned hot under you, and you rather wondered how he would feel without all this metal in the way.

“I realize that you are not happy with me, Tav. But that’s no reason to humiliate me like this,” he said, his voice steady, though there was a tautness to his words. He very carefully reached up and pried your hand off his.

You let him move your hand, tilting your head to the side. “This isn’t humiliation, Zevlor. But if you’re interested in that sort of thing, I have some ideas.”

He flinched, averting his eyes. “You’ve made your point.” His fingers brushed yours, a light version of Laying Hands on you. Cool energy traveled up your arm as he healed your wounds. “You can let me up now.”

“But you didn’t answer my question,” you chirped, leaning over so you were nose to nose with him. “What do-”

A leg hooked around yours, and Zevlor raised his hips, unseating you with far too much ease. You toppled over, flipped onto your back, with Zevlor sitting astride you.

You grunted, flashing him a pained smile. “Well, if you wanted to be on top, all you had to do was-” And then to your shock, the tiefling paladin leapt to his feet and ran, leaving you on the ground, stunned. You sat up slowly, watching him retreat. The man ran fast even in armor. All that training paid off, for him anyway. Rubbing the back of your head, you stared after him. What the hell? You kissed him and he ran away? Godsdamned paladins and their weird chastity fixations. Rolling your eyes, you stood up, straightening your robes.

“Well, you certainly dominated that round,” Astarion chuckled, slinking out of the shadows. “You sent him running off in terror, his tail between his legs. That was rather vicious though, darling.” He gave you an approving smile.

“What?” you squinted. “What do you mean? He smote me! I just knocked him over. Sure, I hit him while he was down too, but that’s just strategy.”

Astarion’s brows went up. “I meant the kiss. You know that man hasn’t been touched in years. Taunting him with what he can’t have is an especially cruel choice.”

You crossed your arms. “Can’t have? Wait...that’s what he thought?” You blinked. “Huh.”

“Wait, you actually meant it? I thought you were annoyed with that relentless bastard,” Astarion’s voice went high.

“...I mean, I am,” you shrugged. “I don’t want to run laps or do push-ups with him. But sex is another story. Paladins have incredible endurance, and there is something truly delicious about corrupting the other side, you know?”

“Huh.” Astarion’s mouth hung open for a moment. He closed it slowly. “Well, there’s no accounting for your strange tastes.”

“So...to be clear, he ran away because he thought I was being disingenuous?” You rubbed your head, wondering how you could have been more obvious.

“I don’t know what’s more disturbing, the idea that you would lead that poor man on for fun, or the idea that you would actually seduce him.” Shaking his head, Astarion disappeared back into the darkness.

“Hey, you didn’t answer my question, asshole!”

Astarion’s laughter echoed in the shadows.

Sighing heavily, you dusted yourself off and walked back to camp, considering your options.

The next few days around camp were incredibly peaceful. Zevlor avoided you. It seemed innocuous at first. Between investigating bizarre murders, fighting shapeshifters, and even a trip to the circus, you were focused on several other tasks.

But when you sat down to eat at night, Zevlor hastily left the fire.

When you walked by the training area, he quickly packed up his gear.

When you said “hi” to him one morning, he literally jumped, gave you a nervous wave, and practically fled to his tent.

“I think you broke him, darling,” Astarion told you as the two of you carefully wrapped the dead clown parts for storage. Assembling a jigsaw puzzle scavenger hunt was not the weirdest thing you’d done with a corpse, but it was a new experience. And a clown at that, truly degenerate stuff.

“You really think so?” you asked. “He survived years as a Hellrider, a trip to Avernus, an exile, a refugee caravan, being captured by the Absolute, reswearing his oath… No, that’s ridiculous, Astarion.” You laughed, shaking your head incredulously. “I did not break our paladin.”

“Darling, you’ve seen his face: the man is riddled with stress fractures. You’re just making my point: your teasing is the metaphorical straw that broke the tiefling’s back.” He chuckled to himself, setting the chewed up clown hand treat-o in rags, rolling it like a scroll, and then tying the ends of the bundle up in neat knots.

“He smote me,” you said, rolling your eyes. “He can’t be that fragile.” You put the tightly wrapped clown torso in another crate with the hand. You were not storing body parts with your clothes.

“The other explanation is that he’s playing hard to get,” Astarion said, giving you a truly evil smile. “You should chase him down and confront him about that, preferably in full view of the others.”

You eyed Astarion, recognizing the horribleness of that idea. You considered it anyway. Heh. Well, if Zevlor kept avoiding you, you would have to corral him. But unlike Zevlor, you knew better than to make a public spectacle of it.

That evening, Zevlor entered the barn through the side room, shutting the door behind him. You watched from Lae’zel’s tent, gave it five minutes, then followed him inside.

He was in civilian clothes, straddling a bench, running a whetstone along his sword.

You grinned, stepped inside, shut the door, and pulled out a scroll of Arcane Lock, sealing the only exit behind you.

“We need to talk,” you said cheerfully.

Zevlor’s head snapped back and he stared at you with wide eyes, like you said, “it’s time for the execution” instead. But then he very carefully sheathed his sword and stood. His tail swished back and forth as he met your gaze, jaw clenched. Without the armor on, he was a little slimmer, but the man still had a strong frame: broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs.

“Is that really necessary?” Zevlor said, taking a deep breath as he gestured to the door.

“You’ve been running from me so much, that I thought it wise to take precautions,” you said. “And because I’m nice, I didn’t start with Hold Person.”

Zevlor looked away.

You moved closer.

He backed up, averting his eyes.

You frowned, stopping. “What’s wrong?”

“You made it very clear that I should keep my distance or risk more humiliation,” he growled. “I’ve upheld my part of the bargain.” His nostrils flared. “I realize you’re angry at me, but this treatment is just cruel.”

You crossed your arms. “Hold on, what?” You squinted at him. “What are you talking about?”

Zevlor drew in a shaky breath. “I realize I was...too aggressive on the issue of training.” He looked down, tail starting to snap back and forth like that of an agitated cat. “I should not have been so pushy. I should not have accosted you that night.”

“Yeah, OK,” you said, not actually disagreeing.

“And you handled yourself well in the fight. But afterward, you did not have to shame me like that,” he said, closing his eyes, the words thick.

Afterward?

“...OK, now you’ve lost me,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck. “I get that maybe I was a bit...aggressive too. Like, I guess I shouldn't have kissed you without your permission. But it was post-battle and you’d been chasing me for days. You smote me. I just assumed you were interested in stress relief.”

Zevlor stared at you. “That’s not- What?”

“What?” you cocked your head to the side, staring at him in confusion.

He moved his jaw a few times, like he was trying to make words, but they wouldn’t form. “That’s not what you said.”

“It is! What do you think I said?”

“That this wasn’t humiliation, but if that’s what I was interested in, you would come up with something else. I thought that was a warning to back off,” he said with some uncertainty. “I...did not expect such a threat from you.”

“Threat?” You gaped at him. “I meant if you liked sexual humiliation we could discuss limits.”

“What?” he blinked, his voice raspy.

“Zevlor,” you began very patiently, like you were speaking to a particularly dense child. “I assumed you had some power-dynamic kinks, since you come from a hardcore religious military background and engage in regular bouts of emotional repression and self-flagellation.”

Zevlor scowled at you. “That is entirely un-”

“Your many hangups aside,” you said, holding both palms out toward him. “Those details are something you talk about beforehand. I’m not just going to start slapping you around with a riding crop or begging to lick Daddy’s boots without any idea of what you actually want. Anyway, when have my threats sounded anything like that? That’s way too vague. I say things like “Time for a hug from Hadar!” and “I’m going to fucking kill you!” and “Fucking Dolor!” You know?” You grinned at him, hands still outstretched, palms turning upward.

The paladin looked at you, and then the sealed door, and then sank back down onto the bench, his gaze distant.

“That...wasn’t a threat then.” The realization dawned on his face as he spoke.

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head.

“That was actually a proposition?” he asked weakly.

“Oh yeah,” you nodded. “I mean, I thought I was pretty clear about it when I kissed you. What else should I have done? Try to feel you up through the armor?”

Zevlor groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“So yeah, umm...you wanna make out?” you asked hopefully.

Zevlor did not respond. He just sat there, hunched over, refusing to look at you.

You went over to him, crouching between his spread knees, so you could look up at his face. “Hey.”

Zevlor did not budge. Oh hells, maybe Astarion was right. Maybe you really did break the paladin. Fuck.

You gently pried his hands away from his face, grinning up at him. “You OK?”

“Don’t-” he breathed, turning away. “I don’t know what you want.”

You crouched there, resting your elbows on his knees. “I want to suck your dick,” you told him. “I think that’ll make you feel better too.”

He stared at you wide-eyed.

“If you’re interested, cast silence. I know I’d like to hear you, but since you’re so fond of using that against me, it seems right, you know?”

You stared up at him expectantly, waiting for him to pull away or say the words.

Zevlor carefully reached out, cupping your chin. “You...honestly want this?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

“Yeah, I’ll get on my knees and everything, if that’s what you want?” You flashed him an easy smile, realizing Astarion was correct. This man had not been touched in ages.

His breath hitched, and he pushed a stray lock of hair away from your face. “You don’t have to-”

You toyed with the laces of his trousers and then looked up at him expectantly.

Zevlor exhaled slowly. “Tap if it’s too much.”

You laughed. “Oh, so you have done this before. I was worried there for a min-”

Zevlor squinted at you, a wave of irritation pinching his entire face. “Silencio.”

Your ears popped and you laughed, no noise coming out. You dropped to your knees in the straw, carefully unlacing his pants.

A taloned hand gently massaged your scalp.

You didn’t look up at him, too interested in unwrapping your new toy. You carefully freed his cock from his pants, a little surprised that the paladin wasn’t wearing any underwear. Maybe it wasn’t just his martial greatsword that he came here to tend to.

Tieflings had patterns of ridges and bumps all over their bodies and Zevlor was no exception. He was only half hard when you started. You licked your lips and then ran your tongue along the crown, taking in the salty-musk of his skin. There was something different, sharper about how he tasted. The head was velvety soft, fun to swirl your tongue around, even as his fingers tightened their grip in your hair.

You looked up to see Zevlor still hunched over, those brilliant eyes watching you intently.

You winked at him and licked the underside of his cock, lightly squeezing the shaft as you ran your tongue from the head to his balls, feeling his thighs tense around you. The ribbed texture was interesting in your mouth. You expected it would feel even better somewhere else.

Zevlor shuddered, gritting his teeth. If there had been sound, you might have heard him growling. He was longer than you expected, thicker around the base, and heat began to pool in your core.

You squeezed his thigh with your free hand and then slowly took him in your mouth, relaxing your throat, eyes fluttering shut as you swallowed him to the hilt. You began to bob your head. Salty fluid leaked from the tip, and you groaned as Zevlor’s nails briefly nicked your neck.

But Zevlor was a gentleman. He held still, neither thrusting nor pushing your head down. You liked the way he tensed and twitched under your touch. Still, this would go smoother with some help. You reached forward, both hands cupping his ass as you started to try to get him to properly fuck your mouth.

Something brushed your wrist and you felt Zevlor’s tail wind around your right forearm as he started to slowly rock his hips. He moved with you, letting you set the pace. You were drooling now, getting him sloppy and slick, and one rough stroke had you gagging, but you didn’t stop. You had a goal now. You wanted to hear Zevlor. And to do that, you would need to break his concentration again.

Making him come would do the trick.

You gazed up at him, moaning around his cock. Even if he couldn’t hear you, he could see your face, see how you were enjoying him.

Zevlor’s eyes were half-open, his lips parted as you sucked on him. He gave a little tug on your hair, tilting your head back, so he slid out of your mouth, smearing saliva on your chin. The timidness was gone from his gaze. Maybe you had succeeded in sucking some of his sadness out through his dick. Good job!

He studied your face.

You thought he might kiss you, but instead he pushed two fingers down your throat, the corners of his mouth turning upward at your startled look.

You licked the digits, sucking on his fingers, and that smile tightened into something more feral and he pushed your head back down to his cock.

This time he did not sit back and let you lead. Fingers tangling in your hair, he began to thrust into your throat. Your eyes watered as he set a steady pace. He felt bigger in your mouth, his girth grazing your teeth, but that did not seem to slow him down.

You wished the silence was gone. You wanted to hear him. His voice was probably all raspy right now, and if his expression was anything to go by, his blood was running hot. You could just imagine the filthy taunts he had. Probably something about finally shutting you up and making good use of your smart mouth. Why had you suggested using silence again? Gods, you were dumb sometimes.

Zevlor’s cock twitched in your throat, and you had to work to breathe through your nose. His tail was still wound around your right arm, so you squeezed the base of it with your left hand, massaging the underside: tieflings tended to be sensitive right there. The man’s hips jerked forward, and you choked as he hilted in your throat, his nails digging into your shoulders.

You moaned, and even if you could not hear it, you stared up at him with half-lidded eyes, your lips wrapped around his wonderfully textured cock. It was thicker than you expected, and you gripped the base, running your tongue up the underside of his shaft, grinning up at him before you slid him back into your mouth. Then you squeezed the base of his tail again.

Zevlor bared his teeth at you, pushing your head back down till your nose was flush against his pelvis, before yanking your head back, pulling you off his cock.

His jaw clenched, he tried to turn to the side, already leaking pearlescent fluid from the tip. You leaned in, holding the base of is shaft and taking the head back in your mouth, in time to catch the rush of salty cum.

Your ears popped then, the silence bubble bursting.

Zevlor gave a strangled groan, his fists at his sides as you let him finish in your mouth. Panting, he stared down at you as you opened up and licked him clean.

“That pent up, huh?” you asked, your voice rough.

Still breathing hard, Zevlor nodded, his knuckles brushing your cheek. Tilting your chin up, he kissed you hungrily, tasting himself on your tongue. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t mind riding you, if you’re up for another round. Otherwise-”

“Give me a moment,” he growled, running his thumb along your bottom lip. There was a flare of holy magic and he cracked his neck, those orange eyes bright. He slid off the bench, into the straw, reclining on his back, giving you a nice view of his fully hard cock. “Are you sure you don’t want me to-”

“I didn’t waste time making this warming oil because it feels nice on weapons,” you said, plucking a vial off your belt. “Though maybe it does. Guess you’ll have to stab someone and ask them for me?”

Zevlor sighed, taking the vial from you and sniffing it before hesitantly pouring some onto his hands and rubbing it along his shaft. He groaned softly, those elegant fingers stroking his length.

“How trusting. You didn’t even ask what I used,” you said with a grin, taking the vial back and slicking up your own entrance. “Could have been succubus spittle.”

Zevlor snorted, giving you a sardonic look. “That would be your mistake to make. But it obviously is not. I smell cinnamon and ginger. Not sulfur and sweet decay.”

You laughed in delight. “Zevlor, how do you know what succubus spittle smells like?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he said, the faintest smile on his lips.

“I always knew you were a kinky bastard,” you said as you straddled his hips, recalling the last time you were in this position.

“Do you really go around not wearing smallclothes?” Zevlor asked, apparently realizing that you were not joking when you said you weren’t wearing underwear.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You winked, then rubbed the head of his cock between your thighs, breath hitching as the blunt head slid inside you, then you took a few more inches of his ridged shaft. You sank down onto him, groaning at the stretch. His skin burned hot and while the oil eased his entry, you still had to take a few minutes to adjust to the fullness.

“No more smart remarks?” Zevlor purred. His tail wound around your thigh, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek.

“Is that a secret paladin technique? Who knew your dick could inflict silence on me?” You laughed, breathing hard as you squirmed on him, that ribbed cock rubbing against your walls with delicious friction.

“That would be a shame. I should like to hear you.” Zevlor gritted his teeth, gazing up at you with a hunger you had not seen before. You ran your fingers up his cross-shaped navel, over the ridges of his chest, your knees squeezing his thighs.

You rolled your hips, whining softly as you took him deeper inside you. “Hells, Zevlor, I thought you found me annoying.”

“You’re often irreverent and inappropriate,” he said, no bite in his tone. “But no, you don’t annoy me.” He gave you a wry smile, his tolerance likely increased because you were bouncing on his cock.

“Do I frustrate you then?” you asked with a sharp smile, leaning forward, close enough to kiss.

Zevlor’s gaze darkened. “All the godsdamned time.” He cupped the back of your head, kissing you hard, nipping your bottom lip with his sharp teeth.

You moaned into his mouth and then pushed off his chest, breaking free, not because you didn’t like kissing him, but because it would frustrate him. You grinned as he scowled at you. “So, are you going to tell me about the succubus spittle?”

Zevlor chuckled, gripped your hips, and thrust upward, a spike of heat driving into your core. “Is that what you want to hear about, Tav? Because I don’t need infernal aphrodisiacs to keep going.”

“Big talk, paladin,” you grinned, clenching around him, just to see him shudder.

“It’s not just talk, little warlock,” he said, his smile turning feral. “All that training I endure has its advantages.”

The leg hook took you off guard (again!), and you squealed as he rolled you onto your back. Suddenly he was on his knees, still sheathed inside you, one hand gripping your chin as he pinned you to the ground.

“Fuck,” you exhaled, gazing up at the paladin.

Zevlor regarded you with a harsh intensity that made you squirm.

“Say “stop” if you want me to stop. Otherwise,” he flashed you a sharp smile. “Lie back and enjoy yourself.”

Before you could make a snide joke about his unimaginative choice of safe words, he shifted forward, shoving your knees up against your chest, his cock sinking deeper inside you.

Folded in half, robes rucked up around your waist, you swore as he fucked you there on the floor like an animal.

He actually growled as he thrust downward, sweat beading on his brow, his eyes wild.

You whimpered as that thick ribbed cock stirred up your insides, driving too deep too fast, as you struggled beneath him.

“Zevlor-”

“I like how you say my name,” he rumbled, leaning forward to kiss you again, even as he drilled deeper into you, and you swore you could feel the impact in the back of your throat. He nipped your neck and you snarled, clawing at his shoulders while he kept up that rough pace. One hand moved between your thighs, stroking your sensitive flesh, making you writhe for him. “I wonder how much you can take, Tav. After all that teasing, I have high expectations. Don’t disappoint me.” He bit down on your ear and you shrieked. If the others didn’t know what you were doing before, they certainly knew now.

Pinned as you were, you did not have the leverage to push him off, to wrest control from the much stronger warrior. You could say “stop.” You could use magic. But you were getting filled with that thick textured cock and Zevlor’s calloused fingers worked between your legs, those fiery eyes fixed on your face with grim determination.

Fuck, you were getting despoiled...or just plain spoiled.

Astarion was absolutely right. Zevlor was touch-starved and desperately in need of relief, and you were the lucky fool that got to break his dry streak.

“You better fucking ruin me, paladin,” you purred, fingers digging into his hair, yanking him down for another rough kiss. “How else are you going to convince me of the merits of your argument?”

Zevlor’s nostrils flared. “You’re playing with fire, Tav.”

“Fun, isn’t it?” you murmured, sucking marks on his neck, and letting out the most obscene moans as he stretched you out, channeling all that frustration into your body, his thighs slapping loudly against your ass. “Don’t be that way. You have fire resistance.”

Zevlor’s low growl made you tighten around him. “You’re the one who’s going to get burned.” His fingers moved faster, that pleasurable friction twisting through you, shooting from between your legs, into your core, and up your spine, pulling needy whines from your throat. Your nerves thrummed, the lightest touch sending shivers through the whole network. Where his skin brushed yours, the heat lingered, pulsing through your limbs, adding another layer of sensation. This godsdamned paladin had you teetering on the edge of bliss, blessing you with his cock like it was the key to your salvation. If being good normally felt this good, maybe you would try it more often.

Or was it being bad to good people? You weren’t too sure right now.

“Zevlor, I’m close-”

He pressed his forehead to yours, keeping up that hard tempo. He closed his eyes, shuddering against you. For a moment, he did not respond.

You waited, savoring his rasping breaths, your strangled whimpers, the slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of you.

“Where do you want my seed?” he snarled.

“Inside me,” you gasped, knowing that answer would hasten him.

Zevlor narrowed his eyes. “Then you’re going to feel me leaking out of you for days.”

You shuddered, vision flickering. You clawed at his shoulders, his arms, swearing as he angled his hips, the blunt head of his cock nudging that sensitive spot inside you. Even though he was just as on edge as you were, he did not lose focus. His hand kept up his ministrations between your thighs. His rhythm did not falter. The ridges of his cock seemed to imprint on your walls as he reshaped you to fit him. He was marking you from the inside. The dual sensations of being stroked and getting properly wrecked by the paladin’s cock pushed you over the edge, pressure breaking inside your simmering core. Back against the ground, you could only brace yourself for the onslaught. That moment when all the tension snapped, your body caught in the recoil, the orgasm intensified by the fact you were pinned in place. Keening, you clung to him as you fell apart.

He was only waiting on you. With a bestial roar, he sunk his teeth into your shoulder and you wailed as his hips stuttered against you, pumping his cum deep inside you.

“Fuck-” you sobbed, still clinging to him, despite the sting of his bite.

Breathing hard, Zevlor raised his head, his lips bloody and drawn back in a fierce smile that flattened when he saw the marks in your skin. Guilt immediately started to cloud his expression. “Hells, was that too much? Did I go too far?”

“I didn’t tell you to “stop,” you said tartly to avert the panic. “And if that’s all you’ve got, then I’ve sorely misjudged paladins.”

Zevlor wiped his mouth, his gaze harsh. “You still want more, little warlock?”

“Yes,” you hissed in his ear. “I demand it.”

“Te curo,” he murmured, the wound on your shoulder closing. Inside you, his cock twitched as he channeled divine energy right inside your channel. “Don’t complain when I break you, Tav, if this is how you ask for it.”

“It’s only fair, I keep breaking your concentration,” you laughed, sticking your tongue out at him.

He gripped your chin, his smile wide, and he rolled his hips, cutting off your laughter.

“...So,” Astarion said, not making eye contact as you emerged from the barn, brushing straw off your robes and picking it out of your hair. “Is there anything left of the paladin? Or just a desiccated husk?”

“I’m not you,” you sniffed.

Zevlor followed behind you, carrying his sword slung over his shoulder. He still winced when he ducked out of the barn, clearly sore from your shared exertions.

“Well, that was a rigorous bout of training,” you said, cheerfully limping toward the campfire.

“Is that what you’re calling it now?” Astarion groaned. “Yenna was asking some very interesting questions and as entertaining as it was to see Wyll spin a panicked tale or three, no one needs to hear the two of you going at it for hours.” He glared over your shoulder at Zevlor. “Tav’s an idiot, but a man of your experience should know better. Next time, be quieter.”

Zevlor sighed, looking quite put upon. “I would, but that damned warlock keeps breaking my silence.”

#reader insert #gender neutral reader #tav x zevlor #tav/zevlor #pwp #bg3 fanfiction

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cockslutpadalecki · 2 years

Note

Mean!Steve waiting for the food service worker who got his order wrong 😌

The Customer Is Always Right

Pairing: Mean!Steve x F!Reader.

Words: 1.1K.

Warnings: non-con, mean!Steve is mean, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, 18+. MINORS DNI.

A/N: Hope you enjoy lovely, and thank you for sending this in! Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Please support our content creators by sharing our work.

It’s late when you leave work, the cool night air helping to relax you after a long and sticky-warm shift. The height of summer is slowly creeping up and the small restaurant’s air conditioning struggles to keep up with the intense temperatures that peak during the day.

With a small wave, you say your goodbyes to your colleagues, and head off in the direction of your car, taking the walk slowly so you can bask in the fresh breeze helping to cool you. You reach into your bag for your keys, only looking up when your fingers curl around them.

The man is instantly familiar as he boldly strides out of the shadows, making you jump. He’s recognisable anywhere considering he’s Steve Rogers, and it felt like an honour to wait on him when he seated himself in your section earlier in the evening. You couldn’t wait to tell him what a hero he is, how he’s idolised and revered in your household, but very quickly you had come to realise that the man who’s so admired by your father is simply propaganda. A legend made up by politicians, a fabrication. A myth of colossal proportions.

Afraid he’s come back to continue his tirade of abuse, you immediately start to retreat.

“Are you dumb? How hard is it to write down some words? Or are you that stupid you can’t even do that right?”

“I’m sorry, sir-um, Mr. Rogers, I’ll take it back for you right now.”

“No, I want the correct order. I don’t give a fuck what you do with this.” He reaches out, using his index finger to flip up the plate in your hand, but your reflexes aren’t quick enough to stop it from crashing to the floor. You stand there in shock, not believing what just happened as he looks at the floor before glancing back up at you, a cruel smirk on his lips. “Bring me my food before you clean that shit up.”

You had written down his order correctly despite his insistence that you hadn’t, and even though the issue lay with the kitchen staff, you refused to pass blame, knowing you should’ve checked it before bringing it to him.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, remembering the way he watched you clean up the food and broken porcelain while he ate, occasionally chuckling to himself as you clearly battled with the mess. Steve left a sour taste in your mouth for the rest of the evening, his smirking face taunting you even long after he vacated his table.

You stare at each other in silence until eventually he breaks it, speaking uncharacteristically soft.

“Don’t run off, I just wanna talk.” He steps closer, causing your body to tense. You clutch your keys tighter in your fist, getting ready to use them if necessary.

“Ta-talk about what?”

“How I behaved tonight. I was having a bad day and I snapped at the wrong person, I’m sorry.”

You scoff. “I’ve had a bad day too, but I didn’t take it out on the customers. But seeing as my shift is over,” you give a cursory glance down at your watch, “go fuck yourself.”

Fiddling with your car key, you manage to get it in the lock just as he snaps, “You’re not gonna accept my apology?”

“You wouldn’t accept mine for a truly genuine mistake, so…” you trail off with a small shrug. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Rogers.”

He closes the gap between you, slamming his palm across the door, preventing you from opening it. “I don’t think you understand…”

“What am I supposed to understand? That you’re not an asshole ‘cause you sure act like one.”

“You should show me a little respect,” he warns, his features darkening. He’s right up in your personal space now, urging you backwards until the backs of your thighs collide with the side of your car. How he’s managed to manipulate the situation so you’re effectively trapped between him and the vehicle, you’ve no idea. “Do you even know who I am?”

You think back to all of the television broadcasts, the interviews your father obsessively watched— how kind, gentile Steve seemed. How the man standing before you is nothing like him. You don’t know this man at all. “No, I don’t.”

“This country is indebted to me a hundred lifetimes over,” he spits, his breath hot against your face. “If I wanna complain that some idiot waitress couldn’t get my measly fuckin’ order right, I can. And if I feel like fuckin’ some brain cells into you,” sudden pressure blooms between your thighs, and you look down aghast at the sight of his hand pressed against your clothed cunt, “then I’ll damn well do that too.”

His words and actions take you aback, until the sheer magnitude of what he’s saying and doing hits you like a ton of bricks. Fight or flight kicks in and you hit him with your key-enclosed fist, feeling metal scrape flesh as a dull groaning hiss escapes him. You quickly dart out from his clutches, bolting back towards the restaurant, and your hands fumble with the keys, desperate to get to safety. Lashing out only gives you a minuscule head start but as Steve pursues you, his super speed easily cancels out your attempt to outrun him.

Your chest aches as you try to breathe through the fear, Steve’s footsteps pounding hard against the tarmac behind you. The restaurant is just in reach. Your palm sting from the keys embedded in your skin when he grabs you, slamming you into the brick wall.

A pained cry leaves your lips as he pins you with his body weight, hands tearing into your uniform and cold air rushes and prickles over your ass.

“You think you’re too good to accept Captain America’s apology?” he hisses behind you. Hot tears stream down your cheeks as wet warmth smears across your bare skin. “Bet you think you’re too good for my cock too.”

The warmth builds as it sits between your cheeks before it shifts— further, deeper— until the uncomfortable heat is teasing at your entrance and pushes its way in without warning.

An open-mouthed, silent scream leaves you and Steve chuckles behind you— a disgusting, execrable sound that makes your stomach roll and twist with nausea as he sinks into you, impossibly deep.

He’s slow pulling out and even slower driving himself back inside you, your velvet heat tightening around his cock with every thick, serum-given inch.

When his hips finally meet your ass, he hums, brushing the hair back from around your ear to whisper, “No woman is too good for me. Not even you.”

“Please, stop,” you whimper, “I’m sorry.”

He draws back, and the drag is exquisitely sublime. You move slightly, trying to find an angle that’s not so uncomfortable and Steve growls, seemingly delighted that you're participating. “Don’t worry, doll, by the time I’m done you’ll be thanking me.”

***

ALL CE: @buckymydarlingangel @broadwaybabe18 @captain-asguard @chamberofsloths @cevansgurl @dreamlessinparis @deanwinchesterswitch @fandom-princess-forevermore @hurricanerin @jvstjewels @kellhems @la-cey @ladybug05 @livstilinski @ladydmalfoy @mugi-chwan95 @navybrat817 @otomefromtheheart @oneoftheprettynerds @patzammit @rebel-stardust @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @sammykb1994 @syrenavenger @straywords @saiyanprincessswanie @sunwardsss @selfsun @threeminutesoflife @vicmc624 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @xoxonotme

4EVS: @amirra88 @andreasworlsboring101 @b3autyfuldisast3r @cheesyclaire @chibijusstuff @dangertoozmanykids101 @daughterofthenight117 @dandywinchesterbras @deangirl93 @doozywoozy @foxyjwls007 @geekofmanyforms @heyyouwiththeassbutt @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @ilovefanfic86 @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @letsby @letsdisneythings @labella420 @mogaruke @maliburenee @notyourtypicalrose @nik2writes @obsessivelycapricious @patrick-hockslutter @princessmisery666 @phildunphyisadilf @roxyfan14-blog @sage-writing @sea040561 @sweeterthanthis @slutformarvelmen @simpformarvelmenandwoman @smokeandnailz @stoneyggirl @stoneyggirl2 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @thegirlnextdoorssister @unfortunate-brat @warriorqueen1991 @xoxabs88xox

#magicbystarlight #answered #request #steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction

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see-arcane · 2 years

Text

Defanging Dracula—The Noble-Romantic-Playboy VS The Horror Villain

Now that the ranting and raving on behalf of Lucy, Jonathan, and Mina’s character portrayals in media adaptations is out of the way, I think it’s only fair that Dracula has someone vouch for him too. Not because he deserves it as a person—being an entity powered exclusively by the Need to Be a Bloodsucking Bastard—but as a character who has always been, and deserves to be respected as, a genuinely insidious, terrifying, incredibly engaging monster of a villain.

To be clear, if this prick were to be updated on the state of all the myriad movies and spinoffs and offshoot tales centered on him, I have no doubt he would be delighted with what his fellow heroic cast members were relegated to. The man lives for other people’s misery. Up to a point, I think he’d love things like Francis Ford Coppola’s take, his Castlevania counterpart, even the Sexy von Suaveman version of himself in, The Invitation.

But he would only suffer it up to a point. Because hilarious as it must be to see his favorite victims watered down, pimped out, and/or erased outright? There’s no way he’d be able to stomach the unironically wistful charismatic prettyboy romance novel-cover treatment he gets subjected to.

Canon Dracula: “Wow, you’re really going all out on this ‘fake pining for the mortal chick’ stance. Amazing how you don’t break character.”

Assorted Noble-Romantic-Playboy Draculas: “Oh, it’s not an act. We legitimately are just on the hunt for the Right Lady to sate our sensual and yearning hearts. Also taking revenge when she dies. Or reincarnates. Or whatever. Anyway, all our acts are powered by sexy sexy desire and liberation and love :)”

Canon Dracula, has aged another 300 years upon hearing this: “…Is this what it’s like for the humans when they’re around me? Because I can feel every atom of my being trying to retreat and die in an effort not to suffer your presence.”

Really, I want you to sit and think about the last time you ever encountered a Dracula—or the goth heartthrob being sold as ‘Dracula’—that was horrifying. Not ‘ooh, he’s such a bad boy!’ not ‘oh he’s such a tragic villain!’ or ‘oh he’s so badass and cool!’ dark fantasy crap. I mean actually, legitimately frightening.

The kind of creep you would feel watching you at a party. And leaving the party. And going down the street. And in your room.

The kind of bogeyman you pray every night isn’t standing in a shadow—or is the shadow, trailing along after you, waiting for you to wear out. Because you will. He won’t. He’s got all night, friend.

The kind of walking, talking, smiling nightmare that embodies the worst (affectionate) of mastermind manipulative abusers and no-frills vicious monstrosity. Psychological torture for his ‘friends’ and idle slaughter for the cattle (sorry, tiny children, nameless mother, Demeter crew, Mr. Swales, the mastiff pup, the list goes on).

Dracula is meant to be intimidating. And sure, that can be alluring. But before that, and after that, the intimidation has to come from the fact that he is a next level sadist. Directors could never throw this guy into a romantic setting without defanging and sandblasting him down to a smoldering caricature.

If you had Canon Dracula in a story with an interested admirer going full-blown willing victim~ ;) <3 xoxo at him, all while their friend tried desperately to break through the haze of contemporary, ‘But humans are the REAL VILLAINS, monsters are just HOT INHUMAN OTHER-METAPHORS who want love..!’ lens to point out, hey, this guy has absolutely rancid serial killer vibes, we should go, do you know what would happen?

Dracula would, in evil cat fashion, either ignore or immediately kill his admirer and set his sights firmly on the person who wants absolutely nothing to do with him. Why? Because he’s fucking Dracula and he wants what’s most miserable and terrifying for everyone.

He’s meant to be gleefully evil. He’s meant to be The Classic Supernatural Gothic Villain © ™. None of this misunderstood monster shit. The characters understand him. He understands himself. And that understanding is that he loves being a torturous (not tortured :’c), unrepentant overpowered utter asshole of an immortal self-made demon.

The world is his playground and unlimited blood buffet. But fresh necks and undead babes aren’t even the half of it. We’ve seen how much fun he has playing mind games as much (or more than) the actual fruition of the fulfilled threat. This guy burned two whole months on toying with Jonathan. He’s just starting the slow burn game with Lucy. He’s all about savoring the flavor of a well-seasoned nightmare inflicted on new playmates/playthings.

And that is so goddang interesting in a monster! It’s rare! It’s unique! Here’s a guy who has nothing but time and power on his hands, and he uses that to amuse himself with picking out victims to turn into hobbies. Some get menaced and massacred. Some special cases get the full ‘courtship’ play as he drags them kicking and screaming into conversion against their will; which, if we’re looking at his pattern so far with Jonathan and Lucy, is absolutely his preference.

He. Is. A. Bastard!

And I love that for him! I love hating him, I love studying him like the malicious little bug he is, I love watching the victims and heroes put up a fight against him, I love all the tasty horror genre menace he’s been radiating for over a century!

But even he isn’t immune to being compressed and warped into a mockery of himself for adaptations’ sake. The vision of him as some Don Juan ravishing/wooing/pining for/avenging [INSERT DAMSEL HERE] has become practically the only version of him the general public is aware of. And that’s just as unfair as what’s been done to Mina, Jonathan, and Lucy.

tl;dr: Directors of all eras are seemingly allergic to treating the plot and cast of Dracula with any kind of respect in their takes, including the eponymous monster man himself. But as a token of goodwill, the Count has cordially invited all of them to a dinner at Castle Dracula to talk things over civilly. We’re sure they’ll be fine in the company of such a noble and trustworthy fellow.

#my awful evil no-good undead bastard man deserves better treatment in his movies too #if anyone has recs of adaptations where Dracula is a legit actual factual Monster #and not another goth Ken doll making kissy faces at Current Damsel #please let me know #I'm starving and my horror crops are dying #dracula #dracula daily #adaptation #bastardization #francis ford coppola #horror

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autisticempathydaemon · 4 months

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we stroll along (walking in a winter wonderland)

A Skyside holiday exchange gift for @sainthowlzon organized by the adored @angelicaether yes it's January fifth but it's still Winter so run with it

Tags: Vega/Warden (Darling), David/Asher, Sam/Darlin, William/Camelopardalis, Porter/Treasure, mentions of food, mild violence, mild gore Also available on AO3

It is a miraculously white Christmas in Dahlia. This year, the cold winds had blown down just right from the nearby mountains and blanketed the picturesque college town in a glistening sheet of snow straight from a Rockwell painting. Everyone, empowered and unempowered alike, can feel the wonder of Christmas magic in the air. Little did they know how close beings of pure, concentrated magic sat watching, judging.

“I will never understand humans and their inexplicable wonder at something so pedestrian and natural as frozen, falling water,” Warden muses. In a park below, an energetic wolf shifter leaps into the snow and disappears into the unshoveled heap. His companion- his Alpha, Warden deduces from his aura- watches with an affectionate amusement that doesn’t show on his scowling face. Instead of seeing it, the Warden can taste it- the warm, honeysuckle sweetness of a love left to simmer underneath a pot lid. In contrast, the beta’s joy is fizzing, effervescent, threatening to boil over as he looks up at the taller man with a bright, sunny grin. Visible only to Warden’s Aria-borne senses, their cores mingle and harmonize.

Easily spotted by the inchoate on their rooftop perch but unseen by the enamored wolves, one of their pack sits with a vampire on the other side of the park. The two sit quietly on a bench, facing the garishly lit and decorated evergreen tree that the humans put up for the season, illuminating the boulevard with flashing, twinkling lights. Warden, who coalesced to the sight of the cosmos studded with eons-old stars, always found the ornaments on Elegy to be a poor facsimile. The couple below seem to enjoy it at least, sitting silently but comfortably, shoulders touching, as the world clatters and clamors around them. Their serenity is cool and refreshing; their comfortable intimacy tastes of warm, yeasty bread cut fresh out of the oven.

The wolf leans their head on the vampire’s shoulder, turning to press a kiss to his scarf-covered neck, and their love adds a sweetness to their flavor. It reminds the inchoate of a rich chocolate being drizzled atop the toasted bread of their peace, the sweetness not cloying or overbearing but complementary, balanced. Unfortunately, Warden senses they are not the only d(a)emon lured by the meal and carefully retreats further into the shadows with a watchful eye. After a moment, familiar, blue-tinted horns come into view, and Camelopardalis walks from behind the tree, him and his companion waving politely at the other couple.

At seeing their former coworker, an uncomfortable feeling stirs in the inchoate where their stomach would be. Without the added context of taste and flavor sensations, their own emotions remain inscrutable and unsatisfying, impossible to properly name or express. When they see Cam smiling so easily, arm in arm with his vampire companion, Warden cannot say what the twisting in their abdomen means, what the magic running sharp and cold under their skin is trying to convey; they just know they don’t like it.

To escape the frivolity and saccharine spectacle, the inchoate travels across the rooftops, walking through the rifts from one to another. The snow, lights, and auras blur into a monotonous, humming drone, a dull, tasteless barrage of one-dimensional sweetness on Warden’s tongue. Then something heady edges alongside their consciousness- something rich and spicy like Christmas wine spiked with cloves paired with prime rib dripping with herbed tallow.

In the alleyway below, another vampire uses the din of the nearby street to cloak his misdeeds. Warden watches as a knife- surely laced with demon blood by the way its waning magic calls to them- is buried in another vampire’s throat and twisted with callous efficiency. It is done so quickly, with such sharp, unyielding movements, that the inchoate hardly has time to savor his bloodlust before it blends with the sour, metallic tang of grim pride at a bloody job well done. The man turns on his heel, strutting down the alley and tossing the blade over his shoulder with gloved hands and hardly a care. He walks with purpose, a bounce in his step, and a feeling emanating off of him too lusting and hungry to be called happiness. The vampire’s intense, tempestuous emotions mix into a potent cocktail reminiscent of gore and viscera, the only sweetness that of slain flesh. It both repulses Warden and entices them; their core hums in want.

“My Darling,” a rumbling voice hums in their mind. “Did you find us something to eat?” Vega’s claws trail lightly down Warden’s horns, sending shivers down their corporeal form, and they nod obediently, wordlessly. The sadism demon nods approvingly at them, his eyes glow a piercing, burning red; he turns, skulking toward that night’s meal, and Warden follows like a lamb to the shepherd, a magi to the brightest star.

#redactedasmr #redactedverse #redacted asmr #redactedaudio #redacted audio #busybee writes #redacted fanfiction #redacted David #redacted #redacted asher #redacted Sam #redacted Darlin #redacted William #redacted Camelopardalis #redacted Treasure #Redacted Porter #Redacted Vega #Redacted Warden

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cassynite · 3 months

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7 Snippets, 7 People

Tagged by both @knight-commander and @dragonologist-phd, thank you so much for thinking of me! My creative energy has been pretty low lately but this was very inspiring tbh!

Tagging (and im so sorry im nearly certain i will tag people already tagged by accident, and obv no pressure) @dmagedgoods @the-raging-tempest @undyingembers @spyridonya @rollofleaf @archduke-enver-gortash @thesolemnhour

Snips below the cut! Just from various things I am sloooooowly working on.

"The boats on the shore will take you anywhere, if you've got the coin for it," Eva says instead. "And you've got the right pass." She pins Evaethi down with a golden stare and then moves the map slightly, just enough to show a flash of the paper underneath, the grooves where a stamp had pressed into the paper.

Evaethi is still connecting the dots between Eva's words and the stamp when Eva places a careful hand on Evaethi's wrist. The skin is cool, slightly clammy and unpleasant. "Wouldn't it be nice," she whispers, "If we never had to see Master again? If we could go do whatever we wanted?"

"She was a child," Sparrow repeats. "One desperate for her father's love, and who never received it. Her greatest crime was thoughtlessness, not malice." She draws herself up and gives Daeran a smile she hopes looks genuine. "And if she hadn't run away, I likely never would have gone to Kenabres. So in a way, she is responsible for our meeting."

Daeran lets out a beleaguered sigh, but the frigid lines of anger have finally melted. "Yes, well. I don't enjoy this woman in our house, but it's certainly not my place to forgive her. I do hope she has grown up since your last meeting."

"It is my pleasure," he says, and turns his wizened gaze to Daeran. Daeran has to suppress a shiver from its intensity. His eyes are the clear blue of a cloudless day, shining ever so slightly with a light Daeran instinctively understands as divine--years channeling god-given power lingers even if he likely no longer wields a sword--and the gaze seems to peer right through him, to the rotten core infested with worms.

But he must not be using it, or he's attributing to the shadowy mass of hunger that watches Daeran to the shadows of grief: Sir Lant's expression holds nothing but cloying pity. "I never had the pleasure of meeting your mother," he tells Daeran, "but everyone in Mendev knew that a truer heart and a kinder soul didn't exist. Her contributions to the Crusade's cause and the church cannot be overstated. The world is poorer for her loss--but I hope I can help guide you to growing into the kind of man who would do her memory proud."

Sparrow's eyes widen and then--it's like watching a turtle retreat into its shell. The bright fury pulls back, closes down, her face smoothing into complete neutrality. If he hadn't just been watching her, Daeran would have sworn the emotion had never been there at all. It really is quite a feat; he can't think of anyone, noble or common born, who can seal away such passionate expressions so completely.

"I should go," Sparrow says, turning away and truncating the conversation. She directs her next words to the group as a whole. "We have a long day ahead of us, and we need our rest. Lann, I'll take second watch if you take first." And she walks away, stiff and lifeless once more, leaving Daeran with the fading electricity and the still-dirty pots.

Daeran sighs and returns his attention back to the dishes. The woman he was arguing with is gone--the emotionless, lackluster leader has made her unwelcome return.

He wonders what he can do to make her become that person again.

5. (very mildly nsfw)

The skin on Sparrow's stomach was deeply sensitive, and Daeran's hand pressed against it was a shock of sensation that flashed through her body, settling between her legs. She could barely breathe; she felt like a half-feral animal dragged into the light, skinless and exposed, flinching at every movement. It was so much already, overwhelming in a way she'd never experienced before. If this was how she was going to react something as simple as a palm under her ribcage, how was she going to handle anything when she finished undressing?

Daeran sensed it too, she could tell. The warmth at her back receded as Daeran pulled away, his touch lifting; before he could fully retreat, she grabbed his hand, pressing it back to her torso.

"I just need a moment." Her voice was low, raspy, intimate in the heavy half-dark of the room.

It worked for Isore's purposes in this case. Depending on how good the intel of the incoming Hellknights was, they would arrive anywhere from the next few hours to dusk, and Isore needed to not be present when they arrived. He dipped the encoded notice into the brazier, letting the smolders of last night's fires catch it alight before he dropped it among the coals. Then he grabbed a piece of scratch paper only half-full of equations that were useful days ago and penned a quick missive: Gone to market. Don't expect me until nightfall.

Silaena won, her queen grabbing the checkmate, but she could tell he had let her. When he finally placed his king sideways, he spoke again. "It will be difficult to convince your father."

"He never actually disowned me," Silaena pointed out, the statement sticking a little in her throat. It had been a nasty surprise, even if it had worked in her favor; like he had known she would come crawling back one way or the other. "And I think once he knows what I am bringing to the table, he will eventually back down. There's nothing he wants more than for his direct line to keep Heaven's Edge. I'll give him that even if I give him not one other thing as long as I live."

#cassy writes #cassy wips #this was actually. very fun. even if it took me a few days to actually do it lol #thanks again for the tag!

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 1 year

Text

Maso’s Krampus Christmas 2022

Morpheus

Summary: Dark!Christmas Special Edition 🎄

Song inspiration: Hypnosis - Sleep Token

Pairings: Reverend!Malakai x Reader

Editor: @thenightmareismyreality

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @damnnhausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @baysexuality , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @sldghmmr , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @blaquekittycat

Lift, oh lift me out

Of my own skin

Of all my doubt

Oh, and take, take from me

Leave nothing left

Take everything…

The bright shade of white covered the asphalt and ceilings, given the deserted street a peaceful atmosphere. The yellow, almost orange-like streetlights cast a faint glow inside the isolated church, making the black walls and altar appear even more daunting than before.

Purgatorio - as it was known - was not an easy place to find. The church was constantly changing cities and states, gathering new followers and stopping wherever Reverend Malakai felt drawn to.

No matter where The House went, only a handful of people ended up finding the church in the midst of their darkest times. “Just the ones who need purification are the ones who will deserve a seat in these benches” Was the Reverend’s mantra that never changed. Alas, today was the final day the church would be in this city. The moment the sun rises on December 25th, the House of Black would retreat into the darkness until their next calling.

For reasons you could not explain, the sight of the thick coating of snow over the church didn’t fill you with the usual feeling of comfort and safety. On this day, the visual brought deep emotions of despair and sorrow comparable to the feeling of death.

After the special Mass Of The Damned and the big celebrational feast you were the only one remaining in the empty church. All the members of The House had left along with their followers, and the only thing left behind were the last remnants of black candles and yourself.

The dead silence could be considered sinister to some, but not to you. You were familiar with the emptiness, having flirted with it for years, but no longer scared by it thanks to him and his powers.

Reverend Malakai was truly a blessed man, he showed you the path within the darkness, taught you how to find your strength within the shadows instead of letting it scare you away. But if that was the case, why do you suddenly feel consumed by the black flame of loneliness? The control seemed to be nothing but an illusion now that you are faced with the prospect of not having him with you anymore, leaving you consumed by feelings of rage.

The strong emotion presenting in its most ugly version, blinding you and blocking reality. Your eyes focused on the still smoldering candles, giving a mere illusion of warmth that served only to mock your feelings as they grew colder.

Without thinking, you pressed your hands against the cool dark wood of the altar, pushing it until a deafening BANG echoed through the church, the trembling of the ground beneath you matching your emotions.

“You’ll never be alone, Sugarplum. I’ll always be with you” Was what he whispered to you after tonight’s sermon. But if that was the case, then why do you feel so empty?

“FUCKING LIAR!” Reverberated from the church’s walls after you screamed. You wanted nothing more than to see him once more, just so you could unleash this anger towards its rightful source.

…You know you hypnotize me, always…

From the darkness he watched. Mesmerized by your outbursts of rage and how easily you could express such powerful feelings. The lack of control looked incredibly powerful and even inebriating. Malakai felt himself under the spell of your cuss words and aggressiveness, feeling drawn to your burning fire, like Icarus being drawn to the sun.

Your actions only proved that you learned nothing - which most times would infuriate him - but not now, not when such anger came from you. Your lack of discipline and control triggered something in him, something not even he knew he could feel until now. The pathfinder for once felt lost, so lost. Lost in the depths of your most primal being, of your absolute instinct…the real animalistic instinct, the one that shows no signs of control or end.

Malakai thought he could only watch you from the shadows - at least that’s what his original plan was - but now he felt like it would be impossible to not do something. Isn’t that what pure rage does, though? Obliges you to act, to fight the demons you once feared and avoided until there’s only one survivor: you or them. Isn’t that lack of control a twisted form of disciple too? Isn’t surviving by pure and sheer instinct the most primary form of survival? Isn’t that what he preached about?

“In the search for balance and control, first and foremost chaos needs to exist. For there is no order without chaos”. Isn’t that what you are? Chaos in its richer and foulest form?

The House already had order and discipline, but for the first time, Malakai felt the lack of chaos. In reality, control brings you nothing more than coldness and the constant feeling of being numb as if you’re under some sort of tranquilizer. And this is what The House lacked: the burning and painful livid fire of rage.

Stepping out of the shadows and into the low light, Malakai began “One must have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star”

The sound of his voice made you momentarily stop your assault on the church benches to look over your shoulder “He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster” The tone in your voice made it clear that the phrase was directed towards him.

With a faint chuckle Malakai asked “I see you know a bit of Nietzsche then?”

“Ik ken hem heel goed”

The cheekiness in your dutch comeback only served to draw a throaty laugh out of him. “Aren’t you full of surprises?” An amused smile was plastered on his lips as he watched you threatening him with the broken leg of the side chair you were now using as an improvised bat.

“What do you want here? I thought you were supposed to be gone. Aren’t you and your people like vampires? Can’t go out in the sun otherwise you’ll burn to death?”

“Is that what you’d like? For me to burn?”

“Well, I’d only wish you’d be dead. The way you meet it is irrelevant” You shrugged while pressing the tip of the wooden bat against his chest “Although I guess I could test my vampire theory right now” You applied more pressure into the wood, making it sink into his black dress shirt and bite his skin under the thin fabric.

“Unfortunately, I’m afraid that the only thing you’ll find out is that I’m as human as you are, Sugarplum” His chuckle made you frown, not understanding how he could be so peaceful under such threat.

Truth is, Malakai felt alive for the first time in many years. He could feel his heart beating, ferociously pumping warm blood through his veins and keeping his senses alert of your smallest move. Adrenaline, oh yes, this incompatible feeling of being alive and indestructible, unstoppable by any rational measurements or actions. He missed this, oh how he missed this.

“Do you want to kill me?” His voice was stern yet light, with no true reprimand behind it.

Your loud scoff only served to make him smirk “Yes, at least a part of me does”

“And what does the other part of you want?” Malakai asked, curiosity lacing his every word.

…And you make it more (You know you hypnotize me, always)

Than I (You know you hypnotize me, always)

Could ever feel (You know you hypnotize me, always)

Before (You know you hypnotize me, always)...

“To love you” Your eyes locked with his in the semi-darkness “To be hopelessly devoted to you. To let you consume me until there’s nothing left behind”

“The deeper the love, the deeper the hate?” He smirked before slowly pushing the bat away from his chest. Your eyes stared at his hand, admiring how the ink adorned the light skin and made it look ethereal beneath the faint glow of the streetlight.

“No” You locked eyes with him again “They can exist without each other just fine…but the thing is that when they coexist, they make each other stronger. They enhance the other”

“There is always madness in love” Malakai quoted, as you took a step closer to him “But there’s also reason in madness”, you finished the sentence for him before feeling one of his arms closing around your waist.

“Is this what this is?” He whispered against your cheek. His temple pressed against yours, softly rubbing your skin together “The dance of chaos?”

“Perhaps it’s all just a dream” Your lips brushed against his when he pulled back to caress your cheek.

Malakai grinned before tracing your bottom lip with his tongue “Or a beautiful nightmare”. The minute you felt his hand closing around your throat, the black candles went out in the wind and the street lights flickered before they turned off.

Leaving behind, on the inside of the church, nothing but a dark, cold abyss.

#malakai black fanfiction #malakai black x reader #malakai black imagine #malakai black #masochist writes #krampus christmas 2022

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foxgloveprincess · 2 years

Note

Made up fic title: I should have known better

I Should Have Known Better

Notes: This is heavily—h e a v i l y—inspired by The Haunted Mansion (movie). I knew I wanted something supernatural when I saw this title and demon didn’t seem quite right, so ghost it was! Hope you enjoy. Thanks for sending this in @autumnrose40 💜

Warnings: Dark(ish)/Soft Dark, Paranormal AU, Ghosts (from the early 1840s, if you’re curious), Haunted House, mentions of Tragedy, Fear, Minimal Editing. Minors do not interact (18+).

Synopsis:

Some houses are old—incredibly old—full of history and charm. Your job is to evaluate them, plan renovations, decorate for potential buyers. It is not to appease the ghosts that haunt them.

Excerpt:

The first thing you were going to do when you saw Ikaris again was wring his pretty little neck. The nerve of that man. To abandon you in this huge, creepy mansion because Sersi ‘needed him’—yeah, like she needed a sharp stick in the eye.

You clicked your tongue and scuffed your toe along the tile of the kitchen. Old pipes groaned, still upset with your attempt to gauge their ability to run water. A shiver darted down your spine. Did you mention creepy? All the shadows and alcoves, the whispering draft that always found its way to the back of your neck, the spiders.

But this place had good bones. And something Thena always loved—a thrilling tale of intrigue, romance, and tragedy. Of course it was assigned to you, resident romantic on the team.

A groan echoed through the house, higher up, from the second story. Following it, you passed the manual dumbwaiter and the rotten servants’ stairs. Up the grand staircase in the foyer, you climbed toward the strange sound. Only to find a figure stood before a towering portrait, faded by time and concealed by cobwebs.

Brunet hair, stature broad and firm. At your entrance to the parlor, he turned. Blue eyes flashed in the dim light shimmering through the windows.

“For the love of gods, Ikaris,” you bit, stepping forward toward your colleague. His lips quirked in an amused and confounded grin. “How dare you. This isn’t funny.” Two more steps closer and you stopped. This man wasn’t Ikaris. The resemblance was there, but it wasn’t him. You swallowed, foot treading a step back.

He remained silent, watching your each move.

“I’m sorry,” you said, tilting your head in contrition. “I thought you were someone else.”

In the corner a candle flickered. Your eye drawn to the light, you turned in wonder. Then another lit across the room, and another and another. You followed each, astounded by their ability to spontaneously light. Lips parted in shock, your brain puzzled over it, trying to make sense.

Distracted, you forgot all about the observant man. Until a breeze brushed past your cheek, directing your gaze back to the figure before the portrait.

Beaming. Dazzling. His high collar caught on his chin as he stared at you in delight.

“I knew you’d be back,” he growled, voice deep and harsh yet with a gentleness you didn’t understand. ”I knew you would not leave us forever. That your attempts would be in vain.” In a blink, he stood before you, hands reached out to gently grasp your neck. You swallowed a scream, eyes widening at his proximity and the glint of wildness in his. “My love,” he whispered, reverent, resting his forehead to yours.

“I—” you croaked, shaken to your bones.

The coolness of his skin. The lightness of his touch. The way the cut of his clothes spoke of times long past.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you insisted, wrenching your arms from his grip and stumbling back.

The fire blazed high on the candles, unnatural and frightening. His nostrils flared with ire as he followed after you, refusing to let you retreat. With such passion and madness reflected in his gaze, you did the only thing you could think of and bolted back down the stairs.

A roar shook the house, the sound filled with pain and despair and desperation. Footsteps thundered after you, gaining despite your efforts toward swiftness.

Flying down the stairs, you’re stopped at the landing. Strong hands grasping at your shoulders, a calm voice attempting to soothe you.

“Please,” you begged, “you have to get me out of here.” Your voice pitched high with your panic, unsettled and shaking.

It hushed you and wrapped you closer and closer in an embrace until the figure blocked all light from your sight. It hummed, low, a pleasure-filled sound that chilled your blood.

“He was right,” the voice murmured, deep and sultry.

Your eyes flashed to the figure holding you. A man, tall and looming. His golden hair and crystal eyes the picture of perfection. But something unhinged in his smile spiked your pulse, pounding through your veins.

“You’ve returned to us,” the blond sighed, glancing behind you.

Footsteps descended the staircase, slow and sure, an omen of your predicament. Trapped in this mansion, just like these spirits.

Send Me a Made Up Fic Title

#steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #made up fics #paranormal au #ghosts #dark #dark fic #✨rachel replies✨#autumnrose40

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lampmanliveblogs · 6 months

Text

I found myself writing on this instead of answering the asks in my inbox. This is just a first draft, but I dunno, I think it might be okay. I haven't read through it yet though, this is fresh stuff. What do you guys think, is this something?

xxXXxx

Untitled TOH fic-vee tells the gang

[TITLE]

Vee watched Luz and Camila disappearing into the light of the portal, of to save the Demon Realm from whatever evils Belos was bound to bring upon that world with his return. The portal closed shortly after they crossed the threshold.

Vee could feel the scent of the spent magic lingering in the air. It was potent and powerful, but not unpleasant. The Titan’s own magic, such a primal, primordial force of nature that Vee doubted she’d be able to feed on it if she tried. It’d be like a human trying to eat and digest grass, if grass could also spontaneously explode. A bad idea.

The demon turned around to begin her walk back to civilization. A small smile played on her lips. Despite the difficulties they were bound to face in that realm, a realm Vee herself was not prepared to return to just yet, she couldn’t help but feel optimistic. If any two people could handle Belos and The collector, it’d be the Luz and Camila, the two coolest people Vee knew.

Well… they were at the very least in the top three of the list Vee kept of cool people she knew (admittedly, a pretty short one). One person in particular was very high up on that list. A stranger she knew very well, a raven-haired goddess, a clueless fortune teller.

Vee felt her cheeks heat up, and she quickly shook her head to try and clear it. She could think about those feelings some other time. For now, she had to focus on getting mom’s car back ho-

Her eyes widened and she shoved her hands into her pocket. She had her phone and… that was it.

”Shoot!” she yelled at the sky. The moon looked down on her, it’s cold light coloring every shadow blue. ”Camila still has the car keys!”

Well. That was her good mood ruined. Grumbling curses under her breath, Vee made it back to the town square where the festivities were winding down. She threw the car a dirty look, like it was its fault that Camila had brought the keys with her like some kind of responsible adult. Now she’d have to walk all the way back home, get the spare, walk back here and drive the car home. Or maybe that could wait until tomorrow?

Whatever. She had a lot of time to think about what she’d do next.

She walked along the streets of Gravesfield. By now, most trick-or-treaters had trick.or-retreated back home with their bounty. A few jack ’o lanterns still spread some light onto the streets, alongside the streetlamps and other decorations. The buzz of the last few organizers cleaning up after the festivities at the town square disappeared fast behind buildings as Vee navigated around them.

Her nose was a good deal sharper than her ears though and if she took a few deep breaths she could still feel a few faint scents coming from there. She took some joy in doing that, trying to disentangle the smells in her mind, try to keep them alive for as long as possible.

In a somewhat ironic twist, because she was so focused on trying to discern those quickly fading smells, she missed the one in front of her. Once she did notice it, she stopped dead in her tracks.

”It’s you!” yelled a familiar voice.

It was Jacob Hopkins, the man from the Gravesfield Historical Society, standing there, only a few meters ahead of her. Before Vee had time to get out of her daze, he marched up to her.

”It really is you!” he said again. ”I’d recognize those evil eyes anywhere! You’re my demon!” He grabbed her wrist.

”I-I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said and struggled to free her hand. She saw his eyes go wide and realized her mistake. ”Let go of me!” she said, this time imitating Willow’s voice, but it was too late.

”Don’t bother trying to distort your voice, demon, I see right through your tricks,” Jacob spat. ”Where’s the poor woman you enchanted as your thrall? Did you eat her, you vile creature!?”

”No!” Vee cried. She felt hot tears threatening to flood her eyes. Her heart beat fast and heavy and her breathing was ragged. ”Let go of me!” she hissed at him, this time with a much more animalistic sound. In her mouth, sharp fangs replaced dull incisors and puny canines. On her hands, soft human nails extended into sharp claws.

”Hey!” a third voice joined the growing chaos, causing both basilisk and man to turn their heads. Despite the situation she found herself in, Vee couldn’t help but find herself feeling a little relieved. It was the rest of the Cabin 7 Crew fast approaching.

Marco, dressed as a mummy, but with his distinctive bang still covering his eyes. It was a wonder he could see anything.

Samuel, dressed as a Frankensteiner, albeit a Frankensteiner with red hair and glasses.

And finally Masha, dressed as a witch, spearheading the trio, just as they did at summer camp as well. Always the first one to get them into trouble, and this time, the first one to arrive to help Vee out of trouble.

”What’s going on here?” they said. ”Let go of her, you pervert!”

”Wha-no!” Jacob exclaimed. He might’ve been some flavor of crazy, but even he realized how bad this must look to an outsider. ”You’ve got it around your back foot! It’s not what it looks like!”

”Really? Because what it looks like to me is that you’re trying to drag this poor girl off to do Goddess knows what!” Masha yelled back. Marco and Sam stood by their sides, ready to back them up should things get ugly (well, uglier). ”Let her go right now and we might not call the police.”

”I-it’s not like that at all!” Jacob said quickly, very keen not to get the police involved. He looked around, as if the fuzz were hiding behind the corners, ready to jump him. ”Listen, um… Sasha…? No, no, was it… Vasha? Whatever, it doesn’t matter.” He pulled on Vee’s wrist, making her stumble forward.

”This is no mere girl!” he exclaimed. ”This is a demon! She has come from another world and has been living among us humans for months! And now her allies, the witches have come too! They’re not here right now, they probably went back to their own world, but who knows when they’ll be back! You must help me contain this creature so we can warn the president! I’ll even let you collab with me on mewtube, once my account is restored!”

At some point, Vee realized that the best way to get out of this situation was to let Jacob keep talking. She retracted her claws and dulled her teeth.

Masha, Samuel, an Marco shared a few glances with each other. Vee knew them well enough to follow along.

”This guy is a loon,” said Marco’s gaze.

”I know you said he was a nutcase, but I didn’t realize it was this bad,” Samuel’s look said.

”Yeah, I knew it was bad, but not this bad,” Masha said with one stare.

Samuel stepped forward.

”You’re crazy,” he said simply. The he punched Jacob in the stomach. Hard.

Jacob made a funny sound as all the air in his lungs was forcibly evicted from his lungs. He fell to the ground, holding his tummy, letting go of Vee in the process.

”Come on, let’s get away from this creep,” Masha said, taking Vee’s hand. They gently coaxed Vee into following them, not that Vee needed a whole lot of convincing. They led her away from the gasping and writhing Javob while Marco and Samuel stayed behind for a while to make sure he didn’t try to follow.

”Hey, I don’t think I got your name before?” Masha said, in an obvious attempt to try and distract Vee from what had just happened. ”We met at the GHs yesterday, remember? I offered you a tour.”

”Y-yeah, I remember,” Vee said. Her heart was still beating fast, but sh was starting to get her breathing under control. Her fighting instincts had kept her hands steady, but now that the immediate threat of violence was gone, they started shaking a little. ”I’m Vee. And,uh… as much as I would like that tour, I think I just wanna go back home right now,” she said, an attempt at levity.

Masha nodded.

”I saw your friends at the Haunted Hayride, but I didn’t see you.”

”I was back at home with mom,” Vee said, so focused on trying to calm herself down that she let her mouth go on autopilot. It took her a moment to realize the slip-up. ”Or, uh, I mean.. aw geez, I misspoke, I didn’t mean to say-”

”Hey, hey, calm down, Masha interrupted the panicking basilisk. They led Vee to a car and opened the door to the front passenger seat. They made Vee sit down. ”Just take it easy. That creep didn’t hit you, did he?”

Vee shook her head. She massaged her wrist. She could feel where he had squeezed her, although the thing was was more annoying to Vee was that she could still feel the scent of him on her hand. Seeing as she had spent the first decade and a half of her life in chains, a little pain in the wrists she could handle. But she hated the smell of him and if she ever had to feel his stink on her again, it’d be too soon.

”No, I’m fine,” she said finally.

”You sure?” Masha said, somewhat skeptical.

”Yeah, I’m sure, I promise” Vee said. ”I was just a bit shocked. I mean, this was a lot, even for him.”

”Yeah…” Mashas aid, their thoughts trailing off. ”I mean, I knew the guy was unbalanced, but not that he was this unhinged…”

Marco and Samuel came walking back to the car.

”What a wimp,” Marco said succinctly. ”I think he’s still lying there.”

”Serves him right,” Samuel spat. ”He should be lucky to get off so lightly.”

”I tied his shoestrings together for good measure,” Marco said and hopped into the backseat of the car.

”And I threw his wallet and keys onto the nearest roof,” Samuel continued, following his friend. ”So that should keep him occupied for a while.” His face got a few degrees more serious. ”Should we call the police?”

”N-no,” Vee said quickly. ”I don’t think it’s necessary.”

At the time she didn’t know it, but she was right. In trying to get his wallet and keys back, Jacob would wake and nearly scare the life out of the poor souls living in the house. He ended up getting arrested for trespassing. It remains to see if he learned his lesson from that.

”Alright, if you say so,” Masha said. ”At the very least let me drive you home. Or do you have a ride?”

”I’d like that,” Vee said. ”I, ah… missed the ride home.”

The ride home was spent mostly in silence, broken mostly by Vee giving Masha instructions on where to turn. Marco and Samuel introduced themselves, unaware that Vee already knew them very well.

Vee had some time to think during the car ride. When Luz returned from the Demon Realm and reclaimed her life, Vee had stopped hanging out with her old cabin mates. With all the new friends in the house, Vee hadn’t realized just how much she missed them. Now that longing feeling was very palpable within her. she wanted to start hanging out with them again.But she couldn’t… or… maybe she could…

”There you go,” Masha said as they pulled into the driveway.

”Wait…” Marco said slowly and scratched his head. ”Isn’t this where Luz lives.

”Yeah, I live here too,” Vee said. I’m, uh… well, you see… it’s complicated, but, ah… Camila lets me live here.”

She saw Masha looking at her, clearly remembering the comment Vee had made before about her mom. They didn’t say anything.

Vee took a deep breath, gathering up all the courage she had. ”Grow a spine,” was the human saying. Vee was snake, she had plenty of spine.

”Why don’t you guys come inside?” she said quickly, not giving herself enough time to chicken out. She was going to commit to this now. ”I… would like to thank you all properly for helping me out!”

The three of them all checked their phones.

”It’s getting pretty late and we were supposed to sleep over at my parent’s place,” Masha said, hesitating. ”But I’m sure they’d let us sleep at Mrs. Noceda’s house, right?”

”It should be fine,” Samuel said, already typing a text for his parents.

”I don’t care,” Marco said and shrugged.

”Sounds like its decided!” Vee said, a little too chipper. ”Come on!”

She lead them inside the mostly dark house.

She gestured towards the sofa.

”Sit down, sit down, I’ll go get snacks,” she said and hurried out into the kitchen. Her friends were left in the dust, looking around the cluttered living room. It looked like whirlwind had rampage through the room, throwing pieces of costumes all around. If the room hadn’t been so dark, they might’ve noticed some of the pictures on the walls showing off some things they were not supposed to know yet.

In the kitchen, Vee breathed heavily.

”Come on, you can do this,” she mumbled to herself while she fixed the snacks. ”You escaped the Emperor’s dungeons and evaded his scouts. You can tell your best friends a secret. It’s not that hard. They’ll still like you… yeah! Us weirdos stick together, that’s the Cabin 7 way!”

”Hey, Vee?” Masha’s voice interrupted the basilisk’s pep talk and nearly made her shed her skin at record speeds.

”Y-yes!” Vee almost yelled, and spun around in place.

”Is Luz home?” Masha asked. ”Cause we haven’t talked to her in ages…”

Masha’s usually confident eyes flickered won for a few seconds. You wouldn’t think a lack of something can feel like a stab, but it did to Vee. That sealed it in her mind. she was going to do this.

”Yes… or no. No, Luz is not home right now,” Vee said. She grabbed the snacks and led Masha back out to the living room. ”She and Camila are away, it… was avery sudden thing.”

”…okay?” Masha said, confusion on their face. Again, they shared a look with Marco and Samuel, both of them equally as confused by Vee’s cryptic words.

”I’ll explain, I swear,” Vee assured them, not that it did much to help ease their worried minds. ”but it’s a long story, so you might wanna sit down. She gestured towards the sofa again. Her Cabin 7 mates sat down, only hesitating a bit. Vee dumped the snacks on the coffee table and grabbed a chair for herself.

Vee felt around inside her second stomach. She had absorbed a fair bit of magic from Belos during the fight before. Amity and Willow had left plenty of abomination slime and enchanted plants behind. there should be a bunch of residual magic energy for her to scarf down. She could afford to show off a bit.

”Have you guys noticed something… off with Luz lately?” she asked. ”In the last tow months or so… almost like she became a different person over night.”

The three friends thought amongst themselves. Not that they needed to give it a whole lot of thought, because they had already talked about it with each other, more than once. Not only had Luz more or less ghosted them and started hanging out with a bunch of strangers from out of town (one of whom might be her girlfriend), her personality had completely shifted. The nervous but curious and kindhearted Luz they knew from camp was gone. Almost as if… almost as if she became a different person overnight.

Vee could see on their expressions that this was the general lines of thinking in the group.

”What I’m about to say next might sound insane, but I can guarantee you, it is the truth. All I’m asking is that you listen to me and… maybe don’t be too angry with me… okay?”

More glances where exchanged.

”Vee… what’s going on?” Samuel asked finally. ”Is…something wrong with Luz? What happened to her? And what does it have to do with you”?

Vee took a few quick, sharp breaths. She was about to go against every instinct in her basilisk brain, instincts ingrained into her very core by countless of generations before her. Here goes.

”The Luz you met at camp wasn't the real one,” she said, forcing herself not to talk to fast. She enunciated each word, making sure there wasnät any room for misinterpretation. ”It was me. I was disguised as her and took her place. It was an accident, I didn’t mean to, but… well, I think it worked out for the better for the both of us.”

”I… don’t get it.” Marco was the first one to speak. ”What do you mean you took Luz’ place?”

”I know it’s probably a bit hard to believe, I mean, me and Luz donät look or sound a lot alike,” Vee said. A small smile played on her lips. ”But how about now?” she said, speaking with the voice of Luz.

The Cabin 7 Crew sat still as rocks while their tired brains tried to process what was going on.

Vee giggled.

”S-sorry, but you look so funny,” she said, sounding exactly like Luz from camp. She stood up from her chair and spun around in place, transforming into a splitting image of Luz from camp. No, not a splitting image. The original image, because that was Luz from camp. ”How about now? Do you believe me now?”

Masha gripped the armrest of the sofa so hard their nails threatened to rip the fabric.

”Explain, they demanded. ”Right now.”

”Sure thing, though it’s a long story, which is why I brought snacks,” Vee said, this time with her regular voice. Titan, that must be so bizarre to the poor humans. ”There is a world beyond this one. A world of magic, and witches, and demons. Demons like me. I’m a basilisk.”

Masha raised their hand.

”No, you won’t die if you look at my true form,” Vee said.

Masha lowered their hand.

”That rumor started by witches because… well, you see, we basilisks eat magic, that’s how I can transform.” Vee paused and thought for a second. Her captive audience waited with bated breaths and eyes as big as dinner plates. ”You know what, this is probably not the right order to take things. Let’s start on that fateful day when Luz, the real Luz was waiting for the bus to take her to summer camp. As she stood waiting, she spotted a strange owl which she followed into an abandoned house in the woods…”

#fanfic #first draft #might publish for real once i've cleaned it up a bit

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keeper-of-all-the-random-things · 10 months

Text

Remember Me

Hello. I offer this story as proof that I still exist before retreating to my hidey hole.

Initially inspired by this post by @demondamage .

CW: mentioned multiple whumpees, whumpee turned whumper, whumpee turned caretaker [sort of] (the same whumpee but to different character), emotional manipulation, bear trap, manhandling, implied torture, whumpee unsure of reality (there's a word for this I don't remember), chained. Please let me know if I missed anything.

#####

“Remember me?”

Eddy startled as a man invited himself into the living room. The cabin was in the center of three hundred wooded acres. People didn’t just stop by.

Eddy crossed his arms to hide his trembling hands. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, attempting to be stern. “Sir – Mr. Glenn doesn’t like surprises.”

“I know.” The man gave the barest hint of a smile. “We’re not strangers, Ed.”

We’re not strangers.

Not strangers.

Ed, there’s a life better than this out there. We deserve better than this. Come with me. Let’s go together.

“Lowell?” Eddy blinked hard, trying to reconcile this man with the one he’d run away with. Or tried to run with.

He didn’t hold a grudge over being left behind. Lowell had always been the stronger of them, even when they were both skinny, feral creatures. He’d told Lowell to go, and that’s what he did.

Eddy did miss him, though, especially the first few days when Mr. Glenn only had one body instead of two to take his anger out on. The longing receded to a dull ache as the days wore on, until a year and a half passed, and Eddy stopped feeling anything at all.

Dead.

He’s dead, pet. There’s no way out of these woods. Be grateful.

I saved you from his folly.

“How are you here?” Eddy asked.

“I’m sorry I took so long to come back for you.” Lowell stepped further into the room.

“How?” Eddy asked again, taking an involuntary step back.

“I shouldn’t have left. I should have returned sooner. I was ready. I planned. I was a coward.” Lowell stalked forward with a wild glint in his eye that pressed Eddy back until he hit the wall. Whoever this Lowell was, he was not the same Lowell who’d left. Maybe that man really was dead.

Eddy shrank back. Lowell braced his arms against the wall on either side of Eddy’s head and half growled, “I will never be free until you are.”

As suddenly as he appeared, Lowell pushed away and strode toward the door. Eddy shuddered in the cool air that replaced him.

Before leaving, Lowell paused and looked back to where Eddy still leaned against the wall. “Where is he?”

Eddy blinked, too stunned to lie. “He was in the storehouse,” he said quietly.

Lowell was several paces out the door before Eddy unstuck himself.

“Lowell!” Eddy ran after him. “Lowell, wait!”

Lowell glanced over his shoulder but never stopped moving. “Stay here, Ed.”

“Don’t leave me here again.”

That got him to stop. Lowell turned and marched back to Eddy in front of the cabin.

“I know I told you to go,” Eddy said. “I know. And it was okay. I managed because you were safe. But you died, and now you’re here, and I can’t do this again.” He ended in a shout, breathing hard.

Lowell held him, a hand on his shoulder, the other along his jaw, before he could back away. “I’m sorry, Ed. I’m so sorry. I will come back, I promise. I can fix this. But I need you to stay here. Please, please, stay here.”

Eddy searched Lowell’s face for any sign of deceit, tried to memorize his features in case all this turned out to be a dream.

“I’ll come back,” Lowell repeated.

“Okay.” Eddy’s agreement was barely audible over the sound of his own pulse rushing in his ears.

Lowell nodded once and ran off without looking back.

Eddy watched him disappear into the trees. Then watched some more until he could convince himself this was just an anomaly in his ongoing nightmare.

#####

The shadows didn’t terrify him like they did the first time. Then, he was unprepared, stumbling blindly through the trees, propelled by fear.

Now, he’s the predator.

He watched from a treetop as Lester Glenn fell into his trap.

Mr. Glenn doesn’t like surprises.

No, of course not. Lowell thought grimly. He only likes what he can control.

Lowell let his anger simmer. Anger at Glenn for the years he stole from him. Unfair anger at Eddy for making him leave. Anger at himself for listening. He let it fuel him like the green wood fueled his smoke signals.

He didn’t have to work hard to lure Glenn out of the storehouse. Just the idea of strangers prowling his land would disrupt Glenn’s sense of control.

Three hundred acres, and the smoke was within half a mile from the cabin.

Glenn travelled noisily.

Lowell felt his pulse accelerate with each footstep, each twig snap, each swear. He willed himself to stay calm until the trap was sprung.

Snap.

And there it was.

Glenn howled as the rusting bear trap closed around his leg.

Lowell climbed down from his perch and strolled over to his prey like he had all the time in the world. He stopped a foot away from where Glenn had fallen.

Glenn stared up at him, eyes glassy.

Lowell stared back and finally allowed his anger to boil over. Crouching down, he grabbed a fistful of Glenn’s hair and smiled, all teeth.

“Hello, Mr. Glenn. Remember me?”

#####

Screaming. There was so much screaming.

Eddy thought of Lowell. But it couldn’t be him. He died a year ago.

It went on and on, echoing into the falling darkness.

Eddy finished all his required tasks upstairs, leaving no surprises for Sir’s return. The he tucked himself away as if this were any other normal day.

The screaming cut off abruptly when Eddy closed the door to the cellar. All sound got sucked into the thickly insulated walls. On bad days, Eddy imagined himself being sucked in as well.

He sat in the corner of this windowless room and fastened the familiar cuff around his ankle then counted the minutes until Sir’s return.

…

Sir was late. So late that Eddy lost count of the minutes and drifted into restless sleep.

The door slammed open, and Eddy was awake in an instant ready to beg forgiveness.

But it wasn’t Sir.

It was a ghost.

Please, please not again. Eddy squeezed his eyes shut.

“Ed?” the footsteps stopped too close, the ghost’s voice a whisper. “Eddy, it’s me. You’re safe now … Please look at me.”

Eddy looked. And looked and looked. Lowell became his whole view. He tried to ignore the dried blood not quite hidden beneath the collar of Lowell’s clean shirt.

He flinched as Lowell reached out but melted as Lowell cupped his face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together.

Lowell whispered in the breath of space between them, “Remember me?”

Eddy nodded, still scared this new Lowell was a dream that would shatter if he spoke out loud.

“You’re safe now,” Lowell said.

Eddy leaned back. “What did you do?”

“I … it doesn’t matter.” Lowell looked away. “Please don’t ask. All that matters is that you’re safe. We’re both free now.”

Eddy bit the inside of his lip. Who was real? This Lowell, so much like his old self with soft touches and pleading gaze. Or new Lowell with blood stains and cold eyes.

“Eddy?” Lowell motioned to the chain still wrapped around Eddy’s ankle. “Where’s the key?”

Eddy tipped his head toward the door. He tried to sort out his feelings as he watched Lowell stride across the room and so gently remove the cuff.

Lowell ran a thumb over the red band of skin left behind over Eddy’s ankle bone. He met Eddy’s gaze then and smiled. “It’s official.”

That smile. That smile subdued the conflict in Eddy’s head. Lingering unease was shoved in a back corner to be examined later.

That smile was proof that everything was good now.

Lowell stood and offered a hand to Eddy. “Run away with me?”

Eddy accepted.

#mentioned multiple whumpees #whumpee turned whumper #whumpee turned caretaker #sort of (the same whumpee but to different character)#emotional manipulation #bear trap #manhandling #implied torture #whumpee unsure of reality #chained

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melodyfics · 2 years

Text

fridays, part 2

eddie munson x female reader

summary: you had been going to eddie’s house for a couple of fridays now, but it wasn’t until today that things changed.

warnings: innocent kissing.

word count: ~1.4k

a/n: part two is here! this has too much dialogue and it bothers me vejnrandka but i hope you people like this fluffy mess.

part 1

Friday movie nights at Eddie’s were now a regular occurrence. They all consisted of laughing at horror movies, eating pizza, and, above all, admiring Eddie. He often put on a show for you, recreating scenes from the films you watched. Every night you grew more and more comfortable around him.

Right now, Eddie was sitting in front of you, pulling a long string of cheese from his pizza with his mouth. Even his eating was theatrical. You nibbled at your slice in silence.

“How did we manage to not speak to each other during high school?” he suddenly asked.

You swallowed the food that was in your mouth. “I was very quiet. Well, I still am, but it was worse in high school”

“Yes, I remember. We had some classes together, and you were always paying so much attention.”

You were surprised to find out that Eddie had noticed you, and that he even remembered you. Not once had it occurred to you that you were being perceived, as you spent your days living in a shadow. You preferred it that way because you did not like to be the center of attention, and social interactions were not exactly your area of expertise, to say the least.

“I remember you, too. It was hard not to notice you,” you said.

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Are you telling me I’m an attention whore?”

“No, no,” you shook your head rapidly. “You were just very flamboyant.”

“That’s a big word, Y/N. Still think it means I’m an attention whore, but thank you.”

You rolled your eyes. “What I mean is that you stood out a lot.”

“Being the school freak is no easy task, but I am nothing if not committed to the part.”

“Eddie, why do you call yourself a freak?”

“Because I am.”

“Oh, don’t say that. I think you’re very cool. Always thought that.”

Eddie smiled. “I think you’re very cool, too.”

You blushed. “Thank you, Eddie. I don’t agree, though.”

“What? You don’t think you’re cool?”

You shook your head.

“Come on, Y/N! You watch horror movies and listen to Metallica. That’s peak coolness.”

“Eddie, I’m literally a little nerdy mouse.”

The man chortled. “Well, you are, but that’s not a bad thing. You’re very smart, funny, and,” he cleared his throat, “you’re really cute.”

Your cheeks turned pink when you heard the last word. You were speechless; the boy you had been crushing on since high school just called you cute.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologized to Eddie. “Well, I- I also think you’re handsome.”

Eddie smiled. “You really think so?”

You put your pizza slice down and covered your face with your hands. “Eddie, this is so embarrassing!”

He laughed. “Why? Thinking I’m handsome is embarrassing?”

“No, no. I just never thought I would get to tell you.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Actually, you’re more than handsome, Eddie. You’re a rockstar,” you couldn’t keep that last phrase from coming out of your mouth, making you feel even more embarrassed.

Eddie chuckled. “Thank you, again, Y/N.”

“I really mean it. You even had a band. What was its name? Cannibal something?”

“Corroded Coffin.”

“Oh, yes! Do you still play with them?”

“Yes, we still do.”

“I don’t think I ever saw you guys play, though.”

“Well,” Eddie started, “I am learning a new song. Master of Puppets by Metallica.”

“That song’s amazing, Eddie! Can I hear it?”

“I can’t play it perfectly, but if you ask nicely, I could show you.”

Without thinking, you put your hands on Eddie’s excitedly. He looked at them and smiled, then back up at you. You quickly retreated your hands and put them in your lap, blushing.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Y/N.”

This time, you plucked up the courage to put your hands over Eddie’s voluntarily. He opened them and you took them. They were warm. He brushed your hand with his thumb faintly, and you wondered if he did it on purpose.

“Please, please, Eddie,” you solicited. “Could you please play for me?”

With those eyes, you could make me do anything, he thought. “Okay, you win. Let’s go.”

Eddie stood up without letting your hand go and took you down the hallway into his room. “Sorry. It’s a bit messy.”

You couldn’t care less, though, because it was his room. It finally dawned on you that you were inside his most intimate space. You could see the posters of his favorite bands on the walls and his unmade bed. This was the place in which he laid down and dreamed, unbothered by the world that was so cruel to him, and he had let you in.

Eddie took his guitar down from where it was hung. It was a very cool one, red and spiky. He sat on the bed, and you sat on the floor in front of him with you legs folded underneath you. That kneeling position was appropriate for the occasion, because when Eddie rested the guitar on his leg and started playing, you wanted to worship him.

His fingers moved swiftly on the fretboard, pressing the strings firmly and accurately. He furrowed his brow. The tip of his tongue was out, sliding across the lips that he would then bite. Your hands formed into fists in your lap as you leaned towards him. He was bobbing his head to the rhythm of the music. The sight made you fantasize about some things that you were ashamed to think of. When he was done, he looked at you expectantly, only to find you wide-eyed and with an open mouth.

“So,” he asked, “what did you think?”

You were speechless but managed to clap. Eddie smiled. “Thank you, thank you.”

“No, Eddie, it was really good. I mean it.”

The man laid his guitar on the bed and sat on the floor; his legs spread out in front of him. You scooted next to him so that you were facing him, your legs now crossed. He brushed a strand of his hair off his mouth and sighed.

“Thank you for playing for me, Eddie. I’ll say it again: you’re a rockstar.”

“Thank you for listening to me.”

For a second, you got a glimpse of what could be longing in Eddie’s eyes. Invoking all your courage for what you were going to do next, you chose to not waste your chance. Your elbow was on your knee, and you leaned forward to rest your chin on your fist, moving your face closer to Eddie’s. He did not move his head away.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Eddie.”

“Can I say that you have the most beautiful eyes?”

You blushed and covered your eyes with your hand in embarrassment. He was too close, and you couldn’t handle it. He grabbed your wrist gently.

“You don’t have to hide. Can I see them again?”

You nodded, and he pulled your hand down to uncover your eyes. Fighting the urge to drop your gaze, you looked into his. The brown buttons swayed as he examined your irises. They were in a calm kind of awe, trying to absorb all that they saw.

“Y/N,” he said after a minute, “your eyes are mesmerizing. I remember seeing them glued to the board during class and wishing it was me they were staring at.”

You had to look down because his stare was too electric. “Oh, Eddie.”

“Hey, Y/N?”

You looked up.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Those four words hit you like a gust of wind and propelled you into the air. All the hairs in your body stood on end. You wanted him to kiss you, yes, of course.

All you could do was nod, and his lips were on yours.

He kissed you in the softest, most gentle way. You didn’t have much experience with kissing, but he was an excellent guide. Your lips danced to the rhythm of his. His hand was cupping your cheek, and you felt the light caresses of his thumb on your cheekbone. The rings on his fingers laid cool upon your jawline. You were shivering, out of breath. He pulled away slowly.

“Hey, are you shaking?”

You put your hand on your lips, not believing that you had just kissed Eddie Munson.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

You unglued your eyes from the ground and looked at him, gasping. “I- I’m okay.”

He smiled and said, “You have no idea how long I have dreamed of kissing you.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“Was I too obvious?”

“No. I know because I have wanted to kiss you all this time, too.”

#eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie #munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie x female reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #original

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