#biggie sun glasses

[angel-of-the-moons]

can you do some bratty reader x johnny cage :33 need him so bad 😭

HELLS YEA I CAN

(Also because it wasn't specified which Johnny, I'm gonna go with MK1 because the things I would do to with this man--)

Bad Kitten

Johnny Cage x Bratty!Fem!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, SMUT, bratty!reader, bit of a dom!Johnny (but not much), pool sex, teasing, fingering, edging, orgasm denial, dirty talk

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

💵💵💵💵💵💵💵💵💵💵

Being Johnny Cage's girlfriend had its perks.

Living in Malibu in his gorgeous mansion was one of them. As well as having a bomb ass pool that went all the way inside the house, too.

It was no biggie to pop in for a swim whenever you wanted to engage in your "fish instinct brain" that Johnny called it. In fact, when Johnny couldn't get a hold of you while he was on set, or you weren't answering he knew he could find you floating in the pool, one of your favorite shows playing on the TV nearby as you lazily kicked your feet about in the water.

You were a bombshell, a true prize, Johnny would tell everyone.

But the one thing that confounded him the most, was your bratty and playful personality. You were a smartass, a bit of a prankster, and a maddening tease.

An intoxicating cocktail that he couldn't resist (and found stupidly sexy).

But sometimes... You needed some reminding as to who you were playing with. And right now was one of those times.

He crossed his arms as he looked down at you, his shoes just inches from the edge of the pool, his expensive silk shirt wet and damp from where you splashed him, soles squeaking on the expensive tile.

"C'mon, Kitten..." He said, crossing his arms over his chest, frowning down at you, a bite to his tone.

"Because of you, I have to go change now. We're gonna miss our reservations."

"So?" You grin up at him, doing a lazy backstroke, thrusting your chest up out of the water so your breasts were on display, your bikini top leaving little to the imagination.

You could see his Adams apple bob in his throat as he licked his lips. You couldn't see his glasses behind his shades, but you knew damn well what he was looking at.

"Baby, c'mon..." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Nah. Fish brain demands water." You laugh, kicking your foot out and splashing water onto his shoes, causing him to step back with a sputter.

Somewhere along that time, Johnny slipped on the water you'd splashed earlier, landing flat on his ass and sending his glasses skittering across the floor.

"All right, that's it!" Johnny growled, moving to get back on his feet.

"You are in for--" He was cut off when your bikini top came flying at him and hit him square in the face.

His mouth dropped open when he looked at you, the setting sun casting fiery colors on the water, reflecting up onto the walls in a mystical array of patterns, the light of the sunset illuminating around you as you spun in the water, a cheeky grin on your face as your breasts freely bobbed in the water.

"In for what, baby?" You purr, sticking your tongue out at him. "Gotta catch me if you wanna get your point across..."

Johnny gave you a grin that sent a thrill down your spine, and he started pulling his clothes off.

💵💵💵💵💵💵💵💵💵💵

"I'm soo-oo-rrr-rrryyy!" You whimpered, squirming to get free from his relentless grasp.

"Nope. Nuh-uh." Johnny said casually, as he rolled and pinched your clit between his thumb and forefinger. Your bikini bottoms had long since been untied, floating somewhere in the pool.

He had been at it for nearly an hour and a half. Your bodies were already pruning, but that didn't stop him.

"You got my floor wet, Kitten." Johnny sighed in your ear as he gave you another pinch, his other arm wrapped firmly around your waist, keeping your back pinned to his front.

"Got my clothes wet, made us miss our dinner reservation..." He rolled your clit beneath his water-wrinkled thumb.

"Made me drop my glasses, too. If those lenses are scratched... Well." He grinned into the skin of your shoulder.

"This is what happens to bad pussies, you know. You gotta learn your actions have consequences, babe."

You groaned at his crude metaphor, and made a shaky moan. Your throat was dry and scratchy, your tongue feeling like sandpaper from your whining, squealing, and moaning you'd done since he started this torture.

You felt the flames of your orgasm, so close to completely engulfing you, and you felt your heart speed up again at the promise of release.

But Johnny? Oh, he knew your body like that back of his hand, by now.

He knew how to read you the way a blind man reads a book written in braille; and he was always eager to study when it came to you.

And that, is precisely why he stopped, merely tapping his finger on your engorged clit, sighing as you thrashed, a needy sob coming from you as water splashed around you, your legs kicking weakly in protest.

"Johnny!" You cried, tears burning in the corners of your eyes.

"Mmm?" He hummed innocently, still tapping your clit in a way that was just pure torture, each point of contact sending lightning bolts striking up through you.

You could feel the hardness of his cock was pressed firmly against your ass, yet Johnny seemed perfectly content to ignore it in favor of driving you to the brink of insanity with just his fingers.

"God--just--fucking--" You cry, throwing your head back.

"Hey, now, keep talking like that and I'm gonna make sure you never get off." Johnny grinned at you, kissing your cheek.

"Johnny, I'm sorry--" You hiccuped pathetically. "Just please!"

"Please what, baby?" He cooed.

"Fu--please. Please please pleasepleaseplease let me cum."

"Aaaaaand?" He chuckled, swiping at your clit again.

"I'm sorry I got you wet!" You sobbed. "Ah-and--and made us miss d-dinner!"

"That's my girl! Knew you could do it!" He encouraged with a kiss to your shoulder.

When he pulled his hand away from your, you whined, thinking that he was messing with you and wouldn't give you the relief he had been teasing you with and yanking out of your fingers.

But when he spun you around and started to grind his cock against your folds in the water? You felt your mind get foggy with the promise of having his cock fuck you into oblivion.

"Been wanting to fuck you in the pool for a while." He grunted as you blindly reached down to line him up, sinking down so the tip of his cock popped into your aching hole.

Johnny tipped his head back with a deep groan that rumbled in his chest as you speared yourself down, nails biting into the wet skin of his shoulders, sliding down to leave deep red grooves in the skin.

"Goddamn, Kitten. You're so tight."

"Ah, god--fuck." You whine, desperately trying to get into a rhythm that you could settle into.

But it was hard. The slickness of the water made it difficult; awkward and hard to find purchase. You were getting frustrated now, and made an angry whine.

Johnny chuckled tightly and took pity on you, his feet planting on the tiles of the pool below (thankfully you were on the shallow end, right now) as he grabbed your hips.

He used the water to help him move you as he arched his back, thrusting up into you with vigor.

You squealed and doubled over as he rammed himself in mercilessly.

When he tipped his hips up in a certain way, your mind went blank with the white-hot pleasure that sparked in your blood. The flames of your orgasm that Johnny had been edging from you finally combusted, engulfing you in the choking flames with a frayed wail; your muscles clamping down on his cock as you wrapped your arms around his neck, sniffling from the overstimulation as he continued to slam up into you, his arms caging you against his chest.

"Fuck, so good for me, baby." He hissed through clenched teeth.

"Doing so. Fucking. Good." He grunted, punctuating each word with a harsh snap of his hips.

"Johhhnnnnyyyyy..." You mewled as his dick dragged in and out of your gummy walls.

"Fuck!" He rolled his eyes back with a deep moan, swallowing hard.

He knew he was going to cum soon, he never lasted long when you were this worked up and tight.

But damn, was it fun to work you up.

Johnny made a whimper in your ear before taking the lobe between his teeth, biting down as his orgasm started to crest.

He had the mental acuity enough to pull out before he started to cum, milky white ropes spurting out of his swollen and achy tip, lazily wafting about in the waves that splashed around the two of you.

You both almost collapsed, letting the push and pull of the water ease your muscles.

"...Im thinking we should order out tonight." Johnny grinned at you.

"Up for some Chinese?"

#answered #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat smut #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage x you #johnny cage smut #johnny cage mk #johnny cage #johnny cage mk1

[pray4byron]

Taking advantage of the fact that my man Saint Peter is a requestable character now so—

If it’s not too much to ask, could I get some (wholesome) first time headcanons with Saint Peter?

Like first time we held hands, first kiss, first I love you, first moment he realized he’s crushing on reader, ect stuff like that! Ik it’s a lot, I’m so sorry 😭😭 even just doing two is fine I swear I’m just craving some Peter content 💕

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞(𝐬) 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

a/n: OMG CHITO YOU SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME 😭😭 while reading this i thought it was gonna be a smut request and i don’t write smut so i got so scared. but yeah, ofc!! enjoy !!

warnings: use of yn

proofread: nope LOL

tags: saint peter, hazbin hotel, fanfic, x reader

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

“hi, welcome to heaven! can i get your name please?” a grinning blonde asked you, slicking back his hair, a book in his hands.

“oh, yn.” you smiled back at him, so calmly, which contrasted to how his stomach was feeling right now. you seemed so cool.

“oh! uh, yeah, ok!” peter replied, whistling as he scrolled through the pages of his list, “ah! here ya are, r-right this way.” peter smiled, leading you to the gates, before sighing right as you were out of sight. you were really pretty.

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

over the course of your time in heaven, you and the saint had grown significantly closer, which eventually resulted in a first date after a few months.

you had suggested an ice skating date, which was fitting, due to heaven growing a more wintery vibe due to christmas being mere weeks away. but saint peter couldn’t help but (silently) disagree, he had no idea how to ice skate, and even worse, he told you he was amazing at it!

the day came sooner than peter would’ve liked it too, you both met up with eachother at the rink, by the time he got on the ice, you would already there.

peter went to approach you, before fumbling across the ice as he attempted to skate before bashing his face into the glass wall, looking at you with an embarrassed grin.

“here..” you say, taking his hand, “i’ll teach you!”

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬

the night of your first date came to an end sooner than peter would’ve liked it too, despite the rough start on his side, he walked you home, dropping you off at your door, the sky a bright pink-yellow from the sun setting just below them, the night sky would be arising any time now for earth.

“thanks pete, tonight was really fun.” you smiled, standing just infront of your door, “it was no biggie, hehe. t-totally fun!” peter said, going to walk off, before you reached for his wrist, pulling him closer to you.

your lips were inches apart, you could feel his hot breath fan your face, you grabbed him by the neck and pulled him into a kiss. peter’s eyes snapped shut tightly, as he rested his hands on your shoulders, his lips were so soft, so heavenly.

you both pulled apart in sync moments after, peter chuckled breathily, pressing his forehead against yours, “does this mean i could maybe steal you for another date next weekend?”

i do not permit for my work to be reposted, translated, or stolen. all rights go to signedmio. characters are not mine, unless stated, and belong to their rightful creators.

#chito ! ☆ #mio’s writing ! ☆ #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #x y/n #fanfiction #x you #saint peter hazbin hotel #saint peter x reader #saint peter hazbin #hazbin hotel saint peter #saint peter x you #saint peter x y/n #st peter hazbin hotel #st peter x reader #hazbin hotel st peter

[roeroe-world]

her noah, his wiz.

starring: aka roxxie as yaya, method man as cassius

set in 1997.

warning: use of drugs and alcohol, profane language, detailed smut, adult situations, very long and lengthy scene ahead

The beauty of a black woman is unlike any other. Graced in different shades and sizes. Ebony skin crafted perfectly in the hands of God. Their creativity is unmatched. Trendsetters to the absolute max.

We’ve all heard the saying the darker the berry, the sweeter the juice… well, it’s absolutely true. Cassius is just one of many black men whom held the proof.

His woman, Yaya, is the perfect shade of brown. A true melanated queen, a head adorned with a crown. Whatever he wanted, she was down.

No-one could replace his girl. She’s his earth, his sun, the one. Yaya is his one and only true love, truly irreplaceable. They’ve had their ups and downs but still no other bitch could replace her.

“Aye, shorty? I’m home.” Cassius enters their home, after a long day of hustling and doing what he had to do to provide for his woman. He always made sure to make it home in one piece, never wanting his woman to worry about his whereabouts although she always did.

“I’m in here, baby!” Her sweet, Trinidadian and Queens accent meets his eardrums.

A familiar aroma exiting the kitchen invades his nostrils, he rubs his hands together, knowing whatever she cooked would be bomb. More than likely, she was cooking up a Caribbean dish.

Upon entering their spacious kitchen, the sight of his woman rocking blonde tresses nearly made him drool. She must’ve got her hair done today. He loves bright colors on her because it compliments her skin tone so well.

His shorty could rock braids, curls, a mullet, Bantu knots, anything, and she’d still look good. Yaya happened to be versatile with her looks which he adores. She wasn’t a basic bitch and she’s far from average.

The ebony woman stood unapologetically in her skin tone, a frame shaped like an hourglass, and a phat ass. In his eyes, nobody is on her level— not even actress, Halle Berry.

“Damn, who you looking this good for?” He envelopes his arms around her tiny frame, a firm grip on her plump bottom as his head dips into the crook of her neck. His pink lips planting sensual kisses along her soft skin.

His infamous scent of expensive cologne and weed dancing within her nostrils, making her feel right at home.

“You. As always.” She giggles, caressing his clothed back. “How was your day?”

“Same ‘ol shit.”

Yaya didn’t question him any further. She knew he was doing his thing in the streets.

Cassius slightly backs away to give her space to open the oven door, leaning against the island and scanning her frame closely through his Versace glasses. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.

“So… Radiah and I went by Saks today and they had these fly ass high-heel boots. Baby, you should’ve saw ‘em— I mean, they had the cheetah print fur and leather.” Amongst opening the oven door, she sits the dish onto the table and removes the mittens off of her dainty manicured hands. “Then there was this purse. I think it was Prada or Dolce Gabbana. Bad.”

Reaching into the pocket of his baggy leather jacket, “How much money you need to go shopping?”

A bright smile creeps upon her glossy lips as she holds up her hand, showcasing the exact amount she wanted. Her dainty hand bending largely into the air.

Without a hesitation, Cassius chuckles, “I got you, baby.” He counts his cash and hands his woman a wad of money without wasting any time. Money isn’t a thing when it comes to spoiling his girl.

His wiz deserves the finer things in life.

“You always got me, baby.” She plants a loving kiss amongst his pink lips. Ain’t no nigga like the one she got.

1995. 1995 was the year, Cassius and Yaya first laid their dark brown orbs onto one another at Biggie’s concert. It was lust at first sight. A pretty face and a phat ass left him mesmerized but her aura left him hypnotized. Of course, she liked his roughneck look and thought he had it going on.

“What’s good, beautiful? I’m Cassius.” The brown dyed finger waves eccentuated her facial features. Her wine, red dress hugged her small figure as well as a pair of Jordan’s adorning her small feet.

He searched through the crowd to approach her, no longer focusing on the fact that one of his favorite rappers was performing on stage. Cassius was determined to talk to her, despite the rowdiness and ruckus occurring around them.

His hand outward for her to shake it which she does, scanning his being. His hair happened to be in a wild fro, dressed in baggy clothing and a fresh pair of Nikes. “Hello, Cassius. The name’s Yaya.” She definitely enjoyed the sight in front of her. “I’m guessing you want my number.”

Her accent caught him a bit off guard but instead he just grins, saying, “Yeah. If that’s cool with you.” She returns the grin, a grin that indicated that she was fucking with him.

For the rest of the show, they kicked it and remained in touch.

Despite the urges to want to pounce on him the moment they were finally alone for the first time, she made him work for it. Honestly, he loved every moment of it. ‘Cause it was worth it in the end. She’s worth it.

Here they were in 1997, still going strong. Cassius had been nothing short from a real nigga from the get go, fulfilling his promise to give her the world as he did. He treats her like a queen while keeping her laced in the finer things.

Despite possessing her own hard earned money, she has a man who could provide. A man whom she loves from his head to his toes. Who she’d ride for at any given moment.

He peers downward in her direction, grabbing a hold of Yaya’s left hand which held a large diamond rock on her fourth finger and intertwining their fingers, “Shit. I can’t wait to marry you.” The two staring onto one another passionately.

At times, she would often stare at her engagement ring, wondering if it was real or not. The stunning nine carat emerald cut diamond band adorned her left hand for the past four months.

New York City, it was pouring rain. The couple were enjoying their dinner at a popular luxurious restaurant in the city. Suddenly, their conversation transitioned into a heart to heart, expressing to one another how appreciative they were. But Cassius had more planned.

The palm of their hands connected as his thumb caressed the top of her hand, his raspy New York accent flowing within her eardrums. Their eyes never tearing away from one another.

“When you met me I ain’t have nothing and you didn’t have to fuck with me. But you did— no matter how much of a fucking handful I was. I wasn’t easy to deal with yet you remained solid. You stayed down, held a nigga down and helped mold me into the man I am today like no other woman could. You never folded when shit got tough and for that I ain’t got nothing but love and respect for you…”

He spoke truthfully, scanning her facial features and taking in her beauty. “Ain’t nobody fuckin’ with you or replacing what you did. You keep it real. You all I ever wanted in a woman.” Cassius meant every single word. “We got history, shorty and knowing that—” The male reaches into his pocket and bends on one knee. “Will you marry me?”

Instantaneously, her eyes bulged out of her head and she hops out of her seat without a hesitation. “Yes, Cassius, I’ll marry you!” Yaya’s high jet black ponytail bounced as she hops up and down in excitement similar to a child, smiling brightly.

A heartwarming grin amongst his pink lips, he slides the ring onto her finger and the moment he began to stand, she jumps into his arms. Their lips connecting passionately as if they were the only individuals in the establishment.

Yet, they had an entire audience, clapping and making sounds of approval for the couple.

“I can’t wait to marry you either.” Their lips connect yet again. “You hungry?” She began to make him a plate.

“Hell yeah.” He wastes no time responding, his arms enveloping her waist as he watched her.

————

The couple hopped out of Cassius’ Mercedes Benz, strolling hand in hand into the large home. Cassius’ homeboy, Derek, lived it up and hosted lavish parties. He didn’t seem to give a fuck about the white people in his neighborhood.

They could call five-o on him at any moment yet he still couldn’t care less. It’s his house and he pays the bills, no-one could tell him what to do with his household. He continued to throw parties damn near every weekend, plus, his house is big enough.

“Aye, what’s good, Cee?!” He greets his childhood friend, their hands clapping together while bringing one another in to clap the other’s back. “Ain’t shit. This piece jumpin’.” Cassius glances around the packed mansion, slightly nodding and rapping along to the music.

“Hey, Yaya. You look good.” Derek embraces the young woman into a friendly hug which she returns. “Hi, Derek.” He so happened to be one of the few of Cassius’ friends she actually liked.

Rap music played loudly, smoke clouded the house and women were everywhere. Mob Deep’s Quiet Storm Remix featuring Lil Kim blared throughout the speakers. It was live, for sure. Cassius and Yaya found themselves indulging in just a few drinks— more so Yaya, dancing together.

One thing about Yaya is she was going to have a drink or two or even three. She likes to drink and was already about to gulp down her fourth one.

Meanwhile, Cassius was on his third blunt of the day and only had one drink. He isn’t much of a drinker like Yaya happens to be. The only difference is he could function properly when intoxicated, she couldn’t. His baby is lightweight.

A lit blunt sat in between the male’s index and middle finger, shaking his head, “Aht, no more drinks for you, Yaya.” He garners the red cup from her hold and sits it onto a nearby table earning a pout. She couldn’t handle her liquor especially when she’s had too much to drink.

Irrational isn’t even the word to describe how she acted when often intoxicated. He didn’t like when she would drink, he never could.

“You are not my damn daddy.” Childishly, crossing her arms, Cassius doesn’t pay her actions any mind.

The smoke between his lips blows into her face carelessly, hitting her nostrils and eventually her blood stream. She’s not much of a smoker, opposed to Cassius. Though with the amount of smoke clouding her, she was already high as a kite and drunk.

His arms are lifted above his head, his tall frame swaying side to side, singing along to 112’s Cupid. Low red eyeballs piercing downward into hers as he sung the lyrics to the woman. “…And when I tell you I need you. Don’t you think that I’ll never be there, oooh,” It was so off key that the beauty found herself laughing. Her mood immediately shifting, giving into his antics.

Suddenly, she envelopes her arms around his neck and the couple began to sing off key together, even messing up a few of the lyrics along the way.

“True love won’t lie but you won’t know unless you give it try, give it try…” They sang in unison, cracking up at themselves for finishing the note terribly. “I’d rather die before I— before I lie to you,” Yaya’s other free hand swayed side to side while the other remained around his neck. “Never wanna leave, never wanna go, ah oooh— no, no, no, no, nooo, no ohh…”

Their failed attempt to hit the high note results in their laughter to double over. The woman pushes his face away playfully, claiming, “You fuckin’ up my song, nigga.” A mug present amongst her canvas.

Tossing his head backward, chuckling, his head lifts upward yet again as his tongue drags across his pink lips. “You not exactly a Mariah or a Whitney. Shit, you not even a Brandy, shorty.” She gasps in response at the insult, her stomach hurting from the amount of laughing she’d been doing all night.

“Fuck you.” The woman laughs uncontrollably.

Grinning goofily, Cassius forced his fiancée into his embrace and palms her backside. His head dipping into the crook of her neck to plant small pecks upon her skin, inhaling her sweet expensive perfume. He loves him some Yaya.

He enjoyed days like these ‘cause they weren’t always like this.

At times, they would beef for no reason. Yaya tends to get her moods and so does Cassius. They both collectively possess attitudes out of this world and at times their fights could be brutal, harsh. So it was important that the couple basked in the calmness and peacefulness, living in the moment.

They’re still very young individuals, trying to figure themselves and this thing called life out. In the midst of healing from childhood trauma, trying their absolute best to break generational curses. Not wanting to follow the same mistakes their parents made.

Though, at times, it could be unavoidable.

“Yo, Cee, let me whoop yo’ ass in pool.” That familiar raspy New York accent makes her roll her eyes. Exodus.

Cassius’ body no longer on hers and his attention averting to his homeboy, kissing his teeth playfully. “My bad for breaking up y’all little love session.” Exodus’ and Yaya’s eyes meet for a split second the moment she turns, looking him up and down quickly. “You don’t mind if I steal your cheatin’ ass nigga real quick to beat him in pool?” Despite her growing upset, she nods in approval anyways.

“Yeah, no. I don’t mind.” She and Cassius were enjoying their time together until he barged in for a game of fucking pool. Pathetic.

Chuckling, Cassius sends a loving peck to his woman’s lips, “I’ll be back, shorty.” Before leaving, his hand taps her plump backside that sat perfectly in her leather pants. “Nigga, I won that game fair and square. You just a sore loser. Fuck outta here— drinking fourties’ like it’s still the eighties or some shit.” He jokes on his friend while shoving him, the pair walking away alongside one another.

While her fiancé was gone, she decided to have another drink then came another one. As much as she was drinking, she had to use the bathroom. Upon completing what she needed to do, she found herself staring at herself in the mirror.

There she stood. Face made up to perfection with the compliments of MAC and Chanel. Expensive blonde tresses falling just below her backside. A long sleeved shirt that read Moschino in red and white letters. A pair of dark red leather pants crafted perfectly by well-known brand, Versace. As well as a pair of black heeled Chanel boots.

Her ears adorned in diamond earrings that read ‘C’ as well as an iced out chain sitting upon her breasts that spelled out her fiance’s name. Lifting her manicured left hand, the diamond band stares right back at her.

Honestly, Yaya couldn’t believe her life, at times. She’s had her fair share of boyfriends yet none of them amounted to her Cassius. Her noah.

She was with him when he had nothing, still trying to scrape and figure his finances out. Now they were living lavish, money was no longer an issue. Yaya could go shopping whenever she pleased; closet filled with designer bags, shoes, clothes, jewelry.

He promised her the world and everything in it, fulfilling every promise he made.

Despite how well he treated her and kept her looking nice, it can all go grow a bit overwhelming. Yaya wasn’t used to having nice things especially during her childhood.

She was born to an alcoholic mother and a crack fiend of a father whom sold their belongings for their own personal gain and habits. At times, she had to fend for herself, so it was really rough growing up.

Retail therapy became her best-friend now that she has the funds. But it wasn’t always that way. During her teenage years, alcohol became a friend of hers. That habit hadn’t seem to die since then.

Stumbling out of the spacious bathroom, she heads for the stairs while holding onto the ledge as much as she could. Her current state earned a few stares yet she continues on her way to the pool room.

Individuals surrounded the pool table, engulfed in the sight of Cassius and Exodus have a showdown. She joins the crowd, smiling slightly. Their game of pool seemed to be growing intense as Exodus threw a wad of cash onto the table, shouting, “Put your fuckin’ money where your mouth is, mothafucka.” A grin amongst his two-toned lips.

“You tryna play me again after I done beat yo’ ass for what the… second time?” He speaks arrogantly, popping his nonexistent collar several times.

Arrogance pouring over his fresh tall frame as he daps up a few individuals surrounding him. As he does so, Yaya couldn’t help to notice a trio of females standing behind him and cheering him on loudly. She didn’t like that shit, at all.

She wasn’t one to judge a book by its cover but they looked like hoes, dressed in the tightest and shortest outfits as if they didn’t live in New York and feel the 50 degree windy weather outside. They were definitely looking for the wrong attention, from the wrong person.

“What, nigga? Scared Im’ma beat you this time?” Exodus smirks.

“You know what? X wants the fuckin’ heat, Im’ma bring the fuckin’ heat. Let me spank that ass one good, last time.” Upon finishing his cocky comment, one of three women from the trio struts closer to Cassius and caresses his clothed back. A smile upon her bright face.

That was the last straw.

Yaya wastes no time to march to the scene, “Excuse me, yo?” She makes her presence known earning a plethora of stares. “Take your fuckin’ hands off my nigga.” Her tone rude and harsh, eyes piercing into the woman’s direction whom glances her upward and downward in confusion.

The mood in the entire room immediately shifts. “Who the fuck are you? First of all, I don’t even know you for you to be coming at me like that.” The woman does remove her touch but she was defensive, prepared to defend herself in any way shape or form.

“I’m his fiancée, bitch. Who the fuck is you?”

The minute the young woman began to get in her face is when Cassius intervened, he pulls Yaya into his embrace and shoves his woman behind his frame with a heavy sigh. “Both of y’all calm the fuck down. You…” He demands calmly, trailing off while planting his attention onto the angry unknown woman whom was trying to get closer to Yaya. “can back the fuck up.”

“Nah, ‘cause who she calling a bitch? Then this bitch got the nerve to come at me sideways about a nigga I ain’t even fuck? This hoe done lost her rabbit ass mind, yo.”

“Hoe?” Yaya chuckles drunkenly, foot tapping against the floor. “Look at you, bitch. Go find another nigga to give VD. But not this one. Learn to keep your fuckin’ stank ass hands to yourself. Point blank fucking period, yo.” Cassius shakes his head, sighing yet again.

This is the exact reason he didn’t want her drinking.

“Yo, I don’t know who you is but you making my girl feel some type of way so I’m gon’ ask you to walk away. Politely.” Cassius intervenes, preventing his woman from causing any harm. With the amount of liquor in her system? She would beat a bitch ass with no absolute hesitation.

The unknown woman tilts her head backward in offense, “Why the fuck I gotta leave? No disrespect, mothafucka, you ain’t my daddy. I was here first. It ain’t my fault yo’ bitch is insecure.” She was getting mad disrespectful with the mouth. Neither Cassius or Yaya was feeling it.

Cassius bit his tongue, knowing it held the power of making her cry. She didn’t deserve his energy. This broad was a nobody.

As much as a hothead Yaya happens to be, she attempts to reach over the tall male and lunge at the woman but fails. Eventually, grasping a pool stick and attempting to hit the woman with the item instead.

“Cassius? Let me go!” She shouts, more than prepared to fuck her up. In the midst of the madness, he remained calm and maintained his tight grip to block her from making any sudden movements.

“Aight, aight. Yo, you and your homegirls gotta get the fuck up outta here. Y’all sucking up the energy.” Derek overheard the commotion and decided to intervene, motioning the trio to the exit of his home.

“Fine. This shit was wack anyways. Girl, that nigga ain’t all that for you to be acting like a damn mental patient for.” The trio were on their way out the door, laughing loudly amongst themselves at what just took place a second ago.

Cassius shook his head angrily, “What type of fuckin’ nappy headed disrespectful ass broads you be invitin’ in here, man?” He quizzes his friend, connecting he and Yaya’s hands. “Yeah, nigga. We out.” Not only was Yaya upset, Cassius was too and just as much.

“Damn, nigga. Slow down.” She sends the male a harsh mug as he practically drags her out of the mansion by a tight grip on her hand.

Remaining silent is what he does because if he opened his mouth… Cassius would be bound to go off. He didn’t want to cause another scene in front of hundreds of people again.

Upon opening the passenger door for the young woman, shaking his head disappointingly, observing as she stumbled onto her seat. Her eyes search around, catching sight of the trio standing in front of Derek’s home, staring in the couple’s direction in pure hatred.

Childishly, she sticks out her tongue and flips all three of the women a bird before Cassius shuts the door behind her. He sends the trio an eye roll, strolling over to the driver side then opens his door, flipping the women off as well and hopping into his Benz.

————

Silence filled their two story home. Marijuana smoke clouding the living area. The light from the television being Cassius’ only source of light as he watches reruns of ‘Fresh Prince Of Bel Air’. He didn’t laugh, he didn’t say a word, just pure silence as he smoked his blunt.

Meanwhile, Yaya saunters down the steps after a much needed shower and hopping out of bed upon realizing her man wasn’t spooning her. “Baby?” No response. He’s clearly upset and she could tell, she could feel it.

“Cassius, I know you hear me talking to you.” She joins him on the couch, sending multiple pecks to the side of his face and neck. “Come to bed, papa.” Her chin leaning against his left shoulder, running her hand across his fresh fade adorned with his black durag.

Still, he gives her the silent treatment.

“Cassius?” She summons his name yet again.

“You got a problem.” He speaks for the first time in hours. Head planted to the television screen.

“What?” She quizzes in confusion, eyebrows furrowing together and moving away from him slightly.

“Your drinking is starting to get out of control.”

Instantly, her head tilts backward as her nose turns up as if he was speaking another language. What he said isn’t foreign at all. She understood every single word he spoke but that didn’t mean she isn’t offended.

“I’ve been drinking since I was thirteen, Cassius. I’m a grown ass woman and I can handle my damn liquor.”

Shaking his head, “That’s the issue.” Kissing her teeth, she began to speak until it was too late. “You been like that since I met you. I ain’t notice it then but I’m seeing it through now. It’s cool to have a drink every once in awhile but you… you have a couple drinks then another few drinks, eventually the whole bottle.” He began acknowledging his observations over the years, no longer ignoring them.

Now that they were getting married, a lot of issues couldn’t go unaddressed.

“You stressed? Are you stressed about the wedding? What’s going on? Talk to me.” Taking a pull from his blunt, Yaya observes him before scoffing. He had some nerve to try to point out her ‘issues’ as if he doesn’t have any.

“I want to marry you. That’s a no brainer but you’re trying to claim I’m the one with the habit here, yet you smoke weed twenty damn times a fuckin’ day.”

Suddenly, Cassius began to choke on the smoke as a laugh of disbelief clawed its way through his throat. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He couldn’t believe she was trying— no she wasn’t even trying. She’s flipping this shit on him completely.

“Yo, what?” He starts, “I ain’t the one who spazzed on some broad tonight. Just saying.” His hands go up in the air for a second, blunt between his lips.

“That bitch was touching you without permission. I had every right to react the way I did. Meanwhile, you and Exodus were too busy having a dick swinging contest—”

“Aight, aight, aight, baby. I ain’t arguing with yo’ ass tonight. We all got problems that not even money can solve. I love you enough to call you out on your shit. So, let’s leave it at that.” He shrugs, continuing to smoke his blunt without any absolute shame. “And ain’t nothing wrong with weed. It’s an herb. Word.” She sends him an eye roll, plopping her back against the couch.

Similar to a broken record, tonight’s events starts replaying in her head. From the moment the couple arrived and left, her drinking in between their time there. She hadn’t even realized it as she mindlessly poured as many cups as she could the moment her fiancé waltzed off with Exodus.

Yaya knew he would have stopped her like he did prior before leaving her by her lonesome, thinking he was just being bossy and controlling. In reality, he was aware of her dangerous habit yet she didn’t realize it herself.

Her mother was in denial. Her father was in denial. Yet where did their habits lead them? To the grave.

Tears cascades along her cheeks and as much she attempts to hold them back, she couldn’t. She was still drunk and when she’s under the influence, she’s extremely dramatic and overly emotional. But these tears… weren’t just any tears or her being downright dramatic. These were tears for her parents.

The tears she didn’t cry at neither of their funerals.

“I apologize for embarrassing you, papa.” She cries softly and he wastes no time to embrace the woman, his blunt being the least of his worries and now sitting into the ashtray for later.

“You ain’t got nothing to be sorry for, baby.” He sends a peck to her forehead as she melts into his arms, loving this side of him. She wished her father would embrace her this way.

One of Cassius’ nicknames happened to be Papa. He accepted her for who she is, never sought out to change her and loved her unconditionally. He’s also more than fully equipped to be a daddy; financially, emotionally, physically, and mentally.

Out of all of the men she’s ever been romantically involved with, Cassius’ also known as Papa handled her with care and picked her up when she was down. Never once neglected her like the other men had, like her father had.

He’s her noah, alright.

Lifting her head, she looks him in the eye, “I love you.” She meant it. “I love you to the moon and back for putting up with me the way you do and to this day I don’t know how. You never left my side and I’m so grateful for a man like you.”

“And I ain’t never leaving you. It’s you and I till the day we die.” Her eyes were watery, sniffling as she gave him her undivided attention while he spoke. “I love that big brain inside of this dome of yours. I love these pretty eyes. I love this pretty nose…” He taps the bridge of her nose. “I love these pretty lips,” His thumb trailing across her soft lips before leaning in to plant two pecks amongst the pair.

“I love this body. Inside and out. Never stop being who you are ‘cause I love every part of you, from your flaws— your imperfections. You got my heart.”

“You got my heart.” She replies with a smile, whispering close to his lips and connecting them yet again. This union more passionate than the last.

“Damn. I love you.” He speaks within their kiss, climbing on top of the woman.

Suddenly, Yaya disconnects their lip-locking and turns on her stomach while lifting her purple lace thigh-length night gown to reveal her bare plump bottom. Her top row of pearly whites embeds into her bottom lip the moment he sends a rough smack to her backside.

At this point, they were completely bare and exposed. Cassius fills her up with his curved phallus, the couple moaning softly at the sensation of one another. They felt right at home. No matter how many times they made love, they never got tired of one another.

His firm grip on each side of her waist tightened so she couldn’t run, not that she would anyway. Yaya always took him like a pro and never complained about his large size. She handled it whenever and however she desired while making him feel good on the same accord.

The side of her canvas smushed into the arm of the leather couch, mouth wide open, eyelids fluttering from the sensation of Cassius’ dick driving in and out of her passionately yet slowly. His chest pressed against her back, whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

“Oh, shit.” She moans aloud, french tip mid-length acrylics raking through his facial hairs. Her nectar dripping along his member and pelvic area. “Faster, papa…” Her tone pleads and he does as requested, speeding up his pace yet making sure she felt everything.

Yaya’s jaw drops as her body is being shoved back and forth alongside each stroke. Ecstasy pouring within her veins, lips shaking while crying out through the pleasure and pain. Blonde tresses falling out of its ponytail, wildly covering the woman’s face. Meanwhile, Cassius was focused on pleasuring his fiancée.

The gripping, the tugging, the wetness, the way her ass clapped as she threw it back on him; Cassius was in ecstasy too.

His top row of pearly whites digs into his bottom lip, grabbing a hold of her hair and forcing her head backward. Their eyes connecting, both jaws agape. “How much you love this dick?” Her eyebrows furrow together yet again, eyelids shutting while her pink tongue drags across her lips.

“I…” She began only to take a pregnant pause the moment his free hand comes into contact with her throbbing center, rubbing in circles. “Mm,” A pent up sensation creeps amongst her. “Cassius—” The young woman couldn’t contain her juices, squirting due to overstimulation.

“Mhm.” He encourages her, continuing his actions which would ultimately drive her up the wall. “I asked you a question, baby.”

“I love this dick…” She whimpers weakly, biting down on her lip.

Suddenly, Cassius’ switches their position so that his back is against the couch while the woman is on top of his lap. Face to face. Her arms enveloping his neck, bare hourglass frame moving up and down passionately. They were freeing their minds, finding themselves moaning and groaning. His hands palming and sending multiple smacks to her backside on several occasions.

They couldn’t keep their eyes off of one another with the exception of tossing their head backwards or shutting their eyelids for a second.

For a sharp moment, Yaya slides his soaked member out of her wetness and taps it against her center before squirting once more. A loud, pornographic moan falling from her lips as she returns him to his rightful position. Her gushiness and wet skin clapping making a track of its own.

“Look what you do to me, papa.” Her dainty hands caressing his chest, referring to the wetness she possessed. She was perfectly crafted in God’s hands.

“Damn, shorty.” Her fiance speaks in disbelief and pure arousal, hands trailing across her breasts then her flat stomach and eventually her throbbing center. “Fuck, I love this pussy…” His tone low, full of lust and desire. “What did I do to deserve you?”

The thought of the two getting married crosses his mind, envisioning his woman in a beautiful white gown trailing down the flower decorated aisle. A smile etched upon her captivating face as their brown irises remained onto one another’s.

Their honeymoon in Trinidad like they planned. Kids.

His touch trails amongst her belly, their faces barely an inch from one another, “This where our babies gon’ grow. Fuck…” His jaw drops, feeling his orgasm approaching. “Damn, you fuckin’ amazin’.” Not only is she the bomb in general but so is her pussy.

The hole is fit for his size, popping and snapping at him because as Yaya would say ‘she loves him’. Cassius’ believed her from the moment they first made love due to how she reacted and he didn’t even need to touch it.

“All this for me, shorty?” His tongue dragging across his lips, low gaze peering a hole into the woman’s being.

“Mhm.” She hums, hips moving in a circular motion. “This your pussy, papa.” Planting a loving peck amongst his lips.

“Yeah, I know. You ain’t gon’ give my shit away, right?” He began forcing her body up and down, snatching the breath out of her while staring into her soul. Though, he’s been snatching her soul the entire time.

“Never… fucking never… ah,” A plethora of whimpers falling behind her response shortly after. “Ouu, Cee, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fucking cum!”

“Mhm, let that shit go.” And so she did. Unraveling amongst him as he did, inside of her, ensuring that every drop entered her warm walls. “Good girl.” He praises her with a groan, planting sensual kisses along her neck.

“Shit, I love you.” The young woman connects their lips into a passionate union, panting heavily.

“I love you.” He speaks, continuing to stare in the direction of his fiancée under his almost squinty eyes and perfectly curled eyelashes. His gaze low, completely underneath her spell.

“Let’s go again in the shower, yeah?” Happily, she garners enough strength to pull him off of the couch and lead him upstairs. He mindlessly followed. Yeah, she has him sprung.

#black love #black men #90s #black women #romance #method man #smut

[rosewaterandivy]

Can I request a Steve and rockstar reader where they go to the grammys and she’s there when she wins her first Grammy for like new artist or something

Ooh, you're good. I had one of these planned in the OG series, but... it would fuck with the timeline too much to include it here. 👀 SO! Enjoy actor!steve's first trip to the Grammy's & rockstar!gf's second. W.C.: 3.3K Warnings! My blog is 18+, MDNI. Prosaic devotion, probably. General lack of knowledge of behind-the-scenes/Hollywood et al.

carving through the dark

🎶 Darling, we sacrificed we gave our time to something undefined / This phantom life sharpens like an image but it sharpens like a knife 🎶

Awards shows always felt awkward. Fancy gowns, famous faces, free alcohol, press line, and professional competition. Sure, it was nice to be recognized by your peers or the committee or whatever, but that didn’t mean the entire thing ceased to radiate mean girl energy.

At least it was the Grammy’s, something firmly in your wheelhouse where you wouldn’t be expected to make small-talk with a cinematographer and pretend like you actually knew what that entailed. That being said, there was the added pressure of performing and being nominated for a few awards that evening.

No biggie.

The last few shows had been a breeze, all you had to do was show up and look good: the film festival circuit beginning with Venice, the Emmys, the Kennedy Center Honors, the Golden Globes, etc. None of that had anything to do with you— it was all Steve Harrington.

So when your alarm rang on Saturday morning, you screwed your eyes shut and retreated beneath the covers. Despite knowing that Vickie was already awake and would be gently rapping at the bedroom door soon enough.

You heard Steve clear his throat, shifting the sheets as he turned to face you— all stupidly gorgeous bedhead and eyes squinting in the bright morning sun. His right hand flopped over and landed on your thigh, giving it a soft squeeze.

“Good morning,” Vickie coos, once you’ve managed to swipe your phone off the night stand and onto the floor. She picked it up quietly, pausing the blaring alarm and set it back on the table.

Reluctantly, you sit up as the covers are peeled away from you, open your eyes and blink slowly. Game day.

Steve had long accepted now that Vickie would show up at the ass crack of dawn on days like these, coffee and breakfast in hand, before you were relegated to the makeup chair where you’d spend hours being poked and prodded to near perfection.

He had plenty to do today as well and Robin was expected shortly. You wouldn’t be surprised to find her puttering around downstairs finalizing his schedule.

Speaking of which—

“Want me to run through the day?”

You nod and reach for your matcha latte, taking a sip while Steve wraps an arm around to pull you back down to the pillows with him. He’s managed to find his glasses and get them on, so at least there’s some progress in the Harrington camp. There was a noise from the hallway, the bedroom door opened and Robin appeared.

“‘Sup nerds?” She greeted and deposited Steve’s protein shake on his nightstand. 

“Ugh, still?” He grimaced, eyeing the green concoction warily.

“Yes, dingus, still.” Robin falls into a club chair by the windows and sips loudly from her frappucino. “Now, drink up, buttercup. Nolan wants you in tip-top shape.”

Steve rolls his eyes and begrudgingly takes a sip of the drink. Robin smiles, delighted, before turning back to Vickie with a wink.

“Right, as I was about to say,” she begins, a blush steadily creeping up her cheeks under Robin’s gaze. “Carpet starts at 3pm— you’re expected right at the end.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Your helpful suggestion of skipping the press line and carpet was quickly vetoed by pretty much everyone on the team due to the fact that you were a nominee.

“Your hair is 10am, make up at noon when you finish lunch. Drinks and everything in Bar Marmont with management and crew at 2pm–everyone has different departure times so time on the carpet is staggered. You and Steve are last.”

You nodded. It had been a stressful few weeks— Steve filming on location and you in rehearsals for tour. Not to mention the tabloids and rumor mill running rampant with ‘America’s Sweethearts on the Rocks?’ and ‘Cherry Spotted Solo - Is This the End for the Hollywood Power Couple?’

Steve would walk after the last call, a warning voice would come through speakers and that’s when he’d take his seat. Better to skip the carpet than get drug into the spotlight and inadvertently fuel a fire that neither of you started.

Robin sipped from her own coffee, sensing the hestiancy that hung in the room like the smog around LA. “It’ll be fine guys, piece of cake,” she tried to reassure. “Just focus on celebrating the banger of an album you’ve made!”

You nodded as Steve threw off the sheets to take a shower. He drops a kiss to your forehead and says, “Yeah, honey, the rest is just confetti,” before disappearing into the ensuite. 

Knowing that no matter what happened or what the interviewers threw your way, you’d make it out alive and wake up to the same sky and the same guy beside you was a good reminder. 

Which was what you repeated in your head when you followed behind him after your last interview, a security detail by your side, all the way by the lingering reporters, inside, past the bars, into the arena, and to the table.

The opening sequence was smooth and energizing, someone delivered drinks and you clinked your glass against his, a quick wink at you in the dark before he leaned and cracked a joke to Eddie at the table nearby.

The night unfolded like that, relatively peaceful and uneventful. That was until one of your categories was called. Steve’s hand gripped yours when your name echoed in the arena with the other nominees. Your eyes went a little wide when he stole a glance at you, the whole table laughed in an effort to ease the tension.

“And the Grammy goes to…” Jennifer Lopez deftly opens the red sealed envelope before glancing back up to the cameras with a smile. “Being Unknown, Cherry McGowan!”

Your head falls into your hands at the shock of it all, the entire table erupted in a cheer and toppling over chairs in their haste. Steve’s arm wraps around you, head tucked close to yours, lips grazing the crown of your head.

“You did it, baby!”

You nod, hands still covering your face so he has to pry them from you and dry your tears. Steve pulls you up, his smile beatific and eyes misty. Fisting your the full of your skirt, you nod to Hop and make your way up to the stage. 

But not before a clumsy kiss that has Steve pulling you back for more. You hide your face in his shirt, laughing before you yank him back down, smothering his growing excitement with something better—enough to make him and you forget that everyone is watching.

“Later, hot stuff,” you promise with a wink and follow your producers and collaborators to the podium.

The rest of the night went by in a blur, including your performance of “Who We Are.” Despite Steve’s needling and unique methods of persuasion, you’d managed to remain tight-lipped about the song in question, knowing it was his favorite and with good reason.

You’d written it for him, after all.

Slipping backstage to change into your performance gear, getting micced up and fitted with your in-ears, you allowed yourself a moment to exhale. You weren’t expecting to win, too much of a fan of the other artists and albums to think you’d beat them out.

But here you were, two Grammy’s under your belt and being ushered on-stage to perform. A tech hands you the cherry-red Stratocaster Steve had gotten for your birthday last year, the same one you’d recorded the song with. The stage manager counts you down and cues your entrance. 

The crowd cheers as the lights go up, drowning out the announcer echoing through the arena, and the opening piano chords earn a dull roar in anticipation as you approach the mic. You find Steve in the crowd easily, Eddie at his side— both proud and nursing celebratory bourbons. 

And it’s the easiest thing in the world for your hands to cradle the mic and sing the first verse, directly to the man who’d inspired it and had been by your side through it all.

“What I had left here I just held it tight / So someone with your eyes might come in time / To hold me like water / Or Christ, hold me like a knife.”

To say he’s shocked is an understatement. Steve all but drops his drink when he realizes the significance of the song you’d selected to sing. When the drums and bass kick in, you maintain eye contact with him, throwing in a knowing smile.

The final single from your now Grammy award-winning album premiering on the biggest night in the music industry, not too shabby. Catching sight of Steve trying not to shed a tear was just a bonus, really.

Back at the table, comfortably buzzed after your performance, the night was coming to a close. Steve had somehow wrangled your legs into his lap under the table and was working on the sore muscles of your calves. Eddie had pulled up a chair on the opposite side, under the pretense of “toasting the belle of the ball.”

Trevor Noah appeared on-stage to present the final award of the evening. The announcer listed the nominees, cameras veering toward tables for the live broadcast. You subtly extricated yourself from Steve’s grasp, lamenting the loss of his warmth and touch. He slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, nerves fluttering in your stomach. The cameraman swung by for a close-up as your name was announced, you smiled politely before turning your attention back to the stage. A number of people had gathered behind Trevor on-stage, and you spotted a familiar face immediately. 

“And the Grammy goes to,” Trevor intoned, pausing to open the envelope and glance behind him. He beelines for the older woman immediately, the realization crashing on you like a lightning bolt. “You can read it,” he says to your mother, her eyes scanning the envelope before her.

“C-Cherry McGowan,” she breathes out, followed by a roar from the audience. 

The entire table is up on their feet, fists pumping, jumping for joy, high-fives all around. You’re barely able to process it all when Steve lifts you into his arms, coaxing your legs to settle around his hips and kisses you stupid. 

Eddie’s wolf-whistle pierces through the spit slick haze you’ve found yourself in. Steve’s hand cradling the full of your thigh as he reluctantly sets you back to rights. He’s got lipstick smeared on his mouth, just like the Emmy’s, but won’t let you wipe it off. 

“Don’t keep ‘em waiting,” he says, hustling you off to the stage. Your co-writers and Hopper meet you there, all wide smiles and murmured congratulations. Your mother is bouncing on the balls of her feet holding the Grammy, like she can’t believe it’s real. She tugs you close in a warm embrace as you kiss her cheek. Wiping at the corner of your mouth her thumb comes away tinged pink with lipstick. She murmurs her praises and hands you the award, shooing you to the mic at the center of the stage. 

Walked up with no plan, head empty, so all you can say is, “Shit. Well, shit.” Your eyes flit to Steve batting Eddie away while the frontman of Corroded Coffin attempts to get the remnants of lipstick off your boyfriend’s face, with little to no success. You sigh, “I wouldn’t be here without my wonderful collaborators and team,” you say and rattle off their names. “I’ve been so inspired by the artists here this evening and I’m grateful for their friendship. And I think it’s important to remember, especially on nights like tonight, that there is no such thing as ‘best.’” 

Eddie whoops and toasts you with a glass from the table. Steve is all smiles and eyes on you— you try not to lose it seeing him mouth ‘I love you.’

“I’d also like to thank my family and the fans for supporting me and loving me unconditionally as an artist and human being. I wouldn’t be here without you, and I love you very much.” You pause to clear your throat, coming to the end of your speech. “I’m so incredibly thankful and will share this award with the inspiration for this album,” you say, a little breathless when your eyes fall on him.

And Steve is shaking his head while Eddie claps him on the shoulder, his hands coming up to hide his face as a cameraman makes his way to the table. 

“The entire experience of doing this with you has completely pierced my heart and pried me open.” The room falls to a hush around you, and it’s as if there’s no one there— just you and Steve. “Y’know, sometimes I look at you and can’t believe my luck; that you’re actually real and I get to call you mine,” you laugh, a choked wet thing and will yourself not to fall apart. “You are a stunning, gracious person, and all the rest is just confetti.”

The music swelled and you were ushered off-stage into the press room backstage, along with Hopper and your collaborators. A tech shoves a mic into your hand and kicks it off.

“First question we have is from the Associated Press, take it away.”

“Hi Cherry, and first of all congratulations. How’re you feeling?”

You squint against the bright lights, “Sorry, where are you?”

“To your right.”

You spy a slight woman standing in the press pool. “Gotcha, thanks. I’m, uh, a little overwhelmed to be honest.”

“Understandable, this is the cherry on top of a really successful year for you— a world tour, headlining Coachella, residencies in LA and New York. So, what’s next?”

You sputter a laugh, “That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Hop scoffs behind you. “I think the real win for something like this,” you shake the heavy award in your hand, “Is being acknowledged and nominated amongst your peers.”

“Okay, our next question is from The Rolling Stone.”

A man takes the mic and stands somewhere in the center of the crowd. “Let me begin by saying, from all of us at Rolling Stone, a massive congratulations to you Cherry - what an accomplishment!”

Hop claps you on the back with a nod to the reporter, Rob Sheffield. 

“Thanks Rob,” you say, ducking at the praise. “Always a pleasure to see you.”

He laughs, “Same to you.” A brief glance down to his notes before he begins, “So much of your music and process ends up pushing other artists and your audience into new places or things they may not have otherwise sought out on their own— Dante’s Inferno, for example, or the use of Irish, Gaeilge, in the lyrics for this album. How do you get to a place like that?”

You let out a low whistle, “Never one to pull punches, are you Rob?” The man in question simply shrugs and winks. “Right. Okay.” You take a deep breath and attempt to gather your thoughts. “I was fortunate to come of age when artists were consistently pushing the envelope— people like Sinead O’Connor, Bowie, Prince— they were the blueprint.” You foist the Grammy off to Hop, the weight of it finally getting to you. “And as far as incorporating a medieval poem and various piece of literature for this album, what can I say? It’s not reinventing the wheel to call upon some of the greatest storytelling in world— Dante literally shaped the modern perception of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven. He shifted from writing horny love poetry about a woman he’d seen only twice, to creating a whole new type of poetic verse, celestial love, and elevating her to an impossible echelon. If that’s not devotion, I don’t know what is.”

The mic is passed around the room, a few questions dodged for the sake of privacy— can’t confirm what you don’t acknowledge, as your publicist always says. Steve and Eddie sneak their way in eventually, side-stage and a little more than sloshed, Steve’s tie is askew and Eddie’s blazer is nowhere to be found.

“Our final question comes from The New York Times.”

“Hey Cherry, congratulations my friend, truly well-deserved.” 

The voice is familiar, feminine and matter of fact.

“Thanks Nance, you’re too kind.”

“Not at all.” She smiles from her spot in the crowd. “In your acceptance speech, you mentioned the inspiration for the album, and I don’t mean to pry, but you’re a notoriously private person. Why did you feel the need to address that?”

Not a softball question, but definitely something you could handle. Bless Nancy and her carefully strung together words.

“I, uh,” you clear your throat, suddenly nervous. “While I am a private person, which I think is an important facet of interpersonal relationships, regardless of status, I think it’s also crucial to acknowledge that something like this—” you gesture vaguely to your team and those around you, “Can’t be done alone. This is the first album I’ve had cowriters on, that I’ve had other people helping to compose and create the sound. I was an island for so long that I was blind to the fact that I was drowning.”

You hear a faint gasp from somewhere behind you.

“Look, the pandemic took so much from all of us, as a collective, and I wrote most of the songs during that time of isolation and loneliness. But there are songs that speak to the beauty of life and love, even if it ends up not working out in the end. There’s a sadness and a serenity in that.”

Nancy nods for you to continue, pen scribbling furiously.

“So my decision to acknowledge the community of artists and musicians who helped me along the way, as well as the inspiration for this album was my half-assed attempt as a love letter. Love,” you conclude, “Is the only thing that can make life not just bearable, but beautiful.” You take a breath, coming back to yourself, “I think that was an answer to your question? It was words,” you laugh, “A lot of words.”

“Wonderfully said,” Nancy says with a smile on her face. “Thanks for allowing us a peek of that journey.”

You smile and shoot her a wink, exiting stage left where Steve greets you away from the prying eyes of reporters and telephoto lenses. He pulls you close, hands anchoring at your hips, fingers scrambling for a slice of skin.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he breathes, “Who do you think you are, wearing something like this?” He fists the full of the silk skirt, just where it hangs above your crystal-encrusted knees. The Paolo Sebastian team has been more than generous in dressing you for the evening. Black mesh dotted with crystals against your skin, a luscious black silk gown with a high-low bubble hem and tights to match.

Steve was kind of easy like that; the illusion of barely there fabrics, a flash of skin where it mattered most. His hand snakes its way to dig into the plush of your thighs, tender with the promise of something more. 

“Oh, this old thing?” You drawl, “If you like this, just wait until you see what I’m wearing for the after-party.”

Eddie scoffs, “Please spare me,” he says, “Well, me and the rest of the press corps who can definitely see you if they lean a little to the left.”

Steve’s hand falls from your leg as he pulls you further down the corridor. “Car is outside, think you can do a quick change en route?” He pushes open one of the stage doors with his free hand, the other firmly grasped in yours.

You arch forward again, the cool night air a relief for your fevered skin, strain yourself to kiss his chin, grazing his throat on the way back down, needing him more urgently each passing minute. “I think I can manage,” you rasp, as the car comes into view, “But the question is, can you?”

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #modern!actor!steve #stranger things fanfiction

[batteryeatery]

With a deep breath you hit the little triangle button on your boom box, letting familiar, mellow guitar chords blare into the otherwise quiet summer night. For the occasion, you’ve chosen to play the hit single Island in the Sun by none other than american alternative rock band, Weezer—a song you know Megumi to be quite fond of. The beginning of the song might be a tad quiet to garner the man’s attention though—possibly asleep in his third story apartment at this hour. So you pair Weezer’s third little hip-hip with a small pebble against his window (you’re at least 85% sure it’s his window) and call out his name a few times.

A couple pebbles later and his bedroom light turns on. Like a bear to honey, Weezer’s first chorus welcome’s Megumi’s face into view, his unruly hair fluffed unevenly to one side like he’d been laying down.

He looks mad, cheeks red and everything when he glares at you down below, but, no biggie— that’s why you’re here in the first place! As a grand gesture to get back in his good graces.

You smile and hoist the boom box onto your shoulder, tossing another pebble at the glass.

This earns you an exasperated frown—megumi manages to exude annoyance when he slowly slides his window open a moment later.

“You didn’t have to throw that last one, you already had my attention.”

“Alright but—“ you scramble to turn down the music so he can hear you better, setting the boom box back on the sidewalk, “—I wasn’t sure if you’d actually open up!”

“Well I did.”

don’t make me regret it, his tone says.

“I appreciate it.” You grin at him like an idiot for a minute, fully distracted by his little pout.

Megumi’s so cute.

“So.. is there a reason you woke my whole apartment complex at 11 pm on a Sunday?”

You shake your head to clear it “yes! Yes megumi I want to apologize!”

At this he gives an exhausted nod, rubbing under his eyes while he gestures for you to go on.

“Megumi, baby, I’m sorry I forgot our anniversary! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings! I love you and I’ll never do it again, I promise—please let me make it up to you!”

There’s a deep sigh. “I didn’t even say I was mad.”

“But I could tell you were hurt! And that makes sense, like, you got me flowers and that bag I wanted and a really sweet card—I feel awful!”

Your voice is only growing in volume and by the end of your speech he’s red-cheeked again, poking his head out the window to try and check on his neighbors’ windows around him.

“Okay—“

You cut him off to turn up Island in the Sun again, conveniently just as Rivers Cuomo starts getting romantic, letting the “we’ll run away together” verse assert the depth of your affection for megumi in a way you could never do with your own voice.

You sing along to drive your point home too, choosing now to hold up the plastic-wrapped flowers you purchased at the convenience store on the way here.

Megumi interrupts your serenading much sooner than expected with an “Alright, I forgive you! Turn that down- you can come in!”

You beam. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Enough with the song, you can turn it off.”

…

When megumi opens the door he finds you smiling behind it with teeth, holding out the bouquet you got him while little hearts seem to shimmer in your eyes.

He murmurs a thanks when he grabs the flowers, only eyeing the burgundy roses briefly before he’s stepping back and gesturing you to enter.

It’s truly a relief to be back in his house after a day of worrying he’d never want you back— you sigh as your shoes are kicked off, making your way into his living room before turning and yanking a surprised Megumi into a tight embrace.

He sets the flowers carefully on the couch before returning it, burying his face in your hair the way he always does.

It’s hard to muster the willpower to break apart once he’s holding you, but once you do you finally get to take in his appearance.

Yikes, he so was sleeping before you showed up—he’s got on his silly, toothpaste-stained sasuke tee yuji got him for Christmas and only a pair of plaid boxers, plus his bed head’s somehow even more pronounced up close. Your remorse for waking him is short-lived, quickly replaced with pure, undiluted affection.

This is the love of my life, you think fondly, watching him try to scratch away the dried toothpaste after following your stare.

You run fingertips down his arms to intertwine with his when you speak, “so, uh, did you like my music choice this evening?”

He groans and gives an awfully sassy eye roll.

“I don’t know if weezer will ever sound the same.”

#megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi #megumi fic #megumi headcanons #megumi fluff #don’t mind me !!!!! #queueueue

[normal-sea-urchin]

Casey Jone Fucking Dies 2: Electric Boogaloo: Chapter 1

surprisingly short chapter on his time, but at least i have an idea on where the fuck im gonna pick up at chapter two, but yeah here you dudes go

Bleeeeeeeggggggghh.

Casey was not feeling so hot. He woke up the other morning with a serious fever and looked green. Like really green. Weird. But hey, at least he didn't have to go to school. 

Unfortunately this also meant that he couldn't go crime fighting. Thus, leaving him stuck in bed for two days. He tried to make the best of it; writing in his journal (which is NOT a diary), catching up on tv shows he used to watch, that kind of thing. 

By the end of the first day, he was sick of it. And by the second day, he was far past sick of it, and couldn't sit around any longer. Besides, the fever had gone down a bunch, the only problem was that he still looked kinda green. No biggie. He hadn't felt like throwing up like, at all, so he would probably be fine.

Once his dad and little sister went to bed, and the sun was down, he leaped out of bed, and into action. He applied his totally metal skeleton face paint and strapped on his vigilante gear. Once he had geared up, he opened the window and leapt out onto the fire escape.

The cold wind hit Casey's face, sending a bit of a chill through his body. He took a deep breath in. Who cares if he was only out for one night? He was gone for what felt like waaaay too long. Casey scrambled up the fire escape, way hype to fight some crime. 

He reached the roof and started scouting for some crime. Hmm. No luck. He jumped over to the next building. And the next. and then a few houses down. Damn. Where were the purple dragons when you needed them? 

CRASH!

The sound of glass shattering interrupted Casey's thought process (not that it was getting anywhere). He turned in the direction it came from and peered over the edge of the roof. A bunch of street punks were robbing a store. Hmph. Not in Casey Jones's town.

Casey snuck down the fire escape until he was close enough to the ground that it wouldn't hurt if he leapt down from where he was. 

"Huh, good haul boys!" the head sleazeball remarked, walking out of the window he broke. Behind him were what appeared to be his two lackeys hauling some boxes full of techy junk. 

"Hey!" Casey called out, grabbing the attention of all three punks, "No one steals in Casey Jones's town!" he yelled, leaping down from the fire escape to the ground with his baseball bat in one hand and a hockey stick in the other.

"What the- Who are you?" the head bitch asked. Did this guy just like, completely miss where Casey called out his name? Y'know what, whatever.

"I'm the last guy you see before you wake up in the hospital." Casey threatened. He loved saying metal stuff like that. 

"Uh, uh-" the main punk fumbled, "Get him!" he demanded. The two lackeys dropped their boxes and came chasing at Casey. 

"Not so fast, lawbreakers!" Casey yelled, dodging their attack. Casey lunged to the side of one of the lackeys and hit them in the back of their knees. He fell backwords and let out a brief scream of pain. The second henchman came running towards Casey with a steel pipe. He swung at Casey's head, but he was smarter than that. He crouched down to dodge the attack and spun around so that he was now behind the criminal scum.

Casey brought his baseball bat up above his head before crashing it down on the punk's head, letting his body drop to the ground. Just as Casey was taking a breather, he felt a sharp pain hit the back of his head. Like, a really sharp pain. 

"OW!" Casey cried, flinching in pain. He closed his eyes and crouched down, grabbing his head in pain.  

"C'mon, let's get outta here!" the head douche yelled. He heard their sneakers squeak against the pavement as they ran away. They were gone. Casey's stood back up, rubbing where the sharp pain lingered. 

And I really don't fucking know how, but his fingers completely missed the shard of glass that he had been stabbed with. 

Dumbass.

"Man, that smarts." Casey muttered to himself. He should get to the lair, maybe Donnie could check to make sure he wasn't like, dying or something (hint hint nudge nudge). After rubbing the back of his head a little more (and still somehow missing the fucking shard of glass), Casey crept into the nearest alleyway and snuck down into the sewers. 

                _______________________

He walked through the sewers, trying his best to ignore the smell. And the trash. And the green, muck-filled water. And the rats, Casey tried especially hard to ignore the rats.

As he neared the entrance, he heard the sounds of Mikey and Leo yelling at each other; probably arguing about whether to watch Space Heroes or whatever it is that Mikey wanted to watch. 

"Hey guys!" Casey cheered as he turned the corner and hopped over the turnstiles. He gave a small wave to the two blue-eyed turtles sitting in the conversation pit. 

Leo turned to greet Casey, only for his face to immediately. Upon seeing Leo's reaction, Mikey also turned to face Casey, only for his eyes to widen with shock and a bit of concern. 

"What's wrong? Do I have something on my face?" Casey assumed, already beginning to try and wipe off whatever was on his face. It wasn't until after he saw smudged black and white paint on his glove that he remembered he was wearing his face paint. "Fuck I smudged my face paint." he remarked. The room fell silent for a bit after that. 

"YOU HAVE GLASS STICKING OUT OF YOUR HEAD!!" Leo yelled, breaking the silence. 

"...What? No I don't." Casey commented. He began to feel around his head nonetheless, only this time he actually fucking noticed the glass shard. "OH WAIT WHAT THE FUCK!?"

#tmnt #2012 tmnt #casey jones #2012 casey jones #casey jones fucking dies 2: electric boogaloo #fanfic

[snippychicke]

~☽ Moonstone ☾~ (Six)

Fandom: Moon Knight(TV)

Rating: Mature/Explicit (THIS CHAPTER IS 18+)

Pairing: Khonshu/Reader (unnamed cis!female)

Summary: Before Marc and Steven, before Arthur Harrow, Khonshu had another avatar. Well, hundreds of thousand of others, but this is the story of one in particular that Khonshu was fond of.

First Part: Whoo boy, is this a chapter. And a biggie. I did redo Mirage and added it in, though I'll keep that as a stand alone still.

Second Part: I was having a day, and therefore, so was our characters. Smut ensues. (Lucky devils)

On Ao3| Masterpost for Moonstone

Tagging List: (I love you guys so much.)

@lots-of-love-anonon | @stuckys-lilwhore | @jamiethenerdymonster| @madameasbjorn | @beautifulbows924 | @nikitawolfxo | @huitzilinthebudgie3 | @mahaloapollo | @isa-grant | @7athens7 | @mona-has-friends | @hayley-the-comet | @depressed-trashbag | @katelynwithpaintpaint | @prettylittlealiengirl

If you want added to the list; please put your screenname here!

Now, finally, the story!

The two women were halfway to Cairo, shoved in two small seats in economy class on a nonstop flight to Egypt. Layla was catching a quick catnap, but you couldn’t calm your mind enough to even think about sleeping, and instead watched the clouds pass. The last twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind that you were still trying to come to terms with. 

And, heavens, did your body ache from your stupid stunt last night. Bruises had bloomed across your body. You were sure you cracked at least one rib, and your head throbbed. You missed Khonshu’s healing suit now more than ever. 

And what was with his new knight? You knew Steven, his British accent and soft, awkward mannerisms. You found him adorable and thought more than once about giving him your number, just to see what he’d do, and wondering if someone soft and sweet like would finally fill that missing piece of your soul.

But Marc, the man Layla told you about, the rough brash American, fit the bill as Khonshu’s true avatar. Was Steven truly just an alias of his? But what about the change in suit halfway through the fight? How did he go from barely knowing how to fight to throwing the jackal like a pro, getting it to chase him away from the busy street instead of just barely scrapping by?

The bright sunlight suddenly dimmed, drawing you out of your thoughts. You blinked, shifting as you realized it wasn’t another plane or a stray tall cloud, but a solar eclipse dimming the sky. 

The thing was, you were pretty sure there were no eclipses forecasted. You liked to monitor such things, and did your best to attend both solar and lunar eclipses, knowing Khonshu reveled in them. 

Especially the total solar eclipses, as he explained them as a sort of middle finger to the sun god, Ra. 

 The other passengers noticed and quickly chattering as the now-steady warmth in your chest flared as the total eclipse held longer than usual. This was not a natural eclipse. 

He was literally giving a giant middle finger to the other gods.

“No. No, you fucking idiot!” you hissed. Khonshu had told you of his banishment, how if he angered the gods again, he’d likely end up sealed in stone like Ammit herself. You pressed a hand to the glass, your heart aching despite the growing power inside. “No, no, no.” 

You could almost feel him, a whisper-thin link trying to re-establish itself. Or maybe you were imagining it. Still, you closed your eyes, concentrating on it, hoping it really was a line to him. “You idiot. Don’t do this. Please, don’t be doing this.” 

The eclipse started to pass, the power fading, but you swore you heard his deep rumble a soft whisper in your mind. “I must.” 

------

“I am; I am unwell. I need help,” Marc admitted, feeling every single word as he looked up at the avatars of the other gods, literally pleading while on his knees. His mind was fractured, so much worse than it had been just a few weeks ago, and his will to carry on was fading fast. 

But it wasn’t gone yet. He had to do his part. He had to protect Layla and the rest of the world. And by the stony faces of many of the avatars, they were unsympathetic to his pain. To the pain of the rest of the world. Yatzil being the exception, her, or maybe Hathor’s, expression full of pain and pity, he had to look away. “But that doesn’t mean that he’s not trying to resurrect Ammit,” he continued, his expression growing firm again as he pointed to Harrow, trying to hold on to what little energy he had left. 

Who knew being physically possessed by a god was so tiring?  

Beside him, Harrow scoffed slightly. “Khonshu has twisted and broken this poor man’s mind, and plans to make a mockery of this court.” 

“That’s not true,” Marc bit back. His mind had been fractured far before he had ever met Khonshu. The god had just taken advantage of it. “If you don’t believe me--” 

“Marc,” Khonshu spoke suddenly in his mind, already knowing what he was about to say. “Don’t.” 

He was desperate, though. Even if it meant angering Khonshu, there was a chance it would be worth it. A chance, but it was all he had. “Khonshu’s avatar, before Harrow. She knows.” 

That got a reaction from Harrow, one not staged as the long-suffering, gentle prophet. His eyes widened in surprise, and then shortly narrowed in anger. 

“We are not having three avatars of Khonshu in this court,” Bastet sighed. “Two is trying enough.” 

“I think a third view would be helpful,” Hathor countered the other goddess respectfully. “And my avatar as well as myself are acquainted with her. She is uncouth, but speaks truthfully.” 

“Very well,” Osiris sighed, and Marc felt Khonshu groan in despair.

“You begged for Layla to be spared, but summon her in front of the Ennead? Have you no empathy, Marc?”

Marc waved his worry off as the god being dramatic. Harrow would have killed Layla for the scarab, nearly did as a matter of fact. Khonshu would ruin Layla if she became his avatar. But where was the harm of you coming before the other gods? Especially against Harrow? There was no danger here.

 There was a grumble of stone, and Marc looked back in time to see the woman in question wander in, looking a little disoriented as you looked around the dimly lit room, the door closing behind you. “This is not the toilet,” you commented before you recognized Harrow, your eyes narrowing. And then even more when you gazed around the room. “Oh wait, maybe it is. There’s a couple of assholes.” 

“You are called before the Ennead to give an account between Arthur Harrow and Khonshu,” Osiris spoke, gracefully ignoring your comment, though Marc could tell it irritated him by his frown. “Khonshu accuses Harrow of attempting to resurrect Ammit, and Harrow’s counter-accusation is Khonshu’s own misuse of avatars and paranoid delusions. Which, considering he has had three Avatars in such quick succession in one generation, seems to have merit.” 

Your glare shifted from Harrow to Osiris’s avatar as you walked towards them, pausing on Marc’s other side. “I can’t account for how he’s treated these two, but I have no complaints about Khonshu. Well, okay, that’s a lie,” you offered, holding a hand out to Marc, but he didn’t feel strong enough to stand, and merely shook his head. “But those are personal matters and had nothing to do with his treatment of me as an avatar.” 

“You had personal issues against Khonshu… unrelated to your role as avatar?” Isis asked, confusion coloring her voice.

“She was his lover,” Harrow answered before you could, a sneer on the edge of his tone. “Obviously, how he treated her differed from how he treated us.” 

You gritted your teeth, your eyes focused on the Ennead while you gestured sharply to Harrow, continuing as if he hadn’t even spoke. “It’s complicated, my lady. And something I don’t believe this court needs to bother itself with. However, as to this motherfucker--” 

Your jaw snapped shut suddenly. Osiris’s avatar hand glowing faintly as he glowered down at you. “We do not tolerate foul language in this sacred place.” 

“And violence,” Khonshu spoke through Marc briefly, surprising Marc at his sudden appearance as he shifted Marc’s body to sit on his heels by your side. He was further surprised as he felt an echo stir as he met your gaze. Or rather, as Khonshu met your gaze. It was like a phantom copy of his own link to the god, no more than a wispy after-image. 

But the longing it caused Khonshu, and the absolute pain, left Marc speechless. It was almost as bad as being stabbed in the chest.

The moon god was scared, Marc realized. Terrified of the bond between him and you, yet craving it with the same intensity. And whatever was causing this bond placed you in danger, Marc realized. That was why Khonshu hadn’t wanted to call you.

“If they find out…” Khonshu tried to threaten Marc as he relinquished control, but the threat was empty and left unfinished. Being possessed by the god was giving him insights into the god Marc honestly wished he remained oblivious to.

“Okay, fine,” you continued, looking back up at the god of the sky, unaware of the mental conversation between him and Khonshu in that split moment. “Mr. Harrow here, has started a cult that worships Ammit, and wants to unleash her on the some-billion people of earth to ‘cleanse it of evil’ as he called it. He said so himself, several times, in fact.” 

“Where is your proof?” Harrow stated coldly after the long moment of silence that hung after your accusation. “Why should they believe you on your word alone for such a serious accusation?” 

“Besides being in your little cult myself?” 

“You would admit to such a belief yourself?” Osiris questioned. 

“What? No! I thought the whole deal was shady as fuck--”

“--language--”

“And so I went to do some investigating myself and found out the idiots were praising the actual Ammit and not the one from the dusty history books!” 

Harrow snorted, “It seems to me very suspicious that Khonshu’s former lover found such a cult when Khonshu himself was looking for Ammit as well. She is desperate to follow in his footsteps even after he abandoned her.” 

Marc gasped at Khonshu’s rage, the god quickly surfacing once more. “LIAR!” he roared while attempting to throw themself at the other man, and only ending up face-planting in the dirt. Whether it was because Marc tried to hold them back, or because of Osiris’s magic trick, he wasn’t sure. 

“I said we will not tolerate violence,” the other god hissed. “My patience with you, Khonshu, is growing thin.”

“I am desperate to follow Khonshu’s creed to protect the innocent, and to help my fellow man,” his former avatar snarled through clenched teeth as you knelt down to help Marc out of the sand. “It is my purpose to help others, even though I am no longer his knight, because it’s what I believe is right.” 

Marc didn’t know if it was him or Khonshu that leaned into you, seeking the soft, warm comfort you provided. Or maybe it was both of them. Marc took a few slow deep breaths, the bone-deep ache of physically housing a god slowly easing. Even the constant undercurrent of Khonshu’s rage eased some.

“My dearest moonstone, how I’ve missed your touch.”

Oh god, Marc was going to be sick. The damn bird really was in love. 

“Khonshu tricked her into believing his delusions and then unleashed her onto the world,” Harrow argued. “I mean, just look at the state she is in. It only proves she is as violent as him, as well as just as unhinged.” 

“Oh, don’t even start that!” you snarled, making to move towards the other man, your intent apparent in the bunching of your muscles, but Marc held your back with a firm grip on your arm. “You’re the asshole that sent the fucking jackal--” 

Your lips sealed against your will as Osiris stood, the pale skin of his avatar turning red with anger. “That is enough! You are as insolent as your god!” 

You turned to glare at him your lips parting with obvious difficulty as you spat back: “And you’re as ignorant and blind as he says if you believe this fucking--” Your jaw snapped shut with an audible click, but you retaliated with flipping your middle finger towards Osiris, which was quickly twisted around your back with the rest of your arm as you were shoved into the sand-covered stone, your head pressed against the stone.

“I should punish you for your insolence, mortal,” Osiris snarled. “I have never seen such disrespect in this hallowed chamber. You have offered no proof that this man has committed a crime. Thus, I declare him innocent. But you, mortal, have committed many offenses in front of us today. Be thankful that I am merciful and will allow you to leave this place unharmed.” 

Marc watched as the other gods stood and left, apparently having no qualms with Osiris’ judgment. Even when his avatar left, the god’s magic remained as you struggled against the magic that kept you in the prone position while Harrow was free to leave.

“Well, that went better than expected,” Khonshu sighed, making Marc roll his eyes in disbelief, but any quip died as you growled and suddenly punched the ground as soon as the magic restraints disappeared.

And then whimper in pain, which quickly turned into a sob as you curled into a ball, clutching your fist to your chest. 

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered quietly, almost too soft for Marc to hear. “I should-I should’ve tried harder. Controlled myself. Something.”  

“Hey, you did good,” Marc tried to comfort. Gently placing a hand on your shoulder while Khonshu remained oddly silent when just minutes before he had been ready to be imprisoned in stone to defend your honor, or craving your touch with such longing.

But that was Khonshu, confusing as ever. 

“Good? Good?!” you looked up at him, your eyes full of tears. “They believed in Harrow! Khonshu risked everything with that bullshit of his, and yeah, they didn’t imprison him or anything, but I- I failed him.”

“Even if you had been as eloquent as Thoth, Hathor doubts Osiris and the others would have listened.” Yatzil offered as she approached the pair. “They are still quite upset with Khonshu, and refuse to believe that a mortal would risk awakening Ammit. Besides, it was not Khonshu who asked for your testament, so you could have hardly failed him.”

You looked towards Marc, who shrugged as he got up. “He was kinda pissed that I even mentioned you, to be honest.” 

Instead of being reassured, he could see a brief flash of pain on your face, and held his hand out to you to help you to your feet. Only then did he realize how bloody and bruised your hands were. Your whole body was.

No wonder you were crying. Both he and Khonshu were of the rare same mind as they tried to wipe the blood and sand away from your cuts, trying to be soft and reassuring. 

And that bond flared once more were his eyes met yours.

“And she expects that is why,” Yatzil smiled sadly, and shook her head at your puzzled look. “This is not the place to speak of such things. Even though the others are gone, you can never be sure who walks these chambers.” Her eyes drifted to Marc, her expression hardening. “Hathor implores you to find the medjay Senfu. He alone recorded the location of Ammit’s tomb, though his own sarcophagus was lost to black market traders…”

Marc laughed dryly. “Well, that actually might be easier than finding that damn scarab.” 

“Hathor believes us?” The former avatar asked. 

“While Hathor doesn’t agree with Khonshu on many things, she isn’t blinded by a grudge as the rest of Ennead is,” was her answer. “He wouldn’t go to such great trouble, risking his own safety and the safety of his avatars, if he didn’t believe it was well worth the risk. And for him to take such a gamble, the situation must be dire. She will do what she can, though she will not stand against the rest of the Ennead at this time.” 

The woman pulled a card from the fold of her dress and gave it to you. “As for the other matter, call me when you have a moment.”

Khonshu groaned, his embarrassed discomfort apparent before he left Marc’s body, which felt like a ton of weight suddenly lifting from his shoulders. The avatar swore he didn’t want to know.

Besides, he had more important things to worry about.

----

Layla frowned when you came back from the airport bathroom, looking far worse for wear than when you had left nearly half an hour before. “That was a long bathroom break.” 

“You know that freaking weird ass eclipse?” you seethed as you flopped down, grabbing the now-cold coffee.

“The one that had you cursing Khonshu loud enough that the stewardess had to ask you to calm down?” Layla asked, sipping at her own drink. It was actually her second cup as she tried to shake off the jet lag and the jitters at being back in Egypt. “It was rather hard to miss.” 

 “Well, I was right!” You slammed your hands on the table, oblivious of the looks it drew. “It was him! The dumbass summoned the Ennead! Against that silver tongued snake!”

Like everything else that you had told her, Layla only blinked at the new information, digesting it quickly. She had been with Marc for years, knew of Khonshu and her husband’s position as the moon god’s avatar, so everything else went along with the insanity fairly well. “Let me guess, it didn’t go so great? Also, how do you know this?” 

“Er, your boyfriend--”

“--Soon to be ex-husband, actually.” 

“--thought I would be a good person to vouch against Harrow.” 

“Well, I mean, you were infiltrating his cult.” 

“I can’t talk civilly for the life of me!” You whined, as if she knew that despite meeting you yesterday. Granted, she had figured it out well before the flight to Egypt as they tried to figure where their respective idiots were heading next. (Though believing the woman in front of her had been romantically involved with the same Khonshu that Marc cursed was a hard pill to swallow.) “I may have called the Ennead ignorant and blind and flipped off Osiris himself.” 

Layla laughed, covering her face in case you accidentally spit out her drink. “You didn’t.” 

“Sure did. And he made me eat dirt. Asshole. Anyway, you’re right. They’re here in Cairo. Your former boy-toy’s going to be poking around the black market for Senfu’s sarcophagus.” 

Layla rolled her dark eyes. “With that thick American accent of his? I guess it’s my idiot’s turn to get himself into trouble.” She finished up her drink with a sigh. “Shall we?”

----

Khonshu was livid.

The small open market of Cairo had no warning when the large gust of wind slammed through as the two women appeared by Marc, making his anger apparent. People braced and scattered for cover as the winds whipped up sand and dirt like a vengeful dust devil.

Well, not like one, it definitely was one. Marc groaned as he covered his face and knew he wasn’t the only one irritated by the god’s temper-tantrum, judging by the cursing of the two women.

But if he thought of being stuck in the open, surrounded by oblivious civilians, was bad. Being crammed into the small hotel room, it was even worse. 

“Tell her she needs to leave!” Khonshu roared for the hundredth time, stalking around the room. “She needs to go back home and stay there! This isn’t her fight!” 

“I have to agree with Khonshu.” Marc sighed as the two women made themselves at home in the room, apparently deciding without asking that they were going to share it with him despite the uneasy tension in the air. “Both of you need to go back to London.”

“I want to see you get to Senfu’s sarcophagus then,” Layla challenged, crossing her arms as she perched on the bed, disarrayed by arguments between him and Steven. “I mean, you were doing so well without me.” 

“And if you think I am leaving now, with the fate of the world in the balance,“ you growled, plopping yourself near a plug in and booting up your laptop. “You are both sorely mistaken. Khonshu wasn’t the brightest before, and obviously his skull’s only gotten thicker. I mean, a full solar eclipse? Are you fucking kidding me?” You gestured to the open room, obviously talking to the god you couldn’t see but knew was there, somewhere. “You are so unbelievably lucky the others didn’t seal you away! And then where would we be?“ 

“I had no other choice,” Khonshu argued back, looming over your unaware form. “It’s hardly my fault my avatar has been even more incompetent than usual!”

“Don’t blame me for this,” Marc shot back, hearing Steven echo the sentiment in the mirror. 

“I don’t even wanna know,” you grumbled, shaking your head. “I am so fucking mad. Heavens, you would think I would know better than to trust the stupid bird brained god to make a rational decision.”

The wind started up, as Khonshu slammed his staff next to you, the lights flickering and your computer suddenly shutting off. “Don’t--“

“I don’t care what you have to say,” you yelled blindly into the room, interrupting him. “For fuck’s sake, I can’t even hear you! I can’t hear you, can’t see you, and I can barely feel you.” Your voice caught as you stood, tossing your computer to the side. “I know you’re there and you have no idea how horrible this is! I trusted you, Khonshu; I trusted that you had a reason for taking the mantle from me, but here we are, a short few years later, and look at this mess!”

Marc shot a worried look towards Layla, unsure about being caught in what almost felt like a lover’s spat between human and god, but Layla only gave him a pointed look.

Right. He was in a similar boat as Khonshu. Layla obviously sided with the former avatar, and well, to be honest, Marc did too. Even if he barely understood the situation himself. 

“And-and I can’t even hear you,” you finished softly, rubbing your face to hide the tears forming. “I can scream and yell until I’m blue, and it won’t change anything because I’m virtually just talking to thin air. So, fine. You don’t want me here, then I’ll follow up on my own leads. I know some people here that may know a few things.”

You grabbed your bag and stormed towards the door, pausing only when Layla grabbed your wrist. “Keep in touch, okay?”

“Yeah, I won’t be far,” you whispered while avoiding her gaze, though she could still see the pain and tears in your eyes. Layla squeezed your wrist briefly, trying to be reassuring, before letting you go.

“Marc,” Khonshu said after you slammed the door shut after leaving. It wasn’t the sharp, commanding tone that Marc was used to, the one he just used moments before, but a softer, almost pleading tone the avatar had never heard from the Khonshu before. The former mercenary turned towards the god, surprised to see him look almost… sad? Dejected? Even if he didn’t have a face, his body language was enough for the avatar to know the anger from just a few minutes before had virtually evaporated. “Let me speak to her. Just for a few minutes.”

“Oh no, we are not doing that again,” Marc argued, recalling the odd sensation of Khonshu possessing his body during the tribunal. It had felt worse than when Steven was in control, because he had been fully aware of everything. Less of a silent passenger in his own body and more like being controlled against his will. Nothing more than a puppet to the god.

And that heavy weight that settled on his whole body that wore him to the bones quickly, leaving him feeling like he had pulled several hundred pounds of dead weight through the desert under the scorching sun.

Besides, he owed Khonshu nothing. Not after everything the moon god had done to destroy his life. Destroy his marriage with Layla, who was acting as if she was ignoring his conversation as she pulled out her own laptop, though he could tell she was listening intently. It had been months since he had been around her, but he couldn’t forget the slight way her head tilted as she listened intently, the curls of her hair falling away from her neck, and…. 

God, he forgot how much he missed her. 

Let Khonshu feel what it was like to be forced away from the one he loved. Sure, he and Layla had their issues, but the moon god was to blame for many of them, possibly just as much as his own inability to discuss his issues. 

“Please, just for a few minutes,” Khonshu pleaded, and hearing him say please, to be so humble, knocked the strength from Marc’s argument. Because, despite his simmering anger, he was now placing himself in Khonshu’s shoes, imagining begging to be able to talk to Layla one more time. 

His wife who peeked over the top of her screen, her dark eyes framed by her heavy lashes. Khonshu continued on, unaware that Marc was no longer listening, but enraptured by his wife’s gaze. As if she could hear the god and was telling him to be merciful this time. “Perhaps I can calm her some, and we need whatever help we can get now that the gods themselves refused.” 

Damn it. Khonshu made a good point. Three humans (Four including Steven) and a god versus Harrow and all of his followers. They barely stood a chance, let alone without losing your help. “Fine. Five minutes and not a second longer. And no funny business!” 

-----

You were sitting on the flat stone roof of the hotel, grumbling at your phone, when Khonshu found you. Your back turned towards the door, hair damp from sweat, unused to being under the desert sun, shoulders bared and curved, your shirt sticking to your skin because of the heat.

He wanted to talk to you. He had planned what he was going to say during his search to find you, every argument and every counterpoint. 

But now that he was here, seeing you with mortal eyes under the bright sun and not the flickering light of the Ennead’s court, and no longer worrying if his kin could sense the power within you, Khonshu found Marc’s body not responding. The man’s heart was beating quickly, his chest tight enough around his lungs as he found it hard to breathe. 

Oh heavens, was Marc sick? 

“I’m not sick. You’re nervous,” Marc grumbled from within. “It feels like being a teenager all over again. Just hurry and get this over with.”

Right. He was a god, and this was nothing compared to what he had done in the long years of his life. He cleared Marc’s throat and spoke your name, not used to saying it aloud anymore, even though he thought it every day in some form.  

Only for you to wave your hand without looking, gesturing for him to leave. “Not now, Marc.”

Your voice was hoarse, bearing the evidence of crying, and making his chest hurt even more when he stepped closer. “Please, moonstone.” 

His term of endearment caught your attention as you twisted around to look at him, confusion clear on your face. “... he really told you to call me that?” you asked softly, and he could see your eyes rimmed with red from crying.

Because of him.

“Marc’s allowed me temporary use of his body so I could talk with you,” he explained and watched the emotions flicker across your face; pain, hope, longing, as you finally recognized his deep timbre and unique accent despite using Marc’s voice. 

But rage quickly covered those expressions. You dropped your phone as you stood and stormed towards him, as quick as the wind itself. “Why?! To tell me to go home? That this isn’t any of my business anymore? Well, tough shit asshole!” you jammed your finger into Marc’s chest. “I live on this planet, and I care for everyone on it, so--“ 

Khonshu didn’t even wait for you to finish before pulling you into an embrace, interrupting your angry tirade. Even though it wasn’t his body, he could feel you as if it was. How soft you were, the strength you possessed as you initially resisted. The smell of sweat mixed with your fragrant soaps you used to bathe yourself. 

“No funny business,” Marc snarled as Khonshu pressed his face against your hair, refreshing his memories. “Talking only, so hurry and apologize already!” 

Khonshu reluctantly obeyed his host and pulled away, but only a fraction before you stopped him by grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. You kept your head turned away, avoiding his gaze as his hands came to rest on your shoulders. 

“Why did you leave me?” you asked, which was not at all what he expected. Your earlier anger had vanished, leaving your voice weak and pleading. “We were such a great team, and I thought-I thought we were happy.” 

Heavens, he had been so happy back then. Even the moon had seemed brighter when you walked by his side. “I have ruined many lives of my avatars through the ages, but I considered it an acceptable price to pay for the good I worked through them,” he answered. “But seeing you struggle was a price I couldn’t bear. You are my beloved moonstone, my dearest one, and your happiness is something I will sacrifice everything for.” Every word he spoke was the truth, yet it wasn’t quite the complete truth.

He couldn’t admit how close he came to ruining your life, your entire existence. How there was a solid possibility he had condemned you in the afterlife despite his best intentions. All because he loved you. 

Your breath hitched and your grip tightening as you whispered: “You fucking asshole. I would have made it work. I would’ve chosen you over anything.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Marc groaned. “God, you two are way too sappy.” 

Khonshu ignored him and instead gently encouraged you to turn to face him, wiping the tears away on your cheek. He had missed those beautiful eyes of yours, framed perfectly in your face. Heavens, he missed everything about you. Your beauty, your attitude, your smile, your laugh, your skin, your lips. Those soft words you spoke to him, full of love and tenderness unlike any he had ever heard before.  

He could feel that power growing between them, reminding him even more of the past. And reminded him why he had given you up in the first place. “I apologize for the pain and suffering I caused you, beloved. I only wanted the best for you.” 

“Damn fucking idiot.” You wrapped your arms around his neck suddenly, pulling him close. Close enough, he thought he could feel your soul once more try to reach for his along a bond that was no longer there. His own lurched towards yours, craving your touch and presence so strongly that it made him ill. Wrapping his arms around you, holding you just as tight, only took the edge off. “Your such an idiot, ya know? I love you, even now, and I forgive you, but heavens, you’re so thick.”

“Great, can I have my body back?”

Marc was going to kill him, but Khonshu couldn’t resist. Not with you here. Out of instinct, he nuzzled against your cheek, not used to Marc’s different nose. That alone was a unique sensation in itself, but then you moved to brush your lips against his, softly with a light sigh ghosting across him afterwards. 

Oh.

“I SAID NO,” Marc shouted, suddenly pulling away and stumbling back at the fact he was suddenly in control. 

Khonshu was still in his former place. His body curved around you, the bone of his beak pressed against your soft lips. Your eyes slowly opened, basking in the familiar sensation of large hands squeezing your shoulders, bone moving gently against your lips, and that warmth in your chest blooming.

Khonshu. Heavens, it really was him, looking exactly as you remembered him. Unnaturally tall, long limbs wrapped by bandages, and his skull looking as ancient as the pyramids themselves.

Then began fading as quickly as he appeared, taking the warmth in your chest with him. You clutched at him frantically, grabbing the gauze of his robe and then the bone of his beak, as you fiercely tried to keep a hold of him as you took in every detail, but to no avail. By the time he brushed your face with his hand, it was as solid as a gentle breeze. 

And then he was gone, as if he had been nothing more than a mirage. 

~☽ O ☾ ~

You had been having… issues. All day. It was just one of those days where all your daydreams during class led back to two things. 

Khonshu. And sex. 

Okay. Mainly having sex with Khonshu.  

Angry, violent sex against the wall, where you were ripping and clawing at each other as he pounded into you, lips and teeth scratching against bone, his large hands gripping at you tightly, making you feel so small in his violent embrace. Or where he had you bent over a desk, his hand wrapped in your hair and pulling it as he showed you the might of a god. 

Where you had him pinned down, taking what you needed without mercy. Making him moan and gasp as you found whatever made a god quiver and beg. Or maybe cursing you in between frantic thrusts, seeking his own pleasure.

Interspersed, of course, with tender, soft sex as he worshiped your body, praising you in languages you didn’t understand. Or where you voiced all those things you were too scared of saying aloud, and he accepted and returned each one as you laid naked in the moonlight. Where he touched every scar, every flaw you saw in yourself, and praised and blessed each imperfection because they were yours.

Yeah. None of that was ever going to actually happen, but it was certainly distracting to think about. A lot better than the droning of your instructors.

At the end of the day, you may have bought a lingerie set while out trying to clear your thoughts. Pure white lace with embedded golden stars and a crescent moon resting between your cleavage; matching panties that had little straps that clung to your hips and waist, a white strip of fabric barely covering your core. IT was beautiful, and surprising there had been one in your size.

Granted, once you returned to your dingy little apartment, modeling it to yourself, your mind reminded you that Khonshu would not appreciate such things. He was the god of the moon, ancient and probably used to women with far better proportions than you falling at his feet, dressed in decadent robes. He wouldn’t be interested in how the fabric didn’t quite sit right against your form, too tight and small in places, or too loose in others.

You were going to just throw it in the trash. Burn it. Except you paid a lot more for it than you were really comfortable with… maybe you would just hide it in a dresser and let it go forgotten until the end of time.

“You expect to go fighting dressed like that?” 

Khonsu’s gravelly voice broke through your thoughts. You screamed as the moon god appeared behind you in the leaning mirror. “Damn it Khonshu! Don’t just appear like that!” you shifted to turn and face him, ready to give him a piece of your mind, but instinctively froze as he quickly reached around and grasped your throat, his long fingers digging into your skin in a warning.

Khonshu took the time to study your reflection in the mirror, how your breasts moved with every breath, barely contained in the lacy bra you wore, the curves of your waist, the stretch marks that adorned your stomach and hips before disappearing into a matching set of underwear that barely hid a thing before giving way to your plush thighs and muscular calves.

“Were you planning on doing something else tonight?” He asked lightly, though shifted his grip so you tilted your head back, baring more of your throat, and causing your eyes to flutter slightly. Just like the pulse he could feel in your neck. “Have you forgotten that you belong to me, insolent mortal?”  

“Dunno what you mean,” you mumbled. Almost submissively, making something in him churn. “Just a new pair of underthings. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“I am no fool, my dear,” he chuckled darkly. “I see exactly what you see.”

The impish light he loved flickered in your eyes as you gazed at his reflection. At your reflection, and how his long, lithe body towered over yours, dwarfing you in comparison. “And what’s that, exactly?” 

He stepped closer, his body pressed against yours to remind you even more how small you were compared to him. “A gift waiting to be unwrapped and devoured in the most intimate of ways.” 

A smile spread across your face, your thighs shifting together unconsciously as he felt your arousal growing through the bond. “Now, where would you get an idea like that?” 

Khonshu growled, his staff forgotten as it clattered to the ground. His other hand reached around, the coarse material of the gauze covering his hand tickling your skin as he cupped your groin. “We have work to do, innocents to protect, yet here you are, dressed like this. Such impudence is unbecoming in my avatar.” 

“A girl has needs, you know?” you whined as his fingers moved against the cloth covering you, barely pressing against your core as he teased you. “Fuck, I wasn’t even sure you’d get turned on by lingerie.” 

“It’s not your clothing that’s causing my desire for you, small one,” he answered, his voice rumbling through his chest and into your back. “You’re so needy and desperate, I can feel it through our bond. All day, growing more and more. Feeling you search out for any bit of friction just for a moment of relief. And here I thought humans didn’t have an estrus.” 

“Shut up. I wasn’t that bad.” you grumbled as he chuckled, your head lolling back against his chest, eyes closed as he continued to rub against your slit through the fabric. Slow, gentle movements that were only making you even more wet and needy. “I just get horny from time to time, okay?” 

“And thinking about how I would take you on various surfaces?” He murmured, his skull rubbing against your cheek while the tip of his beak scratched against the skin of your chest. “I have to admit, the one where I have you bent over a desk was particularly tempting. I never thought of pulling your hair to make you behave.”

He could feel your knees getting weak, the cloth saturated where he had been toying. He parted your legs with his, pulling you up his leg to support you just enough for your toes to barely touch the ground. “If the others find out about this, I’ll be punished.”

“So you’re going to punish me instead?” 

Heavens, it was like you were begging him to. And well, how could he deny you anything? “That, and I promised I would always take care of you.” His fingers slipped around the soaked fabric, both fingers easily slipping inside your cunt. Your back arched as you gasped, your hands grabbing his to stay steady while the only thing keeping you balanced was the hand at your groin and the one still wrapped around your neck. “I won’t let you fall,” he reassured, “Not until I’ve broken you completely.”

Any quips died in your chest as he pumped his fingers in and out of you at a cruel, slow pace. Instead, you could only gasp and whine, occasionally muttering his name as a prayer. His own hips moved slightly in rhythm to his fingers, craving to be inside you once more. The movement quickly had your gasping and crying, so close to the edge after a frustrating day of teasing thoughts and fantasies.

Just as your pleas carried his name, so did your spirit call to him across the bond. He could feel it whine and beg, reaching across the link for him. But he had sworn that he wouldn’t. He may have given in before, but he couldn’t afford to do so yet again.

But heavens, you were so alluring. He found pleasure watching your expressions in the mirror as he continued to fuck you with his fingers, feeling your desire near its peak, your soul continuing to pray for him, tempting him.

He could barely control himself, but to refuse your soul calling, begging him in the same way your body craved more, was more than he could endure. “Can I have you?” He murmured as felt his resolve buckle. “Would you have me, my moonstone? Even if it meant risking their wrath?”

“Always,” your hand let go of his that was grasping your neck, and instead caressed his beak that rested on your shoulder and nuzzled against it with parted lips. He could feel your soft, moist lips caress his bone, your breath hot and heavy and carrying a soft cry with each sweet exhale as he brought you closer to your climax. 

He couldn’t hold back, and you eagerly met him halfway once more, your body keening as his spirit touched and melted against yours. He was only half aware of milking you through your climax, more focused on the pleasure of your spirits bonding, feeling the absolute acceptance and love you held for him. Being able to share with you his adoration that he could never truly express otherwise. 

He had never had an avatar, a lover, like you, and swore he never would again. You were so much more than his voice and fist. You were the stars in the sky whose beauty was unsurpassed. Whom each night he gazed upon and memorized every single detail while knowing what he saw was only a fraction of their true majesty. 

Who was always there, no matter what phase the moon was in. Just like you stayed by his side, your faith and dedication unwavering no matter what manner of mood he was in. Even when you argued and railed against one another, you refused to abandon him.

Time was meaningless as they laid upon the floor of the bedroom, limbs tangled and entwined. Yet he counted every heartbeat and every breath, trying to memorize the way you fit against him. So small and soft, clutching on to him as if he would disappear back into the darkness.

“I don’t think I was the only one hot and bothered all day,” you broke the silence after a long moment, tracing the crescent moon on his chest. “That… feeling. Is that like sex for gods?”

“In a very crude and basic way, yes.” He answered. “It’s difficult to explain.” 

“Mmm,” you hummed sleepily, accepting his answer with such ease. “How long do you think we can stay like this?”

He would make the night last forever if it was your wish. Until the moon freed itself of the earth and fell into the sun. Until the Earth turned to dust and time became meaningless. Or until the Ennead cursed him to stone for binding himself with a human. “I think we can afford a few hours of rest, if you desire.”  

“I don’t wanna sleep, I just like being close to you,” you admitted softly. “I know we fight and bicker at each other, but I.. “

He had used and pleasured your body, you’d cum screaming his name multiple times. You had worshiped his body and ridden his cock until he shouted your name to the heavens in absolute bliss. 

But those three words still held so much meaning as you held your tongue, your eyes saying it all. He hoped his gentle gesture of caressing your face before pulling your body even closer to his echoed the sentiment. 

“I do appreciate your choice of garment,” he admitted instead, teasing the finely knit lace, now covered with sweat. “I admit, it’s befitting of my avatar. Though I may not be able to control myself should you wear it again.” 

Even though you buried your face against his chest with an embarrassed groan, he could feel your smile.

#khonshu x reader #khonshu #khonshu marvel #khonshu moon knight #moon knight #mcu moon knight #fanfic #mk moonstone #khonsu

[beauleifu]

Requests you say? [materializes]

Some good ol Wukong x reader fluffiness? Like reader’s had a really long day at work and they just need some pampering :)

(Maybe reader can be transmasc too and like doesn’t wanna take off his binder and SKW is like “bitch you need to breathe.” Only if you’re up for it tho :])

Have a good day/night!

-🦈

Awww of course!

Roughly 1k oneshot, hope you like it, reader is written up to be transmasc, i hope it fits your expectations/preferences!

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

SUN WUKONG X READER

Lego Monkie Kid

Context: Unfortunately, long days at work do nothing to aid your sleep schedule. Equally unfortunate, broken windows aren't the best thing to fall asleep to. Why not music? Yeah, no. Sun Wukong isn't the best singer - besides, his stage fright is so bad he'd shrivel up like a raisin at the bare mention of a performance for you.

TW: Language

***

You perform precisely one thing when you get home.

Flop on your couch, and close your eyes.

. . . Okay, maybe two things.

But, to be fair, you're too tired to keep track of anything at the moment. The world can wait for you to charge your internal battery, a feat in which only sleep can fulfill.

You don't even bother taking off your binder, nor your shoes; you simply wait for sleep to claim your weary soul.

CRASH!

Crap. The universe must have a different fate in store for you.

Eyes flying wide open as the loud noise startles you upright, you snap your head to the window. Or what was left of it. You're staring at a Wukong shaped hole in the window, shards of glass scattered across the floor, along with leaves and sticks.

Slowly, your eyes finds the culprit. The one and only Monkey King, arms folded proudly over his chest, his smile wide and bright.

"Hiya, (Y/N)!"

A long stretch of silence.

You blink stupidly. "The fuck. The fuck??"

To you're credit, you were just about to fall unconscious when the monkey demon broke into your home. So your reaction is honestly understandable.

"Don't mind me, just checking in on my favorite mortal," Wukong says carelessly, stepping across the carpet and into the kitchen. Letting out a long sigh, he faces the fridge and begins his search. "Got any fruit? Snacks? I'd never refuse some dumplings, if you have any leftover . . ."

Mumbling under his breath, he digs further into the fridge, fishing out random condiments.

Your jaw drops.

"What the hell are you doing in my house-"

"Oh, I thought it was obvious!" With that, Wukong peeks out from behind the fridge door and grins. "I watched you walk inside, no biggie, and decided to invite myself in."

Your gaze drifts to the broken glass. "I can see that. . . ."

"Crap. Sorry, I'll fix that. Leave it to your ol' man," Wukong chuckles off-handedly, preparing you both some lunch.

Now you're confused.

After getting over the initial shock of Wukong breaking and entering your home, you just feel concern over the inevitable question of- "Were you stalking me?"

The fluffy monkey snorts. "Uh, yeah. I spy on everyone."

"That's not really reassuring-"

Your comment is cut off by a huge yawn, and you almost want to fall back onto the couch. You almost don't care that Wukong broke your window, that he's stealing your food to make a meal for the both of you (that's what you assume, of course. The smell of fruit smoothie reaches tells you one thing: he's hungry). The reason for his unexpected visit is unknown, but you really don't care. Honestly, you're somewhat glad for the company.

Sun Wukong is at your side in a heartbeat, standing over you with two smoothies in hand. He tilts his head, baffled at your behavior. "You okay there, bud?"

"Fine. Tired."

"Long day at work, huh?"

Groaning, you flop back into the cushions and bury your face into one of the pillows. "We don't talk about that."

"Ahh, I see," Wukong growls cheerfully.

With that, he settles on the small space available on the couch, taking a noisy sip from his smoothie. You feel Wukong tap your head with the end of the other glass, albeit gently.

You sigh. "Not hungry."

Chest tightening at your companion's doubtful hum, you close your eyes. Oh, well.

"Do you, uh . . . you got anything else on your itinerary today?"

Wukong's investigative comment drags you back to reality for a moment. But it doesn't last long; you're tired, and it's getting hard to breathe in here. Maybe you don't need to. "Nope. I'm gonna lay here all day and sleep."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Yeah. But now I gotta fix my window."

Wukong snorts. "I said I'd do it! Now sit up and drink this, I didn't make it for nothing."

Huffing negatively, you say; "What's it made out of?"

"Just drink it," Wukong says exasperatedly, and you raise your head to eye the drink skeptically. The monkey demon rolls his eyes. "I made it with all the stuff you like."

You scoff. "Wow, you know me so well."

"Yeah, it's kinda my thing. A-A-Anyways. You wanna get something more comfortable on while I turn the TV on?"

Blinking, you glance down at your outfit. "This is fine."

"Is not," Wukong says doubtfully, eyeing your chest. "Unless you like suffocating yourself, I'd take the binder off for now, dude. Mortals have to breathe to live."

"Nah. Too tired."

"God, you're so lazy," the Monkey King huffs irritably. "Don't make me do it for you."

Ha, that's funny. "Since when did you start doing me favors?"

He contemplates your reply before shrugging carelessly. "All right, fair point. But Pigsy would have my hide if you up and died on me, so!" With that, he snaps his fingers, and suddenly it feels easier to breathe. Suddenly, you're wearing fluffy (color) pajamas. The Monkey King is grinning slyly. "Hope you don't mind. And hey! You look so adorable in (color)! Makes me wanna just pinch your little marshmallow cheeks!"

The immortal deity suddenly takes your face in his hands, wearing an expression of utmost joy and adoration as he pats your cheeks fondly.

You wave him off, face heating up. "Bro! Coulda warned me!"

"Heh. Too late."

Smacking him (lightly), you grab the smoothie from his hands and take a long sip. The drink tastes perfect, as always.

You just hadn't realized how hungry you were, that's all.

Wukong is grinning at you. "Well?"

"It's good. It's always good."

"AS ALWAYS! You're the best critique, sweet cheeks. You're right; next time, I gotta balance out the fruit portions to help strengthen the overall taste factor," Wukong says, stroking his nonexistent beard.

That gets you laughing. "Dude, you're awful."

"No, you're awful."

"Kay."

"Wait!" Sun Wukong's paws fly up in surrender, the TV remote almost slipping from his grip. Eyes wide and earnest, he meets your amused gaze. "Bro. Seriously? I was kidding, (Y/N). You're not awful, and hopefully, neither will this movie."

You turn your curious gaze to the TV screen. "And what's that?"

"Cuddle with me and find out."

#lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk sun wukong #the monkey king #lmk monkey king #fluff #transmasc reader #wukong literally broke your window #its still broken #don't worry he'll fix it when he leaves #that being at 4am or some shit #hes sentimental that way #cute #lmk oneshot #romance #yes your honor they're dating #thanks for the ask!

[euphraisette]

les amis favourite things

*feel free to add* Enjolras: velvet, leather couches, cat memes, bricks Grantaire: paint, stained glass, lavender, will ferrel movies, the sun (;)) Courfeyrac: cheese fondue, cher, the muppets, department stores, vibrant purple windbreakers Combeferre: douglas fir trees, the colour brown, funky shoes, pokemon, almond milk Bahorel: bullet journalling, watercolour tattoos, silver jewelry, danny gonzalez, chihuahuas Joly: small fish, obscure history, cluster rings, flashlights, the walking dead Bossuet: strawberry-scented shower gel, patti lupone, umbrellas, spider-man band-aids, joly & chetta Jehan: delicate charm bracelets, peppermint lip gloss, kitten heels, beard oil, retro headphones Feuilly: ghost stories, polyester, the colour white, succulents, warm weather Marius: scarves, polaroid photographs, macaroni and cheese, bubble baths, expensive cologne Cosette: nail polish, vanilla lip balm, flannel sheets, cinnamon buns, coffee Eponine: her record player, gavroche, a sleep mask, fuzzy mittens, gavroche again Musichetta: pink sapphires, sequins, hot chocolate, biggie smalls, french bulldogs Gavroche: monster trucks, stuffed whales, sneakers, spiders, laughing

#les mierables #les mis #les amis #les miserables headcanon #les mis headcanons #les amis headcanons #hcs

[thecjbear]

A LeviHan prompt. The day they discovered the Ocean.

The sun was up and brightly shining its light among the crashing waves of the sea. This is a very new sight to the Scouts who just got their first taste of the atmosphere just outside the walls. Getting out and actually seeing salty water in a large or rather humongous amount was probably a fever dream to them. It might have never occurred to them that this moment was something they will be experiencing.

                 Levi stood on the side, making sure he’s not one to get involved into some hot mess just in case. He’s used to “babysit” the cadets, even the ones leading the troop like him. Although this is something that makes him sigh out his signature “tch” and putting on his ever-stoic facial expression, deep inside it makes him smile seeing the kids grow up and see that there’s still something waiting to be explored. After all, with the circumstances they went through, he thought to himself that the kids and others Scouts deserve this indulgence.

                 “Oi, Four-eyes! What in the world just you think you’re doing, huh?”, Levi exclaimed with that pissed off but concerned tone he has when addressing the nerd four-eyes, or rather his nerd four-eyes. Hange seemed to be collecting what looked like seashells and other things found in the ocean that took her attention. “What?! I just found this stuff, Levi! I need to get some specimen myself so I can test it and see if we can use it for healing ourselves or if it can be used in weaponry. Don’t be such an oldie! I can handle this myself so stop nagging me, will you?”, Hange Zoe answered in her most carefree manner. She’s a nerd, yes. No one can contest her curiosity and intelligence among the whole nation of Paradis. With this, she has developed a lot of items the Scouts are mainly using as they engage in their expeditions. Medications that can help stop or minimize the bleeding of any wound? She has it. Weaponry that can save your butt from getting devoured by the Titans? She most definitely got those, heck she even invented arsenals that can destroy Titans with one hit.

                 With these things being said, it still doesn’t exempt the ever genius Hange from a little disaster when experimenting with things. As she gets to discover the ocean, her curiosity grew more widely than ever before, she kept on checking out the organisms in the water or just the things that look mundane to the normal eye but something that isn’t for her. Hange found dozens of things that she then put in some kind of a pouch. As the curiosity streamed in her being, she noticed a glistening item that was embedded in the sand. Hange went to see what it was and she noticed that the item looked like a shard of glass. While she was doing all those shenanigans, Levi never peeled his eyes off her. He knew that whenever Hange tries to experiment with her discoveries, some things just get out of hand.

                 “Four-eyes, what is it that you’re checking out right now? Just don’t touch anything that quickly because you do not know damn well if it is poisonous. This thing is new to us.” Levi told Hange with a blank stare. Hange proceeded to show Levi the shard that she just saw. “Look here, shorty. I just saw this shard right here. I thought that we can use this as a cutter of some sort if I just forge it enough to be a hand knife. Y’know, something we can use back in the forest to cut up something.”, some sort of excitement was in Hange’s eyes. It has always been like that. Every single moment she spends discovering something or experimenting with the weirdest of things, Hange was always beaming with excitement. As she was trying to pick up another shard, it accidentally slipped off of her finger and caused her to sustain a cut. “I already freaking told you, Four-eyes. Look, you’re bleeding.” Levi looked at her as if he’s saying ‘I told you so’.

  “Nah, that’s nothing. I sustained injuries way severe than that. This will heal in a few days, no biggie.” Hange said confidently. “We are not even sure if those shards were safe in the first place, Hange. That might infect you or whatever.” Levi’s tone became calmer this time, Hange can obviously tell that there’s concern in his eyes. “Wait here. Do not pick up anymore shards.” The man ran back to their supply crate and picked up some wound dressing and some sort of an ointment – which Hange formulated. He bolted like a lightning and came back to where Hange was in what seemed to be like 10 seconds. “Here, let’s wash off the blood from your hand.” He poured a bottle of clean water on Hange’s wound, tended to it carefully as if he’s also treating his own injury and proceeded into binding some fresh gauze over it after he put on a dab of the ointment.

                 As Levi was cleaning her wound and tending to her needs, Hange can’t help but notice how Levi shifted from the grumpy looking fellow into the softest gentleman in a matter of seconds. She noticed how mild his gaze was, sunlight touching his pale skin and fighting the coldness of his gray eyes. He looked serious when he was doing his thing that Hange didn’t even notice how a small smile formed in her plump lips. She smiled like an idiot – as Levi would say. She felt how soft Levi’s hands were even though it has been through a lot of work ever since he was a child living in the underground. It felt like she was holding onto her softest pillow during the most tiresome of expedition nights. Giving her the assurance and peace of having a good night’s rest. The way Levi handled her injured hand was spotless. When she felt like he was nearly finished, she jerked her hand a little and let out a tiny whimper. She knew damn well her pain tolerance was more than this. “Why? Did I – did I hurt you?” Levi stuttered. Worry was in his atmosphere.

Hange was quick enough to hold on to Levi’s finger before he was able to let go of her hand. She lightly brushed her fingers on his palm. “No, you didn’t. It was just….it was just the wound.” Hange smiled. “Thank you, shorty. I know you I can count on you. I know very well that you’re the first person in here to notice if something wasn’t right with me.” As much as Levi wanted to deny, those words from Hange resounded in this mind more than it should. He tried to hide the flush of redness on his cheeks. “You’re just so clumsy four-eyes.” Levi tried to sound stern again just to hide how much he was caught off-guard with what happened. “No need to be all grumpy again, shorty.” Hange chuckled as she pinched his nose a little. They left the kids exploring the ocean then proceeded to go back to the barracks while Levi held on to the pouch Hange has filled with her specimen from their comrade’s little escapade.

[isleofancients]

they lean a bit guiding their hands to Aiden's "always let them take the lead on how to move them." they instruct "most all bitty know how to be around biggie and you dont have to be nervous to hold them when they let you" they say watching Aiden take Rogue. it was almost love at first sight wasnt it? Rogue was awestruck and Aiden was glowing just a bit brighter

"Okey!" Aiden nods, sinking just a few centimeters to the floor, his constant, almost unnoticeable floating pausing for just a little while. His hands steady with it, entire body going still as a corpse.

Gotta be a steady platform!

Rogue gingerly crawls onto Aiden's littler hands, settling among his dainty skirts and staring down in wonder as the child's starlight shimmers through them, coloring his bones like the sun through a stained glass window.

"Golly..." He murmurs under his breath, startling when Aiden wildly purrs.

[queerdeerskates]

Skating journal: day 45

Today there are practices scheduled all day at the hockey rink, and there were people using the tennis court, so I tried out a new spot. There's a big k-8 school in my town with a running track, so I went over there to check it out. There were some other people using the track as well: an old guy on a walk, a family with bicycles, and a parent teaching their young kids to skateboard. It was a fun vibe! I really prefer skating around other people over skating alone, even if those other people aren't skating (though it's fun if they are).

The track surface was blacktop, which I hadn't skated on much, and boy was it difficult. It was so bumpy that my glasses kept vibrating, which made it a little difficult to see. It was also tough to get up any kind of speed, or to maintain it. Some areas had big cracks, which were scary - I wiped out on one of them that had grass growing in it, which is the first time I've fallen properly backwards in a while. The skater adage of "pick a cheek" came in handy and I managed to avoid hitting my tailbone. I've got a little bit of scrapeage on my thigh, but it's no biggie.

I ended up mostly skating up and down the one decent patch of asphalt where I could actually get a little bit of a flow going. It helped that that was also the one shady spot, lol. But the shade disappeared as the sun came up, and even the good stretch of floor was pretty tough to skate on. I didn't stay very long. It was still a good time, though. One of the kids in the bike family got their training wheels off while I was there, which was fun to watch.

I had big plans for skill drills today, but I decided not to try on the scary blacktop. What I had wanted to do was drill forward and backwards transitions, backwards skating, and scissors, and start working on T-stops and maybe dribbling. I did work on scissors a tiny bit, but mostly I was focused on being able to skate at all on the blacktop. I'm hopeful I'll be able to do all those drills soon, though. Looking at this skill tree that someone on Reddit made, I realized I've got most of the level 1 and level 2 skills down, and some of the level 3 skills as well. I'm not interested in cannonballs because of my fucked up knees, so T-stops, backwards skating, and moonwalking (I think that's the same as dribbling? People seem to use the terms interchangeably, but I feel like I've also seen people say they're different...) are my next skills to master. Carving is also listed here, and I'm not sure if the person who made this list means on flat ground or on a ramp. I'll have to do some research and figure out what they might mean.

I think the track is a bit of a bust - or at least, I'll only go there if I want to practice skating on challenging terrain - but I've still got some ideas for skate spots. the school itself has some covered outdoor walkways that might be good for drills. And there are a couple other places in town I can try out. I kind of with my town had more of an urban skating culture. From what I can tell, most of the skaters around who coordinate with each other are mainly park skaters. I really want to be a park skater someday, but I wish it were easier to find skating friends for flat ground & to explore with. I'm also hoping there will be more rink hours open once school starts again...

#Queer Deer Writes #Skating journal #Quad skating #Roller skating

[buyyourdreamorsellyoursoul]

#raw joints #vintage versace #biggie sun glasses #weed #black woman in luxury #black photographers

[modadivas]

Versace Eyewear new Biggie Fall Winter 2021 collection

The new Versace Eyewear Biggie Fall Winter 2021 collection offers sunglasses and optical frames that reinvent the brand's unmistakable style. Tied hand in glove with pop culture and music of the 90s, this collection revisits the symbolic codes of the brand and its taste legendary for unique creations.

#Versace Eyewear #Eyewear #Versace #Biggie #sun glasses #glirl glasses

[fang-wife]

cw ;; mentions of rimming, unprotected sex, pegging, good boy izuku midoriya <3, quirkless college au, fem!reader

wanna be goody two-shoes izuku midoriyas deliquent gf so bad i want it more than anything in the world 

izuku midoriya the model student in his department at uni. good grades, even better standing with the staff. he’s never missed a class before, maintained a gpa of 4.1, the spokesperson and face of what it means to be a hard-worker. quirkless izuku midoriyas who studies support items and hero work. who does so well in school that naturally he’s the first person they call on to tame you. 

you, schoolwide deliquent. terrible records in terms of grades and attendance, average gpa - you do just enough to get by. but you have a reputation for trashing school property, being.. promiscuous, getting into violent fights with other students. you’re a streak on the schools reputation but they legally can’t get rid of you so they send their beloved goldstar student to fix you. if he can’t do it, no one can. 

all it takes is one tutoring session. you can barely pay attention because the schools golden boy is a tall, athletic but shy piece of ass. you can tell he finds you attractive in a forbidden kind of way - it’s so obvious. the ripped denim of your jeans, the tattered and loose clothes. he’s never been with anyone has he? one tutoring session and by the end of it you’ve got your pussy in his mouth - a hand in his hair. one session and you’ve got him babbling about how good you feel wrapped slick and tight around him. cums instantly but gets hard again in the same heartbeat. 

all it takes is one session for the whole school to find out your dating. you’ve taken a liking to the golden boy so you make him a deal after you’ve fucked him stupid. he’s your boyfriend and you show up to class at least twice a week - no biggie. but you’re still you, still a menace at heart. studying together in the spaces at the library turned to graphic public sex - his face pressed against the window as you rim him. milkin’ his cock real pretty as his glasses damn near fall of his face. 

izuku midoriya who starts to get these insatiable urges. who likes it when you bully and tease him and touch him - never knew how good it felt. who tries to maintain his composure when you wear too tight pants or too short skirts in front of him. who agrees to letting you fuck him in school bathrooms between classes even when he knows his ass will be sore all day. who moans as you joke about getting him knock up like this - jeans tugged just to his knees, cock leaking against his stomach and rutting against the stall door. strap deep in his stomach making him hiccup and sob. 

model student izuku midoriya who shows up to his programming class for the first time that semester with hickies all down his neck - blush spread down to his chest. scolds you as you snicker - kissing him hard by pulling his collar and telling him he better not look at single girl besides you or you’ll have to knock em out. that you’re the only one that gets to fuck his nerdy ass dry n drain him for all he’s worth. who gets hard because the idea of you fighting over him makes him so hard he cant think. whines and and gets so shy for you. 

izuku midoriya who agrees to let you have him for a whole night in a motel if you do well on your exams. lucky for you - you’re actually smart when you apply yourself. unlucky for him you get top-scores in your class. a promise is a promise of course. it’s only fair that you get to fuck him in a mating press until the sun comes up. completely fucked out that he’s shooting blanks, a clear stream of liquid. the bed messy with cum, hole puckered, shuddering from complete overstimulation

just... model student izuku n his deliquent gf who fights ppl... yeah... 

#sub!deku #sub!bnha #bnha x reader #deku x reader #knk ;; [ pegging ] #knk ;; [ corruption ] #oh i want to be so evil to him #it possesses me

[jangmi-latte]

(Twst Anni!) Oneshot form please! I know I can choose up tot wi characters, but in this case, I’m just gonna choose one for Vil (i cant think of any other lines that appealed to me): “Beautiful flowers are poisonous. But isn’t that just another one of their charms?”

╰──➢    “Beautiful flowers are poisonous. But isn’t that just another one of their charms?”

❥ ara ara you geared something in my brain. may our waiter, vil schoenheit, treat you with this anniversary special dessert!

Another hit bashed his sides as he fell to the ground. No pain did adhere to his figure yet the disappointment of failing yet another training session made him scowl to himself. His foil was thrown across the room in a sign of defeat. His father sighed while you kept yourself sitting on the chair in worry. “Vil,” his father began, helping his son up and continuing, “It’s time for you to rest. You’ve done enough for today.”

“I want to continue, papa,” came his struggling grunts while he stood up. Patting down the dust on his pants, he walked to pick up his foil. However, his papa prevented him from going any further with a tight grip on his wrist. “I said, that’s enough.”

“But I’m not tired--”

You wanted to run and comfort the boy -- your best friend. His father had already removed his fencing mask off of him. “Vil. You need to rest. You’re already frustrated enough to continue.”

Mr. Schoenheit’s eyes glanced at you, nodding his head over at his son while his hand laid at the small of his back. Vil’s face was cast down, hands balled into fists with teeth gritted in frustration. You looked at the older man and quickly set your feet down on the floor and ran over to your friend. 

“Let’s go outside, Vil. The sun can calm you down."

Vil looked at you in the eyes, his expression not even fading — gazing down at your hands holding his. He doesn't know what he’s feeling but immense frustration. Towards who? Himself. He brought you to his home to show you how much progress he did with fencing and yet he just wiped the floor with his failure. The shame of failing his own ability. How did he word his statement again?

“Come to my house! I’ll show you how much stronger I got with fencing!”

Stronger, huh.

“I’ll make you something to drink.” Mr. Schoenheit placed a hand on his son’s head, “You go outside with y/n. It will help you greatly.”

Now both of you sat at the porch of his home, listening to the white noises his little village made whilst drinking some nutritious smoothie. It was quiet between the two of you. No awkwardness, no uncomfortability, just feeling the presence of one another. You gazed at Vil, his blonde locks covering his face yet you could see how he stared at the pavement below him. His lips remain locked around the straw as you watch him subconsciously swallow down his smoothie.

“Vil?” you called.

“Hm?” he responded yet his eyes never left where they desire to look.

Your mouth ran dry; what did you want to say to him? Think, y/n. How can you emotionally support your friend who was disappointed? “You did great back there.”

Really, y/n?

“You’re only saying that to make me feel better,” he exhaled, taking his time to finally glance at you. His glass is now empty and yours still half full. You tripped on your words, scratching the back of your nape. “I didn’t do well. I know that. I just need to try harder.”

“But you really did better. It’s okay to fail, you know. You’re still ten years old.”

“You speak as if you’re any older than me. I’m fine, y/n.”

“You don’t look like it.” You placed your glass on the steps beside you and scooted closer to Vil. “You’re stubborn, you know that. I saw how you wanted to cry back inside and yet you didn’t let yourself. If you want to cry now, then I have a shoulder for you to cry on!”

Vil shook his head in denial, twirling his straw as he looked away. “I don’t like showing signs of weakness. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Sheesh.” You gave up, huffing in defeat while you slurped on your smoothie. You know it’s useless to get into Vil’s head. When he’s determined to do something, you know he wants it to happen. Despite seeming weak already, he wants to stay strong. How poisonous. Even you wanted to keep on going through his head.

You already saw his success by being a child influencer. You were there -- or at least try to be present -- during his stage plays. His movies? Oh, Vil would use his dad’s phone just to contact you and how everything is going. What else does he want? Surely, he would tell you about this and that and how the world of media is different from his little village in his homeland. He failed just ONE round of fencing and now he’s sulking.

Why won’t he tell you his objective this time?

He could beat you in fencing himself. Even his dad would wince every time Vil would attempt to playfully punch his arm. He’s that strong already. What else, Vil. What else do you want?

You wish to know the answer eight years later.

You sat in Pomefiore’s lounge, the leg over your other, swinging in boredom as you scanned through endless magicam content. Epel was so close to looking like a pile of hay with his hands tugging on his hair countless times. Looking at your junior, you sighed and placed your phone down. “Magical pharmaceuticals? That’s Iodine. It can be used to revive dead plants. Wait, why are you studying this? This is for second-years.”

“I wanna prove something to Vil-- I mean, my senior…” he admitted laying his head on his arms in distress. “He said the first step into being stronger is to be smart. So I...well..borrowed some books from other second-years.”

“Be smart? I don’t think Vil would say something like that…” you said.

“I ‘on’t know! I didn’t understand a single w’rd he said s-so I assumed that!” he burst out as he sat back with a scowl on his face. You sighed, scooting closer to the boy and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Just across the room where the both of you sat were Vil and Rook. You can’t hear what they’re talking about yet you could see how focused they both were as they communicated with another third-year. 

“Epel, you know…” you began, rubbing his arm in a comforting way, “Whatever Vil told you, he just wants you to do well.”

“But ‘e’s too harsh!”

“Not everything is going to be easy and Vil just wants to see you work hard. You wouldn’t be able to carry that interviewer’s luggage if it wasn’t for him working out your arms right? He just finds a way to gear you up.”

“He succeeded alright…” he mumbled, following your gaze over to his senior. As he looked at Vil, he remembered how he turned down his magic wheel design in order to bring out his full potential in creativeness. Admittedly, he often misunderstands Vil’s words into something much cruel but people learn from mistakes, right?

With a deep inhale, Epel stood up and collected the books. “Alright! I’ll prove to Vil that I’m gonna be the best. Someday, I’ll… I’ll…”

“Think about it Epel. You still have a long way to go.” 

“Ahhh…” he moaned and nodded. “I’ll be back! I still have some flowers to pick for the experiment! See you, y/n!”

You waved at the departing boy. Adorable. No small body can hold such a big ambition. And just what was still the answer to your question about Vil? What does he want?

“That boy,” you heard the dorm leader sigh as he and Rook walked closer. The latter chuckling to himself as he sat beside you. “He complained again, didn’t he?” he questioned. Nodding as a response, you laid your head on the arm of the couch as Vil eyed you.

“He misunderstood me again, no?”

“He understood afterward. No biggie,” you grinned.

“Either way, you conveyed my message--” He moved his hand, swatting the air in a sign of disregard, “But that won’t be the last time I’ll persuade him to do better.”

“We know,” You and Rook simultaneously spoke. You mentioned how Vil could even tolerate Epel’s attitude and how immune he is to his personality. You remembered how both yourself and Mr. Schoneheit are immune to Vil’s determination and non stop hard work. Is there a difference? Maybe there is, maybe none. That’s a Pomefiore student after all.

No harsh or rude words can knock them down. Determined? Hah! That’s a battle with oneself against the world. How poisonous would a flower be if its beauty and ability are showcased to everyone. Nothing can destroy something so elegant yet powerful when they are their own poison. Being poisonous is something to brag about.

“He’s cute but he’s the first student in Pomefiore that can fight you Vil.”

The young man laughed to himself, smirking your way in delight. “That’s a challenge I am looking forward to. After all, beautiful flowers are poisonous. But isn’t that just another one of their charms?”

© jangmi-latte, all rights reserved. Happy to Serve!

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #pomefiore #pomefiore x reader #rook hunt #epel felmier #epel felmier x reader #rook hunt x reader #night raven college #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines