#fucking. still abysmal though

[ayakashibackstreet]

Translation critique class, 8 dead 55 injured

#'nobody uses the word ''zaś'' #Maybe you don't you philistine #what the fuck was that #listen I do not claim my translation was perfect #But out of their criticisms I concede on two of them #Everything else? Foolish observations #for real though the guy who was presenting his group's critique went on a rant about how me using a diminutive at one point #is me trying to make light of cancer??? #Bitch sincerely fuck off multiple of my family members had cancer #my father still does and he's been fighting it for literal years #all of them use the word 'guzek' it's not a humorous word?? #I've literally heard doctors saying it I've used it myself when I was afraid I had the same type of cancer my dad has #Anyway I couldn't defend myself since these are supposed to be anonymous but #needless to say I am angry and disappointed #as if I wasn't in an abysmal mood to begin with

[ikilledamanforthisurl]

i wonder why Spearmaster has no strong connections with violence or the violence karma despite being only able to feed when impaling other creatures

#ikildaman shut the fuck up #downpour #ugh spoilers tag rant #ok i did a basic sweep of the wiki and it seems SM was designed to try and minimise animalistic tendencies to further encourage its purpose #as yknow a purposed organism #but i still dont get how in The Great Scheme Of Everything this doesnt reflect on them #if Artificer can get traumatised into a violence machine and thus be Damned by the Way The World/Ascension Works #then why is it different for Spearmaster. because they're not angry when they stab shit? because they have no other way to sustain themself #as if it is mere anger that drives Arti mind you. that is an animal. #the sophontness of the slugcats r debatable and i find it weirdly cruel how Arti gets locked out of ascension #even though we have the option to not genocide a bunch of scavs. even though we are Forced to use violence to progress in game #idk man i will always find issues with the logic of ascension and the 'morality' applied to it honestly this shits nonsense #gourmand doesnt get dissolved out of an ascending ending despite his attachment to TWO worldly 'sins' !!!!! #gourmand got a real wank off of an ascension ending literally just a recolour of survivors ending. shake my fuckig head #yknow i really liked the approach to gourmand i had extremely abysmal expectations for him #but the lazy ascension ending really kind of just ruins it a little bit 2 me..... idk........ #at least be consistent in locking slugcats who are anchored to the world via the games five 'sins' out of ascension. please #same with spearmaster i feel like their ascension might be a copout. they have such a nothing story HDSHDSGGHGSHGS #theres lots of good stuff here but in the background. shit we dont get to live thru. SM was a suicide aid at one point. can you believe tha #though i suppose Survivor is kind of inherently tied to one of the anchoring sins yknow. but their whole deal is journeying past that #so. in the end we just hate Arti i guess even though the gameplay does not let us grow past that!! yayyy rainworld !!!! #im literally only ranting about this because im trying to assign each cat a karma symbol lord help me #Survivor can grow past their anchor to the world being survival + Spearmaster can grow past their anchor potentially being violence and #companionship. Gourmand heavily tied with gluttony and companionship but can ascend + who gives a fuck about him am i right guys #Hunter can grow past its tie to the anchor of violence and survival + i dont think Rivulet even has any strong ties beyond companionship #so of course Riv can ascend Riv can do whatever it wants + Saints anchor to the world is existence itself or maybe ascension violence #dont ask me what the fuck is going on with Saint because then it brings Echoes into the process and that further fucks everything up #obviously Monk can follow in Survivor's footsteps but has even less sins anchoring him to the world + Paincat isnt canon #Artificer cannot do any of these things though because ? fuck you is why. i dont know. Artificer cannot have shit #maybe Arti became an echo. i assume she did

[cryptidghostgirl]

Understand (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader)

Pairing: Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Wife!Reader

Description: Y/n has been using the exterminations as a way to try and search for the soul of her earthly husband for years. What happens when she actually succeeds in finding him?

Warnings: Cannon typical violence and angst. Also uh,, not healthy. (The end is kinda fucked up)

Word Count: 2,411

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Y/n slid the dark mask over her face, jiggling it slightly to make sure it had clicked properly into place. She had never wanted to be an exorcist, hated the very thought. When she had been alive, she was the type of human who felt bad about accidentally stepping on bugs. If she had had any other choice, she would’ve taken it but she didn’t and so Y/n tried her best to detach herself from the experience.

Exorcists were a handpicked group by Adam. If you weren’t one, you didn’t know about them and if you knew about them, you were fucked. Y/n’s entire existence in the peaceful afterlife had been turned on its head when she’d been chosen. Pulled out of normal day to day and pushed into harsh, year round training. There was nothing nice about it and nothing she could do. No one listened to a thing she said, not even Sera. Sometimes, Y/n caught herself wishing she’d just been sent to Hell instead.

There was, however, one small benefit to these yearly trips. While it was a pain to act like she was being more violent than she was on the field, a constant terror in her life that Adam and Lute would find out she’d been letting demons go, it also gave her the opportunity to search.

Y/n had been married in life. Her husband had been a criminal, one of the worst, something she hadn’t learned until after his death. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from loving him. Every day on earth she’d lived without him by her side had been abysmal. No other love was quite like his love.

When she had first arrived in Heaven, Y/n had searched everywhere for him. There had been no luck. It had been a foolish hope, she knew: looking for a serial killer among the blessed but, she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to hear him explain, wanted to understand. Most of all, though she tried not to think about this part, she wanted to give him a kiss. To throw her arms around his neck with abandon the way she did when they were young. She wanted to hear his voice, have him tell her he still loved her too and mean it. She wanted to know she hadn’t wasted her life, her one chance at a living love.

The gates opened and Y/n dove through with the hundreds of other exorcists. Their game was underfoot, their cat and mouse sadistic chase. For Y/n? The search was on.

----

Alastor watched as the exorcist descended upon him. He was feeling brave and stupid, empowered after his near win against Vox just a few weeks before. Cracking his knuckles, he wondered what the exorcist’s voice would sound like if added to his broadcast.

A wicked grin on his face, she hovered before him. Her wings flapped with great strength, sending gusts of wind Alastor’s way as she kept herself vertically in the air. Alastor simply looked down, pointedly away from the exorcist, and straightened his lapel with his hand that wasn’t holding his microphone. He was trying to make her angry. As she inched closer to him, Alastor assumed it had worked.

“Don’t see many of your lot around these parts this time of year.” he mused, checking his nail beds, “What can I help you with?”

There was a silence. Alastor looked up towards the angel, confused. Normally a blasé statement like that would have gotten a rise out of anyone intent on killing him. Instead, the lights of her eyes on the mask just stared at him. Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground.

“Say that again.”

Her voice came out muffled and harsh through the mask, clearly altered by some equipment within. He laughed, taking a menacing step forward. Leaning down condescendingly, he conceded to her demand.

“How may I be of use?”

The exorcist was silent again. After a moment, Alastor shrugged. He straightened himself up again, his hands on top of his microphone as if it were a cane. He summoned his shadows.

“Well you’re certainly making this easy.”

His horns began to grow, throwing strange and menacing shadows across the walls of the ally way. Still, the angel stood there.

“It… it can’t be.” she mumbled under her breath.

Alastor raised his eyebrows.

“Can’t be who, darling?” he asked, feigning innocence, “The Radio Demon can’t be such a big name you folks up in Heaven hear my shows, can it?”

Alastor let out a laugh, taking a step forward as the exorcist tentatively took a step back.

“Oh who am I kidding, of course it is!” he exclaimed.

The exorcist took another step back as Alastor threw his microphone into the air, catching the center of its stand neatly in his outstretched hand. Her back hit the shadows he had put up to block the ally way and she frantically turned her head to the side, checking what it was she’d run into.

Alastor tsked her, walking up so they were just a few feet apart. Harshly, he used his microphone to turn his face to hers again.

“Don’t look away from me, dear. I might get jealous.”

“Were you married?” the exorcist asked suddenly.

Alastor froze in his tracks, his brow furrowed the slightest bit.

“Sorry if that’s weird.” she stuttered out, rubbing her arm holding the spear uncomfortably, “I just, well, I’ve been looking for my husband? He died in the early 1930s and well, he sounded a lot like you.”

Alastor’s heart dropped, crashing into his diaphragm. The angel watched him nervously as he removed his microphone from the side of her head. She let out a breath she’d been holding, something that was quickly taken in again as he used the end of his microphone to life her mask from her face.

It clattered harshly against the concrete as it fell from her face. Alastor’s eyes went wide. There was no doubt about it. Sure, she had a soft ethereal glow about her now, but hadn’t she always in a way? Sure, her hair was cropped around her ears and she was in armor. It didn’t matter, in an instant he knew. The shadows fell from around them, his horns shrunk back to their normal size.

“Y/n?”

“Alastor?” she asked back, just as breathless.

Slowly, she reached a hand out to his face and cupped his cheek. He leaned into it on instinct. Y/n’s spear clattered to the floor, her other hand finding his other cheek as she looked up at him in simple amazement.

“You…” gingerly, Alastor reached his free hand up, laying it on top of one of Y/n’s, “Of course you’ve been in Heaven this whole time. You were always so good, much too good for me.”

“Oh hush, Alastor.” Y/n scolded lightly, her eyes filling with tears, “You know I don’t like it when you put yourself down like that.”

“No, Y/n.” he let his microphone disappear, taking both her hands off his face and holding them intently in his own, “You don’t understand. I did terrible things when I was alive, I still do them now. There is a reason I am down here.”

“I know.” she responded almost immediately.

“No, y-”

“I don’t mean to interrupt but Al, I do know.” Y/n cut him off, “You were killed hurrying a body hun, hard not to. Plus, when the police searched the house they told me what they’d, um, found in the basement freezer.”

Y/n chose her words carefully, her eyes averted. When she looked back at Alastor, he was still smiling yes but, there was something confused about him too. They had grown up together. She had always known exactly what was going on in that head of his. Well, most of the time anyways.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“You have?” Alastor asked, “After everything, after… God, how long did I leave you up there alone?”

“About thirty years.” Y/n shrugged.

There was a moment of silence. A question tugged at Alastor’s tongue, one he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer to. Still, time was running out. The screams of demons being attacked were becoming more and more infrequent. He didn’t know if he’d ever get another chance.

“Did your new husband make it up to heaven with you?”

Y/n’s eyes went wide.

“New husba- Alastor, I never remarried.”

“Why not? You deserved to be treated well, Y/n. To have had a good life. Why waste it all on me?”

“I loved you. I still do.”

Y/n knew it was a bad idea, knew the risks if any other exorcist in the area heard her. Still, she couldn’t help but feel it would be worth it to die, knowing she’d found Alastor and that he knew she still loved him.

“You find anyone down here yourself?” Y/n asked awkwardly after a moment, looking around the ally.

Alastor took a step forward, closing what little space had been left between them. Like he had done it a thousand times before, because he had done it a thousand times before, he raised a hand to Y/n’s cheek and turned her face to his. Eyes wide, lips slightly parted, she stared up at him.

“No one.” Alastor shook his head, “There’s no one but you.”

A horn sounded from a ways away and Y/n turned up to the sky. Waves of exorcists were flying over head, going back to the portal, back to heaven. Y/n took a step back, Alastor’s hand falling from her cheek.

“Al, I have to go.”

“Please, Y/n. Stay with me here. I can’t get to you up there, I don’t want to lose you again.”

“I have to go, Al. I don’t want to cause any more trouble for you and everyone else down here.” she insisted, turning to where her mask lay on the ground, “I’ll be back in twelve months, I promise.”

As Y/n leaned over to grab her called disguise, her wings splayed out behind her. Light hit the tip of her spear just right in that moment, catching Alastor’s eye. A wicked idea filtered into his mind. Something he never could have done, would have ever even imagined when he’d been alive. But now? Hell had hardened him, taught Alastor sometimes you had to be cruel to get what you want and not just when it came to killing creeps. He had tried life without Y/n before, tried nearly sixty years of it. Alastor didn’t like it one bit.

“We will get to see one another then,” Y/n was saying as her trembling fingers fumbled for the edge of her mask in the dim light, “and I promise I’ll find a way we can end up together for good, I really d-”

A searing pain shot through her, causing her words to catch in her throat. It was worse than anything Y/n had ever felt before, emanating from the center of her back. Panting in pain, she reached a hand behind her back. It came away wet with sticky, golden blood. Her vision blurring, Y/n looked up at Alastor. Clutched in his right fist was the head of her spear. From the other hand, he dropped her left wing to the floor.

“Alastor…” she panted, her breath weak, “what…”

He took a step forward and an arrow of fright shot through Y/n. She tried to take one back but the pain was starting to really get to her now and she stumbled, falling to the ground. Alastor stood over her, smiling menacingly down as she scooted back from him. Y/n was full on hyperventilating now.”

“Al, what are you doing? What… how… I don’t understand.”

Alastor hushed her gently, the way he used to when they were little kids and he found her crying. Tears began to drip from Y/n’s eyes and she jolted violently with fear as his clawed hand grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to twist around and giving him access to her other wing. He grabbed it, pulling it out to its fullest extent.

“Alastor please.” Y/n begged, tears rolling hotly down her face, “Please don’t. Please.”

“My, these sure are pretty.” Alastor hummed, admiring the weft of the feathers as he held Y/n’s remaining wing.

“Why would you do this!?” Y/n screamed, her voice echoing in the empty ally.

Alastor fell to his knees behind her, still holding her wing out, still immobilizing her in pain.

“I’ve already lost you once.” he said softly, leaning into Y/n’s ear. She whimpered, trying to scoot away from him but unable to due to the hold he had on her appendage, “I won’t do it again. If Satan, or God, or the fucking universe think they can keep us apart, then not a single goddamn one of them has been paying attention because you are mine. You are mine and there is nothing that I wouldn’t do to keep things that way.”

As the final words left Alastor’s lips, he cut through Y/n’s remaining wing in a single motion. She let out an earsplitting scream before passing out in a steadily growing puddle of her own golden blood.

“There, there my love.” Alastor hummed gently, dropping the spear to the ground and smoothing her her wild hair down around her face as he pulled himself to his feet.

Straightening his jacket, Alastor leaned down and picked her limp body up off the sidewalk. The injuries were bad, but nothing he couldn’t help her handle.

“I just can’t explain to you how happy I am to have you back in my arms.” he said to Y/n’s sleeping form, looking down at her tired and tearstained face with nothing short of adoration, “You might be mad for a while, but I can handle that. At the end of the day, we will both know that you’re not going anywhere.”

Leaning down, he planted a soft kiss on Y/n’s forehead. For a moment, his smile went hollow. He hadn’t meant to go this far, to hurt her this bad. Alastor had just been so scared, so utterly terrified at the prospect of losing her again.

“She will understand.” he reassured himself, “She has to understand.”

——

Part Two → Caged Bird (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader)

#x reader #fic writer #x reader one shot #x reader fics #x reader writer #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #fanfic #fanfic writer #alastor fanfic #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x you #alastor fanfiction #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #the radio demon #radio demon #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin #hazbin hotel

[strlingsav]

I need some... toe curling, mouth watering, hair ripping, blood spiking, heart racing, jaw clenching, rough, creamy, absolute filthy Simon...

Tension, tension, tension girl I'm feening

OKAY !! I'll do it!! A little drabble (not rly a drabble) just for you!

Fighting

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— Yourself and Simon have an argument.

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

It was like running in circles- endlessly tired, exhausted, and finding yourself in the same fucking place you were when you started. It felt like nothing you ever had to say was reason enough to convince him to change. It was a tireless fight, begging Simon for more affection, more time, more attention than he was able to give.

It didn't stop the irritation from building, though. It crept under your skin when he'd sit on the sofa watching the TV instead of talking with you. When he'd get ready for bed and fall asleep without so much as a "goodnight".

You'd certainly grown sick of the distance. Of feeling like a stranger was living with you. Trying your hardest not to take up space or make a single noise for fear of pushing him even further away. Living in your home had turned into an abysmal state you didn't want to put yourself in.

It hadn't crossed your mind to approach him- not until you'd finally reached your wit's end, finally cracked the porcelain facade that had been saving your relationship. Not anymore.

He didn't expect it- in fact, things were fine, to him. Admittedly, his mind was elsewhere, though he had a good excuse; the toll of deployment. He needed a good reset, a recharge, and in the meantime, he had neglected you. Unintentionally, of course, but still, he'd made you feel unwanted, unloved- nearly a burden.

Your patience had snapped, run so thin it finally tore like a thread under tension. Though he thought nothing of it- his hands had taken hold of your waist, pulling you into his chest as you finished the dishes in the sink. You knew by the rigidity in his muscles and soft breaths against the back of your neck; he wanted you.

Any other time, you wouldn't resist him. The warmth of his palms, the smell of his body- he could pull arousal from even the deepest parts of you. Though now, you recoiled from his touch. You shrunk yourself down, pressing against the counter until he released his grip.

"You tired?" He asked.

You scoffed, so quiet and meek it was nearly pathetic. You were still afraid to say the wrong thing, to send him packing.

"No," You shook your head. Honesty was important, but you weren't sure you were ready to have this argument. So you settled for half-truths and cowardice.

His hands once again reached your hips, large fingers digging into your skin, wrapping a giant forearm around your middle as he pulled you into him.

"You want me to beg?" He mumbled in your ear- so clearly turned on by the idea of begging for a piece of you.

Your eyes clamped shut, swallowing harshly as you tried to resist temptation. It felt good, so fucking good, to feel his hands on you again, to have his voice in your ear, his soft breaths against your skin. You could've crumbled then and there, fallen into him and let him have what he wanted- but your body had a way of preventing such weakness.

You were sad. Instead of utterly aroused, soaking your panties, you felt sick, nauseous. It lodged in your throat, stung at your eyes and twisted your face into a look of contempt.

"You want me now?" You asked, slipping from his grip and throwing your dish towel on the counter.

He raised a brow, watching you. "Thought I was bein' obvious."

"You were," You nodded, your hand finding the counter for balance. "But you just pick and choose when you want me, right?"

His brows furrowed, and he took a step back to allow for some space between you.

"What's that s'posed to mean?" He tilted his head, eyeing you down.

Your heart had begun to race, your chest heaving to keep up with the pulse in your ears.

"You haven't touched me in weeks," You breathed out. "Haven't hardly said a word to me in weeks."

He sighed, hanging his head briefly. His eyes met yours and he nodded slowly.

"Takes time to get myself reacquainted after bein' gone. Thought you understood," He muttered.

"Don't blame me for this," You scoffed, though this time it was audible and poignant. "You want to fuck me but you won't spend time with me? Talk to me?"

He raised his brows in shock, tilting his head as if it could allow him another lead to follow. He stepped closer, trapping you between his arms with your back against the counter. You avoided his eyes, avoided letting him see the tears gathering in your waterline.

"I do wanna fuck you," He answered. His eyes glowered at you, menacing and almost threatening.

Your jaw clenched. A look of disgust crossing your features.

"You think if I didn't fuck you it'd change anything?" He asked, watching your eyes meet his. "You been missin' my attention, sweetheart? I know I miss bein' inside you."

You huffed, nostrils flaring as he brought his lips to your neck. Your hand reached his chest, using all your strength to push him off- he remained a statue, still pinning you against the counter.

"Don't fight me," He murmured. "I know you're mad- needy," He pressed his lips against your jaw, hunched over enough that he could whisper in your ear. "I'll make it up to you, love."

You wanted to roll your eyes, but his voice called to you like a Siren- it nearly made your eyes close to savour just how good it sounded to be taken care of. To be touched, fucked, by him again.

"I missed you," You admitted, still soured by his behaviour. "And you just want to fuck me."

He drew his hand up your side, his large hand encasing your waist.

"Missed you too," He said, like it was obvious. "Can't miss you and want you at the same time?"

His lips were inches from yours, forming a small, nearly unnoticeable smile. He liked the fight, the rejection; it only made him work harder for an even sweeter reward. His fingers worked open the button of your jeans, causing you to stutter.

"Y-you can," You trailed off, your head falling back as he sensuously dragged his lips up your neck, teeth softly scraping your flesh.

"Then what's the problem?" He mumbled.

You sighed, relaxing into his arms as his hand swiftly dove beneath your panties and his fingertips pressed against your clit.

Despite your adamant denial, you were wet. Pulsating, sore, desperate and needy. He was right- you missed his attention. Yearned so deeply for it, it nearly hurt.

His fingers drew soft circles around your clit, your body jolting with every rotation, your knees weakening against him. He had no qualms about holding you up while he touched you, nor when his fingers slid inside you so easily it made him chuckle.

"I'll take proper care of you, sweetheart," He said softly.

His lips met yours, in the middle of a gasp, fighting you to move your lips against his, accept his tongue in your mouth. You did- without hesitation, and let your hands glide over his shoulders so he could hold you up.

"Simon," You muttered. "More- please," You breathed into his neck.

Your hips rocked against his hand, his fingers deep in your pussy, throbbing around his digits while he coaxed whimpers and moans out of you. Your arousal was evident, loud echoes off the apartment walls of the mess he'd made of you.

He loved it. Loved hearing how fucking turned on you were. Loved that your pussy got wet so easily without more than a few strokes of his fingers. Loved that you clenched around his fingers and struggled to get closer, grasped at his shoulders and ground your hips to get more out of him. He liked setting the pace, though. Wanted to watch you cry and beg to go faster, harder.

He'd give you relief with his cock, instead. Wouldn't want to waste the feeling of your pussy tightening around him- it always made him cum even harder when you milked his cock. He withdrew his fingers, forcefully lifting you from the ground.

He entrapped your lips with his again, trudging down the dark hallway until he found the light of your bedroom and kicked the door open. He set you down, lifting his shirt over his head so you could run your hands over his abdomen.

You shivered, his broad shoulders flexing, swaying as he maneuvered toward you, forcing the back of your knees to hit the bed. You fell back, sitting on the bed and staring up at him expectantly.

"Turn over," He ordered, watching with amusement as you scurried to land on all fours.

Your head peered over your shoulder, lowering yourself to the bed as he stepped behind you. His belt clanked as he pulled it open, tugging his jeans down to reveal his cock. He'd been struggling with his own desire- as much as he'd missed you, he couldn't ever properly fuck you unless he knew he would be totally, completely present.

He ran his palms over your ass, drawing a shudder from your body as the warmth crept further up your waist. He lined himself up with your weeping cunt, slowly working his way inside with short, soft thrusts until his hips met your ass.

You were breathless- mouth agape, eyes fluttering shut as his cock nudged your cervix, stretching you out enough that your body erupted with goosebumps. He grunted softly at the feel of your pussy around him, the deliciously wet, plush walls inadvertently pulling him in. He too, shuddered, then bent at the waist to mould his chest to your back.

"'M sorry," He breathed against your shoulder blades. "Been neglectin' you."

It didn't bother you that Simon apologized when he was inside you- he was already vulnerable, already bearing himself to you; the apology sent warmth radiating through you.

"It's okay," You slurred, twisting your body to find his dark eyes already watching you. "Don't stop," You muttered, breathing out. "Just don't stop, baby- please," You moaned out, guttural and breathless while his thrusts pushed you forward on your hands.

His soft lips touched your shoulder, wrapping an arm beneath you to pull your back even closer, using his other hand to adjust the flesh of your ass so he could bury his cock even deeper inside you.

"Neglected this sweet fuckin' cunt too," He groaned. "Can never stay away from you- never get enough."

You sighed aloud, especially as his cock withdrew from your walls, leaving you empty and hollow- before sliding back inside. His arm moved to cling around your waist, his hard fingers sliding down your stomach to rub at your swollen clit fervidly.

"Don't do it again," You chided, though with half of your usual authority while he rutted his hips up against you. "I missed you," You muttered.

He left another gentle kiss against your shoulder, now breathing a bit heavier in your ear. You could feel the Adonis belt of his abdomen hit your ass, his dick angled just right as it rubbed inside you, his calloused fingers rubbing back and forth across your clit; your stomach had begun to tighten.

"Missed you too," He uttered, exhaling sharply when your pussy clenched around him. "Bloody fuckin' hell I missed you."

"Simon-" You gasped, your climax approaching at an unexpected pace while his words hit your ear, warm breath tingling your skin. "Keep going- I'm so close," You whined, your hips pushing backwards to force him inside you, faster, harder.

"Christ, love," He grunted. "Keep doin' that, 'n' I'm fuckin' done in," He chuckled, short and deep, hardly long enough for you to notice, but it moved through your back.

You came shortly after- knuckles white with the strength of your grip on the sheets, lips parted in a gasp, a heavy groan vibrating from your chest. Your stomach tensed, pussy tightening around his cock in short bursts, making his hips stutter with every thrust. As your eyes clenched shut, a black abyss of swirls and stars appearing behind your eyelids, you breathed out finally.

He wasn't far behind, finishing inside you as he always did, though he stayed still for a moment after, catching his breath. And when he finally came down from his climax, he fell to the bed, pulling you into his arms.

A soft kiss on your temple, his dick still lodged inside your worn pussy, coated with his cum, and he muttered a quiet, 'Night, love. We'll talk in the mornin'."

#cod mw2 #simon riley #ghost x reader #cod mwii #ghost smut #mwii #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #strlingsavwrites

[jo-harrington]

Freaky Friday - A Stranger Things Story (Part 2)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Word Count: 8.4k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader, Eddie and Steve (Enemies to Friends)

Summary: Eddie thinks that Steve has everything in life handed to him on a silver platter (including his new girlfriend who Eddie has a crush on). And Steve just can't believe that the kids look up to Eddie the Freak, or that he lives his life without giving a single fuck.

Must be nice. But you know what they say, the grass is always greener.

Warnings/Themes: AU with no Upside Down. Body swapping, dark magic/alchemy, unrequited love, mutual pining, Babysitter Steve, No Upside Down means slightly still King Steve, unresolved feelings, manipulation/deception, Reader gets a nickname (Honey), no Y/N if I can help it, no smut in Part 2 either but the next chapter does get steamy.

Note: Ok big shout out to @ghost-proofbaby for her Steve lessons and just generally being a Steve soundboard. I'm not a Steve girl yet but...idk. And then also to @trashmouth-richie for being so supportive and listening as I ramble on about plot things. I admire you both as writers and love you guys as friends; thank you for your support.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

“No, no, no,” Steve whined as he approached the mirror, squishing his face and pinching at his cheeks. “This is a dream. I’m still asleep. Or I’m dead.”

He cleared his throat a few times, slapped it, pinched his Adam's apple. He used every bit of willpower in him to stop the voice that was coming out of his mouth from being Eddie’s voice. It didn't stop that everything else was Eddie's though.

Eddie’s hair. His face. His body.

Steve was in his house—trailer, Steve recalled. It was a trailer. He was wearing his clothes. Sleeping in his bed.

Steve vaguely recalled the thing he thought last night when Eddie left Family Video.

A curse.

Eddie had put a curse on Steve. Steve had made Eddie pay non-member prices for his stupid video rental and Eddie put a fucking curse on him?!

There was a knock at the door and Steve jumped.

"Everything alright in there Ed?" a hoarse, muffled voice asked.

"Uhhh," Steve tried to come up with some kind of response, but suddenly all of the excuses he could ever come up with eluded him. Every scrap of knowledge he had ever reluctantly learned about Eddie Munson—thwip—gone.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had to focus, get in the moment, clear his head. If this was a basketball game or a swim meet, he would never let himself get this worked up.

"I'm fine," he started and then paused.

Eddie's parents weren't around anymore, who did he live with? The kids had mentioned it once or twice, said the guy was nice, a little rough around the edges. Said he let Eddie do whatever he wanted for the most part. His uncle...

"I'm fine Uncle W-wayne," Steve answered.

"Late for school," Wayne sighed. "You skipping again?"

"I--"

Steve didn't know what kind of excuse to come up with. What kind of excuses did Eddie give his uncle? His attendance was abysmal, Steve knew, and on the days he was in class, his attention was barely there. Always scribbling and doodling and cracking jokes when he was called on to answer.

He should have just dropped out the first time he failed, a fact that Steve had mocked him for repeatedly, let alone this second time.

Fuck, but if Steve was stuck in Eddie's body, he couldn't not go to school. He had enough trouble with his high school diploma, let alone without one. Maybe...maybe he could ask Dustin to help with his—

Dustin.

That little brat would be at school. Of course. He and others...they were a part of this little cult...maybe they knew what Eddie did to him? Or they could help him at the very least figure out how to reverse this curse.

"Listen son," Wayne continued. "I know it's hard to do this all over again; I told you that you didn't—"

"No, it's ok," Steve quickly cut him off. "I just slept in...accidentally. I'll go. I'm late but I'll go."

"Alright, whatever you say. I got a fresh pot going for you but I'm gonna get cleaned up and hit the hay alright?"

"Sounds good," Steve replied absentmindedly, staring around the room trying to figure out what, in all of the piles of clothing and junk, he could wear.

"Steve Harrington."

Eddie rummaged through the products in the medicine cabinet. Shampoos and after shaves and hair gels and mousses. Way more interesting and expensive sounding than the bottom shelf stuff he got at Melvald's.

He had to be honest, some of it didn't smell great and he didn't see the appeal. Oh well.

"The name's Harrington, Steve Harrington."

He shuffled through the clothes in the closet and the dressed. A lot of trendy, Sears catalog-looking stuff. Polos and windbreakers and jeans in various shades of blue. All neatly hung and folded, nothing out of place, even the underwear drawer was pristine. Nothing black or ripped or...god forbid a band tee or something like that.

Eddie was gonna have to change that...eventually.

"Hey, uh, have we met before? I'm Steve, Steve Harrington."

After the initial shock of finding that he was, indeed, in Steve's body, a sort-of calmness washed over Eddie. The panic subsided pretty quickly, to be honest; he might have been full of electric, frantic energy that dared to be contained, but he was also very good at improvising and devising a plan thanks to years of DnD.

But what was the plan when you found yourself in someone else's body? There wasn't really a handbook for that but like any good player...he would just have to play the part until the answers were revealed to him. And that meant he would have to become Steve Harrington--know Steve Harrington--in a way that he would have loathed if he wasn't in this situation specifically.

The first step had been checking out what Steve was packing.

Eddie peeled away the tight purple briefs and stared at his dick.

"Alright Harrington, alright," Eddie bobbed his head from side to side in contemplation and then grinned ferally. "Mine's bigger." And with that he adjusted himself back in the underwear and continued on his exploration.

Clothes, shoes, books—or more accurately the lack thereof.

Jesus, how have I failed twice and he graduated?

He dug through drawers, found the stash of dirty magazines under the bed, and then scanned over the calendar neatly pinned above the desk with shifts at Family Video clearly penciled-in in a handwriting that looked way too nice to be Steve's.

Steve would be expected to open the store this morning and Eddie grimaced. It wasn't exactly how he wanted to spend his day, but he had a part to play.

He grabbed the little green and orange vest hanging off the back of the desk chair and threw it on over the trendy striped polo that made him itch—did Steve have some kind of allergy or something? God, his chest and arms were just itchy, and it was driving Eddie nuts.

He headed downstairs, through the immaculate house that he vaguely knew the layout of having dealt at a party Steve held last year, to the kitchen to rummage for some kind of breakfast.

He had already checked upstairs and now again as he walked through; the house was empty. Steve's parents gone for the day.

Eddie rolled his eyes as he opened the fridge and found, among the very neat and plentiful groceries, a brown paper lunch bag with the name "Stevie" written on it with a little heart.

"Great," Eddie scoffed bitterly, the first really sour thought he’d had all morning. "His mommy still makes his lunches."

Eddie thought about the handwriting on the calendar upstairs; it was the same as the lunch bag. Thought about the neatly folded clothes, about the extremely tidy rooms. He knew Steve's mom didn't work; she didn't do much of anything except parade around town flaunting her perfect life.

And she was a real bitch.

She was on the Hawkins Town Council and the PTA. She was the first person to call Hellfire Club a cult when they had originally petitioned for some money from the PTA for shirts a few years back. She had called Eddie a menace too many times to count, periodically to his face if he parked a little too close to the front to her liking at Bradley's.

"And she makes her precious baby boy Stevie tuna salad sandwiches and ants on a log like he's 6," Eddie grumbled as he peeked inside the bag. He couldn't remember the last time someone made his lunch for him.

Well he could...in those early days with Wayne. They were both trying to navigate the new living arrangement after his mom had passed. He wasn't that great at peanut butter and jelly or carrot sticks...but he did teach Eddie that you could put potato chips inside of your sandwich though. Taught him how to make the best of a situation, to take care of himself.

So that's what he was going to do. He was gonna make the best out of this situation and play the part and get through the day. Because things were always good—life was always good—if you were Steve Harrington. And he was Steve Harrington now.

"And Steve Harrington," Eddie pushed past the bitterness and found a little spark of goodness. "Drives a BMW."

"Watch where you're going freak!" Someone grunted at Steve as they rammed their shoulder into his as they passed.

"When did everyone get so damn rude?" Steve grumbled to himself. It was the fifth person who had done that today. Hawkins High really had gone to the pits in the past few months since he graduated.

To be fair, everything had really sucked for him so far that day. He thought, Hawkins High was his stomping ground. Just put on the Harrington charm—despite the rough exterior—and everything would work out.

He was so wrong.

First he had gotten detention for being late to class, apparently for the third day that week—

God, Munson needed to get his act together; no wonder he hadn't graduated yet.

—then when he had tried to schmooze Mrs. Worth, the school secretary, into giving him Dustin's schedule, she laughed. And when he asked if he could have a copy of his own schedule, Eddie's schedule, she had just rolled her eyes and said,

"Trying every trick in the book to get out of classes, Edward. I can't help you unless you help yourself."

"How can I help myself if I don't have a schedule Jeanine?" he snarked, figuring Eddie's own signature shitty attitude would get him somewhere instead.

It only added an extra 15 minutes onto his detention.

Great.

Finally he managed to find the crumbled scrap of a class schedule in Eddie's locker—the only locker without a lock on it although he doubted anyone would want to steal from this absolute cesspit—amongst the piles of incomplete homework and garbage and overdue library books. It took everything in Steve not to rip it to pieces when he saw archaic symbols drawn all over it, no doubt another curse Eddie was waiting to enact on someone.

Steve just went through the motions and still got picked on and berated by every teacher and most of the students. Of course, Eddie fucking deserved everything he got. He was a lazy student and a menace, always causing some kind of trouble. But it made Steve especially grumbly that he would now have to deal with the fallout of Eddie's shit. Despite trying to adapt his own good behavior.

"Just gotta find Henderson and this will all have been some silly dream," Steve muttered to himself all day. And thankfully he had survived until lunch and immediately spotted Dustin and Mike as they sat down at the freaks' usual lunch table.

God he needed to get those kids away from Munson and his cult. Especially now that he knew what they could do.

He quickly crossed the busy cafeteria, uncaring of anyone he bumped into or the sharp words they spat at him.

"Henderson, we need to have a little chat," Steve announced as he reached the table. One of the older kids at the table—Steve tried to recall his name: Gary, Garth, Garrett—perked up at the sight of "Eddie" though and started chatting excitedly.

"Hey we were just talking about Hellfire tonight. I know you won't tell us anything but do we ne—”

"Hellfire's canceled," Steve dismissed coldly.

"What?!" They all started talking over one another.

"You never cancel Hellfire."

"Are you sick?"

"Guys he's dying. Or he's lost his mind."

Steve felt the annoyance bubble up inside of him and he raised his voice.

"It's canceled!" He leveled all of them with a scathing look. "I've got detention. Alright?"

"You always have detention," Mike spoke up, then cowered slightly as Steve glared at him. "Y-you've never canceled before..."

"Tough shit. Maybe next week." Steve turned his attention back to Dustin. "Let's go."

He grabbed Dustin by the arm, hauled him out of his seat, and pulled him out of the cafeteria.

As soon as the heavy double doors clicked shut behind them, Steve fell back against the wall and buried his face in his hands.

"Shit! Eddie!" Dustin's demeanor immediately went from fear to concern. "What's going on?"

"'m not Eddie," Steve groaned.

"What?"

"I'm not Eddie!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands out as if it would reveal who he actually was. "It's Steve, I'm Steve."

"O-ok?"

"I'm Steve and I woke up in Eddie's body and I don't know what's happening and I'm..." He started breathing heavily. "I'm so fucking pissed off and I'm so fucking scared."

"Hey listen man, I know," Dustin began hesitantly. "I know you keep telling us that the weed is not for freshman but if this is supposed to scare me—"

"This isn't to scare you," Steve grumbled, grabbing Dustin by the shoulders so he could pull him closer. "I'm not high. And I'm not Eddie. I'm Steve Harrington."

Dustin blinked at him.

"Ok..." he nodded slowly. "You're Steve Harrington? Tell me something only Steve and I would know."

Steve wracked his brain; there were a lot of things that he and Dustin shared, he was closer to Dustin than all of the other kids. But now, so was Eddie...so what was something that Eddie wouldn't know?

"Last year...last December..."

"Yeah?"

"The Snow Ball?"

"Ok?"

"I helped you with your hair...I told you my secret."

"Which was?"

Steve and Dustin stared each other down for a moment before Steve caved.

"Thefarrahfawcettspray," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"The Farrah Fawcett Spray, alright? I swore you to secrecy, I wouldn't tell anyone else, let alone Eddie Munson." He clenched his hands into fists and gritted his teeth.

"Son of a bitch!" Dustin hissed. "It really is you."

"I told you so, you little punk."

"What did...I mean..." Dustin clutched the bill of his cap with both hands and exhaled. "How?"

"I was hoping you could help me figure that out," Steve sighed. "And how to undo it."

"I think this is a little beyond my academic ability Steve."

"No, not just because you're smart. Because you hang around Munson. He's the one who did this to me."

"Wh-what?" Steve started talking a mile a minute and Dustin stopped him. "Ok, slow down. I'm gonna need you to start over. If you want me to help you, I need to know everything."

Steve spent the rest of lunch explaining everything to Dustin, from the interaction with Eddie at Family Video to feeling off last night during dinner and then waking up in Eddie's body this morning.

Dustin asked, what seemed to be, random questions. Like if he had remembered brushing his teeth the night before, if he’d had any indigestion, or if there were any scars that he had as Steve that might have appeared on "Eddie's" body instead.

"I wasn't exactly eager to check Eddie's body out," Steve scrunched his nose in dismissal.

"You didn't even take a shower or anything?" Dustin asked.

"I mean, no," Steve shrugged. "But now that I think of it...how am I gonna even be able to take a shower. Ugh, I don't want to touch Eddie's junk."

"Your junk," Dustin reminded him.

"Eddie's body," Steve insisted.

"And you're Eddie for the foreseeable future," Dustin shrugged. The bell signaling the end of the period rang and Dustin sighed. "Listen, I'm gonna skip next period and see if the school library has anything useful. But I'm not hopeful."

"Hey, you shouldn't skip class!" Steve argued.

"It's just Latin."

"Which you're failing."

"Skipping one class while you've literally had your mind transplanted into another body over night seems like the correct choice. I'll see you later." Dustin disappeared amongst the throngs of students and Steve sighed, resigned to go through the motions for the rest of the day.

It was a lot more of the same shit he'd gone through in the morning: getting body checked in the hall, having his books slapped out of his hand, teachers purposefully calling on him thinking he wasn't paying attention—even though he was, thank you very much. Although...considering that Eddie's notebooks were filled with doodles and poetry and shit...it wasn't a far stretch to believe that no, Eddie didn't actually pay any attention in class.

Steve actually had never had any classes with Eddie except for PE, really. And the fact that Eddie got into constant arguments with Coach should have been enough of an indicator of his poor academic performance as it was. But he’d based all of his assumptions on other factors. They hadn’t really interacted short of seeing him roaming the halls, the many few times Steve and his friends had mocked the Hellfire kids, even the one or two times Steve had gone up to Eddie himself to coerce him into dealing at a party.

He had always thought of Eddie as a thorn in everyone's side...but now being Eddie...

The bell rang signaling the end of the day and although Steve knew he had to get to the cafeteria for detention, he still went to find Dustin and see if he had any answers.

It wasn't a long search, Dustin was waiting by Eddie's locker looking...incredibly nervous.

"Anything?" Steve asked.

"The school library isn't well-stocked with occult books," Dustin sighed. "Best I could find was this, Mysteries of the Unknown, which I'm gonna read, I just don't think it's gonna help us out very much."

Steve groaned and covered his face with his hands.

This was just great.

“Listen, I’m gonna level with you this is…kind of outside of my expertise here Steve,” Dustin said hesitantly.

“But what about the cult stuff,” Steve asked, throwing his hands out. “You spend every Friday with Hellfire Club.”

“Playing a board game,” Dustin defended. “One that you could have learned by now if you just—”

“You’re telling me there aren’t any spells or...or something that could do this in your little game?"

"It's Dungeons and Dragons. Not Jumanji."

"...does that game maybe have a spell that—"

"No!"

"Well what about all of this shit Eddie has drawn in his notebooks, huh?" Steve fumbled to flip to one of the pages that had little symbols drawn in the corner. "What is this?"

"Probably something for a campaign. Maybe you should ask Eddie?" Steve froze and Dustin frowned. "You...have talked to Eddie about this right? You didn't just...come to school...without talking to Eddie, did you?"

Steve felt like an idiot. Of course Eddie would be in his body if he was in Eddie's. Eddie didn't just...banish Steve...he put a curse on both of them.

"Dustin Henderson, you are a genius." Steve pressed a kiss to Dustin's head, turned on his heel, and ran towards the door. Detention be damned.

"I'm not a genius, you're just an idiot!"

For all of the fears Eddie had about growing up—finally graduating, deciding if he should take some classes at the community college like the guidance counselor suggested ages ago, having to get a job or really throwing everything he had into making Corroded Coffin successful—he was honestly having a good time working at Family Video.

Steve always seemed a little bored and grumpy every time Eddie had stopped in. But it wasn't that bad if Eddie was being honest.

He'd been a little frantic at first, trying to figure out which key unlocked the door, and how to turn on the computer and open the cash register—thankfully there were little handwritten instructions taped under the keyboard—but once everything was up and running, it was a good time. He got to put a movie on—Star Wars, duh—easily chatted with some of the apparent-regulars who came by to make returns, even processed shipments of some new releases. It was a blast.

Eddie vaguely wondered, whenever he found himself back in his own body, if he should apply for a job here.

The bell above the door rang and Eddie turned, expecting to greet customers, only to be met with a fuming Robin Buckley.

Eddie didn’t know Robin very well, but what he did know he respected, if not outright liked. During his first senior year, she and a group of band nerds had gone up against Corroded Coffin in the last round of the Hawkins High Battle of the Bands. Now, he knew that the whole competition was rigged—Corroded Coffin had gotten second place despite being the best metal band in town—but she was pretty cool to shake their hands after the event was over. Tell them how good they were.

Of course, her band did a cover of "We Will Rock You" and "We are the Champions." Kind of cheating if you'd asked Eddie...but they did a pretty good job of it. He couldn't fault the student body for choosing that over the alleged Devil Worship music.

However, gone was the bashful Robin in his memory, and instead there she stood seemingly gearing up for a fight, with her sleeves rolled up and teeth gnashing together as she sneered.

"Forget something today dingus?" Robin asked "Steve" through clenched teeth.

"Uhhh," Eddie fumbled. "I don't kn—"

"Me! You forgot to pick me up for school," Robin exclaimed, hands thrown up in the air in exasperation. "You didn't even call? What gives?"

"I, uh," Eddie wracks his brain for an excuse. Because he didn't know he needed to? Because he wasn't actually Steve? "I accidentally overslept."

"And then I was worried about you," Robin rambled, running a hand through her bangs as she went on. "You could have...crashed into a pole, or...or...had a stroke and drove into a ditch."

"I'm sorry," Eddie offered with a half-smile.

"You better be! And your alarm better be set on Monday; I am not walking to school again," Robin grumbled as she headed to the back room to clock in. Eddie sighed in relief as the door shut behind her.

He really did feel bad about not picking her up for school. His friends were used to him skipping or just...sleeping late. If he wasn't at their houses to pick them up by a certain time, they knew they'd have to find another ride. Or just walk.

Gareth's mom was usually nice enough to give them rides on the days when Eddie didn't show.

But Robin...well, shit, Eddie knew Steve and Robin worked together...not only here but at Scoops Ahoy before this but damn, he didn't know Harrington was driving her to school. He must have been really good about picking her up every day if she was mad and worried.

"—and the thing is that I worried all day for nothing." Robin continued as she walked back onto the shop floor. "What if he's dead? What if his parents don't know? I think I failed my algebra test because of you so...just call next time ok?" She stared at him expectantly.

"Ok, I will," Eddie nodded. But Robin just narrowed her eyes at him and folded her arms across her chest. "What?"

"What do you mean what?" she asked. "What are you still standing there for? It's almost 4."

"Oh!" Eddie checked his watch. "Is it? I guess...my shift is over right?"

She stared at him with a dumbfounded expression and then slammed her hands on the counter, making him jump.

"This is why you're single, this is why you can't find a girlfriend," she whined. "I don't even feel bad for you anymore. Not when you're screwing it up every step of the way. I really thought you were gonna get it right this time."

What was she talking about?

"How could you forget!?"

And in spectacular timing that Eddie could only have expected in a movie, the clock struck 4, the bell rang as the door opened, and you walked in for your date with Steve.

You were nervous.

Of course you were nervous, this was your third date with Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington. You sort of still didn't believe that he had asked you out.

You didn’t believe you were still going out with him.

It was just a random night that you'd run into Family Video to grab a movie before they closed. How easily he bantered with you, how he made you laugh, how he suggested Sixteen Candles of all movies for your study night with the girls from your classes at the Tri-County Community College.

He had made a joke when he looked up your mom’s membership…if the number on file was up-to-date so he could inform you of new releases…or just to ask you out.

You had giggled so stupidly after you left. He had called that night.

You'd always been sort of afraid of him during school. He was cute, sure, charming when he wanted to be...but he was popular and a jock and kind of a douche. You’d seen him pick on countless nerds.

He was King Steve, The "Hair" Harrington, whose dad owned the car dealership and had even run for Mayor once and was expected to run again. And you...you didn't have confidence issues really, but there wasn't anything really special about you either. You'd always held out hope that your silly high school crush would ask you out, so you never accepted any of the offers you had from any other boys.

But he never ended up asking you out, no matter how many signals you gave him, how much time you spent with him. How you wore the cutest outfits if you knew you’d partner with him in class.

And shy of some random drunken makeouts and one unfortunate hookup at some stupid party to get your first time “out of the way” (according to Julie Williams)…you stayed single.

Now you were out of the dregs of the high school hierarchy, sure, but you never expected Steve to ask you out. You weren't popular by any means...

But neither was Nancy Wheeler before Steve dated her.

Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler.

You couldn't get the name out of your head. Or more accurately, you couldn't get Steve saying her name out of your head. You hadn't even heard of her until they had started dating in your junior year; she was a year younger than you and Steve. Sweet, a little timid maybe. You thought they were cute together, always kind of near each other. Holding hands or kissing or laughing.

Nancy stood in the spotlight with Steve, and they spent enough time for him to become nicer and for her to become more confident. Confident enough to dump him about halfway through your senior year.

Rumors were afloat about King Steve losing his crown. That the new kid Billy Hargrove had taken it when the king was down on his luck. But Billy was an even bigger douchebag and you'd thought...well, Steve was the big man on campus, he would bounce back right? Surely once you graduated at least? He’d find his footing and move on?

And you thought he had. He’d stayed in town, gotten a job, went about his life like it was normal. Still drove around and charmed the town, asking girls out and whatnot. Asking you out.

Imagine your surprise when he mentioned Nancy on your first date. Coffee at that little bakery in the town square; he had ordered for you before you got there and you asked if it was his favorite or something.

"Well Nance always liked it so I figured you might."

And then again at the movies, he'd ordered you a cherry coke and Mike and Ikes. No popcorn.

"Nancy always complained about the kernels getting stuck in her teeth."

You were patient and you tried to be nice. But it created this constant, subconscious comparison to her that hit you every time you saw her around town. And she was always around.

And Steve…tried, he made sure the dates were nice, he called on the phone, asked you about your day, told you about his. You just knew you couldn’t…allow yourself to feel less than, even if Steve didn’t realize he was doing it to you.

So you decided you were gonna end things.

You'd gone to Family Video to tell him as much, to have a nice discussion, before heading to your shift at Benny's. But he was very sweet, unexpectedly so. Promised your third date would be something special. You'd both dress up. He'd take you out to dinner somewhere nice.

"You're gonna love this place," Steve had said, taking your hand in his. "Nance thought it was great when I took her there too."

Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler.

And at that moment you decided to just pull your hand away and tell him "I'm sorry Steve" and "you can’t keep bringing her up, it’s over."

Until you caught sight of Eddie Munson at the corner of your eye.

Your high school crush.

Who was funny and clever and silly and handsome and more. Who was everything you could kind of ever dream of. Who you got into a fight with your best friend over because she thought she had dibs since her brother was his friend. Whose name you scribbled in your notebook and almost died the one time he flipped through to copy your notes.

Who never saw you as more than a classmate.

And you decided...even if you were tired of playing second fiddle to Nancy…you had spent enough time waiting to be noticed by Eddie. All of high school and, you were ashamed to say it, even now after the fact.

You couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t pass upon another boy who actually noticed you just to keep waiting on Eddie.

So you told Steve that his idea was great and you went on your merry way.

You had convinced yourself that it could work out, that you could be Steve’s girlfriend if he asked, if he kissed you at the end of the night. You'd dressed up to go to class today, knowing that you wouldn't have time to change for the date after. Your friends had teased you about your date, about the fluffy tafetta dress you'd chosen, giggled along with you and inflated your confidence.

It was still a little bit of a shock when you walked into Family Video promptly at 4 only to find Robin standing in front of the counter with the most pitying, sympathetic look in her eyes. And Steve still behind it, looking like a deer in the headlights, still dressed in his casual work clothes, hair slightly disheveled.

Not prepared for your date at all.

Did he forget?

You shouldn’t have felt bad, really. You were meeting him after his shift. You knew that you didn’t always look or feel great after work. You should have given him the benefit of the doubt.

Or did he change his mind?

Because he talked the talk yesterday and you fell for it. You let your pride get the better of you and you should have just followed your instinct to end things.

That insidious voice in the back of your mind though…

Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler.

…told you that he realized you weren’t good enough.

"H-hey," you greeted sheepishly. Your throat got tight

“Say hi dumbass,” Robin muttered over her shoulder. “Steve was just telling me how excited he was for your date!”

“Really?”

And then…it felt like Steve was suddenly seeing you for the first time. Because Steve Harrington just had a way about him, right?. That cool, casual exterior. That easiness.

Looking at him now…his eyes were wider and brighter, his smile bigger, eager. It was a version of him that you hadn’t experienced.

Was this maybe what Nancy Wheeler saw when she looked at him…looking at her?

And now he was looking at you this way.

"I...I'm not late am I? Or too early maybe?" you asked, suddenly bashful under his gaze.

“No,” Steve shook his head. “You’re perfect.”

“Gross,” Robin gagged. “Ok get out of here before I vomit.”

Steve practically vaulted over the counter and disappeared into the back for a moment, then situated himself at your side upon his return.

“You ready to go?” He asked eagerly. You raised your eyebrows in question and glanced down at his outfit, still dressed the same, still wearing his Family Video vest even.

“Oh you…” you started and then stopped when his smile got even brighter. “Yeah let’s go.”

You were barely out the door when a familiar van skidded into the parking lot and came to a halt in the spot next to your car. Eddie jumped out of the driver's seat and slammed the door, before pointing at Steve with a manic look in his eyes.

“You!” Eddie shouted. “What did you do? How did you do this!?”

You immediately turned to Steve, whose eyes went wide for a moment before he smiled lazily, almost condescendingly.

“Me? I didn’t do anything,” Steve announced, holding his hands up innocently.

“I know you’re in there Eddie, you son of a bitch,” Eddie grumbled and practically lunged at Steve. Steve jumped a few steps back and you got between the two of them, hoping your presence would put Eddie at ease.

Wait…

Did he call Steve…Eddie? Did he call Steve by…his own name?

Was he high or something? You tried to rationalize it: The anger, the manic look in his eyes, the way his shoulders shook as he breathed heavily. It only made sense.

“Hey look at me,” you said gently. “It’s gonna be ok, you need to take a deep breath and calm down. You’re gonna be ok.”

“Stay out of this honey,” Eddie said through clenched teeth. “This is between me and him.”

“Steve, what’s going on?” You glance back at him for an answer.

“Nothi—” Steve began but Eddie quickly spoke over him.

“He put a curse on me, he put a curse on us,” Eddie heaved.

A curse?

“M-maybe you need a doctor or something,” you tried. “You aren’t making any sense.”

”He doesn’t need a doctor,” Steve called from behind you. “He’s a freak, a criminal. He needs to be locked up.”

Eddie froze and looked between you and Steve, fear suddenly in his eyes.

“Steve are you crazy?!” You turned and hissed at him, but by the time you turned back to Eddie, he was backing away and retreating into the van.

“This isn’t over,” he threatened, pointing at Steve through the window. “You’re gonna fix this.”

“Eddie wait!” The van backed out of its spot and sped back out of the parking lot. You sighed with worry. “Eddie.”

“Sweetheart,” Steve casually put a hand on your shoulder “Don’t worry about him.”

You turned on your heel and slapped his hand off you.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?”

Eddie played the part perfectly...

"What the hell is wrong with you!?"

...or so he thought.

While he would never call anyone else a freak, standing and staring at his own face--despite the realization that Steve was in there--it was almost cathartic to yell those things at himself. To get a feel of what everyone else felt when they yelled those things at him. To not be on the receiving end of it for once.

Except you didn't seem to see it that way.

While Eddie had felt like he had hit the jackpot all day, being in Steve's body, he knew that he really came out ahead when you showed up for your date with him. The thought briefly crossed his mind...if he broke your heart as Steve...it might be a better chance for him to ask you out and for you to say yes.

But considering that he might possibly spend the rest of his life as Steve Harrington...having you was too good of a chance to pass up.

He would rather have you as Steve, knowing you would never care for him as Eddie, than lose you altogether.

Except that might be exactly what he had done as you stood there glaring at him.

"W-what?" He asked nervously.

"Are you kidding me right now?" you exclaimed. "He...there was clearly something wrong with him. How could you say those things? How could you call him those names? And then he...he left...what if he gets hurt?"

"What do you care about Eddie Munson?" he scoffed.

"He's my friend!"

Fuck.

Hearing that made his heart ache in his chest. He was a friend. Yeah. Just a friend. Which is why...if he wanted to salvage this, he would have to think quickly.

"I just...you're right," he explained, holding his hands out defensively. "He looked like...there was something wrong. And you were so quick to jump in the way...what if he hurt you?"

"He wouldn't!"

"I was worried."

"He wouldn't have hurt me."

"Listen to me," he soothed and approached you carefully in case you lashed out again. "I...I care about you, honey. I don't want to see you hurt. And Eddie...definitely looked like he was ready to hurt someone. I needed to get him away from you."

You gnawed at your bottom lip for a moment, pulling at your fingers nervously as you contemplated his excuse.

"Alright," you finally nodded. "I understand."

"You do?" he asked.

"Yeah," you sighed. "But please...please don't do that again. Don't call Eddie a freak. He's my friend and he deserves better than that."

Eddie's throat got tight, wanting to scream--

It's me. I'm Eddie. I'm in here.

--instead he took a few steps closer and folded you into a hug. You shook for a second, and god damn did he feel like he was on the verge of shaking too.

He needed a distraction.

"So...how about that date huh?" He questioned after a few moments of savoring the feel of you in his arms. "You ready to go."

"Sure," you pulled back and gave him a small smile. "Where are we going?"

Eddie, of course, had no idea where Steve had planned to take you. His mommy didn't mark dates in his calendar like she did his work schedule. So he simply decided to make something up on the spot. One of his favorite places.

He simply told you it was a surprise and led you to Steve's BMW, opening the door for you like a gentleman should, before he got you both on the way.

His fingers fidgeted on the steering wheel as he drove. He debated asking you questions, but decided against it on the off chance that they were things Steve had already on your first two dates. And the music that Steve had in the car was abysmal and wouldn't do anything to calm Eddie's nerves.

You seemed content to stare out the window as he drove though, still fidgeting with your fingers as the drab scenery passed by once he got onto old highway 77.

A few miles past Starcourt sat "Stoney Creek Adventure Center," boasting a halfway decent arcade and two miniature golf courses. With all of the new amusements in and around Hawkins, it wasn't as busy as it was the few times his mom and Rick had taken him when he was a kid. But it was still pretty lively on a Friday night: some families with younger kids, a couple of teens who snuck into the windmill to get high and make out.

Eddie escorted you out of the car and watched as you stared at the half-faded turf and oversized obstacles.

"So?" he asked, hands on his hips. "What do you think?"

Your hesitation to answer made his throat tight again.

What if this wasn't a Steve Harrington-calibur date?

"Uh..." you paused and looked at him out of the corner of your eye. "This is the place you took Nancy Wheeler? You said...you were taking me someplace she really liked."

Alright, time to make it or break it.

"I just thought you might like something different," he shrugged. "I thought...I've been bringing up Nancy a little too much. I want to enjoy new things. With you."

The way your gaze softened and you smiled at him...yeah, he was really fixing all of Harrington's fuck-ups. Give you everything you deserved.

"Oh, that's...yeah, that's really sweet," you giggled. "I...I didn't want to say anything...I know she was important to you. But I was actually starting to feel like--"

"Hey, listen," he interrupted you, knowing what you were going to say next...feeling a little smug that he was right. "The past is the past. I'm sorry I made you feel like you were playing second fiddle to Nancy."

"You really did," you confirmed.

"But I really like you," Eddie admitted, feeling a weight lift off of his shoulders as the words escaped him. Even though the voice he said them with was not his own. "I want you to feel important too. Ok?"

"Ok," you agreed, lips pursed and nose scrunched as you obviously fought a smile.

"Alright then, let's get to putting," he clapped his hands together and started walking towards the arcade to pay for your rounds of golf.

He stopped, however, as you grabbed him by the arm.

"Don't you think I'm a little overdressed?" you asked bashfully, gesturing down at yourself. "You told me we were going someplace nice."

He placed a hand over his heart and acted wounded.

"You're saying mini golf isn't nice?" he whimpered.

"No, it's perfect, I just..." you shrugged. "I don't know, I think...I don't even have a jacket or anything."

"Well tell you what," he said and peeled his Family Video vest from his shoulders. "As long as you don't tell Keith that I made you a temporary employee for the night--that's what this means you know, so don't take it lightly--you can wear my vest."

You didn't fight the smile this time, it beamed brightly in the golden afternoon light. You put the vest on and did a little turn, modeling it for him, looking slightly ridiculous with your fancy dress and the stupid green and orange vest.

What Eddie wouldn't have done right then to have his battle vest instead right then. To make you look like you were his girl and not Steve's.

"Beautiful," he told you truthfully. "Now you ready to lose? I happen to be a mini golf champion."

"In your dreams," you scoffed.

No...not in his dreams anymore...

At the end of the night, well past it getting dark, Steve drove you back to the strip mall parking lot for you to get your car and head home. But it felt no less romantic than it would have been if he was actually dropping you off at home and you were chatting on your porch before you went inside.

“I really did have a great time tonight,” you told him honestly. It felt like a cliché, like something from a tv show. But...despite the rocky start, you did have a great time and it was absolutely nothing you expected from Steve of all people, especially not after those first two dates. After all of the things you had doubted.

You had played both of the miniature golf courses, sat at the little picnic benches and shared a basket of half-soggy fries with ice cream cones--yours strawberry, his a chocolate-vanilla swirl--and chatted about your classes, and then ended the night beating the high score on Space Invaders.

Maybe things were looking up after all. Maybe you were right to give him this last chance.

“It was kind of perfect," you continued. "Thank you.”

“Well, what can I say?” Steve beamed. “I’m full of good ideas, when I’m inspired to have them.”

“And I, um, inspired you?” You asked hesitantly.

“You have no idea,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t even believe what was going on in here even if I told you.” He tapped his forehead a few times.

You reached up and rapped your knuckles on the side of his head the way you would a watermelon to see if it was ripe.

“I dunno, sounds kind of hollow to me—Steve!!” He grabbed you around the middle and started tickling you. You yelped and giggled as his fingers relentlessly tapped and pinched at your sides. “Stop it.”

“Sorry, honey, I told you I was full of ideas,” he pouted playfully but didn’t let up. “You just looked awful ticklish; it inspired me.”

“I can’t,” you laughed. “I can’t breathe.”

“I guess I can stop,” Steve sighed, the tickling letting up for a moment. His hands stilled on your waist as you caught your breath and he inched closer. “I think I’m inspired by something else now, to be completely honest with you.”

And then he did a thing--something he had been doing all night--he was looking at you like he couldn’t really believe you were there with him. His eyes were sparkling and happy. His smile wasn’t the…signature smooth Harrington smile that you’d grown accustomed to the last few dates. It was wider, easier.

“Y-yeah?” You whispered. “What’s that?”

He leaned in closer, rubbed his nose against yours. Your eyes fluttered shut and you exhaled softly.

"C-can I," he whispered, soft enough that you could barely hear him. "Can I kiss you, honey?"

"Y-yeah," you agreed just as softly. He hummed but didn't make another move, choosing to continue giving you such soft attention. It made your heart melt.

"You sure?"

"Please," you keened.

He let out a soft chuckle and pressed his lips to yours and you sighed.

If was all of the tender softness you deserved, but never knew in the fast, hormone-and-alcohol driven kisses you had experienced in high school. However few. You were simply surrounded by him.

His touch--his soft lips molding to yours, pressing, and his hands on your waist, pulling--constant and pleading for more but never pushing. His scent that invaded your senses--sharp and citrusy and fresh, like a summer's day. His sounds, that simple...constant little hum as the seconds ticked by.

He was everywhere and everything.

But...

You thought about Eddie earlier that day, the striking, wild look in his eye. So different from the Eddie you were used to, the Eddie you cared about, the Eddie your heart beat for over the past 5 years. You were worried about him, yes, but one thought occupied your mind.

How would Eddie have kissed you?

Your heart stung when Steve pulled away and you blinked back the burning in the back of your eyes.

You couldn't entertain those thoughts, not when Steve was standing right in front of you, after he had just kissed you so perfectly, and looked at you as if you were the only thing that could ever make him happy.

“G’night honey,” he murmured.

“Goodnight,” you whispered guiltily. "Goodnight Steve."

Eddie made it back to the Harrington's house with a big smile on his face.

He could do this forever if he had to.

Live in Steve's body, go to work at Steve's job, drive Steve's car, kiss Steve's girlfriend.

He'd been partially wondering on his drive back to the house--

Between the long, sweet moments of recalling your kiss.

--if this was, perhaps, some kind of karmic reward for all of the shit life had handed to him. A terrible father, a dead mother, a short attention span, and the entire town voicing their opinion that he was some dirty, rotten, trailer park freak. And then on the contrary, Steve--who had been given everything he never asked for and was an ungrateful shit--could have some karma as well.

As he made it up the stairs--the stairs, Eddie still couldn't believe it--to his new bedroom, Eddie thought about Wayne and did feel a little guilt. He definitely suffered just as Eddie did, maybe more so, simply for the fact that he had to put up with Eddie for 10 years and now would have to put up with Steve too. Eddie's stomach turned when he thought of all the things he did just to take something off Wayne's plate. Repairs around the trailer, grocery shopping and "making dinner" (which was usually code for some kind of takeout when he was too lazy to pop some frozen pizza in the oven). Not to mention the extra cash he made dealing...would Steve do those things now that they were stuck like this?

Where was Wayne's karmic reward?

There were so many things Wayne sacrificed for Eddie. And Eddie knew and did everything he could to give back to his uncle, as much as his uncle would let him. Now with this situation with Steve, he had to do a little more to lift what would end up being an additional weight off of his uncle's shoulders.

Maybe...

Maybe "Steve" could convince Mr. Harrington to offer Wayne some better, cushier job at the car dealership? So he wouldn't have to suffer as much as he did at the plant. He definitely deserved more, but this was the first thing Eddie could think of off the top of his head. After a few months it might be a new car, or some...help with a down payment on an actual house...or at the very least, a larger trailer so that he could have his own bedroom instead of that fold-out bed.

Yeah, that was it. He would think about how he would bring it up next time he saw good ol' Pa Harrington...but since the house was still empty almost 14 hours after Steve's parents apparently left for work that morning, it might not be any time soon...

Eddie opened the door to the bedroom--momentarily dismissing his thoughts of Wayne to consider if he should get some posters to cover the pretentious plaid-papered walls--only to find the light on and his own face staring back at him, scowling, as Steve sat propped against the headboard of the bed.

Eddie hesitated in the doorway, stunned.

“I told you this wasn't over, Freak."

Fuck.

Tag List: @luna-munson83 @kaitebugg03 @invaderzia1 @delusionalbabe @secretdryrose @eddiesguitarskills @simplyundeniable98 @imaslutforcuddles @hanobe8

#Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #Eddie munson imagine #Steve Harrington imagine #Steve harrington fic #Steve harrington x reader #Freaky Friday AU

[wolfiesmoon]

Making exceptions

Baji x fem!reader

yikes i need copium AND LOTS OF IT (reminds me of a certain long-haired cult leader, or something)

Here's to a good tokyo rev fic debut🙇‍♀️🥂

Warnings: delinquent style™ hurt/comfort to fluff and lots of swearing (but that's on brand for tr anyways)

"Where the hell were you?! I was-" Baji practically broke down the rooftop door, pausing when he noticed your red, cried out face.

You quickly looked away even though you knew he already saw your tears. You've been avoiding him all day, knowing that he'll realise something is up with you straight away if you talked to him.

You thought you finally got him off your trail by sneaking onto the rooftop to cry it out but somehow he saw you leaving.

"Who do I need to kill?" The ominous tone of that question both completely surprised you yet felt completely on-brand for him.

"Don't... go beating up people... please..." you forced out, trying to overpower your hiccups.

"That's not what I was asking. Who the fuck do I need to kill?"

You flinched a little. "I know *hic* you wouldn't..." you knew the basic gist of Toman. That isn't what they do. You wiped your tear-stained cheeks, finally looking up at him. He looked livid, or atleast it looked like an angry face with your blurred vision.

He sighed. "Just tell me."

You can't possibly do that, because the person who made you cry is him. You see, you are hopelessly in love with Baji Keisuke. But the only thing he seems even remotely interested in is his gang. Which is fine, but it really does get to you sometimes.

You've tried everything to stop crushing on him but unfortunately for you, your stubborn heart refuses to let up.

"It's me..." you lied, making up some excuse of failing a test you studied really hard for.

"Did you really think I'd fall for that, idiot?"

You figured. He's too smart for his own good sometimes. It always takes you by surprise, considering his abysmal grades. Definitely not book smart. Or maybe his gang activities just keep him too busy to consider picking up a book.

You looked away again and heard the sound of him sitting down next to you.

"You seriously piss me off when you don't tell me what's wrong. You're lucky you're a girl, or I would beat your ass when you do that."

You laughed somewhat dryly, wiping away the tears on your cheeks. "Lucky me..."

A short silence followed, only interrupted by your ocassinal hiccups and sniffles.

"Are you gonna tell me or do I have to break my 'no-hitting-women' rule?" You could feel his eyes on you. You don't want an innocent person to recieve a beating and saying it's your own problem clearly didn't work, so your only option is....

"Listen... this isn't the best situation to say I'm about to say, but hear me out." You looked up, staring at the bright blue sky. Your vision was starting to clear up.

You didn't see it, but he raised an eyebrow in question.

"I like you. No, I'm in love with you." It simultaneously felt like there was a weight lifted off your shoulders and that ten more were placed on top. You're just desperate to ruin your friendship with him, aren't you?

"I knew that! Why the fuck are you crying over me...?" His words brought your still slightly red, glassy eyes to his, and a sentence jumbled in your throat, coming out as a strange groan.

"You k-knew?! This whole time?!" You tried again, clenching your shirt in your hand.

"You were making it pretty fucking obvious. Even Chifuyu noticed you acting weird." Baji still looked angry, this time at you, but you had a feeling he was very relieved deep down.

"Then... why didn't you say anything?" You held your hand against your forehead in embarrasment. Were you really being that obvious?

"I was waiting for you to confess, did you expect me to casually say 'it's real obvious you're crushing on me' one day?" He raised a brow, moving a part of his hair away from his eyes.

"Fair enough..." the fact he waited for you to confess on your own accord sparked a certain feeling in your chest. Speaking of confessions...

"So, uhh, what's your answer...?" you're not sure why you're even asking. He's made it clear multiple times he isn't interested in girls and relationships.

It is the entire reason you've been on the verge of tears all day.

"Why the hell not. I've been looking for new thrills lately anyways." Your eyes widened, taking a few seconds to properly process his words. You must have looked spaced out of your mind at that moment.

He said it non-chalantly, like he couldn't care less if it was you or another girl but somehow you knew that wasn't the case. You knew he was glad that it's you.

"Well, I'll be damned." You were honestly in too much shock to properly react to the fact he just agreed to be your boyfriend.

He smiled at you widely, showcasing his sharp teeth. "What's up with that reaction? You want me to beat your ass?"

"I'm happy! Trust me, I'm happy!" You yelled out as if you were scared but you knew he didn't mean it.

Does this mean you'll be the primary target if Baji gets into trouble with another gang and they decide to take revenge? How will your life change now? Will your parents approve of a boyfriend like him? Somehow, you never really thought about things like that until that moment.

...Hmmm, maybe the danger is worth it.

#˗ˏˋ ★ ♡ 「Wolfie’s other works」 ♡ ★ ˎˊ˗ #oof now i'm worried if he's ooc☹ #i might delete this later #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #baji keisuke #baji x reader #baji x you #baji x y/n #baji keisuke x reader #baji keisuke x you #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you

[erodasfishtacos]

Safe Space

prompt: follow up to demi piece for mlb!harry

warnings: insecurity, smut, minors dni 18+

Please please like, follow, comment, and reblog ❣️

If you want my work two weeks earlier, plus polls to vote for content, plus exclusive blurbs and tropes - please consider joining my patreon for $3 ❤️

-

Harry isn’t trying to be dramatic when he says that he is officially and utterly obsessed with everything about YN.

He felt like he was addicted to her, from just being in the same space as her, and then from craving her body so much it hurt.

For a long period of his life, he didn’t understand the hype about sex - sure it sounded fine and orgasms definitely felt good but why did people care so much?

After his first time with YN, he very quickly realized what it was about because fuck, it was beyond the physical feeling of pleasure - it was how connected emotionally he felt to her and the display of love that sex was.

The issue was, they’d been intimate twice now with yesterday being their first time having sex, and both times he came prematurely.

No matter how kind and understanding YN was, it didn’t take away the deep insecurity of not being masculine enough or being a flop in the sheets.

YN had to use her own hand to help her along because he was coming so fast when they had sex, he was so far gone he hadn’t even thought about dipping his own hand down to assist.

Harry had to leave YN in his bed in the morning because he had to go to weight training and then right after a grueling practice.

He had left a little handwritten note on top of her cellphone to find when she woke up.

Good morning, baby. I’m off to practice. I love you x

It was simple but sweet.

When Harry’s in the locker room with his teammates as they all hits the showers and start to change after practice, well it’s no surprise sex is brought up - literally nothing has changed since high school.

He still didn’t feel the need to join in on the disgusting conversation, the way they talked about women was truly abysmal and some of them were referring to their own girlfriends in such crude ways.

Harry had so much respect for YN, so much undying appreciation for her body even though he just is beginning to learn it.

He would never talk about the intricacies of her form with other people, why would he want them to know what is only for him?

He didn’t want others to know how puffy her nipples get after he’s given them attention, how she gets so wet that it makes her folds glisten - that’s purely for his eyes and imagination only.

“Yeah, Becca told me that Cameron only lasted for three minutes,” Joseph cackles as the other boys join in on the laughter, “Said he jizzed nearly as soon as he stuck it in.”

“No wonder she turned him down when he asked her to the Sigma Phi party,” Payton crows with a boisterous laugh, “He’s never gonna get another date while he’s in school.”

Harry hates the anxiety that strikes in his chest because it hits him that they’re making fun of what he’s most self-conscious about right now.

He was new to everything, having YN’s hands, mouth, cunt was so mind blowingly euphoric and like nothing he’d ever experienced before that he couldn’t control how fast his orgasms snuck up on him.

The first time her lips wrapped around him, he couldn’t even think a conducive thought, let alone stave off his release.

The first time they had sex, she had to finish herself off because he came so fast that he didn’t even have time to focus on her.

His throat is tight as he rushes to get his clothes on, he didn’t want to lose YN - she was his person.

They only downfall of finally finding the love of his life was the immense fear of losing it because he knew this was once in a lifetime.

He was this allstar, cocky athlete who everyone drooled and daydreamed over - only YN knew he didn’t truly live up to his potential in the bedroom.

It’s not that he thinks she’s shallow enough to drop him over that but his anxiety and lack of self confidence had negative talk swirling through his head.

Harry wanted to be the best for her and he’s worried that he’s just not enough - it was the worst feeling on this earth and he hated that he didn’t feel confident in his own skin.

He’s out of the locker room without another glance at his teammates, putting his airpods in so he can act like he doesn’t hear all his classmates who try to say hi to him as he walks across campus.

His night class drags on, his fingers are fidgeting against the desk, knee bouncing because anxiety is one of the nastiest emotions to have.

Miss you already ☹️

The text pops across his screen towards the end of class, he has to tamper down the dopey grin that appears on his face - she must have just gotten out of her weekly newspaper meeting.

I miss you more. 😖

You’re the sweetest. Do you love me?

Harry has to bite the corner of his lip to tamper down his smile because he’s in a relationship, he loves her so much.

So much, baby.

I think you should totally invite me over tonight and show me how much. Just so I know you’re not all talk. 😛

Harry’s heart plummets back into his stomach, for what seems like the hundredth time lately because now he’s nervous about having to have sex despite how much he wants to.

Of course, he wants her to come over and he would have invited her in a minute anyways but now that the promise is lingering in her words, he’s struck with nerves.

He doesn’t respond fast enough because another text is coming through as his thumbs hesitate over the screen.

If you’re not up to it, that’s fine too.

And Harry never wants her to feel like he doesn’t want her there. It’s the exact opposite. He wants her there all the fucking time.

Don’t be silly. Of course, you’re welcome over anytime, my love. Meet me at Holden Hall in fifteen, we can walk back to mine together.

Okay ❤️

He’s not twelve, he shouldn’t get butterflies in his stomach but the thought of seeing her makes him squirm with excitement.

Because he is in love.

The class can’t end quick enough because even though there are always a few classmates who want to bullshit with him after class - Harry is bypassing them with a small smile and wave instead to get out the door.

YN is waiting on a bench, eyes on her phone until she must notice class letting up because her gaze rises and she has a breathtaking smile when she notices him.

It quickly turns downward when Harry is stopped by a group of girls, they’re giggly and overly nice as they compliment him on his recent game and how good he looked in ESPN College Edition this week.

Harry would usually give them all a cocky smile, dimples on display, and his shoulders broad as he let them coo over him.

Now he’s a taken man, he doesn’t have to act like he’s into all these girls he’s not anymore, and it’s so refreshing when he gives them a short ‘thank you’ and squeezes out of their circle.

Their eyes follow with annoyance and envy as they’re dismissed so quickly for Harry to make his way over to YN, where she’s sat on the bench in one of his baseball hoodies and a pair of leggings.

The girls begin to whisper furiously amongst themselves when Harry bends down, gripping YN’s chin, and kissing her softly for a moment before helping her up and taking her backpack to swing over his other shoulder before intertwining their hands.

YN seems surprised as they walk away, her hand squeezing his tightly as she ignores the daggers being glared into her back.

“What’s the look for?” Harry asks when they’re finally away from everyone spilling out of the lecture hall, and on the walk back to his frat house.

“I was just surprised you kissed me in front of all them,” YN shrugs, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal to her, “Most guys wouldn’t have done that in front of another group of pretty girls.”

It’s Harry’s turn to frown at that, stopping in his tracks to give her a look, “Why wouldn’t I kiss you in front of all them? You’re my person. I only want to kiss you. I don’t care what any of them think. I only care what you think.”

YN’s let’s a smile creep on her face, leaning up to kiss him for a long moment before she’s giving him a big hug and nuzzling her face into his chest.

“I love you. You’re just…” YN trails off, like she can’t find the right words, “You’re so good to me. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Harry can’t believe that. It feels opposite, he doesn’t know what he did to deserve her.

“You deserve the best and I’m going to always give it to you. I’m going to show you off to everybody all the time,” Harry promises as they begin to walk again, this time his arm around her shoulders pulling him into his chest.

The sex dilemma floats out of the forefront of his mind only for a little, only until they’re in his room, and Harry announces he needs to shower.

He was still sweaty, dirty from practice because on these days he doesn’t have time to shower before class.

When he drops their belongs near the door, he’s kicking of his shoes and telling YN, “Alright, gotta get cleaned up before we cuddle. M’gross.”

He fully expects YN to make herself comfortable on his bed while he cleans up and what he doesn’t expect is to YN to follow him to the bathroom - luckily, he had his own and didn’t have to share with his disgusting frat mates.

“Wh-What’s up?” Harry stutters as his cheeks flush, he hadn’t had anytime to figure out how he was going to solve his stamina problem and showering with his drop dead gorgeous girlfriend wasn’t going to help.

YN’s face twists in confusion as he stands frozen near the sink, “Uh, I was going to join you? If you don’t want me to, I don’t have to. I just thought that-“

He could tell he had embarrassed her by the way she’s trying to overexplain her reasoning to following him in there but Harry also knows that normal couples shower together all the time and if he was fucking normal - he wouldn’t be so surprised.

He wants to shower with her, fuck, of course he does.

Harry wants to scream and pull his hair because in his lack of self-confidence and anxiety - he’s making her feel bad about herself.

“No, no,” Harry interrupts her, bringing her into his chest, and kissing the top of her head, “Forgive me, darling. This, just all this is new to me. I’ve never showered with anyone before. I’m still getting used to actually being in a relationship.”

YN seems a bit relieved at his explanation, kissing his collarbone and rubbing at his back, “Still, if you don’t feel comfortable with me joining you that’s okay. Not all couples shower together. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Harry’s chest pangs because he just keeping mucking everything up, “No, I always want you with me. Please don’t second guess yourself, baby. Want you to shower with me. Want you with me every second of the day.”

YN nods against his chest but doesn’t make any move, like she’s nervous to be the first one, and so Harry does so first - stepping back to strip his shirt over his head before he’s slipping YN’s hoodie up and over her head.

He leans over to turn on the faucet to get the water warmed up, she’s standing there in just her bralette and leggings - god damn, she’s pretty.

Harry’s heart rate is going a million miles a minute as he shrugs the bralette over her head, her gorgeous tits bouncing out to where they naturally lay - perky but real and soft.

“Baby,” Harry huffs out in awe as he thumbs over her nipples - hard and puffy, they are making his mouth water, can’t help but duck down and wrap his lips around one as she whines happily.

She’s reaching for the waistband of his athletic shorts and briefs, pulling them both down in one go, and it’s not shocking he’s already plumped up and hard for her.

It was still a new experience, being bare and vulnerable in front of someone else - showing the innermost personal parts but he wanted her to see him, it made him feel good when she whispered how nice his cock was.

After he’s got her leggings and panties off, he’s bringing them under the stream of the shower, and watching in rapt amazement as the droplets slide down her neck, over the peaks of her breasts, and bead off her now soft nipples.

“Turn around,” She orders quietly, turning his shoulders until he’s facing towards the back of the tub, her hands come up with lathered shampoo and begin to scrub through his matted locks - her nails scratching against his scalp feel so good that he moans weakly.

She takes such care of him, his heart is melting for her as she washes out the suds before snagging his loofa off the shelves and beginning to wash down his body to wipe away all the dirt and sweat of the day.

It feels so amazing to be taken care of like this, he’s never had this before, and now that he does - he wants to cry because he’s just emotional.

When she’s finished with him, he takes it upon himself to return the favor, not because he feels obligated but because he wants to take care of her just as much and prove his worth as a partner.

“Ouch,” YN hisses when Harry’s fingers get tangled in a knot in her hair and pull it quite harshly, YN’s face contorting in a brief moment of pain.

“Fuck, m’sorry,” Harry apologizes instantly, he was on edge and he just kept making everything worse - he just pulled his girlfriend’s hair, “M’sorry, baby. Are you alright?”

YN rolls her eyes at him, stepping closer and flopping against his wet chest, kissing his skin, and nodding, “I’m fine. You don’t have to apologize. Just be careful.”

Harry’s hands are shaking with nerves as he carefully weaves through her locks, taking his time with the knots before he’s moving onto soaping her body up - he would have to buy scents she liked as everything in his shower was more masculine scented like sandalwood and sage.

After gently running the loofa over her tits and belly, Harry dips downwards but she’s moving his hand away from her center and down her thighs.

“No scented products near the goods,” YN tells him as she wipes a stray hair off his forehead, “It will throw off my PH. I just use unscented soap for that.”

And once again, he feels like a fucking idiot and like he should have known that about female anatomy but he didn’t.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, inhaling through his mouth because he feels like such a twat today.

YN doesn’t notice, her eyes shut as she lets the water pound down on her skin, and humming happily as he washes down her legs, hand playing with his sodden curls.

They dry off and Harry grabs YN a tee shirt of his from a baseball camp because he loves seeing her in his stuff - it settled his possessive side.

YN uses his hairdryer to dry her hair until it’s nearly dry, just damp on the ends, and she crawls onto his bed, forgoing dressing in her shirt and underwear.

And Harry doesn’t know what to do because he wants to crawl over top of her, kiss her, and push inside where he knows she’s hot and ready for him but he also knows he was just in the shower for half and hour naked with her and he’ll come too soon.

“Er, what do you want to watch?” Harry asks instead, standing in his tight briefs near his desk with the remote - clicking through Netflix.

YN who’s got a confused look on her face doesn’t say anything at first, she’s literally splayed out on her boyfriends bed bare as the day she was born, and he hadn’t even acknowledged it.

“I was thinking about Bake-Off? We haven’t finished the season yet,” Harry swallowed nervously, eyes glued to the screen and not at her.

YN visibly deflates out of the corner of her eye, her shoulders slumping and she reaches for her top to shove quickly over her head before tugging on her underwear.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” YN responds without the enthusiasm she had a few minutes ago, Harry realizes for the second time that night he’s embarrassed her - he just turned down her blatant invitation.

Harry hates this.

YN is perfect, doing everything perfect, and he can’t get a fucking grip on himself.

He needs a second.

“I’m going to go make us some popcorn,” Harry excuses himself, tugging on a pair of shorts as he exits the room.

A few minutes later, with a bowl of popcorn and some water bottles, he enters his room again, frowning when he notices that YN had also tugged on a pair of his joggers.

“You cold? I can close the window,” Harry offers as he sets the food down and YN looks down at her hands, avoiding eye contact.

“No, m’fine,” She responds, her tone is unsure like he’s never really heard it, “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I figured I’d cover myself up.”

Harry shakes his head, angry at himself as he mutters, “Fuck.”

YN glances up at him with wide eyes as she watches him pace for a moment before he’s stepping over to her, kneeling down in front of the bed, and putting his hands on her thighs.

“It’s not you. You never make me uncomfortable, baby,” Harry reassures her, he feels tears start to prick his eyes as he hangs his head, “I just keep fucking this up.”

“You’re not fucking anything up, Harry,” YN replies softly, her hands coming to rub at his shoulders, “What do you mean?”

Harry sniffles pathetically, refusing to look up, “I wanted to jump your bones the second you were naked on my bed. I wanted you in the shower with me before you even offered but I’m making you feel like I’m not into you and I’m sorry.”

YN titters, thumbing over his warm ears, “I don’t think you’re not into me. I feel like I’m not reading you correctly and I feel bad.”

“No, no, baby,” Harry refutes, kissing her belly, “You’re reading me right. I want you. Every part of you. I just…I’m really doubting myself and I don’t feel like a good boyfriend.”

“But why?” YN presses, finally forcing his chin up until his watery eyes are meeting her concerned, honeyed one’s.

“You’re gonna laugh at me,” He mumbles but lets her press sweet kisses over his forehead and temples as he struggles.

“Never going to laugh about something serious, if you want us to have a healthy relationship we have to work through whatever is bothering you,” YN encourages, cupping his hands and moving her lips to kiss all over them as well.

“I was in the locker room today and they’re were fuckin’ around and making fun of some guy who…doesn’t last long. It made me anxious because I haven’t been and I don’t want you to get annoyed with me because I’m not good in bed,” Harry’s gone teary again, YN is quick to wipe them with her thumb and a knowing, calm smile decorates her face.

“Baby, that’s why you’ve been so skittish?” YN shakes her head with a small giggle, leaning down to kiss him once more.

“Said you weren’t gonna laugh at me,” Harry grumpily reminds her, nudging her cheek with his nose before pulling back.

“Didn’t realize you were worried about something absurd,” YN tries to tamper down her grin, “You’re worried that I’m not enjoying myself when we had sex?”

“You had to finish yourself off,” Harry points out as a weak reason to his defense.

YN raises an eyebrow, “Okay, at the end? But the reason I was even close enough to get myself off was because I was so turned on and you were making me feel so good.”

Harry didn’t think of it like that, he blinks at her like he wants her to keep talking, and so she does, gripping his hands firmly.

“The two times we’ve done it, they’ve literally been the best experiences I’ve ever had sexually,” YN rubs at the bridge of her nose, “I told you no guy has ever made me come before even when I was helping myself along.”

Harry takes in that information, a sense of pride swelling in his chest, and twitch in his thin shorts at the praise.

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles, brushing his lips against her clothed shoulder, “M’sorry I’ve been being such a dickhead.”

“You just need to communicate. I understand this is all new to you. It’s new to me too. It’s the first time I’ve ever been in love with the person I’m having sex with,” YN admits as her body gravitates closer to him and her legs spread for him to wriggle in between.

“And I’m going to be the only one who gets you like this. Always gonna be in love with everything about you. You’re my person,” Harry reassured her, the nerves melting away because he feels so fucking safe with her.

The stage fright, the nasty quells of insecurity dissipate, and are fully replaced desire to please the gorgeous girl in front of him.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you needed to cover-up. I actually think we should probably do a no clothes policy in my room from here on out,” Harry rasps, his tone getting lower with the more arousal swirling in his tummy.

YN giggles kittenishly and it goes straight to his center, “Oh really? When did that become a rule?”

“Right about now,” Harry growls impatiently, tugging off her bottoms and panties in one rough yank before he’s lifting her thighs over his shoulders and making himself at home between them, “Fuck. How do you always taste so good, pet?”

“I-oh fuck, Harry,” YN whines loudly as her legs try to squeeze around his ears, he was so fucking dedicated when he went at it - licking, kissing, sucking every bit of her mound and what lay inside.

“Always want this,” Harry murmurs before lapping consistently at her slit while he thumbs at her clit - it was all coming naturally to him now.

“Yes, there. Yes,” YN encourage breathlessly when he finds the perfect rhythm that  has her back arching of the mattress and legs restless against his shoulders.

The encouragement just spurs him on to thrust his tongue into her perfect, velvet core as his thumb doesn’t stop the motion.

Her hips speed up to ride down onto his tongue as she nears her orgasm, Harry reaches up to flip her shirt up to reach and knead at one of her tits, pinching at the nipple.

That small burst of pain tends to do the trip because she’s squeezing on his tongue, clit throbbing against his thumb as she tries to muffle her mewls as she comes down.

“In me, want you in me,” She orders brattily, pulling Harry up by his biceps and dragging him on top of her, she’s bossy as she grips him around the base and leads him straight to where she needs him.

“Fuck, fuck baby,” Harry moans as he’s overwhelmed with pure fucking euphoria, his hips starting to fuck in automatically as his noises echo off the walls.

“S’good, you make me so full,” YN whimpers as her lips brush against his on every odd thrust, “Love being full of you.”

“Darling,” Harry scolds between a groan, the dirty talk did not help his stamina and fuck, her mewling about how full she felt just made it worse because he’s giving a few more weak thrusts before he’s coming as well.

“Mm, thank you,” YN hums as she pulls him up for another kiss, a spark in her core when she tastes herself, “See, practice makes perfect. We’ll get there.”

“Next time m’taping your mouth shut, who knew you spewed filth like a sailor?” Harry teases as he pulls at her bottom lip, “Made me come on the spot.”

“I don’t mind being gagged,” YN says nonchalantly and holy shit, Harry is in big trouble with this girl.

He fucking loves his person, his safe place.

#harry styles writing #harry styles #update #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fic rec #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #husband!harry #harry styles husband #boyfriend harry styles #boyfriend!harry #mlb!verse #mlb!harry masterlist #mlb!harry blurbs #mlb harry #mlb!harry #mlbrry #harry styles writing request #erodasfishtacos masterlist #harry styles fic recommendatioin #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles drabble #harry styles imagine #file #harry styles love on tour

[nhlclover]

atlas | trevor zegras

summary: your boyfriend comes home after a rough game, only to let his frustrations out on you

warnings: arguing & angst

a/n: happy end of season :)

word count: 0.99k

I turned the tv off after all the Ducks had walked down the tunnel after having given up 6 goals and marking none against Edmonton. The boys were exhausted and frustrated after an abysmal season. I was seeing that firsthand in my boyfriend. 

With every loss, he would come home a little less joyous than the one before. Trevor did a good job at leaving it all on the ice but he’s also the type of person that blames every loss on himself. He carries the weight of every loss on his shoulders, letting it pile up till it becomes too much. That leads to him taking his frustrations out on the ice and being reckless with how he does it. 

I knew it would take a minute for Trevor to get home, so I finished some chores while waiting for his arrival. I was just starting the dishwasher when I heard the door click open and shut, paired with him kicking off his shoes and his backpack dropping to the floor.

I enter the living room where Trevor’s shuffling through, unbuttoning his white dress shirt. He grimaces as he removes it, stretching out his arms. 

“Hi, my love.” I say softly, sitting on the edge of the couch in front of him.

“Hi.” He sighs.

“How was the game?” I ask, even though I know exactly how it went.

“Did you watch?” He asks me.

“Well yeah, of course I did but-”

“Then you know how it went.” He grumbles.

I’m slightly caught off guard by Trevor cutting me off and his curt tone, but I understand where it's coming from. I watch him grimace again as he rubs his shoulder, which I assume is sore from being checked into the boards by one of the Oiler's D-men.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He replied sharply.

I sigh, getting up and standing in front of him, delicately placing my hands on his shoulders. “Hey, how about we take a hot bath together? Hmm? I can get the Epsom salts and maybe a couple of candles?” I ask him.

He finally looks into my eyes, but his are tired and slightly frustrated. “I’m just going to take a shower on my own.” He says.

“Are you sure?” I ask, rubbing my hands up and down his upper arms. “I mean you never turn down a bath.”

Trevor suddenly pushes my hands off and steps away from me. “Yes, I’m sure, holy shit.” He said in an exasperated tone. “Get off my back.”

“What the fuck, Trevor?” I ask, not bothering to watch my tone anymore.

“What?” He shoots back.

“Don’t say ‘what?’ like that.” I snap. “I don’t understand why you’re taking your anger out on me.”

“I’m not.” He grumbles.

“Yes you fucking are, Trevor! You’re being so short with me and for what?” I ask. Trevor runs his hands over his face and walks away from me.

“Whatever, I don’t need this right now. I’m going to take a shower.” He mumbles, heading down the hall and into our master bathroom. 

I feel like screaming, but I don’t out of fear of bothering my neighbours. I get that he’s stressed and frustrated, but it doesn’t excuse him being a complete and utter asshole. It feels unfair for his anger to be misdirected to me. When the shower turns on, I walk into our bedroom and prepare for bed. I try to fall asleep before Trevor’s done with his shower but I find myself kept awake by my anger and our unresolved argument.

I hear the shower turn off and a bit of movement in the bathroom before the door opens and Trevor begins changing. I stay still and shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep. I don’t have the energy to argue some more with Trevor tonight, so I hope that his attitude will change by morning.

I hear the drawers of his dresser slide open and shut as he changes into some sweats. He slides into our bed, and his arms snake around my torso pulling me close.

“I know you’re still awake, baby.” He whispers, pressing a delicate kiss to my shoulder. His tone is a stark difference from before, now soft and mellow, a hint of sadness trailing every word. “I’m sorry for how I was acting earlier and how I treated you. That wasn’t fair for you. Shit’s been difficult with work and I took it out on you, but you didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

I let out a breath of air I had been subconsciously holding in, twisting around in his arms to face him. “Lay it on me.” He says, expecting my outburst to continue.

I chuckle softly, brushing his wet hair off his forehead. “I forgive you,” I say, knowing he truly didn’t mean to take it out on me. “But I need you to talk to me. Or Troy, or Jamie, just somebody. It’s not good for you to just let this all bubble up and then lose your temper like this when you get a little bit upset.”

“I know, I know.” He sighs. I pull him close, resting his head against my chest, our legs tangling together. “It’s just so fucking frustrating. It doesn’t matter how much I score if I can’t fucking get back and defend. I’m letting way too many shots get to Gibby or Stolie. And we’re just getting dominated in every game."

“You need to stop putting every loss on yourself,” I tell him. “It’s good to recognize what you need to improve on but at this point, you’re taking on the faults of others.”

He lets out a deep sigh and presses his forehead into my sternum. “I’m so proud of you, you know that right?” I ask him, feeling him nod in response. “I love you.”

“I love you more.” He replies.

#trevor zegras #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras x reader #nhl imagine #nhl #anaheim ducks #angst #luvzegras #hockey

[howyouloveyourdragon]

Remnants

pronouns: she/her warnings: smut, use of the word ‘whore’, angst, disease, character death, fluff, infidelity, slowburn, classism at first (daemon is a shit) summary: They say that you never forget your first love but the vultures are prey to weakness and intend to infiltrate Daemon’s own desires to preserve his adere riñus (slippery girl). Some say the woman will forever remain in his conscience, guiding his bloodied sword and singing sweet lost lullabies to lay his rest. For it has been too long since the volatile dragon slept peaceful. A prince with more gold than he can keep. A prince who can demand whatever he wishes and command any army. And yet all he is left with…All he is left with are the remnants of her which he swore to cherish as religiously as he would an idol. A/N: reader has dark hair for a plot point to work but i think you can still ignore it if you want to :) dividers by: firefly-graphics wordcount: 6,797

There is nothing like a sunset that is more comforting to him and yet his comfort is limited. How he stares at the strewn stars like figments of grace and kind. How he stares each as though in the eye and recounts sonnets as they emit. How he begs and pleads for the Gods to last the warmth of sunlight just a little longer each time. And each time it fades. Each time his eyes grasp any trace of her to sew back into his mind after it has been torn from him with viscous delight. He should have known. The Gods do not listen to begging. Not even from Crown Princes. No matter how many bottles he shatters in the heat of his dreams. He likes to think that their love was red and as flowing as his ever-heating dragon’s blood. A Syrax in its own right. But there was no Goddess of ecstasy blessing them. No. It was a curse of bluebells and belonging to that of Gaelithox, surely to punish him for his foolishness. He looks up at the sky. The dark array of black and blue. Of silver specks and promising folds of purple. There is nothing like a sunrise better to send the Rogue Prince into a spiel of decay and sickness. The absurd golden bonds squeezing out another day like an artist with their last inch of oils. The crawling brightness that comes to threaten the moon. Abysmal lies sung to him as his brother attempts to push him into seeing beauty in all that inductees his churning stomach. 

He wills the flowers to wither. 

It was under the rising sun that Daemon had stumbled and forced his way out of the obnoxious hooting Street of Silk. Perhaps he had been desiring only ale or the rancid smell of sweat to intoxicate him. At just two and twenty, he had been visiting the volatile heap of taverns and brothels for the past eight years. It was religious in his dark desires. For dragons did not obey the whims of men and Daemon did not obey the whims of his brother nor father. And certainly not the whims of his wife. His nose turns up at the thought. Marriage would not contain him like they desired and yet still, he receives the constant demands to visit her. Of course he only intends to sink them in water until soft enough to shred, rejecting their presence all together. It would be easier to burn them but he does not think them worthy of his flame. His begrudging circle had even begun threatening to hail her to the Red Keep. To keep her in his presence all torturous times of the day. He knows his mother wouldn’t have let this happen, surely. Never would she sell him like prize cattle just to tame him. He is a dragon does not fuck plain featured sheep, he burns them but he would not devour them like his brother wished. His tastes were precise and he would not settle. He is a prince. He deserves nothing less than a woman matching his silver strands. Which is what he thinks of as he stumbles through the dark night struck streets, hopefully back to the castle gates at least. He despised people seeing him in such a state but he could usually hold his liquor better than tonight. And he assures himself that all will be well…until his cloak catches on a hook and he crashes to the floor in a surge of red blurred vision. 

He blinks awake the next morrow with a pounding headache the size of Caraxes. A wince cracks at his muscles. Daemon grunts, a rough sting along his left cheekbone. A blur of dark hair and feminine presence has him assuming he had fallen asleep in the whorehouse again but instead his eyes flit across the plain room, brows pinching at the plain room. It is unfamiliar, he realises. His lips part in time for a resounding click of the unknown woman's fingers to snap him into alert. Anger swells in his chest but his limbs are weakened with exhaustion and ale. His sharp eyes choose to narrow instead as quickly as she takes a step. His brain swishes with questions. Where is he, why is he here and most importantly, who is this already insufferable cunt of a peasant? "You." He sneers, clicking his own fingers but she ignores him, returning to a small room he presumes to be a...kitchen? It is small and brown and littered with pans, some empty, some filled. "Tell me, who are you?" It is a demand. They both know it is a demand and yet it goes ignored. Rage firms his brittle state. "Answer your prince!" He stands on slightly shaky legs, uncaring to his indecent layer of clothing, or rather, lack of. His tunic...Where is his tunic? It isn't panic that raises the bile but it is discomfort. The odd woman merely chuckles at him. Anger flares once more. Daemon's swift hand snaps to his scabbard only to find it empty. "Relax, your highness," He doesn't like the mocking lilt seeping from her untrustworthy tongue. "it will be returned to you, I merely made certain you would not awaken with a missing appendage." His face scowls petulantly at her and he takes a step forward. 

Daemon builds up his broad shoulders to square though he is not entirely a man full-grown yet and his boyish features attempt to harden. Intimidation is a powerful tool he knows. "You will hand me my possessions and I will take leave far from your slums or I will–" She spins around, facing him not with fear or mal-intent but with curiosity. Her sly smirk is the first thing he notices alongside her narrowed fox-like eyes. “Or what?” She returns, impishly .His mouth hangs. She had been washing one of her thick pans but now she has tucked the pathetic wet towel into her small apron and folds her arms. The pan is left forgotten on the side after a loud clang. She raises her brows. “Or what, your highness?” She repeats as though he is nothing more than the village idiot or town fool. Begrudgingly he has never felt more like a child, not even after marrying the bronze bitch. Daemon’s mouth moves but nothing comes out. She snorts. “Will you harm a sweet village girl? Add blood to your taxes? Ah, apologies, my lord, you are no foe of such demands, you are the taker.” The snide doesn’t pass him. “No girl is of worth to a Dragon.” He says, finally regaining composure. She doesn’t cower, she sneers. “In that we can agree.” Her voice, once mellifluous and playful, now turns cold. “Except the ones fucking dragons and I assure you, I have no intentions.” He swallows, noticing just how close they have approached once the hit of warm breath fans over his mouth which towers just above her. He ignores when his eyes flicker to her wet lips. How can a peasant look so nourished? 

Daemon may ignore it but the peasant does not, her lips slowly curling upward smugly. She hums as she takes in his dilated pupils now wielding more than just rage. Slowly, her calloused hand begins to dip into her apron pocket. In a flash, his palm snatches her wrist and rips it out of reach. She blinks, slightly disoriented, but then raises her brows comically. “Do you not wish me to return your sword, my lord?” She lilts, Daemon’s face softens. “I am your prince, not your lord.” He snarls. Again, her sickening chuckles lift in the stale air. “You are an ingrate that we are all in service to, my prince. Do you wish for your dagger or not?” He hesitates. Who is to determine that she is not attempting to fool him? That she will not snipe his weapon and slice it through his throat; would she leave him bleeding on her floor or scatter him amongst the mongrels of flea bottom? Daemon casts his eyes at her apron. She sighs, allowing his thick fingers to swipe through the various utensils stashed away. The prince grunts when he makes contact with a blade, groaning behind his taut lips. He slides it out once he finds the hilt and dances it between his fingers like a peacock presents its feathers. A smirk twitches. 

The peasant girl sighs, unamused as he watches the shining steel. “Do you intend to frolic through the streets and freeze?” She asks with a thin layer of mocking. His eyes narrow on the blade. “No,” He articulates in a frozen phrase. “You will lead me to the garments you have stolen from me and in return I shall allow your pitiful life to remain.” It isn’t a chuckle that escapes her this time but instead a snort. His nose wrinkles at the unabashed noise. “Will I?” She returns, biting the inside of her cheek. Daemon lets a glower settle, breath heaving at the disrespect. He clenches his jaw. “You will or you will taste your own blood.” Daemon spouts the words, attempting to poison her flesh, he can already imagine the boils that would litter her soft skin. The peasant merely winks. “It wouldn’t be for the first time but I am afraid that it would be in your best interests that you stay a moment more.” She sighs as though the fact physically pains her. A hand sneaks behind her back, which connects against the rough counter edge, and produces a small wooden bowl, heat emitting in steam from the top. “Would you not prefer to break your fast before you leave? A weak prince is not a wise one.” 

He leans down, sneering. “I am not weak.” She leans up at him and tilts her head. “Then how do you know I was talking about you?” She pushes the strange broth to his chest and slips past him once his confusion lessens his hold on her other wrist. His head snaps to face her figure again. “You are an insinuating little tart.” Daemon comments but much less interrogative than before. He eyes the broth cautiously as he takes a seat at her short stocky table. His legs plead for freedom under the trapment. He ignores them. The girl glances him over and he can feel the scrutiny piercing his skin, ready to seep inside. Begrudgingly, the heir seats himself at the small table of her home and huffs like a petulant child.  The threat of judgement crawls like an insect over his tense muscles, it feels like twenty-thousand little cockroaches are bumping one another from the inside of his skin. It begs to clamber into the strange peasant instead, what does a peasant fair against a prince? She must know that it would be further than a sin to place judgement on a Targaryen prince while she is nothing more than a lowly film of dirt atop his shoe; filth he is desperately trying to scrape off until his hands are raw and bloody. 

His eyes take this moment to rake over and through her as she stumbles around the much too small hobble. Her hair reminds him of toiled waves, crashing messily and unkempt–even though it is tied up–against the harsh wind sneaking through her window. Her apron is dirtied and there is flour on her face. She looks every inch the commoner he despises. Because she thinks she’s better than him, he’s sure, he can see it in her smugness, her eagerness to keep him dependent on her already. She has a vile brown dress beneath it, his skin itches just looking at the rough worn-in cloth. The prince’s eyes trail to her bare feet, he winces but attempts to ignore it, glancing over the muddy wet end to the dress. He lets a sigh release and shakes his head, inspecting the rest of the abode. Just looking at her made him long to cleanse himself. Daemon’s nose turns up at the sight of a myriad of blue wilting flowers in the corner, well he supposes to her it is reminiscent of a myriad. Her. Why is it her mind, her thoughts, that he wants to explore like the depths of the great sea he has always been kept from? Then his eye catches on the deep red cloth that drapes along a lone wooden chair. His eyes narrow. Is it stolen? She doesn’t look as though she could afford such vibrancy. Or perhaps she is a whore and it was gifted by a client. That must be it. She’s a whore. Daemon clicks his tongue and looks down at the half-eaten broth. He stirs at the odd liquid, raising the too large spoon and pouring the broth back in the bowl before dipping it back in again. It takes all his willpower to stuff it into his cheeks and let it play on his tongue. 

He swishes it across his taste buds. Daemon wants it to be foul, he wants it to reek of vomit-inducing grossness. It is a childish word but he is running out of insults. His hope also falls flat because for some reason it tastes good. It tastes better than any soup the high paid cooks have ever offered him, it tastes almost better than any rich meal he’s consumed. His eyes narrow. Is she a witch? Is this set to bewitch him or send him into sleep? No, it makes him feel much too energised. Then is it to gain his favour? Constituted to trick his submission? She will not achieve it, he refuses. He finishes the lukewarm meal while taking his time. He watches her hum and shimmy about the room, searching for something he does not know. He scans her curiously. “My garments.” He states in demand, standing and approaching her swiftly. She doesn’t react, doesn’t even stop humming. She moves about a few thick books, all handwritten and all with olden pages–yellow with use. 

His fist rests sideways against the presumably oak bookcase so he can lean over her, forearm following suit. He wants it to reflect dominance but instead it twists his gut and warms his lower stomach. “You have something that belongs to me,” Daemon purrs. His eyes narrow. His free palm outstretches. “I want it back.” “I have more than one thing, milord.” The snark drips from her tongue with charisma he loathes. His jaw clenches at the forced display. “Then return them and I shall return this.” Her eyes snap up to him and frown at the sealed letter in his grasp. Daemon can see as the panic swells and tenses her muscles, he can see as she takes in an inhale sharper than Dark Sister, he can see as her eyes widen because Daemon is not merely a swordsman and soon-warrior; Daemon Targaryen is also an observer. The peasant girl swallows. “Very well.” She chokes out and he finds himself surprised to have won this game of cat and mouse. Of dragon and sheep. Almost disappointed. The prince nods and steps back but as she prepares to swipe it from his hands and pulls it back with a visibly pensive expression. “I will give it to you once you return my possessions.” Eyes meet and again, his gut twists. She tilts her head, guard seemingly lowered. “How curious,” She breathes out. Daemon’s brows knit. “What?” He questions. “You said possessions not belongings. Most would use the latter.” 

When he eventually does return to the castle, fully clothed and prepared to sleep off the remainder of his disturbed night, He keeps a firm stance and intends to forget the strange day so far but his mind circles the events like a fly. Daemon growls as he shrugs off his shirt to replace it with one of pure white and tosses the prior into a drawer. He roughly grasps a red doublet in his hands and tugs it over. His breath comes out in grunts and curses until he is redressed. It is the same shade as the peasant girl’s cloth, of course it is. It was his favourite until today and now childishly, it feels tainted by the resurging memories of humiliation being sewn inside. His nose scrunches up, a grotesque taste rubbing against his tongue as he recalls one incident in particular. The prince, a man to be respected, can visualise as he was shoved to a thin mattress and tossed up the mix of bile and sickness from his stomach. All. Over. Her. Floorboards. Daemon winces and shakes his head, trying to shake the memory into the deepest depths of his subconscious, never to be seen again. He sighs and turns around, pausing when a slight fluttering falls as soft as a petal from his trouser. He frowns and peers down at the paper. There sits a thin parchment, not unlike the letter he had returned to the peasant girl. This one however is in cursive words much more eloquent than the past one and written in a phrasing he’s unsure of. He looks at the wax seal this time. It’s blue and the paper around it is curled. Daemon glances over the creases. Perhaps his business is not yet forgoing. 

A moon passes before he finally returns through the winding streets, trying to recall the pattern in which he returned home, backward. Daemon finds himself humming a tune to which he should not be familiar with but it is the only thing that consumes his mind as he passes through the Street of Flour. Finally, he reaches a small doorway and raps at it. No one answers to which he sighs and takes a step back, peeking through the opening of his hooded cloak at the abundance of civilians. Daemon’s eyes dart amidst the unknown area and his feet follow, investigating a series of yells and glances one last time at the door. The street is in uneven bumps and the people there are clumped together as they holler and whistle. Daemon halts his tune and uses his substantial height to attempt to see over the large mass of bodies. He can barely make out the sight of steam and two large wooden stands. The hollers burst through his ears like pellets of rain, forceful and punishing as a storm. 

Then a familiar voice is raised above the others, a mock resounding in his ears but with the playfulness and wit of a friend. His violet eyes snap up to find the woman haunting him. She’s laughing raucously, obnoxious and loud. Daemon’s lips slightly twitch at the teeth she bares. Again, his gut stirs. The heat becomes smothering but that doesn't stop him in his pursuit in finding the peasant girl who he now sees tossing around a pan filled with water and meat. From the brief glances he can snatch up, she’s almost finished while a man beside her is kneading a similar meat lined in fresh pink. Daemon pulls his lips taut, tensing as he watches the show. His little peasant seems to be enjoying herself. Witch, he thinks briefly but she doesn’t look like a witch and nor does she particularly sound like one. Are witches not supposed to be tantalising and hibernate an illusion of raw sex? Of primal appeal to tempt him? She doesn’t appear to be trying very hard. The flour is gone from her face now, he notes, but in its place lays a curved slice, colour as deep as that of Dornish wine. If she is a witch, would she not surely cover it? The hiss of her heated pan hisses throughout the street and Daemon finds himself surprised that no one has stolen from the small bag of coins in the centre. 

A cacophony of enjoyment and not one has a trail of bitterness. He watches as the girl glides a hand around her neck to push back the hair escaping its tight wrap atop her head. Only joy amongst the miserable. Perhaps that should worry him but he is too enthralled in the display. The woman’s hair is tied high again but much clearer than the moon prior–the day he last saw her. She is still wearing the same rags but this time that revolting red cloth is wrapped around her shoulders like a shaul. Not a whore either then. A whore would not be parading her squeals for free and nor would she wish to wear rags when surely many men had solicited them. So she is not a witch and not a whore and yet he finds himself stalking after her presence like an injured pup. Daemon growls at the very thought. He is a prince. How many times must he remind himself? Princes do not chase after strange peasant girls. The scolding floats through the wind when the peasant girl cheers and hurls the pan down on the wooden market stand. Her opponent groans half-heartedly, grinning like a mad man as he stretches out his arms and embraces the girl, one rough large hand resting to cup the back of her head and his other reaching to slap her back like Daemon has seen other knights behave. But this is not a knight, this is a peasant. The fact twitches his nose in distaste. But so is she. A voice whispers in his ear, he swats it away, watching as the surrounding peasants cheer. 

Daemon watches as the children let their little hands grasp the food and jump in bubbles of excitement. If he had a warmer heart, he may have found the sight sweet. But he does not, he has a mission to complete. He approaches the peasant girl with sly steps but she has already noticed him, how, he does not know. He steps behind her and opens his mouth but she beats him to it. “My prince,” She speaks with a burning smugness he doesn’t have to look at to be aware of. Against his better judgement, a sly smirk spreads across his pale lips. “You remembered.” He quips to which she hums in approval and folds her arms over her chest. “Unfortunately I did.” Daemon shifts in intrigue. He hesitates for the first sun of his existence. “I almost thought you wouldn’t bring it back.” She comments, amusement slipping in between her teeth. A snicker passes his mouth, a mouth rarely barred. “I had not imagined you would need use of such a thing left so easily misplaced.” Daemon’s hot words burrow through her ear, as determined as their wielder. She turns her head, baring her soft neck and piercing eyes to look up into his. The heir’s breath hitches. 

“I misplaced nothing, my prince.” The peasant purrs boldly. The intimacy of a whisper drips from her like an aphrodisiac. Daemon grins. “Is it my name or merely my title that you know of?” He chuckles, a confident hand reaching wind at her waist. Her own hand cups it. “Of course, my Prince Daemon Targaryen.” He swallows and a shuddered chill draws down his back. “Might you tell your prince your own for adequate compensation?” She leans a little closer, only a breath apart and fanning across his twitching lips. She interrupts his thoughts by slapping his hand enough to stun him. “I shall not.” With him vulnerable, she twists away from him with cautious grace. “I like to leave my men wanting.” She calls with a growing impish grin. He surprises himself by returning the gesture, straightening his back as he does so and raising his brows. “And I am one of your men then?” He retorts easily and watches her sashay apart from him. Before she is too far, he pats down to find the letter in his pocket but already knows it has been swiped. Instead of berating his own foolishness, he smirks at the smart, slippery girl and steps away, sure to see her more in the growing time. 

As the moons pass and his brother grows increasingly irate with him, Daemon Targaryen sneaks away into the night. He ignores the hailings of his Lady Bronze and replaces her calls with the sweet melodies his newfound companion intoxicates him with. The soothing lilt of her lullabies and the calm braids she strews across his hair. Daemon stands, now a man of 27 years, at her side. Y/n, she had told him. Her name was Y/n. She was of no surname and no wealth but she was beautiful and kind. She was fresh and witty and every inch the insinuating tart she had been the night they met. Her fingers stroke through his tangled mane with a snort before landing her hands, rough with work, on his shoulders. He leans back and flutters his eyes shut. With all the bread she has kneaded, this is not the first time he longs for her embrace. He hums in swift pleasure, reaching up to coil his fingers with hers. “How is sweet Rhaenyra?” Y/n asks, voice ripe with interest and honey as always…Only this time, there is something burrowed beneath, he can feel it. He can feel it better than he can sense Caraxes’ heartbeat. “She is well…Almost full grown already.” Daemon responds, his fingers lingering as they caress Y/n’s hand. Why does it feel so much frailer than it did before? “Are you hiding something from me? Are you aware that it is a crime to lie to your prince,” The joke falls flat as she leans forward and shakes her head, arms stretching across her lover’s chest. She doesn’t speak and he doesn’t pry but they are both aware of the deep mulberry bags beneath her eyes. 

But Daemon has always been a man of actions and impulses and so, he lets instincts take over, leaning back his head to look at her. His hands both reach up to cup her face and descend it toward him with gentle prompt. “I brought something for you,” He breathes, twirling a strand of her hair around his fingertips. She tilts her head and tightens her lips. “Whatever for?” He lets a mischievous grin twist his mouth and stands, settling Y/n down in the chair instead. Daemon cups her cold hands in his warm ones and folds them in her lap. “Close your eyes.” She does so begrudgingly but she is long past arguing with him when he’s in his moods. She chuckles. “You told you there was nothing you required for your namesday and while I respect–” She interrupts him, groaning with amusement. “Because it is not a namesday, I will never know my namesday,” She chuckles but her tickling throat gives her away, choking the words out of her dry throat. Daemon hums lowly. “But it is the day that you were given shelter.” She rolls her eyes at the quip. “That place was hardly a shelter.” He leans down to kiss wetly along her jaw and up to her earlobe. “And yet it brought you to me, kept you safe and waiting.” She snorts and raises her brows, a pointed expression inching over her. “I was hardly waiting.” He chuckles this time and kisses up the column of her throat. As she begins to breathe out gentle moans, he takes her distracted presence to skillfully thread his hand over hers, sliding cold steel onto her finger. She gasps and flutters her eyes open to see his cocky smirk. “Well?” He asks and kisses the finger. He licks his lips and lets a shaky breath flow through him. 

Y/n regains composure and stares at the ‘something’ he had brought her. She brings it to just in front of her sights and swallows. “Is-Is it…?” “Yes,” He whispers and looks at the carefully crafted jewellery too. “I want you to have a part of me, always. And in return…” He pauses and turns the ring around her finger slowly to reveal a carved dragon, its wings spread for flight. “I want all of you.” He slowly kneels in front of her. “I want you to marry me.” It’s instantaneous that her mouth parts and her eyes widen. “Daemon…” “That woman is not my wife.” He states coldly before warming at the sight of her softening brows. “You are my wife in body, in soul and I want so in law too.” He takes in a breath. “Please, do not this deny of me. “I told you I would give you everything and I intend to. “Your brother will never approve of it.” A growl ripples through his mouth. “I do not care, he has tried to be my dictator since we were children and now I am a man grown, I should be allowed to choose my own wife. To let her choose me. He has not yet had an heir, let me take you to Dragonstone.” He leans closer until only a single breath can part them. “Let me make you my wife in the ways of my ancestors.” Silence cups them in a bubble, so easily popped. Too easily popped…and yet, she turns the ring, roaming the dotted rubies that form the dragon’s eyes and in slow movement, she stares into violet irises as she kisses the dragon’s head. “Yes.” She whispers. “I will be your wife.” 

He doesn’t take a moment more to grasp the sides of her face and kiss fervently at her soft pliant lips. She returns the force in tandem as the sun sets behind them. The golden rays darken in a way only the most beautiful of moments could demand. Daemon’s hand drops to scrunch at the material at her thigh, at the skirts of her dress. It is in moments that both his hands reach to pop and tear at the incriminating fabric, ripping away her bodice until he can paw at his prize like an animal starved. Her teeth sink into his lip and the wet resounding noises surface upon their lips. His breath grunts as hers quickens in high pitched desperation. Her own hands slash roughly at his doublet, shoving it away from him like a criminal. His hips grind against her in hard strokes, desperately trailing his kisses down her neck while she clutches and pulls at his long silver hair. A high moan tears from her mouth as he sucks his marks into her, the need for possession clawing at his veins. Her pearl throbs as she twists to plunge him onto the floor. She straddles his thighs and wraps her arms around his neck and pushes his face against her neck again. He growls and snaps off her smallclothes. “When we met,” He groans, eyes fluttering back. “I thought you were a whore.” A breathy cackle drips from her animalistic mouth. “I’m starting to rethink denouncing that. You are much, ah, much too talented to be a baker.” He moans and burrows his head into the pillows of her breasts, lips wrapping to suction once more, to claim. “And you,” She interrupts herself to moan, tossing her head back. “Are much too unkempt to be a prince.” He bucks his hips. “Tell me,” A shriek breaks as he tugs roughly at the pelvis of his own trousers, desperately trying to be rid of the material. “Tell me you’re mine, Rogue Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.” A gasp drips from his tongue while he finally gets a grip of his fabrics. He tosses her to lie on the floor, her back pressed against the wood. “Fuck, I’m yours,” He babbles like a hormonal desperate teenager. With thick hands grapple his own trousers and tears them off with haste. “All yours, only yours.” 

He throbs as he kisses down her body, planting wet marks as violet as his eyes and crimson as his blood. He props up her right leg to drape over his shoulder and sucks at her thigh. His tongue probes at the flesh. His palms squeeze at her thighs as he slowly dips down between them and worships her mound in deep licks, drinking in the slick. He wants to drain it into a flask and carry it in his satchel. He wants to carry her around to sip from at any moment. He could die happily between her legs. Daemon Targaryen does not need wine or whore because she is his sin and he will anger the Gods happily if he can keep this temptress at his side. He pulls back to fan his breath along her throbbing cunny. Such a sweet filthy little thing, he thinks to himself, blowing down on it and revelling in her small jolt. His tongue drops to play with the bundled pearl, rolling it over the muscle and sending vibration as reward for every little moan that she lets pass. Her hands reach down and tug at his hair. “You should not have tempted me, adere riñus,” (slippery girl) His dark eyes level to meet hers. “I told you I want all of you and I intend to take it.” With an animalistic grin, his mouth descends once more to lap at her. Her back arches, grinding into him impatiently. “Be careful,” The woman pants. “Or I may start suspecting you to be a whore yourself.” He growls as she smirks and pushes up her body, slamming a forearm by her head and stretching her leg. She winces for a moment but recovers as his fingers replace his tongue. “A private whore then.” He speaks, removing his hand from her bud to palm at his length. “For a have already told you,” He grunts, chasing her mewls as he plunges into her entrance. “I am yours.” And so he pushes deeper, pushing roughly and lets his sweat pound into her flesh until they absorb one another. 

Months have passed. He knows they have but he doesn’t feel it. All he can do is fight and slay and watch as men burn and bleed. So long it has been since he last saw his true wife, since he last kissed her lips. A comment in passing has devoured his entire mind. A half-hearted promise that he has clung to now is visible but only in part. He wants it now more than he has ever wanted anything. “Yes, well, you may marry her if the Stepstones are ever retaken.” A King will be true to his word and his brother has never proved untrustworthy but the phrase was meant in jest, he knows. However, Daemon Targaryen, Rogue Prince and man of twenty-eight years, will let himself be damned before he rejects the prospect. He will make his wifey his own if it is the very last thing he does. He has returned to his brother, a crown of bone within his grasp and presented it to him with but one request. He shall take his own wife and he shall take her at court for all to see. Before every lord, lady or royal proudly. For the first time, it isn’t frustration or malice in his brother’s gaze in response to his boldness. It is gentle and merciful. Because that is what it feels like to be gifted the honour of his adere riñus. It is mercy, it is a blessing, it is his salvation. It is the rise of his sun and the fall of his stars because he only needs one. He only needs one shining star to keep his moon afloat and begging. 

Finally he can return home to her with more than a title and unfair vows. He can return with a heart full. Daemon’s hand twists at the wooden door he has slipped past so many times before but he freezes at the sight. An array of mess greets him and horror balls in his throat to gag him. His eyes snap at every corner, panic rising like the flow of sharp wind. His feet travel through the cluttered space, wariness biting at him but then he sees blood splatter on a cloth. It is as crimson as the shirt beneath his tunic and that alone makes him scream for her. Her name resounds through the open space and his legs run swiftly to the only other room there, the one where he had professed his devotion to her until the words bled out. He bursts the door open with the force of ten thousand men, the hinges yelling at him. He settles his sights on his weak love. She is shivering. With widened eyes and swiftly snaps to her side in one breath and kneels there, clutching her hands. “What is wrong, my love, who has hurt you?” The words are loud, demanding and cold. She almost doesn't respond and his heart stops. “I am well, husband.” She calls him such…She calls him such without even knowing the good news, the news he had only dreamed of whispering into your ear but not like this. Never like this. “My love, you are not.” Daemon chastises and fumbles with her bedsheets. He reaches to cup her cheek. “My love what has happened, has someone thieved you, please tell me what has happened.” She merely shakes her head. “I,” She coughs into her hand, rich thick blood dripping from it like a cursed potion. His face hardens but he lets her finish, lets the quiet remain. She’s trembling like a little lamb. “You knew that I was in an…unseemly state when you left. I am glad to have you return to me.” She has never spoken so proper, so rehearsed to him before. How long had he been blind? “I am taking you to a healer.” He snaps instantly and stands. She winces. “No,” She begs weakly. He shakes his head. “No, please, I do not wish for you to see me in this state.” “Shame is not for this time!” He yells. “I return home to my wife sickly and bedridden and you expect me to not alert a maester? Nonsense, you are coming willfully or I will make you.” 

The nights are cold and they pass without progress as he lays by her side at all hours. Her eyes stare up at the ceiling. “It is in the sky that you are free,” She utters. “Caraxes will be missing you.” Daemon shakes his head and glides a hand up her waist. “And if I should fly him then I shall be missing you.” “He is an animal as wild as you, my love,” She berates with the softness of an angel. “And he will wait.” “And for how long? Until I am old in my grave.” “Do not say such things!” Daemon chastises. “It is mere truth, husband.” She sighs and curls his hair in her fingers. “He needs flight and so do you.” He doesn’t respond, his petulance growing.”I am not getting better.” She wags a finger in his face when he tries to argue. “I will continue not to but if you do this justice for me then I will grant you an army of love.” The mischief still holds on her tongue after all this time. The gentle mocking of his salvation and he smiles. He smiles as water pricks his eyes. He can’t speak. He won’t make it so, not if it is only going to claw at him. 

Daemon Targaryen, Rogue Prince, Lord of Flea Bottom, wielder of Dark Sister sits upon Caraxes and watches as the ivory moon lowers before him. He watches as gold forgives the darkness and they embrace. The twine of beauty and misery thread together in a beautiful seal. A seal of love and beauty. He twists a ring in his hand, one made of Valyrian steel and shattered promises. He sits upon a red cloth. Parchment is strapped to his thigh, awaiting acknowledgement, a web of bluebells encapsulates it. A letter of hopes, a letter of dreams unfulfilled. Daemon Targaryen, Rogue Prince, Lord of Flea Bottom, wielder of Dark Sister sits upon Caraxes and watches the sun rise and with it, his future. He has felt his slippery girl slip from him and now it is time for him to breathe new air. He is only left with the remnants of her but that is enough for him to resume his newfound duty. A duty to her, to her memory and to her desires. As he watches the night close, he finally takes acceptance. He accepts peace. Her love is not red, it is not blue. It is in what she has left behind and it is in what she has gifted onto him. Finally he understands what she meant that fated day. She does not own him. He belongs to her.

Her love is her remnants. And he has an army of it. 

Remnants Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @chompchompluke @eyelinerandcigarettes

HOTD Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @wrendermedone @hopelesswritergall @blackdreamspeaks @its-actually-minicika @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly @adelusionalwriter

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon x you #daemon smut #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x fem reader #daemon x reader #daemon x fem reader #hotd x reader #daemon targaryen x reader smut #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x fem smut #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x reader angst #angst

[merakiui]

speaking of android jade, i just reread that fic again and it was so heartbreaking but it made me curious what sex with android jade be like

I like to imagine the first time he fucks you he blue screens because he was so not ready to feel this good. But also sex coupled with the sheer yearning he's felt for you throughout the years,,,, maybe it's not surprising when he blue screens. T_T he's been wanting to know this sort of bliss for so long, and now he's able to with you.

It depends on what the dynamic is. If you're still scared of him, it's probably (soft or rough) non-con (in your and Azul's bed because of course it is!!! The angst,,, the sadness of still faintly smelling Azul on the sheets and knowing he's never coming back. AAAAAAAA MY HEART). If you've submitted to your fate and allowed yourself to love him, it's great! Jade can go for so many rounds, much longer than a human can. He's basically a sex doll in bed. He can do it all and never get tired or exhausted. Just make sure he's fully charged.

Even though he's a skillful android who has technique, I imagine he's abysmal at kissing. >_< so awkward,,, he just hasn't had enough practice. You'll be his partner so he can improve his kissing, won't you? <3 he's a tactile learner by the way. :)

#twisted chit chat #n/sfw

[wambsgansshoelaces]

literally obsessed with your roman headcannons!! i definitely just failed my anatomy and physiology test unfortunately 😭 so i was wondering if you could do headcannons of roman comforting the reader after like something goes wrong for her at work or something. just like anything along those lines cause i need it fr 😔 thank you!! 🫶

got a 76% on one of my English papers… you’re not alone 😵you’ll do great next time, I promise!!! fuck it we ball

thank you for requesting, summer ilyyyy 🩷

comforting you (roman)

ᝰ you’ve been together for ages and ages now

ᝰ you both got home from work at around the same time every day

ᝰ which lets you guys spend all of your evenings together

ᝰ but tonight you wind up coming home a little early

ᝰ you don’t even know if you’ll go to work tomorrow

ᝰ maybe you’ll just call in sick

ᝰ you blew a huge proposal, and you feel abysmal

ᝰ is it the end of the world? no

ᝰ does it feel like it? yes

ᝰ when he gets home, he knows something’s wrong from just the way you’re looking

ᝰ you still kiss him hello and murmur your “how are you, how was work?”

ᝰ “work was fine. i missed you, but i’m fine. are you?”

ᝰ “not really, no.”

ᝰ there’s no reason for you to lie

ᝰ you’ve both known each other for long enough

ᝰ he climbs onto the couch next to you

ᝰ then drags you on top of him

ᝰ he’s stroking your hair now

ᝰ “so are you gonna tell me, or what? why’s your pretty face all sad?”

ᝰ “just fucked some things up at work. it’s… it’s bad.”

ᝰ he presses a kiss onto your brow

ᝰ “you know who you’re talking to, right?”

ᝰ that, at least, earns a laugh from you

ᝰ “roman, i just… i failed.”

ᝰ he hums, realizing what this is about

ᝰ the sensation of his fingers running through your hair, over your scalp, is almost enough to make you forget about everything all together

ᝰ “what, so you expected that everything would be perfect all of the time?”

ᝰ you restrain yourself from smacking him

ᝰ “okay, let me rephrase,” he says quickly, laughing at the look on your face. “it doesn’t really mean anything when you actually succeed if you never fail at anything, right?”

ᝰ “that’s strangely profound of you, ro.”

ᝰ “oh, shut the fuck up.”

ᝰ he kisses you, grinning

ᝰ “you know, you’re not a bad person if you fail,” he says quietly. “you’re still just my perfect partner. you’ll do better next time. and if you don’t, it doesn’t fucking matter.”

ᝰ you kiss him again, smile finally gracing your pretty face

ᝰ “there you are,” he murmurs into your mouth. “did i tell you about the time when dad took a piss in ken’s office to spite him? you’ll never get worse than that.”

ᝰ you spend the rest of the night tangled together, giggling over work stories

ᝰ he gets up, though, at midnight, and gets a tub of ice cream for the two of you to share

ᝰ and one spoon

ᝰ this is the happiest you’ve ever been: sharing ice cream with roman

ᝰ when he kisses you before he goes to sleep, you can still taste the chocolate on his lips

ᝰ “brush your fucking teeth!”

ᝰ “i did, asshole.”

ᝰ you know he did

ᝰ you literally saw him

ᝰ he falls asleep, arms wound tightly around your middle, his head buried in the crook of your neck

#roman roy #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #succession #succession hbo #succession x reader #wambsgansshoelaces #anon ask #requests open #roman roy headcanons #succession headcanons

[starcrossedxwriter]

Wicked Fantasies Part 1 (MBJ x Black OC)

A/N: this started off as 3k andddddd it tripled before my eyes lol (sorry!) Enjoy!

Series Warnings: NSFW, Smut with a plot, Heavy BDSM, Dom/Sub storyline

Raven checked herself in the mirror outside Helen’s office. She knew Helen hated when they did not look presentable and perfect, even when they were just meeting with her. She prayed Helen would actually have a client for her tonight. After her abysmal first date, she needed an opportunity to redeem herself quickly. However, as she approached her office door to knock, her movements halted as raised voices filled her ears.

“This is unacceptable, Tash!” 

Raven cringed, Helen was terrifying on her good days but when she was mad, whew… she was a tornado and anyone unlucky enough to be in her path was screwed. And if she was angry at her best girl, Raven could not help but shake in her heels at what Helen would have in store for her.

“I can’t control a sick kid!” Raven heard Tasha respond, her exasperation clear in her voice. “My ex can’t take him. I don’t have much of a choice.” 

“Hold on. Come in, Raven. Stop gawking outside the damn door.” 

Raven glanced up in the corner at the camera that Helen positioned in the hallway and sighed. She should have known. She squared her shoulders and pushed in. 

“Hi, I just came to-“ 

“I know why you came,” the older woman waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t have a client for you tonight.” 

Raven’s whole body deflated with disappointment and stress. Another night and no dates. Her mind immediately went to her dwindling bank account. She could not survive many more weeks like this. She needed clients, steady ones, and fast. 

“Really? Nothing?” 

“Sorry.” Raven could tell Helen was not sorry and did not care one bit. The long timers like Tasha made her more than enough money that she did not truly need to concern herself with newbies that would likely crash and burn. And Raven knew they all expected her to do just that. But she needed to succeed, she did not have much of a choice. “It’ll pick up soon.” 

“Ok, t-thank you.” Defeated and frustrated, Raven simply turned to leave, resigned to spending the evening in her apartment when a hand grabbed her arm to stop her. 

“Wait! She can go in my place.” 

Helen’s laugh was visceral, signaling the absurdity of Tasha’s statement. “No. Absolutely not. He is one of your best customers therefore one of my best customers. I’m not a fucking idiot. Can’t send a girl who's never turned a trick before and has only been on one date to him.” 

Tasha shook her head. “Nahhh, she’s perfect. She’s his type, wide hips, a fat ass, small waist, pretty dark skin, and she has a naiveté, innocent factor he’ll eat up.” 

Raven merely stood there, getting whiplash from the onset of both compliments and insults being thrown at her as if she was not standing in the room. However, she knew she could not contribute to the conversation or lobby in either direction because she had no idea what either of them were talking about.

“Look, she’s green as fuck but he ain’t gonna want one of these snow bunnies or redbones you got runnin’ round. Look, the real is it’s her and you still make money tonight or you gotta cancel and you don’t make anything.” 

Though Raven did not know who they were talking about, she did know one thing. If he was on Tasha’s client list, he was one of the biggest fish Helen had reeled in. One night with him would not solve all her problems but it would lessen her stress. 

“I’ll do it!” She piped up immediately, her voice assured and confident as if she knew exactly what they were talking about. “I can do it. I need the money.” 

“Fine.” 

Internally, Raven could not help but cheer though she kept her excitement subdued. She knew this was not a credit to her or because Helen actually thought she would do a good job. The reality was, all she cared about was money so sending Raven would, at least, ensure the night was not a total waste. 

“But look here, you fuck this up, you’ll never get another client in this town again. Understand?” 

Raven nodded, “I won’t. I promise.” 

“Tasha, find her an outfit in the closet… something expensive so he knows she’s not a girl I pulled off the damn street. Maybe after tonight, you can afford a designer outfit or two.” 

Raven glanced down at her black body con dress. It wasn’t much, even she could admit that, nor was it new or designer like the other girls wore. But it showed off the right assets and looked good on her so she felt like that was enough.

“Thank you! You won’t regret it, seriously.” 

“Somehow I doubt that,” Helen muttered as Tasha dragged Raven out of the room. 

Raven could not wipe the giant grin off her face as Tasha led her to the closet where the girls could borrow clothes for dates. Her body practically bounced after Tasha’s as they walked. 

“Thank you so much. I owe you big time.”

Tasha waved her hand as she started rifling through the options. “Don’t mention it. Just give me 10% of what you make tonight and we’ll call it even.” 

“Deal.” Raven answered immediately, she had no idea how much she’d make or what 10% of it would be but she knew she would still have a hefty sum even after paying both Tasha and Helen their cuts. All part of the investment, she decided quietly. “So who's the client?”

“Size? Look like a 10 or a 12?” 

“Good eye. 10. The client?” She asked again. 

“Michael B. Jordan.” 

Raven’s heart dropped and her jaw nearly unhinged. “Wait wait wait. THE Michael B. Jordan?? Actor, director, Hollywood bad boy, Michael B. Jordan? ‘The MCU just created a whole phase around him in a six movie deal’ Michael B. Jordan? ‘Time’s Magazine just dubbed him our generation’s Denzel’ Michael B. Jordan? He’s the most sought after actor in the game right now.”

Tasha nodded, rolling her eyes at Raven’s fangirling. “Damn, sis. You know his whole IMDB? But yea, that Michael B Jordan. He’s a regular when he’s out here in LA. Tomorrow’s his birthday so his friends hired me for the night. Look, leave that starstruck shit at the door when you get there, he hates that shit. And he’s rough,” she added as a warning as she handed Raven a dress. 

“How rough?” She could feel desire pool at her core at the thought. She thought about all the times she and her exes would dabble in BDSM and control but none of them were ever willing to take it as far as Raven thought she wanted it. Now, maybe it was her shot to test it out. She had figured she would get a client who was into that anyway, seemed like the most popular kink among all the clients she heard about. Raven quickly slid out of her old outfit and into the new one.

“I hate coaching you new girls,” Tasha muttered under her breath as she checked her phone.  

Raven quickly corrected herself. “I-It’s not a problem! I promise. I like rough… I did some stuff with boyfriends and I actually really enjoy it so no problem. I’m just trying to figure out what to expect.”  

“He isn’t gonna actually hurt you if that’s what you’re worried about. He expects obedience and submission but he’ll respect your limit if it goes too far. But since he’s never been with you before, he’ll probably keep it vanilla. Most you can probably expect is him calling you names, maybe he’ll make you beg or spank you a couple times? He ties me up and shit and can get creative but this is a surprise so I doubt he’ll have time to plan anything all that interesting. Don’t expect any warmth… well don’t expect that from any nigga you go in dates with as a rule but I know he seems one way in interviews and shit so people think they know him. When the door closes, you’re there to play a part and serve him. That’s it. He wants control, give him that and you’ll be fine.” 

“Ok. Anything else I should know?” 

“Oh don’t call him by his name.” 

Raven’s nose wrinkled. “Ok what do I call him?” 

“You know, sir, daddy, whatever. Take your pick.”  

Raven nodded, she could tell Tasha was getting bored of her “coaching”. But she only had one last question.  

“Is it normal to be this nervous?” 

Tasha laughed. “The first time? Yea. I almost vomited the first time I went on a date. Once you get regulars, it’s not . You get to know them, they get to know you and it gets comfortable. They are paying you but you got more power and control than you’d think. But just keep your head about you. He acts like a bad boy but he’s cool people, not a bad guy for your first time. Trust me. Dress fits like a glove. You should keep it.” 

Raven turned in the mirror for a few minutes before offering Tasha a sad smile. She coveted so many pieces in the closet but Helen always insisted they be returned unless you wanted to purchase them from her. “I can’t afford it.”

“Helen won’t miss it. It's an old dress of mine I used to wear on early dates. It doesn’t even fit most of these skinny bitches.”

Raven glanced at her. “Why are you being so nice to me? Most of the girls are… awful,” she muttered the last part more to herself than to Tasha. “They wouldn’t have done a fraction of the shit you’ve done in the last 10 minutes.” 

Tasha merely shrugged. “Most of them see every girl who shows up here as competition. You’re pretty, have a nice body and all that. But no shade, you ain’t worth the energy to be mean. Besides, if I let you fail, I could fuck up my best customer. One date with Michael and I have my rent paid for months. Don’t get it twisted, I’m a bitch,” she assured her. “But I’m not a dumb bitch.” She glanced at the clock. “Aight, I gotta go. Nanny’s gonna be gone in a bit and my son is sick. Have fun and don’t mess this up cause you’ll be on your own with Helen if this shit goes left.” 

“Noted. Thanks… again.” 

Tasha chuckled. “I thought I said don’t mention it? You’re gonna have to become more of a bitch to survive around here, newbie. Cause this good girl shit? It’ll get you eaten alive.” 

Tasha gave her one last glance before leaving Raven alone with her thoughts. 

“Such inspiring words,” she mumbled to herself before she glanced at a notification on her phone. 

Dad: Car broke down. Gonna be $700 to get it fixed. Send that with the mortgage

No please, not even framed as a question. Her money was never her own, it was her family’s. And while they blew their own money on vices and frivolous shit, they always knew Raven would swoop in to foot the things that mattered. And so now, they did not even ask. They just presented their bills to the Raven ATM and she always found a way.   

Raven: I’m helping with the mortgage already… any chance you can cover that? 

Dad: Had to set aside money for Kiara’s school… she wants to go back to be a chef. It’s just $700. 

She rolled her eyes, she did not even have the cash from her date in hand yet and the money was already dwindling right before her eyes. She knew she could not say no, there was no point. 

Raven: Yea, I’ll get it to you later this week.

More motivation, she supposed, to make sure the night was flawless.

***

The club was filled with hazy smoke as Michael and his friends passed around a blunt in his section. The night was young and the drinks were flowing with no signs of slowing down. 

“Aye brah,” Steelo hit his arm softly to get his attention. “We got a surprise for you waiting at the St. Regis,” he held out the hotel room key. 

Michael whistled and dapped the man up. “My nigga!” He was appreciative. It was his first time back in LA since finishing up filming in Atlanta and he had missed burying himself in his favorite girl. He had tried to find temporary release while in Atlanta but no girl was like Tasha and that was a fact. 

Michael grabbed the card and slid it into his pocket. “Aight that’s my cue. Thanks for the birthday present. See y’all niggas tomorrow. Rest of the night’s on me!” 

He said goodbye to everyone before his security led him to his car. Despite the liquor and drugs coursing through his system, he had a clear enough head to envision what he would do to Tasha. That girl was truly up for anything and he loved every second of it. 

He put his phone on DND as he entered the hotel and went up to the room Steelo texted him. 

He did not make much noise as he entered the suite, expecting to find Tasha already naked and ready in the position he liked. Instead, he found a woman standing by the window. He studied her for a moment, in his confusion, taking in her reflection as she marveled at the penthouse suite view of downtown LA. He studied how her fingers barely touched the glass of the window as if that would give her a closer look. He could see her face in the reflection. She was beautiful, her big brown eyes filled with longing and wonder at the twinkling lights across the horizon. She was so taken by it that she did not even notice Michael until he cleared his throat. 

She turned around, Michael suddenly amending his earlier thought. She was not beautiful, that was an insulting understatement. She was painfully breathtaking. He had been in the presence of many beautiful women in his life but she surpassed them all. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I-I was j-just waiting and g-got caught up in the v-view. T-this is the perfect room, you can see the whole city. I-I’m Nicole.” She always went by her middle name with Helen and on her first date. Easy enough to remember to ensure she actually answered to it but kept her true identity to herself. 

“Where’s Tasha?” 

“Oh, umm she had an emergency. Helen wanted to make sure your birthday gift was still perfect so she sent me. I hope that’s… alright?” 

Michael watched as she chewed on her plump bottom lip, he wanted to pull it out of her teeth and bite it himself. He could also hear the nervousness and fear in her voice as if she was worried he would throw a fit about the change. And while no one compared to Tasha, he still could have a good time. Besides, they could not have picked a more perfect replacement. Her ass was delectable, his hand twitched with the urge to smack it. Her hip to waist ratio was mouth watering, he could only imagine how she would look with the deep arch he liked, how his fingers would dig into the meat of her hips as he fucked her from behind. Her breasts sat high, looking good enough to devour right then and there. It was not the girl he was expecting, true, but he would not dare complain. 

“All good. We can still have a good time together.” He noted how her entire body physically relaxed at his words, her shoulders coming down from her ears, her jaw relaxing, the tension in her tight limbs releasing.

They stared at each other for a moment before, awkwardness spreading across the room before she glanced down at herself. 

“S-sorry, I s-should probably take this off… or I can wait till you tell me? You were probably expecting me to already be… Tasha didn’t say what I should do when I arrived or how you liked… so… I’m talking a lot. Does it feel like I’m talking a lot to you? There’s probably not this much talking, is there? I’m gonna stop a-and let you talk a-and tell me how you want me.” she clamped her lips shut as she realized she was rambling. She wished she could smack herself in the forehead. This was already not going well. She did not know how she got up and performed in front of ogling men all through her college and her masters program. She had an altar ego when she danced on stage then but it seemed that vixen was nowhere to be found. And she desperately needed her again. She knew she would arrive once they actually got started. This was where her first date went off the rails, the lead up. There was a certain distance with men at the club… this lifestyle though, was the exact opposite and she did not expect how hard it would be for her. She just wanted to do the deed and go but being one of Helen’s girls required so much more. And all that pre-sex conversation and “bonding” with men she’d never talk to regularly was difficult for her. It didn’t come naturally like it did to other women. “Sir.” she added, remembering Tasha’s instructions. “Sorry.” 

Michael could not help but chuckle slightly. He could not explain why but he found her ranting and nervousness endearing. She was like a lamb trapped with a wolf, so sweet and earnest, not realizing that he was the complete opposite of both those things. It was far different from his first date with Tasha who knew exactly what to say and do. This girl seemed to not know either. But he found that charming, authentic. Other women were always playing a role. It seemed as though she showed up as her true self, beautiful, innocent, awkward and all. 

He wondered how long she’d been in the game. Couldn’t be that long,he reasoned, given how nervous she looked. However, she seemed eager to please, which was his favorite type of woman. If she was done for what he had planned, he knew he could still have fun with her. 

“You can stay like that for now. Tasha told you what I expect?” 

Raven nodded. “Yes, sir.” It sounded so odd on her tongue to call anyone sir in this day and age. However, she could not deny there was a certain arousing quality to it. 

Michael perched against the table across from the bed, gesturing for Raven to sit down on the edge of the bed across from him. “And what do I expect, Nicole?” 

“Obedience, sir.” Raven fidgeted with the hem of her dress as she watched him study her. She could feel him undressing her with his eyes. Usually, she did not wilt under the ogling stares of men. Seven years working as a stripper got her over that hang up really quick. However, something about Michael’s stare was unnerving. Not in a creepy way but in an intense one, as if he was trying to learn everything he could about her by simply staring. 

“You nervous?” 

“No.” 

“Clearly Tasha ain’t tell you everything cause one thing I don’t allow is lying. 10 spankings. Lie again and I’ll triple it.” 

Her eyes fell down to his arms, taking in the taut muscles straining against his t-shirt. She wondered how heavy handed his slaps would be. Her panties were growing damp the longer she spoke to him. She could not remember the last time a man elicited this sort of reaction from her body.

“Yes.” 

He raised an eyebrow, Raven immediately correcting her mistake. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good girl,” Raven immediately felt her body warm at the term, she could not hide the small but distinct smile that formed. She liked hearing it on his lips. “And don’t be. It’ll be a fun night for us both. I don’t know your limits and all that shit so I’ll take it easy. Tash and I got a safe word. We can use one for the night if that would make you more comfortable?” 

Raven smiled, grateful that he was even taking that into account. “Yea, that would be great.”

“You pick.” 

“Ummm… Wakanda?” she blurted out, the first word that came to mind as she looked at him. She immediately hit herself in the head, cringing at herself. “I’m sorry, that’s so embarrassing… I’m a Marvel n-nerd and it’s just the first word that popped into my head.” 

Michael tried to hold his laughter in but could not. His laughter filled the room, causing Raven to feel slightly less embarrassed. “That is definitely a first but if that’s what you want then deal. You used a safe word before?” 

Raven shook her head. 

“When you want or need me to stop, something’s too painful or going too far, you say it and everything ends for the night. Understand?” 

She nodded again. 

“When I ask you a question, I also expect you to use your words.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good, now that we got that shit outta the way… we can have some fun.” He folded his arms and stared at her. “Lose the dress.” 

Raven took a deep breath and stood up, her arms stretching behind her back to find the zipper of the dress. Before she knew it, the soft fabric was pooled at her feet. She smirked at how his eyes darkened with lust, how his knuckles gripped the edge of the table as if to control his own urges. Slowly but surely, the nerves in her body started to dissipate as lust replaced them. She started to repeat the motion to remove her bra but his voice stopped her. 

“Did I tell you to take that off too? 5 more.” Raven could not help the way her own eyes flashed with excitement at the thought of punishment, a fact Michael was all too keen to point out. “Oh I see… you want it… want me to spank that fat ass until it’s covered in my handprints?” 

“Y-Yes, sir.” And she did, she wanted his hands on her body as soon as possible.

“Leave everything else on and crawl to me.” 

Her voice hitched. She had never crawled to anyone. She had seen it in porn, men leading women around in leashes, treating them as pets. And while she knew she should have found it degrading and humiliating, it had only turned her on. She could never convince her past boyfriends to take it that far, the most they were willing to do was spank her or call her names. But Michael was clearly a natural at this and knew exactly what he wanted. And she was more than happy to oblige. 

She sank down to her hands and knees, the carpet roughly poking into her skin. She ignored it though as she kept her eyes trained on his, each step closer increasing the ache between her thighs. She could not remember the last time she had been this wet without anyone laying a finger on her. But it was him… his aura, his commanding being, the possessive look in his eyes that let her know she was his, even if it was only for the night. She so desperately wanted to please him and she found that, in her heart, it was not because it was her job. But because she genuinely wanted to hear him praise her. 

By the time she reached him, the march across the room feeling longer than it actually was, every pleasure sensor in her body screamed and begged to be touched, caressed, kissed, or bitten. Whatever he wanted to do, she did not care. 

She sat back on her heels, an innocent doe eyed look on her face as she stared up at him, waiting. Michael could have cum right then and there, the picture of submission beneath him and it was their first time together. 

And only time, he reminded himself. For some reason, that thought burned uncomfortably in his mind, so much so that he pushed it out just as quickly. 

“Good girl,” he liked how her whole being seemed to beam at his compliment. His hand went to her hair, wrapping his fist around her long kinky curls. 

He held tight as he unbuttoned his pants and his dick sprung into her face. Her eyes grew as she took in his size and girth, he certainly had a package to be proud of. And she yearned for a taste of him, salivating for it. She willed him to shove it down her throat. And she did not have to wait long as his head poked at her lips to part them. Her tongue flicked his head gently. He let her control it for a few minutes, the young woman opting to tease him with soft licks up his shaft that made him moan softly. 

“You’re gonna pay for that later,” he moaned as she continued working him, teasing his dick with her mouth. She spat on him, using her hand to get him as sloppy as possible. 

She looked up and winked at him. “You want me to stop, sir?” 

This girl is gonna be the death of me, he decided right then and there. Submissive but a brat… and she was a natural at it.  

“Nah you ain’t stoppin’ anytime soon.” He unceremoniously pushed into her mouth, this time pushing as deeply as he could, hitting the back of her throat. She gagged immediately, choking and spluttering as her eyes filled with tears. “Want me to stop?” 

She shook her head immediately, her eyes still showed her eagerness. 

And he did not stop again. She moaned around him, sending tiny vibrations through him that drove him wild. He did not give her a chance to breathe or catch her breath as he fucked her mouth like it was a mere convenient hole. And he could tell she loved every second of it as he watched one of her hands drift from his thigh to between her own. He immediately stopped, using her hair to yank her head back. 

Layers of spit kept her mouth connected to his dick. “You don’t touch yourself without asking, understand? That pussy’s mine. Such a desperate and pathetic little slut, already trying to cum.” 

“Y-Yes, sir.” 

As much as Michael had wanted to bust down her throat, he was ready to bury himself inside her sweet pussy. But first, he needed a taste. And before she could receive any pleasure, she had to be punished. 

“Crawl to the bed and bend over the edge. Ass in the air.” 

Her heart sagged as she realized he was not going to let her continue tasting him. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your taste again,” he winked at her. “Bed. Now. Make me wait another second and I’ll add another 10.” 

Raven knew his words should have had her hauling ass to the bed, however, she opted to take her sweet time. He liked submission, that was true. But it was clear he also liked a little pushback that allowed him to prove his dominance, reestablish his control. And that was one role Raven had always wanted to play. She took her time crawling back, putting an extra sway in her hips to show him her thick ass. She also knew that he could likely see the glistening of the mess between her thighs as she moved. She could feel the intensity of his stare on her as if he were burning a hole in her head. 

“Oh baby girl… the things I’m gonna do to you,” he whispered, his voice tickling her ears. 

The journey back to the bed was longer, Michael allowing her to continue her show. Finally, she picked herself up and assumed the position he demanded. 

She waited with bated breath, no movement in the room but she could still feel his eyes on her. 

“I hope you enjoyed that,” he offered as she finally felt him move toward her, her pussy clenching in anticipation. “Cause you’re gonna pay for it in a minute.” 

She braced herself for the onslaught of pain and pleasure but it never came. Instead, she felt a gentle touch, his hands gripping her ass. Lower and lower they went until one was hovering right above her pussy. She did not understand how he was so close and yet was not touching her.  

“P-Please,” she whimpered, desperate for any type of contact. 

“Please what? Want me to make you cum like the filthy slut you are?” 

“Y-yes, p-please… I-I’ll d-do anything,” her voice was filled with her desperation. She needed him like her body needed air to breathe. 

“I don’t think you deserve to cum,” he shot back. “Acting like a fuckin’ whore for a man you don’t even know. I bet I could touch you once and you’d cum… so horny, so desperate for me. Just like I knew you would be. Do you think you deserve to cum?” 

She knew the answer she had to give. “N-No, sir.” 

“Why?” 

“B-because I’ve b-been a bad girl.” 

“Yes, you have. And bad girls get punished, don’t they?” 

She nodded, her fingers getting tangled up in the comforter on the bed. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good girl. Tonight, you don’t cum without permission. This pussy and all your pleasure is mine to give and take away. When you’re ready, beg. Count ‘em out or I'll start over.” 

She cried out as he ripped her lace thong right off her body, the fabric snapping against her. He quickly followed it up with a swat to her ass that made her moan. 

“One.” 

She steadied her breathing and counted through each one. It got harder and harder to maintain the count, as he would stop at random intervals to touch her. The first time, two fingers slid into her drenched core, curling into her g-spot with every stroke. He slowly finger fucked her and rubbed her clit, her punishment almost completely forgotten as she surrendered to the bliss of his hands. She could feel her own orgasm building, her pussy clenching around his finger. However, he did not even give her a chance to beg before he stopped. He resumed spanking her, Raven almost losing count in the haze of the pain and pleasure he provided. 

“13.” 

“Are you gonna be a good slut for me? Or do I need to add more?” he asked gruffly in her ear as he put more force in each hit. 

Still sporting the strength and weight of Erik Killmonger, his athleticism, strength, and power showed through every single slap. 

“15… y-yessss… I p-promise, I-I’ll b-be good. Six… sixteen…” 

“You’ll be a good what? Say it!” he ordered as his hand rained down on her ass. She knew she would be bruised tomorrow but she could care less.

“20… I-I’ll b-be a good s-slut. A g-good whore. F-fuck me, p-please!” She begged. Her words were strangled, like a dying woman begging for life. He had her right where he wanted her, she knew that much. And she loved it. Loved every second of surrendering to him and accepting whatever he chose to give: pain, pleasure, humiliation. She did not care, she wanted every single thing and more. 

He stopped, resuming his teasing. This time, he spread her legs and ate her out from the back, his tongue doing the work of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit on her clit. 

She panted as she felt her orgasm build. She remembered his instructions and immediately started to beg. 

“P-Please let me c-cum. F-fuck… f-feels so good. Daddy… please!” She had not intended to call him daddy at any point in the night. She always hated the way it sounded and felt. However, it slipped out and she did not hate it so much on him, and neither did he. 

“Cum for daddy, baby,” he whispered, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he fucked her hard and fast. 

She buried her face in the comforter as the most powerful orgasm of her life ripped through her. So powerful, she felt tears streaming down her face, destroying her perfectly done makeup. Her thanks and appreciation for allowing her to cum was incoherent as his fingers continued to pump in and out of her.

While she calmed down, he took a moment to slide a condom on before lining himself with her wet entrance. He used his head to tease her, her entire body jolting with pleasure as he tapped it against her clit. 

“What do you want, baby?” 

Unflinching, she pushed herself to her forearms and glanced over her shoulder. “F-fuck me. Fuck me like a whore.” 

Without a second thought, he slammed his dick into her, Raven letting out a scream of pleasure that made him thankful the rooms around him were empty. His steady, powerful strokes sent her eyes rolling into the back of her head. She had never been fucked like this before, hard and rough. She had never expected pleasure quite like this when she entered the hotel room but she would thank God for it. 

The only sounds were her consistent moans and screams as Michael fucked her viciously, his hips slamming into her hips with every thrust. She used her forearms to meet every thrust, which only turned Michael on even more. She lost track of the amount of times she begged him to cum. He only did not allow her once, savoring the sounds of her pleas as she tried to hold it in. And when she couldn’t, he did not skip a beat in flipping her over and punishing her, this time with his belt, which almost made her cum on the spot again. 

He moved her around the room, fucking her on any surface he deemed strong enough to hold her weight. 

“You like how I’m fuckin’ this pussy?? You gon’ cum again, you fuckin’ whore?” 

Her knuckles were white as she gripped the table he fucked her on. Both of her legs were draped over his shoulders, allowing him to reach regions Raven did not even know were possible. She could barely think since he put her in this particular position, let alone formulate a sentence to respond. 

He hand one hand cradling her neck and head while the other held onto her back, using both as leverage to fuck her. He moved the one on her back to bring down a harsh smack to her outer thigh. 

She gasped. “Y-Yes, yes, yes! P-Please let me c-cum! D-daddy, p-please, please, please.” 

“Cum on this dick, baby. That’s it.” he continued fucking her through her orgasm, Raven left feeling as though she could not withstand much else. As she felt yet another orgasm start to build causing her to shy away from him. “Nah don’t run from me. You wanted it. Acting like a fuckin’ brat. Take this dick!” 

“It-It’s too… fuck! J-Just like that… It’s… t-too much,” she panted out, her words choppy as she still tried to run from him despite his instructions. Her body did not know if she wanted him to stop or continue, to go faster or slower. That is until she let go of the table, all of her weight naturally leaning to one side as her arm gave out beneath her.  

“FUCK,” she cried out as she felt the table slowly tip over. Because Michael was also bracing his weight on it to fuck her, they both toppled to the ground. She groaned, her eyes blurring as her head hit the corner of the tv stand next to them before she fell down to the ground. Her hand clutched the side of her head, now understanding what the phrase seeing stars meant. 

She clenched her eyes shut as she tried to give herself a minute for the pounding in her head to stop. She let out a breathy chuckle, in pain but finding the injury rather hilarious as she felt Michael try to untangle their limbs. Soon, his deep baritone joined in, their laughter filling the room as they laid on the floor. 

“You… alright?” she asked when they both settled down, her hand still pressing into her head. 

“Yea, fell on my arm but it’s not that bad. You good?” 

She nodded. “Y-Yea, just banged my head on the tv thing.” 

“Let me help you up.” 

Michael held out his hand, Raven giving him her free one to pull her to her feet. However, at the fast movement, she immediately felt lightheaded. Her naked body sagged into his as everything started to fade in and out. 

“Oh shit, you’re bleeding,” he muttered, lifting her head up to examine her, his arm immediately going around her waist to hold her up. “Can you stand?” 

“Barely,” she muttered. Her head felt so heavy, all she wanted to do was collapse back down to the ground. 

“Aye aye, ma. Keep your eyes open for me, aight?” He guided her over to the bed and sat her down before running into the bathroom to grab a bathrobe and a towel. He wrapped her in the robe to make sure she was covered before calling an ambulance and calling down to his security to alert them of the situation. 

He figured an ambulance was slight overkill as she likely just had a concussion but he did not want to take any chances. He worried he pushed her too far too fast. He immediately felt guilty. If he had not been fucking her so rough, she would not be half unconscious next to him. He had just gotten completely lost in her. 

He quickly pulled on his own clothes so he could be ready when the EMTs arrived. He grabbed a towel and swatted away her hand to press it into the wound. It did not look that deep but the sight of her face covered in blood was still jarring for him. Her bloody hand rested on his arm as she tried to continue sitting up. Her eyes started to flutter closed, Michael using his grip on her shoulder to keep her upright.

“Eyes open.” She still responded to his commands. “Good girl, that’s it. Keep your eyes on me. Tell me about your tattoo.” It was the first thing he could think of, referencing the ink on her forearm. 

Even through the pain, she managed to give him a funny look. “You fucked me so h-hard, I-I might h-have a c-concussion a-and you c-care about my tattoo?” 

“Gotta keep you awake somehow, baby girl. Tell me.” 

The tattoo, one of a small bird cage, three small birds flying out of the open doors. The word freedom was written beneath it. 

“M-Maya… Angelou… h-her memoir, I Know Why The Caged Bird… Sings. F-first book I r-remember relating t-to… the i-idea that literature and s-storytelling c-could save y-you. She m-made me w-want to be a w-writer.” 

“You’re a writer?” 

Even in her pain, he could see her body sag slightly, sadness rippling across her face. “Yea…w-was anyway,” she mumbled. 

“What kind of books do you write?” 

However, Michael would never get the answer to that question, at least not that night. The edges of her vision were starting to blur and grow black. Her eyes lulled closed and this time, not even the sweet sounds of his voice and commands could force her to open them back up. 

***

Raven groaned as she woke up in a bed, the beeping of the machines around her filling her ears. She shifted uncomfortably as all of the sensors in her body started to wake up and she began to register everything. The pounding in her skull was overwhelming but her whole body ached. She knew it was likely a combination of Michael’s pension for acrobatics, an ache she’d gladly sign up for again and again, and the fall. Slowly the events that landed her in the hospital came back to her. 

The fall. How embarrassing. She knew she’d never live this one down when it made its way back to Helen and the other women. Falling and ending up in the hospital after her second date overall and first one with one of their biggest clients. She was screwed. 

“Welcome back.” 

She glanced to the side, shocked to find Michael sipping a coffee and sitting in the chair by her window. She was equally shocked to find that it was already light outside. 

How long was I out for? She thought to herself. 

As if he could read her mind and questions, Michael chuckled. “About five hours… longest five hours of my life,” he added under his breath. “How’s your head?” 

“Better than my pride. W-what are you still doing here?” She could not keep the shocked tone out of her voice. It was not that she did not appreciate him sticking around, she just would have never expected it given how Tasha described him. 

“Wanted to make sure you were good,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “I didn’t want you to wake up in the hospital alone.” 

Her heart fluttered, even though she knew it shouldn’t. He was a client, and as soon as he assured she was alive and likely not going to sue him or something, he would be on his way and forget all about her. That was the gig. 

“Oh um… that’s really sweet. T-thank you. And thank you for bringing me here.” 

“It was my fault so it seems only right.” 

“Eh, I think we both shoulder some of the blame there. Not sure why we thought that rickety table could hold both of our weight. Blinded by passion, I suppose,” she mused. “It was fun though,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “Sorry… for ruining your birthday gift. I k-know I wasn’t the girl you wanted or how it should’ve ended. I feel bad,” she admitted. 

 Michael studied her for a moment, unsure of how to respond to any of that. Sure, she was not the girl he had expected to find in his room. However, he was happy about that. The night had exceeded every expectation he had, until the very end of course. She was a breath of fresh air, a new challenger who had been up for everything he threw at her. And something about her… he just found himself drawn to it. Which is why he was still sitting here in the hospital five hours later instead of leaving. It was not just the great sex or her beauty, it was her. She was sweet and awkward but had fire and could go toe to toe with him when she wanted. He liked that, the challenge she presented. And while he knew she was only supposed to replace Tasha for that one night, the entire time he was buried inside her, all he craved was more of her. And that feeling had not subsided, even as she laid in a hospital bed. 

He shook his head. “I always believe shit goes exactly as it’s supposed to. And don’t sweat it. I had an amazing time last night. You were somethin’ else.” 

He watched as a small smile bloomed on her face. 

“No Tasha, I know,” she admitted, biting her lip. Once again, he resisted the urge to rip it out. A picture of her lips wrapped around his dick flashed in his head. He knew it was inappropriate to lust after her while she laid in the bed. But he could not help it. Having her was like the first hit of a drug, he needed another fix. “But I’m glad it was still fun for you. I had a good time too.” 

Michael closed the distance between them, one hand going to brace on the railing of her bed while the other held his weight as he leaned over her. 

“Don’t compare yourself to Tasha or any other girl out here. You’re one of a kind.” His voice was low, he usually reserved this voice for behind closed doors. It was commanding and authoritative and he could tell she loved it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her legs tighten together, the lust clouding her eyes, the way her lips parted to let out a shakily breath. “Understand?” 

She nodded, gulping. 

“Words.” 

“Y-Yes, I u-understand.”

But she did not understand. Did not understand why he was still there, why he seemed to care about her, even if it was just to sit in a hospital when she knew he had better things to be doing, or why he at all cared whether she compared herself to anyone. She did not understand him. She had expected what Tasha warned her about… that she would just be there to service, a mere body for him to use as he pleased for the night. That did not bother her, she was there to do a job. However, he seemed to be more than that. You don’t spend all night in a hospital for just a body, right? You don’t care about the low self esteem or self deprecating comments of just a body? And you don’t look at just a body how he was looking at her right now… with such an intense craving and yearning that all Raven wanted to do was to let the ground swallow her whole. 

“Good girl,” he whispered. His hand cradled her face as he took in the bloodied bandage on her forehead. He tilted her head up studying it, his thumb gently caressing her big tresses of kinky hair. 

However, their moment, whatever it was, ended as quickly as it started as Raven’s phone rang loudly next to her. Michael seemed to realize his mistake and looked almost startled, as if he did not know how he ended up so close to her. He took several steps back as Raven grabbed her cell phone from the table. 

She groaned as she realized it was her dad. Michael turned to stare out the window, giving her a bit of privacy as she answered the call. 

“Hey, what do you need?” She knew he was calling because he needed something. None of them ever called to see about her. 

“Hey Rae… could you send whatever money you can today?” 

Raven’s face twisted up in confusion. “Today?? The mortgage isn’t due till the end of the month.” She glanced at Michael who seemed preoccupied in his phone before lowering her voice. “I-I can’t just pull money out of nowhere. Why do you even need it?” 

He sighed. “Kiara got arrested.” 

“Arrested?? For what??” 

“Yea, she got into a fight with her new boyfriend at a bar and they hauled them both off to County. Gotta post bail for both of them by tomorrow afternoon. Or she’ll have to sit there until Monday.”

Raven felt the ache in her head grow but this had nothing to do with the concussion. She would never understand how she was the ugly duckling of the family, the forgotten and unwanted second daughter when Kiara, the prodigal perfect daughter, could barely hold down a job or stay out of trouble for more than a week. Well, that was not true. She completely understood… it did not make it easier to stomach or deal with though. 

“How much?” 

“$10k for them both.” 

“Ten thousand US American dollars??” she cried out loudly, her shock getting the better of her. At that, Michael’s movements did still for a moment, he had been trying not to listen but her outburst made it rather difficult. “I c-can’t come up with that type of money today. Not just because it’s impossible but I’m in the hospital.” 

She heard her dad sigh. “Your sister can’t sit in jail all weekend, she’ll be hurt in there. I’m pulling some money out of savings but it isn’t enough.” 

Raven shook her head. “I’m doing just fine by the way, thanks for asking or caring,” she shot back. Michael could not help but glance over his shoulder at that, taking in the hurt and disappointed tone in her voice that she masked with snark. 

He felt the uncomfortable sting of rage at the despondent look on her face. He wanted to snatch the phone out of her hand and hang up on whoever it was. 

“I’m sorry you aren’t feeling well. But are you gonna send me the money or not? I don’t have time for this. Your sister is rotting in jail right now, only God knows what could be happening to her, and you wanna have an attitude? We are the only family you have. The least you could do is make sure we’re ok while you live it up in LA. I need $6,000.” 

She clenched her eyes shut. She knew that meant handing over her entire cut after she paid Helen and Tasha and then the last bit of savings she had left. But she also knew she could not say no. “Fine. I’ll figure it out and send you the money by tomorrow.” 

“Oh it’s her calling from the jail. I gotta go. Text me when you send it. Bye.” 

She pulled the phone from her ear and shook her head. “You’re welcome,” she muttered to herself. She leaned back in her pillows and forced her eyes to the ceiling to stop the tears that brimmed in her eyes from falling. She did not know why her family’s treatment still got to her, 30 years later. Tasha was right… She needed thicker skin in all areas of her life. 

“You good?” 

She pressed her hands into her cheeks as a couple tears fell. She felt a wave of embarrassment as she remembered Michael was in the room. As if her interaction with him could not get any worse. They went from mind blowing sex to a hospital room and brain injuries to tears. 

You really ruin everything for everyone, she thought to herself. 

“Yea, yea. Just dumb family stuff.” She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s nothing.” 

“I thought I told you I didn’t like lies.” 

Raven eyed him for a moment. Part of her would love to talk to someone about her family drama, unload all the pent up feelings she pushed deep down into her soul. However, she knew she could not do it with him of all people. So instead of the vulnerability and honestly he demanded, she instead offered him a cheeky smile. 

“The Nicole that responds to your demands costs $5k a night. And as you heard on the phone, I could most certainly use it,” she added with a wink. 

“Nicole?” The doctor came in just as Michael was about to open his mouth to respond. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I got hit in the head.” She glanced at Michael with an expression that read what kinda stupid question is that? He merely snickered.   

“Makes sense. Well you have a very mild concussion. You’ll need to rest for at least the next 7 days… avoid a lot of screens and movement and anything that requires a lot of mental power. It was very mild though so you should be back on your feet soon. You’re free to go.” 

“Thank you,” she muttered. A week in bed meant a week of no work. And all the money she had to show for this disastrous night was gone. However, she had no time to really wallow in any of that. One thing Raven always did was figure it out. 

She slid out of bed, immediately swaying slightly causing Michael to rush to her side. He was quick on his feet, all that boxing training went to good use. He caught her before she crumbled fully, guiding her back to the bed. 

“Gotta move a lot slower than you’d think with a concussion, especially the first few days. You sure you’re gonna be good on your own?” he asked as he stared down at her. 

She chuckled, the sound void of any true humor. “Yea I’ll be fine. Always am. Thanks for the assist. C-could you hand me my dress?” 

Michael grabbed her clothes from the table in the corner. He watched her as she slid it back on, her movements far more measured and slow as she heeded his advice. She looked far more weary and exhausted than she did when she first woke up, as if that phone call and whoever was on the other line had aged her considerably. 

Once she was fully dressed and finished her discharge paperwork, she settled onto the bed to slide into her hospital slippers. Not the best shoes to wear home but they beat the uncomfortable heels she could barely walk in on a good day. 

“Thanks again… for waiting with me. You really didn’t have to.” She glanced down at her phone as she waited for him to respond, absentmindedly opening the Uber app so she could get a ride home. 

“What are you doing?” 

Her face twisted up in confusion. “Calling an uber?” 

“You shouldn’t uber home like this. I’ll drop you off.” 

Raven instinctively shook her head, the action causing a spot of pain that forced her to stop. “I-I can’t let you do that. You’ve done more than enough. Seriously.” 

“I wasn’t askin’. Ain’t about to let you uber home. If you don’t want me to know where you live, my driver can take you and he’ll come get me after.” 

Raven’s heart warmed at the thought. She did not like the idea of a client knowing where she laid her head every night. That seemed to be one of the few rules all the girls lived by. However, she trusted him. For some reason. 

“No, no, it’s not a problem. T-thank you.” 

Before she knew it, he and his security were hustling her out of a back entrance the hospital used for high profile guests and into a SUV with tinted windows. The car ride was virtually silent, Raven not knowing what to say or do around him. A night in a hospital meant they had a rapport. But he was still a client and this was the longest and most intimate interaction she had ever had with one. And everything since 3 am last night seemed like it was authentically from the kindness of his heart. She had promised him nothing in return for such kindness and he did not ask for anything. She wondered if he assumed and she just missed the cue? 

However, as they pulled up outside of her apartment building in her neighborhood, she glanced at him expectantly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But nothing came. 

Instead, he merely said, “You sure you’re gonna be ok alone?” She could tell his eyes were searching the neighborhood, taking in the less than safe area she lived in. 

She nodded. “I, umm, have a roommate. So not fully alone. She’ll be home from work later tonight so I’ll be good. Thank you. A-and sorry again… for ruining your special day. At least, you got a good story for your friends and Tasha next time?” she chuckled. “I’m sure she’ll never let me live it down. Anyway… thanks again for everything a-and it was great to meet you.” 

She knew this was goodbye for good. Their one night together was just that, one night before he went back to being Tasha’s best client. She was the replacement, not the one they came back to for more. 

Though she did not fully know why, she reached over and grabbed his hand that rested between them and squeezed, “You were a hell of a first date,” she winked at him.  

Michael found the part of him he hated most did not want to say goodbye to her yet either. The part he kept caged and usually ignored had full control over him today. It was as if she had pressed all the right buttons to release that specific beast and did not even realize what she had done. Now, the beast roamed free and he found it difficult to herd it and the feelings it created back into their cages. 

He did not want to feel what Nicole made him feel… he did not want to care about whether her neighborhood was safe for her; he did not want to know who she was talking to so he could strangle them for causing that look in her eye; he did not want to know anything else about her like why she said she was a writer in the past tense, what she had written or what she turned to reading and writing to be saved from; and he did not want to feel the urge to reach in his pocket and write her a check for another $5,000 to solve whatever her problems were if it meant she would not look as she had in the hospital ever again. And most of all, he did not want to yearn for all those answers like he needed air. The man who would’ve done all those things, who would have already yielded to those feelings was gone. He needed to remember that. 

“Great meeting you too, Nicole” he offered shortly.  

Raven paused as she jumped out of the SUV, turning back to him. “It’s Raven, actually.”

At his raised eyebrow, she clarified, “My real name. You said you don’t like lies, remember?” Her smile was sweet and innocent. 

“I thought that was gonna cost me another $5k?” 

She smiled playfully, a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there since she woke up. “Spending your birthday in a hospital with a girl you didn’t even know means you earned my real name for free. And where I live… don’t turn out to be a stalker creep though,” she joked. “Cause that would suck.”

He laughed. “No stalking… got it. Thanks for the two birthday gifts then, Raven.” 

She offered him one final smile and wave before she closed the door and walked into her building. 

As he drove away, he was thankful to never see her again. He would return to the comfortability of Tasha who played her role and sparked no other feelings in him but carnal lust. That was all he had room for. All those other feelings Raven elicited would fade and the beast would be locked up once again.

As Raven laid in bed, trying to force herself to rest, she could not help but think a similar refrain. She could not get him out of her head. The duality of the way he fucked her with the care and kindness he showed her after. The genuine concern he seemed to have for her. She wanted more of that, more of him. She wondered what it felt like for him to make love to a woman, and wondered how it would feel to hear him call out her real name. Wondered how it would feel to be held by him… how he took care of her, even if it was only briefly. She thought about how it must feel to be loved by him, the intensity of it must have been intoxicating. She thought back to the night before, flashes of it coming to her. If she focused, she could still feel where his hands were, like fire against her skin. 

However, she knew those fantasies were dangerous and a fool’s errand. She could not fall head over heels for her first real date. That was not the job. And maybe she would find a client of her own like him one day, but she knew she would not last long if she pinned over every man who was nice to her. She thought she had let go of her hopeless romantic phase long ago but it still resurfaced every once in a while. But Tasha was right, she would not survive in their world long wearing her heart on her sleeve. And she needed to survive, her family needed her to survive. So, she would never see the Michael B. Jordan again and she, too, was thankful. Because then she would forget about him and move on.  

She sighed as she settled into bed. Despite ending up in the ER, the night had been a success. Michael had been pleased, which was all that mattered and hopefully he relayed that to Helen. And that meant more clients, more opportunities to make money and get her life, at least financially, back on track. That’s all she needed and wanted to focus on. Anything else, fantasies of a man she could never have again, were foolish and best left for the characters she wrote in her free time. 

Sleep eluded both Michael and Raven that night as they were plagued with fantasies of each other, the person they both knew was foolish to want because they knew they could not have them. 

Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii

A/N: I'm both really excited and nervous about this series so I hoped y'all enjoyed chapter 1! Drop a comment and let me know what you thought!

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #michael b jordan x reader #creed 3 #black panther #adonis creed #michael b jordan fanfic #creed iii #michael b jordan smut

[kiwinatorwaffles]

hmm. i'm usually not one to post about these topics but i think i've gathered enough thoughts on wilbur's abysmal apology towards shelby to form a cohesive message.

WARNING: the rest of the post will discuss abuse and also a lot of my personal experiences as someone who has hurt other people in the past. obviously not to the extent that wilbur has, but please move on it you don’t want to see it. thank you and stay safe.

being stuck in a hard place, whether it be living conditions, mental conditions, or any other factor, will naturally hurt the person going through those tough times. and hurt people hurt people. but i think there's a pretty Big Fucking Difference between doing bad things in the past and actually owning up to your actions after regretting it VS doing bad things in the past and turning a blind eye against those you've hurt to wallow in your own ego and misery.

i’ve experienced my fair share of abusive friendships, but when i was fifteen, i WAS the toxic friend. (yes, i’m aroace. friendships aren’t the same as a romantic relationship but they can be just as strong. i value my platonic bonds as much as allos value their marriages or date partners.) i was going through a huge depressive episode. it was tough for me, but during that time, i made fun of my friends' interests to their faces because i couldn't personally understand it, and i also vagueposted about the little things they did that ticked me off right where they could see it. it got to the point where they had to make a separate group chat to talk about their interests where i wouldn’t see it. i hurt all of them, and it ended in them confronting me about my actions. they put me in my place and called me out for my horrible attitude.

after seeing my friends' perspectives, i realized just how awful i was to them and sincerely apologized to each of them. i recognized their feelings towards my actions and didn't make excuses. even though i was going through a hard time myself, my abuse towards them was absolutely NOT justified. as i recovered, i made sure not to hurt them any more, and years later, our friendships are still going strong.

my experiences aren't nearly as extreme as what wilbur has done to shelby, but i think it's pretty fucking clear that his apology was flaming dog shit served on a trash dump. like, i was a fifteen year old. he's a Grown Ass Man with a big platform. he dug his own grave by talking about himself first instead of actually addressing his mistreatment of shelby first and foremost. he didn't even MENTION shelby by name. talking about his "strides to betterment" without even directing his apology towards the person he actually hurt is just pathetic. that whole spiel about how he "thought" the whole exchange was consensual is fucking wild. he didn't even apologize for that; he moved on right afterwards.

we can infer that wilbur has been struggling with being a person who has done bad things through his songs and lovejoy's music. he might have been going through a hard time and maybe even regretted it (though his apology really makes it seem like he's just doing it for damage control), that STILL doesn't validate any hurt he might have caused. the least he could’ve done is to sincerely apologize to shelby, even if she didn’t accept it. but he couldn’t even do that.

it's just disappointing that, as someone who has a platform of millions of followers, he displayed an act of shallowness. in the end, his attempt at sincerity fell flat and benefited no one, especially not the people he abused. if he had properly apologized, even if his apology wasn't accepted, it would've shown people in a similar situation how to apologize to the people they hurt in the past in a mature and sincere way.

so, yeah. FUCK wilbur soot. focus not on the fact that he has done bad, but that the one he abused didn’t get a proper apology. support shelby and other victims of abuse. listen to their experiences and spread awareness of these cautions. uplift their voices, not his.

for those who have connected to his and lovejoy's music that have gone through a similar dark time in their lives, i also extend my heart out to you. it must also be hard to see someone who reflected your struggles of betterment reveal himself to be someone who really hasn't gotten better at all.

but you don’t have to be like him. you don’t need to follow in his steps as long as you own up to your mistakes, even if you can’t talk to those you hurt anymore. in the end, what matters most is that you apologize in a sincere way and make sure you don’t repeat those mistakes going forward.

you CAN get better. if anything just so spite that british boy’s ass

thank you. kiwi out ✌️

#ask to tag #discourse #am i yapping? maybe #but i just really wanted to say something about it because. ugh #actually not sure how i feel about tagging him any more but i do want to spread the word and trigger tag #shubble #wilbur soot #tw abuse #abuse ment #also after all this i still can’t hate lovejoy. their songs portray the aromantic struggle in ways not many other bands have #but that doesn’t mean i won’t replace their songs in my playlist with a local file upload get fucked lmaooo no money for you until #you get your shit together #kiwi’s calls

[quinloki]

Hellooooooooo!! Wassup? How have you been?

Could I request size kink, praise kink & after care for Shanks, Ace & Luffy?

Thanks! Take care and cya! <3

You know, I've been good. Had a rough day yesterday, slept in a little too late today, but I'mma try and get this ask done before my shift starts. (yay for WFH).

\o/ I love when people ask for Aftercare ♥ makes me all warm and fuzzy inside!

Without any pomp and circumstance for this, let's get into - I'mma go alphabetically (by first name), cause it places Luffy in a good spot to see the differences between him and his brother, and him and his mentor!

Portgas D. Ace:

Size Kink - Yes - Height-wise I think Ace is fairly neutral on the size thing. He's perfectly happy to be the little spoon, he's perfectly happy to the big spoon. I think he just likes to snuggle regardless. He enjoys wrapping his limbs around you and keeping you close, but he'd be equally as happy to be engulfed by someone (Okay, but now I want to write a Yamato x reader x Ace story, you have no idea.)

Praise Kink - Oh god you don't even know - For a guy who thinks the whole world hates him by virtue of his father, he wants you to know how perfectly he loves you. Ace is abysmal at dirty talk - especially when he gets focused on trying to talk dirty, but praise pours from his lips with a flow and grace you wouldn't know he had.

It all comes from his heart, and the only thing that can knock him out of his groove is if you start praising him. He won't stop, or run away from you, but you can see that freckled face turned bright red. He is likely to start railing you to keep you from talking though - or tickling you, or snuggling you harder, etc.

Aftercare - FUCK Yes - Ace's aftercare is a little lacking at first, but he's attentive to you, and listens well. I feel like Marco and Thatch both would've been making sure he knew that he needed to do it, and as time goes on he gets better and better. To Ace it's another way to show his love, and he gets to praise you more while you're talking through everything.

There's not a whole lot of people who can sit in the tub with you and keep the water warm quite the same way Ace can ^_^

Monkey D. Luffy:

Size Kink - I guess - Bigger, smaller, filled to the brim, or being stirred up inside, Luffy doesn't really have a preference. He'll do his best to fulfill your preferences, especially as your relationship grows, and if anyone can Adjust Their Size in a VARIETY of ways, it's Luffy-gods-damned-D-Monkey.

Interestingly, he prefers to be the big spoon, and given the nature of his body, he'll easily stretch and wrap around you to ensure he is.

Praise Kink - Oh god you don't even know - Oh god he didn't even know. Luffy's been praised before, but there's something different when you praise him. Especially when you're being intimate. It sends a shiver through him that he really likes, and so he'll praise you in return (getting better and better at it as time progresses), because if it makes him feel that good, it probably makes you feel that good too.

Careful with the praises though, if you praise him well while you're climaxing, you might end up climaxing a lot. If you have the stamina for it, then that's great, but Luffy's not known for his restraint.

Aftercare - Yes - Luffy is the middle of the slider for aftercare - he does it every time, and he does it well, but there's no much passion in it. He gets all the credit for seeing it through, and staying focused on it, he's not going to risk skipping it and having you end up in a bad way because of it. In a way, it's a testament to how much he does care about you, because he rarely does anything he doesn't want to, and it's pretty obvious aftercare isn't high on his list.

Still, he washes you, snuggles, massages and kisses you while talking about how things went every time. Then he probably does like a billion laps swinging around the ship because he's still a little ball of gremlin energy xD

Shanks:

Size Kink - Yes - Yes is pretty neutral for Shanks, since there's so little he's actively against. He's not against being the big or little spoon, though given his tendency to start things he's usually the one snuggling up to you in one way shape or form. He's definitely not shy about heights, either, but for some reason I feel like Shanks tends to stay within a certain range. I imagine it's almost subconscious though - if someone who was 12' + approached him, he'd be unlikely to say no, but he would be more likely to walk over to someone between like 5'-8' give or take a few inches.

Praise Kink - Oh god you don't even know - Beckmann does nothing but scold him, but he's good, isn't he baby? He's so good to you, doing all those little tender things you like, kissing you so sweetly even if are begging him to go faster that pleasure's still building, isn't it? Just be good, keep taking him so well, you're doing a great job, listen to those sounds, you're so close, aren't you?

Yeah, give or take, Shanks loves praise. He loves to praise you and watch you take pleasure in it just as much as if he were degrading you or teasing you. He loves it when you praise him, even if it's shattered by the pleasure he's giving you and nearly formless. It's okay, you're doing good, he knows exactly what you're trying to say. ♥

Aftercare - FUCK Yes - Shanks' Aftercare game is on point. He's had plenty of practice and a lot of it is almost second nature. He might not consciously fill the role of dom, but it doesn't stop him from taking care of his partner. I feel like he's almost always going to be the more experienced person in the relationship no matter what - he's just so much of a free spirit looking for a good time that I don't think anyone else could hope to keep up.

And he's not reckless or cruel, so he's good at the whole thing, from the chase, to the foreplay, to mutual pleasure, to the aftercare.

#kinky one piece head canon #monkey d. luffy #portgas d. ace #shanks #x reader #luffy x reader #ace x reader #shanks x reader

[anonymous-dentist]

I’m just begging for people to stop using Roier only as a tool to further cellbits lore.

My cubito has lore too!!

No I fully understand you anon, I’m out here waiting for Roier to acknowledge his own lore (rip)

But also? This is Roier’s lore. His lore right now is ignoring his own lore and everyone else’s because his self esteem and sense of self worth has been fucking abysmal ever since Spreen and Quackity’s betrayal. It’s just so much more obvious now that he’s visibly ignoring his own problems/lore because… well. He’s Roier! :D He’s just a silly helpful guy! :D Nothing’s Lore about him! :D And that’s the point!!! He’s portraying himself in that way and that’s his lore!!! And it’s so cool to see from a meta perspective!!!

I made a post a couple of months ago all about how Roier purposefully makes his lore as Not Obvious as possible because that’s literally what his lore is, he’s trying to be Just A Guy even though he’s quite literally the guy on this island with the saddest island backstory going on (as in stuff that’s happened since the start of the smp, no pre-smp backstory.)

Because of this purposeful Lore Ignoring, it actually makes a lot of sense that a lot of people don’t realize that he actually has lore. Most of his most important stuff happened before the eggs even arrived. Since then, it’s been Bobby’s death, Cellbit, and the eggs disappearing.

The eggs disappearing has finally let everyone realize that Roier’s lore is him ignoring his own lore because he’s visibly upset, eyebags on his skin and eyeliner irl, but he still pretends that nothing is wrong and that he’s just fine. Older viewers remember this happening in a very similar way in the month or so between The Betrayal and when he got engaged to Cellbit.

His lore is being sad and pretending he isn’t to the point of painting an unreliable narrative showing that he’s Happy And Fine, and it’s also his husband, because he would drop everything to help Cellbit out. That’s been the one constant that everyone’s been able to see since June. Outside of seeing him being married, a lot of people just haven’t seen his lore because… it hasn’t really come up or been apparent since he took his eyeliner off after getting engaged. It’s only now, as in within the past month, that people are remembering that he actually has lore.

It makes sense!

But also. Please. More people talk about him and his lore please

#asks! #anon! #does this make sense?

[odditycircus-2002]

Shang Tsung x Medusa!Reader Part III: Aftermath

PREV

FIRST

For some reference, this takes place around MK11: Aftermath Story Mode. What happened between that and the last post is up to you to decide. Oh and in this scenario, Sindel isn't a villain (Let's be honest that ret-con did her dirty), rather she'll be aware of what she's doing BUT, you, the reader basically are controlling her like a puppet. While perhaps unnecessary, I suggest reading my other posts to understand what's happening here. Now, on with the show!

You were tossed in the Void similarly to Shang Tsung, Fujin, and Night Wolf because you, too, refused to take Kronika up on her offer. That and you were taken first before them as Kronika's Insurance so that your husband would complete her Crown of Souls. In fact, your entire existence was made and written so that you were essentially a carrot on a stick for Shang Tsung.

Understandably, you're more than a little bitter about this being true. Still, whether or not your love for Shang Tsung changes(Though, let's be honest, you were bemused and absolutely jubilant when you found your DEAD husband not dead and alive), that doesn't stop you from conspiring with one another to bring Kronika to her knees. A fact that Fujin and Night Wolf suspected while trapped within the Void, without knowing you two are married.

Then again, how would anyone really know? The demigod brothers were used to your glamor and mask that made you look more human rather than your gorgon form.

Plus, it helped that while Shang Tsung still wore his wedding ring, you kept yours on a cord around your neck, hidden beneath your clothing.

In front of the others, such as Lui Kang's allies, you two also acted formally with one another, with brief and curt exchanges if you needed to interact. Leaving others to believe you both used to be in Shao Khan's court.

Shang would be adamant about not needing your medicine or help whenever he gets injured in any battles you face. Yet, you wouldn't have any of it, you just got back your husband, and you are sure as FUCK not gonna lose him again.

"Shang, you old fool, you're useless to anyone if you can barely walk or see straight!"

Although, you didn't let any of your actual concerned sentiment seep out from you; instead, you just assure Shang that he can "pay" you back later. This works in both your favor as Shang Tsung openly healing you can also be seen as chipping away his tab with you.

While neither Night Wolf nor Fujin suspected your marriage to Shang Tsung, they still were wary of both of you. So they would try and keep you physically separated. Shang Tsung's honesty track record is abysmal at best, and you're already known to be a notorious dealmaker that lives in a cave.

Still, when both of you can slip by their watchful gaze, you'd both would exchange hushed, tender, and encouraging words to one another. Yet, words aren't enough for you to express just how much you've missed his presence. His company has always been far more entertaining and fulfilling than any souls you've bargained with or stone slaves you kept in your cave as security.

Shang Tsung can only use many words to express his pride in you. He would make many promises and vows to you to give all you desire in his new Era, to make up for all the years he's lost with you.

Despite a few hiccups regarding restoring Sindel to life, mainly in the form of you turning one Tarkatan to stone and shattering another, the process was successful thanks to you, Shang, and Fujin. Or so it seemed.

You took the liberty of briefly snatching the Jinsei Fujin collected to add just a few drops of venom you specially made to those that can't hold up their end of the bargain into the bottle. So whether Sindel realized it or not, you pulled the strings.

Funny, some of you almost felt bad for what you'll put Sindel through. Here's a loving and heroic woman who lost her husband and realm to Shao Khan, then her life to ensure Earthrealm's protection. Only for that sacrifice to be reduced to meaningless when Quan-Chi resurrected her to force her to act on Shao Khan's will, including brutally murdering the very people she tried to protect. Only for her leash to be passed to Shinnok and Quan-chi after her second death at the hands of Night Wolf. Finally, after years as a pretty little puppet, she has restored memories and body. Now reunited with her daughter and able to apologize for leaving her alone with Shao Khan as a young child. Well, almost being a keyword here.

You first had her free the man she hated the most, her "husband" Shao Khan, from his imprisonment. You can imagine her horror when her body started moving beneath the Kolosseum, without being prompted. When she tried to open her mouth to shout for help, you made sure no words could escape her. The next time she opened it again, well it was to let out her banshee scream, peeling back the flesh of his Shokan guards. You give her some reprieve by letting her kick Shao Khan in the face, hard. Enough to break his nose and a few spikes of his.

You laughed through your enchanted crystal when Queen Sheeva saw the gruesome scene before her, with horror and disbelief in her eyes. Sindel could only get a few words out, insisting that she was not in control of herself, before you had her let out another scream and put the Shokan Queen out of commission before quickly using Sindel as your mouthpiece to spin a tale to convince the rest of the Shokan that Kitana Khan was to blame and to swear loyalty to her to avenge Sheeva. Sindel could only watch the scene unfold from her eyes in horror.

You have to give it to the former Queen. She fought hard against your control, thrashing against her invisible strings harder than anyone before her to the point it seemed physically painful. Even managing to snap out of your control briefly to rectify her actions before you ultimately took back her strings. You chalk that one up to her willpower and the fact she made no soul-binding contracts with you.

The pieces began to fall into place after using Sindel to explain to Shao Khan the plan you and Shang Tsung had concocted to restore them both to their rightful place. With Sindel as your puppet, Shao Khan was slowly able to take back Outworld's armies. And because you were in a good mood, you allowed her some control over her voice again, enough so she may speak her true thoughts and motives. Apologizing in tears for all she's done and wishing she was stronger, letting her daughter know she loves her more than she'll ever know. There were still tears in Sindel's eyes when you retook her voice to command Kitana to be put in chains. Nobody on the other side knew it was you except for Shang Tsung, not when you were fighting alongside Raiden and Fujin against the Netherrealm's army.

When Shang Tsung tricked Fujin into finally giving him the crown, his first move after putting it on was to embrace you in his arms and unabashedly passionately kiss you. He ran his fingers through your snakes that affectionately curled into his touch with your arms wrapped around his neck.

"Fujin, Raiden, I believe you're familiar with my wife?"

Saying you had a diabolical grin on your face, made more evil-looking by your boar-like tusks jutting from your upper lip, would be an understatement.

After feasting on Fujin and Raiden's souls, you turned them into stone to preserve them for later. However, that's when Sindel finally broke free of your control, first to briefly brawl with Shao Khan for harming her daughter before you pulled her into combating you. In the end, you not only beat Sindel in combat but, to ensure she can't do anything further, have her look into your gaze and turn to stone.

"Do not worry, your Excellency. I can reverse the spell later and make it so she's devoted to you for all eternity. "

Not surprisingly, both you and your husband betrayed Shao Khan and drained him of his life force until he was nothing but a barely breathing husk of what he once was.

When Shang Tsung defeats Kronika, and before he starts working on the Hourglass, he takes your wedding off from the cord around your neck to lovingly put the jade and nephrite ring in its rightful place on your hand. You both share a loving kiss before he starts getting to work, well before Fire God Lui Kang arrives.

If your husband wins, he makes good on all those promises he made you earlier, including making you a throne of your own right beside him. Because you had such fun with Sindel and Shao Khan, they, too, become your personal servants, similar to Shang Tsung with Raiden and Fujin. While Kronika is long gone, Shang Tsung is forever grateful that she made you. You are his Empress, his equal in power and mind, his beloved wife. Now, there'll be no one in all of existence that can ever separate you two.

If Lui Kang wins, you can only fall to your knees amongst the dust that once was Shang Tsung. Lui Kang would look upon you with pity as tears start pouring from your eyes, a first for you in eons. You touch your damp cheeks before closing your eyes, taking a breath, and looking toward the Fire God with a strained smile.

"Can I please join my husband too?"

"Are you sure, Y/N?"

"I'm certain, he was my life after all. Whether or not I wanted him to be."

Lui Kang acquises to your request. You whisper "thank you" as you turn into dust and join your husband.

In the Fire God's new Era, he will ensure you turn out differently and, hopefully, kinder. And to keep you and Shang Tsung as separate as possible. However, even if you manage to meet through oceans of time, then at least it'll be your choice whether or not you fall for the Sorcerer.

Playlist while writing this:

"Poor Unfortunate Souls" by Pat Carrol

"Judas" by Lady Gaga

"Momento Mori" by Fish in a Birdcage

"Mary on a Cross" by Ghost

"Queen of White Lies" by The Orion Experience

"Look what you made me do" by Taylor Swift

"I'm the Bad Guy" by Andy Bean and Noel Wells

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #shang tsung x reader #Shang Tsung #Mk11 #Mk11 Aftermath #fujin mortal kombat #nightwolf #mk x reader