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pinkrelish · 2 years

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𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader

✶“So,” you leaned into the joke by lowering your voice to a provocative, airy tone, “What are you wearing?”✶

NSFW — smut, phone sex, mutual masturbation, secretly getting off while the other doesn't know it, voice kink, perv!eddie, perv!reader

chapter: 7/15 [wc: 4.4k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11

AO3

Chapter 7: Satan Always Calls Collect

You shivered. The chilly air in the tiled hallway hit the dewy drops leftover from your shower, sending an eruption of goosebumps down your exposed legs. In your slippers, you shuffled to the ice machine, filled your floppy ice pack, and returned to your dorm room, where you were more comfortable limping to your bed despite not seeing another soul. Weekends were quiet on the athletic side of campus.

Getting ready for the night, you threw back your bed covers looking forward to a long rest; a nice relaxing time knowing your alarm clock was set two hours later than usual. That is, until the phone on the shared bedside table rang.

Sagging, you answered expecting your roommate to say she forgot something, “Hello?”

“Hey.” Your stomach clenched and flipped at his distorted voice over the line. “Was just thinking about you. Sorry it’s been two weeks.”

“Don’t tell me you read a magazine that said you should wait that long to call a girl, Munson.”

Exhaling in a short scoff, he set down a metal can of whatever he was drinking; a hollow tink, presumably an empty beer. “I’m afraid my magazines don’t have many articles giving dating advice in them.” Images of naked babes posed on cars entered your mind. Probably the same titles he collected when he was younger. Sounding more apologetic, he said, “I meant to call sooner. Between getting band stuff going, researching and writing out the rest of this campaign, and other bullshit, I’ve been busy. Just coming home and crashing at night.”

“And what about your homework?”

“Yeah.. Definitely been trying to–”

“Choose your words wisely.”

“..Copy someone else’s,” he caved. Popping the tab of another drink, he sipped a few times before he felt comfortable speaking again, in a much softer manner. “I missed you.”

Glancing at the door to make sure it was closed, you sank into your mattress and tried not to ruminate too deeply over him missing you. He’d said it before, there was no reason to latch onto it now. Playing it over, and over, again in your head. Wondering how often he missed you, or thought about you in general, and what sparked him to do so, and whether or not it was as frequent as you thought about him. And if those thoughts led to other thoughts.. Daydreams, even. The sort of questions you weren’t supposed to have about your best friend. “Missed you too, Eddie. You know, you have perfect timing. I just got out of the shower, and my roommates gone for the weekend over to her boyfriend’s.” Crinkly static responded. A buzzing lull as your words sank in through your thick skull. Putting your hand over your eyes, you explained, “That sounded weird. I meant I was getting ready for bed when you called.” You almost promised him you were wearing clothes, but that seemed like a suggestion too far in the area you were trying to avoid.

Except he careened right for it. “Not wearing your tracksuit, huh?”

“No.” God, you hated how high-pitched you went when you were grinning. Twirling the phone cord around your finger like a schoolgirl, cheesing so hard your cheeks hurt. “None of the windbreaker stuff you hate.. I’m wearing pink pajamas with little ladybugs on them.”

Embarrassing.

He snickered. “Sounds cute. Do you really go to bed at 8:30 like an old lady?”

“I am old,” you insisted. In the background, you heard him walking through his trailer, assuming from the kitchen to his room with the phone tucked to his shoulder, falling to his bed with a nasally huff directly into the microphone.

No amount of shame could keep your body demure. In any other context, you wouldn’t have noticed the soft fabric of your adorable matching pajama set brushing over your nipples; an action that would be ignored on any other occasion, if it weren’t for them being coaxed from their half-hardened state to fully erect with the knowledge of where your mind was wandering.

Listening intently, there was no mistaking Eddie’s long exhale as he shifted, and the grind of a zipper being pulled.

“So,” you leaned into the joke by lowering your voice to a provocative, airy tone, “What are you wearing?”

If you could bottle his laugh, you would. It would be lacking the nuances of how his chest shook, the intricacies of his short curls bouncing, and the twinkle in his eye when his gaze slid to yours, but it would suffice on these lonely nights made less lonely by him.

“I’m–just takin’ my jacket off,” he was quick to excuse, stunting his words in a believable way for someone struggling to remove the heavy-ass layers they wore when it wasn’t even cold out. “Wearing my Hellfire shirt, which reminds me.. I couldn’t help but notice you stole my other one.”

Your fingers sought the keepsake stashed beneath your pillow out of instinct. “Oops, my bad.”

“Couldn’t possibly be because you’re planning on making the drive to join us again?” He didn’t allow you time to reject the offer. “The brats have been bothering me about you.” Sucking in a long breath, you could visualize him struggling between a nod of approval and an admonishing shake. “They think they can weasel their way out of everything by concocting these asinine scenarios, like flirting with a magically locked door to open it. You’re a bad influence on them, y’know, you shattered my illusion of being the big scary DM, and now they think I’ll give in to their demands if they’re creative enough.”

“You poor baby,” you mocked, “Sounds like you don’t even want me there.”

“I want you here.”

Instant. An ache in your chest. Lump in your throat. A single sentence washing over you, bathing you, soothing you. Snaking its way around your body. Muddying your apprehensions. He just.. said it so boldly, and immediately with conviction. Serious. Not at all matching your cooing lilt.

You laid back in bed, and if the phone cord happened to drag over your clothed tits and brush your nipples as you switched hands, thus causing you to suck in your bottom lip between your teeth, then so be it. The sensation was electric. All pleasure. And he didn’t have to know.

Back to reality, you stifled a pained grunt from lifting your right leg onto the bed. Sighing in relief at the ice pack numbing your knee.

“That was quite a noise you just made,” he said, deeper in register, a little slower and coming from his chest. Helplessly gravelly, and directly into your ear pressed against the sweaty plastic.

And yeah, your sigh came out more as a whimper than you intended. “I told you I’m getting old,” you said, slipping the top button of your shirt undone. “Gotta ice my knee after every practice. And my hips, and my left shoulder after uneven bars, both ankles–especially after having two surgeries on the right one a few years ago. God, and don’t even get me started on my back.” The next button gave easily, and your tired body was accepted by your fluffy blankets. Weary head resting amongst the pillows as your eyes fell closed.

Your callused fingertips made contact with the sensitive skin of your clavicle and Eddie continued in the same measured cadence, “Are you taking care of yourself?”

Eyes very open and mouth very shut, you glanced around your room, unnerved he chose the very second your thumb strummed over your nipple to ask that question in that way. “Wait, what?”

“Are you eating properly and giving your body a break?”

Oh. “Yes and definitely not. I told you my money is mine now, so everything’s getting better. I mean, I can afford these cute pajamas, at least. No more canned green beans on plain rice and stealing my roommate’s ketchup, for me. Plus, I get free food at my job.” You opened the rest of your shirt, bare chest rising and falling in the indecent way it should when you stopped resisting your cravings. “Can’t make any promises about my body.”

His sudden caring attitude erred on the side of doting. “I just worry about you pushing yourself too hard, sometimes.”

Thumb and index giving yourself light pinches, your jaw slackened as your body didn’t, running one leg up the other until both your thighs squeezed tight. “That’s what comes with the sport. Teenage glory and then an early retirement when your knees no longer work.” He made a gruff sound from his throat. “Why do you care? I’m the one who got a silver medal on vault last Nationals. I’m geriatric, Eddie. It happens.” Your pinches escalated in strength, causing you to press your tongue to your teeth in order to discipline yourself from being so obvious.

“Is it so wrong I want you to be healthy?”

“It’s annoying.”

“Oh, but I like annoying you.” His smirk preceded his teasing remark. An undue bite to his inflection, like he was enjoying himself far too much.

And maybe you enjoyed the idea of him caring about you too much, too.

Flattening your palm to your belly, your fingernails grazed your delicate skin on their course downward. With the phone nestled under your cheek, you used your other hand to pull the tie of your shorts loose, and slid your fingers beneath the waistband, climbing over your mound. The tip of your middle finger paused at the height of where you needed it most. Tempting your desire to test the naughtiness of it all, holding your breath as you debated if this was crossing a line; and as your free hand cupped your breast, and the backside of your thumb teetered on the precipice of a bad idea, his warm voice pushed you over the edge.

“I’ll just have to take care of you, then, if you’re not going to do it yourself.”

A stroke: thumb, and middle finger. Acute delight fluttering your inhale, and a deep rapture between your legs. Once, twice, then a little circle. Back and forth.

“Oh? And how do you suppose you’ll do that?”

“Come back to Hawkins and find out.”

Not falling for that one. Speak all the fantasies you had aloud in that honeyed rasp of his, he would do nothing to relieve your stress. In fact, you were sure he went out of his way to avoid touching you at DND, acting out the goblin’s chants by gripping the other guy’s shoulders, whispering menacingly in their ear, drumming his fingers along their backs to creep them out. Except when it came to your turn. Your hair stood on end in anticipation. And he walked past you to sing the last sinister verse on his throne. Like you didn’t exist.

What was he going to do if you drove the 16 hour round trip? Massage your lower back through sheer will alone?

Heartbreak awaited you in Hawkins. That’s it.

“Tempting offer,” you mused past the sting of a lost cause, past the dulled pain of unrequited feelings, arriving at the selfish lust of pretending he was as affected by this phone call as you.

Delving lower, you crooked your fingers and glided your arousal to your clit, swirling more vigorous, purposeful, and needy patterns of bliss. Burning in a hot flush taking over you with the phone trapped beneath the side of your face, turned in a way that would allude to you looking at him laying next to you, noses and lips touching his. A perfect delusion. Somehow, you expelled your excuses coherently, “It’s not like when we were kids; I have training every morning before class, and a second session after, and I pick up hours at work when I can. Not to mention, you know, the actual classes, and exams, and stuff; the reason I’m here, if you remember?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you in your off season? Meant for recovery?”

Astute observation. “Coach, uh..” This clinical conversation was not exactly fueling your perversions. “I haven’t been given much of a break ‘cause Coach wanted me to test into the Elite program, and start vying for a spot on the ‘88 Olympic team.. I’d be able to take sponsorships, if I did. Sounds better than having my clothes smell like grease, and being subjected to drunk frat boys hitting on me for a paycheck.”

A little less groggy, he said in an excited lurch, “That’s an amazing opportunity, tell me you’re considering it.”

“I dunno..” An honest insecurity warbled your dilemma. “That’s still years away, and I’d definitely have to drop out of college to focus on it. And yeah, who knows what condition my body will be in at that point. Twenty-three-years-old is practically one foot in the grave for gymnasts. Can’t imagine competing when I can already feel myself slowing down. I’d rather retire young, finish college, and join the circus.”

He sighed your name– In frustration or something more tender, you weren’t sure since you interrupted him to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Can we talk about anything else?” you asked.

His hard swallow funneled from Indiana to Pennsylvania. From his mouth to your ear. States away, but loud and clear.

Long pause.

Two fingers deep, you closed your eyes from staring at the ceiling, tongue lulled in a silent moan. Hips chasing the heel of your palm in search of the building tension ramping to mind-altering degrees. Forgetting everything that wasn’t in direct sight of your release. Including the near-mute whine escaping with your exhale. Fucking yourself at a faster tempo, imagining he’d be the kind to like it that way. Interrupting your gasps of his name with each thrust. His face, reddened from effort, hovering above yours. His hair sweeping your cheeks. Building. Building. Sending a wanton throb to your clit. Begging for the expertise of your thumb while your fingers were buried in your willing cunt closing in tight around inadequacy.

Long pause.

His mattress springs creaked before you became muffled to the world. His soft breath was replaced by the harsh noise of fabric rubbing against the mic. You jerked away, nose wrinkled at the loudness of it all, about to ask if he dropped the phone when he came back.

“We can talk about whatever you want,” he enunciated in a sweltering union of coercion and dare.

————

Eddie didn’t remember when, exactly, it happened, but he did recall forgiving it as an involuntary response to his nerves.

Metal can to lips, happiness resided. The first beer he downed quickly, but was still too aware of his inhibitions. It did little to hush his pounding heart stuttering his breaths, nor quench his dry mouth. The second drink was better at eliminating the shake in his fingers. The third dulled his face until it tingled under his prodding, feeling the sensation beneath a buzzing layer of haze.

The strip of your character sheet was balled in his sweaty fist. Resolute, he punched the number in order.

It was possible his body reacted to that first ring. Or when you attempted to disguise your annoyed tone under an air of curiosity when you answered with a curt, “Hello?” Or, maybe, his pants became uncomfortably snug when the both of you implied he needed dating advice to talk to you; his friend.

Or it happened when you mentioned what you were wearing.

Freshly showered. In bed all alone. Implying much, and saying so little.

Yeah, he definitely cupped himself then, reveling in the satisfaction of his hardon being treated with the kindness it deserved.

He didn’t waste time taking off his shoes before he was stretching the phone cord to its limits to reach his room. Falling into bed, laying slightly propped up by his pillow. An excited jitteriness to his movements as he unfastened his belt, leather ends dropping to either side of his hips, sucking in his stomach to unbutton his jeans, but as sneaky as he was, you heard the zipper struggle over the bulk of his increasing neediness. “I’m–just takin’ off my jacket,” he said, tilting his head up to escape the groan begging to be announced when his red boxers stretched to their limits in a swell between the black lanes his jeans created. Freed from its cage.

Not once did shame enter his mind. He knew his limits. He could be quiet. He could be quick. He could keep it routine. He was simply taking care of a momentary lapse in judgment, and you didn’t have to know. It wouldn’t get out of hand. Hell, he could even manage to carry a coherent conversation with you. Coherent, but a little apparent where his mind resided, repeatedly mentioning your body.

He shoved his Hellfire shirt up to his chest, giving himself ample room for later.

“Are you taking care of yourself?”

Why did you have to react that way, seconds after gifting him with the most delicious moan when you climbed into bed? Sucking in a breath like a gasp; so sweet and innocent, and naive to the rate at which his depravity shattered his illusion of self-control.

Are you hungry, sweetheart? I’ll make you dinner, just sit there and look pretty for me.

Groping his clothed length, he tightened his fist until his fingers circled around himself. Tugging once, twice. Dragging the tip to where it peeked out from under the waistband. Sticky precum glistening in a strand leading to his belly.

You’re tired, baby? Let me draw you a bath. Yes, of course I’ll join you. Don’t worry.

Stroke after stroke, he immersed himself in his fantasy.

But first, tell me where it hurts. Trust me. I’ll take care of you.

It was a secret he’d take to the grave. How much he wanted to be the one you sought after practice. Still dressed in your leotard. Smelling of chalk, sweat, and foam. Providing you with the needs you neglected. Nurturing you in the ways he could. Your muscles are sore? Let me massage them for you. Your thighs are shaking? Come lay down, my Light.

Eddie tried to keep his breathing level as he rocked side to side, shoving his jeans and boxers down. It was torture telling you to come back to Hawkins when he knew he wouldn’t act on his impulses and learn the different ways you could articulate his name.

Just friends. Just friends, he told himself as his skilled hand tamed his urges. Fitting his palm to the underside, fingers curled with his index lifted from the rest, black ring glimmering as he slid his grip upwards. A pleasant brush over the lipped edge. Itching for more, but some part of him wanted to savor the novelty of talking to you while he touched himself. Sullying the image of his perfect girl on her way to becoming an Olympian.

If only you knew how young he was when this idea first sprang to his mind..

What about between those strong thighs, sweetheart? I can make you feel better there, too.

Oh, how he wanted to bury himself there.

His hips jerked. Pumping his fist without his permission. He wanted to make this last. Explore those visions which became more frequent after seeing you train at the rec center. Delve into this region of the late-night images he tried to resist as of late, only to wake up covered in a mess. Dreaming of fucking his best friend and how gently he’d do it.

God, what he would give to have that reality. You sitting on the bed. Any bed. How he’d kneel before you on the floor, running his hands up your calves. Treating you to his thumbs massaging into the muscle. Relaxing you after a long day of training. Gazing into your eyes as he inserted himself between your legs. Slipping his fingers beneath the straps of your leotard, peeling it away from your exhausted body, sliding it over your shoulders. Chasing open-mouth kisses over the unclean skin he wasn’t familiar with. Salt mixing with his spit. Lapping at the column of your throat. Grazing his teeth over your pulse. Lower. Cherishing your warmth. Lower. Teasing the flesh responding to his prompting. He needed to go lower as you tangled his hair in your fists.

Stripping your upper half from the confining uniform, he would expose you for his veneration only. Pursuing where your stuttered speech commanded him. As tender as his hand cradling the back of your head lowering you to the mattress. As enthusiastic as his lips discovering boundaries beyond your friendship.

Even in his fantasies, every now and then, he’d keep your clothing on. He’d never admit he liked it in some ways. Implying how unhinged he was in taking you, that he couldn’t wait for you to undress.

He’d simply trace the edge of your leotard cutting from the crease of your hip to where you begged him to serve you. Moving the fabric aside to flirt, and lick, and suckle until his name was muffled from your thighs enclosing around his face, bucking against his tongue tasting you for the first time. Hailing him to the heavens as he honored you on his knees.

Then, he’d flip you over. Snatch the backside of your tight clothing and wedge it between your round ass. Hiking your hips up with a firm slap on your leg. Outlining your plump pussy under the taut fabric covered in the praise he gave you. Obeying the overwhelming desire to grind himself into the curve of your cunt and add his own decadence dripping down your beautiful thighs.

Fuck, he didn’t mean to sigh your name as he stroked his cock.

“Can we talk about anything else?” you asked.

Smothering the phone against his chest, Eddie rolled onto his shoulder and swirled his tongue around his mouth a few times, then spat into his hand.

It was a miracle he could speak with clarity.

“Of course.” Could you hear the lewd slap he was making, driving his hand up and down his shaft, trying and failing to keep a moderate pace? “Anything exciting you want to tell me?”

“Mmm,” you drew out the hum and he swore he could feel the vibration in his chest. “I’m going to New Jersey next week with a few girls from the team. We’re going to the beach.”

Faster. An open invitation for him to picture you in a bikini. Running his hands up your waist to the underside of your tits. Letting an accident take place; a loose string, and he’d have to help cover you up, and you’d thank him for being so chivalrous by using your mouth.

“Sounds cool. Never been to the beach.”

“One of them has a camera, so I can take some pictures for you. We went last year, too. The ocean’s really pretty.”

Faster, again, because your voice was getting huskier. A hushed caress along his cheek. Likely because you were falling asleep on him, but he didn’t care. Didn’t care. Didn’t care. So sweet and soft for him. Easing his fingers over his cock to your pretty voice coming from your pretty mouth. Each pump, each digit, each squeeze and twist of his wrist at the top bringing him closer to the edge.

There it was again–your quiet intake of breath being released as a whiny plea away from the phone.

Head tipped, he choked back a groan, and thrusted into his fist as if his palm were you, no longer concerned about the consequences of being caught.

You kept him on the line, “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

Oh, baby.

Observing his red knuckles in a bout of lucidity, he played up his complaining to garner your sympathy, “Playing mechanic around the trailer park. Gotta be the one to fix everything for everybody. My hand got a little scraped up, though.”

“Aw,” you purred, “Want me to kiss it better?”

This was it. This was it. He was gonna–

Feathery, jumpy sentences spilled from his mouth all at once, “Hey–sweetheart–something just came up. I’ll call you back. Okay?”

You stuttered as well–an Angel’s hymn to his devilish ways, “Y-Yeah. Bye.”

He didn’t have time to hang up.

Slamming the phone to the side of his mattress, he prayed you couldn’t hear his groan of your name break on his tongue. Silent moans escaping past his sealed lips when he dropped his head back. Toes curling right as his thighs twitched and flexed. Erratic movements interrupting his rhythm. Panting as a throb trembled him. Desperately fucking a poor replacement for his best friend’s pussy.

“That’s it–fuck.”

Chest falling in great huffs, he watched his cum land on his shirt, covering him while his strokes faltered, slowed, using his dripping climax as lube. Body jerking from overstimulation. Sliding his thumb over the intoxicating nerves telling him to stop. But it felt so good to picture you straddling him, bouncing relentlessly until he was begging for mercy.

“Holy shit,” he sighed. And then a disenchanted, “Jesus,” as he looked at the mess cooling on his skin, alone in his bed, clear-headed and aware he would never have what he wanted, despite the temporary stupidity clouding his mind moments ago, encouraging him to risk it all.

A sober realization after the best orgasm he’d experienced in his recent years.

Racing heart on the decline, he faced his fears and picked up the phone.

When the dial tone reached him, he mumbled something in relief and let it fall to the floor, listening to the cord drag it back into the hallway while he body went lax, and his vision went dark with his arms crossed over his face.

————

Your phone sat crooked on the receiver.

“Ed–” you couldn’t complete his name, lost to the aftershocks of your climax. Circling your fingers again, and again, over your sensitive clit until, at last, you couldn’t handle more, and went languid. Blinking at the blurry ceiling, accepting it was time to surrender to your drowsy eyelids and sleep.

Reaching for the lamp, you noticed the phone wasn’t hung up. You scrambled for it, and held it up to your ear, listening to the other end of the line. More staticky fabric noise.

Eddie probably drank more than he let on and dropped it again. Meaning he didn’t hear you coach him into fucking you harder, faster at the height of your yearning. Thank God.

You ended the call for him.

That was close.

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bearhugsandshrugs · 5 months

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Dammon/F!Tav: Hurt/Comfort

Secret santa gift for @aurasyn <3 I picked the prompt that had me go out of my hatefuck-writing comfort zone and tried filling the hurt/comfort that she craved. Hope you enjoy!

Mend What's Broken Read on AO3

The sun was already setting when Tav made her way through the Lower City. Feeling giddy as much as nervous, she kept practicing the few lines she had previously thought about saying: I was nearby and starving. I thought of you and was wondering if you wanted to get dinner with me?

Two short sentences, one white lie: She had absolutely not been nearby. In fact, she’d been home the entire day, talking herself up to doing this, gathering the courage. Then, she’d picked an outfit that she’d changed four times, redoing her hair each time, desperate to find a version of her that looked good, but effortlessly good, but still sexy good, but still without any expectations good, and well, that had taken time.

Asking out Dammon was the boldest thing she’d ever done, and she’d fought gods and vampire lords. Still, to her this was scarier, more immediate, than anything that had happened over the past months. So when Tav arrived at the smithy Dammon was running, she nearly didn’t make it in.

What if he said no?

Gale had told her he’d be a fool to reject her, and that there was no need for her to worry. Lae’zel had offered to come with, to “tear the skin off the tiefling’s skull”, if needed. And Wyll had helped write down the lines, then rehearsed them with her.

Memories of her friends’ support gave her the confidence boost she needed to walk in. Now or never.

“Oh hi”, Dammon exhaled when he spotted her across the room, hammer still in hand. “One second–”

He put his tools away, quickly wiped off his hands on a rag, and made his way over to her. “It’s always a pleasure to see you”, he nodded, a smile teasing around the corners of his mouth.

Tav’s heartbeat quickened, I can’t do this, but this was the fourth time she was trying to ask him, and the last time she hadn’t even greeted him back, had just said she’d forgotten something at home and left. She couldn’t use another excuse like that again. Not without looking like a fool.

“Do you need anything?”, Dammon asked her, trying to break up the awkward silence that had started to settle between them, with Tav not really knowing what to say. Or rather: not knowing how to get the courage to say it.

“I, uh-”, she shifted from one foot to the other, and the smith gave her a smile, eyes softening at the sound of her voice. “I was in the neighborhood, and I wanted to ask you if you were hungry?”

Somewhere in the back of her mind it registered that she’d deviated from the rehearsed words. That wasn’t what she had written down, was it? But how did it go again? Tav couldn’t remember, for the life of hers.

“Uh…” Dammon fumbled with the scarf he wore around his neck, looking awkward, “not really, I just ate, but I got some bread and cheese in the back if you like?”

Oh no.

No, she didn’t want his pity bread. Or pity cheese. She wanted to spend time with him.

He must think I’m pathetic–

“No thanks”, Tav mumbled so quickly Dammon barely understood her, “anyway, it was good seeing you!”

Not even waiting for a reply, she practically ran out of the store, hurrying down the cobblestone, back to the tavern, back to her room, straight to her bed. She passed the people on the streets, random faces all mixed up in a blurr: someone who tried selling her a newspaper, a young boy begging for gold, a family laughing together; and then, in the tavern, the usual suspects and guests and strangers and whoever was mixed up in the brimming atmosphere of the Elfsong.

Tav wasn’t sure how she made it back, most part of the way home a black gap beyond the few people who’d burnt themselves into the back of her eyelids. Everything was heightened and dulled at the same time, with just one constant, drumming up in her chest: The pain.

Oh, the way he’d turned her down hurt her. But it shouldn’t be surprising: Why would he ever consider going out with her? Spending time with her? What a ridiculous thought. Why would he… like her, beyond the most basic, mutual respect founded on trauma-bonding in the Grove and then the Shadowlands?

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she curled up on the bed, staring at the wall with her back towards the door, too distraught to even take off her boots, or to crawl under the comfort of her sheets. Small sobs shook her body while she desperately tried to muffle the sounds, crying into her balled up fists, stifling the hurt that wanted to free itself from her chest.

There was a small knock on the door, Gale most likely, she thought, and Tav choked out a “I’m fine” before he would try talking to her. While she was usually grateful for the gentle way her friends tried to comfort her, the shame still burnt too hot for her to even attempt to explain what had happened.

Worse, Gale knew about her plan. He would probably ask how it went…

“That’s a relief”, came a familiar voice from the other side, and Tav’s eyes went wide when she realized who was standing outside. “Can I come in?”

No. No he could absolutely not come in.

But she couldn’t say that now, could she?

Paralyzed from the horror of maneuvering herself into a corner, Tav just laid on the bed, tears still silently spilling from her eyes, praying he’d go away by himself.

But then the door opened. And closed. And someone walked in, pulled up her chair, and moved it close to the bed.

“So, uhm, Shadowheart let me through”, Dammon said from behind her, his voice mellow and gentle.

Great. Now that he saw her, he’d likely never want to spend time with her again. And he would be right–

“It seems that I’ve been a bit out of practice”, he continued, “because I should have realized what you were trying to do so much sooner.”

He chuckled nervously, and a new wave of embarrassment washed over her, shaking her body like a rag doll, with her chest heaving so blatantly obvious that the thought of him seeing her like this sent her into a spiral. More tears started to flow, more pain started to build, and soon she was sobbing again, despite her best efforts to bring that damned body of hers under control.

“I’m so sorry”, Dammon whispered from behind her, and she didn’t need to see his face to know it was full of pity.

“It’s okay. You can go”, Tav croaked out, desperate to cut this encounter short as much as possible.

“I can go?” His voice sounded confused. “Tav, I… I’d love to spend time with you. That’s why I offered you dinner.”

That didn’t make sense.

A small sob flew out of her throat, and she shook her head.

“Oh gods”, she cried, burying her face in her hands. “I’m so… You must…”

The calm breaths from behind her revealed no stress, no bother; only patience.

“I don’t mind you crying. This is nothing I can’t handle.”

Another headshake from Tav as she tried to express her helplessness. There was nothing he could do. Nothing that she could think of, at least. Worse: Nothing she could do either, as her mind came back again and again to the fact how bad this looked.

Shuffling behind her revealed he was not going anywhere, as the added weight of his body sank down on the bed beside her. Then his hand appeared into her field of vision, outstretched and open, hovering before her without making contact with her body.

“Here”, Dammon said quietly, “you can hold it. If… you like.”

Tav stared at his hand for a full minute, considering if this was some sort of cruel joke, a misunderstanding, or whatever else life could have in store for her. But then his scent settled into her nostrils: Fiery smoke, warm leather, pines, and… oats?

Instead of taking his hand, she decided to sit up and look at him. Wiping at her burning face, she sniffled when she met his gaze: Patient and concerned, Dammon slowly pulled his hand away, settling it down next to her, palm still open for her to hold on to, should she want to.

She felt so messy: her cheeks were wet from the tears and her hands couldn’t dry them quickly enough, and her nose was running, the constant sniffling making her head hurt on top of everything else. Fumbling nervously, Tav was of half a mind to send him away again, but he looked so soft, so steady, she couldn’t help herself but cling to the fact that he’d come to see her.

He was here, wasn’t he?

“Here”, Dammon’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts as he took off his blacksmith’s scarf, offering it to her. “I don’t have a handkerchief, but this might do.”

Parts of her didn’t want to accept the help, but her face stung from the tears, and she really could use the cloth to clean herself up.

“Thanks”, she mumbled, reaching for the scarf. But her sense of coordination was still numbed, and she clumsily grabbed half of his hand when she wanted to take it from him. Blushing, she quickly dabbed at her cheeks to dry them, hiding herself from view behind the fabric.

It smelled so nice.

“Are you still hungry?”, Dammon asked her as if they were just having a normal conversation and she hadn’t been hysterically crying just a moment ago. Unsure how she deserved him, she nodded.

“Yes.” Her voice was shaky and quiet, and when she dropped her hands to her lap, face finally dried, he was still sitting there, warmly smiling at the sight of her.

“I’m an idiot, Tav”, he repeated once more, and this time, it registered. “I was overwhelmed because… I like you. And you caught me off guard–” Dammon scratched the back of his head and chuckled nervously. “But I like it. Like that you asked me. Like you.”

Her mouth fell open as her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Why are you here?” It was the first question from a series of things that didn’t make sense to her at that moment, things she only now started to unravel.

“You stormed off so quickly, I cursed myself for a few minutes before I closed down the shop and followed you”, he shrugged. “Your friends let me in. Said you could use the company.”

Tav made a short note to kill them later. Or thank them. She hadn’t decided.

“Besides…”, Dammon continued, and she followed his eyes to their hands. He swallowed two times before he cautiously took them in his, “I’ll just keep saying it in case you’re not understanding me… I really. Really. Like you.”

Oh.

OH.

He liked her and she was behaving like a fool, unable to control herself… Another set of tears welled in her eyes and she breathed out a quiet curse, followed by a small sob. Down where her hands were entangled in Dammon’s, the tiefling gave them a short squeeze.

“It’s okay”, he offered gently. “Or would you rather I leave?”

“No”, something in her burst out the word before she could think, and that was good, because she already regretted it the next moment. “I’m sorry that I’m… like this.”

“Emotional?”, he asked, but there was no judgment in his voice, only genuine curiosity.

“Weak”, Tav sighed, and her reply was met with a hearty laughter.

“Come on”, Dammon smiled, “You’re the strongest person I know. Which, if I may, makes you so goddamn impressive.” He chuckled, and Tav spotted the slightest blush on his cheeks. “That, and many other things.”

“Are you serious?”, Tav asked weakly, still in disbelief about it all.

“Oh, yes.” Nodding, Dammon held her gaze, his thumbs stroking over the back of her hands in steady, calming motions.

They sat like that for a while, enough for Tav’s body to quiet down. When she felt ready, she gave his hands a light squeeze, then looked up at him.

“Thank you for coming”, she said nervously, and the smile that spread on his face was wider than any she’d ever seen.

Dammon beamed. “Are you ready to head out? Or would you rather stay in?”

It was still early, but she wasn’t really in the mood to leave now. “Honestly… if we could stay here…”

“I got it”, he nodded and stood up from the bed, Tav letting go of his hands reluctantly. “I’ll order you some food, and us some drinks, and we can spend some time talking. Or…” His eyes fell onto the bed, but he dragged them away, forcing himself to look over to the table by the window. “Or play some cards.”

She knew her cheeks were likely flushed, but she didn’t care. Not when he was this charming and self-assured, unbothered by her crying or needing to be in a familiar place. So when she replied, it was heartfelt: “I’d like that.”

He smiled at her, holding her gaze with an earnest expression that peeked behind the mask she usually put on. Oh well. He’d already seen more than most anyway… But there was more to it, something promising, and when he spoke again, his firm and gentle tone sent her heart into a stutter.

“Good. Me too.”

#i keep singing her praises but aura is amazing and if you haven't followed her do so #she wrote me the best tavtash fluff today #i can't #dammon #dammon x tav #bg3 fic #my writing

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tadpolesonalgae · 10 months

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Amarantha x f!reader x human!Feyre: Persuasion[*] - Part 1

A/N: took me a while to figure out how to get this one to work smoothly but dear gods it’s really sunk its teeth into me…

(This has the same dynamic as The High Queen’s Courtesan[***])

Summary: Amarantha has learned over the decades sometimes it pays off to listen to your fucked up fantasies. Especially when they involve cruelly manipulating others to her will. And you’re always happy to be her obedient little whore.

Warnings: pussy eating basically, masochism.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“You’re looking a little peaky there, Fey.”

Her head whips up from where she’s curled up on her pitiful patch of hay. She scuttles back, as if she can blend into the darkness and hide from your looming presence. You stroll forward nonchalantly, stopping a little way in front of her, crouching down. “Do you mind if I call you Fey? It’s such an effort to string out your full name.”

Her eyes flit desperately over your shoulder, scanning throughout the cell for someone. Grey-blue finally settles on your own, and you give her a placating smile. “Well?”

She doesn’t bother with flattery—though you suppose that would have been nice. “What do you want?”

Your brow dips at her hoarse voice, your eyes dipping to the bone protruding from the skin in her arm. “That looks nasty,” you drawl softly, “waiting for little Lulu to come help you?” She can’t disguise the shock that passes over her features, but tries. The attempt is so poor you burst into laughter. “Please, who else is going to help you? My Queen is keeping Tammy very occupied, so unless you somehow managed to bag a friend here of all places, Lucien’s the only one left.”

Her brow narrows, words a little more hateful than last time. “What do you want?”

You sigh, pouting out your lower lip, then a smile raises your mouth. “Stand up, spin around, and I’ll decide.” She scowls, staying firmly put. You tilt your head to one side, “I’m not here to hurt you, Fey.” You shuffle closer, settling beside her on the hay. She looks slightly surprised at the act. “I’ll admit I have ulterior motives to offering you help, but I’m sure you’re already well acquainted with the ways of Under The Mountain.”

Her blue-grey eyes stare into you keenly—sharp.

“Who are you?” She asks, prying for information. A smile lifts the edges of your mouth as you lean a little closer to her, nothing her human senses will detect. “Before Prythian, I can be a number of things. Fae call me her courtesan, her partner, or even her lover, and I suppose I am—to her Court.” You lean into her, a conspiratorial spark in your eyes, “but between you and I?” She’s pulled closer, as if lured in by the promise of a secret. “When her bedroom doors close, and she sheds those finely made gowns of hers? Definitely her whore.”

Feyre raises her brows in shock, taking a moment to comprehend your confession. “Is that common?” She hedges.

“To have multiple partners? Or for two females to be involved with one another?” You ask, watching her closely.

“The latter.”

You shrug casually, “arguably, no. I can’t recall a single period in all of Prythian’s history that a female has ruled, let alone taken another female as her lover.” Your eyes slide over her sweat slicked skin, to the bone protruding from the torn and bloody flesh. “I can fix that for you, if you’d like.”

Her eyes narrow in suspicion—smart girl. “In return for what?”

You make a show of thinking, tapping your finger over your lips, drawing her attention. Then a beaming smile graces your face. “I want you to kiss me.” Her eyes nearly pop out of her skull, cheeks flushing. She looks angry, you realise. “Are you not agreeable to that? I would have thought you’d delight in a chance to be healed for so little?”

“For a kiss? So you and your conniving friends can laugh at the silly human girl who dared set her mouth on a high Fae?”

Your thighs squeeze together at her wording, scent shifting though she won’t be able to detect it. “I do not have any friends in this court. I have my Queen and she is all I need.”

“Is this her way of mocking me? Sending her whore down to try and seduce me?” Your gaze is fixated on her mouth.

“It was my idea, actually. And one that took a lot of persuading on my part.” You offer her a sweet smile, “I have a certain amount of sway with her, so I would suggest you use that to your advantage, Feyre.”

She watches you silently, debating. “Just one kiss?” Excitement sparks in your chest, and you nod. Her eyes pierce into you, “where?” A sultry smile lifts your lips. “On my mouth…but you’re free to kiss some other places, should you like?” Heat crawls across her skin at your bold statement. “The mouth is fine,” she mutters, hurriedly.

You perk up, moving to be in front of her, slotting between her legs.

Feyre shifts uncomfortably, back pressing against the wall as you cage her in. You lean closer, but she stops you, pressing a hand to your upper arm. “Why a kiss? If it’s not meant to be mocking?”

“I’ve already told you I’m her whore. How else do you think I would take payment? In the all the gold you have falling from your pockets?”

“No, but—”

“Then in taking you to bed with me?”

“No, but—”

“Then there is nothing else to be said. The bargain is waiting, Fey, and our time is limited.” Her cheeks flush with indignation, but she concedes, albeit resentfully. “Fine.”

Despite her attempt at a cool demeanour, you can hear the pounding of her heart, the terror and excitement thrumming beneath her skin. She swallows, and her eyes flutter shut, bringing herself to your mouth. A feline grin plays on your lips, before you’re pressing her against the wall, one hand cupping her jaw as you bring her against yourself.

Power crackles in the air, at the same time your tongue sweeps into her mouth. The bone snaps back into place, skin healing perfectly over it, not a scar or mark to be found. Her eyes fly wide open, and she bites down in pain, teeth sinking into your tongue in shock. You hiss, pulling back, and she meets your gaze fearfully.

Then your head goes quiet. You can taste the metallic tang of blood in your mouth, but it’s different when you see the red liquid smearing her lips, mixing wonderfully with her saliva. You want to put your own teeth in her lips, bite down ever so carefully, canines piercing her delicate skin. A shiver runs down your spine, but you force yourself to pull away, tapping her arm as you go. “There you go. All patched up.”

You hold out your hands for her to take. She eyes them suspiciously, but slides her own into them. When she stands, her vision goes wonky, overtaken with dizziness as she stumbles. Your arms loop beneath her shoulders, easily supporting her as she collapses against you, momentarily floored by weakness.

One arms snakes around her waist as the other hooks over the nape of her neck, pulling her hair from her pale face. “Hey,” you murmur, “you feeling better?” She grunts, and makes to pull away from you, but you tighten your hold on her. She manages a glare, but that’s all.

How horribly weak humans are.

“Come on,” you soothe, hand rubbing her back, feeling every notch of her spine, “let’s get you somewhere nicer, hm?” She hardly has the strength to protest as you winnow her out of the cell, taking her directly to your own chambers.

————

It takes a few hours to get her cleaned to a suitable level, one that wouldn’t make your Queen hurl her back into the dungeons before the fun even gets a chance to start.

You’ve managed to get her into a new change of clothes without her snapping or trying to claw at you—she didn’t faint either, which was impressive.

“How do the clothes feel? Not too loose?” Her frame is worryingly slight, save for the muscle lining her arms and legs. “They’re fine,” she replies, keeping her distance, despite how close you’d grown from aiding her in the bath. Though she hadn’t protested as much as you had expected. Maybe she was already warming up to you.

The thought sends a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

You walk over to her, inspecting her features for the smallest ounce of dirt, but could find none. “You’re looking much better now, Fey.” You smile, turning away from her to fetch some cosmetics. When you return, she’s moved to your bed, standing awkwardly at its side. You pause, taking in her sloping shoulders; the purple smudges beneath her eyes.

Setting the objects down, you walk over to her side.

She startles, flinching when your hand wraps gently around her wrist. You forget how awful human hearing is, though you suppose you’re quiet even by your own kind’s standards.

“How are you feeling?” You inquire, softly, thumb soothing over the pulse point of her inner wrist. Her eyes have softened the tiniest amount, her wariness thawing with every note of concern you scatter about her. “I’m fine,” she says, but her words are rough—tired. You smile sweetly, and guide her to the side of your mattress, pulling the covers back.

“Why don’t you have a good night’s sleep for once, hm?”

Her legs tremble with the effort of not collapsing down, crawling beneath the invitingly clean sheets. “And don’t worry, I’ll be right at your side. Not even the Attor is allowed in my chambers.” She stiffens at the mention of your Queen’s favoured beast, but melts beneath your touch, crawling into the bed as you settle at her other side.

“Is your room entirely off limits, then?” She mumbles, eyes already closed before the fae lights douse with a flick of your hand. You tuck her into your side carefully, “the only other soul who can enter my chambers is the High Queen herself, though I believe she’s preoccupied with Rhysie tonight.” You stroke her hair gently, arms keeping her close, “she won’t be visiting me, sadly. So get some rest, Fey. You’ll need your energy for tomorrow.”

————

As far as you can tell, she sleeps soundly, not once waking. Though you know you have to arouse her—get her cleaned and fed so she won’t tire too quickly when the night comes.

A knock sounds at the double doors, and her eyes immediately crack open.

You groan, pushing up from the encompassing warmth of the covers, swinging your bare legs over the edge of the plush mattress. You can guess who it is well enough by the laziness that exudes in the tendrils of darkness that swish beneath the door, illuminated by the flame in the corridor.

You turn the handle, opening the door, just wide enough for him to be able to spot the human in your bed should he care to—

Yep.

Violet eyes flick back to yours, something dancing in their indigo depths but it’s gone before you can place it. “Good morning, Rhysie,” you croon from your doorway. “Have plenty of fun last night?”

He offers you a lazy smile that’s edged with fury—something’s straining him. Whether it’s the affairs of Amarantha’s inner Court, or some other information, you don’t care. All that matters is poking and prodding at his rough exterior. “Speaking of our Lady.” You shoot him a disapproving glare. He should be addressing her as High Queen, you’re the only one with that privilege—in front of her, at least. “She’s demanding your presence in her chambers.”

“We’re seeing her this evening?” You prod. Why would she summon you now when you’re already going later? Unless she’s displeased with Rhys, and sending him as a messenger because she wants you to make up for it—

You swallow, heat building between your thighs at the prospect.

Rhysand’s brow narrows, glaring down at you with that lethal grace he possesses. “She gave no such indication of those plans.” His mouth quirks into a dark grin, “I’m afraid you’re on your own to satisfy her tonight. She seems rather…frustrated. I’d be careful not to tread on her toes.” He croons, hands slipping into his pockets.

You dip your head a little, peering up at him as you press closer to the door—closer to him. “Actually, the human will be joining us this evening, Rhysand.”

The only indication of his surprise is how his eyes flick over your shoulder again, or try to, seeing as you’ve brought the door to, a little more. It vanishes quickly though, masked beneath cool indifference. “You think Amarantha will stand for having filth in her bed?” He drawls, and you can practically scent Feyre’s embarrassment. Neither of you bothering to lower your voices.

“Be nice, Rhys,” you drawl, watching him carefully. There’s something about him. It’s nothing outright, but something’s amiss. “Are you jealous she might be forgetting about you, hm? I can put in a good word for you, if you’d like?” Your lips lift into a smirk, but he doesn’t fall for it.

“As her favoured pet?” He croons, and heat traces down your spine at the demeaning tone. “Careful, Rhysand. You’re giving me half a mind to drag you in here and not look back.” His eyes spark with dark delight, stepping closer, so he’s a breath away from the barrier preventing him from entering your chambers.

“It’s been a while since she’s let us play together, hasn’t it?” He drawls, and your back curves as you lean toward him. You shift toward his touch as he raises a single hand—you allow him to grip your throat. “Surely you’d enjoy tonight more with another power present, hm?” He purrs, hand tightening around your neck as you flush with pleasure.

“Why don’t you go crawling to our Queen and ask her? Put in a good word, as you said?” His mouth brushes over your lips as you push against him, but he holds firm. A soft growl drags from your throat, but you’re familiar with his games. “What do you want, High Lord?”

He smirks—that damn smirk of his. “Good to see you’re well acquainted with my preferred methods.” You scowl, but keep pushing into his dominating hold, needing more. He gives you precisely that when he pulls you closer, bodies flushing tight together as you step over the threshold of the door.

“What I want, is for the little, half-decent Entertainment we have down here to not be rendered immobile before her next trial.” His mouth brushes over your own and you push onto your tiptoes, chasing more. “It’s been rather dull as of late, wouldn’t you agree? And with such interesting trials… It would be a shame to have her wiped out in an evening because you’re too greedy to share her with the rest of the Court.”

You consider. It’s a reasonable request. After a while, you can see how plain dancers would bore the feared High Lord of the Night Court. How he would be thirsting for more bloodshed.

“And what will you give me, Rhysand? I rather like the idea of ruining her over the course of a few hours.” You push closer, breasts dragging over his chest as your hands glide up his finery. “That she would be defeated by my cunt rather than a deadly wyrm, or a nonsensical—” You cut yourself off before you reveal the second trial.

Sure, you’re her favoured whore, but she’d flay you permanently immobile should you spoil her fun. Not so immobile she would be unable to use you, though…

Rhys cocks a brow, “a nonsensical…what? Do tell.” His hand braces your waist, slipping down over the swell of your ass, his fingers gliding between your legs. You huff a laugh, “tell me what you’ll do for me, first, Rhysie. My Lady won’t like being gentle with her.”

His fingers slip away from your heat, raising to the base of your spine. “How about I lock us up in one of those dungeons of hers, huh? Just you and me? See what havoc I can wreak on your sensitive skin?” You suck in air between your teeth, pupils dilating as you stare up at him.

“Like what?” You breathe, fingers dancing over the lapels of his jacket, pressing tighter against him.

“What would you like?” He drawls, thumb scraping over your skin at the same time a talon drags against your shield. “Want me to chain you up while I fuck you? Break into your mind and torture you there?” You shiver in his arms, pleasure melting your senses.

“I want you to whip my back raw,” you growl softly, thighs pressing together at the idea alone—the sting of the leather in his skilled hands. “Give me that, and she’ll last the night.” No need to mention you know Amarantha will savour watching Feyre suffer through the trials. She’ll much prefer dragging out her pain rather than ending it so prematurely.

He offers you a feline grin, one that has your hairs standing on end as he drags the tip of his finger up the ridge of your spine. “I’ll flay you until bone gleams white in the flame light.” You shiver at the dark promise, thighs pressing together.

“It’s a deal.”

————

“Remind me why I’m allowing this scheme of yours, whore?”

You smile giddily at her as she strolls toward her bed, almost utterly naked save for the scrap of fabric clinging to her hips, moving to gather the dress that lays before you.

“Because it’s not every day a human challenges you—you should make the most of it, in every way.” You offer, looking up at her with that gleam in your eye as she crosses her arms, plumping her tits. You swallow, nipples peaking through the sheer night robe you’re still adorned in.

“Did Rhys mention we had a tumble this morning?” She drawls, eyes cold and hard as she stares down at you.

You shift on the bed, tucking your knees further beneath you before you shake your head, “no, my Queen.” She hums, arms unfolding slowly—teasingly, as she drags one open palm down her front. You lick your lips, following her direction with your eyes.

“He was very…thorough, in his fucking.” Her fingers hook on the band of her underwear, and a flick of her eyes has you shifting forward, until you’re directly before her. You bite your lip as she peels away the garment from her wet heat, creamy strands of arousal slicking the fabric to her hot cunt. “I thought you might like this small meal.”

You’re vaguely aware of your head nodding, though your eyes are fixated on her, wishing to run your tongue through her centre, taste both of them together.

She peels her underwear off carefully before instructing you to lie back on the bed. You follow, mindlessly.

Your head goes quiet as she loops your feet through the legs slots, dragging them up steadily until you feel the fabric press between your thighs. A soft whimper escapes your throat as you imagine the mess she’s just created—the mix of Rhys’ come with your Queen’s release, now pressing flush against your heat.

The High Queen doesn’t stop there, though.

She elegantly swings a leg over your head as she turns around, settling herself down on your mouth, finally mounting her throne. You moan beneath her, arms already wrapping over her hips to pull her tighter against you.

“Get me cleaned up, will you?” She drawls, hands palming your breasts lightly, thumbing at your nipples before snaking lower. “I can’t very well hold Court with someone else’s release dripping down my thighs.”

You whine as her hand slips between your spread legs, fingers pressing the fabric deeper, rubbing over your entrance, brushing over your clit. She winds her hips, dragging them over you as your tongue laps at her, scooping up the release that’s still coating her cunt.

————

When you at last return to your chambers, Feyre is still sprawled across your bed, laying flat on her stomach, arms and legs stretched wide. Your lips quirk up at the edges.

You walk to her side, “Fey.”

She stirs, eyes cracking open, jolting as she takes you in, stood over her previously sleeping body. “Rise and shine,” you tease, folding your arms over your chest. “Or maybe just rise, since there’s definitely no shining being done. Not down here, at least.”

Her eyes are wary as she looks up at you, observing keenly.

“Sleep well?”

She peers toward the door, then returns her gaze to you. “Where did you go?”

You quirk a brow, before sighing and sitting at the edge of the mattress. She shuffles away, back pressing against the headboard as she brings her knees to her front. “The High Queen called for me,” you explain, meeting her eyes. “I’d assumed Rhys would preoccupy her all morning, but I guess she wanted more today.”

Feyre looks positively disgusted.

You smile, shaking your head. “I’m guessing that look is directed at Amarantha, and not the idea of coupling with a female.” You lean closer to her, pressing against her knees as you watch her steadily. “Since I know you have no opposition to the latter.”

On cue, her eyes dip down to your mouth, your lips quirking as she hastily removes her gaze, flitting back upward.

“Speaking of…” you drawl softly, locking onto the blue-grey of her. You set one hand atop her knee, letting her know you’d seen the traitorous dip of her attention. “…I think you also might want a little more today.” You can feel how her body tenses. Despite not being able to detect the shift in your scent, she innately knows something has changed.

She pulls her legs closer to her body, pressing tighter to the headboard. “You don’t find me ugly…as a human?” Indeed, that’s definitely a spark of self consciousness you can spy beneath her rough exterior. You suppose anyone can wish for beauty, no matter their misfortunes.

“I’ve never once looked at a female and thought she was ugly. Unattractive perhaps, but she would have to be truly vile for me to cast her as ugly, Feyre.” She shifts beneath your touch, managing to hold eye contact—impressive.

“You don‘t…? Amarantha—”

“Is my High Queen. Choose your next words very carefully.” You warn, nails tightening over her knee lightly. “Even in my chambers, the walls still belong to her, as this entire mountain does.” She takes you in with surprising steadiness. You can see why Rhys believes she’ll survive the next task, at least. Maybe even…

You don’t allow yourself to consider it.

“She’s cruel. And twisted. How can you serve her?” Her words are tight; clipped. Verging on hateful. You suppose that’s understandable.

“Do you deny her beauty?”

“Not on her exterior. The way all High Fae are.” Your lips lift into a feline grin. “You find me beautiful? What about Rhysand? He’s equally cruel and twisted, if not more. I’d say I’m the least worrisome of the three.”

“I believe you’re all rotten to the core.”

“Some would argue the same could be said for you. Giving a false name in your stead to escape torture? A huntress raised on brutality and bloodshed? What do you have to say against those claims, Feyre?” You drawl, an edge to your voice.

She stiffens, “I know who I am. I know what I’ve done. And I do not believe myself to be rotten.”

“Neither do it. About myself or you.” You lean closer to her, sharing breath as you stare down at her. “You must understand the nature of things hidden beneath the crust of the earth. We are not always as we seem.”

She has nothing to say to that. Simple watches you carefully, with those predator’s eyes of hers.

“I’m sure you heard,” you begin, “that I will be bringing you to her chambers tonight.” The colour drains from her skin, making her appear paler than she already is, even given a good night’s sleep and a hearty meal.

“No…” she breathes.

“I can offer two options. Either you go in there sober, and catalogue everything you see, use the opportunity to learn more about her, perhaps glean the nature of future trails.” Her eyes flick to you, startled. “Or…I can offer you oblivion. Drink a glass of our wine before we leave. You will not remember a thing. As if it never happened.”

Her hands are trembling.

“You have until tonight to decide.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#Amarantha #amarantha x f!reader #x f!reader #Amarantha x f!reader x human!feyre #Amarantha x f!reader x Feyre #Amarantha smut #Amarantha x f!reader smut #x f!reader smut

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infinite-orangepeel · 1 year

Text

recently turned this gym partner steddie ficlet into a fully fledged 6.5k ao3 fic. feel free to check out the added filth here <333 mwah and thank you again to anon for the prompt that inspired it !

Pt. 3 of my Steddie Gym Partner Ficlet

(read the other parts here: pt.1, pt. 2)

rating: def nsft

warnings: feminization, degradation/humiliation, voyeurism, under-negotiated kink (but they are both into it)

and just as eddie starts to work a third finger into steve and gets ready to prep him for more, the flimsy shower curtain is moved open and a third party enters the small stall.....

“oh this is rich. god, knew it had to be you in here stevie. no one else could sound so stupidly desperate for cock. needy slut,” tommy hagan sneers as he wanders closer and runs a finger down steve’s chest, “and with the freak no less? you’ll just take anything up the ass these days, won’t you?”

his dick is in his right hand already and he’s stroking it with reckless abandon. rough and fast like he wants to cum as fast and dirty as possible. eddie scoffs at him, imagines his partners don’t get much of a chance to seek out their own pleasure with such a selfish prick as hagan and his stubby excuse for a dick.

steve’s trembling with fear. he’s digging blunt nails into the side of eddie’s arm as a silent cry for help. whimpering in the vain of a trapped garden bunny who might not make it out alive with the big bad wolf lurking so close by.

eddie’s pissed—more than pissed. he’s irate, he’s catastrophic, he’s ready to drive a dagger straight through the soft spot of hagan’s skull. because no one gets to make his steve feel like he’s anything less than perfect. steve—angel that he is, too good for this world—harrington deserves to cum and moan and babble and whine and get kissed senseless without some gross pervert watching his every move.

“don’t you dare fucking touch him,” eddie growls, arresting tommy’s entitled wrist in his hand, “unless you want me to smash your skull in on the tile. which can definitely be arranged but if i were you, i wouldn’t try my luck.”

tommy keeps his chin held high but his lower lip starts to quiver with something obviously akin to fear. eddie has a reputation around town. he’s not someone to be fucked with and he always follows through on his promises.

“no, let him watch,” steve surprises eddie when he speaks causing him to lean forward so he can make sure he hears him properly, “want him to see how good you’re making me feel, want him to see you make me yours when you cum inside me. so he knows exactly who i belong to from here on out.”

as if this day at the gym wasn’t blowing eddie’s mind enough.

“baby you don’t have to prove anything to him or me,” he kisses steve’s neck as steve fucks himself back on eddie’s trio of fingers—mewling pleasurably, “but if you really want to keep going, i won’t deny you.”

“y-yeah,” tommy groans, hand quickening from his spot in the corner, “i won’t touch. just watch. just wanna see what a pathetic slut you are, stevie.”

steve nods against eddie’s chest, “please fuck me, eds. need your cock so bad it hurts. don’t care about tommy, just want you inside.”

it’s the last straw, the last shredded bit of eddie’s restraint. edging and building towards this exact moment all afternoon.

“hands to yourself, hagan,” he locks eyes with tommy as he wraps one hand around steve’s torso to hold him in place and uses the other to line himself up with his entrance.

eddie sinks into the clutch of steve’s plump ass. drawing soothing circles on his skin as he pushes past the tight clench of muscle. it’s impossibly warm and tight; more so than anyone else eddie’s ever been with. steve’s rim is tinted pink like the weepy head of his straining cock.

“ah. so full eds,” steve whines with his cheek pressed against the wall of the shower, grinding onto the tile with his hips, “so fucking full.”

if it’s a performance tommy’s looking for, it’s a performance he’s going to get. one so blasphemous and debased that he’ll never be able to so much as glance at steve again without envisioning eddie pressed deep inside him.

eddie gives steve time to adjust to his length as he proceeds to fuck into him. tauntingly slow, he pauses every inch or so to let steve wiggle around, cry out for more, and beg in that gorgeous slutty tone of his. eddie preens at his boy’s beauty, at the way he screams his name, and the desperation leaking from his pretty tongue.

“be good baby. be patient. gonna give you exactly what you need,” eddie reassures, starting to move for real—thrusting his pelvis rhythmically and growling in steve’s ear, “that’s right. show tommy who owns this tight cunt. gotta sloppy little pussy, hm? so fucking wet for me,” and then glaring at tommy—who is drooling all over himself—eddie says, “you seeing this, hagan?” tommy nods hastily which makes eddie laugh like a movie villain, “harrington needs a man with a real cock to fuck him. instead of that poor excuse of a clit you have over there. rubbing yourself like a fucking animal. its disgusting.”

tommy drops to his knees, head hitting the wall behind him, dick begging for release, “munson, I’m sorry. i’m sorry, okay? i can be g-good too. i can be good for you if you’ll fuck me after you’re done with steve. please? just once, c’mon man. i’ll do anything.”

steve stiffens at the suggestion, looking over his shoulder to find eddie’s eyes, jealousy overflowing.

“shhh, babygirl,” eddie finds steve’s cock and takes it in his fist to give him proper friction, pounding into his ass as he does so, “i wouldn’t fuck hagan with a ten foot pole,” tommy protests in the background but eddie pays him no attention, “i’ve only got eyes for you. he couldn’t pay me enough to touch him. besides, he’s just being a bitch. he knows his place is over there on the floor. now let’s give him something to remember so he doesn’t ever bother us again.”

“yes please,” steve murmurs, licking into eddie’s mouth from where he cranes his neck, “wanna cum on your cock. make me your slut. don’t want anyone else to play with me.”

eddie tugs at steve’s hair, yanks him backwards so his back is arching obscenely and slaps that pretty round curve of his ass. relishing in the blooming red handprint he’s left behind. steve cries out for more, so eddie delivers. five spankings in devoted repetition. left cheek, right cheek, left cheek, right cheek, left. until his ass is crimson and he goes slack in eddie’s arms.

“marking you up, sweetheart. look so fucking hot with my handprints on your ass,” he praises, sloppily rutting into steve. he’s getting incredibly close to an orgasm and he knows steve is too.

he angles their bodies so steve can stare directly at tommy, who apparently already came all over his own lap while they were busying themselves with pleasuring each other. tommy looks to be in a daze, blissed out and moaning breathily as he teases the tip of his cock and spurts out a bit more cum.

“tell him how good it feels, princess. tell him how much you like getting fucked by my cock,” eddie orders, spitting on steve’s ass to provide extra lubrication and watching it disappear into his stretched out hole.

“he fucks me so good—ah,” steve sobs, “love it so much. love his cock. love how big it is, stretches my pussy so wide. feel it in my throat, he’s hitting so deep. mmm.” his words grow incoherent.

“so well behaved. bet you’d never let tommy order you around like that, would you?” eddie slams into him, letting loose the most absurd, defiled moans he’s ever heard come out of his own mouth.

“n-never,” steve whimpers, “only you, daddy. only you. i’m all yours.”

without warning, eddie shoved himself all the way into steve—making him scream—and fills his ass with a full load of cum. thick white ropes coating his walls and dripping onto the floor as eddie pumps steve through his own orgasm. gorgeous boy soaking the front of his thighs and eddie’s fist. cumming hard and collapsing into his chest.

tommy stands up and starts moving towards them, looking like he has another stupid request on the tip of his ugly tongue. probably wants to clean eddie up or lick the cum off of steve’s belly.

“get the fuck out. you’ve had your fun,” eddie cradles steve against him and shields him from hagan, “and don’t come back here looking for more or i really will knock your teeth out.”

tail between his legs, tommy ducks out of the stall, pushes past the curtain, and disappears for good.

“holy shit,” steve moans when eddie eventually pulls out and admires the way his cum leaks out of steve’s ass, “you should definitely come work out with me more.”

eddie cackles, picks steve up letting him wrap his legs around his waist, and kisses him with genuine care.

“it’s a deal. as long as you keep wearing those tiny little shorts.”

the end !!

thanks so much for reading, feel free to leave me a comment to let me know how you enjoyed this and/or send me a steddie related prompt/request in my inbox (i’ll take any but sm*tty ones are my favorite, also censoring bc tumblr doesn’t like that word lol) <3

taglist: @estrellami-1, @disastardly, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @the-redthread, @asbealthgn, @bestofbucky, @vampireinthesun, @carlyv, @shrimply-a-menace, @lordrrascal, @anxiouseds, @jjoesjonas, @jehneeg, @malachitedevil

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mariusroyale · 1 year

Note

I found my people.... I found Raph obsessed sweeties 🥺 I love you.

I want to hear everything you have to say about him, thank you for this blog. It's full of food. Imma start eating

AAAAAAAAAAAAA

GO AHEAD

FEAST

IM A RAPH STAN TO THE VERY END *salute*

i have so many things to say about raph ESPECIALLY after season two + movie

garbled, nonsensical rant ahead:

because I’ve seen SO many posts about how the change in leader would have caused a rift between him and his brothers (worsening it, really, considering how he treats them enables them to behave poorly in the show)

pizza puffs is RIGHT THERE

like all through out, his bros are always reassuring, always saying ‘raph will take care of it’, just always relying on raph

AND RAPH LITERALLY BEATS HIMSELF UP OVER IT

HE LITERALLY HITS HIMSELF IN HIS CONFLICT (yeah sure haha funnie) BUT STILL!!

one could imagine the sudden change strains his relationship with his bros because despite how it, in THEORY, would have lessened the weight—

HE STILL HAS TO SHOULDER IT!!!!!

HE STILL HAS TO SCOLD LEO AND BICKER WITH HIM BECAUSE HE KNOWS THE CONSEQUENCES OF NEGLIGENCE AND ARROGANCE AND IT DOESNT GET THRU LEO'S SKULL UNTIL HIS BROTHERS AND THE WORLD ARE FUCKING DYING

BC LEO’S SELF ASSURED THAT IT WOULD WORK OUT LIKE IT ALWAYS DID EVEN IF THEY DIDNT RUMINATE ON THEIR ISSUES

(i will literally fall to my knees hearing Omar's voice in the movie in how well he portrayed Raph's desperation when he realised they needed to retreat, like he sounds so fucking distraught-- LITERALLY GO WATCH IT RN, THE WAY HE SHOUTS 'im not gonna argue with you!' is so fucking sad bc he doesn't!!! THERE'S SHIT HAPPENING AND I LITERALLY DO NOT WANT TO FIGHT WITH YOU RN--)

WHICH NOT ONLY WORSENS THAT RIFT

BUT THICKENS WHATEVER GLASS BETWEEN HIM AND THEIR YOUNGER SIBLINGS!! he and mikey used to be so close!! and it was to be explored that they distanced BECAUSE of raph’s smothering!! IM FOREVER MAD WE DIDNT GET THAT EP so you can imagine how Leo n Raph constantly bickering would have strained their relationships worse!!!

I can imagine how trying to recover it would be SO difficult, especially with Leo because seriously, causing the end of the world because of your own pride isn't some shit you can put under the rug, I can literally feel the cogs in my brain about how raph would be ambivalent on saying how he feels because it cost everyone so much

and because he picks his silence I can imagine Leo being all like 'be mad at me! be upset! yell at me or something, because you haven't said anything to me at all!' or some shit urhghghghr

and raph wouldn't want to upset him, doesn't want to fight, or yell, or make a repeat of the last few years because

hes fucking tired

he doesn't want to put more on Leo after almost losing him

also!! bad future:

raph’s the biggest!! and he’s so used to carrying that load that i can imagine it fucking KILLS him in the bad future!! ALL THAT- TO BE THEIR PROTECTER, ENDING UP DYING FIRST

BECAUSE OF COURSE HE WOULD

BECAUSE HE LOVES THEM SO MUCH AND IT HURTS HIM

when he shields Donnie from shredder in BN:NY, UGRHDHDH

when he shields both Mikey and Donnie when the Krang pulled that anti mystic bs!! he didn’t even think about what it would do- he just wanted to PROTECT

AND OFC RAPH SHIELDING LEO FROM GETTING FUCKING STABBED

RAPH. DIDNT. KNOW. WHERE. IT. WOULD. LAND.

a few inches lower and he would have fucking DIED!!!

he was LITERALLY doing the thing he knew best and it cost him his own autonomy and COULD HAVE LITERALLY FUCKING KILLED HIM—

BUT GOD FORBID HIS BROTHERS GET LETHALLY HURT, HE’LL TAKE IT HIMSELF BECAUSE HES JUST LIKE THAT

and that part of his character gets me so

BECAUSE he doesn’t HAVE to be such a caring overbearing worrywart like that!!!

all that parentification and the separation it left- he could have really just distanced himself entirely or just become jaded and bitter about how he didn’t get his own big brother treatment

BUT HE LOVES ANYWAY

HE'S STILL JUST A BIG GOOF

AND ITS SO 😭😭

HE CAN GET MAD AND UPSET AND STRESSED OUT AS MANY TIMES AS LONG AS IT MEANS HIS FAMILY IS SAFE AND CARED FOR

AND ITS LIKE *sobs*

i wanna know what a raph ep would be like if he just.. got a break

no really, i was so pumped to have a solo raph ep and then MY BOY GETS THROWN IN PRISON FOR LOOKING LIKE A CRIMINAL?!????

i would have gotten so violent, ong- he deserved a better solo ep >:((

and that ep after insane in the mama train, where he goes to his happy place

HES A SHOOTING STAR LIKE D’AWWJDHSJ

I WANNA SEE THIS BIG BEHEMOTH OF A TURTLE GET A BREAK FOR A LONG TIME AND HE JUST GETS TO CHILL

that being said, i am writing a fic on ao3 called ‘Red Angel Perpetuating Harm’ and i plan on uploading it once i fully manage to encapsulate raph’s trauma and what he deserves to treat it bc this fandom i stg….

guys

i get it, Leo’s there, yeah sure

RAPH IS RIGHT HERE. Y’ALL KEEP MAKIN UP SCENARIOS WHERE ITS JUST MADE UP TORTURE FOR LEO

WHEN RAPH IS RIGHT. THERE.

PERFECT. ATTENTIVE. LOVING. HIMBO.

raph’s trauma does not get addressed enough and i for one am DONEEEEE

HE GOT MUTATED. THERE WAS A SCRAPPED ENDING WHERE HE STRAIGHT UP LOST HIS EYE

HE LITERALLY ALMOST KILLED HIS BROS

RAPH ‘RED ANGEL OF PREVENTING HARM’ HAMATO ALMOST KILLED EM

AND IF YOU DONT WANT PHYSICAL ANGST-- HE'S GOT A HELLUVA LOT OF EMOTIONAL BAGGAGE TOO!!!!! HE'S RIGHT THERE!!!!!

and my fuckass fyp on tiktok is like ‘you want Leo edits?’ NO!!

whenever i get vids of raph, focusing on his loss or just cute edits im always like

bECAUSE HE DESERVES MORE ATTENTION!!!! HE'S SUCH A GOOD CHARACTER AND I ADORE HIM!!!

the fic I have rn + the outlines I've made have so far focuses on:

what happened after he got IMPALED (I really liked writing this one)

deeper into interrogation (im contemplating whether or not to write his savage self considering he is alone but idk how to implement it bc the rise Krang are insanely strong, goddamn)

and making his interactions with his bros as a Krang zombie worse

+ recovering his bonds with each brother (trying to figure out how to put all my feelings in their dynamics with raph together)

and splinter + April too, I want him to be able to vent without feeling GUILTY or BAD abt himself!!

the Leo parts of the fic I feel like u can literally smell the way I feel abt him bc JKSBHLJFBHLGBLHJFLBHJ

(no seriously, idc why fics keeps saying 'its not his fault!!' bc YES TF IT WAS.)

hoping to dive deeper into the aforementioned rift too, because god this fam needs some help but RAPH CENTRIC FIC MEANS HE GETS TO BE THE ONE TO CRY AND BE ANGRY AND UPSET TOO BECAUSE GODDAMMIT HE DESERVES TO

someone pls write other things I haven't addressed bc I wanna write em in the fic--

tldr; he best. the best big boy

here's a tiktok

#this is literally the best way I can put everything down without going into full detail #bc I don't think I can like--#this turtle is everything to me #rise raph #rottmnt #raphael hamato #ask #ish #and- ily too I love any rise raph stan #ty for prompting this word vomit I desperately needed to get this out #rottmnt raph #rottmnt raphael #raph appreciation

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ninzied · 2 years

Text

trick or

for @superrpowerlesshuman.

The superheroes are out in full force tonight, and so, as such, are the villains. Frank finds himself scowling at more than one Fisk, who’s usually playing it all wrong—smiling and jovial instead of dark and imposing, helping his toddler-sized Spider-Man safely cross the street.

Red’s made a comeback this year, too. Frank doesn’t let it bother him—much—but he does do a double take when he sees a few of them walking hand-in-hand with a green woman, dressed in a purple leotard.

Every once in a while, there will be a blonde in a blouse and pencil skirt instead, leaning in to kiss Daredevil’s cheek. Frank gazes after them before walking on, pushing his way through the crowd. Ignoring another Punisher who’s trying to compliment Frank on his vest.

“It just looks so real!” the guy is yelling after him, and Frank ignores that too.

He breathes again when he’s out of the crowd, stepping into an unlit part of the street. The bar is only two blocks down, the seedy one that looks like the whole goddamn mafia might drop in for a beer at any given moment.

He still doesn’t know what she sees in the place.

She’s standing outside as he slips from the shadows. She’s a goddess—literally, in her white Grecian dress with gold accents, a wreath of small flowers weaved into her hair. Even in the half-dark, she’s glowing.

“Hey.” Frank approaches. He puts his hand on her waist, murmuring into her hair, “You look beautiful.” She winds her arms around him, smiling, and it’s the kind of smile that reminds him there is only one Karen Page, and this one smile of hers is, somehow, meant only for him. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re not late,” Karen tells him, leaning in for a kiss. “The others aren’t even here yet.”

Frank drags his hands up her sides. “So,” he says, pulling her closer, “this mean we can go home, then?”

She shakes her head, biting back another smile. “Tempting,” she deadpans. Then, a little more slyly, “I saw you out there. Several of you, actually.”

“I saw you,” he says, trailing his finger down the side of her face, brushing his thumb over her chin. “Think they got a few things wrong, though.”

“Mm. Try not to look too smug,” Karen says lightly. She tilts her mouth up to kiss him again, lowering her hands to his chest. “So where did you—”

Someone whistles, and they look over to see Marci and Nelson walk toward them. Marci’s in a large gold headdress that matches Nelson’s lightning bolt, which he promptly drops as soon as he catches sight of Frank’s vest.

“Nice one, Pete,” Marci is saying, with an appreciative glance at the skull. “Also, Karen, you look hot.”

Nelson’s still staring. “I thought this was a costume party.”

“This is a costume,” Frank says to him, straight-faced.

Nelson laughs, a little nervously. “Right.” His gaze shifts from Frank to Karen then back to Frank again. “I mean—right, yeah, of course. Obviously.” He clears his throat for Marci’s benefit. “But aren’t you supposed to be dressed as, you know. God of the Underworld, if Karen’s Persephone?”

“Close enough,” says Frank with a shrug. “Toga’s not really my thing, so.”

“It’s a modern take,” Marci agrees. “It works.” She gives Nelson’s hand a tug. “Come on, Foggy Bear, let’s get a drink. Or whatever passes for one at this place.”

Nelson is still eyeing Frank’s vest. “That’s not real blood, is it?” he mouths back to Karen as Marci drags him into the bar.

Karen loops her arm through Frank’s, laughing. “Where did you find it, anyway?”

“Bottom of the closet,” says Frank. He raises an eyebrow and adds, “Underneath all the shoes you don’t wear.”

“Then they’re in good company.” She puts her hand on his chest and he takes it, lifting it to his mouth for a kiss. “It’s getting dusty,” she observes.

“Yeah?” Frank gives the vest a few swipes for good measure, smirking sideways at her as he opens the door. “What Nelson doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

#kastle #kastle ff #kastlenetwork #froggy #(hehe)#a lil halloween ficlet for you

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dickfics69 · 1 year

Text

Emotional Motion Sickness | Part 5 | A Rickyl ficlet

Rick x Daryl

AO3

My Daryl playlist

Summary: Daryl gets sick before a supply run, and denies it vehemently. He is a big tantrum baby. Rick is constantly worried and drama ensures.

Chapter summary: Carl find Daryl in the woods. They talk and Daryl lets down some of his walls. Daryl falls a sleep and has another nightmare. They arrive at the house.

AU: This fic has some timeline and plot-point changes. They are still in the prison and the second Governor fight never happened. He died in the first one and the last few months have been them adjusting to all the new Woodbury inhabitants. Rick and Lori broke up when Shane was killed, but Rick still lost his mind when she died. Daryl and Rick have just recently gotten together. Farmer Rick era is lot shorter than in the show. An original character is introduced for plot furthering purposes.

Content warning: adult language, sickfic, mess, snot, bodily functions, hurt/comfort, vivid nightmares, adult content, 18+ for eventual smut (still deciding hehe

Word Count: 3.5k +

Always thank you to my bestie @dumbslxtclub

Chapter 5: I'm Stubborn and Brittle

Daryl held his pistol out, unable to stop his fever and fear from shaking the firearm. The immense pressure in his skull had evoked a throbbing in his eardrums that seemed to distort the noise of reality around him. He didn’t know what was out there. Maybe it was a deer? Maybe a walker. But the man rued his impulsive decision to leave his trusty bow behind, amongst many other things. The soft crackling of the woods continued, gradually sobering him up. With a sudden screech, two undead walkers came toppling towards him, faster than he ever imagined they could move. Daryl fumbled with the pistol, but didn’t trust his strength, so he grabbed a knife from his belt instead and rose to his knees, ready to stand, ready to plunge the blade through dark, thoughtless brains.

*bang* *bang*

Two silenced gunshots echoed through the damp overgrowth, shocking the man out of his hallucinatory inertia. Two mottled, bloody bodies landed to either side of him, spraying undead crimson onto the fabric of his jeans. He half expected the presence of his boyfriend standing behind the gun, looking down at him with contempt and disappointment. But to his feverish surprise, there stood Carl. Carl. Carl, the thirteen year old man-child just saved the Daryl Dixon from becoming an undead zombie.

The boy stood there looking at the sickly man from a distance, his Beretta held up strong in front of him. Daryl struggled to articulate his words and could sense the worry pulsating from behind the gun.

“Carl…”

“Daryl! Oh my god!” The small man slipped down to Daryl’s level quickly, pocketing his firearm and reaching to check over the sick man’s body. “Are you okay? Are you bit?” His steadfast panic and vocal quality were not far from his father’s, an evolutionary concept that brought a small pit of warmth to the hunter’s stomach.

“Mb’kay, mb’kay Carl.” Daryl reassured, untucking his legs from underneath his body. “Ndo bites.”

“Okay, that’s good then.” The smaller Grimes replied, lowering his eyes and rubbing his palms along light-wash denim anxiously. Before either Carl or Daryl could say anything else, the boy sprang forwards and wrapped his arms tightly around the other man’s neck, avoiding tears of own. He sniffled briefly, retreating before the older man could return the affection.

“Why can’t you and my dad just act like goddamn adults?” Carl said exasperatedly, expelling pent up thoughts that had laid dormant for too long. “What dad did was really freakin’ dumb, but so is this! You dabbling in being walker bait now??”

“Carl, I-”

“Just shut up for a second, Daryl.” The boy was already on his feet, repeatedly painting a recurring image of loved ones passing their immense disappointment onto the ailing Dixon brother. ““Okay. You're not bitten, but are you okay?”

Daryl shuddered a breath, fighting his emotions for the millionth time that day. Carl was one of his favourite people in the entire world. A friend. A brother. A son. He knew on some level that Rick would maybe, eventually, begrudgingly forgive the shameful behaviour that Daryl had plagued upon them all. But Carl? The thought that he could ever let the boy down was too much for the hunter’s fever-addled mind to even consider. Looking into the eyes of the juvenile who had just saved his life, Daryl felt the familiar guilt-ridden burn forming a lump in his throat.

“I-”

“Daryl! I love you, but you look like fresh death warmed over. So please, for the sake of the run. Are you okay?”

“Ndo, alright?! I feel like fucgking shit,” Daryl finally relented after hours of denial and withholding. He felt a fraction of his guilt leave a heavy leaden chest, like a jigsaw puzzle being carefully put away. The walls were down in front of another, his vulnerability set to be chewed upon by those who could see him for what he really was.

“Jeez! Finally dude!” Pent up concern blasted out with a sigh, as Carl once again lowered himself in front of the hunter.

“Mb’sorry Carl. It aind’t fair for us to argue in front of ya.”

“S’fine Daryl.” Carl replied gently, grabbing the hand of his second father. “Look, I won't say anything to my dad, but you both really need to sort some shit out and pull it together!”

“I will, I prombise Carl.” He returned an earlier gesture and snatched the boy up in a tight embrace, relief flooding out of him with a wavering exhale. “Look, I kndow I ain’t been the best combpany today but-”

“I mean, if the curtains match the drapes.”

Daryl knew what Carl had meant to say. If the shoe fits. It was an incredibly pure mismatch of speech that filled the man with fondness and melancholy alike. A boy forced to grow up too fast. He longed for Carl to have a childhood that he himself had never been privy to. But the boy had just shot down two fully grown undead humans. Innocence didn’t exist in this world. The muddled metaphor lingered at the front of Daryl’s brains, as he pulled away and stifled a laugh.

“Carl, that don’t meand what ya-hah th-hehink…ihit…h’Ngxxtsh…h’AAtchNGXshu…does.” A sentence rushed together with unanticipated irritation.

“Bless you.”

“Hmph.”

Another concerning whisper of danger echoed through woods, a harbinger of their mortal vulnerabilities. Daryl and Carl became completely motionless, muscles tensed with cat-like readiness. Aside from heavily congested mouth breathing, the only clamour to be heard was the new season drizzle percussing the fallen leaves on the forest floor. Carl went to move but Daryl halted him in an instant, a hand held up with a thousand warnings behind it. He was sick as a dog, but the man was still an expert in his field. When the air of danger had passed, the hunter gave the signal that all was okay and both he and the smaller man exhaled with a long breath, held in for a moment too long. Daryl stifled the urge to cough, the burning of infection etched hard into his throat. Danger could befall the two at any moment in time, and he sure as shit wasn't going to let a stupid cold be the cause of it.

“We gotta go now.” Carl whispered at a range only intelligible by lip reading. With a nod of understanding, the two of them were on their feet, moving briskly and silently through the wet overgrowth once again. Hands free from the heavy crossbow, Daryl brushed past the pocket of his coat, remembering the relief that lay inside. As stealthily as possible he cracked two tablets out of the forgotten blister pack, placed them on his tongue and swallowed them dry, as gracefully as possible. Daryl will-eat-raw-squirrel-meat Dixon loathed taking tablets, a plague upon him since childhood. No amount of delectable liquid could make the insufferable medicinal stones go down any easier. But at this juncture in time, they were a necessity and a privilege. He could feel the hard disks inching down his oesophagus, threatening to trigger his gag reflex and render the pharmaceuticals completely void of duty. But he pressed on, obligation keeping him distracted and moving hastily despite many an angry nasal protest.

The grounding scurry back to the road felt far longer than the frenzied sprint away from it. It took a considerable amount of focus for the sick man to move his heavy legs in a coordinated fashion. But he got there eventually. Clean autumn daylight struck Carl first and then Daryl, eye’s adjusting to the clearing beside the road where the jeep was haphazardly parked. With a sickly squint, he registered Rick leaning against the driver's door of the khaki automotive, arms crossed in resentment and head hung with distress. Then he glanced down and realised several of the dead un-dead littering the bank of grass beside the car. Guilt surged as an obvious battle had taken place. Precise knife wounds articulated the heads of three of the walkers. Peri. A shamble of bodily matter was all that was left of the others, a trademark vignette of Rick’s Colt Python- loud and disgustingly destructive. A splatter of blood stained the fleece of The Deputy’s over coat, indicative of an avoidable struggle. ‘You almost fucking killed them, you piece of shit.”

Daryl stood fixed to the soil as Rick acknowledged him with a glare of towering rage. He gave his son a fatherly pat on the back as Carl moved out of site to rejoin the group. The older Grimes opened the driver's side door, about to say something, but shook it away and slammed the door on entry. Daryl knew where he belonged.

Shivering from emotion, fever and exertion entwined, the hunter crawled into the back seat behind his lover, far beyond fatigued to say anything in miserable defence. He curled up like a pitiful child, too exhausted to cry and too emotional to get on his high horse. Carl sat adjacent and watched him with temperate sympathy. Sympathy that irked him, made him feel helpless, weak, invalidated. He was irritable, ready to snap like a rubber band, if he wasn't so physically drained. The motor started and without anything to occupy him anymore, Daryl took inventory of his own symptoms. His entire head pulsated with congestion, shooting painful shockwaves at the slightest movement. Nostrils were quivering with rosy aggravated flesh and an ever present dull tickle was holding his nose at an unpayable ransom. His sinuses were blocked up beyond comprehension, leaving his air flow restricted to dry lips and a scratchy throat. A scratchy throat that continuously latched onto hooks of willful mucus, practically begging to be coughed up. The culminatory fever was arguably the worst of the sickly manifestations. Frigid shivers reverberated through bone and back, leaving the hunter yearning for a skerrick warmth long forgotten. The summit of ailments protested loudly, but Daryl’s eyes grew heavy and hot, daring the man to enter into quiet slumber as the hum of the motor lulled him into a drowsy limbo. Forehead pressing against an icy window, the hunter finally succumbed to his own angry objections, and fell into a deep sleep.

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

Wrists on fire with friction hung over his head, feet barely grazing the ground of the barn that had him dangling like a piece of meat ready to be consumed. A filthy rag was crammed so far down his throat that he could barely hear himself panicking. Screams of pain echoed around him, inside and out. The excruciating noises stopped and started suddenly, cruelly teasing the man who was slipping in and out of consciousness with them. He was not alone. A tangible evil stained the air around him. He did not remember capture, but even with eyes glued shut, he could sense a familiarity in front of him.

“Nicely done, son.”

“Piece of shit ain’t hard to hold down.”

“Take ya pick of weapons, s’time to have some fun!”

The distinctive voices of Daryl’s father and brother reverberated through the dingy barn, sending a shiver of primal fear down the hunter's spine.

“Oi crap hole! Open yer fuckin’ eyes, I wanna see the tears in ‘em when we beat the fuckin’ shit outta ya.” The paternal voice was right in front of him now, a drunken angry breath cascading over Daryl’s face. A force yanked the gag out of his mouth, a trail of saliva spilling down onto the hunter’s chin.

“I said, open. Yer. Fuckin’. Eyes.” each grinding word articulated by a hard blow to the man’s stomach, leaving him winded and begging for air. But still he stayed blind to the torture awaiting him.

“Daryl, ya know what happens when I gotta ask ya a third time.” The voice was suddenly behind him now, instilling an instinctual fear in the hanging man. Realising that he wasn’t blindfolded, Daryl forced his eyelids open. A blurry sepia image of a man stood a hair away from his own face. After blinking a few times, the face of Rick Grimes came to focus a mere breath away. A sob of relief escaped a fragile man.

“Rick! Thank Christ! Please, please help me, my dad’s here, he’s gonna hurt me again. “ Ice cold tears streamed from tired eyes as Daryl as he reduced himself to a pathetic, pleading mess. But the monotone man just stood there staring down his victim. As Daryl made to plead again, an emotionless smirk painted itself across Rick’s face and an almost inaudible growl grated from the back of his throat.

“The fuck ya just call me ya worthless piece of shit?” Rick's mouth moved as normal but Daryl’s abusive father flooded out of his vocal chords, like a poorly dubbed foreign film.

“He’s callin’ out for his lil gay boy fuck buddy!” Merle’s voice came flooding in from all around them but localised when Carl appeared behind the entity of his father. “Yer snivelling ain’t gunna work here, lil brother.” The tainted portrayals of Rick and his son danced in and out of focus, shifting their location with every frame of Daryl’s thought processes.

The sudden wailing of an infant hammered through the space, a squirming bundle appearing in Rick’s arms. Judith. Oh god please no not her!

“No, no, no!” Was the only thing that parted the hunters lips.

“Don’t worry brother, we like the little bitch.”

“She’s a handy little lump for sure.”

Rick’s body unwrapped the swaddle, small arms springing out, desperately grasping for the open air. The infantile wail morphed into an inhumane, bloodthirsty guggle, as Judith’s face turned to unveil the nightmarish truth.

“Couldn’t save her could-ya son?”

“Never helped anyone in his life, Pa.”

“I think lil miss Grimes wants-ta tell ya something Daryl.” If he blurred his eyes, everything was fine, his love carrying his baby girl towards him. But there was nothing fine about this reality. His mismatched father stepped up close, an audible snapping emitting from the lump of flesh struggling in his arms.

“Time to repent, son.”

The vessel of his partner held up the tiny walker who took no pause before biting repeatedly into Daryl’s exposed shoulder. A howl of agony muffled as he willed himself out of consciousness. Accepting fate, he hung there like pathetic prey, allowing a tiny jaw to tear him to shreds over and over again. ‘Finally getting what you deserve.’

~~~~~~~~~

“Daryl…Daryl, wake up!” Carl tentatively nudged the volatile man’s shoulders, bracing himself for an explosive transition to waking life. A few shakes later and the sleeping man started to exhibit signs of waking.

Coming to, the hunter opened his eyes in daze, foggy with confusion. Thoughts collided together like a hammer to nail, jolting the man upright in his seat, hands coming to his face to rub away residual sleep and drool. Daryl stared unfocused on the seat in front of him, absentmindedly rubbing at his shoulder, trying to soothe the pain that had bled out into reality. Horrible words and grotesque images tumbled around in his brain, regressing the man into fearful rumination. The taste of blood spread over his tongue as teeth chewed anxiously into dry lips. His mental state was like that of a terrible hangover; paralysed by otherthinking and unable to stop the harrowing stream of consciousness that possessed him. Finally there was a break in the chain of dissociation, as a cold water bottle nudged the side of his leg.

“Here, drink. We’re almost there.” The pubescent voice was music to Daryl’s ears, as he separated the nightmare from reality. Dissecting his subconscious was a painful task for later on when he was alone. For now, the calming voice of Carl Grimes was where it was supposed to be and that was enough for the hunter to breathe easier. Metaphorically, of course.

“How long was I… y’kndow?”

“Half an hour maybe. I was gonna wake you sooner but looked like you really needed it. Sounded like it too. You snore y’know?”

“Hmph.”

Crap. He had not intended to sleep for that long, or at all for that matter. Sleep wasn’t high on Daryl’s list of priorities normally. Always the last to fall and the first to rise. Waking up to Rick’s body warmth and steady breathing had definitely helped the man’s crusade against rest, but nothing could cure the hellish images Daryl had to endure whenever he switched off his mind to reality. Napping was a stone cold never. An embarrassed flush crept up through his already rosy cheeks. He felt pathetic and weak. Two feelings that had never been very welcome to Daryl. Another tap on his arm stopped the hunter from additional self loathing.

*You good?* Carl signed with his hands, a useful skill that Carol was slowly teaching them all to use in times of danger or, you know, concealing illness.

*Yes*

*Feeling any better?*

*Yes*

*Really?*

*Yes.*

Okay, so Daryl only really knew how to sign one word, but it was all he needed at this moment. But for once in this bleary day, he wasn’t lying about his condition. He really did feel better. The jackhammer in his head had been dialled back to a low grade hum of pain. Fluid continued to occupy his lungs, but the need to expel it had lowered greatly. He was still disgustingly congested, but the continual tide of dripping snot had dried up somewhat, giving his ailing nostrils a break from the constant contact. Most relieving though was the simple sensation, or lack thereof, of needing to launch into a barrage of sneezes every five minutes. Daryl praised modern medicine and took a much needed sip of water.

“Alrigh’ we’re almost there. Looks like a thunderstorms a comin’ so we gotta make this quick and smooth. Y’all ready?” Rick’s commanding voice drew the eyes of all the passengers, he was taking the lead on this mission. Rick Grimes’ natural apt for leadership was a palpable force that Daryl was in awe of. The man had led them through victory after victory, unifying them all with wisdom and grace. Daryl would follow him anywhere. There was a bitter edge to The Deputy’s voice as he barely acknowledged the sick man behind him. The hunter had fucked up, and he knew he deserved every icy glare and remark that could be conjured and spoken. Still, penance hurts like a bitch.

The dark trees sallied past the window finally breaking when an expanse of iron wrought fence became visible. They were in the right place. The car veered to the opposite side of the road and was then parked in a dripping overhang of cyprus trees, well hidden away from threat.

They exited the vehicle one by one, knowing exactly what they had to do. Gathering around the trunk of the vehicle they all grabbed the necessary requirements for a successful raid. Empty duffle bags, silencers, water, trail mix, etcetera. Daryl went to grab his crossbow and found himself turning into Rick in the process. A satisfying physical connection, loaded with cascades of unsaid feelings. The pair were torso to torso, both wanting to lean in for more but resolving for far less. A bruised hand moved to grab Daryl’s in a show of affection, maybe to utter: hey, we’re okay. But it quickly pulled back into a fist of annoyance as RIck walked silently away, sending another aggrieved shiver down Daryl’s spine.

“Oi, Daryl.” The bearded man beckoned his poorly partner over to where he was stood, looking up at an old road sign, messily painted with words that read:

TERMINUS

SANCTUARY FOR ALL

COMMUNITY FOR ALL

THOSE WHO ARRIVE SURVIVE

“The hells that ‘bout?”

“I don’t know…” Daryl turned his head to look at Rick who was staring at the sign intently, rivers of unspoken words tumbling behind calculating blue eyes.

“Sounds too good t’be true”

“Yeah…but what if they got food? Better shelter? Doctors? What if…I can find a better place for us?”

“Ndah Rick, ya can’t thingk like that. The prison’s ours, it's safe, it’s hombe. Comb’on we gotta get mbovin’.” Daryl made to move, but his partner remained glued to the haphazard sign, a keen rumination bubbling through his subconscious. Words of comfort were not the hunter’s speciality, so in a bold action of normalcy, Daryl reached out and gently grabbed the back of Rick’s neck, softly running a thumb over some loose curls. A meek smile appeared in the corners of the Deputy’s mouth, as he came out of the momentary trance. Rick grabbed hold of the strong arm that supported his head and they both basked in the other’s glow of affection. Why couldn’t it always be this easy?

Three meaningful words danced adventurously on the tip of Daryl’s tongue. Three small words that might fix a mountain of mistakes. ‘I love you.” Daryl just say it!

“Hey, we gotta-” Was all that came out, riddled with hush and congestion.

“-I know, I know.” Rick begrudgingly broke away from Daryl’s grasp and focused his attention to the group. “Alrigh’, the gate’s pretty locked up, so we jump the fence-”

“-Peri already picked the lock dad.”

“What? I didn’t tell ya t’do that!”

“Dude, chill, it’s fine.”

“I-”

“You were taking forever dad, what was so special about that sign?”

“I..er, s’nothin Carl-”

“Is it another group?

“Nah, it ain’t nothing.” The leader lied, trying to ignore Daryl having a coughing fit behind him and unite them as a group again. “Okay, com’on we gotta focus. Michonne said that house is pretty far into the woods, so we gotta be quiet and fast. I’ll take the lead, then Peri, then Carl and Daryl last. There’s gonna be a lot of walkers, so you see any you take them out silently. No guns. We move in silence, are we clear?” The last part of the speech was directed at Daryl who was trying to soothe a stubborn tickle in his nose. They all nodded in agreement.

“This is risky, but Daryl was right, we need a win today.” Rick picked up his empty duffle bag and moved first, a convoy following behind. Daryl brought up the rear, praying to some sort of deity that he could get through the next hour or so without dealing with any sort of involuntary bodily disgustingness. He detested the pity that had been forced on him all day and refused to let his illness humiliate him anymore, or worse, get anyone killed.

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dynamoe · 2 years

Text

⚠️TW: alcohol, bullying, mental anguish, attempted intimacy, injury + blood

🗿 FROM DISTANT STAR TO THIS HERE BAR 🍹

“Why are we here?” Billy sulked, his voice raw and hoarse.

The distant sounds of vibes and conga drums punctuated by bird calls played on the house music. The dim room was lit only with gently glowing lamps made from taxidermied puffer fish and boat floats, each casting pools of colored light on dusty bamboo structures and overgrown ferns. Empty, and neglected, the faux island paradise had fallen on hard times. Only one or two patrons were feeling the call of the Pacific in a landlocked cinder block room with a dropped acoustic tile ceiling.

“It’s a rite of passage to get wicked fuckin’ drunk in public after heartbreak,” White reassured as he pulled a pineapple wedge from the rim of his glass, “It’s good for the soul.”

← back to 2021's Master Billy & Mr. White

“Why couldn’t we just get drunk at home?” Billy slumped on the bamboo-framed bar top, resting his head on his hands.

“The package store’s closed. All we had left was Bailey’s and margarita mix and I’m not making that mistake twice.”

Billy wiggled his extra-long straw in the Scorpion Bowl in front of him, a rum punch intended to be shared by a whole table served in a wide bowl surmounted by a ceramic volcano shooting blue sparks into the air, an element of risk to a room soaked in high proof rum and festooned with flammable raffia skirts.

“No one comes in here anymore but if some schmoe starts staring, just pretend you’re part of the decor. Act like an audio-animatronic pygmy.”

Billy raised a middle finger an inch from Pete’s face. “Fuck off. Why would I be a pygmy? Pygmies live in the Congo Basin of Sub-Saharan Africa.This place has a vaguely pan-Polynesian aesthetic.”

“Well, they say the Gods must be crazy!”

“That was a Kalahari bushman,” Billy muttered, “That’s 2500 miles away from the Congo. I know you’re literally the whitest guy alive but can you not lump all tropical-zone-dwelling people in one category?”

“Political Correctness gone mad!”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“No idea,” Pete admitted, “I heard it on cable news a couple times and it seems to make people who own flag bandanas really mad.”

“Ughhhhh. I just want to go home and go to bed,” Billy moaned, slumping even further onto the bar top, hard enough to stamp an impression of wickerwork onto his palms and cheek.

Pete launched his counter-argument to keep Billy where he could see him (and out of another marathon crying jag in the trailer’s shower), “C’mon, pally— all the drinks here taste like that Del Monte fruit salad from a can!” Pete swigged from a ceramic skull mug with a Carmen-Miranda's-worth of fruit garnishing where the crown would have been, “And take those stupid glasses off. I keep waiting for Mr. Peabody to burst in and shove you into the Wayback Machine.”

Billy took off the glasses Alison gave him, flung them onto the table.

“What I’m curious to see is, at the end of the night, you break down sobbing or get fighty,” Pete bit the maraschino cherry off the end of a tiny plastic sword.

“You're a terrible friend, White” Billy stated the obvious, “You're supposed to be making me feel better not insulting me to my face.”

“I called it on the first day you met this girl,” White said, “It always ends badly. That’s why you should never love anyone. You only get hurt.”

“That’s awful advice. Never? Just be alone forever?”

“No.You got me and you got the company! And science.”

“I can’t fuck science.”

“Not YET,” Pete said cryptically, his eyes lowered suggestively. Billy shuddered at the implication.

“It’s fine,” Billy tried to reassure himself as much as Pete, “I’m fine. We’re still friends. It’s fine.”

“Fully grown-up-type adult guys chasing after underage girls? You know who does that? Insecure assholes with small pricks,” Pete scowled, “Ted Nugent, Billy. Jailbait! Are you Ted Nugent?”

“I didn’t seek her out because she’s in high school,” Billy insisted, “I’m not, like, a chicken-hawk. Is that the word?”

“‘Chicken-hawk’ is for gay dudes who diddle little boys, Billy.”

“Well, I don’t know the term for what you’re accusing me of. Lechery?”

“Joey Buttafuoco? Jerry Lee Lewis? Gary Puckett & the Union Gap?” Pete broke into song, “Whoa, oh, oh, young gahll/Get awt of my maind/My love fah you is way outta line/ Bettah run, gahl…”

“It’s not even like that,” Billy cut him off, “She thinks I’m a kid. How can I be a predator when she thinks I’m a freshman following an upperclassman around, begging her to ask me to the Sadie Hawkins Dance or some bullshit.”

“You showed her your ID? Your real one, not the fake one we made to get discounts.”

“That’s what STARTED all this. I tried to rent Barry Lyndon and she said it was a fake ID. Now I’m an emotional wreck. This is all Kubrick’s fault.”

“Wang Dang Sweet Poontang, Billy!” Pete belted, “Just hook up with someone your own age, fer Pete’s sakes.”

“Ok. Sure. I’ll just pop over to MTV Spring Break and have my pick of the class of ‘95,” Billy said sarcastically, “I’ll probably never have a girlfriend. I’ll die a virgin.”

“Cheer up, pal. You never know. One day you might meet a perv with a specific set of overlapping kinks.”

“Great. I can be the pseudo-toyboy methadone to an ACTUAL pedophile who can’t get the genuine Black Tar child-sex,” Billy said grimly, disgusting himself as he said it.

Pete remained buoyant, “You could just hire an escort.”

“I don’t want that,” Billy snapped angrily.

“Fine. I’ll get you a cantaloupe and a greased garbage bag. You can have a three-way with the microwave.”

Billy blushed furiously red. Pete wasn’t supposed to know about that. He made sure Pete was out of town that weekend.

“It’s inevitable. I was always going to end up having to pay. Look at me. Toulouse-Lautrec was a rich, famous artist with a huge dong and he still had to pay for whores,” Billy sniffed, indignant, “...AND he was a foot taller than me.”

Pete called to the bartender, “Hey Tiny Bubbles, gimme another Bali Hai and something blue and on-fire for the kid,” He slammed a 50 dollar bill on the bar top.

“Where’d you get that money? Why do you have money?”

“I earned it in less than 60 minutes, if you can believe it,” Pete fanned out his takings from the day’s donations. A couple hundred at least.

Billy thought and then looked stricken.“Oh my God. White, are you a prostitute?”

“No! Christ! The radio show. The radio show I broadcast every night. Fans sent me money.”

“People who don’t know you are sending you $50 in the mail. Why?”

“My listeners send money to support my broadcast, same as the PBS pledge drive you send money to so you can watch dork shows like NOVA and a million hours of Ken Burns talking about baseball.”

“Oh, I liked Baseball,” Billy reminisced, momentarily distracted from his own problems, “I mean, I don’t like actual baseball— I mean the documentary called Baseball.”

“They actually don’t seem to listen for the songs; they listen because they like to hear me talk.”

“They all got some kind of Cliff Clavin fetish?”

“Watch it, Mushmouth.”

“The only difference between the way I talk and the way you talk is you have 15 million idiots clumped in the Mid-Atlantic enabling you,” Billy snarled, “So you have a ‘regional dialect’ but I have a ‘speech disorder.’”

“The sassy assassin assassinates sassily,” rattled off White easily.

“Schay a rhotic R, you Masschhole shithead,” Billy threatened, stabbing a finger in his face, “I fucking dare you.”

“I’m not even from Massachusetts, dipshit. Massaaachhhhuuettes…” White stretched out each of the esses to rub it in.

They glowered at each other and went back to their drinks in silence. The CD playing the house music started skipping noticeably. The bartender switched it out for a different album with less soothing atmosphere; some kind of Putamayo Greatest Hits that sounded like the entire Tower Records World Music Section shoved into a blender.

“A girl like that, she’s never going to understand you—” White pronounced like it was indisputable truth, “Understand us. What it’s like to be a—”

“A ‘freak,’ right?” Billy finished mockingly, “That’s classic cult leader psychological shit. Isolate and indoctrinate. It’s gaslighting, dude.”

“No, it’s the voice of experience, pally,” White said, “I’m saving you from the bullshit I had to live through but you didn’t wanna listen.”

Billy sighed with irritation, “I’m sorry a girl you liked made fun of you being pigmentally-challenged in college but that’s not representative of everyone in the entire world.”

White shook his head sagely, “I was exactly where you were. I was you, pally. Maybe a lot less smart but overall less genetically fucked… and I was a big fat sucker believing she actually liked me for me.”

“So if I fall for a girl with no arms you’d be OK with it?” Billy proposed, “When I start a long distance romance with Koo-Koo the Birdgirl, because she’s one-of-us one-of-us, we’re all good?”

Pete twirled the little paper umbrella that came with his drink, making a sour expression.

“Admit you’d find some other reason I shouldn’t be dating her,” Billy accused, “You don’t want me to date anyone!”

“I want you to avoid being put in this situation again and again because you wear your heart on your sleeve. It’s a rigged game, Billy! You’re never gonna win!”

“In the beginning of the conversation I’m taking advantage of HER because I’m a scumbag targeting a child but now you’re back to arguing she’s taking advantage of ME because I’m an unlovable freak and she’s normal?” Billy summarized Pete’s points.

“Learn not to give a shit and you won’t end up hurt!” Pete shouted back, his personal philosophy in a nutshell.

“This was never about me. You’re objecting just to object because you’re terrified I’m going to go off to live my life instead of sticking around to be your fucking little sidekick.”

Pete knew he was spewing toxic bullshit but it’s how he got through life. He also knew Billy would never agree to it. Billy felt everything too much. He was either furious or ecstatic about everything, and switched between those on a dime. He was so squishy and vulnerable and big-hearted. No malice anywhere in him.

“At least you can stop pretending to be this Alison girl’s friend,” Pete offered, “Since you got a hard ‘no’ there’s no point in sniffing around.”

“I wasn’t pretending. She was my friend. Is my friend,” Billy argued.

“Why bother?” Pete droned.

“Because I like spending time with her. I enjoy her company. I wasn’t just trying to manipulate her into having sex with me. That would be sociopathic.”

“Yeah right. No one can be friends with a girl. Even girls can’t be friends with girls,” Pete said snidely.

“I can and I will and I AM. I’m GOING to be a friend and I have no ulterior motives.

“It’s your funeral, fella.”

Billy jumped up from his stool and walked out, knocking over the dregs of his Scorpion Bowl. The Sterno flame in the volcano slid over the bar, setting two napkins and the edge of a woven palm mat ablaze. The bartender calmly approached with an extinguisher, sprayed down the area and Pete.

“Happens all the time,” the bartender shrugged.

“Yeah, I figured,” Pete said, wiping fire-retardant foam from his sleeve.

🍦DÉTENTE: The Good Humor Thaw🍦

“I didn’t expect to hear from you,” Alison admitted, taking a bite of the ice cream sandwich.

Billy shrugged. He knew her well enough to read the subtle shades of difference between a frown of discomfort from her baseline resting neutral glower. He deduced by an almost imperceptible angle at the corner of her mouth she was feeling unsettled just being in proximity to him.

“We're friends,” Billy said casually, underlining the thesis of this entire conversation, “I said I’d be a friend and I meant it.”

They parked across from the Air Force Academy Chapel— neutral ground— and sat on the hood of the cooling Death Angel station wagon. The peace-offering with which they broke bread was a pair of freezer-burned ice cream sandwiches bought at a gas station.

“I won't insult your intelligence by pretending that I’m totally over it, but I’m not trying to trick you. Or guilt trip you,” Billy elaborated as the triangular planes of the Air Force Chapel caught the waning rays of the setting sun.

“Do you think when they designed this thing they meant it to look like the blade guard on hair-clippers?” Alison asked, “Because all Air Force cadets all have buzz cuts.”

“Casting 'God' as the universal barber?” Billy further hypothesized, turning his head to the stacked isosceles triangles of the chapel made of glass and aluminum, “There's been worse metaphors in religion.”

As dusk settled the modernist non-denominational house of any-and-all-supreme beings lit up in a gentle lavender wash, looking even more alien on the Academy campus.

“So, we're still gonna be friends?” Alison repeated, her head still turned to the chapel so Billy couldn't read her expression and her tone didn't give any clues to how she felt about it.

“I can’t make you like me if you don’t. That’s not your fault. So why sacrifice a friendship that’s working just because I can’t get everything I want.”

“That’s, like, unsettlingly mature of you,” Alison said in either sarcasm or awe or a little of both.

“I am a scientist and I approached it rationally.”

“It's my birthday tomorrow,” Alison said, still emotionally flat.

Billy was caught off guard. She'd never mentioned it before and this was one of those key data points friends needed to have on file for awkward commemoration, or so it seemed in sitcoms. He knew White's birthday was either in January or in June but he seemed to change it whenever he wanted Billy to pick up a check. His birthday had come and gone before he even met Alison so it wasn't relevant.

“Happy birthday,” Billy said weakly, “I should have put a candle in your ice cream sandwich.”

Alison shrugged him off, “I'm not doing anything to celebrate it now, but I still want to do that road trip for spring break.”

“But driving all the way to Graceland’s probably not in the cards, but I was looking up some weird stuff in Roadside America. There’s a dinosaur theme park owned by a cult about 5 hours north of here.

“Wow,” Billy said, overwhelmed. Her awkwardness dissipated by enthusiasm for crap yet again.

“And some atom bomb testing grounds on the way, plus we'd dive through the county with more alleged alien abductions per capita than anywhere else in the country. There's probably a sign or something for that to take photos of.”

“Sounds amazing. I'm in. Just tell me when.”

Alison smiled, he could see just the edge of her face illuminated by reflected light from the chapel, “Awesome. I'd hate to miss out doing something big and dumb on my last ever Spring Break.”

“Give me your list of sites and I'll plan a route on the Trip-Tik,” Billy offered, “I'm good at navigating.”

The colors of the Chapel's under-lighting shifted from lavender to blue to a greenish turquoise as they were talking. They finished their ice cream sandwiches and admired its planes, calm in having their status quo restored.

“There’s a comic book signing downtown on Thursday. Wanna go?”

“Comic books? Like superheroes?” Billy asked incredulously, “Doesn’t seem like your thing.”

“No, no, no,” Alison reassured him, “They’re indie comics so it’s more about depression and hating things, not anything exciting actually happening.”

“Oh, is that good?”

“They're all Canadian for some reason, the comic book authors coming in to talk about their work and sign. I want to see if they're as ugly as they draw themselves in their comics.”

Billy sighed, “Sure. Sounds good”

He got a reset. Like he never even said that he jerked off to her in a bowling alley bathroom or cried for three hours in a shower after she turned him down. Memory-holed. Those things didn’t happen. Everything’s COOL. Cool cool cool. Right?

🎒THREE O'CLOCK HIGH/LOW 🎒

She told him to meet her at her school at four and they’d drive to the book signing from there. He took the bus after his shift at the library. He arrived early but didn’t think he should just walk in. He hung back outside the school grounds on the other side of a chain-link fence. He found a bus stop bench to wait on that had an ad for her mother Twinkle’s Real Estate business printed on it, her hungry-looking grimace demanding all bus patrons sell their homes and win their future through her machinations.

Boring suburban high schools in boring suburbs. Half-formed teenagers milling around in twos and threes towards their cars or the bus after the bell went. Billy graduated ten years ago but high schools still smelled the same— of cafeteria pizza, BO, and industrial cleaning products. There were small differences of course. His high school was private and everybody wore a uniform. Back then there was more Mr. Mister and Lionel Richie coming out of car stereos, but otherwise it felt the same.

He spotted Alison come out the main building doors way across the parking lot. He leapt onto the bench and waved but she kept looking down, hunched over with books in her arms. A “don’t fuck with me” scowl on her face so angry he could see it from fifty feet away. She looked like a different person and completely miserable. Billy decided to risk it and go closer to the school to catch her attention.

He never felt that five year age gap between them more vividly when they were hanging out and she started going off on how “everyone hated her” at school, complaining about how everyone was “a total bitch.”

Alison didn’t really have any other friends or seem to want any. The complaints were so repetitive and so short-sighted. Everyone always thinks they’re “hated” in high school but it’s inside their heads. Every kid is self-obsessed; they don’t have the energy to hate anyone else, Billy concluded looking back on his own time served.

“Alischon!” Billy shouted trying to penetrate the cloud of loathing and get her attention. She was standing at a bank of lockers, putting books in and taking books out. A passing student accidentally-on-purpose smacked their hand into the open locker door, slamming it on her head.

“I’m here! I made it,” Billy announced, running up to her.

Alison seemed startled, “Billy!”

“You told me to meet you at your car, but I was a little early. I saw you from up there,” Billy pointed to the bus bench.

Alison scowled and then closed her eyes hard like she was having a migraine.

“I should have waited.“ Billy realized what was going on. His enthusiasm flagged, “You’re embarrassed to be seen with me.”

Alison let out a breath, trying to bridge her in-school and out-of-school modes, “Of course not, chowderhead,” she threw all the books in the locker and closed it.

She squatted to meet him at eye-level and said in a low mumble, “I don’t like who I am when I’m here. I didn’t want you to see it.”

He didn’t entirely buy it, but observed she did seem uncharacteristically tense. She hugged him and Billy could feel a tremor in her arms. Someone running down the hall threw a bag of wet garbage at her, catching Billy on the side of the head.

“I fucking hate this place,” Alison stated, pushing a banana peel off of Billy’s ear.

“Is it Bring Your Little Brother To School Day?” mocked a thick-necked teenager wearing a baseball cap and a Big Johnson t-shirt, “Gonna show him the ropes of being a LOOOOOSER.” Three other guys leaning on his Jeep behind him hooted and laughed.

Billy tried to look away. He was causing problems. Ignore them. Just walk towards the car.

Another kid in a CO-ED NAKED LACROSSE t-shirt blocked Billy’s path and picked him up, dangling him by the arm.“He don’t look like a zipperhead. Your dad sleepin’ around on your mama, Kahan?”

“Beat him like a red-headed stepchild!” heckled another in the background.

“Leave him alone!” Alison shouted. She looked like a wild animal.

The bullies got the reaction they wanted. He dangled Billy above her grasp, “Aw, I’m not going to hurt your widdle baby brother. He’d rather be with me instead of a stank-pussy garbage witch like you.”

“Surely there’s a better way to resolve this,” Billy offered weakly from mid-air, feeling his shoulder get more dislocated by the minute.

“Put him DOWN.” Alison roared, the monotone and the ironic distance gone, “MOTHERFUCKERS! I’LL KILL YOU.”

“Man, what a face. Looking like shit runs in the family. I’ll put a bag on his head while I’m fucking him up the ass.” His posse howled with laughter.

Alison wanted to rip his throat out with her teeth. Dig out his eyes with her fingernails. Leap up and kick his head clean off his body. But she couldn’t do any of that in real life. She could just look at the ground and shake with fury. “Fuck you. Fuck all of you.”

The bullies looked at each other. Was that it? Boring.

She just stood and looked at the ground muttering, “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.”

The one holding Billy threw him on the pavement and the pack walked off, sniggering to themselves.

Billy ran to her, still hunched over looking down. The pain in his shoulder was killing him but he was worried about her, “Alischon…”

She felt so angry and so wronged it just came out. To get the last word and school them into shame.

She stood up and whipped around suddenly to the departing mob and shouted “He’s not my brother he’s my BOYFRIEND, YOU ASSHOLES!”

Billy lit up, “Really?”

This wasn’t the “Eddie Murphy shutting down a heckler at the taping of Delirious” material she needed to make this mic-drop moment work. If anything, it was exactly the opposite.

“Kahan’s a pedo!” the teenager in the Big Johnson shirt roared, laughing.

“Kahan’s fucking her brother!” another meathead yelled.

“IN-CEST! IN-CEST! IN-CEST!” The whole group chanted as they walked in silence the rest of the way to the car.

Alison slipped behind the wheel and collapsed into the seat, a thousand yard stare and then let out a muffled scream with her fist crammed in her mouth.

Billy wanted to help but didn’t know what to do, “I’m sorry I made it worse.”

She pulled her asthma inhaler from her pocket, shook it violently and took a long hit. Her eyes still looked feral, switching between panic and rage

“You didn’t. If you weren’t here they’d be yelling at me about something else. Calling me a lezbo or a Satanist or… chanting some other two-syllable word,” she muttered through gritted teeth, “Every damn day. Four years of this.”

“Can’t you complain to a teacher?”

“No one cares,” She stuck the key in the ignition and the Angel of Death Wagon rumbled to noisy life, “Fuck this place. Let’s just go somewhere else. Anywhere else.”

💋 WILLIAM, IT WAS REALLY NOTHING 🚑

They drove in silence for a while. Going to a book signing seemed strange after what happened.

Billy cleared his throat, “What you said, um, am I really your boyfriend?”

“I dunno. Sorta?”

“Not an answer.”

She looked at the road, avoiding meeting his glance as Billy’s one eye bored into her.

“Am I?”

“When those assholes picked on you I suddenly thought what if you really got hurt. If they put you in the hospital or, like, KILLED you—”

“School bullies don’t commit murder in cold-blood, Alischon,” Billy quipped lightly, “In a public places. With witnesses.”

Alison looked down at him, tears welling in the corner of her eyes, “I fuckin’ lost it. I had to say something. You got killed because you were with me. It’s my fault.”

“I wasn’t killed. I’m still alive!”

“It’s not fair to you. I’m a fucking mess of person with a dog-shit life and no one deserves to be sucked into to that. I can’t do that to a boy with their whole life ahead of them. A kid can’t handle that.”

“I’m not a FUCKING kid,” Billy shouted, “I’m not a kid! You know that but you won’t admit it.”

“I’m a bad person and I’m bad at this,” Alison struggled for words. The anger was receding the further they got from school but she still felt frantic, “I can’t do ‘sincerity’ or ‘emotions.’ I don’t feel what other people feel. I’m broken.“

“Just pull over. We need to talk about this.”

“I need a friend. I need you to be that for me. If you were gone, I’ll probably kill myself before graduation.”

“Alischon, GODDAMNIT, pull over!”

She approached a scenic overlook spot on the side of the highway with room enough to park. She swerved the Death Boat into one of the slots and the car idled noisily.

“So if I say ‘yeah’ and it all falls apart— and it always does— then I’ve lost the only person in the world who doesn’t want to force me to eat shit —LITERALLY EAT SHIT— every day of my life. Some dumbass ‘hurt feelings’ argument and all of a sudden we hate each other forever…”

She ran out of ways to look away and had to face him, the panic was all over her face, “You matter to me too much to risk it. I can’t survive this alone.”

He had started to see what was going on behind all the defense mechanisms and why she was how she was, “I’m not going to abandon you.”

“You will. Eventually everyone does,” Alison stated emotionlessly, “But I need you to hold on until graduation. Until I can escape.”

“But… maybe… I need you, too,” Billy said. She looked up, confused. She hadn’t considered anything from his side. “I’m not a hero flying in to save you from your life. I’m just some guy,” Billy demurred,

“Why the fuck would you want to be with me?”

“You look me in the eye when you talk to me. You treat me like a person you’re happy to see and want to have around. You’re as mean and insulting to me as you would be to anyone else.”

“That’s kind of a low bar, isn’t it?” Alison asked.

“Low bars seem pretty high to me,” Billy shrugged.

“It’s a good thing you don’t have any money because you’re a classic mark for a gold digger.”

“If a gold digger made me feel like you make me feel, I’d give them every penny I had and it would be worth it.”

Alison smiled despite her wet eyes and her panic jitters.

“It’s not a rescue mission,” Billy reassured her, “It’s mutually-assured destruction.”

A long pause. The car sputtered.

Billy threw caution to the wind. “Fuck it.” He leaned over to the driver’s seat, put his hands on the sides of her face and slammed his mouth onto hers in an intensely-felt, terribly-executed kiss.

The impact of his forehead slamming into her made a hard crack that resonated like a bat hitting a home run at the bottom of a cistern.

He attacked her mouth like a horse eating an apple. She attempted to kiss him back, less forcefully, but was overpowered. He sucked on her lip like he was siphoning from a gas tank using a hose with a knot in it. Her hand searched blindly for her asthma inhaler. Then he tasted iron.

As she pulled away he noticed the smear of blood below her mouth. It was still trickling in a stream out of an open tear in her skin. “I think you split my lip.”

“Oh God. OH GOD. I’m so sorry,” Billy looked horrified, “Are you OK?”

“It’ll stop soon,” she found some paper napkins stuffed in a cup holder, dabbed at her bloody lower lip. Then her finger felt the point of impact on her forehead starting to swell into a goose egg.

“Good enthusiasm, needs to be directed better,” she tried to reassure him with a smile but stopped in pain “Ow. I think I just tore it more.”

They were just a few minutes away and she seemed lucid enough to drive, so they made it to the trailer.

Billy burst through the front door startling Pete washing a dish. She followed meekly after, a little wobbly from blood loss.

“Sit there,” Billy ordered her onto the couch, all business, and scrambled with purpose back to his room.

Pete looked over. Alison had dried blood all over her mouth and shirt and a spreading, fist-sized bruise between her eyes, like a bindi that exploded.

Pete just stared at her. “What the hell happened to you? Did Billy do THAT?”

“I-It’s my own fault,” Alison emoted skittishly, “He demands his dinner on the table as soon as he’s home from the office and he works so hard at the Patriarchy Factory. It’s his duty as husband to slap his wife around as discipline—”

“BILLY, WHAT DID YOU DO?” Pete shouted at the back room.

Billy returned with a first aid kit and a flashlight. He gave Alison some gauze for her lip.

“Why aren’t you at work?” Billy asked, opening his textbook to the chapter on diagnosing head trauma.

“Carbon Monoxide leak in the building. They sent us home early.”

“Follow my finger,” Billy told Alison, moving his index finger in a line and watching her pupils.

“Can you drive her car?” Billy said to White under his breath, hoping she wouldn’t hear him.

Pete glanced doubtfully at the smoking clunker outside, “Do I want to?”

“We should take her to the hospital to get her checked.”

“Jesus, Billy. What happened?”

“I accidentally head-butted her. I can see a hematoma on the surface, but I need an x-ray to see if I did any real damage.”

“You gotta register this thing as a deadly weapon,” Pete tapped his forehead, “There’s blood all over her mouth. Your head didn’t do that.”

“I kissed her,” Billy said flatly.

“You kissed her.”

Billy looked up and nodded.

“The ER’s gonna have to put that on the admission form as cause of injury, y’know.”

Against all medical ethics, Billy felt secretly proud to have official, legal documentation of what the best thing that ever happened to him (and what he assumed must have been a personal low-point for her).

They sat together for three hours waiting at the ER to get checked. He stayed by her side, holding her hand. She was fine. Just surface injuries. The bruise lingered on her face for more than a week, a visual reminder the first time kissed a girl and she kissed him back.

“Happy Birthday, Alischon."

Chapter title is a reference to After School Specials and Welcome to the Dollhouse's Special People's Club.

"Package store" or "Packie" is New Englandish for liquor store.

The Air Force Academy Chapel does look like the end of hair clippers, right?

These chapters seem to get longer and longer. The word counts of each installment seems to grow like bacteria, eventually they will blot out the sun and kill all life on this planet.

Part 1 - 3389 words

Part 2 - 5012 words

Part 3 - 1878 words

Part 4 - 7503 words

In its fifth installment, Tomorrow's Just Another Day (23,145 words) is now almost as long as Boy Genius is at nine (24,812 words)

Brevity is not my strong suit.

(more notes as I think of them)

← back to 2021's Billy & White

#master billy quizboy #pete white #fiction #story #fanfic #fanfiction #AO3 #illustration #illustrator #the venture brothers #the venture bros #vbros #backstory #origin story #love story #romance story #1990s #90s

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invisibleraven · 1 year

Note

Here, let me carry you-- Sweet Tarts

Carrie tapped her foot impatiently, glancing at her watch and sighed in an annoyed fashion. This is why she hated relying on Uber for rides, she was never sure if she was gonna get a creep, or worse, ghosted like she was sure she was being right now.

This was why she desperately needed her licence back. Look it wasn't her fault that those lights all happened to turn red just as she went through them okay? It just seemed to be her luck to always run them, and the judge was less than understanding after it happened a few dozen times.

So for now she was standing outside her hotel, ready to just give in and call a taxi when an ancient looking truck pulled up in front of her. The window rolled down and an admittedly cute guy looked out, lowering his shades to peer at her. "You Carrie?'

"You're late," she answered in reply, opening the door and tossing her bags in the backseat.

"Can't be helped doll, traffic lets up for no man. Plus every toll in town is out to get me I swear. Sorry for the tardiness though. Now, where am I taking you?" he said as she secured her seatbelt.

Carrie spat out the address and then stared out the window stubbornly, arms crossed as the scenery flew by. Her driver (the app said his name was Reggie) hummed along to the country station playing on the radio, oblivious to her foul mood.

It wasn't his fault really. Sure, he had been late, and that hadn't helped, but Carrie was grumpy to begin with. The conference had been tedious and unnecessary to her, but her boss told her to go, even put her up in a nicer room, and promised her a promotion next quarter, so she went. Now all she wanted was to go home to her own bed and chill in front of her television for the rest of the day.

"So are you the chatty type or the sit in awkward silence for the duration of the ride type?" Reggie asked as they pulled onto the highway. "Personally I prefer to talk, but I draw the line at car games. Did one stint with a family and I swear I never wanna hear the words I Spy again after that."

"Silence please," Carrie begged. "My head is pounding and the heat isn't helping. Why do you even own a vehicle without AC here?"

"Sorry, Old Betsy's coolant is a little low. When we make a put stop I'll top her up," Reggie offered in explanation. "I usually have a sensible wagon for this, but she's in the shop getting detailed and this ride is helping pay for it."

He reached into the back then, pulling out a bottle of water and offered it to her. "There's Advil in the glove box if you want it. Boy Scout and all."

"Something tells me you were never a Scout," Carrie snarked as she cracked open the bottle, letting the tepid water soothe the parched nature of her throat before rooting around to find the pills, tossing them back as well.

"Guilty, but it still never hurts."

They drove a while longer in silence, save the low sounds of the radio, and Carrie finally felt some of the pressure surrounding her skull start to abate. "Thanks," she whispered. "For the water and the pills. They seem to be helping."

"All part of the Reggie package," he replied, lowering his sunglasses to send her a wink before directing his eyes back to the road. Only the truck seemed to be slowing, and he screwed up his face as his foot pressed down harder on the gas.

No dice, and the truck was going a mere crawl. "I have to pull over," Reggie said, easing her onto the shoulder, the engine giving a weak cough as he applied the brake. Carrie threw her head back and groaned as Reggie went to take a look.

"God what else can go wrong?" she said.

"Bad news I'm afraid," Reggie said as he rounded the cab again. "We're overheated and it dried up my oil."

"I had to ask didn't I?" Carrie muttered to herself.

"No worries, it's a small hike to the nearest pit stop, I can jaunt on over and get her filled. You can come with or stay here."

Carrie was about to reply she would just call for another car, but of course her phone was near dead with no reception. She didn't exactly relish either option, but maybe the walk would do her good. Or lead her to a working phone. She grabbed her bag and hopped out of the truck, then thought better of it, grabbing another bottle of water from the back before Reggie locked up the truck.

"Let's go."

It wasn't long before Carrie really regretted her decision. Her shoes were not the best choice for a trek and with the sun beating down, her sensible business attire felt sweltering. "How much farther is this rest stop?" she asked.

"Probably another fifteen minutes?" Reggie replied, wiping his brow with a handkerchief he had fetched from his back pocket. "But once I get what we need there you can stay while I hoof it back to Betsy."

Carrie almost levelled him with a glare when her foot caught on a rock, making a sharp pain echo from her ankle as it twisted. She hissed and dropped, swearing under her breath as it already started to bruise.

"Fuck my life," she said, glancing up at the sky.

"Come on, I'll help you," Reggie said, looping an arm under her to help her up. "You think you can hobble?"

Carrie tried putting weight on her foot and immediately shrieked in pain. "That's a no."

"Here," Reggie said, "Let me carry you."

"Wait?"

"I can carry you," he repeated. "You want piggy back or bridal style?"

"You just said it was another fifteen minutes!" Carrie protested. "You can't carry me that far!"

"I'm stronger than I look," Reggie replied. "Come on, I can't leave you here and I doubt we're anywhere my phone will get bars t call for an ambulance. So?'

"Piggy back," Carrie grumbled, hefting herself onto Reggie. He lifted her and her bag with ease, trotting down the road.

He was warm, and a tiny bit sweaty, but Carrie found that he could lift her, and didn't seem to be straining. He was making sure not to jostle her ankle more than needed and even offered her his shades if she wanted them.

"I'm good," she replied quietly. "Do you want some water?"

Reggie shook his head and kept going. "I'm fine doll, no worries. We're almost there." He nodded to where Carrie could see the sign for the rest stop shining ahead like a beacon.

Finally their oasis was in sight.

Thankfully they made it there, with Reggie setting her down on the bench outside, collapsing next to her and taking the offered water, downing half of it and pouring more over his face. Carrie sucked in a breath as the droplets caught in his hair, on his eyelashes, and his eyes opened to reveal a startling green colour, the redness of his face highlighting golden freckles.

"I'll be right back. You want me to help you in? Get you anything?"

"A Diet Coke?"

"Comin' right up."

Carrie slumped back on the bench, taking out her phone. Three bars. But then, instead of calling for another ride, she put it back, Lifted her foot onto the bench and grinned when Reggie came back out with her drink and an ice pack.

"Owner offered me this. He's going to have his employee drive me to the truck and I'll be back in a jiff. Unless you wanna call for someone else?' Reggie asked, his fingers playing with each other as he avoided her eyes. "I would totally understand if you did."

"I'll be here waiting," Carrie replied, sipping at her drink.

Reggie beamed, and took off, promising that he would be right back, and the owner was right there if she needed anything. Carrie waved him off, and sat back on the bench, humming.

It was only after he pulled out of sight did she pull out her phone again and opened the Uber app. Making sure to give Reggie's service five stars.

#filled prompts #ficlet #jatp sweet tarts #julie and the phantoms

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yihrae · 10 months

Text

I feel pretty bad. I wish I could describe the extent wherein I did feel bad but it’s very difficult to put into words so I won’t try - I’ll just say I feel bad. I wish I didn’t feel so bad but truthfully sometimes I think I deserve to feel bad. There is an archaic idea that people many centuries ago who felt pain would try and lessen the extent to which they felt it because they thought it must be god who is punishing them for their sins, therefore they believe the pain is deserved, and hence it helps people come more to terms with the pain. But an argument goes that doesn’t actually decrease the pain. God knows where I heard this from (some lecture on pain a long time ago) but I still remember “God I hear you, and I understand I must atone for my sins. But it hurts.”

I’m not religious and I don’t really believe in things like that. But the theory about knowing you deserved something so the punishment meted out doesn’t feel as bad resonates with me on some levels. It feels pretty bad. But it’s deserved. Whenever I know I deserve something I can’t help but futilely surrender and accept it. As in to say, I had it coming. It doesn’t lessen the pain much but it decreases the existential pain of asking what one did to deserve this. I know I am being punished for all my wrongdoings, whether it be recent or ages ago. I cannot really ever fully atone for some of them. I will likely be punished again and again many times in the future. I don’t wish for that to happen. I don’t wish to exist in a reality that permits the punishment of the individual that is me.

I can’t really escape reality. That’s called escapism. But the problem is that, usually a some point you will be called back down to earth. So maybe escapism is not really a valid solution. What about reckoning with the pain? That’s the only way but I don’t know how to. A lot of people look at taking their own lives as a solution when they don’t know what else to do. It’s like a last desperate attempt to claw back and gain some control over something that you may have lost control over. I believe at a certain time in the past I did think that way. While the feelings causing me to think that way may have certainly remained unchanged, that dangerous line of thought has gradually receded. I think.

Anyway, I wanted to write something. I think if I didn’t write something I’d soon go insane. So I will write something. Everything hurts. From my toe to my left eyelid to the part of the cranium that touches the brain. My chest hurts the most, followed by my eyes and then the ridges of my nose. I don’t think vey clearly. It’s difficult to be rational when the bodily functions responsible for rational decision making are impaired. I wanted to write a story. But I couldn’t quite think up what cryptic, saddening, metaphorical, moving, interesting story that is an euphemism for my pain could be written.

It’s the most difficult to forgive yourself I think. When you forgive others you hold them to lower standards than you hold yourself. At least, for some people I would think that’s the case. They may be going through some unknown struggle after all. Sometimes we are also going through unknown struggles to ourselves. But it is so difficult to forgive ourselves because everything we experience is very clear to ourselves and we think we are in control.

I wish I was a bit kinder. A bit smarter. I wish I applied myself more. My parents used to tell me I was clever I just had to apply myself. I wish I could have somehow made the realisation sometime ago that it’s an important concept that falls outside the scope of just memorising information and recognising patterns. I feel a lot of pain. There are hammers falling on my toes and boxes rattling against my skull. There are icicles running along my upper limbs and I feel very cold. I feel like if I were to lean forward previously consumed food would come hurling forward along with my liver and kidneys and everything else. I feel very sick. I can’t take any Panadol because I don’t have any. I can’t see the doctor because I can’t afford to, nor would I expect the doctor to understand any of the gibberish that comes out from my mouth. Franz Kafka’s “Metamorphosis” describes a man who wakes up as a gigantic bug one day and frightens everyone with his new form. His family members, whom he had previously been supporting, isolate him. This improves marginally over time but decays quickly as they simply cannot adjust to the fact he is a bug now. He dies eventually. There is not really a happy ending. Sometimes I feel like I woke up as a gigantic bug. It’s a slight exaggeration but I’m not sure how else to put it.

I wish I could just turn back the clock a little.

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wclfwiife · 1 year

Text

Rehab sucks - pt 1

“Up and at ‘em, girl.” the voice, much too loud for this ungodly hour, rang out through the dark hospital like room. It cut through the white noise from the walls like a knife slicing through her skull as she slowly tripped back into consciousness.

“Ugh,” she groaned, her hands shooting up to cover her eyes as the staff member pulled her curtains open. “Leave it.” Ash hissed, the photosensitivity part of her detox kicked in hard and already having not been a huge fan of immediately being sucker punched by the sun anyway, the head-achey woman was irked by this to say the least. “I prefer the dark.”

The staff member denied her request for darkness, walking towards her with a tray holding the familiar little plastic cup of pills sat beside a plate of plain toast, dry scrambled eggs, and 2 bigger plastic cups, one half filled with apple juice and one with water. She’d have rolled her eyes if her head didn’t hurt so much. It seemed counterintuitive really, giving the drug addict more drugs to detox off the original drugs. Only in America, probably. Seemed like a very America thing to instill. They claim its for comfort during the detoxification process but to her, it seemed like just another insurance scam because they sure as fuck weren’t helping her feel better the past few days. The nausea wasn’t better, the headaches weren’t duller, her fluctuating temperature and chills did not get less painful so in her humble opinion, the doctors here long with their oh-so-caring staff could take these pills and suppository them right up their---

“Morning medicine time, c’mon. I cant leave till you shove these down your throat or I do.” His voice once again sliced into he skull right through her last thought, resulting in an extremely pointed glare from the young woman. “Be my guest. Your throat seems to need them more than mine does.” She shot back, well aware that his threat was aimed at her but it wasn’t in her to let anyone who thought hair gel was meant to be seen as a top layer boss her around.

He shoved the pills closer to her rather violently, as if to strengthen the threat. “You wanna go to jail? We all know you’re in here to keep outta the big house, girl, so do yourself the favor and just take the damn meds.”

“If I want to detox dry, I can.” She pushed the cup back in his direction before crossing her arms. “They said I gotta detox, they didn’t say I have to take any of your bullshit. Or your pills.”

The man she came to know as Ted, although endearingly preferred to call him dick head (it did rhyme after all, just a moniker to help remember his name, really), was clearly getting impatient at this point. He pulled a syringe from his pocket and grabbed her arm roughly. “Hey!” she yelled, yanking her arm as hard as she could to release his grasp but he only tightened it. “Let go of me! What the fuck!? Let me go, you big fucking oaf, get the fuck off o’ me!” She kept writhing and tugging her limb in hopes to get free but the more she struggled the harder he gripped around her upper arm. He said something about making him strap her down and something else about it hurting more if she struggled but he didn’t say what was inside the syringe in his opposite hand. She kept making a scene hoping to catch the attention of someone outside the door and to her relief, the doorknob lowered and another staff member, Pete, rushed in. “Oh my God, please, help me, he’s fuckin’ crazy, please, get this asshole off me, he’s n---” The relief however, was short lived when Pete asked what was happening and instead of helping Ash, he too came to hold her down. “What the fuck are you doing?” She screamed at Pete, now strapping her other arm down at her bedside and moving to strap her legs down. Ash wasn’t a weak girl by any means, but these two grown men tag teaming her while she was in a weakened state was clearly an unfair fight.

“What are you waiting for?” Pete spat to Ted in a hushed, urgent sounding tone. Ted grimaced as he strapped her left arm down, tighter than the other restraints were drawn, and pointed to her pill cup with the needle. “She wouldn’t take her damn meds. She’s supposed to take the meds first.” “Well make her take them then. What, ya got a crush on this one? Going soft on us?” Ted snorted, pulling the strap harder, tightening the already too tight restraint on her left wrist and she winced as her skin pinched as it twisted and her bones felt like they were in a vice.

“I’m not gettin’ into shit from Doctor Douchebag because the ratios are wrong and the whole thing gets fucked. The meds are supposed to be first.” He stressed again, pointing to the untaken pills on the tray once more. “Jesus Christ,” Pete shook his head, frustrated and moved back up towards her face and picked up the small cup with almost too much of that frustration as they almost flew out of it and onto the bed and floor. “Nice job, dumbass.” “Shut the fuck up!” Pete, who usually had a calmer demeanor than Ted, which she now realized was obviously an act or he truly had the shortest fuse known to man, repositioned himself so he could grab her jaw and keep it in place as she turned her head violently away from him until he grabbed a fistful of her hair at the base of her neck and wrenched backwards. She hissed at the pain, trying to keep her mouth shut as the plastic cup was being shoved at her lips. Pete kept pushing the cup at her mouth, muttering angry words until Ted grabbed her face, pushing his thumb and index fingers into opposite cheeks, prying her teeth open from the outside like trying to give an animal a pill who wouldn’t unclench its jaw. He finally got her mouth open just enough for Pete to throw the pills in.

Three differently shaped pills of varying sizes spilled across her tongue, playing a disgusting tasting game of tag as she tried to spit them out or at least hide them in her cheeks or under her tongue until Pete, the stupid jerk, also poured the water into her mouth, giving her no choice but to swallow or essentially choke to death on both as her head was still pulled backwards leaving the pills and liquid nowhere to go but down. She coughed violently as it all made its way roughly down her throat, it felt like all three pills rolled oddly down her trachea threatening to get stuck at the odd angle she was being held in. When Pete finally let go, she threw herself forward, still strapped to her bed, gasping for breath and choking on the awkward liquid, air, and pills. She wanted so badly to throw up or rub her throat at least, or even just her scalp where his fingers clutched her hair so tightly she was sure he took a few strands with him.

“You’re both sick bastards,” she muttered through heavy breaths, still fighting against the restraints as best she could but her headache had easily turned into a full blown migraine at this point and the movement was agonizing. Ted took this moment to stab her bicep with the mystery needle and almost immediately the room was no longer still and the two men, who she could realistically presume were not swaying at the foot of her bed, were definitely swaying as he head and eyelids became heavier and heavier until the moving wavy room just turned black. The two staff members waited until they were sure she was out, although didn’t bother undoing her restraints as Ted shoved the used syringe back into his pocket and the men took their leave, quietly bickering on their way out.

@staysaliive

#staysaliive #v; scout #th; rehab sucks #;para #hows about some angst for a comeback wut wut

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incorrecttwoset · 4 years

Text

Lesson time with Dani:

youtube

The lesson we can all take away from this is that hey, why twoset no upload yesterday? What happened? Why dos happened? If people from the universe where twoset uploaded yesterday are reading this, what did they upload? Can you send the link?

And damn, they're still doing the fortnite dances? She says, still doing the fortnite dances. But seriously tho, the intro for todays video matches cOMPLETELY with my mood. Because fam, i am so dead and high on no sleep and social media crack all the time that i would probably do the same thing.

Also, i cant even read sheet music (since im not a musician lol im still expanding my collection of classical music on my phone. I currently have 23, any good recommendations?) but that thing? I am scared aND CONFUSED. But fUCK dude, i miss watching them play. I mean, there's vids of them playing on yt and i will always crawl back to their vid of the concerto battle and navarra but- I've already watched those a MILLION times. It's nice to have something new.

And oH MY GOD EDDY'S DROOL AHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHA IVE DIED. IVE PERISHED. Oh mAN, i cant wAIT TO SEE THE THE ACTUAL WRECK THAT TSVTWT IS GONNA BE TOMORROW MORNING. Oh, i can see the fanfics already...

Also, damn Eddy, you gotta a lotta backup careers in case being a violinist doesn't work out huh? Yeah, we see you. Oh shit, that just reminded me of this really good ballet dancer au ff. Dude, id link it here if i can find it again. And Eddy, Brett's already a conductor if ya hadn't noticed from the beat saber vid. Leave some jobs for him too, okay? I care about you, but I care about Brett too.

And i love how editor-san aCTUALLY PUT IN "Farewell" IN HAYDN'S SYMPHONY 45. I cant tell of thats the actual name of the piece but if it is? Brett, we see your nerd comin' out. And if it isn't? Yeah, I agree with you editor-san, Brett IS the superior dad.

And... i really didn't expect the circumstance that Eddy would bring up as an example. I really thought yknow, basic common shit like performing in front of an audience or having a really nice teacher but. Violists and bassists kidnapping your family and forcing you to sightread to save them? Uhhhhhhh... okay, if it works i guess? And surprisingly, it kinda did. At the beginning only tho. When it changed to 4/4, if the violists and bassists really were keeping his family hostage... lets just say that they wont be in good shape. At least it gave him motivation to kesp going.

And Eddy's strategy of starts BARS before the actual piece? Respect.

Also, when Brett started with that long note on the g string, i sincerely thought he was gonna play either the Brahms or Mendelssohn violin concerto. I was wrong. When i noticed that he was playing Wieniawski, I thought "huh, i should probably know this." Once again, i was wrong. Eddy's lowkey roast was right.

And gOD, they're so happy and the just jump around so much that im!!!! IM!!!!!! MY HEART!!!!! fUCK AND I WAS IN A PRETTY NUMB MOOD TOO SO THIS IS JUST- i have the soft vibes now. The soft hapi vibes.

Also, i love how they just gave up on hitting the triangle at the end. There was just- dodgy and wrong notes and nonexistent rhythm but they just kept on truckin man, kept on truckin.

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tteokdoroki · 3 years

Note

bestie bestie bestie pup boy bakugou in rut adn fucking his bunny girl gf n' he breeds her and- yeah

— “bitch bunny.” + katsuki bakugou.

bestie,,, bestie dont get me started on this!!! i made this gender neutral 🥺 so i hope you don’t mind uwu!!

pairing: german shepard!bakugou x bunny + gender neutral!reader

cw: smut, MDNI 18+, hybrid!pairing, slight!dub-con, oral sex, some degradation and dirty talk. reader is gender neutral and has no pronouns but i think i used slit once aaa!!

can you imagine being a hybrid!bunny adopted by deku, shy and timid— a shaky darling thing with a twitching nose and floppy bunny ears that fall over your face when you get nervous or flustered. izuku is nice, he takes care of you and brings you home from that god awful shelter. his place is warm and safe and oh, he’s got a little puppy friend for you to play with.

katsuki.

he’s mean, an awful german shepard!hybrid who snarls at you when izuku isn’t looking— steals your food, nips at your ankles and tears up your clothes. you hate him, you hate that you let him make you cry but don’t dare to snitch because you fear what he might do to you. katsuki had lived with deku longer, been loved longer and you were just a stupid bunny who was lucky to even be here. or so the blonde had told you over and over, backing you into a corner when your owner wasn’t looking.

he doesn’t mean it. is what izuku tells you when he gets you both ready for bed at night, hybrids need special care and izuku likes to bathe you together— bakugou stares at your body hungrily like you’re a piece of meat. kacchan can play nice, he’s just a little rough sometimes. another excuse.

a little rough doesn’t even begin to cover it.

not when katsuki has you pinned to the bed by a strong arms, cruel smirk spread widely across his cherry lined lips while your precious, meaty thighs shake either side of his head. “look at’cha bunny, shakin’ like a fuckin’ leaf ‘n i ain’t even touched’ya yet,” bakugou growls with a yank of your fluffy rabbit tail. your sex spasms, arousal staining the surrounding areas and dripping heavily onto the cotton sheets of deku’s bed. “poor lil bunbun trapped in heat, ‘n i’m the only one left’ta deal with ya....”

lust is heavy in his tone, blood red eyes dilating while he watches your hips jump up in desperation for some kind of friction and touch. “kat...katsuki, please...it hurts,” and it does, more than any of the mean words he’d thrown at you before. there’s heat burning in your lower tummy, spreading through the blood in your veins as your hole clenches around nothing and leaks pathetically under bakugou’s watchful gaze.

the blonde makes a feral noise in the back of his throat, pointed puppy ears twitching at your needy sounds— the broken moans that bubble from chapped lips. “yeah bunny?” he says breathless, voice lowering deep and husky. “it hurts not ta ‘ave a cock in ya huh? reaching deep in that tight, dirty fuckin’, scratchin’ that itch that you’re fingers can’t reach...” katsuki mutters filthy words into the plains of your skin, tongue dragging along your thighs as he approaches your sex— marking and biting a pathway towards it. his sharp canines sink harshly into the flesh that he moulds between large hands.

your chest rises and falls with your rapid, beating bunny heart— fear consuming you as your innermost instincts have been switched on. katsuki is a dog and you’re merely his prey for the evening, a darling little toy for him to take advantage of in your time of need. “katsu—“ you beg him, twisting and writing against the bed once more.

“what?” he snaps, fangs and gums bared in an impatient growl. he’d waited too long to have you spread out beneath him like this, smelt the slick from your heat dripping down your thighs— tasted the want in the air as you tried to fuck that itch away from yourself with stupid toys and your useless hands. “can’t eat yer stupid lil hole out if y’keep makin’ me waste my breath talkin’ to ya, bunny. don’cha want me to make it go away? take away the pain with my fat cock?”

“katsuki please, make it go away, make it stop hurting,”

katsuki’s head dips lower and lower until his nose is pressed right up against your slit, breathing in your sweet scent until his eyes roll back in his skull and his brain becomes cloudy with ideas of how you might fuckin’ taste, how tight you must really fuckin’ be. god, he’d thought about taking your puckered hole for far too long, taking you on his dick until your bunny ears droop and you’re reduced to a puddle of tears. but now that he’s got you, nothing but sex on your mind while you ooze sweet honey from his proximity to your core, all bakugou can think about is lapping you up like the fuckin’ dog he is and slobbering all over the sweetness between your meaty thighs.

“like it when you beg like a little bunny bitch in heat fer my fuckin’ dick babe, but s’too fuckin’ bad. wanna eat ya instead.” bakugou snarls, tail thumping on the bed as he finally latches onto your sex with teeth and tongue and the taste of you on his fucking brain. when he glances up at you between your shaky legs and give another tug to the fluff of your tail, your cute nose twitches and your watery eyes cross— the pain in your belly ignites into a bright flame of pleasure as you finally get what you need for your heat to subside.

katsuki’s tongue runs laps across every inch of your sex, sucking on you, drinking up the evidence of your arousal before it has time to further dirty your thighs— your fingers push through his mass of blonde locks and tug at his puppy dog ears until he whimpers into your hole that he plunges his pink muscle in and out of. “look at’cha bunny, makin’ a mess in that damn deku’s bed. what’s he gonna say when he finds you cummin’ on this tongue of mine, his sweet little bun ain’t so innocent are they?” he teases, fingers coming up to prod and pull and pinch at your slick and intimate parts he also greedily feasts on.

“he—he wouldn’t, katsuki please don’t— oh fuck— i don’t want izu to see me like this,” you blubber with crossed eyes and skittering breath. the dog between your legs slots bites gently at your core, teeth grazing your intimate parts causing you to jump up and tug his hair closer to your needy, trembling body.

“bullshit, needy bitch.”

lewd sounds of your own sloppiness make your ears droop and cover your humiliated face, shame burning at the tips of your ears even worse than the hotness flashing through your body. you’re embarrassed, by your own dirtiness, by your desperation to be fucked by your owners awful companion. would izuku be disappointed in you? see you different from your usually shy and innocent self? you feel so much shame and yet you can’t feel yourself to pull away from the german shepard hybrid between your legs, sucking on you like you’re his last meal.

but you can’t bring yourself to feel shame, the thought of your precious owner walking in on you stretched over katsuki’s tongue and thick fingers— marked up and tainted, makes you gush and squirm. what would you do if his bright green eyes saw the sin his two darling hybrids were committing on his own bed? you’re naughty, bakugou’s made you naughty and that’s exactly what he wanted. to ruin you during your heat.

“you wanna cum, slutty bunny?” his tail thumps harder against the mattress, his hips grinding circles into the bed like his stuck in a rut, his own cock hard and heavy in his shorts while he makes you see stars and feel as if you’re on cloud nine. you nod and a dark chuckle reverberates through your body. “‘s too bad...” katsuki pulls away from you before you can tumble over the edge, sheen of your arousal painted across his chin— shining under dim light.

“k-katsuki?”

like a dirty dog, he wipes his mouth on his arm and smiles, mischief glinting in his eye. your heart rate spikes, nose and precious bunny earth twitching with nervousness and excitement.

“too bad, y’cum while ‘m breeding you on this cock, sort this heat out right.”

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frogtanii · 3 years

Text

warm.

it’s too warm, was your first waking thought as you sluggishly waded through the mound of blankets that encompassed you to get a breath of fresh air (you assumed bokuto and kuroo were the culprits for your warm and fuzzy hellhole). your eyes first fell on the television playing the credits to the second or third pirates of the caribbean movie on mute, the remote haphazardly thrown somewhere to your left as though the person who did so left in a hurry.

speaking of people, there was no one left in the room as you slowly joined the land of the living. a part of you suspected everyone had gone to bed but atsumu or akaashi would’ve woken you up if that had been the case.

belatedly, you recognized voices coming from the front door and your still sleep-addled brain lit up. oh! you thought. food must be here! untangling yourself from the blankets proved to be an exhausting feat because by the time you were done, your body was covered in a sheen of sweat underneath oikawa’s sweats and sakusa’s hoodie.

ugh, gross.

you began to make your way towards the door, the blood rushing through your head preventing you from hearing the details of conversation but knowing atsumu, he was just haggling for a lower price even though you told him repeatedly, that isn’t how pizza places work tsum.

as you drew nearer to the commotion, you started to pick up on the heavy tension in the air, leaving you extremely uncomfortable. you had no idea what the cause of it was but you did know it was making most of the boys upset, who, by the way, hadn’t noticed you creeping around just yet.

a feminine voice rang out from outside the doorway and though you were still attempting to gain your hearing, the sound sent chills down your spine. it sounded saccharine, sweet, familiar, and oh so evil.

even with a head full of cotton, you figured now wouldn’t be the best time to reveal yourself, what with the clear discomfort permeating the atmosphere, but your big fat mouth apparently had other plans.

“‘tsum, just let the poor pizza lady go,” you muttered, the beginnings of a headache making itself known at the back of your skull. you were a little too caught up with the dwarf banging at your head with a sledgehammer to notice the shock that everyone in the room turned to look at you with.

a gentle hand grasped at your forearm, whispering something into your ear before attempting to pull you back to the living room, but that same familiar voice from the door kept you planted where you stood.

“oh, the princess finally makes herself known,” meiko sneered, her face finally coming into focus, striking you with pang of fear straight through your heart. “funny, i thought i left you speechless the last time we... ‘talked’.”

“ya shut yer fuckin mouth,” atsumu lunged at her but was stopped by sakusa’s arm around his waist, successfully holding him in place. meiko just giggled, taking a step into the house, her heels clicking as she glided across the hardwood floors.

in the back of your head, you noted that meiko looked unusually beautiful, her makeup flawlessly done and her outfit complementing it perfectly, almost reminiscent of how she used to be before... well, just “before”.

you watched the boys unconsciously angle themselves as a protective wall around you, the person holding your arm (who you now realized was koushi) pulling you in tighter until your back was resting against his chest.

a part of you couldn’t help but feel a little suffocated but the other, more self preserving, bit felt irrationally safe and protected around these boys. it was nice... or it would’ve been if meiko wasn’t taking herself on a tour around the house as though she hadn’t been living there for almost the past year.

“you all can tone down on the guard dog act. i’m not here to fight,” she said as she pretended to wipe dust off the island. “you’re not?” bokuto’s skeptical voice rose up from behind you, one of his hands finding yours underneath the massive sleeves of your (sakusa’s) hoodie.

meiko shook her head with an empty smile, her perfectly painted red lips stretching unnaturally wide. “no, of course not! i’ve just come here to collect.”

the boys collectively tensed around you, akaashi whispering for kenma to go find yachi and quickly. as he slipped away, you made eye contact with sakusa who gave you an imperceptible nod that you assumed meant one thing — keep her talking.

“collect what?” you asked, your voice coming out weaker than you wanted, but you hoped she didn’t notice. she cocked her head as her eyes snapped to you as if she’d forgotten you were there, but judging by her growing smirk, you knew that wasn’t the case.

“my boys of course!” meiko clapped gleefully, clicking her way over toward kuroo to run her hand over his bicep, laughing when he jolted away from her touch. “they’ve always been mine, you know that don’t you?”

it felt like a cold bucket of water had been dropped over your head. you felt frozen again, the same feeling of dread creeping up your spine as it did when meiko attacked you. in turn, you barely noticed kenma’s return who whispered something to sakusa — an action that didn’t go unnoticed by meiko.

“what’re my boys talking about? are you plotting against me?” she pouted, scooting closer to the pair. kenma visibly paled and moved to hide himself behind sakusa’s broad shoulders. “we aren’t doing anything, meiko.”

wrong answer.

“oh, we both know that isn’t the case kiyoomi. i’m not a fucking idiot.” meiko’s voice filled with venom before moving even closer still. you felt your heart beating rapidly in your chest, your hand gripping bokuto’s even tighter.

what if she brought some kind of weapon to the house? what if she hurt you? what if she hurt them?

before you could think, you were standing in front of the group, the boys calling out your name as meiko’s face lit up. “so the precious little princess wants to take a stand! let me have it then, huh? let me see what all the craze is about!”

despite the fear thudding in your chest, you stood tall, glaring at her with your head held high. “the boys are not yours, meiko,” you declared, her mouth instantly opening in protest but you refused to let her speak.

“they aren’t possessions or objects you can own and treat like shit. they are people, real living, breathing people and they aren’t mine either. they have full reign to do what they want, when they want, to make their own choices and decisions. and you know what? they didn’t choose you or me. they chose themselves and their happiness over any bullshit you or i could try and sell them. so please, for the love of god, get your shit together, put it in a box and take it to fucking therapy.”

by the end of your impromptu speech, your chest was heaving but you felt good. really good. adrenaline was rushing through your veins and you felt powerful. out the corner of your eye, you noticed osamu and daichi standing at the bottom of the stairs with something akin to awe on their faces.

yeah bitches. take it all in.

unfortunately, while you were basking in the feeling of badassery, you completely missed meiko’s eyes lighting up with pure, unadulterated,

rage.

you faintly heard someone call your name before you were taken to the ground by meiko leaping at you like an animal. the two of you scrambled about on the hardwood, her hands yanking at your clothes and leaving scratches on your skin but you were sure as hell giving her a run for her money.

you finally managed to get on top of her, pinning her arms to the ground but that wasn’t before you gained a hard elbow to the side and a bruise to your face. meiko thrashed and shook in your hold but you were not wavering, trying to keep her entirely still for...

well, for what exactly?

almost as though they were on cue, you heard the sound of police sirens wailing in the distance, growing louder as they drew closer to the house. underneath you, meiko’s eyes widened before she began fighting even harder than she’d done before, her erratic movements making it much more difficult to keep your hold on her.

luckily, you had extremely muscular men at your disposal, one of which (osamu — even though he was a dick, he was still incredibly muscular dick) held down meiko’s arms as the lapd stormed the building.

the police officers easily retracted meiko from your arms and cuffed her, taking her to the back of the cop car, despite her loud and insistent threats on you and everyone you love.

very disney villain-esque.

a kind looking officer helped you to your feet and walked you out to the porch where he began to ask you and the boys a few questions. you answered them honestly and you were genuinely proud of how well you were handling the whole situation when—

“bubs, you’re shaking.” sure enough, when you looked down at your hands, you were twitching uncontrollably, the reality of the events that just occurred finally sinking in.

you were just attacked. again.

you and your friends were threatened.

meiko was sitting in the back of a fucking cop car.

“what the fuck,” you whispered, eyes staring unblinking at your palms. the same officer mentioned something about shock, prompting all the boys to gather around you; atsumu pulled you in between him and sakusa, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, kenma and bokuto took hold of your quivering hands, sugawara and oikawa sat off to the side watching you with blatant concern, and kuroo and akaashi spoke to the officer in hushed tones.

the man nodded and shook their hands before shooting you a pitying smile and heading back to the car where meiko was waiting.

“it’s over angel, ‘s over,” atsumu muttered into your hair, pressing kisses to your forehead in between each phrase. you leaned into his touch but you refused to take your eyes off meiko who was watching the whole scene from the backseat, her eyes wide with anger, hurt, and confusion.

you didn’t bother dwelling on it, instead focusing on evening out your breathing and looking at the car drive over the horizon. you heard yachi’s soft voice calling everyone inside, atsumu lifting you up to your feet and walking with you, never once taking his hands off of you.

still, his words echoed in your head, even as yachi spoke of the end of the hyper house, even as the boys brought you to your room, and even as they all automatically cuddled around you in an attempt to get you to sleep.

it’s over. it’s all finally over.

you couldn’t keep the grin off your face if you tried.

℗ poker face

it’s over

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - OK THE TITLE IS MISLEADING THE STORY IS NOT OVER YET SKENSM (there are 2 more official story chapters before all the endings :3) also m not the biggest fan of this chapter?? so i’d love to hear what y’all think <33 don’t forget to feed me!!

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

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shorkbrian · 3 years

Text

Creep

Prelude - bitch hold on what about mean brother Shigs being an absolute creep? Inspired by me playing a boss in AC Odyssey and my controller vibrated so hard I almost dropped it, and I couldn’t beat this dude and it was so freaking frustrating!!!!!!

Pairing - Shigaraki X Reader

Warnings - - INCEST, NSFW, innocence kink, do not read if those squick you out bro!!! Seriously! abuse of trust, dubcon, noncon, literally nothing about this situation is good, or healthy, or nice. Disgusting behavior is exhibited by Shigs.

Music - (does anyone actually like when I provide music? I like getting music vibes while I read through fics but ik that my music taste is a bit wacky lol anyways). https://open.spotify.com/track/0ODyahnUlK9G5bT4dA5NCI?si=10R9ggoJS1inYidrMeWrHA

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He offers to let you play his Xbox game, you keep annoying him by pouting for his attention and he gives up with trying to ignore you.

Stipulation - you gotta sit on his lap while you play, you’re such a stupid little girl that he forces his hands over yours, showing you how to use the Xbox controller while sneering at how dumb you are.

You’re too focused on the game to pay attention to how one of his hands has dropped from the controller, is creeping up your thigh, thumbing at the hem of your shorts. You don't realize that he’s plastered against your back, breath picking up in your ear as he hunches over your shoulder, thinking of all the dirty things he wants to do to you, how you’re too absent-minded to realize how much of a perverted creep he is.

“Shit!” You curse, breaking Shigaraki out of his thoughts as you bounce your leg in frustration. He feels the slight vibration of the controller - you’re getting attacked in the game, enemies surrounding you and hacking at your player. Shigaraki is too entranced by how he can watch your jiggling breasts over your shoulder, jostling around as you jerk your arms, trying to not die in the game.

“Nii-san help me, ‘m gonna die!” You shriek, whole body getting into the gaming experience, jerking around in his lap as you struggle to press the right buttons. Shigaraki tries not to groan - he can feel the space between your thighs as you move around, hot and doughy and he wants to touch so bad.

Yeah, he’s always been a bit of a creep, but he’s never actually done anything to you.

The most he does is fantasize, thinking about how you’d feel clamping down on him, how’d you’d taste if he made you ride his face. What you’d look like if he forced his cock into you with barely any prep - you’d squeeze your eyes shut so tight, let out little whimpers and clench your fists because “Hurts, hurts! Go slow Nii-san, don’t want this!”

But he wouldn’t have to listen, you’re just a naive little girl who doesn’t know that Shigaraki would be trying to make you feel good too, that it would feel good soon.

“Stop wiggling, you’re gonna fall off.” He rasps back at you, taking his other hand off the controller to grab your waist, barely saving you from keeling over and onto the floor. You’re left to fend for yourself now, button-mashing, groaning when you finally succumb to your enemies and die a violent, gory death.

“I died! Why didn’t you help, you’re right here?!” the accusatory tone of your voice is ignored as you revert to the last save, huffing in frustration as you’re forced to start over.

“You’re never gonna learn if I’m holding your hands like that.”

Shigaraki’s glad you’ve stilled again - if you’d kept up your wiggling, he’d have to figure out a way to explain what the hard thing poking into the side of your plush little rear.

God, you had the most perfect ass.

Maybe he’s a freak, a disgusting man with fucked up morals, but Shigaraki’s always been a social outcast, seen as weird and wrong and criticized for every little thing he did.

What’s wrong with settling into the role other people were so quick to offer him?

Surely you’ve noticed his odd behavior by now, the behavior that’s picked up in the last few years. How he stares at you a little more than he should, how sometimes he slips into bed with you, murmuring some lame excuse about not being able to sleep.

The way he freezes when you give him an affectionate hug, clenching his fists by his side as your breasts are squished up against his body.

You had to have caught on to his uncharacteristic softness with you. He’s still mean and coarse and rude, but there's an underlying affection underneath the way he mocks your outfits, when he says you look like the gross character out of a manga he’s reading, how he tugs on your hair sometimes when he passes by you, wheezing out a laugh if you turn around and try to slap at him in irritation.

If you didn’t want him to be weird, you could’ve said something by now. You should’ve said something by now.

So really, it’s your own fault that he feels so comfortable being a sicko.

“Don’t tickle, I gotta focus.” You tell him, squirming away when he runs a hand experimentally over your stomach. You’re so cute, and dumb, he wants to bully you until you’re crying, say mean things and hurt your feelings only so he can kiss it better.

But he doesn’t, because he’s a good brother.

His hand travels further up, rests right underneath your breast, almost cupping it. Still, you don’t say anything, attention on the game.

Do you want this? Are you just stupid? His affection is so obviously not normal for siblings, and yet you act like it’s fine. Maybe you’re a virgin, untainted with the knowledge of how sexual touches feel like.

The hand on your waist begins to slip under your shorts, his cold fingers quickly warmed by your skin. “Nii-san, stop that, it’s weird.”

Ah, there’s the common sense.

“I though you wanted to play the game? Don’t be a bitch.” He doesn’t really care whether you want him willingly now or not, he’s getting excited by the heat of your body, your weight on his lap.

You pause the game when his hand creeps lower into your shorts, when his fingers skim low over your tummy, too close to a private place that brothers shouldn't touch.

“Stop touching me, I don’t like that.”

“It’s not like you wouldn’t enjoy it.” He mumbles, and you stiffen in his lap, but he quickly takes his hand out of your shorts, stops cupping your soft breast.

The game gets unpaused, and you resume playing, although your attention is divided now, nervous about sitting in your brother’s lap.

Has it finally clicked? Are you thinking about what he could do to you, how he could make you feel?

“You suck at this.” Shigaraki observes, the controller shaking almost violently as you’re attacked again, overwhelmed by enemies.

“Well, maybe if you taught me how to play instead of being weird, I wouldn’t be.” You snarked, frustrated with the game, uneasy with your brother holding your hips like that.

Shigaraki rolls his eyes. You’re so dramatic, and although you have a valid point, he’s always been weird. This is nothing new, you’ve just been too thick-skulled to realize it before, which isn’t his fault.

A few more tries, and you still can’t get past the one group of enemies, dying after a few minutes every single time. You’re going to waste the batteries like that, controller jumping in your hands.

“I can’t-” You whine, coming across the enemies after your latest death, already knowing what’s going to happen.

Shigaraki stays silent, red eyes finally flickering away from your body and up to the screen of the TV.

You’re at one of the hardest parts of the game, facing a section that took Shigaraki two days to beat (not that he’ll tell you that). He grins as you throw yourself into the fight, immediately getting decked.

The noises you’re letting out are cute, frustrated groans on each hit landed on your player, muttered curses and triumphant scoffs whenever you manage to strike an enemy, which isn’t often.

The controller’s still shaking like crazy, and you’re moving around in his lap again, and Shigaraki is done. He can’t take this anymore, you’re being a tease.

He snatches the Xbox controller out of your hands, ignoring your little “Hey! What’re you doing, I was playing!”

“You call this playing?” The shuddering of the controller surprises him, gives him an idea.

There hadn’t been a plan, he had just been acting on instinct, hands itching to push you off his lap and to the floor, just to see the way you’d look up at him after.

Like that, you’d be in the perfect position to suck his cock.

But he wants to go in a different direction now.

“Stay still, you’re so annoying.” He’s spreading his legs out, sinking back further in his chair to get a better angle, your legs hooked over his.

There’s no time for you to protest. Like this, you’re spread out nicely, exposed, even though your shorts cover your intimate place.

Without any further preamble, Shigaraki shoves the vibrating controller up against your clothed cunt.

“NIi-san!” You shriek, immediately writhing in his hold. But Shigaraki has an arm locked around your chest, keeping you pinned to his chest. “Don’t, think sins’t-this isn't-! Stop this, stop! Don’t touch me!”

He can bet it feels good, that you’re struggling to tell him to stop. He begins rubbing the controller against you, snickering at the way you jolt and writher on each pass of the hard, curved plastic against your protected clit. He can’t even imagine how good it would feel if your stupid shorts weren’t in the way.

“Stop, stop! Stop it! Stop!” You sound like a broken record.

“Shut up, you can’t even play the game right. Feel that?” the controller gets rubbed harder against you, and you writhe. “That’s how bad you are. So pathetic, can’t even fend off a couple of bad guys.”

Can’t even fend off one, Shigaraki thinks to himself. You could be trying harder to get out of his hold, could be screaming and yelling and scratching and kicking.

Well, you are scratching and kicking, moving around so much that he’s having a hard time keeping you still. And you making a lot of noise, but there’s no one else home.

He’s fully hard, and every movement you make struggling rubs him right up against the meat of your ass, and he sucks in a stuttered breath, biting his lip.

“No, no, no, no, don’t want this Nii-san, stop it-” Your panicked pleas are ignored, Shigaraki shoving your hands away as you try to pull the controller off of your cunt, get the vibrations to stop.

On screen, the player is still getting attacked, each new hit making the controller vibrate even harder.

“Ow, ow! It hurts, make it stop! Nii-san-”

“I’ll gag you if you don’t stop complaining.” Shigaraki seethes, feeling irritation creep up. “It hurts because you’ve never felt this good before, idiot.”

He remembers the first time he’d used something on his dick. It was your toothbrush, unsurprisingly, the one that vibrated with three different speeds and made you so proud of your pearly whites.

It had been so overwhelming, he couldn’t even touch the back of the head to his cock. At times, it felt so good it had hurt, had completely blinded his senses and leave him in a puddle of his own cum and sweat, panting.

So Shigaraki understood what you were trying to say - your inexperienced body needed him to slow down, ease up a little. But your gross, nasty brother wanted to ruin you.

Your character on screen died, resulting in one last heavy vibration that made you sob, thighs struggling to snap shut, hands desperately pushing at Shigaraki.

He felt you convulse in his grip, could practically feel the way your little hole was clenching as you gushed all over yourself, whining and moaning at the pleasure.

Your character was sent back to the last save, the game on a loading screen.

But Shigaraki wasn’t done.

He was still hard against your back, rubbing himself off as best he could, but he was finding his own pleasure in watching you writhe on his lap.

The controller was tossed to the side, nimble fingers sliding over your shorts, Shigaraki laughing at what he found.

“You’re so wet, holy fuck. That’s disgusting, wow.” You were drenched, the fabric of your shorts completely soaked with your juices. You only sobbed out a pitiful noise, maybe trying to deny it, but Shigaraki wasn’t listening. He was too busy rubbing over the wet spot, gleefully feeling you up. It was easy for his fingers to find a comfortable, mind-numbing rhythm, so used to playing games and deftly pushing buttons, using sticks and joysticks, directional pads and the like.

You were rocking against his hand unconcsiously, body unable and unwilling to decided whether to pull away or push closer - you had just cum, but that didn’t negate the vicious, heady sensation that his fingers brought.

Shigaraki quickly grew bored of this though, unable to ignore his dripping erection. He had never been a patient man, quickly removing the hand stimulating your swollen pussy so he could pull his cock out of his sweatpants.

With a quick movement, your shorts were tugged down, your brother completely pushing past your refusal to lift your hips, burning your skin with how forcefully the fabric was ripped down.

“Nii-san, what are you doing-you can’t, you can’t!” You cried, renewing your struggle when you felt skin against skin, his cock hot and velvety as it rested against your cheeks. “I don’t wanna do this, don’t make me do this-”

“I don’t care. I’ve tried to be good, and it’s like you don’t even care.” The man ground out, beginning to rut his hips against your ass. It was dry, and it didn’t feel great, but it was more than enough to satisfy Shigaraki. “I barely touch you, I keep my hands to myself-”

Which was a lie. Late at night, when he was sure you were fast asleep, he’d touch, just a little. Rubbing your nipples, feeling them peak under his touch. Feeling the curve of your waist, skin soft against his dry palms.

“-I wouldn’t stare either, but you wear those stupid shirts-” The deep cut ones, the ones that showed off your cleavage and allowed him weeks of jerk-off material.

“So annoying, just a stupid little imoto that follows me around, you just want attention.”

He knows you don’t do it on purpose. You aren’t trying to make him see you in a sexual light. But maybe that’s what makes it all the more appealing, how naive and innocent you are.

Fuck, he’s getting close just thinking about your purity, how much you don’t know, how much he could teach you.

He doesn’t know a ton, but Shigaraki knows enough about what feels good for him, and you probably wouldn’t want to learn, but he deserved something nice every once in a while, didn’t he?

The drag of his cock between your ass cheeks was making him loose his mind, the slide too rough, but it felt delicious and stimulated him just right, pulling at his foreskin and spreading his precum into a sticky mess on your skin.

“Fuck, stay still, lemme feel good-” His voice was choked up, still holding it’s usual nasal resonance.

You sobbed in his hold, his fingers still playing over your shorts, exploring, keeping you occupied and frozen with sensation while he got himself off with your body.

And then he was breaking, splurting his seed all over your lower back, watching it come out of his cock in shaky squirts, painting your skin a cloudy white.

Shigaraki groaned, eyes transfixed to the sight before him. It was hard to keep them open, body shaking with little snaps of pleasure in his veins, in his stomach.

On the bed next to his thigh, the controller started shaking again. Panting, Shigaraki raised his eyes to the TV screen as you slumped against him, softly crying.

Your character was getting attacked again.

“Let’s keep playing.”

And the vibrating controller was pressed to your bare cunt, making you scream.

He’d have to wash it after this, but he figured it was worth it in the grand scheme of things

#gross misuse of Xbox controller #and I mean GROSS #shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki tenko #one sided relationships #yandere shigaraki #bnha shigaraki #tw.incest #tw noncon #tw dubcon #dead dove do not eat #creepy shigaraki

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