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emsgoodthinkin · 8 months

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~ never did this before | virgin!Eddie Munson x virgin! Thick!Fem Reader \\ modern au

This story is based off the song Wet Dreamz by Jcole **recommend listening to it first to understand the story// can be perceived/read regardless if you are a poc; as I am mixed ♡ [descriptions of reader having tan skin and brown eyes; so it meets in the middle if you are a poc or not]

• Summary: after weeks of flirting and crushing on each other, you finally pop a serious question into your bestfriend Eddie’s head, and he has a hard time providing you with an honest answer // this is more like a rom com

• Warnings: MDNI; smut (not too explicitly) fluff, both kinda experienced? soft Eddie, cocky Eddie, sassy reader, brief mentions of smoking and drinking, he’s a little bit of a perv, masturbation, 69, protected piv, premature ejaculation, heavy petting, grinding, confessions, slight insecure thoughts? (both are 18+) word count :3.4k //sry 4 errors

Eddie’s Pov

Calculus. The last class of the day. My favorite class overall.

There she sat, giggling on her phone, showing me silly photos she took of her dog Skittle, the sun shining just right on her honey toned tanned skin, hair laying just as perfect as ever in that simple, claw clip. Curls and wavy bangs sectioned to shape her face, brown eyes that matched mine and oh those glossy lips..

I wanna kiss you so fucking bad baby.

Her outfit of the day, that new pink and black checkered shirt she got at the mall that I drove her to.

It’s so tight on you sweetheart, your tits look beautiful today.

White Reeboks as I have, but very much cleaner…

Those 100% perfectly stretchy, acid wash jeans you wear every week that fit your ass so fucking bad.. fuck don’t bend over.. don’t—

“Eddie? what’s wrong with you?”

Fuck— didn’t realize the moan that I slipped out when she dropped her phone, she cracked it..but all I could focus on were the back of her thighs when she bent over

“Sorry uh- I think I’m just sore from carrying those amps last night”, he says now rubbing his not sore bicep with a pout

Lie.

“Oh babe I’m sorry, come by later and I can rub it out for you” she replies

Why the fuck would you say that to me right now—

“Oh yeah? You’d just love to get your hands on me always huh sweetheart? ” leaning back in my seat, with a cocky smile

You blush and shove my arm playfully “you’re so stupid, you know what I meant”

——

She’s been like this for the past month, after Harringtons party. Smoking and drinking under that patio umbrella, away from everyone else. Laughing, holding on to each other for dear life. I tell her jokes, she ugly laughs. I love her laugh, it’s not fake it’s genuine like her.

We met at the drink table, both preferring whiskey over the red shit they put out.

We talked about our intrests, I was very suprised and impressed with how she carried herself. How she talked about herself. How she sat comfortably on my lap; as if we knew each other for forever.

Obviously her thick hips in that royal blue, tacky dress she wore caught my attention first

It takes a certain kinda person to make me laugh but she.. she was probably the most funniest and beautiful fucking girl I’ve never seen. A few beauty marks as she would call it, scattered down her neck and arms. Eyelashes so dark she could always pass on the mascara, the sweet charm and sass she had to her.. she was something different.

She was fresh to town and it was relief to meet someone new. Similar childhood experiences, divorced parents but her dad stopped reaching out to them. Her mom was just a bitch to her. Very narcissistic person but, she had her kind moments. She definitely wasn’t the worse mother I’ve ever heard of.

All of that lead to a heavy make out session in the bathroom.

Sitting at the edge of the toilet, her scratching the back of my head with those sharp coffin shaped nails, me squeezing the fat of her ass on my lap. Hell, I was surprised how into this she was.. considering I’ve only kissed two girls in my life.

Sure I’ve watched my fair share of porn, visited sex stores, took a few notes; even got a handy under the bleachers last year from Carol. She forgot to pay for the weed I gave her, she offered, why not.

“Oh yeah, what’s your name again?” I ask kissing down her neck

“Y/N, but you can call me anything you want right now” she whimpers at the feeling of me nipping her throat

-“fuck you’re a r-really good kisser”

“-could say the same about you sweetheart” feeling the roll of her heat over my already strained dick.

I wonder how many guys she’s done this with

“Sorry, I don’t usually do this but, there’s just something so sexy about you”—

Biggest fucking ego boot ever.

“Fuck baby, if you keep talkin to me like that I’m gonna bust”

“Awe, am I making you feel some typa way Eddie?” She smirks looking down at me

“You know you are”

—

Unfortunately that ended quicker than it started, Robin got too hungover and needed our space.

She told me her classes and we exchanged numbers.

After that we talked everyday on FaceTime after getting home from school. I show her a new guitar riff and she shows me the new necklaces or shirts she ordered.

Sometimes she’d forget she was on camera and changed out of her bra a few times.

Hey, couldn’t help but to look come on, I am just a man

I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve fucked myself to that imagine every morning.. and evening and night..

Slept on the phone together, hung out at lunch together.

I only ever seen her at lunch other than at the end of the day in Mrs. Wilson’s calculus class. Bringing us back to now

——

“Mr. Munson are you done chatting now?” Wilson knocks me out of my trance

“Sorry bout that, yes ma’am” giving her a thumbs up sitting back up straight as she rolls her eyes subtly.

You slide me note. Folded up, in blue highlighted letters

You ever have sex before? Circle Yes or No ♡

fuck—we never even discuss stuff like that! how haven’t we? Don’t embarrass yourself man

Course I have, why? what’s got you so curious? ;)

I watch her look away quickly, gulping when she covers the paper to respond back

Well.. you’re cute and shit & was wondering if you wanna come over friday..? My parents have been gone all week and..we can hang or do whatever.. ♡

Did she wanna fuck? I hope so —wait you’re a virgin idiot, wait is she? probably not

I’m already there babe ;)

I reply with an easy smile, hiding the fact I’m in a state of panic

Good.. and uh bring those handcuffs on your wall too.. ♡

No way she’s a virgin talking like that

She rushes outta the classroom at the bell, turning back with a wink

Holy shit I gotta talk to Harrington.

“-and that’s what I’m saying dude, just sweet talk her, treat her like a princess, rub her in all the right places”—

“Okay but what ARE those places? I know her like tits and shit.. and well under her panties but what does it feel like? Ya know putting in it? What if I cum too fast and she laughs or runs away and never talks to me again..”—

I’ve been pacing back in forth in Family Video, loud where all the customers could hear. Definitely loud enough for Robin to upchuck her lunch

“No Eddie- just, come back here— Rob? watch the front please?” Steve grabs me by the shoulder making a bee line to the stock room

Sitting on the empty table still trying to gather my thoughts of Steve’s advice. “Well?” I rush out

“Damn man let me sit down first” he scoffs pulling a chair over to me

“Alright, you wanna know what inside a vagina feels like right?”

“Jesus, can you just say pussy or some shit”

“Same thing” he glared

“Okay well it’s not really sexy to just say vagina-

-“god Eddie, do you wanna know or not?” I can tell I’m testing his patience, I shut my lips, nodding eagerly

“Okay, so It’s like this- well like wet and really, really warm, almost like hot bath around your dick or a tight hug”—

“Wow, a hot bath thanks for the analogy Steve, I’ll make sure to take one when I get home”

He deadpans at me. “You asked me and I’m telling you, it’s hard to really explain other than a tight, wet warm hug. Oh!” he snaps his finger”-and sometimes it’ll tighten around your cock when she’s about to cum and holy shit dude— you better hold your load because the first time I had sex, it lasted about 10 seconds” My eyes widen

“WHAT!?” I shout before him shushing me “King Steve was a minute man?”— I joke

“Hey I said at first, when you get used to having sex your stamina gets better and for me personally”— he leans in “I can last approximately 45 minutes and 27 seconds” he sits back proudly

Cocky bastard.

Shit.

How long will I last? Will jerking off more boost my stamina?

——

Since that afternoon I did as much research as a I could, making a DIY sponge fleshlight.

That was a fail, got carpet burn.

Even bought condoms from the corner store, didnt know what size i was so, i grabbed all 4 boxes

Practicing my stroke game, using my pillow as a hole.

Down. Glide. Up. Down. Guide up.

Ow, fuck, cramp, cramp

This shits hard. My back hurts.

Throwing away the 8th used condom of the day, tossing myself in my desk chair, forehead sweaty, wrists throbbing; hearing my phone go off

FaceTime from Crush🖤

“Ah, fuck”— grabbing a shirt, wiping off the excess sweat off my skin, putting my pants back on, setting the phone up on my night stand, grabbing the guitar quickly setting it on my lap— “Hey! Sweetheart, what’s up, what are you up to?”

“I could ask you the same thing why is your face so red?” She asks giggling, laying on her tummy, tits spilling out , kicking her socked feet from behind

“Just took a hot shower is all”

“But your hairs not wet?” you give me a suspicious look, “Oh yeah, I just tied it up..sooo still want me over tomorrow?”

“Hell yeah! I picked up cookie dough the edible kind because I know you like that anddddd”- she reaches over her phone to grab something—“I rented whole stab franchise for a throwback”- showing me her laptop screen

“Well, that sounds like a party to me”

“You got that right..” She replies, biting her lip as if I didn’t notice,- “Anywaysss, just calling to remind you, see you tomorrow im tired, goodnight dummy *mwah*

She always ends our calls with a kiss on screen

Fuck I’m hard again

“Can’t wait sweetheart, sweet dreams” ending the call, looking down at my bulge

Welp, gotta jerk off again

Friday. THE day I might lose my virginity to the sexiest girl in school. My best friend.

I wake up earlier than usual, do my morning ritual, a joint. My nerves making me shower twice.

Should I shave?

Would she care?

A little trim wouldn’t hurt

May or may have not nicked my balls. Not too bad, maybe she won’t notice. Finding my nicest pair of jet black jeans I own, I only wear ‘em for special occasions and a wife beater? Nah that’s too much right? A flannel would help. Yeah. Definitely.

Hey I look kinda good, checking myself out in the mirror

Alright, wallet, keys, condoms, I glance over at the cuffs on the wall. Can’t forget those, stuffing them in my back pocket

—

My palms are sweaty, fuck even my ass is sweating.. 3 cigarettes already in, on my way to her house; of course I have a bad fucking hair day today, so I just opted for a low bun.

Before I could even knock, you open the door my jaw already on the floor

“Hi dummy!” You jump giving me a hug, pulling me inside.

What the hell is she wearing

A transparent green knitted, cropped sweater

is that her nipple I see? Those goddamn Nike shorts are doing her a favor—“Someone’s excited to see me?” Kicking off my shoes

“I’m always excited to see you.. also nice hair”

and neck goddamn, what is hell is he wearing you think, already feeling horny from the sight of my neck being so exposed

those jeans are doing his fine ass a favor

fuck I’m wet already

“Come on, already got it all set up for us”

“Lead the way princess” following behind you

I need to bite those fuckin legs.

——

We always sit like this on movie nights. Me against your headboard, back against my chest. I don’t remember how it started but I love it.

“Didn’t David Arquette also play in Spree?”

I squint back at the tv, “Uh yeah yeah he did, he was Kurt’s dad I think”

She replies with a mouthful “omyeah”

My hands have been holding both sides of her hips the whole time, occasionally rubbing them with my thumbs; every time I do it your breath picks up

Something else is about to be up—

“Huh?”

“Did you even hear me? You’ve been zoning out a lot recently”, you say sitting crisscross

“Something on your mind Ed’s?”

Gulp

“No no just— “ sigh

“Yeah, you. You’ve been on my mind.”

She smiles looking down, cocking her head to the side

“Oh yeah? Been thinking about me have you?” She grins

“You have no idea. ”

My breath hitches when you straddle me

Fuck me

“Wanna tell me these thoughts you’ve been having?” she asks twirling a piece of my bang

Remember what Steve said, sweet talk her

“Why don’t I just show you pretty girl”

Her smirk instantly falls, cheeks crimson “shit.. okay”

Running my hand up your thighs firmly, wrapping my arm around your lower back, my free hand pulling your face closer into my lips. “Like that baby?”

Who the fuck are you she thinks

“Fuck, yeah kiss me again”, I stare blankly until my eyes turn to pure lust, pushing her down to her back climbing on top to ease my tongue back into her mouth, my hips grinding into yours, hearing you whimper…

You’d think that’d make me harder but it’s when you grind back into me that did it

“You’re so beautiful you know that baby?.. fuck been missing these lips for weeks..”

“Shit, me too, been needing you so close to my body recently it’s been killin me,” she whines, rubbing her hands down my chest

—“that’s why I asked you to come over, could tell you were feeling me too”

You’re right about that, I mumble sucking your neck,

I’ve practiced giving myself hickies on my arms freshmen year.

Eddie, score

“That tank top Eddie.. t-take off the flannel let me see you? Please?” You ask giving me doe eyes. I sit up eagerly throwing it about, she sits up on her elbows, throwing off her sweater

The goddamn groan I let out

Jesus Christ

You lie back down bashfully covering yourself

A whore being shy huh?

“Whattt? She asks feeling self conscious,

“You’re..fuck.. just let me get a closer look please?” I plead, you nod shyly

Squeezing your breasts hard in my palm, licking my lips, nipping them, kissing them, hearing you gasp “holy shit -

“What??”

I do it again, in combination with my tongue, She doesn’t stop me she moans, making me feel bolder, “ Lemme take these off?” My thumbs already ready to yank your shorts down

You don’t answer

“Hey, it’s just me you know you’re beautiful to me, right?”

“Yes..you can take em off” she whispers

Thinking it’d be hot to yank them down quick like those sex movies

I try it..

“Ow! Fuck what the hell?” She jerks

I didn’t know she had the goddamn drawstring tied. , “Ow..you pout rubbing your hip, “Shit I’m sorry! I’m sorry”

I’m already fucking up, “It’s okay.. it’s just tied” she says undoing them pulling them off herself, holding her hands in her lap

I lean down to kiss both hips as an apology, looking up at you slowly undoing your hands

Cute little hair she has

“Can I um..”

She looks down at me gaining back her confidence, “You wanna eat me don’t you?” My eyes widen, gripping her side, “Yesss.. really bad” but I don’t know how to —

“Can I see you too?” again with that lip bite

“Of course” okay.. here goes nothing whispering to myself , yanking my jeans and all down in one swift motion, staring at the spot on the ceiling

You scoff with the sour look, “Oh my god”

WHAT WHAT WHAT

“You’re packing Eddie”

“Oh..thank fuck, really? I wouldn’t say that but..” I sit back in front of her

“Can I touch it?” You ask still staring at my cock

-..But I wanna taste you.. what if we..you lay on me but backwards..? Like 69?” I recommend

She nods eagerly, nervously but very excited, “Okay.. just don’t look at my asshole.. there’s a spot on it that looks like I didn’t wipe but it’s not what you think! It’s a freckle..”, I chuckle, rubbing your cheek nodding

Laying down flat, you swing your legs over my face

Oh god fuck, “Such a pretty pussy” i mumble

Suck a pretty cock you think

You’re both horny as fuck, both licking on each other immediately —“Jesus fuck!” I shout, hearing and feeling you choke on my dick

“Y/n, y-you done this before?”

“Yeah—“

Damnit.

-“But it was with a guy at my old school, said I was the best head he ever had” , you say rubbing my balls

Hot.

Okay Eddie do what feels right

so that’s the clit? how cute

Bringing my lips around your nub, licking you, tasting you, “Oh god why do you taste so good, you smell so..sweet?”

“Was that a question?” You ask popping my dick outta your mouth

“No, no just the sweetest pussy I’ve never tasted”-

the only pussy I’ve ever tasted

I’ve never smelt anything like this, I think I’m addicted

Flicking my tongue a few time feeling you react in a high pitched moan, sucking and massaging it lightly, my eyes flutter spotting your ass hole winking at me

“Holy shit” she’s pretty everywhere

“What?”

“You have such a pretty ass” blurting out

“Eddie! I told you not to look!” She whines trying to climb off, “Shut up I do what I want”saying firmly, pulling you back down by your thighs; sticking my pointer finger in your cunt,

so that’s the squeeze Steve was talking about

“Ohmyg— fuckk yes please” she vibrates around me, a guttural moan purging from my throat, curling my finger like they said —

“Oh! Fuck yes keep doing that Eddie baby please”—

“I am, I am baby you just suck my dick”—

Holy shit who am I—

“-Eddie I think I’m gonna cum yep, I’m gonna cum..”—

“Wait really?”

“Yes!”

“Really?” Asking again “YES EDDIE SHUT UP AND KEEP GOING, FUCK”—

Thrusting faster, licking faster I feel your wetness roll down and down into my mouth instantly making me cum in yours

“Fuck baby like that, fuck did you..just swallow?—“ I ask but you proceed to keep sucking-“OKAY OKAY, stop, s-shit!”

Pleading trying to stop you from overstimulating me further, “Shit.. sweetheart, that dude was right, that was the best head I’ve ever got”

The only head I’ve ever got

She lays back down beside me with a large grin,” Was that your first time getting head? You came so fast for me”

Lie.

Not replying I get up, finding the condom in my Jean pocket, “What’re ya doing?” You ask with a questioned expression, “Condom?” I hold up “Oh, oh yeah yeah right duh”—

Fuck I forgot with which way it goes on— got it

Turning back to you, cock still hard, nudging your core

You give me a small smile, watching me hesitantly about to slip my tip in

“Wait! Wait!”-

“What? Sorry, I didn’t ask”—

“Eddie I need to tell you something..”

“Yeah?”

“I can tell you definitely know what you’re doing but I just.. be gentle because I’ve never done this before..”

never done this before, never done this before

I stare like a deer in headlights, the weight off my shoulders lifted. I laugh sarcastically to myself , “That’s, well.. I should probably tell you I’ve never done it either.. like ima”—

“Virgin too?”

“Yeah, surprise?” feeling embarrassed, “How did I not know that? We tell each other everything” shrugging, “Not sure, but I’m glad you told me before I stuck ya”

“Ew don’t say stuck me weirdo”

“Look, I don’t know what I’m doing at all, I had to ask Steve for advice.. I figured you would know more I mean since you wanted my handcuffs”-, you bite your lip, head shaking

“I said that because, I figured you’d know how to use em”

“There actually just for decoration sweetheart, looked kinda metal”, we laugh in awe with each other , “But here we are..” I say biting the skin on my lip—

“Yeah here we are” you look back up at me, hopeful, “Do you wanna stop?”

“No..do you wanna stop?”

“Nah, been hoping you’d be my first actually”, you blush at my statement pulling me down for a deep kiss , “Let’s do it..”

“..but what if I cum too fast? that would be humiliating”—

- “I understand how it works.. don’t feel bad if you do, I promise I won’t laugh Ed’s” she squeezes my hand lovingly

My heart is erect

I nod, looking over all of you again, spreading your thighs a little wider, “I’ll go slow”

Furrowing my brows in consentration, slipping my tip in, surprisingly not easy mother fuck—

“Holy fuck you’re so-

“Tight? I know I have a hard time fingering my self as is”

“Why would you tell me that at this very second,” I try not to laugh, holding my shit together, “that’s so hot by the way,” bottoming you out, we gasp in sync

“Oh god”-

“What?”

“Holy god”—

“What!?? You alright?” She asks , “I’m about to cum already”—

“I told you, it’s okay”

“I know but that’s so embarrassing”

You clench around me on purpose, suddenly your eyes widen, feeling a warmth from inside, while also hearing me grunt almost in pain above you

Silence.

“Im so sorry fuck,” pulling out, shocked at how full my condom is, “Did you cum?”, she scrunches her nose, “No silly”

“But you squeezed me?”

“Yeah but, I didn’t have an orgasm”

Fucking Steve

-“But Steve said when a girl cums she clenchs around us” explaining further—

“First off, I’m gonna need you to not take advice from Steve and second, I mean according to my girlfriends we do.. it’s like a few squeezes but apparently we really squeeze for a long time when we do cum? Maybe even shake? I’m not sure but I think I’d know when I felt it”

Well shit

He looks like a sad puppy this won’t do you think

“But hey, we can try again right? Don’t be embarrassed if anything it’s kinda hot”

“Really?”

“I mean yeah, I made you cum in under like 1 second, biggest ego boot ever” you lighten the mood, nudging my shoulder smiling at me, pulling me for another kiss, “Don’t ever tell anyone that” holding my forehead to yours

You smirk, holding your pinky up “I promise”, Interlocking mine, noticing your body shifted closer, staring at your lips, “Let me try again Sweetheart” your eyes also on mine, nodding, crawling back to you, chasing your touch, taking each others breath—

Was that a car door??

“Is someone here?”

“Honey we’re home!”

FUCK, not now!!

(again recommend you listen to Wet dreamz by Jcole; it’s a bop)

reblogs appreciated // this was fun. let me know your thoughts? I do realize the smut was kinda rushed? Should there be a part 2? Suggestions? Comments? Feel like I should have kept going for them to restart again but I dunno🤷🏽‍♀️

853 notes · View notes

444rockstargf · 1 month

Note

hii again😈

soooo i had another charlie ask (sorry, I’ve been a bit obsessed recently…)! i was wondering if you could write a popular reader x charlie story where they are hooking up in secret (like in a janitors closet in the school or something because she doesn’t want anyone to know💀). make it as smutty or fluffy as you want! THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME!!

xoxo

thank you for the request!!

"the sweetest girl in town." | charlie walker

meet me in the pale moonlight. - lana del rey

✮⋆˙ [tags] @faesucksass @lustkillers @mayathepsychic1999 @josibunn@si1nful-symph0ny @mayathepsychic1999 @@romanroyapoligist @livingdead-materialgirl @auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @vanlisbon @lankysimp @livingdead-reilly @yungbloodsuxca @kashmirclam @icarus-star @imoonkiss @nom-nommmm1 @xxbl00d-cl0txx @wildathevrt @mommymilkers0526 @greenxgloss

popular!female!reader x geeky!charlie

word count: 1.4k

contents: blowjob, public sex, charlie domming for a little bit

as students bustled through the halls to get to their next classes, you elegantly made your way to the lonely little door in the middle of the wall. you grabbed the handle, ring-decorated fingers opening the door. you walked into the tight room, stepping over a mildewy mop as you shut the door behind you.

your eyes met the infatuated gaze of the geek shyly standing in the corner, a smile spreading across his face. “i… i thought you weren’t coming…” you smiled, walking up to him and making him back into the wall as nervousness coursed through his veins. “oh please. you think i’d miss the opportunity to see my favourite guy in the world?” you patted his cheek and he leaned into your touch, blushing profusely.

you knew you had a pattern of overstepping when it came to him, but charlie walker was a sucker for affection, so you decided to give the poor boy what he wanted. you reeled back a little, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. “sorry i couldn’t catch you before first period. i just couldn’t get away from my friends.” you exaggerated the word ‘friends’ a little, like it couldn’t be further from the truth.

his smile widened even more. “don’t worry about it.” he hesitated as he spoke again. “you looked real good this morning… almost wanted to scoop you up and have you all to myself…” you felt your gaze get slightly icy as he mentioned interacting with you outside closed doors where everyone would surely flip at seeing such an odd couple together. but you shook off the breeze, smiling at him.

he reached into his bag, pulling out a brown paper bag with a heart-shaped sticky note. “i brought you some cookies to celebrate one month of us… you know.” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. only charlie would celebrate something as mundane as one month of hooking up in secret. but you took the bag, flattered by the gesture. “you’re the sweetest guy ever, y’know that?”

he was grinning like an idiot as you bent over to put the goodies in your bag. as you got back up, you caught a glimpse of charlie eyefucking you from your peripherals. at last, the chatter in the hallways came to a complete stop. you approached him again, close enough that you could feel his breath on your cheek. “we’d better get started if you plan on making it to your next class.” he was already dazed by your ethereal beauty, but he nodded. “y-yeah, of course.”

luckily for you, he was already bricked. he had been ever since you had walked in, his boner sticking out like a sore thumb. you grinned smugly, bringing your hands to the zipper of your sweater and pulling it down at a teasingly slow pace. then you let it fall to the ground, charlie’s pupils dilating as you put your tits on display for him.

you pinned him to the wall, grabbing the back of his head and locking him in a wet, sloppy kiss. he fed his jagged gasps into your mouth, frantically moving his hands to unbuckle his belt. as it clanged to the floor, his erect cock sprung out like a jack-in-the-box. it slapped you on the stomach and you jumped, giggling. “well, it looks like someone’s missed me.” you wrapped your pretty hand around his girth, using the flat part of your thumbs to massage his throbbing tip. he hissed, tossing his head back as a shiver ran down his spine. you went down on your knees, looking up at him with those eyes that made him run wild. you loved how much power you had over him. he’d run into a burning building just to get you your favourite mascara. he would even kill for you if you asked him to.

you played around with his cock, taking in the 7-inches of flesh that was currently begging to feel your insides. charlie’s heart raced in his chest as he watched you have fun with his manhood. he wanted this moment to last forever but also wanted to skip to the good part. but he knew to just let you be at a time like this.

finally, you brought your lips to his tip, peppering tiny kisses all over it. he squirmed, fists clenching at his sides as sweat began to bead at the back of his neck. you kissed him all the way down and came back up again, time feeling like an eternity for him until he finally snapped. “oh, for fuck’s sake.” he grabbed the back of your head, forcing your jaw open and shoving his cock into your throat all at once.

you gagged, tears immediately filling your eyes as he hit deep into your throat, your tongue pressed against his underside. he wrapped a handful of your hair around his fist, losing himself in the feeling of extreme pleasure as he began to fuck your face. he wasn’t being gentle or careful with you. he was surrendering to his desires, letting them possess him and take over.

he leaned back against the wall, his hips backing into your gaping mouth as he ran a hand through his hair. his knees buckled from the feeling of your uvula fluttering against his tip, his balls creating a sticky mess on your chin as he pulled your head up and down his shaft.

he bit his lip hard, drawing a thin line of blood as his chest heaved. he had never been consumed by such a primal feeling before. it felt like pure ecstasy and he never wanted to stop. his eyes were glued to you, watching as your tits bounced from the rapid movement of your head. he wanted to paint all over your plump breasts, turning them into his own pieces of art that would forever be treasured in the chamber of his mind.

you were too stunned to even react. charlie had never been the type to take charge. you’d learned to enjoy making him squirm until he turned blue in the face. you’d gotten so used to the “yes, ma’am” and “whatever you want” that you’d forgotten that he was actually a man. as much as you wanted to fight and protest and perhaps bite off his dick to teach him a lesson, you let him have his fun, tears flowing cheeks as your throat began to bruise.

you began to fondle his balls in your shaky grip, making his eyes roll to the back of his head. charlie rolled his hips into your mouth, lips parted as desperate moans slipped from them. “o-oh… oh god…” his cock throbbed and twitched in your esophagus, signalling an orgasm that was nearing rapidly.

a devious idea popped into your mind. you pressed your tongue against him, pushing his cock to the roof of your mouth and swallowing to create a strong suction. a technique that you knew would come in handy one day. charlie whimpered out loud, nails digging into the back of your head as he eagerly whipped his cock out of your mouth and gave himself a few quick strokes, ejaculating all over your chest.

you gasped as the white-hot liquid hit your chest, a coughing fit hitting you as you finally took in a breath of air again. it was like all his deepest fantasies coming true. you were a piece of art, his muse. his cum highlighted your body in ways that he thought could only be true in his wildest dreams.

his cock leaked with a few more drops of cum as you got back to your feet, wiping the drool from your lips as you glared at him. “nice going, you fucking prick.” you muttered, making his heart shatter. he scratched the back of his head. “s-sorry… got a little carried away there, didn’t i?” you laugh a little, picking up your sweater and pulling it on. “you think?” there was cum dripping down your torso, but it could be worse.

you pulled out your mirror from your pocket, looking at the dark tear streaks that ran down your face. “you completely messed up my makeup.” he helped you pick up your bag. “how about i take you out later? i heard they just restoked your favourite brand.” you couldn’t help but melt at his kindness. you nodded, the taste of his cum still polluting your mouth.

with a sigh, you pulled the cookie he gave you out of your bag, taking a large bite and nodding with approval as the bell shrilled, your cue to leave. you turned to the door, shooting him one last glance. “see you around, loser.” you walked out of the closet, hoping that no one would notice the cum on your shirt and the stupid smile on your face.

author's note: i want cookies :((

#444rockstargf #rory culkin #rory culkin smut #smut #charlie walker smut #charlie walker x reader #charlie walker #scream 4 #rory culkin x reader #scream #scream franchise #scream movie #scream movies #scre4m #scream iv #lana del rey #lana del rey unreleased #meet me in the pale moonlight

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stevieharringtonwifeguy · 1 year

Text

i keep thinking about my changeling steve au that i posted about here like. What About His Parents

this ended up so long i put it on ao3 too, you can read it here

like steves known he’s a changeling for a few months now, and in that time his parents still haven’t come home. he hasn’t really thought about it, except during his weekly scheduled 3am identity crisis. eddie’s told him that based on what he knows about changelings (just from old stories and things, neither he nor wayne have ever actually met one, which makes him kind of useless as a guru but like. points for trying), their human parents usually have a human baby that gets replaced and they don’t notice until the kid grows up Wrong. honestly, it figures that his parents just never got around to noticing.

at least that’s what he thinks. but one day, he’s walking past his dad’s office, struggling to carry a huge pile of laundry bc he put it off too long and ended up having to wash like literally every piece of clothing he owns. and a tshirt slips right as he passes the door. he reaches out for it on instinct, brushes his hand against the handle, and it hurts. hurts so bad he drops his laundry, instinctively drawing his hand in to cradle the pain. did he overestimate his strength again? he’s been doing that a lot lately, kind of embarrassing to break his hand or something punching a doorknob by accident. but then he looks at his hand, and he doesn’t have the kind of mark he’d expect from just whacking it really hard. it’s red and shiny, like a burn in the exact shape of the doorknob

it’s an iron burn. none of the other knobs in the house are iron.

honestly of all the restrictions placed on him now that he’s become Fully Fae, he thought the iron sensitivity would come up more often. turns out not much is made of iron anymore. all the other doorknobs he’s touched have been aluminum or brass or something. so far the whole ‘needing to be invited in to places’ has been way more annoying. the kids don’t know about the whole fae thing yet and also have no manners, so he’s been doing a lot of loitering outside their open doors until their parents notice and politely invite him in.

he looks at the doorknob again. it doesn’t look like iron. it looks like all the other knobs in the house, sort of light and shiny. he brings his hand near it again, and he can feel the heat coming off it before his skin even touches the metal.

he’s not allowed in his dad’s office. it’s one of the few rules his parents ever enforced, his dad glaring at him if steve happened to be in the hall when he opened the door, like he thought steve would try to make a run into the room in the three seconds of open door time he was given. steve could take a hint, even as a kid.

now though, there’s something prickling at the base of his skull, that new sense he has for something being wrong screaming at him that it’s certainly odd that the one room in the house that he’s not allowed to enter is also the one room in the house with a door he can’t physically touch.

he does what any reasonable fairy would do. abandons his gigantic pile of laundry on the floor and runs downstairs to call a witch.

eddie shows up about five minutes earlier than he reasonably should have, which probably wasn’t magic but instead him fucking flooring it the entire way to steve’s house. he’s got a big messenger bag over his shoulder, and he pulls a smaller bag out of it and displays the bunch of weird bent pins inside with a conspiratorial eyebrow wiggle

‘i have literally always been looking for an excuse to use these. you’re my hero, stevie.’

steve snorts and leads eddie upstairs. the witch kindly doesn’t mention the laundry strewn all over the hallway, just kicks a pair of (clean!!!!) boxers out of the way and kneels down in front of the door, inspecting the knob closely.

‘it doesn’t look like iron.’

‘tell that to my hand, man. i spent the entire time you were driving over here running my hand under cold water and it still fucking hurts.’

eddie hums, absentmindedly grabbing steve’s hand as he continues to squint at the knob. he runs his thumb over the burn mark and the pain is instantly gone.

steve looks at his hand. it’s totally fine, no mark at all. ‘thanks,’ he says, and eddie shoots him a little smile over his shoulder before turning back to the door.

‘no magic on it,’ he mutters. he brings a nail up and scratches lightly at the knob. the silver of it flakes a little, exposing something darker underneath. it’s painted. iron painted to look like the aluminum of the other knobs in the house. steve and eddie exchange frowns.

eddie quickly grabs his picks, shoves them into the lock and wiggling them around for a bit. like a while. steve’s about to tease him for his apparent lack in any actual criminal ability when something clicks, and eddie turns the door handle with a whoop. the door swings open, and eddie sniffs for a minute, like alarm magic has a scent component or something, before shrugging and rushing in.

and steve goes to follow. well, he tries. when he lifts his foot to cross the threshold of the room, something physically stops him. it’s like a strong wind is coming out of the room, blowing back his leg anytime it gets too close. eddie looks back at him in confusion, before his eyes land on something on the doorjamb and his face falls into something cold. steve follows his line of sight and his heart stops for a second.

there’s a small horseshoe nailed to the doorjamb.

until now, steve realises he’d been hoping there was a reasonable explanation for the iron handle. maybe when they were building the house the store ran out of aluminum ones so his dad just got an iron one because it looked the most similar, something like that. but there’s no reason for the horseshoe. no reason except that someone wanted to keep fae out of this room. which means whoever put it there knew fae entering this room was a risk.

his parents fucking knew what he was. they just never said or did anything about it. nothing except block off this room.

eddie shifts a little in the middle of the room. ‘steve?’ he asks. his voice is soft, hesitant, like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal. ‘are you okay?’

steve wrenches his eyes away from the horseshoe, focusses on his feet. when he catches a glimpse of his clenched fists by his hips, he realises he’s glowing again, sparks dancing up and down his veins and lighting him up from the inside like a human lava lamp. well, not so human. that’s the problem.

he takes a deep breath to get his magic under control before he accidentally lights something on fire. looks up to eddie, still standing in the middle of the office like he doesn’t know what to do. ‘he’s hiding something in here. find it.’

part of steve, the human part, feels bad for ordering his friend around like that. but eddie just nods with determination, rooting around in his bag for something.

‘i’m not sensing any secrecy charms or alarms or anything in here, which means i can use...’ he takes a travel mug out of the bag and brandishes it with a flourish. ‘this!’

steve snorts. ‘a cup of coffee?’

eddie rolls his eyes, shaking the mug for a second and then opening it to check on the contents. ‘it’s a brewed spell. it shows hidden things.’

‘and you put it in a travel mug?’

‘oh i’m sorry, i was running a little low on fuckin’. crystal flasks. what the hell else was i supposed to put it in?’

‘i just thought with your whole... satanist metalhead deal you’d be a little more dedicated to the witchy aesthetic.’

eddie huffs, grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like i’ll show you witchy aesthetic, before upending the travel mug onto the floor.

what comes out isn’t really liquid, more like the soupy fog that comes out of a fog machine, except it’s a pleasant sage green colour. the fog quickly covers the whole room, before seeming to pool in two areas: one under the desk and another over the little throw rug in the middle of the room.

‘okay, we got two hidden things, which one are we checking out first?’

steve considers. ‘the desk one is probably just boring shit. pictures of his mistress, or, i dunno, evidence of tax fraud or something. try the rug.’

eddie nods decisively, throwing back the rug and inspecting the wooden floorboards until he finds one that seems a little loose. he pulls it back with a bit of a grunt, and immediately sticks his hand down there and starts rummaging around like he wouldn’t start screaming bloody murder the second a spider touched his hand. after a moment, he makes a triumphant sound, and pulls out a book.

it looks old, maybe a hundred years or so, and steve has the fleeting thought that if nancy found out his dad had been keeping a fragile antique book under the floorboards, she’d probably rip him that new one she’s been threatening since steve brought her to a family dinner and his dad called her ‘lower middle class’ like it was a bad thing.

‘it’s a grimoire,’ eddie says, sitting cross-legged on the floor and gently opening the book. at steve’s confused silence, he adds, ‘a spellbook. sort of. looks like this one isn’t a witch’s grimoire, it’s mostly human magic, judging by the table of contents.’

‘i thought regular humans couldn’t do magic.’

‘they can’t do like, spells. but there’s little stuff, especially when it comes to dealing with other creatures. like, uh,’ a pained look crosses his face as he inclines his head to the horseshoe still denying steve entry. ‘the horseshoe. technically magic. if they’d just hung it for like, decoration, it wouldn’t keep you out. there’s gotta be intent behind it.’

steve huffs, glaring at the horseshoe. ‘so what, they figured out i was a changeling and they got a whole book to figure out how to herd me like a sheep?’

eddie winces at steve’s tone, but hey, who can blame him. this is a lot. ‘maybe. there’s a lot of stuff about fae in here. descriptions of types, etiquette stuff, protections- oh shit.’

steve snaps his head back to eddie, who’s currently staring at the book like a spider’s just crawled out of the binding. then he seems to gather himself, muttering furiously under his breath as he flips through the pages, no more care shown for the book’s antiquity. ‘what is it?’

eddie settles on a page towards the back of the book, reading through with a furious look on his face. he gets up, walks over to steve still standing helplessly in the doorway, and thrusts the book towards him. steve looks down.

the words are a little hard to read, handwritten with spidery loops and the ink a little faded, but steve eventually gets the gist.

it’s instructions for summoning a changeling child.

steve, stupid, forgiving steve, thinks for a moment that this isn’t so bad. maybe his parents couldn’t have biological kids or something and this seemed like their only option. weird to not just adopt a human child, but whatever. and then he reads the paragraph extolling the virtues of having a changeling in the house- how they bring good luck, how they have a nose for finding treasures, and he realises no. his parents never wanted a kid (like he didn’t already know that), they wanted a superpowered pet. the final nail in the coffin is when he reads that the summoning process involves a human child, too. they’d had their own kid at one point, biologically or adopted, and they’d traded them in for a newer, more exciting model probably without a second thought.

and then they’d abandoned the newer model too.

steve barely even realises when he sets the book on fire, the glow that’s been simmering under his skin since he first saw the horseshoe spilling out from his fingertips in a shower of sparks. eddie doesn’t even really react, just calmly bats the flaming book out of steve’s hands and uses one of the sweaters littering the ground to smother the fire. he doesn’t mention the way the lights are flickering, pulsing light so strongly they’re in danger of blowing out. just softly wraps his arms around steve’s torso, murmuring gentle words into the crook of his neck as he strokes his hair.

the first tears that fall from steve’s eyes dissolve into harmless sparks of light against eddie’s shoulder. eddie doesn’t seem to mind, just keeps stroking steve’s hair as he whispers that it’s okay, eddie’s there, eddie’s got him.

steve doesn’t know how long they stand there like that. when he pulls back to wipe his eyes, his light-tears are still hanging in the air around them like an asteroid belt made of hundreds of little still fireflies. eddie pokes one. it glows brighter.

rubbing his face, steve sighs, waves the lights away with a motion of his hand. eddie looks put out for a second, before catching the determined look in steve’s eye and watching him warily.

‘what are you going to do?’ he asks, a little apprehensively.

‘i’m going to call my dad,’ steve replies, stalking off towards the stairs before eddie can even get out a strangled ‘okay?’

steve’s already punched in the number for his dad’s office by the time eddie catches up. his secretary picks up, asks who’s calling, and steve musters all the charm he can to try and convince her to put him through. she usually doesn’t, apologetically explains that his dad’s in a meeting, or out of the office, or swamped with work, or a hundred other excuses, but that she’ll tell him steve called and he’ll get back to him as soon as possible. he never does. steve’s not sure if she knows that; the guilt in her voice could just as easily be because she’s sleeping with him and feels bad for ruining their ‘perfect family’.

either way, steve’s not taking chances. he’s never tried to magically charm someone over the phone before, doesn’t even do it much in person either, it feels skeevy (although he has gotten out of a suspicious amount of detentions, even before he fully came into his magic. whoops.). but wouldn’t you know, this time she says he’s called at the perfect time, his dad’s just got out of a meeting and she’s sure he’d be thrilled to hear from his loving son. steve has to physically bite back a cutting remark as she puts him through.

for all his rage, steve doesn’t really remember much of this conversation. he talks like he’s in a fugue state, his brain packing everything away into some dark corner of his mind the second after it’s said, focussing instead on the way eddie’s face gets steadily more distressed where he can see it out of the corner of his eye.

he knows he asks his dad to come home so they can talk about something important. he knows his dad scoffs, tells him he can’t possibly come home right now and steve can’t possibly have anything to say that’s so important he can’t say it over the phone. knows he tells his dad he found the book under the floorboards. knows the silence on the other end of the phone is so loud it’s deafening.

the rest of it is fuzzy. honestly, it probably goes exactly how he expected it was going to go. there’s some yelling, some accusations, his dad calls him a disappointment once or ten times. and at the end of it his dad tells him if he’s going to be so ungrateful he can pack his bags and get out of the house the real harringtons are paying for.

eddie hangs up the phone for him when he hears that. hard not to hear it, the way harrington sr. is screaming through the phoneline. if steve tried hard enough, he could probably still hear him yelling all the way from indianapolis, and he probably wouldn’t even need to use magic.

they stand in silence for a moment. steve staring at the phone, eddie staring at steve. and then steve feels an itch under his skin.

he’s no longer welcome in this house.

he’s got a couple minutes before the nausea sets in, probably, so he books it upstairs to fit as much of his shit in his sports bag as he can fit. it’s mainly clothes. god knows he doesn’t give a shit about any of the things his parents- no, mr. and mrs. harrington- picked out for his perfect boy’s room. there’s the walkie, a couple gifts from the kids. that’s it.

and then he’s out, stumbling a little over the threshold when the magic finally locks in and physically boots him from the house. eddie’s following behind, frantically grabbing his bag and his jacket as he shouts for steve’s attention.

‘what, you’re just gonna leave? immediately? you can take more time to get your stuff-’

‘no,’ steve says, the word ripping itself from his throat, short and harsh. ‘‘no i can’t actually. don’t have an invitation.’

and isn’t that look on eddie’s face heartbreaking. steve doesn’t want to cry out here- it’s a little early for firefly season and the lights would get too much attention. so he throws his bags in the backseat of the beamer, gets in the driver’s seat, and just. sits for a second.

eddie gets in next to him, gives him a gentle look. ‘are you alright?’

steve snorts, giving eddie a side-eye.

‘yeah, okay, fair,’ eddie replies with a weak huff of a laugh. ‘you got a plan?’

shit. no he didn’t, actually. ‘i mean, worst comes to worst, i guess i could sleep in a tree? i just figured out how to get in one, pretty good timing, huh?’

eddie looks at him like he’s grown a second head. not impossible, but steve thinks he’d notice. ‘sleep in a tree? what the hell does that mean?’

steve shrugs. ‘like, just climb inside. it’s kinda like putting on a jacket, really, but like. 360 degrees. could probably only do that to sleep, though, i haven’t really figured out how to not like, become the tree. And trees don’t really do anything, so it just makes me sleepy.’

eddie continues to stare at him a second before he shakes his head dramatically, like a dog getting out of a bath. steve huffs a laugh despite himself. ‘whatever, don’t sleep in a tree man, that’s crazy. you can stay at mine, if you want.’

‘what?’

eddie shrugs. ‘i mean, it’s no 360 degree jacket, but it’s nice. lots of amenities that trees don’t offer: shower, stove, tv, et cetera.’

‘that’s-’ that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever offered him. eddie’s looked out for him since he came into his magic, and they’re friends, yeah, but this is... so much. he’s been to eddie’s place, knows he doesn’t have a lot of space, but he’s still offering to share it with steve, so easily it’s like it’s not even a question whether he’s welcome. steve can’t accept. ‘what about wayne?’

eddie just snorts. ‘dude, excepting, like, me being his nephew/adopted son whom he loves dearly, he likes you like. way better than me. you’re the little sports son he never had. frankly if he found out you’d been kicked out and i didn’t offer to give you a place to stay he’d probably kick me out. well, no he wouldn’t. but he would give me that ‘im not mad im just disappointed’ look and that sucks too.’

‘you’d do that?’ and steve hates how small his voice sounds right now. he’s had a day.

but eddie just looks at him with those big, gentle eyes of his. says ‘of course’ like there’s no other response he could give. so steve smiles. thanks him softly, and drives them to the munson trailer. neither of them mention the firefly-tears that fill the car like fairy lights strung from the ceiling.

and they get to the trailer. eddie offers steve his bed, and they argue good-naturedly about it until they both give up and settle in together, eddie petting steve’s hair as they cuddle in a way that’s probably not all that platonic, but neither of them seem to care. it’s nice. soft.

it’s ruined a bit when eddie sits bolt upright with a ‘shit! my van’s still in loch nora!’ but the way they both laugh so hard they can’t breathe is nice too.

steve’s only been here for a few hours, and he’s already never felt more at home.

and here’s the tags! this is literally the first time anyone has asked me to tag them for more, thank you for making me feel like a celebrity lol

@fairytalesreality @swimmingbirdrunningrock

#a couple other people expressed interest in reading more but didnt specifically ask for a tag so. sorry if u wanted one didnt wanna spam #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fae!steve au #stranger things #my fics

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patheticbabie · 1 year

Note

For the made up fic title: Heart Shaped Box 💕

Heart Shaped Box - Jason Todd x reader

It’s cliché really, people tell you being best friends with the opposite gender never works out, that one of you will fall for the other. And here he was a big fucking cliché, sat across from his best friend, watching her tell a story of her falling down the stairs among other bad things, that had happened to her leading up to their hang out, or maybe she’s just clumsy, he thought to himself. He couldn’t help but watch her with soft eyes, and an even softer smile.

“...it’s like the whole universe is against me today, first the stairs, then I can’t do my winged eyeliner right, no milk for coffee, I didn’t have breakfast, and then some idiots have a slow reaction time and don’t know how to drive? Tell me I’m not going insane, right?” she said all in one breath and she looked at him with an angry pout

He couldn’t help but laugh and reach across the table to pinch her cheek before her hand swatted him away and gave him a not so threatening glare “no, you’re not princess. Although….I do wish I was there to witness you fall down the stairs” he smirked

“Yeah yeah, my ass still hurts, pretty sure it’s gonna bruise tomorrow” she huffed as she took a sip of her coffee

He nodded in understanding having been in her position before, but as he sat across from her, admiring her, his nerves shot through, suddenly hyper aware of no time is better than the present to get things over and done with. He reached into his pocket and slid a heart shaped box towards her and tapped on it to get her attention. She glanced down at the box, then back up at him with her head tilted to the side, “what’s this? My birthday is 3 months away Jay.”

“I know, but can’t I just give my best friend a little present just for no reason? Go on, open it princess” he said softly

She glanced at him with a soft smile and opened the heart shaped box carefully, and gasped upon seeing a heart shaped necklace. Delicately she took out the heart shaped necklace and gazed at it in awe. He didn’t know he was holding his breath and was daydreaming before registering that she had asked him something.

“Huh? Sorry, what did you ask again?”

“I said it’s beautiful Jay, can you help me put it on? I wanna wear it now and show it off.” she whispered, afraid to break the moment they were currently in. She watched as he got up from his seat across from her, and made his way behind her. Sweeping her hair to one side, she held her breath as she felt his feather like touch along her neck, before carefully clasping the necklace around her neck with such carefulness. His touch lingered there, as he slowly bent down to place a kiss to her neck and shoulder, unaware that both of their hearts were beating very fast.

“There, looks even more beautiful on you, princess” so yeah, maybe people were right, it’s a big fucking cliché to fall in love with your best friend, but maybe that’s what both of them wanted to be. A big cliché, who’s destined to fall for their best friend, whether they give cute presents in heart shaped boxes or that they’re there to listen to you ramble on about how the universe is out to get you.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #candice writes #;babies ask

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lincolndjarin · 7 months

Text

The Dragonfly & The Moon

main masterlist ✧ kinktober masterlist ✦

kinktober : day nine - afab!witch!reader x joel miller

prompt : blood drinking [ 18+ mdni ]

word count : 1.9k

summary : you and joel decide to take the next step in your relationship.

warnings, etc. : language, knives, cutting, ritualistic sex, religious symbols, blood, consensual violence, blood drinking (surprise surprise), gore, sort of body horror i suppose, premature ejaculation, and i used the middle name i head canon for joel whoops

a/n : hello my lovelies, i just finished this up before work i hope y'all enjoy this silly little story

“And you’re absolutely sure you’re okay with this?” You set each blade down in front of him, letting him watch as you soak each one in alcohol. He’s sitting up on the table, knees bent, elbows resting on his thighs.

“I did say I wanted to participate in your hobbies more.” He keeps his eyes on each one, you know he’s nervous despite the act he’s putting on but you just want him to be comfortable.

“This is a bit more than a hobby.” You set the final blade down on the cloth, walking around the table to take his hand in yours.

“I really want to, I promise.” He murmurs before bringing your hand to his face, placing a kiss to your palm.

He’s wanted to get married for ages now but you’ve been reluctant. It’s not that you don’t love him, of course you do, you’re just so… different. He’s a traditional man. He wants the wedding and the house with a white picket fence and the kids and the growing old together on a porch swing, and you want to live in the woods and sacrifice virgins to your dark lord.

But hey, opposites attract. (At least that’s what he says every time you try to have this conversation.)

And while he isn’t fond of your so-called hobbies, he’s been understanding. (Although it took a lot of convincing. He refused to believe you until you cut your own hand off and walked it across the table to him before promptly reattaching it.)

So when he got down on one knee you couldn’t say yes. Since then he’s been adamant that he be more involved in your life, desperate to prove that this could work.

Initially you’d told him you were busy tonight, your lord required an act of depravity as sacrifice and he’d been all too eager to offer to help.

He looks less eager now that he’s face to face with several of your blades.

“You really don’t have to do this-“

“I’m doing this. End of story.” You arch an eyebrow at his stern tone but nod.

“Okay. Take off your shirt.” You pick up the cloth with your knives on it, moving it to the counter as he unbuttons his denim top. He tosses it onto the chair as you light a few more candles around the room before lifting your sweater over your head and throwing it on top of his shirt, turning to him in just your bra and skirt. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” He mumbles as you pick through the knives before settling on your favorite, a double edged small blade, the handle is shaped like a dragonfly.

“You have to pick one.” You turn so he can see the selection.

“I’ll take the one on the far left.” He nods in its direction as you take it by the blade, holding it out to him. You’re a bit surprised by his pick as you watch him examine the boline knife, tracing the curve with his finger before setting it on the table next to him.

You whisper a quiet prayer to yourself in latin, praying not just to your god to accept this sacrifice, but also to make this easier on your partner. You can think of several occasions where he had chosen to be especially cruel and a small part of you is aware of just how dangerous this situation is for Joel but you push that down, ignoring it.

You put the blade between your teeth, holding it in place as you climb up onto the table, straddling his lap before putting your hands on his chest, pushing him down flat onto the cold wood. You look down at him one last time, looking for any signs of resistance, when you see only determination in his eyes you whisper one last prayer before letting your own eyes roll back, feeling something darker course through your veins as it takes over. Your vision is clouded when you look back down at him and you know all he sees from them is white. You tenderly take the knife from between your teeth, spinning it in your hand.

“Still good?” This time when you mumble you’re vaguely aware of the fact that your voice is being layered with another, much deeper voice, his eyebrows shoot up in confusion but he just nods.

No reason to put this off any longer, you take his hand, entwining your fingers and lifting his arm up. You take the blade, gently drawing it across the side of his forearm, making an incision about four inches in length, watching as the thin line of red appears in its wake. You see his jaw tense but he doesn’t flinch. He gasps as you lean forward, dragging your tongue across the wound. You let out a shuddering moan as the sweet metallic tang coats your tongue.

You went over the ritual in great detail with him beforehand. You explained everything you would be doing and everything that would be expected of him but his eyes still wide with surprise as you begin to lick his wound, not wanting to waste any of him, you feel the bitter, sweet liquid settling in your stomach, sending a flood of warmth through you.

You try not to be too loud but when you’re in this state your inhibitions are lowered, he tastes like heaven and you can’t contain yourself as you raise your blade once more, slicing him horizontally, making a cross on his skin. You watch the crimson bloom as you hold him still. The sight of it makes your pussy ache as you lean forward, lapping at the bleeding cross as you subconsciously grind your hips against his.

In a moment of weakness you bend down, biting his shoulder hard enough to pierce his skin, sucking in harshly as you drink him in.

“Christ…” He mumbles, gripping your waist as you recoil.

“Fuck-“ You hiss. “Don’t say that, it makes you go sour.” You wipe the excess gore from your mouth on the back of your hand as he gives you an embarrassed smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize.” You watch how the blood rushes to his face, his cheeks flushing a divine shade of red. You can’t help it when you tangle your fingers in his hair to hold him in place, you aren’t in control anymore. You’re extremely precise in your movements as you carve a rune into the sun kissed skin of his cheek, careful not to go deep enough to scar. Once you’re pleased with your work you let out a content sigh before flattening your tongue against it. Thanks to the quick incantation he’s gone sweet again, an almost bitter sweetness that overwhelms your senses. “Jus’ a little more.” You mumble in your intoxicated state as you languidly drag the shimmering blade down the center of his chest.

He inhales sharply once but when he realizes you aren’t applying any pressure he relaxes some. Much to your delight you feel a stirring beneath you, you angle your hips instinctually to rest your throbbing cunt against the substantial bulge forming in his pants.

“Joel Arthur Miller, are you actually getting off on this?” He doesn’t respond, simply blushing harder as you scorn him with a breathy laugh, raising your knife again you press it into the soft flesh of his chest, tracing patterns into the salt and peppered hairs sprinkled across his sternum before finally digging the blade into the meat of his pectoral, a spray of blood gushing up at you. Your face is flecked with gore as your mouth falls open to eagerly lap up the rosy ichor, you feel the distinct sensation of his cock straining and twitching in his jeans as you do so, an orgasm fully driven by the pleasure you derive from the vulgarity of the act your performing is forming in your belly.

As cold and unforgiving as your patron is, he has been known to be generous to his long term subjects, you know he’ll push you over the edge just like this if you’d like.

And he does. Your teeth sink into the flesh surrounding the wound still spouting blood as you come undone with a snarl, your hips feverish and frantic as you grind against him, the force of your bite drawing more blood. The sensations swelling and filling your entire being consume you one last time as you sharply suck in, a rush of fresh blood flows into your maw and you hungrily drink it all in before finally sitting up with a satisfied look on your face, you chin coated in gore as your eyes return to their usual state.

“Are you okay?” Your voice has returned to normal now as you search his eyes for a sign that this crossed a line but you never find it.

Joel still doesn’t speak, he merely stares at you in awe, nodding.

“Your turn.” Your voice echoes throughout the house as he sits up, keeping you firmly in his lap as he grabs his chosen knife, bringing it between the two of you. “Remember, you can do it anywhere.” You murmur, anxious to feel the cool steel against you. He slides the curved blade down your sternum, hooking it on your bra.

“And I only have to drink a little for your spell, right?” His voice is quiet, he sounds positively enamored with you as his nearly black eyes stare into yours.

“You only have to drink a drop if that’s what you want.” You cradle his face in your hands, he draws a hushed gasp from you as he slices through the center clasp of your bra, letting it fall before tossing it to the floor. He’s far more delicate than you were, opting to not pierce your flesh just yet. Instead he just traces little shapes into the curves and valleys of your chest. You bite back a moan as he runs the blade along the outline of your nipple before finally drawing blood on your shoulder.

One clean horizontal line, only an inch deep but six inches in length, the moment he’s made the incision he tosses his own blade aside, latching onto you. His hips stutter and his tongue traces the gash wildly and with a fervor you’ve never seen from him before. He isn’t deterred in the slightest by the fact that your blood runs a crimson so dark it basically runs a shimmering black, he just drinks, lewd slurping sounds fill the kitchen followed by an inhumane groan from your partner and in an abrupt instant a soft howl fills the space and the candles go out, both of you freezing in place.

“Shit, I guess we did it?” You sit up a bit, feeling a little confused as you light a small flame in your palm. “That usually doesn’t happen until the ritual’s done…” You furrow your brows as you look at him in the flickering light, a sheepish expression on his face before it clicks for you. “Wait, did you-”

“Sorry.” He mumbles, you reach down between the two of you and sure enough the front of his pants are soaked in a warm dampness, his cock now soft.

“You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” You can’t help but grin as you lean forward, kissing the bridge of his nose.

Maybe opposites do attract.

a/n : happy oct 9th :)

#lincolndjarin #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel tlou #tlou joel #joel the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #fan fiction

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joonlaksme · 7 months

Text

October 17th

Park Jimin x Camboy

Contains: Gender Neutral Reader

Word count: 700+

Kinktober Masterlist

“Today, I wanted to show you these…things I found.” Jimin starts buttoning down his shirt. “For some reason, you really wanted to see my chest so I worked really hard to make it look pretty for you.”

Covering his nipples are heart shaped pasties that are a nice shade of red. All over the rest of his chest and stomach is covered in red glitter. It’s a light bringer in person than on camera but his viewers are going crazy. Men, women, and everyone in between are in love with everything Jimin but this is the first time in his 2 year long camboy career that he’s shown his chest.

“What should we do today? Any suggestions?” He leans in closer to his monitor and reads the fast messages. “Take them off? I don’t think so. I’m a bit nervous about that.” Jimin is lying but he enjoys slowly revealing himself to his fans rather than just giving them what they want. It keeps them coming back for more, pointing out a new slither of skin when they see it.

Jimin wiggles down his shorts a bit along with his underwear, his cock hitting his glitter dusted stomach. “I’ve been actually hard for a bit. I had this really…interesting dream.”

And immediately his viewers ask what it was about.

Immediately his imagination flashes with thoughts about you. Guilty, he takes his cock into his hand and strokes it, lips subtly mouthing your name before he starts telling the details of his wet dream.

“They were wearing this…really eye catching black dress. A lot of it was blurry and we weren’t even in a fancy place or a club or anything like that. We were in my room. They were dressed for me, I think.” He huffs out. “They never said a thing the whole time. They just looked at me…like they were ready to devour me.”

Jimin sits back in his chair, closing his eyes to relive and soak in his memories. He could remember this particular dream feeling and looking more realistic than his typical nonsensical ones. Edges were blurry but you were there in complete detail. “I felt weighted, too. Like I had to get on my knees.”

He opens his eyes again, this time they’re glossy. He glances at this chat and chuckles. They’re begging for him to get to the best part already, anticipating this story and what exactly had Park Jimin hard all day.

“They never took off any of their clothes but they pushed me on my bed. I remember them…” and he exhales.

He’s already close at the thought of what you did next. You, his coworker at his boring office job. His job where no one knows his secret camboy side work. Why he’s able to afford all these name brands, and the apartment he lives in at his age.

No one knew expect for you. You never held this knowledge over his head but you did look at him in a different way. You flirted with him and bent over to pick up pens a little too often. You knew the way it affected him so you would smirk and blow a kiss his way. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you these past few days.

He hopes you’re watching right now.

Jimin cums in his hands before he can finish his story, quickly apologizing to his viewers. His cheeks are flamed pink with embarrassment. He could usually last long than that but today seems to be the exception. For the duration of the stream, after cleaning up, he spends the last five minutes conversing and making promises to edge in his next one.

He says bye with his lips pursed and then lays back on his chair with a sigh. What a mess, both literally and figuratively. Then he hears his phone go off in a call. It’s not often that people call him so it peaks his interest and he’s standing up and grabbing his phone from his carefully crafted, wooden bookshelf. You’re calling him.

He doesn’t hesitate to answer but maybe he should have. “He-“ His voice cracks and he clears his throat, “Hello?”

There’s silence at first. A thick silence. But then you’re telling him your address very slowly. You tell him to be there as fast as he can. You finish the call by saying that you’d like to hear him finish his story. Jimin lips part but then he’s rushing to shove his wallet, phone, and keys in his pockets.

He’s so glad you knew he was thinking about you.

All likes, reblogs, and comment feedback are appreciated for stories like this. Friendly reminder that reblogs spread more than likes!

All rights are reserved © joonlaksme

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #gender neutral fanfic #bts fanfic #park jimin x reader #sub!jimin #sub!bts

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erosxreader · 9 months

Text

Please stop talking || Bokuto Kōtarō

You and Bokuto have hung out a couple of times and Bokuto isn’t good at being subtle, or causal.

Pairing: Bokuto Kōtarō x Reader

Word Count: 979

Genre: I like to think it’s funny, and romantic

Note: did you know that Mr.Virguto Kōtarō is also a Scorpio Venus?

other note: You know how sometimes a good story starts in the middle?

“Bokuto, I’m saying no”

“Why not?”

“Because I just met you two weeks ago.”

“Two weeks is more than enough time to know if you’re in love”

“Yeah if your brain only has the storage for 3 weeks” Y/N snorted before turning back around to face the substitute teacher. They plainly stared forward, trying to ignore the burning bokuto-shaped whole in the back of their head.

“That’s not fair, you know me” he gestures to himself unbeknownst to Y/N, “yo-you” he began, his voice growing uncharacteristically tender, “you know my body”

Y/N rolled their eyes, a habit they’ve become accustomed to when Bokuto gets too much free time.

“I kissed you on the cheek once”

“Is my cheek not my body?”

“You’re beyond ridiculous. And I’m not going to be in relationship with you.” With that rejection he went silent, the sound of dejected paper rustling followed not too far behind.

It’s only when he shuts up does a twinge of guilt find its way into their chest. They don’t *need* to explain themselves to him and he wasn’t asking for an explanation. And yet,

“Okay look,” they turned to look him, his brows quivered on his forehead. His lips sat in a defeated pout, that had little to no affect on Y/N’s next words.

“I’ll admit, I’ve had a lot of fun the past couple of days,” a smile began to creep on his face,

“BUT I am well aware that the captain of any sport is nothing but trouble and I don’t do trouble.” Bokuto scoffed offendedly.

“I’m nowhere near trouble, trouble has never heard of me”

Y/N knowingly raised their eyebrows. They could name three near-suspension incidents off the top of their hand. Two that involved a red volleyball captain and an orange one and the school water fountain.

“You are trouble in a bad haircut”

“You love it. C’mon, Give me one chance, one date.”

“Nope”

“Two chances, three dates?”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“No.”

He groaned in frustration. “Come on”.

Y/N shrugged and resumed facing forward. They tapped their finger impatiently against the pencil, hitting the cover of Fukorodani’s newest newspaper addition. At the top it read:

OUR TICKET TO NATIONALS

In the middle of the page, sat a picture black and white picture of Bokuto with his hands stretched over him. He was in the air, doing a spike. A small grin grew on their face, his smile was contagious even through film.

“How do you smile at a picture of me more than at my actually face?”

“For starters, a picture can’t talk.”

“I’ll win nationals.” He slams his hand against his desk in declaration. “And THEN you’ll go out with me”

Y/N let out a short laugh, shaking the newspaper out to read. “And what does you winning do for me? Other than enlarge your ego”

He thought for a full minute, and the way his browns were furrowed you could see his wheels turning.

“Well I can’t be much trouble if I’m winning National Titles.” Y/N blinked.

“Come on you know I’m hot and then when I win you’ll know I’m serious.” When Y/N turned their head to show him a knowingly glace, they were greeted with an empty seat.

In front of them he stood in all his glory. The light from outside cascaded across his frame. From this angle his hair color nearly blended together, existing in a world of platinum and shadow.

He bent down to reach their desk, resting his elbows on their table. Swear glistened off his temples.

“When I want something y/n” his voice took a deep breath in, letting his head and eyes travel onto theirs. His gray eyes shook, his iris unable to sit, running from each point of his companions face.

Y/N couldn’t call it studying their face, but an absorption of the whole. They shifted uncomfortably in their seat, feeling rather caught than chased for. He smiled as his eyes grew wide. It was like he was on ecstasy, experiencing the high of a victory he hasn’t won yet.

“I get you Y/N. And I fucking love you. So just let me fucking love you”

There was a pause. The buzzing of the classroom chatter did little to conceal to weight of the silence.

“You’re up against Shiratorizawa, you’re toast.”

“Not if I’m motivated, by you know you-“

“I get it I get it.”

He took a step back off their table, “so?”

He was met with silence, and after a long minute, Bokuto let out a final defeated sigh, dragged the weight of his limbs back to his seat. He began to put his head down, when a newspaper slams onto his desk. A manicured nail pointed at his picture.

“If I’m going to date a captain, he has to be the Number 1 captian”

Bokuto’s head shot up, his hair as high as his eyebrows. He flashes a toothy grin.“You’re in luck, I am Number one”

“I bet you are big guy”

The ringing of the bell rung, final sealing for their sentencing. “Well” Y/N cleared their throat, and rose from their seat.

They leave the classroom beside one another. Bokuto held his hand out to hold Y/N’s bag, which Y/N declined beneath a hue of red cheeks.

“Well it’s time for you to go hit a ball and be proud of it”.

“Can I get another kiss on the cheek?”.

“After you beat karasuno, I’ll think about it”

“God I love you.”

“Go fetch your ball Bokuto” he nodded enthusiastically as he began to walk in the other direction towards the gym.

Y/N let out a cathartic deep breath, their hands wrapped tightly around the school paper. ‘You always get to a point of your life where you’re going to have to gamble on something and sometimes the bigger the bet, the high the reward’

Please don’t make me look stupid, Bokuto.

As Y/N eyes chased him down the hall, they noticed a signup sheet hung up by the gym door. It was too far to make out much but in big bold letters stood font.

NEW MANAGERS FOR SPORT TEAMS!

#bokuto koutarou #haikyu x y/n #haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #bokuto x reader #bokuto x y/n

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inherstars · 6 days

Text

Future Days | The Last of Us (1 of 2)

I'd posted the first little part of this awhile ago, it was initially a roleplaying starter someone asked me for, but then they vanished, so I'm like, "Alright, fuck it, might as well keep going." It's not going to be a whole-ass story, but there will be some stuff worked out. This is an alternate turnout to the scene where Joel is attacked, wherein he survives his injuries. I have to tone down some of them, because they weren't really compatible with post-apocalyptic life, but I'll get into that in the next part. Part 2 of 2 is here.

In the beginning, there wasn’t much of anything. An impalpable darkness, a quiet, a sense of peace. Sadness, but peace.

Little by little there were breaks and fragments in it, allowing in the light. A razor scraping at a blacked-out window. The glow beyond was too bright for him to make out shapes or faces on the outside, but there were colors. Muffled sounds. A sense of someone trying hard to look in.

Occasionally, too, there were voices.

"How long will he be like this?"

"I don't know. We can’t know, I'm sorry."

"But he'll wake up?"

"Just... concussions are like this. He's in good shape, even for his age, but... look, we can't pretend that he can just bounce back like--"

"But he will, right?"

A sigh, firm, “It takes… time.”

Time. His dearest friend and worst enemy.

Sometimes, a guitar played. His memory started to cling to the steel strings, accumulating like papers blown flush against a wall in high winds. Sometimes he liked the music -- Pearl Jam, some Johnny Cash, a little Ari Hest -- and sometimes he didn’t. Bare Naked Ladies, really? Get that shit out of here.

One day he thought, “She still has trouble with that that Hendrix chord.”

The next day his eyes opened.

It’s early, early, early when he woke, sunlight slanting thinly through the infirmary’s gauzy curtains. Someone or something stirred in another room, banging tin and running water, but his head was blocked to keep him from turning it on the pillow. He couldn’t ever remember being this thirsty, parched in every cell of his body, his eyes gritty as dry ball bearings in their sockets. Everything was dull, throbbing, marrow-deep pain.

He made a sound, a cat’s tongue rasp over disused vocal cords, and tasted blood somewhere on the back of his tongue.

“...Ellie.”

The water shut off with a spigot squeak, droplets hitting stainless steel. Ping. ping. Ping. He tried to move, tried to free his head from whatever had it pinned in place, slow-motion batting what felt like foam blocks on either side.

Louder, frustrated, “--Ellie.”

Something hit the floor and shattered. Footfalls thundered nearer, and a woman bent urgently over him.

They looked at each other, stark and wide-eyed.

He had no fucking idea who this was.

“Oh my God,” she blurted. “Oh my God, you’re awake!”

Joel gawped at her. “Uh.”

“Don’t move--Jesus Christ, don’t move. Ellie’s going to shit--”

“Ellie,” he said again, reaching out for her. Get your shit together, old man. Say some words that make some fucking sense. “Is she--”

“I have to go get her.” Her hands fumbled with his, jogging them rapidly before she planted both firmly back at his sides. “Stay here. What am I saying, you’re not going anywhere. Holy shit. I’ll be right back.” “Wait, hey--”

But she was already gone, stumbling in her eagerness to flee the room, and Joel let out an impotent, frustrated breath. He tried again to move the blocks on either side of his head, and in fumbling with the straps that secured them realized he had an IV taped to the back of one hand. It ran somewhere out of sight behind him, vanishing into the rest of the mystery room where someone had laid him supine. Panic started to rise like bile, tension gathering in his chest, curling his hands into fists.

What was he going to do, yell for help? Don’t be a damned fool. She’s getting it. She’s already getting help. Just lay there and don’t cause any more goddamned problems.

His eyes cast the ceiling back and forth, back and forth. What was taking her so fucking long?

Never mind. She said she was going to get her. That means she can stand. Walk. That means she’s alive. Nothing else matters than that. Time will pass.

And it did, though Joel had no way to track it. Every minute felt interminable. After an age he finally heard someone coming -- sneakers pelting dirt, thundering wooden steps, across a porch, slapping linoleum -- and Ellie slid and skidded into his vision, tripping and crashing to one knee in her haste. She scrambled back upright, clutching at the edge of his bed.

They looked at each other, stark and wide-eyed.

He would know her face anywhere. A dozen lifetimes, a hundred over. That was his daughter.

“Baby girl--”

Ellie folded like a pilgrim at the altar of his bed, sobbing. Joel lost track of the IV line, the blocks pinning him in place, the rest of the goddamned world as she fumbled her hands into his, hid her eyes against his chest and just wept. It was soul deep, wrenching. A child’s wail.

Joel reserved his tears for only the most worthwhile grief and gratitude, but he shuddered with barely-contained sobs as he squeezed her hands in his, wishing he could just hold her, to drag her to him and cage her in his arms.

“I’m sorry--”

He heard the words, and couldn’t tell if they were his or hers. Then Ellie picked her head up and said it again.

“I’m so sorry--”

“No--”

“I was--Joel, I was so fucking hard-headed and… a-and arrogant--”

“Ellie, listen--” He sighed harshly, freeing one hand to try and rip the blocks from either side of his head. “God damn it--what the hell am I strapped to--”

“It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright now,” a third voice joined them. The woman from earlier reappeared -- short, stout, ginger-haired and wildly freckled -- swatting Joel’s hands away from the blocks. “We can take these off now, I think we’ve proven your neck is OK. No no no, leave the IV alone for now. I’ll get that later. Hang on, just… give me a second here…”

Ellie reluctantly crouched back on the soles of her feet, giving her room to work, but wouldn’t let go of Joel’s hand. In short order the redhead had him freed from a yoke of straps and foam blocks, giving his hair a thoughtlessly mothering little fix with one touseling hand.

“He needs a haircut and a beard trim,” she announced, slightly choked up. Even from the outside it was hard not to be moved.

“I can do that,” Ellie murmured, kneeling back into place. Ellie put her head back down on his chest and he put one hand over hers at his heart, tremulously stroking her hair with the other.

“And a long bath, and a change of clothes, and a good teeth-brushing and--”

“Mimi?” Ellie’s eyes turned up at her. Can you give us a minute? Mimi cleared her throat and backed away.

“I’m gonna go find Tommy, tell him what’s going on. I expect he’ll be here lightning quick.”

“Could you maybe… walk slowly to find him?”

“I’ll do my best.” She backed from the room, pointing at her. “Don’t you get any ideas about moving him without help. You hear me?”

But Ellie wasn’t listening. Joel’s heart kept time in her ear. “...I hear you.”

They both waited until Mimi’s footfalls had left the porch steps before speaking. It all poured out of them at the same time.

“Ellie-girl, I’m so sorry you had to see--”

“--honest to God thought you were going to die in front of me--”

“--stupid trusting those folks, I see that. I see it now, but--”

“--replaying, over and over… I can’t believe how--”

“--seeing you there, calling my name, and I just thought to myself--”

“--he’s the best thing that could have happened to me.”

“--she’s the best thing that could have happened to me.”

Silence again. Ellie’s eyes welled and she blinked to clear them, the tears tracing rivulets over her freckled cheek. Joel lifted his hand and stroked it away with a rough knuckle.

“I know I said I wouldn’t have done any different--”

“Joel,” she whispered.

“No, listen. On account of life’s too damned short, and it needs saying. I said I wouldn’t have done any different if I had a chance. I stand by that. I could get a hundred chances and every single time I’d use them to save you. But… I would have done right by you from the start. I wouldn’t have lied. I got one regret, and that’s it.”

Ellie sighed softly. She reached out, one thumb cleaning a tear from the weathered crease of his eye.

“Joel. I knew.”

Confusion flickered his features, but she didn’t let him interrupt.

“Not… how you’re thinking. Not even how I was thinking. I didn’t realize it until… well.” Her head lifted. “We can talk about all that. We have the chance for that now, and I think… it’ll make more sense to both of us, this time. Mimi may take the long way to Tommy’s, but he sure as hell isn’t going to drag his feet getting here.” One palm caressed over his knuckles. “We’ll talk. We’ll get you cleaned up and sorted, and then… we’ll talk.” She looked at him, tired but emphatic. “And things will change.”

He sighed raggedly, worn out by the simple effort of trying to process it all. Now that the adrenaline was wearing thin, the pain was creeping back in. The exhaustion in his very marrow. His eyes followed her as she stood.

“I love you, Ellie.”

“I love you too.” She smiled, small and tired and still red-eyed, but with her whole soul. “And I think… I understand you more, too.”

She promised, “We’ll talk.”

#my writing #tlou #the last of us #last of us #joel miller

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iolaussharpe-24 · 2 months

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Wolf in Sheep's Clothing - Chapter One

Shoutouts to both @reallyrallyauthor and @redeyerhaenyra who are both my biggest inspirations for this. I've been working on this for a while and this was like my fourth or fifth draft, each with a different plot. I'm still not confident in it, but I'm hoping to improve my writing so that I can make the novel I'm writing extra special because that project is my baby and I want it to do well. (Grace Smith is my OC. She was inspired by Samara Weaving after I watched Ready or Not. Yes, there were drafts of this story where it was a crossover fic between Big Gold Brick and Ready or Not. No, I am not doing that anymore.)

Story part under the cut. I made the collage myself on Microsoft Word. It's a screenshot so it's a little blurry. Cross posted on my Wattpad page.

“Come in; but hurry the fuck up with it!” came Anselm’s voice from the other side of the door. He sounded breathless and his voice had been strained. Close to climax. Any idiot could tell that fact.

Despite his many different physical limitations, (his age, his breathing problems, and his bad leg, for example) Anselm Vogelweide had an impressively high libido and was frequently seen around his mansion with various people to have sex. While she hadn’t been someone unfortunate enough to walk in on him in a situation like that before now, Grace had seen people leave his bedroom or his office with messy hair or makeup while being half dressed and proudly wearing hickies and love bites on their throats, collarbones, and shoulders.

So, she kept her head down as she entered the office. Her eyes were focused on the silver tray in her hands and her own two feet while she walked. Judging by the sounds she could hear, they were on the desk. Going at each other like rabbits in heat. Today’s “companion” was a woman. A very vocal woman who moaned like an amateur pornstar. Charming.

She turned to the side table and set up the things she brought in quickly. A bit of cocaine, two glasses, a bottle of unopened champagne, and a stack of money delivered by an associate who’d recently lost an impressive bet. She didn’t know the details, just that it was some high school game. Soccer or volleyball or something. A girl’s game. The associate had made a comment about ‘tender young players’ that made the poor worker’s skin crawl. It was disgust-

“GRACE!”

Immediately, she looked up, having been caught off guard by the sound of Mr. Vogelweide’s strained voice calling out her name. A lesson that everyone who worked for him learned in their first five minutes was the need to constantly please. Keep him happy. Do as your told when you’re told, and no one gets shot. However…. She regretted that decision immediately.

Mr. Vogelweide was pounding into a fair skinned woman bent over his desk from behind. One of his hands was on her back, keeping her in place while the other hand was on her face, two of his scarred fingers shoved deep inside her mouth.

She was a lean woman, only a little bit heavier than Grace was. She had long blonde hair that looked like it had been flat ironed recently. It was a little frizzy at the ends. On top of being messy from sex.

As Grace watched them, she noticed that the woman was wearing a bright candy apple red lipstick – the same shade Grace herself was wearing – and her nails were painted a glossy black. She had a dark smokey eye that made the cyan blue of her irises pop even as she was being reduced to a blubbering, drooling, teary-eyed mess on the desk.

It was an… unsettling sight. The woman under Mr. Vogelweide looked a lot like Grace. A lot like her. The hair, the eye color, the shape of her body, the color of her skin, right down to the makeup she was wearing. It was a little eerie in a way. If she didn’t stare too hard – if she didn’t focus on the other woman’s thin lips or the almond shape of her eyes, or her square jaw – if she just watched them like she would anything else, it was like a peculiar out-of-body-experience.

Normally, (as odd as that word sounded in this context) Grace would have written off all of the similarities as a coincidence and walked away. Honestly, she should have walked away anyway. But there was one detail that, when paired with all the rest, she simply couldn’t ignore. One damning piece of evidence that sent a chill up her spine.

There was a beauty mark on the woman’s cheek. Left side. Half an inch under the eye. Right on her cheekbone. Too conveniently placed to be real. Granted, it didn’t look real. It didn’t even look like makeup. It looked like a dot sloppily drawn on with a Sharpie.

It wasn’t a coincidence that the woman looked like Grace. It couldn’t be. Not to that extent. The odds had to be a million to one on that. (Well, maybe not a million to one. After all, skinny blue-eyed blondes are a dime a dozen. But, for her to be wearing that color lipstick, for her to have that nail polish, the fake mole on that specific spot on her face, for Mr. Vogelweide to be screwing her, and for him to call out ‘Grace’ as he did, that was where things crossed the line and the possibility of a coincidence went straight out the window.)

Grace was staring at her own doppelganger as her boss fucked her.

She stood there, dumbfounded, unable to fully comprehend the sight. The woman was bent over, her dress unzipped in the back to expose her skin, the skirt bunched up around her waist so that Mr. Vogelweide had access to her sex. Her blonde hair was a tangled mess and her lipstick was smudged as she sucked and slobbered on his fingers.

God, even her age… she looked like she was only a little bit older than Grace. A few years at most. Anselm had to be somewhere in his fifties or so. This woman looked about thirty. And she was drooling on the polished surface of the desk, moaning wantonly. All while the man, with his pants down around his knees, pushed and pulled his cock in and out of her cunt rapidly; the wet slapping out of skin on skin filling the room alongside their ecstatic moans and grunts.

It was such an odd sight. She might have found it arousing if she had a mind even half as perverted as his. But, thankfully, she didn’t. There wasn’t a person alive in any place or time who was as strange as Anselm Vogelweide. He was incomparable. He was insatiable. He was… insane. Some people would argue that that was part of his strangely addicting charm. That it was the reason why so many people kept coming back to this mansion. To his business. To him.

Sometimes she wondered if she was the only sane person in his weird little world. The only one who would see him like this and recognize it as the incredibly disturbing thing that it really was.

Though Grace had never understood why, she was more than aware of the fact that everyone else on staff assumed that she was Mr. Vogelweide’s favorite. From the other maids, to the kitchen staff, to the gardener, to the bodyguards and drivers, all the way down to the pool boy. They all gossiped about her to one another. They all told each other that she had gained the boss’s favor by sleeping with him. That’s how the pool boy, Óscar, did it. Back when he was the obvious favorite who spent most of his nights in Mr. Vogelweide’s bed.

It was at this moment that the older man seemed to realize that he and his toy had an audience. He kept his gaze locked on the other woman’s face; watching as her blue eyes rolled back from pleasure while she moaned pathetically and desperately suckled on his fingers.

“I thought I told you to be quick and leave, you fucking- ” His voice trailed off as he finally lifted his head and saw Grace standing in front of him. He stopped his thrusting and stared at her. From behind the yellow lenses of his glasses, his dark eyes roamed her slender figure.

Grace averted her eyes from him, just to avoid having to face… whatever this was. “I’ll just go,” she said quickly, bowing her head and turning to leave the room. She walked quickly, praying that the semi-automatic couldn’t come out behind her back. Or the pistol. Or the shotgun. Or any gun in his massive collection. The last thing she needed, or wanted, was for her employer to blow her head off or something. It wouldn’t be the first time he did something like that. She would know. It was her job to clean the blood out of the carpets and off the walls before they stained.

“Stay.”

She paused but didn’t turn around. That was the one word she feared hearing in this situation. The one thing she didn’t want to do. Staying wasn’t an option for her. Staying at this point meant something and she didn’t want to know what. But the possibilities of what it could be made her blood freeze and her heart pound.

“Ms. Quinn was just leaving,” Mr. Vogelweide said as he pulled away from the blonde woman on his desk. He pulled up his pants and buckled his belt. Then, he sat down and began to buckle up his leg brace. It was incredibly old. Probably older than him. The metal rod didn’t look like it was rusted, but it squeaked loudly whenever he walked. Well, whenever he tried to walk would be a bit more accurate. The brace, because of how it held his leg from his groin all the way down to is foot.

Grace glanced over her shoulder and saw that the other woman, Annie, hadn’t moved yet. She was still bent over the desk. Her legs were still spread wide. The back of her dress was open and the skirt was bunched up around her hips. She was breathing hard, hard enough to rival even one of Mr. Vogelweide’s asthma attacks.

She lifted her head and looked at Mr. Vogelweide, clearly disappointed in this turn of events. “Wait,” she started, before being abruptly cut off by him.

“You can go now. I want a private word with Ms. Smith.”

‘Ms. Quinn’ lifted herself up into a semi-standing position, her eyes still on him. “But… I didn’t-”

Again, he cut her off. “You have your hands. I’m sure you have toys. I don’t care how you do it or where. Just get out of my house first.”

Grace watched as her doppelganger stood up the rest of the way and pulled down her skirt to try and hide the wetness running from between her thighs. She was clutching her chest with one hand to keep her open dress from falling off her shoulders. Her knees wobbled a bit as she stood up straight. When she walked, she kept her legs apart and limped slightly. She walked to the door, then paused when she saw Grace.

For a brief moment, the two women’s eyes met. Grace’s sapphire blue orbs and Quinn’s cyan blue ones. They stared at each other, seeing all the similarities between themselves. Grace watched, almost in slow motion, as Quinn realized what she had been doing.

Just before she exited the office, she reached up and touched the fake mole on her cheek. The spot that perfectly mirrored Grace’s natural beauty mark.

The last Grace saw of Quinn was her shocked expression. Wide eyes and parted lips. Hand on her cheek. Then the door closed. She was gone.

Grace was alone with Mr. Vogelweide.

The poor girl kept her eyes faced forward, staring at the door. She wanted to go. She wanted to run and hide from the topsy-turvy, boss-wants-to-fuck-the-maid, trashy porno scenario that she’d suddenly found herself thrust into. (Pun not intended.)

She swallowed hard, trying to gather whatever shreds of courage and dignity she had left and said, in an attempt to excuse herself despite his wishes, “I’m sorry, Mr. Vogelweide, I should have-”

He cut her off just like he done to the other woman. “I’d have asked you to watch if I thought it would make you wet.” Grace stiffened when she realized that he was standing directly behind her, whispering into her ear. He reached around and touched her face with his scarred left hand. He stroked her cheek gently with his thumb then gently turned her head so that she’d look at him.

“Why?” she asked. Though, she couldn’t figure out what she was asking about. Why was he touching her? Why would he say that? Why was he fucking her doppelganger? Why hasn’t she run away yet? She wasn’t sure, but she’d take whatever answer he gave her at this point because it honestly felt like someone took a whisk and scrambled her brain into a thick pink paste as it sat in her skull.

“Because you’re my favorite. You’re like a delicate flower. Beautiful and fragrant. All I want to do is pluck you from the ground and keep you with me.”

His fingers trailed down to her throat before wrapping around it. Instinctively, her head tilted back a bit and she held her breath. His grip was firm but not tight by any means. He wasn’t squeezing her, he wasn’t even trying to make her think that he would, but she knew that he could apply that pressure at any moment. The fact that just one of his hands was large enough to encompass so much of her neck. She could feel her pulse pounding against his fingers as they lay over her jugular veins.

“If I weren’t such an empathetic person, I might be tempted to take you by force. If you were not so good to me, I would.” He gently pulled her to bend backwards a bit, her back arched and head tilted back and to side. She stared at him as he forced her to lean against and rest her head on his shoulder. He stared back at her; the foggy yellow lenses of his glasses made his already dark eyes seem nearly black in color. His graying beard tickled the skin across her cheek and jaw as he smiled.

“Mr. Vogelweide,” she started to plead before being cut off again.

“Anselm, dear. Don’t be afraid to use my first name.”

“Ah… Anselm…” she said hesitantly, still staring into his eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this. Óscar was always your favorite. He’s very proud of that fact.”

Mr. Vogelweide actually laughed at that. “I’m sure he is. Óscar is a puppy chasing cars he can never catch. Give him an inch and he’ll run a mile never realizing that he’s in a hamster wheel. He wasn’t my favorite anything. He was entertaining. You are different from him. You aren’t entertaining. At all. You’re quite dull, in fact. I’ve seen you in your spare time. Always reading. And it’s always the same cheap, sexless paperbacks. You’re boring and yet that’s the very thing that makes you so enticing to me. Despite everything that happens in this house, you remain pure and untarnished by both it and me.”

He leaned closer so that he could whisper in her ear, his voice practically dripping with seductive intent. He already had an oddly sensual quality to it. There was something about the odd mix between his German accent and a subtle lisp that could capture and hold anyone’s attention. It didn’t matter what he was saying. He could drone on and on about absolute nonsense and it would hold the attention of an audience. Mostly because his voice was just that enchanting; almost like a siren song. Partly because ignoring him would be a death wish granted in a split second by a hail of gunfire from the semi-automatic hidden in his desk.

He moved his body slightly so that she could feel the hard bulge of his still erect cock as it throbbed against her ass. She screwed her eyes shut at the feeling, trying hard not to focus on it.

“Part of me wants to break you. To pick the flower from the ground and pluck away the petals until there’s nothing left but the pistil. I want to bend you over and ravish you until you can’t take it anymore,” he said, practically moaning out the words like he was on the verge of orgasm from the thought alone.

For a moment, not even a fraction of a second, Mr. Vogelweide’s grip on Grace’s throat tightened. She drew in a sharp gasp as his fingers dug into her soft skin.

Then it was over. He released his hold entirely and walked away, his leg brace softly squeaking with every other step he took. Grace turned fully to stare at the boss as he moved away from her. She wasn’t sure how to process any of this. And his explanations only muddied already murky water.

He was across the room, staring out the window, his hands clasped together behind his back. Despite knowing that she shouldn’t, Grace stepped closer to him and looked out the window as well. Óscar was outside cleaning the pool. He looked up at the office window, a smile on his face, and gave a flirty little wave. He blew a kiss up to Mr. Vogelweide before setting back to work, moving a little more sensually than necessary. Putting on a little show.

“If you knew half of the half of the nasty things I’ve done to that boy you wouldn’t be standing so close,” Mr. Vogelweide said, his voice lowered for a moment on the word ‘nasty,’ while his lisp dragged out the ‘s’ in the middle. It stood out and caught Grace’s attention more than the rest of the sentence had. It tickled her curiosity and sparked her imagination to try and picture the two men together. The young pool boy and the older mob boss that signed his paychecks in the blood of his own cousins.

Óscar was the kind of person who lived for others. The embodiment of an almost self-destructive people pleaser. He was a lemming in the worst way who would stand on the edge of a cliff and backflip off of it if someone told him to. Well, maybe not just any old ‘someone.’ He wouldn’t waste himself on someone he didn’t feel was worth it.

Anselm Vogelweide wasn’t like anyone else in the world. He was strange and alluring. Everything about him screamed danger. Especially to people like Grace and Óscar. The people that worked for him and lived near him. The people who saw, on a daily basis, exactly who he really was. Not that ever made an effort to hide.

He had things hidden all around the house. Things that Grace often found on accident while cleaning. Toys; both new and used. Suspicious stains that smelled old and sour. Books with dirty titles and dirtier pictures. She could only imagine what he did to the people that had sex with him. She had her theories, everyone did, but something about his words made her think that the speculations paled in comparison to the truth.

“Sir, I don’t understand why you’re telling me all of this.”

“I told you, child; you’re my favorite.” He turned away from the window to face Grace again. Startled, she automatically backed away from him. He followed; though his movements were slow and awkward, that didn’t stop her from being intimidated by him. She didn’t focus on the way his brace made it impossible for him to bend his left knee, making him hobble. She didn’t focus on the way the brace squeaked every time he lifted his leg to take a step. She focused on his eyes. On the darkness and hunger in them. She felt like prey under the searing gaze of a predator.

In the question of fight or flight, Grace liked to pretend that she’d stand up and face her fears head on. She wore a brave face in casual conversations about hypothetical situations that were never likely to happen. She’d imagine herself as a gun-toting badass in the face of a zombie apocalypse or a strong survivor in the face of an attack in a dark alley. She’d taken self defense classes. She kept pepper spray in her purse. She wore a ring knife.

Theoretically speaking, she could protect herself if she needed to.

Empasis on the word “could.”

She could do a lot of things. She could be a novelist. She could become a rocket scientist. She could marry a tech billionaire. She could do any of those things. They just weren’t likely to happen.

She didn’t know the first thing about writing a novel. She was terrible at math. And there was nothing significant about her in the slightest that would ever put her in the same room as a tech billionaire, let alone marry one.

The reality was that she wasn’t the brave warrior she liked to imagine herself as. In the question of fight or flight, Grace would always fawn.

She’d try to run first. Then, as her fears grew and her heart started to pound, she’d start to freeze up. Then, as things only seemed to be getting worse and worse and her pulse threatened to send her into cardiac arrest, she’d give in and let the nightmare consume her.

And that’s exactly what she did in Mr. Vogelweide’s office. After taking only a few steps away from him, she gripped the edge of his desk and froze, her eyes fixed on his body as he continued to advance on her. When he was near enough, when he was directly in front of her, gripping the polished wood on either side of her slender frame, she felt herself give in. She could try to tell herself that she was just putting more distance between the two of them, but she wasn’t. She was surrendering. She bent over backwards and let him hover above her.

Mr. Vogelweide seemed to realize this fact. He stared down at her, a smile playing across his lips. He leaned down so that his face was just above hers. Their noses were a hair’s width away from brushing against each other.

“Do you have any idea how easy it would be for me to claim you?” he whispered in that same attention-grabbingly sensual tone. “Do you have any idea how tempting that idea is?”

As he spoke, Anselm ran one of his hands up the length of Grace’s body. He started at her navel and lightly slid his hand up to her chest, over the mound of her left breast, across her collarbone, and up the side of her neck to her cheek. He rested his palm on the side of her head for a moment. Ran his fingers through her soft blonde locks.

Her heart was pounding in her throat as she stared up at him. She was breathing heavily beneath him, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Shush,” he murmured, grabbing her jaw with his thumb and first two fingers. Like his earlier grip on her throat, he was holding her just tight enough for her to feel it without coming anywhere near actually hurting her. He lifted her head and looked down at her lips. “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t hurt you. I’d never dream of it.”

He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. Grace’s eyes widened and a high-pitched whimper escaped her. He pressed his body against hers; squishing her down onto the desk. She felt his tongue slide across her teeth for a moment before he squeezed her face just tight enough to make her open her mouth to him. She let out another, louder, whimper as his tongue entered her mouth to circle and swirl around hers.

It took him a long time, but he did finally pull away from her mouth. He released her jaw and stood up straight, adjusting his suit and tie. Suddenly, he was back to his usual self. Cool and unbothered by the world around him.

“That’ll be all, Ms. Smith; thank you.”

That was it? He’d had sex with a doppelgänger, told Grace he only did it because he wanted her, kissed her, and then did nothing else? He was just going to dismiss her without another word?

Wait… why was she even asking herself that?! She didn’t want or expect any of this. It was thrust on her in a moment that she wasn’t even supposed to see. She didn’t know how to deal with any of this. She didn’t know if she was supposed to get up or stay where she was. Hell, she didn’t even know if she’d still have a job after this.

Mr. Vogelweide started to walk away, then paused. He turned to face Grace again and said, “Oh, before I forget, would you be so kind as to clean up in here? I’m afraid Ms. Quinn made quiet the mess on the other side of the desk and I have a meeting in half an hour. You might need to come back to clean up afterwards. I’d like to avoid it, but there may be blood in the rug before the hour is over.”

She looked at the other side of the desk. Where he’d had the look-alike bent over so he could fuck her brains out and pretend she was Grace. There was a wet spot on the polish. It smelled like sweat and… ugh… old fish. The lingering residue of a shamelessly wet pussy.

Back to business as usual then.

Grace stood from the desk and nodded her head. “Yes, sir. I’ll get right to it.”

“One other thing,” Anselm said as he watched her. “I want you to know that, on the off chance you ever change your mind, you need only to knock.”

“Knock?”

“On my door. The day you decide to me mine, I want to take you in the bedroom. Mine. Not yours. There are… things I’d like to try. Harnesses I’d like to see your body in. Toys I want to put inside you.” His dark eyes moved up and down her body at an agonizingly slow pace. Grace was fully dressed; wearing leggings, a knee-length dress, and a small sweater with sleeves that came down to her elbows. She wasn’t showing any skin that she shouldn’t be. Nothing more than her forearms. And it wasn’t even that the neckline of her dress was low either. It sat right on her collarbones. Yet she felt naked the longer he stared. Like he was peeling off her clothes with his imagination.

This is sexual harassment isn’t it? This was the kind of behavior that got the #MeToo movement started. Back when protecting victims actually meant something to people. She could quit for this, right? Wait… no. No. That was a bad idea. If this were a normal job for a normal person, she wouldn’t even consider it. She’d leave.

But he wasn’t a normal person.

This wasn’t a normal job.

She spent her time cleaning blood out of Anselm Vogelweide’s carpet and cum off of the furniture and walls. Everything in his house was about money and sex. People died here. On a regular basis. There were guns and bottles of lube in every room.

She knew too much about him. There was no leaving. There was only dismissal. And that would likely mean a hail of gunfire that would cut her life short in the living room before his massive bodyguards took her away to some place where she’d never be found again.

All because she caught his eye.

#anselm vogelweide #anselm/oc

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tigerlilla · 2 years

Text

sparks

a bakugo x reader fic

chapter 4! the grand finale!

ch 3 /// chapter list

cw: mentioned nightmares, death, gore, fire, gunshot wound, blood, grief (nothing too graphic, but pls be aware <3 )

you woke up warm, eyelids squinting closed to block out the sun streaming through the thin curtains. you could feel bakugo’s breath on your neck, his bent arm tucked under your head, the other strewn over your waist.

you shifted slightly, burrowing deeper into the blankets.

bakugo grunted behind you, his chest against your back.

“sorry,” you whispered, “did i wake you?”

he didn’t reply.

you rolled around slowly, moving as gently as you could.

bakugo’s eyes were closed, face uncharacteristically calm.

you smiled. he looked boyish this way, although he really was barely more than a boy at 20. you examined his face in a way you never had before, taking mental notes of all the small things; the scar right by his hairline, the puff of his lips, the circle shaped scar next to his left eye, the crook in his nose, the way he-

“morning, creep,” his red eyes shot open.

you pushed back slightly, only pushing yourself into his arm behind your back. “i’m writing an article about how weird you look when you sleep.”

bakugo smirked, "i don't think you've fully thought that out, sparks. that article would definetly be more damming than our banquet picture."

you flushed, "you're just mad i know you snore."

"i don't snore," bakugo frowned.

you laughed, "you totally do! it sounds like," you grunted, then snorted, then blew air out your nose while grunting. "that's what you sound like!" you laughed at his expression. "i'm serious!”

“at least my eyes aren’t all crusty,” bakugo replied, pouting like a baby.

you wiped at your eyes, “because i went to sleep all teary and sad.”

“i-“

“bakugo,” the door slowly opened, “do-“

“no!” bakugo yelled. “don’t come in. i’m…”

kaminari laughed from the other side of the door, barely cracked open. “dude we caught him masturbating.”

bakugo put his hand over your mouth, predicting your giggles before you could.

“oi! fuck off!” bakugo yelled.

“shut up, denki,” kirishima chided. “we were just going to ask if you wanted to work out and then get smoothies with us.”

“oh, uh, not today. uh,” bakugo choked out.

“you okay, bro? you’re acting weird. you’re always up super early,” kirishima said, concern in his voice.

“i’m fine,” bakugo replied. “my mission…wore me out.”

“oh, yeah, okay,” kirishima said. “rest up, dude.” he closed the door.

bakugo slowly pulled his hand away from your mouth, no longer muffling your laughter.

you sat up, tucking your knees against your chest, “i think my new article should be about you being walked in on while jerking off. can you imagine the red riot x dynamight fanfics?”

bakugo ran a hand through his hair, the tips of his ears bright red, “jesus christ.”

“kiri was right, though,” you stand up from the bed. “you gotta get up. i’ll make you my special morning tea.”

bakugo groaned, “i hate tea.”

“too bad,” you winked at him, quietly slipping out his bedroom door. you made your way to the kitchen, putting on a kettle.

bakugo slid onto a barstool.

you leaned across the kitchen bar, “hi, katsuki. how was your morning?”

he met your smile with a nasty smirk, “terrible. you?”

“god awful,” you sighed. “maybe the afternoon will be better.”

“doubt it.”

you’re convinced bakugo’s wicked grin could charm even the purest of hearts.

———

“oh, look, it’s me,” you were sitting next to bakugo, peering at his phone. it showed a video of you climbing the gym rock wall, smiling down from the top at bakugo holding the phone. in the past week, you’d been getting better and better each gym night with bakugo. “stalker.”

“it’s on your story, dumbass,” he growled, tapping over to the next video.

“is that deku?” you frowned, “i had to keep re-following you for like four times before you followed me back but HE gets a follow back?”

bakugo rolled his eyes. you’re not sure how many times someone can roll their eyes with ripping a nerve or a muscle.

“you’re never allowed to complain about your mortal enemy again,” you sighed dramatically, flipping the page in your book.

“hey,” jiro strolled into the living room, eyeing you on the couch with katsuki. “are you matching on purpose? oh my god, barf, i’m leaving.”

you frowned, looking over at bakugo. she was right. you wore a black tank top and dark grey jeans while bakugo was in a black tank top and black cargos. “aww,” you cooed, “we are matching.”

“shut up,” bakugo grumbled, not taking his attention off the news program covering his fight from last night.

you rolled your eyes. “you’re such an ass-“

“shh!” bakugo silenced you.

you narrowed your eyes, grabbing the pillow behind you. you smacked the fluffy pillow into the side of bakugo’s face, laughing loud enough to ruin the element of surprise.

bakugo ripped the pillow out of your hand, snarling at you. you fell back against the couch laughing, holding your hands up to protect your face. “you deserve this one, sparks.” he smacked you with the pillow, getting a good squeal out of you.

the two of you wrestled for control of the pillow, elbowing and insulting each other. you shoved hard, knocking bakugo onto his back on the floor. you sat on his chest, holding the pillow threateningly above his head while laughing.

bakugo smirked, easily rolling around and pinning your hands to the ground, him now on top of you. you squealed and pushed but he wouldn’t budge.

momo walked into the living room, catching you on the ground, “why are you screaming? are you- oh, oh my god. oh.” she threw her hands over her eyes, slowly backing out of the room.

you bursted into laughter, bakugo’s face as red as his eyes. when you finally quieted down, you found bakugo staring at you. “what? why are you looking at me like that?”

he grinned at you, still on top, “you have indentions on your face from the pillow.” bakugo gently dragged his finger over your cheek.

you felt yourself redden under his touch. “because you hit me hard! now get off, you brute.”

——————

kitty kats: i got ur sweater, do u want me to bring it to u

you: nah, im about ready to pack up. thank u!

kitty kats: why did i come home to grab it if you don’t need it

you: i didn’t say u had to get it, you volunteered urself

kitty kats: cause u wouldn’t shut up about being cold

you: u just wanted to go into my room to look through my underwear drawer

bakugo typed and deleted his message multiple times, the three dots popping up on your screen.

you laughed loudly, drawing the attention of everyone else in the tiny newspaper room. “oops, sorry everyone. my bad.” you quietly grabbed your bag and left, walking across campus back to the dorms.

you checked your phone again, still no reply from bakugo. you smiled. someone called your name, drawing your attention away from your phone.

a girl maybe a year or two younger than you jogged over to your side, “i read your article about burnout in heroes in this week’s newspaper. it was super interesting.”

it was actually incredibly boring. poor girl was lying to you. “thanks,” you replied. you were literally three minutes from your dorm.

she didn’t get the hint. “i like your blog posts better, though.”

you forced a smile, “ua doesn’t like what i post on my blog. that’s why i keep it on my blog.”

her face seemed familiar, really familiar. “yeah, i bet. you haven’t posted about dynamight for awhile. you got a lot of criticism for bashing him. i hope that’s not why you haven’t posted.”

this was getting weird. “actually-“

“do you know where he is right now?” she asked.

“no-i’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“minako,” the girl smiled. you’d seen that smile before.

“i recognize you from somewhere. have we met?” your brow creased.

minako smiled, this one more cruel. “maybe you’d know me better as him.” her face slowly shifted, her body changing soon after. your eyes widened and you took a step back. she was the creepy old man from the hero banquet. her nose and eyes were the same, but she was him. you tried to take another step, but she was quicker, pulling you to her, something clicking before poking into your side. “or maybe her.” she shifted again; this time into the girl who sat in the seat next to you when the fire alarms went off, a girl in the group at the gym, they were all her.

you pulled away, her grip tight on your arm. she shoved the cool metal deeper into your ribs. you looked down at the shine of the gun.

she laughed at your paled face. “good. you remember me. i’ve been working on this for a very long time. the fire alarms were my first plan. i was going to go for the red head, but then i saw you, and you were too good to pass up. the banquet was next, but it was too busy and crowded. and the at the gym, i was just spying on you,” she sighed. “i didn’t mean to do this today, but it just fell into place.”

you frantically searched the grassy field separating the school from the dorms. shit. no one was walking close enough to notice something was off.

“i wonder if he’ll remember,” she said a bit louder, digging the gun deeper into your ribs. “maybe once i remind him of what he did to me, he’ll remember.”

“i-i don’t know who you’re-“

“your pain will be what reminds him,” she whispered, running her finger down your cheek. “he will watch you die like i watched my brother die.”

your lips trembled, “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

she yanked your chin to face her, “i really am sorry to drag you into this, but you are the one he cherishes. don’t worry, you will not burn like hiko. i am not that cruel.”

your mind was trying to keep up, racing to piece together what she was saying. her brother, hiko? burning? who was the other person she was talking about? the red head, kirishima maybe? you heard your name called from across the field and everything clicked. fuck. fuck. fuck.

minako laughed, “everything really has fallen into place today.”

“didn’t know you had friends, sparks,” bakugo smirked, jogging over to you. to him, you and minako must have looked like friends huddled together, whispering gossip and trading secrets. “i was bringing you your sweater ‘cause it’s about to rain.”

you were facing him, your eyes wide. minako was standing partly in front of you, her body turned mostly away from bakugo, hiding the gun pushed against your stomach.

his smirk disappeared at the fear written so clearly on your face. “what’s wrong?”

“hello, dynamight.” minako turned, revealing the gun poking into your side. she clicked the safety off, smiling at bakugo. “take another step and i’ll shoot.”

bakugo growled, sparks flying out of his palms. you sent him a look, begging him to not rush into it, for him to think. but he wasn’t the bakugo who had rushed into any fight years ago. he had learned the price of his impatience; minako’s brother had taught him that.

“do you remember me, dynamight?” she purred.

bakugo was silent, eyes flickering over your body, making sure you weren’t hurt.

minako clucked her tongue, shoving the barrel of the gun deeper into your side, earning a grunt of pain from you. “i hoped that you would be different. i hoped you would fall on your knees and beg for my forgiveness. that wouldn’t have changed anything, of course.

“alas, i didn’t expect it. i was hopeful, but not optimistic,” she sighed. “but, i am not the face i want you to remember. he is,” she shifted her face into the boy who haunted bakugo. she quickly shifted back.

bakugo had gone pale, sparks fizzing out in his palms.

“you do remember,” she smiled wickedly. “do you remember carrying my thrashing body while i begged you to put me down and get takehiko? do you remember setting me down on the concrete and yelling at me to shut up? do you remember how my brother’s body burned while you watched?”

you softly whimpered, her nails biting into your arm with every question she asked. she had begun to draw blood with her iron grip.

“do you remember how it smelled? do you remember the taste of my brother’s burning flesh in the air? do you remember, dynamight, how you murdered my brother?”

“i remember,” bakugo said softly. “takehiko-”

“don’t you dare say his name!” she screeched, yanking the gun from your ribs to your temple. the metal was cool against your skin, it was almost relieving.

“this was all you!” she yelled. “everything is your fault! why do you get to live on while i lost my brother? why should you get to be happy when he’s dead?” she took a few breaths. “everytime i see your face on tv, i am reminded of the brother you killed, of the life with him i lost. you don’t seem to care. how is it fair that he is dead and you are not?”

your body felt like it had been cleaved in two. minako was right. it wasn’t fair. nothing was fair. bakugo had been 18, barely more than a child. he’d been 15 the first time he’d seen someone die, someone he could have saved. how was that fair? how was it fair to place so much on children? on babies who had grown up idolizing and worshiping heroes who abandoned them when they needed help? heroes who had relied on children to help them fight their battles? how was anything fair?

bakugo’s voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “you shouldn’t have brought her into this. she did nothing.”

“he did nothing,” she screamed. “it should have been me! i should have died!”

it had begun to rain. slow drops fell on your skin, mixing with the blood on your arm where minako held you. you looked at bakugo, his eyes meeting yours. you pleaded with him silently.

“i want you to suffer, bakugo katsuki,” minako whispered, tears running down her beautiful face. “i want you to watch as i kill someone you love. i want you to watch her die.” her confidence and smile were gone, replaced by a ghost of a girl. she was scared, her hands shaking, tears slipping down her cheeks.

bakugo slowly stood, stepping towards you and minako.

“don’t!” she shrieked, her hands shook, the gun pulled slightly away from your head.

“minako,” bakugo whispered. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

minako was fully focused on bakugo’s face, the pain and sorrow so evident in his eyes. she didn’t notice the twitch of his fingers. three.

“i dream of your brother,” bakugo whispered, inching another step closer. two. you slid one of your feet back, just barely. “the way he yelled for his sister, the way i failed him. i will never forgive myself.” his finger pointed downwards. one.

you yanked your arm out of her grip, stepping backwards while bakugo surged forward. he held out a hand, going to grab the gun barrel. he wouldn’t use his quirk, you knew he couldn’t risk injuring minako with an explosion after what his quirk did to her brother.

minako shifted the gun from you to bakugo in a spilt second, not hesitating pulling the trigger.

you screamed as the bullet ripped through bakugo’s neck.

a flash of red ran past you, tackling minako to the ground. you didn’t know where red riot came from and you didn’t really care.

you crawled to bakugo’s side, immediately putting your hand on his neck. “katsuki?” you looked at his pale face, eyelids fluttering lightly. “katsuki, open your eyes.”

he did, soft red eyes looking up at you. you pulled his head into your lap, keeping your hand on his neck, trying to ignore the blood seeping through your fingers. “i’m going to be fine, sparks,” he said, his voice quiet and broken.

“i know, kats,” you whispered, running a hand through his messy hair. “you’re going to be just fine. you’re fine. it’s okay. you’re okay.” you kept repeating it more for yourself. you grabbed your dropped sweater off the ground, pressing it to his neck.

“stop crying,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering closed, “you’re getting me all wet.”

you laughed quietly, wiping your tears off his skin. “i’m sorry. i’ll stop crying when you open your eyes, okay? so open them back up.”

“mkay, i just need to rest for a bit,” he mumbled so softly you had to strain to hear.

you heard kirishima shouting. a medic came over and slid katsuki off your lap, placing a thick wad of gauze over his neck and saying something into her radio.

all might was there. touching him. touching katsuki. you hissed, slapping his hand away from bakugo’s face. all might looked at you with disgust.

“don’t touch him,” you growled. “this is your fault. you sent him to that mission. you sent an explosion quirk to a gas and oil spill. you sent him knowing there were two young hostages. how could you have not known what would happen?” you dug your finger into his chest. “i will hate you for the rest of my life for what you did to him, the pain and grief you caused him. and what you did to that girl. to her brother. a child died because of your negligence to train your hero. takehiko’s death is as much on you as it is on katsuki.”

all might tried to say something but you spat at the ground near his feet.

“and i hope you rot in your own guilt for letting the media attack him like that, when it was you who sent him unprepared and misinformed. you did nothing to protect him. this is on you.”

you almost spun around to leave, but remembered something minako had said. “the fire alarm was minako’s doing. she set off the system trying to get to him. she’s been doing this for months. another failure from this school and this shitty society. i expect you’ll look into this and update me when you are positive a situation like this will never happen again.”

you stomped off, heading towards the ambulance they were loading bakugo into, leaving a sputtering all might in your wake.

the medics let you ride in the ambulance, holding bakugo’s hand and asking them questions about his condition. he would be fine. he was going to be okay.

…

bakugo woke to a ridiculous pain in his neck. he tilted his head with a gasp, immediately regretting it. he blinked, eyes adjusting to the dark night, and looked around the hospital room, only with his eyes, he couldn’t stand turning his neck. bakugo reached up and gently touched the pack of gauze bandaged to his neck. the steady, repetitive he pieced together everything that happened, mahiko, the gun going off, his neck.

he sat up just a bit, smiling at you in the chair pulled up next to his hospital bed, your head on the bed next to his legs, your hand holding his. his parents were asleep on the couch in the corner. how long had he been out?

bakugo leaned back, squeezing your hand before he started rubbing circles with his thumb.

you sat up suddenly, staring wide eyed at him with bloodshot eyes, “katsuki?” your voice was barely a whisper.

“hey, sparks,” he replied, doing his best to smile at you. you threw your arms around him, careful to not bother his neck as you hugged him. “you told me you wouldn’t cry if i opened my eyes,” he grumbled, feeling your tears on his stomach through his thin hospital gown.

you sat back up, wiping your face, “sorry, i’m sorry. i’ll wake up your parents.”

“no, don’t,” bakugo grabbed your arm, pulling you close to him. “they can wait until morning - what’s this?” he rubbed a finger over the bandages wrapped around your forearm. “and why is there blood on your clothes?” he sat up, ignoring the pain flaring in his neck, as he looked you over, reaching for the blood on your jeans.

“stop it,” you shushed him, gently pushing him back into the pillows. “i’m fine. and that’s your blood, kats. i didn’t want to leave you to go home and change.”

“that’s stupid,” he frowned.

“sorry i care about you,” you quipped, narrowing your eyes.

bakugo grumbled under his breath, but let it go, tangling his fingers with yours.

“do you want me to call the nurse? she can give you pain meds and explain everything. the doctor told me but i wasn’t really listening; something about your carotid artery and blood loss and i didn’t really care because you were laying right there and i couldn’t take my eyes off your face.” you stood up, already reaching for the button, only slightly embarrassed by your rambling.

“come ‘ere,” bakugo grumbled, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into the hospital bed beside him.

you wanted to scold him for straining his stitches, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. not when you were curled against his chest, smelling his familiar smoky scent.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair.

“what for?” you asked, your eyelids already feeling very heavy.

“what if she shot you? what if she killed you?” his voice broke, “i’m so sorry.”

you propped yourself up on an elbow, meeting his red eyes. “look, i’m right here, alive and well.” you grabbed his hand. “i’m fine, katsuki.”

he cupped your face in his hand, the pulse monitor on his finger catching in your hair. he murmured your name, saying it like a prayer.

you tried to sit still as he traced your cupid’s bow with his thumb.

“how could i live without you,” bakugo whispered, his eyes back on the bandages on your arm. “i’m never letting you go.”

“katsuki,” you murmured, terrified about what was about to come out of your mouth. “i told your mom we were friends. is this what friends do?”

he was quiet, fingers warm on your skin. “i don’t want to be friends, i want...”

bakugo moved his hand behind your neck, pulling you into him. your lips met his and it was soft and gentle and nothing like bakugo but everything like katsuki.

because every thing you had ever written about the hero was completely untrue of katsuki. katsuki who couldn’t sleep because of guilt, katsuki who knew how you liked your tea, katsuki who brought you your sweater because he didn’t want you walking home in the rain.

that was the man you kissed, his lips terribly chapped. and when you pulled away, he looked at you with such wonder and love in his eyes.

“i want you,” you finished his sentence for him. katsuki leaned to kiss you again, but you stopped him. “the doctors will kill me if you rip open your stitches.” you kissed his cheek. “you can kiss me all you want when you’re healed.”

he grumbled softly but wrapped his arm around you, pulling your head into the uninjured crook of his neck.

you smiled into his skin. bakugo katsuki. my, how wrong you’d been about everything.

——————

you reached for the bread basket, kaminari swiping it before you could get your hands on it.

“oi!” bakugo barked, “don’t be rude.” he ripped the basket from kaminari’s grip, holding it in front of you.

“thank you, kats,” you smiled, pecking him on the cheek. everyone at the table groaned. you narrowed your eyes at his hero class, “this is bakugo’s return-to-hero-work-celebratory dinner. i will kiss my boyfriend if i please.”

“you’re going to be more than kissing tonight,” kaminari giggled.

you shut him up with a look, placing an hand on bakugo’s arm to keep him biting kaminari’s head off.

“we’re glad you back, kacchan,” deku said.

again, you squeezed bakugo’s hand to calm him.

“me too,” he replied, surprising cool with the nickname.

“me three,” you smiled. “my blog has lost followers. i think me shit talking you was the only thing that kept people interested.”

bakugo grinned at you; it was your favorite smile of his, ridiculously wicked and promising violence.

“i’m also glad,” kirishima added. “i’m sorry i could get there sooner, man. i still feel awful about it. i’m glad she’s locked up.”

you cleared your throat, eyeing bakugo. “actually, katsuki and i have talked to aizawa about getting her transferred to a facility for people with mental illness instead of keeping her in that awful jail.”

momo smiled at you, “i think that’s lovely.” shoto nodded in agreement.

“at least your scar looks cool,” sero said.

“best part of being millimeters away from bleeding out,” bakugo grunted, picking at the broccoli on his plate.

he had protested the dinner, your idea, complaining about how annoying everyone was, but you knew deep down in his rotten heart he loved the class he grew up with.

though he grunted and scoffed his way through dinner, you caught him sneaking smiles at you and laughing at the stupid things kaminari said.

and no one else would ever believe you, but you swore you even saw him smile at deku.

…

you plopped down on the couch next to bakugo, resting your head on his shoulder. “the dishes are finally done,” you sighed.

he kissed the top of your head, “i’m sorry. you should have let me and momo help you.”

“you have a big day tomorrow,” you wrapped your arms around him, relishing in his warm body. “i didn’t want to make you work tonight.”

“i’m just returning to hero work, babe,” he sighed, keeping his eyes on the news playing on the tv.

“i know, but…” you brushed your fingers against the not-quite-healed scar on his neck.

he understood what you left unsaid. “i’ll be fine,” bakugo reassured you. “i’m just patrolling tomorrow. no big missions, mkay?”

“good,” you squeezed him tighter. you were exhausted.

“thank you for tonight,” bakugo said softly.

you smiled, “you’re welcome, katsuki.” he pressed another kiss to your forehead. “i’m glad my room flooded and i ended up here.”

he could tell you were slowly drifting off to sleep. bakugo laid a blanket on your lap, his arms wrapped around you. “you’re the only good thing this goddamn couch has given me, sparks.”

you smiled, “i’m glad i’m better than chronic back pain, katsuki.”

“you’re better than everything.” bakugo let you fall asleep on him, watching you with love in his eyes. since the first night on this couch, the first time you fell asleep next to him, he’d been waiting. waiting for you.

an//thank you<3 ily, pls leave a comment if you enjoyed!

tag list: @briokayama @tonysttank @cathwritestragediesnotsins @killingloneliness136669 @rockyriot @thesonoffireandice @the-coffee-is-on-fire @sashatanaka @sincerelyyrosemary @abadonkori i @buzzyboi79 @haychhans @mentallyablaze-writes @niktwazny303 @daddykatsu @mayainneverland

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nyazhis-jsablr · 1 year

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Behold, a pinned post!

Welcome to my JSAB Blog!

My main blog is @nyazhi, so check that out if you haven’t!

Read the rest for the Pinned Post!

Here’s some additional tags for stuff I’m posting on here!

#jsab h*i - A tag dedicated to my JSAB AU “JSAB: HARDCORE*INVASION”

#jsab headcanons - A tag dedicated to random HEADCANON dumps I put on here

#jsab tjst - interactive story/comic thingy im doing for fun

I dunno what else to put on here, so I’ll just get to the Askblog stuff

ASKBLOG INFO

In the askblog, you could ask my versions of the characters anything! And here they are!

Cyan - Cyan’s the impromptu leader of the Main 4. He acts like a confident and well-meaninged hero, despite being hotheaded and a bit too overconfident.

Gold - Gold is the Main 4’s “slacker.” They’re quite lazy, but they do get the job done eventually. They’re also the most laid back of the four. Strangely, they’re the most capable of neutralizing corrupted energy of the Main 4, and is often asked to.

Lime - Lime is the Main 4’s most straight-headed person. He’s pretty protective, and often plays defensively. He’s often assigned as the caretaker of the group when Cube’s not around.

Orange - Orange is the smartest among the Main 4. She’s the most outgoing and friendly out of the four, always trying to friends. She thinks up most of the strategies the group uses.

Boss/Blixer (Pre-Story) - The boss is the man behind the corruption himself. He barely takes any crass from anyone, acts serious almost always, and has a quick temper. He dislike the others, mostly because they’re his enemies, but also because their personalities often piss him off.

Boss/Blixer (King/New Game Version) - In an ironic twist, the boss who once hated the wacky personalities of the other characters, now became insane himself as a side effect for consuming so much power. He’s pretty much an insane villain who wants death, destruction, corruption, and to flex his guitar.

Cube - Cube’s the oldest out of all the characters (except for Blixer), but is also the most shy. They’re very bad socially, and often couldn’t converse in conversation without another person with them.

I also got a bunch of JSAB ocs/fcs you could ask, and here they are!

TTF/Time to Fight - TTF is one of Blixer’s most loyal servants. He’s a mercenary hell-bent on capturing/killing the Main 4 shapes. He’s often pretty reckless and overconfident, sorta like Cyan. He has a mouth of a sailor, often swearing every sentence.

Happycore - Happycore is one of the cheeriest and friendliest characters in Paradise. They’re so cheery that they don’t even know if they’re corrupted or not, and act literally the same.

Now here’s some rules!

Rule 1 - Don’t be weird/inappropriate please

Rule 2 - Requests and dares are allowed

Rule 3 - Don’t ask the same questions

Rule 4 - OCs are allowed, but only sometimes

Rule 5 - Please specify which character you’re asking (and in Boss man’s case, specify which version)

Anyways, you’ve reach the end of the pinned post, seeya!

#jsab #just shapes and beats #jsab askblog #jsab player #jsab cyan #jsab au #jsab blixer #jsab boss #jsab cube #nyazhis jsabasks #jsab h*i #jsab headcanons #the jsab story thing

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zannithinks · 2 months

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Fathom, please!

Thank you for the ask! It's so motivating ♡ Apologies for the delay, I got sick :( but here's a bit more of my crazy Fathom story. Be Warned: there are inconsistencies abound, this thing has a lot of context going on behind the scenes. If you're confused, don't worry, so is Jim. (This occurs just a few lines after the first snippet I shared, which is linked below) Fathom Snippets Part 1 | Part 2

“Gown off.”

“What?” Jim hunches like the guy is about to rip it off of him. Rationally he knows a doctor wouldn't do that, but the frequency in his head flickers enough to sow deep rooted doubt. Someone’s ripped the clothes off his back before, it tells him, it could happen again.

“Visual inspection for edema, lesions, rashes, the sort. It’s just me here, kid, ‘aint no one you gotta impress.”

Jim doesn't move. The moment he reveals his skin, he’s gonna reveal something that shouldn’t be found out, but a snowstorm of static in his brain keeps him from remembering exactly what it is, and Bones keeps looking at him like- like-

“Doesn’t the tech tell you that?” Jim’s hands curl over the edge of the biobed like the grip will ground him into the here and now. He’s pretty sure the doctor just glanced at the readings, probably seeing his elevated heart rate, but Jim can’t do anything about that, he’s too desperate to stall and too frustrated about not knowing why.

“Don’t trust the machines with everything, that’s why they still hire me, don’t they?”

This guy’s cocky. Not in the bold way Jim can be, more in the sheer amount of confidence he has in his own abilities to pick up more than bioscanners can. Competence is always a turn on, but Jim can’t focus on that. Really, he can’t focus on anything. Not since the red alert started blaring. His chest tightens at the reminder of his nightmare. Or was it a memory?

The doctor settles into his stance, looking perfectly ready to stand there all day. “There’s no rush, Kirk. When you’re ready we’ll continue.”

He flinches. “Don’t call me that.”

Bones doesn’t call him that unless he’s pissed off or trying to be annoying. The doctor’s not angry, but his frown is deeper, so Jim’s gotta be doing something wrong. This isn’t his life. Sporadic bursts of small truths come through his brains buzzing static. Jim's from a place where he's going to live alone and die alone, and that's how it's supposed to go.

“What should I call you?”

He risks a glance. Bones looks tired and worn out, but his tone remains patient.

“Jim.” “Ok, Jim.”

It teases a smile out of him, even though this Jim wouldn't understand the huff of irritation is actually disguised amusement.

This world belongs to him and Bones, and he’s fucking things up for them. He needs to stop fucking things up.

“Ok.” Jim nods, and this has to be the first time he's ever had to psyche himself up to take his clothes off. Or maybe just the first time he remembers.

Jim yanks the tie at the back of his neck and rips the gown off like it’s personally offended him. There. It wasn’t that hard. There was no reason to get so bent out of shape about it.

Then he catches the doctor's expression.

#zanni writes #wip #Fathom #the scene is #mckirk #but the overall fic will include spirk #this scene is soo rrooooouuugh agh sorry #ask zanni #zanni answers

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sleepyowlwrites · 1 year

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FTWT CCCLXIX

breezy said to do the tag so I am. @zmwrites @blind-the-winds

smooth (dragon, snake, worm, 2012)

Smooth over rough A silent shadow weaves through the rocky maze of dead leaves and dust Light glints off black scales Tongue. Complete silence Shadow shifts as body rears Swifter than sight, strike! Black scales slither onward Treasure is clutched in greedy fangs Snake returning home

grim (youth story d0 - this is hella non-canon)

Nyks was stuck to the ceiling with a face of grim determination.

Daniel gazed up at him adoringly, which was honestly how he always looked at Nyks, even when the latter was leeching off his body heat and had an arm down one of his coat sleeves. “Are you afraid to get down?”

“It’s not that.” Nyks bit his lip, his skin blinking red for a second, and see-through, so that it looked like a Nyks-shaped part of the ceiling was red.

Mark had given up on craning his neck backward and was just crouching beside Daniel’s ankles, drawing in the dust of the stockroom floor. “How did he even get up there?” His voice was louder in the empty space.

“I climbed up the wall, obviously.” Nyks’ voice sounded a little closer to an echo this time. His hands appeared to be part of ceiling rather than resting on them.

“Honey, if you’re not stuck, what are you doing?” Daniel was very patient and he absolutely would wait until Nyks felt like giving a proper explanation, but there was no guarantee that Mark wouldn’t just abandon both of them the minute he knew he wasn’t needed.

scowl (youth story d0)

“You won’t pet my head?” Nyks pouted, which frankly was unfair.

“I’ll pet your head,” R mumbled, shaking his own tiredly. “You’re the worst.”

“No, that’s me.”

Daniel didn’t even correct Mark this time, too elated that he was joking with his friends, especially Nyks. Mark noticed and immediately scowled.

warm (you, of dusk, and I, of dust, 2020)

so it happened, and yet, I think the air is warm where my face can’t feel it. perhaps I’m smiling. or I might be on the table with my limbs all askew. I’d like to ask you. but a dead cricket cannot tell me if in this old air I am no longer breathing.

eager (youth story d0)

Savannah huffed and turned to the side, fiddling with her backpack. “I am not mooning over anyone. I am a concerned friend.”

“You’re certainly a nosy friend,” R said mildly, too eager to continue this track of conversation even though he definitely knew he would only lead to an angry Savannah. “Since you can just read his feelings, why don’t you do that?”

“Clearly, that would be impolite.” She blew her pink bangs out of her face.

ennui why

exotic

eternally i mean i only have two scriv docs open but oh well

electric (lights, 2013) also I started singing the schoolhouse rock song for electricity

First, fingertips. His were callused, and I knew every print and groove while I traced my own down to rest gently between his. Palms met.

And then, light. Not like sunlight. Not like starlight. Not false light from electricity. Pure, untainted light, pouring out from my soul, racing down my arm and overflowing onto our clasped hands. His eyes left mine to gaze on this marvel - our hands glowing with warm, colorful light, pulsing softly with our matching heartbeats. I watched his mouth smile, and the light reflect in his eyes, and his hand hold mine.

And release it. Slowly, hesitantly, he pulled his hand away, fingers untangling from my own. My heart beat slowed; his sped up. We were not one anymore. The light flickered, failed and faded, receding back into my soul. I dared to lift my eyes to his face which focused in his knees. Then he was rising, gangly legs trembling ever so slightly as he stood. He licked his lips - no words. I opened my mouth - no words. He turned away.

bent, brave, bored, back. BONUS: body, bludgeon. @writing-moth @the-orangeauthor @oh-no-another-idea @faelanvance @dogmomwrites OR ANYBODY

#find the word tag

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not-a-space-alien · 2 years

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All Creatures Great and Small Chapter 6: Clap Your Hands if You Believe

In this chapter: dont talk to strangers on the internet, unless you want to i guess, also shrimp colors

Thanks to my beta readers @appelsiinilight and @static-stars!!! <3

Story Masterpost

On AO3

PS unfortunately my writing will probably be going on hiatus for a little bit because my classes are starting back up this week...and I will have to be spending all my writing juice writing my thesis essay 😅 If you want to make sure you get notified when my active story(ies) come back, make sure to either subscribe on AO3 or ask to be added to the tag list!

Sierra was coming.

Everything was prepared. She’d gotten her plane ticket, and Marcy had the couch folded out so she could have somewhere to sleep. They’d made sure they had food in the house that was to Sierra’s taste, and they had a full agenda of activities to do while she was in town. Marcy had beaten back the endless tide of graduate school tasks requiring her attention to get the whole time off. They were ready for a great trip.

There was just one problem. Thistle still hadn’t told her he wasn’t human.

He’d tried. But she’d responded as though they were still playing make pretend. He’d even sent her a photo, to which she’d responded as though it were an impressive photo manipulation. Did you do this yourself? It’s awesome!

He chickened out after that. Marcy offered to take over and try to find the right words, but Thistle declined. He had to do this himself. It was only proper. He would do it himself, he repeated over and over, as he continued to not do it himself.

“Eeeee, I’m so excited!” Sierra’s voice came out through the tinny phone speaker. “The plane just landed! It’s gonna take me a while to get through the baggage claim and stuff though.”

“Okay!” said Marcy. “We’re just leaving the house now.”

“See you soon!” said Thistle. He hung up and then immediately exploded into terrified trembling, like a neurotic Chihuahua.

Marcy’s hand came over and palmed him, flat against the car seat. “Shhh.”

“What if this is a horrible mistake,” said Thistle’s muffled voice through her fingers.

Marcy lifted her hand, and he immediately popped back up into shape. “Then we’ll deal with it,” she said. “You can’t get anything nice in life without risks. You have to take the good with the bad.”

Thistle nodded, expression hardening. “Right. I’m not nervous at all.”

On the drive to the airport, he continued to climb all over Marcy, anxiously searching for a good place to sit, on her lap, in the crook of her neck, on the dashboard, in Marcy’s jacket pocket.

“All right then, totally not nervous little guy,” she said, removing him from the steering wheel and plunking him down into the cupholder. “Why don’t you just chill out.”

He wrung his hands. The street signs pointing towards the airport pickup started whizzing past in the window. Thistle moaned and popped open the hatch that sealed the compartment in the center console. “I’m–I’m just going to hide. Just a little bit. Just for a little bit.”

“Okay,” said Marcy. “You come out when you’re ready.”

Thistle scrabbled up into the nook, banishing himself among the pens and loose change and discarded, crumpled up papers. He shut it on top of himself.

Marcy pulled over near airport arrivals. There was a young woman, roughly matching Sierra’s description, waiting with a suitcase, neck bent over to examine her phone. Her fingers moved across the screen just as Thistle’s phone in the cupholder dinged with a notification that said I think I see you.

Marcy beeped the horn and rolled the window down, waving enthusiastically. “Hey! Fancy seeing you here!”

Sierra’s face lit up with delight. “Marcy?”

“Sierra?”

Sierra practically skipped over to the car, the trunk popping open cuing her to put her bag in there. She then came up front and clambered into the passenger’s seat. “It’s so great to meet you!”

“You as well!”

Marcy glanced down at the center console. When there was no movement from it, Marcy gently started to open it, but she felt tiny hands shoo her away and then click it back shut.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Fine, then. She pulled away from the curb and started to drive off.

Sierra cleared her throat. “So, um, not that I’m not thrilled to meet you…But I thought Thistle was coming too?” Sierra’s grandmother had warned her to avoid getting kidnapped and murdered while meeting people off the internet, and Sierra was now giving second thought to the previously-disregarded worries.

“We’ll meet him soon,” said Marcy. “Don’t worry.”

Sierra bounced with excitement. “Ooh, I’m so excited–and nervous, but I mean you probably don’t think I have anything to be nervous about, but you know him already, you probably think I’m silly and stupid and–”

Marcy laughed. “I think you’re overthinking things a bit.”

Sierra nodded, biting her lip. “Right. Well, Thistle speaks of you so highly, I’m just afraid he’ll be disappointed if I can’t measure up to you.”

Marcy looked over and saw Sierra wringing her hands. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

“I’m just…” She nervously flapped her hands. “I don’t know what kind of relationship you guys have, I was too nervous to ask but I don’t know if you guys are, like, dating, or I thought maybe he was gay, but the way he talks about you…”

As Sierra trailed off, Marcy stared straight ahead, stunned by the awkward turn the conversation had taken. “Ah…Well that’s a good question, I don’t think he and I are entirely sure, either. But I promise there’s room for more people in his life.”

Sierra twirled her hair. “O…Okay. I…Well, I’ve been meaning to ask, but I was too shy. His name isn’t…isn’t really Thistle, is it? I just assumed that was a name he used online.”

“It’s a normal name where he’s from,” said Marcy. “It’s a translation of his name in his native language.”

Sierra perked up. “Ooh, that’s so cool! He has a pretty thick accent, so obviously I figured he wasn’t from around here, but…I could never tell where he was from?”

“I’m sure he’d love to answer all these questions for you,” said Marcy. “When we meet him.”

This last part was said slower and louder than necessary, with another glance down at the center console. Nothing.

Marcy sighed. “Thistle, please. This is fucking unbearable. Please end my suffering.”

Sierra looked at her wide-eyed. “I don’t get it.”

The center console compartment popped open. Just a crack.

Marcy rolled the car to a stop at a red light. “Come on, bud. You can’t put it off forever.”

“Is he…in the car with us?” Sierra said, puzzled, looking into the back seat.

The lid lifted. Marcy could see he was having a bit of trouble, with his arms trembling, so she helped him out and lifted it up all the way.

“Sierra Mist!” said Thistle, holding his arms out and waving. He’d clearly meant to be enthusiastic, but the crack in his voice betrayed his absolute terror.

Sierra looked down at him, face totally blank, eyes wide. The light turned green, and the car started to roll forward.

Thistle’s eyes darted around the seat, up to Sierra’s face, trembling.

Marcy glanced at the interaction from her peripheral vision. “Well? Say hello.”

Sierra’s mouth moved to form words, but nothing came.

“Please say something!" Thistle said through an agonized smile.

"I… thought you'd be taller?"

Thistle and Marcy exploded into laughter.

"You're real?" said Sierra, tears in her eyes. "You're really real?" She looked up at Marcy. "You're not tricking me somehow?"

"If I was talented enough to fake something like this, I'd be a lot richer than I actually am."

"Can I …. Can I hold him?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

Her shock redoubled, as though she hadn't considered it just because her brain was so thoroughly broken. She cast her eyes down at him. "Can-Can I–may I hold you?"

He nodded enthusiastically.

"Just cup your hands together and hold them in front of him," said Marcy, helpfully providing what she'd discovered to be the most comfortable for him after much trial and error.

Sierra did as instructed. Thistle hopped up into her hands and sat down cross-legged, ears twitching nervously.

She brought her hands up closer to her face. "You…you're the one I've been talking to online?"

He beamed a great big smile. "Why do you think I type so slow? The internet was made for people with much bigger hands!"

Sierra was in tears, overwhelmed. "You're really real?"

He frowned. "Normally I would just say yes, but your persistent disbelief is making me question it myself."

Sierra's face slowly cracked into a smile. "Ha…it really is you…that’s exactly the kind of stupid joke you’d make…"

Thistle giggled.

Sierra slowly lifted her thumb up towards his head. He flinched away, prompting her to stop–it was instinct, but then after a moment, he recovered and steeled his nerves.

The thumb brushed against his hair, rubbing his head. They’d talked about physical contact over the phone….but this was quite different from what she had been picturing. Thistle had been picturing pretty much exactly this, more or less, and had just been worrying about if she could be gentle enough.

She was gentle enough.

***

Colin was cooking when they came home. “Hey!” said Teddy from the living room. “Nice to meetcha!”

“Woah!” Colin came out of the kitchen at top speed, as though he were afraid to miss Sierra. “She’s here! Hah! Hey, what’s up!”

Sierra nervously curled in on herself, wilting under the attention. “H-hey, nice to meet you! You must be Colin and Theodora?”

“Hope you don’t mind I’m sitting on your bed,” said Teddy, patting the folded-out couch. “I was just watching TV.”

“What are you cooking?” said Sierra. “It smells really good!”

“Tacos!” said Colin, beaming. “And it’s almost ready! I figured you’d be hungry after your long flight!”

Sierra expressed the appropriate delight, and Colin went back into the kitchen. Teddy followed a minute later, setting the table.

Thistle crawled out from Sierra’s jacket hood. “It doesn’t smell that great to me,” Thistle mumbled.

“What?” said Sierra.

“It smells like dead meat.”

Marcy plucked Thistle off her shoulder, dangling him in front of the two women in the living room. “That’s because it is dead meat.”

Thistle gave her a sour look, then wiggled out of her hand and landed on the table. “Hey, oh, Sierra! I can finally show you my stuff!”

Sierra bounced excitedly. “Stuff! Stuff!”

Thistle leapt off the table and jogged to his castle. It was still on the living room floor, but it’d been pushed to the side to make room for the couch to fold out. He skipped over to a plastic critter cage next to it. “These are my worms!”

“Worm time!” Sierra chanted.

Marcy knelt and helped Thistle take the lid off the enclosure. Thistle had a wonderful time bringing different worms over to Sierra, telling her their names, because somehow he could keep track of which was which.

“Oooh, and, and–” Thistle darted into his castle, dragging out a mess of paper after him. “These are my art supplies! I was just–just coloring in this drawing before we left!”

He held it up proudly. Marcy took the tiny artwork between two careful fingers. It was a pencil drawing of Thistle sitting on Marcy’s shoulder.

“Oh, it’s lovely!” said Sierra.

Marcy furrowed her brow. “Yeah, it is, but…”

Thistle shuffled his feet. “Oh, but…?”

Marcy pointed to the pixie in the drawing. “This is you, right? Why did you color your wings like that?”

It had to be Thistle; the torn up wing was too on the nose to be someone else. But unlike the iridescent, semi-transparent, whitish color of his actual wings, the one in the drawing had vivid purple wings, with electric blue markings.

Thistle took the drawing, examining it very hard. “Why did I color them like what?”

“Purple and blue?”

Thistle rubbed the back of his head. “Well, I haven’t found a colored pencil yet that has the same color as my wings, so I just used the ones that were closest.”

Marcy cocked her head at him. “Um…” She rifled in his colored pencils, most of which had their tips broken off so he could use them like chalk. She withdrew a silver colored pencil. “You don’t think something like this is closer?”

He looked embarrassed. “What? No! Are you blind? That color is–is–so dull!”

Marcy put the pencil down, then used her finger to gently rub his back. “Thistle, are you…Are you insecure about your wings? That you feel the need to embellish them?”

Thistle recoiled, offended. “What are you talking about?” He tossed his hair over his shoulder, put a hand on his hip, and smirked. “My wings are beautiful, the most beautiful thing in the house.”

Marcy looked at Sierra. “You’re seeing the same thing I am, right? I’m not missing something here?”

Sierra fidgeted awkwardly. “Yeah, Thistle, I have to agree with Marcy on this one. Your wings look much closer to the silver pencil than what you colored.”

Thistle looked aghast. “What?”

“Wait a minute,” said Marcy, gears turning, and then an electric thrill of realization cannonballed into her head. “Can you…Can you see colors we can’t?”

Thistle took a step back, eyebrows raised, shocked at her enthusiasm. “What…what do you mean?”

“Some kinds of animals like bees and butterflies can see ultraviolet wavelengths of light.”

He stared at her, uncomprehending.

“Here–you–you’ve seen a rainbow in the sky before, right?”

He nodded vigorously.

Marcy dumped all his colored pencils out with shaking hands. “Here–draw–draw one for me.”

Thistle did as instructed, running through the whole gamut of ROY G BIV before…

He hemmed and hmmed and looked through the colored pencils. “I, um…There isn’t a good color for this one.”

“Holy shit, Thistle,” said Marcy. “We don’t make colored pencils in that color because we can’t see it.”

He looked up at her, worried. “Oh….you…” He cocked his head. “Can’t see? But–but–but then…” He covered his face and flickered his wings. “Then that means to you, my wings look ugly!”

“No,” said Sierra soothingly. “No, they’re nice! They’re pretty! They’re shiny!”

Thistle huffed. "Well now I have to think about all my outfits again."

He stomped into his little castle, muttering to himself about how humans had the audacity to have eyes that couldn’t even appreciate his wings correctly. The light in the ceiling came on–Teddy had helped him with that, a little bulb powered by a single battery sitting in the corner of the castle. He started unfolding his clothes and dragging handfuls of them out. “What does this one look like to you?”

“It looks green,” said Sierra, examining the shirt. “With a white trim.”

Thistle hurled the shirt to the ground, looking on the verge of an aneurysm. “The trim is not white!”

“Dinner’s ready!” Colin called from the next room, saving them.

Marcy promised they could talk more about it later and grabbed Thistle, carrying the steaming pixie over to the dinner table. She set him down at his setting–the chair next to Marcy remained empty, and on the place setting there was a small table and chair sized for him. On the table was a small fork and spoon–made for dolls, but roughly the right size. He had a cup and plate from a tea party set that matched his hands a little more closely, nice porcelain that was intended to be given only to the most careful of children to play with.

Colin brought out the pot of ground beef and set it next to where Teddy had laid out all the trimmings. Then he laid out a few tortillas that had been painstakingly cut out from full-sized ones, about an inch in diameter, on Thistle’s plate. Thistle clapped. “Thank you!”

Teddy gingerly set a plastic cup of small crickets next to him, suppressing the disgusted crunching of her face. “For your protein.”

“Thank you!” He bounced in his chair.

Sierra took a seat on the other side of Thistle, watching him with adoring fascination.

“Let Thistle pick his toppings first,” said Marcy. “So he’s not scrambling to get some.”

Thistle picked up his plate and eagerly pattered across the table, winding around Teddy’s silverware and past Colin’s cup to get to the chopped olives. He took a few handfuls, then piled them on the plate next to a few shreds of lettuce, a bit of salsa, and the tiniest dab of sour cream.

Plate piled high, Thistle scampered back to his place, and then the humans started serving themselves, taking scoops of things almost as big as Thistle’s entire body.

“Um,” said Sierra nervously, politely waiting to serve herself last. “So–So–Maybe this is–So I don’t know if it’s rude to ask this, but…” She tapped her fingers together. “Um, isn’t fae food, like, like a thing? Is there some special way I should eat?”

The other humans all laughed. “Yeah,” said Teddy, “there is a special way you should eat. You should make sure not to look at him while you’re eating, because you’ll lose your appetite.”

This, of course, prompted Sierra to instinctively glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He was in the process of eviscerating a cricket, which he stopped, blushing, hands still covered with its goupy innards.

“It’s a mixed bag what folktales about fairies are actually accurate,” Marcy said. “That’s what it seems so far, anyway.”

“Oh,” said Sierra. “I guess that makes sense.” She seemed to be hovering in the clouds, mentally, watching Thistle lay cricket legs onto a tortilla. Fusion cuisine. “So…magic isn’t real, then? Or is it?”

Thistle’s hands wavered on his food, movements growing hesitant. After he was silent for a moment, Marcy prompted, “I think Thistle is probably the best one to answer that.”

“Oh, um…” Thistle rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, it’s real.”

Sierra’s eyes lit up. “Oh my gosh! That’s so cool! What all can you do?”

Thistle’s face grew redder and redder, distress growing. “Me? Not–Not–Not all that much, the only thing I can reliably do is fly.”

Sierra looked a little disappointed. “Oh. But that takes magic? But you have wings.”

“They’re small enough that they probably don’t really generate enough lift to carry him by themselves,” Marcy interjected. “Just, you know, by the physics of it. Even though he’s pretty light. People always underestimate how big wings would need to be to achieve flight.”

This was the point at which Marcy noticed Thistle’s increasing mortification. “Ah…” she said, easing back. “Well–you–you’re probably wondering about the mantis wing.”

Sierra perked up. “Oh, yes. Thistle said he’d been in an accident, which you helped him through.”

“Right,” said Marcy.

Ah, now this was safer territory. Thistle stood up straighter. “Right. A mantis bit me and tore most of my wing away. Marcy put this one on to help. It mostly works. I just can’t stay in the air for more than a few seconds. The difference in shape makes it harder to use. And I can’t pull on it too hard.”

“Oh,” said Sierra. “That’s so sad! You can’t use magic to fix it?”

Thistle stiffened. “Um, well, doing that sort of magic is pretty hard…Most people can’t.”

This was the point at which Teddy picked up on Thistle’s discomfort. She cleared her throat. “So, Sierra, tell us more about yourself. What do you do for work? Or are you in school?”

Sierra looked jarred. “Oh, me? Oh yeah, I’m in school.”

“Awesome!” said Colin. “What’s your major?”

Sierra fiddled with a nearby fork. “Um…I actually haven’t picked yet.”

“She’s good at everything,” said Thistle, puffing up. “So that makes it hard to choose.”

“Haha,” said Sierra bashfully. “Well, I get mostly A’s and B’s.”

“That’s great!” said Teddy. “And you don’t have to pick right away.”

“Ahaha,” said Sierra nervously, “well, I mean, I’m graduating next year, so–”

“Girl,” Marcy whispered.

“--I should probably pick soon.”

“Marcy, you should tell Sierra about your work,” said Colin. “It’s super interesting, I bet it would make her go into biology.”

“I study the effects of pesticides on native animal life,” said Marcy, preening.

“Oh, yeah!” said Sierra. “Thistle told me about that. That’s how you found him, right? Out in the field?”

“Yeah!”

Sierra turned towards Thistle. “I’m kind of surprised you let Marcy catch you. I figured you’d be able to get away using magic.”

Thistle bristled again. “Um…”

This was the point at which Colin took note of Thistle’s nervousness. “Thistle’s a pretty nimble little guy, but Marcy had a net. She’s pretty good at catching little things in a net.”

“Yeah!” said Marcy. “Recently I had to catch a bunch of insects for this grant that was studying bioaccumulation at different trophic levels on agricultural–”

“Okay, but, like,” interrupted Sierra, “Surely you must have some magic you can use to defend yourself? You can use magic, right?”

Thistle recoiled, looking on the verge of tears.

This was the point at which Sierra herself finally noticed Thistle’s anxiety. She eased back a little, as though she hadn’t already just trucked past polite boundaries. “I–I’m sorry, I just–I’m curious.”

Thistle was experiencing a tumultuous mix of emotions. He was scared that if he flaunted the fact that he was a magical creature too much, it might give them ideas about how to take advantage of him. Jewel’s harsh speech about humans extracting magic from him, and how they always captured and tortured aliens and whatever extraordinary creatures they found, had made him perpetually nervous about talking about magic in too great of a depth with any of the humans…Even the ones he trusted. He knew, logically, that they were his friends, he could trust them, and they would never do something like that… But still. His prey instincts kicked in, warning him to stay away from anything that could be seen as something to be used.

And…he was not a proud creature, generally. But he was a little embarrassed. Everyone always got excited about the prospect of him being capable of supernatural feats, but he had just…never learned. It seemed very silly to try and explain, but he’d never had reason to. He wasn’t embarrassed when he’d been at home with his family, because nobody batted an eyelash at the prospect of magic–they were all better at it than he was. Why would he put in the effort to get good at it, when he was useful in other ways? When his natural talent lay elsewhere? When he could sew and craft things way, way faster than anyone else, and see the delight on their faces when he gave it to them? When they were a family unit, and all made up for each other’s strengths and weaknesses?

But now he was the only one around who could use magic if he tried, with the potential for magic. They were all so interested in it, the big thing he had never been very good at, and it was so easy to imagine them forcing him to try it for their own curiosity. It could be as simple as his humans good-naturedly pressuring him to demonstrate some of the simpler applications, all the way up to the horror of some malicious Robert-type human catching wind of him and stealing him away, locking him up and demanding the use of his magic for themselves.

He didn’t have any reason to be nervous. He knew he didn’t have any reason to be nervous. They were his friends. They wouldn’t do anything to him. He knew they wouldn’t do anything to him.

But he was just so scared.

Thistle started crying.

“Oh no!” said Sierra, mortified. “Thistle I–I’m so, so sorry! Don’t cry! It’s okay! We don’t have to talk about it!”

The other three humans all started to get up from their chairs, which startled Thistle, prompting him to hunch over.

Marcy’s hands came at him slowly, comfortingly. “Do you want to go to the living room?”

He nodded mutely.

Marcy’s hands closed around him–something that at one point was so so terrifying, now a solid and reassuring presence. The overwhelming world disappeared as he curled up and she carried him.

She opened her hands when they were in the corner of the living room. It was quieter here, and dim, the humans talking distantly in the dining room. He uncurled and let himself be held, looking up into Marcy’s compassionate eyes. His eyes flickered briefly to the fishtank behind her–Jewel was peeking out from behind a plant, brow furrowed in worry.

Marcy’s finger brushed his jaw gently. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

“I–I just–” Thistle’s voice wavered. “I just got scared.”

“Do you want to be alone in your castle for a little bit?”

He nodded tearfully.

Marcy set him on the ground, and he scampered forward into the castle and shut the door.

Marcy came back into the dining room, taking her place at the dinner table with a sigh.

“I’m so sorry,” said Sierra, seeming on the verge of tears. “I’m so–so sorry, Marcy, I’m really sorry, I’m so stupid, I’m an idiot–”

“All right,” said Marcy. “Okay, just listen.”

Teddy jumped in. “It’s hard to read his facial expressions sometimes, because his face is so small.”

“Right,” said Colin. “But–but he’s really an open book in other ways.”

“You have to pay closer attention,” said Marcy. “You have to be more careful to check how he’s feeling. It’s harder to notice, and he’s sometimes too timid to let you know.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sierra, again. “I’m so stupid–”

“Just–just listen,” said Marcy. “Don’t make the same mistakes we did. He’s been through a lot of trial-and-error with us, because we had to, to try and figure out how to interact with him. I don’t want him to have to go through that again with a new person. Especially one that’s supposed to already care about him.”

“I’m so stupid,” blubbered Sierra.

“Then stop being stupid and listen!” Teddy snapped. “That’s not helpful.”

Sierra’s mouth clamped shut.

“I know you can do this,” said Marcy. “I wouldn’t let you even try if I didn’t think you could.”

Sierra nodded.

They spent a few minutes going over some things–what to watch out for, how to read his body language including his wings and ears. The humans felt weird talking about him like that when he must surely be able to hear them, but Sierra needed to hear it. From his castle, Thistle crouched and listened, suddenly self-conscious. Do my ears really go back when I’m scared? Do I really flare my wings out and rustle them when I’m happy?

He came back out after a few minutes, when he’d calmed down. The humans all immediately ceased their conversation, looking at him cautiously.

“Hey, bud,” said Colin. “Ready to come back to the table now?”

He craned his neck back to look up at them from the floor, nodding meekly. He jumped up, catching the edge of the table and hauling himself up.

“I’m sorry,” said Sierra. “I should have realized you might be upset by my questions.”

“It’s–it’s okay,” said Thistle. He sat down at his little table-on-a-table. “I just got–just got a little nervous.”

“You don’t have anything to be nervous about,” Marcy soothed.

“I know,” said Thistle. “Really, I do. I know in my brain. It’s just…” He moved a hand from his head down to his chest. “...hard to feel it sometimes.”

Sierra nodded. “We don’t have to talk about it. I promise it’s okay.”

Thistle fiddled with his fork. “I…would like to talk about it, I think.”

Marcy’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“I think it might make me feel better. I’ve been avoiding it on purpose.”

“All right,” said Teddy. “As long as you’re doing it because you want to, and not because you feel like you have to.”

Thistle swallowed, then nodded. He lowered his eyes. “I don’t really use magic because I never learned.” He blushed all the way to the tips of his ears. “I could have, and it’s embarrassing to admit I didn’t. It’s like how I’ve noticed humans are sometimes embarrassed that they don’t have a driver’s license, or don’t understand taxes.”

Sierra flushed now. She didn’t have a driver’s license.

“Did your family make you feel bad about it?” Marcy asked.

“No!” said Thistle. “No, definitely not. They would never. It was just frustrating watching my older siblings who got it a lot faster than I did, so I decided to just focus on things they weren’t good at. I enjoyed those things more anyway, and it was more useful since we had enough people to do magic already anyway.”

“That makes perfect sense,” said Marcy.

Thistle kept his eyes glued to his food. “It’s still–It still makes me feel unsafe, because I know humans are very interested in magic, and if someone like Robert didn’t care about my feelings as much as you all, they could try to take my magic for themselves. And the eldest members of the family were usually the ones who used magic to protect everyone, so it feels a little bit like I don’t know how to keep myself safe anymore.”

“We’ll keep you safe, don’t worry,” said Sierra dutifully.

Marcy held up a hand. “I’m sure Thistle appreciates our help very much, but I’m sure he would appreciate it even more to not be in a position where that was necessary in the first place.” She used a finger to take his hand comfortingly. “Do you think you’d like to be able to do magic?”

His eyes flashed over to the fish tank. “It—Maybe. I’m not sure. It would be much harder here, without my family to teach me. But I have plenty of free time now, and I’ve already learned so much.”

Marcy released him and went back to picking at her food with a fork, forcing well-regulated casualness. “Well that’s certainly something we can try. But only if you want to.”

Thistle gave a flushed smile, warming from the inside out.

“So how does it work, exactly?” said Sierra, eyes sparkling. “I mean, if you want to explain it, of course.”

“It’s kind of like flexing a muscle,” said Thistle. “You just try and wish and think really, really hard about it.” He gave a laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “I can’t explain it very well. Maybe that’s why I’m not very good at it.”

“No, that makes total sense!” said Sierra. “That’s really, really cool. Are there like magic words or anything? How do you learn new spells?”

“Oh, well, no I don’t think so. I mean, I can do magic to fly, because that’s the easiest one, and when I was younger I would…” He waved his hands. “I had this thing I could do to speed up sewing, but eventually it just got easier to do it by hand when I had more practice.” He tapped his chin. “As for, like, learning new things…Well, I don’t really know how you learn the techniques necessarily, someone else can give you directions but it’s like, either you can figure out how to do it or you can’t. But it’s easier when you have lots of magic stored up, because it kind of…” He made a shaking motion, as though grabbing a bottle of soda and letting it explode. “...bubbles out of you. It’s like a force of will thing.

“So there aren’t, like, spells or anything?” said Sierra.

Thistle shrugged. “Uh, I don’t know–I guess not really in the way you think about them like that. It’s more like an extension of your natural abilities that you can use if you have enough magic stored up. Usually it doesn’t just happen; you have to practice, and some things are easier to learn than others. I’ve just kind of…never had the right circumstances.”

“What do you mean by stored up?” said Teddy. “You make it sound like you can find it somewhere and bury it for later.”

“Oh it’s–it’s sort of like. Well, it’s like how you have to eat food to fuel your muscles. And plants generate energy with the sun, and store it in their leaves. It’s kind of like that.”

“Woah!” said Colin. “That’s rad. So you’re solar-powered.”

“Er, no…”

“I think that was a metaphor,” said Marcy. “Unless…?”

“No,” said Thistle. “The sun is nice, but I don’t get magic from it.”

“Then how do you get it?” said Marcy.

Thistle once again went beet red, absolutely mortified.

“You don’t have to tell us!” Marcy rushed to clarify. “If it’s–”

“You all!” said Thistle, and he hid his face in his hands.

The humans all looked at each other. “...us?” said Marcy. “But we’re not magical at all!”

Thistle’s ears twitched, still hiding his face. He said something, too muffled and quiet to hear.

“What was that?” said Marcy.

He removed his hands. His eyes were big, and he had an embarrassed smile on his face. “I generate magic through social connections! I charge up when people are nice to me! I’m more powerful when people who care about me are around!”

Teddy went awwww. Colin looked like he didn’t really understand. Sierra put a hand to her chest and the other to her mouth, tears in her eyes. Marcy’s lip wobbled. “I didn’t know that. That’s–that’s–that’s so sweet.”

“Yeah, so, so–” said Thistle, suddenly unsure of where to go from here.

“So if I playfully tease you, that’s good for you?” said Marcy.

The mischief in her voice was enough to snap Thistle out of his own head, dispersing his anxiety immediately. “Uh–”

“So if I did this–” Her hand stiffened into a claw and came over him.

“Don’t!” Thistle laughed, already knowing what was coming.

“It would actually be good for you–” Her fingers came down and gave him a full-body tickle.

He was on the floor instantly, rolling around under her merciless assault, giggling and pushing at her hand. “Marcy! Marcy, no! Marcy!”

“Too bad,” said Marcy, rolling him over into her hand. “We love you, so now you’re stuck here dealing with us.”

Thistle flared his wings out and rustled them.

***

After dinner, they watched a movie and went to bed. Thistle looked like he was considering asking to sleep with Sierra, but ended up going the safe route and sleeping with Marcy like he usually did.

They had a full agenda of activities planned the next day.

The natural history museum was the first item of the day, and the one for which Thistle was the most excited. He quivered in the crook of Sierra’s neck excitedly, hiding under her hoodie when others were around. Fortunately since they were there on a weekday, it was quiet and there were few others around, so he was able to stay out most of the time.

He said he felt guilty for dodging buying a ticket and made Marcy donate some extra money. There was a delightful donation box that made it look like a Tyrannosaurus Rex was eating your money.

Thistle was impressed by the dinosaur skeletons at first, but as they started seeing more and more of them, they started to get repetitive. Clearly the different shapes all meant something to Sierra and Marcy, but to Thistle, they were all looming, hulking forms he was having trouble comprehending. He seemed more interested in the little pictures on the information placards, which depicted the beasts with flesh and skin.

He was absolutely in love with the hall of gemstones. Every single one he stopped and gazed at adoringly, appreciated the grooves in the stones, the shimmers and sparkles, the craftsmanship on the ones which were cut. Unfortunately, this was the one Sierra and Marcy found the most boring, and Thistle probably would have kept them in there all day if he hadn’t been small enough that Sierra could just walk him away to something more interesting.

Into the hall of mammals they went. It was filled with taxidermied specimens. Thistle was delighted by the opportunity to see up close animals it was normally too dangerous to interact with, especially the small predators. Thistle got very quiet when they started seeing snake skeletons and mounts. Sierra pointed out that a snake wasn’t a mammal, to which Marcy responded that they’d wandered into the hall of reptiles.

It was harder to let him see things in the gift shop, because in the enclosed space it was easier for the employees to see what they were doing. But Thistle made it abundantly clear that they could not leave until he picked out a gemstone to take home, promising he would pay Marcy back by selling extra things on Etsy. He eventually picked out a blue geode whose tag said it was chalcanthite.

They went to the mall next. Mostly window shopping, although they did stop in to the comic book store where Thistle begged Marcy to buy him some action figures, which she did. They stopped at the soft pretzel booth, and when no one was looking Thistle clambered onto the table and started wrestling with the twisted, salty dough to make both women laugh.

There was a miniature arcade there, and Sierra tried repeatedly to win a small stuffed cat from a crane game, without success. Thistle devilishly implored them to make sure no one was watching, then darted up into the claw machine through the prize flap, swimming through the stuffed animals until he reached Sierra’s coveted cat. He pushed it over–with some effort, it was bigger than he was–and rolled it down into the flap. He performed a similar trick later on a vending machine when Marcy wanted a candy bar that had gotten stuck in the dispensing coils.

They decided to go home because Marcy and Sierra's feet were getting tired. Thistle's weren't, so he was disappointed.

He slept with Sierra on the couch that night. Thistle could see Marcy trying to hide her disappointment, but she nevertheless encouraged him to do so.

Sierra's sleeping patterns were different than Marcy's, and he woke up once being squished under her shoulder, but it was easy enough to wake her up.

He didn't have any nightmares that night. He felt like an actual person, one who had people who loved and respected him.

The next day they went to the conservatory. Thistle had never been more in his element in a human-controlled space. He could not stop commenting on how good all the trees were, and more than once they had to hurriedly grab him because he failed to hide on their remark that someone was coming. One time he went missing for a whole ten minutes, the two women scouting the entire place for him, trying not to look too panicked. They eventually found him in the butterfly room, where he claimed he'd been playing hide and seek with them.

Things weren’t crowded because it was a regular workweek. They just had to be a little cautious, but they ended up being able to do pretty much anything they wanted to.

They took the train to sightsee downtown. They got ice cream. They played board games. They went swimming. They went to a fancy restaurant and got weird, gourmet soups. They sat contentedly at home, watching meaningless videos on their phones.

He was in Heaven. He didn't have nightmares. He was a person. He had friends. He never wanted it to end.

***

After confirming the coast was clear, Thistle stood on the car door, next to the door lock, as Marcy rolled the window down. Behind them in the background, the commotion of the airport chattered distantly.

Thistle was misty-eyed. “Well…I guess this is goodbye. For now.”

Sierra held her hand out, and Thistle curled up in it. She brought him to her chest. “I know plane tickets are expensive, b-but I’m sure I can find some way to come again soon.”

Thistle hugged her back as best as he could as she squeezed him.

She set him back down, wiping her eyes. “Well…you definitely weren’t what I was expecting, but–but it turned out even better than I could have hoped. Thank you for letting me meet you.”

“Thank you,” said Thistle.

“I don’t know how I’ll…go back to just–just living a normal life. And just pretending this didn’t happen. That you’re not real. But I’ll keep quiet, I promise.” Her face went red. “Maybe I’ll–maybe I’ll look more closely at the ground when I’m outside back at home now.”

Marcy smiled. “That sounds nice.”

“Thank you,” said Thistle. “I love you. Goodbye. Have a nice flight.”

Sierra cleared her throat, then looked at Marcy through the window. “Thanks for the ride. Drive safe home.”

“Have a good flight.”

Sierra hovered for a few more moments, then patted the car and walked off, rolling her suitcase behind her.

Thistle jumped down into the passenger’s seat, and Marcy rolled the window up and pulled away from the curb.

Thistle slowly lowered himself down and curled up into a ball. “Thank you, Marcy. That was. Very nice.”

Marcy reached over and gave him a little pat. “I’m glad.”

“I can tell you found her a little annoying. Thank you for not saying anything.”

Marcy let out an embarrassed laugh. “That’s okay, I still had fun. You can have her come back over any time.”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed totally wrung out. “It’s natural to be feeling a little down after your friend leaves…is there something we should do? I…” She bit her lip. “I–I hate to ask this–I know that, well–I think–I um…”

“What is it?”

“You wouldn’t…Would you rather go live with Sierra?” When there was a pause, Marcy rushed to add, “I don’t know how we could get you through the flight there, but–but if that’s something you would–would want, I mean, you know I would be disappointed, but that’s your decision and I want what’s best for you.”

She felt a microscopic hand on her thigh. “No, Marcy. Sierra could never replace you. But thank you.”

He sounded so sure. Guilty relief washed through her. “Okay.” She kept her eyes on the road. “Still…it’s OK to miss her. We should–We can try and make some efforts to find you some more local friends. It’s–it’s a tricky needle to thread, of course, but I saw how happy you were…if you want, it might be nice to, I don’t know…find somewhere where you could have a sleepover?” It sounded stupid as she said it, but it seemed like the exact kind of activity he would like.

He was silent, so impossible to tell what his actual thoughts were.

“I don’t know who exactly you would want to–Well, I don’t know, but I know you’re sociable, and–and now we’ve eased into it, surely we can find some other people closer here so they could visit more often?”

No response.

“What do you think?” She glanced down to look at him.

He was gone.

***

You just try and wish and think really, really hard about it.

It took Thistle a decent minute to get his bearings to even figure out where he was. It was so dark, but he heard the sounds of many, many humans nearby, their voices muffled, and felt himself jolting and bouncing off soft fabrics accompanied by a rolling clicking sound.

He scrabbled to get upright, finding something solid to grab onto, looking around wildly.

As his eyes adjusted, he realized what he was looking at….A zipper. The clacking was the clacking of wheels over tile. Astonished, he looked down at the fabric under his hands and recognized it as the pink strawberry-patterned dress that Sierra had worn yesterday.

He was in Sierra’s suitcase.

He was in Sierra’s suitcase. Somehow. He had just been there with Marcy, and he’d blinked, and his stomach lurched, and then he’d just found himself in Sierra’s suitcase.

Either Thistle or Sierra had just used magic. Those were the only two possible explanations. They had both been so sad to leave, wishing they could stay together, and so pumped full of magic from their long vacation doing nothing but bonding, that it had just spilled over and yanked Thistle over and dropped him in Sierra’s suitcase.

Thistle didn’t feel like he’d done magic. To do something as big as teleporting himself from the car to inside the airport, that would have taken an enormous amount of magic that would leave him feeling very drained, which he didn’t feel.

Did that mean…Sierra had done it?

Was Sierra just…naturally very good at using magic? That would be ironic, a pixie who sucked at magic accidentally befriending a human who happened to be a savant at it. Sierra had never met a magical creature before now and so wouldn’t have had any actual magic in her body to actually perform any magic until now.

Was that how it worked? Were humans…able to use magic, but unaware of it? Unable to generate any themselves, but able if someone like Thistle helped them?

Sierra, of course, didn’t notice any of this. She just found herself suddenly feeling very tired, rolling her suitcase to a stop at the back of the security line and yawning, head drooping.

Not far away, on the road from the airport, a little red car with an I fucking love science bumper sticker slammed on its breaks, screeching into the most aggressive U-turn ever seen in the tri-state area.

***

Sierra was almost to the front of the line when she spotted Marcy, power-walking towards TSA, very clearly trying to strike some balance between her volcanic anger and her desire to not make a scene in front of security.

“Marcy?” said Sierra nervously. “What is it?”

“Come over here,” said Marcy venomously. “Get out of line and come over here.”

Sierra regretfully looked back at TSA, then ducked under the dividers to step out of line. Looking chastised, she rolled her suitcase behind her and met Marcy. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

Marcy grabbed Sierra’s wrist in an icy grip. She leaned in. “Listen to me. I don’t know what you did. I don’t know how you did it. But we both know you’re not going to get him past security. They’ll see him on the X-rays. So I’m just going to say this once.” She held out her other hand. “Give him back.”

“What?” said Sierra, eyes wide, looking like a kicked puppy. “What are you talking about?”

“Where is Thistle?”

“He was in the car with you!”

“And now he isn’t. I don’t know how you did it, but–”

“You think I–You think I tried to steal him?”

“You’re not getting on that plane until I have him. Open your suitcase.”

Sierra drew back, looking overwhelmed. “I–I didn’t!”

“Then open your suitcase!”

She looked at TSA out of the corner of her eye. “Can we–can we at least go into the bathroom or something? For some privacy?”

“Fine.”

They managed to find a single-stall family bathroom with a lock on the door. When they were alone, Sierra turned her suitcase on its side and used the little key to undo the luggage lock.

She unzipped it and flipped it open, revealing Thistle tangled in her socks.

“What?” said Sierra, mortified. “How did you –How did–”

Marcy swiped Thistle out of the suitcase, holding him as far away from Sierra as possible, opening her mouth to wring Sierra out.

“Wait!” said Thistle, waving his hands urgently. “Marcy, wait! Wait!”

Both women looked on the verge of tears, but they broke eye contact from each other and looked down to him.

“It’s…It’s not Sierra’s fault.”

***

It was nearly eleven o’ clock by the time they got home, Marcy dragging herself in through the door and not turning the lights on, moving through the dim and quiet into the living room.

She set Thistle down on the coffee table. The room was lit just by the soft light from the fish tank. She folded her arms on her knees. “Okay, so…Sorry if I scared your friend off so much that she doesn’t want to visit anymore. There are only so many Auntie Anne’s pretzels I can buy someone as an apology.”

“I think she understands.” He sat down cross-legged. His cheeks were rosy. “I don’t–I don’t think any of us really expected that, and you were…worried.”

Marcy tented her fingers. “So…you think that humans can do magic too? That’s what you think happened?”

“Yes. I–I didn’t think it was possible.”

Marcy’s hands started to tap in excitement, but she was clearly trying to stay level-headed. “Right. Okay. That’s cool. That’s interesting.”

“Yeah.” He wound a lock of hair in his finger. “I honestly wasn’t sure. But I guess it makes sense.”

He smiled at her. She was grinning like an idiot. “What are you thinking?” he said.

“Just…about what you said to us about magic at dinner.”

“Yeah?”

“About learning it.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe we could…could learn it together?”

He beamed. “I’d like that.”

****

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