#ripple jade | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loveinhawkins · 11 months

Text

The Championship Game of 1985 is only a quarter of the way done, and Eddie is already certain that it’s not going to be a Hawkins victory.

It kinda blows, honestly. It’s boring, like correctly guessing the ending of a movie five minutes in.

And yeah, sue him, maybe high school basketball is a legitimate source of entertainment—he can admit that in the safety of his own head, at least.

Take, for example, the first game of the ‘83 tournament, when a timeout was called with only seconds remaining: the Tigers’ last hope of winning was to miraculously sink a shot with the fraction of time they had left. The tension in the air was palpable as the team formed a huddle—Eddie couldn’t hear anything apart from students chanting, but he stood on his tiptoes and found a gap in the crowd, just in time to read Steve Harrington’s lips: “I’ll make it.”

And he had—with a goddamn stunning full-court jump shot, too, the ball falling through the net just before the buzzer sounded.

Like, come on. Eddie would only admit it under pain of death, but that definitely rivals the intensity of any worthy campaign.

But he can see none of that excitement now. The Tigers have had few opportunities to even get the ball, and whenever they do, Billy Hargrove seems to have taken it upon himself to hog the damn thing, like it’s a symbol of his masculinity.

Of course, he loses the ball—again—and his nostrils flare with anger.

Maybe that’s why Eddie notices it. He’s checked out of paying attention to the game itself, instead focusing on the jaded expressions of Hargrove’s teammates.

As the ball makes its way down center court, Eddie’s eyes are instead drawn to Steve Harrington. He looks pissed, wiping sweat off his forehead and shouting what looks like some pretty choice words at Hargrove’s back.

Hargrove doesn’t seem to acknowledge it, but for just a moment he goes completely still, and all Eddie can think is danger.

It’s covert, the way it’s all done. Hargrove’s move is quick and calculated; he steps far enough away afterwards that it looks like the whole thing is the fault of a rival player.

But Eddie sees the subtle shove. Sees Steve lose his footing.

He goes down hard.

Winces ripple through the audience. Eddie hears Robin Buckley from band suck air through her teeth, then ramble, “Shit, do you think it’s really bad? Beth Wildfire, on my soccer team, her bone, like, came out of her whole knee, you could see it, must’ve been six inches—”

It doesn’t look like anything as gory as that has happened; Steve is already up, and from the redness of his face, it initially seems as if the only thing that’s been hurt is his pride.

But as Eddie sidles to the end of the front row, within earshot of the bench, he sees that Steve can’t put his weight on one ankle, sees the telling way he grits his teeth while speaking.

“I can keep going,” he says, even as Jason Carver’s getting pulled up to replace him.

The coach barely spares Steve a glance, clapping Carver on the shoulder as he jogs onto the court.

“Get someone to take you over to the nurse.”

Steve’s spine goes rigid. “But I can—”

“Look, I don’t have time for this.” The coach finally looks at Steve directly, pointing a stern finger at his chest. “You’re benched, Harrington.”

Steve visibly deflates. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, and then he glances to the side, as if suddenly aware that he’s drawing attention to himself.

This time, when his teeth clench, Eddie thinks that it’s more from embarrassment than pain.

“Whatever,” Steve mutters, and he limps out of the hall—close enough that he clips Eddie by the shoulder as he goes.

Eddie doesn’t know that he’s made a decision until he’s already moving, stepping to the side.

He turns and heads for the exit.

There’s a jeering call from the bench: Mark Lewinsky.

“Aw, what are you gonna do, Munson? Nurse him back to health?”

Obscene moaning noises, punctuated with laughter.

Eddie rolls his eyes.

He finds Steve in the corridor, bracing himself with a hand against the wall. There’s a couple of pictures on the floor, class photos taken for the yearbook that had been pinned up; Steve must have inadvertently torn them down as he grappled for balance.

“Go away, Munson,” he says without looking. “Go back to the game.”

“I’ve kinda lost interest,” Eddie says lightly. He manages to watch Steve take one painful step before he simply can’t do it anymore—stepping forward, he says, “Christ, Harrington, here.”

Steve jolts away from his hand. “Fuck off, I don’t need—”

“Well, fuck you too, then,” Eddie snaps. Something’s burning in his chest, a sudden and fierce hurt. “Jesus Christ. You know what I am isn’t fucking catching, right?”

He shocks himself by saying it.

In the silence that follows all he can think is that, for once, his dad was right: he never did learn how to shut his damn mouth.

Steve’s staring at him, pressing his back against the wall like it’s the one thing keeping him upright.

“That’s—that’s not why—” He breaks off, looks completely lost.

Somewhere within Eddie’s own mortification, he takes pity on him.

He sniffs, tries to act nonchalant. “Don’t hurt yourself, man.”

“No, I—I didn’t mean…” Steve sighs. “I’m sorry. That’s not—I just meant—” He pushes off from the wall again, wobbles until his hand finds purchase. “Just meant I can do it myself.”

Eddie feels his heart rate slow. He tilts his head. Re-examines Steve’s posture: the set to his jaw, the pained determination.

Years ago, Eddie broke his wrist at the fair, thanks to an awkward crash while on the bumper cars. It was the first summer that staying at Wayne’s had become a permanent thing, and Eddie had hidden his wrist beneath the folds of his too-large leather jacket, but Wayne met him off the ride and immediately noticed (“Chrissake, Ed. I’m not mad, kid. Just… lemme help you?”).

Eddie tried to stay silent as he got wrapped into a splint, because anything else felt like admitting to something.

Felt shameful.

“Yeah, you can,” Eddie says, shrugging. He pauses. Takes a chance. “Doesn’t mean you have to, though.”

He moves forward again—slower this time. Offers his hand.

Steve takes it.

“For the record,” he says, grunting as he shifts his weight, “I could’ve kept playing. Like, I’ve had worse.”

Yeah, Eddie thinks, you sure have.

Steve clearly hasn’t sensed that Eddie’s thoughts have gone to how messed up his face was last winter, because he keeps talking.

“Anyway. My own damn fault.” A rueful grin. “Didn’t plant my feet.”

“Don’t,” Eddie says. “You don’t have to… I saw. I saw Hargrove, man.”

Steve scoffs quietly. “Yeah, of course you did.”

“Shit, Harrington, way to make me sound like a stalker.”

“No, it’s just—” Steve shakes his head. “Just typical, that’s all. Remember when the fire alarm went off, last spring? You were the only one who noticed Debbie Lyons was missing.”

“Uh, so?”

Steve smiles. “So… you notice things.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to say.

But he gives it a try as they round another corner.

“What the fuck is Hargrove’s problem with you, dude?”

Steve chuckles wryly. “I’m really annoying.”

“Yeah, fair enough,” Eddie says, grinning when Steve manages to elbow him in the ribs. “But not, like, ‘intentionally injure’ levels of annoying. He threw the game, too.”

“Huh?”

Eddie fixes Steve with a pointed look. “Took out one of our best players.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but still looks undeniably pleased. “Shuddup.” He sobers in the space of taking another step and says, “With Hargrove, it’s… there’s bigger things than basketball, y’know?”

Eddie hears the just drop it underneath what’s spoken. He nods.

They’re almost at the nurse’s office when Steve sighs. “S’not exactly how I pictured it.”

“Hmm?”

“My last game.” Steve winces slightly as they inch closer to the door; Eddie tries to take more of his weight. “Had it in my head that I’d win, go out on a high.”

Eddie’s staring down the prospect of repeating senior year again—he knows all about having ideas in your head that don’t quite pan out.

“Life isn’t like a movie, Harrington,” he says.

It comes out perhaps more fond than he intended.

For some reason, Steve starts laughing like he’s heard something downright hilarious. “Yeah, gonna have to agree to disagree on that one, Munson.”

In the nurse’s office, they find out Steve’s probably got a bad sprain rather than a fracture (“See? I totally could’ve kept playing,” Steve insists), but that he should get it checked out at the hospital, just in case.

Ice pack in one hand, Steve makes a call on the office phone, with what sounds like a morbidly curious teen on the other end: “No, dude, there’s no blood—can you be normal for, like, two seconds and put your mom on? Thank you.”

As Steve hangs up, Eddie is very aware that the right time to leave was probably five minutes ago.

He stays put.

“This was supposed to be my last game, too,” he says.

“Was?”

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Well. S’not confirmed yet, haven’t had my last test results back. But uh, it’s kinda like the game.” He nods in the direction that they came, towards the basketball court. “I already know which way it’s gonna go.”

There’s no judgement in Steve’s eyes. “Sorry. Must’ve been boring to watch.”

Eddie smiles. “Nah, you’re good.”

He doesn’t say that, in his eyes, Steve’s single-handedly given the school almost all of its memorable basketball moments. That his secret favourite one isn’t even a Tigers victory: there was a game when Steve was poised to take the winning shot, and a kid from Connersville fainted.

In the few seconds of confusion, Steve could’ve still taken the shot. He could’ve won.

But as soon as he realised what was going on, he refused to.

To Eddie, that says more about him than any triumph ever could.

The phone rings again; the nurse is letting a Mrs Henderson in at the front of the school to pick up Steve.

“Guess that’s my cue,” Eddie says, because there’s only so many people allowed in the office at one time.

“See you, Munson. Um, thanks, by the way. Hope next year’s championship is, uh, better.”

There’s something in the way he says it, like even while still in the building, he’s drifting away, high school in his rear view mirror.

Oh, Eddie thinks wistfully, you’re already halfway outta here, aren’t you?

Goddamnit. I might actually miss you, Steve Harrington. You and your stupid hair.

“Hmm, can’t see myself going to watch next year.”

“Oh, yeah? How come?”

Eddie lingers in the doorway. Maybe it’s the fact that in a few weeks they’re never gonna see each other again. Maybe that helps him say it. Makes him a little braver.

He’s never learned to shut his damn mouth.

“My favourite player’s leaving,” he says.

And sure, he leaves barely a second later; he’s not that brave.

But he stays just long enough to catch Steve’s smile: startled, pleased, and perhaps just a little shy—like he’s made the winning shot after all.

#i just love the thought that Eddie used to secretly enjoy basketball ‘for some reason’ ❤️#pre steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #implied homophobia

2K notes · View notes

philistiniphagottini · 3 months

Text

Zephyr's Bliss

thinking about hot dragon men lately and I am down so bad for them. ((if people like this, then I'm so willing to do more of this kind of stuff with the other dragon men ;) ))

cw. penetrative sex, double penetration, oviposition, light breeding kink, gn! reader

nsfw below the cut

"You’re doing so well, Dan Heng" you softly praised.

He took a deep breath, pointed ears twitching forward at the sound of your sweet voice whispering to him. You brushed your hands along his flaming cheeks, the skin burning brightly under the gentle caress of your hands. His jade eyes sought yours, pupils narrowed into thin slits as he gazed into eyes just as dazed as your mind. A pleasant shiver rippled down your spine as he rutted his hips forward, slowly sinking both of his draconic cocks further into your tight, creamy hole. A breathy whine of his name escaped your parted lips as your eyelashes fluttered over your searing skin, eyes threatening to slip close from the spike of pleasure rippling across your naked flesh.

A shiver crept down Dan Heng’s back as you tangled your hand in long, soft locks of ebony hair, curious fingers poking the ridged edges of his glowing horns. They glowed faintly in the dim lighting of the room, the effervescent glow dancing along Dan Heng’s pale flesh and highlighting his handsome features. Another breathy whine fell from Dan Heng’s parted lips as he nudged his cocks deeper into you, the fat heads brushing against your soft spots and causing stars to waver in your vision. You hummed softly beneath him, legs tangled loosely around his waist as you slanted your hips forward, gently rocking yourself to the rhythm of his thrusts as he buried himself deeper into your snug walls.

"So tight" Dan Heng panted, his hot breath puffing against your perspiring skin. "You feel so good."

He nuzzled his face into your chest, lazily spreading more of his scent over you as his drooling cocks ravished your insides until a white, creamy ring formed around the base where your bodies were joined in fervid rapture. You scratched your nails along his scalp, feeling his cocks throbbing in unison inside you as your lidded eyes watched him move intimately beneath your skin, the soft bump in your stomach tempting you to smooth your hands over your swollen abdomen. You smiled softly as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, lips ghosting over his skin as you kissed his damp forehead.

"You’re so deep" you sighed against his skin.

Dan Heng’s arms snaked around your waist as he pulled you closer, nose pressed against your skin as he smothered himself in your scent. The intoxicating smell curled in his lungs with each deep breath he took, threatening to consume him as the tension in his stomach grew taut. His hot breath was trapped against your skin as he tasted you on the tip of his tongue, swallowing thickly as his hips started to rut a little faster into you, instincts driving his body higher and higher with need.

"Are you sure about this?" Dan Heng asked for the umpteenth time this evening. "Are you sure…about taking my eggs?"

You offered him a soft smile as he peered up at you, desperate eyes pleading for an answer as his tail coiled around your leg. The smooth scales tickled your skin as it twisted between your parted thighs, the tip swishing and tangling in the sweat-soaked sheets beneath you. You pecked his damp forehead again with your lips, hands cupping his cheeks as you nodded your head in reassurance.

"I’m sure" you replied.

You drummed your fingers along his skin as you placed a lazy kiss on his chin. "Besides, it’s a little bit late since you’re already buried balls deep in me" you added.

Dan Heng’s face erupted with heat, causing a soft chortle to stir in your chest at the flustered look he gave you. He huffed loudly; eyes narrowed as his teeth suddenly pinched the damp skin of your chest in retaliation. You jolted beneath him as his sharp teeth sank into the areola of your sensitive chest, tongue flat against a pert nipple as he sucked harshly on the puckered skin.

"Ouch! It was a joke! I’m sorry!" you squealed.

A playful growl stirred in his chest as you coaxed him off you, a pretty bite mark left behind as he popped off your skin. Your lips brushed against the tip of his nose as you loosely coiled your arms around his neck, feet pushing into the beautiful dip of his back as you coaxed him to sink his cocks further into you. Your blood simmered hotly in your veins every time your mind wandered back to the thought of your boyfriend filling you with his eggs, his cute belly swollen with his clutch as the rut of his hips refused to cease. Your sex ached as he buried himself inside your creamy walls, dragging his draconic cocks over every sensitive nerve ending and setting your teeth on edge. The tips of your fingers felt numb as you raked your nails along his shoulders, digging the sharp talons in when another hot, spike of pleasure drenched your entire being as the coil inside of you threatened to snap at any moment. Dan Heng moaned sweetly, his sharp claws scratching at your skin as your plush thighs tensed around his waist.

Your teeth gently tugged at his ear, playing with the earring dangling from the lobe as another sweet noise stirred in his throat from your ministrations. His jaw tensed; brows furrowed in concentration as the boiling heat bubbling inside of him threatened to snap the fraying edges of his sanity. He couldn’t wrap his head around how warm and tight you were, throbbing walls clamping down on him and trying to coax everything he had to offer. You fit together perfectly, like a matching pair of puzzle pieces, incomplete without the other. His mind started to swirl with the thoughts of laying his eggs inside your fertile body. There was a small doubt that he could rear young, but with you, he was willing to believe in a miracle.

You shuddered beneath Dan Heng as you felt a knot start to form at the base of his cock, the bulge pushing incessantly at your sopping hole and begging to fill you. You pulled on the baby hairs at the nape of his neck, taking deep, shuddering breaths as you tried to relax the tension in your muscles. Your eyes slipped shut as you moaned softly, feeling Dan Heng’s teeth nipping at your throat. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles into your hips, dipping into the pretty dip of your v-line as his hips nudged into yours. Your toes curled as his cocks pulsed periodically inside your soused walls, teeth digging into your supple flesh as you writhed so exquisitely beneath him. His tail tensed around your thigh, thumping hard into the mattress as the tension reached breaking point. He hissed through clenched teeth as he swallowed thickly, kiss swollen lips parting around your name as his voice grew breathy.

"Can’t hold back" he whispered hoarsely. "Gonna cum…"

Your legs squeezed tighter around his slender waist as you rubbed your hands along his shoulders, trying to ease the tension from his body as he teetered on the edge.

"It’s okay Dan Heng" you encouraged. "You can let go. Please, breed your little mate full of your eggs."

Your tempting words had the tension inside of him snapping in an instance, the knot at the base of his cock finally slipping into you with one last snap of his hips. You cried out, a constellation of tears brimming in your eyes as you were stretched to your absolute limit. A loud growl bubbled up the back of Dan Heng’s throat, his cocks kicking as he painted your insides with thick ropes of white. You squirmed beneath him as you were filled with delicious warmth, the searing heat making your eyes roll into the back of your head as your world exploded around you. Fireworks sparked in your stomach as Dan Heng continued to thrust his hips into you, the friction threatening to turn your bones into dust as you felt your hole stretching around the bulge of his cock.

Your lungs pinched in your chest, heart jumping up into your throat when you felt the first egg start to pierce your centre. You thrashed beneath him from the foreign feeling, eyes snapping open as you stared at the place where your bodies were joined. You felt every intimate movement of his cock as it pulsed inside of you, another thick load of his cum exploding inside of you as the egg was eased into you. Dan Heng hushed you gently as your back arched up into his touch, hands holding your hips steady as the first egg breached the deepest, most sacred parts of you.

"Shh, it’s okay" Dan Heng soothed. "You’re doing so well. It’s almost inside. Just breathe."

A wet sob was wrenched from your bruised lips as the egg nestled inside of you, your racing mind only quelled once you realised how comfortable the transition had been. You had worried briefly that the shell would have been hard and scrapped your insides, but it had been surprisingly soft, like leather.

"Just breathe" Dan Heng reminded you.

You released your baited breath, body slowly sinking back down to the mattress beneath you even as another egg knotted the base of Dan Heng’s cock. Another spurt of cum filled your sticky insides, followed quickly by another as a small bump began to form in your soft belly. Dan Heng smoothed his hand over your abdomen, his palm resting against your swelling stomach as he pushed another egg inside of you. His cheeks burned at the sight of your blissed out face, twisting with unadulterated rapture every time another egg joined the small clutch. Somewhere amidst the dizzying heat stuffing your aching hole you felt your orgasm take a hold of you, coil in your stomach unfurling as your veins were filled with white hot euphoria. Exhaustion quickly settled into your bones as you rode out the waves of your pleasure high, drenching the sheets beneath your tangled bodies as pearls of Dan Heng’s cum dribbled down your quaking thighs.

You only managed to catch your breath once the last egg settled with the rest of its brood inside of you, pushed past the tight ring of muscles of your fluttering hole. Dan Heng’s lips were a soothing balm against your searing flesh, the small brush of his lips a welcome blessing as he whispered soft praises of your name.

"You did so well. I’m so proud, you took all of my eggs."

Each sentence was punctuated by a soft kiss of his lips, mouth trailing up to your face only to pepper it with more heated kisses. You giggled softly as Dan Heng hugged your sore body to his, wrapping around you like a protective blanket as he held you close. A deep purr rumbled in his chest as you brushed your lips back against his, his eyes shimmering with an affectionate look. His cocks kept your centre plugged and you couldn’t recall a time in your life when you had ever felt this full. You weaved your fingers through his hair as you shifted beneath him, trying to find a more comfortable position to lay in as his clammy skin stuck to yours. Dan Heng noticed your discomfort as he nudged his nose against your soft cheek, hands massaging your muscles as an apologetic look flashed across his features.

"I’m sorry, little love. We’re going to be stuck like this for a while. Just until the knot goes down."

You shrugged softly. "It’s okay."

You knew exactly what you were signing up for when you had agreed to this in the first place. You hummed pleasantly beneath him as he rubbed your swollen stomach, feeling his clutch of eggs pushing into his hand as he whispered soothing words to you.

#my writing #honkai star rail #honkai star rail smut #dan heng x reader #imbibitor lunae #dang heng smut #x reader #gn!reader #hsr smut #hsr x reader

665 notes · View notes

yanderenightmare · 9 months

Note

Sukuna pleeeeez, I beg. How scary-hot is he? How terrified is darling when sitting on his lap 😩😩😩

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, yandere, Stockholm syndrome

gn reader

You’re not strong with cursed energy, but even you can feel the many lives Sukuna has basked in the blood of.

You can feel it in his hands – how it seeps into your bones when he drags his crass fingertips upon your skin, making you nauseous – how a simple little touch has goosebumps springing to the surface and a whimper jumping to your throat. It feels hot, burning with warmth like freshly spilled blood – like he’s smearing it on you in red staining streaks, with the weight of thousands of deaths that make you feel like you're rotting too.

But he calls you the sweetest things, despite his raspy timbre – things like turtledove, angelface, lovebug, spiderlily. And keeps you close, on his lap, sitting skin to skin within his kimono so he can cuddle you tight. His chin resting atop your head and his hands holding you around the waist, sometimes falling to your thighs and further in between them.

That deranged malice he shows everyone else is lost on you. With you, he’s balmy – soft and warm and mellow in that very quiet, studious way. Seeming almost jaded if it weren’t for how he tugs you close to his chest – coveting you like something precious.

Sometimes it’s almost as though he forgets how to communicate with words – rubbing his face into the nook of your neck, kissing you gently – silently asking you to comply and spread your legs wider for him before he has to get ugly with you.

You feel a bit dirty bending to his wishes so easily, but he makes you feel like the most precious little bite-sized thing – touching you there until you're just soaking with sin. Licking those feeble moans from your lips like there’s no sweeter thing. Sinking his fat length inside your heat slowly, feeling you swallow him up – wanting to know every tight inch personally – nudging right against that special place inside you until your thighs quake from the squeeze.

He gets lost in you when he gets far enough to feel your walls ripple around the size of him – how your whimpers turn breathy, and your fingers curl into his flesh with want.

He loves getting you there – to that point where you no longer care about what’s right and wrong – where the only thing you still care about is how good it feels to belong to him.

3K notes · View notes

rosedom · 1 month

Note

pleasepleaseplease rose i’m begging you on my knees to make a xiao fic i’ll be ur good boy in return !! (can i be pup anon?? ><)

"an unnamed player has invited XIAO to play . . . my, my, sweet madame

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!top!amab!reader, sub!bottom!ftm!xiao, sex toy (dildo), vaginal fingering to PIV sex, praise & dirty talk, breeding kink (no mpreg), creampie, cockwarming with alluded aftercare .

A/N : i love u, pup ,,, i can't believe i haven't written xiao yet:c

"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."

“Xiaoooo,” you call, stretching the vowel in your mouth. It’s entirely theatric, far too loud when you know that he could hear a whisper all the same; but that doesn't matter, when he pops up in front of you in a hazy dusting of deep emerald and smoke, all of him bare as he stands a hair's-breadth away.

He says nothing, no “You called?” passing the tip of his tongue. Simply, he only cups your face, his touch so welcome—a learned thing, of course, but one you wouldn't have traded for the world.

“Hi, Xiao,” you murmur, leaning forward the already scant distance to kiss him soft, slow, sweet. “Missed you.”

Huffing against you, at the way you had to separate from him to whisper your words, he presses back to you, gently parts his lips for you.

Eager, your mind says; you only smile, taking his invitation to lick into his mouth, across his sharp teeth. His canines dig into the give of your tongue, nicking you without quite drawing blood.

Then, right there on the balcony of the Inn, voice all soft-like and shy, eyes averted as he tucks himself into your throat, he asks, “Please.”

Please. Simple. Straight to the point. Wholly Xiao in the way he can tell you so much, in the language of his body and not his words.

“Okay, okay,” you murmur, because you know what he wants.

You know, and he begins to tell you more: with the way he wraps his strong arms around you and zaps the two of you away to the safe cocoon of your shared bedroom (the very one he insisted that, No, I do not need—that he very much in fact revels in); with the way you’re both sprawled right in the middle of the soft bed, him under you and you balanced on top of him; and with the way his thighs spread so easily, the way his briefs are gone with no more than a breathy whine, how his cunt is a puffy mauve.

He tells you, and he tells you, and he begs you, arching into you with the strength still in his arousal-weakened body. His torso—all silent muscle, the tattoo wrapping around his shoulder and side in the same path that you wandering hands travel, his abdomen all limber muscle—ripples as his hips press upwards into yours, press the full mound of his achy cunt, surrounded in nearly trimmed, tantalizingly coarse n’ a dark teal hair, up against the throb of your own chubbing cock.

“Mm,” you moan, low in your throat, mouthing against the width of Xiao’s tender throat as you grind together, cock against cock, balls against cunt. “Look’it you, sweet thing, already so wet n’ worked up.

“Is this why you were so quick to respond to my call?” You push him back at your words, gently shushing his whine and sufficiently replacing it with a drawn out lil’ moan when you dip your fingers in, one, two, three.

You grin like the cat who got the cream.“Oh?” you ask, drawl it out low. “All loosened up—” just like he always is on his favorite dildo. “Were you thinkin’ of me, playing with yourself like that?”

It's testament to the trust he has in you when he only nods, up, down, up, down, vehemently against the pillow his head is resting on. Messy teal-black hair splays out around him.

But then he tips his head to the side, eyeing something, and that something just so happens to not be his favorite dildo.

No.

No, it wasn't his favorite dildo—not the one you know almost as well as you know your own dick, a smooth jade curved gently up to stimulate his g-spot. It wasn't that one.

No, it wasn't, because his favorite dildo is rather small, end-be-all. It’s perfect for a soft n’ easy orgasm, no pain of a stretch yet leaves him open for your cock in all those days before where you replaced one cock with another, with your real one.

It wasn't that one.

It was that one—the one on the edge of the bed, not even with a towel under it to prevent that big ol’ wet splotch of what’s maybe Xiao’s thick pre-cum, what was maybe some of his cum, and a bit that's definitely primarily thick n’ slippery lube (Xiao, after all, has never been one to produce much slick.

Slick, no slick—in the end, it doesn't matter: not when his cunt is puffy either wet or dry, and lube is a resource the both of you are not short on).

The cock is monstrous, and you dip a fourth finger into his lube-wet cunt to test the barely there stretch. It's an easy slide, and Xiao bows up into you with a reedy whine, and you've got him right where you want him: exposed, sure, but safe, pleasure-drunk, aroused without cumming just yet on the toy.

“Didn’t cum, little bird?” you ask, leaning close n’ murmuring into his ear while you stretch across the bed for the toy. Your fingers—already so much larger than his—do not meet around the girth of it, and your cock throbs something mean, heat low in your gut. “Oh, Xiao.”

“Don’t—” he grumbles, face aflame. You shush him again, kissing him soundly with the big cock snug in your palm. Teasing, you press the wet mess he’s made of it between the two of you, slipping out your four fingers to nudge the head of it to the sloppy opening of his cunt.

“‘m not tryin’ta be mean to you.” You don’t press the dildo in, yet, letting him weakly clench around the tip. “I want you to talk to me, yeah? Be a good boy n’ talk to me, and I’ll fill you up all nice with this cock,” you murmur, and, for show, you bump it that millimeter in, just enough for his hole to spasm around where it barely intrudes.

But he’s shaking his head at you, sayin’, “Didn’t cum,” and then you’re making like you're about to press that cock in deep, right where he's already open for it, and he says, loud, “No!”

You stop immediately.

The cock is forgotten between your legs as you drop it to wrap around his torso. “Xiao—” you start, an apology ready, a question of Do you want to stop? about to leave your lips when he interrupts you, goes and says something stupid like, “I want you.”

Your heart does something equally stupid, tripping over itself and leaving a dopey lil' grin to stretch across your face. But, “Xiao,” you murmur, bumping your nose against the flat button of his. “I’m not as big as the toy, I don't think it'll feel as good,” because when Xiao's in the mood for a large stretch, your cock typically isn't enough; he likes it for the foreplay, likes cumming all over it, likes being left open and loose for you to slide your bigger dildo in the place you left him bereft. This cock, however, is downright monstrous, one you've never seen before, yet here Xiao is, begging for your cock.

“Don’t care,” he grumbles, pushing you back and reaching down to take hold of your throbbing cock. You hiss through your teeth at the friction after so long, his hand soaked in the leftover lube. He coats you liberally, quickly, tugging at your foreskin almost playfully. “I want only you.”

“Okay, okay!” You huff at him, bat away his small hand to take it in your own. “Let me make you cum then, yeah? Since the toy left you all achy.” You pout, playful, laughing at the distaste that flitters across his face. “Kidding!”

He grumbles, and his fingers thread into yours on his navel. “Less kidding and more—mm!”

Silenced by your cock, Xiao’s jaw drops open as his head falls back to bump into the pillow. “Oh,” he moans, whimpering in pitch.

You only grin, bury yourself up his cunt to the hilt. He’s loose and spasming around you; you weren't lying, about that cock. But your cock is real in a way the dildo isn't. “Feel good, Xiao?” you ask anyway, grinding in and bumping against the overused bump of his g-spot. Swollen heat, pulsing heat, surrounds you, drips down to your balls as you coo at him. “Isn't it nice, givin’ yourself up for me? Lettin’ someone else ruin you on cock?”

He nods, delirious, his forehead shimmering sweat that you just have to kiss away. You kiss the diamond mark, make a path down the barely-there bridge of his nose, tongue at his parted lips.

Your hips thrust slowly but evenly, each the same and pressing in all his favorite spots. “Yeah? Mm,” you moan low and quiet, groaning into the air when you lean back to take proper hold of him. “That cock can't fill you up, is that it? Can't cum in you... Can't cream your pretty cunt... Can’t breed you...”

Hook, link, sinker. “No, no,” he cries, pulling you into him and arching his hips all desperate-like into you, into your cock. “I want—mm!”

“Easy, sweet thing. What do you want, hm? Want me to knock you up?”

“Please!”

A knot is beginning to wind itself in your belly. “Please what, sweetheart?” You tease at the muscles of his belly, his hand long put aside to clutch helplessly at the soft sheets. “Speak up.”

He whines. “Please breed me,” he murmurs, and fuck, because his voice is raspy and shredded and you feel the knot that's tight and looping in your gut about ready to unravel.

You drop your hand from his abs to his swollen cock—red and puffy, sticking out so prettily from the thatch of hair surrounding where you're in balls-deep at the end of each thrust—, working him in gentle but quick, friction-filled circles.

“Cum for me, Xiao. Cum for me, and I’ll cum in you, I promise,” you coo, sweet as sugar, kind as anything. “I’ll fill you up like that cock can’t, yeah? Just like you want. C’mon, baby, sweetheart.”

And then he's coming, and you're coming with him, filling him up as his cunt leaks and drips thick, opaque cum from around the base of your cock. His own cum coats you and dribbles down your balls, a sensation you know will be gross, later; but right now, it's perfect: perfect as the pretty boy on your cock, writhing until he's limp and breathing heavy against the bed.

“Good boy,” you whisper, kiss his fluttering eyelids. “Good boy.”

Weakly, his arms—thick with muscle but shaky, trembling in the aftermath of the lava running through his veins—circle around you. He nuzzles at your throat, nips at your skin.

You laugh. “Feelin’ well bred, baby?”

Xiao bites you.

“Okay, okay! Sorry.” Small laughs still wrack your frame, however, and Xiao sighs in kind before he melts into your meandering touches. He’s hot and warm beneath your hands; and he's wet, slick and soaked between his thighs.

You're still sunk in deep, keeping your cock and cum warm in turn. He doesn't make any move, no indication that he wants you out; so you stay, kiss at him as you fall into the bed with him.

The jostling movement makes him mewl, soft, before it too melts into another sigh. “Sleep.”

“Only if you sleep with me.”

Xiao raises a thick brow.

“Please?” You pinch at the skin of his navel in retaliation, and you roll over, pull him against you until he settles on your torso. “C’mon, Xiao. You need sleep, too.”

“No, I don't.”

You sigh. “Yes, you do. You're gonna lay here—” you reach around to pinch his ass as well, gentle but reprimanding, “—and warm my cock while we both rest.”

He glares at you; then, “Fine.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” You kiss the crown of that real head, pull the blankets up over you and pay no mind to the mess of cum and slick between you.

You’re warm, he’s warm, your cock is warm—it’s easy to fall asleep, enveloped in heat and heart like this. I love you, Xiao.

It could be a in dream that Xiao says to you, “I love you, too.”

so what if it's my kink to find a pretty guy splayed out with a huge dildo in him. it's not a crime. (in other news, i jacked off to size kink fucking machines the other night, and i don't think i can get that type of fucked out, drippy n' puffed up cunt out of my mind . . . haha. um. so here's xiao, except he fucked himself with his own hand. put that strength to good use, y'know?)

26 MAR. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#ㅤ✦【 ASKS 】#【 pup 】#can't believe ur pup anon and i didn't make xiao my puppy . . .#sub character #sub xiao #xiao smut #xiao x reader #sub genshin #genshin smut #genshin x reader #ftm nsft #u know how it rolls !

391 notes · View notes

oepionie · 1 year

Text

— "MY JOLLY SAILOR BOLD." tweels

💭masterlist | 💬ao3 link

SYNOPSIS: You meet two mysterious yet beautiful mermen around your age and you ask them to sing for you. They agree—though there's one condition....they want a kiss in return. A fair deal and you decide that nothing could possibly go wrong....right?

⊹ [ cw ] — suggestive, making out, lovesick/slightly yan-coded behavior, both of them pin for you, drowning, the tweels deserve a warning themselves, fighting, mild blood and injuries, mentions of murder, everyone here is morally grey◞

⊹ [ tags ] — gn! reader, on my siren eel agenda, flirty pirate mc, siren-eels are not to be messed with but mc is reckless, jade and floyd having an ariel moment but they're…a fucked up version of ariel, typical siren-behavior, floyd calls you pretty◞

⊹ [ w.c ] — 3.3k+◞

WHAT AN ODD LITTLE pirate you were.

Raised by your mother, horrific twisted tales of the deep were practically bedtime stories for you. She was a former ship's captain and a seasoned sailor who had spent more than half of her life at sea.

Mother weaved tales of glorious bloody battles, of thrashing waves, and, most importantly, of dangerous creatures in the sea. Hatred and fear for these grotesque marine creatures have been indoctrinated in you since you were young. It was imbued to the very core of your being, hammered and nailed into your head.

Alas, it appears that you have entirely disregarded the cautions that were issued to you. Any capable pirate knew better than to invite merfolk around.

Especially if you were all alone on a ship.

This year, spring had arrived a little earlier than usual, but you didn't mind at all.

It was at an obscene hour of the night when you were aimlessly paddling your little rowboat over the waves.

Floating a few feet away from your ship, you were gazing out over the sea where the waters were flat and serene, blue as far as your vision would allow. It was a sight you've grown all too accustomed to seeing.

You've sailed a hundred expeditions down this route and you were well aware of the carnage and bloodshed that’s been wrought here in the name of piracy.

A majority of which you've taken part in as—Captain (Y/N).

Young as you were, despite your youth, you had ambition. Already having established yourself as a living legend—or, as some have dubbed you, a living nightmare.

Sailors—young and old—have perished in your name, ships have sunk at your command, and your sword has spilt the blood of hundreds. You had amassed a great fortune from wandering merchants, and fellow pirates alike, all of which were misfortunate enough to fall upon your path.

These were tales and legends from bygone eras; the golden age of piracy had long since passed. Nowadays, you just cruise the sea anyway you pleased.

Adventure seldom found you.

In the middle of reminiscing, you abruptly became aware of a shimmering brilliance beneath the murky sea.

Oh?

'Maybe it was a trick of the waves? Or was it the moonlight's illusion?' You ponder to yourself as you stand at the stern of the boat and look out into the dreary waters.

The entire ocean sleeps when the moon is full. In the middle of the night, no fish or creature would dare remain thus near a boat...so what could possibly be out there?

Peering down, you make eye contact with a pair of glowing yellow eyes, slitted into diamonds.

Startled, the unknown creature slips back into the darkness with scarcely a ripple to disrupt the waves enveloping all about them. You're hypnotized by their shimmering skin as they moved smoothly and elegantly past the icy surfs.

In those short seconds while staring into the pitch-black sea, your mind conjures only one word.

Mermaid.

STRANGE AND STRANGELY FASCINATING, it was. "It" being the obsessive infatuation the Leech twins had for you.

Since they were little, the two brothers have been watching you grow up on that ship, peeping at you behind rocks and tall clusters of brilliant coral.

Curiosity and an interest for humans drew them to you at first, so they thought nothing of it. However, later, as they grew older, that interest developed into something more.

One that made their hearts feel like it was going to burst, a blood-curdling carnage of red and pink spills gushing out in a splatter. With the mere mention of your name, their stomachs sink and turn. The hems of love along their hearts diving into obsession—both feelings closely akin.

Jade and Floyd haven't run upon anyone who was courageous enough to meet creatures like them. Though, they shouldn’t have expected anything less from a pirate like you with an astronomical desire for adventure.

As you waved down at them from the ocean's depths, both of them swiftly swam up to the surface, eager to meet you. Their hands were clamoring and their hearts were racing to a tune that sang praises for you.

"There you are." You grinned handsomely, cocking your head to the side. The flowing fabric of your blouse blew wildly in the fresh salty wind, exposing bits and pieces of your chest and neck for them to see. "Hello~"

Big love-tinted eyes peeked up at you, drinking in every feature, blemish, and scar on your flesh. Occasionally, your gazes would meet and they would quickly avert their stare—a deep blue hue creeping up their cheeks, almost as if they felt bashful around you.

Even then, you thought it would be more appropriate if you were the one who was acting timid.

Because, by the gods, their beauty was such a sight to behold above the waters. In all your years out at sea and land, you've seen no maiden nor man with such features.

Such captivating features.

Teal-haired, with keen, slitted eyes that were veiled with thick, drooping lashes. Cheeks colored with a pale touch of death.

They were breathtakingly beautiful.

There was an urge, a pull at your heart to dive down and join them—drowning yourself in their embrace. Though, you resisted, almost immediately recognizing the sorcery that pulled on your carnal desires.

Mother and weather-beaten sailors had warned you of this. This overwhelming want. This spellbinding stare. Yet as they both drift closer, the forewarned dangers vanishes from your thoughts like mist. You're now left with little more than a hazy consciousness as you see them approach your boat.

You are in grave danger yet you are not afraid. Fear does not grip you as you raise a leg over the side of the boat, swing it over the top of the wood, and then sit over the edge, never taking your eyes off the mermen in front of you.

Their entire body, apart from their eyes, were submerged in the water which made it hard to determine what their species were. Though you could occasionally catch the flicker of their tail slapping against the surface.

Speaking of their tail, it was an utterly resplendent sight! Even if you tried, you wouldn't be able to explain its magnificience as it gleamed brighter than any of the gold or jewels your sullied hands have ever taken hold of.

Its lack of a single color and its vivid, luminous nature fascinated you. Depending on how the moonlight hit it, it radiated a wide range of shades, from the deep tint of blueish teal to a rich shade of bluish jade.

"First time away from your home?" You rasp, waving a hand in the ocean, watching as small ripples curved against the water's surface, tides of the blue abyss travelling outwards.

Minutes pass, and yet you get no response.

"Hmm…you two don't talk much, do you?"

Jade and Floyd knew all about pirates, heard every story, whisper, and tale of the bloodthirsty monsters fueled by lust for gold and glory. And yet, they somehow struggle to picture you as the avaricious captain you were labelled as.

Still, while you appeared free and jovial, both of them could sense that you yearned for the thrill of danger, for life-threatening adventure, and for the many fantastic yet perilous things the ocean has to offer.

They exchanged glances, and at that instant, their plan was set in place.

Appearing docile, Floyd shook his head no, hovering near you and spinning around playfully.

"Awe, aren't you a cute little guy?" You cooed, running a rough hand along his back. The mer shivered, preening at your compliment.

"I really shouldn't be so close to you, though. Us pirates usually avoid approaching any merfolk since…they feel your methods, your ways of living are…" You trailed off, waving a hand in the air as you searched for the right words.

"Spooky?" Jade spoke out, swimming closer to you with a sinister glitter in his eyes. Breath hitching in your throat, you leaned towards him, an amused smirk slowly stretching across your cheeks. "Oh ho? You do talk."

"I can do much more than that." Jade purred, the tone of his voice sinking into a sonorous lull.

Well, you certainly can’t deny that something draws you to these two.

The predictability of your life on these seas has gotten boring to you. Gone were the days of bloodthirsty glory instead, it was always the same routine. Poring over the same ancient yellowed maps, loitering about the deck, and secluding yourself away in the vast sea.

You know your mother would be horrified by your actions, disgusted to see you mingling and, Poseidon forbid—flirting with these…mer.

Though you couldn't bring yourself to care. Speaking with these two was the closest thing to excitement you've felt in a long time.

"That's a pretty voice, love." The grin on your face lacks any of the warmth it had in the past few moments.

You tip your head back and giggle, raspy and brittle, "I heard a mer's song was, um, what did those bards call it? Ah, yes—A voice that is so alluring that men and women jump overboard in squadrons."

"Hauntingly beautiful, that's what the poets call you mermaids…" You hum, watching them slyly from your row boat while reclining back against the wood.

Gaze drifting down their body, your arms folded around your chest and your gaze turned half-lidded, lips curled up in a sensual, cat-like smirk. "…and I can see why. Haunted, I am."

Both of them go abruptly silent and you chuckle, staring at them through the wreaths of grey smoke that curled into fanciful hazy whirls from the foggy environment.

Floyd and Jade squirmed as they both felt the strong pull of their instincts, screaming at them to just drag you into the waters already.

Your conniving praises and silver tongue was starting to get to them. One more push and—

"Say…I've been meaning to ask," You murmur, and seem to take a moment to stare into their innermost souls.

"Can you sing for me…?"

Something snaps.

Floyd makes a low sound, somewhere between a trill and a growl, while Jade's eyes darken considerably. Beneath your piercing, ice-cold gaze, the twins felt their nerves prickle up like the flickering electric stings of a jellyfish.

This is a dangerous game you're playing.

"…You're quite the flatterer," Jade—ever so composed—is quick to snap out of it and smiles simply, tapping his talons along the wooden deck. "…I suppose I could grant you your wish. Though, there is to be an exchange for it."

"Hm? What's that, mate?" You looked up at your ship from your little boat, eyes darting to the windows of your chambers. "That ol' girl isn't new to the seas so there's quite a lot of stuff there. Maybe some of my treasures will catch your fancy—"

"No." Jade interrupts you, the shadow over his eyes returns. "…I do not wish for any treasure or gold. All I want is a kiss."

"A kiss?" You parroted, an eyebrow elevated and amused laughter peaking from your lips. "I have chests of golds and heaps of ruby-eyed jewelry; yet, all you want is a kiss, is that truly what you desire?"

"Yes."

"Nothin' more?"

Jade ponders and pauses for a while, before turning to face his brother. "Floyd, perhaps you want something as well?"

"I wanna kiss from pretty shrimpy too!" Floyd cooed, pursing his lips at you and imitating kissing sounds by hollowing his cheeks. His strong arms, taut with ripping muscle, are crossed over one other as it rests upon the rims of your boat.

"So, what do you say, Captain? Is it a deal~?" Floyd stretches out a hand expectantly.

And you take it.

"Deal." You smirk. "One kiss for each of you, in exchange for a song. Pirate's honor."

Not like the honor of a pirate was worth much anyways.

The melody lifting from Jade's lips was somewhat familiar to you, yet it was of a faraway nostalgia. You couldn’t remember where you'd last heard it, but it felt…right. He had a voice that was velvety smooth; thick, and deep like a dream.

"Upon one summer's morning / I carefully did stray," Jade sang, deep voice flowing off his lips in a sweet honeyed song—its melody lathering itself on your tongue. The saccharine taste of its imbricating rhythm obliterating every bit of skepticism you held towards them. "Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay."

"My heart is pierced by Cupid / I disdain all glittering gold." Jade continued, tucking the long dark strand of his hair behind his ear—leaning his head atop the rickety rims of the boat's mossy wood. "There is nothing can console me / but my jolly sailor bold."

"Come all you pretty fair mers, whoever you may be / Who love a jolly sailor that ploughs the raging sea." Floyd hums along, lovingly tracing a hand up your arm. His voice was a lovely little thing; echoing deep throughout the air.

As expected, they sang beautifully, hauntingly; with an accent in a tongue native only to the sea. There was a mystical lull weaved into their voices—fitting to their titles as bewitching creatures of the sea.

"My heart is pierced by Cupid /I disdain all glittering gold." Jade stares straight ahead, his sapphire gaze alluringly fixed on you seated in front of him.

"There is nothing can console me…" Pushing himself up the wooden edge of your boat, the eel lures you over and you followed. "…but my jolly sailor bold."

As Jade's song came to its finality, he leaned in close and pressed a swift warm kiss atop your agape mouth, such tenderness in his affections—and that of heavily masked lust. The eel parted from you, nipping at your bottom lip and watching with unbridled delight as a flicker of pink hue glazed over your diluted eyes.

"Come in the water, shrimpy~" Floyd cooed at you, claws reaching out to trace against the curve of the ships side. "We don't bite~"

Songbound, you leaned in towards the two and plunged in.

You don’t think about holding your breath.

The water was ice-cold and it strikes at you like a venomous bite. Yet before you could sink, two strong hands grasp at your waist, keeping you afloat in spite of the rough rocks of the sea. Jade was cradling you close to his chest, his hold firm and uncompromising while his tail encircled and bound your legs together.

"Hello, shrimpy~" Crooning, Floyd moved to rest his wet cheek against your tangled hair, talons pushing past the fringes of your damp torn-up shawl to rest against your thighs.

The slippery pads of his fingers trailed up to your torso; Travelling from your hips, past your corset, all the way up to your chest. The eel toyed with the drawstrings of your poet shirt before grasping it tight and yanking you forward.

"You're so pretty~" Floyd trailed his other hand up your neck, sharp talons feathering over your pulse dangerously. The eel craned his head down to meet you eye to eye.

"I could just eat you up." The silky strands of his lashes fluttered against his lidded gaze as he leaned in close, breath fanning across your burning cheeks. Floyd pulled you into a deep kiss, loving the way you groaned against his mouth.

Chuckling against your lips, Floyd tightened his hold on your neck—his claws almost breaking skin, "You like that, shrimpy?"

You return the kiss, dazedly smiling against his lips before pulling away, lungs in desperate need of oxygen.

Floyd could see drops of water resting atop your swollen lips, and as your tongue darts out to wipe them, a fiery desire ignites in the deep curves and crooks of his heart. It didn't take long before he was diving in once more, lips pressing against the side of your neck.

While his brother was fixated on marking your skin, Jade hugged you from behind—affectionately cuddling into your hair.

The eel ran his hand up your throat and grasps your jaw with webbed hands to tilt your head backwards. He presses his lips against yours, the thick muscle of his tongue prying your mouth open before it darted in.

Floyd glides away from your form after a few minutes, leaving your neck sufficiently bitten and marked. He grinned excitedly and took your hands in his webbed ones, whisking you away from Jade.

You couldn't help but notice how he was gently dragging you away from the rowboat. "Say, shrimpy~ You ever wondered what it's like to swim under the sea?"

A flash of clarity hits you, shattering the enchanting spell that both mermen had cast upon your heart. You sensed danger as both eels started to close in, grinning ominously which revealed their fangs—long and dripping with thirst.

It seems that your fun little swim was over.

"I can't say I've ever experienced the pleasures of drowning—" you muttered. "And I don't intend to do so very soon."

The texture of their tails may appear solid and rough, but when you kick your legs at Floyd's, you immediately discover how the skin is supple when touched.

The sharp end of your worn boots cut at his silky luminescent skin, dragging along the scales of his flesh and leaving a deep cut in its wake. A small trickle of blue blood spreads into the waters and the eel hisses, darting away from you.

You try to swim away, but something—or rather, someone—gets in your way.

"My my, leaving so soon, pearl?" Jade quips, grin all-to-sharp.

In hindsight, it was foolish to interact with two mermen you hardly knew, especially ones who were taut with sharp teeth and firm muscles. Any pirate with half a mind would know to turn the other way and flee if these two approached them.

The mer both advanced to surround you, a mysterious glimmer swimming behind the haze of their duo-colored eyes.

A startling epiphany rushes over you.

As slippery as they might be, there’s no hiding the lethal sheen of pink in their eyes—especially not from you, a pirate who’s spent a fair number of their days hauling the cold dead bodies of lovesick sailors away from their watery graves.

These two weren't your run-of-the-mill mermen, no. You have heard about them before—in tales and legends.

Mermaids. Vampires of the sea. Water nymphs. Naiads. Sirens.

Many names, yet they are all the same.

A sighting like this is not unusual. This species of mer is mostly found in the deepest, darkest sections of the ocean, and they only come up to hunt at night.

It seems that you've walked right into their trap. Sailors were their easiest prey.

"Ah." You grit your teeth, a low, breathy snarl slipping past your swollen lips. "I should've known."

There’s a warm yet strong pressure against your shoulders and arms; followed by an odd feeling of heaviness as you were suddenly propelled down the water's surface. Webbed hands keep you pinned beneath the waves and you're suddenly all-too-aware of your body's exhaustion; of the salty liquid flowing past your tongue and the scorching gurgle that ignites your lungs as water fills it.

There's a ruckus around you, and you can barely hear Jade's voice, who was eerily calm in the midst of your murder. A bottle is then abruptly forced into your mouth, the potion within it spilling down your throat and leaving you disoriented.

It appears that today is the day that the monotony in your life finally ends. The pull of unconsciousness becomes too strong to resist, and the world darkens.

TO BE CONTINUED...?

—TAGLIST:

꒰ ♡🧷: COMMENT HERE TO BE TAGGED IN MY WORKS

@keedas @spadecentral @crypticbibliophile @pastellepastary @cassidycampfire @cocomollo @poisoniousheart @kawaiipotatoghost @ramvuda @sweeneyblue1 @the-lost-anime-dad @kyraxiyn @mayaaaeo @fluffimemes @awkwardspontaneity @phoneandchips @gussuri @mushroomchaos101 @rainybeebs @furoidoleech @lunavixia @heatofmyexoheart @veras-fanfic-reblogs @pianopuppygirl @cross-crye

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #octavinelle x reader #twst jade leech #twst floyd leech #jade leech #floyd leech #tweels #tweels x reader

2K notes · View notes

relaxxattack · 7 months

Note

Piggybacking off the last anon, what is it you like about Jane so much? I find my feelings on her kind of mixed but I lean towards positive.

okay i haven’t read act six in probably like 5 years so bear with me here. *cracks knuckles*

jane is sooo so interesting and it’s really a shame people miss like everything fun about her.

pre-scratch she used her detective work to literally succeed at tearing down the crocker cooperation, to the point that HIC has to fucking abandon ship and head into another universe to have another shot at her evil empire. pre-scratch jane is also fucking hilarious! if you didnt enjoy her antics with john as nannasprite you must just have no heart

meanwhile HIC breaches a new universe, and her FIRST fucking order of business is to NEUTRALIZE JANE CROCKER because of how goddamn detrimental she was to HIC’s plans the first time around.

not ONLY does HIC pump subliminal messaging and brainwashing into nearly every aspect of jane’s life, she also tries to straight up mind control her basically whenever possible! she ALSO sends assassination attempts after jane 24/7! (people will seriously try to say that jane lived a safe normal life… as if she wasn’t almost killed by walking into her backyard.) this is because HIC is fucking scared of jane, as she very well should be!

jane is also NOT a boring weepy annoying crybaby like everyone and their mother complains about. jane is literally the most fucking supportive friend and emotion-repressing dumbass you could ever hope to meet. jane combines john’s emotional repression and jade’s intentional cheerfulness together into one of the most fucked up cases of emotional repression in the whole comic

act 6 suffers from a LOT of shitty writing choices, but it’s not jane’s fault the whole act turns into a soap opera— and she’s ALSO not the only one who acts all soap-opera-y either! literally all of the alpha kids suffer from this, people just like jane the least so they project it all onto her. despite the fact that she did her very fucking best to NEVER talk about her feelings, to the point where she ONLY started telling people about shit when she was mind-controlled or took mind altering substances to make her do so! and you can say “ohhh that’s stupid she shouldn’t repress things in the first place how dumb” but, one she’s sixteen, and two, everyone eats that shit up when it comes from like. literally any other character.

people (cough hs2 writers) act like she would actually be “pushy” with a relationship on jake— as if she wasn’t literally the one who helped him make the decision to explore dating dirk?? because she thought it was the right thing to do???

jane is incredibly thoughtful and mature and people really throw all of those traits out of the window with preference for a version of the story where she Comes Inbetween Their Fave Gay Pairing as if she wasn’t, again, the one who got them together. jane is also extremely interesting in terms of queerness; she’s got the makings of a really interesting arc, not to mention she’s the only human girl that dresses mainly masc! there’s a lot there that people just don’t care to explore.

people just have less patience for the prospit kids in general. not to mention homestuck fans love to be misogynistic and berate jane for stuff they love the men doing, or claim she’s coming between them when she’s not, etc etc. and then because no one was writing fun meta posts about her, nobody ever rereads the comic to grab little scenes or lines to expand the online discussion about her! and then because there’s no discussion about her, people assume she’s boring and don’t go looking for bits to start discussing, which cycles on and on forever until we have the ripple effects we see of that misogyny today. which mostly consists of, “oh i hate jane because she was a villain is hs2”, or, “i know hs2 isn’t canon but i still don’t care for jane because she doesn’t do anything that interests me.” (and she’s only not interesting because of the cycle i mentioned before causing NO ONE to have meta discussion about her).

idk, it’s been a while since ive read so i could be talking out my ass but that’s what i’ve got.

TL;DR: jane is fucking COOL, she just suffers from intentional fandom ignorance. and she’s also a canonically hot, fat, masc woman, so i don’t know what else you could possibly want.

#oh god i didn’t mean for this to get so long #lol i hope this helped????#jane crocker #homestuck #op #hsmeta #long post

462 notes · View notes

ceruleancattail · 5 months

Text

HORROR EVENT:

Darkness was the only thing they’ve ever known.

Silently waiting in their places, rooted to the ground. Lifeless puppets, limbs dangling aimlessly. Nothing more than dolls on display, doomed to forever remain.

Until someone takes a step forward, reaching out for them. Illuminating this lonely universe with your presence, every tap on your screen bringing you closer and closer into their world.

They’re simply delighted.

Preparations are hastily made to welcome you to the Night Raven College, scripts are reread, attire adjusted until they suited. Until all of them stand before the chamber of mirrors, waiting for a sign. A sign of you.

Some of them elbow each other, snapping at the opposition. Trying to force their way forward, ready to leap out and grasp you at any time. Despite having individual minds,all of them thinking the same thing.

You’ll chose him, right?

He’s been waiting for you forever! He doesn’t know what he’ll do, if you don’t pick him…

Some smile placidly, eyes never leaving the rippling glass of the mirror. A certain cruel amusement flickering within their pupils. The sadistic gleam of a hunter observing his prey.

Oh, it doesn’t matter if you don’t chose him now.

Things can change, after all. He assures you, you’ll end up taking his hand in the end.

Countless eyes gleam within the shadows, peering at the glossy image reflected within the magic mirror. Waiting with baited breath, heart trashing like a feral beast, imprisoned by a cage of bone.

Oh please, darling. Don’t keep him waiting.

Wouldn’t you take his hand?

200 Pieces of Fan Fiction Celebration

The Cerulean Cat’s Tail presents:

Sentience

A Twisted Wonderland Alternative Universe where the characters are sentient, and will do anything for your love, even if that means breaking a few… rules.

No one’s going to miss a few lines of code here and there, really. It’s fine, it’s for you after all. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do, if it’s for you.

About this event:

Sentience allows you to play as the player in Twisted Wonderland. Play the game well, and you may just be able to escape this world… relatively unscathed.

Scenarios may be requested specifically for characters through the askbox. Ask them whatever you’ll like! Of course, I can’t guarantee your safety in the process, though..

Disclaimer:

As it’s a horror event, it’s inevitable that some of the works may be heavily yandere focused, however you may request for a softer scenario. Please do specify what genre you’ll like me to write for!

Rules of this event:

- to participate, you must reblog at least one of my works and this post!

- send an “scenario” into my askbox! The Twisted Wonderland Cast are eagerly waiting for your asks attention. Victims can ask for varying situations, or ask those lovely, lovely boys of yours any question you want. Nothing’s too bothersome of a request, if it’s from you.

- an example of an ask for this event

Taking Jade’s hand… before letting him go and choosing someone else instead! I’ll love to see the desperation melt into something a bit more sinister… (Yandere)

“Thanks for waiting for me, Ace! Oh… what’s that you’re holding?” (yandere)

Feel free to be as detailed as you want! You’re the unfortunate victim, the star of this show, after all. Better get accustomed to the stage, for they’ll never let you leave.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst x reader #Sentience #self aware au

292 notes · View notes

dfortrafalgar · 15 days

Text

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings. This story is over halfway done now!

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 17

[Prev] [Next]

It had taken about five hours for your body to fully pass the miscarriage, and during that time you were transferred into a more private room in the emergency wing where a labor and delivery doctor from the hospital’s maternity ward assisted with the pain management. Not like you were psychologically there, and neither was Law. You had repeated your behavior from previously, your mind’s go-to defense mechanism being to completely shut down, forcing your eyes closed in a feeble attempt to crawl out of your skin and escape reality. The reality being you, sitting on a toilet in the tiny bathroom of the private room, a bedpan under your body and the L&D doctor, who you wouldn’t speak to, occasionally offering shallow words of support as you hunched in pain with each agonizing cramp that washed through you. Law kept his eyes trained on your face the entire time, every exhausted contortion of your muscles as ripples of cramps waved through you throughout the seemingly endless seconds of your time in the private room.

When Law saw it, what had left your body, his lunch evacuated from his stomach into the nearest garbage can. Maybe it was the way it looked, or the fact that the doctor from L&D was holding it in a cold metal bedpan of all things, or maybe the stress of it all finally caught up to the jaded heart surgeon and he settled it by losing his stomach contents. You didn’t look at it, keeping your eyes closed, desperately wishing to be in your bed at home.

It was clearly going to be a human. All of the early human-like traits were there. Two arms, two legs, a head, a body, but it was still so far away from actually being a person. It barely had what could be called skin, if anything its external appearance seemed more like a glass frog, only a fleshy red color and not green. That is to say, Law could see the beginnings of organs inside the shape that rested in the chamber pot.

Law started to judge the gravity of calling the fetus an ‘it.’ The doctor holding the bedpan said it was going to be a boy, based on what she called the ‘Nub Theory,’ and was about 12 weeks along, before she cleaned you up and took the almost-boy away to be discarded somehow. Law’s mind flashed back to the young boy in the CICU who had passed away a few months ago, and the mother who was so distraught that she left Law with a bruise that took two full weeks to fully heal.

He wondered if you cried like that in the ambulance when he wasn’t there to help you.

He wondered if you would’ve hit him, too. No… you would never. Not even in your most distraught, vulnerable state would you do that.

Law felt his stomach twist once more for even thinking about you in such a way.

But when he looked at the almost-human in the bedpan, he had to remind himself that the fetus was yours. That would have been your son. That would have been his son.

And the actions of that mother in the cardiac ward, hearing her son pass away surrounded by nurses, her screams of agony and despair at having to go home without her little boy, suddenly made a lot more sense to Law.

And for the first time since the two of you had started trying for a baby, he started questioning if he was really meant to be a father.

—

“Give me everything that happened,” Law’s pointed glare and monotone words spoke volumes to Ikkaku and Shachi who sat uncomfortably across the small table in the hospital’s cafeteria. Robin had arrived after her clinic closed to assess your condition, and Law took the brief opportunity to get the details from the two that were with you before he arrived.

“We were eating lunch outside, the group of us,” Ikkaku started. “Throughout the day she seemed like she was in more pain than usual, but during lunch it seemed to be getting pretty bad. She went inside to use the bathroom and apparently fainted in the reception area of the office. We all came back inside when some of our other coworkers were trying to get her to come to, and she started bleeding heavily so we finally called an ambulance. I tried to call your phone but it went right to voicemail, so I called Shachi to meet us here.”

Law’s posture was eerily still. “How was the ambulance ride over?”

Ikkaku was clearly growing uncomfortable under the scrutinizing gaze of her best friend’s husband, but she mustered through her discontent and continued to relay her recent memories. “She woke up when the ambulance got there, and I think she saw the blood in her pants and started to have a panic attack. She was refusing to go with the paramedics so they… kinda… manhandled her onto the stretcher. She was screaming and trying to get away so they tied her down.” The curly-haired woman used her hands to display a crude image of what she was seeing in her head. “They strapped down her legs and arms and put her neck in one of those plastic brace things to keep her still, and all of that was before the ambulance even left the parking lot. She couldn’t even move in the ambulance, but they took off all of her jewelry because they were ‘concerned for her safety.’ I said they were stupid, and they told me to watch my language.”

The black-haired man’s teeth ground against each other in his mouth as he remembered a similar retelling from one of the nurses in your room, the excuse for your wedding ring being missing being out of caution for yourself. Clearly, the situation was a bit more nuanced, but he didn’t wish to strike up some form of argument with his close friends right now. Thankfully, your wedding ring had been returned to him a few minutes before you were wheeled to the private room, and was tucked safely in the pocket of Law’s slacks.

Shachi piped up, keeping his voice low. “When I got here she was still crying and screaming, there was a nurse that came up to her on the stretcher and put her hand over her mouth and told her to be quiet. I honestly wanted to slap her for that. I mean, what kind of nurse tells a crying woman to shut up?”

An understandable question indeed. Law ran an incredibly tight ship in his cardiac ward, with his nurses and fellow doctors being well-rounded individuals who worked incredibly under the high pressure environments in and out of the operating room, and based on what Law had seen and heard throughout the afternoon, he was starting to wonder if his was the only department that behaved somewhat normally.

“Sorry for calling in the middle of a surgery, by the way,” mumbled Shachi, awkwardly rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

“Don’t be, you couldn’t have known,” Law replied, his own voice low and pensive.

“Law, are you okay?” Ikkaku asked, reaching her hand across the table and giving a friendly pat to the doctor’s forearm which lay across his side of the table.

The man bowed his head, hiding his clearly bloodshot and exhausted eyes behind the feathery wisps of his black hair. He could feel his mouth growing dryer by the second, his nose still sore from wiping away the snot caused by his crying, his lips dry and chapped with the way he gnawed on them in the failed attempt to keep his sobs at bay.

“No, I’m not,” was all he said.

Ikkaku and Shachi shared nervous, anxious glances with one another.

The redhead reached his own hand forward now, tapping it gently against the surface of the table in Law’s field of vision. “Do you want us to bring you anything? Snacks… water… something to read…”

“No thank you, but if you could go and check on Bepo that would be great,” Law muttered, turning down his friend’s offer faster than he probably should’ve. “Thank you guys for telling me everything, I’m going to go back to her room.” He turned his back on his two concerned friends before they had the chance to muster out their goodbyes, hoping that he could hide his face once more to quell the oncoming tears that threatened to fall for a second time.

Law hated crying. He always hated crying. Crying left him feeling more exhausted than a 12 hour surgery. Crying left him feeling weak and defeated, like a dehydrated, shriveling plant that gets left to deteriorate on a scorching windowsill. Throughout his entire life, he had only truly cried a total of three times. Once when he lost his family in their house fire. Twice when his adoptive father figure was murdered before his very eyes.

And three times today, weeping over your form over the baby that was lost. Again.

The hallways of the main corridor were uncharacteristically empty as Law’s feet dragged his fatigued body down the tiled hallways, his shoes scuffing the floor with each labored step. He fought desperately to control his breathing, his lungs feeling like they were filling with water, his body fighting for life. How pathetic he was. You were the one in pain. You were the one losing the baby. So why was he getting so worked up? Why was he letting himself fall?

In sickness and in health.

“FUCK,” Law lost control of his vocal chords as he shouted into the empty hallway, the only witness to his outburst being the LED lights on the ceiling, illuminating his shame. He hadn’t consciously registered the way his body contorted, his hand balling into a fist as he drove his limb into the wall next to him, the force of the blow making him grimace. A sizable dent was left where his knuckles had impacted the drywall, blood beginning to seep from the skin of his tattooed fingers as he let his knees buckle and send him to the floor. He slumped against the wall, gazing at the back of his hand.

D E A T H

Law was an edgy undergraduate. He funneled his trauma, his insecurity, his distaste for life into his studies, drowning himself in textbooks and medical demonstrations, filling the blank spaces in his psyche with music that shared the same disdain for the world as he did. He littered his skin with marks that spoke to him, the marks of his family and the marks of death. He didn’t care if the tattoos on his fingers gave him less chances of getting into medical school, he did what felt was right. He had escaped death more times than a kid ever should have, and the ink in his skin was a testament to that.

You had poked fun at the symbolism on the day you first met him. A doctor with the word ‘DEATH’ written on his hands was an ironically funny image. You had said something along the lines of, “I think I would trust my doctor more if he had ‘DEATH’ on his hands. At least it would make more sense if he happened to kill me.”

Law had scoffed at that. His tattoos were nothing to joke about. But he came back to you because of the smile that rested on your lips as you laughed, the way the skin around your eyes creased with your happiness. You were a magnet pulling him into your embrace. Suddenly, the blank spaces in his mind previously filled with depressing music were filled with the image of you. Your smile, your eyes, your bubbly giggle, the alluring smell of your perfume, the way you filled every room with light, the way you brought joy to the lives of your friends, your nerdy talks, your voice as you sang along to his music in the passenger seat of his car…

Hot tears plopped onto the tiled floor, some hitting the skin of his knuckles, making the bleeding wounds sting with the foreign contact as Law remained slumped against the wall, staring blankly at his hands as the wounds on his fist continued to ooze dark red blood. He missed his mother, his father, his little sister. He missed the way his mother would wipe his tears away with the sleeve of her shirt, kissing his forehead and ruffling his thick black hair. He missed the way his sister would cling to him on the playground, relying on her strong older brother for support. He missed his adoptive dad, the freakishly tall, clumsy, blonde ex-marine reserve who smoked indoors and would leave accidental burn marks on his clothes. He missed the way his dad would pick Law up like he was weightless, singing praises to the child’s accomplishments, even the most menial. Law always told you how he wished his family could have met you, how they easily would have adored you for everything you brought into his previously dark life. He wondered what his family would say to him now, as he sat on the cold floor of the hospital’s main campus, alone, bleeding from his hand.

“They’d be proud of you.”

Law’s golden eyes opened at the sound of the voice coming from in front of him. Shachi was crouched directly in front of him, a soft smile gracing his crooked mouth as he used his shoulder to support himself against the wall in front of his friend.

“I know you. You’re thinking about Cora and your family, aren’t you?” he asked, retaining his cheeky personality but flooding his words with an air of unabashed kindness.

Behind him, Ikkaku stood, her own eyes welling with overwhelmed tears, but standing and blocking Law from the lights that shone down on his defeated form. She too had a small smile on her lips.

Shachi moved to stand upright, grabbing Law’s arm and hauling the taller man to his feet. Law barely stepped forward to pull his friend into a back-breaking hug, releasing everything he was bottling up into the shoulder of his best friend. Shachi’s arms supported Law, hugging the man back and squeezing him with the might only a life-long friend could have.

“You’re doing great, Law,” the redhead whispered.

Nobody spoke a word as the two led the doctor back to your room in the emergency ward. Law’s tears continued to fall, his hand finally clotting.

When he rounded the corner of your room, you were standing upright, your body wrapped in a fabric hospital gown, your own cheeks puffy with the force of your own crying. Robin was supporting your arm as you were about to lay back down on the bed, but as you witnessed Law enter your room once more, supported by your two best friends, you pushed past your doctor and threw yourself into the waiting arms of your husband. His hands circled around you, your personal shield, your knight, holding you against his trembling body as his tears fell into your hair, as his head dipped down to hide in your shoulder and as your own face buried into the crevice of his neck, your unending tears soaking his shirt. The world vanished around the two of you as you stood in his embrace.

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #i'm losing you

101 notes · View notes

gloomwitchwrites · 5 months

Text

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): foul language, suggestive themes, brief non-consensual grab (non-graphic)

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: Part One of Ink & Needle

Inside the club Riot Room, you meet a masked stranger.

Chapter Two

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

The puddle in the caved pavement ripples as a raindrop shatters its silent surface. Small, but growing larger and wider until the water is still again. Another raindrop falls from the sky and the process is repeated.

A beginning. An end. A beginning. An end. A—

Fresh start.

New roots.

The brick that starts the riot.

All things have a beginning. This moment is no different, because it feels like the start of something, and for so many fucking reasons.

And it’s not just the water. It isn’t only the water. There is a neon sign, and its reflection is in that tiny pool. A bright pink that is at odds with the old London architecture surrounding it. Maybe the color is melting, or maybe it’s your imagination, and your brain has finally kicked off and this is its farewell salute.

Why, when you are here for someone else’s beginning, does it really feel like yours? It’s not sour or sweet or foul or sticky but heavy as if your boots are filled with liquid cement.

This is supposed to be Evie’s night. This is her bar crawl. This is her marriage. This is her bachelorette party. But now you’re at the last place of the evening, and everything is suddenly barring down like an avalanche.

Riot Room blares the pink neon sign. It’s loud, and the very edges of your consciousness ache from how bright it is. You’re not even standing that close.

Below the sign is an archway with an open gate. A tall man in all-black stands off to the side of it checking IDs and handing out wristbands. From the open gate comes a pounding, shredding beat that you’re not sure is heavy metal, electronic, or a combination of the two.

Riot Room is completely different from the other places you’ve visited tonight. The four places before this were all quaint pubs with odd names and a nostalgic sense of comfort. Riot Room is a club. There is nothing quaint or nostalgic about it.

Two scantily clad women in black leather wearing large coats trot by, their heads bent close as they talk to each other. Their lips are painted a dark purple that resembles bruising as if they’ve been kissed roughly.

To your right, Sam’s gaze drops to span the length of one of the women. She looks on in appreciation, her pink-painted lips pursing with interest. Her dark skin is speckled with gold dust and her tight curls are bundled up on the top of her head in two big buns.

Sam’s gaze draws away from the woman’s bare legs. Her gaze falls on you, and you grin widely, knowing she’s been caught. The corner of her mouth quirks with a hint of smile.

She leans in until your shoulders touch. “It’s not like you weren’t looking.”

You lean in a bit more until your noses are close to brushing. “But I wasn’t the one who got caught.”

Sam laughs and pulls away, the sound of it bright and airy. She waves her hand as if trying to ward off evil.

Once she’s caught her breath, Sam leans around you, addressing the two women standing to your left. “Ready, ladies?”

Jade tilts her head, her blue ponytail shifting to fall over her right shoulder. She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “Did you pick this place, Sam? Seems like a ‘you’ kind of place.”

Sam nods toward Evie with one of her buns. “The bride-to-be agreed to this.”

You and Jade turn in unison. Evie shrugs. “I did.”

Jade snorts and holds out an outstretched hand toward the club. “You hate these kinds of places.”

“Oh my god,” mutters Sam throwing her arms up in the air, her gold bangles clacking against each other.

Evie laughs softly, and the sound is sweet enough to rot your teeth. That’s the thing about Evelyn Green. She is the nicest, most kind-hearted, selfless person you’ll ever meet. Rarely does this woman do anything for herself, and putting this evening together for her was a struggle. Not because she’s difficult, but because she wanted tonight to be about everyone, not just herself.

Evie’s button-nose scrunches slightly. “I told Sam I wanted to come. When am I ever going to go to a place like this after I marry Archie?”

Jade’s lips form into a thin line and she shakes her head. “Archie is the most un-pretentious rich boy I’ve ever met in my life. He’d love you even if you were a plastic bag. And he hates all those events the two of you go to anyway.”

“Yes,” agrees Evie. “But he’s required to go, and once we’re married, I will have to attend as well.” Her face falls slightly, and it’s understandable.

Evie’s fiancée comes from wealth—the old money kind. Archie’s great grandfather is of British nobility, and while Archie isn’t titled, that doesn’t really seem to matter. He is well-educated, and many of his closest friends and colleagues all run in the same circles.

Evie is not from that life. She grew up a poor coal miner’s daughter in southern Missouri. She managed to scrounge up enough money to move to Columbia to attend Mizzou and met Archie during an exchange program. She was in a park, and Archie was playing soccer with friends. Knocked her in the side of the head with the ball. Archie sat with her in the ambulance and the two went on a date the next day.

They’re in love, and it’s a gorgeous, beautiful thing. But not all of Archie’s family is supportive of their marriage. Many look down on her for her background. Evie acts like it doesn’t bother her, but you know different. Those events they attend together cut deep, tear into her until there is nothing left but her forced smile.

Jade sighs loudly and then turns toward Sam, pointing at her. “If I find out you forced her—”

Sam groans and then grabs Jade’s outstretched forearm, tucking Jade against her side as the two of them walk arm-in-arm towards the club. “Oh shove it, Jade,” mutters Sam.

Evie giggles and holds out her hand to you, wiggling her fingers. Grinning, you entwine your fingers with Evie’s and follow the bickering duo.

They argue all the way to the door. IDs are checked. Wristbands are handed out. A cover is paid. And then you’re walking through the gate, under the archway, and into an open courtyard.

That heaviness returns, and your boots feel like lead. Something about this place is different from the rest, and you cannot put a finger on what you’re sensing. It’s a change in the direction of the wind. It’s a falling autumn leaf. There is a shift happening, and you’re not aware of where it might come from.

The night sky is directly above your head, and you can see every star in the sky. To your immediate right—just inside the gate—is a coat check. Next to it is a stage where a man in a Jason Voorhees mask stands behind a DJ booth. He is shirtless, well-muscled, and covered in fake blood. Though both feet are on the ground, the rest of his body shakes and writhes with the intensity of the music. The bass is the loudest aspect, rattling around in your body until you start to feel dizzy.

On stage with DJ Voorhees are several other masked men. They too wear hockey masks, but they are all painted a different color. They don’t wear shirts either and they jump around on the stage, pushing and shoving each other, occasionally dropping down into the crowd to do the same before running to the stage.

The crowd is thick but mostly near the front of the stage. Beyond them on the far side of the courtyard is the bar. It’s long, spanning nearly the entire wall, with several bartenders and barbacks working along it. Next to the bar near the stage is a set of stairs that leads up into a building. People enter and exit through the door. There are windows but they’re entirely blacked out and you have no idea what might be back there.

You scan the length of the bar and find another set of stairs on the other end. This one descends and next to it is another gate—this one much smaller than the entrance—guarded by security. The back wall of the courtyard—the one facing the stage—is lined with people, but there is walking space between them and the crowd near the stage.

Evie’s smile widens, and you suddenly don’t care anymore. This is for her, even if you feel uneasy. Her happiness is the most important thing right now.

“I’m grabbing us drinks,” yells Sam over the music. She gestures with her thumb over her shoulder before she heads that way.

Evie steps a bit closer to you. She’s nervous but eager as she squeezes your hand.

One of the masked men jumps off the stage and into the crowd. They all yell and then he pops up, throwing himself in people’s faces. You instinctually step forward to block Evie as he darts around a club-goer and appears directly in front of you.

“Fuck off,” you yell when he pushes himself into your face. All you see is the purple-painted hockey mask and he won’t fucking move. He just stands there like an ill omen that won’t allow you to look away.

You’re about to speak, your lips and tongue forming the shape of what you want to say. Then, he disappears, as if knowing your intention.

Jade snags your upper arm and leans in, her gaze fixed on the point the guy slipped away to. “I’ll stay with Evie. Go check on Sam. Make sure she isn’t just buying us tequila shots.”

Evie reluctantly gives up your hand as you navigate the congested dancefloor. You have to twist your upper body to avoid collisions. Just through the crowd, you can just make out Sam’s buns. A man steps into your path. He isn’t looking—likely too drunk to even notice that you’re right behind him—and you step out of the way to avoid is wayward swagger.

But there are too many goddamn people, and you can’t avoid them all. Instead of him, you bump into someone else.

“Shit. Sorry. I—” You glance up. “Oh fuck.”

A wraith stands before you, all cold shadow and violent foreboding. Dark eyes surrounded by pale eyelashes observe you from behind a black balaclava. Around the mouth are skeleton teeth but they’re a tad faded which only adds to the ominous presence of this strange man. He is tall, and you have to bend your neck to see directly into his face, and that doesn’t even take into account how broad his shoulders are.

Space is non-existent. The only thing you understand about your surroundings is him. This man is a being out of hell, a creature of fire and blood, and yet you’re drawn to him. You are a pale moth, a gentle creature, and he is the pyre in which you will burn.

He takes hold of your upper arm, and his grip is strong. His strength is both a threat and a comfort. He could snap you in two, but it’s placement and how firmly he holds on to you tells you otherwise. This man is dangerous, and yet through the hardness is a softness in the brow that you recognize as concern. His dark eyes narrow, and as he pulls you closer to him, he leans in before his gaze moves to a stop over your right shoulder.

“You okay?”

It isn’t the wraith gripping your upper arm who’s addressing you. You glance over your left shoulder and meet a softer expression. Black hair cut short, tanned skin, and kind eyes. This man is completely different from the one that still holds onto your arm.

“Fine,” you murmur but realize he can’t hear you over the music. “I’m fine.” This time you project, and he nods.

“Gaz!” He turns away, and a different man holds out a plastic cup full of beer to him.

Gaz takes it and then this newcomer turns in your direction. You want to leave, to walk away, but that’s difficult when your upper arm is still in a vice grip. You shake it, trying to throw the stranger’s grasp, and make no ground. His hand stays put.

“Who’s this?” asks the newcomer, and you recognize the accent as a Scottish one.

“Some wanker ran into her. Knocked her right into Ghost.”

“Fucking hell. You good, Lt?”

Ghost doesn’t say anything, or if he does, you don’t hear him over the music. Shaking your arm again, you attempt to free yourself for a second time. Ghost still doesn’t let go. Instead, he tugs you a little closer until you feel his body heat.

You hate being told what to do, and you especially hate men who cannot take a fucking hint. You try again, ready to smack the balaclava right off Ghost’s face if he doesn’t release you. But he does, and his grip is gone so suddenly that you nearly topple backward.

Acting bolder than you feel, you give Ghost your best scowl before turning toward Gaz, your mouth forming into a smile. “Thank you,” you say, excusing yourself quickly and heading toward the bar.

“What kind of a name is Ghost?” you mutter to yourself just as Sam turns around from the bar. She cradles six drinks in her arms like a newborn baby.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You reach for them, grabbing one before it tips over to spill across the floor.

“Jade sent you, didn’t she?” laughs Sam, handing you another plastic cup. “Can’t trust me after that tequila incident.”

“No comment,” you answer, making sure the drinks you’re holding are secure and won’t slip out of your grasp.

When you return to Jade and Evie, the two women have their arms wrapped around each other, swaying in a little circle, giggling hysterically. The moment you and Sam appear, Evie is pulling away from Jade, reaching for the gin and tonic you hold out to her. When the drinks are distributed, Sam and Jade have one in each hand while you and Evie only hold one.

Before this, the four of you visited four different pubs, and had plenty of drinks at each establishment. While it’s nearing the end of the night, there isn’t any reason for you to go overboard. Slowing down might be best, especially if Sam and Jade are going to double-fist drinks the rest of the night. Tomorrow—technically today at this hour—is supposed to be a spa day with some of the women from Archie’s family. Hungover is the last think you want to be while dealing with them.

As your lips suction around the head of the straw, you feel a pull, a tug toward the back wall of the courtyard. You resist the urge, refuse to look because you know who you’ll find. Instead, you suck on the straw, focus on the bite of the gin, sway your hips until the pounding beat is all you know in your veins.

But the pull won’t release. It won’t slacken. And the more and more you resist, the more it aches to not look, because no matter how startling his appearance is, it intrigues you, makes you think about how long it’s been and how you wish to be touched.

Would he keep the balaclava on? Would he take it off? And why does that intrigue you?

You start to turn, to surrender to the tug, and then snap back to reality, nearly knocking into Jade as you force yourself away from looking. The drink in your plastic cup sloshes harshly against the side but doesn’t spill over.

Evie leans in, her lips close to your ear, and she nods in the direction of the tug. “That guy won’t stop staring at you.”

“Who?” you ask innocently, knowing exactly who Evie is referring to.

“Mystery masked man.” Evie grins, her straw caught between her upper and lower teeth.

This time you look. There he is. Ghost, as his friends called him. He leans against the wall, the same small group of people surrounding him from earlier. They’re all talking, but Ghost is staring in your direction, and his gaze is locked in on you.

You quickly glance away and shrug even as a dull heat warms your limbs. “Looks like trouble.”

“Looks like a good time if you ask me.”

“Evie,” you gasp, bumping her shoulder.

“What?” she laughs, sucking up the last bit of her drink.

Jade goes up on her toes, her head swiveling back and forth. “Who are we looking at?”

Sam catches on and twists, glancing in the same direction. She’s successful first. “Oh my god.” Sam leans in until her cheek is pressed against your own. “That man is staring at you.”

“I know!” You pull back a bit, but Sam doesn’t let you go far.

She bumps your shoulder. “Go talk to him.”

“And say what?”

“Hello. Have anyone waiting on you? No? Great. Let’s get out of here. You can even keep the mask on.”

You roll your eyes. “No. I’m not doing that.” You reach out and snag Evie’s arm. “And it’s her night. Why would I leave y’all for a hook-up?”

Sam finishes one of her drinks. She removes the straw and pops it into the other cup, doubling it up by putting the full plastic cup into the empty one. “Listen, if you won’t. I will. The guy next to him with the dark hair is an absolute snack. Even the older guy with the weird mustache is making my daddy issues purr.”

Jade’s eyes widen slightly. She nods enthusiastically. “Oh he is quite nice.”

“Right? Girl. I could take him and not in a fight.”

“Fine!” you exclaim. “I’ll go talk to him.” You turn toward Evie. “If you’re okay with it?”

Evie grins around her straw. You know what it means. Evie wants you to go because she wants to see everyone happy, but you wouldn’t call yourself excited. That heavy feeling is back, the one that feels like a new beginning.

The issue is that fresh starts are a cleansing. They are often a renewal. You think of cold water, of a slate wiped clean, but there are other markers for such things. Fire destroys but it also creates the opportunity for new life. Controlled burnings are a thing, and this man—this Ghost—can only be fire.

“I need a refill anyway,” you mutter, turning toward the bar, some of your confidence slipping.

You take a deep breath, the alcohol in your blood singing, giving you a feeling of lightness that makes your feet move of their own accord even as they want to drag. It is confounding. You don’t know what you want.

Slowly, you navigate through the crowd, moving ever closer to your wraith. He watches you the entire time. As you draw nearer, and your gazes lock, he straightens. Ghost pushes off from the wall like he’s expecting you to come to him. You notice the rise and fall of his chest, and the way his right hand clenches and unclenches in anticipation.

The gesture is so surprising, you lose all your nerve, walking right past him and to the bar. You don’t have to see him to know that he’s watching. His gaze is a drill, and you sense the bite of it at your back. Your palms are sweaty, and you discard your empty drink in the nearest trash bin.

You order another gin and tonic, handing over a crumpled pound note to the bartender. As you turn around, you notice that Ghost is gone. He isn’t leaning against the wall or even lingering with his friends. They’re still there, chatting away, but Ghost is missing.

Your heartrate kicks up and it’s suddenly so loud you don’t hear the thunderous pulsing beat of the music. It’s like you’re standing in a dark train tunnel, and everything is narrowing down to a single point. The crowd near the bar has grown in the last few minutes. People walk up and down the stairs next to the bar, and now that you’re actually focused on the building, you can some of the interior lights.

Evie, Sam, and Jade are out of sight, but you know they’re probably rolling their eyes, ready to question you about why you didn’t approach him. Better to accept your defeat and move on. Yes, there is a tug, a tether attached to this stranger that you cannot seem to shed, but you don’t know this person. There is no harm in not pushing this further, in moving on, and pretending you never met him in the first place.

“Whatever,” you mutter to yourself, as the roar of the music comes rushing back.

As you squeeze between two people, one of the mask-wearing men from the stage appears from nowhere. It’s the same guy from earlier. The one with the purple hockey mask who threw himself at you and Evie. You step back and bump into someone. That momentum only pushes you closer to him.

Purple-mask cages you in, lunges repeatedly like he’s going to grab you or hit you. It’s intimidating. Awful. You want to tell him to leave you alone, but the music is so loud you’d have to scream.

You step to the left to try and move around him, but he only puts himself back in your path. This time, you form the shape of a bite, ready to sting with your words, but all conscious thought leaves you the moment his hand makes contact.

He does touch. And it is not gentle.

He tugs on your jacket, then your top, then your jacket again. You bat is hand away, try to move out of range, but he is so much faster. His arm goes around you, and then he drags you in like you asked to dance.

“Let go!” You yank your arm free, but the guy still holds firm, guiding you deeper into the crowd.

Everything is hot. Tight. Overwhelming. Stealing all breath.

You pull again. “Let go!”

This time he does. This time, he disappears.

Ghost looms like a dark shadow, his hand around the guy’s neck. His palm is large to the point that Ghost’s hand easily encases the man’s throat.

“Touching a woman without her consent isn’t polite. In fact, I’ve killed men over less. How about you apologize to her, yeah?”

It’s the first time you’ve heard Ghost speak. Even over the music, you easily hear the rough, gruff timbre of his voice. It’s harsh like liquor and yet entirely smooth when it washes over your body and floods your senses.

Ghost drops the guy and he immediately bolts, darting through the crowd and pushing people out of his way. Ghost does not run after him.

Instead, he turns toward you and lowers himself enough to get close. All you see are his eyes which at first seemed dark, but now look like how light shines through a whiskey bottle.

“Did he hurt you?” The concern in his voice is genuine, and somehow that pleases you. There is a small trace of anger, but it’s fleeting, and not worthy of attention. Ghost isn’t worried about your purple-masked assailant. He’s worried about you.

You shake your head. “No.” Lick your lips. Breathe deep. “No. I’m fine.”

His pale eyelashes look like little halos. Is the hair on his head the same? Is it darker?

“You sure?” he asks, this time starting to straighten a bit.

“Yes. I just—I need some air.”

Ghost nods. “Come with me.” His hand gently rests against your elbow, and you accept it. This touch is not a threat, and you surrender to him, allowing him to lead you away from the crowd. They part easily as if on instinct. Maybe Ghost is truly that intimidating.

Ghost leads you to the far edge of the bar near the secondary set of stairs. He does not escort you down the stairs but to the other archway you noticed earlier. The security guard nods at the two of you and then you step down onto damp pavement in a little alleyway.

Your rescuer immediately pulls out a pack of smokes from the inside of his leather jacket. He selects one and then holds the pack out to you. You reach for one. It’s a reflex. You tend to smoke when you drink because it prevents you from drinking more than you need, but sometimes all you do is chain smoke and then you can’t talk the next day. It’s a terrible habit but one you haven’t been able to kick.

“Thank you,” you murmur once your cigarette is lit. He simply nods and pushes up his balaclava to suck on his own.

You try not to stare but you catch the faint hint of a long scar along the edge of his jaw. Beneath that, his entire neck is a solid black tattoo. You’ve seen them before, where people blackout parts of their body in ink. His stretches across the muscles in his neck, and when he inhales, you take note of every ripple of muscle. The strength there is astounding.

Glancing away quickly, pretending you weren’t admiring him, you clear your throat. “I didn’t catch your name.”

Ghost cannot be his name. There’s no way.

He exhales, the smoke drifting up into the air. “That important to you?”

“Yes.”

He stares at you for a moment. “Ghost.”

Fuck. Why’d you think he’d say anything different from a man wearing a balaclava out in public. It’s not his real name. That’s obvious, but you’re not sure if you want to push the matter. Yet it does make you wonder why he didn’t give you his real name.

You decide not to push it, giving him your name instead. As he exhales, the smoke fans upward to crown his head like a pair of horns before twisting off into the night sky.

“Why’d you scowl at me?” he asks, ashing his cigarette.

You run your tongue over your front teeth before speaking the lie. “I didn’t scowl.”

“But you were angry,” says Ghost, pointing his cigarette in your direction before he takes a drag.

“You wouldn’t let me go,” you counter, growing annoyed with this line of questioning.

“Someone knocked you down. You didn’t speak or look at me. And I’m the one you ran into. I was concerned.”

“For a complete stranger?”

“I’m a compassionate person.”

You sigh and roll your eyes. “And yet you threatened to kill the man who touched me.”

Ghost points toward the gate, emphasizing each word with a light thrust of his hand. “The threat was deserved.”

I’ve killed men over less.

His words rattle around in your head. What normal person says something like that? The fact that he said it without fear makes you question what line of work he’s in.

Ghost drops his arm and takes another drag on his cigarette.

You should be afraid. You should walk back inside to your friends. That’s the safe thing to do. It’s the smart thing. But you’re feeling a bit bold—and a little annoyed. You want to know where this goes or if it’ll lead nowhere at all.

Straightening your shoulders, you drop your cigarette and put it out with the toe of your boot. “My friends think I should fuck you.”

It’s out of your mouth before you have the chance to think twice. Ghost’s hand pauses halfway to his mouth.

His head tilts slightly, and then turns in your direction. “What?”

You hate repeating yourself, but you’ve already said the words. You cannot take them back.

“My friends noticed you staring at me. Told me to talk to you. If I didn’t, one of them would have.”

Ghost fully shifts in your direction. He takes one step toward you. Another. There is a dark swagger there, and he’s trying desperately not to smile.

“You want to have it off?”

Yes.

“Thanks for the offer but I really should leave.” You start to step backward as if to return to the club.

Ghost must realize this because he moves like a bullet, blocking your path, planting one hand against the brick wall behind you. Your gaze falls on his hand and you notice all the tattoos. They cover his fingers and the back of his hand, disappearing under the sleeve of his black leather jacket.

“You’re taking the piss.” Ghost is smiling now but it’s not nefarious or cruel. He’s politely amused, and that is somehow worse. He leans in until you can smell the rich scent of his cologne. “You want to fuck or not?”

You swallow, desperately wanting to say yes. “I have to stay here. Can’t leave my friends.”

Ghost shakes his head and lowers his voice. “We don’t need to leave.”

The thick lust in his tone worms its way into your bones. From there, it oozes from the marrow, sinking into your blood and nerves, consuming every piece of you until your autonomy is nearly snatched from your control.

“You’re being awfully bold,” you murmur.

“You suggested it. I’m simply finishing it.”

“Don’t play games.”

“I’m not.” Ghost straightens a bit. “But I don’t want to unless you’re willing.”

He is sensing you hesitation, and it’s not that you don’t want to. It’s that you’re making excuses because that’s what you do. You step around things, shimmy by issues, and try to avoid as much as you can.

You cross your arms and pop a hip. “I am willing. But I don’t believe you when you say we don’t have to leave.”

He smirks. “So I can’t bend you over that box?” Ghost nods his head at a point behind you but you don’t even look.

“Very funny,” you deadpan.

Ghost straightens his back and his hand falls away from the wall. “This place has an underground area. Mostly employee only but there are a few back rooms where the…musical guests stay.”

“You know an awful lot about this place. Take women down there often?”

Ghost shakes his head. “Never. I like to scope a place out first.”

I’ve killed men over less.

What does he do for a living that he wears a fucking balaclava out in public and wants to “scope a place out” first? Every possibility flows in and then directly out of your head. Any of them could be possible.

“You’re not making a good case for yourself.”

He shrugs. “Up to you. Come with me or don’t.”

Ghost’s word and tone are casual, but you see the tension in every muscle and in the way he carries himself. There is a hesitation in him. A fear that you might say no. But the gin in your veins is strong, and it’s singing, convincing you to go with him.

When do you ever take risks?

“Okay,” you murmur. Then, more loudly. “Lead the way.”

Chapter Two

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

277 notes · View notes