#she wants to seem more mature than she actually is but unfortunately she is but a 13 yr old | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cacoetheswriting · 1 year

Text

celebrity skin. (part two)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 6.5k summary: your night with eddie continues to haunt you. and now you have to work together — what could go wrong?

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: smut with a plot, oral (fem receiving), aftercare, suggestive & mature themes, other mentions of sex (nothing graphic), adult language, use of pet names, mutual pining, emotional hurt / comfort, topics of guilt / regret — if i missed anything, pls let me know!

psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.

celebrity skin. masterlist

Eddie Munson hurt your feelings.

Granted, you were just as much to blame. Rockstars are always nothing but trouble and you knew that when you jumped into bed with him.

‘Cause why would Eddie Munson be any different from all the other musicians you’d slept with in the past? He gave you no reason to think otherwise. He never promised you anything.

Letting him occupy your heart and mind after only one night together was your own damn fault, though it was easier to blame him. And you could make a list of excuses, reasons as to why you did what you did, but it really came down to one simple thing: Eddie seemed… different. Almost as if he also wanted to continue this past some single fling.

You asked to stay over. He immediately agreed.

Why? If he was only going to say the night meant nothing to him, why did he agree? Why did he pull you under the silk covers and wrap his arm around your bare shoulder, placing a gentle kiss to your crown? Why did he hold your hand close to his heart, allowing you to feel his heartbeat as he opened up about his past? Why did he let you trace your fingers along his scars?

If it was just about having sex with you, why did Eddie act like he cared what you thought of him? He could have kicked you out the second you came down to earth following your orgasm, not kiss you again with a feverness that made you believe he was silently begging for more — which foolishly, you gave him.

Then you didn’t call immediately, like you said you would. Again, only you were to blame here, but in your own defence, you didn’t think he’d act so coldly towards you. It was just one delayed phone call and he knew better than anyone how plans often change when you’re in the limelight.

Proof was in the pudding. Eddie didn’t like you nearly as much as he led you to believe he did — as much as you liked him.

And it was fucking foolish of you to fall for him the way you did. Holly thought so too. She actually had a lot of opinions after you told her why you bailed on her at the party.

“Boys are all the same,” she stated while applying the finishing touches to your makeup. “They have one thing on their mind and when they get it, no matter how sweet they act towards you, you’re unfortunately disposable.”

“Eddie doesn’t seem like that,” you defended, which only caused Holly to roll her eyes.

“Hate to be the one to break this to you, but Eddie Munson is exactly that type of guy.”

The cherry on top of this godforsaken mess was your Nana who somehow caught wind of your salacious activities with the Corroded Coffin frontman. She confronted you at her charity luncheon of all places and was actually the main reason you had called him with such a delay, meaning she was also partially to blame for how things turned out in the end.

“You’re not to go anywhere near that boy again,” it almost sounded like a threat. “He’s no good for you or your image. Can you imagine the news? America’s sweetheart canoodling with a devil worshipper. You would be ruined.”

“He’s not a devil worshipper—”

“I don’t want to hear you defending him,” your Nana interjected and looked around, probably to make sure no one was listening in on the conversation. “Honey, I’m just trying to protect you. You’re still a little young to understand just how long our mistakes can follow us around for.”

“Right,” you scoffed, “But I guess you have experience in this area.” And with that you walked away. She didn’t follow.

A few days later, after your brief conversation with Eddie, you showed up at her apartment with tears in your eyes, repeating how she was right — not necessarily the devil worship stuff, just the “not being good for you” piece.

Mid-September 1992, Eddie was supposed to be in New York with his band to perform on Saturday Night Live. He told you that in between trailing kisses down your jawline: “Just in case it’s hard for us to find time to see together,” where his exact words, “This one is a guarantee.”.

You half-debated going to the after party. It wouldn’t be hard to get your name on the guest list, just one simple call from your management team. You even knew what you could wear. Chanel had sent you this gorgeous little black blazer-dress from their Fall 1991 collection, gold buttons at the front creating a v-neck that perfectly accentuated your chest. It was tame enough to keep in style with your image, but bold enough to hail the attention of the Corroded Coffin frontman.

As you stared at the dress however, you knew going would be a mistake. He’d likely view it as an act of despair and the last thing you wanted to do is give him any more power in this situation. So you opted to watch the show from the comfort of your own sofa. Your younger sister Valentine, named after the most romantic day of the year (according to your parents), Val for short, came over to watch with you.

Turns out Val is a big Corroded Coffin fan. Luckily, she remains blissfully unaware of what had gone down between you and the lead singer of her favourite band.

Val ended up being the person who pushed you to do the feature on Corroded Coffin’s upcoming single. She is the person who actually got you to listen to the demo in the first place.

The opportunity first presented itself around January of 1993. After weeks of trying to forget about Eddie Munson, and the way his touch made you feel, your team flushed all that hard work down the toilet in one short meeting. They presented an idea you really wanted no part of — a quick feature that was gonna cost nothing, but make you (and them) five times as much, if not more.

Your initial reaction was a plain and simple no. You had brushed it off as their music not being within your wheelhouse and for a second, they agreed. Only Val had come to the meeting with you. She was only supposed to be a silent observer and take notes for her Business Management module. Of course, she didn’t listen.

“Oh my god! Your voice blended with Eddie Munson’s would make for an automatic hit,” she exclaimed and you swore then you were going to kill her.

“Their sound is just not my thing,” you explained calmly.

“At least listen to the demo before you make any final decisions,” Val reasoned, earning herself nods and yeses from your management team.

Losing the battle, you made your way to the nearest empty recording room with the CD in hand. Knowing this was already hard enough, you asked to go alone. Val was the only one to put up any sort of fight, but older sister rules and she quickly changed her tune.

When the first few notes began to play through the speakers, you felt gratified because the song was totally opposite of what your fanbase enjoyed — just like you rationalised. However, then the melody slowed down. The heavy guitar from the intro was instead replaced by a more acoustic sound, and the loud drums, reduced to a simple beat. They were a mere decoration to the main event. Eddie and his hypnotic vocals.

“Honestly, you got me fallin’ to my knees It’s like ecstasy, this feelin’ inside of me Let’s call it honesty

You’re a devil in disguise No, that’s what I want you to be ‘Cause in reality, hon’, you’re a hypnotic dream An angel for sure To a non-believer like me Oh honesty, what have you done to me, honestly”

You’re not sure at which point of listening to the demo you started to cry, but you did. The tears are slow, trailing down your cheeks as you clutch the empty CD case tight to your chest.

Was it egotistical to think he’d written this song about you? Most definitely. Yet the sheer emotion in Eddie’s voice, not to even mention the lyrics themselves, made it quite hard to say otherwise.

“Why do they want me?” You asked once you had returned to the room, after listening to the demo three times in a row and taking an additional ten minutes to compose yourself. “They can have any female singer on this, why me?”

“The request came from someone above the band.”

It wasn’t the answer you had secretly hoped for, but you agreed to do the feature nonetheless. There was no denying, the track had huge hit potential, especially as a duet. And Val was right, your vocals mixed with Eddie’s were going to make history. Your reasons for saying yes, however, were a little different. You really just needed to be a hundred percent sure Eddie wrote this song about you.

March 1993 and the day you’d been stressing about since you agreed to do the song had finally arrived.

You had put on the most comfortable yet sexy outfit you could find and done your makeup differently to what Eddie would have seen you in. sprayed on some rose-scented perfume and plastered on a big smile, the fakest sincere shit you had become quite the expert at over the years — your trademark.

The band's manager, Marianne, greeted you on arrival. Holly and your bodyguard, Hank, had come with you to the recording session. You asked Holly to be there as emotional support and Hank was there just to get his paycheck. Either way, you were quite glad not to be facing this alone.

Everything’s fine, you told yourself as you followed Marianne across the building and to a studio where the producer and a handful of sound technicians were waiting for you. Finn, Jane, Kit, and Gavin — in no particular order of importance, their own words. Happy to be working with you, can’t wait to make some magic, big fans of your work, etc. You just smiled. Then Marianne opened the door to the room behind the sound-proof glass and a shiver ran down your spine once you walked through.

Although you did your best to not look his way, Eddie’s presence was instantly known to your senses. As though no one else was ever here, all you could feel was his eyes on you and it caused your heart to rattle inside your ribcage. The sheer fact of being in the same room as him again, after all this time apart, was infuriating yet exciting at the same time. You wondered what he was thinking, was he happy to see you? Surprised? Annoyed?

Holly was on your heels, saying her charming hello’s to everyone you had just introduced yourself to. She actually met Jeff at Eddie’s party so the two of them hugged like old pals and within a split-second, they were off to the side, catching up. You lost your protector quite possibly at the worst time.

“And our frontman, Eddie Munson.” Marianne introduced, one hand hovering over your back while the other extended in the direction of the curly-haired man,

You focused your attention on her arm, refusing to look up and meet Eddie’s chocolate gaze. From the corner of your eyes, you could see as he wiped his palms on the pleather of his pants and held out his right hand in your direction. You glanced at it briefly, the smile on your face faltering.

Suddenly, he was right there. Right at your fingertips. Just take his hand, you thought to yourself, it’s not that big a deal, just take his hand and look at him.

“We’ve met before,” you said with little to no emotion, and without meeting his gaze, then quickly turned to Marianne. “Should we just get started? I listened to the song, I have no notes, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

Marianne seemed to be taken aback by your abrupt change in attitude. She glanced at Eddie then back at you. “Uhm, yeah, sure. Of course. Right this way.”

The two of you silently left Eddie’s side, though you continued to feel his eyes burning into your frame. This whole situation was honestly nauseating. Not only were you forced to face the memories of this one magical night you shared with the famous rockstar, you were also about to sing a duet together, a song he most likely wrote about said night. All while pretending you don’t care about him or the night in question.

Marianne propped you in front of a microphone and handed you a set of headphones and shortly after the band had taken their places. You glanced across the room at Holly who gave you an encouraging thumbs up before hurrying out to re-join Finn, Jane, Kit, Gavin, and your bodyguard, Hank.

Your heart was hammering inside your chest. This was so beyond fucked, you almost wished it wasn’t too late to back out. The only thing making this just a little bit worth it was Eddie’s clear discomfort. He was the last to take his place at the microphone placed only a feet away from yours, his movements reluctant. You still refused to look at him, focusing instead on the carpet between your feet, hands now on your hips.

“You know what I’m gonna say,” Marianne’s voice echoed through the room, “The day I don’t say it though is gonna be the day we make a shit piece of art so, here goes, good luck and have fun.”

An unsettling silence filled the air as soon as she closed the door behind her.

You weren’t sure how their band sessions really went, who took the lead and who followed. You hoped someone would speak so you wouldn’t be the first, but no one did. Eddie’s eyes were burning into the side of your head. At this point you were starting to think the universe was playing some sick joke on you. So you glanced upwards, first behind the glass to where you located Holly who gave you another thumbs up, and then you tilted your head in the direction of the man next to you.

You exhaled softly and leaned in closer to the microphone before saying, “Honesty, take one.”

Eddie had thought about you every single day since that fateful night in August. The memory of you, your smile, the colour of your eyes, how you felt to the touch, the pretty sounds you made just for him, it had occupied his mind permanently. And he tried to get over you, really, but nothing seemed to do the trick. Not the drinking, not the weed, not losing himself in music, not even hooking up with strangers after the bands’ shows.

He was a goner, yet too fucking stubborn to call or try contact you in any way.

But now here you are, a mere arms-length away, and you’re singing the song he wrote about you, harmonising with little to no effort as you stare right into his big eyes. Eddie is staring back at you, holding your gaze ‘cause he’s afraid if he’d look away, you’d never look at him again. He wants to know what you’re thinking. He’s trying to decipher the angry sadness behind your eyes. Not like he deserves anything from you, but he wants to know how you’ve been. Most importantly, he wants to know if you even like the song?

“Okay,” Marianne pops her head in as the track ends, “Let’s break for lunch.”

Everyone starts to gather whatever they might need for the next hour — bag, bottled water, smokes — before following Marianne out of the recording studio. You’re still staring at Eddie and he’s thinking now’s his chance to talk to you. However, just as he’s about to open his mouth to start perhaps the most awkward conversation, you drop his gaze and hurry out the door.

“Shit,” the curly-haired rockstar curses under his breath then proceeds to follow you down the long hallway until you disappear into the ladies toilets. “Shit,” Eddie swears again as the door closes in front of his face. He runs a hand through his locks, debating whether he should continue his chase, though, eventually, he decides going inside would be a total breach of privacy. Instead, he leans across from the entrance, lights a cigarette, and waits. You’re bound to return at some point and when you do, he’s going to be here and you would have to talk to him.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait long.

The door opens slowly and you emerge, wiping your hands on your denim skirt. Attention solely on fixing your outfit, it takes you a second to realise Eddie’s there ‘cause honestly you didn’t even know he followed you. As you take a step forward and his worn-out converse sneakers come into view, you swallow.

Closing your eyes momentarily, a desperate attempt at some kind of composure in this situation. Ultimately, there’s no use in continuing this childish game of cat and mouse so you gaze upon him.

“Hi Eddie,” you say with all the confidence you can muster.

He exhales a puff of smoke, then replies, “Hey, sweetheart.”

Your heart aches at the moniker and you can’t help but wonder if it’s a nickname solely reserved for you, or if he goes around calling everybody he sleeps with. After all, with the way things turned out to be, you were simply a number on his undoubtedly long list of conquests. You weren’t special.

“It’s nice to see you,” Eddie admits, though his words only twist the imaginary dagger he had jabbed into your heart. “You look… great.”

This makes you roll your eyes. Truthfully, you didn’t have high expectations for your first conversation with the Corroded Coffin frontman, but there was something about him casually flirting as if nothing had happened, that made your blood boil.

“Fuck you, Eddie.”

He’s taken aback by your words and the harshness behind them. Obviously he messed up, treated you with an indifference no one deserves to experience, especially someone with a heart as pure as yours. To hear you say that though, mixed with the pure agony behind your eyes, it makes him feel sick.

About to walk away, you turn on your heel. Eddie puts out the half-finished cigarette against the wall, letting the bud drop to the floor, and reaches out to grab your arm. Surprisingly, you don’t flinch at his touch, not at first anyway, which gives him enough time to step in front of you and lift his hands to cup your cheeks.

“Sweetheart…” Eddie begins in a whisper, thumbs caressing along your cheekbones. Your skin is softer than he remembers and it only makes his heart ache more, mournful for the time lost.

“Let me go,” you plead quietly and shake your head, fingers attaching themselves to his wrists, digging at the dips in his knuckles and the valleys of space where his hold met yours, in an attempt to separate the two of you.

Eddie doesn’t budge. He’s stood firm as you claw at him, trying to break free from his grasp. If anything, he inclines closer and in the space of a single heartbeat, you can feel his hot breath as he dips his head to your level, forcing you to meet his gaze. There’s a sense of despair behind his brown eyes and you almost stop fighting.

Almost.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Okay? Is that what you wanna hear?”

His words, although an apology, didn’t sound like one. To you, it seemed like Eddie wasn’t actually sorry for his actions, he just hated the fact that you were giving him the cold shoulder. He wanted to be in your good graces not ‘cause your night meant something to him, but because he had a bruised ego. A cruel joke really.

So you clear your throat and call on the only person guaranteed to get you away from his situation.

“Hank,” there’s very little power behind your voice and Eddie furrows his brows a little confused at first, but then you move your head to the best of your current ability past Eddie’s shoulder and say his name louder, “Hank!”

“Please—”

“Hank!”

Eddie drops his hold on you then and runs a hand down his face as you take a single step forward, arm brushing against his a little too steadily to be called an accident. Seconds pass and neither of you moves, each staring in a separate direction while your bodies continue to press together. Eddie extends his fingers. You feel the metal of his rings and the air hitches in your throat.

How come one second you cannot wait to get away from him and the next you’re aching for his touch? One second you’re pushing him away and the next your fingers are intertwining themselves with his. It was fucking messed up, hating him yet caring for him at the same time, and you didn’t want to feel this way anymore.

When your army-veteran bodyguard appears at the end of the hall, you snatch your hand away from Eddie’s grasp and plaster a fake smile on your face.

“Everything okay, miss?” Hank asks, glancing between the two of you.

“Can you call the car? I’m not feeling well.”

He nods. “Right away.” Then disappears just as fast as he rushed to your aid.

You’re once again left alone with Eddie. Only this time, the Corroded Coffin frontman makes no attempt to reach out for you. Instead, he slides his hands in the pocket of his jacket and tilts his head in your direction. You can see him from the corner of your eyes and it takes all the strength you have to not look his way.

“I am sorry,” he says in a defeated tone, “Whether you choose to believe me or not.”

With that, he walks away.

The world hadn’t stopped spinning since your earlier interaction with the Corroded Coffin frontman.

You felt sick while recounting the moment on loop. The sad look in his eyes, the defeated sound of his voice. His body language was screaming I wanna be closer to you, unfortunately, you couldn’t figure out if he was being sincere, if this whole situation really weighed on him as deeply as it did you.

Holly had berated you for even indulging in a conversation with him, to which you huffed and puffed ‘cause she’s the one who left you alone in the first place for “not-a-date” lunch with Jeff.

“Hope you at least got some,” you tease, rummaging through your half-unpacked suitcase for the box of smokes you carefully hid in there, for emergency situations only.

Holly laughs from her spot on the sofa. You can’t see her face, but you can tell she’s smiling. “Shut the fuck up,” she deflects with a giggle, “We went for some friendly burgers. I wasn’t looking for anything else.”

“Was Jeff?” You quip, placing a cigarette between your lips and reaching for the ashtray. You carry the item towards one of the hotel windows before lighting the tip, slowly inhaling.

“You’re unbearable, you know that?” Holly jests, shifting in her spot to look at you. “Just ‘cause you’re sexually frustrated.”

You smirk, exhaling some smoke. “What gave you that idea?”

Holly raises a brow, an amused look spread across her face, and points to the cigarette you’re holding onto. Before she can make her point of you only smoking when you’re stressed or craving some action — and in this instance, it’s clearly both — there’s a knock on the door. The two of you glance in its direction then back at each other.

“Where you expecting—”

“No,” you answer before Holly can finish her question, “You?”

She shakes her head in response. There’s another knock, louder this time. You quickly put the cigarette out and waved the curtain around, your best attempt to somewhat ventilate just in case this was a surprise visit from your Nana who, despite being a heavy smoker herself, would kill you for indulging in the cancer sticks.

While you spray some perfume on, Holly walks towards the door. She shoots you one last glance, making sure you were presentable for whoever was on the other side of that door, then opens to reveal someone you both were least expecting.

Eddie fucking Munson.

“Oh,” he breathes, brows up, “I didn’t think—”

“What are you doing here, Munson?” Holly interrupts, holding onto the door so he knew he wasn’t welcome inside.

“Shit, if you just let me finish.” Eddie grumbles back. “I didn’t think anyone else would be here. I came to see her.” He looks at you then and your heart twists the second your eyes meet his.

Holly tilts her head in your direction and a sigh escapes her lips. There’s a reason she’s your closest friend. She can read you like a book and the expression on your face right now, gaze not leaving Eddie’s even for a second, is telling her to let the rockstar in — whether she agrees with that or not.

So she drops her arm and pushes the door wider before stepping to the side. Eddie looks at her then back at you. He walks inside, not wanting to waste this opportunity since he didn’t know how long it would last, as Holly approaches you. The girl places her hands on your cheeks, forcing you to focus on her just for a moment.

“If you need me, I’m right next door, ‘kay?” Holly whispers and you nod. “Shout, scream, do whatever. I’ll come runnin’. I’m here for you, this time.”

“Thanks, honey.”

“Always,” Holly affirms then lets go of you. She straightens her top before turning around and walking back to where Eddie stood with his hands in his pockets. She sizes up the curly-haired man, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she shuts the door with a timid bang.

Silence settles in the air. Once again, it’s just you and Eddie staring at one another with immense longing yet sadness. Only, unlike earlier today, you don’t want to run away.

There are approximately three pieces of furniture between the two of you and the longer he continues to look at you with his doe-eyes, you’re calculating how exactly to manoeuvre around them to hug him, putting an end to this entire charade.

Something is still holding you back, however.

“What are you doing here, Eddie?”

He swallows and proceeds to hesitantly walk towards you, past the sofas you were debating jumping over mere seconds ago. He stops about an arms-length away, careful not to totally invade your personal space in fear of you pulling away again. Instead, he leans against the back of one of the couches and tilts his head to the side.

“What do you think of my song?”

You furrow your brows. “What?”

“Do you like it?” Eddie asks, but doesn’t give you enough time to answer, “I’m thinking you do since you agreed to be on it, but then again maybe you don’t and your reason for doing the feature is to mess with my fucking head.” His fingers are at his temple, pointing to emphasise his words.

There’s an ache in your chest. “You really think that low of me?”

Eddie’s face falls at the deflated tone of your voice and he’s cursing himself for hurting your feelings again. He didn’t mean to. Word vomit, is how his uncle Wayne described it back when Eddie was still living in Hawkins, it’s as though Eddie’s mouth and brain didn’t connect.

He sighs, running a hand through his locks. “I gotta get something off my chest, just in case you kick me out and we never get a chance another to talk alone,” he says then takes in a deep breath, “You probably don’t wanna hear this, and you probably won’t even believe me, but I genuinely cannot stop thinking about you.”

Your face softens at his confession, though you remain in place, arms crossed.

Eddie continues. “And I’ve never experienced that with anyone. I certainly didn’t expect to feel these things for you, especially after spending only one night together. Which is why I acted like a dick when you called. I was hurt that you hadn’t reached out sooner considering how near perfect that night was.”

A timid smile circles your features. Briefly, you’re cursing yourself for giving in to his charm so easily. Very briefly.

“Mr. Rock ‘n’ Roll isn’t used to having someone else’s life take priority over his, huh?”

That’s when Eddie laughs, and the second the melodic chuckle falls from his lips, you drop your arms and take a step towards him. Your fingers reach for his instinctively and he takes your hand gladly, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Totally not, no.” He admits. “But I am willing to change.”

“Hmm,” you hum, lifting your other hand to brush a loose strand of his brown locks away from his face. “Hope you’re a man of your word ‘cause I’m booked and busy. Can’t have you throw a fit every time I don’t call you.”

The smile on Eddie’s face widens. His right arm makes its way around your waist and he pulls you in, effectively closing the gap between you. His gaze drops to your lips, if only for a split second as he licks his own, then meets your eyes once again.

“I wanna do this right,” he mutters, his grip on you tightening. “I don’t want us to just jump the gun again and leave things lost in translation, so before we do anything else, I’d like to take you on a date, sweetheart.”

Your heart skips a beat ‘cause who knew Eddie Munson was such a damn romantic — definitely not you.

“And where would we go on this date?” You muse, “Since we can’t really blend in with a crowd.”

Eddie purses his lips together, pondering your question. He lets go of you and places his hands on his hips as he walks around the room. You’re following him with your gaze, the smile ever-present. Then his eyes twinkle.

“Well, how about right here, baby? We can order some room service and watch MTV in bed.” The rockstar announces, pointing to the California King and wiggling his brows.

So that’s exactly what the two of you do.

With a tray of overpriced hotel food between you and the current top tracks blasting through the television speakers, the evening was perhaps the most normal you both have felt in a really long time. Eddie, of course, gave his opinion on every song that played in the countdown while stuffing his face with french fries. Most were unsurprising, like Whitney Houston’s I WIll Always Love You, well Dolly Parton’s is miles better in his humble opinion, or Bon Jovi’s Bed of Roses, the guitar makes the song. Then came number three on the list.

You visibly grimace while moving the now empty tray to the floor beside the bed and Eddie chuckles lightly.

“Not a fan of your own music?”

Shaking your head, you sit back although closer to him since there was no longer anything between you. “Just not my best song, is all.”

Eddie nods, resting his hand on your thigh and turns his attention back to the TV. Suddenly, you’re feeling nervous. For one, he’s touching you, thumb gently rubbing circles into your bare flesh. Then there was the music video which, as you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, Eddie seemed to be totally hypnotised by.

And full transparency, he was. How could he not be? It was a one-shot type video of you singing while walking down the street as it poured rain. The outfit you had on was sticking to your skin as a result, hair wet and makeup smudged. Raw, is the first word that came to Eddie’s mind. Not to mention completely different from your usual vibe.

“You gotta give yourself more credit, sweetheart.” Eddie says after a minute and tilts his head to look at you. “Personally, I like this a lot more than your other shit.”

You meet his gaze. “You don’t think it’s too… desperate? Like yeah, the song is making rounds and charting in all sorts of places, but it’s so—”

“It’s about me, isn’t it?” He interrupts, scanning your eyes for the answer he already knows.

“Yeah…” You exhale. “Like I said, desperate.”

He squeezes your thigh before effortlessly throwing your legs across his lap and pulling you in even closer. One hand remains in your lap while the other makes way around your lower back, settling on the curve of your ass — all without breaking eye contact.

“There’s nothing desperate about you, sweetheart.” He mutters, face now inches away from yours. “I wrote a song too, remember? One we’re actually performing together, which is arguably way worse.”

That makes you chuckle lightheartedly as Eddie continues, “Plus, you look fucking hot in that music video. Anybody that says differently is stupid and/or blind. If anything, I’m glad I inspired all that.” His voice fizzles into something darker for the end of that sentence while his eyes snap to your mouth.

You can feel him under your legs as he presses his forehead to yours, all of him. It doesn’t help that he’s so pretty from this angle. The curve of his jawline. The dips in his cheeks. His doe-eyes focused solely on yours, dimming by the second with longing. And just like that, almost as if no time had passed, you’re back where you both started. Hearts beating in tandem. Eagerly waiting with anticipation for the other to make the first move.

“I really wanna do this right, baby.” He repeats his earlier statement, but the way he brushes his thumb across your bottom lip, dragging it down till it bounces back gently in place, betrays his words.

“We don’t have to do anything right now.” And although you mean it, you hope he doesn’t give up too easily.

Eddie exhales. Eyes closing momentarily. He’s fighting every urge ‘cause he doesn’t want to fuck this up again. For once in his life, he wants to see where things can go. But the feeling of your skin, the smell of your perfume, and the memory of you moaning his name so sweetly, well it’s got his heart racing and his dick harder.

The hand on your thigh tightening in grip, causing you to whimper delicately. And that’s when he loses the internal battle.

“Fuck it.”

He wastes no more time, slamming his lips to yours in an eager sloppy kiss. You immediately kiss him back, hands settling on his neck, nails digging into the sensitive skin. He’s groaning against your mouth at the contact, pushing into you further so that you can feel his cock twitch against your leg. And you’re convinced that if you were standing, it would make your knees buckle.

Heads rotating side to side, nose grazing against one another with each wet kiss, Eddie adjusts your positions so that you were now fully resting on your back as he lingered over you. One of his hands was now on your waist, holding you firmly in place as he starts to grind his hips into yours.

“Eddie…” You moan against his puffy lips.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, pretty girl.” Eddie affirms quietly, trailing hot kisses from the dip of your lips down your jaw. And he desperately wants to stay true to his word so before you get a chance to react, he’s removing your underwear then slides down until his head is between your thighs.

You let out a tender giggle as his facial hair grazes against your skin. Eddie shushes you and after adjusting your skirt for easier access, he begins to place kisses along your inner thigh, drawing closer and closer to his desired destination. Aching for his touch, you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug at his curls. He smirks against your flesh and proceeds to spread your lips with his fingertips, revealing how wet you truly are, then blows several cool breaths over your hot clit.

He proceeds to gently slide his tongue up and down your pussy, so slowly, you feel every moment of pleasure. Then he flicks his tongue over your clit, sucking and licking the sensitive area until you’re a panting mess. And when you moan his name, Eddie works a little faster. Then continues to increase his speed as his tongue darts in and out of your dripping cunt.

Just when you think you’re on cloud nine, he forces two fingers into you, his lips focusing on your clit. They arch up to reach that sweet spot he didn’t have a hard time finding the last time and you clasp your hand across your mouth, muffling a scream. He’s relentless in his movements and you find yourself grinding into his face, meeting the pace he’s set with overwhelming frenzy.

Faster and faster, his tongue licks up and down, spreading your pussy lips further as his fingers dig deep within your cunt, sending you over the edge with every thrust. Your legs start to shake and thighs clasp hard against his head, trapping him in place, while he continues to sucking till you go limp.

It takes you a moment to recover and Eddie’s feeling mighty proud as he places a tender kiss to your cheekbone before moving to your mouth. You can taste yourself on his lips and it’s enough to drive you crazy all over again.

But Eddie’s got other plans. He’s decided this night is all about you, so despite the desperate hard-on currently concealed by his trousers, he cleans you up before asking where you keep your pyjamas. Your heart soars as he helps you get changed and eventually settled under the covers.

“Stay with me.” It’s a request he’s happy to oblige. Throwing off his t-shirt and jeans, he joins you in bed briskly. The two of you fall asleep shortly after that, MTV still playing in the background. As first dates go, this one was pretty perfect and you were starting to feel like everything with Eddie was going to be this way.

Unfortunately, the serene moment was short lived, which, in hindsight, you should’ve known people of yours and Eddie’s stature weren’t privy to normality.

The following morning, you were both abruptly woken up by a frantic Holly. She doesn’t say anything about Eddie being in your bed, for which you’re grateful, just chucks a newspaper into your lap while you wipe the sleep from your eyes.

Slowly, you sit up then reach for the paper. Glancing between your friend and the guy in your bed, you unfold it. Eddie rests his chin on your shoulder and you both focus on the front page.

“Shit,” he expresses exactly how you’re feeling at that moment ‘cause gracing the front page, with a rather raunchy headline, is a photo, taken yesterday, of the Corroded Coffin frontman towering over you, his hands cupping your face.

#celebrity skin.#rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson story #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut

697 notes · View notes

teyamskxawng · 1 year

Text

Rite of Passage

Lo'ak Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

The rundown: You and Lo'ak mutually agree to paint each other for your coming of age ceremony. Although you're both growing older, some things never change.

Warnings: language, Reader and Lo'ak being painfully oblivious, Reader swearing up and down that she hates Lo’ak’s hands but she really loves them, just lots of fluff and stupidity, characters are aged up

WC: 5.5k

A/N: This was my attempt at writing a light-hearted lil fic that I don’t feel obligated to stretch out into a series. It's basically word vomit idrk how I feel about it, but anyways!! Another one for the Lo’ak lovers (me) lol <333

The highly anticipated season had finally come around once again—the annual, collective moment in which the entire Omaticaya clan came together to celebrate the time-honored induction of their youth into the world of adulthood. Over the course of several grueling months, the young Na'vi had been put through their paces, overcoming demanding rites of passage and thus earning their coveted standing within the tribe.

The lively and uproarious ceremony was more than just a celebration. It signified a crucial stepping stone in the journey toward becoming accomplished members of the Na'vi society. And this year, Lo’ak found himself among those transitioning from childhood into adulthood, moving one step closer to joining the ranks of his higher-ups.

He’d finally be treated like an adult, he’d finally get to exercise free will outside of his parents' strict and demanding orders. He’d get to celebrate with all of his warrior friends and probably consume way more drinks than he should, but that was all part of the adventure. He’d be a free man, and he couldn’t fucking wait.

But as thrilling as the entire experience was panning out to be, there was this nagging sensation at the back of his mind—something that clouded his thoughts like a veil of unease.

It was customary for each young Na’vi to be adorned with intricate body paint before attending the celebration—a powerful symbol that represented their transformation from childhood into adulthood. It was akin to casting off one’s previous life and stepping into a new, mature version of themselves.

Each unique design would act as a shroud, allowing the individual to leave behind their former innocence and emerge reborn, strong and prepared for all of life’s challenges.

While most of his peers had already secured mentors, close friends, or even lovers to skillfully adorn their bodies with intricately painted designs for the ceremony weeks before its commencement, Lo’ak had nothing. Despite all his accomplishments thus far, he’d yet to find someone to help him present himself in a manner conducive to the age-old tradition. Which was a big problem.

Lo’ak had been struggling with the idea of asking you to paint him for the upcoming ceremony for weeks on end. It was something that weighed heavily on his mind, but he just couldn’t figure out how to approach such a delicate yet meaningful conversation with you. Embarrassingly, he found himself losing sleep over it all, tossing and turning in his hammock, replaying scenarios in his head, trying to find the right words that didn't seem to exist.

You and Lo’ak shared practically every experience and milestone throughout your lives together. You went through the same rites of passage as Lo’ak to be welcomed into the tribe as warriors. Given your close bond, it was natural that Lo’ak would want to be the one to paint you for the ceremony as well. Unfortunately, just as with asking you, he stumbled when it came to bringing up the actual topic. It was going beyond the casual interaction of friends—this was a formal event, steeped in tradition and significance. The whole situation left him feeling overwhelmed with stress and anxiety.

But still, Lo’ak understood the weight of the tradition: it was all about deep connections and honoring those who had played an essential role in your life. Last year, he recalled watching Kiri as she painted Neteyam for his coming-of-age ceremony. As per tradition, this year Neteyam painted Kiri, a symbol of their familial bond and reciprocal support. It made sense, but at the same time, there went two of his potential options. Tuk was way too young to know what she was doing, and it’d just be straight-up embarrassing to have to ask either of his parents to do it for him. That would defeat the purpose of the entire ceremony; he was supposed to be an adult now, no longer reliant on his parents.

There was no doubt in Lo’ak’s mind that you’d be the perfect partner for the adornment process. You weren’t just a passing acquaintance; you were one of Lo’ak’s closest friends. Your friendship was strong enough to withstand the toughest storms. But still, Lo'ak couldn't shake the feeling that asking to paint each other would somehow cross a line between friendship and something much more intimate. It’d be embarrassing. And what if you had chosen someone else already? What if it was some other guy? Lo’ak’s stomach dropped at the thought.

And now, as the day of the ceremony had arrived, Lo’ak found that he still hadn’t mustered up the courage to ask you about the painting ritual. His anxiety mounted as time slipped through his fingers like sand. He was so screwed.

As you approached the Sully family’s tent, the faint sound of metal slicing through the air caught your attention. A knot of unease tightened in your chest as you hesitantly pulled back the tent’s entrance, revealing Lo’ak sitting alone in the dimly lit space. He was cross-legged on the ground, wholly engrossed in spinning his dagger in circles on the floor, his quick fingers directing its every move. As used to his stupidly reckless behavior as you were from years of friendship, your eyes still narrowed at the sight. You swore he was two seconds away from slicing his finger off and bleeding out right there in front of you before the ceremony even began.

So much for his adulthood.

Lo’ak’s ears twitched, and his trance-like concentration suddenly broke as he sensed your presence, his focused expression softening as he turned his gaze to meet yours. Momentarily distracted from his dagger, he rose to greet you, meeting your eyes with a look of genuine confusion.

Lo’ak eyed you up and down before stating matter-of-factly, “You’re not painted for the ceremony yet?” He didn’t phrase it like a question—more like an observation. And that was a little unfair, because it wasn’t like he was dressed in his body paint either.

Feeling a tad defensive, you retorted, “Neither are you,” as you made your way deeper into the heart of the tent. As much as his words had sparked annoyance in you, a secret wave of relief washed over you as you realized that Lo’ak wasn’t ready for the ceremony either. That could mean good news: maybe he hadn’t found a partner for the painting ritual yet.

There was still hope.

For days, you’d been meaning to ask Lo’ak about the whole rite of passage painting thing, but every time an opportunity presented itself, you’d back out like a little bitch. You honestly didn’t even know why you hesitated. It shouldn’t have been difficult to approach him about it. Lo’ak had always been your closest friend—you’d trained together, learned to tame your ikran together, and even completed your Uniltaron one after the other. There was no doubt in your mind that he’d agree to be your partner for the significant culmination of everything you’d accomplished together. It was just that the entire ordeal of getting someone—a good friend or otherwise—to meticulously rub paint all over your body felt so… affectionate. You and Lo’ak weren’t affectionate. Just thinking about it made you feel like there was a cascade of woodsprites flurrying around in your stomach.

You shook your head, trying to get rid of those persistent thoughts, when Lo’ak’s voice invaded your musings.

“Yeah, I don’t know who’s gonna paint me. Haven’t had time to ask anyone yet,” he said nonchalantly while reaching down to retrieve and re-stow his dagger.

He was avoiding eye contact, his yellow eyes aimlessly darting around the tent. You found it hard not to roll your eyes at him because it was so obvious he was lying about being too busy. You’d literally just caught him goofing around with an entire weapon moments ago. However, it didn’t really come as a shock that Lo’ak hadn’t approached anyone about it yet. Social graces weren’t his strong suit, and mustering up the courage to ask anyone to play such a role in his rite of passage couldn’t have been easy for him.

But still. Either way, you made up your mind; it was clear that things needed to move forward somehow. Regardless of the situation and awkward challenges it presented, you couldn’t sit idly by anymore; both of you were running out of time, and it’d be stupid to continue dancing around the matter at hand.

Resolutely, you decided it was best just to be upfront about it and get the whole thing settled once and for all—for both of your sakes and for the sake of friendship. Maybe it wouldn’t be as awkward as it seemed.

“Okay. I’ll do you, and then you can do me,” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips without any real finesse. It was as if the sooner you could get those words out, the sooner you could escape the oncoming wave of embarrassment threatening to wash over you.

However, Lo’ak’s reaction caught you off guard.

His eyes widened in surprise and his eyebrows shot upward as he averted his gaze from yours. He couldn’t seem to look at you, his attention inexplicably drawn to an unremarkable spot on the ground near your feet. You scrunched your face up in confusion as you tried to make sense of his bizarre reaction. It wasn’t until you gave yourself a moment to process and then reprocess the words that had spilled from your lips, that you realized how they might have sounded to Lo’ak’s stupid teenage boy brain.

Trying to push away your own mortification and distract the both of you from the burning color that you were sure was spreading across your face, you acted on instinct, reaching over and smacking Lo’ak upside the back of his head. It was a necessary move to kill the dreadful silence that engulfed the tent.

“Ow! The fuck?” Lo’ak screeched, nursing the spot where you struck him as if he had genuinely been injured. He had always been overly dramatic.

“Just sit down,” you told him, trying your best to maintain a casual demeanor.

Despite the twinge of awkwardness still lingering in the air between both of you, you firmly gripped Lo’ak’s arm and pulled him back down into a sitting position on the floor. With Lo’ak seated and somewhat calmer now—even if he was still rubbing at the supposed wound on his head—you made your way deeper into the tent to rummage for the supplies needed for the body paint.

Jake and Neytiri were always well-prepared, making sure they had an ample supply of materials for when the time came to don their traditional war paint. Thanks to the countless hours you spent with the Sully children, navigating their tent was like second nature to you, and locating the necessary items was a breeze.

With a mortar and pestle full of bright white pigment in one hand and a bowl of water in the other, you re-approached Lo’ak, who was sitting patiently, waiting for your return. As you stood there, you studied Lo’ak’s face and allowed your gaze to wander down his frame, trying to visualize the patterns and symbols that’d complement his warrior spirit. Eventually, feeling inspired, you took your place in front of him.

Making yourself comfortable, you positioned yourself on your knees, making use of the extra bit of height, before you reached for the mortar and pestle and meticulously ground the white pigment into a fine powder. You drizzled in a small amount of water to create a smooth paste that would soon adorn Lo’ak’s face and body.

As you mixed the paste, your thoughts began to wander. Despite your focus on the task at hand, you couldn’t ignore Lo’ak’s piercing gaze. It seemed to bore right through you.

It still baffled you just how much Lo’ak had grown in such a short amount of time—it seemed almost sudden. For as long as you could remember, you and Lo’ak had been virtually the same height. There was even a brief period during your early childhood when you stood a bit taller than him, and you never let him forget it, teasing him about it every chance you got. But now? Things were so different.

It was like Lo’ak had shot up overnight. Not only was he growing taller by the day, but he was growing stronger as well. There was no denying the obvious changes in his physique. And it wasn’t like you were trying to notice the changes. It was impossible not to see the way his arms had filled out, the way his shoulders had broadened, the way in which even the slightest movement would cause the muscles in his stomach to ripple.

Just like they were at that very moment, as Lo’ak nervously shifted under your intense scrutiny, self-consciously crossing his arms over his chest.

Right, because you were definitely staring at him. You mentally chided yourself for letting your focus wander so far off course.

Swallowing hard, you turned your focus back to the task at hand. As you stirred the paint, pouring all your effort into getting the consistency just right, you tried to ignore the fact that the once-casual atmosphere between you and Lo’ak was now laced with an undeniable undercurrent of tension.

Out of nowhere, Lo’ak abruptly asked, “Is it gonna be cold?” His question caught your attention, and in a way, you were grateful for the sudden interruption. Your mind had been racing with thoughts of how you’d manage to paint any area below Lo’ak’s shoulders. But you decided to cross that bridge when you reached it.

“You tell me,” you quipped in response, placing the mortar filled with paint on the ground beside you. You dipped each of the fingers on your left hand into the paint, discovering that it was indeed really cold. You did the same with your right hand before lifting both sets of paint-covered fingers toward Lo’ak’s waiting face, wondering how the hell you were supposed to begin.

Truthfully, you hadn’t come up with any elaborate painting patterns or designs in preparation for the moment, which was somewhat concerning. The entire ceremony was meant to be personal and special, something that required contemplation and reflection for at least a few days before actually starting the painting process. Yet there you were, just 30 minutes away from the start of the ceremony, and not a single thought in your brain.

Despite your lack of planning, Lo’ak was calmly sitting right in front of you with his full trust placed squarely in your hands. So, without any further hesitation or delay, you decided to just dive in and let inspiration (and the trust of Eywa) guide your hands.

Taking a deep breath, you gently pressed your fingers to the edges of Lo’ak’s eyebrows before slowly trailing them across his forehead and then swooping them down along the bridge of his nose. You tried very hard not to laugh at the way Lo’ak flinched from the sensation of the cold paint touching his skin.

Momentarily, you took a step back to assess your progress and decided that it didn’t look half bad. The realization fueled your enthusiasm enough to continue painting. Coating your fingers in the paint once more, you continued to glide them confidently over the smooth contours of Lo’ak’s cheeks in swift strokes.

As you neared completion, you observed that all that remained unpainted on his face were his lips. They looked strangely bare. You weren’t really sure whether they were supposed to be painted or not. But the idea of touching Lo’ak’s lips, even just with your fingers, caused your heart to pound erratically within your chest. It was so bad that you were contemplating just backing out and moving on to the next part.

But just when you were about to give up and move on, unintentionally, your eyes met Lo’ak’s. It seemed as though he was reading your mind; he knew exactly what you were thinking as he studied you intently. There was no turning back; he had already noticed your hesitation.

Trying to maintain focus on the art and not let yourself become overwhelmed by how close you were seated across from Lo’ak proved challenging. You could practically feel the soft warmth of his exhaled breaths as they caressed your face. It made your spine tingle and caused goosebumps to rise across your arms.

“Close your mouth,” you ordered firmly, hoping to alleviate some of the tension in the air. He obeyed, immediately pressing his lips together with exaggerated swiftness. With a soft smile, you slowly raised both of your hands to his mouth. You gently placed two painted fingers on his mouth and traced them down his lips. From there, your fingers continued their journey along the curve of his jawline.

Taking another dip in the paint, you allowed your gaze to wander across the entirety of Lo’ak’s unpainted body. With your internal pep talk in place, you decided to just dive in. Maybe if you did it casually enough, everything would be fine. You softly nudged Lo’ak’s crossed arms apart with the backs of your hands. Your fingertips began their descent from the sides of his neck and moved deliberately across the broad expanse of his shoulders.

Silently reassuring yourself that it was nothing more than your overactive imagination when Lo’ak ever-so-slightly shivered under your touch, you diligently tried to make things move along as quickly as possible. Dipping your fingers into the paint once more, you adorned his shoulders with bold, white swirls that seemed to dance and move on their own.

Gradually moving further along his muscular form, you traced delicate lines that wrapped around each sculpted bulge of his biceps and along the contours of his forearms.

As your focus moved even lower, you took note of your favorite part of his body: Lo’ak’s uniquely impressive four-fingered hands. Upon reaching each digit one at a time, you spread long white lines down their length with seemingly natural precision. You let your instincts take over as you continued to create patterns and shapes on his skin, fully immersed in the fluidity of your motions.

You decided to save his chest for the very end, knowing just how awkward that part of the process was going to be—and truth be told, you really wanted to delay the moment for as long as possible. The silence within the tent was almost deafening, and you couldn’t help but send a silent prayer to Eywa, hoping with all your might that your hands would remain steady and not betray your mounting anxiety.

Dipping your fingers into the paint once more, you hesitantly approached Lo’ak’s chest. You were doing everything in your power to avoid making eye contact and ignore how tense his entire body was. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady your nerves, you quickly drew a series of intricate loops across each of his pectorals and then traced symmetrical lines down the center of his chest. Those lines continued, gracefully curving around the sides of his ribcage.

With every passing moment, it felt like the two of you were collectively holding your breath, neither wanting to break the fragile bubble of silence that had formed around you.

Concerned for both your well-being and your sanity, you decided it’d be best to wrap up that part of the painting process as quickly as possible. It wasn’t until then that you finally allowed yourself to exhale. You exchanged an awkward glance with Lo’ak, silently affirming the palpable tension surrounding you.

“Okay. I’m done,” you announced, gently sliding the container of paint toward Lo’ak. You dipped your fingers into the nearby bowl of water, absentmindedly scrubbing away traces of the drying paint, which turned the water a cloudy shade of white. Your words acted like an instant wake-up call, abruptly jolting Lo’ak back to reality from his trance.

His focus had been so intense while you painted patterns across his chest that he inadvertently stopped breathing altogether. The sudden, sharp inhale that followed the sound of your voice served as evidence of that fact. That realization was enough to make you lose your own composure—just a tad.

You made a half-assed attempt at suppressing the grin that threatened to break past your lips, so you weren’t really surprised when Lo’ak extended his arm and slowly began to tug the bowl of paint toward him with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The seemingly innocent yet still very suspicious act instantly put you on high alert. All you could do was watch in horror as Lo’ak suddenly immersed his entire hand into the paint. Your eyes widened in fear as he slowly lifted his paint-covered hand and began to edge closer to you, moving the dripping monstrosity in the direction of your face.

“Wait. Lo’ak, wait!” you warned, frantically shaking your head in an attempt to dissuade him from what you already knew would be an outrageously idiotic plan.

A glob of paint dripped from his saturated hand onto the floor between the two of you. You warily watched its continued pooling descent, leaving a bright splatter of paint on the ground that Neytiri would definitely kill you both for making.

“Just trust me, y/n,” Lo’ak insisted, the stupid grin on his face somehow both charming and alarming at the same time. It was more of the latter. You absolutely didn’t trust him.

“Lo’ak. Don’t you dare...” you began, your voice wavering and your ears flattening against your skull in weary anticipation.

But Lo’ak was undeterred by your protests. They only motivated him further. Barely giving you enough time to shut your eyes and mouth, he guided his entire paint-coated hand onto your face. The combination of the cold paint and the warmth from his hand sent shivers down your spine. Instinctively, you pressed your hands on the ground beside you, every fiber of your being screaming for you to get up and run. Far, far away from him.

However, Lo’ak wasn’t about to let that happen so easily. Somehow anticipating your attempt to recoil away from him, he brought up his other hand to secure the back of your head, making sure that you weren’t going anywhere. You sputtered loudly at the sensation of being literally smothered, and of course, nothing on Pandora could’ve stopped Lo’ak from laughing uproariously at your suffering.

“Stop moving! You’re gonna ruin it,” Lo’ak tried to sternly warn you while unsuccessfully stifling his laughter. He clearly found it all very amusing.

You couldn’t fucking breathe. You tried to communicate as much to Lo’ak, but you were sure your words sounded like nothing more than a strangled garble of sounds.

Eventually, Lo’ak seemed to take pity on you and lifted his paint-covered hand away from your face. You instantly gasped for air, finally unencumbered by his prolonged attempt at suffocating you to death. However, your relief was short-lived as you tasted the bitter, acrid flavor of paint on your tongue.

“You got it in my mouth, dumbass!” You complained with a groan, making sure not to swallow anything. Your disdainful tone only seemed to delight Lo’ak further.

“No one told you to eat it,” Lo’ak retorted with a dismissive snort. He was walking that thin line between playful banter and genuine ire. You could seriously kill him.

You narrowed your eyes at the little shit in front of you and desperately tried to rid yourself of the unpleasant taste by frantically licking at your arm. You probably looked completely unhinged, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care. Lo’ak made a face at your display, crinkling his nose in disgust.

Left with no other option, you did what any sane person who was minutes away from being welcomed into adulthood would do—stick your now paint-covered and saliva-slicked arm out toward Lo’ak’s incredulous face. His shock and horror at the development were priceless.

Lo’ak barely had time to react as you swiftly thrust your arm toward him, but his lightning-fast reflexes won out in the end. Always one step ahead, Lo’ak knew you and all of your little tricks too well. It was like he could read your mind. In the blink of an eye, he was already crossing half of the tent in a mad dash. He backed away from you with his hands raised defensively in front of him, like someone facing an untamed beast.

“Chill…we don’t have to do this,” Lo’ak cautiously pleaded with a slow shake of his head, his tone dripping in a mix of seriousness and amusement.

But you were undeterred. “Yes we do,” you deadpanned determinedly and slowly continued advancing on Lo’ak, coercing him to move toward the back of the tent. Your eyes never left his, maintaining a fierce stare as the situation continued to escalate.

Without warning, you lunged at him like a predator going for its prey, stretching your arm out in eager anticipation. It was so close—just inches away from Lo’ak’s face—but he was quick to react once more. He grabbed hold of your biceps with an iron grip, effectively stopping you in your tracks. You couldn’t help but hiss at him in frustration, feeling utterly defeated by the massive strength disparity between the two of you.

Lo’ak’s eyes locked onto yours for a split second before focusing on another target: your mouth. His expression changed from one of caution to sheer amusement as he caught sight of something peculiar—and apparently hilarious—about the sight.

His grin stretched ear to ear, nearly swallowing his entire face, as he blurted out, “Oh shit. Your entire tongue is white!”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, and your eyes immediately widened with alarm. Because it definitely couldn’t be safe to consume paint. There could’ve been poison coursing through your veins at that very moment, making every passing second one closer to your tragic demise, all thanks to Lo’ak and his stupid hand.

But despite your mounting panic, Lo'ak remained utterly unfazed. He obviously found the situation amusing, as evidenced by the way he wasn’t even trying to suppress his unbridled laughter.

“One night,” you vowed through gritted teeth, “I swear I’m going to sneak into your tent and cut every single braid off of your head in your sleep.” The more you thought about it, the more serious the idea became in your mind.

Lo’ak merely tilted his head, and an annoyingly attractive grin stretched across his face. “Oh, yeah?” He taunted, vehemently nodding his head along with what he knew was just another one of your faux threats. “And then what are you gonna do?”

As he spoke, Lo’ak tightened his grip on your arms—a bittersweet reminder that he was well aware you weren’t going to do shit to him in his sleep.

You eyed the unpainted underside of Lo’ak’s forearm, which rested directly in front of your face, and a childishly impulsive urge overwhelmed you. Without giving it much thought, you leaned in and licked a long, wet, white stripe along the length of his arm. The unexpected action elicited a shrieked “Bro!” from Lo’ak, who could only blink at the sight of your tongue, still pressed to his now-slobbery arm, in disbelief. You reveled in his reaction to your sudden move, despite how immature it might’ve been. He deserved it, and you had no regrets.

However, as fate would have it, the impromptu moment coincided precisely with the return of the entire Sully family to their home as they prepared for the upcoming ceremony. Jake and Neytiri led the way in, followed closely by Neteyam, Kiri, and Tuk. All of them. The five family members entered the tent one by one, each grinding to a halt as they caught sight of you and Lo’ak’s odd exchange in the far corner.

A few beats passed as everyone’s eyes darted back and forth between you two. The silence was palpable, and the tension continued to rise like an invisible fog that filled every corner of the tent. It finally dawned on you that it'd probably be a good idea to remove your tongue from Lo’ak’s arm.

Taking matters into your own hands—or, more accurately, your tongue—you gingerly began to distance yourself from Lo’ak. You took a cautious step sideways, followed by another one, making sure there was a healthy amount of space between you both. You hoped that would somewhat defuse the situation while also giving off the impression that nothing out of the ordinary had transpired—though it was clear you weren’t fooling anyone present.

The awkwardness still hung heavily in the air as each second felt like an eternity passing by. You could only imagine what thoughts and judgments must be running through everyone’s minds.

The silence in the tent was so profound that you could probably make out the gentle sound of a leaf falling from a tree outside if you really tried. The quiet was unsettling. It made your fingers itch. You found yourself tucking your hair behind your ears, trying to find some purpose for your idle hands instead of having them dangle awkwardly at your sides.

Opposite you, Kiri tried to conceal her knowing grin behind one of her hands. As to what she knew that you didn’t, you were utterly clueless. Regardless, you couldn’t help but feel unnerved by her expression. Similarly, Neteyam chewing on the inside of his cheek in an uncharacteristic effort to maintain his composure did little to alleviate your discomfort.

It wasn’t long before Tuk broke the silence with a question, curiosity twinkling in her eyes. “Is that a handprint on your face?” she innocently asked, pointing a tiny finger at what was definitely a handprint on your face.

Five sets of curious yellow eyes darted back and forth between your face, Lo’ak’s conspicuously stained white hand, and the matching white handprint wrapped entirely around your arm. Feeling their collective gaze upon you, you decided that you weren’t even going to try to talk your way out of the situation. “Yeah. It is.”

Without missing a beat, Neytiri swiftly turned her attention towards her youngest son as she hissed out his name: “Lo’ak.”

And thank Eywa for that. At least somebody had your back.

Lo’ak’s voice tended to reach an almost comical high-pitched tone whenever he was aware that he had done something wrong, and this occasion proved to be no exception. He glanced over at you with equal parts guilt and defensiveness in his wide eyes.

“It looks cool, though!” He insisted, trying to justify his actions. He waved his hand close to your face, as if the gesture held the power to magnify his point and erase any doubt you might have had. You squinted at the offending white hand hovering in front of your face before hastily swatting it away as if it were an annoying little bug.

Lo’ak grinned in delight at your visibly pissed-off demeanor, which only seemed to fuel his determination to get under your skin. He appeared to forget all about the looming presence of his entire family as he defiantly stuck his hand back in front of your face. And you were not about to let that happen again. You were probably going to have nightmares about his hand. Pivoting toward Lo’ak, you shoved him away from you, probably a little harder than necessary, judging by the way he stumbled a few steps to the side from the force of it all. But he was laughing as he re-straightened, not at all deterred by your outward hostility.

It was mostly feigned, anyway.

Neytiri watched the exchange between you two with amused exasperation, her eyes twinkling despite her best efforts to remain stern. She let out a soft ‘tsk’ as she shook her head, unable to fully suppress the tiny smile that crept onto her face. She reached down to gently grasp Tuk’s hand before leading the child further into the tent.

“Jesus,” Jake muttered as he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly struggling to maintain what little patience he had left. Jake would always throw that foreign word around whenever you and Lo’ak were together, but you still had no idea what it actually meant. “Just—finish up, alright?” He threw an exasperated look toward you and Lo’ak. “No more shenanigans. We’re leaving in ten.”

“Yes sir,” Lo’ak mumbled, his expression a mixture of mischief and feigned seriousness. He waited until Jake and the rest of his family were out of earshot before turning back to you.

“It looks cool,” he said again, his face breaking into a genuine, broad smile as he stepped back to take in the masterpiece he had just created. He couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the intricate design of his handprint that adorned your face. Giving himself a little nod of satisfaction, he crouched down to pick up the paint once more, eager to continue where he had left off.

You couldn’t see your own face, of course. But secretly, you had to agree that it probably did look kind of cool. You’d never openly admit that to him, though. There was no need to inflate his ego any further. Still, deep down, you knew you'd be proudly sporting your best friend's four-fingered handprint at the coming-of-age ceremony that evening. To you, it symbolized the unbreakable bond you both shared.

From his seated position on the floor, Lo’ak’s eyes rose to your face, a single brow raising in amused confusion at your idle form. Dismissing his reaction with a shake of your head, you couldn't prevent the warm smile from stretching across your lips as you settled back down in front of Lo'ak.

end

#teyamskxawng #teyamskxawng’s fics #lo'ak x reader #lo’ak x reader #lo’ak fluff #lo'ak fluff #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar 2022 #atwow #lo'ak x y/n #lo’ak x y/n #lo'ak sully #lo’ak #lo'ak fanfiction #avatar fanfiction #james cameron avatar

604 notes · View notes

sunny44 · 7 months

Text

All these years (Part 5)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Ex girlfriend Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Separated by a disagreement, Charles and Y/n meet again after years apart and all the feelings they had repressed come flooding back.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

"How was to see him again?" Carla asks curiously.

"I can't explain the feeling actually.”

"You still love him, don't you?"

"Loving or not, everything between us ended a long time ago."

"But he still loves you."

"That doesn't matter anymore, we've both moved on and we're very different people now."

"And more mature too, if you two just talked maybe you could understand each other."

"Carla, you have no idea what it's like to look at the person you loved the most in the world and the only thing you can feel is anguish, disgust, and disappointment. No matter how true my good feelings for him are, the bad ones always win in my mind." she continues, listening. "Every time I look at him, I remember him yelling at me and saying all those things. And believe me, it's not easy to forget."

"You should at least talk and come to an agreement because Pescale hates seeing you two fighting." she says, and I look at her. "You have no idea how upset she gets when she sees you two in the same room with those looks."

"What looks?"

"Yours wanting to kill him and his wanting to kiss you and never stop."

"Ok." I can only say that.

"Would it be a bad time to say that you're going to be his partner?"

"What? I thought Lorenzo would be my partner."

"He would, but he wanted to be with one of my cousins who he found attractive, so Lorenzo asked if it would be a problem to change at the last minute and I said it wouldn't be a problem, and that you would be Charles's partner."

"How does he always end up near me without even trying?"

"Because you're like magnets, you always find your way to each other."

"Idiot." she laughs, and we remain quiet as they finish the makeup.

They finished my hair, so I went to put on the dress. All the bridesmaids could choose the style they wanted, but in a certain shade of brown. I had mine made at a small tailor shop in Milan, which was simply perfect and very good.

"Get out of there so we can see the dress."

I left the dressing room and saw that all the other bridesmaids looked beautiful in their dresses, each one more beautiful than the other.

"Wow, you look beautiful," Charlotte who would be Lorenzo's partner, said.

"Thank you and you all look gorgeous too." I smiled at them. "But now it's time for the bride to put on her dress."

"Girls, I want you to see it later, so leave and find your respective partners."

I took one more look in the mirror to make sure I didn't have lipstick on my teeth and then left the room where we were. I soon saw Charles.

As always, there were women around him, so I walked over and made a throat-clearing noise to get their attention.

"We need to go, Leclerc."

"And who are you?"

"Unfortunately, I'm his partner."

"So you must be Y/n. I'm Gina," I agreed. "How did you let a man like this get away?"

"He's not as spectacular as he seems, believe me, he can be a real jerk when he wants."

I smoothed my dress and walked away, but I felt his arm around my waist and his large, warm hand on my stomach.

"You're full of compliments towards me."

"Sure." I said, and he laughed.

"Even now, you're as sarcastic as ever."

"If you don't like it, that's your problem."

"In fact, I love it." he whispered in my ear, and the hair on my neck stood on end. "How do I look?"

"Ugly, very ugly.” he laughed.

"Okay, now tell the truth."

"And what makes you think I'm not telling the truth?"

"Because I know exactly when you're lying.” I rolled my eyes. "So?"

"You look ridiculously beautiful, which makes me want to punch your perfect nose." He laughed, and I missed hearing the sound of his laughter.

"That’s better now. And you look beautiful as always.” He said sincerely.

"Thank you, but brown isn't really my color."

"You look good in anything." I smiled. "Even naked."

"Can't you stop being a idiot for even a second?"

"I need to win you back somehow."

"Then stop trying because it won't work; you'll just waste your time."

"I prefer to waste my time on you in other ways.” he looked at me with a mischievous grin.

Before I could respond, we heard the music, so we all lined up to enter the venue. Obviously, Charles and I were the first to enter, and one of the organizers arranged the sequence, and the door opened. I hooked my arm through Charles, and we began to walk down the aisle.

"The next time will be you walking down the aisle to marry me.” Irolled my eyes, and before I could respond, we had to separate, each to our respective places.

Arthur was already there, nervously fiddling with his fingers, indicating that he was completely nervous.

Soon the music began to play, and Carla looked beautiful there. Her dress was simple, without all those layers of tulle, but it was beautiful and elegant, giving her a charming air. I noticed that Arthur had tears in his eyes, which brought tears to my eyes as well. I saw Charles smiling as he watched her walk toward his brother, and for a few minutes, I got lost in his smile, but I quickly looked back at the bride.

During the part where the priest was talking, I was a bit absentminded, and Charles's glances at me didn't help. He smiled and winked at me, and all I wanted to do was punch his perfect nose, but I was holding back.

"Repeat after me. I, Arthur Leclerc, accept Carla Brocker as my lawful wife, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, and until death do us part," the priest said for him to repeat.

"I, Arthur Leclerc, accept Carla Brocker as my lawful wife, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, and until death do us part."

"Now, you, Carla, repeat after me. I, Carla Brocker, accept Arthur Leclerc as my lawful husband, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, and until death do us part."

"I, Carla Brocker, accept Arthur Leclerc as my lawful husband, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, and until death do us part."

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Everyone sitting in the pews stood up to witness it, and, of course, there were loud cheers and celebrations for the new couple.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername Instagram stories

“Ready for the wedding of the century”

Tag list: @formulas-bitch @nuggetvirgo @lndonrris @cmleitora @janeholt3 @coffeewhore18 @blueflorals @agentadhd @eviethetheatrefreak @honethatty12 @lec-16 @ariamox @boherahpsody @ssararuffoni @leilani13gc @alldaysdreamer @minmira95 @dessxoxsworld @dessxoxsworld @vellicora @meadhbhcavanagh @viramila @lightdragonrayne @morenofilm @millinorrizz @leclercdream @buendiabebeta @ironmaiden1313 @julesandro @ssararuffoni @sialexia @notleclerc @glow-ish

298 notes · View notes

singmyaubade · 1 year

Text

totally just friends

warning : mentions of smut and cursing

sypnosis : what's weird? we are just friends

james potter x female!reader

part 1 / part 2/ part 3

two weeks.

two weeks since james kissing you, two weeks since your entire friend group resented you, and two weeks since you made one of the hugest mistakes you could've made.

time felt so slow and agonizing.

you could deal with claire not liking you but your entire friend group? that was hell.

you knew that what you had did was awful but not being able to explain yourself or to help people realize how guilty you felt was the hardest and most frustrating part of it all.

james was trying to talk to you, you were trying to talk to anyone in your friend group, and they were ignoring you to comfort claire.

you did try talking to claire as well but she would either get really pissed or walk away from you.

this situation was more dramatic than you could've imagined.

now you were currently trying to talk to lily,

"lily please, let me at least explain myself." you begged, trying to talk to her during potions.

she scoffed, "what is there to explain?" she continued to examine her potion, "you betrayed our closest friend and couldn't be honest with her, that's fucked up."

you frowned, "i never meant to hurt her, i didn't even know it would be a dare, i love claire and i never wanted to make her upset." you explained.

she looked at you, "did you love her while you were kissing james?" she sarcastically asked.

"this is fucking ridiculous." you laughed crazily, "you know i would've never done anything to intentionally hurt claire and yes, i made a mistake but-"

lily cut you off, "there is no but, you made a mistake and as much as i want to sympathize with you in the best way i can, you know claire is in the right and didn't deserve that so stop trying to act innocent." she spat.

you had never seen lily so furious, well at you.

proving to claire that you wouldn't do that her again seemed damn near impossible and the resentment and hate towards you was something you couldn't fight.

you wished you could disappear.

but unfortunately, that was not going to be an option.

the class dismissed as you rushed out the door, not wanting to even wait for the dirty looks or snark remarks from claire.

having most of your classes with your friends was actually not the best thing considering the situation.

you spent most of your time on the bench outside during the ten minute break, thinking. thinking about what you could do or what to even say to claire. even if she did slap you and not be the kindest, she still was your best friend at the end of the day.

you were a little pissed at claire for how she was handling the situation but you couldn't blame how she was acting, she was clearly hurt by your actions.

the bell chimed, noting you to start walking to class, holding your books in your hands.

you were lost in thought when someone bumped into your shoulder aggressively, making you drop the books in your hand.

you looked behind you to see who did it and to no surprise it was claire.

"claire, what the fuck?" you angrily said.

she turned around with a smirk, "oh i'm sorry, did you drop your books?" she sarcastically said, pouting.

"this mean girl look is not cute and you know it, you are just being a bitch." you spat.

she inched closer to you, "maybe i wouldn't have to be a bitch if it wasn't for the fact that you couldn't keep your legs closed for the a hundreth time this year." she berated, earning a couple of 'oooh's' from different students.

you scoffed, "do yourself a bloody favor and just walk away, you are only doing this because you are angry which i will excuse this one time." you snapped.

more students from different houses started to gather around.

"oh thank you for permission y/n!" she sarcastically cheered, "that is so mature of you considering all you do is act like a slut for any boy who gives you an inch of attention," she was now face to face with you, "and just for clarification, james didn't kiss you because you had any personality, he only kissed you because you were easy and was hoping to score some." she scowled.

"fuck you." you spat.

"i'm sure you would love to do that considering you have fucked at least everyone in the school." she smirked.

that comment really got you, causing you to punch claire square in her face which made her fall on the floor.

you angrily looked down on her as she had a surprised look on her face from you hitting her.

you realized quickly what you had just done, "claire, i'm so sorry." you extended your hand to help her which she accepted, "my anger got the best of m-" you started.

you were cut off but the impact of her punching you as you feel to the ground and she rose on top of your waist, "you fucking cunt!" she yelled.

she started clawing your face which caused you to scream to which you punched her in the stomach, trying to get her off of you.

you punched her square in the nose, maybe even breaking it.

she yelped in agony, hitting you harder as you pushed her to which she fell opposite of you and you got on top of her. you began hitting her hardly as she reached and pulled at your hair roughly.

you yelled, punching her harder to which she covered her face as you felt someone grab you.

"you fucking whore!" claire yelled from the ground as you looked to see remus trying to pick her up.

you tried to break out of the persons hold but they weren't budging, "fuck you claire." you spat, blood coming out of your mouth.

"calm down." james whispered in your ear, your body relaxing.

as you became unfocused, claire broke out of remus's hold and began lunging towards you.

she punched you in the jaw so hard that you heard a crack. you yelled louder in pain as multiple students began grabbing claire to hold her back.

you grabbed onto your jaw in pain as james began blocking you with his body.

you felt unable to focus, the pain was indescribable. you felt as if your entire jaw was misplaced, you couldn’t believe claire actually had it in her.

james urgently rushed you to the infirmary where pomfrey took a look at you, “merlin!” she said, “excuse my language but your jaw is entirely misplaced.” she touched your jaw as you groaned in pain.

james was holding your hand as you squeezed his hand when you felt pain.

pomfrey went away for a second, grabbing her wand, “this will only hurt for a second.” she said.

before you realized what she was doing, a simple charm placed your jaw back into place which hurt like a bitch.

you yelled loudly, squeezing james’s hand as tightly as you could.

you calmed down after a minute, not feeling as much pain due to a numbing charm.

pomfrey healed most of your bruises and cuts although the claw marks were going to take time to heal.

after a few healing potions and some fixing of your jaw, you had to talk to headmaster dumbledore.

“can you convince him i’m still sick?” you pleaded with promfrey.

she shook her head in dismissal as you sighed. you looked at james next to you who gave you a comforting smile.

“don’t worry, you know dumbledore won’t be so harsh.” he comforted.

you smiled, calming down, “thanks james.” you said, “and thank you for staying with me the entire time.”

he shrugged, “it’s whatever i guess.” he joked as you pushed him a little bit.

“if i’m not expelled, I’ll see you after?” you said, sounding a bit more like a question.

“of course, would die without ya.” he said, embracing you in a hug then holding your cheeks with both of his hands on either side, “i’m sorry you broke your jaw because of something i did.” he sounded genuine which made your heart flutter and due to his hands heating up your cheeks.

you laughed, “it’s okay, i think the kiss was worth it.” you winked, leaving him grinning from ear to ear.

“between you and me,” he whispered, “me too.”

you smiled, “i should get going.”

“yeah, ill see you soon eh?” he said.

“yep.” you replied before heading off.

you went up to dumbledore's office with nerves radiating your entire body. you couldn't believe this is where you were and you couldn't believe that you and claire actually fought.

none of it seemed real.

you took a deep breath as you entered his office, claire sitting on the left side with a scowl on her face.

"come in miss l/n." dumbledore greeted you with a friendly face.

you stepped inside, sitting down on the right side, about five inches away from claire.

"i have heard from many other students and they have claimed to have witnessed that you started the fight." he said, looking at you, "is that true?"

you swallowed, "it is, i was hurt by something claire had said which is no excuse and i got violent." you admitted, looking into your lap, "i apologize."

he nodded, "is there anything you would like to say miss brown?" he asked.

"i apologize too, i reacted out of anger and should've never called y/n such horrible names." she said, "she's my best friend and didn't deserve that."

this caused you to look at her, you were still her best friend.

"hogwarts forbids any sort of violence and you are both mature enough to talk about your issues instead of resorting to that. usually, this would result in expulsion," he said, causing you to widen your eyes, "but i was a teenager once and know that mistakes are not in the list of characteristics nor do they define you and due to that understanding, your punishment will be detention for two months."

a wave of relief hit you so harshly, you wondered if dumbledore could've seen it.

"i appreciate that, nothing like that will ever happen again." you stated.

"agreed." claire nodded.

"i hope so." he said, "and i hope you both realize that friendship is more important than a teenage boy." you both looked at each other in surprise, "with that being said, you may go off to dinner." he dismissed.

you both thanked him, walking out of the room.

you chose to speak first once you both were otuside, "i'm really sorry claire, i should've never done that to you and i was being selfish, i love you so much and you matter more than any boy ever could." you heartfully spoke.

claire was glossy-eyed, "same with me, i'm sorry for ignoring you and well being a bitch," you both laughed, "and for hitting you, i never should've gotten physical."

you smiled, "i completely agree, i should've never hit you, i just want to be best friends again." you said.

"and that we are." she held your hand, "honestly, i think you know how to throw a punch." she joked.

"me? did you see the punch you gave me, knocked my bloody jaw out of place." you both started laughing loudly.

"i didn't think it was hard!" she giggled.

"i swear my jaw will never be the same." you frowned jokingly.

she kissed your cheek, "there, it's fixed, trust me."

"actually, it is feeling a little better now." you agreed.

"and about james, if you want him, you can-"

she cut you off, "trust me, i do not want james anymore, i have realized i like the idea of him and not truly him. plus, pettigrew is actually very kind and hilarious." she said.

relief washed over you, "i always thought you two would be cute." you admitted.

"really? good to know." she winked, "and we both know you and james are meant to be." she added.

you scoffed, "yeah right."

"you should admit it before it's too late." she sent you a smug look, "the way he looks at you is as if you he could look at you for an eternity." she said, looking ahead.

a grin plastered on your face, "really?" you asked.

"yep." she simply said.

it was silent after that, you were too lost in your thoughts. in that moment, you knew that you wanted to be with james potter.

not because it made sense but because he was always there, he always cared.

james felt like an adrenaline rush that never faded or when you are floating on water with your eyes closed.

he made you feel golden.

and i guess you could say that james potter himself was golden.

you both made it to the dining hall, sitting down with the group as they looked at you both totally confused.

"are you guys going to kill eachother again?" dorcas asked.

"yeah because i can totally record." marlene added.

you and claire both started laughing, "i'm afraid there will be no more killing eachother." claire said.

you agreed, "yeah, i think we will stick to being best friends."

"thank the lord, i was really starting to miss you." mary said, looking at you.

"agreed." dorcas said.

"missed you a lot." lily said.

"missed you too lils." you smiled.

"i'm sorry for what i said." lily said.

you squeezed her hand, "i understand why you said it and i love you for sticking with claire." you said, kissing her on the cheek, "i'll be back guys, i have to go do something." you excused yourself as they all nodded, continuing their conversations.

you went up to james and tapped his shoulder, "may i talk to you?" you asked as he looked behind to see you.

"y-yeah of course." he said, getting up.

you both went outside of the hall, "claire and i cleared everything up."

he nodded, hands inside his pockets, "good good, i'm glad."

"yeah and i obviously didn't even get expelled." you laughed.

he chuckled, "amazing news." he said, looking at the ground.

"and i also realized that i kinda like you." you said as he looked at you in shock, "just a little bit." you joked.

"i think i kinda like you too." he cheesily said.

"so potter, will you give the most extraordinary time of my life by letting me take you on a date?" you asked.

he hummed, tapping his chin with his pointer finger, "i meann,"

he suddenly picked you up as you yelped and carried you in the air, "of course i will!" he yelled.

"okay okay! bloody put me down!" you giggled.

"wait does that mean i can finally fuck you?" he asked, jokingly.

"maybe after thirty dates." you said.

he pouted, "thirty?"

you rolled your eyes, "i'm kidding with you, if you take me to a nice place, you can fuck me." you said.

he cheered loudly as you shushed him, "can i kiss you?" he asked.

you mimicked his pretend thinking earlier, "no shit sherlock."

he smiled, placing his hand on you cheeks and kissing you.

and now, you guys weren't totally just friends.

thank you guys for following in on this little series ! i am sorry it took so long, so many holidays. if this wasn't the best ending/ last little part, i apologize. anyways, i hope you enjoyed, love u all sm.

tags : @inluvwfbzarry @bunnyrose01 @fanfictioniseverything @fairysluna @maylaysia109 @margaritasrosadas @slay-and-gay @altyx @axa-00 @mata0-0mata @samihatasmim167890 @yourfairygoodwriter @arac3ly @b-barnes04 @let-love-bleeds-red @malfoylaufeysonweasleybarnes @adrienette715 @greeniegreengreen @siriuslysmoking @swag696942069 @evanpetersrightbigtoe @vpiange @eviesmith1810 @melllinaa @okkulta @mystarlightswiftt @mxm47max @robinbuckleysgfreall

@strangeanndunusual @girl-frm-mars @hfduudus @noob-master-6-9 @tobesolovelysstuff

834 notes · View notes

akoyaxs · 8 months

Text

Dangerous Games - II

✮ Pairing: Aonung x Tayrangi/Omotikaya fem reader ✮ Tags: Reader POV, oral sex (m and f recieving), slight voyeurism if you squint, banter, fluff, friends w benefits ✮ Read Part 1 here Note: this (backstory and character dynamic) is heavily based of my wattpad fanfiction "Dangerous Game", it's just a little more mature than I would post on my WP so I'm doing a Aonung x reader part now instead of the Aonung x OC in the fanfiction ˙ᵕ˙

So maybe things didn't go exactly to plan - not that there had ever been a plan in place.

But when you and Aonung returned back to the village, the others hardly failed to notice the marks you'd left all over each other.

Neteyam had been quick to notice the nips and hickeys along your neck, and Lo'ak's eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he saw the scratches you'd marked along Aonung's back.

The two Sully boys had instantly pulled Aonung aside. By their gleaming eyes and slight frowns, you could tell they were torn between their obvious disbelief that Aonung managed to have sex with you and their brother-like protectiveness of you (which was completely unnecessary as you outranked them both put together).

Kiri and Tsireya had been raising their brows at you, which you ignored after sharing the whole story with them. Tsireya had been slightly disgusted with her brother yet amused with your easy control of him, whilst Kiri had just listened intently with an incredulous grin on her face.

Unfortunately, in the moment where you and Aonung made that bet and engaged in certain activities in that soft forest clearing, you hadn't though about the longer term consequences.

One of them was Aonung himself. He couldn't stop shooting you strange glances despite your insistence that it meant nothing.

You had thought that finally giving him a taste would satiate his inexplicable fixation with you, but if anything, he was just seems to want you more.

You sigh as you walk out of your hut, forgetting the crucial fact that your kelku was next to the one the Metkayina were staying in.

You're striding past without your weapons when you hear a voice call your name from inside.

Tsireya is smiling at you from the entrance, nestled comfortably against Lo'ak. You can spot Kiri and Rotxo by the fire, chatting with Neteyam.

Not spotting a certain someone, you follow Tsireya's welcoming wave and duck into the kelku.

Yet upon entering, you realise you made a mistake in assuming Aonung wasn't there, because your foot catches on a thick turquoise tail, and you find yourself promptly falling into someone's lap.

Stupid ass skxawng, leaving his tail lying wherever for people to trip over. Why does he just have to be so stupidly massive.

You grumble a little as you push yourself up, finding Aonung's face suddenly inches from yours, an amused little smirk on his face.

"Shut up and get off me fish lips," you snap, gripping his shoulders to push yourself out of his lap.

"You were the one that sat on me," he points out, before he cuts himself off.

You don't miss the way his eyes instantly travel over him as you sit up and push yourself away, but before you can snap at him that your eyes actually aren't on your tits, Tsireya speaks up.

"You look beautiful," she gasps, smiling at you. "Where are you going?"

"There's a party tonight," you say, frowning at Lo'ak.

"Oh yeah," he says, shaking his head slightly. "I forgot about that- that's why we came here, to invite you!"

Immediately, your eyes widen, but Kiri's grabbing Rotxo's arm and begging him to come.

Which only means-

"You're coming too bro, right?" Neteyam asks Aonung.

Aonung clears his throat and peels his gaze away from you. You hadn't even noticed him staring- you'd gotten so accustomed to his bright blue eyes on you.

"Yeah," Aonung shrugs, and Neteyam grins.

"We had some good times in the reef- now it's our time to show you a good time in the forest."

"Here's your chance," I whisper to Aonung, so only he can hear.

"Chance to what?"

"To fuck around with some villagers and leave me alone," I hiss, grinning at him.

"I think you like having me around sweetheart," Aonung whispers back, not in the least deterred by the words.

"And what gives you that impression? My overwhelming love and affection for you?" you taunt.

"That and the way you were moaning in my ear the other night," he grins, teeth glinting sharply, and you feel the places where those very fangs lightly sunk into your skin prickle under his bright blue gaze. "Oh yes, yes, yes-"

"Shut your stupid mouth," you snap, quickly checking that the others couldn't hear your whispered, furious conversation.

"I thought you liked my stupid mouth," Aonung grins, before you whip his leg hard with your tail. "Ow."

The others turn to see him rubbing his leg and wrinkling his nose at you.

"Sorry, accident," you say, rolling your eyes.

"Yeah well, we should go before you murder Aonung," Kiri smiles, hauling you up and away from the stupid skxawng.

You allow yourself to be led away by Kiri, Rotxo on her other side, and the others trailing behind you as you walk together towards the party.

You can hear Tsireya giggling at Lo'ak's stupid jokes, and Neteyam and Aonung are having a low, quiet conversation, though you can feel eyes burning on you.

You'd bet anything they were a very familiar ocean-blue set of eyes with that strange, unreadable expression.

Thankfully, you get a distraction as soon as you arrive at the party - alcohol.

It's been a long fucking week, what with training Aonung and scolding Aonung and avoiding Aonung and the other business with Aonung, and this is a time where you can just get away from fucking Aonung.

It's so stupid, the way he just always seems to be there, and when he isn't physically, it's just imprinted in your mind.

You don't love him - you don't even like Aonung - but there's just something about him that just remains with you wherever you go.

It's something about his faint sea-breeze scent lingering after he's been in the forest for weeks, something about the way his large blue eyes glitter no matter if they're illuminated by sunlight filtering through the foliage or the forest bioluminescence.

You grunt, downing a sweet, very strong drink of some unfamiliar sort.

You can still almost feel the ghost of his hands all over you, feel your fading nips and hickeys prickle when he's near, hear the faint groans and curses he left, messy and hot, along your neck as your back arched against his muscular chest.

Fuck, this isn't good.

The alcohol isn't drowning away these constant thoughts of Aonung.

Never once have you ever spared two flying fucks for a guy after you fucked.

It's not like you like Aonung, but you've hardly ever felt this level of... awareness... with any other guy before.

Each encounter has been the same, a quick fuck then you leave before things can get awkward, or worse, intimate.

So okay, maybe seeing your whole clan get murdered and destroyed by sky people at a young age could be traumatising, maybe even give you a few silly little intimacy issues, but your total aversion for intimate affection had always been uncomplicated.

You didn't need people to protect or defend you, you didn't need someone to take care of you.

Not once had you ever wished to stay and be cleaned up and praised and loved after sex; sex was just meaningless escape and occasional enjoyment.

These repeated thoughts of Aonung didn't mean anything. Nothing at all.

The next drink is even stronger, a whole coconut full of some shiny sapphire liquid that tastes faintly of lime, and you sloppily down it before swiping away the droplets.

Aonung didn't matter- it doesn't matter that you can feel his eyes on you from across the party.

But you only notice the burn of those ocean-blue eyes when it suddenly disappears.

You frown, turning to where you last saw Aonung, to find him speaking to some other girls.

Ha. Ninat was, simply put, a slut. She was named after her obviously egocentric mother, who Neytiri had once told you had put quite a few moves onto Jake.

Now Ninat 2.0, not exactly improved, was giggling obnoxiously at Aonung, twirling her long dark hair and batting her long lashes at her.

You just scoff and turn away, sipping another coconut. You don't like Aonung, but you know he can do better than that.

"Quite a step down, don't you think," a voice whispers in your ear, before you realise Neteyam's standing beside you.

"What do you mean?" you ask, frowning drunkenly at your friend.

"Come off it," Neteyam grins, rolling his eyes. "It couldn't be more obvious you fucked Aonung, he's even more pussy whipped than before."

"He's not pussy whipped," you mumble. "He's just-"

"Totally obsessed with you and everything you do and everything that has to do with you?" Neteyam suggests.

"Sure," you shrug, too hazy to argue with him as you down another drink.

"But I mean, who isn't," Neteyam grins. "All the other guys in the clan are furious - they know how picky you are about lovers and the fact you chose an outsi-"

"Gross Tey," you swat at him. "They aren't my lovers, I'm just having fun. I'm still young, just let me live, mighty warrior."

He laughs, but lightly holds your arm to steady you.

"Look, Khalo has been glaring at Aonung this whole party. Moy'ka is working up the courage to come talk to you, and those five guys over there are literally fighting over who gets to shoot their shot."

"What's your point," you frown.

"My point is that you are literally the most desired girl in the clan, and it speaks volumes that you're fucking a guy that has been here for weeks when every other guy has been bending backwards to get you to look at them their whole lives," Neteyam says sternly.

"I'm not fucking Aonung," is all you reply with. "It was a one-time thing, and now I'm ready to move on and forget about it."

"He won't."

"Come on Tey," you grumble. "I heard a million stories about Aonung when you were in the reef, he was fucking girls left and right and he never got hung up on anyone. Why would he be so obsessed with me?"

"Because you aren't falling at his feet," Neteyam points out. "Look, Ninat is practically trying to suck his dick already, and he couldn't give two fucks. You have him hooked, and I know you're intrigued by him too."

"You mean annoyed," you grumble.

"No I mean intrigued," Neteyam says sternly. "I mean, why else would you be avoiding him, then having all these weird whispered conversations with him when you think we don't notice, then taking him so far away to train?"

"I take him far away so no one can hear his screams of pain," you grin, drunkenly cackling a little.

"You're fucking demented," Neteyam says fondly, tucking your face back behind your ears.

"True," you shrug carelessly feeling eyes snag back onto you.

You don't need to sense that it's Aonung looking, but you turn to meet his gaze anyway.

He's shameless about his staring, pupils tiny slits in large blue eyes like an ocean trench, before a voice interrupts you.

"Hey," Moy'ka says nervously, holding a small wrapped leaf of meat. "I brought this for you."

"What is it?"

"Yerik meat," he says awkwardly. "From my hunt. I saw you hunting one a few days ago with um... with..."

He trails off nervously, and you follow his gaze to where Aonung stands.

Aonung looks normal, half-listening to Ninat chatter on about some stupid shit, but you can see his tail flicking agitatedly behind him, and you can sense the hard coldness of his gaze from here, snagged right on your face.

You have a moments hesitation before you turn back, ignoring Aonung and smiling at Moy'ka.

"So I hunted it for you," Moy'ka says nervously.

How cute, going to the trouble of hunting a hexapede and bringing you a meal. It's not much to impress the best hunter and warrior in the clan, but you accept it graciously, and he looks so relieved and jittery that you can't help smiling.

This is another strange idea that the men in the clan have, bringing you gifts from their hunts as tokens for your "affection". It never seems to occur to them that you could easily hunt for yourself, could easily murder them too, but it seems to be some pathological need for you to accept their silly little gifts.

Moy'ka seems to be mumbling about something or another, about hunting and archery, and you find yourself thinking more about his large hands then the words he's speaking.

"Really?" you sigh, struggling to pretend you aren't bored out of your fucking mind.

"Well," Moy'ka says, before looking nervously down at you. "We could discuss it in a more private area."

At this, your ears prick up.

You're drunk and need a distraction and to be frank, you're horny.

So you grin agreeably up at Moy'ka, and follow him away from the party.

It's a little shy and messy, your head banging uncomfortably against the back of the tree you're propped against as Moy'ka clumsily holds you up.

You've barely been at this for more than a few minutes, which is undoubtedly long enough for you to realise that your standards really have slipped.

First Aonung and now this, bumbling, clumsy fucking with this endearingly nervous but not at all worthwhile guy, who's grunting - like a hog - his praises of your tightness and sweetness and beauty and other stupid fucking bullshit.

This is what you get for trying to be nice, you think. Give a sweet nervous guy a chance opposed to the cocky stupid ones, and end up with steadier rhythm of your head slamming into the tree than his thrusts.

You'd never ever fucking admit it, but Moy'ka feels like a fucking twig compared to Aonung.

You can tell Moy'ka is getting close - a good fucking thing so this can be over and you can go sleep - and he looks up at you.

"Can I-"

"Yes, yes fine," you wince, reaching up to clutch the branches in an unsuccessful effort to stop your head knocking.

He comes undone in an embarrassingly quick, loud groan, shaking with the orgasm and the effort of holding you up and against the tree.

When he finally pulls out, you wince and steady yourself on the ground, feeling extremely disgruntled and unsatisfied.

The one good thing about this interaction was that you smartly chose to go near the river, so you quickly slide away from Moy'ka.

It's only when you turn back, you spot the figure in the shadows of the trees. There's no mistaking that massive outline, or the distinctly paler, more greenish tint of their skin.

But it's the large blue eyes, seemingly gleaming out of the darkness with cold amusement that makes you shiver slightly. You duck underwater, knowing he saw you notice him, before resurfacing.

"Are you alright?" Moy'ka asks.

"Yes," you say, trying not to sound bitter about your overwhelming lack of pleasure. "You should be going."

"Are you sure?" he asks, looking slightly hurt.

"Yes," you say, eyes travelling over Moy'ka's shoulder to Aonung again.

Moy'ka also looks, and completely freezes when he sees Aonung.

"So I'm fine," you say pointedly, waiting for him to leave.

"Are you um..." Moy'ka says nervously, his gaze constantly flicking between you and Aonung. "Are you alri-"

"Yes yes I'm fine," you grumble, resisting the temptation to roll your eyes.

Finally, he slides up and tentatively steps away.

He gives Aonung a wide berth, cautiously avoiding his gaze as he scrambles away, and Aonung steps forward.

"What, skxawng," you grumble, not bothering to look at Aonung as you slide out of the river.

"Nothing."

You glare at him, able to sense the waves of his amusement from miles away.

"Mhm, and how long were you standing there?" you ask suspiciously. "Watching him fuck me-"

"Is that what that was?" Aonung scoffs. "It looked more like he was trying to hammer your head into that tree."

"Perv," you scowl. "Don't you have better things to do then stalking me?"

"Not really."

"So you were stalking me then?"

"I was going for a walk," Aonung says elusively, and your eyes narrow. "Then I heard him grunting like a fucking pig. Oh, you're so fucking tight- uhg, uhghhhhhh-"

"Didn't sound that different to you," you snap, feeling your face grow hotter.

Aonung raises an eyebrow and straightens up, so he's a good head and a half taller now.

"At least you had a good time with me," he grins.

"You are such a dick," you snap, glowering at him.

"And you have terrible fucking taste. Besides me, obviously."

"That was just one thing," you say hotly, "It wasn't that bad-"

"Not that bad," Aonung repeats incredulously. "That wasn't bad?"

"Well-"

"He was literally about to send you through that fucking tree," Aonung scoffs. "You looked so uncomfortable, I thought I'd have to come rescue-"

"I don't need your rescuing," you hiss.

"No, I think you need a good fuck," Aonung grins. "Because if that 'wasn't bad' then someone's royally fucking up with you, princess."

"Well I tried, didn't I," you hiss. "So I didn't get a good fuck, I admit it. Can you fuck off now?"

Aonung just scoffs.

"Is that really what you want?"

"What else would I want," you snap. "The great pleasure of your delightful company?"

"Have you had a good fuck?" Aonung asks instead, ignoring your sarcastic words.

"Yes."

"Besides with me," Aonung says.

You turn to glower at him, but instead of finding the expected cocky smirk on his face, you find him looking genuinely interested.

Ugh, why does he have to be so fucking invested? Why is he actually fucking caring?

"What does that matter?" you grumble.

Aonung blinks, looking sincerely engrossed.

"You haven't?" he whispers.

"I have," you grumble. "I just... I don't have very high expectations when it comes to guys."

"Oh paksalin-"

"Don't call me that," you snap at the name, which seems taunting and cold in this conversation. "I'm tired and unsatisfied so-"

Aonung settles back slightly, leaning against the same tree you had just been fucked against, if you could even call it that.

You're disgruntled to see that because of his stupid height, his head is resting against the same spot yours had repeatedly been knocked against.

"I wouldn't leave you unsatisfied," Aonung says coolly.

It takes you a moment to process his words before you snap up and stare incredulously at him.

"Really?" you say dryly, trying not to let your emotions get the better of you.

What is he on about now? Is he saying what you think he's saying? Aonung nods simply.

"I think you know I wouldn't," Aonung whispers, tilting his head a little so he's looking down at you.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

But also you're tired and impatient and still annoyingly unsatisfied, so fuck it.

"Get to the point," you snap. "Or get lost."

Aonung doesn't waste any time, pushing himself off the tree and striding towards you. It seems like he only took a single step, but suddenly he's a foot apart and you're having to tilt your head to look up at him.

"Do you want me to help you?"

His question tumbles in front of you, seemingly trapped in the little space between your body and his.

He's a smug little skxawng. He knows what the answer is, but he also knows how fucking impossible it is for you to say the answer.

"Yes or no?"

You growl under your breath, growing more irritated by the minute, but the air between you is thick and charged with tension and you can feel the anticipation growing inside you.

It's pretty fucking obvious where this is headed, but it's just so... infuriating.

Infuriating that what you want happens to be offered by the most annoying dick you've ever known in your life.

"Fine," you grumble under your breath.

"What was that princess?" he asks, fangs glinting in his familiar grin.

Not bothering to speak at all, you just crash your lips onto his and snake your hands around his neck.

There's no need for the kiss, and both of you know it. The deal was for sex and sex alone, pleasure alone, and you know what it means that you kissed him.

You kissed him.

You can feel his heartbeat picking up against your chest as he shifts, one of his hands on your waist and holding you up so your faces are closer, the other tangling in your long hair.

He smells good, like amber and sea-salt, and his lips are so soft and warm that you nearly forget about everything else and get lost in the kiss.

Then it deepens further and everything is hot and warm and tangling, his hand sliding lower, nearly at my ass.

It hardly ever occured to you how little you've kissed in your lifetime- probably less than you've fucked, but now here you are, pressing yourself as close as you can to this infuriating, uselessly hot skxawng.

If you weren't so fucking horny then yes, maybe you would have paused to think, to remember your previous distaste for him, your principal for not giving in to his amused and persistent seduction.

But you are so fucking so you just kiss him harder as one of his hands cups your jaw, the other clasping around the back of your neck and tilting your head farther up to meet him.

Your height difference seems ridiculous, and after a few moments he smiles against your mouth.

"Up," he whisper, hands travelling down.

He catches you as your legs wrap tightly around his waist, arms snaking around his neck to steady yourself.

His hands automatically move to hold you in place, one on your back and waist, the other arm propped under your ass, the hand gripping your thigh.

The kiss is messy and airless and hardly graceful, but you wouldn't have it any other fucking way.

You're all greedy and breathless, desperate for anything, and the feeling of his soft lips against your own, his fangs lightly sinking into your lip before his tongue lightly licks away the small pearls of blood just... does something.

You can already feel him growing harder below you - you think he might have already been hard before you even noticed him, watching you get clumsily fucked against that tree.

Now your head is spinning slightly, and you feel more hungry than ever.

It's infuriating, but you know out of most of the clan, this stupid outsider with his massive body and pretty paler skin is probably the best person to be doing this with.

The knowledge - knowledge you'd never speak aloud - that Aonung is the best you've ever had by a long fucking shot doesn't exactly piss you off in the way you think it would.

It isn't some aggravating, world-shattering fact, because you simply know that Aonung would be more than happy to be in this position again, offering you more pleasure because he cockily knows he can give it.

And with that, you're suddenly being pushed against the tree again, but it's different.

His hands are easily holding you up, arms cushioning under you so you aren't knocked against the hard wood. You hadn't even noticed him slide your loincloth away, but suddenly your legs are tossed over his shoulders and he's gazing up at you.

It's that same fucking look. Of the smitten, puppy-dog variety, but also with a note of hunger and lust that makes you clench around nothing.

You just look back, and there's a few moments where you just stare at each other, both of you hungry and silent, then before you know it he's dived between your legs.

It's too risky to grip his braids as you had last time - you don't want to fall down even though you know Aonung wouldn't let you drop - but you need something to hold anyway. Your hands fly to the branches above to steady yourself, nails digging shamelessly into the bark.

"Fuck," you growl under your breath as he flicks and kisses and sucks, pressing his tongue against and in you as you throw your head back against the trunk.

It isn't just his admittedly amazing talent for giving head that is just so overwhelming- it has something to do with the way he's so effortlessly holding you up, something to do with the little growls and hums he lets out against you, something to do with the realisation he's not holding himself back.

Last time, even though he had been trying to impress you, he had still restrained himself somewhat.

But now he knows your hungry, and he could probably get away with doing anything.

His hands are holding so tight to your thighs you can already see the little purple blooms of a bruise under his fingers, and he's making sure to sink his fangs lightly into your inner thighs every now and again.

The tiny pearls of scarlet blood are smearing with slick and spit all over the lower half of his face, but he's just humming delightedly against you, his tail swinging happily behind him and a dopey, self-satisfied grin on his face.

Your legs begin to shake around his head, eyes rolling all the way back as you moan louder and claw at the branch you're desperately clutching.

"I- I'm fucking close," you manage to choke out between loud moans, and Aonung growls against you, not even bothering to look up. "Don't you want to-"

Aonung pulls away, looking distinctly disgruntled that you're talking to him and making him stop his relentless attack on your cunt.

"Go ahead, I'm planning on satisfying you much more than once princess," he says off-handedly, before diving back down with more fervour than ever.

The words you were going to say die in your throat as you gasp loudly, and before you know it, you're tumbling over that edge he had you teetering on.

He licked your essence greedily, growling with every swallow as though he was starved. But he didn't stop, continuing to lick and suck with reckless abandon, grinning at your increasingly whiny moans.

"Okay, okay," you laugh shakily, pushing lightly at his head. "I got-"

"Just one more," he mumbles against you.

You're about to protest, to tell him he doesn't need to, when he gives you large, pleading eyes and you realise this isn't just about you.

He's sincerely enjoying himself - your taste, your moans, your heels digging into his back and legs trembling on his shoulders from the increasingly overwhelming overstimulation.

You just whine loudly when he blinks pleadingly at you, but you aren't about to back down now.

He's watching you carefully, eyes flicking between your trembling body and your rolling eyes and shamelessly loud moans.

Your breath is so shaky that your body trembles with each desperate inhale you attempt at, but it's hard to beat off your moans and whimpers for a moment long enough to draw breath.

Finally you just let go, squirting all over Aonung with a keening cry, trembling all over and nearly going limp in his arms.

You're mortified at how intense your orgasm was, even more so when you open your eyes and see yourself limp against the tree, propped up carefully by Aonung.

"Are you alright?" he asks, looking distinctly pleased with himself but also a little concerned.

"Sure," you say with a shaky laugh as Aonung sets you back down. "Where did you learn that shit?"

"I picked it up," Aonung shrugs modestly, at complete odds with the cocky confidence gleaming in his ocean eyes. "Just here and there."

"Right," you say, rolling your eyes at him, before noticing the bulge in his tewng.

He's painfully fucking hard now, and you can see the seams of his loincloth straining.

"Do you need some help?"

Your questions surprises you both. But then again, he did do a great job with you, and you weren't selfish. You're happy to help him out.

"I'm supposed to be helping you," Aonung points out, shifting slightly to cover his erection.

"You did," you argue. "Don't be up yourself, you can ask for help too."

When Aonung just stares at you, you shift closer and lightly trace his bulge.

Instantly, his breath hitches and his body instinctively moves to follow your touch. You teasingly let your hand drop and he exhales as you turn to raise your brows at him.

"So?"

"Yes," he breathes.

"Yes what, Aonung," you ask, feigning stupidness.

"Please help me," he begs.

It was easier than you thought as you grin and oblige, moving to your knees and sliding his tewng down, reaching out to grab his cock before it smacks against his admittedly very toned abs.

It feels fucking massive in your small slim hand - the smooth teal colour looking prettily pale against the azure blue of your forest na'vi skin, the glowing blue tahnì gleaming invitingly at you.

You pump his cock a few times, grinning as he chokes out a groan, and lick a stripe along him before closing your lips around the tip. Instantly, his hand closes on a fist full of your hair as his head tips back against the tree, swallowing a choked groan as he watches you take him into your mouth.

He jerks when you open your mouth wider. You don't hate the way it stretches your lips - he's the biggest you've ever had and it makes the hinge of your jaw ache as you force him down your throat.

When he hits the back of your throat, he groans loudly and inadvertedly thrusts his hips forward. You choke a little and his grip on your hair loosens slightly as he mutters a bashful apology, but you just grin slightly to yourself before taking him even deeper, suckling on the head and the sides over and over.

You're pulling groans and curses out of him as easily as he pulls your head gently up and down on his cock. You don't mind it, he did a good job and this is his reward.

You feel him getting closer, twitching in your mouth. His moans are getting louder and breathier too, and his grip on your soft dark braids is only getting stronger and stronger until you're just letting him move your head, mouth open for him and eyes watching him all the while.

But as he's nearly at his peak, he pulls you off him, not wanting to cum in your mouth, but you just grab his hips and push him deep into your throat, moaning slightly and sucking faster.

That alone makes him come, letting out a stream of low groans and softly mutter your name again and again as you keep moving through his high until he's cursing, catching his breath and lightly pulling you off him.

His pupils are blown wide, large black spheres ringed in a fine line of bright icy blue as he looks down at you, hand absentmindedly moving to cup your face and gently wipe away the rest of the mess he left on your face.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "You didn't have to do-"

"I wanted to," you say without thinking.

Aonung blinks, still struggling to catch his breath as he realises what he's doing and quickly drops his hand away.

"Well," he says thoughtfully. He looks like he's trying to wrench his gaze away from you, yet those large blue eyes stay stubbornly fixed in yours.

You don't exactly want to look away, but you have a strange feeling that even if you wanted to, you wouldn't be able to tear your own gaze away either.

It's something about the way you're both standing, him hunched and slumped slightly against the tree, you drawn to your full height, and the fact that he's still nearly a foot taller.

Then there's a shout of laughter through the trees, and you remember about the party and the village and every other single fucking thing that you just happened to forget when you were with Aonung.

Stupid skxawng.

"We should go back to the party," you say quickly, the first words that jump into your mind.

You know what you're doing. For the first time in your life, you're backing down. And it's not because he intimidates you- quite the opposite.

It's what you see as the possibilities that frighten you. Because sure, the night was obviously going to end with you and Aonung doing that, because the fucking tension was just unbearable. Because when he looks at you like that, it's pretty fucking obvious what he's thinking.

Neteyam was right, but he isn't just fucking pussy whipped. Despite all of Aonung's cocky joking comments, he doesn't only like you. He's not just attracted to you.

He wants more than these little forest quickies, and you... you just have no idea what you want.

So maybe you have intimacy issues. What do you do now? This has never happened, feeling a desire to overcome those very issues.

WHAT HAS THIS STUPID, MASSIVE, FISH-LIPPED, MUSCULAR, INFURIATING, HANDSOME, RIDICULOUS, COCKY, SWEET, GENTLE SKXAWNG DONE TO YOU?

Aonung just nods, eyes still following you as you pass him his loincloth and slide on your own.

"Hey," he says, nudging you slightly as you walk back towards the village. "If you're ever left unsatisfied, just come and find me again."

"I'm pretty sure you'll be the one to come and find me if I'm hooking up," you grumble.

"At least I can deal with you," Aonung shrugs.

"Same with you," you grin with raised brows. "Seems like we can't have a conversation without you getting hard."

Aonung swats lightly at you, and you shove him into a bush.

"So is that a yes then?" Aonung calls after you, struggling to stand back up and brush the leaves off himself. "We'll help each other out? Friends with benefits?"

"Not friends," you point out. "We'd have to like each other to be friends."

"I don't have a problem with you," Aonung shrugs. "I think you're quite fantastic."

"Okay I already sucked your dick, don't try to get in my pants again," you grumble. "I'll see you later."

"Alright," Aonung says, grinning at you as you return to the village.

No one pays any attention to the fact that you returned together, though you notice Neteyam's golden eyes on the pair of you as you walk towards your kelku.

You don't bother saying goodnight as you and Aonung split up to go to your neighbouring homes.

But as you duck into the shelter of your kelku, you can still feel the burn of that icy gaze on you.

Friends with benefits?

You're still pretty drunk, but you can't bring yourself to bother about anything else as you crawl into your woven bed.

You can worry about the events of tonight tomorrow, but it's not like your agreement to Aonung's proposal means anything. Just sex- just helping the other out.

Nothing intimate.

At all.

166 notes · View notes

dazed--xx · 4 months

Text

⚠️Love Is Gone..⚠️

Summary: I'm sorry, don't leave me, I want you here with me. I know that your love is gone. I can't breathe, I'm so weak, I know this isn't easy. Don't tell me that your love is gone…..That your love is gone

Member: Han Jisung x Reader

T/W: ANGST!!!!!!!!!!!!, hate comments, distant partner, mentions of depression, mentions of anxiety, assault, recording of an assault, hate speech. Cursing, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND ACTIONS, Crying, Feeling alone, happy-ish ending, etc

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: ❗!!!!!THIS STORY IS TRIGGERING. I USED MY ACTUAL HISTORY WITH DEPRESSION FOR THIS ONE SO THERE IS AN ACCURATE DEPICTION OF SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS. PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION!!!!!!!❗this is the only authors note I'm making on the playlist please read this. I'm adding this story because a break up is not the only form of heartbreak you could experience. I added the mature tag because of the themes in this. This is an important story for me and this song genuinely inspired this story. No matter what member I used for this song this was going to be the story so any members name could have been used for this one. I felt Jisung fit the story so well though I love this quokka and he deserves an impactful first solo story on my master list. I struggled to not cry while writing this so let's see if you can hold back tears while reading it. After every thing they go through they deserve a happy ending I needed to give them one😭😂 but please comment your thoughts. I love your opinions and I respond to almost everyone. Anyway please enjoy the angsty goodness.

Don't go tonight, Stay here one more time.Remind me what it's like, oh…And let's fall in love one more time, I need you now by my side. It tears me up when you turn me down

“Do you have to go?” you question hesitantly, nibbling on your bottom lip as you watch Jisung put his coat on. “Yes, I already told you that, Y/N” He sighs, almost sounding annoyed. You pout, staring at your interlocked hands. “Yeah, you did sorry…” you trail, trying to maintain your composure at your boyfriend's reluctance to be around you “Don't wait up” He calls as he makes his way out of the door. The moment you hear the ‘click’ of the lock you allow the tears you had been holding back to flow down your cheeks.

For weeks now, Jisung had grown distant; during comeback and award season it was unfortunately a normal part of your relationship. But, you had always been able to maintain a conversation with him if something was bothering you. Except for some reason this comeback season, the first since you and Jisung had announced your 1-year relationship, was different. While, both you and Jisung had expected some backlash, things seemed to be easier for Jisung than they had been for you. You have received many snarky and rude comments about how unfit for Jisung you were.

Your hair is too dry and straw-like.

You are too fat.

You are too unimportant.

You wished to tell your boyfriend as soon as these comments flooded your social media. He had warned you to turn your comments off and avoid social media for a while, but you didn't listen figuring you could deal with a couple of mean comments. However, as time went on you wished you had listened as the comments got worse and worse.

Kill yourself slut

Jisung deserves more than some useless bitch as his girlfriend!!!

She's so disgusting clearly she's a gold digger, I wish someone would just get rid of her!

She is such a cunt, I hope she kills herself soon…

You broke down the first time you had read those comments. You couldn't understand what you had done wrong by falling in love. You first tried to bring it up 2 weeks ago. They had finished filming the music video for their latest single. He had come home; energy high, he radiated from the adrenaline. He froze when he saw you seated on the couch tears streaming down your face. You looked at him startled. “ what's wrong?” He questioned as he rushed over to your side taking your face in his hands. “You're home early…” you mutter the only words that could be released from your mouth in your vulnerable state. Little did you know those three words would trigger and argument and the hate comments were left forgotten. After that day you tried to ask him to talk but he would zoom out of the house and that's when the loneliness set in.

You felt pathetic

You dreaded every morning you opened your eyes. Questioning why you were still here. You slowly realized your level of insignificance. Breathing hurt, a physiological natural event felt wrong. While you know the act of breathing didn't hurt physically, it hurt emotionally. Every morning you lay in bed, not bothering to pull yourself out unless you had to go to the bathroom, or to drink water. Sleep didn't stop most days, Jisung spent most of his days working until well after you'd fallen asleep. You rarely saw him, these days.

If you hadn't run out of feminine products you'd have spent another full day in bed, but as those familiar cramps continue to wreak havoc on your uterus you trudge your way to the store. You were grateful for the large hoodie that helped shade your eyes from the blinding sun as you crossed the street. You continue on your way, you pout to yourself as you see the influx of hate comments while you check to see if Jisung had responded to your inquiry of if he needed anything from the store. Nothing… you sigh to yourself as you pass a group of about 5-6 girls as you make your way into the store.

You hear them murmuring to themselves as you make your way down the aisles. You scan the pads when you feel a dainty finger tap your shoulder. Giving the person a side glance you raise an eyebrow. “Hmm?” you hear a petite soft voice call to you “Um excuse me are you Y/N?” she questions in a sickeningly sweet way. You get a sinking feeling in your gut.

Run…Run as fast as and as far as you can

your conscience screams at you but your feet are glued to the floor as you stare at the girl like a deer in headlights. You struggle to find words as a devious grin grows on the girl's face. Two girls begin to come up behind her, you step to turn the other direction only for two more girls to block your escape as they creep towards you. The girl who approached you first now has her phone pointed in your direction as she begins to question you “Why is someone as dirty as you near Jisung oppa?!” She growls as the girls crowd around you. They shout profanity at you as you stare at the ground, murmuring apologies for your relationship not wanting to insult your boyfriend's fans. The last thing you wanted to do was embarrass him further.

“Look at her! She's so pathetic” the ring leader instigated “She's just standing there like an idiot!” she growls before sending her free hand flying across your face. You feel a sharp sting on your cheeks as you attempt to push past two of the girls. They send you flying roughly against the shelves behind you. You whimper in pain mumbling another apology begging them to let you go as they unleash a flurry of hits and kicks on you. They laughed as they told you how pathetic you are. You tried to protect your face by curling up in a ball. You drowned out their insults, holding in your tears and words until they were finished. They walked away in laughter as you groaned in pain rolling on the ground for a moment. You pull yourself off the ground grab your pads and limp your way to the counter. The cashier stares at you with concern in his eyes, “Ma'am do you need me to call the police?” he questions. A sense of pity and worry settles over him as you shake your head “N-No..I don't want this to be a big thing. I'm okay” you state blankly, putting your money on the counter you grab your pads and rush out of the store. You hold onto your ribs as you limp your way into the alley beside the store.

Pressing your back against the wall you wince at the contact you collapse to the ground. You bury your face in your hands. You sob harshly, your body trembling as you allow the tears to stream down your cheeks. You hiccuped as you pulled your phone from your pocket. You dial Jisung’s number, you waited trying to catch your breathe. One, two, three rings “We’re sorry the number you have dialed—” you end the call holding the phone to your chest you allow your sobs to shake your body. Dark thoughts beginning to take over when your flurry of calls go unanswered.

You're so pathetic, Jisung won't even answer your calls. You're worthless, You're nothing, You just want to die. you should die….Life is too hard. It's over what's the point anymore? The entire world hates you…. I give up…

With final resolve, you open your conversation with Jisung and begin typing.

I'm sorry, I wish I could have said goodbye properly. I love you please remember that. I'm sorry I wasn't good enough. I'm sorry I couldn't be what you deserve. I wish things weren't like this. I'm weak. It's all too hard. I can't handle it anymore. It feels like I'm in open ocean and I'm so close to drowning. I'd can't do this anymore. Please don't blame yourself. None of this is your fault I just wasn't strong enough. I'm just pathetic. I hope you can forgive me one day. I'm so sorry. I love you. Goodbye…

You hit send before turning on Do Not Disturb. You slowly limp toward the park. You felt numb as you stared at the ground, you come upon the walking bridge. You stand in the middle of the bridge, you watch the water. You had heard somewhere that the most calm-looking water was the most dangerous. You pull yourself onto the banister. Taking a deep breath you lean forward.

I'm begging please, just stick around; I'm sorry, don't leave me, I want you here with me I know that your love is gone….

The moment Jisung read your message an uneasy feeling settled over him. He didn't even think before he was dashing out of Chan’s studio and the recording they were currently doing. He called you in a panic; his anxiety growing worse and worse at your failure to answer. He felt his throat closing as he ran in a frenzy out of the JYP building ignoring his member's worried calls of his name. Quickly pulling up the Find My Phone app he sees you at the park nearby. He ran faster than he ever has before getting to the park in no time. He looks around for a moment. He spots you standing on the bridge. He clutches his chest relaxing as he sees you standing there, staring at the water below. He breathes a sigh of relief as Chan and Changbin catch up to him he continues to catch his breath as Chan questions him. All three men are caught off guard as you pull yourself up onto the banister. Jisung's eyes widen as he rushes toward you. “Y/N!!” His voice is pained, your head turns to face him. Chan and Changbin running behind their friend worriedly.

“Baby! Please, stop!” Jisung's voice cracks as he reaches the end of the bridge. Your eyes meet his, Only then can he fully see you. Your eyes were bloodshot, tears streaming down your cheeks. Bruises littered your face. Dried blood speckled all over your hoodie. Your appearance sent Jisung into shock he stared at you wide-eyed “I'm sorry…” you whisper to him as you let go. Jisung's world crumbles as you disappear from his sight. He dashes to where he last saw you. “Y/N!!” He cries his voice hoarse as his legs give out from beneath him. Chan wraps his arm around Jisung and guides him to the floor holding him close he allows the younger man to cry to his heart's content as Changbun assists the paramedics in finding you. He never imagined this would happen. You, the only other person besides Felix, that was the definition of sunshine. Jisung felt numb as Chan held onto him as he replayed his last moment with you in his head.

I'm sorry! don't leave me! I want you here with me! I know that your love is gone….I can't breathe! I'm so weak! I know this isn't easy! Don't tell me that your love is gone…

When the video of your assault surfaced the day after your attempt; Jisung felt sick to his stomach. He hates himself for not being there with you. After watching the video over and over, he finally decided to check your phone. When he was able to charge the device Jisung could feel a wave of nausea crash over him as an influx of disgusting hate messages and comments came through. He stared at your unconscious figure, he held your hand tightly as he cried “I'm so sorry baby. I'm sorry… I didn't know. I'm sorry I was too late.” he pressed his forehead to your hand “Please…please wake up. I'll do anything. Please don't let go, I know you feel alone, but you have me. Please don't leave me behind, without you I'm nothing…” his breathing grows heavier, tears cascading down his face. “I love you so much. I need you—I need you, baby, I can't keep doing this. I need you so much right now. Please wake up….Don't let me lose you, not like this. I'll fix everything…I'll show you how much you mean to me, please!” He exclaims he can't handle the expressionless look on your face. He was grateful you were no longer pale though.

It took three more weeks before you opened your eyes. your head pounded as Jisung muttered something under his breath. “W-what?” you choked out, your voice sounding coarse and scratchy. Jisung's eyes widen as he stares at you at the sound of your voice. He collapsed to the floor as tears built in his eyes, he sobbed harshly “T-Thank you! You're awake! You're okay!” his body trembled as he reached for your hand. You stare at him your face void of any emotion as he cried you pulled your hand away from his as if his contact burned you.

You saw his expression fall as he shook his head in denial “N-No..” He states in disbelief as he meets your eyes. “P-Please I—Where were you?…” you cut him off with heartbreak and disappointment in your tone. Jisung whimpers at your question. “I'm sorry, I-I should have—I didn't realize, okay? I'm so sorry, please don't pull away from me..” he stammers his apology causing your heart to clench. “I don’t want to see you right now…” you whisper. You hear the most heartbreaking sob erupts from Jisung’s chest. “No, please! I should have been there for you. I should have done more but I can't lose you When you jumped I felt like my entire world was falling apart. You were so close—I was right there. I should have answered your calls. I should have noticed something was wrong. I'm sorry okay? I'm so sorry. There's nothing I could be more sorry about but please I can't—I can't lose you. I don't want to be without you please let me fix this..” he begs his eyes not leaving yours once.

“Jisung…”

“Please. I'm sorry okay? I'll say it forever if I have to. Please I want you right here, next to me, always. I know it's hard but we love each other. I can make you love me again. Please….please don't hate me. I know I messed up but please don't break me too…I can't handle the thought of losing you let alone it actually happening. Please stay with me?” he pleads his eyes filled with hope as he holds onto your hand. “I'll never let you feel alone again I promise. You'll always have me. I'll give you the world if you ask for it. I'll spend the rest of my life making up for this please let me…” He begs, his voice cracking between sniffles. You stare at him, your heart yearning for him. You feel your resolve crumbling as he continues to cry. You caress his cheek, staring into his eyes. He looks at you hopefully, melting into your touch. “Please just, Don't tell me that your love is gone…i wouldn't be able to handle that.” he whimpers. You give him a sad smile, caressing his cheek. You lean in pressing your lips against his softly.

⏪|⏸️|⏩

Taglist: @yangbbokari @havenwithleeknow

#stray kids jisung angst #skz angst #stray kids angst #jisung trigger warning angst #skz jisung angst #stray kids jisung fluff #jisung angst #han angst #han jisung angst #han jisung fluff #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz x reader #skz jisung x reader #jisung x reader #skz jisung x reader angst #jisung x reader angst

109 notes · View notes

kate7h · 9 months

Text

Deku to Ochako - (pics from ep 6 and chapter 342)

Some thoughts on Deku’s feelings for Ochako:

Deku has thought a lot of things about Ochako—that she’s cute, she’s bright, she’s cool, her hair is perfect, she’s always saving him, etc. We’ve seen these thoughts on and off throughout the whole story, but it is more in a grey area what his actual feelings are for her, as opposed to how hers are broadcasted. I do feel it’s a show-don’t-tell kind of writing, which I can respect. But I have a couple character theories of why Deku himself hasn’t enlightened us.

1st, and less likely: he’s not aware of his feelings for Ochako. I’m not sold on this because this kid is constantly thinking, observing, and using input from all around him the gauge how to act and what to do next. Plus he’s shown how unafraid he is of saying what’s what to whoever needs to hear it, and that’s including himself. There could be an argument made for him having a lower self-esteem that makes him feel unworthy of that kind of relationship, but I also feel like that might not be accurate to his character as well. His lack of self-esteem manifests in his extreme behavior and what he does in the name of being a hero—putting his life and body on the line as necessary. This feels more like a sense of duty rather than anything else.

2nd: Deku has liked her from the get-go, big ole crush, can barely speak to her without blushing his face off. Which makes sense—she’s the first girl to give him the time of day, first real friend, she’s adorable and bright and so on. He’s absolutely adored her from the start. BUT! He’s on a mission and has pretty much devoted his life to that duty—to become the world’s greatest hero, to save people with a smile, etc. etc. Also, he’s learned to revel in having close, caring friendships, something he’s never had before. In the beginning, he could barely speak to her, and now has no issue at all, and can speak his deeper thoughts to her without any of that. I don’t see that as a diminishing of feelings, but of maturing ones.

Basically, he did the same thing she did—put aside his crush for the time being to not only focus on this immense goal and burden, but also to help him be her friend, and not just a blushing mess every time she’s near. Her friendship matters so much to him, so he didn’t let himself linger on those feelings so that he could get around those to actually get to know her.

So when Ochako’s arc comes to its conclusion and she is finally able to be honest with him, as she’s shown she wants to be, I feel like Deku’s response will be such joy and gratitude, maybe surprise, but I doubt his own feelings will be confused.

(There is a lull in the middle of the series where Ochako and him don’t appear much together, which feels more like a writing issue than saying something about their relationship. Hori chose to focus on more popular characters as the story got more popular, it seems, and as a result, Ochako fell more to the sidelines than maybe originally intended—which is very unfortunate, but what’s done is done)

#izuocha #midoriya izuku #uraraka ochako #izuku x ochako #deku to ochako #manga spoilers #bnha #long one this time but i had thoughts

139 notes · View notes

rainytypology · 1 year

Text

A view of each MBTI type by an INTJ:

Saw a few of these lately so why not? Lol

___

INTJ: My type and the best type obviously. Kidding. Not really. Healthy/mature ones are interesting and helpful, nice and easy to talk to. I've noticed immature ones try a little too hard to seem edgy and cool to fit into the "cold" INTJ stereotype when that's not a flex at all. I think a lot of us are impatient and stubborn too.

ENTJ: Often driven and motivated individuals who put in a lot of effort into what they do. I admire their hardworking nature. I've unfortunately come across a very unhealthy one before who was quite possessive and narcissistic. I did not have to deal with them personally, but a few of my friends did and their horror stories of that ENTJ will probably be stuck with me forever.

INTP: Their minds are...unique. I wonder what goes on in there. Such weird yet interesting individuals. Sometimes a bit rude, unintentional or not. My younger sister is one and I have to resist the urge to fight with her a lot lmao, but maybe that's just us being siblings.

ENTP: Love them. ENxPs in general 🤌🤌. I've never come across a boring ENTP. Often so chaotic. Never fail to make me laugh. I can have the funnest conversations with them. So witty.

INFJ: One of my best friends is one and it's kinda funny how similar yet different we both are. Ni dom things I guess. Other INFJs I've observed seem to have a lot of patience and kindness. Genuinely have a good heart and want the best for others.

ENFJ: I've only met two personally. Can be funny and witty, really approachable people. Both are very loyal and care a lot about their families, they carry a lot of responsibilities for others. Do not like to show their struggles, will probably mention it briefly before changing the subject.

INFP: Probably my least favorite type due to having bad experiences with them. Unhealthy ones can be so whiney and pathetic. Always want to cry and complain but never actually do anything about it. Can burst emotionally without warning. They can be so exhausting to deal with. I'm not gonna automatically hate you if you're an INFP though, that's just stupid lol, but I will be wary. I only have one INFP friend for now and likely because she's a lot older than me, she's much calmer and more considerate compared to the previous INFPs I've encountered.

ENFP: Some weirdos fr but I love it. Always so talkative and excited. Why are you guys lowkey kinda sad though 😭

ISTJ: I haven't come across any irl yet, but a few of my favorite fictional characters are ISTJs. One of my fav kpop idols as well. Not really sure where the boring stereotype comes from as I think ISTJs are quite nice.

ESTJ: I don't think I've met any yet and have typed a few idols as an ESTJ. I know they get a bad rep, but I honestly just think it stems from ESTJ's tendency to be direct, no bs, which can be intimidating/overwhelming for people. They can be really weird and silly only if they're comfortable.

ISFJ: I don't know any ISFJs irl, but seeing ISFJ idols/celebrities, they're just usually nice and kind people. Quiet but do enjoy being with others.

ESFJ: Honestly think my other best friend may be one 🤔 I do think she has a high Fe for sure. They seem to care the most about their presentation and other's opinions of them.

ISTP: I've only met one and they were okay. Pretty chill and had immense "idgaf" energy. But that attitude was also what made them a bit unlikeable as it extended to having a disregard for feelings and morals. Nobody's perfect, but I don't think it's that difficult to have common human decency. I do like a few ISTP characters and celebrities though.

ESTP: One of my older siblings is one and we get along fine. She has a good eye for aesthetics. Her and other ESTPs I've seen don't really seem to be super serious people, they're just trying their best to enjoy life. Adventurous and open minded. Can't seem to stay still.

ISFP: Have only met a few irl and I've also typed several kpop idols as one. From what I've seen, they are a lot calmer compared to INFPs. They're quite passionate but more realistic individuals though, always going for what they want (likely due to aux Se). Also quite blunt lol but it does not top IxTP's honesty.

ESFP: Have not met any irl yet, but from observing an ESFP I follow and ESFP celebrities, I like their straightforwardness. Passionate and expressive. Funny.

240 notes · View notes

gayboysteve · 6 months

Text

Genuinely why do people think Steve can't be a fully actualized person and a love interest at the same time? Do you guys just passively consume media without, like, paying attention? Steve has been his own fully developed person since season two. We don't need to know ever detail of his life to know who he is as a person. We know the moral fiber of his character and the strength of his will. We know he loves passionately and will do anything to help. We know he's a catty bitch that doesn't get along with his dad.

Not... everything has to be shown to us for Steve to be a real fleshed out character. There are definitely places where things fall flat (letting him even feel pain after his many beatings or torture of being eaten) but being a love interest is not one of the things where the Duffers have fucked up on him. Besides Nancy, he has the most character development out of the teens and he has an actual character arc that's been percolating since season one.

You don't need to ship Stancy or like it. That's not necessary. I personally wasn't a shipper until recently (though I never hated it like some people, I've just always focused more on the Steve and the kids or Steve and Robin) and I have to say it makes a lot of sense in the scheme of things for the love triangle to be reignited. Steve and Jonathan are not just contenders for Nancy's love, they both represent something for her journey and her picking one of them will be indicative of the path she's taking. Steve's speech about learning to crawl forward wasn't just about him, that was a display of what Steve's character can offer to Nancy's character as a romantic partner. The ability to learn to MOVE ON. TO CRAWL FORWARD.

Nancy as we know is still trapped in her grief from Barb and while Jonathan has helped her get justice from that tragedy he never helped her move PAST the pain of it. One represents moving forward, and Jonathan sadly this last season, represented regression.

Personally, I think it's Jonathan more than anyone that needs to not be in a relationship. It hasn't ever seemed to make him happy. I don't think Jonathan will ever be happy until he's allowed to get away from his family a little bit. The parentification Joyce did to him really fucked that boy up and he needs, in my opinion, to focus on himself more than anyone.

Nancy has expressly stated before that she doesn't want to be alone! Steve has expressly stated he wants love and romance and a family! They're still young they can work out their future later, why can't they find some happiness in coming back together stronger and more fully self actualized? More mature and developed? I think it actually makes for a very fitting end from a narrative standpoint which is, honestly, what convinced me to switch over to the ship in the first place.

Neither Steve nor Nancy have ever been reduced to just love interests. Even in season one when Steve is explicitly introduced as only a love interest, he actually has his own character arc going on. All following seasons Steve and Nancy (whether dating, broken up, or flirting) have all had plots not related to their romance. No one is being reduced to just a romantic interest. Unfortunately, poor Jonathan is the one that got that treatment. He's the one that needs to have something devoted to just him; something that isn't just being a brother or a boyfriend. Giving him a friend was a step in the right direction. Let's give him a dream now and not just something that we hear from Joyce. A real dream from Jonathan's mouth. Because all we've heard from him are the things he DOESN'T want for the future.

Also Stoncy supremacy anyway. Let all three fuck nasty.

(Let's not bring up the whole six nuggets things. I highly doubt Steve is actually going to expect six children from his future partner. It was a reference to the party. It was him lightening the mood and trying to bring some levity to a serious, and frankly, terrifying, situation. It was him trying to make Nancy laugh while laying his heart on the line. He's not expect six literal children.)

#steve harrington #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #stancy #stoncy #stranger things

123 notes · View notes

twinklelilstarkey · 2 years

Text

Tutor: Sunbathing - Rafe Cameron

Words: 5.4k+ Type: Smut Summary: It's one of those hot days in OBX, and Rafe comes over once more. Warnings: Fem!Reader [no mentions of race or bodytype]. Mentions of controlling parents, an ex-boyfriend (who does not satisfy their partner in bed), nosey neighbors, and pressure to be perfect. FORBIDDEN RELATIONSHIP. SMUT {risk of getting caught / almost public sex, oral sex (fem receiving), piv, no protection (she takes the pill), hair pulling, dom!Rafe, sub!reader}

Tutor Masterlist (for context, you should rly read the other smuts <3)

I do NOT give you permission to repost my work. If you’d like to read my stories on other platforms, you can find them on my Wattpad and AO3.

By clicking to read more you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18 and mature enough to read mature scenes :)

It has been exactly a week since Rafe came over for the first time, and every moment of that night and the following morning is still in your mind.

In the morning, you remember that you were the first one to wake up. You expected to be in the exact same position you were when you fell asleep, but, in some weird way, Rafe was lying on his stomach and you were on his back. How you two flipped around, you have absolutely no idea, but it happened.

Getting up wasn’t easy. You underestimated the hell out of how sore you would be, but you took your time and eventually got to the bathroom.

Midway through your shower, you may or may not have had company. Due to your soreness, all the two of you did was kiss and, well, shower. You’ve never felt your heart so full and happy other than in moments like those. Being near Rafe still felt mind-blowing to you, for some reason.

After the shower, you both got breakfast and talked while sitting on the couch of your living room. You felt like you were smiling at everything he said or asked, and Rafe listened to your every word.

Unfortunately, he did have to leave at some point. Your parents said they were going to be home by 11, and, at the time, it was nearing 10. You couldn't risk either of them seeing Rafe as you're sure that they would kill you on the spot if they did. But you can't exactly say you didn't consider staying with him for just a minute longer.

You two finally exchanged numbers, so you can (finally) always text him or call him. You kissed him goodbye and, right as the door closed behind him, you dramatically covered your mouth and sat on the ground for at least 2 good minutes. It wasn’t until you heard his bike driving away that you squealed happily and jumped around the house because you, YOU, are officially in a relationship with Rafe.

In what seems like the universe hates you, in the days that followed, you two had close to no time together. You had to tutor Wheezie every single day due to a test coming up, and your friends would always be outside in the driveway when you finished. Meaning that Rafe wasn’t able to drive you home once. You saw him in the hallway maybe 2 times, but that was it. Due to the work trip that your parents took, they also happen to take days off. So, the house always had one of them inside. Your friends were constantly coming over after school as well. Therefore, making every second of your days impossible for Rafe to show up at least once.

It was not easy but a possibility opened up just this week. Your parents are going to be over at a friend's place for lunch and, as always, spend the afternoon talking between themselves - as it has been so long since they last saw each other.

And poor you. You will miss out on all that fun.

“You can’t order pizza again this week.” Your mom tells you and you sigh.

“But I don’t want to cook.” You whine at her, waving your hand around from dramatization.

Your mom does this a lot. She always wants to know what you’re eating to know if you’re actually doing it. She promises that it’s for your own good, but this also comes with not letting you have more than one ‘easy’ meal a week. Not even if you’re stressed with school, because your mom is the type that wants you to take breaks and actually cook something for yourself in those situations.

You watch as she fetches the cookbook that she swears by with every meal and try to peek as she chooses something for you to make. You wait and listen to her patiently, deciding to just do as she says.

When done, she pokes the book while making eye contact with you. She doesn't move away from it until you walk over to it and begin to read the contents of the damned cookbook. As you do so, she goes to do a quick run to her bedroom to get her last accessory for today.

“Are you planning on having anyone over?” She asks as she’s coming down the stairs.

“Not sure,” You lie, “Why?”

“Your room looks a little messy.” She tells you as she reaches the doorway, and you give her a glare for going into your room, “I’m just saying.”

She walks over to the fridge to grab a water bottle and stops behind you, peeking over your shoulder to check if you’re actually considering cooking or not. You listen to her crack the bottle open and take a sip.

“I also have to ask you something.” She says with a completely different tone, a softer one.

You hum for her to continue to speak as you change pages, wanting to see what else you could eat. She doesn’t protest with what you’re doing, thankfully.

“Last week,” She starts, and you look up from the book at her quickly, “The neighbors told me something.”

Your breathing falters at her words, and you turn completely around to face her.

“I didn’t mention it to you before, because I thought it would be… awkward between us.” She tells you, “But I just want you to be honest.”

“Okay?” You force out a chuckle, trying to seem normal.

“Did you have a boy over on the morning after I went out of the island with your dad?” She asks, and your heart eases at the lack of the name ‘Rafe’ in the sentence.

You sigh still and turn back to face the book. Your mom knows how you don’t like how much she gossips with your neighbors. It's a constant thing she actually enjoys doing: talking about other people. The fact that you can easily be the topic of conversation in their gossip sessions is terrifying. And today is just showing you how possible it is.

Truth is, someone could’ve easily seen that the boy that came over was Rafe. Gosh, maybe they did see it. They just aren’t telling your mom.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

You pause your reading to give her a glare once more, and she shrugs, putting her bag over her shoulder, getting ready to leave.

You open your mouth to scold her for it, but the sound of your dad coming down the stairs stops you.

“Do not tell him.” You simply tell her.

“Of course, not.” Your mother whispers at you, giving you a look as if it said 'I'm not stupid'.

The reason that is, it's because your father is the strictest out of both of them. He hates simple ideas such as your friends coming over to the house, and, especially, into your room. His way of parenting you is much, much more strict and has way more rules than your mother's ever did.

His rules include no boyfriends, no sleepovers with boys, and anything related to the opposite sex. He’s more okay with you having girl-friends, but even that has rules. He also says that you can’t go to too many parties in one week, or sleep over at any of your friends' houses on nights that you’ve drunk. That last one especially is highly prohibited.

Your dad appears in the kitchen doorway, and the two of you offer him sweet smiles, acting innocent - as if you weren’t just talking about a thing that would make him most possibly combust.

Your phone vibrates in front of you, and you flip it just so no one reads the notification on your screen.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go with us?” Your father asks, secretly jealous that you’re not obligated to leave the house on a Sunday, while he is.

“Yes, I am.” You tell him.

“If any of the girls come over for the afternoon,” Your mom starts, and your dad looks at her as she talks to you, “Make sure you tidy your room just a bit, okay?”

You give her a short nod, and she gives you a kiss on the head as her goodbye. You wave as the both of them leave the kitchen and remind you of all of your responsibilities while they’re going to be out for a few hours. You sigh as you answer with a bunch of different variations of “okay” and “got it”.

The front door opens and closes, and you let out a sigh. You distance yourself from the cookbook and look around, lost in your thoughts.

If your mom knows that a boy was here and she didn’t ask any more questions than that, you can bet your money that she has no idea that he spent the night. If she had known, the conversation would’ve been totally different, and your dad would’ve been, most definitely, brought into the conversation as well.

You do remember that you checked the doors and windows of your neighbors when Rafe came in, but when he left... God, how could you forget? You could’ve come up with a lie by now to your mom if you had seen someone outside, and you wouldn’t be under her radar because you became suddenly friends with a boy.

Yes, because that is truly the end of the world, isn't it?

The situation with your parents is that they like the fact that they are on the stricter side. You don’t consider their parenting overbearing since they do let you live your life from time to time. But there are times that you don’t like certain things. You already are of age, you’re graduating this year, and yet they still protect you and limit your interactions with anyone if it means that you will be in safe hands.

Of course, it's for your greater good and for your safety, but it's infuriating at times.

And about the problems with boys. It's a tad weird to explain. They might have hated the idea at first, but you’ve been in a relationship before. It was an exact year ago, and his name was Aiden.

Aiden was well put together, charming, and he was extremely nice to people. He was a kook and had a clear distaste for some other kooks. Yet he was the stereotypical kook ‘good boy’. He went to almost no parties - your dad already loved him for this -, never did any drugs, had good grades, a lot of friends and he treated you very well. That is why he became the exception to the "no boyfriends" rule in the first place. He was perfect.

He also was the one that took your virginity. Your parents would’ve died if they ever even heard a mumble about this, but it's true. At the time, you felt like the moment was right and did it. Overall, it's truly a story to forget. You didn’t have a good time, you were in pain and, unsurprisingly, ended the night unsatisfied.

Your relationship lasted 4 months, and you can count on one finger how many times you actually felt satisfied.

This entire relationship, even though perfect in your parents' eyes, ended because of you. You didn’t feel attracted to Aiden anymore, or for the month before that. You had been avoiding him to avoid the breakup itself, and he had had enough of that.

When you broke up, it wasn’t pretty. He was mad and very, very sad. While you… Well, you just started to talk and continued to ask for the end of your relationship while he cried. It probably was very insensitive of you, but you really just wanted to get out of that relationship. You didn't feel happy in it anymore. What else could you have done?

Your parents were heartbroken too and highly confused about how normal you were with the whole thing. They couldn't understand that you just didn't find yourself attracted to him anymore. They even used words such as "absurd" to define your reasoning behind the breakup. They expected you to come back to Aiden in a space of a week. Then they decided on a month. And, slowly, you let their dreams go right down the drain.

Also, at that time, you were already ogling someone else. No wonder you weren't attracted to your boyfriend of 4 months. You had none other than Rafe Cameron at your new job!

You've thought about this many times and, maybe, this is why you like Rafe so much. He makes you feel good and has yet to leave you unsatisfied one time. Yes, he is a horrible comparison to someone like Aiden, especially when it comes to their personalities, but you’re starting to think that it's just how it works for you. They're different. Very, very different. Aiden is soft whereas Rafe is rough. The way they act and the way they treat you are different. Yet you find yourself preferring Rafe every single time.

The vibrating of your phone snaps you awake from your thoughts, and you grab it, reading the texts quickly. You answer back with the instructions on how to not get caught by the neighbors, and your heart naturally speeds up at the thought. Rafe answers back quickly, and you try to control your smiling.

He's coming over again.

(...)

“They’re just nosy, that’s all.” You explain to the man behind you as you pull the door of your backyard open.

Both you and Rafe walk out into the sun. You have just got done eating your lunch, and you two are finally doing what you had planned. OBX is under one of those excruciatingly hot days, and whoever is out of their houses is either swimming in the sea or in their pools. And you happen to have one, while Rafe does not.

The warm air circles the both of you as Rafe closes the door behind him. You walk in front of him, throwing the towels onto the chair under the large umbrella, and grab your phone from the elastic of your shorts, discarding it on top of the towels.

“How nosy?” Rafe finally asks behind you.

“Enough for the whole street to almost know who is visiting who at ungodly hours.” You tell him before you turn to face him.

Rafe has a smirk on his face, and you look up at him as he walks up to stand closer to you.

“Do they know?” He asks.

“If they did, I would already be six feet under.” You tell him honestly, and that makes him laugh. “I’m not joking.” You say with a smile.

Rafe nods as you say that, yet doesn’t offer any commentary.

In these past few days, while the two of you were away from each other, Rafe has had it rough. If he thought that he could get you out of his head now that he very much has you, he was dead wrong.

You hunt his mind when he’s with his friends, in the middle of meals with his family, when he’s trying to sleep, everywhere and at every time of day. Even when he gets high. He has to hold himself back various times to not just drive over to your house and feed into his urges. Getting to see you today is almost like a breath of fresh hair after having been suffocated for so long. And that might be why he can't seem to take his eyes off you.

Yet, in the middle of all his suffering, Rafe likes, in a very twisted way, the fact that you can’t be seen with him. He knows the consequences, or maybe only some of them, and that makes things shift inside of him.

It might be the thrill of ever getting caught, but he knows it's more than that. It has to do with you and how you are. You're someone who shouldn't even be near someone like him. You should be kept far, far away. Away from him ever destroying you as people may think. Yet here you are, texting him and taking him into your home as if it's nothing. You are the perfect naive prey, but who is Rafe to complain?

When Rafe snaps awake from his thoughts, you begin to take off your clothes. If he was staring before, he sure is staring now. You're wearing a small pink triangle bikini top, and the way the fabric squeezes your boobs into place is almost working like a magnet with Rafe's concentration.

He can already tell that he highly underestimated ever spending a day by the pool with you. All it's doing is making him think of how you look under said fabric. The images in his mind aren't hard to find and it’s not doing him any favors.

You’re completely oblivious to his staring. You’re done pulling down your shorts and are walking towards the pool. Rafe watches as you carefully dip the tip of your toe in, testing the temperature of the water, and the expression on your face makes it clear as day that you are not getting in that ice-cold water any soon.

A small gasp escapes your mouth when you feel it, and Rafe smiles at you when you look at him in shock. You face the pool once more and sigh. No matter what you do, you know you're not getting in.

You turn back around to face a shirtless Rafe now putting down his phone over the table just beside the chairs. You walk back towards him, and he looks down at you as you stand beside him. You lean your cheek against the warm skin of his bicep and look around the backyard to get ready to move in the hot weather.

After arranging everything, including the chairs and the towels, you've just taken your seat on one of them when you remember that you forgot the waters.

“I can go grab them.” Rafe offers after you let him know.

Rafe disappears into the house, and your overthinking mind quickly makes you do a once-over of your neighbors' balconies.

It's a little scary but you try to look for any peeping eyes. The fence of your yard is pretty tall, so it would be improbable for someone to peek inside. It would only work if someone got a ladder to do it, which is improbable since no one would ever work that hard for gossip (right?). The balconies and windows are truly the only things you have to worry about. They have a clear view of your backyard. But, right as you look at them, all that you find are empty balconies and curtain-covered windows.

You force yourself to take a deep breath and relax. No one will catch you, there's no way.

The door slides back open, and you watch as Rafe comes back with two cold water bottles. He walks over to you and comes to stand in the shade of the umbrella.

Rafe's eyes lay on you to admire you while you’re leaning back on your chair. You have one leg up, and your whole body is almost like in a display. Leaning back and facing the other side of the backyard, distracted for just a second. That damned bikini never leaves his sight though, ever.

It's while you're distracted that he leans the freezing bootle onto the warm skin of your knee. You gasp at the temperature of the bottle against you, and, when you go to take the bottle from his hand, Rafe pulls it away.

Playfully, he leans the bottle against your arm next and pulls away again before you could grab it. The two of you laugh at one another. All while the contrast of your hot skin and the cold bottle makes chills run down your body, and make you unconsciously gasp each time.

“Stop that.” You giggle at him.

Rafe keeps doing it with a smile on his face, right as you continue to struggle. You huff with impatience and lean back on the chair, finally giving up. Rafe chuckles and looks down at you seriously this time. The way your body looks is making begin to feel lightheaded, and he swears that he doesn't want to take his eyes off you, ever.

Only after a few seconds more of his staring, you stare at Rafe a little confused with what he's doing, and that's exactly when he lays the cold bottle, for the last time, right in between your boobs.

He finally lets you snatch the bottle from his hand, and you give him a look, one that only worsened his amusement.

“Asshole.” You add, trying to look annoyed but failing as your smile comes back.

You notice, this time, Rafe's eyes on your body, but you don't say or do anything. You simply put down the bottle on the table beside you and sigh. You lay your feet on the chair, folding your legs, and Rafe takes it as an opportunity to sit in front of you.

You stare at him while he sits, and decide to playfully lay one of your legs over his lap. He stares up at you, following the path from your leg all the way up to your face, and one of his hands quickly lays and smooths over it. You're leaning back comfortingly and watching Rafe as he moves.

As he looks away from your face, he appears to be deep in thought, and you can tell that by the way his movements slow down and seem lighter. You watch him yet don't ever say a thing.

When he looks back at you, his hand on you comes back as heavy as it was at the start, and you feel him slide it all the way up to your hips. You look down to see him play with the side of the bikini bottoms, and you see the way his fingers work with the tied knot.

“How strict are your parents?” He asks out of nowhere.

His eyes lift up at yours, and you tilt your head in thought. You think for a little, trying to find a good enough short answer that defines your parents.

“They're a little strict. But not a lot, I don't think.” You answer simply.

He nods, accepting your answer, and you watch him, trying to understand what he’s trying to get at.

“Never let me have a pet.” You add.

Rafe raises his eyes up at yours and smiles.

“That’s your only complaint?” He asks, and you chuckle at him.

“The one that hurts the most.” You tell with a dramatic tone yet still with your bright smile.

He hums with a chuckle, and you look down at his hand on top of your leg.

“Why do you ask?”

He shakes his head dismissively at first, and his words only come out after a few seconds as he squeezes onto your upper thigh.

“Just wanted to know.”

You adjust your position on the chair, and Rafe’s eyes move back to your body. You sigh, finding it hard to breathe freely with the too-warm air, and sit up.

As you do it, you notice how you’re a bit closer to Rafe than you first expected to be, but you’re easily distracted from that as your eyes move over to the balconies all over again.

“Want to go back inside?” Rafe asks as he does the same thing as you, following your gaze.

“No, no. It’s okay.” You tell him.

You lay a kiss on his cheek before he looks back at you. Rafe turns his head right after and you lay a kiss on his lips. It's a long peck at first. Your hands stay on your lap while his stay on your hip. When you pull away, there's nothing but silence between the two of you.

It's you that starts the second kiss as well. Your hands come to lay over Rafe's cheeks, and his hand begins to move up and down your leg once again. Rafe squeezes the flesh of your thigh and, when he does it again, he squeezes it tighter than before.

He leans you back on the chair while deep in the kiss, and you relax underneath him. His hands move to lay beside your torso, and he pulls away from the kiss. You look at him as he moves to sit right in between your legs, and your lips connect again once he's done, all as your palms smooth down his muscled shoulders.

Rafe grabs onto your legs and pulls you down, making you squeak in surprise against his mouth. You're now laying down and your legs are wide open and over Rafe's, giving him more than enough space. You’ve shamelessly missed every single bit of this.

One of your hands gets lost in his hair, and Rafe pulls back from the kiss, beginning to kiss down your neck. He gets to your chest and with one swift move, he pushes the fabric of your small bikini to the side and exposes your tits.

You gasp as he brings his mouth to one of your nipples, and you cling further to his hair. Rafe holds you in place as you move under him and moan out lowly as soon as he nips at the sensitive skin. The sensation of his warm tongue and lips makes your entire body burn from underneath him. The sound of your moan was a little too loud, and Rafe smiles as he shushes you. You try to keep yourself composed as he moves on to your other boob, leaving a trail of wet kisses as he does so, but you find it hard to do as soon as he begins.

All that Rafe does feels so much better for no real reason. You can't ever understand it. It can sometimes be as simple as a touch on your leg or a kiss, and it will always be a thousand times better with him doing it.

He pulls away and sits up, admiring the view before him. Your body is laid down on the chair, tits exposed to your entire backyard and what you have left to cover you is just a bit more pink fabric. Rafe brings his hands to your hips and swiftly undoes the knots of your bottoms, uncovering you completely before him. He swears that something in him burned to ashes at this newer view.

Rafe looks over his shoulder, checking the balconies all over again and making you almost snap away from the pleasurable moment, and he smiles as he looks back at you. Anyone could see you right now, yet you don't ever tell him to stop.

Rafe moves back on the chair, getting some distance between the two of you, and before you can even question it, he leans down and buries his head in between your legs.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and Rafe's tongue licks through the middle of your folds, collecting all of your juices right away. You move around on the chair and involuntarily move your hips to meet his mouth. Rafe forces your legs open with his hands, and you let him, letting yourself become absolute putty in his hands. His tongue laps at your entire wet cunt and he almost moans at the taste of it.

You bring one of your hands to the top of his head and cling on to him as he begins to suck your clit into his mouth. You bite your bottom lip, trying to catch most of your sounds that threaten to escape, and Rafe releases it. His tongue finds your soaked entrance all over again and his nose moves against your clit as his hands cling onto your flesh.

“Rafe.” You whisper his name breathlessly, and his grip on you tightens.

You look down at him, smoothing his hair back as he eats you out. Your entire body is in some strange sense of euphoria. You have never had anyone do this to you before. You’re experiencing this all for the first time, and Rafe doesn’t even have a clue.

His mouth comes back to move over your clit, and you whimper, slightly muffling it by your own lips at the last second.

Rafe moves his tongue over it time and time again, and your hips move under him, making him lift his mouth off of you out of nowhere. You look down at him, and he almost sends you a glare. Holy shit. He doesn’t have to say anything as you still your hips and cutely look at him as an apology. Rafe gives you a warning with his silence, and, soon, his mouth comes back to you.

His lips cover your clit again, he sucks on it a bit stronger than before, and he lets go of it as he looks up at you to watch your reaction. A sheer layer of sweat has begun to make your body shine under the light, from both the pleasure and the heat that intensifies around you two, and Rafe groans against your clit as he brings it into his mouth again.

Two of his fingers slide inside of you, and you notice how you didn’t even feel him lift his hand from your leg. You force yourself to keep your hips steady. You feel him slide his fingers in and out of you, and, when you look down, you watch as them glisten. Rafe’s eyes meet yours, and he smiles before pushing his fingers back in and reaching deep into you before bringing his mouth back to you.

You feel his fingers slide in and move inside of you and you cling onto Rafe's hair, bringing your other hand to your mouth, covering it just in case anything escapes. You already feel the bottom of your stomach burning with lust and, every time you look down at Rafe, everything feels so much more intense. Your legs have moved with some sort of spasms. Your entire doesn't even know what to do with the feeling, and Rafe could not care less.

As his lips stay on your clit, his fingers continue to work inside you and he curves them as he moves in and out. You cry out against your palm, and Rafe grunts. His shorts have never been so tight in his life.

“Please, don’t stop, Rafe. Please.” You tell him, uncovering your mouth and letting your head lay back once more.

Rafe intensifies the movements of both his fingers and his tongue, and he has to hold your hips down with his free hand. He works his wet fingers quickly inside of you, and he moves his mouth away to stare at the way they go in and out of you.

He lays a kiss on the inside of your thigh and watches as you get nearer and nearer to your orgasm.

“Can I cum, please?” You ask him. Your attempts to keep your voice down are long forgotten.

He doesn’t answer right away, trying to test you for just a tiny bit, and he slides in a third finger, making you grab on tighter to his hair. He smiles against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh and brings your leg over his shoulder.

“You can cum, princess.” He says before bringing his mouth back to you.

His lips wrap around your clit again, and you lift your hand from his hair, knowing that you will pull on it too harshly if you keep going. You bring both of your hands over your mouth, and Rafe sucks onto your clit harder, and harder, making finally reach your orgasm.

Your back arches from the chair and your legs shake and try to close as you sob behind your palms. Rafe watches everything with pride in his eyes. He watches the way you squirm, hears the way you moan, feels the way your walls squeeze his fingers, and how you taste. He pulls his fingers away and goes back in with his mouth, licking and drinking all of your juices.

You pull your hands away as you breathe in and out shakily. Rafe notices your state and kisses your clit messily one last time, making you tense up under him as he smiles down at you.

He moves up to sit closer to you and hovers over your body. You look up at him with half-opened eyes, and he admires every inch of your skin. He could look at you all day.

You bring your hands up to hold onto him, as you always do, and Rafe kisses both of your palms before they get to lay over his cheeks. You force your weak body up and kiss his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue, and Rafe follows the kiss as you fall back on the chair. He deepens it, making you weakly moan against him, and he grunts before pulling away.

One of his hands comes to rest on your naked hips and one of yours disappears from his cheek. Rafe soon feels it on the hem of his shorts before you pull them down with no hesitation, making his cock spring free. His tip is red and he’s hard, really hard. You watch it as you wrap your hand around it. Your thumb is over his tip and Rafe groans from just your touch alone, feeling your fingertip wet with his precum.

You adjust your hips under his and Rafe moves a bit, getting into a comfortable position to actually fuck you in a chair. You pump his dick as soon as he stops moving, and you line him up with your entrance.

“Condom.” He reminds you.

You kiss him and his forearm lays next to your head.

“I’m taking the pill.”

Rafe doesn’t even think twice before he slides his cock inside of you. You gasp at the sensation and he swears under his breath. Both of your faces are so close to one another that you practically talk against each other's skin.

You feel so warm and wet, Rafe never thought anything could feel this good in his life. He almost has to take a deep breath and he pulls his head back a little to check on you. It doesn't take him long to begin to thrust into you, and you mewl from underneath him, already feeling pleasure get the best of you not even a minute in.

Rafe watches as your face frowns with pleasure and he begins to speed up as soon as he makes sure that you’re comfortable. He moves to hover over you and gets a better look at your naked body as he thrusts into you. It’s a view he’ll never get tired of in his whole life. Your whole body shifts underneath him and his stare as it's sensitive from your past orgasm, and he smiles at the worsening frown on your face.

Rafe keeps a slow pace yet his thrusts are harsh. He watches as you hold onto the arm of the chair tightly, and your body begins to move on the chair with the force of his thrusts. Rafe brings his hand away from near your head to hold onto the highest part of the chair, and he continues to move into you. There's a great distance between both of your bodies, leaving you now completely exposed to Rafe's eyes but, also, anyone else's.

Your wet walls squeeze him with his every move and Rafe’s free hand squeezes onto your thigh, still laid beside him. He watches as his cock slides in and out of you, always appearing wetter and wetter with each thrust, and the sight alone makes Rafe hold on tighter to the chair.

Your leg wraps around Rafe as you try to pull him nearer, and your whimpers continue to turn Rafe’s insides. Your noises always sound so soft and small, they match you, and that makes the man feral over every single thing about you.

Your sounds begin to become a little repetitive as there’s not one thrust that doesn't make you moan. Rafe knows that you’re already close yet keep on trying to hold back the intense feelings to not cum just yet.

He decides to speed up this time and your moans only get worse. They’re quicker, still following each thrust, and you look at him pleadingly.

“What is it, baby?”

You don’t answer, but you keep whimpering underneath him. He brings his fingers to your clit, and he works in very light and slow circles on top of the small bud, making you whimper a little louder this time.

“You’re so easy to please, princess.” He tells you, feeling your walls squeeze his cock.

You nod at him quickly, and his smile only grows as he puts some pressure on your clit. Your back lifts from the chair at that, and he watches it fall back in disappointment when he pulls them away. You subconsciously bring your hand to do it, but Rafe catches your wrist. His hold on your wrist is tight and almost hurtful but you’re not one to actually acknowledge the pain as pleasure seems to get the better of you right away.

Rafe angles his hips better as he holds your arm against the surface of the chair, and you whine from underneath him as his cock gets to touch every little spot inside of you.

“Don’t you even dare to think about doing that again.” He tells you harshly.

You sob out a cry of pleasure, and Rafe lets go of your wrist to touch your clit himself. You feel even wetter than before now, the squelching of his thrusts just being another sound that the two of you are not ashamed to silence.

Rafe works his fingers on your clit, and you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Can I cum, Rafe?”

“Already?” He teases you.

“Please.” You elongate the word as a frown comes back to your pretty face.

Rafe smiles and gives you a nod as a response. He keeps his movements consistent and soon you fall apart beneath him all over again. Your walls squeeze so tight that as he keeps thrusting into you, he feels his orgasm near as well. The squelching worsens and Rafe can see how his own skin and hair shine with your juices. He takes his hand away from your abused clit and focuses on his thrusts only.

Rafe grunts and holds onto the chair tighter, feeling his orgasm finally reach him too. As you feel his cum fill you with each movement of his, your body is still trying to calm down from everything that just happened. You close your eyes at the sensation and only open them several seconds later.

Rafe lets go of the chair and bring his forearm close to your head again, getting closer to you. The two of you breathe heavily onto each other’s faces, and Rafe leans his forehead against yours. The two of you are so sweaty and are in serious need of a shower. The air around you feels even more suffocating now, and the warmth around you is much, much worse.

Your hand comes to Rafe's cheek, and you close your eyes again, taking in the moment. Rafe lifts his forehead from yours and lays a kiss on it, then another on your lips.

You reopen your eyes and look at him, his blue eyes focused on you as he admires you with such care. He lays another soft kiss on your lips, and you caress his sweaty cheek with your thumb. Everything is so soft and sweet. It’s all so unnatural to Rafe but he doesn’t care. He lets himself experience every bit of it.

Your eyes lift from his as you remember where the two of you are. A small smile grows on your lips at how ridiculous and sudden it all seems in your mind.

“We need to get back inside.” You tell him, calming down your amusement.

Rafe nods and pecks your lips one last time. He makes sure to pull out slowly and only then bring his shorts back up. He covers your chest with your top and is careful with helping you put back on the other half, asking at least two times if you're okay.

The two of you stand up, and you hold on to Rafe as your legs get a little shaky. Your arm wraps around his torso and he grabs your stuff from the table before the two of you make your way to the inside of the air-conditioned house.

And right as you step back inside the cold house and close the door behind you, one of your neighbors finally lets her urges win and finally peeks outside.

She looks and looks and finds nothing but your family’s backyard. Empty. No one is outside, much to her confusion. There's really no one that could be the owners of the voices she heard. And she heard such weird noises too, she swore someone was right there.

She stands by her window for a little longer, holding her sheer curtain in her hand, trying to catch someone if they ever walk out of your house or from under the umbrella, yet you or Rafe never do such a thing.

Giving up, she finally takes a step back and sighs.

Such a weird thing.

Hope everyone liked this! If you have requested anything for this series/universe, do know that I've started working on it! I'm just respecting the story's timeline, so, you'll maybe have to wait for a few more smuts before the ones you requested get posted <3

FEEL FREE TO REQUEST STUFF ABOUT THESE TWO HORNDOGS!

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x you #outer banks rafe #rafe obx

1K notes · View notes

shakingparadigm · 4 days

Note

Sooo, like I noticed something.

Ivan's Anakt Garden uniform seems to have a different design than all the other children there. Like his top has a collar on it, which I kind of find ironic since he doesn't even wear a collar (because he's a "good boy" they said). But anyways

The thing is, it goes same for Luka, while slightly similar to the standard Anakt Garden uniform (?), his has a slightly different design on the collar part, yet he's also wearing a collar.

So what's the deal with that, like, if it's based of behavior (y'know being a good pet and all) how come Sua doesn't also have a unique uniform? Or is it a way to Spoil Ivan because of good behavior by his owner, then how come Mizi doesn't also have one(we know she and her owner are on okay kind of terms)

I don't know, just kinda sus in a way.

I just really find it ironic how Ivan's uniform has a collar, whilst he doesn't even wear a collar like all the other children. Like sure, he doesn't wear the collar because of his 'goodboy behavior', yet somehow,

that collar part of his uniform, like somehow symbolizes that while he might not wear that collar like everyone else, he was still not entirely free.

I don't maybe I'm just feeling silly and delusional ahahaha (though I'm not entirely sure if there's a canon explanation for it, is there? Let me know muah muah)

The timing of this ask is impeccable actually I was in the middle of drawing my whole Anakt uniform thing and when I saw this pop up in my inbox I thought to myself: Huh!

Regarding the uniforms: overall, I don't think they're modified for any specific purposes, Ivan and Luka's uniforms are just special because, well, they're special, you know? When your Guardian has money and they really invest in you, it's not too hard for them to switch up your outfit a bit. Just to help you form an image. Maybe even coo at you a little bit and tell you how handsome you look. You know, embarassing shit.

That last paragraph though, wow. There's a lot of ways you can interpret Ivan's "collar". Ivan's shirt collar still technically being a collar, even though he's been gifted privilege (the illusion of free will, exceptionality) at the end of the day he will always remain a pet. I do think that's part of it. After all, how unsightly it would be to see a pet with a bare neck? Wild animal, unable to be restrained, uncivilized, a threat.

Ivan is well-behaved, but his place as a pet must be constantly be made clear, even if the humans may not recognize it that way. In this paradisiacal prison a collar is a collar, whether it fabric or metal. In a way, it seems almost belittling, almost mocking.

No wonder Till's outfits so often consist of wide, open necklines. It must be suffocating to be so restricted.

Moving forward, Sua's uniform is unaltered because although she has a wealthy guardian, they unfortunately don't care much about her. Definitely not enough to give her a special uniform. She's not the type to outwardly want for much, anyway. She's conditioned to wear whatever she's given. She has more pressing matters to worry about.

Mizi's outfit is unaltered too, but for a different reason. Mizi is most likely just satisfied with what she has already. The uniform isn't far from the dress she wore on her way to the Garden, and she's already been established to be a rather free-flowing person. Although her Guardian is more than capable of providing for her wishes and preferences, Mizi doesn't seem to mind simplicity at all. She's just happy to be here!

Anyway, back to Ivan. He forgoes his collar because of his good boy behavior, yes. While the high shirt collar could symbolize the aforementioned false trust, it's also quite in line with Ivan's personal style! He's usually seen with his neck covered, after all. It seems like his trademark. Ivan played himself as more of the mature reserved type (save for whenever he's around Till, apparently), so it makes sense for his owner to commission a uniform that further reinforces this proper and responsible persona. Or maybe it was Anakt Garden that directly issued that uniform to him, who knows. Either way, the uniform makes him stand out and immediately sends the message that he's a special pet.

(Fun fact! Many of Ivan's important outfits center around this theme of uniform, his performance outfit in ROUND 3 literally inspired by the key word uniform.)

I believe Luka's uniform is different because his guardian thought it would be cute. HAHA sorry. no but like genuinely. His collar is quite cutesy and fancy, lines up with Luka's overall trademark aesthetic of white frills and ribbons. Even his sleeves are puffed, like a posh little prince! I can't see a practical explanation for these, they seem purely decorative. And it checks out, because of course someone as influential and desperately prideful as Guardian Heperu would want to make his pet the specialest little boy in the Garden.

On a more serious note, though, I think it further hammers down just how much of a doll Luka is. Sua is described as a doll in her own right, but the difference is that her guardian only cares about her when the cameras are on. Guardian Heperu has his eyes on Luka almost 24/7, attending to his needs for success, ensuring that Luka must remain exceptional. I guess the outfit really helps get across that "little prince" kind of vibe.

There's a chance that the thicker, puffier sleeves of Luka's uniform help him stay warm? I'm not exactly sure about the other ways his heart condition can affect his body, but since he has several health issues I'd assume he has trouble regulating body temperature. And the shoes, isn't that one interesting addition? Luka is the only character sporting footwear in the Garden. It's not like the Garden is "dirty" by any means, as it's just simulation (unless they tried to make this simulation as realistic as possible). Maybe Luka wears shoes once again for health reasons. Perhaps Heperu is just extra protective of Luka.

(Side note: Luka's "shoes" MIGHT be socks. To me they seem more like shoes? But they could very well be socks.)

As far as I know, there's no official explanation for the Anakt uniform variations (honestly, I'd bet if they explained their reasoning Q and V would say they thought it just fit the characters, haha. To me it seems like the uniforms are meant to reflect the characters personalities rather than their circumstances, although just like with Ivan's it could definitely be read both ways).

This is just me speculating too! Thanks for the ask, I really enjoyed talking about this!

#alnst #alien stage #alien stage ivan #alien stage luka #asks

37 notes · View notes

jestercake · 3 months

Text

Finished some writing for you lovelies! Sorry for the delay but the concept piece to go with it took more time than I expected it to.

Preliminary Before Reading:

This short story is based almost entirely off of Disney’s Haunted Mansion 2023 film, with some allusion to the 2003 film adaptation. All of the characters within this story belong to Disney and I have adapted many of them to my own personal interpretation. This storyline takes place the night before Ben Matthias enters the mansion and Kent has gone back to New Orleans in order to seek him out. This story is a tragedy! (NOTE: I often capitalize the pronoun “He/Him” in most sentences in order to identify the Hatbox Ghost.)

Word Count: 10,414

DISCLAIMER:

Before reading, this story has specific and mature content listed: Necrophagia, Suicide by manipulation, poisoning, implied assult, explicit violence to ghosts, and implied enslavement.

The Dining Room

…

Almost every night at midnight, many ghosts were forced to set the elongated dining table for dinner. Some servant spirits had no trouble setting the table for their previous masters of the house, William Gracey amongst them. However, those times were far behind them. Now that Gracey had fallen victim to what others called, “the Hatbox Ghost,” dinner was a time of misery and melancholia.

William Gracey watched the upper levels of the grand dining room with a sunken heart and a sunken soul. How, in retrospect, it used to glow with warm orange candlelight, full of life and merriment, especially when guests used to come round. Now, the only light was an ominous, cold purple, gloomy and wrong.

William decided to ignore the subtle beat of the grandfather clock, thumping akin to a metallic heart. It would soon strike the thirtieth hour, signifying evil was on its way. He dematerialized down to the grand hall with a fair swoop of blue light as he grappled his yellow lantern. He was fond of it, for it was reminiscent of Elanore’s warmth.

“Quiet night tonight, isn’t it?” The ghost of a footman seemed to exclaim with a mellow tone to Gracey.

They patted the obvious pillows upon the largest dining armchair. Gracey exhaled as if he still had life within his lungs, folding the napkins as if to make himself useful.

“Yes...it always seems so.”

“It’ll get lighter!” Another spirit had said rather optimistically.

“It was lighter then…” Gracey finished the rest of the napkins off as if he were a footman himself, contemplating how many would be eating here tonight.

Every night was different now that the new master of the house had taken authority. The unfortunate souls that had seemed to disturb His presence spent the rest of the night locked away in objects of his choice, or worse. Sometimes, it was any object He’d set eyes upon— such as a lamp or a curtain hanger. William particularly remembered a time where He trapped a soul inside a chaliace and started to drink from it. Really, it was all who enviced such cowardice that were selected, brought forth to their ferocious master, and were led off immediately to be punished as an atonement for their offense. It was quite tortuous actually, being trapped inside something inanimate just to further the idea of enslavement. Being used was another abuse.

“Oh don’t let Him get to you now, Master Gracey. Grief wants something in all of us, y’know.” A parlor-maid spoke after she had set the chairs in their places.

William Gracey looked around in anxiousness after the maid had called him ‘Master Gracey.’

“Don’t say that dear, not at this time. He could be listening.” Another parlor-maid had said in a sudden response.

William then noticed a much wilder, tall-stature spirit materialize across the room, but it was not black like a shadow. It was the Hatchet Ghost, titled that way by the Hatbox Ghost, where his mortal name was once Vincent Gracey. William’s shoulders ran tight when he spawned near the rest of the maid-servants and footmen.

Vincent wore the same tattered dark suit and tailcoat, accompanied by a straight Victorian bow tie. More noticeably, there lay a prominent and raw wound across his neck. He grimaced, side-glancing at one of the maids who addressed William as ‘Master.’

“Ah…I thought I’d heard something out of you few. Still resisting, are we?” Vincent sneered with his strange, grotesque smile and sickly bulged eyes.

His skin remained a ghastly color with somewhat sunken features. William Gracey watched the Hatchet Ghost paced past the two maidservants, skimming the decorative table once or twice. Then, he stopped at the dining armchair, scoffing.

“Who patted the pillows!? Our master likes them rather billowy! Was it you?” Vincent suddenly pointed at a servant who’s back had faced the scene.

Suddenly, the soul turned with a terrible expression while the Hatchet Ghost forced them to the floor with a strange unseen power. The ghosts screamed and were blasted out of the dining hall in a matter of seconds. The other servants cowered after the event, looking toward the floor with dreadful expressions, while others retreated themselves.

“That’s better...” Vincent grumbled as he turned his head back to the chair.

He took the time to readjust the pillows so that they were perfect. After he did so, his eyes met with William Gracey. Although William wanted to react, use what little power he could to resist, he had no control over the situation. Any situation, in that fact.

“Oh, William. Why the long face? You of all… specters should know these rules…” Vincent made his way over to his nephew.

There was a small moment of silence between the two until William decided to speak.

“I don’t care, Vincent. I don’t serve devils like you do.”

With subtle fury upon his face, Vincent closed his fists tightly in response. However, he was cunning enough to know William’s mannerisms would be dealt with rather soon.

“…I’m..sorry to hear that, William. I expected more from you. But…” Vincent paused for a moment as he neared his distant relative with an unforgivable face.

“I remember you’re just a coward who lives in the past.”

William Gracey stood his ground, but in response, the slight flame within him was snuffed out in a matter of seconds.

“…You’re stuck, Gracey, just like the rest of them. Stuck mourning over some dead drab that wouldn’t even remember you.” Vincent spoke with such poison.

William brought his head down to where it was less painful, contemplating those words that were sharp as spears. He knew his uncle was right and it sickened him. It almost made his bones twist deep within the Earth, as he knew the truth. No matter how much he tried to resist, how much he’d tried to better himself, nothing would change the fact that this was all his fault. All his damn fault.

“…Perhaps if you did your job you wouldn't be so…useless. Besides, I won’t be the one to help you when you’ll inevitably pay Him for your actions.” Vincent continued to speak.

“And I’m sure you know His punishments quite well…don’t you…William?”

The Hatchet Ghost smiled unpleasantly at William and watched him return to a submissive state of sorrow and regret. It wasn’t hard to degrade him, and he knew that all too well.

“Now then…How about you go and pour our Master His glass before he arrives. Make yourself useful for once…”

William kept his eyes off of Vincent as he passed him. However, it was obvious to him how the other spirits watched as he carried himself in misery towards the end of the table. As he passed the maidservant, she returned glances with him, truly sorry that he’d fallen victim to this darkness.

He poured a large chalice full of arsenic for the Master of the house. Arsenic was His favorite and quite a strong delicacy for dark spirits to consume. It was like any other form of alcohol in the mortal realm, though much more potent. Devil’s whiskey, he thought.

William set the glass back down as more spirits were forced into the grand hall without liberty. He could recognize a few of them in the large crowd, some of them distant friends he’d once known in his past life. However, many of them were new acquaintances that he’d met during his purgatory. He made his way to Victor, a pipe organist, and Dorian Gracey, a distant relative to himself. He was also good friends with a harpist who had no name, for she couldn’t remember what it was, but she was a kind spirit. Dorian was the first to speak.

“William, I wish I could say good afternoon to you, but…” Dorian’s voice faded slightly.

William Gracey only smiled with his lips in response, but his expression hadn’t changed.

“It’s good to see you intact, Dorian.” William said half-heartedly.

He knew Dorian was cursed and would soon start to deteriorate, but it was always good to remind him of his obvious beauty.

“I didn’t know you were helping tonight, Gracey. And if I’m being quite frank I’m not even hungry.” Victor had said afterwards as he met up with the small group of spirits.

“One is always…particularly hungry. We don’t even need to be here.” The flutist caught up with Victor, adding into the conversation.

“It’s good to see you both. The realms haven’t been so kind to me.” William spoke with a dreadful undertone, knowing the reasons why.

“Don’t dwell on the past, William. At least we can see each other now.” Dorian patted William’s shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Yes, In the grand hall….Which I can never seem to escape…” Victor Giest scoffed in slight annoyance, though he was glad to be with his fellow spirits.

William exhaled a small laugh as the four of them continued to converse with each other. However, he couldn’t help but notice the darker spirits around them, maintaining the proper order of their master. Constance was one of them, corrupted by the Hatbox Ghost and forced to do his bidding unwillingly, despite her general liking to frightening mortals.

“You know, I sometimes wonder why He invites so many of us. One should not invite fewer than the Graces nor more than the Muses.” The flutist had commented upon the obvious, uneven amount of spirits present.

Constance met eyes with William suddenly, her eyes blinded with a strange blue light. Even for a ghostly entity, she was quite awful to look at. He inhaled suddenly, turning his head towards the upper levels of the house in a moment.

Suddenly, the grandfather clock echoed throughout the entire realm of the mansion, refracting perfectly as if to evoke fear upon every sorrowful soul. The painful ticking heartbeat seemed to cease after the twelfth stroke, as every spirit turned heads without content. William inhaled and watched as every exit seemingly faded away within the walls of the grand hall, which had stretched effortlessly in every direction. All spirits were lively, some even attempted to flee. However, an unknown presence forced their standing as if the floor became an ethereal cement. Even William had come to find himself stationary, which made every particle of his plasmic form circulate with worry and anticipation of what events would unfold.

Soon, the last chime of the clock echoed through the atmosphere and the repeated loud tapping of a cane’s ferrule could be heard everywhere, as if to snare the helpless souls once and for all. Every loud clap was a disturbing reminder of agonizing pain, akin to the sound of a whip to the abused. Each stab noisier than the last until the final blow came to a halt almost suddenly.

William Gracey looked around for the rest of his small group, no sign of the Hatbox Ghost anywhere. His eyes found movement when Vincent walked from the table effortlessly in silence. As he watched the spirit near one of the walls that had recently closed off, everything ran cold and still. Not a single Spector made a sound once the world around them grew dark with a black smog. He was near.

Trapped in thought, Gracey gripped onto his lantern in means of comfort, hardly able to make out his friends beside him in the thick fog. The feeling of grief began to overwhelm him without control, as he began to recall his beloved Elanore’s passing. Frightened souls wailed in the darkness as they heard the Hatchet Ghost’s calling.

“Everyone in their places…”

William shut his eyes as he was engulfed in terror, unable to escape. Every move seemed torturous as a now present sinfulness resonated throughout the endless realm, pure and maddening. The void of the fog started to reabsorb itself into one large, singular entity. An evil spirit of tyrannical might and manipulation. An infamous, malevolent entity.

“…Sir Hatbox Ghost…” Vincent exclaimed softly as he stood behind a nearby dining chair, arms folded.

The remaining section of a wall was ripped open as the dark spirit entered the room, only to have it close quickly after he’d entered. The air was deathly still as his cane tapped mockingly against the cold tiles. An animalistic growl escaped the entity as His great dark, ghostly cape dragged shortly after His grotesquely discomforting limp, a hatbox held in His left claw. The dark spirit had about him a spectral aura of blackness, something unnatural for even the ghost realm, where a strange bright orange light illuminated within the hatbox.

“…No reason to be…afraid…” came an omniscient, dark echo.

William Gracey attempted to move his feet, but to no avail. It was unwise that he had to stand so near the end of the table, for that was where the Hatbox Ghost approached. The Hatchet Ghost followed his master shortly after, making sure he drew the seat from the table.

However, before Hatbox Ghost took a seat, he stopped. Suddenly, the light within his hatbox faded to reveal a dark and desolate face of demoniacal features upon his hunched shoulders. He stared across the lengthened grand dining hall without a single sound, looming above them all. Only His great yellow eyes sifted every soul within His vicinity, followed by a deep, breathless inhale and a low snarl with bared teeth.

Many ghosts never saw his true face upon his shoulders, for he was a cursed entity, head bound to his hat box. Only during midnight was he able to soothe his own pain, once his head rested upon his shoulders.

The darkness within the dining hall never ceased as long as the Hatbox Ghost was present. No one held a voice, for he was too powerful to be spoken with. The only way one could stay below the radar was to disengage Him. But that was inevitable.

“Ah, what a…delightful bunch I have here tonight. I’m sure you are all…ecstatic upon my arrival.” He spoke through his booming, guttural, accented voice.

“Yes, Sir—Marvelous indeed!” One of his goons had said suddenly without context.

The Hatbox Ghost turned to face the outspoken spector, only to have them fall to silence instantly. Then he exhaled, finishing off his strained cycle towards his enlarged dining armchair.

Every eye watched with underlying dread as the Hatbox Ghost first analyzed the pillows. He glared with some content upon the work, akin to a critic, then held out his cane for a footman to take. Then he set his hat box beside him, still standing. Quickly, the footman took the large object in complete, almost robotic sync against his very will.

Something upon the entity’s face painted an impatient and ferocious expression in such a gradual manner as He stalked the still atmosphere. Then, He grimaced with sharpened, decayed teeth whilst he set himself down with a bit of strain. Within an instant, every spirit had made their way to the table without their will present. They all waited for Hatbox Ghost to sit before anyone could. Only after, did everyone take their seat in a repetitive manner.

William Gracey had found himself bending down until he and the rest of his friends were glued to their seats, unable to get up. It was an engaging, yet terrible entrapment caused by the evil spector’s supernatural abilities. Only He was in control.

After a moment of long silence, The massive ghost lifted His dark spell upon the spirits so that they could move freely. However, no one could leave their seat after He turned his clawed hand in a strange manner. Some whispering and vickering came shortly after the Hatbox Ghost had done so.

“Ah, yes. There’s no need to thank me, for I am rather…generous tonight.” A deep bellowing growl escaped His thin lips.

Then, He set his folded claws upon the edge of the table. It was in such terrible grace it made William Gracey feel quite weary. No one responded, in fear of what Hatbox Ghost might say or do to them. It was something every old spirit had painfully adapted to. However, some still spoke, for they were rather young and oblivious.

“Generous you are, Sir Hatbox Ghost! But, I was wondering something myself of late...” A rather plump spirit had responded, for it was Phineas, as most ghosts went by.

The Hatbox Ghost lifted his chin a bit, eyes now gazed upon the ghost irritatingly. His chest rose and one could notice the sheer width of his ribcage through his eccentric clothing.

“What do you…want, Phineas? Or should I say…you three.” Hatbox ghost snarled, for this has happened almost every evening occasion.

“Well, Phineas is just being quite chaste! If you—your uh—excellency…can lend us a car—” Another ghost beside him, Ezra, was brought into the conversation rather swiftly.

William Gracey, as for many of the other spirits at the table, observed the Hatbox Ghost as He pressed two of His long fingers against the sharp bridge of his sunken nose, closing His eyes in annoyance. This was the usual, everyone presumed.

“Yes Sir! I think we could be a great help if we weren’t—well, y’know—all cooped up in this house. Of course we all know you can't even leave the grounds yourself!” Another spirit, Gus, added his voice as well.

After a short bit of laughter, the trio changed expressions upon a quick thought. They noticed the Master’s widened, yellow eyes, beaming back at them unpleasantly. It was enough to even frighten the Hatchet Ghost, who sat closest to Him. It was rather animalistic and unnatural how small His pupils were slit.

Ezra looked away quickly, nudging the two others to quit their useless bickering. Then, he grinned back as if to relieve the thick atmosphere.

“We’re sorry, Master. Please…Do carry on in ignoring our requests. They are stupid requests…”

“Oh yes, childish!” Gus added.

The Hatbox Ghost exhaled with bared, slimy teeth. However, His terrible look was drowned out with a sudden, strange and false smile. Then, He spoke with sound gravel.

“The…only reason why I seem to be..stuck here…”

Suddenly, Hatbox Ghost clenched his fists and the three spirits were lifted slightly from their seats, which encouraged distressed cries. Then, they were all forced to face the evil Spector.

“Is due to the pitiful failures of little souls such as YOU THREE!” He bellowed.

Suddenly and by force, the Hatbox Ghost made the three of them strain painfully midair as if they were foolish puppets. Then, after enough torment, he brought them back down as they scrambled to their seats in a panicked frenzy. It was quite a terrible spectacle.

“Tedious old fools…” The Hatbox Ghost muttered.

William Gracey exchanged looks with Dorian, who now looked deathly sick as he reached the decomposition process of his curse. William turned his head in an instant, too overwhelmed to deal with Dorian’s malformations. Instead, he’d begun to fidget with his translucent, skeletal fingers underneath the table with his eyes shadowed.

“Now, where were we…” The Hatbox Ghost spoke with undertones of latent ravening. He was, however, quite capable of hiding such fury.

“The...mortals, Sir.” Vincent had imposed as he subtly whispered beside Him.

Slowly, the evil Spector wore a strange, deathly grin in light of the news, as He glided His vision across the table.

“Ah…yes. As many of you know, we have some new…guests with us of late.” He sneered.

The Hatbox Ghost grappled his chalice as he brought it to his gaunt lips with great emphasis. He took a rather considerable gulp, as he knew that all eyes were upon him.

It was strange to see the dark fluid melt into His ghostly form. William could see how it passed down His body, through His ribcage, every time lightning flashed into the room. It made him shudder. It was unnatural.

It brought Him much pleasure to be surrounded by the horror of others. Many souls knew He was not one of them, a cursed demon of sinfulness and lingering desires. Upon setting His toxic refreshment down, the Hatbox Ghost dragged his lengthy tongue across the surface of his teeth with such unpleasantness. His stare soon caught up to Victor, then to William Gracey, which made both of them presently unsettled.

“A priest, a mother and her…boy. What a bright little bunch if I do say so myself.” He spoke.

There was some short murmuring from the souls after the Hatbox Ghost addressed the news, most of them up to date. However, it was more due to their anticipation of the mortal guests that made them apprehensive.

“Oh…what will become of these most sorrowful souls?…” He spoke almost rhetorically, masking a wicked chuckle.

A grumble escaped the Hatbox Ghost as he failed to hide his content. It wasn’t unclear what the dark spirit would inevitably do to the mortals. For the entrapped souls, such as William Gracey, it was enslavement.

“Well, never mind that…for now. Let us dine together as acquaintances…”

After a moment of silence, the Hatbox Ghost raised his right claw and administered the footmen to leave the dining hall at once. As if it were almost routine, the ghouls headed towards the kitchen for the first course. That’s when the murmuring started up again.

“I heard the mother’s name was Gemma, or Gabbie, or something of that sort. Wonder where they’re from.” Victor spoke quietly from across the table to William Gracey and the Flutist.

“I do wish them well—That poor kid. He must be a bright young lad.” The Flutist had said to Gracey, who glanced back at her.

William attempted to disregard the obvious gaze from the Hatbox Ghost as he spoke to the spirits beside him.

“Uh—yes. Poor kid…” he muttered.

William Gracey now sifted his view upon Dorian, who’s skin had completely fallen apart from putrefaction. He was now an acrid skeleton, left in humiliation beside his friends. From the gratified look of Vincent, he enjoyed this quite awfully.

Dorian lifted the bare bones that were his hands, in an attempt to shield his brother’s gaze. However, William Gracey had stopped his relative before he could take any action, staring at him. Dorian looked back in slight bafflement.

“Don’t let them get to you..” William managed to say as he shook his head.

Vincent, among other goons, watched in subtle fury as the other spirits conversed, and perhaps even schemed, against the superintendency of the Hatbox Ghost. What dishonor they had for their glorious overlord, sitting in the very company of Him as if it meant nothing.

Willam Gracey set his eyes upon Vincent, and gave him a stern look. However, that soon vanished as the Hatbox Ghost suddenly gave him a look of absolute intent. It sent an unanticipated shiver down his entire form, filling him with despair, as he found himself frozen upon the deathly eyes. He couldn't help but relive those memories so long ago.

…

A pen had taken itself to parchment, he remembered. It was filled with words written in her handwriting. Every curve, every dot was hers. Instinctively, he wrote back to Eleanor, longing to see her again.

“I miss you as I loved you so. Why must death do us part?” He wrote in an expression that reflected his soul.

Madame Leota had warned him about this entity weeks on end, but he was blinded by grief and sorrow. He had seen Eleanor at times- as pretty as a picture and all the more. Sometimes she’d appear in a mirror or glass, refracting in a similar nature to water or dew. And sometimes, he heard her whisper things in his sleep. But mostly, she appeared in his dreams, and it was a presence that had wrapped him tight. A presence he couldn not escape.

“Gracey, my dearest love…” Eleanor had said within Gracey’s dream one night.

She caressed his false body, moving up his back and shoulders from behind. When William attempted to look at her, she set a hand upon his eyes and said,

“Mortal eyes cannot look directly upon the deceased…”

Gracey inhaled, soothed by her soft hand almost instantly. He moved his fingers across hers as he felt into complete darkness.

“…But why? Why can’t I look upon you, my love?” William remembered saying.

“…No man can gaze at My face and live. look at Me and you shall be lost for all eternity…”

“Then I beg of you to let me indulge in other senses! I want to picture you—remember you so that I don’t forget!”

After a subtle silence, Eleanor responded.

“…I will give you something…you will never forget.”

Her voice echoed within the darkness, giving off a shallow, uncanny feeling. It was as if it were doubled and strangled out in some strange way. But nonetheless, Gracey disregarded it.

With great dread and longing, he attempted to get the most out of his once lost love. He could remember her breath—absent of warmth—as she set her lips upon his. Together, they were in complete, desolate harmony as Gracey felt overcome with this lustful addiction. He continued to kiss her and so did she, arms intertwined as he felt her body like a blind man would with the world around him. He could almost picture her face clear in this dream until he felt hers draw away from his.

“…Eleanor…” Gracey exhaled, eyes locked away from sight as he shivered from the cold.

He gripped at her clothes, begging for more. However, slowly Eleanor had pulled away from him.

“—please—don’t leave me…” He uttered mournfully.

Gracey’s hands shook desperately as he held onto her.

“My time with you grows shorter. Listen to me, my love…”

“…no—please.”

“…Only the force of life has parted us from one another. You must give the life you have to Me. Only then will we reunite on the other side.”

“No!…”

Gracey reached out at nothing but ice-cold blackness as Eleanor faded away. On his knees he cried out, but she was no longer there to listen to his dreadful groans. In silence, he cupped his face with both hands until the dream slowly grew faint. But one echo was still heard from within the void, deep and omniscient.

“…Only through death can you see me once more…”

With the words reverberating infinitely in his mind, Gracey finally awoke in a sweat. Rapid breaths overcame him and quite suddenly, he drew away the covers to light a nearby candle. As he made his way towards the study of the mansion, the sound of spirits began to accompany him. Whispers filled the halls as he ran down them, trying to escape the chaos yet to unfold around the mansion. Nothing in the world would stop him from seeing his lost love tonight.

Upon entering the study, Gracey lit the fireplace to draw the darkness away. He stood within his office, noticing a piece of parchment enveloping an object on the large desk. with great anxiety and desire for action, he took the note and small object into grasp and brought it close to the light. He read the note first:

“Tonight we will meet on the other side. —Eleanor.”

Then, with terrible anticipation, he unraveled the note from the object, revealing a small bottle of arsenic. Poison.

Grasping the small bottle at hand, he covered his mouth and inhaled. It was all loud and true, and he knew what had to be done. However, even in grief something never set with him right. He started to quarrel with his morality as he paced in a panicked frenzy. Someone had told him once not to be envious of death, but Gracey felt as if even the malice of Hell would be meek compared to the torment of grief.

Gracey’s pacing subsided as he stopped to look upon the light of the fireplace, face wet with tears of confliction. It was warm and radiant— something he longed to feel again. Without Eleanor, he felt lost in the mortal world. Even after months of performing the same repetitive seance, it all felt futile, for he finally had a chance to see her again. He wouldn’t just let her fade away as if nothing had happened. It was only terror that seemed to engulf him. To live or to die, that was the question. The question that had brought him more pain than poison or hellfire. Finally, he felt as if he was in some control of his decision. He felt something other than misery.

And with this in mind, he slowly unscrewed the cork of arsenic as if it were a bottle of strong liquor. A liquor strong enough to stop a man’s heart. A subtle pop was heard and William Gracey glanced at the bottle with great apprehension, palms sweaty as his heart thundered. He winced away his fear and thought of Eleanore’s desperate command. With this in mind, his jaw tightened as he gradually brought the bottle to his lips. And finally, he slipped it down his throat with curled lips.

Upon finishing the bottle, he grimaced at the pungent and sour metallic flavor of the poison. He searched the room with rapid, uncontrollable thoughts, knowing there was no turning back. He gazed upon the table, setting his hand on the hard leather surface while he dragged his fingers across it. Then, he walked towards the fireplace, standing by it.

Hastily, Gracey’s breath started to stagger as he felt incredibly nauseous. His intestines screamed in anguish as he clutched his torso, for the pain never ceased afterward. It felt as if every organ and bone within him started to break apart and leak out in puddles upon the floor. He wretched out what he could in an attempt to free this sudden agony, but this acute state had him snared.

“AGH—” He screamed only once, gurgling a mixture containing vomit and foam.

His muscles had lost all control and he stumbled around the room with such terrible pain. Objects fell and broke all round him as every sinew within his body was electrified with excruciating pain. It was absolute Hell— something a simple poison could not inflict upon a mortal. This was something far greater.

Eventually, gravity had taken Gracey’s weight down to the cold hard tiles within the study. His eyes blurred the images about him as he faded in and out of consciousness. Now, in a deep state of paralysis, he only twitched in an attempt to move. The agony had overcome his state, for death would shortly arrive. Blood creeped down his lips in a deep red stream, indicating internal bleeding.

As William Gracey heaved his last breaths on the ground and awaited death, a cold presence overcame him. From what his eyes and mind could barely comprehend, he noticed a black silhouette on the left side of him, carrying a fog-like shadow as it moved across his lens. It was no angel like he’d imagined.

Slowly, the unlighted entity dragged itself toward him, circling him like doomed prey. It drew closer and closer with terrible rapping rhythm until it stopped close to Gracey’s face. It seemed to heave a deep and terrible breath, something that made his soul quiver in terror. This was not Eleanor…

Unable to escape, Gracey drew his last, long breath and the dark entity took it in like life. It groaned with terrible pleasure as it watched Gracey’s mortal form fall limp on the floor, bottle and note still at hand. The rest of his soul was devoured and trapped in an endless cycle of fear and grief as the entity had seized it from its eternal rest. This terrible entity was the first to greet him in the afterlife.

A demon.

…

All the painful memories flooded back as he stared at the Hatbox Ghost with fear and terrible regret. He held no conception of time as he did once so, never quite snapping out of it, heavy and lifeless breath engulfing his ribcage.

“Well…William Gracey. Once again pestering your relatives…” The Hatbox Ghost’s voice came, which accompanied a grim smile upon his face.

William opened his mouth to say something but quickly stopped himself. He stuttered, not knowing what to say to the evil Spector that sat before him. He was wrong— he was just attempting to ease Dorian’s humiliation. But, he knew he was just trying to convince his mind otherwise.

“I—” William stammered.

“Perhaps I should put an end to your…pestering…hm?” The Hatbox Ghost shifted slightly in his seat.

And before another stutter could escape, William Gracey was forced from his seat beside his friends and led down the table to where Hatbox Ghosts’s ghoulish goons sat, right beside the looming dark spirit that had entrapped him for eternity.

William, though persisting in his defiance by stance, could only withstand the agonizing pain of resistance for so long. Eventually, he stayed seated in order to keep the agony he felt at bay. It was a terrible feeling— to have the devil force one’s spirit like a puppet. With a widened lens, William looked around at the entities he sat with. They all stared at him with an occulted hatred as the Hatbox Ghost sat to the right of him, encompassing sinful pride with every expression. William looked down almost immediately.

“You see…That’s much better now. No more pitifully distracting side shows that squander my valuable time…”

Dorian attempted to comfort William from across the table, but it was obvious that he wasn’t responding to anyone, too frightened to do so.

“Speaking of wasting time…” The dark spirit spoke with prolonged groans in between.

He watched as the footmen carried in a multitude of silver platters, all of which were covered quite beautifully. Every spirit watched as the food came in, curling in their chairs with loads of anticipation. Despite the Hatbox Ghost’s torturous, inhumane mannerisms, he still allowed the ghosts to dine through offerings. It was a sick way of manipulating naive souls, causing them to almost believe He cared for them.

Normally, the feast was carried out with a variety of specific smells and memories found only in the past lives of the spirits. Whether it was the meaty scent of Jambalaya, or the pungent and delectable crawfish Étouffée with crispy crab cakes, it was a dish fit for a soul. And of course, a subtle glass of red wine on the side never hurt anyone. He knew that of all entities.

However, something was quite different as soon as the silver platters were placed in a manner that appeared planned. William slowly turned his head curiously and noticed the Hatbox Ghosts’s rotten grin when he spoke.

“Finally…something to celebrate my success. Satiate my hunger…”

Gracey inhaled without breath and winced almost immediately at a sudden odor. With terrible speculation, his fears were eventually portrayed through every spirit within the room. The platters were lifted up, revealing the nightmare.

Upon the long table was a rotting corpse, still fresh in a sense that it gave off a significantly horrific odor of death and decay. On everyone’s plate was a random piece of it— a hand or cheek alike. However, a lifeless body formed across the table in front of the Hatbox Ghost. It was enough to make all the souls’ wretch back within their chairs or simply stare in shock. Even the hitchhikers and goons had sat in silence as they gazed back at their plates.

Many spirits watched in utmost terror as the Hatbox Ghost inhaled the putrid scent of the corpse as if it were a dessert. He let out a sickening cackle afterward as he pressed his palms against the table, his gloved hands squeezed involuntarily. It was absolutely horrid, and many of the souls would rather die again just to get away from the situation. Even Vincent, the Hatchet Ghost, found that ideal hard to resist.

The Hatbox Ghost then shifted his cruel gaze upon every expression, for he found a gruesome pride in the fact every spector had a new and profound fear of him. He traced his green tongue against his rotted teeth, chuckling in the back of his throat.

“What seems to be the matter? Haven’t any of you had your fair share of tartare before?”

The dark spirit bellowed out in maniacal laughter again shortly afterwards, akin to a madman, as he covered his chest as though he had a heart. Even when he joked, it was as if the sorrowful souls had perished again all those years ago.

“Please…let us dine together now on this fine evening…”

The Hatbox ghost adjusted within his seat as he began to remove his black gloves one finger at a time. He acted in a manner of which every ghost could watch him with grueling anticipation as he revealed his monstrous claws.

Too frightened to look upon his friends, William Gracey’s skeletal hands shook underneath the table as he stared onto his plate. He had to look more than once to realize it was. A heart— a mortal heart—on his plate, covered in an array of dull greens and purples. There wasn’t any blood pouring from what he could see, just holes deep within the ventricles and shriveled, brown fat encasing its shape. If he were alive he would have evacuated himself. But now, he just felt paralyzed as the heart gazed back at him quite menacingly.

It all made devastating sense as William watched the Hatbox Ghost’s prominent side-eye. It was as if He vouched for such a dish just to vex him. In fact, the dark spirit had been tormenting him ever since the beginning, and He would do the same now. There was always madness within Him, but it was madness with an underlying method to it. There was always something the Hatbox Ghost wanted.

Vincent among other ghosts continued to watch his master once he set his large talons upon the table. The dark spirit’s elbows and wrists ceased to touch the edge of the cloth, which was a rather polite courtesy. He even picked up the silverware neatly placed upon the cloth as he examined its condition. He brought the fork to his eye level and slowly turned it before his hands began to tremble subtly.

It was His humanity slowly disappearing.

Then, as if something had snapped within the Hatbox Ghost, immediately the pupils within his yellow eyes began to wane as he dropped the utensil. He then violently grabbed the atrocious corpse in his massive claws as he began to devour it vigorously, revealing his truly famished presence.

Some airless gasps and mourns could be heard from the ghosts present, for it was an utmost horrible sight to see. There was strenuous struggling within the dining room chairs as the souls attempted to get away, unable to watch the beast take fourth in His sinful actions.

The Hatbox Ghost’s eyes evinced his pleasure as his whole massive frame hunched forward, continuing to partake in the gluttony. He felt a joyous impulse as he saw the fluids of innocence flow through his fingertips.

William nearly gagged as he watched Him, thoroughly revolted by His manners. But he knew the Hatbox Ghost was cursed to feed off of the living and deceased alike, truly unable to enjoy memories of food He had once indulged in. He knew this dark spirit truly felt hunger—something that all of the trapped souls did not.

The ghost’s claws were covered in the grotesque green and brown coloration, but nevertheless, His talons grabbed what was left of the slimy entrails. He seemed to devour most of them within minutes. However, time was irrelevant in the realm of darkness, and to some ghosts, it felt like He was eating for hours on end.

The souls that sat nearest to the Hatbox Ghost were quickly splashed and dirtied by the gush of old blood and gruel. William Gracey couldn't help but shed tears of misery and pain of what had unraveled before him. He was filled with agony, for the lifeless corpse returned him to his constant bereavement.

Oh—Why must this be so! To live among Satans whilst Eleanor lived in the realm of kings and queens? Was she even watching from above? He felt torn apart at the thought of her forgetfulness of him, mangled from the infinite pain, with no hope and no home. This was not the region beyond as he was promised. This was Hell. Because, unlike the eternal dream, this was the land where souls dwelled in torment and agony, forced to watch the Hatbox Ghost take his share of blood, flesh, and marrow. It was, of course, the acrid flavor that He desired, barely enough to satisfy His superimposed gluttony. The way He ate was enough to degrade even the toughest of souls.

William Gracey kept his face hidden, reminiscent of his dread. Normally, the Hatbox Ghost’s goons would’ve helped out with his wicked pestering, but they were all strictly preoccupied with his latent ravening. It was enough of a distraction until Gracey started to sniffle. Goodness—why did he have to sniffle?

Nevertheless it was heard, which had caught the attention of the monster to the left of him. The Hatbox Ghost’s claws unsheathed the mess intertwined in them, which fell from his hands slowly like a bloodied slime. Then, He quickly looked toward William with an unkenneled pleasure.

William, who shielded himself from many lingering eyes, wiped the tears and purged the marks from his face in an attempt to alleviate his constant dismay. However, he couldn’t stop pouring himself out with dreary wet tears once he’d started, which was no help to him in the end.

The Hatbox Ghost slowly leaned closer to Gracey and smelt the almost tangible atmosphere around him. He emitted a terrible groan—the sound of a monster as he widened his mouth to taste the addictive sensation. His ghostly hair seemed to stick on end subtly. In the Ghost Realm, sensations were like memories that gave off the scent of nostalgia, sorrow or any other deep emotion as a replacement of taste. Of course, they weren’t as pungent as the feelings of mourning spirits and mortals. And how pungent grief was to Him.

It didn’t take long for the Hatbox Ghost to become addicted to it, eyes maddened with the same inherent voracious prodigality. Many ghouls and spirits attempted to leave their seats again, aware of the inevitable outcome of this display. Eventually, The Hatbox Ghost would lose any mannerisms he had previously held before dinner, and would leave behind a madman. This needed to be stopped before anyone was permanently harmed. Vincent quickly proposed this ideal as the evil spector moved Himself closer to Gracey.

“Now, Your Excellency— Master of the Realms— perhaps you should finish devouring your lovely meal?” Vincent exclaimed quickly.

Other spirits had started to add onto this distraction in an attempt to draw the Master of the House away from the stench of grief. However, The Hatbox Ghost had already started to drool ferociously with every spectacle matching his inward appearance.

“Yes!— I think we all enjoyed the courtesy of your meal! Perhaps we should be excused before you—”

“SILENCE!” He roared.

And presently, not a sound was heard afterward, other than the mourns of William Gracey, who’d attempted to cease his internal dilemmas rather quickly.

William shut his eyes and only sniffled now that he had shielded his rather robustious cries. Though it was hard, he couldn’t let the demon before him get what He desired so desperately and with such ease. Even with eternal blackness to cloud out his vision, William pictured Him perfectly. It was disturbing how every component was laid out within his mind with no comparison to a painting. And it was that same painting that had been stuck within his mind ever since he’d died so many decades ago.

Slowly, the evil spirit made His way towards William Gracey, not hesitating to push his chair away from the long table. As He stood tall over William, many heads turned in utter terror, for they knew they were nothing against the wrath of their unwilling Master. This was quickly proven as Hatbox Ghost looked at everyone with a sudden animalistic fury.

“…What are you all looking at?! DINE!” He spat.

Almost suddenly, every ghost took up their forks and knives like puppets that feasted without hunger or desire. It was such an ugly sight to anyone, even the deceased, that some spirits would much rather suffer for years trapped inside an airtight box than have to face eating the remnants of a human. The spitting of sludge and crunching of bones was a bitter enmity to anyone forced to participate or even listen, the crimes justified only by Hell itself. After all, it was His realm now.

Even William was forced to take up the fork. He unwillingly sliced off a stiff piece of the old, wretched heart, much like the rest of the thralled spirits, forced to bring it to his tongue and eat it. Nothing in the mortal realm before prepared him for the disgust as he began to chew without will. Every empty tear fell to the floor without a stain, almost as if every one of them meant nothing in a dimension of infinite sorrow. They were tears in the rain, pointless to remember even if they meant something. Once William swallowed with great misery, he’d given into the inevitable that was The Hatbox Ghost’s eternal torment.

“—Why…” William had said rhetorically with a cloudy and woeful expression.

He spoke aloud but with little volume, for his spirit felt low and chained from within. It was more than just a spell that he and the ghosts were under— it was a curse. A terrible curse.

As if the deathly dimension couldn't take any more away from him, William was quickly torn from his seat by a large set of claws that had tightened painfully around the rest of his torso. He yelled only once, before the large hands suffocated him as if he had air to breathe. He couldn’t escape it.

The Hatbox Ghost ceased his terrible laughter as he neared William Gracey to his monstrous facade. His ferocious and lifeless breath exited the emptiness of his nose cavity. It was truly His face altogether that expressed His violent yearning towards such helpless and innocent souls. There was no exaggeration as He savored the grieving spirit’s aroma grotesquely, full of content.

“Mmm…You smell of…Misery…”

It was William's fragrance of grief that He’d found irresistible. It was enough to impose the sins of Gluttony and Lust simultaneously. What a mistake it was to show this heartfelt pain. He’d begun to feed a demon.

“…In-toxicating…”

William felt his ghostly form ripple painfully as the Hatbox Ghost took fourth in his own obscenities. He fed off Gracey’s grief, which caused his spirit to cripple and lose all thoughts that were dear to him during the process. The love he held for his friends turned sour, into dread and sorrow instead. He began to focus on Eleanor’s death once again.

“Leave him alone!” One of the maids screamed toward the Hatbox Ghost with a small spark of resistance.

The Hatbox Ghost let out a deep chuckle as he violently grabbed Williams neck instead, allowing him to dangle midair. William let out a strained noise as the grasp tightened like a serpent around his neck, firm and constricting.

“Oh, you really care for him, don’t you?…” The Hatbox Ghost’s voice seemed to grow darker as he gazed at the parlor maid with monsterous eyes.

“…Willing to share the same fate?…”

Suddenly, the maiden fell into the floor that stretched open beneath her. She let out a shrill scream of terror as she fell into a large pit of black sand that emitted a dark aura. The ghosts around her gasped audibly as some peered into the gaping hole next to them, which began to fill up quickly and swallow up the poor soul. Her screams ceased as the floor closed up afterward with a strike of lightning from outside.

The Hatbox Ghost let out a horrendous, boisterous laughter afterward, and it was clear he gained sickening satisfaction from the event.

William gripped at the Hatbox Ghost, almost in a pleading manner, desperate to be set free from the torment. This elicited the dark spirit to focus his gaze back toward him. He bared his slimy teeth as He fought His ferocious desire to confiscate and devour Gracey’s kind spirit in an instant.

Even in sorrow, William was so full of life—brilliant and caring—everything Hatbox Ghost was not. But He was patient.

“Don’t you recall…that night…” The Hatbox Ghost muttered as he neared William’s face closer to his own.

William scrunched his expression horribly as he struggled to relieve himself from the monster's grip. His translucent, skeletal fingers grappled the Master’s tough dark claws in an attempt to relieve himself from the constant, agonizing restriction.

“The night Eleanor deserted you…” The Hatbox Ghost whispered through a chuckle.

His eyes fiercely studied William’s, for He still desired much more delicious grief from him. William quickly felt the torment burn down on his soul again, which had forced his sorrowful tears to pool in his sockets. And those terrible words repeated endlessly within his head. It was all his fault…

“She never loved you…” The Hatbox Ghost uttered through a masked grin, eyes pulsating with a strange, yellow aura. Soon, He would get what He desired. And how He deserved it.

Gracey mouthed “no,” too weak to project any resistance. Even if he were a strong and enduring spirit, nothing could withstand the excruciation of this Devil.

“…She…left you here, allowing your torment. To waste away and rot in your own home…Just to suffer.” His words came again like poison.

William let out a strained sob as he shut his eyes. The misery was almost too much to bear, for tears began to stream rapidly down his face without an end, almost forced out. The Hatbox Ghost’s eyes widened at the tormented soul with an exhilarated pleasure. Only He noticed the visible aura of misery and grief illuminated around William. This is what he longed for.

William kept his eyes shut tight as he felt the Hatbox Ghost lean in towards him. He could feel a demented chill wash over his spectral form as he realized quickly that he was being drained of his life force slowly—feasted upon.

William understood the enslavement he constantly found himself under—all willing souls shared this fate. Many of the willing souls He fed on were wasted away into entities too weak to move or speak. In other words, they only existed for Him and his desires to satiate Himself. They were the true course— the reason why the Hatbox Ghost hosted the demeaning dinners. Why was he to be damned for all eternity this way, devoured into nothingness—Left with empty torture and grief?

The Hatbox Ghost groaned pleasantly as he began to consume William’s soul, exhausting him in the process. His jaws opened extensively whilst he drew in the concentrated anguish and suffering from Gracey. It roused and stirred the madness within, rather thrilling to Him.

“You’re…Mine!” He growled.

The Hatbox Ghost wheezed airily as he took in another lifeless breath full of grief and pain. lightning crackled in a much more electrified manner outside the windows, which had flashed in strange shapes of purple and green. Every loud crack against the immaterial realm sent a shrill scream of terror throughout the dining room, adding onto His deranged symphony.

Even Vincent, the Hatchet Ghost, had taken recognition of this most demonic sight, watching his very nephew waine and weep as he was feasted upon by the new Master of the house. He couldn’t help feeling an indiscretion deep within his spectral form, for he found the execution incredibly hard to watch. He suddenly intervened on behalf of any ghost unwilling to make the sacrifice.

“Master— Must you stop this…this madness?!”

A jolt of loud thunder was heard afterwards, silenced through the ferocious stare of the Hatbox Ghost. His beady, yellow, and menacing eyes were enough to stop any mortal heart— any soul’s at that. And it sent a terrible, antagonizing might that stunned Vincent into a state of pure shock. The only movement he could bear was his own trembling. It was only through this reaction that The Hatbox Ghost temporarily recessed his gruesome mannerisms, snarling as he spat.

“You DARE…disrupt ME?!”

The Demon roared with great severity towards the Hatchet Ghost among the other trembling spirits. The dining room had darkened all around them and all fears had been brought forth to their salacious Master. William, still trapped beneath the claws of the massive spector, held only the strength to look toward Vincent Gracey, who stood his ground even in fear. He winced in appealing agony with tears that could’ve burned at his skin if he were still alive. Why was he doing this for him— a ghost weak and pathetic beyond comparison? This was all his fault…

“Sir—” Vincent had managed to say before the fear had restricted his lifeless vocal chords.

Although he loathed his nephew, he couldn’t face the fact that he too was a willing soul just like him.

And how He craved the Willing.

“Even my most…Loyal adversary…Seeking to betray Me?…”

The Hatbox Ghost sifted himself towards the Hatchet ghost with William Gracey still snared in between his massive talons, much like a hawk with its prey. He bared His gray, rotten teeth at the demented, meek spirit with no desire to blink even once. The darkened aura seemed to engulf most of His cape now as if to stretch His shadow across the room, which gave Him a much larger expression than before.

“Of…of course not—” Vincent managed to speak.

The darkness around him started to crawl close to the putrid scar embedded across his fleshy, green neck. It made him grunt due to the sudden enforced agony.

“You’re not…caring for him, are you now? Much like…the others?”

The Evil Spector studied the Hatchet Ghost’s perturbed expression, His eyes enticed with such insanity and deception, they were enough to entrance any ghost who gazed directly at them. Every spirit hid their eyes from Him. All except Vincent Gracey.

“I…” Vincent muttered, enraptured by the Hatbox Ghost’s pulsating yellow eyes. He couldn’t resist them.

William Gracey watched in horror as his relative fell under the hypnotic and tractable spell. His eyes— Why must he look into those eyes?! He had almost seen Vincent Gracey’s true self, shrouded out within an instant through the manipulative power of the Hatbox Ghost. He almost had his uncle back. He almost had hope.

“Besides…I won’t be the one to help you when you’ll inevitably pay him for your actions…Right?…” He chuckled.

The Hatbox Ghost restated the Hatchet Ghost’s previous statement to William Gracey as if He’d known of their recent encounter. It sent a petrified chill down William’s spine.

He listens. He heard everything. And all roads lead to Him in the end…

The Hatchet Ghost strangely inhaled as the darkness faded around him, seemingly done with him. Then, those hypotonic clouds ceased within his eyes and revealed the same bitterness William Gracey had always seen in him. Hatred.

“...Of course, Master. Thank you for your…assistance.”

William Gracey faintly struggled within the Hatbox Ghost’s claws and watched as the Hatchet Ghost got up from his seat without hassle. It was quite alarming for the rest of the sorrowful souls, still glued to their seats without content. It was a statement which meant the loyal were favored over the enslaved. A terrible statement that meant one had to give into the dark spirit’s bidding just to be free. It was all an illusion, however. No one was free.

The Hatbox Ghost’s perpetual smile sneered all the more wider, now that the Hatchet Ghost had gazed at William with such unpleasantness. It made William shed more empty tears, no longer recognizing Vincent Gracey in those addhorrent, misshapen eyes.

“What do you think of…poor William Gracey now?…” The Hatbox Ghost snarled in his guttural voice.

Presently, He lowered William Gracey back down to the hard tiles so that Vincent could gaze upon him. William’s knees buckled from his lack of strength, kneeling as he held a heavily depleted expression. The Hatbox Ghost still kept an intense hold of his neck and torso while he wheezed, watching Vincent walk up to him with a sadistic grin upon his face.

For a moment, the Hatchet Ghost lingered his daunting smile at William Gracey, who had no choice but to gaze back with tired eyes. After a moment of silence, he spoke…

“I want him to…suffer…” He spoke through an inhale.

“I want to…watch you break him. Only I…”

Vincent’s voice was layered with darkness as he knelt down in front of his tormented relative. What was said was something imparable and vile, addressed to no one except the once luminescent soul before him. Now, he was nothing but an eternal feast for the demon before him.

“…And let the others’ blindness overcome them with a fear far greater than the sweet escape of closure…” The Hatchet Ghost added, looking up to his dark ruler.

William shook with a sunken head, eyes glassy and darkened by the condition of his very being. He could only listen to the quaked voices of his fellow friends, for they too always winded up paying for his actions. Why must this always be so? This was all his fault. Always his fault.

“What a…pleasant surprise…” The Hatbox Ghost uttered through an utmost sinister chuckle.

He was infatuated by the animosity He’d caused between a once happy family. How he loved the capability of destruction caused by His own making. He was a monster, vain and vile, created with misanthropic power and the disposition for committing atrocity.

“Wouldn’t you agree…William? He bellowed.

The dark spirit hunched down with a most wretched snarl, one claw upon the floor, while his eyes gazed upon William Gracey. He was once again lifted off the ground with such ease and carried back towards the Hatbox Ghost’s mummified facade. It was acrid and dark, his face. Void of any life or pleasantry it had once possessed in a forgotten timeline. His nose cavities enlarged after every powerful, lifeless inhale, eyes but yellow fragments of hellfire as they stared back at William. William had made no effort to voice out even a feeble ‘no,’ too dreadfully exhausted to do so. All he could muster was a heart-wrenching stare at the dark spirit before him, eyes blurred from tears.

“Well then. I shall see to this manner…personally. Within a more…confined setting...”

As the Hatbox Ghost straightened himself up back into his menacing, overbearing stance, he fixed his eyes upon every quivering ghost and spirit within the room that had watched the grimful spectacle commence. He groaned and bared his spear-like teeth as he made his gaze known across the room, then inevitably stopped at William’s acquaintances.

Victor, the Flutist, and Dorian Gracey couldn’t help but share the same alarmed expression with each other, the rules made known to all of them clearly. The Master was never wrong. The Master was always listening. And if He shall ever look upon you with greatness, He will do so with great reason. And ‘great’, He was. It was this final oath that had made them tremble with anticipation.

The darkness began to ripple throughout the massive dining hall, which had echoed its deathly sweet lullaby into the infinite chambers of the mansion. Sometimes it thundered like lightning or rippled akin to waves. Nevertheless, it taunted every soul under His mighty curse. Haunted them.

“Oh, I hate to be a terrible host and run, but I do think it’s time for me to go. You see, I have some…important matters to attend to…”

The Hatbox Ghost’s aura had begun to ripple and mystify him as he took a gradual step back from the chair that was his throne. Everyone had eyes on the Master of the house as he took William Gracey with him into the blackness that had been summoned. The Hatchet Ghost was beside his Master, and observed as the black veins started to crawl and intertwine around them. Although it was inevitable to show fear, he’d embraced it long long ago: something his nephew did not.

“Enjoy the dinner…Ta-ta, now…” The Hatbox Ghost muttered in an exaggerated voice.

The dark spirit quickly dematerialized within His own darkness alongside the other two spirits. He always spoke the final word. Even after He’d vanished just as elegantly as He’d come, no one was allowed to leave until they were finished with their dish. And Every ghoul alike held this deep and unforgiving punishment, the solemn supper being only the beginning of it all.

Many had known what this celebration had meant, for it was all loud and clear what the Hatbox Ghost had in store for the delicious mortal souls entrapped within the mansion. Eventually, they would all share the same fate as every ghost had—forced to abide by the dark spector’s command. And the willing souls? The willing were special to Him; potent to Him. It was something He craved ever since his arrival, something eternal that would fuel his insatiable hunger for more. Because, unlike the mortal realm, there was no escape from the infinite oblivion waiting for them on the other side.

And how He waited ever so patiently…

…

#my art #haunted mansion #haunted mansion 2023 #the haunted mansion #disney #hatbox ghost #alistair crump #the hatbox ghost #digital illustration #digital art #story #stories #artists on tumblr

66 notes · View notes