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stobinesque · 8 months

Text

held frozen like an angel to me

A birthday fic for the truly incomparable @steves-strapcollection!! Happy Birthday, Gerry, I hope you're having the best and filthiest day imaginable.

If you somehow don't know: Ger is an absolute powerhouse of smutty Steddie creation, and also one of the first people to welcome me so warmly and enthusiastically to the Steddie fandom. It's been a truly wild ride getting sucked back into the obsessive heights of fandom brainrot for the first time in years over the past few months, and Gerry is definitely at least 30% responsible for it (I would be willing to go higher).

Also if you haven't read any of Gerry's work you should absolutely go do that. He's out here writing some of the best transmasc erotic fiction in the English language (I'm intentionally leaving off the 'fan' prefix there).

This fic also has art made by the mind-bogglingly talented @sentient-trash. It's an absolutely stunning piece, and the collaboration with Simon definitely accounts for the richness of detail within the fic as a whole. This story truly wouldn't be what it is without him. Also many thanks to @scarcrossdlvrs and @inairbinad for being my cheerleaders!

A playlist for the fic can be found here.

Steddie | wc: 10.3k | Explicit | cw/tags: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Vers Dom Steve Harrington, Vers Sub Eddie Munson, Monsterfucking, Monster Steve Harrington, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Dual POV, Gothic Vibes, Referenced Non-Monogamy, Shapeshifting Genitalia, Dream Sex/Manipulation, Sleep Paralysis, Biting, Aphrodisiac Venom, Blood Kink/Blood Play, Choking, Breeding Kink, Possessiveness/Obsession, Ownership, Collars, Compulsion, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Come Play/Come Eating, Foot Kink (kind of?? including to be safe), Cock & Ball Torture, light gore?? (at least some mildly gory allusions/metaphors), Religious References and Biblical Allusions, Dacryphilia, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Tails, Wing Kink, Lactation Kink, Knotting, Good Boy Eddie Munson

[ READ ON AO3 ]

The hall echoes with silence, as it has for weeks now.

Steve stretches his limbs, and the rough sound of stone grinding against stone rends the air.

As marble gives way to skin and scale, Steve’s awareness shifts to a damp trail carving a path down his face. The arm stretched over his head falls, hand brushing over his cheek and coming back wet with the blood of his tears. He brings it to his lips. Licks it away. The taste of his pet bursts across his tongue. The source of all his tears.

At long last, his beloved has returned. He can scent it on the air.

Steve unfurls his wings, letting them open wide for the first time in what feels like ages.

Knowing a mortal has distorted his perception of time.

No matter.

Steve regards the manacle looped around his ankle with an indulgent smile before willing it away into nothingness.

His pet's desire to keep him as a pretty thing never fails to amuse.

Steve twirls the garland of his namesake flower in his hands. Considers disappearing it along with the manacle. But his beloved likes to see him adorned with pretty things.

He wreaths himself in flower and leaf, the tips of his horns holding the white blooms in place.

Steve has always imagined that shaking off his statuesque form must feel akin to waking from that slumber humans seem to love so much. It feels good to be back in his body—muscles tensing and flexing as he turns to regard his stone plinth, tail whipping around him as the stiffness in his joints dissipates.

His eyes rove the space, taking in the finery he rarely gets to see from other angles. He runs his fingers over the filigree of his alcove, careful not to scratch the wood, and smiles with the knowledge that his pet gives him pride of place amongst his collection. That he considers Steve his finest treasure.

But Steve is being too self-indulgent. It's time to welcome his lover home.

The old grandfather clock tolls the witching hour as Steve ascends the staircase. When he reaches the top it’s to find that his lover did not make it past the parlor on his return home.

Eddie is sprawled across his ornate fainting couch—splayed out in a pile of furs. He’s half-dressed in a pair of leather pants that look painted on, while his pale chest gleams in the moonlight.

Steve leans against the door frame, watching as he sleeps. And though no one is there to see it, he beams, wicked.

Oh, how he loves to toy with his food before he eats it.

Eddie is floating; suspended in æther.

Strange lights and shapes of color bend and twist and fold around him.

He chases after them—reaching out to grasp each one. Watching as they disintegrate between his fingers.

And then he’s falling.

No, not falling.

The ground is rushing up to meet him.

To cradle him like a lover.

Eddie stares up into a meaningless sky—void of all but darkness—as hands begin to grasp at his chest. Fingers trail across his torso. Grab at his side. Graze and pinch his nipples with a biting force.

He can’t count them. Can’t see them.

Can’t hear anything.

He is surrounded by disembodied touch—holding him up, pressing him down, squeezing, fondling, grappling.

And he is at sea, searching for an anchor.

He's lost.

Lost without his angel.

His lord.

Eddie casts about, searching without sense.

Stretching the boundaries of himself and pulling.

A wet warmth envelops one of his nipples. A pair of soft lips trail kisses down the line of his stomach. A ravenous mouth sucks a bruise into his neck. Still another descends down, down, and—

Eddie gasps, but still there is no sound.

No breath escaping his lungs.

It's the idea of a gasp, moan, cry sailing through him.

His blood runs hot. Muscles tense.

He’s all sensation with no grounding.

High and drunk on the hands and mouths that travel the expanse of him.

He wants a way out. To escape the sticky web he’s been trapped in.

But a part of him wants to sink.

To drop like a stone.

To drown.

To let The Lord of skies and heavens and seas come to bear him up and pluck him from the depths below.

Where is he?

Angel

His mind echoes with the cry, even while the phantom sense of his body aches and struggles to move. To break free. To fight or flee or float towards the one who loves him.

Angel. My lord.

Eddie wakes with a gasp, air bubbling in his chest. He blinks against the moonlight, sight restored. Yet he still can't move. Pinned in place by some outside force. Alone and petrified—

No, he's not alone. There's a figure in the doorway, silhouetted by the chandeliers he keeps faintly lit in the receiving hall.

Eddie sees the outline of wings. Of horns. A flowered crown.

No sooner has he had the thought to reach out than the figure is stalking towards him. Eddie still can't move, and the beat of his heart picks up its pace. Not yet pounding in terror, but racing like he's just started a chase. He wants to speak. Wants to cry out, wants to—

"Hello, my pet."

Golden-verdigris eyes flicker in the moonlight as the figure hovers over him. It's not enough to see by—not nearly enough—but he knows Steve is smiling by the way it glints off one of his fangs.

A part of Eddie relaxes at the sight of him. Close enough to touch, to kiss—finally, after weeks apart.

But his hind-brain—locked in the throes of disorientation from his dream—still perceives his angel as threat. As monster.

That's what he is, after all.

Eddie's monster.

The talon of Steve's index finger hooks through the one that dangles from the scaled collar around Eddie's neck and tugs gently. "You've been gone too long, beloved." His voice is somehow both honeyed and sibilant. "I ought to welcome you home."

Firm lips press against Eddie's own. He's starting to regain some use of his limbs—can feel his control returning to him at the edges of his consciousness—but the second Steve swipes his tongue across Eddie's lips his mouth goes numb. He lies there, slack-jawed, as Steve kisses him with diluted venom on his tongue. Eddie moans, the sound pulled from his chest like Steve had hooked his talons through his very soul and pried it loose.

He thinks that actually happened long ago.

Steve pulls away, and Eddie wants to chase after him, but he's still held in place by the sleep paralysis. Some corner of his mind still pinned down by Steve's power.

Eddie needs to touch, to feel—to have a voice to speak and beg for it.

He can’t form his mouth around words, but he can make sounds, so he pushes a whine from his throat. Needs to let Steve know how much he’s missed him. How much he ached for him while he was away. How not an hour or minute passed where he wasn't picturing himself wrapped in Steve's embrace, even when he was using someone else to fill that gaping void in him.

And Steve is toying with him. Taking his own welcome by force.

Eddie shivers, and above him, Steve chuckles darkly, eyes flashing again in the silvery light.

Steve straddles his waist, and the faint light from the hall shines through the white blooms of the stephanotis flowers that wreathe the crown of his head. Eddie’s breath catches at the sight. He wants to supplicate himself before his Angel.

Eddie wants. Not just the simple gratification of physical pleasure—though he aches to have his lover’s hands on him—but also just a scrap of light. Steve may be able to see him just fine, but Eddie is still only human, and can't make out anything beyond Steve’s eyes and the occasional glimmer of his smile.

Eddie misses the sight of his face. Wants to drink in every detail. The sharpness of his jaw and cheekbones. The inhuman shimmer of his skin. The flecks of golden scales that dot him like moles—those catch and shimmer in the moonlight when Steve turns his head just right, but it's not enough.

Eddie’s mouth is still numb, but he can feel the severed link between mind and body reforming, and with a twitch Eddie manages to drag his arm up, to press his palm to the stony texture of his angel's skin.

A scaled claw snatches his wrist up immediately, followed by a hissing reprimand. "Now who told you you could move, my pet?" Steve whispers, leaning in close.

Eddie moans, and as the air passes between his lips he realizes that feeling has returned to them. "Lights," he manages to mumble. "Want…to see you."

"Are you making demands of me, my love?" Steve drags a knuckle down the side of Eddie’s face. "I don't think you've earned the right to make such requests, pet."

Eddie closes his eyes, because it is easier to see nothing than to be deprived of the full, glorious sight of his Master. "Please…my Lord. Please, I wish to be graced with the sight of you," Eddie begs around the cotton of his mouth.

Steve hums. "Well, I suppose you do beg prettily enough, even for a creature who speaks so plainly out of turn." Steve leans in ever closer, until the shining threads of his lashes brush against Eddie's cheek. "But I'm going to need you to stay." Steve punctuates the last word with a strain of Command behind it, followed by a sharp bite, fangs plunging into the tendons of Eddie’s neck.

Eddie gasps, arching his back as he feels the burning heat of Steve's venom enter his blood stream. Warmth rushes through him, heart pumping Steve's essence into each corner and every crevice of his being. His vision blurs as his head grows fuzzy and distant.

He feels the weight on him shift. Move. Disappear. Watches as the silhouette of a demon—an angel's retreating form—moves across the room. And then the parlor is awash with a dim golden light.

Eddie's eyes blink against it, thick with tears. It hurts, almost, in spite of how low it is. But it’s worth it for the vision that greets him when Steve steps back into his line of sight.

Steve was always a vision to behold. A creature without compare.

He moves like a dancer. Like a reed on the wind. Like a snake. Even when he’s standing still—even when literally encased in living stone in Eddie’s stairwell—he looks like a piece of art in motion. Like a spirit that can’t be captured.

He is everything the gods and poets speak of when defining beauty—and not just for the sight of him.

But what a sight he is.

Muscles that ripple in the low light. Golden scales that dot his skin like starlight. Hair that flickers like flames. Like there’s a perpetual gust of wind passing through those gossamer strands. Dusky nipples pierced through with golden hoops that sparkle and shine like the wiry metallic strands of hair that carpet his chest.

His arms and legs end in iridescent scales that flicker between green and gold and sapphire when they catch the light. Fingers and toes capped with talons sharp and black as obsidian.

All except the ring finger of his left hand.

That talon is around Eddie's neck.

His love is bare of everything except the token of Eddie's he himself bears—a collar made of gold, with Eddie's first guitar pick attached to the ring that dangles above Steve’s clavicle. He wears not a stitch of clothing while in this form—an affront to its very purpose, Steve explained once—but he allows himself to be adorned with that marker of Eddie's ownership at all times.

Steve stands before him. Lets Eddie drink his fill of the sight of him. And he knows that Steve has missed seeing him as much as Eddie has missed seeing Steve.

For the next tour, Eddie will have to devise a way to bring him along.

Perhaps as a piece of set decoration.

Steve takes a loping step forward and his wings unfurl behind him.

Eddie's heart lodges in his throat. Seeing them makes him want to soar. To fly above the world while they fuck and drench it with their love. They’re unlike any wings Eddie has ever seen or dreamt up in fantasy. Some cross between bat and bird and mythical beast.

Iridescent emerald, just like his scales and eyes, and layered with feathers and scales like beetle wings that ripple and shimmer with every movement. They tinkle as they shift, like dried scarab wings.

And when Steve flies they make music.

Steve stalks forward like a beast hunting prey. His pet’s eyes are fixed on the expanse of his wings, because his lover is weak for pretty things, as all mortals are. Steve preens under the attention—Narcissus took direction from him, after all—letting them flap and flutter behind him as he crosses back to where he has Eddie trapped in his Command.

“Your gaze is covetous, my love.”

“I have no other way to look at you, Master.”

Steve’s face splits into a grin, fangs pressing into the swell of his bottom lip. His pet is flushed a pretty petal pink all over. Cheeks flaring red, blood pooling just beneath the surface of fragile, porcelain skin.

Steve aches to drink from him. He doesn’t need blood to sustain him like certain other creatures of the night. But he already knows that the taste of his lover’s lifeblood is more refined than the bouquet of the finest vintage.

Steve continues his slow approach, savoring how Eddie’s rapt gaze moves with him. Like there's a cord attaching it to Steve.

When Steve folds himself onto his lover’s lap, his pet keens as though he’s only just realized he’s been straining the front panel of his leathers from the moment Steve got his fangs in him.

“Steve…Stevie…Phan. please.” The muscles of Eddie's neck tense as he strains against the venom's paralysis to try to reach Steve.

Steve’s talons clink against the metal bars pierced through Eddie’s nipples as he twists them in rough admonishment. “You speak out of turn, Theo.”

Their private nicknames for each other are for use outside of play.

Eddie’s breath escapes his throat in pained, reedy gasps as Steve pinches, sending twin paths of blood streaming down either side of Eddie’s chest. Steve watches with fascinated delight as Eddie’s body struggles to move away from the pain, but can’t due to the venom flooding his veins.

“S-sorry, Master. Please, I’m so sorry.” Tears bead along his pet’s lashes, and Steve paws his chest with gentling touches.

“Apology accepted,” Steve says, with an impish smile, taking a bloodied nipple into his mouth with a groan, and suckling at it like it was milk pouring from it. Steve moans, letting the warm red liquid pool on his tongue before swallowing it down. His lover’s blood is sweet and fragrant as honeyed wine, and Steve is already drunk on it. His cunt gushes, wet and ready to be filled with even more of Eddie’s sticky-sweet goodness.

Steve slides back until he’s straddling the tops of Eddie’s thighs, and palms a hand over the bulge there. Eddie moans, looking half ready to die a little death with nothing more than the suggestion of Steve’s touch along his length.

His poor foolish pet always forgets how hot his blood runs when he gets a little venom in him.

“I’ve missed you, my love,” Steve says. He hooks a talon through the laces that tie Eddie’s pants shut and snicks them open. “Missed this beautiful piece of work inside me even more.” Eddie isn’t wearing anything under his pants, and the second the leather cords snap, his cock bobs up and hits his stomach, standing proudly at attention under Steve’s ravenous stare.

Steve slowly drags the curved back of a talon along the underside of it, smiling wickedly when Eddie whimpers and tries to buck his hips upwards. Steve tsks, sliding the finger down, down, down—tickling along the seam of Eddie’s sack, pressing carefully against the sensitive skin of his taint, and continuing downward until the second knuckle of that finger is nudged up against Eddie’s entrance, bearing into it.

Eddie whines, and Steve coos gently as he takes the reddening length of his dick into a loose fist with his other hand. “It’s a shame that you humans are so fixed. I’d bet you’d just love to have a tight little snatch for me to fuck.”

A glob of precome spurts from Eddie’s length and Steve tsks, shaking his head. “Messy boy. You already get so wet for me. Bet you’d love to be sopping with slick. So ready to take me inside, isn’t that right, pet?” Eddie lets out a muffled, high-pitched sound of affirmation. Steve smiles. “We’ll get there. For now I just need you to sit there while I get my fill of you.”

Steve rises up onto his knees, positioning the head of Eddie's cock at the entrance of his cunt. He presses his palms to the center of Eddie's chest as he sinks down in one fluid motion, careful not to let his talons break skin. Steve lets his eyes flutter shut as he sheathes himself on Eddie's cock with a satisfied sigh.

Steve loves to take his pet any way he can get him. But he can’t deny that there’s a particular pleasure to the fullness of his prick inside him. Steve can feel Eddie in his guts. Feels greedy as he sucks him down. Wants his cum and love spilled all over his insides.

Eddie whines—and the paralytic effects of the venom must be wearing off, because Steve feels his lover's hips twitch upward from beneath him.

Now that simply won’t do.

Steve curls his fingers so that his claws rip and rend into flesh. His talons drag down the length of Eddie’s torso—nipples to navel—and Steve relishes in the scream it elicits. Rivulets of blood rush to the surface, trickling in small tributaries over the white expanse of Eddie's skin. Steve wanted to loop each around every line of red there and hold him in his hands like they're the threads of fate. Wants to weave the strands together until he has a cerement of blood and love and viscera enshrouding them.

Steve feels the muscles of his back tense and bunch and ripple as his wings stretch wide. He yearns to take to the skies—still wrapped around his lover—and let the blood he’s pulled from Eddie’s veins spill down like rain on the parochial inhabitants below.

None else but the two of them know love and joy and ecstasy like this.

Steve shifts his gaze back to his lover's face, adoration swelling in his chest. Tears stream down Eddie's face as Steve bounces on his cock and he forces himself not to thrust up into Steve's wet heat. With each minute that passes the struggle to hold still will grow stronger. The venom pumping through Eddie's veins makes him insatiable. Even when Steve inevitably milks him dry, his body will want more. This is just the beginning, the heat in his blood driving Eddie to chase after every sensation—pleasure and pain alike heightened to the edges of perfection.

"You're trying to be so good for me, aren't you, pet?" The words fall from Steve's mouth like a challenge. Eddie moans, head tipping back at the words. "Trying to keep your composure even though I can feel the way you're struggling not to shove this beautiful cock of yours as deep as it will go. But you're just a desperate little slut for me aren't you, pet? No better than a mindless, rutting animal."

Eddie snuffles, hips rocking up to meet Steve's with stilted, half-aborted thrusts.

Steve tsks, condescension dripping from his tone. "Did you want to come for me, pet? FIll me with your seed? Get me fit to bursting with a bunch of wingėd little cambions to fly around the empty mausoleum you like to keep me trapped in? As though you are lord over me?”

Eddie sobs, fists clenching into the furs beneath him, as Steve leans in close, trailing his forked tongue over the lines of blood, drinking in everything Eddie had to offer him, and moaning as the sweet taste broke over his tongue. “I let you own me, pet. And you would do good not to forget it.”

It was a truth wrapped in a lie. Or perhaps a lie hidden in the shape of a truth. Lord Stephanotis was not a creature to be ruled by a mortal in mere letter of law. In deed, however?

Despite the irony of it all, Steve had let this curious mortal bend him to his will. Had let the sharper edges of his own power be domesticated and subsumed by Theo's will. Steve was allowed only the meals that his pet’s body provided. He could, ostensibly, leave at any time in pursuit of a wider menu—but why would he, when his Theo was satiating all on his own?

When he was there, that is.

Maybe that was why time stretched to an eternity in Eddie's absence.

Steve rolls his hips with a sinuous motion, moaning as the head of Eddie’s cock hooks behind his navel and drives him wild.

“That’s right pet, fill me up.”

“Master, please,” his pet begs.

Steve’s tail whips out to wrap around Eddie’s neck, cutting off his pleas with a choked moan. “You forget your place, pet. I’ve reminded you more than enough times not to speak out of turn." Steve squeezed his cunt around Eddie's cock on a harsh downward thrust. "If you want to go gallivanting around the world taking any random cock, or stuffing any pretty pussy that flashes your way while leaving me chained here like some common whore, the least you can do is let me use you to get my fill when you return.”

Steve slams down onto Eddie’s cock again and grinds into him, tightening his tail around Eddie's neck and watching with a sick, twisted glee as his face turns a bright red. “That was our deal was it not? You keep me locked away, and in my stead you go and sow your wild oats? If you want to change the terms of our contract, my love, you have to ask. You can’t just go around acting like this cock doesn’t belong to me once you’re back under this roof.”

Eddie let out a sound that Steve was more accustomed to hearing in muck-filled stables. A desperate whinnying sound that makes his clit throb.

“Listen to you bray for me. You’ve certainly got the cock for it, my little stallion. Go on, fill me up. Breed me.”

Sometimes Steve forgot what it meant to hunger.

No, that's not right.

Hunger has become his natural state since falling into the talons of Theodore Munson. He's forgotten what it feels like to be full. To be satiated. He hasn’t had a true feast in what feels like æons. He often finds himself wondering if perhaps Eddie himself was a creature of myth in disguise. If he’d ensnared Steve in some hidden trap and snipped his wings so he couldn’t fly past the bounds of his lover’s estate.

Deep down he knows the truth. That Steve has allowed himself to be domesticated. That he’s buried a piece of his essence in the grounds here, binding him to them as surely as he’s bound himself in his devotion to Eddie.

When they're together the time passes in glorious blips, and long, winding stretches of bliss. Beautifully long and bitterly short in equal measure. The time passes so swiftly because it costs nothing to be with his pet. And so addicting was spending time with Eddie, that time and space seemed to bend around them—create a bubble outside of the rest of the world.

But when Eddie's away?

The first time Steve had been left behind he’d tried to stay awake. He’d paced the lengths of the hall. He’d fucked himself on the toys they used together when Eddie was home. He’d even made one ill-fated trip to the town’s market. But come the third day the need to breed or be bred bowled him over. He'd attempted to have a waitress over a bartop at the restaurant up the street, but the second he so much as smiled at her, the collar around his neck had tightened, stealing away his breath. He’d ignored it. Unconvinced it could truly bring him real harm. And then he’d gone to really lay it on thick and the metal burned around him.

Enough to leave a brand around his neck.

Something that shouldn't be possible to remain imprinted on this form.

That night, Steve returned to the manor, gazing wistfully from the window overlooking the grounds, and settled into place in the small alcove Eddie had situated his plinth in.

It was lowering.

A creature of legend cowed and kept by a humans' weak and flinching hands.

Steve loved him for it.

Steve had curled there, shoved a hand through his hair, and let the ache of missing Eddie turn him to stone.

Never his heart though.

That beat beautiful and black at all times, a steady rhythm calling his lover back home. Back to his Master.

He needed to have his pet in his arms.

Eddie is going wild beneath him. Hips thrashing. Hands grappling at the tail wrapped around his neck as he struggles for breath. When he finally gives up and lets them fall away, Steve groans, throwing his head back and grinding his hips down as he chases after the building tension in his gut.

“Come on, pet. Breed your Master.”

Eddie cries, his hips bucking sharply, and Steve feels his release flood him.

Steve moans, head going fuzzy as Eddie’s cum fills his cunt.

Steve climbs off of Eddie’s lap, letting his softening cock slip out and slap back down against his stomach. Eddie watches as a trail of his cum slides down the inside of Steve’s thigh, and a strangled whine gets stuck in his throat at the image.

Eddie tingles all over. Feels lightheaded and loose-limbed. He’s a puddle on the pile of furs beneath him and doesn’t think he could move if he tried. But there’s still a fire burning in his gut and he wants more. Wants Steve’s cunt back around him. Wants his cock buried in his ass. Wants that clawed hand wrapped around him, stripping him raw. Wants his Master to bite into his chest and rip him open.

Eddie pants, staring up at the ceiling with wide, unseeing eyes. He barely registers Steve moving, arranging himself on the little couch so that he’s sitting next to Eddie’s feet, thighs spread wide. Eddie barely has a chance to consider the implications of how Steve’s arranged himself before he feels himself moving without will at Steve’s hissing Command. “Get on your knees for me, pet.”

The Command overrides any whisper of exhaustion. It blanks his mind. he isn’t Eddie anymore. he is merely the tool by which his Master’s every whim is realized.

he feels himself rise onto unsteady feet, then fall to his knees in supplication. he’s still in the leather pants he’d worn for the last tour show—sticky and uncomfortable from sweat and cum and blood; fly hanging open, framing the flaccid dick between his thighs. he settles into his place on his knees between his Master’s open legs, leather squeaking against the parlor tiles, arms hanging, head bowed towards the floor.

“Look at me.”

The Command shivers down his spine. he loves the way his Master’s commands burrow under his skin and slide through sinew to move his body before thought is known. Loves the way his muscles and bones seem to instinctively follow the exact designs of his Master’s mind. There’s no question whether or not he’s being good enough, because it’s his Master’s will arranging him like he’s the perfect puppet for His desires.

his Angel never asks for anything more than he is able to give—nor anything less than what he needs.

his head lifts, chin jutting up and out, eyes peering up through lashes clumped together with tears, and stares at his Angel. his Master stares back, but His gaze is hard to meet, pupils round and black like shining stones, with only a thin band of viridescence left shining there.

“So good for me, my pet,” his Angel murmurs, slipping His fingers into his pet’s curls. He doesn’t pull, or tug—simply weaves the strands over knuckle and claw, securing His hold. “Now—” his Master tips His head down with a smile that stokes an anticipatory curl of heat in his pet’s groin. “Clean up your mess.”

he moans, diving forward to bury his face in his Master’s cunt. The hand at the back of his head doesn’t quite guide him. Doesn’t quite hold him in place. Just sits there like a promise. If there was any chance he might move away without permission, that hand was there to correct him. If his Master wanted to inflict pain, that hand would wring it. If he tugged against its grip, the claws now grazing his scalp would tear.

“C’mon on, pet,” his Master snarls. “Eat your cum out of me.”

he mewls, tongue darting out to scoop a dollop of cum from his Angel’s pussy and swallow it down. The salty-sweet taste of his own cum mixed with his Angel’s slick drives him wild. he lets out a desperate cry, pressing his face further into his Master’s cunt.

But something niggles at the back of his mind—it feels almost wrong to eat his cum from his Angel’s cunt. Unnatural. He needs it. Needs His pet’s seed to take root. Needs His pet to shove his fingers into his Master’s cunt. Needs to have His pet’s release pushed as far up into Him as it will go. Needs His pet to bully past the tight ring of muscle of his Master’s cervix and force it to take.

he's already hard as nails between his legs again, whimpering with desperation as the pressure in his gut mounts. he can’t take it. Needs release. Needs to come. Needs to fuck. Needs to breed. Needs to fill his Angel up again and again and again until His belly is heavy and round with it. With his brood—their little cambions.

And if he can’t have that—his hand will do.

Eddie doesn’t even consciously realize he’s doing it. Doesn’t make the choice to shove a hand down the front of his pants and curl his fingers around the base of his cock. Didn’t plan to pump his fist over his dick. Doesn’t mean to circle the pad of his thumb over the glans as he slowly and thoroughly guzzles down his own spend from his Angel’s cunt.

At first, his Master doesn’t react. But then Eddie moans, loud and long into the cavern of his cunt as he twists a hand around the head of his cock on an upstroke.

A clawed foot kicks his hand away before pressing down onto his stiff length.

Eddie keens, tears slipping down his face as he sucks on his Angel’s engorged clit and bucks up against the rough texture of his sole. The edges of his Master’s scales catch at the sensitive skin of his shaft, His claws just shy of piercing the skin at the base of Eddie’s cock. The sharp pinpricks of pain white out Eddie’s brain and leave his ears ringing.

His mind goes soft and fuzzy as he drinks down his Angel’s slick, the sharp counterpoint of pain leaving him at the cliff’s edge of utter desolation. The Command keeping his mouth fixed in place does nothing to stop the unconscious rocking of his hips, and Eddie can’t help but thrust upwards as he sobs into his Angel’s cunt, chasing after release at the risk of his own destruction.

“You’re being very naughty, pet,” his Master growls, words broken up by harsh pants and grunts. his Master’s foot flexes, tightening his grip until the claws over Eddie’s cock break skin, and the pain drags a bleating sound from the depths of Eddie’s soul as thin trails of blood drip down the back of his balls.

“I should put you in a cage next time,” His Master growls—so dark and low he’s nearly subvocalizing. “You can’t be trusted to focus on anyone else when you’re this hard and gagging for it.” The hand in Eddie’s hair tightens into a fist and presses him harder into his Master’s groin, nose grinding over the engorged length of his massive clit. “You already got to come once, pet. What makes you think you’ve earned it a second time?”

Eddie wails, heart pounding in his chest as he laps desperately at his Master’s cunt, trying to get every last drop of spend that he left there down his throat. his Angel’s words from earlier flit through his head and a desperate moan escapes him as he pictures himself with his very own sopping cunt, throbbing and ready to take his Master’s swollen cock so deep it punches through his guts. Eddie’s hole twitches at the thought, head going static as sweet, sticky slick pours down his throat.

Eddie can’t control himself. Has no ability to stop the wild bucking of his hips as he chases his second release. Whatever his tongue is doing now is utterly by Command. Eddie thinks his tongue would keep slurping cum from his Master’s cunt even if Eddie were to drop dead right then. Thinks he’d have to be physically detached from this cunt for anything to get in the way of him carrying out his Master’s edict. So every glimmer of actual thought he has is aimed at driving himself over the edge—pain be damned.

Or maybe the pain is the medium and method by which he achieves it. The blood trickling down his balls is just another point of stimulation. The scales dragging along his shaft drive sparks of intoxicating heat through his nerves.

Eddie leans into it, chasing pleasure, chasing pain, even though some part of him knows that on the other side of release lies danger. he trembles and whines, images of his Master bending him over the parlor’s piano to deliver his punishment flitting through his mind. he thinks about the whip Steve keeps coiled down in the dungeon. Thinks about the barbed end of his tail curving in the air behind him. Thinks about the skin of his back breaking open as he takes twenty lashes in penance for the pleasure his Master did not permit.

Eddie wants it. Wants to tip his Master over the edge from the doling out of reactionary pain into calculated torture. Because his Angel doesn’t lose control when he gets truly angry. He sharpens it like a knife. And Eddie wants it sunk right into his heart. Through the gaps of his ribs. Wants to let his Angel cut him open and come inside. Mix His cum and spit and tears in Eddie’s guts and lungs.

Eddie sobs out at the thought, and his Angel comes apart under his tongue.

Eddie isn’t unaware of it happening—how could he be ignorant of the nectar of the gods spilling over his lips?—but he’s no longer in his body when it happens. He’s floating above it all. Or sinking beneath it. High or drowning on ecstasy and devotion, mindless with it. Tears pour down his face, and he’s no longer aware of his own arousal. There is only h,is Master and how to serve him.

To please.

Eddie collapses, unaware of whether or not he’s come.

he feels like his strings have been cut. he’s on all fours, prostrating himself before his Lord.

his Angel’s clawed foot is no longer on Eddie’s cock, but Eddie doesn’t care, doesn’t even register it beyond being able to now lean forward and press his sodden face to the top of it. his tears wash over scales and drip down the crevices between his Angel’s toes.

The hand in Eddie’s hair moves, stroking gently. From far away Eddie can make out his Angel raining praises down on him as Eddie washes His foot with his own tears. Thick translucent droplets twinkling in the dim light of the room.

Eddie uses his tongue to wipe them away, licking across the scales of his Angel’s foot, following the graceful lines of it to his ankle, up his calf. Eddie stares up at his Angel from beneath his lashes, and his Master drops his foot away from Eddie’s mouth, bringing it to rest on one of Eddie’s thighs. Pinning him in place and splaying him open like an entomologist's specimen.

Eddie no longer feels a desperate hunger clawing at him, but tears continue to fall freely from his face. Like his tear ducts know he longs to baptize his Lord in sorrow and joy. Eddie bends his face down to his Angel’s other foot, letting the tears slip free and decorate that one, too.

Steve lifts his foot, tipping his lover’s head up by the jut of his chin. The tears on Theo’s face sparkle in the moonlight, and Steve takes in a deep, steadying breath at the sight of him. His pet is so beautiful, even in greed.

But he’s docile now, seated so submissively at Steve’s feet. He’s taken the time to wash him with his tears. So Steve can’t bring himself to hold onto any tone of reprimand for acting out of turn.

Steve wraps his tail around the length of Eddie’s hair, pulling it into a loose ponytail. He uses that grip to pull Eddie back onto his haunches, and Eddie follows, moving like water under Steve’s command.

He stares up at Steve as though he’d hung the sun, moon, and stars within the heavens—and Steve smiles back. Eddie closes his eyes against it like he’s been blinded.

With a steady hand, Steve take’s Eddie’s face into his palm, brushing a thumb over Eddie’s bottom lip. His pet’s mouth parts for him, tongue lolling out, and Steve presses the talon of his thumb there until a small spurt of blood bubbles up. Eddie whines, sucking the talon into his mouth and laving over it carefully. The soft sound of a claw clacking against enamel echoes in Eddie’s mouth, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Steve unwinds his tail from Eddie’s hair, dragging the tip along Eddie’s cheek before nudging at the corner of his mouth. Eddie's throat rumbles with soft, low, and strung out sound as he turns his until Steve’s talon slips free, and the tip of his spear-capped tail is pressed along the seam of his lips. Eddie sucks the tip of into his mouth, bobbing his head as though he were sucking down the stony length of the prick rapidly growing between Steve’s legs. Eddie’s mouth is warm and wet around him, and Steve’s ears flicker as heat pools at the base of his spine. He always manages to forget how good this feels as gooseflesh raises along the back of his neck, and heat races down his spine. Steve pushes the spear-tip further in, relishing the way Eddie's lips spread wide to accommodate the intrusion, and the soft clack of metal against teeth as the charm tangling from his tail almost enters Eddie's mouth as well.

“You can touch me, pet,” Steve offers with breathy beneficence—and Eddie doesn’t hesitate—trails calloused hands along the curving line of Steve’s tail. Curls one into a fist, stroking back and forth along the shaft in a pantomime of the world’s slowest, most decadent handjob. The other reaches back to settle at his tailbone massage practiced fingers into the muscles that bunch together there.

Steve groans low in his throat, hips jerking forward—thrusting the now fully formed length of his dick into empty air.

Heat coils through him, and the scales along his arms ripple and raise like goosebumps. Steve wants to sink into Eddie’s tight heat. Wants to impale his pet on his cock. Knows that he can’t breed his pet in the way he longs to, but is driven mad by the desire to try anyway. With the urge to rut up into him and make him take and take and take everything Steve gives him until they’re tied together.

The tip of Steve’s tail withdraws from Eddie’s mouth—replaced swiftly, but gently, with Steve’s thumb—to skirt along the mountains and valleys of Eddie’s spine. Eddie shivers and nestles further into the hollow of Steve’s thighs, suckling again at Steve’s fingers. Always happiest when he’s got his mouth full.

Eddie shivers and moans as Steve continues to work his tail down the length of his back, emitting a small squeaking sound as the edge of the speared tip presses against the barbell pierced through sensitive flesh. Eddie ruts down onto it, chasing friction, and when Steve looks back down it’s to see Eddie’s eyes completely glazed over. He makes small little humming, begging sounds around Steve’s thumb, like he’s trying to ask for something without opening his mouth to form the words.

Steve scrapes his free hand through Eddie’s hair, ruffling it gently. “You’re so good for me, love. Such a beautiful pet. So well trained when you choose to be.” Steve adjusts his tail so the very tip of it is pressed against his lover’s opening. Eddie’s hand twitches and flexes against the base of Steve’s tail, almost squeezing there. Steve groans again, dick throbbing and tail twitching in a way that has it breaching just that first ring of muscle.

Eddie yells, sound muffled by the clawed talon in his mouth, and his hips jerk backwards to try to suck more of Steve’s tail into him, in spite of how dry he is.

Saliva pools in Steve’s mouth and he quickly pulls the tip of his tail from Eddie’s ass, sucking it into his mouth to slather with spit and venom. Eddie keens, staring up at Steve with wide, wet eyes, and Steve just smiles as he slips his spit-slick tail back into his lover's hole.

He doesn’t shove in very far—doesn’t want to accidentally snag Eddie’s rim with the bit of jewelry that dangles from his tail—so he shallowly fucks just the tip of it in and out of Eddie’s opening, while his pet attempts to hold himself up on shaking thighs.

“Look at how gorgeous you are for me, my love. So good, even when you can’t restrain yourself from taking whatever you want.”

Eddie’s jaw drops open, dropping Steve's finger from his mouth, tongue lolling out, as he pants and tries to work himself onto Steve’s tail with small hitching thrusts. Tears work their way down the sides of his face, and his eyes have gone glassy and cross-eyed as they fix on the heavy weight of Steve’s thick, erect cock bobbing between his legs. Eddie licks his lips. Stares up at Steve with wide imploring eyes.

“You want Master’s cock, love?”

Eddie nods desperately.

“Get up here, then,” Steve says. But he doesn’t offer a moment for Eddie to move under his own power. Instead he fists a rough hand in his hair, yanking him up onto wobbly feet, and dragging him forward until he’s straddling Steve’s open thighs.

“You look so pretty in my lap, love,” Steve murmurs, drawing Eddie down into a long, languid kiss. Eddie chirps in surprise, but leans into it, parting his lips so his tongue can twine with Steve’s. Steve holds back on mixing venom with spit this time. Wants Eddie to feel every bit of him loving him this way.

Steve flexes his wings wide. Curves them forward. Cocoons the two of them together in a pocket of solitary silence, glittering green and gold.

Steve strokes a hand along the knobs of Eddie’s spine again, carefully tracing their bumps and ridges with the tip of a talon. Along the path downward, he shifts his hand, willing talons to recede, and scales to smooth away from fingers and palm. He brings a human down to the rim of Eddie’s hole, pressing gently alongside the tip of his tail. Eddie shudders in his lap, bearing down ever so slightly, and Steve leans in to press a kiss to his neck.

“Want to take my cock, pet?” Steve whispers into his ear.

“Please, Angel. Please, please take me. I need you. Need you in me, I— “

Steve strokes a hand through Eddie’s hair, shushing him gently. “Quiet, pet. I’m going to take care of you.”

Steve raises the shifted hand up to his mouth, sucking the first three fingers inside to coat them with saliva and venom. When he's satisfied he drops it back down to Eddie’s ass, and pushes his forefinger into Eddie’s hole in one slow, smooth glide.

Eddie moans, rolling his hips in Steve’s lap, chasing the sensation. “Feels so good,” he mumbles. “Tingles.”

Steve nuzzles his nose against Eddie’s cheek and murmurs in his ear. “I know, pet. I know how much you love feeling my spit and venom in you. How drunk you get on my cum. Can’t wait to fill you up, sweetness.”

Eddie makes a high-pitched sound in the back of his throat, bucking down on Steve's hand and tail. His arms reach up to wrap around Steve’s back, laying a flat palm against the space between Steve’s wing blades and stroking along the place where his wings sprout from his back. The other trails down Steve’s back to settle at the base of his tail again, and Steve can’t help the sharp exhalation of breath the sensation punches out of him, or the way his hips rock forward into the space between Eddie’s thighs, even though it offers almost no friction.

Steve presses forward so close to Eddie that the barbells through Eddie’s nipples hook through the rings dangling from Steve’s own.

They both let out twinned cries of shock as their hooked jewelry tugs at both of their chests. Eddie drops his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, hips jerking more erratically as the jewelry in his chest pulls with a steady tension, and Steve begins to press a second finger into his opening.

“Fuck, Theo. You feel so good around me. Around my fingers. On my tail. With your hands on my back. Want to love you so hard.” Steve curls his fingers forward, brushing over the bundle of nerves buried there. Eddie grunts and thrusts forwards, pressing his weeping dick to the solid plane of Steve’s abs. “Want to blot out the sun for you,” he vows. “Stop the next day from coming—and every day after. We can stay just like this. All night. And all night can be all time. I can keep you here just like you keep me. D’you want that?” Steve feels like he’s set his heart out on a silver platter. Waits for Eddie to pick it up and devour.

Eddie nods into Steve's neck, now growing damp with tears. “Yeah. I want that, Angel. Want you to stop time for me.”

Steve makes a rumbling sound deep in his chest, desperate to be inside his lover now. But even though Eddie’s tolerance for pain is high, two fingers and some spit isn’t nearly enough to take him, and Steve doesn’t want to make his cock any smaller. He wants to split his pet open wide around him. Wants to drive him out of his mind with the perfect feeling of fullness that this cock alone can grant him.

“You’re doing so good for me, pet,” Steve gasps, pressing another spit-and-venom-slick finger to Eddie’s opening.

“Thank you, Master,” Eddie sobs.

The muscles of Eddie’s rim clench and flutter around Steve’s fingers in steady patterns. Steve pulls his hand back slowly, and as it draws back it shifts green and gold and black again, nails lengthening and thickening back into sharp claws.

“Touch me, touch me, touch me,” Eddie chants, rocking his hips in Steve’s lap as he whispers his pleas into the side of Steve's neck. A part of Steve wants to punish him for speaking out of turn. For thinking he’s earned the right to demand anything from Steve. But Steve can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing right now, so he wraps his clawed hands around his lover's hips, digging in so that his talons and fingers dig into pale flesh and leave bruises and pinpricks of blood littering the surface. Eddie gasps—the sound pulled out of him like he’s been woken from a deep sleep—as Steve bodily lifts him, positioning his stretched-out hole over Steve’s dick, and watching him sink like a stone onto it.

Eddie has lost all control of his limbs. Sits in the cradle of Steve’s arms and lap limply as Steve rolls his hips up and begins to set a slow pace between them. Their piercings are still hooked together. Every thrust that’s just a little too forceful pushes a surprised burst of air and laughter from one or the other of them.

Eddie’s hands continue their idle petting over Steve’s back, clenching against the base of his tail, stroking over the place where his wings meet his back. Steve trembles, a constant stream of soft breathy sighs that sound desperate to his own ears slipping out between his lips. He feels light all over. High on his lover’s touch. So much feeling and sensation that Steve can feel it start to leak out of him.

He pulls away from Eddie with a gasp when he feels the place where their chests meet begin to grow damp. The barbells studding Eddie's chest slip free from the hoops of Steve’s own with a painful twist. Eddie cries out, ragged and shocked. Steve echoes the sound in ecstasy.

Eddie’s head is still hidden in the side of his neck, but when Steve looks down at his own chest he can see his tits have grown heavy and swollen, nipples leaking milk all over him and the tip of his dick is forming a bulge in Eddie's belly. The sight is overwhelming, and Steve vibrates with the gravelly rumble that passes through him as he bucks up into his pet with punching thrusts.

“You’ve made another mess of me, love.” Steve whispers, low and dark, in Eddie’s ear.

Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything in response. Makes a small questioning sound into the side of Steve’s throat and pushes further into him. Steve pulls him back by the hair, forcing Eddie to look down at where he’s dripping from his chest. “You gonna clean this one up too, pet?”

Eddie answers by dipping his head down wordlessly and pulling a nipple into his mouth. His tongue pokes through the ring and tugs—pulling a yelp free from Steve's throat—before his wet mouth engulfs a dusky brown nipple. Eddie suckles at it gently, moaning as the taste hits his tongue. He swallows Steve’s milk down, and his chest aches as he feels it tugging through his ducts. His lover pulling his essence from him with greedy teeth and tongue and lip.

Steve could stay here forever. Gorging himself while he feeds his lover. Fucking his fill while his heart beats in his chest at a steady pace. A slow drumbeat of affection. All he can hear is his heartbeat in his ears, Eddie’s whining moans against his chest. Not even the crickets or the wind enter his awareness. Wings folded around them, all there is in Stephanotis’ world is himself, and his pet. His love. Greedy and divine.

Eddie’s head grows heavy against his chest, and Steve takes all of his weight into his arms. He’s still fucking into him, soft and slow. Not in any rush to chase after his release. Time passes without measure, but after a while the breast Eddie is latched to runs dry, and Steve coaxes him free to meet his gaze.

His lover's eyes are heavy-lidded and dazed. He looks like he’s floating high above and far away, and the only reason Steve wants to bring him back down to earth is to have him in his arms.

But Steve can fly. He can meet him where he’s at.

Eddie’s breaths come in shivery gasps, and he seems unaware of the way he’s rutting forward, seeking friction against his flushed red cock.

Steve takes mercy on him, reaching down to curl a scaled claw around his length. Eddie hisses at the way the scales catch along the sensitive skin of his shaft. His hands keep roaming over Steve's body—now following the curve of feather and wing. Stroking along the bones that run through the body of them. Petting carefully at the feathers that tinkle and glitter around them.

Steve strokes his hand over Eddie’s length with a tightening grip as he feels the pressure in his own groin grow tighter and tighter. He feels ready to burst apart. Explode into a cloud of gas and light and stardust. Twin stars on the way to collapse. Steve scrapes the talon of his thumb across the head of Eddie’s cock and his pet screams, long and drawn out, voice going hoarse as he comes and comes, white spunk spurting from the tip of his cock and drenching Steve’s hand. His hole tightens and clenches around Steve’s thick length, and Steve breaks, following him over the edge.

Steve bucks his hips restlessly as the knot at the base of his dick swells and ties them together, and his cum keeps pumping into his lover—making him full and bloated on Steve's love.

Steve tightens his wings around them, blocking out the moonlight. He brings the hand covered in his lover’s release to his mouth and licks it away carefully, groaning at how his love tastes on his skin; stuck in the webbing of his fingers.

Eddie stays curled against his chest, head resting over Steve’s heart.

“I missed you,” Steve murmurs into Eddie’s hair, brushing a hand through it. “The house is too quiet when you’re away.”

Eddie looks out from under the curtain of his hair, blinking up at Steve slowly. “What if you come with me next time?” His words are slow and sleep-soft.

“Oh, Theo.” A melancholic note bleeds into Steve's tone, and he drops a gentle kiss on Eddie’s temple. “Thought you didn’t want to share me?”

Eddie rubs his forehead along the crook of Steve’s shoulder, leaving two quick kisses on what Steve knows to be Eddie’s favorite scales. “You could be asleep the whole time. Could put you on display during the shows.” Eddie trails a line of kisses down Steve’s clavicle. “Everyone can see.” Noses at the pick hanging at Steve's throat. “No one can touch.”

“If you think I’m letting anyone get their hands on you while I’m right there—“

Eddie wiggles in Steve’s lap, shoots him a devilish grin. “We can find a club. Put you in a corner. You can watch as everyone has their way with me.”

Steve growls, fisting a hand in Eddie’s hair. “Careful, pet. Doesn’t look like you’re up for another round.”

Eddie whines, hips rocking restlessly in Steve’s lap. “Please, Angel.”

“Shh, settle.” Steve tucks a strand of hair behind Eddie’s ear. “Let’s get you to bed, love. You must be tired.” Steve loops his arms around Eddie’s thighs and lifts him as he rises, careful not to drop him and tug his knot free. Eddie’s head rests against his shoulder, and his arms come up to loosely circle Steve’s neck. Steve unfurls his wings from the cocoon around them, letting them hang at rest as he makes his way to the staircase that leads to the master bedroom.

When they get to the room, Steve settles at the edge of the bed, keeping Eddie tucked against him like the favored pet he is. “You’re so good for me, Theo,” Steve purrs. They both trace idle patterns into the other’s skin, Steve careful to keep his touch light so as not to break skin—especially while Eddie’s blood is thinner from the venom still working its way through his system. Steve considers switching his hands back to human form, but knows that even when they’ve finished playing, Eddie still revels in the edge of danger Steve’s touch carries.

Steve wants to ask how the tour went. Wants updates on everything the band did and saw together. A jealous corner of his heart wants to hear what he and their backup guitarist got up to on the road—Steve has suspicions of the man’s true nature that he’s chosen to keep close to the chest, but if Eddie is going to bring him along the next time around, that may be a door he has to open. The hungering instincts of his base nature want to feed on the stories of Eddie's exploits with fans and groupies. Theodore Munson has such a beguiling nature for a mere human, and Steve always sucks down recollections of his hedonistic adventures with ravenous delight.

But Eddie is close to snoring on his shoulder. Still has a thick cock shoved up and knotted inside him, and looks like he could do with a bite to eat. Catching up can happen later.

When the swell of Steve’s knot finally recedes Eddie is fully dozing on his shoulder, a thin trail of drool forming there. Steve carefully pulls his love off his softened length, watching with rapt fascination as his cum began to seep out of him. Eddie whines in complaint, eyes blinking open as Steve arranges him on the bed. “Don’ wan'you to leave, Phan,” Eddie mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion.

“Don’t worry love, I’ll be right back. You won’t even miss me.”

Eddie grumbles, turning onto his side. “Always miss you.”

Steve chuckles as he steps away, crossing the room to the cabinet where he keeps all their supplies. When he comes back he uses two human fingers to carefully scoop the cum that has started to trail down the back of Eddie’s legs back into his gaping wide hole. Eddie groans, nuzzling into the pillow underneath him.

“I know you want to stay full of me. Want me to stopper you up with my love. Wake up slick and wet and open from my cock and cum so I can just slip inside you again? Or maybe I’ll use you while you're still aslumber. You still owe me an orgasm or two to even things out, pet.”

Eddie moans. There are few things he enjoys more than the sensation of waking to Steve fucking into him.

Steve smiles and presses a soft kiss to the knob at the top of Eddie’s spine, before slipping a thick, golden plug into him. Inlaid at its base is a smaragd jewel that catches and shines like Steve’s eyes in the light.

Though Eddie says it’s impossible for any jewel to compare.

Once the plug is in place, Steve picks up the damp cloth he’d collected and wipes carefully at the trails of dried cum there. With a second cloth he cleans away any and all traces of blood on Eddie’s chest, ass, and thighs, gently smoothing antibacterial cream over them as he goes.

When all is said and done, Eddie is a soupy mess in their shared bedsheets. But it still isn’t enough for Steve. He climbs onto the bed and gathers Eddie into his arms, so his back is flush to Steve’s chest. Steve grabs the glass of water he'd deposited on the bedside table and carefully presses it to Eddie’s lips, encouraging him to take a sip.

“Go on, drink up, love.”

Eddie gulps it down with giant, greedy swigs, gasping when he gets to the end and letting out a small burp and satisfied exhale.

Steve laughs, and grabs the snack bar he’d brought from the cabinet and hands that over to Eddie as well. “You’re so good for me, Theo.”

Eddie leans his head back against Steve’s shoulder with a dopey smile. “Not doin’ anything, Phan.”

Steve drags a knuckle up and down the length of Eddie’s arms and whispers, almost to himself. “You’re letting me take care of you.” Steve sweeps the hair away from the back of Eddie’s neck and presses a kiss to his nape. “There’s a time when you wouldn’t even have let me try.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say? Hard to trust a demon.”

Steve chuckles. “Oh no, pet, it’s easy to trust a demon. You know exactly what they want. It’s hard to trust someone that loves you. They’ll surprise you every time.”

Eddie turns in the circle of Steve’s arms and stares at him intently. “You’re the best surprise I’ve ever had.”

A tear slips down Steve’s face unbidden, and he spares half a moment to wonder what color it is. To question after its source. He smiles back, wistful and fond. “And you, mine, Theo.”

The moon fades behind the clouds, and light begins to creep along the horizon. And an angel and his monster fall asleep.

A/N: I genuinely went a bit crazy while writing this, and I've got lots of ideas for other fics in this universe, so watch this space for more demon!Steve filth and devotion 😈

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #monster steve harrington #read writes #10k of some of the most haunting smut i've ever written #i'm genuinely so proud of it though <3

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yaderyngoch · 3 months

Note

telling ppl who consume canon content to avoid ppl who don’t is a pretty weak suggestion when that type of content has hijacked our tags and is impossible to avoid.

i think comic book fans have a right to be annoyed that their fandoms have devolved so far into fanon that they barely recognize the fan content of their fandom (miraculous ladybug, danny phantom, batcest, white collar, or any other prevalent crossover/AU).

this isn’t hate to you or any other fanon creator, just the other side of how ppl like me feel who can’t even scroll #batman in peace without seeing some deep seeded fanon content that is in now way reflective of what is canon actually is.

just opening up discourse is all!

I also dislike seeing a bunch of crossover content whenever I scroll through fics on Ao3. But you see, there's this Magical solution called literally just blacklisting the tag. Tumblr also has a feature where you can filter out tags. I recommend using it, helps a ton.

And yeah, some things are always gonna get past the blacklist, some things aren't gonna be tagged properly... so scroll past them. Make your own friends that make content you like and follow people who make content you like so you see a lot of that and simply scroll past the things you don't like.

There are always going to be posts and tags you're not a fan of. You can't avoid that. That fact doesn't give you the right to police how other people are allowed to engage with their fandom. The world does not owe you conformity to what you think is the correct way to engage with fiction.

#batfam #batman #dc #dc comics #ask #fanfic #idk what else this should be tagged as hahaha

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horrorwhores-posts · 1 year

Text

Arts pet.

Summary: Your family decided to reopen the miles county carnival. And you soon catch the eye of a certain black and white clown.

Word count- 6307 (it’s a doozy)

Warnings: blood, mentions of dead bodies, sexual themes (but no smut), torture, reader/ character was written as afab but you should be able to read it as gender neutral.

Authors notes: this is my first ever fan fiction I’ve written so please be gentle on me. Also not proofread so there might be some errors. And this is about Art the clown soo, yeah. This big ol’ dork has me wrapped around his horn.

Maybe reopening the rundown carnival in Miles county wasn’t a good idea. But no matter how many times anyone told my father not too, he’d just brush it off. Working with your family is hard, even harder when you’re a carny family. My family and I have been on the road ever since my parents got married back in 93’. Soon after they had my older brother, sister, me, and finally my little twin brothers. My father joined the Barnum and Bailey circus when he was a teenager after his grandmother and sole guardian died. Being 15 with no other options, the circus became his new home and they welcomed him with open arms. My mother was the complete opposite, coming from a prestigious, well off, loving family; well if they liked you that is. My mother never really fit into her family, she had always been the black sheep and problem child. And no matter how hard her parents tried, she was never suited for their perfect world. She actually met my father when she was on a date with a “proper'' young man, as her mother put it. After spending roughly an hour listening to the high collared sleaze belittle every performance and worker he came in contact with, they got to my father’s act. Over the years he had climbed the ranks from being a cage cleaner to the circus’s headlining daredevil, and he was really good at it. His stunt that night was riding his motorcycle around a metal cage that was lit ablaze. Even my mother’s date was dumbfounded. After the show was over my mother refused to spend another second with her dick headed date. She snuck away from him and with the help of a hopeless romantic bearded woman she was able to go back to my fathers trailer. He said the second he laid eyes on her he knew he was going to marry her. And that night my mom decided to run away with him. My parents have been inseparable ever since.

Growing up the way we did, my siblings and I have developed multiple talents and were able to pick our own personal acts. My oldest siblings are aerial artists. I was one myself for a while and will even join in on their performances, but my actual love is contortion and fire breathing. The twins are in their teens and still learning about themselves every day. My father had always wanted to own a circus/carnival for himself, and over the past few years his craving to get off the road grew. Through the grape vine he had heard of the Miles county carnival being sold for little to nothing, we later found out that there were multiple murders there, which explained why the value was so low. My mother, sister and I all had our reservations about buying the place, but yet we still found ourselves standing at the entrance of the carnival in all of its glory. It took us months to spruce the place up, fix broken rides, and rebrand the whole park. My father even built a circus tent in the park where my family and other performers could perform if they wanted. We had our handful of protesters over the past few days but we also had a lot of tickets sold for tonight, opening night. I stood in the circus tent, looking at the time on my phone. 8:30; 30 minutes till opening and an hour till the show starts. Deciding to practice some of my aerial work for tonight's show, I gripped the soft silk as the music blasted through my speaker in the corner of the stage. I started going through the routine one last time, not noticing the black and white figure watching intently from the shadows. I ended on my finishing pose and nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard loud, sporadic clapping coming from the echoing seating area. I safely dismantled and shielded my eyes from the spotlight to see who was there. A black and white clown stood in the middle of the aisle between the seats still clapping with a large smile on his face. I felt my face heat up from embarrassment and anger.

“The show doesn’t start till 9:30, I’m sorry but you have to leave.” I said from atop the stage as I quickly gathered my items. The clapping ceased immediately and I glanced over my shoulder and saw the clown standing there, arms stiff at his sides, an emotionless face looking back at me. A shiver of dread prickled up my spine and I quickly exited backstage, still feeling his icy gaze on me. I briskly walked to my dressing room and locked the door behind me. I glanced at my phone screen and noticed it was only 8:50. ‘Wait, if we aren’t open yet how did he get into the tent?’ My thoughts were broken when three gentle raps came from my door, a common knock my sister used to let me know she was the one wanting in. I strode to the door and unlocked the handle, my sister stepped in and gently shut the door behind her.

“You okay? You rushed into this room like your ass was on fire.” she asked as I sat at my vanity, my head in my hands. With a deep sigh I rubbed my hands down my face and finally looked at her.

“Yeah, I think I’m just tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” I weakly responded. She lowered her eyes at me, assessing if she believed me or not. Her eyes softened as I guess she decided it wasn’t worth pressing.

“Maybe you should take a nap before you go out on stage, I’m going on first so I can wake you up when it’s almost your time to go on.” My eyes light up at the thought of getting some sleep.

“You promise? Like really?” I ask with hopeful excitement. She nodded her head, opened the door, waved, and gently closed it behind her. I glanced back at the mirror and saw the dark bags under my eyes, deciding a power nap would be best. I got up, turning off my main light, leaving my vanity lights on, and crawled on to the small gray couch. I had some burgundy throw pillows and a black blanket, I used to get nice and comfortable. In the dim light I could barely make out the posters I had adorning my walls. Mostly old Barnum and Bailey posters my dad snagged before he left, but there were a few photos of me performing. After a few minutes my eyes felt heavy and I quickly fell into a deep sleep.

‘The colorful lights were twinkling against the night that engulfed it. My nose was invaded with the sweet yet salty smell of popcorn and cotton candy. Energy buzzed around me like electricity, lightly shocking my senses. All around me were people playing games, eating food, and laughing with pure joy. In the distance you could hear the screams of ride goers as they raced into the air, some of them twisting and turning along the tracks. The environment was warm and inviting, glowing with delight. I soaked it all in. Embracing the happiness that flooded me, I pranced around the carnival, seeking out my next adventure. As I wandered through the fair I accidentally ran into a figure. He was tall, holding a bunch of red balloons, concealing his face from my view. A black sleeve emerged from the crowd of latex, holding a floating sphere out to me. I gently took it from his gloved hand, immediately hearing a loud, threatening crack from the sky above. Glancing up I noticed a fiery red glow erupt from behind the thick clouds rolling in the darkness of the sky. Suddenly the cheery demeanor of the festival dissipated and the screams of joy turned into ones of pure horror. I whipped around and saw multiple rides on fire, the patrons festering in their seats. Mutilated corpses laid strewn across the park, blood and guts splattered everywhere. My tears were singed on my cheeks from the heat of the flames. The scream that was bubbling in my throat was cut short as long, strong arms wrapped around me.’

I was startled awake, my body jerking up and my brain still fuzzy. I looked around my dimly lit room, looking for what caused my sudden consciousness. There were alarm bells going off in my head, but I couldn’t place what was causing them. Scanning my room for a second time, I immediately froze when I noticed the figure in the dark corner, my breath catching in my throat. Panic coursed through my veins as I fumbled to come up with a single coherent thought. The figure slowly stalked out of its hiding spot and into the dim light. My eyes finally focused on the lanky black and white clown towering over me, the same blank expression on his features as before. With my heart racing, I choked back a scream as he slowly bent down to my eye level, getting uncomfortably close. His dark eyes were threatening as he looked me up and down, assessing me. For what? I’m not fully sure. My chest was heaving from my rapid breath and pounding heartbeat, something he picked up on. He reached forward and placed a gloved hand on my chest, rolling his eyes back and breathing in deeply through his nose. I sat frozen as he smirked, opening his eyes and making intense eye contact.

My mind immediately went blank as the panic dissipated from my body, being replaced with a strong need. As I gazed into his onyx eyes I felt a strange, intimate connection to the man in front of me. His hand climbed from my chest to caress the side of my face, gently gliding his thumb over my lips. I slowly opened my lips, inviting the digit into my mouth, and sucked lightly as it hit my tongue. His taste was bitter and salty, and he smelt of fire and sweat. Normally I would be repulsed but for some reason I was intoxicated. The clown’s mouth was hung open with lust, chest quivering from his deep breaths. If he had pupils, I knew they would be dilated. My eyes closed as I savored the flavor of him, moaning softly. He pulled his hand away, I released his thumb with a soft pop. My eyes shot open as I felt a rough yank on the ponytail atop my head. I fell back and the man followed me, climbing on top of me. His long lanky frame just barely fit on the small couch with me. His hands roaming my sides as he buried his face into the crook of my neck, sucking and biting with a hunger I’ve never experienced before. I moaned as his hand snaked under my shirt, roughly grabbing at my chest.

A sharp pain radiated from my neck and I shrieked. His hand quickly clamped over my mouth as he continued the assault on my neck, warm blood trickling down my shoulder. Fresh tears streamed down my cheeks as I struggled to get out of the grip that was holding me down. Finally the man sat up, blood adorning his mouth and filled his smile. Hand still over my mouth, he ripped my shirt exposing more of my chest. A muffled scream was ripped from me as the clown dug his finger into my fresh neck wound. He then took said digit and proceeded to write something on my flesh. Once he was done, he leant back over me with a sick, mocking sad face. Dragging his finger down his cheek, mimicking a tear. Finally placing a finger over his mouth in a shushing manner, he leant down and kissed my temple with a surprising gentleness. The hand covering my mouth moved to wipe the tears off my face. I whimpered as he placed another tender kiss on my forehead. The mysterious man gave me one more smile and wave of his fingers before he was gone without a trace. I laid in silence, my mind completely blank try to make sense of the last 10 minutes.

A loud banging startled me out of my daze, as whoever knocked started to come in. Fearing it was the man from before, I sprang up and used my entire body weight to slam the door shut. I heard a muffled grunt and exclamation of “what the fuck” as the lock clicked back into place, preventing anyone from coming in.

“Hey, you missed the whole performance!” My older brother yelled at me from the other side of the door. Ice ran through my veins as I scrambled for my phone and noticed it was 10:45 pm.

“Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.” I exclaimed while throwing my phone back down on the couch. I caught a glimpse of myself in my vanity mirror and I looked horrible. Somehow the bags under my eyes were worse, my body was flushed, and my hair was completely disheveled. My neck was still dripping crimson, with obvious teeth marks. My shirt was jaggedly ripped with dried blood marking the visible skin. In messy, dripping lettering, ‘Art’s pet’ was written across my chest. A strange shiver ran back up my spine, and I stood there wondering if I’d ever see this man again. Most of me hoped I never would, but a tiny part of me begged to differ.

A few weeks have passed since the strange encounter with the black and white clown, I now know as “Art”. He’s also known as the miles county clown with a long list of victims. I thought for a second he was just a weird fever dream, but the tiny teeth shaped scars on my neck prove otherwise. I’ve constantly been thanking the powers above that it was getting colder out, with me having to wear turtle necks to obscure my markings. My dreams have also been haywire since that night, filled with decimated remains and burning fire. He’s always there too, welcoming me with his demented gifts and acts of passions. Whether it's a still beating heart, a crude mural of me in coagulated blood, or gory jewelry from his victims, he always has something to give me. Greeting me with his signature wide smile, accompanied by some flourish to produce the gift of the day. With his palms out stretched, eyes blinking innocently, he’ll traumatize me yet again with a morbid curiosity.

Luckily I’ve been able to push his invading presence out of my mind during performances and when I’m around my family. My sister has noticed I’ve become a bit more reclused and only asked me about it once. When I snapped at her with an anger she hadn’t seen before, she never pressed the issue after. Tonight I sat in my heavily decorated trailer, covered in old rock n roll posters, tapestries and sentimental trinkets. I had a small dark brown vanity sitting in the front of the small room, my burgundy red twin sized bed laid adjacent to the vanity. My clothes and costumes were strewn about and hung up on a small portable hanging rack, a small bookcase sat at the foot of my bed with a vintage, delicate, lamp sitting on it. Books lined the shelves, ranging from the classics like Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein, To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, and Bram Stokers’ Dracula. Tonight I was reading The Complete Tales of Edgar Allen Poe, my head was laid at the foot of my bed, my tiny lamp dimly lit the pages. I lounged lazily in only my black satin robe, trying to turn my mind off for the night, preparing for sleep. A sudden loud knocking came from my front door. With a jump, I bookmarked my spot and slowly sat up. The pounding came again, even louder and more aggressive than last time. I stood up and wrapped the robe tighter around myself, slowly reaching for the curtain covering the small window on my door. The fervent banging picked up once more, and with a flourish of anger, I ripped the door open without looking first. There, in the misty night, stood the clown of my nightmares. The white and black mirage stood stone still, eyes wide, a bouquet of wild flowers outstretched towards me. ‘No , no, no’ raced through my mind as the door started to close. My ragged breath caught in my throat as a large gloved hand slammed on the door as I tried to shut it. He slowly climbed the feeble stairs and stepped into my tiny trailer, hunching to prevent from hitting his head on the ceiling. I stared up at him with pure shock and a hit of fear. He gleamed down at me and he stretched the bouquet back to me. With shaky hands I gently pulled it from his humongous mitt, ogling the beautiful flowers in my hand and gave them a gentle sniff. The scent of fresh florals and the musky scent of the impending rain wafted towards me and I hummed with satisfaction. He bowed down, gently grasped my other hand, and gingerly pressed a kiss to my knuckles. A blush creeped up my face as I shyly looked away, pulling my hand from his grasp. He smirked and stalked towards my vanity, taking a seat on my small chair.

He patted his lap and looked at me expectantly with a big smile. I gingerly placed the bouquet on my bed, wiping my sweaty palms on my robe and approached him sheepishly, finally standing in front of him. He reached out and wrapped his long arms around me, pulling me into his lap, causing me to yelp. He nuzzled into my neck, his warm breath tickling the sensitive scar tissue, sending shivers down my spine. Smirking at me through the mirror, he rubbed my sides, gently squeezing, almost threatening to tickle me. I made direct eye contact with him in the mirror, trying my best to give him the stoniest stare I could. He frowned, looking down, twiddling with the satin belt. I swiftly grabbed his hand before he could untie my robe and I just stared at his reflection as he continued to look down with his ‘sad’ face. Slowly his eyes connected to mine in the glass and we just sat there staring at each other for a long pause. My expression stayed cold, and his frown curled up into a scowl. With a silent huff he rolled his eyes and pushed me off his lap. I stood, stunned, as he walked over to my clothing rack and palmed the sequined outfits. His face broke out with a wide smile as he grabbed a shiny red one piece body suit from the hanger, rushing up to me and pushing it towards me. I jumped at his erratic actions, my arms limply holding the outfit. I looked up at him with confusion, as he started miming taking off his clothes sensually, almost in a cartoonish manner. I gulped and tightly gripped the belt of my robe till my knuckles were white. With another silent, irritated huff, he tapped his clown shoes impatiently on the ground and looked at his wrist as if there was a watch there. Not wanting to anger the man in front of me, I turned around and with trembling fingers I picked at the knot holding my robe together. It finally fell free and it gently slinked off my shoulder. I laid the one piece on my vanity and slipped the robe completely off, avoiding my gaze from the mirror entirely. I was never one to stare at myself naked, let alone in front of the miles county murderer. Somehow I didn’t hear him sneak up behind me, instead being scared by his hands snaking around my waist.

“Why?” I whisper, finally locking eyes with him in the chrome glass. His chin was buried into my neck and his breath fanned against my cheeks. His eyebrows quirk up in a question and his face falls to the side, feigning innocent curiosity. With an annoyed huff I yank my way out of his grasp and turn to face him. My hands cemented on my hips.

“What do you want?” I ask rather gruffly. The look of shock briefly took over his features before being taken over by a look of malice. I felt the spurt of confidence I had immediately disappeared as he reached forward. His hand gripped my throat and in a flash I was thrown onto my bed. He laid atop of me with a look of glee as he watched me struggle for breath. I knew my face was on the verge of turning purple when he finally let go. He leaned over me and stuck his long sharp nose into my neck. I could feel his hot breath against my skin and a shiver ran down my spine. Somehow I just knew he was breathing in the scent of my fear. That thought caused yet another shiver to rack through me, and the clown wasn't oblivious to it. I felt something warm and wet run up the side of my neck. His tongue left a prickly sensation in its wake as he faced me again. A smile adorned his face and his finger came up to boop me on the nose. Clumsily, he crawled off of me and I remembered that I was nude. I grabbed my blanket and covered myself as Art grabbed the one piece setting on the dresser. He brought it to his face and took a big sniff. Yanking it from his nose he made a silent gagging motion and threw the one piece at me. It hit me in my chest and with caution I took a small smell of the fabric. My eyebrows drew together as the scent of laundry detergent invaded my nostrils. The clown had his nose pinched between his fingers, sticking his tongue out in yet another gag and I rolled my eyes.

After dressing in my red leotard, Art led me to the performance tent. I felt uneasy as I stood on the pitch black stage. A loud crack emanated through the room as the lights sprang to life, eerie silence followed in suit. I was temporarily blinded, squinting my eyes until they adjusted. Almost immediately I recognized the 5 people sitting in the front row. My family was duck tapped and gagged, unconscious in their confines, blood coming out of differing cuts and scratches on their faces, proving they put up a fight. My family wasn't the only people in the crowd. Decapitated torsos, gutted stomachs, and carved up bodies surrounded my family. Staring at the mutilated and bloody corpses caused bile to rise in my throat. Panic wracked through me causing tears to cloud my vision, falling to my knees, wretching. Art started clapping in a way to get my attention. I turned my head towards him, a giant blanket covering something behind him. He gestured to my family, an evil smirk adorning his face as I slowly looked back at them. They were gently stirring as they slowly started becoming conscious again. That’s when it dawned on me. 5. The twins, mom, dad, and my older brother. I whipped my head back towards the black and white clown.

“Where is she?” While Looking straight at me, he reached up, grabbing the thick white tarp. Yanking down, the cloth fell from the giant round shape. It revealed my sister strapped to the wheel of death, the spinning circular board we used for our knife throwing acts. She was also coming to lucidity, fear flooding her features once she was able to comprehend a little of what was going on. Art slowly stalked towards my crumpled frame, bending down and dropping daggers in front of me. Immediately looking between my sister and the blades I was able to piece together what he wanted.

“No, fuck no!” I screamed, crawling backwards away from the sharp knives. Art grabbed my upper arm in a Vice grip, almost immediately bruising. Picking me up by said arm he pushed me towards the pile of metal. I violently shook my head, wrapping my arms around myself, staring at the ground. He pinched my chin between his fingers and jerked it towards him. I stared at him with glossy eyes. He frowned at me and gestured his hand towards my sister. My face morphed from fear to complete hard anger.

“No.” I glowered, refusing to break eye contact with him. His face became stony as he pushed my chin from him. Standing to his full height he glared at me and walked off stage. With him gone I rushed to my sister to untie her from the spinning board. As I got to one of her wrists she looked at me with tears streaming down her face. Muffled words escaped her taped lips.

“Hold still, I’ll get you down faster.” As I was distracted with the buckle my sister seemed to notice a familiar figure creeping up behind me. Her silence quickly turned into muffled screaming and thrashing. Finally focusing back on my sister, her wide eyes told me everything I needed to know. Looking over my shoulder I saw the clown raise his arm with something in it. With a quick strike down, I felt searing pain rip through me. I was lurked forward with the sheer force of the whip, screams being torn from me with every strike of the weapon. My sister's tears rained down on me as I clung onto her for support as the lashing continued. My back felt like it was being sliced open by a million little knives. The searing pain caused my consciousness to start to waiver. My sisters muffled screams faded from me as my ears started ringing, only hearing the crack of the cat o’ nine tail. My mind focused on nothing but the constant burn radiating from the wounds, refusing to let my legs buckle from the pain. Finally the lashing came to a halt as I heard a voice ring out.

“Okay! Okay. She’ll do it, just stop!” I looked up at my sister, noticing the tape dangling from the corner of her mouth. Her tears must have loosened the adhesive. “Do it. I trust you. Just get it over with.”

With heavy breath I slowly and painfully turned, looking at the demented man in front of me. Cautiously limping towards the pile of throwing blades, my knees wobbled slightly. I stopped to regain my balance, before bending down to grab the steel daggers. The cold metal bit at the warm skin of my palms, and the weight of them threatened to pull me down. Turning back to face my sister, I saw Art forcing her mouth shut with fresh tape. She struggled a bit, glaring with a hatred I’ve never seen. I stole a glance back at my tied up family, differing levels of horror adorning their faces. My mothers face was covered with tears and my fathers face was hard with a fire licking behind his eyes. Nothing but fear adorned the twins faces, and my older brother was looking around. Forming a way to get out, I assumed. Clapping for attention, I turned back to the black and white demon, watching him grab onto the wheel, to heave it down with his full body weight. My sister started spinning and I took a deep breath. Separating a knife from the bundle, I aimed it, cocking my arm back and tossing the blade directly at the board. It landed right between my sister's legs. Grabbing another blade, I wretched my arm back and threw it again. Thinking was never a good idea when it came to knife throwing. Just aim, breathe, and throw. The more you stall, the more you hit the target. Before I knew it I only had one dagger left. All the other throws were perfect misses and I readied myself for a final good throw. A loud piercing honk rang into my left ear. My throw was ruined. And I watched in horror as the sharp steel plunged itself into the soft flesh of my sister's thigh. Her muffled scream was drowned out by the intense ringing in my ears as I turned and looked at the clown. He was pointing at my sister and silently belly laughing, holding his stomach.

“I hate you! You stupid, annoying motherfucker!” I ran up to Art, hitting him on his sturdy chest. He barely reacted as he looked down his nose at me, watching me pound onto him with my full weight. He snatched my wrists and held my arms out, staring at my red face as I continued screaming profanities at him. Smiling sinisterly, he let go of my wrists and stalked towards the, now still, round board my sister was still attached to. I had no clue what his plan was but I tightly grabbed his arm, refusing to move. Realizing he was anchored, he slowly faced me again. “What will make you stop?” I basically whimpered. His grin widened even more than I thought it could. He stood back up to his full height, and I couldn't help but gawk at his towering stature. Gazing up, he tapped his chin in a ‘thinking’ manner until he snapped his fingers in a eureka moment. Cocking his head to the side, he grinned at me, leaning his face down. Becoming eye level with me he gently tapped his cheek, as an indication to give him a kiss.

A wave of nausea hit me, but I also got a fuzzy, warm feeling course through me at the same time. I hated it. I hated myself, for having some sort of affection for the man who’s done nothing but torture me and my family. I snapped back to reality when a loud clap erupted in front of my face. I blinked and refocused on the man in front of me. His face was almost child-like as he watched me with pure, I’m not sure, adoration? I took a deep, quivering breath, and stepped forward. Wrapping my arms around his neck, balancing on my tip toes, and I gave him what he wanted. Granted it wasn’t on his cheek, but he didn’t seem to mind. His lips still had that rich smokey flavor as last time. His hands immediately found my hips and pulled me in closer, almost desperate to get me closer. His tongue licked at my lips and I opened eagerly. I just let him have control, not feeling strong enough to put up a fight. I pulled back with a gasp as a sharp pain came from my lip. A small trickle of blood ran down Art's chin, causing me to reach up and gingerly touch my bottom lip. Pulling my hand back, there was warm blood covering my finger tips, and my lower lip throbbed.

“Let them go.” I croaked out. Art still had his grip on my waist, and squeezed almost threateningly. His eyebrows knitted together and his eyes squinted together in distrust. “If you want me, let them go. I’ll be all yours, no questions asked. As long as they’re safe.” I gently cupped the side of his face and placed our foreheads together. Our breathing slowed and we shared a moment of peace. Running my thumb over his jagged cheek bone, I felt my eyes water.

“Please.” I whimpered. Tears ran down my face as I finally looked up at my tormentor. His eyes almost softened when he saw me. His hand moved from my waist to my cheek, brushing the tears off as they fell. With a gentle kiss to my forehead, he stretched up to his full height and stepped back. He turned to the side and lifted his arm towards my sister. I slowly looked between the appendage and her. Making eye contact with the man again, I nodded and sped walked up to my sister. She was barely lucid. I lightly slapped her face and her eyes finally focused on me. Pulling a knife out of the board, I cut away at the leather straps holding her to the panel. When she finally tried to put weight on her leg she screamed. She grabbed the knife sticking out of her thigh and I supported her the best I could. I looked over my shoulder to see Art was gone. Not waiting a single moment I hobbled her across the stage, refusing to listen to her pleas to stop. We finally got to our trapped family. They sat there with nothing but pure terror and tears on their faces. With the dagger I cut my father loose first. Immediately he wrapped me in a bear hug, almost squeezing me a bit too hard. He held me for what felt like years but was no longer than a few seconds. My sister struggled to release my mother from her confines when we heard a loud boom. The heat came soon after as the back of the stage was lit ablaze. The fire grew to the top of the tent within seconds.

“Jesus Christ!” My father hollered as he, and the rest of us, scrambled to free our brothers. The smoke was thick and dark, making breathing almost impossible. Coughing, we were able to untie my brothers. We all were kneeling down toward the ground, trying to avoid the thick musk above us. “We’re not gonna be able to make it!” My mother screamed, as the loud crackle of the flames almost drowned her out. I could tell my sister was worse for wear, and I had no idea how to get her out. While my head was swimming with panicked thoughts, my eldest brother noticed the dagger I still had clutched in my hand. He grabbed the blade out of my hand, dashing towards the closest tent wall and carved into it.

“Come on!” He screamed as everyone rushed to the new opening. I grabbed my sister and supported/ dragged her out of the tent. Her consciousness was faltering when I laid her on her back. We hacked and gagged as we finally got some of our breath back. The tent was completely ablaze. I heard sirens wailing in the distance as my head started to spin. I started dry heaving while slowly crawling away from my family, not wanting them to see me like this. My vision blurred from the tears and the spinning when I suddenly saw I black shape in front of me.

“Get away from her!” A distorted familiar voice rang out as I looked up and saw a blur of white and black. For a split sec I was able to focus and I saw Art standing there. Blank faced and fists balled to his sides, he raised his foot. In a split second everything went black.

Waking up was almost like a nightmare to me. My head pounded and I was freezing. The room was still spinning and My eyes couldn’t focus on anything. I tried to move, but I was cramped in something small. With a groan I reached out and touched something cold and metal. But it wasn’t solid, it felt like it was made out of metal wiring. I adjusted myself and once again heard the ringing in my ears start up. The floor was solid underneath me, but I could see outside of my confines. My fingers once again grasped the walls around me and it all clicked. I was in a steel cage. Visions of what happened before I was knocked out bombarded my brain. Adrenaline mixed with panic and caused everything to come into sharp focus. There wasn’t much to see, it was dark and dingy, a single light swung above my cage. A smashed tv sat on the floor across from a table with a little stool. Blood and various sharp objects littered the table. I immediately scattered backwards until my back hit the chain wall. The reality of what I agreed to dug its way to the forefront of my brain. I agreed to be with this man. For whatever he shall need me for. My stomach flipped as all the possible scenarios ran through my mind. My leotard -covered body shivered in the corner of the cage. My erratic breathing caused me to notice that there was something around my neck. My throat felt constricted and panic wracked through me as I clawed at it until I got a decent grip, ripping it from my throat. In my hand sat a collar. A. Fucking. Collar. My ears weren’t ringing, it was the bell on the collar the entire time. I was drowning in my thoughts when The entire cage rattled, as someone else shook it. I snapped my head up and was greeted with Art's smiling face. He lifted up the top of the cage, revealing the door. His face slowly morphed into frown as he looked at my face, then my neck, and finally to the collar in my hand. He held out a finger initiating to give him a minute and closed the cage. Prancing over to the table I saw him pull a thin sparkling string up and hold it close to himself. After finagling with it for a moment, he walked back over, and completely flipped the top of the cage open. He held out his hand, dangling there was a necklace with a heart dog tag. It read “Arts pet”.

#art the clown #terrifier 2 #david howard thornton #terrifier movie #horrorwhores #slashers #slash fic #Art fan fiction #art the clown x reader #terrifier x reader #scary movies

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redqueenphoenix · 7 months

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State Championship (TWD Fan Fic Part 5)

State Championship Part 5

(A TWD Fan Fiction)

I do not own any of the rights to The Walking Dead, nor do I own any of the characters mentioned from here on in, other than Victoria Hawkins. Some situations have been changed and some people may have been switched in this alternate universe.

All characters in this fan fiction are over the age of 21 years old.

Coach Negan Smith X Female OC

Word Count:1337

~*~

Part 5

Victoria’s eyes went wide as she recognized the voice in her ear. Her heart fluttered as she continued to dance. Looking down at his hand she realized quickly that he wasn’t in the clothes she's used to seeing him in.

“Whooooaaaa!” Samantha called out from the raised stage as she saw who was dancing with Victoria. Nudging the other girls.

“You go girl!” Barbie hollered as she leaned off the rail to the stage.

Victoria bit her lip as she mustered up the courage to turn around while still dancing. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes took in Negan. He was in a business casual two piece black suit with a white button up. Her eyes lingered on the collar, counting the buttons he left unbuttoned. Three, the most deadly number to her now due to the amount of his chest it showed her. She attempted to focus on her dancing as she watched him, perfect timing in his steps.

The music began to shift again into a much slower, more intimate song. Negan smirked as his hand that was around her hip snaked around her back and pulled her into him.

This forced Victoria to have to change her stance allowing his foot to step between hers. She brought her arm to rest on his shoulder as they began to dance. Blush creeped to her cheeks as they began to do a slow grind to the song.

Negan’s eyes locked on hers as he smirked knowing exactly what he was doing to her. Enjoying the blush that colored her cheeks and the way her breathing changed when he started this dance with her.

Victoria felt like the world was spinning as she danced closely with him. This was almost unreal to her as she kept up with him. She dared to look down for a brief moment as her mind wandered, watching hips brush into hers. If he was this good at dancing then…

“What’s on that pretty mind?” He chuckled as his free hand came up to her chin tilting her face back up to his. “I bet I know what it is.” He moved his hip into her a bit harder as the song began to shift.

A small gasp left her lips as his thigh brushed the apex of her legs.

“Exactly what I thought was on your mind.” A devil’s smirk on his lips as the song picked up to a faster beat.

The DJ began to call out as the song picked up, “I want everybody to stop what they doing. Now if you know you're with somebody you're gonna take the hotel room tonight. Make some noise!”

Victoria’s jaw dropped as Negan called out with the rest of the guys as they cheered at the comment while ‘Hotel Room Service’ by Pitbull blared over the speakers.

Negan smirked as he turned to her, “What? We’re in the same hotel.” He turned to leave the dance floor leaving Victoria stunned.

The fluttering in her chest quickly faded as he walked away from her. Her left eye twitched at the comment. Taking a deep breath she stormed after him, slipping past and headed straight for the bar. She leaned over the bar seductively and waved down the bartender. “Excuse me, sir. Jack and coke please.” Her voice sultry as she ordered knowing that he was within hearing distance.

Negan’s jaw tightened as she leaned over the bar flirting with the bartender. Leaning against the bar next to her. “That bratty shit doesn't work with me.” He sneered as he looked over at her.

Taking her drink from the bartender she turned to him with a flustered expression. Opening her mouth to say something then snapping it shut.

“Look doll, I like you too, but there are complications to it all. Harmless flirting is great, this cat and mouse game is exciting…” He laughed as he placed his elbow on the bar looking at her, “but we both know that it won’t work out the way you want it to.”

The comment cut into Victoria like a hot knife through butter. Her mind reeled as she brought the glass to her lips, downing it as fast as she could. Slamming the glass down she turned from the bar and headed for the entrance.

Negan let out an exasperated breath as he rolled his eyes. Waving off the bartender he followed Victoria out of the nightclub. The cool evening air hit him as he saw her heading down the street. “Vicky, wait.” He called out after her.

Victoria looked over her shoulder as she stopped to wait to cross the street. Trying to ignore Negan.

“God damn it, Victoria!” He finally caught up to her and grabbed her arm.

“What?” She yanked her arm from him.

“What’s gotten into you?” He watched as she scurried across the street with him behind her.

“You have.” She snapped, waving her hand as she turned to face him once they crossed the street. “I like you and you make my heart flutter. I’m just some stupid girl that was in your college sports class to you.”

He grabbed her arm again and brought her into his chest, holding her arms. “Is that what you think?” His face contorted into one of bewilderment. “That you’re just some random girl in my class.”

She nodded as she looked at him. “Yeah.”

“Then what the hell was the bus? Why the hell do you fluster me so damn much?” He intensely stared down at her. “And why do I think about everything that you could lose over this?”

Victoria looked up at him in shock hearing that he was stopping himself from giving in completely because of what could happen to her. She suddenly felt so stupid and selfish over it all. “I…” She couldn’t even find the words to respond.

“You, what? You wanna do this? Then fine.” He brought his hand up to the back of her neck, his lips crashing into hers.

Victoria’s eyes went wide as he kissed her.

Negan pulled back with a frustrated growl, “kiss me back.” He brought his lips back down to hers inwardly chuckling at her shock.

Closing her eyes she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned into his kiss. The sensation that came over her as his arms wrapped around her waist dizzied her.

Pulling back he looked down at her with a smile, “Now let’s finish this in my room.” His hand came down to hers as they entered the hotel.

She felt butterflies in her stomach as they made their way through the lobby towards the elevator. Stepping onto the glass elevator, Victoria closed her eyes as the glass cylinder moved.

Negan’s eyes went to her, clearly she was not alright with the elevator. He moved, wrapping his arm around her and pressing her against the glass, bringing his lips to hers to numb her mind to the elevator.

The doors opened behind them as he stepped out motioning towards their rooms. Victoria stepped out and began down the hallway, excitement building with each step.

He stopped in front of the room she shared with the girls, “last chance to change your mind.”

She shook her head and kept walking, smiling at him as she passed him. Shaking his head with a smile, he fell into step with her and pulled his key from his blazer. This is going to prove to be an interesting night, he thought as he opened his door letting her into his room.

~*~

Part 6 (NSFW, +18)

#fan fiction #ao3 #negan #the walking dead #writer #twd negan #twd fanfiction #negan fanfiction #negan smith #the walking dead negan #negan x reader #negan smut #twd dead city #twd #negan x oc #negan x you

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its-only-v · 1 year

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Best Shows of 2022

Yes, I'm putting this on Tumblr after 2022 has ended. Yes, it's also entirely too long with 30+ shows and all categories that I made myself.

The Best Show That Feels Like an Extended Award-Winning Cut of a Movie

And yes, I mean it in a good way, and not in the way that it should’ve been a movie and not a tv show. Slow Horses made the time fly by and it was so excellent that its second season is already airing right now and the show just came out in March. A big reason to watch it is also Gary Oldman, who plays one of the leads in the show. He’s also announced that he’ll be retiring after it ends - but don’t worry, it won’t be anytime soon because Apple has already renewed it for third and fourth seasons. How is that for a stamp of approval?

The Show with the Superhero in Most Desperate Need of a Therapist

On one hand, we have Peacemaker who has daddy issues (understandably so) and survivor’s guilt. On the other hand, there’s everyone in The Boys. We have definite psychopath Homelander and possible psychopath Soldier Boy and what’s Butcher doing this season with superpowers? But I doubt a therapist would be safe from the maniacs in The Boys so I’ll give this one to Peacemaker who would make better use of the help and not kill the therapist (this guarantee doesn’t extend to Vigilante).

The Show with the Highest Tension

This one’s a tie between The Bear and Severance. And what a surprise, both of them have the workplace as the central setting. Besides what I’ve already said about them in separate editions dedicated just to them, do I need to say more? Fine, here’s one line - it’s best to go in blind for Severance because you want to be surprised and I’ve watched The Bear all the way through three times.

The Best Show About Worst Career Changes That Sort of Work Out

A tie and both of these are comedy shows. Killing It follows Craig (Craig Robinson) an entrepreneur-turned-python hunter in Florida and Our Flag Means Death follows Steve Bonnet (Rhys Darby), a gentleman-turned-pirate. Both of them should not be doing what they’re doing but they do it anyway and it manages to sort of kind of work out along with hilarious situations along the way.

The Show with the Weirdest Relationship

Nobody can explain the plot of The Time Traveler’s Wife in a way that doesn’t make you narrow your eyes. Clare (Rose Leslie) first meets her husband Henry (Theo James) as a little girl when he travels back in time to a clearing near her house as an adult. She grows up falling in love with him because who wouldn’t (and she finds out that he’s already married her in the future so it’s destiny)? But it’s technically okay because he keeps his distance (and it’s not like he time/space travels on purpose) and he’s actually first met her as an adult when she’s an adult too (who has been in love with him since her childhood so is it acceptable?). It was cancelled after the first season because of the entire HBO/Warner Bros/Discovery disaster of a merger so we won’t be exploring more complexities of this relationship but it was interesting to watch while it lasted.

The Show with the Best Fictional Criminals

Sprung makes having a crew seem fun. You’d love to hang out with them and commit crimes (for legal purposes, this is a joke and I’m not condoning crime). We also had some white-collar crime in the new season of Industry but I’ll give them the leeway that crime isn’t their full-time job.

The Show with the Best Real-Life Criminals

This category was previously going to be called best shows based on real life, but then all the characters were fans of shady business practices. The contenders include WeCrashed (about WeWork), Super Pumped (about Uber), The Dropout (about Theranos) and Black Bird (about getting a criminal to get a serial killer to confess) (let’s pretend Inventing Anna didn’t happen for the sake of my sanity). Black Bird is the clear winner here. It has Taron Egerton and Paul Walter Hauser giving their career-best performances and the show feels like a spiritual successor to True Detective and Mindhunter, which elevates it even more.

The Best Show About Teenagers Falling in Love with Teens Who Act Their Age

This was a difficult one to pick with very strong top three contenders - the new season of Young Royals, the last season of Love Victor, and Heartstopper. But, at the end, how could this not go to Heartstopper that’s romantic, wholesome, cute, and does not fail to put a big smile on your face? (The characters of The Sex Lives of College Girls are also teenagers but the second season is still airing so jury’s still out on that and if they all look & act like teenagers or rather young adults is up for debate)

The Show with the Best Power Couple

George (Morgan Spector) and Bertha Russell (Carrie Coon) from The Gilded Age, overcome the absolute drabness of their names to be the best power couple in television this year, not just in a period drama. Doing a bad relationship is easy. A great relationship? Tricky. Especially when it happens to be set in the past, with all its problematic period-accurate outlook. But Julian Fellowes has aced it (Bridgerton, please take note so you can have Season 2’s promising couple back for the third season, which didn’t happen this year).

The Show with the Most Toxic Couple

Yes, I said doing a bad relationship is easy. But - hear me out. Doing a toxic relationship with such compelling characters who happen to have insane chemistry? Louis (Jacob Anderson) and Lestat (Sam Reid) from Interview with the Vampire will make you go from thinking they-should-be-together-forever to please-someone-enforce-a-restraining-order. And as a bonus, there are multiple toxic relationships to go around along with toxic traits that don’t include ripping people’s heads or organs off their bodies (murder can be excused but Lestat, don’t open your relationship if you’re going to throw a fit once your partner takes you up on it and definitely don’t turn a teenager into a vampire to have an adoptive child to save your marriage). Runner-up goes to The Great, which had its second season air this year, with a couple that would also gladly kill each other but at least they’re honest about where they stand.

The Sexiest Show with Queer Vampires

How is this a category? How can this not be a category when you have What We Do in the Shadows’ latest season, and new shows including Interview with the Vampire, Reginald the Vampire, Vampire Academy, and First Kill all airing in the same year? Vampires definitely had a resurgence this year and not just on television (Dracula Daily was also a phenomenon this year and we had the iconic Morbius that needs no introduction and the overlooked Netflix film Day Shift with Jamie Foxx and Dave Franco as vampire hunters). But all of this is just to say that yes, Interview with the Vampire wins again, and Guillermo from WWDITS would agree and we should take his word for it.

The Best Show About Making Money Off the Female Gaze

Minx and Welcome to Chippendales both have businesses trying to capitalize on the female gaze - the first with a magazine and the second with a troupe of male strippers. Since Welcome to Chippendales is still airing and I’m not entirely convinced it’ll stick the landing, Minx wins this one by default but it’s also a very strong show which might have won anyway.

The Best Show To Take You On a Vacation

Or, more specifically, Italy. Yes, the second season of The White Lotus wasn’t the only show with a scenic Italian setting this year. While at the time of writing The White Lotus hasn’t ended yet, I know Mike White isn’t going to lead us astray. The other show that takes you on a vacation in Italy during Mussolini’s era is Hotel Portofino, which weaves in beautiful locales, interesting characters, history, and a mystery to keep you hooked till the end of the season.

The Show with the Best Murder Victim

The Afterparty. RIP Xavier (Dave Franco), you were a superstar blessed with predicting your own death in your music video. (Bonus points for the song being a banger, with the creators filming the full music video even though it wasn’t in the show and releasing a full EP by the character on Spotify).

The Show with the Most Underrated Detective

With a lot of criminals come a lot of criminal catchers. You know the trio of Only Murders in the Building but I bet you’ve not heard of Bell Prescott from Panhandle is a genius crime solver and there couldn’t have been a more fitting name for him for the way he acts. Luke Kirby (who you might know as Lenny Bruce from The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel - also the only good part of this year’s new season which I didn’t like much) plays the lead - he manages to solve years of unsolved cases all while not having stepped out of his Florida mansion (that he shares with his mother and pet crocodile) since the death of his wife (whose presence he still hallucinates). Also, like any crime-solving genius, he also gets an assist from a sidekick (rookie cop Tiana Okoye) who makes up for his flaws, making them an epic crime-solving duo.

The Best Supernatural Show NOT About Vampires

Well, not exclusively anyway. Supernatural Academy is my pick for this one, which won't entirely be a surprise. It was such a well-made show and had so much mature storytelling than I was expecting from it. I was also considering The Bastard Son & The Devil Himself because that was such a good show but it only picked up about halfway through and now it's been cancelled with just the first season on Netflix. While there hasn't been any news of Supernatural Academy's second season, I'm more hopeful of Peacock keeping shows going than Netflix at this point so I hope we'll see more of it.

The Best Show About Shows

Please take a moment to acknowledge the meta commentary by the placement of this category at the end. Thank you.

There are multiple shows in this category and all are winners. The Rehearsal is technically a reality show that also shows you what goes into the making of a reality show. We also have Reboot for scripted fiction, which you’ve probably guessed from the title is a show about the making of a reboot that also happens to have an all-star comedy cast. If we extend the definition of a show to all types of shows because why not, we also have Hacks, whose new season was about the making of a new stand-up show on the road. Also an excellent watch.

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lochnesswriter · 2 months

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Get To Know Your Fan-fiction Writer

Tagged by @snowviolettwhite

---

When Did You Post Your First Ever Fan-Fiction:

2018

First Characters You Wrote For:

-Eliot Spencer from Leverage and Dean Winchester from Supernatural, because I love crossovers lol

Main Characters You Currently Write For:

Bucky Barnes

TJ Hammond

Eliot Spencer

Quinn

TK Strand

Carlos Reyes

Characters You Haven't Written About Before But Plan On Writing About Soon:

Eddie Diaz

Fandoms You're Currently Writing For:

Leverage

9-1-1: Lone Star/9-1-1

White Collar

MCU

Political Animals

Stargate Atlantis

Platonic Pairings You Currently Write For:

Bucky & TJ

Bucky & Steve

Bucky & anyone

Quinn & TK (&Carlos)

Romantic Pairings You Currently Write For:

TK & Carlos (Tarlos)

Eliot, Quinn, & Neal

John Sheppard, Evan Lorne, & Cam Mitchell (I like polyamory y'all)

Top 3 Tags On Ao3:

Spanking

Alternate Universe- BDSM

Platonic BDSM

Your Current Platform Where You Post Your Works:

Ao3

Snippet Of A WIP You're Currently Working On:

This is from Buck's first introduction to my "A Boy, His Top, and His Cop" series

“Come on in,” TK said, waving Buck into the apartment. “Carlos should still be at work, but-”

“Hey, kiddo.”

For a second, TK couldn’t quite believe it, but as soon as he turned away from Buck to check, there Quinn was, sitting on the couch and smiling softly. He’d been sad he wouldn’t see Carlos after that shift, but having his Dom here was just as reassuring in a different way. “Hey.”

“So, this is the boyfriend?”

Buck sounded a little skeptical, and TK couldn’t blame him. Quinn certainly didn’t look like a Carlos.

“No, this is Quinn,” he said, grinning at Buck before hurrying over to hug his Dom. “Quinn, this is Buck. He’s gonna be spending the night here.”

Quinn nodded at Buck as he stood to pull TK into a comforting hug. But all too soon he pulled back a little, hands still resting on TK’s shoulders, and raised an eyebrow at him. “So. I hear you stole a firetruck today.”

TK winced and shuffled to the side. “Technically, Buck stole it,” he said, hitching a thumb over his shoulder.

“Hey,” Buck protested, at the same time as Quinn asked, “You sure that’s the right move there, kiddo?”

TK gave Buck an apologetic shrug but turned his attention back to Quinn all the same. “Look, Quinn, we had to, okay? My dad was out there. We only barely got to him in time.”

“I know,” Quinn said, his voice soft. “But look me in the eye and tell me you don’t need to be punished for this.”

No pressure tags @actualalligator @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @mayalaen @trivalentlinks @friendly-chaos

#fanfic #getting to know you

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missjackil · 4 months

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Supernatural Battle of the Episodes!

Looks like Fan Fiction came out a winner! Seems Demon!Dean is no match for teenage girls 😂 annnnyway, let's see how much fight it has! Who's on deck Chuck?

Chuck: Today we have a pretty weak episode. Ask Jeeves - Still having "we time" (yet another motel before they have a case *wink wink*) Sam and Dean go in Bobby's place to reading of a Will that turns out to be a murder mystery amongst some white collar WASPs.

#supernatural #spn #episode battle #polls #i dont hate it #its kinda cute #when Sam says he and Dean like each other #and the cougars amazed at the size of his fingers lol

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dontcallmebree · 6 months

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20 questions for fic writers

Thanks @voylitscope for tagging me! <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

59! That's more than I thought, honestly.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

490,425. Damn that's so close to half a million. (I need to whip out a short 10k real quick.)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Stucky.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Up Close and Personal

You Like What's in My Head

Not Technically A Bromance

A Blessing I Ain't Tryna Lose

You Like the Way I Look

Two series make multiple appearances here. Can't say I'm surprised, honestly. For a long time my top 5 was all from a single series.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I respond to all of them! Mainly because all I ever want to do after sharing something is to talk about what happens with the characters, so I always jump at the chance to talk with fellow Stucky fans! Another reason of course is also because people are very nice and have actively taken time out of their day to read something I wrote and I wanna say thanks cause it means a lot < 3

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Okay I scrolled through my works and was really tickled by the fact that my angsty endings were either because the main character dies (1, 2, 3) or because the main character doesn't die (1, 2, 3) (just dead inside). So pick your poison I guess.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think it might be Winter Weddings and Blushing Brides. That fic just has the fluffiest of fluff endings.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not really? My works feature explicit sex scenes and all but I've yet to write a pwp. It's too hard I think.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No. I think go too far into AUs for this. Would be fun though!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I'm too weird about the writing process and showing anyone (even a co-writer) any unfinished work to do this I think. It seems very scary.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Stucky, of course.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Sooo many wips in my drafts. Maybe part 3 to the never met a man like you before series? I do wanna finish that one day though.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hmmm maybe character work? That's always my go to answer to this.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Yikes. Run on sentences? Is that too easy of an answer? Do I really have to look into my soul for this?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'm not sure what thoughts anyone might have on this. Is this a controversial thing? Many languages exist. Human (and non-human) characters speak them. I can't imagine taking issue with this fact of life reflected in fiction.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Uhhh I don't even know. Must've been in some friend's notebook back in grade school before we even knew what a fandom was.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

There are a few that come to mind, but A Man After Midnight just has a very special place in my heart. I think it just has everything I love to read and write about. A complicated history, a somewhat unbalanced dynamic, white collar crime, narrative twists, and an alternate universe.

I'm not sure who has and hasn't done this but tagging if interested! @sparkagrace @gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes @between-a-ship-and-a-hard-place @skarabrae-stone @somanywords

#tag game #thanks for thinking of me Saša!

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patroclusdefencesquad · 4 months

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i have one book left to read in order to reach my goal for the year but i can't read it because i'm hooked on white collar fan fiction again :(

#god damn matt bomer getting inside my head again

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allylikethecat · 5 months

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i hate inflicting more pain onto him but you do "insecure matty comforted by g" so well, could we get a little snippet on him reacting to all the "twink death" posts on twitter 🥹

HELLO KIND ANON!

Thank you so much for going rogue and just like... sending me a prompt that wasn't on any kind of list. If anyone else wants to just... send me a prompt situation from the depths of their mind I am HERE and READY for it!

This little snippet ended up being 2k words and I'm not totally sure how that happened and I was going to try and cut it down some but then decided that this was my blog so I can do what I want and we are full send posting the entire thing. I'm not sure if this is what you are looking for, but here we are! Also I mean no offense to anyone with this one (Fictional!Matty per the prompt is upset about the Twink Death posts and it sends him spiraling about his relationship with fans and also fictional!George) and I hope you enjoy it! Also I 100% made up the twitter handle and I mean no offense if there is anyone out there with that handle.

Thank you so much and let me know what you think!

❤️Ally

Matty knew he wasn’t supposed to be on Twitter anymore. His therapist had told him so, George had told him so. Social media was a cesspool, it wasn’t real life, and it only ever served to bring him down. Matty knew he had an addictive personality, and a short attention span, so sometimes it felt like social media had been made just for him, projecting colorful, easily digestable, bite size bits of information right to his brain. (Rationally he knew that was the entire point of an algorithm but that didn’t mean it made him feel any less special.)

Scrolling through Twitter was like pressing on a bruise, he couldn’t help but love the sting even though it only hurt him. Whenever he went on Twitter he ended up doom scrolling until he sent himself into a depressive spiral, focusing on all the people who hated him and wanted him to overdose and die, which he then coped with by getting drunk and posting the wrong thing.

Matty knew he wasn’t supposed to be on Twitter anymore, but George was distracted and Matty was too tired to even sleep and apparently a masochist as he settled onto the hotel bed and re-downloaded the app, a white X on a black background instead of the blue bird he had grown to love to hate. He logged in quickly with one of his many burner accounts, a ‘75 fan account that no one had even joking speculated was actually him. A tingling thrill of anticipation moved up his spine, not unlike the buzz he used to feel when he went out to score, as his feed loaded. He quickly glanced over at George guilty, who was still staring intently at his laptop, sitting at the hotel desk, headphones on, working on something. He felt like a little kid with his hand in the cookie jar, just asking to be caught and disciplined.

Confident that George wouldn’t be paying him any mind, at least for a little while, Matty began scrolling. There were fans proclaiming their love for him, and that they wanted to have his babies, invasive fan theories about him and Ross of all people that couldn’t be further from the truth, pictures of Taylor in Brazil, then more pictures of her pretending she gave a rat's arse about football. Sandwiched between a gif of a cat falling off of the counter and a tweet proclaiming Jack Antanoff a chaos gremlin Matty saw it.

He nearly scrolled past the two pictures posted side by side. If he was going to be naughty and looking through twitter, he was going to at least try and avoid too much of his own press, but he couldn’t help but stop. It was a picture of him from 2014, he was on stage, clutching a microphone and a cigarette in the same hand, his pale blue button down half unbuttoned and nearly slipping off his shoulder, his collar bone jutting out razor sharp. His curls were overgrown and unbrushed, falling around his face, a dark curtain he used to desperately hide behind. He had a vague memory of that day, at least he thought it might have been that day. He had been wearing that shirt the first time George kissed him for real. It had been the last time he had worn the shirt as well, the buttons hadn’t survived George’s eager hands.

The other picture was from a few nights ago, a tight gray tee shirt clinging to his chest and biceps, the mustache he had grown back at George’s sheepish request twitched in amusement. He looked so much healthier in the second photo, and he was surprised to see it, surprised to see how stark the contrast was. He was pleased that the fans were seeing it too, that they were seeing how much work he had been putting into himself. He wasn’t hiding behind his hair anymore, hence the shorter curls. He was eating better, he was working out. He was trying not to drink as much, he was trying not to smoke as much. He was, after years of therapy, and a few hospital stays that he was happy never actually made it into the press, and more patience and support from George than Matty was sure he deserved, he was actually doing well. The new combination of medication was helping, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

Then he saw the caption. Twink Death. He blinked. What did they mean, twink death. He was actively taking steps to better himself and healyslut69 was clearly being ridiculous, acting like a piece of him had died. He was the same person, he just wasn’t twenty five and addicted to smack anymore. Not that he had ever been a twink in the first place. He was a manly man, thank you very much. He clicked on the tweet, eager to scroll through the thread and see the replies calling out healyslut69 for being absolutely ridiculous. Twink Death, he scoffed, absolutely ridiculous. That was until he saw that all of the replies were in agreement with healyslut69. They were all mourning his alleged twink death.

He let out a little whine of frustration, then quickly glanced up from his phone to make sure George hadn’t heard him. Thankfully, George was still engrossed in whatever track he was working on, headphones on, clicking away. This is absolutely ridiculous, Matty thought, thumbing away from the thread to go back to his feed. This group of fans didn’t know what they were on about. He frowned as he saw another post relating to the topic, then another, and then another. He swallowed hard. Maybe healyslut69 wasn’t the one that was wrong. Maybe he was.

He scrolled up, finding the original tweet once again. He looked at the two photos, bringing his phone up closer to his face to examine them as if he wasn’t looking at the face he saw in the mirror every morning. Maybe he didn’t look like the same person anymore. Maybe it was more than just getting clean, cutting his hair and gaining at least a stone. Maybe a piece of him really had died. He swallowed hard, his thick smoker’s saliva catching in his throat causing him to cough wetly. At that George did turn his head, lifting one of the headphones away from his ear.

“You ‘right?” George asked, frowning, as he took in the look on Matty’s face.

Matty quickly waved him off. “Yeah, just swallowed wrong,” he said, flashing George a thumbs up.

George frowned but turned back to his laptop anyway and Matty went back to his phone, clicking on the original tweet must have triggered something in his algorithm because he was suddenly bombarded with posts about how much he had changed, how much the fans wanted the “old Matty back” how they wanted to “Make Matty Gay again” as if he wasn’t in a fucking relationship with a man and had been for the past nine years.

The more he read the more the self doubt started creeping in. It was slow at first, and he almost didn’t notice it. It was like frostbite, creeping through his body, overwhelming his senses without him even realizing until it was too late. He pressed the side button to lock his phone and tossed it onto the bed, where it proceeded to slide off the sheets and land on the floor with a clatter. He let out a groan of frustration and self pity, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. He just couldn’t fucking win.

“Okay,” said George, taking his headphones completely off and spinning around in the swivel chair to look at Matt, quickly glancing at his phone on the floor, then back to Matty. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” said Matty stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling ridiculous for even being upset that some faceless fan account was mourning his supposed “twink death,” even as his lower lip began to tremble. Fuck Matty though, unable to meet George’s gaze and the loving concern he knew he was going to see painted across his face. He was going to start crying. He froze, feeling like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. What if George didn’t find him as attractive anymore, what if George missed how he used to look, all skinny and delicate, with long messy hair, sucking on a cigarette instead of eating breakfast, lunch or dinner.

What if that was why their sex life had gotten less active as they got older. They still had plenty of sex, and Matty had always been satisfied, but what if that was the reason the shirt destroying urgency was gone, what if that was why George wasn’t tossing him onto the nearest surface at every opportunity anymore. Matty had thought they were just getting older, maturing, leveling out, but what if George just wasn’t as attracted to him anymore?! What if that was why George had wanted him to grow the mustache, what if he was trying to find some new way to make sleeping with him less of a chore.

Matty couldn’t help it, he looked up, at kind, sweet, understanding and supportive George, who forced himself to fuck him even though he wasn’t attracted to him anymore, and instantly burst into the tears he had been fighting.

George blinked in surprise, clearly he hadn’t been expecting that. He stood up, closing the distance between them as he sat down next to Matty on the bed, carefully pulling him into his arms even as Matty kept his hands pressed to his face.

“What’s wrong, love,” said George softly, rubbing a large hand in careful circles against Matty’s back. “Did something happen? Is your family okay?”

Guilt burned in Matty’s stomach, as he pressed his hand to his mouth as if he could push all the upset back inside of his chest, as if he could swallow it back down to his belly where it belonged.

“They’re fine,” Matty said with a hiccup, “I’m fine, sorry, fuck, I’m fine,” he rubbed at his eyes, even as his breath hitched, “you can get back to work, I’m fine.”

“Matthew,” said George softly, pulling Matty’s hands away from his face. “Something is clearly wrong, what can I do to help?”

George’s kindness just made Matty cry harder, burying his face in George’s shoulder. He knew he was being extremely dramatic and over the top right now, crying because some fans on the internet were mourning his alleged “twink death” was ridiculous even for him. But it wasn’t just about the fans on the internet, it was hundreds of little things he had pushed down until he just couldn’t take it anymore and it all boiled over. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be famous anymore, he wasn’t sure he ever had.

It was the fans that seemed to hate him always criticizing his outfit choices, the ones complaining about the set lists he painstakingly put together, the ones who complained that he didn’t talk enough during gigs, and the ones who complained when he did. It was the fans, and not fans, that took every word he had ever spoken ever, and twisted it round in circles until it didn’t even make sense anymore. It was the ones accusing him of being the worst person alive. It was the ones wishing death upon him and his loved ones. It was the way that no matter what he did, no matter how much of himself he gave to the masses, it was never enough and never what they wanted. He was just so fucking tired, and seeing that tweet broke something inside of him in a way that he hadn’t been expecting. It filled him with even more self loathing and doubt, why had he even bothered to get clean, why had he even bothered to try and get healthy, everyone liked him better strung out anyway it seemed.

“Just some dumb fans on the internet,” said Matty quietly, trying to get his breathing under control, George was still rubbing his back soothingly.

“Matty,” said George sadly, his heart breaking. He wasn’t going to address the fact that they both already knew Matty wasn’t supposed to be looking at Twitter.

“Do you,” said Matty, pulling away slightly, needing to hear the words straight from George’s mouth, needing to rip the bandaid off. If George didn’t like him like this he would figure it out. He’d lose the weight again, he’d grow out his hair. “Do you,” he swallowed hard, “do you still like me?”

“What kind of absolute bullshit question is that?” George asked, “of course I like you Matty, I fucking love you.”

Matty swallowed again, weighing his words. “Are you, are you still attracted to me?”

“Jesus Christ Matty,” said George, “what is this about? Yes I’m very much still attracted to you, always have been and always will be.”

“Even though I’m not as,” Matty could bring himself to say the word, “delicate anymore?” he asked instead.

“What do you mean?” George asked not following along. Matty sighed and pulled away from George’s arms, leaning over the side of the bed to retrieve his phone. He unlocked it, keeping his eyes down cast as he handed it to George.

George frowned, looking over the tweet, a crinkle forming between his eyebrows. He relocked Matty’s phone without saying a word and reached over to set it on the nightstand.

“I,” said George leaning in and pushing Matty onto his back so he could hover over him. “Love you.” He kissed Matty’s deeply, licking into his mouth, before nipping lightly on his lower lip. “And I will always love you and think you’re the sexiest man alive.”

“Even though I’m not a twink anymore?” Matty couldn’t help but ask even as he felt George’s erection digging into his thigh.

George snorted. “If anything, it’s even hotter that I don’t have to worry about hurting you.”

Matty couldn’t help the grin that broke out across his face, and George couldn’t help but kiss it away.

#allylikethecat #ask ally #anon ask #fanfiction #keep it kind #matty fic #gatty #this one got away from me a little bit #and its so long i actually decided to be a grown up and use the read more function on tumblr lol #probably should have just put it on ao3 #but thats okay its here #but its funny because the last one i should have put on ao3 i should have put on tumblr lol #ALSO just want it to be clear #i absolutely adore writing fictional!matty and fictional!george together #and will continue to do so #BUT i am very aware that its just fiction #and i am so irrationally overly happy that irl george and charli are engaged #like i feel like my friends just got engaged i am so happy for them #that's why this is fanFICTION #emphasis on fiction #its all fake and for my own amusement #no part of me thinks its real #even if it is sometimes inspired by real events #anyway i hope you like it lol #prompt fill #prompt fills

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