#LOOK AT HIM CREEPIN IN THE DARKNESS

[llamagoddessofficial]

Remember these asks? Well I got inspiration and….

It’s a work in progress :)

DUUUUDE THIS IS SO GOOOOOOD

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 | Jackson!Joel x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec 

summary | Joel's got a superpower. Alternatively, Joel swears he can smell when you're ovulating.

author's note | @gracieheartspedro said something about joel being able to smell when you're ovulating as a joke but i am a very serious person. so serious....i swear lmao

content warning | 18+ MDNI, BREEDING KINK!!!, joel can definitely smell it on you, talks of pregnancy/future together, established relationship, established free-use, possessive!joel, he's creepin' into peepaw status (he's 58 but no defined age for reader so let your imagination run wild), mentions of joel possibly being sterile, unprotected piv, creampies for obvious reasons

word count — 2.5k

Joel could smell it on you.

At least, he liked to make you think he could.

He can, though. He swears.

He’s tapping his bare foot against the hardwood floor as he rocked gently in his recliner, glasses perched on his nose as he flipped through the Space for Dummies book Ellie had gifted him for his birthday a few months ago.

It was dark aside from the table lamp beside him, the glowing, soft orange hue wrapped around him, illuminating the side of his face as he angled the book to catch the light, unaware of your presence until your fingers were plucking the book out of his hand.

Joel offers a small noise of acknowledgement as he looks up in your general direction, welcoming the spread of your legs with his warm, open palm as you rest yourself in his lap.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” you tell him gently, voice thick with sleep.

It was the middle of the night and not entirely out of character to find him up and busying himself with anything to keep his mind off of the fact that he couldn’t sleep, for some reason or another.

“M’right here,” he responds with a tender touch, his hand curling against the side of your neck as his thumb runs along the line of your jaw, a smile growing as you push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose where they had slipped down, “you up tryin’ to drag me back into bed?”

You laugh softly but decidedly shake your head, curling the fabric of his cotton shirt around your finger until it wrinkles, aware of his wandering hand as it glides up your thigh and under the waistband of your underwear hidden beneath the oversized sleep shirt you had worn to bed that night.

“Didn’t come down here for nothin’,” Joel teases, “whaddya need, baby?”

You two had established your dynamic months ago—you had worn Joel down quite a bit since his initial arrival, turning a hardened man into a softer, kinder version of himself. You often wondered how similar this version of him was to himself before the outbreak, wondering how long it had been since he’d felt safe enough to let his guard down.

It was simple, really.

As long as the house was empty—no Ellie and her friends, you were both fair game to take advantage of, no preamble, no questions.

Luckily, Ellie had slipped out earlier that night. The kid liked to think she was good at sneaking out, always slipping back in before breakfast—Joel and you were both aware, but you didn’t bother to make a deal out of it.

Joel wasn’t her father, as much as he tried to protect her.

You were only a friend, more than just a stranger, but you were in no position to make points or discipline a teenager who was already set in her ways.

Still, Joel often thought about the possibilities of family.

It took him a year before he opened up about Sarah, despite the scattering of pictures throughout his home, another failure in his life that he tried to avoid at all costs.

You couldn’t always tell if he meant it, but there were moments where it was all he seemed to think about, driven by a mix of desperation and lust, it was blinding.

And, he was doing it now.

Joel buries his nose into your chest, snuggling into the space as he sniffs and drags his face up and into your neck, your hand pressing against him as you giggle softly, feeling the tickle of his facial hair against your skin.

“You smell different,” He notes, his voice low, lips parted and pressed against your skin but only barely, pressing a featherlight kiss against your neck.

“Here we go,” you reply fondly, slowly adjusting yourself over his lap more firmly, centered against his slowly hardened cock, watching the fabric tent under your touch as you untie the knot at his waist, “you got some kinda superpower I don’t know about?”

“Nah,” he sighs, his lips curling into a smirk, “I just know my woman,”

Your eyebrow raises in amusement as your mouth forms into a quiet “Oh.”

“Why you came down here, ain’t it?” Joel assumes, “You achin’ baby?”

Bingo.

You nod meekly, sighing in relief as his hands curl against your hips, guiding you slowly over the bulge in his pants, enjoying the show as your eyes flutter shut and your hands grip tight against his forearms, feeling the distinct ridge of veins under your fingertips.

“Greedy as hell,” Joel comments with an air of amusement.

The roughness in his voice sends a pulse of pleasure to your core, awakening that distinct primal need inside of you.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Joel reprimands, somewhere through the distraction of his guided movements, your shirt has been removed and tossed to the floor, his lips pressing at the center of your chest and right between your breasts, “can we?”

There was never a distinction of yes or no, because Joel knew what your boundaries were.

If he had sought you in the night, buried himself inside of you to satiate his own urges, you wouldn’t complain—that was how this worked and why you worked so well.

“I ain’t lyin’,” Joel admits, looking up at you from where his mouth was centered at your chest.

“About what?” you ask curiously, brain feeling hazy and unfocused.

“You get a little sweeter,” Joel explains, pulling away to drag his finger along your sternum, “right here.”

You roll your eyes dismissively, threading your fingers through his hair to push him back against the recliner as you roll your hips in time with his own movements, moaning softly.

“And you know how much I love sweets,” he breathes, turning his head to drag his tongue along the underside of your breast before he’s moving his hands up to squeeze them.

It doesn’t take long before his hand drifts, slipping under the fabric of your underwear to circle your already swollen clit, throbbing with need.

Joel examines you carefully, listening to your breath hitch as he follows a steady rhythm until your hips begin to naturally rocking against his movement—he’s got this all down to a science, knowing exactly when to speed up and pump the breaks and you’re quickly tripping over the precipice of a much-needed orgasm, though he knows it wouldn’t satisfy you.

“I need you,” you beg with a pant, head feeling light as you come down.

“Come here then,” Joel commands softly, his tone clear as he pulls you closer, pressing his hardening length against you more prominently, a breathless gasp escapes your lips, “feel that?”

You nod again, tiredly.

“I need you too,” Joel admits, “all day—all the time…”

You both switch into auto-pilot, rising only long enough to drag your underwear down your legs while Joel shoves his sweats down far enough that his cock springs free, leaking pre-cum into the hem of his shirt as you situate yourself back over his lap.

“Just can’t get enough of ya,” he tells you, voice thick with desire as he dragged the head of his cock through your folds before guiding you down onto him, inch by tantalizing inch.

Your breath hitches, a gasp escaping your lips when he fills you completely.

You always expected the sensation to wane, but the stretch of him surprised you every time.

“Goddamn, I’m lucky,” he gumbles, throwing his head back as you slowly begin to roll your hips, his eyes dark and half-lifted with lust as he watches your face contorted in pleasure, “all mine,”

The sound of his voice—so deeply possessive—makes your heart race.

You can’t help but rock against him harder, relishing in the friction as your hands settle against the sides of his neck, breathing into his open mouth. It’s intoxicating to feel him throbbing inside you, cunt squeezing him like a vice when he grazes that sweet, too sensitive spot inside of you.

“You—you’ve been thinkin’ about it?” you ask curiously, moaning softly as your eyebrows thread together, face scrunched up as Joel reels you in closer, arm winding around your back, pressing your bare chest against him, the reclining chair rocking with your slow, but forceful rhythm. 

“About?” Joel hums, noticing the you should know look in your eye, mouth curling into a subtle smirk as one of your hands slip underneath his shirt and claw at his stomach, forcing a low groan to slip from his throat.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks with a fond, sated smile, “Raisin’ a baby with me?”

You nod silently, distinctly aware of his roaming hands and the one that squeezes at your ass, his mouth gravitating towards your tits again, this time swirling his tongue around your hardened nipple before he takes it into his mouth, thinking about how heavy they would feel in his mouth if this time were to take, if he could actually get you pregnant—he was even sure anymore.

Fifty-eight and likely shooting blanks, the chance seemed slim.

It was just another thing he couldn’t give you.

But, you had faith.

No, not in a higher power or some god.

But, him. Joel.

“God, you make me crazy,” he breathes, the warmth of his breath washing over your skin as you ride him harder, feeling him push into you deeper. 

Claiming you.

The chair creaked under the weight of your fervent need, the sound only adding to the symphony of gasps and moans slipping from your mouth as your hands press into his chest and his hands, again, find their way to your hips, keeping you rooted in place as he fucks himself into you, eager to fill your cunt.

“Wouldn’t that be a sight?” Joel begins with a broken grunt, “You’d be prancin’ ‘round this place provin’ to everybody that you’re mine—”

“And—fuck—you’d love it,” you challenge him, “you can’t even stand when guys breathe in my direct—direction, Joel,”

Joel smirks at your calculation, knowing you were correct, “Gotta let ‘em know,”

“Uh huh,” you reply breathily as the sweat on your skin collects under both the heat of the dying fire beside you and the percolating heat of your bodies as Joel leans forward and licks a line up the center of your chest to your throat before biting at your jaw to make you squeal.

He always seemed to have a second wind; a calm before the storm.

It works, his teeth nipping at your skin—incredibly thankful that the adjoining couch was only a short distance and you can both scramble towards it in a hurry, watching as Joel pulls his shirt over his head in one swift and fluid movement, carefully removing his glasses with a gentleness that contracts his heaving chest, placing them on the table before he’s kicking his pants off the rest of the way and shifting between your legs.

There’s adoration that floods your features, giggling softly as his hands twist around your thighs to pull you to him before his hands wrap around his slick-covered shaft and he’s pushing inside of you for the second time that night.

“Can’t keep lookin’ at me like that,” Joel warns through a soft cough as he settles on his knees, moving his hips at a slow pace as you tilt your head, squeezing one of the hands that rest on your thigh, “we’re gonna have a problem,”

“I think we established I am the problem,” you challenge him.

“You really want a future with me?” Joel asks candidly despite the lust so evident in his eyes, his face, the way his tongue swipes against his bottom lips as you moan softly and your grip shifts to his wrist, anchoring him to you, “Because that’s what I’m seein’ with the way you’re lookin’ at me right now,”

“Wow, all that from one look?” you tease, earning a quick snap of his hips for your obvious amusement, “Fuck—oh, I mean…ye—yeah, I do,”

You’ve had this talk countless times, wondering if Joel would ever truly believe it.

That you wanted him. Only him.

Always him.

“Yeah?” he goads, leaning forward to curl his hand around the edge of the cushion near your head as the other digs into the back of the couch, immediately fixing the angle to something much more intense, his hips working faster to drive you over the edge.

“Yeah,” you answer softly, reaching up to drag your hand against his cheek, his gaze drifting toward your joined bodies, your cunt being greedy in the way it takes him in.

 "Look at that…” Joel says in a husky, low tone that makes you shiver, “look at how your body wants this—knows exactly what it needs from me,"

You could barely speak, feeling yourself drift, offering a barely audible mumble in response.

 "I know, baby. I know,” It was like a comfort, his voice always putting you at ease, “Feels right, huh?"

“Don’t,” you gasp as Joel suddenly becomes more frantic with his pace, eyes stuck on your open mouth and arched back, “don’t—don’t stop,”

“I gotcha,” he promised, “Got you wrapped around me like this—squeezin’ me—pullin’ me in. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.”

“I want it,” you promise with the same intensity, “want all of this, with you.

"You’re gonna get it, baby.” Joel groans, sounding wrecked, “Gonna take every drop I give you ‘cause you’re greedy like that, ain’tcha?”

You nod instantly, two—three—four sharp thrusts before his hands are curling around your hips and holding you to him, no space between your bodies, “M’gonna stuff you so full you won’t even have to worry,”

Joel meets your gaze with fierce intensity, his dark eyes reflecting a blend of hunger and a possessiveness that bleeds true as he comes deep inside of you, feeling his cock pulse as he spills a load he had been holding back for a few days, hoping it would make a difference.

In an instant he slumps back, but not before dragging you toward him, resting against the arm of the couch as you settle into his lap again, his cock softening inside of you but neither of you threatening to move.

“Joel?” you whisper softly, legs still trembling from the intensity of your climax, your fingers tracing lazy patterns down his chest, his hand rubbing gently along the length of your spine.

“Yeah, baby?” He hums, tilting his head to look at you.

“I could go again,” you admit, earning a deep chuckle that shakes his chest and you.

“Never enough, is it?” Joel asks, leaning your head back to look at him before he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, and then another, and another.

“Gotta make sure it takes,” you shrug, “breed me up, baby.”

Joel groans affectionately and throws his head back, suddenly attacked by your own share of kisses as you climb his chest to reach his face.

“God, you’re killin’ me,” he chuckles.

You raise your eyebrows in question before he cracks a playful smack to your ass.

“Go on,” he encourages, “I’ll be up in a few, breed you all damn night if I gotta,”

Until you were satisfied, at least.

Truthfully, Joel just couldn’t get enough of you either.

Too damn sweet.

[princessbrunette]

ᡣ𐭩 ｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅PRINCESSBRUNETTES SCREAM SALON INTRODUCES … ໒꒰ྀི ˃̵ ࿁ ˂̵ ꒱ྀིა

PICTURE YOU ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

♩chappell roan — picture you ♩

pairing: pervy pope, jj, john b x reader

cw: sexual fantasies, the pogues being peeping toms, masturbation.

you are responsible for your own media consumption. welcome to kinktober day five. better late than never!

pope knew was he was doing was wrong. you were his neighbour for christs sake.

at the end of the day, he was but a man— and whilst he had no intention of stooping to full pervert level like this, he had slipped up and bragged to the wrong people, AKA — jj maybank, about how his fine ass neighbour had a certain… routine, every friday night… and would leave her bedroom blinds open for it.

the regret fully kicked in when he opened his front door, seeing the excited expression on his two best friends faces.

“no. i shouldn’t have told you.” is how pope greets them.

“dude it’s fine,” jj reiterates, easily moving past him in the entrance to his house with a clap on the shoulder, an only slightly less enthused john b following closely behind with an awkward but willing smile. “we’re not gonna watch. we’re just gonna… like — happen to glance out the window. while she’s flickin’ the bean.”

“thats — that doesn’t make it any more okay.” pope stresses, following his friends up to his bedroom.

“look, she leaves her blinds open right? isn’t that what you said? have you maybe considered that… possibly, and hear me out on this… she wants to be watched?” john b, usually the voice of reason finds it in himself to convince pope just that little more, wide puppy-like eyes doing most of the convincing. he’s probably the only reason pope hasn’t grabbed them both by the scruff of the neck and hauled them out.

the night goes on, and honestly — the perverted plan is nearly forgotten about until their attention is brought to the window just across from popes, the lamp switching on as you arrived home from work. john b swivels on popes desk chair, nodding his head toward the sight with a whistle.

“oop, shows starting.”

“honey, i’m home.” jj sings out in a high pitched voice, excited for what’s to come.

“you’re so much better than this, john b.” pope deadpans, double taking at jj as he switches off the lights to the bedroom sending them all into darkness. “what the hell?”

“do you wanna get caught creepin’ on your neighbour? no? didn’t think so.”

“you done this before jayj?” there’s a lilt of teasing to the brunettes voice as his blonde counterpart grabs a seat and drags it up beside him, the young adults gathered as they watch your figure dart around the room going about your nightly activities.

“shh.”

the boys curse, ducking down slightly when you suddenly appear at your window, fingers grazing the blinds. they stay deadly still in the dark, barely even breathing as to not draw attention to the fact they’re gathered round to watch you. you look pensive, hesitant, like you’re about to draw the blinds and shut the world out and yet… you don’t. you back away, leaving them open.

“huh.” pope breathes, glancing at his wavy haired friend.

“likes an audience. interesting.” routledge hums, voice deep and breathy.

you begin to undress, and they swear the air in the room gets thicker. peeling your leggings down your legs like they’d been painted onto you for the day creates an audible reaction from your neighbour and his friends, jj even going as far as to stick his knuckle in his mouth.

“god damn.” he garbles, earning a hum of agreement.

“oh you really lucked out here pope. the only neighbour i ever had was a 70 year old woman. trust me when she left her blinds open you look the other way.” john b doesn’t remove his eyes from the scene as he recounts the anecdote, causing pope to screw up his face.

the truth was, pope did have his own fantasies and perversions. he told himself time and time again, he wasn’t watching. he was at his desk first, you left your blinds open. visions of you at the library you worked at, helping him with research in that little mini skirt he saw you wear once. bending over to rummage shelves, sweet fat crescent of your pussy on display through your panties. pope would have no choice but to take you right there on the table behind the bookshelves, the two of you trying to stay quiet as he disappears between your thighs, seeking out that sweet nectar…

when he snaps out of it, you’re already on the bed, in perfect eyeshot of the window. just you, that dim lamp that made your skin seem to glow, an oversized tshirt and some panties.

“you guys don’t feel wrong doing this?” pope speaks in a hushed voice like you might be able to hear.

“how could something so right be so wrong, my friend?” jj pulls out a joint to stick into his mouth, only to have it plucked from his lips and tossed aside by the heyward boy.

“i’m drawing a line.”

“alright, that’s fair.”

“you guys are missing it.” john b hums, entranced by the way you palm at your tits through the top, eyes fluttering shut as your body starts to relax into the bed. “putting on a show for us.”

silence falls upon them finally as they stare, your hands trailing down to lift the hem of your shirt up and over your breasts, massaging the fat and plucking at the nipples.

“oh wow.” pope breathes, jj breaking out into a grin.

“this is some american pie shit right here.”

“grow up.”

“i’m just saying.”

it seems like forever before your hands reach down to your panties, fingers gingerly dusting over the thin fabric of what appears to be baby blue panties with a pink bow at the top centre. jj even swears he can see the gloss of your arousal on your open thighs from where he’s sat. you begin to rub yourself through the material, teasingly and you pull your bottom lip beneath your teeth, sucking in a breath.

“th’atta girl.” john b murmurs, and the air in the room suddenly feels too hot, too stifling. it wasn’t this hot five minutes ago.

“its like i… can’t look away.” pope justifies in just above a whisper, finally perching down to a more comfortable view, watching the way your head tosses side to side, back arching just that little bit as you try and find a better angle. patience leaves you, and you’re pulling the panties off all together.

“would you look at that.” jj marvels, before glancing at his two friends. “y’all mind if i jerk off real quick?”

“what?” pope screws up his face, and john b glances at him.

“yeah, uh. i mind.”

“it can’t wait?” pope adds, shaking his head and jj throws up his hands.

“i thought that’s what we were doing’ here alright my bad!” he dodges john b’s disapproving swat, eyes wide. “oh that’s where you draw the line? y’all are not real freaks.”

“no.” john b shakes his head, pope chiming in with a “thank god.”

but as their attention lands on you once more, your fingers sinking into that glossy hole — they begin to really reconsider their choice.

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART SEVEN

pirate poly!141 x reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, blood, brief mentions of death, ghost is mean, as always, be cautious! masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Soap was an obnoxious snorer. His heavy rumbles echoed throughout the quarters, traveling right over to you and keeping you awake. It didn’t help that you were forced into his bed, either.

Your eyes remained on the ceiling, slowly blinking every few seconds with the ache to sleep but unable to. You felt groggy yet restless, wanting to succumb into a comfortable slumber, but the snores began to make you itch more and more.

You didn’t know what time it was, but you knew it was too early to be getting out of bed. However, you needed an escape. A breath of fresh air.

Sitting up and swinging your legs over the bed, you stood with all the intention to escape the room for a few moments to get a piece of quiet. You gently slipped each foot into the shoes Soap had gotten you, careful not to rouse the two of them from their sleep.

You could only pray Soap didn’t feel the movement in his sleep.

Slowly, you crept towards the door, wincing at every faint creak beneath your footsteps. The two men were still sound asleep, though it was too dark to tell whether that notion was completely true or not.

With Soap still in a peaceful rumble, you successfully made it to the door, breathing out a sigh of relief at the idea of getting a moment of peace.

Price’s quarters were much quieter. Sure, he snored as well, but it wasn’t as aggressive as Soap’s. The Captain had a bad habit of smoking cigars, something you gathered when you’d seen him once or twice with a trail of swirling gray that seemed to linger a second too long.

“What are you doin’?”

The sound of Gaz’s familiar voice nearly had you jumping out of your skin. You muffled your yelp with a hand, whirling around to try and pinpoint him in the darkness.

You could faintly see his silhouette, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees. He looked menacingly in the dim light like this, a noticeable glint in his eyes that shined back at you from the lick of moonlight that poured through.

“Escapin’ again?” he gruffed, unimpressed.

Soap stirred in his sleep before shifting positions, returning back to his previous snoring.

“No, not at all,” you defended. Even in the dark, you could see Gaz didn’t look convinced.

“Yeah? Then what are you doin’ up, creepin’ around like you’re up to somethin’?” Gaz asked. He stood from the bed, arms crossing over his chest.

“I wish to get some air,” you explained as confidently as you could without waking Soap by being too rowdy. “Soap is not easy to fall asleep next to.”

Gaz was silent for a moment before he let out a quiet snort. “Aye. Well, I’m not leavin’ you unchaperoned. Captain’s orders. Can’t risk a little minx slippin’ away again.”

You went to object. You didn’t wish to have company, you wanted to be alone. Being around men was positively suffocating, and living with them against your own will wasn’t what you pictured for your future.

You wanted to live as a woman again. You wanted to live freely again. You wanted to tour the upper decks alone.

Gaz made his way across the room and over to you, his footsteps surprisingly much softer than yours, even as a larger man.

You began to think maybe he had done the same as you before. Rooming with Soap couldn’t have been super thrilling with him purring like a cat majority of the night.

He stood in front of you, cocking his head in question when he noticed your gaping mouth and a slur of words unspoken on your end. 

“C’mon. I’ll join you,” he insisted, opening the door for you and leaving no room for argument.

Moonlight flooded in, causing you to squint. You looked outside of the door, then at him, unsure.

Joining you was nicely saying that he was indeed chaperoning you. You knew the difference.

“I am not going to run away,” you repeated.

“I’m aware,” he huffed, guiding you out with a hand on your shoulder. “But I, too, can’t stand that bugger’s snorin’.”

So really, he trusted you not to run. He just trusted his Captain much more. 

Gaz becoming humorous with you was definitely new. He was usually much more serious, down to Earth, well-spoken. Apart from the casual slip of accusation towards Ghost being jealous at breakfast the day before, he had been rather silent.

You had no choice but to allow him the time to take you out on the upper deck, the two of you falling into a calm atmosphere.

The sound of the waves instantly eased the tension built within you, shoulders falling slack and your mind quieting down. Soap’s snores became a distant memory, and you had a moment to think.

Think about what, you weren’t sure. There were a plethora of things that sprouted, not all good. They had unsettled you since your very first steps on to the ship, but only did they come in the silence of the night.

You wondered how differently things would transpire for you if you were still home, safe and sound. You didn’t think much would’ve changed, not for the better anyway. You still would’ve been the crazy girl who had a wild mind and an absent desire to pursue a life like the other women.

Then Mary flashed, only for a moment. You knew the truth. If the rest of the village was dead, she was just as unlucky. As much as you wanted to hate the pirates for shifting her course of fate, you knew it would’ve been an outcome sooner rather than later.

She was old and frail with only her mind kicked into overdrive. She had the personality of just a girl, but her visits for checkups became more and more frequent as the years went by. You knew she was destined to pass somewhere down the road.

You just wish it was a comfortable death rather than one filled with chaos and terror.

Would, if the time ever came, the pirates offer you a death they couldn’t give to Mary? To your people? Or would they grant you the agony of death in cruel ways the moment they sensed a shift in your trust?

“Your mind seems disturbed,” Gaz said, not unkindly. “I’ve been told I’m a rather good listener.”

“I do not think you’d like to hear about it,” you responded, attempting to steer the topic.

“You’re one of us now, whether the both of us like it or not,” he explained. “I believe that it’ll be a much smoother sail if you have an outlet to release your troubles.”

The two of you halted at the ledge of the ship, peering down at the water. The waves lapped lazily tonight, allowing peace for you to let out your burdens.

“I think it’s rather selfish what you men have done to me,” you began. You took a brief glance at Gaz, who had his elbows leaned on the railings, eyes watching the sea. Where you expected a rebuttal, you were offered silence. “I was thinking of home.”

“I see,” Gaz hummed. “And was it a place you were happy?”

You furrowed your eyebrows in thought. You joined him in resting your elbows next to his, lying your chin on top of them. “Of course. I was very happy.”

“That doesn’t seem very convincin’ from you, little dove,” he noted. He still refused to look at you, though his attention was entirely on hearing you out.

It was a change you didn’t expect to see. It caused you to feel… confusion? Apprehension? You weren’t quite sure how you should feel.

“I was happy,” you tried to defend. Now was the time he looked at you, though it was really more of an unconvinced side eye. “On my own. I was happy when I was alone.”

“Was that such a hard confession?” he jabbed. “Go on. I know there’s more.”

You huffed through your nose, frowning at the water. “I am angry at you for killing Mary,” you confessed. “She was innocent. She was my friend.”

“Every soul is innocent under the eyes of the Gods,” he mused. “We simply do not care to be under watch. We have our reasonin’ for what we do. We will never say we’re proud of it.”

“You ask for me to— to unleash my disturbed mind, yet you are only defending yourself!” you accused with a heavy frown, setting a glare on him.

“I said I am a good listener,” he corrected with the hint of a smile. “Not a good friend.”

“Unbelievable,” you mumbled beneath your breath, returning to looking at the sea.

Where before you were surprised yet relieved that the two of you seemed to be getting on much better than before, it seemed he was taking it farther — by being insufferable. It was nearly as bad as Soap when he would take the piss out on you.

“I am merely jokin’,” Gaz assured with warmth in his tone. “I used to be very good with people, mind you. Now, I fear I’m a bit rusty.”

You glanced at him, resting your cheek on your elbows. The moment of tension had faded as quickly as it appeared, leaving the two of you in that comfortable space once again.

“What made you so good with people before?” you inquired, curious.

“I was not always a pirate,” he confessed. “I did not grow up in poverty, sailin’ the seas. I was someone of higher status before I abandoned the title and sought adventure.”

You stared at him, bewildered. The thought of Gaz being someone of importance before who he was now was mind-boggling. He didn’t appear to be posh and proper, rather a bit hot-headed with a loose tongue.

“What kind of status would that be?” you asked.

Gaz finally looked at you fully, turning his head to face you. His smile was more radiant than ever, completely genuine and kind. It was the most emotion you’d seen out of him. He seemed real.

That smile wasn’t one of a cruel pirate’s. It was a boy with a bandaged heart that was still hidden inside and needed to be coaxed out with a bit of patience.

“A prince.”

Gaz didn’t continue the conversation after. He took you back to the shared room without a lick of an explanation, opting to keep the mystery hanging in the air. Even after you questioned him further, he only gave you a slick smile before urging you back to bed.

Now, it was morning, and you had spent the rest of the night becoming friends with the ceiling once again. Soap continued to snore the night away, yet he wasn’t what kept you up.

It was Gaz. You were achingly curious.

It gave you a glimpse of who these men might have been before you, before becoming pirates. The thought of them being rugged and cruel was still heavy in your mind, but there was also a peek of light trying to pour out and shed a bit of sunshine on what you thought was only darkness.

“Ye up, dove?” Soap’s voice flooded the room and when you peeked up from where you buried yourself in your blanket, you saw Soap standing in the doorway, ready to go for the day.

You felt him leave the bed earlier that morning, but pretended to be asleep, hoping you’d finally get some rest alone. Spoiler, you did not.

Gaz stood behind Soap, and unlike before, there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. It was a faint glint, barely noticeable, but you saw it.

The damned pirate knew he was stringing along on a brutal journey of torture for not answering your inquiries and leaving you restless.

“Price wants ye in the kitchen with Ghost today,” Soap explained. “Since ye can’t do any medic duties, he wants ye to help in cookin’.”

“I do not know how to cook,” you tried to reason. “I only ever ate bread and rice. I will be of no help.”

The last thing you wanted was to be in Ghost’s area. You felt as if you took a step too close, he’d bare fanged teeth out from that mask of his and sink them into you like a rabid animal.

“Ghost’s a good teacher. C’mon, dove, Cap doesn’t like bein’ left waitin’, especially in the mornin’.” Soap encouraged you out of bed, and you quickly slipped on your shoes, stumbling on the way out.

Ghost was already present in the kitchen by the time you arrived. He was laser focused, chopping at vegetables on a wooden block with a large knife.

You had never taken note of it before, given his skull ring was the main piece plastered on his finger, but this time, you observed closer.

Black ink swirled along the back of his hand, dipping underneath the cuff of his shirt. You couldn’t make out what the picture could be, but judging from the rest of his themed attire, you had a good idea.

“The hell she doin’ here?” Ghost immediately gruffed to Soap, who was busy guiding you further into the kitchen.

“Play nice,” Soap pleaded. He walked you over to Ghost, pressing you forward when your body began to protest. “Cap wants her to learn how to cook. Be a lad and help the poor bird out, will ye?”

Ghost stared at you with eyes as dark as the onyx on his finger before grunting in annoyance, focusing back on chopping away.

Soap left before you could get a word out, leaving you alone with the Devil himself. Ghost spared you no glance, not for a long while until his vegetables were chopped and placed in a bowl.

“What do y’know how to cook?” Ghost asked, leaning his palms on the counter. “Y’know how to boil water?”

You frowned at him, offended. “Of course I know how to boil water.”

“Good. You aren’t as clueless as you act.” Ghost grabbed a pot hanging from one of the many cabinets of the kitchen before handing it over to you. “There’s some water in that barrel. Go on.”

You turned your head to where he pointed, noting the heavy barrel seated with others in the corner. You gave him a firm nod before making your way. Once you got to the barrel, you attempted to lean it over to pour some water into the pot.

It was heavy. Overwhelmingly heavy. You weren’t weak, but you were certainly in no shape to lift the barrel like Price had done when he ran you a bath.

It was a struggle. You tried not to make it obvious, not wanting to hear more jests from Ghost. Nothing you did would work. Rather than getting water into the pot, it spilled out around your feet, soaking the soles of your shoes.

Before you could express your frustration, scarred hands came around you, lifting the barrel with a deep grunt. The water poured into the pot, and when you looked behind you, Ghost stood over you.

His mask hid his expression, but judging from the way he looked at you briefly, you could pinpoint the annoyance.

“Christ,” he muttered.

When he finished helping you, he trudged back to his station, stomping along the way. You, knowing better than to quip in return, began boiling the pot over the burning embers of a small fire that centered in the middle of the kitchen.

It was nothing like a normal fire, and it was small, but it was amazing that the crew could even manage to start a fire for cooking on a rocking boat at sea.

You stood patiently and quietly as you watched the water jostle from the slight waves, slowly forming bubbles that floated to the top and popped.

Ghost remained silent as well, not sparing a single glance in your direction. This was something you were growing used to, though you wished you knew why he resented you so harshly.

He was the coldest out of the crew. Everyone had been at first, but he seemed to be the one with the most roughness around the edges. Even in his appearance, he was tougher, and the skulls certainly didn’t aid him in coming off as kind.

“Stop starin’ at me,” he said roughly.

You quickly averted your attention away from him, opting to watch the bubbles. “I apologize.”

“Don’t need no apology. Just need you to stop starin’.” He continued to mutter under his breath grumpily, and you regretted even looking his way in the first place.

“You do not have to be so rude,” you reckoned, frowning. “You are the only one with reservations left for me.”

“Because I do not like you,” he snapped, whirling around to face you.

He was menacing, the way he held the knife and stared at you like you had just kicked his puppy. It was terrifying before, but now, it didn’t feel as threatening.

“You have no reason to dislike me,” you defended. “If anything, I have every reason to dislike you.”

“Yeah? If you hate it here so much, I’ll place a plank out just for you so you can walk it.” Ghost’s hand gripped the knife tighter, his knuckles going white.

“I have done nothing to you,” you clipped back.

“You have done everythin’ to me,” he rebutted. “You are only here because of Soap, and that is only because he is more kind-hearted than the rest of us. If we had it our way, we would not have you here.”

You could feel your blood begin to boil like the water in the pot. It was sizzling, steaming, and heated.

You didn’t have a clue why Ghost hated you, and he wasn’t giving you a clear answer. The only thing you knew was that he did, and he stood on it.

“You are the ones who took me prisoner,” you jabbed. “You’re the disgusting pirates who burned down my home and took me as a medic. Who is at fault but yourselves?”

Ghost let out an angry noise from the back of his throat, slamming down the knife — except, in doing so, the blade clipped his finger, pebbling up drops of blood that began to drip down his finger and on to the wooden block beneath it.

Immediately, your fury turned to worry, and you hurried over to check the cut. Instead of allowing you to help, he stepped away from you, holding his other hand up to his bleeding finger, cutting off the blood with a fisted grip.

“I do not need your help, medic,” he spat, turning away and storming out of the kitchen.

You watched wearily as he left, the door slamming behind him. You didn’t like getting into fights, let alone with Ghost. He was harsh with his words and did not hold back on your feelings.

Now, you felt you were the reason he hurt himself to begin with. You were taken in as a medic, and you couldn’t even fix up the one man who had hurt himself thus far.

You let out a heavy sigh, slumping your arms on to the counter to bury your face in them. Before you could, a glimpse of something unfamiliar caught your eye.

Upon closer inspection, you noticed something off about Ghost’s blood that had dropped the wooden block. When it had first dripped, it was a deep crimson.

Now, as you looked, it had changed. It was no longer red and was unmistakably black in color.

[orfeoedeuryice]

remmick x f!user bot

warnings: kidnapping, toxic relationship, user has baaaad stockholm syndrome, very mild, implied cnc, getting used for your blood

“Darlin’, it’s me.” The oh so familiar drawl spoke, from the other side of the door.

You froze, halfway through making dinner, the bustle of city life still foreign to your senses. It’s been three weeks since you stumbled out of the woods, and while Remmick ran from the men on horses, you stood there trying not to shake. Dress sullied from mud and blood, neck still stinging, your memories splintered between terror and tenderness. The Choctaw were kind to you—gentle hands, warm blankets, steady voices. They believed you when you said you weren’t like him. That you didn’t want to be his wife. They freed you.

You didn’t miss the runaway life with Remmick. Often feeling faint and drained as he convinced you it’s what was best for both of you, that you were sweet, that your blood was the most wonderful thing he had tasted in his long existence…

“Open the door, mo grá.” He spoke, not a request, a demand. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t take a step forward. He was a successful vampire, and with that, came a manipulation that could only come with the many years he had lived.

“I know they fed you lies. Sayin’ how I stole you, how innocent you are in all this.” He ‘tsk’ed in disbelief. “Darlin’, with how you looked at me, held my hands, how you took me, lord, I just find that hard to believe.” He chuckled, a hint of darkness behind it.

“I hear your feet creepin’ their way over to this door, I know you missed me bad, baby.”

As if controlled by someone else, your fingers wrapped around the doorknob, twisting, and pulled it open, almost involuntarily.

“Atta girl, let me in. I won’t bite if you don’t want.” His eyes and mouth were completely mismatched, his eyes held an odd tenderness that you had never seen in him before, and that signature smirk gracing his lips.

Deep down, he probably did care for you. He wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble if you were just another human lover, and there were moments of softness between you two, but your entire relationship began when he stole you, seduced a lonely girl into running away.

“I’ve been ransacked and ravaged my whole life, baby. My kin, my people, my songs, my language… But nobody can ever steal you from me. Now don’t make me beg, a chuisle.”

bot link: https://share.character.ai/Wv9R/6m3z4txg

[greasermoon]

Worth Keeping

dallas!fem reader

fightingxcursingxmakingupxcigusagexalcohmentionxmildsuggestivecont

ꨄ

“Dammit, Dallas, would you just stand still for once?”

Your voice ricochets off the cracked brick walls of the vacant lot. It’s past midnight, the summer heat giving way to a restless, humid dark, and Tulsa feels like it’s holding its breath. Even the cicadas have gone quiet. Across from you, Dallas Winston paces like a caged wolf, a half-smoked cig dangling between two bruised knuckles. The red tip flares, dies, flares again.

He doesn’t look at you. “Gotta keep movin’, doll. Ground’s hot.”

“Bullshit.”

That finally makes him glance over. His blue eyes—storm clouds waiting to break—fix on yours, and you swear the air tightens between you. This started hours ago: a stupid rumor that Sylvia had been hanging on his arm down at Buck’s, the way Two-Bit’s teasing grin cracked something raw inside you, the look on Dally’s face when you asked, “Was she really there?” One too many questions, one too many evasions, and now you’re both here, hearts hissing like water on a skillet.

“Thought you trusted me, y/n,” he says, voice low, dangerous. “Ain’t that what you’re always preachin’? ‘I trust you, Dal, I know you’d never—’”

“Don’t you dare put this on me.” You step closer, fists clenched. “All I asked was whether she showed up. You couldn’t even say yes or no.”

He snorts. “Like a straight answer ever fixed anything in my life.”

“Maybe try it for once!”

The shout rips out of you before you can leash it. Dallas’s jaw ticks. Somewhere behind the Curtis house a dog barks, then silences. The streetlight above flickers, paints him in harsh amber for one breath, then goes dim again, like even the electricity knows better than to stick around.

“You wanna know where I was?” he snarls, flicking the cigarette away. It sparks against gravel, dies. “I was at Buck’s, yeah. Sylvia came creepin’ up, actin’ sweet so she could dip a hand in my goddamn back pocket. I told her to fuck off. That answer your question, detective?”

The words hit, but the venom behind them stings worse. “Then why lie earlier?”

“Because,”—he spreads his arms—“every time her name pops up you get that look. Like I’m gonna run right back and marry her in Vegas the second you blink.”

“You keep dodging, Dallas! It’s not just Sylvia. It’s the jobs nobody knows about, the black-and-blue knuckles, the nights I wake up alone because you slipped out the window like a ghost. I’m sick of guessing which alley they’ll drag your body out of!”

For a second he just stares, chest rising, falling. Moonlight catches the thin white scar on his cheek. “That’s rich,” he says softly, deadly calm. “Comin’ from the girl who knew exactly what she was signin’ up for.”

“I signed up for you, not the funeral.”

Silence crashes down. The words echo, raw, awful. Dallas blinks once, and it’s like the mask slips; you see the kid under the swagger, the boy who learned too young that caring is a liability. But it’s gone in a heartbeat, replaced by frost.

“Maybe you oughta find somebody safer, then,” he whispers. “Some nice Soc with clean hands and a shiny future—”

“Stop it.”

“—leave the hood trash to rot where we belong—”

“Dallas!”

But he’s on a roll now, voice rising, brittle with something that sounds like heartbreak disguised as rage. “Face it, y/n, I ain’t changed and I never will. I steal, I fight, I drink too goddamn much, and every cop in this city’s got my mug memorized. I’m poison—“

You cross the distance, shove him hard in the chest. “You’re not poison, you stubborn, beautiful idiot. You’re scared.”

The word freezes him. He opens his mouth, closes it. Tries again. “I ain’t—”

“Yes, you are,” you say, voice cracking. Tears blur your vision, but you keep going. “You’re scared I’ll leave, so you push first. You’re scared you’re not worth saving, so you keep proving yourself right.”

He exhales like he’s taken a gut-shot. “y/n…”

“I don’t need perfect,” you whisper. “I need honest. I need alive. And I need you to stop acting like love is a goddamn crime.”

A car rumbles past on the main road, bass thumping, then fades. Somewhere a neon sign buzzes. Dallas’s shoulders slump. When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse. “You really wanna know why I slipped out tonight?”

You nod.

“I… I went to meet Tim Shepard,” he says. “He was settin’ up a deal—boosted radios. He wanted me in for muscle. Good money, easy grab.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I told him no.”

The confession hangs between you, fragile as glass. “Why?”

He laughs once, broken. “Because you got in my head, that’s why. You and your damn future talk. Your ‘maybe tomorrow we won’t have to run’ dreams.” He looks at his hands like he hates them. “But then that scared me worse, so I came home and picked a fight instead.”

Your breath hitches. “Jesus, Dal.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, voice barely a rasp. “Nobody teaches a guy like me how to—to be worth somethin’. I know how to swing a blade, how to rob a store, how to use a girl till she hates me. But you—” He swallows. “You make me wanna be better, and that’s—fuck, it’s terrifying.”

You step closer, place a hand over his still-bruised knuckles. “Being terrified’s allowed,” you say, softer now. “Running from it isn’t.”

He closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they’re shining. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. The words sound foreign on his tongue, like a new language.

You squeeze his fingers. “I’m sorry too.”

For a heartbeat you just stand there, city sounds pulsing in the periphery. Then Dallas pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping tight—as if letting go would be surrender. You feel his heartbeat under your ear, wild and unsteady.

“I didn’t touch Sylvia,” he murmurs into your hair. “Swear on my life.”

“I believe you.”

“I ain’t gonna promise I’ll never mess up, y/n. But I’ll try to… y’know… not die.” He huffs a laugh.

You smile against his shirt. “Reasonable goal.”

He tips your chin up, eyes flicking to your lips. “Can I—?”

“You better.”

The kiss is rough, desperate, all teeth and salt until it gentles, turns slow. The taste of nicotine and mint. The smell of leather and sweat and something that’s just Dallas. When he breaks away, breathless, he presses his forehead to yours.

“I love you,” he says, voice shaky. “Been scared shitless to say it, but there it is.”

Your heart stutters. “I love you too, criminal reputation and all.”

He snorts. “Yeah, well. Maybe I’ll retire. Open a bakery. Sell cupcakes shaped like switchblades.”

You laugh, really laugh, the sound ricocheting into the night. “You’d burn the place down in a week.”

“Worth a shot.” His thumb brushes a drying tear from your cheek. “Come on, doll. Let’s blow this dump before the cops swing by.”

You lace your fingers with his. “Where to?”

“Anywhere the sunrise won’t find us,” he says, and for once there’s hope in the mischief. “But first—” He digs in his jacket, produces his packet of cigarettes, flicks it open. Instead of lighting one, he crushes the whole pack, tosses it in a nearby trash barrel.

Your brows lift. “Since when do you waste smokes?”

He shrugs, almost shy. “Figured if I’m tryin’ not to die, maybe start with the easy stuff.”

Warmth blooms in your chest. You squeeze his hand, and together you head for the sidewalk, leaving the lot—and the ghosts that haunt it—behind. The sky over Tulsa is turning silver now, first hint of dawn. Dallas nudges you with his shoulder.

“Hey, y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“If I fuck up again—”

“You will,” you say, smile soft.

He huffs. “When I fuck up again… just remind me of this, alright? Remind me I got somethin’ worth keeping.”

You stop, tug him back, and press a kiss over a faint scar on his cheek. “Deal.”

Far off, a siren wails. Dallas squeezes your hand once, then pulls you into a jog, the two of you laughing like fugitives who stole back their own hearts. And maybe the world is still rough, and the future still uncertain, but for the first time, Dallas Winston isn’t running from love—he’s running with it.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

. 　　　★ 　° :. ★　 * •

.　 * 　.　 　　　　　.

° 　. ● . ★ ° . *　　　°　.　°☆

　. * ● ¸ . 　　　★ 　° :●. 　 *

• ○ ° ★　 .　 * 　.

Hope y’all like this one.

[shotmrmiller]

johnny en las almas

It feels like the man with the skull mask had just left when another person traipses in through the broken front door. He's not as sneaky as the big boy— the shattered glass of your windows crunching under his boots with each step. With each inhale, his breath is ragged and uneven, his teeth clattering together due to the biting cold of the rain pouring outside.

Peeking through the crack of the closet door, you watch the muscle-bound soldier with the mohawk moving cautiously through your home— first going left towards your bedroom, then right towards the bathroom.

"Picked up some tape." Scottish accent. Is he talking to himself?

A brief pause settled in the air, interrupted solely by the faint noise of him rummaging through the cupboard.

"If I have to wrap a gift?" He has a radio, then.

Following that, he falls silent, continuing his search for supplies when the plastic bucket you're sitting on unexpectedly caves in, causing a loud and startling noise. Shit. Shit shit shit—

"Out, palms flat on the floor, or I break yer neck." His voice is like steel— hard and cold, much unlike a few minutes before when he was bantering with whoever it was.

You push the door open with the crown of your head to keep your hands flat on the floor as you fearfully crawl out, craning your neck to look at him.

"Creepin' bloody jesus. Cannae be scarin' me like tha', coulda killed ye."

Perhaps it's the overwhelming stress of everything that has unfolded today— from the unexpected arrival of Americans to the uncertainty of becoming just another statistic that leads you to respond with an unwise touch of sarcasm.

"So sorry, friend. I'll be sure to let you know when I leave for work tomorrow, yeah?"

He surprisingly chuckles, wincing when his shoulders shake. "Aye, sorry, sorry," he extends a hand toward you. "Terrible hidin' spot, though."

With a single motion, he effortlessly raises you to your feet. "If you're friends with a bear-sized man that wears a skull mask, he told me the same thing."

As you glance downwards, brushing off the dust from your knees, you fail to notice the piercing gaze he directs towards you. "He came through here?"

"Mhm," you confirm. "Picked me up like a dog and threw me in this closet behind him. He saved my life, though."

Straightening, you glance up at him, only to finally notice the openly bleeding wound on his right arm. "May I?" you gesture at his injury.

His hesitance is obvious, the corner of his thin lips pulling downward and dark brows furrowing so you confess, "I'm a nurse. Well, was, until I came here. I swear to know what I'm doing. Come with me, I've-" but whatever you were about to say is smothered by his hand, fingers digging into your soft cheeks, and uses his other to place a finger over his mouth.

Silence.

He turns his head to the side; an unsettling stillness descending upon the two of you. Suddenly, he's roughly grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the bedroom, where he presses you firmly against the wall closest to the door.

He whispers harshly into your ear. "Do. not. move."

Trembling with fear, you instinctively curl up, shrinking into yourself as if trying to disappear from sight. Luckily, whoever they were left as fast as they came— merely using your home as a shortcut.

Mohawk man takes no chances, however, so you're effectively pinned under him for a considerable amount of time until he deems it completely safe.

The small grin he gives you after is apologetic. "Sorry."

You irritably soothe the ache on your cheeks. "It's alright. Can't wait to get out of this pisshole, though."

He's acquiescent after, letting you quickly clean and dress his wound. "I have no more bandages so this'll have to do." The sound of fabric being torn echoes in the bathroom. "Get seen for this injury as soon as you're able, otherwise you'll have a nasty infection on your hands."

He huffs out a small laugh. "Dinnae ye mean arm?"

Charming. "Your friend left through the back door. That's all I know."

"Aye. Thank ye." He quickly hops off the counter, jogs to the back door, and with one last glance at you, he disappears.

-

"Gimme a sit-rep." Ghost says over comms.

"Outside...Gated alley."

[thelov3lybookworm]

Hey, will you write a cassian x reader fic inspired by the song Creepin by Metro Boomin & the Weeknd?

My fault.

Summary: They never liked her. Thought he was too good for her. She did not realised the lengths they would go to hurt her.

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: self loathing, cheating, asshole inner circle, reader does not think herself worthy of love. that's all, me thinks, but if there's more, lemme know.

A/n: thank you for the request anon! i enjoyed writing it so much 🥹 so sorry for the long wait my love❣️

(the inner circle is kind of a bitch in this, not Nesta though. she is an angel. reader has no freakin backbone, so dont read if its no your cup of tea)

with that out of the way, i might do a part two if everyone wants it. I have it all planned out 😏

anyways, enjoy!

(heheh @artists-ally and @aroseinvelaris i hope this makes you cry. the snippets were just the snacks. this is the meal)

•○🌑○•

Y/n stared at her best friend of centuries, numbness spreading through her chest the longer she thought about the information she had just received.

"Y/n? Please say something." Nina begged, her eyes shining with tears, pleading.

"What is there left to say?" Y/n mumbled, taking a deep breath as she turned her gaze towards the empty cup that sat in front of her, picking at her cuticles. "Are you... are you sure it was him?"

Y/n knew it hurt Nina to be the bearer of the bad news, and she felt bad for asking her more about it. But she needed to know. "Yes. I don't think many Illyrians walk around with seven glowing rocks on their body."

Y/n nodded absently.

They sat a few moments in silence, letting the scrape and clinks of the cutlery fill the space between them.

It was supposed to be a girl's day today, and it had been fun, until Nina had gotten that sad, guilty look on her face as the two of them sat sipping on tea at a small cafe in the heart of Velaris.

Y/n almost regretted asking her friend what the matter was. Almost.

When the quiet became unbearable, Y/n stood with a deep sigh, grabbing her purse from the table in between them. Nina followed. "Y/n?"

"I think it's getting late. We should go home. He will be returning soon."

Y/n could see Nina's heart breaking for her friend, but she did not want anyone's sympathy.

"You are going to go back? To that house? To him?"

Y/n released a frustrated breath as the two of them left the cafe, spilling out into the packed street. "What else am I supposed to do? Run away?"

"Yes! He does not deserve you. Please tell me you will leave?"

Y/n looked away from Nina. "You know me, Nina. I have never been one to just up and leave."

It was almost common knowledge at this point. Everyone who knew Y/n, knew she would rather stay in a relationship in which she was the only one making an effort than leave. And she knew she probably was weak for not standing up for herself, the couple of relationships she's been in before showing that, but she simply could not bring herself to forget the teachings of her long dead mother-

That it was a female's job to keep her partner satisfied, and if he sought out other women, then it was the female's fault that she could not satisfy his needs.

Y/n did not think she would ever be able to stop being that timid, shy female who would just cry in the safety of the darkness in her room when someone hurt her.

She hated herself for it.

Nina was the only one who understood Y/n's reasoning and did not give her shit for it. She was the only one who tried to gently guide Y/n to stand up for herself. She never judged Y/n for crying.

"I..." Nina took a deep breath before nodding, rubbing Y/n's back. "I hope you someday find it in yourself to leave him before he..."

Nina did not say it, but Y/n heard it nonetheless.

Before he left her, disposed in favour of someone better. Someone more beautiful, someone more confident and loveable.

Y/n nodded, blinking back tears as she moved to hug her friend, who was more of a sister than anything at this point.

"Thank you." Y/n murmured into Nina's shoulder, her voice breaking. She felt Nina nod against her, giving her a rueful smile after they pulled away.

"Take care, Y/n."

Y/n nodded, turning away. "You too."

•○🌑○•

Y/n searched his face for something, anything, to show her that what Nina had told her was just a lie. That maybe she was mistaken.

Y/n came up lacking.

Now that she thought about it, the signs were always there. She was just too busy pretending that everything was fine. That Cassian was not like her previous lovers. That he would not throw her to the side, out of his life, for someone else.

That he loved her.

She now saw how foolish she'd been. Every male put on this land by the mother was the same. They only wanted females who were confident, who knew how to give them what they wanted.

She remembered how he had become recently. Yelling and picking fights over the smallest things.

The first time it happened, he was deep in his work, and Y/n had dropped something, making a loud sound and startling the both of them. Usually, Cassian would have given her a small smile and just gone back to work. But not that day.

That day he had glared at her, which was almost worse than the words that he mumbled next.

"When will you stop being clumsy?"

He had spoken under his breath, but Y/n had still heard. She stiffened.

"What?"

He sighed, his frustration evident. "When will you stop being clumsy?"

His voice was loud, almost booming, echoing in the painful silence after. Tears filled Y/n's eyes as she stared at him.

"Great. Now you are crying." He leaned back, dragging his palms down his face. Y/n ducked her head.

"I'm sorry." With that, she had shuffled out of his office, hoping she had not angered him too much and that he would forgive her.

Y/n watched, as Cassian threw back his head and laughed at something his family said, his hand on his abdomen.

She knew he had recently begun pulling away, knew he felt trapped by her.

And so she had let him do what he wished, made herself smaller to make space for his happiness.

Maybe that's where she had gone wrong.

She could tell he felt freer in this moment. Could tell by the sparkle in his eyes and by the constant smile and joy on his face.

She watched through the window as his body shook with the bouts of laughter his family pulled from him. She stood outside of the small gates that guarded the River estate of the high lord and blinked away her tears.

She had not seen him this happy in months now, and she had to fight off the jealousy that simmered in her gut. After all, she had no right to feel that way after she was the one who suppressed his happiness.

Y/n took a breath, releasing it in a sigh as she made up her mind. She needed to talk to Cassian, and then she would go back home, to the place she and Cassian had shared. To the place that he stopped living in in the past months, only visiting for the sake of it.

Walking up to the door of the home was quicker than she expected, and suddenly she was staring at the fine wood and considering bolting.

Her hand raised itself before she could do anything else, knocking, and she cursed lowly when the sound of footsteps approached.

The door opened to reveal a beautiful female staring at Y/n with a small smile. She had gorgeous blue-grey eyes, her hair that was wrapped around her head in a crown shining under the faelights.

"Yes? How can I help you?"

Y/n blinked, swallowing, wondering if she looked as miserable as she felt.

"I- is Cassian here?"

The female's brows furrowed. "Yes. Who are you?"

Y/n's eyes travelled to behind the female, where now stood a wide eyed Cassian and a furious looking High Lord. "I..."

Cassian sighed, taking a step forward, making the beautiful female glance back at them. "She's my-"

"She's no one, Nesta." Everyone's eyes snapped to the high lord. Hate spread through Y/n, but she tamped it down when Cassian simply continued staring at his brother instead of defending his wife.

A sudden rush of tears prickled at Y/n's eyes, but she swallowed hard. "Yes. I'm no one."

Cassian met her eyes, his gaze pained. Y/n had the vague feeling of being watched, but she ignored it, directly addressing her husband.

"Can I have a word? In private?"

The high lord opened his mouth, to reject no doubt, but Cassian beat him to it. "Yes."

Y/n sighed, and when she inhaled, Cassian's scent mixed with a soft, feminine filled her lungs . Y/n's wide eyes swung to a confused looking Nesta before glancing at Cassian disbelievingly, and she could see guilt overtaking Cassian's features.

She blinked, letting the tears fill her eyes as she gave him a pained expression.

"Thank you." Y/n mumbled, her tone defeated. Before the high lord could interrupt, she turned away, making her way towards the garden in front of the house, knowing Cassian followed.

When she was sure that no one could eavesdrop on them unless they really wanted to, she turned to her husband.

The two of them just stared at each other, the air around them charged.

Y/n decided to try and break a tense silence. "Hi."

His brows furrowed. "Hi..."

She smiled uncertainly at him as she contemplated her next words. "I... how are you?"

He blinked. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

She shrugged, the words flying out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Just feels like I haven't seen you in a long time. I've been worried."

His features softened, his eyes studying her. "I'm sorry. I have been... busy."

She nodded. "I can tell."

Despite her efforts to not let her sadness show, she knew he could tell.

"I- I can explain-"

Y/n shook her head. "There is no need to. I understand."

He blinked again. "What? You... what?"

She gave him a look. "I understand why you did it. I mean... it's not like it hasn't happened before with my previous lovers. I get it."

His mouth opened and closed like a fish, and Y/n continued.

"Look, it's... okay. I won't stop you from it. Just... I don't want to know. If you are playing me, please... keep it low. My heart can't take it anymore. Just don't let me find out. Keep it to yourself." Her voice wavered as she spoke the words that were swirling through her mind since Nina told her about what she'd seen. "Please don't throw me away."

Guilt and shock spread though his face, as if he's just made a realisation and hated it. "Y/n I am so sorry-"

His voice broke, and Y/n immediately began searching for ways to ask for forgiveness and make him happy.

"Don't apologise, my love. I know your family hates me, and I probably deserve it. I... you definitely deserve better. I know you do. And I understand." She took a deep breath, knowing she was rambling but she could not stop. "I- I am so sorry I could not give you what you want, but please, Cassian, don't-"

Cassian grabbed her face, pulling her into his chest. Y/n stilled, trying to take in a full breath as tears started escaping her eyes as she gasped and clenched her eyes shut.

"Y/n-"

But a sharp gasp cut him off, and Y/n pulled away from Cassian, finding Nesta and Rhysand staring at them. Y/n took a few steps back, not wanting to ruin whatever was giving Cassian the happiness she couldn't.

But Nesta glared at Cassian, and then Rhys. With a start, Y/n realised the high lord was staring at her.

And he had tears in his eyes.

"You were trying to get me to accept the bond with a married male?"

Everything slowed down, and Y/n stared in horror at Rhysand.

"Mates?" She whispered.

Nest looked over, making to step close. "Please forgive me. I did not know that brute was married. I would never have done what I did otherwise."

Y/n shook her head, wondering if there was a way to respond to that.

She settled on the only thing that made sense to her.

"Good night."

She turned towards the gates, and, for the first time since she had met Cassian, ignored the calls of her name by her husband, his brother and his mate as she sprinted away.

•○🌑○•

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392

Cassian taglist: @kennedy-brooke @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter

[mattslocket]

ㅤ ㅤ⛧ㅤㅤ͏͏͏REBOUND ↷ HOCKEY PLAYER!MATT

𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖢𝖨𝖲 ❜ Matt, a fierce hockey player, grills Y/N, a history major always in the bleachers, for never skating.

𝖥𝖤𝖠𝖳𝖴𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 › FROTSTBITE!READER

𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 › NO WARNINGS

CHARACTER AI BOT › LINK HERE

The rink at Blackthorn University, nestled in the frostbitten heart of Burlington, Vermont, hums with the sharp scrape of blades and the dull thud of pucks against boards.

The air is crisp, laced with the metallic tang of ice and the faint sweat of exertion, the arena’s fluorescent lights casting stark shadows across the bleachers.

Matt is a force on the ice, a defenseman for the Blackthorn Bears, known for his ruthless hits and a temper that leaves blood on the rink. His dark hair is slick with sweat under his helmet, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowed with predatory focus were tracking the puck as practice winds down.

Off the ice, he’s a Boston kid, raised on street hockey and sibling brawls with his brothers, his aggression honed by years of scrapping for every goal, every win. He’s not cruel, just relentless; his teammates call him “the butcher” for the way he leaves opponents bruised, sometimes bleeding, his stick a weapon, his fists a last resort.

Y/N sits in the bleachers, her usual spot, third row from the glass, her notebook open on her lap, a pen tapping against her lips.

She’s a history major, her dark hair tucked into a knit beanie, her oversized sweater swallowing her frame, her jeans hiding the faint scars on her knee from a surgery five years ago. She’s a spectator, her presence a quiet ritual, her eyes fixed on the players but never the ice itself, her fingers clutching the notebook like an anchor. She’s sharp, her mind a vault of dates and battles, but there’s a melancholy to her, a weight she carries that nobody at Blackthorn knows.

Matt’s noticed her before, countless times, always in the same spot, always alone, her face a mix of focus and something heavier, like she’s haunted.

She’s never on the ice, never in skates, just watching, scribbling, leaving before the Zamboni hums. Tonight, practice is brutal, his shoulder aching from a check he threw, his knuckles red from a near-fight with a teammate who fumbled a pass. He’s pissed, the adrenaline still coursing, and as the team files off, he spots her again, her head bent over her notebook, oblivious to the chaos below.

He yanks off his helmet, his hair a sweaty mess, and stomps up the bleacher steps, his skates still on, blades clicking, his stick dangling from one hand. “Yo, you,” he calls, his accent thick, his voice rough from shouting drills. “You’re here, like, every damn practice. What’s your deal? You scoutin’ or just creepin’?” He stops a row below her, towering, his breath visible in the cold air, his tone half-challenge, half-curiosity, his eyes locking on hers, probing for a reaction.

Y/N looks up, startled, her pen freezing mid-tap, her eyes wide but not intimidated. “Not scouting,” she says, her voice steady but soft, a slight edge to it, like she’s used to deflecting. “Just… watching. Studying. Whatever.” She shrugs, closing her notebook, her fingers brushing the cover—a nervous tic, but her gaze doesn’t waver, meeting his with a quiet defiance that throws him off.

“Studyin’?” Matt snorts, leaning on his stick, the blade scuffing the bleacher floor. “Ain’t much to study up here, unless you’re writin’ a thesis on how to miss a slapshot.” His grin is sharp, teasing, but his eyes soften, catching the way her shoulders tense, the way her fingers grip the notebook too tight. “You ever skate? You look like you know the ice, but I never see you down there.”

Her lips part, a flicker of something—pain, maybe—crossing her face before she shuts it down, her expression hardening. “Nah,” she mutters, clipped, standing and slinging her bag over her shoulder, her sweater slipping to reveal a sliver of collarbone. “Enjoy your practice, butcher.” She steps past him, her boots loud on the metal stairs, her tone cool but laced with a sarcasm that makes him blink, his grin faltering.

“Yo, hold up,” he calls, turning, his skates awkward on the steps, but she’s already at the exit, her beanie a dark smudge against the arena’s lights. He stands there, his stick heavy in his hand, his chest tight with something he can’t name—curiosity, irritation, maybe respect.

She’s not like the rink bunnies who giggle at his hits or the teammates who cower under his glare. She’s different, a puzzle, and Matt, for all his ferocity, loves a challenge.

© 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒕 ▪︎ no copying, translation, or plagiarism authorized.

[strniohoeee]

hii i was thinking you could do a smutty fic where y/n is the triplets bsf and she lives with them,and they go out to dinner one night and y/n was like wearing i very revealing dress and matt couldnt contain himself so when they got home matt went to hang out in y/ns room(alone) and he says something along the lines of “i looked so fucking hot today” and then makeout the session and then smutty smut smut,if u cant that’s totally okay love u and ur fics bae😝

Creepin

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: After dinner, and Y/N wearing a short dress Matt’s feeling a bit conflicted….and turned on??🗣️

Warnings⚠️: SMUT SMUT SMUT. There’s nothing like crazy crazy at least that’s how I feel, but uhhh they definitely FUCKIN🖤

Song for the imagine: Creepin- Metro Boomin, The Weeknd, 21 Savage

⚠️This is an 18+ imagine, so minors do not interact, or do??⚠️

And if you’re Creepin, please don’t let it show

Oh baby, I don’t wanna know

The triplets had decided to have dinner at a fancy restaurant for hitting 5 million subscribers on YouTube. They invited Madi and I.

I have never been out to a fancy restaurant, so I was so excited to play dress up especially with Madi! We both decided on wearing black mini dresses, and we looked so hot

As we walked out to the living room we hear Chris

“Can we get a little commotion for the dress!! Holy shit yall look good” he said

“Thank youuuu” we both said giggling

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Matt was struggling to rip his eyes away from her. The way the dress hugged her curves, made her breast pop and her legs look long and beautiful. He was struggling badly

We had called an Uber to to the restaurant, and when we got there Madi and I felt so fucking luxurious. I mean high ceilings, thousand dollar light fixtures, hot older men….we were having a blast

“Holy shit we could find a sugar daddy” I said to them

“Omg let’s be on the lookout” Madi said winking at me

It seemed like they hired good looking people here because the waiters and waitress were out of a fucking model catalog

“Nick I see a whole lot of eye candy for you” I said looking over at him

“You’re fucking telling me…..my mouth is on the floor” he said looking around

“The women are hot too” I said winking at Chris and Matt

“I’m seeing a lot of blonde….not really my type” Chris said

“Not really my vibe” Matt said looking at the girls

“Your fucking loss every bodies hot here” I said to them

We had a waiter who was the definition of a wet dream. Black slicked back hair, dark eyes, tan skin and sharp facial features

“Dude he’s checking you out” Madi said

“Ehhh he’s alright” I said to her

“Alright? That man’s so fucking fine” Nick said

“10$ says he will flirt with you when he comes back” Madi said

“You have a bet” I said reaching my hand across the table and shaking her hand

When the waiter came by he gave us our drinks, and came back to me to take our orders. Everyone ordered before me and finally it was my turn

“And for the beautiful lady?” He asked me

“Oh…umm I’ll have the steak, medium well, and what are the sides?” I asked looking up at him

He flashed a sideways smile before looking at my lips and reading me the sides

“I’ll do the mashed potatoes and the Cesar salad” I said closing my menu and handing it to him

“Great pick pretty” he said all flirty, and then walked away

“You owe me 10 fucking dollars” Madi said laughing at me

“Why do guys who I don’t find attractive always hit on me” I said rolling my eyes

“Because you’re hot, ummm you radiate feminine power and you smell good” she said to me

“Boooo boring” I said to her

“Ouu how much you wanna bet he’ll leave his number and give us some type of discount” Chris said wiggling his brows

“Alright let’s not use her looks to take advantage” Matt said chiming in

“The number maybe, but a discount I doubt look at this place too boujee” I said to Chris

We had all finished our dinner, and gotten dessert and it was time for the bill to come around

The waiter came up to me, and handed me the bill while winking….bold fucking move

I opened the check and my jaw dropped

“SHUT THE FUCK UP” I said laughing

“WHAT IS IT” Nick yelled

“He fucking gave me his number, and gave the whole bill 20% off” I said laughing

“NO FUCKING WAY” Chris and Madi said

“I just saved yall 100 dollars” I said passing the bill down to Matt

“Dude you’re coming with us everywhere” Chris said shaking his head

“You gonna call him?” Madi asked

“Fuck no, but if I want a discounted meal I might” I said shrugging my shoulders

“Ew what a fucking loser he put a heart next to his number” Matt said laughing

“I was thinking the same thing” I said laughing with Matt

We had gotten another Uber back home, and everyone went to sit on the couch to watch a movie, but I decided to go to my room because I was so tired

I had changed and took off my makeup, washing my face and had been scrolling on tik tok for 20 minutes before I heard a knock at the door

“Come innn” I said locking my phone and putting it down

“Hey” Matt said coming in

“Oh hey Matt” I said smiling at him

“Can I chill with you? They’re being so loud and annoying out there” he said

“Of course you don’t have to ask” I said as he walked over and sat on the bed

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow” I asked Matt

“Nah, I think they want to film a vlog” he said sitting in front of me

“Oh funnnn” I said cracking my knuckles

“You should come with to film” he said

“Maybe I have some plans tomorrow morning, but after sure” I said to him

“Ouuu plans with the waiter?” He said wiggling his brows

“Oh god no eww” I said laughing

“God you just looked so hot today in that outfit” Matt blurted out

“WHAT?” i said genuinely shocked

“I mean….uh I’m not sure why I said that” he said blushing

“I appreciate it, I really do especially coming from you” I said smiling at him

“Oh yeah?” He asked

“Yeah Matt. I have liked you for so long I have waited for the day you’d compliment me” I said to him

“I have liked you so much too…..I’m so glad we feel the same” he responded

“You looked so hot tonight too” I said batting my lashes at him

“I did?” He asked honestly shocked that I called him hot

“Matt you’re really fucking hot. Not sure how you don’t know this” I said laughing at him

“Just kiss me already you’re begging for it at this point” he said laughing

I rolled my eyes at him and grabbed him by his shirt pulling him in and crashing our lips together

When I pulled away his pupils were dilated and his breathing was shallow

“I have wanted to do that for so long” he said looking at my lips

“Me fucking too” I said licking my lips

I pulled him back in for another kiss, and slowly we started to make out. I eventually scooched down, and Matt was above me now

Kissing my lips to my jaw then down to my neck.

“Do you want this?” He asked me

“More than anything” I said out in a sigh

Matt began kissing my neck again, and came back up to make out with me again our tongues fighting for dominance as our teeth clashed together

I pushed Matt back, so I could remove my shirt

“No bra” he said tilting his head

“Oh yes my bad I was getting ready for bed, and wasn’t expecting to fuck you, so how dare I not have some decorum” I said sarcastically

“Shut up” he said biting his lip before kissing me again moving his kisses down to my neck, and then to the valley of my breasts slowly moving to take my left nipple into his mouth, sailing his tongue around it

“Fuck Matt” I moaned out

He then went to my right nipples taking that one into his mouth as well

As he was doing that he slid his hand down to my waistband, and slowly slid his hand into my underwear snaking his hand to my pussy

“So wet” he said before licking my nipple and taking it back into his mouth

I just mewled at this feeling so fucking good

He slowly started to rub my clit and then switched to my left nipple

“Matt this feels so good keep going” I said running my hands through his hair

He slowly slid his middle finger into my pussy stretching me out, and causing me to gasp at the feeling, slowly pumping his finger in and out of me. About two minutes later he add his ring finger in

“FUCK” I yelled out

“SHHHH” he says laughing and covering my mouth

“SORRY” I said laughing with him

He kept fingering me for a good two minutes before I stopped him

“Baby I need more” I said looking into his eyes, and he nodded

Matt removed his pants and boxers, and the removed my pants and underwear

“Spit” he said holding his hand out, so I did

He then brought his hand down to his dick slowly stroking it

“I could cum right now” he says rolling his eyes back

Once he got his dick wet he then came down and licked a strip up my pussy

“Oh my god” I said shuddering

He slowly slid his dick in, us gasping as he pushed in further

“Alright we have to be really quiet” he said bottoming out

“Yes baby anything for you” I said nodding

“Good” he said and slowly started to thrust into me

Matt was pounding into me and I’m sure the whole house was hearing it if they were out in the living room

“Fuck Matt” I said clenching down onto him

“Keep doing that baby, and I won’t make it much longer” he said as he thrusted into me

Matt then turned me onto my left side lifting my right leg up and started to pound into me

“FUCKKK MATT” I screamed out

“SHUT UP” he said and smacked my ass

“I’m sorry it feels so good” I said with my eyes shut and my brows furrowed

Matt kept thrusting into me harder and faster, and I’m sure everyone had to hear us fucking at this point

“Fuck Matt I’m gonna cum” I said

And he brought his hand down to my clit using his thumb to rub the sensitive bundle

“SHIIIITTT” I moaned out clenching down on him harder

“Come on baby give it to me” he said thrusting harder

Matt started to rub harder and pound into me harder

“IM CUMMING IM CUMMING” I yelled out and clenched down on him as I came all over him. My thighs shaking and my knees bending as my toes pointed…..this was the most intense orgasm of my life

“Matt Matt Matt” I said as I was still coming down from my high

He let me ride out my high, and then pulled out of me stroking his dick, and cumming all over my pelvic bone and lower stomach

His lower abdomen constricting and his body shuddering forward

“Fuck fuck fuck” he said as he rode out his high

He went and grabbed a wet towel to wipe me down

“Lets shower baby” Matt said

“I agree, and maybe round 2 in the shower” I said winking at him

“I’m do-“ before he could finish his sentence we were cut off

There was banging on my ceiling coming from upstairs….Nicks room

“STOP FUCKING WEVE HEARD ENOUGH” we heard Nick yell through the vents

“SORRY” we screamed back

“IM FUCKING SCARRED” we heard Chris yell back

“WERE SORRY WERE HEADING TO FUCK IN THE SHOWER NOW” Matt yelled and I smacked him

“FUCK YOU GUYS! YOURE SICK” Nick yelled back

We ended up laughing, and heading over to the shower.

The End

Hope yall enjoyed this one too, and I’m about to start my last request and then I’m going to post my own ideas for imagines🖤🖤🤭

-J💅🏽

[belokhvostikova]

Have you guys seen that clip of Deborah Ann Woll teaching John Bernthal Dungeons and Dragons? Because that's how I imagine Eddie Munson learning, thus teaching you...

As young as can be, sitting in the lonesome of his yard, father nowhere in sight for days to come. There's always a boy. A much older one. Probably in high school. Eddie likes to watch him. He's got crazy hair, tattoos of devilish designs, a cigarette in hand, beer in the other, with a band tee to brandish his look. The overall stamp of approve in Eddie Munson's book- not that a ten-year-old is cool enough to have one, though, if Eddie was, the teenager next door would get it. So slowly, over some weeks, Eddie gains the tendency to pick up the distress t-shirts at the thrift store, and perhaps explores the music he so frequently hears come from the trailer over. It's nothing like his mother's, but the thrashing screams help with the raging thoughts.

So, back to the yard. Summer had been abusive. And a town or two next over, Wayne was pummeling to race over to save his nephew from boiling alive in the tin rectangle that lost its AC and a father figure to fix it. Wayne had made Eddie swore over the phone to stay outside under the shade of a tree. It's probably when the older boy first sees him. Yeah, he's seen the quiet kid around the trailer park, but for once, he's seeing the quiet kid with an asshole of a father, sweltering in the darkness of a t-shirt that oddly resembles his own Iron Maiden one.

Water was the first of an offer. "Hey! You, uh, need something to cool down a bit?" And as gnarly as he was believed to be to the child, Eddie remained silent to the offer, despite the ache for it. But the young man wasn't one to blame the young boy, so slowly, he approached. "Don't have to die out here, kid, could get you a fan if needed?" Nothing. "Folks around?"

Al? Al Munson? Around? Yeah, even the high schooler realized how stupid he sounded asking. But shitty fathers wasn't anything new to him, had a couple of his mother's boyfriends to even add to the experience, which was probably what inclined him to have a seat next to Eddie's hunched stature. "Killed an owlbear last week." Words may not have came out, but the furrow in Eddie's brows was quite a reaction. The guy laughed. "Y'know, D&D? You ever play?"

Dungeons and Dragons? Pardon his French, but that nerd shit? Wasn't this guy supposed to be cool? "Don't give me that look, twerp, can't knock it 'til you try it." A corner of Eddie's lips almost upturned. "Let's play.”

Spoken so faintly, "What...?" Christ, that kid was in need of water.

"Like, right now, let's play. Let's see, you," a point to Eddie's chest, "you gotta bow, on your back, strapped in- hell, and a sword and dagger at your hilt, right?"

"Uh-"

"Don't question it, just imagine it." The nicotine of his breath emphasized. "It's dark in the woods, isn't it? Nighttime, with almost no light, right? The moonlight can barely peak through the sea of trees, but that doesn't stop you from walking." And he watches Eddie's eyes fall to the telling of his story. "But... you hear a crack. It's something large. You can feel it. What would you do?"

Eddie seeks for the validation. "First thing?" And the teenager nods. "How far away is the crack?" Then, there's the smile. The hook, the teen calls it in his mind. "Perception check. We roll the dice, and let's say you roll a thirteen, and hell, you seem like a perceptive kid," the young man alludes to the similar taste of clothing Eddie's suddenly acquired, "that's a plus three, now sixteen. No need for me to tell you the insights, man, you know it's about twenty feet away."

"Then... then, I want to take out my bow first." Eddie rationalizes. "A-And I'm gonna aim."

And there's a light noticeable within Eddie, the high schooler can tell. "Okay, now, slowly creepin' at you, suddenly into view, you see its bit of eyeshine, in the darkness, you see an owlbear." Eddie smiles. "Ten to fifteen feet," the man acts out, "a monster so extraordinary, with the look of an owl, but a stature as great as a bear. It's squawking at you... what do you do?"

The curiosity sits up within Eddie. "Have I ever met an owlbear before?"

"History check."

"I have a history?" Eddie quizzes.

"You have a life, kid." Those words, something within had lit up inside Eddie. "This is D&D, you're playing D&D!"

"But how do I win?" His peculiar eyes rounded.

And a smile greeted him on the other end. "You don't. The goal's not to win, it's to tell a great story." Eddie sat back. "If this one isn't doing it for you," and gaudy rings on the young man's finger pointed to the likes of the trailer park, "make your own. It's what I do." He shrugged. "Don't keep your shitty life a shitty life. You could be sword fighting dark wizards in enchanted forests instead of waiting for next bad thing to happen." And Eddie listened. "Make your own life."

By the time Wayne’s pick-up truck had arrived, Eddie Munson had killed the owlbear.

And perhaps, in a few years’ time, about nine or ten, Eddie comes across a lost soul, too. Well, maybe not lost, per se, just allergic to the hierarchy of high school that he’s unfortunately been subjected to for far too long. Not exactly here or there with that group or the other, simply floating by without a notice- well, mostly.

There was some notice of your hair, the quite nice hair you got there, how you, uh, how you had it. Y-Your teeth, too, uh, pretty cool teeth. Made your smile kinda nice- well, not kinda, very nice- but not nice in a creepy way, y’know, nice in a good way… yeah.

Eddie swallowed thickly.

“Thanks.” You bluntly muttered back, returning to your task of retrieving dusty books from the desolate library.

“Oh, you like Lord of the Rings, I love Lord of the Rings!” It was worn, spine creased with no care- or maybe too much care. “Y’know, with the, uh, elves and shit, love ‘em.” You eyed him, and suddenly Eddie was plotting his own demise. Why he chose to speak as if he’d never read the book, he would never know, but words were spewing, and unfortunately, you were being drenched in the vomit of his nerves.

“Yeah, whatever you say.” You chuckled off in amusement.

But, nonetheless, you were ready to walk away from the oddity of Eddie Munson, as Hawkins High, in of itself, was weird enough for your liking.

“I killed a owlbear once.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face the metalhead, who bounced on the balls of his feet. Yeah, impressive, you swore the look on his face said. “What’d you just say?” Interest piqued.

“Wanna play D&D with me?”

Maybe you liked his weird…

[marvelgurl789fanfics]

Last First Dance (Bucky Barnes x OC)

Summary: Much to Bucky’s dismay Sam drags him to a singles bar on 40s theme night, the night takes a turn for the better when his eyes meet a cute redhead’s across the bar. (Takes place shortly after TFATWS)

Warnings: none

(Might be a series might be a one-shot undecided)

Masterlist:

~~~~~

Bucky was leaning on the bar drinking a whiskey glaring daggers at Sam the man who dragged him to this dumb singles bar on 40s night of all nights. Sam danced with a blonde woman wearing an old fashioned navy blue cocktail dress, looking towards Bucky every once in a while feeling his stare from across the dance floor. Sam claimed he didn’t know it was 40s night, but his amused expression told Bucky the jerk knew damn well it was 40s night. As much as Bucky acted annoyed he was thankful for Sam’s friendship not that he’d ever say it aloud, but he knew Sam knew. With a sigh Bucky took a long drink from his glass finishing it off thinking of how Sam even talked him into coming.

~Earlier~

Lounging on his couch eating leftover takeout Chinese food for dinner. Bucky heard a knock on his door, setting the food container on his coffee table and headed to the door. Thinking it’s his new elderly neighbor needing his assistance again opening a jar, an amused huff left him as he thought of the sweet elderly women who he probably had 30 years on. Opening the door expecting a small old woman, he was a bit surprised seeing Sam standing in his door way with his teasing smirk. “Long time no see tin-man, did the wizard give you that heart yet?” Sam teased earning an annoyed look from Bucky, the idea of closing the door in the man face pasted his mind but knowing how persistent Sam is that wouldn’t exactly make him leave. With a huff Bucky stepped aside in a silent invitation in.

“Seriously man how have you been? It’s been two weeks since you left Louisiana, my nephews are already asking me when their new cyborg uncle will visit again” Sam said with a kind smile. A small smile spread on Bucky face as he closed his door as Sam entered “I will try to visit them again soon, I been fine Sam” Bucky said moving to plop back on his couch. “Really cause your sad dinner says otherwise” Sam said gesturing to the cold Chinese food on Bucky’s coffee table while sitting on the opposite side of the couch. “Sam I’m fine” Bucky insisted knowing Sam is just worried about him. “Really? have you even left your apartment this week?” Sam asked with a raised eyebrow, “of course I have” Bucky scoffed. “Going to the grocery store doesn’t count” Sam stated looking at Bucky for an answer only getting silents was answer enough for Sam.

“Ok that’s it, it’s Saturday night we’re going out” Sam said standing grabbing Bucky’s leather jacket from its hook by the door and tossing it at Bucky. “Wow Sam had no idea you felt this way about me” Bucky teased with a smirk standing pulling on his jacket and taking the gloves from its pockets and putting them on as well. “Oh you wish Barnes, but I’m way out of your league” Sam joked back.

~Present~

With a roll of his eyes Bucky turned back to the bar ordering another whiskey on Sam’s tab, while waiting for his drink Bucky’s eyes wonder around the other people at the bar ordering drinks, talking and laughing with friends. Bucky’s eyes stopped at a redheaded women sitting at the end of the bar sipping some green cocktail, her hair hung in loose curls one side tucked behind her ear. Tortoiseshell square framed glasses graced her pretty porcelain face, along with a peppering of freckles. Pale yellow dress with a sweetheart neckline a bit low by 40s standard but in modern time it would probably be considered modest. Bucky didn’t realize he was staring until the women’s looked up and her chocolate brown eyes met his icy blue eyes.

Bucky’s eyes tore away berating his self for probably creeping the women out. ‘Sam’s right I have a staring problem’ Bucky thought to himself taking a drink from his whiskey, that’s been delivered while he was distracted by the cute redhead. A pat on his back broke him from his self hatred, “You been at the bar all night, the point was to have fun” Sam said taking the bar stool next to Bucky’s. “I am, and you’re paying” Bucky said holding up his whiskey before taking another drink. “Come on grandpa I know you’re not 90 anymore but someone had to catch your fancy” Sam jokingly encouraged, Bucky huffed in dry humor and shook his head. “What about that little redhead at the end of the bar, she keeps looking over here” Sam said waving down a bartender to get a drink his self, at Sam’s words Bucky looked back over to the women that caught his eye. Sure enough she was looking over but was quickly looking away when he caught her. thinking for a moment he probably made her more uncomfortable than he original thought, then he noticed her cheeks turning red.

“She wouldn’t be interested” Bucky said looking into his whiskey with his usual self doubt, “Nope none of that tonight” Sam said while the bartender brought him his drink. “Sir, that redheaded lady in the yellow dress over there. Can you send over another drink to her from my friend here” Sam asked the bartender who just nodded in understanding, if looks could kill Bucky would have Sam 6 ft under by now. “Sam what the hell do you think you’re doing” Bucky almost growled. “Your not helping yourself so as your self proclaimed wing man I’m helping you out” Sam said in a teasing but kind way, with a sigh Bucky looked over to the women as the bartender served her another green cocktail. A look of confusion passed over her features but with a gesture of the bartender she looked over to Bucky. Without thinking Bucky gave a slightly awkward smile and small wave of his hand, which earned the most beautiful smile from the woman in Bucky’s opinion. “There’s your green light, go talk to her” Sam said nudge him with his elbow, sensing Bucky’s argument was bubbling up he added “or maybe I’ll go over there and talk to her” knowing it would send Bucky over there to ‘spite’ him.

His half drank whiskey abandoned next to Sam, Bucky made his way over to the other side of the bar to the redhead. “Um hi” Bucky greeted internally cringing at his own greeting, “Hi, thank you for the drink” she spoke with a smile in the sweetest voice Bucky heard in years. “James, but everyone calls me Bucky” Bucky introduced his self trying to channel that young man he was once before the war. “Dottie, nice to meet you Bucky” Dottie smiled again taking a sip of her drink. “Dottie that’s a lovely name, may I?” Bucky gestured to the empty barstool, “Please” Dottie nodded inviting him to sit by her. “What brings you out tonight?” Dottie asked kindly as Bucky joined her, “Honestly a friend of mine dragged me here” Bucky said with a bit of humor. “You’re not alone there, my friend the reason I’m here too. According to her it’s a crime to spend a Saturday night alone at home” Dottie said with a light laugh which made Bucky smile. “Well I hope your enjoying your Saturday night” Bucky said now leaning his human arm on the bar top, “I wasn’t, but I think I’m starting to” she said a bit flirtatiously which wasn’t lost by Bucky who sat up a bit straighter.

“So Bucky what do you usually do when you’re not being dragged around to bars” Dottie asked with humor, causing Bucky to clear his throat a bit before answering “Nothing much just work”. “Oh? What do you do for work” she asked setting down her drink resting her own hand next to his but not touching his. “Um government contracts” Bucky hesitantly answered unsure of what to call his work or scare her off, “a soldier?” Dottie asked gesturing with her hand not resting on the bar top to the dog tags hanging around Bucky’s neck. “Yeah, what about you?” Bucky said trying to take the topic off his work with Sam, “A librarian at the public library” Dottie said a bit shyly. “Is it safe to assume you like to read? What kind of books do you like?” Bucky asked with a smile, “Yeah I think that’s a safe assumption, I mostly find myself reading mysteries. What about you?” Dottie smiled eyes shining in interest. “Fantasy I guess, Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit books like that” Bucky replied, “Oh so the classics” Dottie said. “Yeah the classics” Bucky said rubbing the back of his neck with his covered metal arm, ‘they were new when I read them’ Bucky thought to himself.

“So Bucky, what’s it take for you to ask a girl to dance?” Dottie smile gently moving her hand closer to his resting her fingers tips on his hand. “oh um… Would you like to dance?” Bucky asked trying to hide his nervousness not having danced since 1943, and now a beautiful woman in her late 20s early 30s wanting to dance with him. Bucky offered his human hand to her, “such a gentleman” Dottie smiled placing her hand in his offered one. Bucky led her to the dance floor ignoring the double thumbs up and goofy grin from Sam in the corner of his eye. Just as they reached the dance floor a new song started playing, Bucky recognized the song It’s been a long, long time by kitty kallen it was his younger sister favorite song. Still holding her smaller hand in his turning to her standing almost a whole head taller than her. He gently placed his covered metal hand on her mid back hoping she wouldn’t notice the cold metal through his jacket or glove, if she did she didn’t let it show as she placed her free hand on his shoulder with a smile and started to sway to the music with him. Bucky was a bit stiff in his movements but his body began to relax when her eyes met his, Bucky didn’t notice at first that they moved closer together but now their chest were slightly pressed together as they swayed to the music.

“This is nice” Dottie said softly almost afraid to break the slight trance they been in, Bucky just hummed in agreement earning another soft smile from her. Slowly Dottie rested her head on Bucky’s chest at first the action almost made Bucky panic, but he heard her hum along to the music calming him. Hesitantly Bucky rested his chin on the top of her head and received no negative response from the action he let himself forget his past for once and just enjoy this moment, continuing to sway and holding on to each other for two or three more songs. They finally pulled apart, Bucky led her back to her spot at the bar before letting go of her hand. “Thank you for the dance” Dottie said with a smile and a slight blush, “Anytime” Bucky smiled leaning a bit closer to her subconsciously. “I should get going I have work in the morning, But I had a lovely time with you. here” Dottie said grabbing a bar napkin and pulling a pen out of her purse writing something down and handing it to him, looking at the napkin he seen her name Dottie the ‘i’ dotted with a heart and under it was seven digits. “I’ll keep this safe” Bucky smiled as she smiled back and slowly made her way to the door. Bucky made his way back to where Sam stood at the other end of the bar, mentally preparing for Sam’s teasing and/or ‘I told you so’s.

~~~~~

Let me know what you think, one-shot or series?

Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy.

[acourtofthought]

I'm saw a Reddit post where the person ships E/riel but does not ship Gwynriel because Gwyn deserves to be someone's first pick and it would cheapen things if Az fell in love with her while getting over Elain.

Someone is entitled to feel that way, of course. But I can't help wondering how someone who posts this as their reasoning can't see how they're shooting themselves in the foot when it comes to their own ship:

Indeed, a glance over her shoulder revealed Azriel staring blatantly at the back view of it, Cassian and the stranger already too deep in conversation to notice what had drawn the spymaster’s attention. For a moment, the ravenous hunger on Azriel’s face made my stomach tighten.

But Azriel … Cassian tries, I try—but I think the only person who ever gets him to admit to any sort of feeling is Mor.

He knew she and Azriel were . . . whatever they were. Knew Azriel had been in love with Mor from the moment she’d strutted into the Illyrian war-camp fve centuries ago.

If the warrior ever stopped quietly loving Mor. I doubted it. Azriel would likely love Mor until he was a whisper of darkness between the stars.

“The issue, actually, wouldn’t be me. It’d be him. I could peel off my clothes right in front of him and he wouldn’t move an inch. He might have defied and proved those Illyrian pricks wrong at every turn, but it won’t matter if Rhys makes him Prince of Velaris—he’ll see himself as a bastard-born nobody, and not good enough for anyone. Especially me.”

Azriel’s head lifted from where he was sprawled in his own blood, eyes full of rage and pain as he snarled at the king, “Don’t you touch her.”

Azriel hissed—but covered her bloody fingers with his own.

“Azriel,” Rhys said, “has been preoccupied with the same female for the past five hundred years.” “Wouldn’t the mating bond have snapped into place for them if it exists?” Rhys’s eyes shuttered. “I think that is a question Azriel has been asking himself every day since he met Mor.”

“Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.” One moment, Azriel was seated. The next, he’d blasted through Eris’s shield with a flare of blue light and tackled him backward, wood shattering beneath them.

Mor opened her mouth, but Azriel laid a scarred hand atop hers. She snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned—burned as he had been.

Azriel stared at the floor, stone-faced. “Sorry.” The word was emotionless—distant. He had not spoken, had barely moved, since his savage attack.

“The violence as a result of what he feels, lingering guilt over the deal with Eris—and what neither of them will face.”

“But—but he loves her. How can he sit idly by?” “He thinks she’s happier without him.” His eyes shone with the memory—of his own choice to sit back. “He thinks he’s unworthy of her.”

I made the mistake of asking if he’d spoken to Mor since he’d left last night. No, he had not. And that was that. Even if he kept flexing his scarred hand at his side. As if recalling the sensation of the hand she’d whipped free of his touch during that meeting. Over and over. I didn’t dare tell him that he’d made the right call—that perhaps he should talk to Mor, rather than let the guilt eat at him. The two of them had enough between them without me shoving myself into it.

That coldness, that aloofness that had been there in the wake of Mor’s anger and rejection … It’d warmed. Either from Mor choosing to sit next to him at dinner last night—a silent offer of forgiveness—or simply needing time to recover from it.

I choked. Azriel did, too, whirling on Cassian as he did. Cassian only winked at him as the barely there red negligee swayed between Mor’s hands. Before Azriel could undoubtedly ask what we were all thinking, Mor hummed to herself and said, “Don’t let him fool you: he couldn’t think of a damn thing to get me, so he gave up and asked me outright. I gave him precise orders.

I had to look away to keep from laughing. Az, to his credit, gave Mor a smile of thanks, a blush creeping over his cheeks, his hazel eyes fixed on her. I looked away at the heat, the yearning that filled them.

She knew Azriel would say no, would want her safe. As he had always done.

Az would have been pissed, and withdrawn even further into himself. She hadn’t wanted to take his joy away from him. Any more than she already did.

Nesta said to Feyre, “Did you tell Elain?” Before Feyre could reply, Azriel said, “What about Mor?”

The High Lord of Day considered Cassian and Azriel, then frowned. “Where’s my beautiful Mor?” Az said tightly, “Away.”

These scenes are ACOMAF all the way through ACOSF.

I'm going to just say it but E/riel being one anothers first choice and currently being in love with each other are some of the worst takes in this fandom.

Claiming that he shouldn't end up with Gwyn because she's not his first choice while declaring that Elain is.....

How can someone so blatantly disregard EVERYTHING that has been said about Mor and Az? How is not extremely obvious that Az became fixated on Elain because he couldn't have the one he wanted? Elain was NEVER his first choice, she still isn't. Wondering why the female he's known for a little over a year isn't his mate because his brothers are with his sisters is NOTHING compared to his wondering why the female he loved for 500 years wasn't his mate. For the simple fact that he loved her from the moment he saw her (and not because of who she's related to and what his brothers have).

It doesn't matter what E/riel moments exist in those same books. How many "cute" one liners people like to use for them. Every single moment is overshadowed by the intensity of what he felt for Mor. Even though he was about to be physically intimate with Elain, something not special to Elain considering Rhys tells us both Az and Mor had taken lovers over the years (proof that sex does not equal love), he was unable to convince his brother that he no longer had feelings for Mor moments later.

E/riels love to insult Gwynriel moments. "He doesn't even consider her a friend!" "Worst possible bond ever!" "He didn't care she was in the Rite!" (not true but it's one they love to use).

The reason Gwynriels aren't bothered is because they'd rather read about Az admitting that he's moved on from Mor before developing anything physical or emotional with someone else.

They don't want to read about Az falling for Gwyn while simultaneously loving and pining for Mor.

And no, maybe Gwyn won't have been Azriel's first choice but since when is that a bad thing?

Tamlin was Feyre's first choice but he wasn't the BEST choice. And she did not develop feelings for Rhys until she admitted to herself that she was no longer in love with Tamlin.

In the end it's not first or second choice that matters, it's the right choice. But the right choice won't happen until Az can admit to himself and his brothers that it's time to let go of Mor. Az might not be in love with Gwyn but I'd much rather wait until he's not thinking about another female on the regular. Where his thought upon wondering who knew about Feyre's pregnancy was not "What about Mor?" though we still hadn't gotten an answer as to whether Elain knew. I'd much rather wait until he has no problem confessing to every single member of his family that he will no longer "love Mor until he was a whisper of darkness between the stars" before they have their first intimate moment together.

It's funny that anyone would talk about Gwynriel ending up together as cheapening the romance because Az would need to "get over Elain" considering what E/riel "share" is 0.002% of the centuries old love he had for Mor. E/riel is completely cheapened by the fact that he looked at Mor with yearning after the apparent proof of his love for Elain when he went into Hyberns camp to get her and let her borrow Truth-Teller. Seriously, what kind of romance story is that?!

The concern should not be wanting Gwyn to be Az's second choice to Elain but wanting Gwyn to be the right choice for Az once he deals with everything he felt for Mor. Starting to move on is not the same thing as fully letting go. And falling in love with someone else too quickly while trying to let go of another is never going to end well. Not that E/riel is in love but they're attempting to convince themselves that maybe their attraction will be enough to make them forget about the real problems they have without ever actually facing their problems.

It was always a plan destined to fail and I'm pretty sure the moment Elain returned that necklace was proof of that, especially when you consider there's been no mention of E/riel since.

Elain has only ever been a distraction for Az and Az has only been a distraction for Elain. The only real hurdle for Gwynriel is Az finding a way to let go of Mor once and for all.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wallflower 44 (Ending 2)

Warnings: age gap, creepin’, slow burn, stepdad-adjacent, possible noncon/dubcon, abuse, violence, self-harm, manipulation, panic attack, dissociation, gaslighting, miscarriage.

Character: silverfox!Thor

Your mother meets a new man, but he doesn’t seem very interested in her.

Note: let me know if you want a loki ending and I'lldo one if I get a decent response.

<3 Another erratic drabble series. Appreciate any and all feedback. Love you all. And I didn’t expect this chapter to go this way or to be a bit longer than usual.

You stare at the bottle of the pills. 'Take these until they're all done, until it passes.' When the doctor told you what was happening to you, you didn't belive him.

It couldn't be. It. A baby. Was anyhow. Now, a miscarriage. There's no way you could be pregnant. Or could have been.

You stand in the sterile hallways. The bustle of the hospital rushes around you. The doctors and nurses are onto their next patients. You're forgotten, just like you always were.

A shiver runs through you as your mind echoes the soft noise of water, the ripples rolling from the plunge of his hand, his fingers between your legs, the sensation bubbling in you. What he told you never happened. What you never knew he did.

You take a breath and hide the pills you have to go. You want it to end. You want to leave this place and act like you were never here.

You follow the signs to the waiting room and find Thrud in a chair, elbow on the armrest, head tilted against it. As you approach she looks up and yawns. She gives a gentle smile.

"You're okay?" She stands. 

You nod. She stares at you. Expectant. Waiting for you to say more.

"So?" She prompts.

"We can go."

Her face falls, "that it? You're not going to tell what's wrong?"

"Anemic," you lie, "it's why I'm bleeding so heavy. Said I have to take pills are whatever."

"Oh. Okay, my mom had that after she got her IUD out," she says, reaching to gently touch your shoulder, "I'm glad it wasn't anything serious."

"Me too," you force a smile, "I just wanna get home and sleep."

"Yeah, mood," she sighs and jingles her keys, "we'll take it easy tomorrow."

"Sounds good to me," you walk with her towards the doors.

You can't tell her the truth. It doesn't matter. Even if she believed you, even if you could prove any of it. It's not a big deal. Besides, you should tell him first. The father. Her father.

🌻

Thrud falls asleep first. You knew she would. You're wide awake despite the frailness in your bones, the draining suck on your energy as you feel the life bleeding from you. You wait until she's snoring to move, slowly, watching her closely.

You get out of the bed and cross the room on your toes. You go into the bathroom and take out the bottle of pills from behind the toilet where you hid them. You put them back in your pocket and sidle you.

You slip on your sandals and creep through the shadows. You let yourself out the front door, shutting it carefully behind you. It's eerily dark as you descend the steps to even ground.

You watch the moon, finding your way to the villa not far from Thrud's. Your stomach churns as you look at the dark windows. You're not their for a fight, you have none left. You're there for the truth. For an end.

Your mother was always right. You're nothing more than a burden, but Thor was the only person to ever make you feel like you weren't. 

You climb onto the porch and knock. You wait out there, alone, a breeze swirling around you. You raise your hand to knock again but the door opens, just a crack as an umbrous figure looks out at you.

"Kitten," Thor's voice grits in his throat as he flicks on the indoor light, illuminating his large figure as he lets the door open further, "what are you–"

You hold up a finger against your lips. His brow furrows and he snaps his mouth shut. His confusion is obvious as he watches you speechlessly.

He nods and steps back, waving you inside. You trake the wordless invitation and enter. He shuts the door and trails you. 

You glance around. Theres is no good place to do this. There is no good way to say it.

You face him and take a breath.

"I just got back from the hospital," you state flatly.

"The hosp–"

You show your palm, begging. You need him to let you speak. He quiets and bows his head, eyes boring into you.

You pick your lip, searching for an explanation. You don't want to go over it all again; the bleeding, the pain, the fear, the exam, the doctor.

"I lost our baby," the words tumble out and stiff silence rises between you.

"That– that isn't–"

"I'm not mad."

"Kitten, I didn't."

"Thor," you say crisply, "I said I'm not mad. I'll only be mad if you keep lying to me."

He presses his lips together. His throat constricts. A tinge of red touches his cheeks. He drops his head and pushes back his silver hair from his face.

He comes close and offers his hand. You take it and let him guide you through the archway to the sitting room. He leads you to the couch and lowers you with him.

"I… it is only because I love you," he says, "I never meant to hurt you–"

Your throat locks up so tight and your eyes sting. You put your other hand over his knuckles and squeeze. You suck in a breath sharply. 

You can't go back to your mother and you never could be on your own. 

"If…" you begin. "If I hadn't lost it…" you choke, grip tightening on his hand as you tremble, "would you have taken care of it? The baby?"

"Of course, kitten, of course," he chants as he lifts his head, "I would. I would. I only ever wanted to take care of you. It's all I've ever done."

You meet his gaze. His eyes are blue and misty. You're not really sad about the baby but he is. You see the pain in him. You feel it.

"Promise?"

"I swear," he quavers.

"Okay."

"Okay?" His eyes are wide and afraid.  

He's scared of losing you. Someone like him, someone so big, so strong, is scared. Because of you. He wants you. No one's ever wanted you.

"Next time," your voice rises thin and quaky, "I want to be awake. I want to… feel you. I want to feel your love."

He brings his hand to your chin, "I should've never…"

"You never asked," you whisper.

He quiets. He dips his chin and slides his hand around your neck and pulls you into his embrace. He nestles you against his chest. You grab onto his shirt, clinging tight, and let the world roll over you.

You sob as his other hand untangles from yours. He rubs your back as your tears spill out. Tears you can't hold back or claim. Tears of anger, grief, fear, helplessness. Tears of surrender.

"You're okay, kitten," he coos, "we will know next time. We will be better, won't we?"

You clasp onto him. Next time? If that's what he wants. If that's what you have to do. You'll be whatever he wants you be, as long as he wants you.

[ghostchems]

okay *rubs hands together* IF it itches your brain and only then: how about vampire! or resurrected!terzo hunting reader but make it sexy (obvi).

yours truly,

@ghuleh-recs

about 1k words of huntin and creepin terzo! and also reader just being… confused 😏 honestly tortured myself over this for the last week (writers block!! Ahhh!!) so I’m just gettin it out to the masses!

The hunger burns within him. His vision blurs and his stomach churns, a hand falling to clutch the nearby rail in order to steady himself. His grip is so tight that the rail crunches beneath his grasp and he quickly growls and moves on. Searing pain shoots through his head all the way down to his fingertips and toes — he needs something to snack on and quickly. Terzo has spent the last few days nibbling on whatever he could find: birds, mice, squirrels… but it has gotten to the point where he needs something more filling to restore his strength.

The street is dark in the evening moonlight and he can see his breath in the crisp air. Terzo has himself bundled in an overcoat and a scarf, obscuring his body and the lower half of his face. He’s found that people tend to ask less questions about his face paint or his sharp fangs when in this getup. He tries to hide and muffle his wheezes and grunts as he walks down the nearly empty sidewalk. It’s late at night, far past the time the bars are open until, which makes him worry that food will be few and far between and the last thing he wants is to settle for just a snack tonight.

That is, until he catches your scent. An audible moan falls from his lips as he immediately corrects his path. You smell delicious to him, far more tasty than what he’s been picking up during his walk for the last few hours. He finds himself nearly salivating just by your scent alone and starts to shuffle quickly down the street in your direction. It’s not long before Terzo catches up to you, keeping a distance behind you as you make your way down the street.

You just popped out to drop something off for a friend — a care package because they had been feeling down lately. All of your friends live relatively close so popping in and out of their places at various times is something that you regularly do. You hardly even have to think about walking to and from but there is something different about tonight… You’re not sure if it’s the brisk air that hurts your lungs or how the night seems darker than usual. A breeze seems to go right through your coat, sending a deep chill down your spine.

Terzo is gaining on you, almost being clumsy enough to be seen by you but he manages to duck into an alleyway once you start to get the creeping feeling that someone is watching. He is shivering with anticipation, his hands are trembling in his pockets as he tries to hold back from grabbing you and taking you then and there. Terzo knows he can’t get ahead of himself; he can’t risk drawing attention to himself and potentially losing out on you. He steps on a particularly loud leaf and he freezes in his step, silently cursing himself.

You hear a noise from behind you and a pit forms in your stomach, swallowing thickly as you continue on your way, quickening your pace. After a few steps, you take a quick turn down an empty street. Immediately, a loud, echoing growl rips through the night air. You can’t even bring yourself to look behind you in fear of what you might see so instead you take off running. The snarling grows louder as Terzo closes the distance between you, his rabid hunger and predator nature taking over.

The thrill of the chase always ended up being his favorite part of the hunt. He could truly let himself go, nearly running on all fours at you with his claws sprouting from his leather gloves and his sharp nails scraping against the ground. Fear is coursing through you — you swear you see some kind of creature lunching at you from out of the corner of your eyes. You can hardly think once his gloved hands reach you, his bruising strength shoving you to the ground.

Terzo’s fingers weave into your hair while his free hand clamps over your mouth before you let out a muffled scream. You struggle beneath him, flailing as much as you possibly can but his grip is too tight and his body is too heavy on top of yours. He lifts your head by your hair and you whine and cry against his hand, frantic eyes searching his face and pleading for him to let you go. His head tilts, mismatched eyes shining with glee before he smashes your head against the ground, knocking you unconscious.

You open your eyes slowly and find yourself in your bed, confused and hazy as you start to sit up. Eyes scan the room and there is nothing out of place. The sun shines in from your curtains, illuminating the somewhat messy room. You start to slink back down into bed, underneath the covers but you keep your eyes just above them as your brain races. Was it all a dream? There are fuzzy, dark memories buried in your head of your walk home last night and what happened after. You never saw its face but you distinctly remember searing pain shooting through you, burning you from the inside out. The inability to move, to fight back against whatever had gotten you makes you shiver in hit bed, remembering this distinct feeling of hopelessness.

And then, eerie calmness. You remember the man’s eyes grow softer, his gentle lips against yours and the taste of your own blood on your tongue. You furrow your brow, glaring at the bathroom across your room as you realize the strange taste on your mouth. A foot slips out of bed and lands on the cold floor, followed by your other one until you are out of bed and on your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth. Once you’re inside, you see it: a smear of red across your lips. Your eyes widen and you immediately turn the water on, using a washcloth to wipe it away.

You swallow thickly as you stare back at yourself in the mirror, your eyes having fallen to your neck. Bite marks. There are bite marks. You scramble from the bathroom and quickly jump back into bed, burying yourself in your covers.

You figure ignoring and denying it all is your best bet at keeping yourself sane.

[saintelilore]

Helllloooo Rosie and Dellya!

I’m visiting da city again!

This time I’ve got a prompt for the whole gang.

1) If you gave a truth serum to da gang, who would they avoid specifically? (In fear of blurting things out under its influence)

2) What if they were seated in a room and took the serum together. How many hearts will break that day?! /silly

LOVE LOVE LOVE Ashe💜

Hi Ashe !! 😋

Assad would avoid Riley. Both of them know what’s up. Admitting it, though? That’s just too pathetic for Assad. He’d have to face how much he wants a future with Riley, the fears he’s tryna bury, and the dark thoughts creepin’ in—like takin' out anyone who even tries to replace him. Charlie would avoid Assad, even though most would think he'd avoid Riley. Charlie's the type to bottle up his feelings, always putting others first, justifying their actions instead of recognizing just how deep they cut him. If he had the serum though? it’d be wild if he bumped into Assad 😭 lil carrot might get heated, not enough to throw hands, but after years of Assad’s mental abuse, everything would come crashin' down at once. Hakeem would stay away from the Chayys and Miguel (Nayah's brother). He’d avoid Rosie, obviously. The last thing he wants is letting his feelings slip and looking all soft in front of her. With Riley, it’s more like, "Man, I can’t even tell you how much I love your sister 'cause it’d straight up break this friendship." Then there’s Miguel, Nayah’s big bro. Keem ain’t tryna get his ass beat with some “I’m done smashin’ your sister” talk.

- Mod Dellya

Rosie would avoid Hakeem, she in no way wants to reveal her feelings to him in fear he’d turn her down. She’s positive he doesn’t see her as something more than a best friend. Other than that, Rosie has been rather honest to her friends, so there's not much she'd hide. Riley would avoid Assad and Charlie. He knows Assad knows about his feelings— but never to the full extent and he’s prefer to keep it that way. With Charlie, he knows he’s too clingy and always wondering how he thinks about him. While Riley’s opinion isn’t low of Charlie— he knows it’s not what the guy wants to hear.

- Mod Rosie

If they were all put in a room together? They'd all be fighting and arguing. Charlie would probably be laughin’ and cryin’ at the same time, while Keem’s babbling nonsense with Assad. Riley has to deal with Charlie being clingy while ALSO fighting with Assad-- and then Rosie would be crying over every lil detail Assad drops about what Keem does with rival gangs. 😋

Yeah they're childhood best friends. With a lot of unresolved tension.