#he just oozes swagger

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

🥵🧢When he wears that cap LOW-LOW🧢🥵

[enter-drfrog]

Okay so I love this show and I love Stark Sands. In the best way, his Shakespeare is everything Will Schuester wishes he was

[sassypossumm]

Save a Horse...

I present my latest obsession...

Cowboy Miguel.... [18+]

This man looks sinfully good in a pair of jeans.

You first met when you walked into a local bar with a couple of friends. From the moment you first saw the long man riding the hell out of a mechanical bull in the corner, you were sunk.

Later on and three tequila shots later, your thoughts were swimming with little more than lust when that same giant man slid onto the stool next to you and offered his name.

Miguel O'Hara.

Miguel had looked good before the tequila, but after? After the fourth shot, which he'd poured for you himself with a sultry wink, you were utterly entranced.

Everything about him seemed designed to draw you in. Miguel fairly oozed sex with his cocksure swagger and wolfish grin. Those deep brown eyes with flecks like honey that you wanted so badly to drown in, and that voice....that intoxicatingly deep masculine voice that sent goosebumps prickling down your arms.

You were falling fast and you knew it.

One shot of whiskey for him turned into three. And his fingers innocently grazing yours turned into a hand on your thigh. Neither of you was leaving that bar alone, and you both knew it.

A playful argument over who was paying the tab led to his insisting to walk you back to your hotel.

The next thing you knew, you were naked on your back, legs thrown over his shoulders as he rode you just like that mechanical bull.

Sweat trailed down his broad shoulders as he swirled and pivoted his hips. Shifting your legs to one shoulder, he bullied your sensitive clit with expert fingers and grunted in masculine pride at the sight of you writhing on the end of his cock.

You might not know it yet, but Miguel O'Hara had you underneath him, and it wasn't a position he was planning on releasing you from any time soon.

[moremaybank]

SPARKS FLY — r.c

day two the very first night with rafe cameron

pairing hockey player!rafe cameron x fem!flight attendant!reader

summary your first day on the job as one of the flight attendants for the obx thunder proves to be a challenge when you encounter rafe cameron, the team captain who is known for his playboy ways.

warnings kind of suggestive but not too much

author's note inspired by mile high by liz tomforde, and now i kinda wanna make it into a mini series (oh lord). also, i don't know why i chose kendall jenner, she was just the first person to come to mind LOL sorry

obx week ‘23 masterlist ;; series masterlist ;; rafe masterlist

The private jet's engines roared to life as the OBX Thunder prepared to take off for their first away game of the season. Rafe Cameron, the team's captain and undoubtedly most popular member swaggered onto the plane with his signature devilish grin and glimmer in his blue eyes. He was ready to take home another win, ready to hear the crowd cheer his name loudly from the stands and be tackled by his teammates in celebration.

What he wasn't ready for, however, was meeting you.

There you stood at the entrance of the jet, greeting each player with a bright smile. The lights casted a glow onto your dewy skin, catching the high points of your face and illuminating you beautifully. Your hair was perfectly in place, and your uniform hugged your curves so tightly that it made Rafe wonder what they looked like bare.

He strolled in, and was instantly unable to resist making a move when he came face to face with you.

"Well, well," he drawled, peering down at you due to your substantial height difference. "A gorgeous face to make this flight more enjoyable. Lucky me."

Rafe extended his hand. "Rafe Cameron. Team captain."

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by his antics. You ignore the hand in front of you as you speak. "Good afternoon, Mr. Cameron. If you would kindly take your seat, we can get things moving. I'm not here to entertain."

"No need to be so serious, sweetheart. Let's make this flight memorable," he chuckled, his charm practically oozing from his pores. He offered you a playful smirk when you glared at him, and then he was gone, doing as he was told.

As you watched him walk toward his seat, your eyes couldn't help but linger on his large frame. He was handsome. You weren't blind. His buzzed hair, playful eyes and roguish charm. Muscles bulging from beneath his Nike Tech zip up. Grey sweatpants accentuating a feature you had to force yourself not to acknowledge. His attractive features were hard not to notice. But you were also well aware of the headlines constantly circling him.

Rafe Cameron seen exiting the Sapphire Club with four girls on his arms. Rafe Cameron spotted on his yacht getting intimate with model and reality TV star, Kendall Jenner. Rafe Cameron breaks things off with Kendall Jenner at the Grammy's after party and leaves with an unknown woman.

You definitely were not interested in inserting yourself into that situation. You refused to be just another one of his meaningless flings. And though ignoring him might have proved to be difficult, you were up to the task.

As the flight took off, Rafe couldn't help himself. He needed your eyes on him again. He needed to speak to you, charm you into liking him. He was curious about how long you'd deny that spark between you two. So, he raised his hand and pushed the call button above him.

There you came, strolling out and down the walkway to attend to whatever he needed. "How can I help you, Mr. Cameron?"

"Well, you can start by calling me Rafe. Mr. Cameron is way too formal," he grins.

You let out a sigh, pushing away the instinct to roll your eyes at him. "How can I help you, Rafe?"

He closed his eyes, humming contently as he leaned back into his seat. "Hm. I love the way you say my name. Sounds pretty on those lips."

You tried to deny it, but that statement made your heart flutter, and made another part of you flutter as well. Don't fall for it, you reminded yourself.

"Like I said earlier, I'm here to work, not to entertain. So if you're just going to waste my time, I'm gonna head back."

Rafe's hand gently latched onto your wrist, halting you from leaving. "A challenge, huh? I like that. Usually it's the other way around."

You removed yourself from his hold, and leaned in real close. Your voice dropped a few octaves, and you offered him a sultry look. You could tell he was excited. You had him right where you wanted him; believing that you were going to take the bait and give in.

"Let's get one thing straight, Mr. Cameron. We're going to be spending a lot of time together during your season. But just know..." you inched even closer, "I'm here because I have to be. Not because I want to be. So you can forget about trying to win me over. I'm not one of your little obsessed fans."

You turned around, strutting away with a hypnotizing shake of your hips that had Rafe biting at his hooked finger. His knuckle grew red at the force of him physically trying to restrain himself.

"I'm going to get you to like me! You'll see!" He called after you.

His determination was endearing, so you smiled to yourself, shaking your head as you walked away. "Not likely, Cameron!"

The thing was, you weren't sure if those words would end up being true.

RAFE TAG LIST (JOIN HERE!): @surftrips @oncasette @taintedxkisses @maybankslover @goldenroutledge @penny4yourthoughts @bmo-bri @hemogloban @princessbetsy123-blog @slytherhoes @whoisdrewstarkey @dreamingwithrafe @vigilanteshitposting @twelfthmortalofcrimsonpalace @wildflwrdarlin @adoreyouusugar @f4ll-for-you @tell-me-when-ur-ready @bbycowboi @venomwh0re @jjmaybankisbae @enhypens-hoe @loverofdrewstarkey @chibijustuff @countryclubkook @earth2starkey @angelofcigs @glen-powells @papillonoirsworld @koalalafications @aerangi @cantstoptheimagines @bloody-mf-bsc @maybanksbabe @slut4drudy @cilliansangel @lvvrgrl @dancinglikeaballerina @somerandos-world @shahanaazsoumah @darleneslane @sya-skies @ellabellabus07 @emmalandry @madelynie @urbestieboo @cruzgrecia @l1lactheflower @rafegirly @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @gillybear17 @alexisbaumann2004

[bodyhopper-files]

Impersonating Ashton

When I found out I could possess other people's bodies, my first target was an obvious one. Ashton Keller—the blonde-haired jock with an athlete's physique who always seemed to enjoy tormenting me in school. So, I thought what better way to get even than to take over his body?

But as soon as I entered and felt the power of his bulging biceps and oozing charisma, I realized my plans had shifted. Being Ashton Keller was intoxicating; his confidence was thorough and his sexuality was primal. I wanted this sensation for myself, not just temporarily, but forever.

With Ashton's killer smile and imposing physique, I had an indescribable sense of power that only added to my determination: I was going to steal his body and life permanently.

I began to use my powers to manipulate those around me so they would think I was Ashton, and it was even easier than I expected. People believed what I said and trusted me when I used Ashton's face and borrowed freely from his sterling reputation in town.

I made sure to research Ashton's life as much as possible as I fully assumed his identity; I had to know everything about him if I wanted people to think I was really him. From his favorite team sports, hobbies, attitude and behavior—I needed to be able to mimic them all flawlessly.

For hours upon hours each day, I practiced in front of a mirror perfecting my impersonation of the cocky jock.

I practiced his mannerisms, his innate gestures and movements. I practiced the way he walked, always strutting along with a swagger that turned heads. I imagined my feet were springs and let the athletic energy of each step flow through my body while I looked straight ahead, not at the ground like I usually did when walking.

Then it was time to practice talking. Ashton had a certain smoothness when he talked—it was as if every word was carefully chosen—and I wanted to make sure I could imitate it perfectly. So, whenever someone tried to start up a conversation with me, instead of nervously stumbling over my words as usual, I answered with a confident, effortless flow that left people mesmerized and attracted.

As I continued to practice Ashton's smirk, grin, laugh and even his signature move—the quick flick of his head to the side and a playful bounce of the pecs, sure to catch anyone's attention—I was starting to feel more and more like him. I had become so comfortable in his body that I could no longer tell the difference between us.

Soon enough, I began following Ashton's daily routine as if it were my own. I started wearing clothes just like he did, lifting weights in the gym to build up muscle mass, and even began eating the same food he ate. I also made sure to go to all the same parties and social events that Ashton attended, so I could become a master of adaptation in any situation.

Every night before bed, I would read from Ashton’s journal, browse through his phone, and dig through the files on his computer to learn everything that I could about him which he might have otherwise held private.

Every detail of my new identity had been meticulously examined until I felt comfortable enough to test it in the open—at first with small things such as ordering food at a café while using Ashton's distinct voice and practiced grin, or chatting with his friends in passing about the recent game like I was a lifelong fan.

The more I got into the swing of things, the more I embraced my new self. It felt like second nature to me now and I knew by committing myself so completely to this new life, no one could ever know that it hadn't always been mine.

One year later, I had fully assumed a new life for myself being Ashton Keller, the sexy, confident jock. I had come a long way from my original, awkward self and no trace remained of my former identity as I had completely taken over Ashton's body and life.

People around me never questioned me or suspected that the real Ashton was someone else entirely; nobody knew but me.

And I never looked back.

THE END

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi! I hope you're doing well. I just shared a gifset of de-aged Derek and present Derek pinning Stiles to the wall and was curious if there are any fics where de-aged Derek maybe sticks around longer than canon, and he and Stiles start dating because it looks like he'll be stuck like that. Then, of course, he gets aged up again at some point ... anything? Thanks!

Yeah!

Out of the Mouths of Pups by cardel

(1/1 I 1,358 I General)

Everyone smells anxious and that should set off alarms in him but it doesn’t. The human begins walking towards him, slowly, until he’s standing in front of him. Derek looks up at him curiously, not feeling threatened, Derek stays calm.

That is until one of the werewolves takes a step closer to Derek, the human’s heartbeat picks up. This triggers Derek’s instinct to protect, and propel him to stand in front of the human. He flashes his alpha eyes at the approaching werewolf.

You feel like mine too... 🩵☄️🧡 by Eerien_Ent29

(1/1 I 2,681 I General)

Stiles' anger and frustration boiled over as he spoke with Erica on the phone. "What do you mean he's gone? I entrusted him to you guys so you could take care of him! What happened? What did you tell him?" His voice crackled with a mixture of concern and anger.

Of Boundaries and Bedroom Walls by AClosedFicIsNeverRead

(7/7 I 19,015 I Explicit)

Noah eyed the teenage werewolf with barely concealed apprehension, taking in the unhealthy measure of swagger and self-confidence oozing off the kid. He was entirely too good looking and built for 16 years old and it was clear that he damned well knew it.

Derek smiled back at the Sheriff, self-assured and showing off just a few too many teeth to look strictly human.

“Alright. Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Noah began, rubbing his forehead as he prayed for strength. “You want me to allow a teenaged boy to sleep directly across the hall from my teenaged daughter with zero parental supervision while I’m pulling overnight shifts?”

“Daaaad!” Stiles groaned. “It’s still Derek!”

- OR -

The one where de-aged Derek moves in with the Stilinskis and becomes fixated on the delicious, hyperactive human girl. Sure, she says they won't be more than friends. That doesn't mean he can't try to change her mind, right?

anything that's dead shall be regrown by blueinkedbones

(26/? I 54,176 I Teen)

“Derek,” the guy with the hands says. He's still got his hands out, kind of reaching, kind of catching, kind of dropping to his sides. His voice is calm, but his eyes are too bright to sell it, and his heartbeat is out of control. “Are you—Do you know who we are?”

Derek swallows, thinks. If this is a treaty thing, another pack thing, why would they care about him? He's not even the alpha-in-training, he's nothing. Mom doesn't even bother explaining most werewolf politics to him. He knows most of it from Laura, Peter, from passing packs who used to think it was cute to tell the youngest beta their complicated histories and have it repeated back to them around still-awkward fangs. Now that's Cora, and not recently, either—She says she's too big to play kid games.

“No,” Derek decides. “Should I?”

A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing by alexenglish

(8/8 I 81,325 I Explicit)

The pack of Beacon Hills' past transgressions are about to converge on them, and Derek stumbles out of the forest with no recent memories and straight into a pack he doesn't know, with an alpha and an anchor he can't possibly remember.

[solarisensun]

Firsts & Lasts

Boss! Al Haitham x Employee! F!Reader (Modern Au) 

- random fic that i concocted cause i couldn’t get the concept out of my head 

Al-Haitham breaks all workplace rules for his favorite employee

Warnings: NSFW, slight jealousy/possessiveness, mentions of clubs + threats (not at reader)

As much as Al Haitham wishes to deny it, your presence always seems to draw his attention no matter the situation. 

The click clacks of your heels descending the stairs immediately disrupts his usually unwavering focus as he forces himself to read the first line of his email for the second time. Unfortunately, his brain is once again distracted by how he knows that you are approaching from behind. Knows that if he turns around, he’ll see you in your green bartender uniform with the logo of his bar printed right above your right breast. 

And for some absurd reason, the uniform, despite being intended to make you look professional, instead makes you look like you just stepped out the page of a 1950 pin up girl magazine. Smart and professional is the last thing that anyone would use to describe your current attire. A spark of annoyance oozes down his spine when he catches himself thinking of you, and he hasn’t even actually seen you yet. 

In an effort to rid himself of those thoughts, he hunches even further over his laptop. But it’s even harder to ignore your presence when every other red-blooded male in his bloody damned bar has already noticed the way you saunter behind the bar as they perk up like hounds.

Already, a young man has shouldered his way to you with a swagger in his step Unable to help it, Al Haitham yanks his gaze from his unread email to watch the way you rest your elbows against the bar as you lean forwarded to gaze up at him with that shy little smile dancing on your lips. Of course, the man drinks up your doe like gaze like its fuel to his ego. 

Al Haitham glances away and wipes a hand over his mouth to conceal his annoyance as a heavy exhale rolls through his back. He rolls his shoulders back in his suit and takes a sip of whiskey. 

You’re irritating. That’s right. Maybe he just doesn’t like the way you laugh so loudly at whatever the man tells you. You’re bad for him. Bad for his self-control, and for his image. The scowl on Al Haitham’s face deepens when he realizes that he’s staring at you again. It’s not as if he can tell you off for not doing your job because that’s what you are doing. Flirting with the customers gets the bar more cash, which means more revenue for him. But do you really have to lean that far across the bar to let the man whisper something in your ear that closely? 

Irritation, hot and itchy, creeps back down his spine. Finally, you seem to notice that your boss has been glaring holes into the side of your head as your bright gaze finds him across the room. You don’t break eye contact as you bend down to pick up a glass, all while the man talks your ear off. 

His jaw ticks. But Al Haitham refuses to be the first one to break eye contact. At least not until you smile at him and give him a twiddle of your pretty nails when the irritation in him morphs into something much more… electric. 

Your only response is a terse nod as Al Haitham slams his laptop shut. He’s not going to be able to get any work done if you’re here. Instead, he opts to pulls out his phone. 

“Nilou.” His voice is too sharp, too tense. 

“Yes, sir?” Nilou replies over the phone, her soft voice filled with confusion. 

He exhales through his nose to soothe himself. To tune out another round of giggles that erupt behind the bar. “I want the uniforms changed.” 

“In what way, sir?” Nilou asks, the puzzlement still evident in her tone. 

“Changed?” 

Al Haitham flinches a little when he hears your voice echo just behind him. Steeling his nerves, he turns around and fixes you with a steely look. “Swap the skirts out for pants.” 

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look. 

He looks down to the sinful piece of fabric that hugs your thighs. 

Before Nilou can offer a reply, he hangs up the phone. 

Across the bar, you raise an eyebrow. “Why the sudden change?” 

Al Haitham feels his fingers twitch at your casual tone. It’s rare that people, let alone his employees, dared to speak to him so leisurely. He had half a mind to teach you how to address your boss properly. Maybe with that stupid skirt hiked around your waist and your palms against the counter as he spanks your-

He forces himself to come to a screeching halt. 

Instead of enacting his fantasies, Al Haitham glances at you with an almost bored look. “I thought that it would be a nice change once in a while. Also, it’s sir. It’s inappropriate to address your boss so casually.” 

“Well,” you pipe back, “I don’t think it’s appropriate to issue sudden changes in the dress code without consulting your employees first.” 

The image of you across his lap and his handprint across your ass resurfaces like an insistent plague. Curse you and your stupidly smart mouth. Though he can’t deny the amusement that he enjoys whenever the two of you quip at each other, nipping at each other’s heels. Testing to see which one would stumble first. 

“Talk back to me like that again and I’ll put a dent in your salary.” An empty threat. You both know it as clear as day. 

Your brilliant smile blossoms from the glow of a flickering candlelight to the roaring rays of the summer sun. “And risk losing all your customers?” you tease him. “We both know how much they love my drinks. I’m the best bartender you have up your sleeve.” 

Your drinks aren’t the only thing that keeps them coming. 

At that, his amusement quickly withers away. 

Before he can say anything more stupid, Al Haitham scoops up his laptop and rises to his feet. “You’d better start serving them then.” It’s a bitter sentence, delivered through his clenched teeth. 

“Wait-” 

Without sparing you another glance, he strolls out of the bar. Barely resisting the urge to slam the door on his way out. 

—

It’s a Saturday night when Al Haitham next drops by his bar. Usually, he preferred spending his weekends in his study. But word had spread that the Fatui would be dropping by town. Despite the alliance treaties that he’d signed with them, it wouldn’t hurt to be extra careful around his long-time business rivals. Plus, he was hoping to glean some extra information out of his guests. 

The magnetic roll of bass vertebrates through the room as Al Haitham is escorted to the VIP booth that is usually only reserved for the most esteemed of guests. 

He feels almost out of place here. Despite owning the entire establishment (and the street that it’s on), Al Haitham has never quite gotten used to the rowdier nights that occur in his club. It’s not as if he doesn’t appreciate the sight of the dancers or the music. But something about the primal atmosphere just makes him wish that he was back in the peace and quiet of his study, with his chosen book open on his lap. 

Don’t worry. Al Haitham straightens the non-existent wrinkles of his shirt. You’ve got everything under control.

As he pushes the heavy curtains open, he instantly sees Ajax, the 11th Harbringer, with a glass in his hand and those intense blue eyes fixated on a scene in front of him. The younger man takes a sip from his glass. Yet, not once does his predatory gaze shift.  It is unlike Ajax to not even notice his presence, and curiosity jerks Al Haitham’s gaze to where Ajax is looking. 

Al Haitham feels his throat dry up. 

His ears ring with all the blood that rushes up to his head. Al Haitham’s heavy stare rolls across your body as you extend a leg mid-air, with both of your hands wrapped around the pole. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, you make your way down the pole in time with the music. Whilst just seeing you in uniform has his slacks tightening, the sight of your ass in those thongs and your breasts practically spilling out lacy bra has him hard to the point of insanity. 

When your body reaches the floor in a graceful descent, Al Haitham has to lift his attention to the multi-colored spotlights in the ceiling to take a slow, deep breath and to stop himself from drooling over you like a pervert. 

Why are you here? 

Only after his second breath when he finally meets your electric gaze. Your eyes spark with amusement. You know. You know exactly what you’re doing with your boss. You know just how much you get on his nerves. Do you know that he’s thought about you every hour over the past three days? Do you know how his stomach tenses whenever he thinks of you? 

As if reading his frayed mind, you rise to your knees, sliding them open to reveal that darned thong that barely covers anything as you lean against the pole without a care in the world. The heat burning in your gaze makes his fist curl deeper. You really are going to set him ablaze. 

He takes in your… costume. The jade green set is complimented with trims of red lace around the edges. A perfect match to his eyes. The realization digs its sharp claws into him. On the stage, you continue to slink your way over on your knees. The sight of your ass in the air tugs on his cock as lust crawls under his skin. 

And he tenses when you reach the edge of the stage. Gracefully, you make your way down in those ridiculously high heels. Click clack, the familiar sound makes his jaw clench. 

“Al Haitham.” He’d nearly forgotten that Ajax was also in the room. How ironic. He’d just frowned upon the Harbringer’s foolishness for not noticing his presence. 

“Yes?” Al Haitahm feigns indifference in his voice as best as he can. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that you had such a gem hiding here?” 

All of a sudden, he’s hit with an impulse to smash a glass over the ginger’s head. 

Before he can reply, the brush of your bare shoulder against his forearm causes the words to choke up in his throat. 

Already, Ajax’s attention has shifted over to you. His manic grin is a little too wide for Al Haitham’s liking. And there’s that hungry glint burning in the Harbringer’s eyes that Al Haitham knows all too well. It’s the exact same gleam that licks in his irises whenever he thinks about you. 

“Hello gorgeous.” He hears Ajax tell you. “What’s your name, hm?”

Just as Ajax’s fingers are about to close around your bare waist, Al Haitham grabs his wrist in a deadly iron grip, stopping the latter in his tracks. “No touching.” 

Ajax studies his face for a beat as a slow grin tugs at his lips. “I was just going to ask for her name. It’s not everyday I meet a woman as stunning as your employee. Perhaps you’d prefer if I took her out on a nice dinner first?” 

Red mist swallows Al Haitham’s vision. “Get out,” he rasps. 

When Ajax doesn’t move, he leans forward, making sure that the Harbringer sees the animalistic fury roaring in his eyes. “Get out before I send your body back to Snezhnaya in a coffin.” 

As soon as the door closes behind Ajax, his fingers find purchase at the nape of your neck as he yanks you towards him. “When did you turn from a bartender to a fucking stripper?” he demands. Never in his life has he swore. Not until now. 

A flash of surprise darts across your delicate features at the unusually rough timbre of his voice. Despite the fact that he’s practically breathing flames into your face, you merely shrug. “I tried telling you about it the other day. Nilou needed a replacement. And I stepped in to help her fill the spot.” 

For a tense moment, the two of you glare at each other. Al Haitham is all too aware of your soft breasts pressing into his chest. The way you're looking at him underneath those long lashes, and the pout of your bottom lip that tempts him to brush his thumb across it. He’s so hard that he can’t even think straight. 

He cocks his head, tension lining each plane of his broad shoulders. The raging fury in him solidified into something much more familiar. “Are you wet?” 

Finally, your insolent facade crumbles into dust as you let out a squeak. “What?” 

“If I push aside those pathetic strings that you’re wearing right now, am I going to find you wet?” He repeats the question, slowly and calmly. 

Your skin feels all too warm from his touch. Carefully, Al Haitham drags his calloused palms down, savoring your soft flesh until they rest at your waist, where he guides your half-naked body onto his lap. Almost instinctively, your hips rock forward along the hard plane of his thigh. And his second curse falls out of his lips in a breathy whisper when he feels the warmth of your pussy pressed against his slacks. 

He’s probably breaking every workplace rule imaginable. But with the way your body feels against his, Al Haitham can’t quite bring himself to care. Already, he’s planning on the next time he can get you like this in his bed, naked and under him. It was like giving a recovering drug addict another good snort of crack. There was no turning back in his maddening obsession. But this time, he was glad to be able to drown in it. 

His wandering hands cup your breasts through your bra. Resting ever so lightly on your hardened nipples poking through the sheer material. Your back arches forward as he watches you with an intensity that makes you shiver. Without warning, Al Haitham squeezes. 

A little unexpected motion that has you keening like a kitten for her master.  

Cruelly, he bounces his knee upwards, forcing another mewl out of your painted lips. One of his hands tangles into your hair, pulling you forward until your parted lips are almost brushing his. Until the both of you are breathing the same air. He can smell your stupid perfume clouding his already disorientated senses. 

“U-Usually, I get paid for this.”

He gives you a half-hearted scowl. “I’ll triple your next month’s salary.” 

Your head falls against his shoulder with a whimper as you continue to buck your hips forward, leaving a wet stain across the material of his pants. He doubts that you’ve even heard his offer. “Are you going to come on my thigh?” Unable to help himself, Al Haitham wraps his large hands around your waist and presses you down against his thigh, making sure that the seam of his pants catches against your clit. 

You respond with a strangled whine, your fingers scrabbling for purchase against his shirt. 

As you reach your high, Al Haitham captures your lips with his, swallowing all your moans as your orgasm forces you to melt against his chest. Though his cock throbs in his slacks, demanding for attention, he rests his forehead against yours, drinking in the lust in your eyes like a starved man. The smell of your sex fills him with a deep hunger that prompts him to tighten his grip around your still trembling body. 

It takes every ounce of self-control in him to keep his voice steady. 

“The next time you strip for another person, I’ll have their eyes gouged out of their skull.” 

[atrueneutral]

Just read the last chapter of HWBASK (I somehow missed that chapter 😅) and... I've got to ask...

What does/did Raphael do when a current/potential client insults Tav?

What does/did Raphael do when a current/potential client tries to flirt or make a pass at Tav and/or tries to include some funny business involving her as part of their contract with the devil?

What does/did Raphael do when a current/potential client does both?

“Color me not surprised to see the Hero of Baldur’s Gate here,” said the brute of a man who had come to the Devil’s Den seeking a deal - as anyone always ever did.

Since arriving a minute ago, full of swagger, he was pegged by Tav to be ugly, arrogant, and unpleasant.

“Is it true, hero? You’ll fuck a devil to save a person’s soul? How many fiends have you spread your legs for?”

Ah, and what he had for brawn was there to compensate for his lack of brains.

But, to answer his question, she’d spread her legs for two fiends to be exact. One of which she fucked on a regular basis - irregardless of a soul hanging in the balance.

The very fiend (who looked quite handsome as a human) stood not too far away from where she sat pretending to read her new favorite romance novel. Being a lawful fellow (though still evil in many regards), Raphael cooly leaned against the writing desk with no outward reaction to the salacious attack against her reputation - outward being the key word. She snuck a glance from over her book and could tell he was visualizing a future where the man’s soul was nothing more than a tasty meal.

“Are you deaf, hero?” asked the man.

“Speak to me, not to her - you are here for a devil’s deal, are you not?”

The man snorted in her direction before turning his attention to Raphael.

“Alright, devil. Let’s talk.”

—

“Then we have an accord?” Raphael oozed warmth - his steps slow in taking him from the desk to the man. “You are to procure a Bag of Devouring and personally deliver it to me in this very room - in three weeks time. In return for completion of this task, I will see to the end of your rival and his gang. If you are unable to deliver the item I seek within the allotted time, then there is the unfortunate matter of a price to be paid.” 

“My soul, is that it?” asked the brute, smiling with yellowed teeth.

“Why, yes - your soul would be a fine price,” responded Raphael, smiling with devilish charm.

Anticipation burned in his eyes.

The brute was not so brainless to accept on the spot; he mulled it over for about half a minute, but it was clear he predicted a favorable outcome.

“Agreed - and I think I’ve heard of this schtick.” The brute regarded Tav. “You’re gonna travel with me, yeah, sweetheart? Help me out?”

Rather than read (for the fifth time) the paragraph in which the protagonist and antagonist expressed their hatred for one another before kissing, Tav pondered on ugly, arrogant, and unpleasant souls and what they tasted like to fiends.

Something flavorful, she supposed, for behind his mask of congeniality, Raphael was gnawing at the bit for a bite.

Snap!

An infernal pairing of contract and quill appeared in front of the brute’s face - conveniently obstructing his view of her.

“All that’s left to do is sign,” Raphael said evenly.

The brute snatched the quill from the air with his meaty hand, pointed tip and ink was put to parchment, and the words blazed after a quick scrawl of a signature. Little time was given to the man to read anything (as if his tiny brain could understand Infernal in the first place) for the signed contract quickly disappeared in a plume of smoke and embers.

“Best of luck to you,” Raphael purred, allowing a sneer to eek through.

“I’ve had worse odds before,” the brute replied with a cocky shrug. “But, speaking of luck, how about it, sweetheart? How about you give the devil a good fucking when I leave? A good fuck for good luck - all for my dear, sweet soul.”

“Infiltrating Zhentil Keep for a Bag of Devouring…” Tav whistled as she flipped to the next page. “I remember doing something eerily similar not too long ago. Whether or not you make it out as I did… well…”

She pulled a face that said: unlikely.

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“I might be too busy fucking the devil - not for luck or for your soul, mind you.” For the first time, she met the brute’s stare - his arrogance was fraying into worry. “But because I enjoy it.”

“You’re obligated to do this with me!”

Tav laughed, “Says who or what? The rumors?”

“I put my soul on the line because of the guarantee!” The brute snarled, moving towards her in anger.

There was a flash and burst, and a large, pointed red wing fanned out to block the brute’s path. Tav was saddened that she could not witness the man’s reaction to seeing Raphael’s true form -  especially when her cambion looked so wonderfully antagonistic.

“A fool shall run a fool’s errand,” Raphael announced. “Run along, little fool.”

The brute snarled again in anger, and his bootsteps stormed for the door.

“Wait!” Tav shouted. The steps halted and Raphael refocused his glare on her. “If I were feeling up to a journey, when and where would I meet you? No guarantees, of course…”

An audible sound of relief.

“The bridge from the Lower City to Wyrm’s rock - dawn.”

After a moment, the door opened and then shut with a slam.

There was another flash and burst of fire as Raphael returned to his mortal disguise.

“Don’t look so peeved with me,” Tav scoffed. “I’m peeved with you! You know I hate Zhentil Keep…”

“You are under no obligation to go. It’s the fault of your own moral code - helping any and every mortal who steps into this den...”

“He’s not the first asshole and he won’t be the last.” Sighing, Tav closed her book and stuffed it into the pack that laid at her chair’s feet. “But, in all honesty, I won’t be too upset if you win this one either. The odds aren’t looking favorable - given your stipulation of three weeks.”

Raphael smirked. “A fair stipulation.”

“Says the devil,” came her droll reply. She stood while throwing her pack around her shoulder. “I think I’ll walk home tonight and will probably hit the hay as soon as I get back - early rise and all.”

“Mm, I’d join you on your stroll, but there are other matters I must attend to.”

Tav headed for the door. “Don’t take too long - I’ve unfortunately grown accustomed to you being in my bed.”

When she reached for the handle-

“Does it bother you?”

Raphael did not need to clarify his question; the remnants of his play, particularly the gossip that overran the city and followed the local hero wherever she went, had evolved into other less-than-savory rumors. Seeing the futility in denying the slander, Tav leaned into taking each blow on the chin and hoped that rumors of her good-deeds would one day overtake the bad.

“Some days more than others,” she answered truthfully.

Raphael blinked at her, something on his mind, but he merely nodded for the exit.

“Hurry home, dearest.”

“I will, under the fair stipulation that you hurry with your business - it’s cold out and I’ll want to wrap around my personal furnace.” She twisted the handle and opened the door. Pausing, Tav threw a last look his way. “I’m happy, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“And I’ll be happy when this man’s soul is mine,” said her beloved antagonist.

To counter, the protagonist held her head heroically high. “Not a chance in Hell, you rat-fucking-bastard.”

At that, Tav left the Devil’s Den with a smile on her face.

—-

[ghostofaboy]

Inter-Agency Cooperation

Summary: Jack runs into another agent on a mission and figures out a new way for them both to get what they want.

Pairing: Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels/Javier Peña Rating: Explicit. Serious over 18s only | Word Count: 2633

Warnings: Frottage, anal sex, public sex, Jack is his own warning

Note: This as not been beta read so I apologize for any mistakes. This is a fic with gay/bi characters. Please make sure you've read the warnings. Header by @beskarandblasters

Of all the places Jack thought he'd find himself today, a dive bar in the middle of butt fuck nowhere watching a cage fight wasn't even on his list. Silly, really, considering all the strange places his Statesman missions took him. All around him, large drunken men in plaid shirts jeered and shouted at the two half naked men in the cage. The entire bar stank of stale beer and sweat, which made Jack long for the heady woody smells of the Statesman barrel room, but he couldn't argue with the view.

In the cage, a massive slapdash metal structure that dominated the center of the rundown establishment, were two young men. Neither could have been older than twenty-five, both striped to the waist in just their jeans, and both covered in blood and sweat. It was the most homoerotic shit Jack had ever seen in such a painfully hetero bar. He had to stifle a laugh whenever he thought about it.

Taking another sip of his shitty beer, Jack glanced over to his mark, only to find him in the exact same spot since the last time he checked. Fast asleep in a corner booth, drooling into his thick, bushy beard. Another quick look around the bar confirmed that no one else was paying either of them any attention; except for one man.

Sat at a table, set off to the corner with a view of Jack, his mark and the cage, was a broody looking motherfucker. Sporting a well-worn leather jacket, a mustache similar to his own and a casual air that oozed practiced confidence, the other man had definitely made him. Everything about this guy said agent, the only question was what kind.

Jack's money was on CIA considering the dealings his sleepy mark was into, but FBI was also a possibility. There was only one way to find out, and considering Jack didn't feel like competing with another agent for the mark, working together was the better option for them both. Eying the other man, Jack could see he was also nursing what passed for beer in this shithole. There was his opening.

Sliding off his barstool, Jack glanced over at the two young men now slumping against each other, gasping for breath, the sweat rolling off them. Swaggering over to the stranger's table, Jack was met with a single raised eyebrow and a tilt of the head.

"Evenin'." Jack tipped his hat, before leaning down slightly closer to the other man. "Enjoyin' the entertainment?"

"Not my usual kind of thing." The other man smirked and Jack could just pick out the hints of a Texan accent. "But when in Rome or whatever."

"I agree." Jack gave a chuckle. "Almost makes up for the terrible beer. Do you mind if I join you?" Jack gestured to the free chair next to the stranger.

The other man didn't respond beyond a small nod, but his eyes watched Jack intently as he slid into the seat. 

“I don’t know about you,” Jack leaned in conspiratorially, “but I usually prefer somethin’ a little stronger. Now, I’m a whiskey man myself. How about you?”

“I’m a cut the bullshit kinda man.” The stranger sat up a little straighter, locking eyes with Jack with a steadiness that could only come from years of experience in the field. “So, why don’t you do us both a favor and tell me who you are and what you want.”

“To the point, I respect that.” Jack nodded. “All right. I’m Agent Jack Daniels, and I’m here keepin’ an eye on that fella over there. Reckon you know who I mean, seein’ as you’ve also got eyes on him. I need him alive as part of an investigation, and I get the feelin’ you do too.”

“You CIA?”

“No.” Jack carefully pulled his fake DIA badge from his jacket, flashing it under the table at the stranger. “You?”

“DEA.” The stranger mimicked Jack, carefully and covertly showing his badge. “Javier Peña. Our guy has links to a new player in the narcotics trade.”

“Indeed he does.” Jack nodded again, glancing around to make sure no one was watching or listening to them. “Amongst other things. Peña, huh? Weren’t you part of the team that took down Escobar?”

Javier shifted in his seat. “That was a long time ago. So what do you want to do? I’m here tonight to see who he meets up with.”

“He ain’t meetin’ up with anyone tonight. He was meant to, but I’ve already made sure that ain’t happenin’.” Jack leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting over to the cage fighters who were rolling around on the floor trading punches. “The dumb fuck’ll stay here, so I was gonna wait until the mornin’ and tail him back to wherever he’s holed up. You’re welcome to join me.”

Jack watched as Javier’s sharp eyes assessed him thoroughly. Jack could feel those dark eyes taking in every detail of him and knew that on some level Javier wasn’t buying his story. But was it enough for him to leave?

“Fine.” Javier scowled, taking a swig of beer, pulling a face at the taste. “I guess we just wait then.”

“At least there’s a show.” Jack gestured to the cage, scooting his chair back slightly so he was parallel to Javier at the table. “Who’s your money on? The fuckin’ twink blond or the other one?”

“At least that one can grow facial hair.” Javier let out a harsh laugh as he watched the two fighters. 

The crowd was getting impatient now, roaring and booing for the two young men to hurry up and finish. The blond responded by lunging at the darker haired man, who stepped back to avoid the attack. Grabbing hold of each other by the jeans, the two men fell to the floor of the cage again, tussling back and forth, much to the pleasure of the crowd. 

A loud whoop came from one section of the gathered men and as Jack craned his neck to look he could see that the blond had managed to pull down the other man’s jeans, exposing his ass. As the fighters rolled, grabbed and tugged at each other, the jeans worked their way further down until the man’s cock and balls were free. By this point, he was pinned under the blond, who had straddled his back, causing the other man’s legs to kick wildly. The result was a fantastic view of his asshole bared for the crowd, with his heavy dick and balls swinging back and forth. 

Much of the crowd was cheering now, clearly enjoying what they were seeing, as the blond fighter rolled the other man onto his back, yanking his jeans completely off victoriously. Now stark naked, bruised and bloodied, the other fighter slowly climbed to his feet before quickly barrelling into the blond. 

Jack could feel his cock stirring as he watched the younger fighter’s naked body in front of him. He wasn’t alone, and Jack could spot more than a few tented pants in the audience. The blond was grabbing the other fighter’s ass and pulling his cheeks open, giving everyone a good view of a tight puckered hole, and Jack could feel his cheeks heating up as he stared. Pulling his eyes away to grab his hip flask from his belt, Jack’s eye flickered over to Javier. 

The other man was leaning back casually in his chair, giving the impression to anyone that he was completely disinterested in what he was watching. Taking a mouthful of whiskey, Jack let his eyes drift lower, his curiosity getting the better of him, and to Jack’s delight he could see the very obvious outline of an erection in those ridiculously tight jeans.

Holding his flask out to Javier, Jack couldn’t stop himself smirking as the other man jumped slightly, dropping the veneer of coolness for a moment, before taking the flask. Letting his eyes drop back down to the bulge in Javier’s jeans, Jack made sure to let the other man catch him looking as the flask was returned to him. 

“Good show, am I right?” Jack’s voice was a husky whisper as he leaned over to Javier. 

“Uh, sure.” Javier’s cheeks flushed slightly as he glanced around, looking everywhere in the bar except at the two young men glistening with sweat as the naked fighter ripped open the blond’s jeans as he swung him against the cage. His body clattering against the metal, his long cock squashed against the bars.

Jack waiting patiently until Javier’s eyes returned to him before gesturing discreetly at his hard on. “Wanna fuck?”

/////

Crashing around the back of the bar, lips clumsily found lips as teeth clashed and hands roamed. Slamming Jack up against the wall of the building, Javier’s mouth forcefully met his as the two men grunted and moaned in the cold night.

Venturing his hands lower, Jack cupped Javier’s erection through the denim, making the other man buck into his palm as he forced his tongue past Jack’s lips. It had been a long time since Jack had been with someone so aggressively dominant, and it was going straight to his cock, which strained against its confines.

Tugging open Javier’s fly, Jack reached inside, stroking the hard length, feeling it twitch in his hand as Javier’s finger’s tangled into Jack’s hair under his hat. Freeing his own cock, Jack pulled Javier in closer, bringing their erections together, as he began to steadily pump them with his hands. 

Javier moaned into Jack’s mouth an incomprehensible stream of English and Spanish as he trapped Jack against the wall, pinning him with his body as he rolled his hips in time with Jack’s strokes. But it wasn’t enough. Jack needed more. There was something about this grumpy DEA agent that was filling his head with the most obscene thoughts, and damn it if Jack wasn’t going to try and fulfil some of them.

Pulling his head back slightly to break the frantic kiss, Jack nuzzled against Javier’s jaw as the other man growled and ground against him.

“You wanna fuck me?” Jack panted into Javier’s ear, stopping his hand and pulling it away from their cocks. “I got lube and condoms.”

“Yes.” Was the simple, growled response as Javier took a step back, glancing around as Jack fished a condom out of his jacket.

As Javier busied himself putting it on, Jack quickly unbuckled his belt, pulling his jeans and underwear down to his knees. Reaching behind him, Jack pushed a finger into his ass, hissing at the coldness of the lube, before adding a second finger. Satisfied at the lubrication, Jack handed the tube to Javier, who applied a couple of drops before returning it.

Turning round, Jack steadied himself on the wall with his forearms, planting his feet as far apart as he could and bend over slightly to give Javier access to his ass. He could feel a hand on his bare hip and the tip of Javier’s cock lining up with his entrance before, slowly, Javier began to enter Jack. 

Jack let his head drop down as he bit back a moan as Javier’s thick length steady began to fill him. Inch by inch, Javier sank into Jack's hot waiting hole, both hands now gripping Jack's hips as his cock disappeared into Jack's body. Then, once he was buried to the hilt, Javier paused. Jack could hear him muttering and breathing heavily behind him as Jack adjusted to the size.

"You good?" Javier eventually whispered, one hand idly stroking Jack's exposed skin.

"I'm good." Jack hissed back, his arousal fogging his head. "Gimme all you got."

Jack heard a soft chuckled before Javier began to move. Pulling almost completely out slowly, before suddenly slamming back into Jack's waiting ass. Jack bit back a yelp as Javier began to set a rough, unrelenting pace. Each thrust pounding into Jack, rocking him forward until his cheek was barely touching the cold stone of the building. Javier's hips snapped against him as the obscene sound of flesh against flesh filled the night air. 

But it still wasn't enough. Jack was sure at this pace Javier wasn't going to last long, and given their extremely public locale that might be for the best. But Jack needed more. Arching his back, Jack tilted his hips slightly and sure enough the next time Javier plunged into him a jolt of electricity coursed through Jack. That's what he needed.

Javier seemed to quickly pick up on what Jack wanted, grabbing his hip with one hand and his hair with another to keep Jack in the right position. Then, like a jackhammer, Javier began to brutally fuck Jack. 

Jack's skin prickled with heat as the tension building in him threatened to explode. All he could do was get out shaking moans, and Javier huffed and panted behind him. The pace was becoming more erratic now, with each strike of Javier's hips against his ass, Jack could feel the other man's grip on his control slipping. The hands holding him dug their fingers in deep as Javier's tempo faltered. 

Between his legs, Jack's cock swung with every thrust, adding to the tantalizing anticipation as he got closer and closer to the edge. Then with a grunt and a hard snap of his hips forward, Jack felt Javier come. For a few seconds, he stilled, as Jack felt the cock inside him twitching through its release. Then, without warning, Javier began to pounding into Jack again.

The hand on his hip moved, reaching under to gently pump Jack's cock in time with Javier's thrusts. That was enough.

Like falling off a cliff, Jack came, spilling himself onto the dirt as his trembled in Javier's grip. Shockwaves of ecstasy rocked him as Javier continued to roll his hips, hitting that sweet spot, making Jack's knees buckle.

Jack would have been content to rest there against the wall of the bar, Javier's cock still buried in him, as he allowed the high of his orgasm to ebb away for a little longer. But just as his head began to clear of static, he felt Javier tense behind him, then quickly pull his softening length from Jack's now gaping hole.

"Fuck." Javier hissed. "Someone's coming."

"Dammit." Jack muttered, his words slurring together as he fought to pull his jeans up. 

Voices drifted through the cold night air and Jack watched warily as two men stumbled their way towards a truck, laughing heartily as a third more sober looking friend brought up the rear. Turning back to Javier, who was in the process of disposing of the condom, Jack smirked.

"We're good. You wanna head back inside, or are you up for a second round somewhere a little more private?"

"Fuck." Javier chuckled, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and after offering them to Jack, brought one to his lips and lit it. "Tempting. Very tempting, actually. But we have work to do."

"Ah, that dumb fuck'll still be asleep for a few hours yet." Jack waved a hand, but following as Javier started to make his way back round to the front door of the bar. "How about we wait till this place clears out some, then have round two in the men's room?"

Blowing out a puff of smoke, Javier stopped at the door, looking around thoughtfully. There were only a handful of patrons still in the bar now. As predicted, their mark was still sound asleep where they had left him. The fight was over, with the two young men now redressed and counting their winnings at a table in the corner. Leaning against the doorway, Javier turned back to Jack with a smirk.

"You wanna fuck me this time?"

/////

If you enjoy this please give it a reblog to share with other.

[bookishtheaterlover7]

a/n: Hey, everyone! This is my very first fic in an extremely long time(like 5 - 6 years long). And honestly, I'm nervous to post because this really is the very first time, I've ever written for Lloyd Hansen. I just hope y'all like it.

Lloyd Hansen x Reader

word count: a lot(?)

WARNINGS: Lloyd torturing(not the reader), brief mention of electro shock, torture and death, manipulation, slight cursing, dark!Reader and semi-dark!Lloyd(he's kind of soft for Reader). I don't know how to rate this, so to be safe, MINORS DNI!!!

Enjoy!

*Y/H/C = Your Hair Color

**C/T/B/C/Y = Color That Best Compliments You

Lloyd was doing one of his favorite activities in the world, torture. And no, not the kind that brings an earth-shattering pleasure to his partner. This type of torture is done when one needs information. Wherein, the unwilling recipient has had his wrists and ankles bounds to a wooden chair, his body convulsing and reacting to every electrical wave that was pushed into his body. To his relief, the shocks came to a slow and steady stop, which lead to his torturer leaning down to his level, looking like an eager cat.

"Wasn't that just fun, Ram? Huh? Now, tell me what I want to know, and this all ends..." Lloyd said, punctuating each word with a slow, lazy drawl, as he keeps his hand on the switch of the device, almost teasingly playing with it. Deep blue eyes gleaming with a dangerous sparkle. A subtle threat.

"I told you, I don't know!" Ram continued to say. Trying so desperately to hang on to his deniability in all of this. Praying to any god above that someone would help him escape this hell.

"Oh, Ram... Shame... And I was beginning to like you..." Lloyd sighed, adjusting himself on his stool across from Ram, his fingers twitching, ready to flick the switch once more. Sending more unending shocks to Ram's weakening body.

Maybe there is a god, when the sound of a ringing phone broke the intense silence of the basement, answering Ram's silent prayers.

"What did I say, about LEAVING YOUR DAMN PHONES ON WHILE I'M WORKING?!?!" Lloyd shouted, standing up and slamming his fist way too close to the device on the table next to him.

"It's your phone, Sir." One of his goons, who was keeping guard, replied.

"Who is it?" Lloyd asked, his voice containing a dangerous note, towards the end.

"The big boss, Sir." Another goon, who was standing close to the tray that contained Lloyd's phone, answered.

"I'll be right back..." Lloyd told his prey, lightly, almost playfully, tapping Ram's cheek, causing him to flinch away.

Lloyd swaggered away, grabbed his phone, and headed into the next room, signaling to most of the goons to follow him, and leaving two to keep a firm eye on Ram.

Half delirious, Ram's vision was blurry. It has him blinking several times to try and clear it, which didn't really do much. But that didn't stop him from noticing a slowly approaching figure. This figure wasn't what he'd expected in a place like this.

She had flowing *Y/H/C, dressed in a **C/T/B/C/Y dress, that caught his attention, even with his worsening eye sight, for it complimented her skin perfectly. The sweet combination, making her seem like an angel in this hell.

She offered comfort and relief the second she placed the cool, soft, rag on his sweaty forehead. Forcing a groan of relief out of his chapped lips, his body sagging at the small semblance of relief.

"You don't deserve to be treated like this... Lloyd's always too harsh on his victims." She sighed, regret and sympathy oozing off of every pore of her words, as the rag continued it's purpose of relaxing Ram. Along with her gentle touch on his temple, to keep his head from sagging. He felt safe.

"And he never lets up! Even when I tell him it's too much for me. That I can barely stomach it!" She continued, her voice gaining an edge, before quickly disappearing, letting her care continue, with her soft look resuming, even when Ram didn't notice the change.

"I don't think he's going to let up anytime soon." Ram groaned, fatigue settling into his bones.

"He wasn't always like this. I grew up with this sweet boy, but he turned into this monster sometime in college. Forever changed..." She cried, a slight shake and hiccup in her words.

"I love him, I really do. With everything I am, but I don't think I can stay here much longer." Her voice barely a whisper, almost like she's scared to say it out loud. This gave Ram an idea, one that might just save the package he was tasked to deliver, before he was taken.

"I loved someone once too... she left before I could convince her to stay. But a good friend told me where to find her, as long as I agreed to deliver the package I arrived here with. The address is on it!" Ram exclaimed excitedly, nearly scaring his saving grace.

"If you can find that package and take it to my love, I will gladly die a happy man... I don't care what Lloyd Hansen does to me, as long as she gets it, and know that I did everything in my power to get it to her." He continued, looking at her with such earnest, it almost made her feel pity. Almost.

"I just might be able to. Lloyd will be busy tonight, it'll be the perfect chance for me to escape. And, oh, I wouldn't want to bring bad news to your love... it would be so tragic for her to know that you died trying to get her what she needed." The angel gasped, desperately grasping Ram's trapped hand.

"It would be an honor for me to die knowing that package arrived safely." Ram repeated, looking at his angel right in her eyes, which seemed to soften and convince her.

"Alright, I'll do it..." She said, leaning in and giving Ram one last touch of comfort, for she knew he doesn't have long.

Lloyd made his way up to his bedroom, several floors up in his castle. Upon entering, he sighed out the long day, removing his jacket and placing it on the chair in front of the desk. He made his way to his bed, ready to sink into his goose down comforter, and sleep.

But before he could, his eye caught the odd shape of a beaten up box on his nightstand. He slowly sat up, and let out a small chuckle, as soon as he realized what the box was exactly.

"Should've known you'd find a way to get the information, I couldn't, Babe." He scoffed, amused, and knowing exactly who left it.

"Wasn't hard. A few gentle touches here, a sob story here, and he was so willing to risk trusting me. Shame really... I kinda liked him." Y/N, aka Angel, said from her seat on the darkest corner of the room. Turning on the the lamp by pulling its string, before standing up, and running her hands over her skirt, smoothing it down.

Lloyd got up to meet her halfway, wrapping his strong arms around his girl, leaning down to place his forehead against hers.

"You really are something, Kitten..." He sighed, his eyes shining with adoration, even in the dim light of their bedroom.

"Something as unhinged as you, definitely." She grinned, leaning in to kiss her Lloyd, before jumping into his arms.

He carried her across the room before breaking the kiss.

"Hang on, how did Ram die so quickly? I set that device to a semi dangerous level..." Lloyd asked, brows scrunching in confusion.

"Oh, sorry, Honey... I guess my hand must have slipped!" She smiled innocently.

Her smile drew her love back to her, knowing she was his match, in every way.

a/n: So, that was my first fic in a while. Hope you guys enjoyed it. Let me know if y'all would like me to upload more of Lloyd's equally unhinged girlfriend, or even a prompt in my Asks. It'll be so helpful and awesome if y'all can help keep my creative juices flowing 😊 Love y'all, Bookies🫶 Stay sane in this crazy time, fellow fans of the fandom.

Lloyd Hansen Masterlist

Chris Evans Characters Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[okaystoptellingmetomakeanaccount]

So I just read the first Darkenblot story (finally. only took me more than 10 years) and God DAMN does it go hard.

(ignore that this cover is for the second story)

Like Blotty in the prologue is basically just Iron Man if he was in prison instead of held captive by terrorists and if he was actually way cooler because Tony is nothing compared to the absolute swagger this guy just oozes.

Amd tehen he iust

lLIKE LOOK AT HIM AND TELL ME THAT HE ISNT COOL AND INWILL TEL YOU YORURE LYING

Im not gonna spoil the rest because its a detective story so you know spoilers kind of ruin that. SO YOU SHOULD READ IT IF YOU HAVENT ALREADY

It even got an American release so you have zero excuses. If you have the time to scroll tumblr you have the time to read Darkenblot. So read Darkenblot. We’re making this phase one of the Phantom Blot propaganda coming this year i want everyone to spread the fucking sick design he has in this story like the plague.

Darkenblot has good shock value for a Mickey Mouse thing so it’s perfect to kick off operation blot brain wash. People gonna look at this and go whaaaa and then you grab them and take them with you into the inescapable Blot hole.

But for you to be able to do that you must have first read Darkenblot so GO GO GO

[roosterbruiser]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐗. 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐗 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟕.𝟐𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

You’re still standing in the shower, blood oozing from your nose, when Jake knocks on the bathroom door. Phoenix is holding your hair back and the two of you are still giggling as you try to stop the bleeding. You’re too buzzed to care all that much that blood is dripping onto your shoes beside you--that’s why you like jellies, anyway. They’re washable. 

“Intrude!” Phoenix calls mindlessly. 

And Jake does intrude, swinging the door open with all the swagger of a velvet Elvis, keen on herding the two of you back to the campfire for more spooky stories in hopes that you’ll cling to him. But he’s stopped dead in his tracks when he catches sight of you: you with the front of your dress stained, you with your nose gushing, you with your hair pushed behind your ears. He smells it before he sees it: blood. Thick like walking into a room full of loose change. 

“Wait,” you insist, screwing your eyes shut and spinning to face the shower wall. “Don’t come in! You’ll really Ralph!” 

Jake stumbles, grasping the wall to regain his posture. All the color is gone from his face.

“Too late,” Phoenix says, stifling her laughter. “C’mon, big boy! You talked a big talk earlier! A little blood gonna take you away from the woman you wanna spend the night with?” 

Phoenix isn’t just doing this because she is thoroughly Team Bradley--she’s doing it because she’s still pissed at Jake for taking the last roll at dinner. He had two. She had none. And he’s never gonna hear the end of it. 

“Phoenix,” you mutter, blindly reaching around to bump her. “Zip it!”

“I don’t feel so good,” Jake mutters. His vision is starting to blacken around the edges like a vignette. “Oh, Jesus, Joseph, and Mary!” 

“Told you there’s no God here,” Phoenix whispers to you, patting your back with a dizzy grin. “We’re in Godless territory. The Devil’s den!” 

“Oh, knock it off,” you say, but you’re grinning. “Help the needy over there. I’ve got the bleed.” 

“You sure?” She asks. She glances at your nose, which is still pouring bright red blood onto the dingy tiles. It makes her tongue thick with saliva. “Something got you good, you’re still gushing!” 

“Don’t describe it,” Jake calls out, eyes screwed shut as he clings to the wall. 

“Can it, Bloody Mary!”  

Then Phoenix walks towards Jake, fully keen on showing him the blood on her hands.

But then you call out, “Wash your hands before you go near him!” 

She grumbles about it, but complies, watching Jake’s quickly-crumpling figure in the mirror while she lathers and rinses. 

“You’re such a child,” she mutters to him. 

But all the same, she opens the door and calls out for some backup. So, with your back turned and the bridge of your nose pinched, you stand against the wall while Coyote and Fanboy come to collect their fallen brother. 

“What have we here?” Fanboy teases as he hooks one of Jake’s arms over his shoulders. “Our own precious cowboy freaked by a little bit of blood?” 

Jake’s mouth is starting to fill with a thick spit, the one that usually precedes vomiting. 

“Uh, that ain’t a little bit of blood,” Coyote says, leaning over to glance at the puddle at your feet. “Christ, Nightingale! Did the Maniac getcha?”

“I’m fine,” you assure them, lashes fluttering. “Allergies or something.” 

Unbeknownst to you, Bradley is standing in the doorway. He heard all the commotion, watched Phoenix call the men to the bathroom for backup, and caught wind of you being injured. That’s all it took for him to leave his comfortable spot on the log, his guitar abandoned right beside the bottle of brandy. 

He’s watching you right now, you poor thing. Standing in the shower stall with your hands planted on the tile walls, your hips bent and your head bowed as blood drips from your nose. It’s a steady and fast stream, which is why the puddle around you is so big. And a peculiar thing is happening inside of Bradley as his feet sink into the mood just outside the bathroom. He can’t help the way his heart is swelling or the way his tongue is tingling or the way his lashes are fluttering. You’re so fucking pretty. Even with blood staining the front of your dress like a bib. Even with your eyes screwed shut in concentration. Even when you pinch the bridge of your nose again to no avail. 

You look, oddly enough, like you’re praying right now. The delicate curve of your neck, the serious look of contemplation on your face. Praying to blood or tile or your jellies or the shower. But praying all the same. 

Then Phoenix claps Rooster’s shoulder, her brows furrowed, and he steps into the bathroom as Fanboy and Coyote drag Jake out. 

“Not gonna end up like our old pal Jake, are you?” Phoenix asks, brow perched. 

Rooster shakes his head. Blood doesn’t scare him. Blood means life.

“The doctor is in,” he teases loudly, miming snapping on latex gloves.

Even without turning around, you know that he’s doing it. And you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t get on my bad side right now,” you tell him. “I’m kinda in the middle of something.”  

“Aw, birdie. I’ll take care of you.” 

As his words sink into your skin and leave looped impressions, the very lining of your belly shivers. 

You aren’t surprised when his hand falls on the flat part of your back, just between your shoulder blades. And you aren’t surprised when the heat of his body suddenly envelopes you, though it does goose your flesh. 

“You okay?” He asks, his voice low. He pushes your fingers away and pinches your nose himself. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, eyes still closed. “Just waiting for it to pass.” 

“It will,” he assures you like you don’t already know. “Everything always does.”

But even though you do already know, your shoulders fall. 

“Smooth,” you mutter, voice thin. “Tell me, Mr. Harrison, what was it like to live in Paul and John’s shadows?” 

Rooster swallows a big laugh. 

“At least you haven’t lost your wit,” he says, sighing. “Can’t bleed that out, huh?” 

“Nope,” you whisper back, finally peeking at him. 

He’s already looking at you, a soft smile on his lips. His fingers are dipped in your blood and you’re probably ruining his buzz but you can tell--you can distinctly tell--that he doesn’t mind one bit.

Phoenix is making quick work of ushering everyone out of the bathroom, leaving the two of you alone in this dimly-lit cavernous bathroom with all the blood and love in the world. 

They’re in for it, she thinks. 

“You alright?” Rooster asks quietly. “You’re looking a little sick.” 

Lovesick, you think. And then your toes start to tingle. 

“I’m fine,” you tell him. “Just riding the wave, I guess.” 

He grins like something’s funny. 

“On a scale from Not At All to Very, how mad would you be if someone--I won’t name names--started humming The Beach Boys?” 

“Pretty,” you answer. 

He weighs his options. 

“It could help to pass the time,” he says. 

You squint at him. 

“It’ll pass. It always does.” 

“I’m not gonna live that down, huh?” He asks, a grin tugging at his lips. You shake your head. “And here I thought I was being a real Ghandi.” 

When you burst out laughing, your blood drips down his arm and settles into the crease of his elbow. You don’t seem to notice at first, preoccupied with booze and blood and affection. But Bradley doesn’t shy away from it. It’s warm like you are--very warm. 

“Airhead,” you say, your laughter dying. 

There’s a lull for a moment--it’s the first time you realize that you and Rooster are completely alone in the bathroom. Your toes are tingling worse now. 

“It’s letting up,” Rooster tells you. “Almost there.” 

“Oh, man,” you mutter, eyes lingering on the blood running down his arm. “I really gotcha, didn’t I?”

“Doesn’t bother me,” he tells you. “Really. It’s cool.” 

“Here,” you mutter, reaching forward and turning the knob of the shower. Ice-cold water sprays the both of you suddenly before it peters off and is soon replaced with warm, warm water. “We can wash off together.” 

Rooster’s pants are growing tight at the thought. 

When the bleeding stops, Rooster takes his fingers away from your nose carefully. You blow experimentally a few times--no more blood. So, you roll your shoulders back and straighten your spine. 

And then your vision starts to darken around the edges. 

“Oops,” you mutter, furrowing your brows. 

“Alright, Speed Racer,” he mutters, hooking his arms under your armpits and pulling you so your body is resting against his. “I’ve got you.” 

With your cheek pressed against the quickly-wettening shirt over Rooster’s chest, you sigh in a moment of utter contentment. You’re foggy still, lightheaded still. The weed definitely isn't helping. But you’re alright now. Even as your body grows wet, even as his body grows wetter and warmer. 

“This is nice,” you say, your voice hardly above a whisper. 

What you mean is that you wish the two of you would hold each other more. At least that’s what you think you mean. Maybe you’re just high and buzzed and you lost too much blood. It’s dizzying you to think about anything right now. 

“Yeah,” Rooster whispers, his chin sitting on top of your soaked hair. He strokes your back, follows the curve of your spine. He thinks about doing this early in the morning before both of you go into work, your bodies naked and swollen from sleep. He kisses the top of your head. “You’re telling me.” 

A pause. 

You think about Jake. You’re a nurse and Jake can’t handle the sight of blood--even if it’s just yours, even if it’s just coming from your nose. You wonder if it means something. What kind of partner would he make if you came home covered in someone’s blood and guts and he fell to a heap right there in the doorway instead of helping you into the shower? It would be like never being off the clock.

“What are you thinking about?” Rooster asks because he can’t help it. 

“Nothing,” you whisper back. Your lips are wet and parted as they land over his heart. “Just work.” He nods. “What are you thinking about?” You ask him. 

Another pause. 

“You,” he answers. What he doesn't say is that anyone could ask him that anytime of day and he would have the same answer: you. 

“Real cute,” you say, but you aren't being snappy. Your tone is even and gentle. “What about me?” 

Rooster shakes his head. 

“Just that I don’t really want summer to end, you know?” 

You snort, fisting his wet t-shirt. 

“Don’t wanna go back home to the parental unit and all the other chicks on the outside?” 

You feel it when he stiffens--even if you weren’t touching him, you’d feel it, you’d know it. And it’s enough to make you shut your mouth immediately. 

“Not really,” he answers. 

You swallow hard. 

“Do you wanna come over?” 

He nods.

♀

It’s about two in the morning when Susie falls asleep. She’s always the last one asleep in the cabin, which Rooster knows by now, but he feels like he’s been sitting on pins and needles as he watched her suck her thumb and hum to herself for the last hour or so. 

He was surprised to find her sitting up in her cot when he quietly came back into the cabin after the fire. He’d meant to just come in, grab his things, then go. But there she was--staring straight at him with that empty stare, unsmiling, clutching the Raggedy Anne doll that’s bigger than her. 

“Whoa, kid,” Rooster whispered when he saw her, reluctantly closing the cabin door behind himself. Hands on his hips, he’d smiled at her. “You still up?” 

“Yes,” Susie had answered, nodding once. She pet the red yarn hair of her doll, fingering the frayed bits at the end. “Had to make sure it was you coming in and not the Devil.” 

Rooster, who was silently cursing Mable Brandt and her Devil talk, just tutted and shook his head softly at her. 

“Now, now,” he said quietly. “No such thing as the Devil. And if there was, I doubt he’d come to Maine.” 

“Why not?” 

“What?” Rooster asked, brows furrowed. 

“Why do you think he won’t come to Maine?” 

Rooster chewed his lower lip then gestured to her doll. 

“Wouldn’t Annie here protect you, anyway?” 

Susie blinked at him. Even in the dim light of the lantern, Rooster could see her cogs turning. 

“She’s a doll,” Susie explained slowly. “Not real.” 

Rooster swallowed. 

“Right,” he answered. “Sometimes I forget. Mister Rooster’s a silly guy.” 

Susie said nothing. 

Sometimes Rooster isn’t sure how to respond to Susie. And on those occasions, he has decided that distraction is the best form of communication. 

“Do you need a glass of water or something, champ?” 

Susie shook her head. Rooster sucked the back of his teeth, squinting through the dark to make sure all the other campers are where they’re supposed to be. All there, sleeping like dirt-covered angels with leftover sloppy joe by their mouths. 

“Well, then,” Rooster sighed, his heart picking up its pace when he thought of you alone in your cabin--or worse; alone with Jake in your cabin. “Better get to sleep then!” 

Some part of him feels guilty that he’s itching so bad for her to go to sleep. But the other part of him, the part that wants to kiss you until your knees give out, wishes he had a Benadryl on hand.  

But now she’s out--like really, really out. That’s something he’s come to admire about the littles: once they’re asleep, they stay asleep. Even if one of them does wake up and asks for a cup of water or a potty break, they’re asleep before Rooster can complete their request most of the time. 

So, when he knows he’s good, Rooster slinks out of his cot and grabs a few items: a lantern, his Walkman, and a few tapes. And then he’s sneaking out the door, carefully letting the door latch behind him, before he’s turning the lantern on low and walking across the courtyard in the dim glow. 

The gravel crunches under his feet and somewhere in the distance, he can hear someone snoring faintly. Payback, probably. There are owls hooting in the great oak trees and the cicadas are still crying and the bullfrogs are still wailing. The heat of the day has finally died and he thinks, as he glances up at the star studded sky, that this is it. 

Rooster’s already decided: this is the night. 

Your words have been echoing in the hollow confines of his skull all day: You flirt with me for three months out of the year. Then we go our separate ways. That’s kinda what we do.

He doesn’t wanna be that guy anymore--that guy that mercilessly flirts and bats his eyelashes at you all summer then never writes or calls. He doesn’t wanna be someone you only think about for three months out of the year. He wants more than that.

He wants to hold you in the shower and he wants to pinch the bridge of your nose when it bleeds and he wants to be the victim of your wit again and again and again. He wants to know how you take your eggs and if you like to sleep with the television on and how you feel about shoes inside the house. 

No more lingering hugs in August and then dreaming about you until May. 

He’s in. He’s always been in, really--but now he can say it to you.  

Tucked beneath the flannel sheets, you’re still warm from the brandy from earlier. Your hair is drying, but it’s still damp to the touch as you recline on the pillows. 

The bleeding has stopped completely. But, still, when you inhale deeply you can taste pennies on your tongue. The tart cherries you snuck from the canteen are doing little to help--even though you’re fairly certain you’ve ate half your weight in them. They’re piled on your belly right now as you lay on your back, plump and chilled things that burst between your molars as you suck around the pit. 

Without your book to read, you’re just staring at the ceiling as you chew. Still a bit fuzzy from the alcohol and the loss of blood, you’re wondering about how bad of a nightmare you’re going to have tonight. You read somewhere, or heard in one of your classes, that tart cherry juice can help you sleep deeper. It’s strange, though--you’re always such a heavy sleeper. So heavy that you fall asleep standing up in the middle of the afternoon, apparently. But maybe if you eat all the cherries, you’ll sleep right through your nightmare. 

When you hear a very faint knock on your door, accompanied by the soft glow of a lantern, you pile all the cherries in your palms and then squint through the dark. 

“Birdie,” Rooster says quietly from outside your screen door. “You still up, honey?”

“Rooster?” You whisper back, throwing the covers off your legs. “It’s open.”   

“Heya,” Rooster grins, his voice low and soft. He sets the lantern on the wide-plank floor before him and plants his hands on his hips with a grin. “Sorry for being late. Susie stayed up forever.” 

You were expecting him over an hour ago, skin still warm from his touch. 

“Don’t worry, we’re cool.” 

Rooster nods to your brandy. 

“Up for a nightcap?” 

You swallow a mouthful of cherries and smile softly, nodding. 

“Only if you brought your best beats,” you answer, biting a smile. 

Rooster holds up his tapes. 

“Oh, don’t I always bring it, baby?” He asks, brow perched. You open your mouth, a mischievous smile tugging at your cherry-stained lips, and he holds a hand up to you. “Rhetorical!” 

Dressed in just an old t-shirt and those wool socks you’re getting a lot of wear out of this summer, you set yourself up against the headboard and watch Rooster. He looks undeniably large right now--you don’t know if it’s because he outgrew those shorts last summer or if it’s the curly mullet that adds at least a few inches to his height or if it’s his shoulders, which seem to have broadened over night. 

Whatever it is about him that looks bigger; it’s working for you. But maybe it’s the brandy and the blood and the cherries. But you’re pretty sure it isn’t.  

“Come to tuck me in?” You whisper, drawing your knees to your chest. 

Rooster beams, glancing at you through the orange. 

“I can tuck you in,” he says. He gestures to the Walkman. “But first I’ve gotta give you a lullaby, huh?” 

You pop another cherry in your mouth and nod, wrinkling your nose. 

“What’re my options, Mozart?” 

Rooster laughs quietly, settling the lantern on the dingy table by your door and crossing the room to where you are. He doesn’t wanna be presumptuous, doesn’t wanna come on too strong. He doesn’t wanna give you the wrong idea. So, he plops himself down at the end of your bed, pulling one leg up and winking at you when you move to get comfortable again. 

“We’ve got Keep Movin’ On by Sam Cooke, Synchronicity by The Police, The Stranger by Billy Joel, and Hounds of Love by Kate Bush.” 

“You really are an old soul, huh?” You ask chewing your bottom lip.

“That’s what they tell me.” 

Rooster displays all the tapes before the both of you, smoothing out your flannel sheets. You gaze down at them, still holding a handful of cherries, and hum for a moment while you ponder. 

“Cherry me,” Rooster says softly. 

And without even having to think about it, you’re absently guiding a cherry to his lips. He takes it from your fingers graciously, bursting it beneath his teeth. It’s sweet and sour, the nectar thin and runny as it races down the back of his throat. 

“It’s pitted,” you warn, fingering the albums. 

“Thanks, ma,” he teases. 

You scoff. 

“Fine! But when you’re choking on a cherry pit, don’t expect me to give you the Heimlich.” 

Rooster whistles lowly, shaking his head. 

“Nurse Ratched over here,” Rooster teases. “Stop bein’ mean to me, honey, I’m gonna fall in love with you!” 

You pick up The Police tape and throw it at his chest with a playful eye roll. You’re warm all over from his words, but you try not to let it show as you wrinkle your nose at him.  

“Play it,” you demand. “I mean--play it, please.” 

There’s a glimmer in Rooster’s eye. He likes this banter. He feels like he can’t usually get away with it with the other women he sees the other nine months of the year. Maybe it isn’t that they can’t keep up, but that he isn’t comfortable enough to try. 

So he grins at you. 

“Yes, ma’am!” He salutes you.

You stick your tongue out at him. 

His heart thumps inside his chest.  

“Here,” Rooster whispers, nodding for you to scoot over and make room for him, which you do very happily. He nestles himself beside you, the Walkman on his lap, then offers you the headphones. “I’ve heard this album a million times.” 

With your brows furrowed, you slip one of the foam buds over your ear and leave the other one free for Rooster. 

“I feel so special,” you tease. 

“You are.”

It’s quiet for a moment--just static in one of your ears and Rooster fumbling with the tape in the other. But it isn’t an unwelcome quiet. It’s one that you grow comfortable in, one that makes you lean against the pillows with a content sigh before you pop another cherry in your mouth. 

“You’re gonna turn into a cherry,” Rooster tells you, winking before he presses play on the Walkman. He settles in beside you. “And then I’ll have to eat you.” 

Synchronicity I crackles softly and then begins to play through the headphones. It’s only just loud enough for you to hear, a very quiet and soft ruckus in your ears. 

“Promise?” You whisper, brow arched, mimicking his idiocy from earlier. 

“You’re bad,” Rooster whisper, wrinkling his nose. 

“The baddest, the best,” you list, popping another cherry into your mouth. “Thought that’s what you liked anyway.” 

“Oh, it is,” he answers. “I’ve always had the hots for Nurse Ratched.” 

“You’re mental,” you whisper to him, bringing another cherry to his parted lips. “Guess that’d get you closer to her, huh?” 

He laughs a big laugh. 

For a while, the two of you just sit on your twin-sized cot in the incandescence of the lantern, eating around the pit in the tart cherries. Rooster leans back against the wooden planks, glancing up whenever all your fanart starts to rustle beneath his hair. And you just look at his hands: the bandage that’s clean and tight, the lines of life pressed there, the callouses. 

It’s a comfortable quietness the two of you have settled into. You feed him every other cherry and he never resists, always pressing a chaste kiss to your departing fingers in thanks. You’re both still a bit fuzzy with brandy and hot from the fire, but for the first time in weeks--neither of you is thinking about what’s going on. You’re not thinking about what nightmare awaits you tonight and he’s not thinking about Jake or Mable. You’re sitting there, barely touching, thinking about each other. 

“Come here just to eat my cherries?” 

“You make it sound so dirty,” Rooster teases. You throw a cherry and, somehow, he catches it in his mouth before he beams at you. “Came here to tell you something.” 

“Uh-oh,” you mutter. “Gee, am I in big trouble this time?” 

“Oh, a whole world of it!”

When your laughter dies down, it’s very quiet. 

Before Rooster can say what he wants to say to you, he needs a drink. He settles the brandy bottle between your bodies--each of you taking the biggest sips you can muster before settling back against the bed. 

“What do you wanna tell me?” You ask just as Walking In Your Footsteps starts. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Something juicy, I hope.”

Rooster thinks for a moment, humming to himself. His palms are wet suddenly and the hairs on the back of his neck are standing up straight. He readjusts, fidgets, and you carefully lay a hand on his thigh. Just a small touch--a quick little it’s okay. And then he exhales, turns so his cheek is pressed against the wood and his eyes are on you. 

“Let me get a little drunker,” he teases, reaching for the bottle. 

Biting your lip, you shake your head at him. 

“You don’t have to get drunk to tell me things,” you assure him. “Shit, I’ve played preacher for deathbed confessions. So, unless you deserted the war and left your wife and kid behind, I’m sure it’ll be alright.” 

Rooster’s heart is starting to race.

“Which war?” He asks, voice thin. 

You frown. 

“Quit stalling.”

He smiles softly. 

And because he’s scared and a little drunk and things have been weird at Camp Arcadia the last day and some change, he thinks, for just a moment, if it really is you that he wants. 

All these sweet summers together, pushing each other further and further, playing that game, trying to make each other cave. Your little dresses and your jellies and your sunny disposition and your distinct bitterness. Your eyes grow smaller when you laugh. Your throat flexes when you call the campers in for lice checks. Your brows furrow when you concentrate. Your usually have your nails done so you don’t chew on them. You have no issue waking up early and going to bed late. Your touch feels like his mother’s used to--or what he can remember of it. 

He then has his answer instantaneously.

A resounding, big, ugly yes. 

You’re watching Rooster as his jaw clenches while he stares down at his knee, which is just barely pressed against yours. 

“Rooster?” You whisper. He hums--it’s an absent, hollow hum. “Just say it.” 

He glances at you--those deep, deep brown eyes shrouded in the darkness of your cabin. Earnest and wide as ever as they pour into yours.  

“I know that you and Jake have--like, you have whatever going on,” he says, measuring his words carefully. “But I just wanna say that I think you should be with--well, I think you should be with me. And not in, like, some stupid summer-love way. In, like, a good-morning-goodnight-I-know-how-you-take-your-coffee kinda way. Alright? Like in a big and bad way. You should be with someone that can love you good and right and that’s--well, that’s me.”

Your heart is suddenly racing. Rooster doesn’t look away from your face, your eyes. 

“Rooster,” you say. And then you’re not sure what to follow it with. 

“You’re right, for what it’s worth. We do flirt for three months of the year and then go our separate ways. But I don’t wanna do that with you anymore. I don’t wanna forget to ask for your home number or what hospital you work at or your new address. I wanna--birdie, I wanna be with you.” He can’t believe how easily all of this is falling out of his mouth and into the air around the two of you. It’s warm and feathery, like laying on a goose-down bed. “I guess I thought you wanted it to just be for the summer. Or maybe you thought that’s what I wanted. And the funny thing about it is we’ve never really stopped to ask each other what we’re doing or what we want.” 

“Hardy-har-har,” you whisper, your lips swollen with affection.

Rooster swallows dryly and then nods once. 

“If you don’t--well, if you don’t feel the same way then there’s no hard feelings or anything like that. I don’t expect you to make a decision, like, right away ‘cause I’m sure you’re just dizzy with it now.” He’s rambling--he knows he’s rambling. But you don’t interrupt him--you’re just staring up at him with your brows drawn together. “I’m not asking you for anything right now. And I didn’t come here for any reason other than to--to just, like, be here with you. You know?” 

You nod. Still no words will come. 

“And maybe you can think on it, right? Then at the end of the summer you can…take your pick.” 

“I’m not adopting a puppy,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

Rooster groans. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says softly. 

You shift--not uncomfortable, but not incredibly comfortable either. This isn’t your first love confession, but it’s the first time you’ve had even remotely shared feelings. And your feelings for Rooster are so big that your entire body feels numb right now. 

“I know,” you return quietly. 

Another quiet moment. 

He knows that you aren’t sure what to say. He knows that you don’t mean to be severe by not returning any of his confession. He knows you have a lot to think about. He knows you’re tipsy--but he’s sure that he’s sobering you up expeditiously. 

“So, you want me?” You ask like you’re putting the pieces together in your head. 

“More than anything,” he whispers without even a moment of hesitation.  

You fight the grin tugging on your lips and then wrinkle your nose. 

“Girls on the outside just don’t do it for you, then?” 

“Not like you do,” he says softly. 

“Well,” you sigh, leaning on his shoulder again. He inhales the flowers on your skin and lets his eyes flutter shut. “No guy on the outside has ever sacrificed his Police album for me. So, I’d say we’re even.” 

He nods. 

Songs keep playing in one of your ears while Rooster breathes softly in the other. He presses kisses to the top of your head and you let your open palm rest on the flat plane of his belly. He flips the tape for you when he hears it click, his eyes soft and his shoulders fallen. 

Every Breath You Take begins and you sigh. 

“I love this song,” you whisper.

Rooster hesitates for a moment, words lingering on his parted lips. He thinks about just being quiet and not saying anything at all, letting you listen to the song. 

And then he thinks about the way his dad told his mom every single part of every single day--right down to him accidentally putting too much creamer in his coffee or hearing a good song on the drive home. He can picture them lounging on the sofa, his mother sitting with her legs draped over his father’s lap, yarn left abandoned on the cushion as she stroked his father’s blonde hair as he spoke. That’s what he wants with you--and if he’s going to tell you about all of his days, then he has to start somewhere. Even the bad days.

“My ma really dug this song when it came out,” Rooster says quietly. “Said it reminded her of my old man.” 

You pause, glancing up at him. Your lungs are full of air and your face is full of blood and your toes are full of tingles. You’re not sure how to ask him why he’s speaking about his parents in the past tense. 

You have been so near death that you know its scent. But you aren’t sure how to ask Rooster if his parents are dead. 

He does it for you, though. 

“My dad died when I was a youngin’. Some freak accident on the road when he was coming home from work, like a major pile-up.” 

Swallowing hard, you do your best to keep your mouth straight and your brows sloped and your eyes wide and earnest. You want to blend into your surroundings so completely that Rooster tells you everything and it only feels like he’s talking to the walls. 

“My poor ma had to live without him for, like, a decade. I think she hated every minute of it.” He tells you carefully. “She got cancer and that was that.” 

He looks down at you--your brows are furrowed. 

“What do you mean?” You whisper. 

“I mean, like, she didn’t get any treatment or anything. She was ready.” 

“But--how could she be ready if she just got diagnosed?” 

He looks at you for a long, quiet moment. 

“She was ready the moment my dad died, birdie.” 

That overwhelms you. A strange, detached grief holds you close to their chest and makes you listen to the thudding of its heart as it strokes your hair, your cheeks. 

Oh, God. To love someone so much that you’re ready to go as soon as they’re gone--it’s something you almost cannot fathom, something you don’t want to fathom. People die all the time, every single day, all around you. What if everyone gave up that way?  

“Did I weird you out?” 

And instead of answering him, you cup his chin. He’s surprised at first, blinking down at your watery eyes and your curled frame. But then he’s holding your cheek with the tenderness of someone who thoroughly loves you, with the tenderness of someone who has lost both his parents but saw what real love was up close. 

Your thumb falls on his bottom lip--it’s quivering. He kisses the pad of your finger. 

“Kiss me before I die,” you whisper. 

And he does. He kisses you long and hard, holding both of your cheeks, nudging the headphones off your head until they’re flopped on the bed. Your eyes are watery and his are fluttered shut and you just want to stay beneath his lips until you feel like you can face this world again with all its blood and death and gore. 

You’re the one who lays down, the one who invites him on top of you. He complies with vigor, finding a comfortable spot between your parted legs, his belly coming down hard on yours with every deep breath he breathes. He can feel your face getting warmer and you can feel all that stubble on his chin and cheeks rubbing your face raw. 

Your bodies are moving together in utter symphony, like they’ve been rehearsing without you. His bulge against your crotch, his arms caging you in, your fingers tucked in his curls. And even the movements, the rocking of your hips, the titling of your heads--it all feels so natural. 

“Christ,” Rooster mutters against your lips, kissing down your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, birdie.” 

A moan, tangled with despair and grief and lovesickness and lust, falls from your lips. 

Rooster continues to feverishly kiss down your neck, suckling softly where your shoulder meets your throat. And then you’re pulling your shirt up until it pools under your chin and he’s sitting up on his haunches, staring at your face in the dark. 

“Yeah?” He asks, voice thin. He’s so hard that he’s aching. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I want you to touch me.” 

That’s all the encouragement he needs to lean down and latch his warm mouth to your nipple. His tongue makes quick work of pebbling you as his other hand comes down softly on your other breast, pinching precisely the right spot. 

It feels like Heaven. That’s all you can think as he touches you. This is it. This is it. 

And then he’s kissing back up the middle of your chest until he’s at your lips again and he’s kissing you like he really means it--all tongue and spit and lip. Swollen and warm. 

You’re soaked already and Rooster feels it when you pull down his ringer shorts.

“Oh, birdie,” he whispers, cupping your jaw. “You’re so wet, baby.” 

Whimpering, you shake your head and fall back into the pillows. 

“Bradley, I really--I wanna do it.” 

His spine prickles. 

He holds both your cheeks, his nose grazing yours, and looks down at you in the dark until he can see the glimmering gold in your eyes as it reflects the color of the lantern. 

“You do?” He asks. “We don’t have to.” 

“I know,” you whisper. You kiss his hands again and again and then look up at him with hooded eyes. He twitches against your core. “I want to.” 

Having sex for the first time isn’t something you’ve been saving up for, nestling it in the corner for a rainy day. It’s something that you knew would just happen when it happens. And you knew you’d feel ready, like you do now, like you figured you would. 

“You’re sure?” He asks. 

Reaching down, you stroke him through his underwear. He groans softly, deep and guttural. 

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.” 

Something about the word please makes Bradley shiver.

It’s all a tangle of heat and limb and skin and hair and clothing. You’re naked and he’s naked, the Walkman is on the floor, the lantern is running out of oil, the clock is racing towards daylight. His fingers are wet with your slick and your face is hot and his face is flushed and his chest is heaving. He can still feel your saliva on his cock, where it’s drying expeditiously. He’s touched the smoothest and wettest parts of you, like a pearl dipped in preciously produced oil. He kissed you hard when you came, panting and with your legs locked, and held you close afterwards when you shivered through the aftershocks. 

“Do you have a condom?” You ask softly as he kisses your throat. 

He leans back, frowning. 

“No,” he answers. “I told you I didn’t have any ulterior motives! Scout’s honor!” 

He crosses his heart, his naked fingers on his naked chest. 

“Okay,” you whisper, mind foggy with want. “Well--I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

Rooster raises his brows. He holds onto your thighs, thumbs rubbing mindless circles. 

“I’m clean,” he adds. 

You nod. 

“And, hey! Who gets pregnant their first time, right?” 

He laughs. But then you’re stroking him again and he’s on top of you and he can’t believe this is happening. This is finally, finally happening. You’re here beneath him naked and wanting and beautiful and so warm. 

“Here,” he whispers, adjusting himself so his cock is resting just against your entrance. You shiver and he kisses your face again and again. “I’ve got you.” 

Silently, and with one hand, he moves your hands to rest on his shoulders. He kisses your fingers tenderly and then presses his forehead against yours. Your thighs are tight around his sides and he’s kissing your jaw. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. 

Your heart is racing, your blood is pumping. You want it so bad. 

“Dandy,” you whisper. “Please.”

“I’ll stop if you want me to,” he tells you, nodding as he looks into your eyes. “Alright? Say the word and I’m playing Statue, okay?” 

A grin tugs at your lips. 

“Okay,” you tell him. 

He keeps his eyes on yours as he slowly pushes his hips forward--just enough for you to feel him strain against your entrance, just enough for you to feel that dull ache. 

Nails digging into his shoulder, breath punching out of your lungs, you look up at him. He’s watching you carefully. 

“Alright?” He asks. 

You nod. 

“I want more,” you whisper. 

“Talk like that and I’m gonna bust before I bottom out,” he warns. 

But then he pushes in more and oh, you’re warm. You’re warm and inviting and wet and tight. He breathes hard, his eyes heavy as they watch your face. And because you know what he’s going to ask, you interrupt him. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “Keep going. It’s okay.” 

And that’s how it goes. You’re dizzy and you feel so good you could soar through the night sky. You’re so close to Rooster that you can smell every bit of sweat on his skin, every little bit of cologne he dabbed on for you. And as his cock pushes further and further inside of you, your body is vibrating with anticipation. 

The ache is dull and dim compared to the bursts of pleasure working through your body. Rooster’s breathing hard, groaning against your mouth. But he keeps his eyes on yours, watches your face for any sign of discomfort. 

It all happens so fast--there’s an ache and then there isn’t. Then there’s just unadulterated, pure pleasure. Then there’s just you and him and his cock and your clit and you’re crying into his throat and he’s kissing you. He’s thinking about how in love with you he is and how good you feel and you’re thinking about how good this is and why you never did it before now. 

When it’s over, when he cums and you feel him pulse, neither of you say anything. 

It’s an unspoken, quiet and intimate act. He pulls out carefully and kisses your face in gratitude. You hold him tight and he wraps his arms around you. 

Neither of you speak as you tuck yourselves under the covers, ignoring the wet spot. He holds you so tight that you can’t breathe for a few moments. But he’s kissing your hair and you’re inhaling the new scent of sex in your cabin. Your bodies are loose and soft beneath the flannel and as you each allow yourselves to be lulled by cicadas and tart cherries in your bellies, you both think at the same time: I want this to stay. 

In a state of bliss and delirium, you quietly kiss Rooster’s fingers. 

“Rooster?” You whisper. He hums softly. “Don’t go, okay?” 

“I won’t,” he assures you. “I’m right here until you kick my ass out.” 

♀

Phoenix doesn’t knock on your door. She isn’t thinking straight. She just tugs it open when she finds it unlocked, leaving a stain of blood on the handle and the wooden door. She’s shivering--shivering and aching and crying. 

Your room is very dark. The sun hasn’t begun to rise and you’re laying tangled up in your bed with someone, the both of you naked. There’s a Walkman on the floor and a lantern at the end of the bed and a bottle of brandy on the nightstand. It’s a scene out of a brothel in those Westerns her dad likes to read. 

She stumbles closer to you, her throat aching from subduing her sobs. 

And as she gets closer, her mind foggy with panic, she realizes that it’s Rooster laying beside you. His hair curly and damp, his body naked and flushed. And you’re tucked up with him, sleeping very soundly. 

Phoenix, with a quivering hand, grips your shoulder. You don’t wake up. She shakes you softly, sniffling hard. She smells like blood--it’s covering her arms, her hands, her fingers, her t-shirt. You still don’t stir.

“Nightingale,” she utters. Not even a fluttering of your eyes. “Nightingale!” Nothing. 

Finally, Phoenix grabs both of your cheeks, falls to her knees, and presses her nose against yours. She doesn't know what else to do. 

You awake with a gasp tearing from your lungs, blinking rapidly and scrambling for purchase on the sheets, on Bradley’s body. You’re panting and you realize you’re staring right into Phoenix’s eyes and her sticky hands are on your cheeks and you smell blood. 

“Phoenix! What the fuck--?” 

“It’s Bob,” Phoenix mutters. A sob tears from her lips and wakes Bradley. “I think he’s dead.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: JAKE GET OVER GORE CHALLENGE (UNBEATABLE)

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

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[dilemmaontwolegs]

Across The Darkened Room {1}

Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader || Modern AU Summary: A night out to your favourite sex club takes a turn when a distraction nearly costs you dearly, a distraction by the name of Aemond Targaryen of the Targaryen dynasty and owner of the BDSM club Red Keep. Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, spiked drink, alcohol, mentions of BDSM WC: 3k

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven ||

The moment you laid your eyes on him you knew he was something special. Everything about him radiated confidence and he had the swagger of a man that knew exactly what he wanted. He was enthralling to watch as he made his way through to the parting crowd to the bar and you were not the only one captured by his entrance.

“Don’t bother even thinking about him, sweetcheeks,” a stranger said with a bite of jealousy in his tone. “That’s Aemond Targaryen.”

Your lips parted with an appreciative sigh as you placed your chin on your hand and watched the bartender reach for the vintage bottle Macallan that cost more than your rent. 

The Targaryen’s were infamous in King’s Landing. A thousand years ago the city was ruled by the very same family and although the monarchy dissolved the family remained in positions of power. Aemond’s older brother, Aegon, was the current head of the family and religiously spent his nights screwing his way through the socialites. But Aemond, you knew little of, hardly anything was ever seen of him in the tabloids.

As if your thoughts drew his attention from across the room, he turned with his whiskey in hand and caught you staring. You dropped your hand that you were resting on and sat up, glancing down at your drink as you pretended you hadn’t been checking him out. 

Like most others in the club he wore some form of leather and oozed sex appeal, but beyond that was a dark aura of mystery that clung to him as tight as his dark wash jeans. His long silver hair glowed even with the dim mood lighting and you wondered if it felt as soft as it looked. 

“Is this your first time here too?” the stranger beside you asked and you jumped a little as you forgot he was even there. “What’s your kink?”

“Oh, no, I’ve been coming to The Red Keep for a while now,” you murmured as you tried to be polite and make small talk despite the distraction in the corner of your eye. “Subbing mostly.”

The man sat back on his stool and cast his eyes over you, the look darkening with each second that passed and an uncomfortable pit settled in your stomach. Tipping your drink back, you quickly finished the strong cocktail before excusing yourself. 

You waved to a few of the other regulars that frequented the BDSM club but since your last partner had left the city you hadn’t found the right person to play with. You hadn’t connected with anyone so far and you wouldn’t trust just anyone to keep you safe in the vulnerable state, so you waited. 

The bar of the club sat central in the inconspicuous building with corridors branching off to various rooms. Some were private like hotel rooms, some were specific for categorical kinks like the room with glass walls for the voyeurs and exhibitionists, and there were the jacuzzis and bathing pools for relaxation and aftercare. 

You decided that your night would not be wasted daydreaming about the enticing Targaryen in the bar when you could be up to your neck in a hot tub. The dimly lit corridor seemed to sway as you walked along and you reached out for the wall as your legs turned to lead. 

“What the hell?” you slurred as the ground swelled up to meet you but a pair of hands saved you from the fall. 

“I’ve got you,” the somewhat familiar voice said. “We’re going to have some fun.”

The face blurred in and out of focus as you were half dragged down the hall towards the private rooms and you struggled against the hold. Your mind was still sharp but your body would not listen to you as you tried to kick the stranger from the bar and scream for help. It was no use, whatever drug he had slipped you was already working. 

“What do you think you are doing?”

Your head lolled weakly as you tried to look at the newcomer and plead his help but your mouth was drier than a desert. 

“Just enjoying a night out with my girl. Mind your own business.”

A low growl that reminded you of the caged animals you had seen at the zoo echoed down the hall. “This. Is. My. Business.”

You were shoved aside and pain radiated your back as you hit the wall and slumped to the ground. Two fuzzy figures went down on the carpeted corridor and a flash of white hair told you who it was that had come to your rescue. 

He was all you could see, all you could focus on and he straddled the stranger he was assaulting. You should have been repulsed by the uncontrolled violence he unleashed but it paled to what the stranger had planned for you. 

“Aemond,” you muttered, your voice wavering and weak. “You’re gonna…kill him.”

Aemond froze with his bloody hand raised and turned to you with a wild look in his eye. Across the darkened room in the bar you hadn’t noticed the scar that ran across his left eye but with him so close you could see that one eye was almost violet while the other was a sapphire. 

“He deserves to die.”

You blinked trying to process that as his fist shook like he was losing the fight to restrain it. “You’re not…a god, that’s not…up to you.” Your tongue was heavy and swollen in your mouth and each word was a struggle to vocalise.

The curse under his breath was barely audible before he dropped his fist and sat back on his heels to sneer at the unconscious lump of a man beneath him. The sigh of relief from you turned to a groan as the room spun around you and Aemond was there in an instant, his hands gently cupping your face as he asked you to keep your eyes open for him. 

“Can’t,” you whispered as you tried to fight the darkness closing in. “Too tired.”

Your head ached when you woke between satin sheets and the pain radiated to behind your eyes as you blinked away the haze of sleep. 

A dim glow around the edge of blackout curtains provided the only light to the room and you slowly pushed yourself off the soft pillows to look around. The memories were slippery as you tried to grasp them and remember what happened but all you could recall was Aemond. 

You found him with ease despite the low light and he was watching you from a chair across the room. He still wore the same clothes as you had last seen him in, skinny jeans tucked into leather boots that almost reached his knees and a leather coat over his fitted black dress shirt. He was the living testament to tall, dark and handsome. 

“Thank you,” you croaked as your throat protested the sound and you reached for the glass of water that was already set beside the bed. “I should have been paying more attention.”

His eyebrows furrowed and he rose from the chair, the leather he wore creaking with the movement. “I should have been paying more attention,” he said as he stepped closer. “My club is renowned as a safe space and that reputation was put at risk by a man that should not have been permitted entrance. I have already spoken with security and made amends to the screening process so something like this does not happen again.”

He took a seat on the edge of the bed and you gripped the sheets covering your lap as you felt foolish for finding yourself in the position you were in. Cool fingertips curled under your chin and tipped your face back so you were facing the Targaryen magnate. “None of this is your fault.”

“I know,” you replied meekly.

“Do you?” he asked as he tilted his head inquisitively. “I’m pretty good at reading people and it looks to me like you’re blaming yourself.”

“I should have been watching my drink instead of…”

“Staring at me?” he finished as you trailed off to an awkward silence. “I’m used to it, a thousand carat sapphire has that effect.”

“I didn’t notice it until you nearly killed…oh my god, you could’ve killed that guy!” Your eyebrows furrowed together as you took Aemond’s hands and saw the evidence before you. “What if he reports you to the City Watch? You could go to prison.”

Aemond laughed and the sound was decadent like rich chocolate. “I assume you know who my family is?” You gave a small nod and the corner of his lips curled up. “The City Watch wouldn’t dare touch me and anyway, if I wanted him dead, he would be dead…He’s only going to wish he was.”

You gulped at the ominous tone and wanted to ask where the man was now but found a little voice in your head stopping you. Whatever happened was not on your conscience. 

“So if you weren’t staring at my eye, why were you looking at me?” Aemond asked, and you realised you were still holding his hands. 

“Everyone in the entire club was looking at you.”

“I didn’t ask about everyone else, I want to know why you were.” He leaned closer and you caught the woodsy scent of his cologne that seemed at odds with his social status. Most men of money you had met wore a sharper cologne that was as overpowering as their need to win a pissing contest. “Why were you staring at me?”

The authority in his tone was felt along your spine and your lips parted with the answer before you could think of stopping as you dropped your eyes to your lap. “I couldn’t help myself. The way you hold yourself, your presence is so dominating that I couldn’t look away.”

“Ah,” he murmured as rose to his feet and stepped away. “Where is your dom? They should have been watching out for you.”

“Oh,” you sighed sadly, “Arryk moved to Dorne a few months ago.”

“And you haven’t found another since?”

“I haven’t found the right one yet, though your staff have been wonderful in trying.”

Aemond frowned as he took his seat again and crossed a leg over his knee. His fingers rubbed along the seam of his jeans and his lips pursed as he contemplated silently. He knew most of the elite members who frequented his business but Arryk and you were not in the top tier whose membership cost more than a year of your wages. 

“What was so special about your dom?”

You shrugged and picked at the non-existent fluff on the sheets. “He wasn’t just a dom, he was a sadist too.”

“There are very few of those here,” Aemond said with an agreeable nod. “It is in their nature to forget safety protocol when things get a little too hot. They are often bad for business.”

Your back straightened and the sheets released from your grip as a flutter of hope blossomed from his word. “But there are others? Are any of them unmatched?” 

“One.” Aemond’s phone pinged and he slipped the device from his pocket to see the notification before sighing. “I need to take care of something. Rest and I will be back shortly to continue this conversation.”

He left before you could even answer, sweeping from the room without a goodbye. 

Left alone, you looked around the room and found it was far nicer than the private room in the Red Keep. It could have been one in the upper floors or even the penthouse but you doubted Aemond would bring a stranger to his own personal suite.

You spotted your handbag that had been in the lockers of the changing rooms and tossed the sheets back, swaying a little as you rose too quickly, before grabbing it and finding your phone amongst your belongings. “Shit,” you cursed as you saw it was almost noon and you were going to be late for work. 

Forgetting Aemond’s instruction to rest, you slipped your shoes on and slung your bag over your shoulder before opening the door he had left through. Bright sunlight exasperated the throbbing pain in your head and you blinked through the burn before seeing that the light came from floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the picturesque harbour. This wasn’t just a penthouse above the club, this was a mansion - and it was nowhere near Red Keep. 

A huge staircase wrapped around a central pillar and you followed the spiral down as you opened the app for Uber, praying a driver wasn’t too far away. 

“Going somewhere?” 

You nearly missed the bottom step as Aemond stepped out of a room, his leather coat discarded and the sleeves of his fitted business shirt rolled up to his elbow.

“I have to get to work,” you stammered as your heart beat rapidly against your sternum. 

“I thought I told you to rest,” he said as he sauntered closer, each tap of his polished shoes making you jump slightly. “You’ve had quite the ordeal.”

“I don’t think my boss would have much sympathy and unfortunately I can’t afford to call in sick.”

His lips pressed as if he had to think about the implications and you could see it wasn’t something he was familiar with, but that came as no surprise. 

“I really should go, but thank you for, um, well, everything.” You skirted around him as your phone vibrated and you sighed with relief that a nearby driver was on his way. 

His hand caught your wrist and stopped you from passing him completely before he plucked your phone from your hands. 

“Hey!” you growled as he cancelled the trip and closed the app. “That was my ride.”

“We still have a conversation to finish, and I have a car.”

He released your hand and turned on his heel, holding your phone up over his shoulder with a wave that told you to follow him if you wanted it back. With a frustrated sigh you ceded and skipped to catch up before he disappeared deeper into the mansion. 

“This isn’t a car,” you gasped as he hit a lightswitch and a cavernous room lit up to reveal almost a dozen vehicles. “Why do you have so many?”

Aemond shrugged as he opened a cupboard and trailed his fingers over the car keys hanging from the hooks. “Because I can.”

You couldn’t even recognise some of the cars’ makes but you did know it was a Ferrari he chose from the yellow badge with a rearing horse. It was unfathomable to you that he could just buy such ostentatious objects without the need for them. 

“And the Red Keep, is that something else you own just because you can?”

He stopped swinging the keys around his finger and caught them in his fist. “No, the Red Keep is more personal.”

“Oh,” you murmured as he stopped before the candy red race car and opened the passenger door for you. You chewed the inside of your cheek as the tan leather interior screamed money and you hesitated to climb inside. 

“Something wrong?” Aemond asked, his closeness surprising you as he waited beside the door. “We could take something else if you prefer.”

You looked over the lineup and realised this was by far the most inconspicuous of the lot, even if it was the colour of a firetruck. “No!” you said too quickly and his lips twitched into a smile that passed too fast to be considered one. “This is fine.”

You were still wearing the leather and lace dress you wore to the club and the short skirt slipped high up your thigh as you slid into the seat that felt like it was barely above the road. You could feel Aemond’s stare on the bare skin and knew that from above he would have a clear line of sight down your cleavage, a thought that made your chest swell with the shaky breath you took. 

“Something wrong?” you asked as you bravely looked up at him beneath your lashes. He rewarded your bravery with a real smile and shook his head before closing the door and going to his side. 

The drive went by quickly as Aemond sped along the city streets, fearless to the City Watch that patrolled the streets. It was only when he pulled up to the apartment block that you lived in that you realised you hadn’t given him one direction.

“That’s not worrisome at all…” you murmured as he turned the engine off and ignored the envious stares of the gang bangers that dealt their drugs from the block corners.

“I found it in your file after you passed out, I was trying to find your emergency contact.” 

It had been empty since Arryk left since you could hardly have your parents listed, god forbid they ever receive a call that their daughter was found in a sex club. You would possibly die of shame if they ever learned what you enjoyed behind nondescript doors in the industrial side of town. 

“Right, that makes more sense,” you admitted with a small laugh. “Thank you for the ride.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said as he watched you with a wry smile as you tried to figure out how to open the door. “Allow me.” He leaned across your body and pressed a button, a button not a handle, while you inhaled that rich scent of his. “Come to the club next Saturday.”

“I can’t,” you said with a frown, “it’s closed for the elite event.”

“Nevermind that, you can be my plus one.” He sat back in his seat and enjoyed the shock that flitted across your face. “The unmatched sadist will be there. It will be the perfect opportunity to test your compatibility.”

 You perked up and unclipped your buckle so you could lean across the centre console and surprised Aemond with a hug. “Thank you,” you gushed a little breathlessly as you buried your head in his neck. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

His hand ran soothingly along your spine and you were so distracted by the gentle touch you nearly missed his whispered words, “I do.”

Click here for part two.

[so-mordor-itis]

Moonstruck

Synopsis: Eddie finds out you punched someone in the mouth, only to realize it was on his behalf.

Reader is female!

A/N: "Didn't you just post the fluffy alphabet--" Yes. Listen when I get inspired I need to write the idea or it all down...

Lmk if you want to become apart of the taglist!

I got a bit inspired after reading @luveline 's works. Check them out they are incredible!

Word count: 1.1k

Lover's Lake felt different at night. During the day, the water reflected the sun, creating a blinding light on top of the water's surface. It reminded you of the ocean, where the sun always seemed to be the brightest. Nobody noticed Hawkins had its own ocean, but that wasn't because they didn't pay attention. They had no imagination.

At night, the water was pitch black, transforming into an abyss--anything could pull you in, and at the moment, you would've let it. Especially with how often your eye throbbed.

You had never gotten a black eye before, only seeing the blemish in movies or read in books about the bluish-purple bruise forming around someone's eye and describing how swollen their cheek and nose had gotten because of it.

It hurt, pretty badly. As a bruise would, only this bruise oozed.

A loud rattling sound popped behind you. You nearly jumped, thinking it was Jason Carver's buddy Ethan stalking you for revenge. You did sock him pretty hard in the mouth; the image of his chipped tooth flashing in your mind. The look on Jason's face was worth the retaliation you received right after.

No, the sound was a van. Eddie's van. You breathed a sigh of relief, hoping it would calm the heart beating hard against your ribcage. At least it was him who found you.

The driver's side door closed with a thump. "There you are." Eddie's voice sounded relieved. "Been looking for you all over."

"Everyone has, probably." You replied, small smile adorning your lips. You didn't face him, though. The thought of him seeing your black eye made your chest ache. "I did do something pretty serious."

"I'll say," Eddie said, surprise in his tone. "While even I hate Carver's smug attitude and his high and mighty swagger, I'm not as brave as you."

"I didn't punch him, the bastard got lucky,"

"Yeah, Ethan Johnson right? Dude's a prick himself."

"He's got one hell of a punch, though."

You forgot to catch yourself.

"Wait, did he hit you too?" Eddie's tone became distressed. He called your name when you didn't answer him. His feet crunched the leaves on the ground as he walked closer. "Did he hit you?" Eddie repeated himself.

You closed your eyes, wincing slightly. Dammit, it even hurt to blink now. "I'm...I'm fine, Eddie."

"Obviously you're not if he hit you!"

"I swear, I'm fine!" You snapped, trying so hard to not face him. His concern was so gentle, you had to bite your lip to prevent yourself from crying. You were sure it would've hurt like a bitch, anyway.

Now he was beside you, crouching to reach your level. "Let me see."

You couldn't. "How many times do I have to tell you, you stubborn ass?" A bitter laugh almost escaped you.

"I won't stop until you show me your face and prove you're fine," Eddie remarked, irritated. "You're calling me stubborn? Do you hear yourself right now?"

Your lip trembled as his fingers gently cupped your jaw. You took a deep breath as he lifted your face, your black eye visible in the moonlight.

Eddie looked taken aback. "Jesus Christ. Jesus H. Christ! Your eye!"

You pushed his hand away, but not harshly. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"Bullshit! The entire right side of your face is swollen!"

"Eddie--"

"I told you to ignore those assholes, because they're not afraid to fight back. They're able to fight back. We're the ones who get screwed over because their mommies and daddies are richer." Eddie paced back and forth, hand running through his longer locks in frustration. "God." He said your name with so much concern, you did tear up.

Silence fell upon the shore of Lover's Lake. The only sound was Eddie stomping over rocks and leaves, sometimes kicking a stone so hard it flew into the water with a splash.

"You know why I did what I did?" You murmured.

"No, I'm pretty sure you've lost your mind if I'm honest." Eddie responded, more with concern than with anger. He seemed to have calmed down a bit, though his arms were still locked across his chest.

You snorted. "Maybe."

"Why?"

You licked your lips. "They called you a homeless junkie, claiming Wayne only took you in out of pity."

"Pretty sure Munson also sells crack on the side," said Ethan, a sickening laugh leaving him. "Wouldn't be surprised that junkie only lives with his uncle cause his parents--"

You socked Ethan so hard he stumbled backwards. "Take my boyfriend's name out of your foul fucking mouth."

Ethan didn't hesitant in getting payback. Before you knew it, his fist made contact with your face, your eyes swelling up as soon as you bolted. Hitting him again would've been the worst possible thing to do.

"You..." Eddie's sentence fell flat, his arms fell to his sides. He approached you swiftly, almost making you flinch. It only surprised you more once he wrapped his arms around you tightly. "You don't have to do anything like that." He whispered, lips close to your ear. "They can talk shit all they want to, I don't care. What I do care about is the fact you were hurt. You were hurt because of me."

"No, Eddie," you shook your head. "You never made me fight for you, I wanted to." You'd do this again, if it meant showing everyone he had people who cared about him, who wanted him around. "I love you."

"I know, sweetheart," his voice was shaky. "But fuck," he let go of the embrace to glance at your face again. "Look at you. I love you too, but..."

"I'll be okay," you reassured him, "I mean, the police might not believe him. Hell, they might think he's lying since he did hit a girl, you know."

Eddie snorted. "Maybe."

"I'd do it again, you know." You told him, staring into his chocolate brown eyes. The same eyes you'd drown in if you could. "I'd always fight for you."

"You've always been feisty, it's what I love about you, but don't go swinging your fists around every second you want to okay?"

"I can't make any promises, Ed."

Eddie sighed before gently cupping your face. He kissed you sweetly.

"Ow," you mumbled against his lips. He jumped back instantly.

"Oh Jesus, sorry."

"It's fine."

"We really gotta get ice for that."

"You got any at your trailer?"

"Dunno. Maybe Wayne has a bag of peas and carrots. That'll work, right?"

You giggled. "It is technically ice."

He kissed your forehead. "This might sound rich coming from me, but don't try to be a hero, okay?"

~~

|Tags:|

@ghosttownwherenoonegoes , @flamingo-writes , @gonuclear , @mediocrityexpert , @fleurdreams , @ghoularaki , @fwibblefwobble , @moonlighting87 , @luvingdreams , @masterofmunson , @nexusnyx

[sukunasweetheart]

NO BECAUSE SUKU IS GENUINELY A VERY INTERESTING CHARACTER

A lot of people say that he's evil for the sake of being evil but I don't necessarily agree. I think that description fits Mahito so much more, considering the fact that he went out of his way to be a menace and curse to others. He actively chose to do evil deeds to cause pain. Evil for the sake of being evil.

Sukuna doesn't care enough about others to actively cause them pain. He, quite literally, does whatever he pleases because he sees himself as the most important. And a lot of his actions just happen to be evil. But it's much different than in Mahito's case. If he wants to traumatise Yuji, he will. If he wants to praise someone for being strong, he will. If he wants to be a goofy silly kitty, he will. Just cause he can.

I think it's an important distinction

THIS THIS THIS THIS THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

oh my goodness :( u read my mind so good, likee literally... sukuna DOES NOT CARE enough to tamper with someone's emotions (the exception being yuuji! i wonder what the two's connection is...) i may be a fan of bully!sukuna in au fics BUT i really dont depict canon sukuna to be fond of picking on the weakest people, in fact, he hates them so much that he doesnt even bat an eye towards such individuals. he truly thinks that they are boring and not even worth that kind of time.

that is not to say he doesnt like bullying those weaker than him (see with jogo, and megumi in s1) but he really does not give a fuck abt those that cannot even put up a decent fight against him!!! he just offs them quite painlessly if they dont act accordingly around him haha

that, and the way even his horrendously evil actions ooze so much charisma... sukuna is DRENCHED in natural charm and swagger, there is no one that comes close to the presence he holds (in my personal opinion). the tiny mannerisms he does, like the hands in his pockets, his natural and relaxed stances, he always just has that sense of composure around him.

and yet also... i see that sukuna isnt afraid to show his expressions of surprise/shock/goofiness, which i think gives him a lot of that flavourrr,,, like he isnt a boring villain, always having the same smirk or neutral face. i liked seeing him get thrashed around too and struggle against gojo!!! AWOO my sadist heart was jumping for joy.. he is not afraid to TANK hits and eat those punches up... (something throbs in me whenever i see sukuna get punched or bloodied)

he literally just does what he wants, when he wants. he fr cares abt nothing other than himself... the WELL BACKED UP confidence... the way he's just a man acting on his whims and whatever he's in the mood for. lawd have mercy, i could talk about him forever but i will stop here LMFAO

[darknesseddiem]

hi !! can u request n° 30 with nº19 ? thank you so much !!

❤️❤️

𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐚

"With the raven's wings retreating into the night, the cold air carries the faint whisper of your escape—a haunting reminder that, just this once, you’ve slipped through the shadows."

This blurb is part of the writing game created by me, join me and the raven in this maze of stories. 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚'𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐥.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Kissing.

𝐀/𝐍: hi! i hope you like it, sorry for not to do this earlier, i'm kind of sad because people don't seem to like anything that i do, but it's okay!! enjoy your reading!

Eddie was riding high on a wave of euphoria. Every time he stepped onto the stage, it was like he became someone else—a different identity altogether. It was as if he transformed into a rockstar who had all the allure of a fallen angel. His voice was rich and smooth, with a seductive edge, like velvet sliding over skin. It was the kind of voice that could corrupt even the purest of souls, and he was always ready to turn a few halos into tarnished relics by the end of the night.

In recent years, he had amassed a loyal legion of fans. His band, Corroded Coffin, had just dropped their fourth album, "Angels of the Abyss," which took their sound in a darker, more gothic direction while maintaining their metal roots. This album was a smoldering blend of seductive basslines and low-end beats, punctuated by Eddie's voice—a haunting cacophony that seemed to echo from the depths of some celestial chaos.

"Angels of the Abyss" was an auditory journey through shadowy landscapes, where the music carried an underlying sensuality that was almost tangible. The guitars were heavy and brooding, weaving through complex riffs that wrapped around you like a leather-bound embrace. Drums thundered in the background, providing a primal, pulsing heartbeat that made you feel as though you were dancing in the dark with something dangerous.

Eddie's vocals were the centerpiece, effortlessly blending raw power with a velvet smoothness. It was a voice that could draw you in with a whisper, then send shivers down your spine with a scream. The album, with its intoxicating combination of seductive melodies and crushing metal, attracted a larger audience than ever before. It was music for the night, for those who didn't shy away from the darker corners of their minds.

With every show he played, the rumors about his seductive powers and his title as the "King of the Ladies" grew stronger. The stage was his domain, giving the audience a tantalizing glimpse of the charming man he truly was. His performances were meticulously crafted, teetering on the edge of indecency, yet always with that confident, sexy swagger that left everyone wanting a piece of Eddie Munson.

He had a way of moving that was almost hypnotic, each gesture oozing with a kind of sensual magnetism. Whether he was sliding his hand across his guitar in a slow caress or winking at a fan in the front row, every action seemed designed to make hearts race. The way he sang, the way he danced, the way he smirked—it was all part of the allure.

Eddie had this uncanny ability to make everyone in the crowd feel like he was performing just for them. His charisma was off the charts, and his smoldering gaze could melt the most hardened hearts. People came to the shows not just for the music, but for the experience of being in his orbit, even if just for a night. It was like he was a magnetic force, drawing people in with a promise of something wild and unforgettable.

But Eddie had a secret, something only his bandmates—Jeff, Gareth, Grant, and Corey—and a few people close to him knew. It was a secret that could shatter the career he’d built with such effort.

Eddie Munson wasn’t anything like the media portrayed him, a seductive charmer swimming in a sea of swooning women. The truth was, offstage, he was shy and reserved around anyone he found attractive—women, men, or anyone who caught his eye. As soon as he stepped off the stage, he transformed into his true self: a down-to-earth, spontaneous guy, still very much a nerd, and, above all, hopeless with women.

The confident, sexy rockstar everyone saw on stage was a persona, a role he played with skill. But behind the scenes, Eddie would stumble over his words around pretty much anyone he found appealing, his cheeks turning red as he tried to make casual conversation. It was almost comical how different he was once the spotlight dimmed.

While his performances were legendary for their boldness and swagger, offstage, Eddie was the guy who'd rather talk about the latest comic book releases or the newest Dungeons & Dragons campaign than flirt with fans. He had a hard time meeting people’s eyes when they complimented him, and his idea of a pickup line was usually some obscure pop culture reference that left everyone scratching their heads.

Despite the rumors about his supposed womanizing, Eddie was the kind of guy who'd nervously look at his phone, pretending to be busy, rather than approach someone he found attractive. It was a well-guarded secret. His friends understood that the real Eddie was just a nerd with a guitar who happened to play a killer show, not the Casanova the tabloids made him out to be.

Believe it or not, Eddie had tried to be more confident.

"Come on, Eddie, that girl was totally into you, and you just ignored her," said Steve, his best friend, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"What did you expect me to do? Walk up to her and start a conversation?" Eddie replied, his voice edged with indignation.

"Yes! That's what any normal human being would do in a situation like that," Steve shot back, sarcasm lacing his words.

"Well, good thing I'm not a normal human being," Eddie retorted, crossing his arms defiantly, which only made Steve roll his eyes and let out a sigh.

Eddie's idea of flirting was staying as far away as possible and hoping the other person would magically not notice his awkwardness. Steve couldn't understand it. Here was this guy who commanded a stage with ease, could play the guitar like a rock god, and had the entire crowd in the palm of his hand, yet he couldn't muster the courage to say hi to a pretty girl at a party. It was a conundrum, to say the least.

Steve often tried to nudge Eddie out of his shell, but it was like pushing a boulder uphill with a toothpick. Eddie would much rather stick to his comfort zone, which was anywhere that didn't require small talk with attractive strangers. No matter how much Steve tried to convince him to be bold, Eddie just couldn't bring himself to do it. And that was the secret side of him that the fans never got to see—the side that could belt out a killer set but would freeze at the idea of a one-on-one conversation.

"Eddie, the fans are at the door waiting for you," his manager called out, saving him from yet another of Steve's sermons. "I'm on my way," he replied, turning to his friend. "Saved by the bell."

Steve just shook his head, knowing full well that Eddie would do just about anything to avoid another one of their talks about confidence and stepping out of his comfort zone. Eddie was a master at dodging uncomfortable conversations, and this time, his manager's call had provided the perfect escape route.

As he walked toward the door, Eddie could already hear the excited chatter and the occasional scream from his fans waiting outside. It was like stepping into a completely different world, one where he was the confident rock star they all adored. But he knew it was only a matter of time before he'd be back in the dressing room, with Steve giving him that look that said, "We'll finish this later."

For now, though, he put on his best rock star smile and prepared to meet his fans, grateful for the temporary reprieve. There was a certain comfort in playing the role everyone expected of him, even if it wasn't entirely who he really was. He'd deal with Steve's pep talks later—right now, he had a crowd to charm.

"Okay, okay," he said as he reached the area where the hysterical fans waited. "There's enough Eddie for everyone." He put on his seductive rockstar mask and got down to business, taking photos, signing records and albums, hugging, and handling the waves of tears and screams like a pro.

He was in his element, calm as always. But he wasn't prepared for the last person in line—a specific person who made his heart skip a beat. You, his first love from high school, standing in front of him with a vinyl record in hand.

"You did it," you smiled at him. "How's the rockstar life treating you?"

Eddie's brain went into a total meltdown. He froze, his confident demeanor crumbling in an instant.

His mind raced with memories of you: the way you'd made him laugh, the way you'd once looked at him with those eyes that saw through all his bravado. Now, here you were, in the middle of his rockstar meet-and-greet, and he had no idea what to say.

He could feel the nervousness rising, his heart pounding in his ears. All the witty remarks and clever comebacks he usually had at the ready disappeared like smoke. It was as if he'd stepped into a different dimension, one where words escaped him, and he was just a guy standing in front of someone he'd never really gotten over.

"I—uh—I mean, it's, um, pretty cool, I guess," he stammered, which was about as smooth as sandpaper. He felt the heat rising to his cheeks, and he just hoped no one else noticed how awkward this moment was for him.

Your smile was soft and warm, and you handed him the vinyl. "Think you could sign this for me? It'd love to have an Eddie Munson autograph."

He took the record from you, his hands shaking slightly. "Yeah, sure, I can do that," he managed to say, though it sounded like someone else was talking. The rockstar mask was slipping, and he was just Eddie again, the nerdy kid who never knew how to talk to his crush.

As he signed the record, Eddie glanced up at you, noticing how time had treated you well. You were no longer the sharp-tongued teenager who always left him speechless; you had grown into your own, exuding a self-assurance that nearly turned him into melted butter.

The years had given you a quiet confidence, a way of holding yourself that hinted at a journey he hadn't been a part of. Your eyes, once full of mischief, now had a deeper, more knowing look, and your smile was both familiar and new. It was as if you had retained that spark that used to drive him crazy, but it was tempered with a grace that was downright hypnotic.

Eddie felt a knot form in his stomach as he scribbled his name on the vinyl, realizing that he had no idea how to handle this new version of you. His usual charm and banter felt inadequate in the face of your calm composure. You made him feel like a nervous kid again, the same kid who used to struggle to find the right words whenever you were around.

He handed you the signed record, his hand brushing against yours, and the brief touch sent a jolt through him. "Here you go," he said, trying to sound casual but feeling anything but.

Your smile widened, and you leaned in a little. "Thanks, Eddie. It's good to see you again. Maybe I'll catch another show sometime."

Eddie nodded, though he was sure his face was turning a bright shade of red. "Yeah, that would be cool," he replied, his voice cracking slightly. It was embarrassing, but you didn't seem to mind. In fact, you seemed to enjoy seeing him flustered, like you always did.

As you walked away, Eddie watched you disappear into the crowd, his heart racing. It was one thing to play the rockstar, but quite another to be thrown off balance by someone who knew him before all the fame and glamour. And now, he couldn't stop thinking about you, wondering if this was just a chance encounter or if it was the universe giving him a second chance to get things right.

Eddie had to excuse himself at the end of the autograph session to pull himself together. He bolted to where Steve was waiting, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

"I think I'm gonna faint," he blurted out as soon as he saw his friend. Steve raised an eyebrow, confused by Eddie's sudden panic.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked, looking him over as if expecting him to collapse at any moment.

Eddie took a deep breath, trying to calm the swirl of thoughts in his head. "I just saw her," he said, his voice a mixture of anxiety and disbelief.

"Her? Who's 'her'?" Steve asked, still not following.

Eddie hesitated, his mind still processing the surprise encounter. "You know... her," he said, emphasizing the word as if it should explain everything.

Steve's expression shifted as he realized who Eddie was talking about. "No way," he said, eyes widening. "You're telling me she was here?"

Eddie nodded, his face still flushed with embarrassment. "Yeah, in the fan line. She had a vinyl record for me to sign. And she just... I don't know, man. She looked amazing. It was like she walked straight out of high school and into the present day."

Steve let out a low whistle, then clapped Eddie on the shoulder. "That's wild. How'd it go? Did you keep it cool?"

Eddie laughed, but it was more of a nervous chuckle. "No, not at all. I think I probably made a complete fool of myself. I couldn't even talk straight. It was like my brain just shut down."

Steve grinned, clearly enjoying Eddie's discomfort. "Dude, you're a rockstar. You play to sold-out crowds and own the stage. How can one person make you so nervous?"

Eddie shrugged, feeling a little silly but unable to help himself. "I guess she's just always had that effect on me. I couldn't handle it back then, and I definitely can't handle it now."

Steve shook his head, still grinning. "Well, maybe this is your second chance. Don't blow it this time, man."

Eddie sighed, knowing that Steve was right.

That encounter didn't leave his mind for days, even weeks. A month later, he ran into you again. This time, it was at the end of a show at a private club. It was some rich guy's daughter's birthday, and she was a massive Corroded Coffin fan who insisted her dad hire them to play at her party. After the show, the band members were hanging out, enjoying the VIP treatment, everyone except Eddie, who was sulking with his arms crossed in a corner. He just wanted to go back to the hotel and binge-watch one of his nerdy shows. He was so wrapped up in how much he hated being there that he didn't notice you walking up to him.

"We really need to stop meeting like this," you joked, taking a seat next to him.

Oh God, he was screwed.

Eddie's eyes widened as he turned to see you sitting there, looking as stunning as you did the first time he saw you again. The usual easygoing banter he'd have with his friends disappeared, replaced with a nervous smile. "Uh, yeah, it's like we keep bumping into each other," he said, trying to sound cool and casual, but failing miserably.

You laughed, and the sound was like music to his ears. "I didn't know you guys played private parties now," you said, looking around at the opulence of the club. "This place doesn't seem like your usual scene."

"Yeah, it's not," Eddie admitted, glancing at the crowd of rich kids and their overly enthusiastic parents. "But, you know, gigs are gigs."

You nodded, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, sitting on a plush velvet couch in the corner of this extravagant party, the music and laughter fading into the background. Eddie's heart was racing, and he couldn't believe his luck. You were right there, talking to him, and all he had to do was not mess it up.

"So, what have you been up to since we last saw each other?" you asked, your eyes locking with his.

Eddie swallowed hard, trying to think of something witty to say. But all he could think about was how your presence was like a magnet, pulling him in, making him wish he could stay in this moment forever.

"Ah, you know," he shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Living the rockstar life; parties, shows... women." He stammered on the last part, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"You know..." you began, eyeing him with a playful smirk, "I've heard the rumors about you."

Eddie felt his heart skip a beat. What rumors? He was sure he'd never done anything particularly scandalous. He was the rockstar who'd rather be playing Dungeons & Dragons than mingling at fancy parties like this one. But, of course, the media always had their own narrative.

"What rumors?" he asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

You leaned in a little closer, lowering your voice as if you were about to share a juicy secret. "Oh, you know, the ones that say you're this big ladies' man, breaking hearts wherever you go." You couldn't help but chuckle as you spoke, enjoying how uncomfortable it made him.

Eddie laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "Oh, those rumors. Yeah, I don't know where people get that idea. It's not like I'm out there... you know, breaking hearts." He was stuttering again, and it was clear that the whole topic made him a bit uneasy.

You tilted your head, a hint of mischief in your eyes. "So you're not a rockstar Casanova, then?"

"Not even close," Eddie replied, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. He was relieved that you were taking this all in stride. You always had a way of keeping him on his toes, but this time it felt different. It was like you were teasing him, but not in a mean-spirited way. More like you were letting him know it was okay to drop the act and just be himself.

"Good," you said with a playful wink, "because I remember a time when you couldn't talk to girls without turning as red as a tomato."

Eddie smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. It was comforting to know that you remembered that version of him, the shy, awkward kid from high school. It was like a bridge back to a simpler time, one where he didn't have to pretend to be anything other than what he was.

"I heard your latest album," you admitted, giving him a curious look. "I'll be honest, 'Angels of the Abyss' is one of my favorites now."

Eddie felt a surge of pride mixed with surprise. You'd always had eclectic tastes in music back in school, but he never imagined you'd end up enjoying his band's heavy and gothic sound. He tried to play it cool, but he couldn't hide the smile spreading across his face.

"Really? You liked it?" he asked, trying not to sound too eager but clearly failing.

"Yeah, it's got this dark, atmospheric vibe that just works. Plus, your voice is amazing." You leaned back a little, observing him with a playful grin. "I wouldn't have pegged you as a lead singer back in the day, but it suits you."

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the warmth rise in his cheeks. Compliments from fans were great, but this was different. This was you, someone who knew him before all the fame and chaos, and hearing you praise his work made it all the more meaningful.

"Thanks. It was a bit of a leap for me, you know? Going from jamming in gareth's garage to singing in front of huge crowds. But, it's been a wild ride." He paused, looking at you with a hint of curiosity. "So, you're into metal now? I remember you were more into indie and alternative stuff."

"Yeah, well, people change," you replied, shrugging with a smile. "Besides, I like music that has a bit of an edge to it. Keeps things interesting."

Eddie nodded, feeling a sense of ease he hadn't felt in a long time. It was like you two had slipped into a rhythm, an easy back-and-forth that felt natural. He liked this, just talking and catching up, without all the pretense and pressure that came with being a rockstar.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed the album," he said, his smile genuine now. "Maybe next time we're in town, you can come to a show. We always put on a good one."

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in your eyes. "Is that an invitation, Munson?"

"Yeah, it is," he replied, feeling a burst of confidence. "You should come. I promise it won't disappoint."

"You're really an angel, Eddie Munson," you teased.

"Did... Did you just call me 'angel'? As in, like, a pet name?" Eddie asked, his eyes widening slightly, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment.

You grinned, enjoying the way his cheeks turned a faint shade of pink. "Maybe. It's got a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Eddie chuckled, scratching his head, not quite sure how to respond. He was used to being called a lot of things—rockstar, frontman, guitar god—but 'angel' was a new one. It made him feel strangely warm inside, and he couldn't help but smile. "Well, I guess there are worse things to be called," he said, playing along.

Your smile grew, and you leaned in a little closer. "Don't let it go to your head, though. We both know you're more of a devil with that guitar."

Eddie laughed, feeling more relaxed with you than he had in a long time. You always had a way of keeping him on his toes, yet it felt comforting at the same time. It was like you were reminding him that beneath the rockstar persona, he was still just Eddie—a little awkward, a little nerdy, and a lot of fun to be around.

"Yeah, yeah, I've been known to raise a little hell," he replied with a smirk. "But don't worry, I'll try to keep it angelic around you. Wouldn't want to scare you off."

"Oh, I'm not so easily scared," you shot back, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "It takes a lot more than a rockstar with a killer guitar solo to make me run."

Eddie felt a spark of confidence. Maybe this was his chance to finally be a little more bold, to step out of his comfort zone. "Well, in that case, I guess I should bring my A-game, huh?" he said, leaning in slightly, his voice low and teasing.

You nodded, meeting his gaze. "You better. I don't settle for anything less."

Eddie could feel the air crackle with tension as you leaned in closer, your playful smirk making his pulse quicken. You had this way of looking at him that made him feel like the only person in the room, and he was suddenly very aware of every inch of space between you.

"Is that so?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone. "You sure you can handle what I've got?"

You raised an eyebrow, your gaze locking with his. "I don't know, Eddie. I guess we'll have to find out, won't we?"

Eddie couldn't help but smile, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. This was a game, and you were setting the rules, but he was more than willing to play along. "Oh, I think I could surprise you," he said, letting his voice grow smooth and suggestive.

"Surprise me, huh?" you replied, your eyes narrowing just a bit as if daring him to try. "That's a bold claim. What makes you think you could pull it off?"

Eddie leaned in slightly, his voice barely a whisper now. "Because I'm not like all the others. You know that, right?"

You held his gaze, unblinking, the corner of your mouth twitching into a grin. "Yeah, I do. But talk is cheap, Munson. Let's see what you can do."

The challenge was set, and Eddie felt a rush of adrenaline. He was no longer the shy, awkward kid from high school; he was the rockstar with a reputation for bringing the heat. "I guess you'll just have to stick around and find out," he said, a playful edge to his voice.

You tilted your head, your eyes sparkling with amusement. "Maybe I will. But you better make it worth my while."

Eddie chuckled, feeling the energy between you growing electric. "Oh, I will. Trust me," he said, his voice as smooth as velvet, a hint of promise in his words.

"Then consider me intrigued," you replied, your smile both inviting and challenging.

Eddie felt like he was standing on the edge of something exciting, something that made him forget about the noise and chaos of the party. It was just you and him, playing a game that he hoped would never end.

Eddie could feel the tension between you two reaching its peak, each word exchanged like a dance, each smile a step closer to crossing that invisible line. The music and noise from the party faded into the background; it was just you and him, your eyes locking with a heat that neither of you could deny.

You took a step closer, and Eddie's heart raced. He could feel the warmth of your body, the soft brush of your breath against his skin as you leaned in, daring him to close the gap. The anticipation was electric, and Eddie's usual confidence was replaced with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

"Well?" you asked, your voice low and teasing, your eyes searching his for a sign that he was ready to take the plunge.

Eddie hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of the moment, the way everything else seemed to melt away. Then he took a deep breath, closing the distance between you. It was a bold move, but you had him on the edge, and he wasn't going to back down now.

When his lips met yours, it was like everything fell into place. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if he was still finding his footing. But then you kissed him back, and he felt a surge of adrenaline, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you closer.

The kiss deepened, and Eddie lost himself in the sensation—the warmth, the gentle pressure, the taste of your lips. It was like a floodgate had opened, and all the hesitation, all the shyness, melted away. He wasn't thinking about anything else; it was just the two of you, sharing a moment that felt like it had been building for years.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, the space between you charged with a new kind of energy. Eddie's heart was pounding, and he couldn't help but smile, a mixture of relief and exhilaration.

"That was... something," he said, his voice a little unsteady but full of warmth.

"Yeah, it was," you replied, your smile matching his. "Glad we finally got around to it."

Eddie chuckled, feeling more at ease than he had in a long time. "Me too. Now, how about we find someplace a little quieter? I'd hate to be interrupted by one of those rich kids wanting an autograph."

You nodded, taking his hand. "Lead the way, rockstar." And with that, you both slipped away from the noise.

In a quieter corner of the club, where he had a clear view of the room, Steve watched the scene unfolding before him with a grin and a look of pride. It was a sight he'd been waiting to see for a long time.

"That's my boy," he nodded to himself, unable to contain his satisfaction. It wasn't every day that Eddie, the guy who used to stammer at the mere sight of a crush, would confidently lean in for a kiss, and Steve couldn't help but feel a surge of pride for his friend.

[ecoamerica]

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The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!