#so i can take my time but ultimately my nerves are on edge about the last king-ohger episode

[t-u-i-t-c]

i miss yakumo 💔

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

Warnings: Smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, slight fluff, dominant Penelope, threesome, some comfort, plus sized reader, self-esteem issues, slight anxiety, and NSFW.

Pairings: Colin Bridgerton x Penelope Featherington x Female Reader

Wordcount: 1,926

A/N: Hi! This is my first piece of fic (trash) into the Bridgerton world. I’ve never read any fics, haven’t seen all of the show yet. I’ve only recently gotten into it because of Penelope/Polin. Hope you enjoy, and I look forward to producing more content (likely turning this into a storyline)!

Your hands feel cold, slick with an icy sweat that seems to evaporate into heat. The more you seem to fold into yourself, she can recognize and wrap her fingers in your own. It is a comfort, however, also a reminder, as your fingertips would brush across the diamond she bears. He is not meant for you, she is not meant for you. They belong to one another.

You have to remember why you were brought to their home in the first place. And ultimately, what you do to earn your way in this life. That would surely shame their family name if anyone were to see you here, sneaking through corridors in the middle of the night with the newly married Penelope Featherington — now proudly assuming her Bridgerton name. Your thoughts are shaken from you, as you round the corner, stopping short at the buttery glow of light spilling from beneath the doors. You edge away slightly, spare hand reaching to clutch your sleep attire closed.

“You know that we will not object if your mind has changed.” She speaks with a soft reassurance, the nail on her thumb scratching along your palm.

That is the most odd thing — an emotion, in which you cannot process yet. A connection you’ve already established with them. It prevents you from shying away, from objecting. You’re shaking your head, inhaling rather sharply. “I do not have very many reservations, Mrs. Bridgerton —“

“ — Penelope, please?”

You can do nothing but smile in return. “Penelope. Forgive me, I suppose my curiosity has taken a walk with my nerves tonight. But I will not let it get the better of me. I still want this. To give what I can, to you and to your husband.”

She stops short of those doors and takes both of your hands into her own. She’s a picture of this fine, smooth porcelain, so full and perfect that you could spend hours worshipping if given the chance. Maybe that night is tonight?

Her voice is roping you back in. “This is a mutual thing that Colin and myself have agreed upon. It is not just about us. This consent you’ve given, it does not extend only to our pleasure, but also to your own.”

You’re inhaling sharply, understanding her implications, but unsure why. Your role is to give them whatever they need and then go. And this is what they’d like? It’s as if time stops when Penelope wraps her dainty fingers around the door handle, pushing, the force bringing your dressing gowns a few inches off of the floor by their hems. If you thought that was something, the sight that you’re greeted with is enough to wake your entire bloodline from beneath the soil.

Candles are draped around the room for more than just the ability to see, giving it all a personal ambience. This is their personal bedroom, not a study, not a hidden place, but where their marriage bed is located. Your mouth becomes parched as you look around to truly take it in, the doors closing behind you not even startling you. Penelope stays close by, especially until you’re noticing him. He’s patient, a slight smile pressed into his beautiful mouth.

“Good evening, ladies. I take it we’re alright then?”

It’s that honey-hot depth that captivates you, causing you to reach back to Pen, seeking her support. She encourages you to meet her husband in a few short feet. He’s clad in his cream colored night shirt, his silhouette shrouded in candlelight. His hair has grown out a little, a slight touch of curl sweeping across the top. Their radiating body heats caging you in, it’s a feeling you are sure won’t ever occur again in your lifetime.

“Mr. Bridgerton. Good evening, Sir.”

He grins as though a feather has tickled the crafted end of his jawline. Penelope shares a fond look over your shoulder.

“No need for formalities. It’s safe in here, I promise you.” Penelope is nodding as his arm raises, one eyebrow to gauge your permission. You don’t object. And his rather large hand is caressing your cheek, stifling the air inside of your lungs. “Call me Colin, yes?”

Like the sweetest of sugar, his name rolls off your tongue without pause. “Colin.”

Penelope’s hands find your shoulders from behind, sliding around your collar to dip in, caress your skin. You swallow, but accept. “Whatever you wish to do, you have my permission.” Your head briefly attempts to look over your shoulder as you also address her. “The both of you.”

~*~

It hadn’t taken long for things to progress between the three of you. When Colin’s mouth found your own, Penelope had slowly unraveled your gown from your torso, everyone holding their breaths as it hit the floor. Your chin became pinched beneath his sturdy fingers, tilting until he had access to your neck. Pen’s hands aimlessly wandering with what you thought wasn’t a purpose, just an exploration. How wrong you’d been the moment that her hands had found your full breasts, ever-so-gently caressing your areola.

It wasn’t that she was experienced in her movements, no. It was how eager she seemed to touch you, to have your body beneath her grasp like this. And it only added energy on top of the mounting tension already in the room. You did not have to guide, nor teach. Colin maneuvered, gave his wife space to learn, to feel another woman’s body.

He’d coaxed her around, taking her previous placing behind you, her pupils had encased her irises into an inky black velvet. The way her mouth had become swollen from biting her full, lower lip, her hands unable to stop touching you. In the end, you closed the gap, Colin caressing the nape of your neck as you kissed his wife with fervor. It was beautiful, the two of you. Your shape wore a little more weight than Penelope’s, but it was exceptional, in his eyes — seeing women that could not see the beauty in themselves, lost in one another this way.

He could only hope that you’re both seeing it now, as well.

As you’d broken apart, Colin stepped to the side, voice a bitten rasp, offering both hands. “Shall we take this to bed?”

~*~

You aren’t able to breathe correctly, breasts heaving, legs wide open to make room for him, for her.

The second that they had laid you down, that he had undressed his wife and kissed her, he whispered something in her ear. She’d gone red, but nodded and joined your right side. You tried not to let languid anxieties find their way inside, tried to remain proper when he had stood before you, bedside — all hard muscle, trim hips that held his length in between. He would be a fit, even for you.

He’d licked his tongue at the corner of his mouth, inhaling rather sharply, his hair covered chest already drenched in desperate perspiration. “I am going to show Pen how to touch you between your thighs. Will you let me — us, will you let us?”

How her hand looked in his as he guided, separating two fingers and sucking them into his mouth, causing a not so proper word to leave your lips — it’s surely a sight that could cure those without clear sight. The way their lips had parted when her finger breached your opening, sliding into your wet heat, knowing how it felt for the first time. She’d moved to his ministrations along your jugular, everyone entangled in a pulling, a pushing, more. Heavens, more. You had felt the tears glisten in your eyes, melt into your lashline, cooling on the air.

Colin had asked if you were alright, to which you drug him by his wrist, cupping his palm over your breast. “Please, please.”

~*~

The way the ceiling looks above you, you cannot see through your hazed over vision. The candles burning, melting down, you are not concerned with. Even the summer’s rain that has begun to pour on earth, there is no room to ponder. What you’re thinking of within this moment, it is the man between your legs, one hand held behind your crown, the other holding onto your waist as he moves so deeply inside of you, precise, wonderfully intricate thrusts, that discover a place in your body that you weren’t aware existed. Why should you? No client had ever taken this much time, nor care for what your body felt.

It was never about that. You were there to serve, purpose fulfilled, you left tattered and empty. But with Colin and Penelope Bridgerton? You aren’t sure what this is. The singular certainty that you do have, however, is that you do not wish for this to end.

There’s a fire in Penelope’s eyes as she sees you holding back a brewing question, your hands shaking. The one wound around Colin’s shoulder, the other that you have currently working between her legs. She can barely hold it together, beautiful and angelic to you, keeping you able to take her husband without issue. She is nodding at you, knowing what you need. You’re past that point, coasting over realms undiscovered, heavenly worlds that only Colin Bridgerton has directions to, powers to unlock.

She removes her hands from you both, dipping them down to his bottom, feeling, grabbing, and that moan drips from her like the cream that’s accumulated across her thighs, and she pushes, locks in tight. Like he’s under command, under her spell, his hips take you faster, harder — giving you exactly what you could not ask for. You’re not sure who is louder at this point, but everyone begins to breathe harder, lungs exerted, hands finding one another. You clip onto his neck’s nape, your other hand finding Penelope’s soft, soaked mound, and he is gripping onto her breast, his spare reaching back to hold onto your hand that is on his neck.

Penelope reaches her peak first, how she tightens around your fingers, collapsing right into the pillow beside your head. It triggers you to follow, body briefly arching, throat unable to let out anything that is not a pitiful, intense cry. You’re swimming with this, ignited in a reality that you cannot imagine not having endured before. Colin tenses, his forehead finding your own, and Penelope is lifting to watch you to complete your peaks. He sighs himself into a drawn out whine, right into your open mouth.

And then it’s over, his full weight pressed into you. It’s like there’s instruments that have suddenly stalled and cast a curtain aside to let you hear every sound you’ve been ignoring, incapable of. Heavy rain, battering winds, and rushing heartbeats. You all take a thoughtful moment, before Colin is lifting on forearms. “You’re alright? The both of you?”

You concur with Penelope. Colin smirks, bringing your slick covered fingers, letting them work into his mouth. He sucks her essence free of you, and they lean to trade a kiss, before taking a place on either side of you. Pen reaches for the blankets, pulling them up and gently tucking you in.

“I believe I will ask Mr. Bridgerton to extend the invitation.”

You turn to Colin, a question written into your features. He doesn’t give you too much time to ponder. “You will stay with us? Tonight?”

It’s everything that you want, but also everything that you cannot ask for. Like a fool, you’re already falling lovesick.

What have you done?

[thetrashqueeeen]

the hunger games is having a resurgence and i’m back on my bullshit so i thought i would post what i always imagined the rest of effie’s life looked like

she stays in the capitol to begin with. katniss was shocked when she saw them kiss, but was hastily shut up by haymitch when she teased him and they never really spoke about effie much after that. effie called haymitch once a week, filling him in on the rebuilding efforts, her rapidly blooming social life, new fashion trends, inter-district moving and the latest in geese rearing tips(i’m a goose apologist here he keeps geese ok). he can tell something is off but he doesn’t realise how much of it is outright lies

effie wakes in the mornings screaming, the pain of whatever torture she was reliving rapidly dissolving as her bedroom sharpened into focus. She rarely leaves her apartment. she watches them rebuild from her window, her heart racing when unexpected bangs and crashes come from construction sites. she gets up later and later each day, sometimes not bothering to get out of bed at all. when she can’t face the nightmares, she goes to the roof of her building and screams off the edge until her voice is hoarse. she tells haymitch that she’s been out partying when she calls. her neighbourhood gets a reputation for being haunted, people say you can still hear the rebels screaming at night. her old friends are mostly dead and the ones that aren’t can’t face the memory of her as much as she can’t face the memory of them. they do try for a while, pretending that everything is fine for as long as they can ignore the frenzied fear right under the surface. the cocoon her life has become feels suffocating but ultimately comforting. she tells herself she’s fine, that this is fine. she doesn’t know why she lies to him when she calls.

she lasts a year. one afternoon, she’s on the phone with haymitch and he’s telling her about katniss and peeta. they’ve just gotten engaged for real and he’s chattering on about them in the way he does when he lets his guard down. his voice is so comforting and so nice and so homely that her heart clenches and her hand grips the phone so tightly the plastic nearly buckles in her grip. she closes her eyes so the only thing entering her brain is his voice. when they get off the phone she throws her favourite things into a suitcase, showers and gets dressed in actual clothes for the first time all week and walks to the train station before she can think about it too hard. the days she spends on the train pass quickly and she steps onto the platform at 12 in the middle of a deluge. she trudges over to victors village, her suitcase clattering over muddy paving stones. she steps into the square of victors village in the pouring rain, looking sullen, tired and thinner than when anyone last saw her. she’s filled with sudden unease, and stands still, not sure she has the nerve to go and bash on his door. she feels much too old for this, much to old to run away from her life without telling anyone, for a man who didn’t even invite her. she’s freezing. peeta notices her and goes to invite her in, but katniss stops him, seeing haymitch has set out to meet her in the square. as he gets closer he notices she looks like shit. she’s not dressed for the rain and her clothes cling to her depressingly, her hair is plastered to her face and she looks about as tired as he feels. she’s stood with her arms crossed tightly, looking like she might cry. he wraps his arms around her cold, sodden frame and it takes her a second, but she wriggles her arms out from between them and wraps her arms around his neck, stepping closer. they might be too old for this, but she can’t deny this is better than whatever she was doing before. he doesn’t kiss her there; it still feels too alien to not hide.

the next morning, effie pulls one of haymitch’s porch chairs to the edge of the veranda and basks in the rising sun, allowing it to warm her all the way through. he comes out with coffee an hour or so later, remembering she missed it in 13. peeta comes over to say hello and effie finally feels her heart slow down.

she gets used to the rhythms of 12. she did worry that too much time had passed for them, but they fall back together as they’re meant to. they bicker and debate through barely suppressed smiles and finally offer the overt support the other has always needed. when haymitch gets up to feed the geese at first light, he leaves her in bed alone and she rolls into the warm spot he leaves. he makes her coffee when he’s done and says it’s because he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t. in reality he just can’t imagine not getting to see her lift her bleary head off the pillow, her blonde hair mused and her eyes flickering open. her hair is one of the things he loves the most. he teases her about her ‘lotions and potions’ but he spends hours running his hands through her hay-coloured waves. she lets it grow down to her shoulders for the first time since her baby hair was chopped off for wigs. she starts growing produce in the back garden. the first time katniss sees her, hair tied back with a patterned scarf, wearing dungarees and chunky boots, she laughs out loud so hard that effie’s in a huff with her for a whole week. she offers an apology only because her wedding simply will not happen without effie planning it.

one day, she gets up as soon as she hears haymitch go out the back door in the morning. she dresses in a baggy t-shirt and bright dungarees (she tries her best not to link the bright dungarees that being her so much joy to grey jumpsuits) and makes coffee for them both. he startles when he finds her at the kitchen table, but she just asks him if he knew she had a degree from capitol university. he didn’t. she tells him she wants to teach children in the school house and expects him to laugh. he does a little bit, but then tells he she’ll be fantastic and admired her as she marched out the door to go and talk to the head teacher. they start her out easy, but the children adore her funny accent, soft hair and bright clothes. she adores them all right back. effie has a gaggle of small children running around her for all of the wedding and katniss looks over her the entire day, smiling at her and haymitch playing with them all. peeta had been slowly beginning to raise the idea of a family, but katniss had been shutting it down forcibly every time. she walks over to peeta at the reception and draws his attention to the large game of tag effie was participating in. as haymitch starts hefting kids over his shoulder shouting ‘the monster’s coming’ katniss tells him she wants their first daughter to be called primrose, not prim- never prim, but primrose. they’ll be great surrogate grandparents, she tells him.

effie adores little Finnick from the moment he’s born. haymitch also adores the baby, but is much less willing to show it. katniss pretends to not notice he still shakes sometimes and he pretends he doesn’t only hold him when he’s sat down. a few years later, finnick is joined by primrose who is just as beautiful as her namesake. as soon as finnick is old enough to go to school, effie insists on teaching his class every year. once primrose is old enough she trades off each year, trying (and failing) to pretend they’re not her favourite. finnick trains as a carpenter and every time effie so much as mentions something that needs fixing in the house finnick is there with a toolbox and his father’s smile. primrose grows up in awe of her big brother, the boy who calls her pipsqueak, shared every glass of orange juice he’s ever drunk with her and copies her maths homework every days she can remember. when he starts his own business, she starts to keep his accounts. it’s the summer she turns 15. she carries on absorbing knowledge like a sponge, retaining every fact, theorem and topic effie gifts her with. effie is the first person she tells when she applies for a scholarship at capitol university. her mother is the first person she tells when she gets it. katniss cries soft, bittersweet tears when primrose tells her she’s going to study medicine at the big university in the capitol. effie hugs her so hard on the platform as she gets the train that she thinks she might snap. katniss is so happy that her children are no longer the children of the last victors. they are the carpenter and the doctor. they have never once chopped their dreams off at the knees just in case they get reaped. katniss and peeta cry at her loss, sure she will only return to visit. finnick and effie do not cry, they know she’s coming back. she comes back with a woman in tow, but she comes back none the less. effie plans her marriage to the woman they come to know as Evie. finnick gets married just a year after they do, and he and his wife have so many children, haymitch jokes they should start a football team.

effie and haymitch don’t get anywhere near as long as they deserve, but they do get 25 good years. haymitch is older than she is, and his body has been through a lot. when she pleads with him to go to the capitol for treatment, he begs her to understand why he can never go back there, and she finds she does. he passes in his own bed, with his wife laying next to him, stroking his hair with quiet reverence. the last thing he hears is her whispering quietly that she loves him more than anything. that she would go through all of it again for just one more day.

when haymitch is gone, effie retires from the school house and spends as much time as she can with katniss, peeta, finnick, primrose and their various broods. she fully expects to die of a broken heart, she considers it only right. she thinks often of the tired, scared woman who stood in the rain waiting for him. she does not die of a broken heart, much to her annoyance. she doesn’t even grow much weaker with age. she keeps the geese until the last one dies and never stops growing food in her garden. one hot day in summer, the whole family go down to the meadow to bask in the heat and watch the children play. ‘this is the life a victor deserves’ she tells katniss as they watch finnick and primrose play with the children. she lays down in the sun to have a nap, resting her head on katniss’s lap. she hears the children screech with laughter, she feels the warm sun on her skin and she passes quickly, her last breathe quiet and unnoticed. haymitch is waiting for her when she gets there.

[midnightarcheress]

Simon takes you to the museum.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader cw: implied ptsd. 4 | gold rush masterlist.

the timid yellows creeping up the tree leaves announce the beginning of autumn, crisp air filling their lungs as they walk through the Tuileries Garden. Simon tries his best to act calm, focusing on how you make your way on the footpath around the octagonal lake, but the city’s sounds and the bustling crowd in the park keep him on edge, fingers rhythmically touching the dense fabric of his jeans for a faint sense of safety in the present.

despite his anxiety levels spiking, he still manages to appreciate the view. the remaining flowers from warmer days paint the grass with vivid colours and, on the horizon, he catches a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower on the other side of the river. the sun shines brightly in the sky, almost casting a golden halo over your head, the tender heat warming his brittle heart in a brief moment of peace.

“the museum is that way,” you look back at him, pointing to your left. ever since Daniel complied with your request for time off, you’ve been researching the perfect spot to spend your free afternoon, ultimately landing on the Orangery Museum. at least a museum is supposed to be a quiet place, Simon thinks.

“did you know that this building was actually a greenhouse?” you ask, walking through the entrance, “it was created to store the citrus trees from the garden, that’s why this side has so many windows.” your head tilts to the riverside facade and he silently hums, acknowledging you.

his lips involuntarily curve at your enthusiasm. the two of you don’t talk much on the daily, but it was endearing to see how happy you were for being surrounded by art, and he didn’t mind hearing you babble about the paintings. or about anything, honestly. the sound of your voice was soothing, pacifying the nerves that had been eating his insides since he stepped out of bed. 

“oh, those are my favourite!” you tug on his forearm, pulling him into an oval room with huge panels, the tiny inscriptions on the side reading ‘Claude Monet’, “those are water lilies, y’know, the flower? he did two-hundred-and-something paintings based on a pond in his property, can you imagine that?” 

“they’re pretty,” he mumbles, observing the thin brushstrokes. art is far from his strong suit, but he liked how the paintings captured the fickles of light and how they lacked the usual restrained aspect seen in other pieces – they seemed relaxed, floaty, free. so different from your life. maybe that’s why you loved it so much.

you drag him through the whole exhibit, explaining little details of the museum, the garden, the techniques, and he listens closely, his attention never leaving your mouth, completely entranced by your words. he didn’t feel the weight of the duty nor the need to protect you there, it was a different world. your own little bubble, and you allowed him inside. 

his hand brushes on your shoulder while exiting the building, guiding you through the door. he’s not keen on being outside again, sirens already buzzing in his brain with the idea of potential threats lurking in the shadows.

trying not to let the perpetual concern flood his mind, he clears his throat and sparks up conversation, ignoring the rules pairing over his head. no talking, no touching. “so, how did you learn so much about... all that?” he gestures back to the museum.

“oh, uhm, i used to paint,” you start, hiding the smile sneaking up your lips at his unexpected interest, “took a course in art history too.”

his eyebrows raise. “used to?” 

“yeah, when i had more time to myself,” he notices your sigh, studying the sudden solemn expression that outlines your face. your beautiful face, “but i wasn’t very good at it.” you chuckle, downsizing your abilities, and he snorts, not fully believing you. it’s the first time you’ve seen him showing any sort of emotion besides indifference, and he prides himself on the surprise gracing your features. 

it was nice, walking with you. not behind you. did he enjoy the view? yes, but this – him by your side, arms swinging together, matching steps – was real. genuine. it almost felt like a date, not that he would ever dare to say it out loud. everything was perfect.

until it wasn’t.

it happened so fast. a loud blast on the street made Simon wrap an arm around your waist and pull you to the nearest alley, one hand firmly pressing you against his chest and another holding your head, broad shoulders covering your body as the intense blood pump on his ears muffle the deafening ringing rattle. he stays in the position for a while, blown-out pupils frantically darting around and searching for any indication of danger. 

he takes a deep breath and his head dips down to you. for a minute, the only thing he sees is the gash on your forehead and your bleeding eye. you’re paralysed, partially because your brain is still catching up on what’s going on, and partially because his tight grip doesn’t admit any movement. 

“Ghost? what’s wrong?” the scared tone of your whisper readjusts his vision to what really is in front of him – you. safe, without a single scratch, tucked in his arms with a strength he hadn’t used to this extent in a long time. and he feels bad, pathetic even, because nothing happened. the blaring sound was a car crash in the avenue, not a grenade destroying everything in sight.

“it’s nothing” he pulls back, averting your eyes like the plague, “i'm sorry.” stupid. 

you frown, overlooking his avoidance with utter sympathy, “are you alright?” he grunts, unintelligibly, reverting to his cold stance and nodding. you don’t buy his half-answer, but decide that it’s better not to pry.

he knew it was coming, the uneasiness brewing in his gut was only waiting for the right trigger to crawl up his oesophagus and spill all over you. 

the rest of the walk is quiet, with him returning to his position a few steps back. never should’ve left. you sneak glances at him, checking, but his gaze seems too far gone. next thing he knows, you’re both on the jet, Daniel snoring in the front seat, him looking out the window, lost in thought. of course i'd fuck up. 

he barely hears when you approach him, trembling fingers handing him a card. the card. you’re trusting him. he glares at you for a second, hazel irises shifting between your spooked appearance and the paper. ‘don’t like you travelling without me, darling. i’ll be waiting for my souvenir  – your prince.’

i've never been to france lol. and yeah i had a monet phase when I was fifteen.

little fun fact - the painting in the fic masterlist is part of his water lilies series.

[deangirlsstuff67]

Sorry... Not Sorry

Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Smoking, Male masterbation, Drug and Booze use, Fingering, P in V, Unprotected sex, Orgasm denial, Dirty talk, Language

Summary: You work with the boys to fulfill Butchers mission. Your family, like MM's, were killed by Soldier Boy. The only difference, you aren't mad about it. Your family was terrible and you constantly suffered at their hands. When you all find Soldier Boy, you offer to be his babysitter, only your attraction for the older supe might be too strong to fight.

Masterlist | Patreon

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He escaped you in Russia, only to track him to The Legend's house. You aren't a supe so for the most part you hang back when they go fight. Butcher always had a soft spot for you.

When it comes to Soldier Boy however, you willing volunteered to babysit the nuclear powered superhero. Everyone was reluctant at first. You're the youngest of the group, but you weren't backing down. Not this time.

Eventually Butcher agreed, which led you here. Some old man's house who wants to relive the glory days. Any other day I would pretend to listen, just not today. I am on a mission.

I walk towards the room The Legend informed me he would be in. Whatever I was expecting to find on the other side of the door, orgy, some chick giving him head, was not what I found.

His back was facing the door when I opened the handle. Wildly designed silk robe hiding his body from my lust filled eyes. Leg proped up on the bed frame. His whole body moving as he grunts from the pleasure his hand was providing his dick.

A very well endowed dick if I remember Russia correctly.

My body begins to heat, my underwear quickly becoming damp from my own private show, breathing coming in fast shallow pants.

Forgetting he had super hearing, Soldier Boy rips a surprised gasp from me when he speaks into the quiet room, "I can practically smell your sopping cunt from here Pretty Girl."

He doesn't turn or even stop his movements. Though you do notice he has slowed to a lazy rhythm. No longer chasing a quick orgasm.

Closing the door behind you you take one step at a time towards the powerful man infront of you. A man who I'm positive can spit me in half with one powerful thrusts into my heat.

Oh what a way to die.

By now you're standing right behind him fighting the urge to touch him. In a blink of an eye he swings around to come face to face with me.

We are in the middle of a staring contest. Him wondering my next move. Me wondering if I even have the nerve to follow through with anything.

Now or never I guess. This is one way to thank him for saving me. I know he hurt a lot of people and is the ultimate asshole, but to me he's a hero.

With a wave of bravery rushing through my veins, I step up and wrap my hand around his huge cock. My tiny hand barely touching as I begin to slide it up and down his shaft.

Soldier Boy throws his head back from the contact. Long, messy hair shining as te sun hits him just right. What I wouldn't give to run my fingers through it. I know I've got him when I hear a deep moan leave his kissable lips.

"Been a long time since a beauty such as yourself has touched me, Doll."

I still can't speak. His husky voice drips of honey when he's aroused, eye's that were once shining green are now hooded and black with lust. The man's beautiful on any given day, but when he's in a stage of bliss, he's breathtaking.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Strong, long, thick fingers move rapidly inside me as Soldier Boy brings me to the edge again. Pistoling straight into my g spot repeatedly.

"You're stunning when you're fucked out and frustrated, Doll." He removes his fingers from my soaked core, bringing them to his mouth before sucking them clean. My pussy clenching around nothing.

"Mmm... taste sweet." Rolling on top of his naked body I rub my wet center up his length while sinking my tongue into his mouth. Stunned for a moment from surprise before he begins to kiss me back... hard.

Breaking away I lift my body and grab his leaking cock before impaling myself on his perfect dick.

I was right, he's going to split me in half. It burns as he stretches me to my limit. Never had a cock this good. I can feel every vein as I slipped farther down his shaft.

Bottoming out I stay still waiting for my body to adjust. Feeling my velvet walls flutter around him as they fight to accept his size. He shifts slightly sending electricity shooting through my body, another wave of arousal soaks his dick.

"Soldier Boy..."

Laughing he leans up, wrapping a strong arm protectively around my waist as he kisses me sweetly. "Sweetheart I'm balls deep in your sopping cunt right now, pretty sure you can call me Ben." Then he thrusts into me, hitting my cervix.

"Ben..." is all I can moan as he takes control of my body.

"That’s my Pretty Girl. Scream it baby, my names never sounded so sweet before."

His pace quickens sending me into my first orgasm. Clenching him so tight I'm amazed he can still move as he fucks me through it. "Squeezing my cock so good."

Ben watches where our bodies are join, "this pussy is drooling Doll. Making such a pretty mess of my dick." I tighten around him, "oh fuck yes..."

"Got one more in there for me baby girl." It wasn't a question. He brings his rough hands to my bundle of nerves and starts to vigorously rub me there.

My orgasm build fast and hard. Just as I'm think I'm about to be thrown over the edge a new sensation comes over me, "shit... Ben you have to st.. stop. I.. I think I'm go.. going to pee."

He doesn't listen. If anything the statement makes him feral as he double downs his efforts. Then it happens. My body let's go, vision goes white as I scream his name as loud as I can before slumping into his chest.

What feels like hours goes by, but I'm sure it's minutes, before I feel someone gently finger my pussy. Whimpering I hear a dark chuckle beside me.

"That was fucking hot Doll." Ben holds me to his chest as he lazily plays with my pussy and our mess, "I'm far from done with you, sleep for now."

"You should have known better than to try and tease me. Best damn pussy I've had... just might have to keep you now." He gently bites my ear lope.

Through my blessed out haze I weakly smile before whispering, "Sorry... not sorry."

I fall asleep in his warm embrace with his laughter as my lullaby and his fingers bringing small waves of pleasure every once in a while.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist:

@syrma-sensei

[pepsiboyy]

HEARTSTRINGS. - p4

p3 ⚜ masterlist ⚜ p5

pairing: chris sturniolo x fem!reader summary: after moving to massachusetts from florida, y/n lives with her half brother, nathan doe, who is part of a small garage band. their sassy guitarist, chris sturniolo, can't help but get on her nerves. but there's something about him. warnings: use of y/n lol, cursing, make outtt, fluff !! a/n: HIIII you guys are absolutely blowing this up <3 i love u guys so much! longer part today, the moment u guys have been waiting for sort of !!

"i'm really, really fucking sorry."

i stared at chris with wide eyes after he had knocked on my door later that night.

struggling to keep a serious expression, i cracked a smile and leaned against my doorframe as i stared up at him. what's the hurt in prying a bit?

"sorry for what?"

chris stared at me in disbelief, the corner of his mouth raising into an undeniably attractive smirk. "don't do that, y/n."

the tone of his voice was deep, and the way his stated it made my chest feel like it was going to cave and my body feel like it was going to explode. "do what?"

"you're so fuckin' annoying, kid." chris stated, his smile now fully visible as he looked at me with a look that seemed to be one full of admiration. "really though. i overreacted and shouldn't have said what i said. i would have done the same thing, honestly." my only response was a soft nod.

we stayed like that for a while before i opened the door wider and invited him in.

i sat at the edge of my bed, and he hesitated to do so as he looked around my room. "'s bare in here."

my brows knitted together as i stared at him. "remember i moved in less than a week ago, idiot."

"i need to take you to ikea. genuinely." he then carefully took a seat beside me.

i blinked a few times as i stared at him, my cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. "ikea? like the furniture store?"

chris stared at me in disbelief before it clicked for him. "you've never been?" upon seeing me rapidly shake my head, he smiled softly.

"you free tomorrow?"

"the fuck do you mean you can't drive?"

"well, my brothers and i are always together, so i never really-" chris defended himself, rubbing the back of his head with pink cheeks. his fingers ran through his shaggy hair.

"you failed to think of that or even mention it before inviting me to ikea?" i teased, lightly hitting his shoulder.

chris took a breath to defend himself, but ultimately failed.

"i could have gotten us an uber or something. i don't want to bother your brother." i stated as we sat against the living room couch.

we woke up a bit earlier to get to ikea at a decent time, and nate was asleep still.

"no, it's fine. matt doesn't mind." chris reassured, a bright smile on his face.

"why couldn't you get an uber or something." was one of the few first sentences matt stated before chris quickly smacked his shoulder.

"because, you're here. and you're free."

"gas isn't."

i quickly lifted my hand like a kid in elementary school to intervene, smiling nervously. "i can pay you for gas."

matt stared at me for a moment before turning to chris. "would you look at that. she's offered more than you ever have. i like her." he joked and smiled, holding out his hand slightly. "i'm matt."

i stared at him for a moment before gently taking his hand and shaking it.

matt looked so much like chris, yet so different at the same time. they had different haircuts, but used different body language and had a few different features that were prominent.

"i'm y/n." i smiled softly before pulling my hand away.

i thought i would be the one looking at things on this trip, but i was the one pushing the cart while chris excitedly held things up to show me before setting it back down on the shelf.

"who are we here for?" i joked as i looked at chris.

"uhhh.. you, obviously," i mumbled softly, setting the oddly shaped beside alarm clock back where it goes. "i was just looking."

"right." i smiled and began to walk away, leaning over the cart as i allowed my eyes to wander.

chris quickly jogged to catch up to me, smiling down at me as he shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets. "you really haven't found anything yet?"

"nothing has really reached out to me and grabbed my attention, i guess."

chris nodded as he looked around, before he continued to watch me. i finally turned to him and smiled. "what?"

"you look nice today." chris quickly stated, turning away nonchalantly to cover the pink on his cheeks, but i could see his ear turning into a redder shade.

"thanks," i mumbled softly, continuing to walk as i bit my lip. "you don't look too bad yourself."

chris scoffed softly.

we were nearing the end of the store, and i had just found a few simple decorations to spice up the vibes in my room. nothing too crazy.

but something quickly caught my eye, and i stopped in my tracks before quickly making my way towards it.

chris quickly followed and looked at the item, then back to me with a cocked eyebrow. "a desk?"

i nodded and smiled softly.

the desk was white with a few shelves lined up against the back.

i smiled shyly as i ran my hand against the surface. "i could do some homework on it, maybe... write lyrics on it?" i tilted my head and shrugged.

chris just stared at me, the corned of his lips turning to a smirk. "you'd write lyrics?"

i turned to him and smiled defenselessly.

"when will i hear you sing?" he asked softly, and i looked up at his face, smiling at his serious yet soft expression.

a soft hum left me as i shrugged. "soon."

chris shrugged, seeming to enjoy that answer more than a "never" and knelt down to help me pick up a box for the desk.

we made our way to checkout, and took out the smaller items to scan and grabbed the small scanner to scan the big box in our cart.

once we finished scanning everything, i reached to grab my wallet, but chris scoffed audibly from beside me.

as i looked up, i heard the beep of the card reader that had already gotten his card's information. "chris!"

chris giggled and took his card back, sliding it back into his wallet and into his pocket.

"why'd you do that?"

"i'm the one that said your room was ugly." he stated quickly.

i stared at him and smacked his shoulder. "you never said that."

"right, it's bare." he corrected, smiling warmly at me. "don't worry about it. i had to make it up to you anyways."

i smiled warmly at him and let out a soft sigh. "thank you, chris."

"now let's go wait for matt to pick us up?"

"how the fuck do you do this?" chris whispered to himself.

i smiled softly at him as i held the instructions to building the desk between my fingers.

chris was laying on his side on the floor in my room, attempting to build the desk. he would smack my hand away whenever i tried to help him, insisting that he had it figured out.

"you're attaching the wrong part to that, chris-"

"i knew that!" he'd quickly defend, waving his hand and hiding his embarrassed expression by turning to cough.

i smiled softly at him.

this annoying ass kid had truly made me realize today that he meant a lot more to me than i had ever thought he would.

my eyes explored him as he laid on his side against my carpet, his white tee loose on him. the hem had lifted a bit with the impact of the floor, revealing a belt that hugged his waist in all the right ways to keep his baggy, blue jeans up. his bangs hung low against his face, and his eyes were a neutral blue that i couldn't seem to keep my eyes off of.

"is this right?" chris questioned, holding up two wooden boards. i quickly shook myself out of my thoughts and looked at the instructions before nodding. "good, because i already put this nail into this one."

i smiled at him and hummed as i shifted to sit on the floor beside him.

after a few minutes, chris sighed and sat up to sit upright, gently wiping the fake sweat off of his forehead. "all this hard work," he joked, and i smiled warmly at him.

chris stared at me for a few moments before he stood up and quickly bolted out of the room, leaving me confused.

but he quickly returned with an acoustic guitar from nate's room, smiling and sitting beside me with a soft smile.

i watched him sit beside me and get in a comfortable position before speaking up. "what possessed you to go get that?" i questioned.

chris scooted a bit closer to me, smiling softly as he leaned down to carefully position his hands. "i wanted to show you what i've been working on."

i nodded softly as i watched his hands position themselves. his bangs covered his eyes and gently grazed his nose as he looked down at the guitar.

i smiled at him in admiration as he began strumming the guitar. the soft chords filled my ears in every perfect way, the way he slowly played with the pick in his hand, strumming the strings a few times for each chord.

i couldn't stop looking at him. the way his bracelets dangled slightly, the way his hair fell, the way his nose scrunched every time he gently grazed a string on his guitar to get a squeaky sound that somehow fit perfectly into the song nonetheless.

i smiled at him as i watched, and chris's head lifted to look at me as he strummed the guitar.

we stayed like that for a few moments. his pick slowed down with each moment that passed, and i smiled at him.

i never noticed he had freckles until now. that was how close we had been sitting by one another, now staring at each other in a comfortable silence as he strummed his guitar and slowly finished.

a few more seconds went by before chris let out a loud sigh, one that almost sounded frustrated. he quickly set the guitar to the side, leaning against the half finished desk and leaned closer to me, a hand running against my jaw as our noses touched.

"can i kiss you?" he asked softly, his eyes a deeper shade of blue and his face a pretty shade of pink that made my stomach do flips.

i nodded quickly, moving my hands so that one moved to the side of his neck.

chris closed the gap between us, his lips pressed against mine as he tilted his head and closed his eyes.

his hand moved to gently rest on my waist, the other moving to my hand to gently intertwine with my fingers.

i felt my face head up and my lips curl into a bright smile as i tilted my head and kissed him back, my heart beating at a billion miles a minute.

chris carefully pulled away from the kiss and gently pulled my hand as he stood up, motioning for me to also stand up. i did just that, and he guided me to the side of my bed before urging me to sit down and crashing his lips into mine.

i laid down against my sheets, and chris crawled on top of me.

my hands found a home in his hair, fingers burying into his curls.

i fucking love his curls.

chris kept one hand by my side against the bed to hold himself up beside me as his other hand held my jaw and cheek, thumb caressing my cheek gently.

we stayed like this for what felt like an eternity, and honestly, i wouldn't have minded if it lasted longer.

chris pulled away and stared at me with lidded eyes and swollen, parted lips.

i smiled softly at him, and he reciprocated that as he chuckled softly.

"you know i thought you were gorgeous since i met you, right?"

i cringed slightly. "you thought i had a boyfriend who started an argument with me, actually."

"shut up," he quickly defended, chuckled softly before he moved to lay beside me, eyes now glued to the ceiling.

we sat in a comfortable silence before i turned toward him and wrapped an arm around his waist softly, smiling shyly.

chris turned to me and smiled softly, his cheeks pink as he hummed.

"now for the real question," chris started, and i nodded as i listened closely to him.

"how do we tell your brother?"

p3 ⚜ masterlist ⚜ p5

comment to be added to the taglist !! taglist;; @sturnioloshacker @nickgetsmewetter @matthewsturniolosgirlfriend101 @chrissgirlsstuff @nsjsnshey @sturniolosarethebest @sofie-1 @sturniololol @veysxrge @587528382527 @sturniolostars @larnieboox88 @eliana-4200

[retiredkat]

Great interview with Eric Bogosian

Vulture article

Eric Bogosian Would Get Naked for Interview With the Vampire 10:31 A.M.

Daniel Molloy is a fictional two-time Pulitzer Prize winner, bullshitometer, and sass-kitten, an aging journalist holding his own among monsters while conducting the titular Q&A at the heart of Interview With the Vampire. With clear-eyed wit and a dash of human vulnerability, Eric Bogosian gives Molloy a distinctly Anthony Bourdain–ish edge infused with notes of his own acerbic Talk Radio character Barry Champlain. In Anne Rice’s book and the movie that followed, Daniel Molloy is a cub reporter trembling over his tape deck. But in Rolin Jones’s brilliant AMC adaptation, which just wrapped up its second season, this isn’t Molloy’s first twirl around the vampire hoedown. The conversation takes place 50 years after that first interview ended in blood, gore, and sexual frustration (Luke Brandon Field plays the younger Molloy in flashbacks, including this season’s standout episode five). Now Molloy’s seen it all, has a loaded past with these vamps, and when he trembles, it’s from Parkinson’s, rarely nerves. Molloy’s the audience surrogate, cutting through Louis (Jacob Anderson) and Armand’s (Assad Zaman) competing narratives while ultimately shipping Loustat just like the rest of us.

This delicate dynamic got slammed into a concrete wall and lit on fire (complimentary) in the final minutes of the season-two finale, when Molloy was revealed to have been turned into a vampire by Armand, breaking the ancient vampire’s centuries-long incel streak. And boy, is it a reveal, with a cocky Molloy, riding high on his best-selling book, whipping off his sunglasses at night to reveal color-changing eyes while doing mental walkie-talkie with Louis. He’s even got a sick leather jacket to really hammer home that he’s a cool bad-boy vampire now. It’s an incredibly fun beat to leave this character on and opens up a world of season-three possibilities for Bogosian as a performer who, at 71, has always wanted to play a vampire.

Do you know how weird it is to be hitting record on my MacBook right now to interview you about playing a character who’s always hitting record on his MacBook to interview people?

It’s all weird to me. I’m from another century, so all these things are new to me.

This is suspiciously sounding more and more like an interview with a vampire by the minute! Which makes sense, considering where we last saw Daniel in the finale.

Since we have multiple narratives and jump around in time already, I don’t know where things are going. Personally, I’d love to see more of young Daniel, Luke Brandon Field. I think he’s terrific. I’d love to see more Claudia. I wonder whether vampires can time travel. I think they can move around in time. I’m not sure how much Anne Rice you’ve read, but Merrick can actually bring people back from the dead, so you never know.

What was your relationship to the books when you signed on to this show?

In the mid-’70s, when Interview With the Vampire came out, I was 20-something and reading that stuff and I loved it. Then I got distracted by life. When we started doing the show, I was going to read the first one again, but then I realized that the script and my character were quite different, so I thought, I better stick to the script.

However, I needed to know what happened next, so I started plowing through the books and it was amazing. The Vampire Lestat was a trip — that’s what they’ll be hitting next — and they just got trippier and trippier. I just finished the seventh, which puts all the stories together. I love Anne Rice because her imagination is completely unfettered and she plays with really deep themes in a way that’s not heavy. It’s not like you’re reading Ayn Rand; it’s more like Stephen King. She explores death in the guise of these vampires by asking, Oh yeah, you wanna be immortal? Here’s what immortal looks like.

I’ve always been a big fan of vamps. I lobbied Francis Ford Coppola to get a part in his Dracula in the ’90s. I guess I wasn’t a big star, so I couldn’t get a part in it, but he was nice about it and invited me to set. I’ve told this story in other interviews, but my wife was directing a play in Chicago, which, totally by coincidence, was written by one of our first-year writers. On the plane there, I was thinking about life, thinking, I’ve done so many things. What’s left? And I thought, Man, I still really want to play a vampire. And when I landed, I got a phone call: “Do you want to be on Interview With the Vampire?” At the time, it wasn’t like, “You’re going to be a vampire,” but I figured vampire-adjacent was good enough. And of course, it evolved, and as I got on set, Assad was explaining all of these things that were going to happen with my character. Sometimes I didn’t even want to hear about it because we never know what’s going to happen. There have been slight detours off the main story, particularly with my character.

What were those things you didn’t want to hear about your character that Assad was talking about?

I become, you know, under his spell in later stories, and there’s a whole relationship that goes on between us. I’m not entirely clear at this point how that’s going to shake out or if it’s going to shake out. I didn’t necessarily want to go waltzing into something where they were making me do anything weird or awkward or embarrassing to no particular end. I’ve done nudity and stuff like that a long time ago, and at 71, I’m not really big on getting naked and sexy onscreen.

However, having been around the genius of Rolin Jones for two years, whatever he wants to do, I’ll do it. When you’re around a master like this, it becomes a process of discovery. When I’m learning my lines it’s like, Oh, this is 3-D chess. There’s a lot going on here that I didn’t see the first time I read it. When I first got this job, I thought I was just going to be doing bookends every episode, like, “So, tell me the story,” and then it would be vampires the whole time, and at the end I’d be like, “Hmmm!” And then, “stay tuned for the next episode!” But Rolin had this idea from the beginning and it went deeper and deeper until it was insane by the end of the second season.

I would prefer not to be playing cliché. Sometimes I’m playing something that feels like a lot of other things I’ve done. Even in the service of a show that is terrific, like Succession or Billions, the things I’m doing on those shows are not things I’ve never done before. As a friend of mine said when I was doing Under Siege 2 with Steven Seagal 1,000 years ago, “They just want you to do that Eric thing you do.” My stage stuff is about being very big and very loud, and a lot of the stuff I do on-camera is like in Uncut Gems, being very angry and very broad. But this thing, particularly in the fifth episode, and going into the end — I have to go places that I’ve never gone as an actor before. The subtlety of episode five, where I am brought to tears, that’s new stuff for me, and I was really happy to do it. Not only working with Rolin and the directors but with everybody. The writers bring a lot of sensitivity, a lot of nuance to every scene.

I need to ask if you’ve seen this: Someone from the writers’ room tweeted a picture of a note card that was on the wall for episode five and it just says, “MOLLOY ASKS ABOUT 1973: DID WE FUCK?”

I love that beat. As much as I’m known for my verbosity, I love reaction stuff, too. Jacob and I are very in sync, and we’ve developed a good relationship. He’s not holding back, he’s not being cagey, and that allows you to trust the other person a lot. You’d be amazed how some actors … are actually not good actors. They’re thinking about what they look like and all this crap. Jacob can’t be thinking about what he looks like because sometimes he looks really nasty. He’s letting the emotions build out of him. And yet he’s always very adept at sculpting what he’s doing. It’s a great company. I never work with Sam, I just see him all the time on set, but that scene in the courtroom, and the scene in New Orleans … where’s that shit coming from? The emotion is wild.

You all have incredible chemistry with each other, too. Knowing where your character might go with Armand, or what other buried history may or may not also be between them, how do you play that dynamic?

In scripted narratives, you’ve just got to play what the script is doing and let the audience try to figure out the rest of it. On Succession, I worked with Sarah Snook, and her character was never clear until the end. They were making it very hard to figure out what she was thinking. And I don’t know that she always knew herself what she was thinking. She was playing the script.

There are a lot of ways to look at it, and ask, What’s really going on here? Much of it is the audience putting it together. They hear the lines, they see my face, and an older actor’s face kind of has a narrative built into it. All of it gets put together, and what you don’t know becomes fodder for your imagination.

And this audience has quite the imagination.

I’ve never been through this experience before, exploring where the audience is at. I’m reading a lot of the blogs, and they make a science out of it. Rolin gives them all they can eat in terms of details and Easter eggs that are blended into the story. I think like 30 percent of our audience is really familiar with the books, so they’re constantly checking back and forth between Anne Rice’s story and ours. So far, Rolin’s been scoring pretty well in terms of being consistent with the original material.

But again, Daniel is a whole different ball of wax. The Armand thing is interesting, because it goes into all kinds of fascinating realms far away and weird. I had to get out history books and start reading about ancient Kyiv.

The fans aren’t even just pulling from the books; I’ve seen some draw comparisons from your work like Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll. They’re finding all these crazy parallels.

That I haven’t seen. The character in this show and me in real life have a lot of parallels. Just imagine young Daniel in the show, that was my life. The funny thing is when I used to write and perform these monologues, in my mind they didn’t have anything to do with me. And then last year, Andre Royo, who played Bubs on The Wire, did one of my shows, Drinking in America, onstage. This was the first time that I’ve watched my own solo show, and he did a great job. I started to understand the biographical aspects of these monologues. It isn’t until afterward that I can look at it and go, Oh right, this is about that. Rolin told me that they were always thinking of me for this role. He didn’t know me, so this was coming out of his enthusiasm for a movie I did 700 years ago, Talk Radio with Oliver Stone. That was based on a play I wrote for myself. What I write about has to do with a certain kind of narcissistic personality, which seems to be the theme of this TV show — they’re all narcissists in one way or another.

I’m fascinated by my character. In episode five, when he’s in San Francisco, he’s kind of a loser. That’s what Armand says: “You might as well die right now. Where’s your life going?” And yet Daniel has two Pulitzer Prizes by the time he’s an older guy. What is that about? I would almost not believe it except that it happened to me. I was leading a really dissolute life in the late ’70s into the early ’80s. I didn’t win a Pulitzer, but I was nominated in 1987 and continued to be, I guess, “successful.” So it makes sense that it happens to Daniel. But you can also ask, What motivates this? It’s a way of fighting against the world or maintaining your sanity.

I think I’ll continue to play with the push-pull of this guy if I continue with the show. In San Francisco, he says, “Make me a vampire.” Later in Dubai, he says, “No, I don’t want it, because I’ll outlive my children.” He’s going back and forth. Of course, what we don’t see in the last episode is how did he become a vamp? Did he say, “Yeah, I want to do it?” Or did he get drunk with Armand one night and when he wasn’t looking, he became a vampire? I guess we’ll find out.

I’m sure it’s the subject of dozens of fan fictions already.

I’ve gotten so close with Assad. We’ve enjoyed spending a lot of time with each other. But when he gets on set, he turns into a different person. That’s some evil shit going on there. The way he ends up in that last episode, kind of smashed, he put everything into that. It’s a lot of fun. I never got into this business to do anything other than make believe and pretend. I feel more whole when I’m being somebody else than when I’m my own self, so the more deeply we can pretend when we’re making the show, the more deeply we can get into all of this, the higher I get from it. And when you’ve got guys like this who are ready to fly, I want to go flying with them.

I know you said you don’t really know what’s happening next season, but I look forward to your vampire adventures.

Rolin keeps sending me notes saying we’re gonna have an amazing time when we start shooting again. I can’t wait. It’s just that there’s a whole formal process of how this goes, and I’m waiting for my engraved invitation from the King of AMC to say “welcome back.”

[skywriter97]

Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic

A ShadowxAurora One Shot

Shadow never meant to keep it. With the limited space in his apartment, a piano wasn't exactly practical. But he'd seen it sitting on the street while on a run, a pathetic little spinet that apparently wasn't worth the effort for repair according to the owner, so it sat in wait for the dump truck.

Omega thought he was nuts when Shadow had used Chaos Control to transport the piano into the apartment, and perhaps he was. The instrument had definitely seen better days, and it would take more than a simple tune up to get it in pristine condition again.

That didn't stop Shadow from shoving the spinet against the wall between his mattress and the front door and then going out to purchase the necessary items for piano repairs.

The spinet became Shadow's passion project over the next several weeks. Any spare moment between his mercenary work with Omega and dates with Aurora, Shadow could be found with the spinet piano, painstakingly doting over the instrument to set it to rights again.

"You never told me you can fix instruments." Aurora had noted once, sitting on the little bench with her legs swinging while half of Shadow's body was inside the back of the spinet.

"Never came up." Shadow had grunted.

"Where'd you learn?" She'd pressed.

Shadow had shrugged. "I did a lot of things while off world, Light. Sometimes I was asked to fix things, and music is universal." Aurora had accepted that answer, and Shadow minutely relaxed.

No way he was EVER going to tell her that some aristocrat across the galaxy had taken fancy to him and tried to get his attention by breaking her piano, just so he'd come and fix it. It was the fastest he'd ever fled a planet. Omega still hadn't let him live it down.

The plan for the spinet once he'd finished repairs was simple enough: take it to the resale shop and get a decent sum of cash for it. He'd contacted the shop, gotten a good offer, and was set to deliver and receive his rings, but when he arrived and saw the buyer...a mother and son duo, the latter whom was whining about how much he HATED piano lessons and was currently and carelessly swinging a baseball bat around in his fit....Shadow took his piano and left.

No way was Shadow going to let all his hard work repairing his baby go to waste on some ungrateful brat that lacked basic appreciation. So, the little spinet piano became a permanent fixture in his apartment.

Shadow had never considered himself a musician of any sort. He was a warrior, a mercenary, the Ultimate Lifeform, a guardian. Music...required a certain softness that Shadow, with all his broken pieces and jagged edges, simply did not possess. But, somehow, that didn't matter. Sitting at his little spinet, gingerly filling his apartment with the soft tones of the classics centered him with a kind of peace he rarely ever achieved...with one exception. When he played, Shadow could pretend that was all there was. Just him and his spinet, creating something beautiful together. It was almost magical, if he believed in such a thing.

Shadow huffed a quiet chuckle, gently resting his hand atop the keys but not pressing down, his thoughts drifting towards the other almost-magical thing in his life. Honestly, if it magic was a thing, Shadow could believe it, because of her. The way she pranced through life, with such light and arms wide open, eager and excited for whatever came her way...could anything else but magical describe his precious Light?

Almost without his command, his fingers gently drifted across the spinet's keys, a delicate melody that swirled and danced through the air. Shadow sighed.

"Though I tried before to tell her

Of the feelings I have for her

In my heart.

Every time that I come near her

I just lose my nerve as I've done

From the start."

How many times has Shadow looked into those emerald eyes, seen that smile, and choked? It was three simple words, why was it so difficult? He's made peace with the past, hasn't he?

"Every little thing she does is magic

Everything she does just turns me on.

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on."

A sniffle behind him had Shadow whirling around, Chaos Spear halfway formed in his hand and a snarl on his muzzle, when those same piercing emerald eyes damp with tears stopped him dead. Shadow gulped, his ears flattening against his head. Damn. How long had she- Shadow made get up, averting his eyes as embarrassment colored his cheeks rosy red.

And then she's right there, pushing him back down on the bench with pleas of "Please don't stop, don't mind me-," and she's still looking at him with those eyes, pleading and wet, her body pressed tight against his side, lips protruding in the most pitiful pout...

Chaos, he was screwed, wasn't he?

Shadow sighed and tapped her nose with his finger. "You will say nothing to anyone about this." He commanded, and tried to ignore how distracting that beaming smile was in order to return to the piano. He gulped, frozen with his fingers in position. He knew his voice was not what anyone would call gifted, hers was so much better, and he chanced a glance down to his shoulder where she'd laid her head. She smiled at him again, eager and encouraging, and Shadow gulped and resumed playing.

"Do I have to tell the story

Of a thousand rainy days

SInce we first met?

It's a big enough umbrella

But it's always me

That ends up getting wet.

Every little thing she does is magic

Everything she does just turns me on.

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on."

Shadow rested his cheek against the top of her head, mindful of the short grouping of quills that acted as bangs, closing his eyes momentarily and just breathing.

"I resolve to call her up

A thousand times a day

And ask her if she'll marry me

In some old fashioned way.

But my silent fears have gripped me

Long before I reach the phone.

Long before my tongue has tripped me

Must I always be alone?"

Her arms squeezed him gently, reassuringly, around his middle, and he pressed a kiss to her head in response, smiling at the growing damp spot on his shoulder.

"Every little thing she does is magic,

Everything she does just turns me on.

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on,"

Shadow dropped one hand from the piano and cupped Aurora's cheek, tilting her chin up to look into her eyes, shining with light and joy, and he knew his words wouldn't fail him this time. He smiled at her and leaned his forehead on hers.

"Every little thing you do is magic

Everything you do just turns me on.

Even though my life before was tragic

Know that my love for you goes on."

Shadow ended the song with a soft kiss to her lips, sealing his declaration of devotion with all the love and passion and dedication he had in his heart in the best way he knew how. Words always failed him, but somehow, in this moment, it didn't matter. Aurora wept through his kiss, and he smiled as they parted, a quirk of his mouth so gentle and loving that only she would ever get to see it.

Aurora pounced on him a single moment later, using her own gift of speed to press kiss after kiss on his lips, face, head, everywhere she could reach, glowing so brightly and joyfully exclaiming "I love you"s between kisses. Shadow briefly wondered how she wasn't suffocating before dismissing the thought and basking in their shared love, trading her kisses and words with ones of his own. It didn't matter anyway.

Every little thing she did was magic, after all.

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

Since Viv still somehow cannot decide on what Angel overdosed on. I am taking my liberties and doing it my goddamn self. I will also be formatting this into a summary of what I think a good small backstory scene could be like while also giving Angel a safespace and bonding experience.

It’s in the tags but WARNING there is discussion of drug abuse and overdosing in this summary.

Urg, okay, Vague but also kind of not vague angel backstory stuff because ig viv cant make up her mind on her own OCs backstory

Angel is lying in bed with Husk sitting at the edge as per usual, and Angel starts talking about a few mild personal things (mental struggles, work, general issues, etc) and Husk suggests taking something mild to help him relax and sleep so he gets up and gets him a few pills and puts them in Angel’s hand; says its Benadryl just to help him sleep a bit, but notices quickly that Angel is suspiciously reluctant to take or even look at the pills. Obviously, he asks what's up and is met with the answer of, “Nothin’ I just don’t… use that stuff.” It piques Husk’s interest, and asks if it doesn’t work for Angel, who responds with, “It definitely works.” but ultimately, Husk decides not to pry; however, he lets Angel know he’s open to listen if it’s something he feels like he wants to talk about.

Angel, being weirdly stubborn but also becoming a bit more open with Husk by this time, takes a few minutes to actually say something but eventually informs Husk that it was something he used to try and get high off and had some really good and really bad trips with, but it was the drug that ultimately led to him suffering an overdose and never waking up after it. Both of them are quiet for a bit until Husk gets up and searches for something else to help Angel sleep and, once again, places a few small pills in his hand and says he can try these, but if not, he can try something else without pills. Angel is still reluctant but ends up accepting the offer and proceeds to carefully assort the pills into little categories, saying it’s something he ‘needs to do’. Husk doesn’t push further than that and watches Angel take the pills before the other lays down again.

Things once again go silent for a good ten or so minutes until Husk notices Angel uncomfortably folding his hands over his stomach but mentions that pills always make him feel queasy to an extent and that he only takes them with other people around so he’s distracted from the discomfort they give him. In an attempt to calm Angel’s apparent nerves on the topic, he decides to sit with the other until Angel falls asleep. Eventually, Husk follows suit, with both of them waking up the next morning and Angel giving a relieved and grateful, albeit shaky, sigh. The next morning consists of Angel thanking Husk but ends with the two coming to an agreement that next time Angel can't sleep, a liquid medication approach would be better.

I don’t know if I’ll ever do a full fledged writing of this, but the concept of triggers is something I’ve personally yet to see stated in Hazbin Hotel. This would be a good way to discuss clear lingering trauma Angel has while still treating it with the gentleness the character needs and severity the topic needs. Benadryl was also just becoming a thing around the 1940’s so it makes sense for this to be something Angel very likely could’ve overdosed on. The topic of common triggers is something interesting too; I’ve seen that in other media obviously but even though I know we won’t get it, it’d be nice to see the caution around said trigger and very slowly seeing the character become more open to it if it is a common thing like this. Not everyone will get over triggers and I myself also used to have a strained relationship with a certain pill like this, but there is always the chance that you will be able to use it somewhat normally again.

If this were to happen I’d be fine with it if Angel never got over the discomfort of pills, but much later on in the series if we saw him take some kind of antihistamine casually and comfortably it’d be really nice to see that kind of growth. And as for Husk, I’d like to see him be less shame-y with Angel’s struggles like he was in Episode 6. Since we’ve basically lost Cherri Bomb as his safespace from external stressors, I really think Angel will benefit from an actually deeply caring friend, especially one that doesn’t overstep his boundaries and doesn’t encourage self destructive behaviour. The same goes for Angel by the way, I’m really pissed that they didn’t have Angel apologise for harassing Husk and everyone else. It really is not that hard to at least try to have him feel sorry about that sort of thing. Fuck, here’s something I wrote in like 20 minutes.

——————

It’d be really nice to have someone to talk to, honestly, even though he didn’t speak to Husk very much at all prior to this; he was looking forward to it a little more now. Coming home… er… coming back to the hotel after work and chatting casually at a bar was just… something about it sounded so… calm. Sure, he could go to a random bar and flirt with some rando, but talking with an actual acquaintance while having a few drinks seemed so freeing. Not having to worry about someone staring at him from across the room and getting approached about some kind of ‘offer’ outside.

God, he fucking hated that... “Fuck…” Soft smile melding into a grimace, Angel began to chew slower and slower until he eventually stopped altogether and harshly swallowed. He’d probably been making Husk feel gross like that for ages now. Obviously, he’d seen the disgruntled faces he’d get in return for flirting, but he’d never actually thought about it like that until now. He couldn’t even say, ‘for some reason, it made him feel gross’; he knew exactly why; coming to terms with that, on the other hand, was a lot more uncomfortable than he’d imagined. “Hey, uh… Not to damper the mood, but… I…”His chest puffed as he took a deep breath, and each word pulled Angel to avert his gaze further from his food and the cat sitting across from him. “I was gonna say… I’m sorry for bein’ weird and touchin’ your face yesterday…” As he spoke up, his voice lightly cracked near the end of his sentence. “And when we were filmin’ the hotel commercial… And every time I’ve put my legs on ya lap… And any otha time I did somethin’ like that.”

——————

I haven’t even finished this writing yet (I’ll likely add the rest when I do finish it) but you can see that it genuinely is not that hard to fit in an apology.

Anyway I hope you guys enjoyed my little Angel Dust ideas. Be prepared for more eventually

[missredherring]

An Act Of Kindness - Part Two

Eddie (BTVS) x Fat!F!Vampire!Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 6.9k

Summary: That feeling of wrongness is so strong. He isn’t supposed to be here. Something is going on. Something is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

Contents: Descriptions of throwing up. Character death. Canon/vampire typical violence and gore. Sweet baby angel vampire Eddie. Reader uses the nickname "Bella."

A/N: Here we are for part two! Thank you everyone for your interest in this story so far. I'm nervous since this chapter is more set up than anything really juicy. I hope you enjoy it. I certainly had fun adding more characters. 🩷

Not beta read. All mistakes are my own.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Tagging those that I remember being interested: @prolix-yuy @oonajaeadira @maggiemayhemnj @alltheglitterandtheroar @boliv-jenta

Part One

Eddie’s at a bar.

It’s not one of the numerous ones near the college campus that the students like to go to and try their luck with fake IDs. The bartenders there are too eagle-eyed and his face is never going to look older in person, no matter how well-made his own fake ID is. Instead he’s at a dive bar at the edge of town, close to a cluster of motels that have mostly out-of-towners as clientele; people who come and go and just want a drink in a dark bar for the night. It’s a quiet atmosphere that thankfully doesn’t test his hunger and at least he’s not the only one nursing a beer at the bar top tonight. 

One of the first things Max had done for him after his change was get him a new ID, saying something about not wanting a wet blanket weighing him down. Max handed over the shiny new ID and aged him up with an air of carelessness that stung later when Eddie had time to think on it. He can buy alcohol and even rent a car now, but neither feels like something he’s earned with the privilege of living that long. 

Raiding the beer fridge in the garage, sneaking sips from parent's stashes, and hoping no one noticed how loud they were in the basement; they’d been tipsy and carefree. Surrounded by mismatched, beat up furniture, they'd talked about all the parties they’d throw once they came of age; it was one of the ultimate rituals of growing up. But there'd been none of that with Max. No acknowledgement of this milestone in a young adult's life. Just another thing Max took from Eddie because of his own selfishness.

And now something is wrong. More wrong than all the other little things Max has done so far. Eddie has a running list of those that just keeps getting longer, but there’s nothing so obvious that he can point to for this wrongness that’s been picking at his nerves since he woke up today. 

He’d told Max about it, but his maker brushed him off. He’d been obsessively focused on this new job he’d gotten, saying something about sweet revenge. He hadn’t even taken his eyes away from his tie as he tugged the fabric this way and that to get the perfect folds and creases. 

“Relax,” Max said, smoothing the fabric down his front and picking a piece of microscopic lint from his suit jacket. “It’s probably just indigestion from the take out from last night.”

Take out delivery guy, Eddie corrected in his mind as Max grabbed his bag and keys and made for the front door. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Max quipped and threw a wink over his shoulder. With a slam of the door, Max was gone.

The unnamable wrongness kept him moving until he got to the bar.

He takes a mouthful of beer, swishes it around, and carefully dribbles it back into the bottle under the guise of taking another sip. He readjusts his grip on the bottle higher up on the neck and hopes it’ll be enough to hide the pursing of his mouth. He feels a little nauseous from the residual amount he swallows and pointedly doesn’t think about the rising percentage of backwash to beer ratio. He picks at the damp label and thinks about chugging the whole thing just to see what would happen.

As if reacting to his idle thoughts, his stomach lurches and he claps a hand over his mouth. He’d been drunk a few times before he was turned and it had been a gradual effect, not something that slammed into him after not even an entire mouthful of beer. His vision gets hazy with blackspots in his periphery. Eddie feels the tell-tale saliva pool in his mouth and he quickly makes his way to the bathroom. A few disgruntled shouts follow him when he bumps into people, so focused on his goal, but they die away once the other patrons get a look at his young face turning green.

He’s glad of his vampire abilities as he strides into the bathroom, slides to his knees, and hunches over a toilet in under a second. He gives into the feeling, stops fighting the contraction of his muscles, and he heaves and heaves, only to spit saliva into the bowl. Everything is doubled, and even worse, they're in separate colors: a red and blue toilet next to each other in what he knows is a small stall. Is this a vampire thing? It'd never been this bad the few times he'd passed out as a human. He clenches his eyes at the sensation and his mind drifts to the last time he’d thrown up and was comforted by a kind voice behind him. As much as he’d like your presence again, he doesn’t think the universe would be kind enough to let you stumble on him in the men’s bathroom of a dive bar. 

His stomach stills and he sits to the side, panting into his arm as he wipes his mouth and waits for the walls to stop warping. That feeling of wrongness is so strong. He isn’t supposed to be here. Something is going on. Something is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

He can't take it anymore. He’ll find Max and demand an answer. Eddie swallows thickly and goes back out to the bar to get his jacket and leave. When he pulls out his wallet to give the bartender a tip your calling card falls from the bill fold onto the bartop. The thick cardstock makes a sound like a bell to his ears over the murmur of the patrons and the jukebox music. Iridescent ink flashes in neon lights and here is a much more appealing option. 

He’d thought of showing up at your house a couple of times before now, but he could never find a valid reason. What was he supposed to say, that he just wanted to see you again? How would that make him look? Now with this extreme bodily reaction to the wrongness gnawing at him, he had a good enough reason. He hoped you wouldn’t wave his concerns away like Max had. 

Eddie doesn’t know what he expected your home to look like. He realizes, as he double checks that the street number by the front door matches the address printed on your card, that he’d built up something from a gothic novel based on the impression of your personality from one meeting. There isn’t any dramatic architecture or even a gargoyle on the corner guarding the household. It looks like a normal townhouse in a row of them in a normal neighborhood closer to the center of the city.

Pinching the card between two fingers, he approaches the door and knocks. He sees a doorbell a second later and feels queasy again. Should he have rung that instead? Would anyone be close enough to hear his knock? Vampires have good hearing, but maybe you’re in a room with good sound proofing and if he has to try again, should he use the doorbell? He’s about to reach out and ring the doorbell when the door opens.

It’s not you. 

A male vampire with hazel eyes and neatly cropped dark hair opens the door. Eddie can tell the suit he’s wearing was made by a skilled tailor; he’s gotten used to seeing them considering they make up the majority of Max’s wardrobe, but this man’s style is understated compared to his maker’s. 

“Can I help you?” The man asks, and Eddie hesitantly holds out your card. He doesn’t want to let it go, but it might be his only way of entry. 

“I met her- uh, Ms. Bella? A little while ago, and she said if I needed help, I could call on her,” He’s losing steam, his confidence deflating the more this seems to not be as cut and dry as finding you and getting your help, so he finishes his thought quickly. “I need help.”

The man takes your card and looks from it to Eddie, taking in his appearance. It makes him nervous when he tucks your card into a pocket instead of giving it back. It’s become a thing of comfort, providing the possibility of meeting you again, but before he can do something stupid like asking for it back, the man turns into the entryway and motions Eddie to follow him.

“Come in. I’ll let her know you’re here.” 

The man waits for Eddie to step past him before closing the front door and ushering him into a front room. There’s a large bay window covered with gauzy gray curtains to obscure the view from the street. A fireplace takes up one wall, and bookcases line the others, filled with knickknacks and books. The color palette of the room could only be described as "neutral" with creams and grays accenting the dark brown wood of the mantle and bookcases. A couch and chairs are centered in the room, making it seem like a place to meet and talk but not lounge and stay. It’s a little sparse, but normal. Just like everything else. He takes stiff steps around the room.

He can hear footsteps overhead, and then more coming towards the room, and a thrill goes through him. Is it you on your way to him? Are you excited? Did you want to see him again? Or is his sudden appearance interrupting your plans and you’d toss him out as soon as it was polite to do so? Eddie forces himself to check out the titles on the closest bookshelf. He’s found three of what his mother calls “bodice rippers” and two Edwardian philosophy books when the footsteps stop behind him in the entryway. He picks at the skin around his thumbnail and only turns around when he hears your voice. 

“Eddie. How lovely to see you, darling.” You say with a smile. 

Darling. It’s a pet name that could mean nothing, just a habit you’ve picked up along the way through the decades, but it soothes him. He’s finally found something that quiets that worry, and it’s you. He smiles back and comes over to you, taking your offered hand. 

You're the most colorful thing in the room. 

You’re wearing a silky teal robe cinched at the waist. It gaps a little at the neckline, showing a hint of lace and his stomach drops. He has interrupted you getting ready for the night. Or did you already return and have plans at home? Is there someone else waiting for you upstairs? 

He’s so twisted up that he can’t even focus when you lean up to kiss his cheek and lead him, his hand still in yours, to the couch. You sit him down and take a seat beside him. His thigh and knee presses against yours and he swallows. 

“Now what’s the matter?” You ask, and lift a hand to swipe his hair from his forehead to get a look at his whole face. Your eyebrows pinch together. “John said that you came seeking help, and I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you don’t look well.”

Your hand on his forehead and the relief that it brings makes him feel childish. Eddie straightens his spine and shoulders. He can do this. 

“Something’s wrong. I’ve had this feeling all night, it got worse when Max left for work, but then I was at this bar and I almost passed out; it was so bad. I didn’t know what to do, but then I remembered what you said, and-and came here.” He finishes lamely.

He doesn’t want to see what your reaction is, afraid it’d be something like pity or annoyance, so he focuses on the sleeve of your dressing gown and how finely stitched the embroidery was. He’d never given details on clothing like that any attention before, but now he can see the tiny twists of thread and how deliberately they were stitched into the fabric. 

“I see,” You say slowly. “Have you tried calling him?”

“I-I- No.” He says and fights the embarrassment creeping up the back of his neck. “I wasn’t in my right mind, I guess. I just came here.”

“I’m glad you did.” You say, touching him again on the arm. He looks into your eyes and sees nothing but concern. “I said I would help you and I meant it. Let’s start with calling him. Do you have his number?”

You stand and go to a telephone on a side table next to the window that he hadn’t noticed. He pats his pockets and fishes a wrinkled business card out. Max was always stuffing the stupid things in the weirdest places. “You never know when you’ll have the chance to advertise my business prowess, kid.”

He reads off the numbers, first for Max’s office and then his cell phone. There’s no answer from either numbers and Eddie’s about to suggest sending a fax- the last number listed on the card- when you sigh and roll a shoulder in one of the most elegant shrugs he’s seen someone do.

“We’ll go pay him a visit then, if he’s too busy to answer his phone. I’ll just go get dressed.” You say and leave the room. 

He's following behind you and just catches himself on the doorjamb when his muscles get the message from his brain to stop. The urge to reach out to bring you back is so strong his fingertips tingle with it. He wants to pull you to him. To undo the belt at your waist and see if the clothes you have on under it hug your body in the same way your robe does. It must; everything must want to hug your body the way he wants to.

When you disappear around a corner he’s lost again. He hesitates in the doorway. Should he go back into the room to wait for you, or stay in the entryway? If he stayed in the entryway you wouldn’t need to go into an unnecessary room, but what if you expect him to go back into the room? He sighs and fidgets with the cuffs of his sleeves. He lets his indecision decide for him and stands awkwardly in the doorway.

You come back down in simple clothes: jeans and a black sweater with a purse tucked under your arm. He’s so distracted by the sight of your beat up sneakers that he doesn’t notice John joining them until he asks for an address. Eddie finally looks away from you to give it and you’re off, packing into one of the small cars parked on the street out front.

The grouping of beige buildings looks like any other business park in the country. Nothing seems out of place until they come to Max’s office building and see the trail of bloody footprints walking away. 

“Well, that doesn’t mean much, considering who is involved. He might have had an eventful night.” John says, crouching down to run a finger through a footprint. “It’s just starting to dry.” 

It’s worse the further they go inside. More and more blood and viscera everywhere. Not just on the floor, but on every surface. Sliding down the walls, dripping from the ceiling, splattered over the shattered remains of cubicles and computers. 

He looks in the office with Max’s name plate but there’s nothing inside. For a scene of such destruction it’s eerily quiet. 

“Oh, Max.” You sigh, taking a few steps into another office.

“What happened?” Eddie asks from the doorway.

He doesn’t recognize the name on the door but the room looks like a bomb went off inside. A blood bomb. It’s completely obscuring the windows, making the red color stand out against the rest of the drab office interior.

He carefully enters the office and looks around. On the back of a chair is a suit jacket that seems to have missed the majority of the mess with the chair blocking it. Eddie still has to check the tag to see his maker’s preferred designer’s name. Inside the breast pocket is Max’s cell phone with a number of missed calls and unread texts.

You bend down and pick up a wooden name plate. He doubts they’ll ever be able to get the blood out of all the grooves. 

“Max has been killed. I’m sorry, Eddie.” You say, turning towards him.

Killed? What did that mean for a vampire? He looks around the blood-soaked office again. There was too much even for a sloppy feeding. Does that mean that a vampire born from violence has no other end but more violence?

“I found a survivor.” John says, dragging a grumbling vampire behind him. You and Eddie join them in the larger office space. 

“Man, watch it. This sweater vest is new.” The vampire says. There’s several blood stains already darkening the vest.

“Tell us what happened.” John orders.

“What, not going to introduce yourself or anything? I am the boss here now, you know.” 

John shakes him, once.

“Fine, fine.” He huffs and spills his proverbial guts. Telling them of Max’s plan to take over the company and get revenge on his college nemesis. 

Eddie can feel you and John glancing at him, trying to gauge his reaction, but he keeps his eyes firmly on a chunk of what must've been a vampire that's now slowly sliding down a wall. 

No wonder Max hadn't needed to feed as much when he'd come back to the apartment: he'd been feeding on his coworkers before turning them. Eddie had no idea Max was going to such lengths to back Evan into a corner. 

As the story continues, Eddie switches to watching you and John, his eyes bouncing back and forth between them. John’s face gets grimmer and grimmer while you seem to inflate as the tale comes to an end. When the vampire, Andrew as he introduced himself, finally stops you let out a gusty sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. 

“That idiot.” You hiss. Annoyance is rolling off you in waves and in a movement so quick, Eddie wouldn’t have been able to catch it if he wasn’t a vampire, you take Andrew’s head in your hands and rip it from his shoulders. There’s a trickle of blood from the wound, but nothing like the explosion that happened in the office behind them. 

Andrew’s head is still protesting, but you punt it away with a solid kick. The body falls limply to the floor with a wet ‘plap’ from the already soaked carpet.

“That reckless idiot.” You repeat, surveying the office floor again. 

Eddie doesn’t know what to say or do. Maybe he’s in shock. That always happens to people in the movies after traumatic events. Can a vampire go into shock?

“Call Liam. Accept whatever his fees are. We need his skills for this big of a mess. Do a sweep of the rest of the building and take care of any other messes Max made. Eddie will be his only surviving progeny.” You say, turning back around and focusing on John. He nods, already on his cell phone. 

Things move quickly after that. You rummage through Max’s office until you find his keys and tell John you’re taking Eddie home to gather his things. 

“If it’s alright with you, you’ll stay with us until we can figure out the next step for you, Eddie. Is that okay?”

“Yea, that’s fine. Thanks.” He says.

“I’m glad. It isn’t good for you to be alone right now. We just need to find Max’s phone before we can leave.”

“I have it.” Eddie says, finally feeling the weight of the device he hasn’t put down in the confusion of everything.

“Wonderful. We can go then. I’ll see you at home, John.” You call out and sweep Eddie from the office and into the garage. 

“Can I drive? I-I need to do something.” Eddie asks. There’s so much going on that he doesn’t know what to do, but driving to Max’s apartment? He can do that.

You hand over the keys and he doesn’t know if it's good or bad that you don’t say anything and just slip into the passenger seat. At least he’s able to focus on the familiar task of driving.

There are few things that Eddie feels the need to pack up and take with him. Besides the clothes he actually likes, he takes his well-worn copies of Maughan’s Of Human Bondage and Shelly’s Frankenstein that he’d spent hours reading and annotating as part of what would be his last college course. It all fits into his battered backpack and he pretends he doesn’t see your disapproving frown when he tells you he’s ready to leave.

This time he doesn’t protest when you go to the driver’s side and just concentrates on shoving his backpack on the floor between his feet. The night is dark around them, but he can still see the bright red painting the office windows on the back of his eyelids when he closes them. 

“What do you want to do now, Eddie?” You ask him. He looks at you, taking in the roundness of your face and how the streetlights and shadows play over your nose, cheeks, and chin as you drive through the city. “It’s up to you.”

The last major decision he had a say in was what classes he wanted to take in the upcoming semester. The one he never got to attend since Max bumped into his life and turned him, changing everything.

“I don’t know,” He says honestly. “I like being a vampire, but maybe not the kind Max wanted to be.” 

You nod. “That’s as good a place to start as any. You won’t be alone in this, darling.” 

He’s heard a lot of good intentioned promises over his short lifetime, but he wants to believe in this one. He wants to believe in you.

The rest of the night is a blur. You usher him back into your townhouse and press a glass of warmed blood into his hands as you take his backpack from him. You lead him upstairs and into a guest room.

With a brush of your hand on his cheek and a reminder to rinse out the glass when he's done or else any blood left behind would congeal, you leave him to his rest.

Eddie is so grateful for your comforting presence in the house and his full belly, that when his head hits the pillow it's blissfully empty of thoughts.

Days pass and Eddie still has no idea what to do. 

You make sure his needs are taken care of. He’s never kept hungry for long, and he’s allowed free reign of the house, but he doesn’t know what to do. At least with Max there had been some kind of schedule –Max's– for him to follow. There’s an obvious ebb and flow of activity that follows some sort of pattern, but he doesn’t know where he can fit into it. Instead he finds nooks and crannies to keep himself out of the way and buries his nose in the familiar plots of his books. At least those won’t change suddenly. 

He found a comfortable window seat at the back of the house tonight and while he has a book in his hands, he isn’t reading it. He’s staring at the words on the pages, at the small spots missing in the letters where the ink had lifted. He’s rubbing his thumb over the bottom of the page where he’s holding it open, taking in the rough texture of the paper used in the mass market paperback edition. He can’t seem to focus on the story tonight, so he listens to the house around him instead. 

People, both vampire and human, come and go at all hours. There’s constant movement between the three floors, in the areas he explored and the ones he hasn’t had the courage to enter yet. He’s found several offices and guest rooms, a library sprawling between two rooms, and what looks like a small ballroom that takes up most of the back of the first floor.

Eddie’s listening to the rhythm of a back and forth conversation in what he thinks are your private rooms, on the right side of the third floor, when John finds him. 

“Do you have any plans tonight, Eddie?” He asks. Eddie’s learned that John prefers to skip the usual small talk and he’s taken a liking to the direct way of talking. He admires the way John gets to the point and doesn’t dance around what he really wants to say.

“I don’t. What’s up?” He says, closing his book and setting it into a small recessed shelf next to the window.

“Come with me.” John says and then starts off in the direction of the front door. 

During the car ride into the city John hands Eddie a small notebook and indicates he opens it to a page with a bent corner. 

“We could’ve done this at the house, but I thought you’d like to get out and stretch your legs.” John says, giving Eddie a look before turning back to the road. 

Eddie doesn’t exactly duck his head, but he does look down at the notebook. It reads like a list of errands. Mostly normal stuff, if you didn’t know it was for a household of vampires: Pick up drycleaning (they know how to get even the stubborn dried blood stains out), contact grocer about the recent rise in food costs (blood and food), and checking in with the seamstress about an outfit that’s behind schedule.

"Do you really need my help with this?” Eddie asks.

"I can do this myself, certainly, but you need to learn. You also need established vampire company to regain your balance after Max's final death." He says, watching the traffic as they pull onto a street and smoothly parks the car.

"Regain my balance?"

"Yes. The bond between a fledgling and maker is a strong and important one. Usually when that bond breaks both vampires are old enough to withstand it and there are minimal effects. But you're young, and it could be detrimental if left unattended." John says and gets out of the car.

"Is that why I want to be with her all the time?" It’s the first thought that comes to mind with this new information, and it’s a small hope that John didn’t hear him say it out loud. There's still traces of sunlight in the dimming sky and the cool air is refreshing as it surrounds him. Eddie is a little surprised he missed the feeling.

"It could be part of it. But Bella is alluring all on her own, isn't she?" John says and Eddie is thankful he didn’t laugh at him or mock him like Max would’ve.

"What am I, a baby duck? Imprinting on the first vampire after I wake up?" Eddie mumbles as he follows John down the sidewalk. There aren't many people out right now: it's late in the day for shoppers and too early for the night crowd. John laughs and it’s a nice sound.

"You certainly fit the bill," John says. He holds open a door and ruffles Eddie's hair as he goes by, tugging on the cowlick at the base of his neck that swirls the hair there into a little point reminiscent of a duck's tail. "Little Duck."

Pet names are an easy affection handed out by the majority of the household, Eddie's discovered. He's not used to it, to others wanting to bestow them on him, but he has gotten used to vetoing the more absurd or reaching ones. The names are given freely and often, but he has noticed that you don't call anyone else darling but him. 

"Nope. Not that one." He says. He eyes John a little as they walk through the back end of a restaurant and approach what looks like an office door. He doesn’t know if he could trust this camaraderie between vampires. He’d never felt anything like friendship with Max. 

John shrugs, still smiling. "Fair enough."

A person comes out of the office and stops short when they see them. They look at their watch and sigh. 

“I’m so sorry, John. We’re running behind on schedule. Daniels’ is unloading the last of our shipment, but I’ll send him over when he’s finished. You know how he likes to inspect every last bag. Please, wait in my office.” They say before rushing off. 

Eddie can hear the noise of a restaurant beyond the walls: the quiet conversation of diners and the rapid back and forth of the kitchen staff. The silence in the office is companionable and he finds John's steady presence comforting; it quiets his nerves. Maybe there's something to the theory of keeping vampire company as a support system when you’re newly made. 

"Have you been with Bella long?" He asks. 

"Are you still thinking of time in a human way? How long has it been since you were turned?" 

"Uh…" Eddie has to think back and was a little stunned at the answer. "Almost a year."

John nods. "I've been in Bella's household for a few decades now. We were lovers for a time, but we work better together as friends." 

"And you're fine working for her like this?"

"There’s never a dull day with her."

The conversation ends when the door is opened and closed by another man coming in with a clipboard in hand. He’s focusing on the papers on the clipboard and looks casual in a denim jacket over a button up with the top button left undone. The dark dark on his head is as neatly styled as his mustache.

The opening of the door lets a waft of hot hair smelling of cooking food in. Eddie remembers it smelling good, but now it was just a strong, unpleasant smell. He inhales again, and gets a good whiff of the man’s cologne.

“How do you stand the smell?”

John doesn't look at him, but says in a easy way: “You don't have to breathe.”

Oh, right. Eddie’s glad John doesn't make a big deal out of his lack of vampire common sense. Max would've had a field day. He never missed an opportunity to point out when Eddie asked him dumb questions.

“Right.” Eddie says, and stops breathing. It's better, even though the smell lingers.

“Good to see you, John. You didn’t have to come track me down, you know; I’ve got your shipment for this month in the truck.” The man says.

“There’s nothing wrong with meeting face to face for business is there? Everyone is in such a hurry these days.”

“You know I don’t mind a little face time with a handsome fella like yourself,” The man finally looks up from his clipboard to wink at John. His eyebrows hike up when he sees Eddie standing next to him. “Now who’s this young buck?”

“This is Eddie. He’s a new member of the household,” John motions between them as he makes the introductions. “This is Jack Daniels, a senior partner at Statesman Distillery.”

Jack nods and raises his hand to his forehead in a gesture that Eddie’d seen in western movies.

A senior partner? He doesn’t look like one with his casual style. “The liquor company?”

“One and the same. We cater to all kinds of clientele, even the after hours variety. Money is money and whether the people that give it over are undead or alive, it still makes the world go ‘round.”

“Unfortunately,” John makes a noise of agreement. “Which brings us to business: We’ve noticed an increase in the cost of the last few shipments and we would appreciate an explanation.”

Jack is nodding and tapping the edge of the clipboard against his palm. “I hear ya, John, but it’s just that: business, plain and simple. Costs have gone up across the board to maintain the quality of the product we provide.” His mustache pulls down in an exaggerated frown. “Sourcing has always been an issue, but it’s gotten worse with the rise in recreational drug use.” 

Eddie shifts his weight on his feet and tries to pay attention to the conversation. John said he’d needed to learn, so there was something here he felt he needed to know. The problem was that Eddie had gotten so used to tuning Max’s business babble out over the past year. Would he have paid attention, if he’d known Max wouldn’t be around for much longer? He doubts it.

Another business card is thrust under his nose and Eddie jerks back before he gets a papercut.

“Nice to meet you,” Jack gives him a wink when he takes it. “Be sure to give Bella my regards.”

John is already holding the door open for them when Eddie looks to him. This time he remembers to stop breathing as he goes back through the restaurant. When they’re back outside he takes a deep lungful to clear out his senses and he notices the perfectly normal looking delivery truck tucked into the alley next to the building, the Statesman logo shining in gold on a black background. There’s nothing to hint at the blood stored next to the liquor in the back, all of it on the way to thirsty customers.

“Eddie.” John calls him from the car. 

“The… seamstress is next, right?” Eddie says in an attempt to show he was paying attention. 

John nods and the drive across town is quiet except for the disgruntled noises he makes at the other drivers. They make a stop at the dry cleaners where Eddie jumps out to collect the armful of clothes and linens for the house. He hangs them from the handle behind the driver’s seat and they’re off again. 

The dry cleaning bags rustle from the backseat, there’s low music playing from the radio, and for the first time in a long time, Eddie feels normal. He’s just like everyone else in the multitude of cars around them: running errands and thinking about what to do with the rest of their day. There’s no ulterior vampire motive at play. Nothing that would single him out as ‘other’ if anyone took a closer look at him. Max reveled in the bloody violence of the vampire lifestyle, but it seems like you and your household choose something different. A life despite being a vampire? No, not despite it, maybe living with it would be the better description.

Eddie doesn’t know if he can pin it down yet, but he knows it makes him feel optimistic for the first time since he woke up as a vampire. 

A jaunty ringtone brings his focus back into the car and Eddie admires the smooth way John takes out his cell phone from a pocket while keeping a steady hand on the wheel. Except his hand isn’t on the wheel and Eddie’s a little embarrassed that he didn’t notice that the car was stopped and parked if not turned off yet. How long had he been wool gathering? 

At least he notices when John’s conversation pauses and he leans over to Eddie. 

“I’ll need to take this. Would you mind going in alone? All you have to do is say you’re picking up an order and tell them for who. There shouldn’t be any problems.

Eddie nods and when John’s attention goes back to the call he gets out of the car and stretches. He can do this. The sidewalk is packed with people and Eddie takes the chance to practice his movements. It’s more difficult than he’d thought, blending in amongst humans, when he can zip through the world with ease. The rhythm of breathing and paying attention to his foot placement helps. Inhale, heel, exhale, toe. Again and again until he’s in front of the seamstress’ storefront with a hand on the doorknob.

The entire room is packed with bolts of fabric. Rows and rows of them, broken up by mannequins on display and a few tables topped with some ready to wear options. The air is stale from being blocked at every turn by more fabric. Before, he might’ve called it cozy and a good fit for a seamstress shop, but now he feels almost trapped in the small space. The only empty counter top is situated near the back with a computer on the corner and a brass bell in the middle. A quick glance around assures him no one else is in the front so he rings the bell and waits. 

The fabric also muffles the noises from the surrounding shops and any upstairs areas, but it only takes a few minutes for him to hear shuffling from the back doorway. The door opens and in sweeps a woman carrying a fancy garment bag over her shoulder. She’s been called ‘seamstress’ but this woman didn’t match the mental image Eddie's been building from the title and the shop. He imagined a woman in clothing from an earlier time period maybe, or at least something with an insane amount of embroidery and craftsmanship to show off her skills.

She’s short, wearing plain clothes of a loose top and pants. Her shaved head makes her glasses look even bigger on her face. A pincushion is strapped around the wrist of the arm that’s holding the bag against her body, the pinheads catching on the light with the minute movement of her chest as she breathes. They blink at each other owlishly.

“I’m here to pick up an order, for Ms. Bella.” He says. She frowns and slings the bag over the counter. 

“I told her man John it’d be done by the time we closed, and yet here you are not even an hour after sundown.” She says in an annoyed tone. Then she rolls her eyes and turns to the backroom. “I suppose it’s a good thing I’m a wizard with a needle.”

Another garment bag is thrown onto the counter and she unzips it to show a dress of silky fabric. Here’s the dense, pattern heavy work he was expecting to see on the seamstress herself. Dotted on the collar in what he thinks is a floral pattern, the tiny beads are so small and so dense that he’s surprised her human eyesight was capable of the detail. He touches a flower and jerks his hand back when a stinging spark leaps from a bead to his finger.

She smirks at him and gives him the receipt. “Careful. The spells woven with that beadwork don’t like close inspection once they’re set. I’ve billed the usual account, so this order is officially complete.” She makes a little hooray motion with her hands and zips the garment bag closed with a sense of finality. 

He says goodbye and drapes the heavy bag over his shoulder as he leaves, wondering what you need a dress with spells on it for.

John is still on the phone so Eddie stays quiet on the return to the townhouse, his contemplative mood returning as he's lulled by the passing streetlights.

You're waiting for them when they come in, sprawling out on the stairs in a pair of sweats. It's the most dressed down he's seen you so far, he thinks as you look up from your phone and hop down to greet them. 

“How was your night out, fellas?” You ask.

“Productive,” John says, and bends down to kiss your cheek. He takes he dry cleaning with him as he leaves. “I've got to handle some last minute arrangements for the meetings next week. Ciao, Bella.”

You look after him fondly before turning to Eddie and making grabby hands for the garment bag. 

He holds it up for you to open and when you sigh in appreciation the sound goes right to his gut. Your hands smooth over the fabric and it pushes the bag back into Eddie's chest. It's so faint, but he can feel the ghost of your touch and he's never wished to be a piece of clothing more in his life with the way you're looking at the dress right now. 

“Oh, it's perfect. I knew it would be. She has a real magic touch, you know.” You say. 

With quick movements the bag is zipped up again and hung on the railing behind you. You bend down to straighten the bottom of the bag so it doesn't wrinkle up. He looks at your fingers instead of the way the pants stretch over your ass and doesn't feel guilty at all when you smile at him. 

“I’ll be attending a charity gala at the Austen Art Museum this weekend. If you don't have any plans, would you like to join me, Eddie?”

“It's a date.��� He says before he knows what he's saying.

He doesn't blush like before, with blood rushing up his neck, into his cheeks, and spreading to the tips of his ears. The emotions are still there though: the shock of his own daring, wanting to run from the room and never make eye contact again. 

But when you beam at him with twinkling eyes, with your entire face crinkling up in delight, he can feel his face warm up just the slightest and it feels like when he used to turn his face towards the sun on a clear winter day.

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

Hey, Writer Anon here 👋

We need some excitement around here! Part deux of sick/maybe pregnant gf and Evan coming right up. Enjooooy my sweet, horny she-devils 😈❤️

"Mmm you smell good" Evan's face is buried in my neck. We are laying sideways on the mattress. He's holding both my arms above my head with one huge hand. His long fingers are able to wrap around both my dainty wrists at the same time. Holding them secure. His pelvis is pining mine to the bed. I can feel the fluctuation of his erection as he kisses me, breathes me in, pushes himself between my legs until I groan. That feels the best for me. That pressure of his weight on my hips, the hardness of him hitting me in the right place.

Evan continues to kiss my neck as he gently runs his free hand from my thigh up the length of my torso. I let out a whiny moan as he passes by my pelvis without so much as a detour and he chuckles to himself. "Your tits look so big in this corset top" he says devilishly as his hand reaches my breasts. He gives it a little squeeze.

"Oh, ow!" I yelp

Evan goes still and stops sucking on the skin beneath my clavicle. Leaving a red spot behind. He quickly releases his grasp on my breast. "You ok, babe?"

"Uh, yea. That's really strange. My boobs never hurt like that" I start trying to adjust my lingerie as if it's the culprit.

"Allow me" Evan wiggles his eyebrows at me and starts unclasping the hooks running down the front of my corset. What was I thinking when I bought this? I grumble silently to myself. "We don't need this on anyway." After what feels like an eternity, my swollen breasts are finally free from this monstrosity that I paid an arm and a leg for at Lover's Lane. Wait, swollen? That's what it feels like anyway.

My thoughts are broken by an electric shock of pleasure as Evan swipes his tongue over my nipple. I suck in air through my teeth. I feel him hesitate to continue, wondering if that was a good or bad reaction. I say nothing so he goes in for the kill. He runs his tongue up the underside of my left breast and then wraps his lips around my nipples and gently sucks. He has done this to me more times than I can count. A surefire way to get me ready for him, but this time I gasp and gently take his face in my hands and pull him away. His slick spit on my nipple is not helping as the air hits it. The cold feels like pin pricks.

"I'm so sorry, Evan" I say as I let go of his cheeks. "I don't know what's going on" I cover my face with both of my hands.

"Hey, sweetie it's ok." His words are soft and kind. He brushes my hair away from my forehead and kisses it. "Let's try something else ok?" I shake my head in agreement as I allow him to pull my hands away from my face. He starts leaving a trail of kisses down my torso. When he reaches my core he presses his mouth to my mound through my panties. I groan so loud that he replies with a low moan of his own. My panties are quickly slid down my legs and slung over his shoulder. I feel them brush my leg as they take their final resting place on the floor. Evan teases me with his hot breath and then licks at my clit with the lightest, softest swipe of his tongue. It almost sends me. Already? "Oh, God again!" I cry. He repeats that soft swipe against my clit. "more!faster!please!" The string of pleads rambling out of me. Evan proceeds to make his tongue gently dance over my clit and the surrounding bundle of nerves. My toes curl as loud moans escape from me. I can't hold it back. I don't want to. I let out a whimper that Evan recognizes as me about to cum. So, he stops.

"No!" I cry out

"You want it?" A swipe of his tongue

"Please! Evan..."

"Please, what?" Swipe

"Please lick me"

"And?" Swipe, swipe

"Make me cum, daddy!" I snuck the killer into my bedroom.

With a loud groan he starts the dance of his tongue again. It doesn't take me very long. His edging ultimately unraveling me.

The animalistic grunts coming from me are almost comical as I squirt. I hear him swallow with a gulp. I know all this is happening, yet it feels like my soul has left my body and I'm watching it happen from above.

"Shit, babe. I've never seen you cum so hard" I can tell he feels proud of himself. I'm too spent to talk. I just lay there and let out a lazy chuckle.

"Mm you taste fruity today" Evan says as he walks into my bathroom to clean his face and beard.

I go still as his words echo in my ears "Well, fuck." I whisper to myself.

-----

I wear a hole in the white ceramic tile as I pace back and forth across my bathroom floor. Why does this take so fucking long? I keep sneaking a peek at the slender plastic stick on my bathroom counter resting on a guest paper towel that I thought was so welcoming when I renovated my bathroom last year. It doesn't seem as welcoming with splashes of urine on it. None of that matters, as I have a gut feeling that material things are going to be significantly less important soon.

The three dashes dancing across the tiny screen are taunting me. Each one says it will never stop. "No answer for you!" I say out loud in my best 'Soup Nazi' impersonation. I giggle to myself until I see the dashes stop and words appear. My giggle turns into a gasp. I can't bring myself to look at it. I know the word 'pregnant' is there no matter what, but what I need in my soul more than anything right now is to know if the word 'not' is above it. I have a flashback to when I was in high school and had a pregnancy scare. I almost had a cardiac event when I saw the word pregnant before my dumb ass turned the stick upright and I saw that tiny three letter word above it, freeing me of all my fears. Somehow, I think this time it's different.

With a swift flick of my wrist, I have the stick in my grasp. I close my eyes and flip the stick fully facing me. "just do it you crazy lady" I say out loud.

My eyes pop open.

(to be continued. Heh😈😈)

we have a cliffhanger?!

[r1ddlessy]

pretty when you cry with Klitz

warnings: unprotected sex/creampie (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), dacryphilia, dom klitz

a/n: merry Christmas and happy last day of Hannukah, my gift is filthy but i hope you enjoy!

"you're so wet for me already bunny, it's gonna make it so much easier to stretch you out." Klitz gently pried your thighs apart, smiling at your sweet whimper. "these are soaked through princess, let me take them off." you complied happily, letting Klitz's hands tug your panties down your legs and tossing them aside. he kissed his way back up your legs before he pulled away to admire you, completely bared for him.

"Klitzy?" you whispered softly.

"yes, bunny?"

"is it gonna hurt?" Klitz shook his head firmly.

"i'll be super careful, princess and if it ever does hurt, tell me ok?"

"i will, baby." you smiled up at him and bit your lip in anticipation as the zipper on his jeans travelled down. your eyes traced the outline of his cock hungrily as it strained against the fabric of his boxers.

"eyes are up here, princess." he teased with a raised eyebrow. your retort melted on your tongue as his digit slid down your weeping slit. "you look so beautiful for me, baby." his finger began pumping into you deftly, filling you up with its thickness as you clenched around it. his thumb quickly found your clit and traced it in circles. your hand reached out to squeeze his forearm as your eyes squeezed shut from the intensity of the feeling. "you're doing so well for me, princess."

his hand stilled for a moment as your cum coated his fingers. “good girl. can you take more fingers princess?”

“yes Klitzy, please?” you panted out, hungry for more. Klitz indulged you and slowly added a second finger to further stretch you out before his actions resumed. his fingers deftly pumped into you at a steady rhythm whilst his thumb resumed it's electrifying circles round your clit. Klitz murmured praises as you clenched tightly around his fingers.

“are you gonna cum again for me, sweet girl? one last time, before I can really fill you up.” you nodded fervently, pawing at his clothed cock hungrily before he lightly shoved your hand away with a cruel laugh. “patience, princess." you whined at his cruelty but ultimately forgot about as the haze of your oncoming orgasm flooded your brain. "cum for me, baby." his order flipped a switch in your nerves, predisposed to follow his command. once more you coated his fingers, although this time Klitz pulled them out to suck them clean as you watched needily.

"i want your cock, please baby?" your tone betrayed your desperation but Klitz merely kissed you softly in response. his groan escaped into your kiss when your hand reached out to feel the heaviness of his cock. he pulled away to admire the lustful haze in your eyes then decided to mercifully give you what you so desperately craved. his cock was flushed red and weeping precum at the tip once he finally released it. your legs spread, an invitation for him to fill you up.

"i'm gonna go slow, princess." he warned you as he aligned himself at your entrance. you nodded quickly and bit your lip as he slowly slid in, as promised. the stretch provided a delicious burn at first before gradually subsiding.

"Klitz!" you whimpered and he stilled his movements immediately.

"are you ok, baby?" he checked concerned and you nodded as your eyes stung.

"it feels so fucking good." Klitz's concerned look melted into a ravenous one as he watched your eyes suddenly rim with tears.

"are you gonna cry for me, sweet girl?" you shook your head shyly but as Klitz's hips grew closer to yours it was harder to hold back. "c'mon, baby." his thumb came to rest on your cheek, ready to brush away the tears. "i wanna see how pretty you look while you cry." his encouragement pushed you over the edge as he finally bottomed out in you. your tears of overwhelming joy in pleasure streamed down your face and Klitz watched transfixed. with every thrust he brought you closer to the edge, making the tears flow freely.

"i'm close, baby." he warned you as his motions stuttered for a moment, slowly losing the previous control. you nodded encouragingly.

"want you to fill me up, Klitzy." your earnest eyes looked up at him through water-logged lashes and the sight of it was enough to flip the final trigger in Klitz before his seed coated your walls. his warmth inside you made you feel euphoric and you closed your eyes for a moment. once Klitz recovered he kissed the dried tears on your cheeks and slowly slid out of you, though you whined at the loss.

"i've gotta clean you up princess. then we're gonna watch some movies, ok?" you nodded in reluctant agreement. "we can watch Love Actually?" he suggested, and your mood instantly lifted. he smiled at the way your face perked up. as he gently wiped you clean of himself, he murmured praises.

"you did so good for me, princess. i know that was a lot, but you took it so well." you played with his hair as he worked.

"you're the best present i could ever ask for." he placed a kiss on your nose and you giggled.

"well merry Christmas forever then Klitzy, because i'm always gonna be here."

[aces-and-angels]

final thoughts on the ilw finale: amalia edition (ch 23 spoilers below) @itlivesproject

In my humble opinion, Amalia x MC’s route is the most deserving of a Blood ending. No offense to the other LIs, but Ro only knew y’all for a month and you want them to give up being an all powerful entity??? (jk you’re still valid if you ended up going blood route w/ your respective LI lol) 

I had to remove my personal preference of having Rowan be half human/half Power and fully embrace their ties to humanity. My gameplay for Amalia’s route is unique in comparison to how I approached other LIs. Out of every LI, Amalia’s story was the only one I played with the intention of achieving the Blood route ending. (To prove my point: if I tried to rock with the Power in her route, Ro loses all their nerve lmaoo)

my blood route:

Not too shabby as far as final stats can go 😗

Why was I so determined to get a Blood ending? It all starts with a now very debunked theory I entertained on the genesis of Rowan. The theory being: what if Amalia was the one who brought Ro back from the dead? Dw, the clown makeup has already been applied- BUT it was a very interesting concept for me to explore and ultimately led me to pursue a Blood-centric route. It allowed me to view Rowan as a human who was given a second chance at life by his best friend. The alternative theory I had can be seen here: 

In case anyone is interested in reading the post in its entirety (click here) 

Removing Amalia from the equation, these predictions follow the same thread of yearning for humanity. Oh, mortality. How intriguing you are. I’m gonna pat myself on the back for being half-right about the Power being drawn to human nature. It just wasn’t drawn to our dear Rowan specifically. Admittedly, if my theories were true, it would’ve placed an unfair preference over Amalia’s love story. Coming back from the dead just so you could stay with your best friend for a little longer? Their love story can’t be that epic lol. Plus, we wouldn’t have gotten all that sweet lore. Or meet Mama Loha. Or get to see this scene:

Ghost!Rowan: Though I’ve gotta say, I was pretty surprised about us and Amalia. Or I guess I should say you and Amalia.

Rowan: What do you mean? Weren’t you in love with her, too?

Ghost!Rowan: *shakes his head with a smile* Nope. That was all you.

A small weight Rowan never noticed was there lifts off their chest as they realize with full certainty that while much of who they are was siphoned from the ghost in front of you, the love they have for Amalia is theirs. All theirs.

This exchange between ghost!Ro and... the other Ro (lol) is special when you compare it to the other reactions you can get with the LIs. For instance, here’s Abel’s: 

Ghost!Rowan: And I’ve gotta admit, I’m a little jealous of you and that cute professor guy, He’s a cutie, and a sweetheart. I don’t think I ever could’ve landed someone like him

Rowan: You mean Abel?

Ghost!Rowan: Yeah, that’s the one. Congrats by the way.

Rowan can’t help but laugh.

Rowan: Thanks. 

There’s no sigh of relief seen in Abel’s route (or the others I’m assuming). Not like in Amalia’s. Why? Let’s take a look at a couple of scenes:

Amalia’s romance route really has the potential to have the sweetest or most heart wrenching conclusion 😭😭😭 but let me get back on track before I spiral too much over Lia’s shadow ending 

Out of everyone in the gang, Amalia is the only member who knew Rowan when they were human. This fact brings a point of contention between the pair that is touched on numerous times. The reveal of Ro’s true nature has the most impact on Amalia because not only does she have to come to terms with her best friend’s death, she needs to decide how this ‘new’ Ro will fit into her life. Her faith in Rowan is determinant on a player’s choice to fix her college records/telling her the truth. Refusal to do either pushes her over the edge- and  eliminates any possibility to advance Rowan’s relationship with her. How could they when she sees them as the reason her life’s goals are put on an indefinite pause- a Power creature wearing the mask of her dead best friend. 

While Amalia does come to accept Rowan for who they are now, what draws her back in is their display of humanity, despite not being exactly who she once knew. 

Amalia: “It was you, not the first Rowan, who planned my twenty-first birthday party. It was you who cheered me up after I got my first C on a college test. It was you who sent me care packages and you who was always there for me. And I realized that even if you aren’t the same person I knew in middle and high school, these past few years were real, and... I care about you Rowan. Not just the person whose body you were put into.” 

This kindness would have been overlooked by her had Rowan leaned into their more selfish desires. 

Rowan’s battle with their identity is consistent throughout every possible timeline you can create for them. Their memories with Amalia- are they really theirs? How can they claim to be Amalia’s best friend when they aren’t sure which memories are real THEY WERE LEMON DROPS As someone who is at odds over who they are, finding out that their love is truly theirs is nothing short of special.

Characterizing Rowan as I did, it feels only fitting that they choose to become human at the end. It’s also extremely heartwarming to know that Ro x Amalia get to walk through life together, as they always have, for as long as they can. Their epilogue gives domestic housewife realness and I 👏 am 👏 here 👏 for  👏 it  👏 Cook them meals, Ro lmaoo If that’s not enticing enough- there’s also this- we get to see ILW’s best bone doggo, Moss, one last time. That alone made this finale satisfying as hell. The love story I have woven for these two is tooth-achingly sweet, and the ending is even sweeter. I mean, look at this:

Look me in the eye and tell me this doesn’t scream romance. I dare you.

AND THIS:

Other points:

Lia being a martial instructor for kids- adorable

Lia being adored by said kids- amazing

Ro stopping by to help with training too- okay we get it, they're soulmates

The romantic undertones throughout Amalia's final diamond scene were beautifully written

And the choices you get after the bathtub 😏😏😏- yall ate w that one

This is the slice of life energy these two deserve 😭

Ending the same way as they began, with Lia comforting Ro from a nightmare was a very full-circle moment

In conclusion: I love Amalia de León

Bonus: amalia x ro's dynamic in a nutshell:

[tigereyes45]

"TOS/AOS Ideas" - what are your top three favorite ideas in there?

This is for the WIP Game. (I listed a bunch of WIP fics and answer stuff about them through ask. You can find the post here.)

KC thank you for tagging me, and for asking the first question, but DAMN did you make it a hard one. Okay I'll pick three I actually have some stuff written for. Many are just quickly jotted down ideas right now.

1. Mckirk missing scene (or scene extension) from The Ultimate Computer episode. Where Kirk stops Bones from walking away after their talk. Here's a preview:

“Bones!” Jim calls out as he switfly turns around. He just barely manages to catch the crook of McCoy’s arm before the doctor could move out of reach. He wants to ask so many things. Why does this man have so much faith in him? How can he be so sure when Jim feels so stricken with doubt? His eyes travel down McCoy’s face towards his arm, before landing on McCoy’s hand. 

[Jim is surprised by his actions.]

“Don’t go.” The plea spills out, as his arm starts to shake. Kirk lowers his head, as the shaking spreads from his hand to his arm, and eventually his body.

Kirk tightens his fingers around Bones’ elbow.

McCoy yanks his arm out of Kirk’s grip. Jim’s hand hangs there for a second. What was he expecting? What should he expect? He lets his arm starts to drop, and will his nerves away. Now’s not the time, not the place. 

Before his arm falls back to his side, steady hands grab Kirk’s shoulders. “Jim.” Bones pulls Kirk closer, letting go of his shoulders and wrapping his arms around them instead.

2. Mcspirk Missing Scene that takes place after Whom Gods Destroy where McCoy insists he would be able to tell Jim apart from Captain garth, instead of waiting as Spock intended to do. It's mostly dialogue right now. Here's a preview:

“I could tell you two apart.” 

“Yes, at the end, but let’s not pretend you knew before then, Mr. Spock.” 

“And of course it was your love for the Enterprise that shone through and proved that you were the real you, Jim.” 

“Doctor, had you been in my position, you would not have been able to tell either.” 

“Wanna bet?” 

Kirk laughs. “What are you proposing McCoy?” 

“A game. A simple, honest, game.” 

“A game would hardly be able to replicate the scenario that had occured down in the complex.” 

“Well let him speak Spock. I want to hear where McCoy’s going with this.” 

“The way I see it we can play one of two games.” Spock crosses his arms and raises his signature eyebrow. “Now don’t disapprove before you hear me out, Spock.” 

“I’m waiting, doctor.” 

3. The blue dicks flower joke fic. It's Mcspirk and yes it's all about how wild hyacinths are called Blue dicks in some areas. Preview:

“Why are they called blue dicks when they’re purple?”

Bones trades his smile in favor of a more thoughtful look. “Why do people say Vulcan dicks are green?” He shrugs. “Old wives tales probably.”

Jim holds back a snort.

Spock raises an eyebrow. The laughter Jim held back, catches with his breath. Spock leans forward in his chair, staring pointedly at Bones. There’s an edge to his tone, as Spock firmly announces, “Now that, is inappropriate.”

The captain turns to look at his CMO. Clearly the doctor had the same thought. Their eyes meet, and after a brief, but pregnant silence, the two break out into grins. Boisterous laughter fills the room, shattering all the tension. They cackle like mad men, Bones leaning over, holding himself up on Jim’s shoulder. All the while Jim holds his stomach trying, and failing to slow his amusement.

Bones reign in his laughter just well enough to shoot back, “Why do you think I waited until we were in private?” He turns back, blue eyes practically beaming. The edge of his eyes sparkling with tears. “At least I have sense.” He wags a finger at Spock, “Now Sulu,” the rest of Bones’ words give way to laughter again.

Jim smacks his stomach, as he catches his breath. “One can’t fault him for enjoying his hobbies.”

[softquietsteadylove]

For the special force AU:

how about Thena putting together her Team and meeting Gil the first time? Like a little flashback?

They called her the Goddess of War.

Well, her name really was Thena. It wasn't an amazingly creative nickname. But it certainly was true, given she was known for being particularly vicious, whether it was in the field or the office. But what she lacked in social skill she made up for in sheer ability.

Gil had to admit he was surprised. He had heard about the Goddess of War, and everyone knew she was a top agent--they had to know that if they were applying to be part of her special ops team. But he hadn't heard anyone mention that she was literally the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth.

He thought that would have been mentioned at some point.

Kingo fidgeted beside him in line, "dude, she's so-"

"I don't want to hear anything about being badass."

Gil did his best to contain his laughter as Kingo's spine snapped straight so quickly he could swear he heard it.

Their new boss and team leader looked up at them finally. She had striking features, razor sharp bone structure under startlingly pale skin. Almost as pale as her whiter-than-platinum blonde hair. She leaned against the bullpen desk, "I'm no more or less badass than any of you. That is why I selected you, no?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Each of you excels in something far and beyond anyone else in the agency," she narrated, eyes scanning over them. Gil met her eyes for just a second as she passed over him. Her eyes were green. "That's why I chose you."

"Yes, sir!"

"But I can un-choose you," she tipped her chin up, and Gil was pretty sure it was almost the beginning of a smile. No one else seemed to think so, though, already quaking with nerves. "The next month we'll see if you have what it takes to be directed by me in the field. And ultimately, if I don't think you're a right fit for the team, then back to rank work you go. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir!"

"You two," she eyed him and Kingo, "stay. The rest of you, back to work. You report here in the mornings now. It's oh-nine-hundred and not a second later."

"Yes, sir!"

"Dismissed," she looked down at the desk again, not even watching the rest of the candidates file out of the room.

Gil snuck his eyes towards the door as a few started whispering to themselves before they were even out of the room, like school children. Rookie mistake; she didn't say anything, but the boss lady made two sharp flicks of her pen on the files she had in front of her. They were already out of the running for placement on the team.

She drew herself up again, arms spread out and shoulders sharply angled, giving her a certain amount of presence. It was easy to forget that she was actually pretty normal statured as far as women went. If anything, she was a little skinny for being such a skilled fighter.

"You," she pointed at Kingo with her pen. "Sharp shot."

Kingo had both the best aim and the best actual shot record in the agency. "Yes, Boss?"

Gil nearly flinched, wondering what the sharp edged woman would have to say to the casual way of addressing her. They were a little higher ranked than some of the other agents she was considering, but certainly they weren't exempt from addressing her properly.

She raised a brow at him.

Kingo cleared his throat, "Boss...lady?...ma'am?"

"Hm," she let out singularly, but Kingo didn't get the little pen mark of doom. "You're...chatty, so I hear."

"Is that really in my file?" he couldn't resist muttering to himself.

"Yes." It obviously wasn't. "And I would like to use that to my advantage."

Gil watched the exchange cautiously. She was testing them both, that much was clear. He just wasn't sure how she was assessing them--and for what.

"How so?"

"I want...gossip."

"You?"

"I want things that aren't in any file," she clarified, keeping her eyes on Kingo. "It doesn't have to be anything sordid, but I do hope that if there's anything about any of your fellow candidates you feel I should know..."

Kingo stared right back at her. It could be a test of his loyalty, to see how easily he was turned on his own with so much as an order. But then again, it could be a test of how well he took orders. It could just be a test of if he lied on his file, for all they knew.

"Well?" she drawled.

Kingo straightened his shoulders. "Nothing worth reporting, I'd say. A friendly rivalry or two, but nothing that would distract them in the field. One is sorting out the tail end of a divorce, but he's a good father, so he hasn't let it affect his work. One of them does smoke, but I've never seen her ask for a smoke break, and she obviously still passed the fitness test."

Everything as promised; nothing worth reporting. It was both things that Thena would want to know as a leader but also the immediate promise that they wouldn't impact the team's work. They were nonstarters, as Kingo was telling her. He had both protected his fellow agents' personal affairs and reported honestly to his superior.

Again, Gil saw just this faint twitch at the corner of her - amazing - lips. He could swear it was a smile (of sorts).

"Very good," she nodded, taking the information for what it was. "Dismissed."

"Yes, sir," Kingo turned on his heel, catching Gil's eye ever so briefly before leaving as asked.

Gil was on his own.

"Gilgamesh," she murmured, looking over his file right in front of him. She nudged the papers lazily with the end of her pen. "But you go by Gil."

He shrugged.

"You can lift almost double what your fellow agents report," she looked up at him, one of her heels coming off the ground faintly. "And you did exceedingly well in your combat training and tests."

He shuffled a little in his stance, unsure if she wanted boastful confidence or sheepish modesty. "If that's what it says there."

She tilted her head, flipping his file closed. "Why do you think I selected you for this team?"

She had just listed one of his biggest assets as an agent, so why ask him? He had been asked to join countless special divisions since becoming an agent, thanks to his size and his strength. Everyone from homeland security to infiltration wanted him.

Gil looked at her--really looked. Her eyes were actually quite expressive, despite the facade she put on. There was no hiding what was in them and that beautiful colour. And he was pretty sure he knew what she was really asking. "My great sense of humour?"

There!--a real smile!

He brightened (he was never any good at hiding what he was feeling). "Is that a laugh?"

"No."

"Almost," he murmured, which he was pretty sure would have gotten him kicked out if anyone else were present for it. But they weren't, and he wasn't. He lifted his eyes to hers again. "I'll get you next time."

Her ice cold glare melted a little and he was pretty sure she did actually think he was at least a tiny bit funny. Maybe amusing, at least. "No one will believe you."

"I'll just have to try harder," he grinned to himself, setting his shoulders again. She resumed the cold, polished mask required of a team leader. But he could still see the very human warmth in her eyes. "Is it because of the cat thing?"

Her eyes sparked, even if her face was as still as a statue.

How had no one ever noticed this before? She was way easier to read than people thought. Or maybe she was deliberately letting him read her just to test him. Oh well.

"That stray cat that got caught in the tree outside of the main office?" Gil repeated, standing by his statement. "I spent all morning trying to get it down. I didn't call in my lateness and got suspended for a week without pay just because of some stray?"

"And you were asked why."

So, that was the reason. He smiled, "poor thing was scared. I couldn't just leave it there."

Another real, almost gentle seeming smile crossed Thena's face. She tilted her head at him, "that was the statement you gave. It's not attached to your suspension notice but I asked around for it."

Kingo must have told some higher up he knew would be close enough for her to hear it.

"That is the reason I chose you," she said without the forced sharpness of her tone. It was actually a lot softer, even higher than she could make it seem. "Because you cared so much for a strange animal that you couldn't abandon it. Nor did you contest your suspension--which you could have."

"Yeah, but I had a new cat to take care of."

She caught it right away, but it had happened, clear as day: she laughed.

Gil felt something rattle in his chest as she pinched her lips together and pretended to look down at her papers again. His life belonged to her, now--no questions asked.

She looked up at him, offering a sleekly shaped eyebrow with the remains of her smile, "congratulations."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he shrugged, and he didn't really consider making someone laugh something to gloat about anyway. "No one will believe me, sir."

She nodded, her smile remaining. "You and Kingo will be my leads. You'll report here at 0800 and I will tell you how the rest of this week will go."

"Yes, sir, Boss," Gil offered a smile--just a small, sheepish one.

"Don't test your luck," she advised him, back to keeping her smile very much in check.

It seemed she really couldn't control that one little corner from twitching upward, though.

"Yes, ma'am," Gil nodded and took his leave. Maybe joining the special forces would turn out to be not so bad.

[bluiex]

Part two of the Frankenstein au!

Grian sat on the table, a long groan bubbling from his throat and his face in his hands. Scar sat at his side, feet slowly dangling over the edge of the table, staring at Grian with worry written all over him. Grian was tense, more than he'd ever seen him before so it didn't help his nerves but he did decide ultimately to comfort Grian and be as patient as he could not to pry about what might be upsetting him. He rubbed gently at his back, a slight massage while Grian momentarily let out sighs as his shoulders drooped, easing into it.

Grian brought his head up, staring at Scar finally after half an hour of silence. Scar rubbed a thumb at his shoulder, "Are you ok?" Scar asked, calm just so he knows they have all the time in the world.

Grian looked away, just keeping his eyes on the door now intently. "Scar— what did... What did they tell you before you got here," Grian asked, ignoring Scar's question completely.

"Ooo! Different questions! Did they finally switch out the ask sheet?" Scar smiled even with the tension in the air, it almost felt one sided.

"Call it... Personal research," Grian hummed, Scar taking the question into consideration.

"From what I recall... I strictly remember them saying that If I joined they'd look into my genes and blood to see what caused my mutation, search the history of it and then I'd get a cure! Though they did say If I didn't they'd lock me in a containment system at the bottom of the ocean..." Scar explained, Grian's hands shaking as they lifted to his hair, first hold lightly but then tugging.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuck...." Grian whispered, something like dread in his voice. Scar's hands reached to pull away his hands but Grian pulled away for him, hands shaking. "We're fuuuuucked," Grian whispered, more strained than ever as his hands balled into fists.

"Grian I don't understa—"

"What am I to you?" Grian blurted, hands tight around Scar's hands like he was trying to ground himself. Scar turned Grian's head, a hand to his cheek.

"You're everything to me," Scar answered honestly, tears forming in Grian's eyes. "Grian, what's going on? I come in here and you don't talk to me for half an hour and now you're just asking me questions," Scar whined, Grian pulling away and standing up to pace back and forth.

"So! Just as suspected, everything they've told you has been a complete and utter lie," He said with humor in his voice that made Scar's heart twist.

"... What do you mean?"

"The sketchy company that only works behind closed doors of COURSE lies to the people they hold as 'patients'!" Grian exclaimed, a fist knocking at his palm.

"Grian..?"

He clutched the edges of the table, looking up at Scar with something serious. "This company doesn't want to cure you Scar, they never even had that idea to begin with! Their motto is to make a hero out of others, out of patients, test subjects, Scar, they aren't helping you, they're using you and what they're going to do once they find out the full extent to your power is they're gonna take samples of your blood, alter it to just be the substance that caused your mutation, then create thousands of others for military," Grian ranted, all the color from Scar's face draining as his eyes widened, still no word. "Don't you get it, Scar? They won't need you after that! They won't need some unpredictable, mood swinging monster! Once the new mutants are perfected they are going to kill you and dissect you for information,"

The room was deathly silent as Grian slid against the wall, Scar going stiff in shock while Grian's breath quickened. "And I can't do anything, can I? Not after today, not after tomorrow, and you'll be alone and I won't be able to help you even if I try—"

Scar pulled him into a hug, on his knees sitting in front of him and Grian cried into his shoulder on Scar's behalf. He cried on his shoulder all his worries and everything he'd felt so helpless with until he calmed down, his head resting on Scar's shoulder. "What are we gonna do, Scar," He croaked, a lump in Scar's throat at his pain, he did lighten up only slightly when he heard we though.

"We could escape," He said it like it was the easiest thing in existence, escape, Grian almost laughed.

"And how will we do that, Scar?" Grian questioned, like he was quizzing Scar on either his amount of knowledge or stupidity.

"Well... I get tested from 11 am to 6 pm, so we'd have about 7 hours to prepare. I'll... 'Take care' of my baby sitter, then you guide us to the nearest exit,"

"That's 3 stories down, Scar, I don't think we'd make it that far without being seen as suspicious," Grian pouted.

"Then we take an elevator or a stairwell, there's bound to be shortcuts somewhere. You could even bring a taser if people try to stop us, and I'll... Try to cause as minimal damage as I can. And once we're outside, we drive away in your car! As good as done and we're home free!" Scar exclaimed, though there were a couple holes in his plan that hadn't been explained though the main parts were pretty simple.

"What a simplistic yet... Difficult plan," Grian sighed, pushing his nose to the nape of Scar's neck.

"I know, right! Guess I'm smarter than I look after all, Grian," He smirked, a hand going over the others shoulder. A comfortable silence fell over them, listening to the AC churn and the ringing that came with silence.

"That might not work, Scar," Grian whispered.

Scar squeezed his hand, "We have to try," He whispered back, hope in his voice despite his situation. Grian wanted nothing more than to lay down with Scar in his bed, to blink his eyes open to wake and see Scar at his side, in a distant life they'd had that pleasure. Once, maybe twice, no worries about what might happen tomorrow or if they'd ever be able to see the other, but as a knock came at the door, Grian knew he wouldn't be able to have that for a long time.

—🎭

*sobs into my pillow* Scar being so hopeful and comforting- Grian just trying, but knowing its gonna be so so hard to get out AAAH i want them to be free