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notjustjavierpena · 4 months

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King

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: A happy return my dark sugardaddy!joel. It’s truly been too long. I hope you enjoy his dark and looming presence.

Summary: You do what it takes to get that car you’ve wanted for a while.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, sugardaddy/sugarbaby dynamics, abusive relationship, dom/sub dynamics, hint at virginity kink, power dynamics, reader calls joel ‘king’. daddy kink, light bondage, verbal humiliation, demeaning talk about sex work, praise kink, slapping, manhandling, dacryphilia, choking, rough piv sex, cream pie, no aftercare

Word count: 3.3k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56477767

King

You run your fingers down over the front of your little black dress. It’s not your favorite but it doesn’t matter as it is not the centerpiece of your outfit, mischievously hiding an emerald green set of lingerie underneath it that peeks out from under the hem in the form of a garter belt.

The silk underwear is new, bought only last week when Joel took you shopping for something new to tear to pieces. He’d chosen this color very carefully but you suspect that it had really been the heart-shaped gap between your legs that had made it sell itself. You knew instantly then, from the way his eyes had darkened and his suit pants had tightened, that it would become a useful weapon in getting what you wanted. Not that you would ever say it out loud (and you suspect that he knows) but Joel is sometimes easy to read, easy to wrap around your finger if you let him do as he pleases. He cares about your happiness and wants but he just doesn’t like to say it out loud, likes to play games so it looks like it is his idea. You’re happy to indulge him in this fantasy if you end up benefiting from it anyway.

The black dress has no uneven ruffles but you still smooth it out underneath your palms. Then you head to his king-sized bed, toeing off your shoes, and decide to take a nap on your front until he gets home. He doesn’t even know you have a mission.

Joel arrives home a few hours later. You wake up from the sound of his car crunching the gravel of his driveway, announcing his arrival like an impending hurricane that has consciousness to be merciful but only if it likes. You imagine the scene in your head; the sight of the car coming to a jarring halt, the door being opened and a single foot hitting the solid ground.

You get out of bed immediately with your heart pounding at the thought of seeing him in just a moment. You leave your shoes behind as you exit the bedroom, tiptoeing out into the hall to peer down at the front door from the top of the enormous staircase.

You can hear the jingle of his keys and then he is framed in the doorway, a dark shadow in contrast to the pining sunlight outside. He looks around for you for a moment, surveying his large home with a presence that fills the space completely.

You try to steady your breathing so as to not reveal yourself to be spying on him, taking note of how he carries himself and what mood radiates from him. Sometimes it’s not the right time to ask for things. Sometimes it’s better to just spread your legs or open your mouth.

However, Joel simply closes the door and lets out a tired, relieved breath, hand coming up to run across his forehead and using two fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. His shoulders slump at this moment that he thinks he is alone, and you release a breath that you didn’t know you have been holding in as you find no clenched fists or angry muttering to himself.

You make your way back to his bedroom and decide that sitting obediently on the edge of the bed, posing as someone who has been waiting to make his life easier, is the best way forward.

It takes a little while before you hear his footsteps approaching outside the room. He opens the door slowly, entering the room with his still impressive demeanor. You give him a little smile and push yourself to stand, making your way towards him and pecking his lips when you stand in front of him.

“Hey,” he says, only a hint of warmth in his tired voice. He reaches out to place a hand on your waist, his grip on your body feeling more like a claim than a comfort.

“You look tired,” you note and cup his cheek with your dominant hand. He closes his eyes briefly as if drawing something from your touch, draining something out of you. When he opens them again, they go down to take in your appearance. His grip on your waist tightens.

“And you look…” he begins but is unsure how to compliment the effort you’ve put into your outfit that’s only for him. It seems like he genuinely wants to say something nice until his eyes narrow in suspicion, “What’s this for?”

“I want a new car,” you let him tower over you as you decide to be bold in his fatigued state. Your fingers come up to peel the straps of your dress off, letting them droop down over your delicate skin for just a second before pulling the rest of the dress down to pool around your feet. You step out of it, don’t dare smile in case he might see it as smugness.

Joel looks unimpressed, disappointed even. He narrows his eyes further, a flicker of irritation across his face. He lets go of your body as if you are suddenly not interesting anymore, reaches to undo the knot on his tie, “Take one of my old ones. I have plenty… and with the way ya drive I shouldn’t be spendin’ so much goddamn money on somethin’ new and shiny because you’re bored of your other toys.”

“Joel,” you pout, entwining your fingers in front of you to make your arms squeeze your breasts together tightly while you push out your bottom lip.

“That ain’t my name,” he replies and briefly looks down at your cleavage, “And what? The little princess didn’t like her pony? You’re so fuckin’ spoiled. A dumb cliché.”

“Daddy,” you correct yourself and he nods once. You walk backward towards the bed, crawling onto it and making sure he watches you with every step you take, teasing the bottomless panties while doing it. You sit on your knees, his favorite submissive position, and smile with the hope of making his dick hard. It’ll make this so much easier, “Please. I can earn it. I can be a good girl.”

“Show me whatcha got,” he tells you, his tone letting you know that his attention is fleeting so you better make use of it now that you have it.

You lay down on your front, propping yourself up on your elbows by resting your chin in your hands. You give him a sweet, doe-eyed smile, “Honey, you’ve had such a long day.”

“Nope,” he rejects the fantasy with a bored expression but still takes one step closer to the bed, “Try again.”

You try not to let him see the frustration on your face that your first fantasy fell through, recovering quickly by getting up on your slightly-spread knees. You grab the end of the bed, leaning forward to make your position even more provocative.

“It’s my first time, Daddy,” you say with a pout, blinking your long lashes at him, “I’m a little nervous. I’m so wet between my legs. Can you tell me what’s happening to me?”

Even as Joel swallows thickly, he shakes his head while he walks to the side of the bed. He stares at you from a few feet away from the edge, “No. Again.”

You notice that he is getting hard but you know him well enough to tell that it is from the game that you are playing with each other right now and not from how you look or act. He gets off on the power he has over you, and you feel yourself getting excited from it too.

Power. That’s the one.

You crawl forward and lay down on your back on the vulgarly huge bed, staring up at him as you swing your legs out over the edge of it. You spread them slowly to make his gaze burn, revealing the heart-shaped hole in your panties and your soaked pussy that he can slide into if he wants. All he has to do is take a few steps forward and lift your thighs over his hips.

Joel is too easy sometimes but mostly when he’s in one of his good moods. He stands beside the bed not a second later, looking down at you with awaiting eyes. You know exactly which words to make him fuck you until you cry, even feel a little silly that it hadn’t occurred to you the second you saw him enter the house.

You give him a hazy look, holding your thighs open for him. His gaze bores into yours and you swear that he can read your mind. Even so, you don’t blink or cower under the look of God.

“You’re my king, Daddy.”

“Attagirl, that’s better,” he praises to make your skin prickle and your chest feel ablaze.

Something in Joel’s eyes darkens with the idea of being superior in every way and the spark of fire that you have ignited only seems to grow when you don’t try to act like this isn’t the case but instead give in and let him know just how beneath him you are. Figuratively and literally.

He reaches for his belt, unbuckling it with rough hands as he plans your demise in his head, all kindness seeping out of his face as if the way he praised you seconds ago simply didn’t happen. There’s something about those Shinigami eyes, teasing the border between fear and arousal. The urgency of his movements tells you that it’ll hurt for days but the pretty things that you’ll receive in return are worth not being able to stand upright for a while. You calm your beating heart by listing cars in your mind, choosing colors, models, and leather seats.

You return to reality when you hear Joel’s fingers snap in front of your face. He sneers, kneeling on the bed with one knee and pulling off his tie completely, “Don’tcha fuckin’ think you get to decide what car you’re gettin’, honey. If you want one, I decide. We clear?”

You watch with pleading eyes, knowing you should say something but faltering because all you want to do is complain about his decision. There goes that dream of an expensive Aston Martin, the one that has kept you scrolling through your phone.

“You dare make your King wait?” He spits harshly when you don’t answer quickly enough, his eyes going practically black with rage. There’s no emotion in them anymore, not even when you whimper at his tone. He reaches out for your arms, violently yanking them towards himself so he can wrap the tie around your wrists, and the panic that you feel suddenly starts to make you cry. He ties a painful knot, securing your arms tightly until he pushes them over your head, “You don’t behave then you don’t getta touch.”

You whine with tears at the corners of your eyes, looking away in shame in the way that he likes. However, it is actually a punishment because you do really like touching him - or at least just hold onto him, which you still can but you don’t dare move your arms back down - when he fucks you. The avoidance of his powerful eyes earns you a slap to your right breast, and you yelp in surprise.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you babble, barely able to croak out a coherent reply whilst you twist on the sheets from the unprepared sting to your chest. As you turn your body to the side, subconsciously trying to protect yourself from more painful strikes, you curl in on yourself and thus pull your legs shut, “You know best, I-I know. I understand.”

“Lie still, ya bimbo. I saw that hole between ya legs drippin’ wet, so you’re gonna lemme use it or you won’t get as much as a damn penny for your stupid new obsession,” he curls his calloused hands around your thighs until they dent the skin and maneuvers you onto back once more. He holds your legs open, knees pressing into the mattress until you feel as though your hips might dislocate. He stares down between your legs, smiling to himself at the heart shape in your panties. The stitching of it is coated in your slick, obscene in how creamy and white it is compared to the emerald color of the fabric. Joel makes a primal sound, “Daddy fuckin’ likes. God, I am gonna ruin ya, baby, ruin this well-behaved pussy.”

“Just for you, Daddy. It’s all just for you, I promise, money or not,” you cry quietly with your bottom lip sticking out, wiggling your hips as much as you can under his powerful weight to show how desperate you are for him. You want to tell him that he already has ruined you. Oh, how thoroughly he has ruined you and ruined everyone else for you. However, no one should make the mistake of thinking you have not let him, no, you have waited for him to find you in a sea of unimportant and tedious nobodies, and fuck, you love him for it. Even if he makes you cry.

“That’s right, just f’me,” he smiles down at you almost tenderly whilst removing one hand from your thigh to undo his pants. You smile with wet cheeks, eyes glazed over as he hurries to get his cock out, the head red and angry from not having enough attention. You put on a show of looking like your life depends entirely upon whether he gets inside of you soon.

“You want Daddy to fuck ya? Fuck ya so I’ll give in like I always fuckin’ do?” He aligns himself with you, gliding the thick head of his length through your soaked folds.

“Please,” you choke out feebly when he starts to spear you on his dick, feeding you inch by inch with his girth until your whole lower body buzzes with greed. Your tied-up hands grip the sheets above your head, your breath shaky as he drapes your thighs over his hips when he has bottomed out inside you.

Your voice wavers as he starts moving inside of you, setting a painful pace that has your eyes rolling back into your skull, your body thrashing, and your moans climbing in pitch like you are possessed. He knows what you like and you can feel he might be generous about it today. After all, you’ve put in so much effort to look nice and what would a King be if he couldn’t exceed in everything? That means even your pleasure.

He leans over you when you tighten your legs around his waist, rough hands settling on your hip bones so he can grind harshly into you. You beg for him, pleading his name as if in prayer again and again. His pelvis nudges at your swollen yet untouched clit. It causes you to scream and grab harder at the sheets as your orgasm builds up fast. You sob on the shaking bed as he puts more effort into each thrust. The head of his cock molds you to fit him each time, reaching something inside of you that has you sizzling with ecstasy in a way that no man has ever made possible before. You didn’t even know you could come like this, so intensely, before you met him but despite his talent, he is cruel even in his generosity.

“You’re gettin’ fucked for a dumb car, you know that?” He growls above you, staring down at your wide eyes and open mouth. He moans with a smirk, “You know what that makes ya?”

He keeps you on the edge with his thrusts, teasing an orgasm that he doesn’t allow to come yet. In the most frustrating of ways, you find that even if he exceeds in making you come, it’s not a given that he’ll just hand it over to you. Nothing is ever out of the goodness of his heart. You nod frantically as if it’ll make him think you are anything other than pathetic, “Yes! Oh God, yes, please.”

“Say it, sweetheart,” he demands, splaying a hand on your chest and letting it travel up to rest on your neck. However, he doesn’t squeeze to watch your face heat up in panic or push his merciless thumb into your windpipe. Instead, he waits for you to follow orders.

“A whore, Daddy,” you reply with a whimper, driven crazy by the unreleased tension in your lower belly. You scrunch your eyebrows, “Please— ah, l-let me come.”

“That’s right, a filthy, little, gold-diggin’ whore,” he lets out a sound that’s a mix between a laugh and a moan. Those words make your cunt clench around his cock, walls squeezing enough to make him switch up his pace. His thrusts become sharp and erratic, sending you hurtling towards your high so quickly that you throw your head back and involuntarily twist your arms as much as you can.

You come with Joel’s violent grip on your throat, with your tits bouncing in the skimpy outfit and your pussy gushing on his dick when your clit happily gets its way. He follows behind you, panting in exhaustion as he finally gets pushed over the edge by how you pulse around him with each beat of your fluttering heart. He is warm inside you, making a mess of your panties with how much already spills out of you around his girth.

It’s intense even in its aftermath. None of you move for a moment and the body heat radiating from you to him and vice versa has you sticking to each other. Joel has a palm on the bed while the other grabs at one of your thighs that are still slung around his body. He strokes up and down to soothe you but only to slip loose of the hot choke of your pussy.

You look up at him with a soft whimper when you’re left empty, knowing not to say any actual words yet. Silently, he unties your wrist and you gaze longingly at him as he leans over you to do so. He is so commanding even when he has not uttered a word. Above you, he looks so beautifully disheveled - some of his curls have fallen into his forehead, one sticks to the sweat there - and when he is done, he quietly starts unbuttoning his shirt.

Once naked on his chest, he stares and thinks about something for less than a second. He is quick in his evaluation of the situation, finally stepping out of his bottoms. He takes his time to dig into the pocket of his discarded pants, retrieving his wallet and you wait as patiently as you can muster as the anticipation grows.

“I think that dirty fuck deserves an Aston Martin at the very least, don’tcha think?” He smiles knowingly but it doesn’t reach his eyes and places his sleek black card on the bed. You hear him mutter the word pathetic as you reach for the card but when you peek up at him, you can see the way he takes pleasure in rewarding you when you so successfully display the thrill you feel in earning it.

Your body aches but you prop yourself up on your elbows, grinning with tear-streaked cheeks, “Thank you, Daddy.”

Joel leans down over you once more, capturing your lips in a possessive kiss and tangling his hand in your hair to make you unable to pull back. He knows how to show you who is in charge but he sets it in stone when he only draws back an inch after breaking the kiss again.

“Remember, baby,” he murmurs, voice raspy with sex, “You only get what you deserve and you’ve been very deservin’ today.”

“Can I shower with you?” You smile sweetly. It seems like the right time to ask for a bit of intimacy.

Joel huffs a laugh and shakes his head, “No. Lie in it.”

He disappears after that. Your smile does too.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

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the-monstermash · 28 days

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UNBROKEN BETROTHALS pt. 3

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Synopsis: After running away from an unwanted proposal, you find yourself working in a brothel as a cook. When a certain guest takes an odd liking to you, secrets are revealed and betrothals unbroken

Warnings: Angst, Brothels, Mature, 18+, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language

Word Count: 2, 031

> A/N: Catch the corny tie-in at the end of the chapter. I think maybe one more chapter will wrap up this story.

You were in a bout of disbelief. You'd not left your room in days, taking your meals and guests in the rooms. Sylvi was obviously angry with you, because she’d said nothing about you not cooking. She likely had already hired a new cook to replace you, no doubt planning to kick you out the moment you stepped outside again. Where would you go? Back to the Riverlands was always an option, but you were afraid of what you might find if you returned.

How could you not be? Your entire life you had thought of your parents as betrayers. You'd thought they'd wished to sell you off to some disgusting man, to rid themselves of the burden of you. In reality, what choice had they truly had? To reject the king would be dishonorable, not to mention impossible. They would’ve had to respond immediately, to agree in your stead.

How could you ever think so lowly of them? They'd given you so much love in your youth, how would they ever do something so cruel if they'd had the choice not to? Were they heartbroken at the loss of a daughter? Did they think you dead? Or did they accept that you just didn't want to be with them anymore, and you'd left for a better life. Were they still looking for you? You didn't know which was worse.

And then there was Aemond.

Why had he cared so much? You were of no great house, and your marriage would be of no benefit to him. Your running away should've been to his relief, not his anger. Then, for him to track you down, and push his intentions on you. What was the purpose?

The knock on the door did not make you rise from the bed as it would've a week ago, and you did not call to the visitor like you would've a week ago. Instead, you waited for whoever it was to either let themselves in, or go away. You'd be happy with either one.

The creak of the solid door told you they'd chosen the former.

"Are you awake?" Lauryn's voice pulled a sigh from you.

She'd come with more questions, or to gossip about what was happening outside of your room.

"If I was not before, your presence has brought me a sense of invigoration." You smiled sadly, patting the bed for her to enter.

She stepped inside the room, but did not cross the distance. Her absence in the door frame was filled with another. A much taller, blonder, guest, that put much more dread in you than she had.

"Lauryn, what is this?" You sat up, crossing your arms and pulling the blankets up to cover your nightclothes. He stepped into the center of the room, hands behind his back, looking around to take in the sight.

"He's demanded to see you." We can not deny him, is what she said with her eyes. You nodded at her and she quickly fled the room, closing the door behind her.

The silence was not comfortable, nor was it unwelcome. You knew if he spoke, it would be about the betrothal, and that would make you think of your family, and you would be back to worrying for your dear family and how they were fairing. You felt so vulnerable, wrapped up in your blankets and nightclothes before him, all alone.

"My prince, you wanted to see me?" You propped your knees to your chest, sure you looked like a big pile of sheets with a head on top to him.

"I wanted to see you were well." He finally took his eyes off your meager decorations, and looked at you. "Have you had any more spells?" You shook your head.

"I'm quite well."

"And have you thought any more of my words?" You sighed, exasperated, but relenting to the fact that he simply would not let this go.

"Of course I have. It's all I've thought about, holed up in this room. That, and where I'll go once Sylvi casts me from my home. Because of you." You wanted to yell, but you just did not have the energy.

"Me?"

"If you'd just accepted my answer, she would have gotten past it. But you pursued, and chased, and you would not relent."

"I'd relented the first time you rejected me, how many rejections did you expect I would take?"

"Relenting would've been leaving me be, not seeking me out here when you knew I was content."

"I did not come here for you, you happened to be here." You rolled your eyes.

"I *happened* to be in a kitchen, hidden away from everyone where *you* found me in search of 'wine’? There was wine everywhere up front, it is a whore house! You knew I was here, and you found me, because you could not accept the rejection. You sought me out, you said so yourself." He blanched at you repeating his words to him. Perhaps he thought you did not remember your last conversation.

"So I sought you out. What is the crime in it? You were my betrothed, and I would not have you running about the world any longer. I demand to know why you rejected me so long ago, and why you reject me now. I am more than suitable for you, and you should have been proud to serv-"

"I did not know it was you!" You silenced him with your yell. "I did not run away from marrying you, I ran away...because I thought my parents were to send me off to some gray man I did not know, and force me to wed him, and I would spend my whole life with some old Lord who did not love me, and I would never live! I was a child, and I was afraid, Aemond."

He was silent for a moment, before sighing and coming to sit at the edge of your bed.

"And why do you refuse me now?"

"I guess I thought if I married you, then I might as well have married the first man. It would've saved me a lot of trouble, and made my family proud, at the very least." He nodded at that and looked away. "Why do you want me so badly?"

He tilted his head, thinking for a second before shrugging his shoulders. You scoffed at that and stretched your legs to leave room for your crossed arms, not believing that he was just pointlessly pursuing you.

"I've had enough rejection for one lifetime. I'll not have any more." It was a simple answer, and given the past you knew of him, you supposed it made sense. He'd been refused a dragon, friends, a father, a crown. You could see how when you, a simple girl from nowhere, rejected him, it might have confounded him, and tipped him over the edge. He seemed deep in thought, or perhaps deep in memory, and before your eyes you saw him regress into the young boy he'd been, when all he knew was hurt and rejection.

In a way, you pitied Aemond. He had led a sad life, but he'd also led a privileged life. and that privileged life often made people overlook the hurt he'd faced as a child. He was a prince, and that made him revered and respected in many aspects, but he was also a scared, hurt little boy, with no respect from his peers and no one to truly turn to.

"I suppose I can understand that." He turned to you, his lips turning up in acknowledgement before he gently laid his head in your lap.

It surprised you, though it shouldn't have. He was desperate for appreciation and affection. That was why he was here, after all, begging you to reconsider marriage to him.

You had reconsidered it over these past few days. You'd thought it over in a hundred different ways, and truthfully, without the added angst of your parental situation, you really had no reason to say no to his proposal. He was a perfectly respectable husband, and with his doting nature, you'd thought he'd treat you quite well. You could see yourself content with him, if not happy.

"I suppose marriage wouldn't be so bad if my husband were agreeable." You gently found yourself petting his hair, making him close his eye.

"Hm." Was his simple answer, a hum of content, yet it prompted you to elaborate.

"He would have to be kind, of course. And perhaps handsome, though not superficial. I would like him to be strong, and brave. Though, not to the point of recklessness. Perhaps a Stark." You looked down at him with a playful smile, and he responded with a chortle. "You're right, I do hate the cold." You scratched at his scalp.

"You'll make an exceptional wife, and I'll make you happy." He turned onto his back so he was looking up at you, his soft eyes gazing up at you.

He truly was beautiful. His features were in total opposition, his long, soft hair, sharp jaw, and sweet eyes all combined to make a statuesque deity laid before you. His hair was almost pearlescent in the way the fire flickered across him, changing the hues in a second, and blending in oranges and reds and magnificent yellows.

You could not think of a way to tell him you were conceding, and he'd finally won. You just smiled down at him and nodded.

"I need to see my parents." Your voice broke at the mere idea, and he nodded immediately, sitting up and turning to hold your face.

"I'll see it's done. We'll call them to King's Landing."

"Thank you, Aemond.”

He tilted himself just slightly, enough for you to understand what he was asking for. You leaned in enough to meet your lips to his in a soft and gentle kiss. You rest your hand on his jaw, and the other on his chest. He pushed himself against you more to deepen the kiss, pushing you back onto your hands.

His kiss was desperate, and held an air of pure satisfaction. It was not overly rushed, but deep and passionate. You could feel him pour his soul into it, like a beautiful piece of poetry. Every suckle was a sonnet, every sigh a sestina. He pulled your body to his, and it was a haiku, consisting of syllables only spoken in physical language. And you hung onto every single word.

You pulled away for air, but he didn't let you get far, holding his hand to the back of your head, your forehead pressed against his. Your bodies still moved in sync, rising and falling with breath, slowly calming yourselves back down.

"We'll marry as soon as your parents arrive. The very same day."

"Shouldn't you ask the king? I’m sure your family won’t relish the thought of a prince marrying a common cook. You could marry at a much higher advantage for the war."

"There is nothing common about you. And besides, my father already approved the marriage all those years ago. My brother won't deny me." You nodded.

"I'll see you again? Before the wedding? Promise you'll come see me." He raised his eyebrow at that, clearly confused about something you'd said.

"You're coming to the castle with me, are you not, my Lady?" The title made you chew your lip, you had not heard it in a very long time. “I’ll not have my wife sleep in a brothel any longer, I’ve suffered it long enough.”

“This brothel is my home, and you’ve had no trouble turning in a night or two if I remember correctly. Besides, I wouldn’t want to offend your family by assuming I was welcome. You should confirm the betrothal first with the king.” He sighed and turned away, but came up with no argument.

“I’ll be back for you, in a week’s time-at most. Say your goodbyes, pack your things. Prepare to be a princess of the seven kingdoms.” He stood and leaned for one last kiss.

“I’ll be waiting, my prince.”

And with one more lasting stroke of your cheek, he left to unbreak the betrothal you’d abandoned so long ago.

@mamawiggers1980 @dahlias-and-marigolds @starrflowerr @aemondwhoresworld

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen smut #unbroken betrothals

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sytoran · 2 years

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𝐆𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐘𝐔𝐏 ⌇ wanda maximoff

summary: in which you wake up to your girlfriend riding on your abs.

☰ PAIRING: G!P buff!reader x sub!wanda

☰ REQUEST: Would you be willing to do a Wanda riding g!p readers abs and then riding reader? As always, all good if you’re not! Love your writing.

☰ TAGS: smut (18+), horniness, riding, wanda's a literal cowgirl in this one, somnophilia, teasing, buff reader as in BUFF reader, wanda's your perpetually horny girlfriend, clingy wanda kinda, just in general a lot of desperation and horniness, oh and there's a heavy daddy kink just a warning

☰ NOTES: thanks for the lovely ask! this was fun to write, hope you enjoy it too

masterlist / AO3

wanda shifted under the duvet, restless and wide awake in the depths of twilight. she was laying next to you in a king-sized bed, staring at your sleeping silhouette.

she couldn't really explain it, embarassing as it was, that she had trouble sleeping because she was perpetually struck with libido whenever in your proximity, regardless of what you were doing.

despite dating for nearly two years already, you were just so arousing, with the strong jawline and the roguish smirk and those abs.

but as much as wanda was in love an in lust of the entirety of your being, no feature quite stood out to her as much as your muscles.

it had started off as a simple thing, wrapping her hand around your bicep when you walked together, enjoying the feel of how solid and structured it was.

at the beach on summer days, lathering sunscreen all over your built body, trailing wandering hands over broad shoulders and structured abs.

it became less innocent, shifting in your lap during movie nights, pleased when she felt your thigh muscle flex under her, of which an iron grip on her hips came with.

then of course, came the pinnacle of all things unholy, wanda clinging on to the curve of your trapezius when you railed her those sinful nights, scratching down tensed back muscles.

wanda loved seeing the faded, winding, red scratches on your back the next day, a semblance of your devotion towards each other.

and tonight was no different.

it didn't matter that you had fucked her silly for three hours last night, breaking the bed frame for the umpteenth time, no surface of the house you shared gone unfucked.

never enough.

that's what it was, always waiting to pounce on you given the opportunity. wanda realized that the more she stared at you, the hornier she would get.

it didn't help that you looked so effortlessly attractive now, in the moonglow of midnight and the soft breeze of ventilation.

your shirt had ridden up, exposing the rise and fall of bulky muscle. blanket being half thrown off in your haphazard state of slumber, black boxers were loose against the object of wanda's wet dreams.

the redhead licked her lips, hands reaching up and under your shirt before she could help herself.

wanda let out a shaky exhale, pupils dilating and fading into a darker shade of green.

she let her hands travel over the expanse of your torso, fingertips burying themselves in the dips and curves of your washboard-esque abdominal muscles, then stroking down the V-line that led to the forbidden area beneath your boxers.

the sheets rustled beneath wanda as she climbed atop you, hands pushing up your shirt with a heady atmosphere of lust, just below your sports bra.

"shit, daddy, i'm so wet for you," wanda whispered, in airs that you could hear her. in reality, you were still fast asleep, blissfully unaware of your girlfriend's ministrations.

hiking up her nightgown with haste, cold air rendered goosebumps blossoming on pale skin.

wanda slowly sank herself down onto your torso, her wet bundle of nerves making contact with your sculpted abs.

she whimpered, pressing her palms onto the the flat surface, and you stirred. wanda held her breath, staring intently at your turning head, but then you stopped and it was evident you had fallen back asleep.

wanda could've laughed out loud: you were such a deep sleeper, you didn't even notice- oh shit. you had begun moving in your sleep, shifting your body to get in a comfortable position.

in doing so, your torso moved, and the sensations on wanda's cunt went flying. she whined, the sound lost in the loud quiet, bucking her hips against your abs.

god, the sensation was euphoric.

wanda swore she could feel each ridge and curve of your every muscle under her glistening pussy, rubbing her in all the right directions and simply being an incredible surface to fuck herself on.

so that was what she did.

the redhead let out a pant, beginning to ride on your abs at a tantalizingly slow pace, front and back. her hair fell to the sides of her face like curtains to a stage, breathing growing erratic rather quickly.

her legs were wrapped tightly around your side, still you lay blissfully unaware of the dark beauty you called your girlfriend.

it was only when wanda let out a needy grunt, pressing down a little too hard on your stomach, that you jolted awake with a start.

wanda didn't bother stopping.

you could imagine the look of pure shock on your face at the sight before you: your girlfriend, looking at you through lowered lashes, biting her lip, grinding on your abs and leaving dampness all over your skin.

"fuck, baby," you rasped, reaching forward to brush a hand over her thigh. it only spurred wanda on further, riding you with a rekindled fire, moaning louder than she had before.

grunting at how needy she was, you clenched your abdominal muscles, and almost instaneously did you find yourself being ridden on like you were a fucking surface.

"fuck, daddy, your abs are so good," wanda rambles, cunt dripping onto your skin. you prop yourself up, letting a hand travel over her pussy.

"daddy," she repeats, almost in a cry, throwing her head as her hips keep going.

you merely stare at your girlfriend, caught in a trance, as she dry-humps you like it's the last thing she'd ever do.

when wanda orgasms, it's always loud.

you'd grown to learn that lesson when you first tried a quickie with her in a public bathroom stall, you standing and just bouncing wanda on your cock with strong hands.

let's just say it ended with you walking out the bathroom stall, a dizzied wanda clutching on your arm, and unimpressed stares of three old ladies at the sink.

she always has to moan or scream in some way, 'daddy' and 'fuck' and 'please' being her only vocabulary in those moments.

soon enough, the hardness in your boxers is tented and straining. you grunt, pushing wanda back with hands on her hip, so she could feel you against her ass.

it's fucking hot, and you're not complaining, so this time is no different.

wanda orgasms with a string of incoherent shrieks, fingernails digging themselves into your skin, as you hiss.

before she can even come down from the previous high, you grip her underneath her thighs and manhandle her onto the bulge of your cock, as wanda whimpers at the aftershocks.

she leans back, slowly, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, then licking the tip of your straining cock through the black material. she looks up at you with an innocent look, eyes wide but tongue unyielding.

your eyes narrow, a dry remark on the tip of your tongue, but not projected before wanda takes matters into her own hands.

before you know it, she sinks down onto your exposed cock, warmth engulfing you entirely, and you let out a long groan.

“jesus, last night wasn’t enough for you?” you question, holding her hips as she begins riding you, slowly at first.

wanda looks at you through fluttering lashes. she’s gorgeous, absolutely so, more each and every day. “it’s never enough with you, daddy.”

you lick your lips, pushing her down a little further, letting another inch enter her. wanda moans.

"ride me, then," you say loftily, a smirk on your lips. "show me how much you want me."

wanda gets that challenging glint in her eye, and you feel a pit of gasoline burning in your core.

you were in for a wild ride.

when wanda sinks down onto your cock again, it's not just to quell some temporary bout of lust. it's to take you.

wanda had always wanted kids, you knew that. you were slightly hesitant at first, but hearing the filthy words of you becoming her daddy and her husband, had your head spinning.

"oh, you feel so good," wanda whines, speeding up as your cock hits all her right spots.

you let out a rumble from somewhere deep in your throat, at the sight of wanda's tits bouncing in front of your face every time she rides, sweaty and nipples hard.

without wasting time, you shove your face up in there, face buried between her bouncing boobs.

you lick and suck at her sternum, then the swell of her breasts and the tip of her nipples. she's so pretty, so good for you.

wanda whines, continuing to ride with more vigour. she's in love with the way your hands are everywhere, all over her, like you couldn't get enough.

because then you're thrusting your hips upwards to meet and match her rhythm, and that in itself had wanda convulsing.

wanda's eyes roll back after watching you look at her with the darkened eyes, sweat glistening on your bronzed abs and the hip thrusts sharper than she could have ever prepared for.

the shocks of arousal coming in spasms, her coil unwrapping in fast movements.

her white mess of arousal are all lapped up by you, as wanda whines at the tingles of overstimulation.

sighing, you gently soothed her over with hushed whispers and soft kisses, hovering over her but careful not to crush her with your body weight. you kissed the tears off her cheeks, smiling as she nuzzles into your chest.

“can you go and sleep now, sweetheart?” you ask lowly, almost teasingly with how her eyelids are already fluttering shut.

wanda wants to respond, a snark retort on the tip of her tongue, but her brain shuts down when she knows she’s safe in your arms. the feeling of your warmth is all too welcoming.

wanda would never really know the words you mumbled into her neck as she fell asleep, but from the way you gently kissed her hair afterwards, she was more than sure it held the lingering semblance of an ‘i love you’.

masterlist / AO3

#marvel women #marvel smut #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader smut #wanda maximoff x reader #wlw smut #gxg smut #wanda x reader smut #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff #x reader #marvel #bottom wanda maximoff #sub wanda #top reader #dom reader #my works

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typicalopposite · 2 months

Text

zombie AU 🫣

because @blue-arts-stuff made this little gem right here (go give it all the love because *chefs kiss* the angst was angsting there) and it wormed its way into my brain and would not leave me alone until I made this!

CHECK THE TAGS FOR TRIGGER I BEG YOU!

Buck is tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally… just so goddamn tired.

A storm is coming… he can feel it in the plates and screws that hold his leg together. He’d always thought that was a myth, but sure enough every big storm he feels a twinge of pain around them. They should get moving if they are going to make it before the rain starts.

He scrumages through what supplies are available in the remains of the little corner shop. He only takes what he truly needs—which isn’t much—and leaves all that he can for whoever passes through next. Outside he can hear distant thunder, he needs to hurry. He unzips his bag and stuffs the supplies inside, catching a glimpse of the picture frame; he takes it out.

Their wedding day.

The smell of the ocean in the background, the sound of the cheers from their family as they vowed to have and to hold each other through it all… the sight of Tommy dressed in his tux, so handsome, so in love, so happy.

They were so happy… for a while. They didn’t get nearly enough time before the outbreak.

Then it was long days, and longer nights of fighting to stay alive; fighting to keep everyone they cared about alive. So in vain, and slowly they watched as their family dwindled down until there were just a handful of them left.

It was supposed to be a simple night run. They needed water. They needed more medicine. The store was so close… but not close enough. The attack was brutal. More lives lost.

Tommy got bit.

“Ev- Evan, baby… listen to me,” he tried, as Buck panickedly tried to clean out the wound.

“No. I can— I can fix this… just let me think.”

“Evan.”

“We— We’ll cut off your arm,” he suggests. “It’s worked before…”

“It’s already spreading, baby. Look…” Tommy pulls up the bloody sleeve revealing the bluish green streaks running towards his neck and chest. “It’s too late… you have to.”

“No.”

“Baby, we promised each other—” Tommy begged, tears falling from his eyes, the infection visibly creeping up his neck. Buck frantically shook his head, tuning out Tommy’s cries. “Evan!” He gasped. “Shoot me! Please!”

“No! I can’t!”

***

Buck wipes his eyes and slides the frame back into the bag. He slowly rises to his feet and slowly makes his way over to the bathroom and pushes the door open. Loud snarling, grunting and gurgling—that would normally send him into fight or flight mode—comes out of the darkness. He shines his flashlight into the room, stepping inside and unclipping the chain from one of the stalls. “Come on, sweetheart… we’re almost there.”

They walk through the empty streets of what used to be LA; Buck leading Tommy (wrapped safely in a makeshift straight jacket, and wearing a muzzle) by the thick chain. The latter stumbles and growls, his head snapping this way and that, teeth chattering as he does his best to chomp at anything past the muzzle. They make it home just as the rain starts to fall.

Buck steps inside the door, pulls Tommy through as well, and looks around at what’s left of their destroyed house—some of the mess they had made themselves in the panic to flee the infected city, some done after by people looking for shelter and supplies. He walks through the rooms, remembering the days they were filled with happy memories and life; the promise of a bright future. They were going to grow old in this house… live out the rest of their lives in this house.

At least one of those was correct.

He sighs, and leads Tommy up to the bedroom, securing him on the solid, sturdy, bedpost of their king size bed. He opens the bag, takes out the frame and sets it up on the bedside table. He takes out what he got from the little corner shop—a gun shop— and grits his teeth as he lifts his shirt, revealing the bite mark he’s been tirelessly trying to keep from spreading… until now.

“Buck you have to let him go,” they had tried to tell him. “It’s not even— he wouldn’t want this… to live like this… for you to live like this…”

He has lost so many people, the ones he didn’t lose to the virus, he lost for his impulsive, borderline insane decision. He’s been alone for a while… but at least he still had Tommy, in some way.

Buck fights just to take in another breath, and puts a bullet into the gun. Tommy grunts and struggles against his restraints. “Almost ready,” Buck says. He is tired… but he won’t be for long. He walks over to Tommy and unhooks the chain from the bed. He looks into those glossed over eyes, gray and distant and thinks about when they were blue and bright and happy. They were happy once. Maybe they will be happy again in the next life.

He slips a key in the restraints lock, swiftly turning it and releasing Tommy, He quickly pulls him into a hug, Tommy grabbing him back, turning his head into Buck’s neck and biting down. Buck pressing his head tight against Tommy’s. “I love you,” he says, and closes his eyes.

The cool barrel against his cheek turns into a cool breeze and the salty smell of the ocean fills the air. Buck opens his eyes and is met with a beautiful sunset, a crowded beach… and Tommy, smiling at him. He blinks a few times to see if it’s all just going to disappear…

“Hey baby, I’ve been waiting for you,” Tommy says, holding out his hand, the remnant of sunlight catching on his wedding band. Buck stares at Tommy for a moment, just taking in the sight. He smiles and takes his hand, and they join their family out by the water.

It’s years later before the Buckley-Kinard house is visited again.

Years since they were sent away to a safe haven while their parents fought off hoard after hoard, until the virus had runs its course. Those lost souls that weren’t instantly killed from the virus, or the battalion sent out to fight off the undead the virus created, eventually just rotted away until they were no longer a threat.

“Hey Chris!” Jee calls from a bedroom. “I found something!” He stops poking around with one of his canes, rummaging for anything left to salvage from the house he spent many days of his youth, and goes to see what she found. In the back bedroom, laid out across the mattress of a tattered king sized bed, are two skeletons clinging to each other.

“Do you think it’s them?” Jee asks.

Chris steps closer, inspects the bodies; most notably their hands, and the matching bands they both are wearing. He looks up at the faded picture still sitting on the bedside table and smiles, a tear slipping from his eye. “Yeah… it’s them.”

#911 abc #bucktommy #zombie au #based on fanart #It was just too good not to stop what I was doing and write #evan buckley #tommy kinard #118 firefam #yall it made me do MCD… this fandom has me rewired!#mcd #But like not too sad kinda…#Ok it is #tw mcd #tw death #tw sui implied

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eldritcmor · 11 months

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Hello! :3

I was wondering if I could request Taskforce141 with the new recruit and there's something Wrong™ with them.

Like the recruit has tapetum lucidum, so when someone walks into the pitch black kitchen all they see is two glowing eyes and when they flick the lights on it's just the new recruit dead staring them with a jug of juice in their hand 😂

Sometimes they'll just stare at nothing for minutes to hours and there's pressure in the air until they snap out of it, how long where they staring for? 141 doesn't know but the clock only started moving again.

Like I just love the wrongness and how 141 try to comprehend what's going on.

If this is okay!

Cats and dreams

Warning for mentions of blood, death, corpses, and a serious amount of cats. It possibly makes little sense but /shrug.

Kyle jerked awake, the haunted yowls of those poor cats still filling his ears. He scrambled out of bed, headed towards the bathroom of the hotel room that the 141 was currently splitting. He splashed some cold water to maybe calm himself down, before taking a breathe. Trying to put the images of kittens and cold stormy sea fronts out of his head. He swears, he could still feel the salty water creeping into his lungs.

“Garrick?” Shit, he had forgotten that he was sharing a room. “Garrick? You good?” Kyle poked his head around the door frame, and froze. All he could see was a pair of deep golden pools hovering in midair around the area where he could remember the other bed being and nothing else. He took a slow step, reaching for anything he could use as a defensive weapon. Only The eyes were suddenly bearing down on him. He flinched, a shout caught in his throat as he fell back.

“Fuck! Garrick, you good man?” Kyle landed on cold tile with a solid thump. He blinked and found you leaning over him, offering a hand up. He took a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.” He reached out and you solidly yanked him to his feet. “Just had a nightmare is all.”

—

“The thirteen tied by their tongues.” Johnny raised an eyebrow as you muttered that phrase aloud. Lately, you seemed antsy. Most days he found you in the kitchen, way too early in the morning hunched over the sink looking like it had personally insulted your mother and you were helpless to do shit about it. Other days, he found you in the unused halls of base, staring at a corner like if you so much as breathed, something would lunge for your throat. It would take him minutes to get your attention and just a bit longer to pull you away from your spot in the hall. It was frankly concerning, but he had his own issues to deal with.

He was no stranger to nightmares but recently his dreams had been more concerning. It always starts with a whisper. “White cat crosses the black path. His tail in mouth. His ears in his hands. He’s slowly collecting his face.The thirteen all tied by their tongues. They call him “king.” The god of claws. The strays all gather. Extend their paws. He takes a knife. He cuts the whiskers first. Then the tail. The eyes he scoops out with-” Always interrupted by a cat's yowl and a sharp crunch after that. Usually the dream ends there. Not tonight. Tonight it continues.

A repeating mantra of a soft voice whispering. “Thirteen tied by their tongues,” seems to circle around him. He finds himself kneeling in hard gravel before what looks to be a crypt. The last name of your family carved into the weathered stone before a sealed off doorway of wood and iron. Thirteen pairs of golden eyes stare down at him from the roof of that mausoleum as the sound of nail scratching at stone fills his ears. He looks down to see a crowd of cats, scratching. Scratching at the base of mausoleum. He leans forward to see exactly what the cats are digging up only for a feeling of intense dread prickled down his back. He slapped a hand over his eyes. Something telling him that whatever the cats were digging up, it was not meant for his eyes.

He blinks and finds light peeking between his fingers. He slowly moves his hand to reveal a stone room light by warm candlelight, softened by heavy curtains draped over aging masonry, and you! You sitting on a stone coffin slowly flipping through a leather bound book. Your golden eyes scanning over the pages in heavy concentration. It takes him a second to recognize the book. It’s his journal! The one he keeps his most private thoughts, ideas, and experiences in. There’s a sharp tug in his gut and he looks down to see a golden eyed cat, clawing open his belly before he is suddenly staring at the wall of his bedroom.

—

Simon breathed out as he pulled the trigger on his sniper rifle. He watched your head sharply jerk back from the force of the bullet. Bright red splattering the wall behind your falling corpse. Something whispered in his head that this was wrong. But it wasn't, right? He was just following orders. Just. Following. Orders.

Simon blinked as he methodically disassembled and cleaned his rifle in his bunk. Wait, his bunk? That's not right. He has an actual bedroom. And! And? an Office. He doesn't have a bunk. Where the fuck is he? Simon glanced around before, There! A tiny cat figurine sat just on the edge of his bed. He was dreaming. That was good. Still something prickled at his spine. Like he had done something, nigh unforgivable but he couldn't remember what. He sighed as he scooped up the little cat statue and tucked it into his pocket.

Simon blinked and found himself in a familiar temple of sun warmed red sandstone and Smokey sweet incense. He felt something press into his hip and looked down to see a rather large panther peering up at home with sharp golden eyes. The giant cat peeled away from him as he reached out to pet it. Guess it had something to show him for once.

Simon followed the large cat at a slow sedate pace. Watching as the temple warped around him. Sandstone and incense faded to thick oak trees and the acrid smell of a forest fire. A forest fire to long spans of a wheat field. A wheat field to a cave. The cave stank of copper and decay and still Simon followed the cat. Rocky stone gave way to slick cobble. The copper scent growing stronger. Simon watched as the cat approached something and sniffed it before looking expectantly back at Simon. Simon slowly edged forward, the now familiar scent copper cementing in his mind as blood sticking to his boots. He sucked in a deep breath and slowly crouched by the cat before looking at the cat’s prize.

It was you. Splayed in a pool of blood, with a perfect hole between your shocked unseeing eyes.

Simon jerked awake as a sharp pain exploded behind his eyes. He ground a palm into his eye as he turned to check on you. You were fine, breathing deeply in your sleep.

—

Price chewed on his cigar in irritation. He was fucking here, again. Each night the same damn thing.

A massive circle of stones. A ritual site he wish he could forget. Sure, the stones gave him you, but the price still lingered on the back of mind like a bitter taste.

He hated it. Hated it! Watching you, twitching into being from the corpse of a dead god. Over and over. Sometimes, he wishes he had never taken that mission in Innsmouth. Now he gets to watch what his actions lead to nearly every night. The death of a god and the spawning of another. Each night, he had to fight. And each night he won. But tonight. Tonight, he finally lost.

He watched with cold eyes as you clawed your way out of the living god’s stomach. Yowling in all your beastial fury as golden ichor matted your fur and stained your claws. It was a gorey sight as you tore your way free and brought the god down with a screaming yowl. He knew you were an inevitable thing. A creature born of the desire of anonymity. Given form by his failure all those years ago. He knew of mamas words whispered by all gods born to this cursed circle. First always, sacrifices must be made. Parts picked and grabbed. Then reality torn and split at the seams. Samhain was a cursed night for him, even if he hadn’t known at the time. Finally, the night ended with a death and a birth. The desire given form must be killed to give a god form. Gods, what a fool he had been.

He gasped awake just he watched you turn to him. He squinted at the early morning sun as he lazily raised his arm to block it out. He turned in bed only to see your golden eyes peeking over the edge of the bed. He sighed as he reached out to scratch you just behind the ears. A god separated in two. One half, a human who served under his watchful eye. The other, a lazy house cat currently butting into his hands for pets.

#cod mw2 #call of duty x reader #eld writes #john soap mactavish #141 x reader #kyle gaz garrick #taskforce 141 #simon ghost riley #captain john price #mw2 141 #cod fanfic #mw2 fanfic

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whatsnewalycat · 4 months

Text

“do you believe in aliens?”

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x GN Person

Summary: Meeting DB in a furniture store.

Prompt: “Do you believe in aliens?”

Trope: Meet-cute

Words: 1.4k+ (sorry can’t shut the fuck up)

Rating: Teen (because swearing)

Notes: For the @dieterbravobrainrotclub May Drabble Challege! Also slightly inspired by Broad City when Lincoln said he met Ilana in a foot locker in Times Square and she was just chillin’. First person POV.

—

It was one of those weeks.

The kind of week where you seem to have no patience for anyone or anything. The kind where extra heavy traffic adds an hour to your commute each way. When you find yourself picking fights and reaching for comfort foods and maybe smoking twice as much as you normally do.

You know the kind of week where you come home on Friday after a long day of suffering under capitalism, only to discover that your live-in boyfriend up-and-left with all of his belongings?

Maybe that last one is just a me problem.

Anyways.

After the first sleepless night on the floor of my apartment, I decided I should get a mattress. Maybe even a bed frame if I could find a good deal.

I went to this nearby furniture outlet, and right away I could tell the place was understaffed. The employees wore these bright sunshine yellow polos that made them easy to spot across the open air of the warehouse. They were outnumbered four to one, easy.

This was gonna take up my whole day. I didn’t mind, though. The way I looked at it, I could either go back to my half-empty apartment and cry about the fact that I didn’t have a bed or a tv or a boyfriend, or I could wait my turn to buy a goddamn bed.

I found the cheapest mattress/bedframe combo available, then laid down on the starch-stiff comforter and gave it a few test bounces before deciding it was good enough.

I walked up and down the aisles of sad-looking bedroom furniture sets, trying to catch the attention of a sunshine polo to no avail.

That’s when I heard him.

“They said it might be an hour wait.”

Following the voice, I turned around and saw this guy all stretched out on a king-sized sleigh bed. He radiated the same energy as a sulking teenager waiting for his parents to pick him up, scrolling on his phone with one arm tucked behind his head.

I checked over my shoulders, then asked, “Are you talking to me?”

He looked up from his phone, dark eyes peeking over the rim of his sunglasses, “You’re trying to get a sales person, right?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged, sitting up to bend his legs criss-cross applesauce, “Might as well make yourself at home.”

“Well, what can ya do,” I sighed and looked across the warehouse, confirming the sunshine polos were neck deep in annoyed customers.

“Hey, uhhh… since you’re waiting, would you do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Tell me what you think about this bed.”

I turned to face the furniture in question, tilting my head as I studied the thing, “I don’t know, it’s big, I guess. Looks… sturdy,” I kicked the leg and nodded in approval, “Yeah, that frame is solid as fuck. Is it comfy?”

“Pretty comfy,” he took off his sunglasses, hooking them on the collar of his worn-out shirt before patting the bed beside him, “See for yourself.”

“You know, normally I make a guy buy me a drink before hopping into bed with him,” I teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

He gave me this charming, dimpled smile, big brown eyes all sparkling warm when he shrugged, “I’ll buy you one after, how’s that sound?”

Heat clung to my stomach and I couldn’t even bear to look at him wearing that devilish grin.

Shaking my head, I climbed onto the mattress, “I’m just giving you shit.” I laid back on the pillow and sank down into the plush bedspread, “This is so much better than the one I’m getting, oh my god.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled and laid down beside me, crossing his ankles as he stretched out, “I’ve been trying to find one that’ll put me right to sleep. I keep having these weird fuckin’ dreams and—”

He cut himself off with a sigh, then looked over at me, “Do you believe in aliens?”

The ludicrous question took me by surprise. This big bubbly laugh escaped my throat and I turned to him, lost for words. All I could do was repeat the question: “Do I believe in aliens?”

“Yeah.”

I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Searching his face, I smirked, “Who are you?”

“Dieter,” he rolled on his side to make eye contact with me, “What’s your name?”

So I gave him my name and then I told him, “You know, when I was a teenager I lived out in the country. I’d always see things in the sky I couldn’t quite explain. These lights that would stay static in one place for minutes before zooming off into the stars, and… and, yeah, Dieter, I do believe in aliens. Why do you ask?”

“Well, ok,” he propped his head up on the heel of his hand, “See, the person I bought my bed from told me they were abducted by aliens. And I keep having these dreams where I’m in some kind of a spacecraft and these little gray fuckers won’t stop doing experiments on me. I dunno if it’s my subconscious or if I’m being abducted, but I gotta get a new fuckin’ bed either way.”

“Why would the bed make them abduct you?”

He frowned as he considered this, looking around before returning back to me, “Maybe they have a tracking device on it. I don’t know how it works. Probably not even real.”

“But just in case, you’re getting a new bed?”

“Yeah.”

I shrugged, “Doesn’t hurt to try, huh?”

He nodded, eyes flicking around my face, then rolled onto his back. We laid there staring up at the steel support beams and ugly lights fixed to the warehouse ceiling. For a little while I wondered whether or not he would think it was strange for me to bring up my own grievances. Then I decided fuck it, why not?

“Yesterday I came home and half my apartment was missing. My boyfriend moved out while I was at work, took the bed and everything.”

“Doesn’t sound like he’s your boyfriend anymore.”

“No, I guess not.”

“You don’t seem too broken up about it.”

“It was a long time coming,” I shrugged, “It’s… I don’t know, I’ll be fine. Right now I’m mostly upset about the bed. I set up camp on the living room floor last night and could barely sleep.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, then asked, “Are you gonna get this one?”

“I fucking wish. The one I have picked out feels like a cement slab compared to this.”

“Do you want my old one?”

“The one with the alien tracking device?”

“Oh yeah,” he giggled, “I forgot about that.”

Laughter rumbled up from my belly and his, thick and genuine, the kind that can’t be contained no matter how hard you try. It vibrated through my limbs and welled in my eyes as I choked out, “I—I thought we were gonna be friends, but now you’re trying to get me abducted by aliens? What the fuck, man?”

He doubled over on his side, whole body shaking with these gasping giggles that spread like a contagion to me until I could barely breathe.

Once the laughter died down, I looked over at him wiping the tears from his eyes and felt something rare and beautiful spark in my chest.

“I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard,” I admitted, rolling on my side to face him, unable to wipe the smile from my aching face.

“Me neither.”

From just an arms length away, I met his gaze and the most inexplicable compulsion overtook me. I wanted to kiss him, I realized, and that was truly insane.

His eyes dropped to my lips as though the same thought occurred to him.

“Do you wanna get out of here? Go get a drink?” he asked.

The question bubbled up my spine and made my stomach flip.

I nodded, “I do, but my bed—”

“I’ll take care of it,” he smirked, that devilish smirk that I knew would be trouble, and shrugged, “I’ll have my PA get two of these. Deliver one to your place, how’s that sound?”

“You can do that?”

“Absolutely.”

“How?”

“I’ll explain later,” he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, looking back at me, “You coming?”

Unmistakably, this was a leap of faith. It was insanity. He could have turned out to be any number of terrible things, but he wasn’t. He was a breath of fresh air. A clean break from the funk smothering the light from my life. He was the weirdest and best thing that ever happened to me.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo meet cute #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo brainrot club

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blankdblank · 1 year

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Go Bleat Yourself

Usurper, thief, traitor. A few of the endless insults Thorin could cast your way. Before he could snap out of his sickness you had stepped forward to name yourself King Under the Mountain with his Arkenstone aloft. Naming him as your heir only to further the shove of the insult of a blade into his rib cage and give it a firm twist.

True he became just what he feared and succumbed to the sickness but sight of you atop his throne once was a loving imagining as his future intended and now he would have to kneel, not in matrimony to his Queen, but in fealty and obedience as second to this usurping King.

Fair and firm you had ruled for five months now pressing firmer than any imagined you’d dare to bend the Dwarf clans to submission and solid deals of trade and equality, what he hoped to have had your aid in acquiring at his side as partners, now he sealed the deals and finalized the contracts alongside Balin as you held the weight.

True he should have been proud the one he loved had done so much for his people and could be so formidable a contender in battle of words and twist of legal strongholds to bind such clans to these clever inescapable terms that should have him pouring endless affections and praise for his one true love. But he knew he’d failed you.

At the core of it all it was not the theft but the need you must have felt to have taken the reigns where he had failed and fallen. So now he would be obedient and toil to regain his strength in your eyes to be deserving to be chosen as your Prince Consort should you so wish one day to propose marriage to him. And to both hinder and not harm those chances for three months now he had barely spoken a word outside of the tasks assigned to him with you.

He would prove himself, no matter how long it took. Five months now everyone had learned of his slip but to his confidence already the people had seen his stride to become worthy again in their eyes that now shared the lingering hope one day he might be proposed to and they could have that aspired dual wedding and coronation for their prized leaders.

It had been written long before his birth, this numerical Kingship in which his reign would have fallen was marked to have been cut blisteringly short to just a gasp within the coronation. He was not fated to have had long to reign, but what time he could have had he hoped to have shared every moment he could with you. To have built a lifetime out of mere moments he was destined before some unknown sentence to befall him and pass his throne to you and hopefully to any heirs you might have been gifted. And now he stood open mouthed just as the swarms of Dwarves here to hear the proclamation scheduled for all the citizens now for a week, to ensure all could be here. Abdication, by means of infirmity hindering the ability to rule. He had fallen and failed you and now that fate had been dealt upon his love and to his dying day he would wear the same crown of his love cut down in his place. Perhaps as it has been joked in ages past Durins were long destined to fall and rise only to be brought down again and again. Every day he would bear this crown without you would be a kind of death all it’s own.

Radagast had stepped forward and done the duty of passing the crown over the Thorin for the stunned Dwarf Lords who bowed once you had pressed the Arkenstone into the new King’s palm and simply left him to speak to his people for the first time.

“You are ill?” The frail splintered plea for the truth escaped Thorin’s lips as he cast the unwanted crown onto your bed now littered with clothes organized to be placed within the open trunk at the clawed foot of the bed frame.

Mention of a time in the Elven Forest was given and true to your word you seemed to be ready to flee and spend what time you had left upon this earth far from Thorin and his halls. To be buried far beneath the rites and tomb of a King as you had justly earned even in such a short rule whenever the time came. Somewhere he might be forbidden to know location of to not welcome his token of honor to his greatest love in the deepest show of distrust stretching beyond the grave as well.

“That is what I have said to your people, yes.” You replied without looking up at him only urging his body to react before he could stop himself and turn you himself with hold of your arms. Gentle hold, but a hold none the less. Across your lips the most perplexing smirk when, for the first time in months his eyes were locked upon yours to face you dead on.

“What ails you? Surely there must be some course of treatment we might find for you here. The Elves are not the only ones to know old healing magic. Merely flaunt theirs about to strangers. What are your symptoms? You have seemed a little tired, yes, but there is nothing beyond my notice you could have concealing so easily.” His eyes flooded with tears and concern for answers or some way for this to not be true that he had brought this too upon you to the hasten of his words. The dragon was a harm you had knowingly chosen while this curse predestined to him was another matter all together.

“You know, there’s a culture where I come from where young girls have their stars read and those who are foretold to have husbands cut down young are married to goats.” Tears spilled down his cheeks in the confused furrow of his brows to the perplexing notion. “The goats live their lives and all die before the girls are of age to marry, now seemingly safe of their earlier fates to be widowed young.”

“What?” His voice escaped in a crackle of what it had aimed to be when what you had said fell utterly short of anything understandable to what illness you were concealing from the man you’d once spent nights whispering dreams of a future tucked securely in his arms in words of such an unshakable hope one day the both of you would achieve it. Like you had carved it into stone and no creature, even Eru, could dare to change that path you laid.

You simply bleated and stepped out of his hold to walk around him to fetch his crown you brought back to him. Every step urged his body to turn and follow where you were aimed until you raised the crown you put back atop his head. “It would seem my rule ended painfully close to my coronation, and now you are King.”

Sharp and swift his lungs filled with air as the explanation dawned upon him as you added, “Prince Legolas was kind enough to share your fate escorting us to the dungeons while you argued with his father. But I do feel after a few months away I might just make a miraculous recovery. I do expect you to write me.” Now your hands had lowered to frame the face unable to hide his tearful but adoring gaze with his hair and bead decorated braids. Down to the fur lining of his outer jacket to the pool of all his love and gratitude he bore for you into those heart stopping blue eyes your hands eased to straighten the lay of that as well.

Casually you spoke with a playful grin easing across your lips, “Frerin is planning a wedding alongside that coronation of yours, now you will have to woo me, oh grumpiest King Under the Mountain.” Widely a smile cracked across his face in the fact you did not seem fazed by his behavior of late beyond some irritation, “Three months of stubbornness, I expect a fabulous proposal as well. Just with you there it would be marvelous so not much required for to reach the task.”

“You wish to marry me?” He asked almost in a bashful tone at the lingering disbelief to the notion.

“Well I certainly wasn’t going to propose to you behaving like that,” you teased back poking him in his middle as you had done hundreds of time on the journey to this very same mountain.

A poke that seemed to hit an unseen button and have him step forward to crash his lips into yours, arms following after to bring you flush against his chest. A welcome place you burrowed for a breath stealing few minutes of you in his enamored embrace he would never break until the fingers curled to clench onto his shirts and into his beard would release to let him loose again when he’d begun to show he was ready to make all that frustration up to you. His future Queen, the former King Under the Mountain, to rule at his side until Mahal called you both back to the stone.

@devilishminx328 @theincaprincess @lilith15000 @jesevans and adding @deepestfirefun

#Thorin #Thorin x oc #Thorin x reader #King under the mountain #usurper #grumpy king #post dragon sickness #secret plot #the hobbit #lotr #go marry a goat

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myfandomprompts · 4 months

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I went to Pottery barn and I saw girl sections,

Since i saw the girl dad's you did I want you to see from which bed that Ewan's characters would buy for their little girls.

Just pick five characters also it was only pink that was available on the bed displays

Such a shame only pink was available. Could have been fun with more diversity, but they are still very cute!

1°: Famous fav nerd Michael Gavey - Would not care about the price, just loves to cherish his daughter. Hence why if she asks for lights, for a comforting fort, pillows, and TWO beds, he'll give it to her. Or we could pretend that he has twins. That would be very interesting for Michael.

2°: Aemond - It has the most medieval look with the fluffy bed sheets and it can shields his poor daughter against de cold... of Harrenhal? Since in King's Landing you have to wait for winter to be actually cold ;)

3° Tom Bennett - Accessible to watch her sleep, Tom would love that kind of display. The only problem is that it's very low for him to sit on and be close to her... But he'd done worse in the navy, bed wise, so he'll endure it.

4°: This was the most difficult. Maybe because it's the most "simple", however it has a good and solid frame. I'll rely on that and on the princess motif to pick Osferth - He would love to read to her at night from the side of the bed, perfect height and very cute.

5°: Billy Washington would love this one - it's a bigger model, hence perfect to lay his long legs when he is with her playing with her toys. Just a safe space for him and his daughter, and he likes how much she loves fairies.

I'm sorry I took so much time to answer! :x

#headcanons #asked and answered #ewan mitchell #osferth hc #aemond targaryen #michael gavey #beds #billy washington #tom bennett #lovely mutuals

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matthoopergay · 1 year

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A tour of Quint's shack

I've seen Jaws a lot of times. Like, a lot of times. And every time, I've been real curious about the layout of Quint's house. So finally, I've taken the liberty of gathering screenshots for us all to explore!

We'll start here, with the exterior.

Well... this isn't very helpful! Brody is blocking a solid 3rd of the building. Thankfully, there's a production photo available of the entire shack.

Looking towards the building from the port, the entrance is situated on the side of a small foyer coming off the main building. To the right of the doorway, there's a second story above a portion of the main room. This is the only portion of the building with multiple floors, don't let the ridiculously high ceilings fool you!

In another shot from the movie, we get a good view of the building's pillars, and I think we'll all be happy to know that Quint's macabre shark decor continues even beyond the interior, with about a half dozen of what I can only assume to be shark fins strung up on the posts behind Hooper.

Finally, we enter! Let's all say hello to Quint's horrifying little buddy real quick. If you scroll back up to the photo's of the exterior, we are now in the shorter section of the building with the nice big windows.

After Brody turns to the left, he is now facing the second story tower, and we can see that the "foyer" in the front is cordoned off from the main room with a pony wall (which is apparently what half walls are called! The more you know).

Here we get a better view as to what Quint stores on said pony wall, alcohol, a shark jaw... all very standard Quint stuff. I like the little ship model! As we'll soon come to see, Quint loves some fun nautical decor (truly a man after my own heart...). It also looks like the inner-side of the wall sports a countertop, which I imagine is helpful for food preparation.

Turning back around towards the tower, we can see the ladder up to the second story, a little bookshelf (very personally vindicating, as I've always pictured Quint to be rather well-read), as well as Quint's bathroom! He's got one of those fun freestanding tubs, but it stresses me out a bit that he doesn't have any tiling and that it's straight up just on the wood of his floors. Though, I suppose, with him living right on the ocean and all, a little extra moisture probably won't hurt anything that badly. And hey uh... computer? Enhance...

Yeah... Quint has porn hung up in his bathroom... Sorry to those of you who remained blissfully unaware. MOVING ON!

Right up that ladder we can see Quint's bed tucked away to the right. I imagine it'd be quite the nightmare to get up those steps drunk, though. Quint seems well aware of this fact however, which is likely why he has a hammock on the main floor!

Alongside the hammock, we can see Quint’s selection of canned goods (as well as an old-timey diving helmet... where did he get that?? Asking for a friend), even MORE porn behind Brody, as well as the fighting chair from the ORCA. Doesn't sound particularly fun to have to lug it back down all those stairs every time he goes fishing, but he does seem to completely lack seating in his home, so maybe it's not too strange. Just get a folding chair, king!

Maybe the lack of furniture can be explained by the amount of strange nautical decor he has... because yes, that is a SECOND old-timey diving helmet there at Hooper's feet! Can someone who's good at the economy please help him budget this? His family is dying...

Now, this leaves two walls of the house completely unexplored, and unfortunately, for the most part it must remain that way. They're just never really shown!

However, we do get to see that Quint has a ship wheel on, I’m assuming, the wall next to the ladder.

That's the only time the wheel is shown, but I'm relatively sure that it's just off-screen, to the left of Mr. Hooper here.

And here we have the only view of the back wall in the entire scene! This was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it frame that was only on screen for around a half of a second. I'm not entirely confident in my assessment here, but Quint has a display of what I'm guessing are maybe harpoon guns? In the back window.

I'm not going to claim that it's to scale or anything, but here's a rough estimate of the layout that I threw together!

While we're all still here, I had intended to use this screenshot as well, but it never ended up being needed. So, another exterior shot! This time, Quint's entire neighborhood.

As you can see, Quint's house absolutely towers over all of the other buildings here. I’d assume this is because Quint's shack was a set that was built for the movie (and, unfortunately, demolished after filming), while the rest are real, residential buildings! I bet Quint's neighbors hated him lmao

I have a few more miscellaneous screenshots that don't fit here but that I want to share regardless, so I'll likely reblog some of them on this post later! I'd love to do one of these for the ORCA as well, but it would be a much more intensive post to make since I'd be pulling from an hour of footage rather than 3 minutes. And the lower cabin is basically never shown, which I know would frustrate me, lmao. But it depends, I suppose, on how y'all feel about this one to begin with!! Peace & love, Jaws fans.

#jaws 1975 #quint #sam quint #sharkspeak #not marine bio #jaws

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wen-kexing-apologist · 1 year

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Bed Friend and Reflections- Part 2

In case you missed it here is part 1

Episode 5

Episode 5 has very few reflections in it, and the first one is pretty subtle. It’s the reflection of the bed in the television. This is the first (but not the last) time that we see the reflection of pillows. This is, in a way, a mirror of the reflection in Episode 4 of Uea asleep in bed.

The reflection sits behind King’s sleeping form, and it shows Uea’s side of the bed is empty. While Episode 3 is where I think Uea first realizes he has feelings for King, I take Episode 5 to be where Uea’s feelings deepen and he begins testing King. The space beside King should not be empty, Uea should be there, and so even though Uea is present and extremely visible in this scene his absence from King’s side is brought to our attention.

Their relationship gets a little more tenuous because King begins to bring up the arranged match and so the only other reflection we get in Episode 5 is the barest trace of King’s shoulders in the window when he and Uea are hugging on the leather chair.

The scene itself is very cute and shows King’s commitment to Uea to have him agree not to smoke. But I want to take the reflection as foreshadowing to the break down between them in Episode 6. King and Uea have yet to admit their feelings and therefore are unclear on their feelings for each other. This uncertainty will make Uea (partially because of his history) lose sight of what King means to him, and what they mean to each other. But we aren’t there yet…

…or you know, more likely it’s just a reflection.

Episode 6

The first reflection of Episode 6 actually plays with the concept/the theme. Jade is asking Uea about the person he is seeing and King, being the menace he is, will not stop looking at Uea. But Jade has no indication whatsoever that Uea and King are fucking, so he looks at the computer that is parallel to King thinking that King must be looking at his own reflection.

But there is not a single reflection we get from King where he is looking at himself. So Jade won’t find anything in that reflection because King isn’t focused on himself, he’s focused on Uea.

King and Uea go back to King’s place and we get another lovely window reflection when King and Uea are sitting together on the couch. King’s back is to the window, and his image is reflected over top of what would generally be considered a barrier, except that in the reflection being cast over it, we’ve removed that barrier. And this works here because King is about to ask Uea to engage in kink with him, and that is a progression in their relationship where King is admitting to liking something he could potentially be judged for. We still get a barrier between King and Uea in the form of the gap in the glass, I see this as both Uea not being completely forthright about Krit and also King’s uncertainty as to whether or not Uea will want to engage in pet play.

But he does, so we get some solid reflections of Uea in King’s bedroom window. Mostly just his back, but there are no barriers. Uea is on the same page with King now, so there is nothing to separate them.

And King is completely focused on Uea and his pleasure so Uea’s is the only reflection we get.

Was talking with @bengiyo and he and his friends were mentioning how every sex scene in Bed Friend serves the purpose of changing King and Uea’s relationship to one another. When King and Uea engage in pet play, this is the most marked change in their understanding. Something has changed, King and Uea like each other, King and Uea want to date each other, but Uea needs King to say it first, and King accidentally fumbles the ball because he waits too long to ask and his mother and her arranged match gets in the way.

Where during the pet play scene, Uea’s reflection is facing both with his back to and also just directionally away from the metal support of the window that would serve as a barrier/frame; when King calls to try to hang out with Uea after King has had to cancel the trip, Uea’s reflection faces towards the metal frame of his windows. He is facing towards the barrier because he has put his walls back up.

And our final reflections in Episode 6 concern Krit.

When Krit comes up to Uea and Gun at the entrance of their workplace, we see Uea and Gun’s reflections are clear and solid. Krit’s however is not. He’s on the very edge of the reflected surface and his visage is distorted. Krit exists both outside of employee group (as their boss) and is trying to hide his true intentions (assaulting Uea).

Because Krit is trying to blend in (wearing King’s colors, etc) but has an ulterior motive, we get the warping of his reflection.

We get King coming to interrupt the conversation and Krit retreating, which sends King walking through the reflection barrier towards Uea and Gun and Krit walking away from the barrier because as much as he tries to pursue Uea, Uea will never let him in.

And though Uea has put his walls back up around King by the end of this episode, King has engaged with Uea enough that he is allowed to pass through.

Episode 7

Interestingly, there aren’t that many reflections to talk about in Episode 7, cause Uea is too busy getting assaulted and King is too busy being possessive for either of them to do much reflecting.

HOWEVER the reflections we do get in this episode? Oh, they are delicious! Uea is pulling away because King is going on the blind dates, but we know King Like Likes Uea and that because he is constantly respectful and understanding of Uea’s boundaries, King will continue to maintain that distance. But he can’t stop thinking about Uea so we get Uea’s face reflecting off King’s computer. Uea’s reflection is going so far as to look away from King even as King appears to be looking at Uea.

But that reflection changes quickly so that King’s face blocks Uea’s reflection and we only see King’s reflection, facing away from Uea.

And good golly Miss Molly this serves as such a great visual metaphor for King himself being the biggest obstacle between him and Uea right now. Because his massive respect for Uea’s boundaries is preventing him from crossing the line enough to tell Uea his feelings, because his jealousy and possessiveness will soon blind him to Uea’s distress.

The only other reflection we get in Episode 7? Drunk King facing the television with a reflection of the Uea color-palette pillows. This is especially poignant because King is actively texting Uea that he misses him here. Uea is noticeably, physically absent from this scene but reminders of him are everywhere around King’s apartment. He can’t escape from them because he doesn’t want to.

part 3

#bed friend #bed friend the series #kinguea #ueaking #king x uea #uea x king #netjames #domundi #mandee channel #bed friend analysis #bed friend reflections #bed friend ep 5 #bed friend ep 6 #bed friend ep 7

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keiththecat · 1 year

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Admissible (Part Eight)

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Reader (You)

Summary: You've always hunted alone. That is, until Bobby sends you on a hunt near the Winchester brothers. How will things change when they come to help?

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+, series typical violence and monsters, weapons, cursing, groping/ almost sexual assault, self-doubt/ self-esteem issues, character death, injuries, hurt/comfort

Author's Note: Thank you all for continuing to read! I hope you continue to enjoy it!! Y/N is your name, and feedback is always welcome. Thanks for reading and thanks for all the love so far! <3

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or any of the related characters. The Supernatural series is created by Eric Kripke and owned by The CW Network. This work of fan fiction is for entertainment only. I am not making a profit of any kind from this story. All rights of the original Supernatural series belong to The CW Network.

Part One

AO3 link here

You wake to an empty bed, rubbing your eyes and sitting up. You feel conflicted to wake alone, disappointed that Sam left you but hoping he left to continue researching. You get out of bed and put your boots back on. When you open the door and step out of Sam’s room, you find yourself no longer inside the bunker. Now inside a grandiose room, the ceilings are stories above you, covered in an intricate painting depicting what looks like angels and war. The floor is smooth black marble, the walls are covered in framed art . Looking behind you for the door you came through, you find a solid wall with more art on it. So a giant room with only one giant set of doors across from me. Totally not weird or suspicious.

You go to draw your gun, hand grasping at air. You pat yourself and find yourself completely unarmed. You sigh, then square your shoulders and move forward. You push one of the doors open, finding it surprisingly easy to open considering its absurdly large size. It opens to a similarly sized room, with the same high ceiling and walls of art. This room, however, has a large fireplace on the wall to your left, and several red couches and chairs around it. There are also several different doors along the walls of this room. There is a man sitting in one of the chairs, facing you. He has short brown hair and a beard that is greying on the sides. He’s wearing a solid black suit, complete with black shirt and a grey tie. He sits tall with an air of cockiness about him.

“Welcome, Y/N. Please, come have a seat,” he says, British accent prominent, gesturing to the seats near him.

You eye him skeptically, but figuring you have no other option, you move into the room and sit on a couch facing him. You sit on the edge of the seat, tense.

“Please relax, we need to talk. Believe me, if I wanted you dead, you would be already,” he says. You sit back, attempting to appear relaxed. You’re sure he can tell you’re faking, but he continues anyway. “I’m sure you have many questions. I’ll be a gentleman and allow you to go first.”

“Okay. Who are you and where am I?”

He smiles, “ah, starting with the easy ones. My name is Crowley, King of Hell. We’re in your dream.”

You raise an eyebrow, “I’m still asleep?”

“Yes, you’re still sleeping. This is just a little something I whipped up so we could chat, just us,” he says, gesturing with his arms like he’s presenting it to you. “I didn’t think Moose, Squirrel, and Wings would appreciate me dropping in to talk to you.”

“Who?” you ask, confused.

“The Winchesters and their angel,” he answers.

“Oh, okay. And why am I here?”

“Well,” he leans forward, clasping his hands in front of him, “I heard you had a run in with a little group I’ve been looking for. I believe they’re calling themselves ‘The Night.’”

You cross your arms and lean back in your seat, unsure if you should trust him. As you’re scrutinizing him, you are hit with a wave of Sam’s scent, and you instinctively close your eyes to take a deep breath.

“Ah,” Crowley says, standing and stepping closer to you, “you’re starting to wake up and our time is nearly over. Tell the boys to summon me if you want my help with those pests. I believe we can help each other.”

The room in front of you melts away, leaving you in darkness. You can feel small movements against the side of your head, and you realize the movements are Sam’s chest moving with his breaths. At some point in your slumber, you managed to roll on top of him, your legs tangled with his and his arms wrapped around you. You turn and burrow your face into his chest, and you can feel Sam chuckle under his breath.

“I met Crowley,” you mumble into his chest.

You feel Sam stiffen, “what? When?”

“In my dream. He was in my dream.” You turn your head, placing your chin on Sam’s chest so you can look at him. His brows are furrowed and he looks concerned. “He said to tell you to summon him if we want his help with those demons. Said he’s been looking for them, too.”

“Huh,” Sam hums and relaxes slightly, “I guess I hadn’t considered checking with him yet. Could be worth talking to Dean and Cass about, maybe we could at least get some info from Crowley about them.” You can see the wheels in his mind turning, weighing the consequences.

“So you guys are familiar enough with the King of Hell that he has nicknames for you?” you ask.

Sam rolls his eyes, “that’s one of his favorite ways to amuse himself. What did he call us?”

“Moose, Squirrel, and Wings,” you answer. “I’m guessing you’re ‘Moose?’”

“Unfortunately,” Sam answers, but you can see his dimples threatening to make an appearance.

You close your eyes and tuck your face back into Sam’s chest for a moment, and he tightens his arms around you in response. “How long was I out?”

You feel him move his arm to look at his watch, “a little over six hours.”

You roll over, laying beside him and looking at him with your brows furrowed, “and you’ve been laying here bored for six hours?”

“I wasn’t bored. I was reading,” he gestures to a book on the nightstand beside him. “Plus, you’re pretty cute when you sleep.”

“Oh, only when I’m sleeping, huh?” you tease. Sam’s cheeks turn red, and you can feel yours start to color in response. “Sorry,” you continue, looking at the ceiling, “should we talk about this?”

“Yeah- um-,” Sam stutters shyly, “I mean- I’m all in. I think I have been since I first saw you in that diner.”

“Yeah,” you admit, still looking at the ceiling to avoid eye contact, “I’m in, too. I was definitely trying to fight it at first out of fear. And- I mean- I’m definitely still afraid. I know we hunters don’t really get the luxury of getting close with anyone. I guess I’m kind of hoping that since we’re both in the life, it’ll work out, you know? At least we both know what to expect.”

Sam reaches over and takes your hand, interlocking your fingers, “I’m afraid, too, Y/N. But I know it’ll be worth it.”

You turn to look at each other, and you see his questioning eyes land on your lips, wordlessly asking for permission. You give him a smile and small nod. He releases your hand and slides his right arm under your head. He leans toward you, bringing his left hand to your cheek and his lips to yours. His soft lips meld against yours, and you turn your bodies toward each other, wrapping your arms around him. He wraps his left leg over both of yours, pulling you closer. His tongue touches your lower lip, asking permission and you open willingly. You lose yourself in the kiss and his embrace, both of you pulling away and gasping for air after a while.

“Wow,” Sam breathes.

“Yeah,” you agree. You find it so easy to lose yourself in the strong feelings you have for Sam. You still have your reservations, but it helps to know he’s nervous, too.

“I hate to say it,” Sam says, “but as much as I want to lay here with you in my arms even longer, we should probably go catch Dean and Cass up on things.” You agree, and he gives you another sweet peck on the lips before getting out of bed. You get up, grabbing your weapons and boots. You rub your arms, feeling chilled now that you’re no longer in Sam’s arms. You turn around as Sam, already dressed and ready again, tosses a blue flannel at you. You catch the shirt smoothly before looking at him with furrowed brows.

“You know my room with my clothes is right across the hall, right?” you ask, pulling the flannel on anyway and enjoying how much it smells like Sam.

“I know but you’ll look better in mine,” Sam smiles and shrugs, offering his hand to you, “ready?”

You take his hand, letting him lead you out of the room to look for the others.

You find Dean and Cass in the library, surrounded by books but talking.

“So Crowley is involved now,” Sam says as you two enter the room. Dean and Cass turn to look at you, both looking concerned. You and Sam take seats across from them, and you proceed to tell them all the details of your dream and conversation with the demon.

“I think we should see what he knows. He said he was looking for them, too. Maybe he wants them gone as much as we do,” you say.

“Problem is,” Dean explains, “Crowley will only help if it benefits him, too. He’ll always put himself first.”

“So we play it safe and plan as if he’s going to cross us. Surely the four of us can handle him, right?” you ask, looking between the men. “I mean, we’ve got the best hunter trio and me. We’re golden, right?”

“Y/N is right,” Cass says, giving you a small smile, “we can handle Crowley.”

Happy that Cass seems to be on your side, you look at the two brothers. They are looking at each other, seeming to have a silent conversation with minimal facial expressions. Finally, Dean looks at you, “alright, we’ll summon him. But first, how do you feel about tattoos?”

“Why?” you ask, looking between the brothers.

Dean nods, taking your non-answer as an answer, and points at Cass, “Cass, you good to do your rib thing for her? I can take care of the other one.” Cass nods. Dean stands, patting Sam on the shoulder, “alright. Sammy, meet you in the infirmary?” Dean leaves the room.

You look at Sam, hoping he’ll give you an answer. “What’s all this?”

“Well, if you’re gonna be dealing with the bigger things now, you should be protected,” Sam explains. “Cass can give you an Enochian tattoo on your ribs that will help with any angel issues, and Dean can give you an anti-possession tattoo. If you’re okay with all that.”

“If it’s something you recommend, I’ll do it. Do you have these tattoos?”

Sam pulls aside the collar of his shirt, revealing a black symbol on his chest: a pentacle with spokes around it. “Can’t really show you the Enochian one, it’s literally on my ribs.”

“Oh- uh- ouch?”

“Yeah, it’ll hurt for a moment. But it’ll help in the long run, I promise,” Sam takes your hands. “You okay with this?”

You nod, determined. “Yeah, let’s do it. Time to really initiate me into the group, huh?” You look to Cass, “you okay with marking me up?”

Cass nods, “anything to help.”

“You ready?” Sam asks. You nod, holding his hand. Sam nods to Cass, who places a hand on your side. You feel an intense burn under his hand, but it passes after a few short moments, leaving behind only a small ache. Cass removes his hand, “all finished.”

“Thanks, Cass,” you smile at the angel, who returns the gesture. You look back at Sam, “and you say Dean will give me the other one to match you? How?”

“Well,” Sam explains, “he has a tattoo gun. So if you’re okay with a less-than-professional job, we can do it without leaving the bunker.”

Your eyebrows shoot up high, “Dean can tattoo?”

A short while later and you are set up on a stretcher in the bunker’s infirmary, since that is the closest to a sterile environment as you’ll be able to get. Sam and Cass are off gathering supplies to summon Crowley, and Dean is meticulously tattooing your skin with the anti-possession symbol. His phone is sitting on a counter next to him, classic rock playing through its speakers.

“So, a tattoo gun, huh?” you ask, making conversation to get to know Dean better but also to distract yourself from the feeling of being tattooed.

He stops working to glance at you with a raised eyebrow, then continues after gently wiping his work. “Thought it would come in handy someday. And would you look at that? I was right.”

“So did you do your tattoo and Sam’s?”

He shakes his head, “no, we went to a shop for ours. I got the gun after that, just in case any other symbols or touch ups were needed later.”

You nod, “that makes sense. But I didn’t think you’d be the artistic type.”

Dean shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed, “I learned over the years.”

“That’s cool, Dean,” you admit. “Plus, it fits the whole leather jacket/ motorcycle/ bad-boy thing you’ve got going on.”

He smirks, shaking his head at your teasing. “Careful, Y/N, I’ve got control of the needles that are stabbing you right now.”

You laugh a little, doing your best not to jostle Dean’s work. “So how many tattoos do you have?”

“Just a few little ones. Nothing crazy. Had to practice somewhere,” he justifies, and you hum in response.

Some more time passes with just his music filling the room, but it’s comfortable. Well, as comfortable as it can be with needles stabbing into you repeatedly.

“So,” Dean asks as he puts on the finishing touches, “you and Sammy have a good talk?”

You smile, “I think so, yeah.”

He places a bandage over your new tattoo, “I noticed you’re wearing his shirt.”

You blush. “I was cold and he gave it to me,” you argue.

Dean hums, unbelieving, and smirks at you. “Alright, well, your tattoo is all done.” He turns and puts his tattoo gun away in a cabinet. You stand, heading for the door and wrapping yourself further into Sam’s shirt subconsciously when Dean calls after you, “and Y/N?” You start to turn around, but Dean comes up beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and walking with you through the hallway. “I like you, but don’t hurt my brother.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Dean,” you state, Dean’s threat clear to you. He squeezes your shoulder before letting go, the two of you walking side by side to the dungeon to summon Crowley.

Part Nine

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theseshipsshallsail · 5 months

Text

Summary:

Elio leans his weight against the solid oak frame, a helpless smile touching his lips at the way Little Ollie’s bundled comfortably in his namesake’s lap. The Boba Fett plushie Oliver shipped from the States tucked securely in the crook of his elbow. Polpetta hunkered loyally by his dangling ankles.

YOUR MOUNTAIN IS WAITING (SO GET ON YOUR WAY)

It’s a pair of squabbling finches on the balcony that rouse him from his afternoon siesta; their incessant warbling reminiscent of Polpetta’s squeaky chew toys as they dart and weave amongst the potted azaleas. Elio’s alone in his wakening - a somewhat unusual occurrence since Oliver’s return to the villa - yet a brief glance at his watch reveals it to be nearly three p.m, and the lingering trace of bergamot shampoo that tickles his nostrils has him burying his face in the disorderly pillows; smothering a helpless grin within their abstract patterns.

The top-sheet and comforter are bunched around his waist - a subconscious rejection of the close, muggy air - whereas Oliver’s warmth has already leached from the king-sized mattress. Beyond the balustrade, a cloudless sky reigns sapphire-blue - a sharp contrast to the virulent storm of earlier - and when a gentle breeze enters through the unshuttered windows Elio rolls sideways with a listless groan, allowing the susurrus rustle of trailing wisteria to lull him into a tranquil state.

It’d be easy, he thinks, to indulge his inner-wastrel. Enjoy the liminal hush of a September afternoon. Drift back to his dreams. Yet no amount of tossing and turning can quell his latent curiosity, and for his sins, the bed feels loathsomely empty without Oliver’s steadfast presence beside him.

“Dannazione…” he grumbles, wrestling free of the blankets’ grip, then swings his unsocked feet to the chilly floorboards as he forgoes the caffeine-rich temptation of his trusty Moka pot.

There’s a thin, cotton Oxford draped over the cluttered writing desk - his, Oliver’s, Elio cares not which - and distracted by the fiddly buttons he almost trips over a plastic tennis racket discarded by the baseboard. A solitary Spider-Man sneaker lies atop it - its counterpart, he notices, sits adjacent to Oliver’s sand-flecked espadrilles. Wherever he’s gone, presumably it can’t be far, and when a cursory check of the ensuite finds their swimming trunks still drying over the bathtub faucets, Elio ventures out of the master bedroom, continuing his game of cat-and-mouse in the deserted corridor, instead.

He’s halfway down the foyer staircase when he hears it: Oliver’s soothing baritone. Something twinges in his gut as he follows the siren call - even at a distance, the lyrical spiel is strikingly familiar - and knuckling the sleep from his gritty eyelids he avoids the creakiest steps out of instinct, not wanting to divert his beloved’s attention when he’s clearly in full-flow.

Pavlovian, maybe, but the confident nature of Oliver’s professore voice is wont to summon goosebumps over Elio’s skin, and right now, there’s a deeper quality, also.

Something sweet.

Indulgent.

Fondness, wrapped in an innate layer of contentment.

Theories come and go, his father used to say, debating some pompous scholar over the al fresco dining table, yet fundamental data remains the same, and edging closer to the living room door, Elio pauses at the threshold, his previous suspicions confirmed the very moment he clocks the winsome scene before him.

Of Oliver - bearded chin cushioned by his brother’s corkscrew-curls - faithfully narrating the Doctor Seuss anthology their Papà couldn’t bear to part with. The whimsical verses he’d read to he and Ollie, both; albeit several decades apart.

“History is cyclic,” Elio’d quoted back in June, yawning fiercely through one of their late-night phone calls. “...and I can’t wait to make new memories with you. Not to replace the originals, of course,” he’d reassured quickly. “Au contraire! But to have them exist side-by-side. Our past and present, combined. Concrete foundations on which to build our future.”

So Elio does just that as he leans his weight against the solid oak frame, a helpless smile touching his lips at the way Little Ollie’s bundled comfortably in his namesake’s lap. The Boba Fett plushie Oliver shipped from the States tucked securely in the crook of his elbow. Polpetta hunkered loyally by his dangling ankles.

Ostensibly, his younger brother looks enthralled by the book’s varied illustrations, yet Elio recognises his owlish blinks for what they truly are: the pre-adolescent nap time stubbornness intrinsic to all Perlman males.

According to Miranda and his mother, at any rate.

“...never forget to be dexterous and deft,” Oliver murmurs, a small, paint-stained fist clutching his charcoal-grey t-shirt. “...and never mix up your right foot with your left…”

Again, that unnamed something tugs at Elio’s midsection; the hairs on his forearms rising much as they did that long-ago summer when they first recited Frost and Neruda late into the night: the pair of them laid out on an old, tartan throw-rug beneath an endless canopy of stars.

“...so be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray, or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,you're off to great places! Today is -”

“- your’day…” Ollie blurts, wriggling sideways to rest his head upon his favourite storyteller’s sternum. Snuggling into the crocheted blanket Oliver drapes around his slumping shoulders. “Don’ stop…” he mumbles then, with all the authority of a fifty-pound seven year old. “Un altro, per favore…”

And Elio’s heart expands within his chest: the wealth of emotion it harbours bringing a choked lump to his throat as the other man continues flicking through the dog-eared pages; one hand stroking the curve of Little Ollie’s spine until his lashes fan out stationary over his sun-dappled cheekbones.

#cmbyn fanfic #call me by your name #established relationship #post-reunion #elio x oliver #Dad mode Oliver

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radioactivepeasant · 2 years

Text

Ambush! It's an unscheduled Free Day Thursday!

It's my b-day and I can break my scheduling rules if I darn well please. And yes, it's more Meddling Mar. I'm chipping away at Faulty Info writer's block and working on a different project for a bit usually rejuvenates my writer brain.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

As much as he hated to admit it, the monks' disgusting "desert lily" juice did do a lot to make Jak less lethargic and thirsty. Not that he would ever admit it. It was embarrassing enough when the monks would come each day to make him practice walking. He hated that he had to lean on them for support just to get to the latrine. It had been days, right? Why did he still feel so weak? He'd been able to run mere minutes after the final dark eco injection!

Part of him wondered if perhaps he healed faster when he was in imminent danger. If the dark eco merely kept his body moving and in fighting condition, just waiting for the next chance to come out. Maybe it just went back to being a detriment when he was truly at rest. But how would he know? Jak didn't think he'd actually had a chance to sleep in since- well, probably since before he convinced Daxter to go to Misty Island with him.

By the third day, he was sick of it. Sick of the medicine, sick of feeling helpless, and sick of the boring beige clay covering metal wallframes imperfectly. So when Mar once again suggested an escape, he was pretty sure he could force his legs to keep moving long enough to see something other than this stupid recovery ward.

"There's stairs right when you get through the door," Mar told him as he hauled himself out of bed. "I haven't tried going up yet, but I know there's always somebody downstairs."

"Well let's just start with me not falling down the stairs and cracking my head open," Jak answered flatly. "Did either of you see what they did with my goggles?"

Mar lifted blankets and pillows, then turned to shrug. "Maybe we'll find them upstairs?"

Tugging Jak's arm with one hand, and grabbing Daxter's hand with the other, Mar tried to pull them out of the alcove. He was eager to leave, and with his brothers both awake, now was the perfect time.

"So!" A booming voice echoed through the ward, curtailing the boys' escape attempt. "You've come back from the dead, have you?"

Jak instinctively shoved Mar behind him and whirled to face the door. The man blocking the exit wasn't the tallest person he'd ever seen, but his shoulders were broad and his frame was solid enough that Jak knew he wasn't going to be able to just push past him.

"And here my monks were, ready to pray for you."

The man folded his arms across his chest and smirked.

Daxter tensed up and pointed. "Jak! It's-!"

Mar scowled. "Thats-"

"The Snitch?"

The man's smirk stretched into a sharp grin that put Jak in mind of a shark.

"I'm afraid I'm here to ruin your escape attempt again, little Secret."

"Um."

Jak frowned and fruitlessly tried to push Mar behind him again, towards the beds.

"What are you talking about?"

The horned man -- or crowned or something -- strolled into the ward like he owned the place. "Well, every time I ask his name, he says it's "A Secret," after all."

He tilted his head towards Mar, that strange smile still glued on.

"Hmm, maybe I should have asked before. Do you prefer to go by "A-Sec"? Or "Cret"?"

Mischief sparkled in his dark eyes.

"What about "Seek"? Should we call you Seek?"

Mar's face twisted in confusion. "You're weird."

Daxter snorted. "That is not the worst nickname you coulda gotten, kid. Trust me."

"Where are we?" Jak demanded.

Fatigue pulled at his limbs, draining his resolve faster than he'd expected. But he didn't want to go back to bed, not until he had some answers.

"How did we get here? Who are you people?!"

"The nation of Spargus, I fished you out of the Strider Range, and Damas, king of Spargus, in that order," the man answered archly.

A king?!

In hindsight, Jak thought that might have explained the weird spikes coming out of his skull. But it didn't explain much else.

"Spargus?"

He said the name slowly, and fought back a yawn.

"Wait, nobody lives outside Haven's walls!" Jak sputtered, "Not a whole city!"

"Ah, yes." The king’s tone was dry. "We are the...forgotten ones. The refuse of cities like Haven, thrown out and left to die."

Oh.

Jak supposed it made sense that he wasn't the first person Haven had done this to, but it still managed to surprise him.

"Sounds like us," he muttered bitterly.

"Mm." The king stepped forward, straight into the little alcove where the boys had been sleeping. "Right: back to bed with you."

Mar shook his head fiercely. "Go away! It's not bedtime!"

Damas didn’t look offended. If anything, he looked amused.

"It is for Jak, little one. The sooner he sleeps off this ordeal, the sooner we can integrate you into the city."

The brothers glanced at each other.

"Who said we wanted to be part of your city?" Jak demanded.

"We're trying to get to some place called the Lighthouse."

All at once, Damas threw back his head and laughed.

"The light- the Lighthouse?" He shook his head and spread his arms wide. "Young one, you're in the Lighthouse!"

Daxter hopped up to the bed when it became obvious that this Damas guy wasn't going to let them leave.

"Uh, hate to interrupt here but- aren't lighthouses usually, y'know, near water?"

Damas smirked. He bent down and scooped up Daxter without so much as a by-your-leave, then held the offended ottsel up to the window cut into the stone wall.

"Tell me what you see."

It was the first time Daxter had gotten close to the window. He gripped the sill as a wave of nostalgia crashed over him.

The air was clean, and clear.

He could see so far-!

"It's...it's the ocean!" he gasped.

"Jak! Jak, we made it to the ocean! And the water is still clean!"

"You serious?!"

Jak scrambled up onto the bed to peer out the higher window overhead.

Sure enough, seabirds wheeled over an endless expanse of blue. Waves rolled and crashed as though they'd never heard of all the pollution of Haven, and Jak could have sworn he glimpsed something absolutely massive moving under the water.

It was so much like the view from Sentinel Beach.

Even after standing in the ruins of Samos’s hut, Jak knew that this was the closest he'd felt to home.

Damas set Daxter down and leaned casually against the wall.

"So. A couple children from Haven, trying to make it to unmarked shores. What were you hoping to accomplish?"

Caught up in nostalgia, Jak absently answered, "As long as I can see the ocean, I'm still free."

Surprise creased the king’s forehead, followed by an unexpected understanding.

He nodded slowly.

"You'd be surprised how many of us come to Spargus with the same thoughts."

Something wry and a little self-deprecating crossed his face.

"And how many of us get here on the edge of death’s door, like you. The Lighthouse represents the hope of both freedom and rescue to those stranded by their enemies. Once we're rescued, though, our lives belong to each other and the nation of Spargus, to be used for the city's good."

Jak dropped from the window to crouch on the bed, and a dark, suspicious look entered his eyes.

"What do you mean "belong to"?"

If he noticed the boy’s abruptly hostile tone, Damas didn’t indicate it. He shrugged and tipped his head back as though deep in thought.

"Out here, strength and survival are what Wastelanders respect the most. We live in a harsh land, boy. In order for there to even be a nation to accept the exiled, we all had to work to reclaim enough desert to live on."

Damas pushed off of the wall and scooped up the mortar and pestle on the table. Ignoring Jak's groan, he began methodically grinding up one of the last two leaves of Desert Lily.

"Everyone pulls their weight in Spargus," he said, lifting the pestle to point at Jak, "Be they king or recent rescue. Some serve as warriors, some as scouts. Some make things, some tend animals, some teach and tend to what few children we are granted. Without one link, the chain falls apart."

Damas straightened and looked from Jak to Daxter to Mar, more serious now.

"Let that be your first lesson in this city: through unity, we survive. If one person shirks or throws their work onto the shoulders of another, we all suffer for it."

Daxter folded his arms and scoffed. "Somebody tell Haven that. Right, Jak?"

Jak's frown was more pensive than suspicious now.

"Does everyone live by that?" he asked pointedly, "Or just you?"

The shark grin came back.

"Oh I learned it from an old woman here, when I was the half-dead stray. Those who have been here longer than twenty years all learned the value of unity long ago."

While Jak pondered the implications of that, Damas poured a little water into a bowl. Carefully, he tipped the mortar just enough for the bitter, gel-like juices and eco of the plant to slide into the water without splashing. After a moment's stirring, the king lifted the bowl to his own lips and took a sip. Instantly, he made a face and put it down.

"Ecch. That's not well filtered. I'm going to get a cheesecloth."

He stepped out of the alcove and began rummaging through the supplies the monks had lined up neatly on carts between alcoves.

Mar blinked twice. "What...what does cheese have to do with Jak's medicine?! Why are you so weird?!"

Bemused, Damas shook his head and turned his attention back to the search. "It's- It's for straining. I do not know -- Ah, there's one! -- I do not know why it is called a cheesecloth either."

"Because you pour the whey into it to catch the curds when you're making yakkow cheese," Daxter supplied idly. "Whey goes through the weave, curds don't. Get it? Cheese-cloth, for cheese-making."

Catching Mar's surprised look, Daxter shrugged. "Kid, I went from the brat who mucks out the barn to owning my own pub. I know everything we use yakkows for. Everything."

Mar wrinkled his nose. "We didn't have any yakkows left when we got the Rift boat working. Metalheads ate em all."

Jak recoiled. "All of them?! What- what about old Zeb? What happened to him?"

He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Sure, he'd known on a cognitive level that everyone who had lived in Sandover was long dead now. But when Mar had been living in the immediate aftermath of his departure, it was hard to think of the old folks dying. Especially if it had been in front of his younger self.

Mar shrugged with the careless nonchalance of childhood. "I dunno. Everybody that didn't get eaten moved to the jungle to hide in the Precursor ruins. We went back and forth a lot the first two years."

Jak's shoulders fell, and he nodded. "At least somebody survived, I guess."

"Samos always complains that it woulda been more if you'd gone back with us." Mar rolled his eyes. "Like he wasn't the guy who made you stay behind in the first place."

As he returned to filter the medicine, Damas read the small boy's signs in mild bewilderment. Rather quickly, he decided he wasn't going to poke that bear. Not while the boys were still recovering and in a potentially volatile state.

Samos was a name he recognized -- that Precursor History nut from the court of Haven, as he recalled, grandson of the last Green Eco sage. Damas had always found the man irritating. It seemed as if the little one, at least, shared his opinion.

"Mar, stop." Jak set his jaw and kept his signs low, partially out of sight. "We'll talk about it later."

The boy probably thought he'd been very discreet, but considering they were communicating with the lingua franca of Spargus, it was really pretty obvious. It was as if they believed they were the only signers present! Damas tucked the thought away to ponder later, preoccupied with the sign he guessed was little "Seek's" abbreviated name.

It bore a distinct similarity to his own son's nickname.

#surprise free day thursday #jak and daxter #meddling mar au #jak and daxter au #jak and daxter mar #dadmas #king damas #ENTER THE DADMAS #man steps inside and immediately starts cracking dad jokes. probably because he knows they go over everyone's head #continuation #daxter probably knows a lot about food and food preparation considering he actually managed to turn Krew's saloon into something functional #playing with the orignal game script to reflect what i feel a more developed game would be like #although to my chagrin there actually is a doylist reason for the Arena of Death #it's a mini version of all the game-overs you could face once you get the gate pass and go out in the desert #the darn thing actually has a useful function #Jak and Mar still don't realize literally every adult in Spargus can understand them. Their names are the worst-kept secret in Spargus

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camels-pen · 1 year

Text

haha summonings amiright folks

Summary:

Valerie tries to summon the Ghost King.

She gets a little less (more?) than she bargained for.

based on @darthfrodophantom's prompt "Cut the head off the snake, everything else falls apart. Valerie is hoping the same will hold true for the Ghost Zone. And now that Vlad Masters has given her a way to summon the king of the Ghost Zone, she’s hoping she can eliminate the ghost threat once and for all. It sounded like a solid plan, until Danny Fenton of all people showed up when she used the summoning ritual."

Ao3 Link

A circle of blood red flowers, sprinkled with purified (table) salt. A star painted with the blood of several rodents (oh, fuck no, this thing could and would settle for red coloured chalk instead). Five unscented candles arranged at each point, lit one after another in a counterclockwise direction (because why the hell not? God this was annoying). And with a valuable sacrifice placed in the centre (her worn Jonas Brothers poster from above her bed, because this was the one thing she wouldn’t half-ass), speaking the sacred tongue of the beloved (eugh) Ghost King will summon him into your clutches.

It was fairly simple as far as magic rituals went. Valerie had overheard tougher quests from girls talking about video games in the bathroom. It wasn’t like Val was following the recipe to a T, but it was pretty simple.

She was maybe cutting a few corners here and there, but if it worked, it worked. If it didn’t, well, she’d huff about it, maybe complain to Star, but no matter how annoyed she would be, she would ultimately go out and try to find purified salt from, like, a priest or something. She drew the line at rodents though. Had way too much familiarity with them roaming her apartment’s lobby recently and she certainly wasn’t going to touch their blood.

Plus, Val had too much pride (and a healthy fear of mice) to immediately do whatever Mr. Masters’ summoning ritual was telling her without question.

It was fine. Her way would work.

Probably.

She took a calming breath and stumbled her way through the ghost language written on the old parchment. A breeze blew through the room as she reached the half-way mark. the candles flickering wildly as she shivered through her suit.

Then, all of a sudden, it was pure chaos.

She dropped to her knees as the wind started to pick up at the end of her chanting. When she read the final word, a terrible gust tore through the room, throwing around anything not nailed down.

She held tight to the ground, ducking under her desk as it flew past. The candles were snuffed out completely, smoke curling around the devastating tornado being created in her bedroom.

Fuck, was this the weather ghost again? Or did her shortcuts summon something else entirely? She really hoped she didn’t just call up a natural disaster to destroy her room. Her dad would definitely ground her and take her suit away if she did.

And, if she didn’t just summon that weather ghost—if this really was the Ghost King she was summoning, then she needed more room to fight. Either way, she needed to find a way to stop this.

Which, duh, but Val could hardly hear herself think over the sound of the whipping winds, much less try to figure out which element exactly would stop all this without making it worse. The paper had been caught up in the debris and she was fairly sure the moment she relaxed even a little, the wind would pick her up and knock her around the room until either the walls broke or she did. She wasn’t looking forward to it.

She wouldn’t put her hopes on it, but it’d be really convenient if this turned out to be some dramatic entrance for the stupid ghost king—

All at once, the wind vanished and Val felt a brief moment of relief.

…And then she had to quickly roll out of the way of her bed frame falling on her.

The frame fell with a heavy thud on her hardwood floor and she winced as she watched it settle on its side. Her dad was out grocery shopping, but the neighbours downstairs would probably throw a fit the moment he came back. She’d have to come up with a good excuse later.

She surveyed the room.

It was quiet. And dark.

Val gave herself a moment to just breathe.

The candles relit themselves in an instant, this time a bright green burning at the wick. She lifted her gaze and stared, mouth agape at an equally shocked Danny Fenton, barefoot and wearing a pair of comfy star patterned pajamas.

“What the—where—? Valerie? Why am I—?” He gazed around the room before addressing her. He stepped forward, but paused as he was about to hit the circle of petals, glancing down at them. “Uh. Hmm. This is. Uh.” He gulped, eyes refusing to move from the chalk star under his feet.

Val furrowed her brows. “What the hell? It shouldn’t have gone that wrong,” she muttered to herself. She was pretty sure there was no way to summon a regular old human like Danny—no matter how many substitutes she used in the ritual. Maybe Danny was messing with something in his parents’ lab? Ugh, he would have shit enough luck to have this kind of coincidental timing.

She narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

“Me?” he asked, scandalous. “I was getting ready to go to bed at a respectable time and everything!” He slumped. “Why did you call me here, Val?”

“I didn’t, I was trying to—” summon the new ‘Ghost King’ or whatever he’s called so I can catch him and hand him over to Mr. Masters, is what she would’ve said were it not for the fact that her secret identity was supposed to stay a secret. Her dad already knew thanks to Phantom, but she wasn’t about to share it willingly with anyone, not even Danny. It was safer for him that way.

That didn’t leave her much excuses though.

“Uh, it wasn’t important.” She stood. “Just forget about it.”

“Sure sure.” He brushed past the topic without a second thought. “Now, how about you let me outta here, huh? I’d really like to get some decent sleep tonight.”

Val narrowed her eyes. “The circle only works on ghosts.”

Danny chuckled nervously. “The circle, sure, but blood blossoms work on ghosts and heavily ecto-contaminated people like yours truly so,”—he gestured a hand down at the petals—“whenever you’re ready, I guess.”

She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Not even gonna bother trying to explain what you were messing with to end up here?”

“Uhh… no?”

“Wrong answer.”

Danny groaned. “Please Val? I really was just getting ready for bed. No messing around with any of my parents’ inventions, honest!”

“Isn’t your entire house and everything in it one of your parents’ inventions?”

“Well yeah, but only some of the stuff they make is ghost related.”

Val stared at him silently.

He sighed. “Okay, most of them are ghost related. But then, all the more reason to let me go without further questions!” He clasped his hands in front of him, his bottom lip jutting out, and making his eyes big and glassy. “C’mon Val, I’m just a poor, innocent little guy who got caught up in something he didn’t understand.” His lip wobbled. “Send me home?”

Be strong, Val. Be strong.

He leaned closer towards her and his eyes got impossibly bigger and glassier. “Pwease?”

All previous indications of her shaken resolve were locked behind a wall of disgust. “You ruined it.”

“Fuck,” he said emphatically, turning his head away. “I went too far into convince-Tucker-to-buy-food territory.”

“I don’t know what to say to that so I’m going to pretend I never heard it.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just send me home, please.”

“How do you even know I can do that?”

Danny shrugged. “You pulled me here. Theoretically, you should be able to push me back.”

“You have a lot of faith in me being able to do this.”

“It’s hard not to.” He smiled and she felt a familiar little flutter of warmth in her chest. “You’re one of the most capable people I know.”

She felt her face heat up. “We didn’t date that long.”

“I know.” His smile dimmed. She desperately wanted to bring it back. “There’s more important stuff you gotta do and you can’t have me weighing you down—”

“That’s not—”

“It is though, isn’t it?” The smile that returned to his face was pained, bitter. She hated that look. “You wanna do what you think is right and you don’t think I’d be able to handle it with you.”

“It’s not that you can’t handle it, it’s that I’m trying to—” She made a wordless noise of frustration. “The ghosts—uh, the ghost damage repair group I volunteer with is, um, too dangerous for someone who isn’t prepared for it.”

“Right. Of course.” He shook his head. He muttered to himself, “This is my fault anyway, I should’ve just told you before things got complicated.”

She inhaled sharply and her heart started beating faster. They had kissed a few times, gone out on dates, but they never said those three significant words to each other. Had Danny planned to say—?

“Danny—” She started to speak, stopped, started again. “Danny, I—I always—I still—” She felt a lump grow in her throat and she struggled to speak her next words, “I lo—”

Danny stared at her. The longer he waited, the colder his eyes looked.

“I lo—lost. Everything,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “I had to start over with my dad from scratch. I just wanted to prevent other people from doing the same.”

“Is that it?”

She pursed her lips. Tightly.

He huffed a humourless laugh. “It was pretty stupid of me to expect the people I love to pick me over ghosts, huh?”

“I didn’t pick ghosts over you.”

“Sure didn’t seem like it.”

“Somebody’s gotta do what I do; it’s what’s right!”

“Do all the other people in your volunteer group dump their partners when they join?”

“You’re not being fair.” Her nails dug into her palms. When had she clenched her fists? “You had things you never told me either!”

“But I never left you because of them.”

“I WAS TRYING TO KEEP YOU SAFE!” she shouted.

Her words echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls and ceiling before slowly petering out.

The room was silent.

Danny spoke, his voice ice cold. “You broke up with me for revenge.”

“No.” She put her head in her hands. “I didn’t.”

Danny scowled. “You hated Phantom. You hated all ghosts.”

“I did—do, but,”—she sighed—“after a while of ghost—um, damage repair, and dating you, I started to see revenge wasn’t what mattered.” She crossed her arms. “Much as I still blame him for ruining my life, Phantom said it best: innocent people get hurt all the time during ghost attacks; it’s our job to stop the ghosts, but it’s also our job to keep as many people out of harm’s way as possible.”

When she looked up there was a blank expression on Danny’s face. She hurried to continue, “I-I realized that if I kept dating you, one day you’d learn what I was up to and get caught up in an attack trying to find me.” She hugged herself. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you got hurt because of me.”

“Val, I….” He trailed off, hand outstretched, but paused just before the edge of the circle. He let it fall. “I’m sorry. For assuming.”

She shook her head. “I mean, you were right. That’s how I was when we were dating. Only caring about revenge on Phantom.” She tried a laugh. “Now it’s just a side hobby.”

He grinned, though it looked a little forced. “Still, the fact that I couldn’t tell makes me a pretty terrible Fenton, huh?”

“No, I’d say you’re about as clueless as your old man.”

Danny let out a genuine laugh at that. The sound filled her chest with warmth and brought a smile to her face. She hadn’t heard the sound in such a long time, she had forgotten what it sounded like. “Thanks, Val.”

“My pleasure.”

The room was silent once more.

“We can, uh, talk more later.” She looked around the room for the instruction paper. “I’ll try and find a way to send you home.”

“Oh, you could probably just break the circle of petals and smudge the chalk near one of the candles. That way the elements tying me to this place would be disrupted and it’ll send me back from whence I came.”

Val stared at him.

Danny coughed. “I mean, probably.”

She continued to stare.

“I think.”

She leaned closer.

“In theory.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Look, can you just try it?”

Val groaned. “Out of respect for your attempt at a decent sleep schedule—and an understanding that you pick up weird ghost facts from your parents a lot—I’m gonna let you off the hook, but!” She pointed at him. “We’re figuring this out later.”

Danny waved a hand. “Absolutely. Definitely. 100%. I won’t forget.”

“You better not.” She kneeled down close to one of the candles.

“C’mon it’s me.” She raised a brow. He sighed. “I’ll write a note about it when I get home.”

Satisfied, she reached out towards the clump of petals surrounding the candle holder. “I’ll have you out in a second.”

“Great, I am so looking forward to some well earned Z’s.” He yawned.

A little bit of guilt wormed its way into her heart for keeping him this long. “Yeah, hope you sleep well.”

“You too, Red.”

Val snapped her head up, her heart stopping cold in her chest. “What?”

“‘What’ what?” Danny furrowed his brows, his sleepy brain seeming to play catch up, before he froze, looking suddenly completely alert. “Oh! Uh—I was referencing your, uh, your suit! You’re wearing a Red Huntress cosplay, right? She’s so cool.”

“Oh,”—tension bled from her shoulders; she’d completely forgotten she was wearing it—“you really think so?”

“Yeah, of course!” He nodded vigorously, becoming more animated. “She’s super strong, her aim is out of this world, and I’ve never seen someone so good at riding a hoverboard!”

Val felt herself flush. “Oh, c’mon, there’s not that much to it. Just takes some practice, y’know.”

Danny shook his head. “Uh uh, I’ve flown—er, I’ve used some of the hoverboards my parents have made in the past and all that aerial maneuvering stuff is hard. Gotta give mad props to you—” Val’s eyes widened. “HER! Her. Gotta, heh, gotta give mad props to her….” he trailed off, shrinking slightly as Val narrowed her eyes.

“Danny, if there’s anything you want to tell me—”

“Nope! Not a thing!” He brought up his bare wrist. “Oh, would you look at the time, I’d really rather go soon so I can get my full 9 hours.” Val continued to stare at him. “Please?” he asked, his voice small and pitiful.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll get rid of the circle.” She chose to ignore Danny’s sigh of relief. That boy wasn’t getting out of this conversation, Val had only just realized she still needed to straighten up her room as much as possible before her dad got home. “The Red Huntress isn’t all that great by the way, she messes up a ton.” Maybe not like Phantom, but she had her own mistakes.

She bent down, grabbing handfuls of petals and pushing them out of the way to rub her thumbs over the chalk lines.

“Uh, respectfully, shut… up?” he said, voice pitching higher as Val looked up, pausing her work with raised eyebrows. “She does a lot of thankless work all on her own and people don’t appreciate the kind of hard work and effort it takes to be able to hunt ghosts as well as she does.”

Valerie paused, stunned.

“Did you just tell me to shut up and then compliment me?” The words left her lips before she registered them. She tried to backtrack, “Fuck, uh, I meant—”

“I mean, yeah,”—Danny spoke over her, rubbing the back of his neck—“if you’re going to talk shit about yourself, you gotta be prepared for me to call you amazing every way I know how.”

“You knew then?” she said faintly. “How long?”

“Since I outed you to your—” Danny cut himself off and Val could see the dial up internet sound playing behind his eyes as he caught up with his own words. “S-Since—Since, uh. Shit, fuck—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Since—”

Things were starting to add up in Val’s head. The fact that Danny had been missing for hours and Mr. Masters was the one to bring him back. The fact that ever since the day Amity Park was taken into the Ghost Zone he’d started seeming… off in a way she was never able to put a finger on.

The fact that his teeth had looked significantly sharper when she came back after March break—and the way his eyes reflected in a green light, when only the standard yellow were fit into the ceilings at school. The way he’d seemed when Mr. Masters brought him back: pale, bruised, and horrifying wounds gouged out of his back. Val was no expert, but she was pretty sure no human should’ve survived something like that.

There was only one answer.

“Stop,” she said. Danny snapped his mouth shut, his shoulders pulling up to his ears. “Just admit it. You know who I am and I know that you…” She paused as the reality of his situation really started to click in her head. Danny cringed as she spoke, awestruck, “You took your parents’ invention to fight the Ghost King and took his title.”

“Yeah, I’m Ph—” He blinked. “What.”

She counted off on her fingers. “You know who I am because you were hiding around the lab somewhere when Phantom pulled off my mask; you knew how to operate the suit because you’re a Fenton; and you’ve started seeming more, well, ghost-like over the last several months. I imagine your appearance is tied to how much power the crown and ring give you, or something like that, but I’m right aren’t I?” She gestured at the summoning circle. “I mean why else would you show up if I was trying to summon the newest Ghost King? It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

He stared at her with a blank look before putting his head in his hands. “Yup,” he said, voice strangled. “You got me. Point for point. Every bit of that is true.”

It wasn’t. He was still holding something back, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. And beyond that, why would Mr. Masters give her this old summoning ritual if he knew it would drag out his nephew? Maybe he thought it would summon someone else instead? Some ghost pulling strings behind the scene that Danny didn’t know about?

She pondered the possibilities as she brushed away the last of the petals connecting to one of the candles. She wiped the dust off her hands as she stood.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of explaining all the details to me by the way,” Val said, putting her hands on her hips. “I expect full honesty from now on.”

Danny smiled. It was a little strained, but she had no clue of how painful the process of being summoned and unsummoned was, much less any clue of how much it might hurt to do it in a single night. She should probably apologize for that later. Or maybe give him some free Nasty fries instead. Yeah, that’d be way less awkward.

“I’ll do my best,” he said. “I can’t promise anything though.”

Val rolled her eyes. “Of course you can’t.”

“I can tell you this. You’re the first person to catch me on purpose since I was coronated.” Danny smirked, his eyes flashing green. “In some ghost cultures, that would be enough to make you my Queen.”

The sound that came out of Valerie’s mouth must’ve been what a sneezing chicken sounded like. “Excuse me?”

Danny’s smirk grew into a full on grin, but before he could answer he disappeared in a cloud of green smoke.

She stared at the empty space in front of her.

She looked down.

Her foot slipped.

The circle was smudged.

She paused for a few moments, her brain lagging as it tried to process the new information.

She walked over to the nearest wall. Slid down it. Stared blankly at the knocked over punching bag across from her.

“Valerie!” her dad called sometime later. “Why did the neighbours complain about the noise? And what’s with all the smoke?”

#danny phantom #phic #phic phight #phic phight 2023 #gray ghost #past relationship but eh #nemo the writing ho

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zannesgender · 1 month

Text

Hey. I don't really post much here bc I don't have much to say. I tried writing a short story as a kink shit post the other day and I liked how it turned out. This place is better for that sort of longer form text, so I'm gonna stick it up here as well. Disclaimers: I am not a writer, I do not have a zombie kink, this is a story I wrote about zombie sex.

You throw your shoulder into the front door, splintering the frame as you collapse into the threshold. She stumbles over your body, unshouldering her rifle and placing it on the dusty floor. She regains her footing and hastily helps you to your feet. You shut the door as best you can and assess this new interior. As you both frantically dart your eyes across the room, you simultaneously settle on a tall, wooden armoire, drawers stripped and cabinets bare, but solid. Each claiming a side, you move the furniture in front of the door. You next grab the nearby loveseat and move that into position as well. Exhausted, you each fall onto the loveseat to catch your breath and think. You unholster your handgun and rest it on your lap. You know instinctually that the rest of the house has not been secured, like a subconscious knot of anxiety that cannot be released until you do the work. But just a minute, fuck, you just need one god damn minute.

“We need to sweep,” she says, shaking from the adrenaline coursing through her.

“What the fuck was that? The way was supposed to be clear. Patrols have had it clean for over a month.”

“Must have been a breach. Closest settlement from their direction would be Lynchburg. Not that we would have heard shit from them, not after Carrigan started heading the board. Fucking fragile little assholes.” You nod your head, those residual slugs of the American prepper community can’t ever seem to learn a god damn thing.

“We need to get word back to Carrigan or Summerton will be blindsided by nightfall. And God knows how many caravans will get caught up in it.”

“How the fuck do you expect to do that? Closest comm station is two miles through a swarm of three hundred fucking zombies. Next one is twenty miles west.”

“We dump our packs and haul ass. We still have 6 hours of daylight.” You’re pretty beat, but a little rest and you know you can pace yourself out in time. It’s not even a marathon, and you’ve done those in half the time, back before the world began.

“Maybe, but I need a bit. Let’s sweep this house real quick.” She gets up from her seat slowly and retrieves her rifle from the floor, slinging it back over her shoulder, and slides out her sidearm. “I got point.” You usually take point, but you’re not gonna argue. Besides, this house looks like it’s been swept and scavenged a dozen times over the years. You’re not expecting any surprises.

You sweep through every corner of the three-bedroom rancher with little incident. You have to shift some kitchen furniture around to secure the back door, which was previously kicked in. It’s long-since been picked-over of anything useful, and you end your survey lying down on a California king four-poster bed in the primary bedroom. The knot of anxiety finally loosens as you sink into the mattress. She leans her rifle against the empty nightstand and joins you, sitting a bit too rigidly on the side of the bed, staring into her open pack on the floor. She gives a deep sigh and pulls out her loop of rope. “Babe, I’m gonna need you to do something for me. I don’t have much time, and definitely not enough for you to melt down.”

Your body tenses, a numbness surges through your limbs and your stomach sinks. “What are you talking about?” you quiver, but you already know exactly what she’s talking about. “How? We got away. Are you sure it’s not just a scratch?” Then you notice the wet spot on her black cotton t-shirt. She pulls off the shirt, revealing an open wound, no longer bleeding, but dry and necrotic at the margins.

“Yeah, I’m sure. And I’m gonna need you one last time.” She uses her knife to section out four lengths of rope. “Make it tight. Make it hurt.” She gives you the ropes and begins to undress.

You’re still trying to process the reality of it all. You recall that night, around the bonfire, passing around a jar of Trudy’s jet fuel and unwinding with the camp. Troy asked the group how they’d go out if they got bit, the sort of gallows question you ask people grown hard and cold to this world. “If I’ve got my side-arm. Y’all just leave me to myself,” Marcus said, poking a stick into the fire. Your arms were wrapped around your girl to keep her warm, to smell her hair, a mix of salt and dirt and smoke and that sweetness underneath it all that never faded. She spoke next in a slurred but sultry voice, “Babe, if I get bit, I want you to just tie me down and fuck me to death.” Troy spit his drink up into the bonfire, igniting in a whoosh as the group joined in laughter. “I can do that for you,” you said, “but then I’m gonna have to get going,” and you kiss the top of her head and smirk at the laughing circle of your fire-lit family.

She smiles up at you, her eyes slow-blinking you like a soothed cat. Your eyes sting from trying to hold back the tears, but your fingers know these ropes, and work the knots unthinkingly as they’ve done a thousand times before. First the hands, then the feet. You’re careful to anchor the hands low on the posters to ensure as little movement as possible after she… after it’s done. You straddle her, admiring every curve of her as if it’s the last time, your penis pressed against hers. Your hands trace up and down her sides and around her breasts as you feel her grow against you, her nipples hardening at your touch. You lean forward and down and kiss her, delicately at first, caressing her face and neck and sliding your hands down the length of her slender, firm, tethered arms flexing against their restraints. You pull back just enough to whisper, “I fucking love you.”

She smiles and whispers back, “Then fuck me ‘til I’m gone, and maybe a bit more if you want.” Her smile breaks into a grin and you kiss her hard, hungrily, your tongue exploring every familiar contour of her soft mouth. After applying some of Trudy’s lubricating gel from the pack, you enter her slowly, gently. Her eager hole accepts you readily and you become one for the last time. Your mind swims, trying to take in every last detail as her breath quickens and her chest rises and falls, shimmering and perfect. When you feel her moment approach, you reach down and take her swollen dick in your hand as you quicken your thrusts into her. Her breaths turn to moans and squeaking pleas of “Yes, fuck yes.” Her back arches as you thrust deep inside and her light spurt of crystal ejaculate stretches thinly across your hand and into her navel. Her back falls into the mattress and she breathes deep and slow. You lean forwards to kiss her, but her hips buck and her head turns away to the side. Then she exhales deeply and is still, silent, perfect.

Alone, but still inside of her, you allow your tears to come. Streaming, shrieking tears mark this final shattering of your world. Every day that has ever mattered started with you waking up in hell next to the most beautiful creature you could have ever imagined. Every struggle you’ve faced in the blistering sun and choking dirt you conquered with ease knowing every night you would get to hold her and feel her drift into sleep. You had everything this morning and you knew to savour every moment of it. Now, at the end of it all, you regret nothing. You’ve decided you don’t want to run anymore.

You grab the loop of rope and cut four measures for yourself. You’re not sure if you’re too cowardly to continue or brave enough to accept your end. In this lonely, abandoned home, those words lose all meaning. They are standards and concepts rendered meaningless in a world that has shrunk to the size of a California king. You start with your legs, and finish tying up your right hand with a firm jerk of your head. As the last end of rope drops from your jaw, you feel the body stir underneath you. You barely pull out of range before the head snaps towards you hissing and lurching for a bite of you.

The shock sets your heart pounding again, and you watch as the head weaves back and forth, mouth grasping desperately at you, shoulders struggling against the restraint. You breathe deeply, exhaling as you move close, enjoining your mouth to what remains of the world. You feel the teeth sink into your tongue as your mouths fill with blood. You pull back and moan as you slip inside of the writhing beast for the first time. You drink the blood and feel the poison burn down your throat. Beneath you, the creature gnaws at the meat it has been fed. Your arousal overcomes you and you begin thrusting ever more voraciously. Every moment of her reels through your mind as you close your eyes and fall into your needed rhythm. The surge of ecstasy engulfs you, your mind burns with pleasure as your body shudders one final gasping time. Your head falls on the creature’s chest as your awareness fades and spreads thin across eternity. It does not try to bite you, for you are one now.

#zombie #romance #creative writing

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