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fuctacles · 11 months

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Eddie, begrudgingly: Dustin's older brother is kinda fine :/

I had a craving for best friend's older brother AU so I wrote some but it's not my forte I'm out of ideas so that might be it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Edit: jokes on me I guess [Part II] [Part III]

Eddie was about to knock on his freshman friend’s door when there was a loud commotion on the other side and the door opened by itself. A guy, probably around his age, nearly ran into him in his haste to leave the house. He startled, taking Eddie in. And then taking a double take, the way Eddie was used to people doing at the sight of him.

“Who are you?” the guy asked, scrunching his nose and not meeting Eddie’s eyes.

He felt his hackles rise, venom building in his throat and ready to spit. He wasn’t expecting this on a Saturday on his friend’s doorstep, but he guessed this was the kind of town where you just couldn’t wear your battle vest in peace anywhere. His upper lip twitched ready to form a snarl, when suddenly the guy's features softened, a spark of recognition lighting up his eyes.

“Wait. Let me guess. Eddie?”

Eddie faltered, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. He frowned.

“Yeah?”

The guy's face warmed up with a smile, and Eddie was not ready for that kind of emotional rollercoaster this early in the morning.

“Dustin’s stories do not do you justice,” he says for some reason, eyeing him again. Eddie wants to shrivel up and hide. What the fuck was happening. “He’s waiting for you in the kitchen,” he said, stepping to the side to invite him in. “I have to go to work, so you two be good, okay?” he says before waving a cheery goodbye and closing the door, disappearing just as abruptly as he showed up in front of Eddie. The inside of the house suddenly seemed dull.

Another ray of sunshine peeked from the kitchen, toothy grin and hazelnut curls.

“So you’ve met Steve!” Dustin grinned in place of a greeting.

Eddie gawked at him.

“That,” he pointed at the closed door. The sound of a car leaving the curb tickled his ears. “Was Steve?!”

“The adopted brother Steve? The Star Wars fan Steve? The badass older brother Steve?”

“Yes, all that,” Dustin nodded enthusiastically.

“I thought he was, like, 16!” Eddie flailed and it sounded like a petulant whine even to his ears. He winced.

Dustin frowned at him like he was being stupid. Eddie didn’t like that gaze, but unfortunately at this point, he was getting used to it. His younger friend leaned on the kitchen door frame watching Eddie toe off his shoes.

“He’s 19. What gave you that impression?”

Eddie frowned at his scuffed Reeboks. He nudged them with his toe to line up, looking for an answer.

“The adopted part, I think? He’s almost an adult, who adopts that old?”

He knew he had said the wrong thing as soon as he said it. He looked up at Dustin, whose face twisted uncomfortably.

“Shit, sorry man. I didn’t mean-”

Dusting clicked his tongue impatiently, interrupting him.

“It’s fine. This is an unconventional arrangement,” he said in that way when you heard something repeatedly. “I can tell you more, but after we make that character sheet, okay?”

Eddie nodded, eager to abandon his social faux pas. The Henderson’s were an unconventional unit, and that’s what he loved about them, at least from the stories Dustin shared. The guy was a little freak, just like Eddie, so it checked out his family was just as unconventional. So was Eddie’s after all.

The parallels made him warm up inside, the familiar need to protect his younger friends flaring up.

“Deal,” he nodded, following his friend inside the kitchen, where notebooks and DnD manuals already littered the table.

A couple of hours, two coffees and an unsolved argument about the intricacies of multiclassing later, they decided to take a break and Eddie could finally feast his eyes on the family photos on display. He stood in front of the newest one standing front and centre on the mantle. Steve was smiling shyly to the camera while Claudia Henderson had her arms around his shoulders and Dustin was grinning wide from his other side, hair ruffled by the older boy's hand.

“How long he has been living here?”

Dustin’s head popped out of the kitchen where he was rummaging for snacks.

“About a year. Remember the Starcourt fire?”

“Yeah?” Eddie frowned, taken aback by the seemingly unrelated question.

“Well, he’s been there and-” the boy frowned, fully stepping into the living room and crossing his arms. “Shit, Mom says I shouldn’t be babbling it around. That it’s Steve's story to tell.”

Eddie hummed, cocking his head.

“Your mom is very smart.”

Dustin unwrapped his arms, clenching his hands together.

“I guess I could tell you I mean who are you gonna tell? You just-”

Eddie raised both his hands, stopping him.

“Dude, he interrupted with all the disapproval his drug dealing nonconformist self could muster. “She’s right and that would be breaking your brother’s trust.”

“Uh. Yeah,” Dustin gulped, looking adequately ashamed at proposing the idea. “You’re right., he nodded.

This lasted about half a second because nobody could stop Henderson from being an egocentric know-it-all and since he was wrong he was now going to overcompensate for it. Of that, Eddie could be sure.

“We can go to his workplace and you could ask him!”

Eddie raised his hands again.

“Hold your horses Henderson, we’re not harassing your brother at work.” The boy was actually pouting, the little shit. “I am not that determined to hear it. I’ll just catch him another time I visit.”

That was the wrong thing to say because he wasn’t planning on being a recurring guest initially. Or maybe it was the right thing to say since Dustin positively beamed at the implication.

Maybe it was because the kid’s presence has been a good influence on him as well.

Also, while the story of Steve’s adoption didn’t seem that interesting before, the idea of a mall fire being somehow involved raised questions that were now itching the back of Eddie’s tongue. He had to ask them at some point.

“There’s this guy,” Eddie starts one day during lunch break.

“Oh-ho,” Gareth murmurs with disdain, the crumbs from his sandwich falling from his lips.

“Not like that,” Eddie glowered at him, slapping against his arm. Even though it was kinda like that. “He’s picking up Henderson after Hellfire today and if we run into him, I want you guys to be civil.”

“We’re always civil,” Jeff frowns at Eddie’s backhanded accusations.

“Yeah, especially when you guys are mooning after Mrs. Wheeler.”

The comment raised a wave of loud protests from his friends.

“I am just saying-”

“You’re just saying that guy is hot and we shouldn’t ogle him?” Gareth, the worst friend he has, raised his eyebrow.

“No, I’m just-”

“You calling dibs, Munson?” John the Traitor, the Backstabber, joined in. Johned in, if you will.

‘No!” Eddie protested, maybe a little too loud. A couple of heads turned but when they saw the ruckus was coming from the freaks table, they quickly lost interest. “He’s the worst. A hunk of jock with stupid hair but!” He rose a finger. “He’s Henderson’s family. And what do we do with family members in Hellfire?”

“Lure in.”

“Lull into a fake sense of security.”

“Cast charm person.”

“Exactly,” he smirked, pointing his finger at each of them in approval. “This case is no different.”

“It feels different,” Gareth murmured under his breath, earning himself another smack on the shoulder.

Eddie wrapped up the session and was giving out experience points to his players when a soft knock interrupted his counting. He frowned at the door.

“Speak ‘friend’ and enter!” he hollered to his sheep’s utter glee. He grinned at them.

Dead silence was all the response he got, so he assumed whatever normie was bugging them got discouraged. But then, Henderson was turning around in his seat, yelling at the door.

“It’s from Lord of the Rings! You know this one!”

There was a shuffle on the other side where apparently, Steve came already to pick up his brother.

“Oh! Um… Melon? Was that it?”

“You may enter!” Eddie commanded with a grin straining at his cheeks. Dustin was doing a good job educating his jock brother, apparently.

The guy pushed the door open, taking in the table full of teenagers. He waved hesitantly.

“You guys finishing up?”

“I’m handing out points, we need just a few minutes,” Eddie waved his hand. “And it’s Mellon.”

Steve frowned.

“That’s what I said.”

“Sure you did,” Eddie cocked his head condescendingly, ignoring the eyes of Corroded Coffin members staring at him. “Now sit and wait,” he gratuitously offered, snapping his fingers and pointing at a nearby bench, like Henderson’s older brother was some kind of dog.

To his surprise, he nodded shortly and obeyed, sitting down and watching him expectantly. Eddie took it as his cue to proceed. He coughed to gather his sheep's attention and went back to his meticulous calculations.

“That didn’t look like Charm Person to me,” Gareth hissed as soon as the younger members of Hellfire had left.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Eddie scrunched his eyebrows, throwing him a look while he stuffed his campaign notes into his bag.

“You told us to be nice, but you ordered him around like he was one of the kids,” Jeff pointed out, arms crossing.

“I did not”

“You totally did.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed as he straightened up.

“What is this? Mutiny? Among my own kin? Ungrateful little herd I had nurtured on my own breast-”

He was interrupted by a cacophony of grossed out noises.

“Spare us the imagery, please.”

Eddie huffed indignantly, closing his bag.

“Then quit yapping. It was a singular lapse of judgement on my part,” he said with finality, throwing his bag over his shoulder. Without looking back, he walked off, hand raised in a goodbye, “Toodles, bitches.”

And he was gone.

Gareth sighed.

“Man, I love Eddie, but sometimes…” John cut himself off, shaking his head.

“Yeah.”

Eddie’s been on the fence about it for some time now. But the time was ticking and he did say more than once that ‘86 was gonna be his year, so maybe it was time to pocket his ego and make some calls.

Some very, very humiliating calls.

Sighing deeply he imagined himself going to the woods and digging up a deep hole. There he imaginary buried his pride, made a fancy map to find it later, hopefully in time for his graduation, and finally dragged himself back home and in front of his phone. Next to it, he tacked on a list of numbers of all his newest sheepies in case of emergencies. Like Hellfire scheduling.

He sighed once more, slumping dramatically before dialling the first of the numbers. As he listened to the dial tone, he squared his shoulders, decided a more confident pose was in order. He was now a man of action, taking his fate in his own hands. His pride was buried deeply in the darkest corners of the forest and only a courageous-

“Har- Henderson residence, this is Steve speaking.”

Eddie’s mind went blank, completely thrown off. Who was he calling again? What for?

“Hello?”

“Is this how you pick up the phone? Did I get the wrong house? Is this the British Queen?”

“... Eddie? Is that you?”

Busted.

“What gave me away?”

“Ah, only the dramatic nonsensical ramblings.” Steve answered, amusement in his voice.

“Thank you, I pride myself in those.” No pride! Pride is buried deep in the putrid soil of a forgotten battlefield! “But I’m here for the superior Henderson, please and thank you.” Ah yes, the Charm Person again. Somebody could think Eddie buried his Charisma along with the pride.

“Sorry, Claudia is at work right now.”

Eddie scrunched his nose, confused, the gleeful tilt to the voice in his ear irking him. Then he remembered the mom. A staple in most households.

“Har, har, Steven. The smart one.”

“Please never call him that to his face,” the man said with a resigned sigh.

“There wouldn’t be enough space in the room for both our egos if I did.”

Steve laughed then, softly and genuinely, before calling out for his younger brother.

After a loud rattle, Dustin’s lispy voice finally reached Eddie’s trailer.

“What's up?”

The man braced himself for what he was about to request.

“I need your help with an assignment.”

The door opened before he could even knock. Again.

“I thought I told you not to inflate his ego.”

“No, you told me not to call him smart. It is merely a by-product of my desperate attempts at graduating,” Eddie shrugged matter-of-factly. “Besides, I don’t respond to the likes of you.” He punctuated his words by seizing the guy up before brushing past him inside the Henderson’s house.

“The likes of- Excuse me?!”

Eddie was skipping towards Dustin’s room.

“Hey big guy I’m here for my tutoring!” he announced himself, standing in the open door to his friend’s room, who quickly beckons him inside. Steve’s heavy steps follow and soon he’s the one standing in the door frame, arms crossed, while Eddie bounces on Dustin’s bed.

“What do you mean the likes of me?” he asks, almost pouting.

“Mainstream,” offered Dustin, shuffling through stuff on his desk.

“Jocks,” added Eddie, still bouncing with glee, hair following up and down.

“Normies.”

“Pop listeners.”

“Mom friends.”

“Conformists.”

“Okay, I get it!” Steve threw his hands in the air, stopping the list that probably wouldn’t come to an end otherwise. “You’re the cool guys, have fun having your cool stuff,” he huffed angrily, grabbing the doorknob. Before he closed the door he threw one seething glance at Dustin. “Do not. Ask me for snacks,” he hissed before slamming the door shut.

Eddie flipped back on the bed, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Man, your brother is so easy to rile up,” he chuckled gleefully.

“Right?! He’s so bitchy,” Dusting turned around towards him, signature smile in place. Eddie hollered.

“He is!”

Alas, a slap of palms interrupted his delightful trashing around.

“I believe we have some physics to cover?”

Eddie groaned. Right. He didn’t come here to bother the older Henderson. Booo.

[Steddie masterpost] [Ao3] [ko-fi]

#steddie #pre steddie i guess #steve is a henderson #older brother steve #i like the simping for older brother idea but im running dry #if u have ideas for this trope feel free to drop them i might write more #the general idea is eddie finds steve attractive but is lowkey mean and teasing to him because he cant control his jockphobia #also uses it as a defense mechanism against rejection #steve in this is okay with his bisexuality #he thinks theres something there while eddie is in denial #adoption background: authorities got involved after they couldnt get a hold of harringtons after starcourt fire #with murrays help they lost custody and claudia swooped in #i know hes old but its more about legal stuff like changing his name and his parents losing any power over him #ao3 is down so heres a treat #ff #mine #st #steve harrington #steddie fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #the hendersons #The Hendersons

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sunofpandora · 5 months

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Authors note:

AYEEEE CHAPTER TWO

Wow! I was not expecting all the kind comments and the taglist requests from chapter 1. I’m genuinely in shock, still. The comments and reposts got me teary eyed.

V I R A G O

Word count: 6k

Chapter 2

The son sun made of stone

words.

𝓭𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓵𝓼/𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼/𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼/

‘Y/n was made of fire. Oh, a goddess girl with lips of lightning and a caged Phoenix under her skin. Neteyam is just the ashes and remains of the heavens she crushed under her heel.’

General Warnings: na’vi reader/ reader is a war orphan/ as always, spider, the reader, and Lo’ak are a trio/ Lo’ak and Reader being platonic soulmates?/ Spider and Reader being trauma twins/ Neteyam being lovesic/ Neteyam being nervous and shy around reader/ Neytiri being mother/ Jake being the husband i wish i had/ Tuk being a little sister and looking up to y/n/ Mentions of grace’s school./ reader fell first but Neteyam fell way harder/ sun x moon relationship

Chapter 2 warnings: jealous neteyam/ mentions or anxiousness/ mentions of war and death/flirting/ mentions of dead animals/ mentions of grief and injuries/

Extra info:

Y/n is one year younger than neteyam, she is 18 and he is 19.

Lo’ak is 18 and Kiri is also 19. Tuk is 7-8 and spider is 19.

Extra characters:

Ka’lik (y/ns father. A deceased warrior of the Omaticaya clan)

Zensira (y/n’s mother. deceased best singer and head songstress of the Omaticaya clan)

Makeyo (a warrior of the omaticaya clan. The same age as neteyam and went through iknimiya the same day as well. A filthy simp for y/n)

Kailo (Y/n’s ikran. Your ikran is a male ya’ll. sorry.)

Popiti (tuk’s best friend according to the visual dictionary)

Chapter two synopsis:

Neteyam comes to return y/n’s bracelet and has some internal conflict about his feelings towards her. Makeyo attempts to make a move on y/n and Neteyam experiences a different type of burning in his heart.

Neteyams Pov (trying something new by writing from neteyams pov as a little experiment. Lemme know how yall like it.)

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Neteyam”

For a moment the sound of my name leaving her lips in a breath is almost enough to forget myself and drop to my knees.

The tuft of my tail thwacks the back of my head gently and i force my heartbeat to endure boundaries.

I clear my throat, finding the words.

My eyes fan over her figure.

The moonlight contours the crevices of her curves. Her eyes, an amorous gold, spark themselves luminous. Almost Neon in the darkness of night.

There's a bandage around her torso, and one around her left bicep. Her skin smells of grandmother's salves and wooden bowls.

It’s funny how fast the memories flood back.

There was a time before she was made of fire.

Well, actually, I don't think that’s a fair statement.

There was always a spark. Always that small flicker refusing to perish even in strong winds.

I have memories of playing in the stream with my siblings and Y/n, and occasionally spider.

She’d chase me. Her feet assaulted the shin deep water with the harsh sloshing of her feet. She tackled me and pulled on my tail. The sunburst air is sweet like nectar against our glistening skin and shrieks of laughter and springtime memories.

Her laughter challenges the brightness of the sugared sun rays that danced through the canopy, it shakes the stars with its loud singing.

The scattered droplets of water seize on her skin as she chases lo’ak, carrying a smaller spider on her back.

Now she stands before me. Taller, stronger, a warrior in all its forms.

I clear my throat once again, my eyes flickering over her body.

“How are you? Grandmother was able to treat you?”

She nods, leaning lightly against the wooden entrance frame of the marui.

“The wounds could have been worse. Mo’at was able to clean up the wounds just fine. Tsahik suggested i rest here for the night..’

She trials off, clicking her tongue as she gently taps her finger against the bandage.

The dwindling echoes of our breaths gently keep the silence afloat.

My eyes flicker up when her voice catches my ears.

“You? Any injuries?”

I shrug. “A few scratches. Nothing Serious. Lo’ak has a small bruise on his head but he’ll be fine. Mother treated us earlier.”

Something somber in her irises flickers. It’s small, but its not quiet. I open my mouth to speak but like most other things between us, she beats me to it.

“Why did you fly down there today? You could have been killed.”

There’s a hiss at the endnotes of her voice. And I don't blame her for being pissed. Not for a second.

I frown, I can feel my tail thump lightly against the ground.

“Lo’ak flew his way down there first. I wet after him.”

My confession trails a veil of blankness behind it that lingers in the air. She shakes her head, staring down.

“It’s not a thing of fault. I should have been more responsible. Im the older brother, after all-”

“Bullshit.”

The suddenness of her words make me pause. It wasn’t unexpected, but it seems a bit more vague than usual. Even for her.

“Y/n i-”

“No. No, Neteyam this has to come to an end. You can’t keep taking the fall for him. How many times will you let yourself fall off a cliff before you learn not to justify the one who pushed you off the ledge?”

I’m quiet for a moment. I feel another frown etch itself onto my lips.

“I must hold myself accountable as well. I am the future leader of this clan. If i cannot even keep my siblings out of trouble, how will I protect my people?”

I’m sure loak had told her of the scolding we received from my father.

She takes a step closer, the fire in her gaze challenges all it sees. My heartbeat speeds up its sympathy.

“Then who protects you, Neteyam?”

I’m still for a moment. My throat hitches quietly and my words come up short.

She takes a breath and shifts herself back a bit, rubbing two fingers to her temple.

Her eyes creased with exhaust. I can tell the day has drained her.

“I’m sorry. I spoke out of line.”

“You never have to apologize to me.”

I can tell it surprises her a bit. How fast my words chased after her own.

My hesitation creeps its way through the blanket of gray that treads along the silence.

I clear my throat once again, averting my gaze.

“I’m glad you returned safely. I was worried sick.”

She chuckles and gently flips the small spiral in her hand.

“Had my lucky charm on my bow today. I guess i have you to thank.”

I cannot help but feel an ache every time I see that damned spiral. Iv’e tormented myself with an object so small it's pathetic. Really. A substitution for the words i couldn't speak.

I force a smile, a gentle chuckle to follow along.

“Well. I see its made some sort of use.”

She nods and places it gently back into the pocket of her loincloth.

I find myself doing the same, fishing around my own pocket until i hear the small clatter of beads.

Ihold her bracelet out to her.

“Here. You lost this today.”

She gasps softly. My heart beckons for my unspoken yearning whenever i saw her eyes light up like that. And fuck, I curse myself for looking away.

She placed it back on her wrist.

“Thank you, Neteyam. I would have been looking for days.”

When her fingers brush my palm a new wave of sun-streaked warmth swallows my chest in the pale moonlight.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

I would do anything for you.

She chuckles softly and I swear I feel my knees buckle at the sound.

All I can do is stare at her for a moment. My eyes tracing her curves and imagine it’s my fingertips, kissing my small apologies onto her skin.

The small breeze wisps at the small loose hairs that edged at her forehead, scattered out of her braids. Her scent is sweet. Her eyes are wondrously doe-like.

I wish i could pocket the sounds of her laughter. I wish i could reach for her and brush her skin against mine if it meant even a second of her warmth is relished in.

I want her. All of her. I want her fire even if it burns me. I want her wild high-tide seas even if they drown me. I want her heart even if I must beg for it. I want her lips, and her hands. I want every rough edge and every smooth surface.

It finds a way to bind me in its threshold of longing before I even register what I've done.

My hand reaches out. The planes in the lines of my palm rest against her cheek and the pad of my thumb rubs small circles on the small temple of a space in front of her ear.

I’d forget I ever existed if it was convenient for her.

There was a time I pretended she didn’t exist. Where fear and thought collided with my panic.

Years ago. After I gave her that spiral.

I made her mere presence become a voidance in my life. A small patch of blankness that traced her shape.

There’s a reason this void stands between us. I hurt her. And I will never forgive myself for it.

I was afraid. I was afraid of what my feelings would do to me. Of what it would do to the future olo’eyktan of this clan. I feared distraction. I feared devotion. And now i yearn for it. Call it a punishment, call it karma or something more. All I know is that I pushed her away. It of my arms, out of my circle, and I thought giving her that spiral would fix my mistakes.

It hurts me. The look in her eyes when I avoided her around the village. The way her gaze chased after me when i walked away

I was 15, afraid and stupid. I still haven’t forgiven myself from keeping her out of my circle.

Now I stand before her. This woman I may never deserve. This beautiful woman who will forever hold my heart in her hands.

She stares at me. But it's full of a sour memory that resonates on the edge of her tongue.

“Neteyam..”

There it is. How she says my name.

Fuck.

Fuck, why did I ever think, even for a mere moment my heart wasn’t hers?

Say it again.

Say it again,y/n please i beg you.

But I don't dare say it aloud.

Instead I whisper to her, my thumb stopping its movements for a moment as i cradle her head.

“Y/n, yawne. I am so, so sorry I didn't protect you today. I couldn't bare the thought of you in danger. “

She pushes my hand away, and for a moment the moonlight feels bitter.

“I don’t need your protection.”

It’s not that I think I don't deserve that.

But is it wrong for it to still ache?

“Y/n. please-”

“It is late, neteyam. I wish to rest now. Please.”

Theres a small tremble in the endnotes of her voice.

And i want to strangle the one who caused her this.

But what more can i do when i caused it myself?

I take a step back, gently bowing my head.

My eyes linger on her for a moment longer.

“Good night, Y/n.”

“Good night, Neteyam.”

As the tent flap closes, I take a step back. Staring up at the moon through the large crevices that topped the mountain of highcamp.

Maybe she doesn't belong in my arms.

I ache for her at night. I dream of holding her. I beg for the figment of her not to feebly collapse into stardust and watch her wither out of my grasp. Her arrow aims at my heart and I tell her of my heartache.

She says nothing as I’m on my knees for her. Her glare is a cryptic mockery. She weakens me. Every moment of this fleeting moment within my reverie is a punishment. The morning sunset is bitter and the sky feels skeletal.

To her my devotion is a joke and all I can think of is how fucking beautiful she is when she laughs.

I had a dream once that I kissed her. I kissed her until I couldn’t breathe. She tasted dark and delicate.

I am hers. I was always hers.

I’d let her ruin me.

Unravel every piece of me and stitch back together what left is salvaged of those small fragments and watch as they spell out her name.

Y/n.

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆

The next morning was calmer than yesterday to say the least.

Lo’ak went with my father to hunt.

Kiri went with my grandmother to help in the Tsahik tent.

Y/n was off with her own duties, and that left me to help my mother in our family's marui.

Oh yeah, did I mention Tuk?

It wasn’t abnormal that I often found myself conversing with Tuk.

She sits in with her smaller legs tucked under her body. Her hands are much like mine and my mothers, but small and juvenile. They lack gracefulness as they scramble with my braids, slipping the beads she made all by herself (Kiri helped) into my braids. She giggles when I tell her about my hunts. She smacks my forehead with her palm when I tilt my head the wrong way. She climbs over me in all sorts of odd ways while I wince every now and then at the occasional stepping on of my tail.

“Teyam. Stop looking down!”

Tuktirey huffs and my head snaps up, all my attention shifting to my youngest sibling.

“Ah. sorry tuk-tuk.”

She sighs dramatically and continues stringing the beads into my hair.

I smile at my youngest sister. I was close with Tuk. me and her being the only two children out of my siblings that closely resembled my mother’s na’vi features. I don’t credit myself completely. I don’t think it's fair to say that my mother and fathers genes are divided narrowly. Lo’ak my have my fathers appearance but he wields my mothers rebelliousness with pride. Her survival instincts. Her thrill for a chase. Her fire and her wind. Grandmother always found herself amused whenever my mother found herself annoyed with Lo’aks antics. Apparently my mother was no different when she was his age. Chasing rainstorms and dancing through fire. Grandmother always says lo’ak is my mothers shadow.

Me, on the other hand? i've always strived to be like my father. I still do. I remember sitting around a fire as a small child, listening to stories of his days of battle and heroicness. I don’t glorify my father as much as I did then. But he’s still the same man to me, all the same.

Tuk is in the middle of rambling about her morning gossip she gathered from Popiti, as she strings another bead onto my braids.

It's a bit of a guilty pleasure, I suppose. Being entertained by other’s conflicts. Certainly not proper behavior for the eldest son of toruk makto. Alas, what kind of big brother would I be if I didn't let Tuk carry herself away with her words without worry?

I can’t hide that I enjoy it. But telling myself its for tuk helps a bit.

“And then what?” I query Tuk softly, urging her to continue her story.

She giggles before placing a green colored bead on my braids.

“Well, Popiti’s big sister, Kyuna, didn’t take Takuk’s courting gift!”

I gasp, over-exaggerating my shock to amuse my younger sister, she nods, equally as shocked.

“I know, right!?”

I shake my head, feining disappointment as Tuk giggles.

“My eywa. Poor Takuk.”

Tuk nods, patting down my braids gently.

I try to look over to my right side at where she sat without turning my head.

“Did she say why?”

Tuk shrugged.

“Popiti heard her mom and Kyuna talking. Kyuna said that she didnt want Takuk for a mate.”

I nod, fidgeting with my beaded choker.

“Huh. Well then, good for Kyuna. She knows what she wants, i guess.”

I trail off with my own internal theories.

I knew Kyuna. She was a young healer in the clan. I didn’t care for her much. She was a bit cocky. Always had some excuse for getting out of tasks she didn’t feel like completing.

I also knew Takuk.

I had been in hunting groups with him. We went through iknimaya training together. He was smart. A fine huner. A decent provider. He seemed like a fine mate for anyone.

Tuk suddenly gasped, her ears twitching as she stared up at me with her big eyes.

“Teyam! You could be Kyuna’s mate!”

I still at her revelation, she blinks at me with baited breath for response.

I cant help but chuckle as i ruffle the smaller girl’s braids.

“It's a kind offer, Tuk. But I'm not ready to mate yet. Remember what I told father?”

Who could forget? The most awkward family dinner in the world where i pleaded with my father to give me more time before I choose a mate. My siblings watching as me and my father bickered for a good hour. I think its really the only time iv’e stood up to him. Disagreed with him. My father has been patient since then when it comes to finding my tsahik. But the only reason he is because of my mother finally convinced him to give it a rest.

Finding a mate can be a long process for some.

I already knew who i wanted my mate to be. There wasn’t any debate. And I will wait for her. I will wait to earn her trust back. For as long as it takes. I will be hers for when shes ready. I am hers even when she’s not. That is a promise I refuse to break.

Tuk huffs.

“But whyyyy? Kyuna is pretty. Not as pretty as mama or kiri or y/n-

But she’s not mated.”

I sigh and gently rub Tuk’s back.

“You’ll understand when you’re older. I promise.”

She huffs again but nods, going back to braiding my hair.

Shes in the middle of telling me about the big fish she caught when my father took her to the creek the other day when my mother enters the tent, a basket of fruits under her arm.

I straighten up a bit and Tuk gasps happily, standing to her feet and jogging over to my mother.

“Mama! You’re back!”

She hugs my mothers waist, and my mother places a hand on tuks head while trying to balance the basket filled to the brim with yovo fruits.

I stand up, gently taking the basket from under her arm, chuckling softly.

“Here, Sa’nok. (mother) Let me take that for you.”

She sighs in releif, nodding at me, now fully embracing tuk with two free arms.

“Irayo (thank you) Neteyam.”

Tuk sits back down in her previous spot and i carry the basket to the small wooden table, placing it down.

“Nice haul today?”

She smiles at me. “The new grove has almost completed its growth cycle. It's almost time for a new harvest.”

I nod, making a mental reminder to tell my father that later so he can organize more foraging groups.

“Mama, look at how pretty Neteyam is.”

My mother gently examines my newly beaded braids with her fingers, gently taking each braid between her thumb and her palm.

“Very good work, tuktirey. You should help me do mine later. Why don’t you go to your grandmothers tent, hm? I left a large bowl of new beads on the far side corner, near her salve pouch.

Her eyes sparkle and before my mother can say another word, Tuk is racing out of the tent flap.

I laugh along with my mother, and she sits, starting to cut up some fruits.

“Ma’itan, could you help me with this?”

I nod, unsheathing my knife and sitting down next to her, helping her peel some fruits.

A silence fills the air for a moment, until my mothers soft, accented voice breaks through the gray.

“What troubles you, Neteyam?”

Of course she knew.

I was born from the pieces of my mothers ash-littered broken promises and my father’s guilt-ridden internal death sentence.

My mother and i were tapestries weaved from the same colors.

I am my mother’s son.

She knew me like the back of her hand. She doesn’t have to recognize me by face. I know my father and my mother both love me. But when my mask cracks like this, my mother isn’t like my father. He tries to tighten it to ensure it doesn’t fall down again. My mother tries to mend the cracks.

I sigh, avoiding her gaze.

“Nothing Sa’nok. I am fine.”

I’m a shit liar. That’s just a known fact about me. She knows i’m lying. And maybe thats a good thing. Maybe she knows to just leave it be.

She chucks another fruit skin peel to the side as it forms a small pile with the other discadrded peels.

“Is it because of your fathers words, yesterday? He was harsh, I know..But he is just afraid, Neteyam.”

That’s not what’s wrong, but I decide it's better than saying ‘hey ma i’m helplessly in love with a woman who probably hates my guts’

Daddy issues it is.

I nod, still avoiding her gaze.

“Yes. I know. Father just wants what's best for us.”

My mother sighs for a moment, pausing her movements, her knife ceasing its carving into the new fruit.

She looks over at me and she smiles.

There’s something about that smile. It’s like an echo that beckons your name. It’s like a face with lines scribbled over it. Sometimes when my mother looks at me I feel as if she’s seeing someone else. Flesh wrapped around the stories foretold under my bones.

She see’s someone else’s shadow in my place. As if a ghost welcomes itselfinto the sequence of a wreckage of memories unknown to me.

She speaks quietly.

“Your father and you are more alike than you may think, Neteyam.”

I can’t hep but smile at her words. Theres fanned flowers that grow under the gray cast of gilded clouds under the garden of her irises. She smiles too.

“I mean it, Neteyam. I see more of him in you every day, my son.”

I’m quiet for a moment, but my smile only falters slightly.

“What was he like, my father? When you first met him?”

My mother sighs, the infinite memories flickering past her eyes.

“When I first met your father, I was trying to kill him.”

I can’t help but chuckle. The story all too familiar to me from being told countless times as a child. But it’s not quite what im looking for.

“No, no- i know how you met but-

What was he like? Really?..”

My mother thinks for a moment, not sparing me a glance as she continues cutting her fruit.

“He was stupid. An idiot. I did not think he would survive a single day out here in the forest.”

I hum in agreement trying to visualize everything from her eyes.

“But he was..”

She sighs.

“He was persistent. Like a weak animal with no hope of survival. But it just refuses to die. Sometimes I thought the world moved twice as fast for him..he was eager. To learn, to live. To taste the wind and the sky..”

For a moment, I see a secondary shadow behind the fragments of my parents love story.

My father told me he felt drawn to my mother from the first moment he saw her.

I see something else in place of the ghost behind the path of stars that led my mother to my father.

I see a man who yearns for a woman. I see a man on his knees, I see his devotion. I see his heart in his hands, i see his stained fingertips of an unfamiliar sleepless skin.

I see a woman so beautiful she might as well be a figment of the moonlight, and i’m jealous of the wind and the air and the breeze because of how easily it touches her skin.

I see her arrow aimed at his heart and the distrust in her eyes. I see her anger, and her betrayal as it echoes through a bitter blue heinous flame.

I see y/n. And I see her wall that kept me out.

I look at my mother, a shell of something that once was taking a new shape.

Was it possible? For history to rhyme?

“How..how long did it take you to love him? Even though he was an enemy.. Even though you didn;t trust him?”

My mother is silent for another moment.

She gently places her knife down, placing her hands on her thighs as she stared at the blank tented wall infront of her.

“I think it was foretold by the stars, ma’itan.

I hated him. I hated him because of what he was and where he came from. I hated his false demon body and i hated the way he walked, and talked. I hated his hair and his hands and his eyes.

I hated him because of what his people took from me. I hated him because of the pain they caused my people..

The day I found him in the forest i was going to kill him. My arrow was aimed at his heart. But when the great mother spoke to me I knew better than not to listen.

I think i was always meant to meet him. To teach him my people’s ways..Because it led me to loving him.

That morning when I returned from the tree of souls with him,

My mother had told me if i choose this path, to be his mate, i could never be tsahik.

I told her, "He was my path.”

I’m still as i take in my mother’s words. But the clouds still creep behind my uncertain heartbeat.

“But hometree. And the war. How did you forgive him?”

My mother gently takes my hand in hers, and she takes a breath

“Ma’itan. You will someday learn that love is not easy. It is hungry. It is impatient. It is loud and it is often hidden.

Love gave me many gifts. You, your siblings, my home and my family.

But it has taken much from me all the same.

Love is like swimming in the ocean at night. It's deep, it's dark, the shallows far from reach. But Within that darkness I found your father. I found my light, and someday you will find yours.”

Love is sacrificial. My mother was right. Love isnt easy. Love is sometimes caged and flightless, thick with bitter scents and tearstained starlight. Its bare, and its real, its bruised and blemished and its beautiful because its her. Its Y/n. My y/n. Her name is a hymn of scattered prayers lost to a dreaded dawn and a coppered colored sun. She’s made of every broken and perfect piece of the universe and the stars stumble over their words to describe her beauty

She’s the moon and i’m the sun. Withering myself away every night to allow her to shine.

I will sacrifice. I will work.

She has weakened me. The night sky canvases her skin while the bleakness of sunlight mosaics mine. Famined for her touch, I refuse to look away. I refuse to blink. The sky is a game of chance and the sunset swallows me whole. The scarlet screams in the hellish hues of cerise ablaze under her skin.

I will not settle for anything less than her.

Love is sacrificial. Then i will steal the night sky for her.

I softly smile at my mother before squeezing her hand.

“Thank you, mother.”

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆

(Y/n’s pov)

Love was a funny thing.

You used to think your love for neteyam was forged from heartbeat-rhythmed nightskies and dripping orange soaked sunsets.

It was dreamlike. Bleeding through every crevice and hidden place with its incandescence.

He was a part of you. Apart of everything you were and everything you did.

He was in your dreams when you closed your eyes at night.

He was in the shied morning sun rays that crept over the mountain tops. He was in the wild winds and draped under midnight melodies.

Its the memories of smaller things you remember most.

Giggling while he fumbled with an arrow when he noticed you were watching him practice.

Helping Neytiri stitch together his cummerbund to gift to him when he had completed his iknimiya. You remember the look of pride in his eyes when he wore a piece of your handiwork to represent this new chapter in his life. Concluding his training as a hunter, and becoming a warrior.

You remember taking walks with him through the forest, and the way he would hold a branch back out of your way.

You remember hunting with him, and racing him down the trailed path.

You remember perching on a branch and watching the stars with him. You remember his warmth as he whispered to you all the constellations his father taught him. You remember his hands gently guiding yours to trace the patterns scattered among the stars.

You remember a spark.

And then, you remember a gust of wind that dulled the warmth.

Distance. You can recall distance.

It started out small.

Frequent training with his father.

Watching his siblings.

Hunting. Preparing. Working.

His touch became something you started to crave. Not something that came granted. You remember waiting for him. Waiting for him to return from his hunt, waiting to go stargazing. Liek he promised. You remember checking the sky, the scarlet and blue collide to signify the subduing trials of daylight making its exit.

You remember your mother asking you what you were doing outside.

“Waiting.”

Is all you responded.

You didn’t tell her what you waited for.

Waiting.

He never showed up.

As the sky darkened, it started to rain.

There weren't any stars that night anyways. spider dragged you back inside. Complaining about how he wasn’t taking care of you if you got sick.

Maybe it wasn't rain at all. Maybe the stars didn't come out that night because they were too busy falling through the cracks left in your heart.

You felt forgotten. Unloved. Unwanted.

Lo’ak told you that Jake was always on Neteyam’s ass about his training, and thats why he was so distant.

But it wasn’t just the distance.

His eyes no longer brightened when he looked at you. Its the gaze you give someone when they’re speaking to you, and you aren’t really listening. You’re just waiting for them to be done talking.

Spider watched you come home and cry one night, listened to you scream into your palms and rant angrily for hours about the boy who broke your heart.

Then, the night the sky turned red, a new kind of broken was born.

You remember hearing the whooshing of wings and panicked shrieks of stray ikrans, The unfamiliar scent of something metallic and sulfured.

You remember running into the morning that barely crept ist light over the canopy tips, the still dark sky like a cloak encased the world.

You remember finding your mothers songcord on the ground. You remember finding her body. You remember seeing your fathers not but a few feet away.

You remember the feeling of the air being mercilessly ripped from your lungs.

You remember Jake running towards you, his own panic flooding your ears as he begged you to leave with him. That it wasn’t safe there.

He had to drag you away, holding you tight to him as you practically collapsed into his chest in the front of his ikran.

You remember stumbling into the village upon return, Neytiri catching you in her arms and the blurred sight of her own tear stained face as she cupped your face in her hands. You screamed and cried and fell to your knees as Lo’ak rushed to your side, shushing you gently and rubbing your back.

You remember showing spider the song chord.

You think he cried harder than you did. You both lost your family that day.

You remember the hollowness in the cup of your palm as neteyam held your hand.

You remember when he gifted you that spiral under the starlight.

You always thought he was the sun. And now you know for sure.

Forever out of your reach. Aching for the stretches of salvageable warmth blessed upon your finger tips. You could chase it to the ends of Pandora but every night it would abandon you.

You loved him even if you didn’t know what he was.

Like the sky he was a mystery. Endless but in the midst of the universe it held many treasures he swore he kept just for you. Songs of starlight and supernovas.

You reached for nothing. Hoping to grab the sky and pull yourself into his light. Feel the sunlight on your palm and chase it like the golden hour was a game of chance.

But now, you knew for sure he was the sun.

But he wasn’t your sun.

This sun was made of stone. It was heavy and roughed.

The sky was no longer a mystery. The sun no longer honeyed your skin in favor. Tragedy prevailed the night sky and when his blanket of warmth tried to regain its sanctuary of safety to encase your tainted trust, all you saw was a trail of falling stars you called rain and broken promises.

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆

One of your tasks is to teach the younger children of the clan.

You didn’t mind it much. You often found it quite enjoyable.

You beat out most of the young warriors in your group when the clan was discussing who would train the young warriors. Only the best archer of your age group would have such a role.

It was down to you and a girl named Kyuna. She was skilled, but you were better

You chuckle as the little ones scurry past you, little shrieking giggles as they place their practice bows in a pile.

You doubted yourself. You doubted your ability to train those younger than you. What reasons can you give them for fighting when your own was grief?

Seeing the children and watching them learn gave you hope. Hope for a better future.

The lessons today seemed to drag on. The thought of Neteyams words had lingered in your mind since last night.

You sighed to yourself softly as you started to gather all the bows in a basket. Letting your thoughts run free.

“Need help with that?”

You swung yourself around, a hand instinctively resting on the top of your knife sheath,

You found yourself face to face with a slightly taller na’vi boy. His braids to his shoulders. His smile hatched itself on baited breath, his white freckles that scattered across his face.

“Makeyo. For eywa’s sake don’t sneak up on me like that.”

He chuckled in mock surrender, throwing his hands up.

“I know better than to mess with the mighty Y/n. Don’t want to end up with an arrow in my neck.”

You roll your eyes and shoved him playfully.

Makeyo was one of your fathers students. He was a skilled archer, often competing with Neteyam. You grew closer after your parents death. Makeyo was your partner when lt came to training the younger children of the clan. Having already completed his iknimiya, and being a strong piece of the people, he was perfect for assisting you with your role.

“Great practice today, huh?”

The two of you found yourselves chatting while you walked back to the supply tent to return the arrows.

You nodded.

“Ya’here is getting better. Her form has improved.”

He smiled at you, his tail gently brushing your thigh.

“She’ll make a fine warrior one day. She always tells me she wants to be just like you?”

You try to hide the small shock that jolted through you at the sudden contact, with an awkward smile.

“Well, thats scary as shit.”

He raised a brow.

“Why?”

You shrugged.

“Knowing she wants to be just like me? I’m a wreck.”

He sighs, holding the tent flap open for you.

“Well, I think you’re perfect.”

The world seems to still for a moment, and your body feels stiff.

“You’re brave. And strong, and honorable…”

He took a step forward.

“You’re passionate, and you care for others. Especially those kids.”

He gently places a hand on your arm, its firm, but its not demanding.

You feel your breath hitch, and your tail flicks behind you.

“Makeyo. We shouldn’t-”

“Are we intruding?”

You turn to see spider and Lo’ak.

Lo’ak glares at Makeyo, and spider marches in between the two of you, his smaller frame seemingly less intimidating, but you appreciate the effort.

“All right back it up lover boy.

No no, farther than that. far enough that i don’t smell your lack of personal space.”

Spider tugs at your wrist, shooing Makeyo away.

You groan, smacking spider with your tail.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Makeyo.”

Makeyo nods, waving awkwardly to spider and lo’ak before making his exit.

“Uh huh. Keep it moving.”

Lo’ak ushers him away and you hiss at both of them.

“Hey. Dumb and dumber. what the fuck?”

You glare.

Spider throws his hands up in surrender, shaking his head.

“I don’t like that guy, sis.”

The three of you start making your way back towards the sully tent for the night.

You bickered the whole way.

Spider sighs,pointing his thumb in the opposite direction.

“All i’m saying is, big mac over there-”

“His name is Makeyo.”

Spider shrugs.

“Same thing-

But anyways. I don’t like him.”

Lo’ak nods.

“He’s desperate. He wants you bad.”

You roll your eyes.

“Makeyo was just being nice.”

Lo’ak scoffs.

“Y/n, I love you. I really do. But if that’s nice, then flirting might mean getting you pregnant.”

Spider jumps and smacks the back of Lo’ak’s head, making him stumble and wince.

“Son of a bitch-

What was that for!?”

Spider glares at the taller blue boy.

“Don’t jinx it! I’m not ready to be an uncle!?”

“Who’s going to be an uncle?”

Its the moment you hear Jake’s voice the three of you realize you’ve stumbled into the Sully's tent.

The three of you look at one another, then back at Jake.

Spider whistles, pointing to an imaginary watch.

“Oh boy. Would you look at the time? Time for me to go meet norm for dinner…I’ll catch you guys later.”

Lo’ak calls spider a bitch under his breath for abandoning the two of you two deal with the heap of awkwardness.

Jake resumes his task and Neytiri’s voice calls from inside.

“Lo’ak, Y/n. come on, its time to eat.”

You make your way inside, and Neytiri and Kiri come into view, steaming some meat over a fire.

Kiri waves and jogs her way over to give you a hug, her only slightly taller frame pressed against yours.

“Hey. how was your day?” She hums, tucking a braid behind your ear.

Kiri’s voice was melodic and soothing. It drips like the dew drops onto morning grass, kissed by the forest scent.

You go to answer, but before you can you’re body slammed by a smaller na’vi.

“Y/n! You’re back!”

It only takes a blink of an eye for you to open your arms for her, picking her up and putting her on your hip.

“Hey Tuk! How’s my sweet girl?”

Tuk giggles and nuzzles her head onto your neck.

Lo’ak rudley pushes his way between you and kiri.

“Excuse me, don’t i get a hug?”

He huffs dramatically, flipping his braids like some sort of diva.

“Of course you can, Ma’itan.” Neytiri appears behind him and kisses his head. You and the girls giggle and Lo’ak groans.

“Maaa. come on-”

He swats neytiri away and she chuckles, giving you a quick shoulder squeeze next.

“Did your lessons go okay today? How were the children?”

You take a seat next to Kiri, Lo’ak on your other side as Neteyam takes a seat next to Tuk,

You nod in response to Neytiri as Jake hands everyone a piece of meat.

“Doing well. They are making progress. They are learning faster every day. I think they will be ready to try larger arrows soon. Possibly farther targets.”

Jake pats your back.

“Nice work, kiddo.”

“Speaking of targets...”

Lo’ak mumbles under his breath,you respond by smacking him with your tail.

“What?”

Kiri raises an eyebrow.

Lo’ak shrugs.

“Makino or whatever his name is was flirting with Y/n.”

Kiri smiles at you, gently shaking your shoulder.

“Makeyo? He is a fine warrior.”

You groan, not noticing how Neteyams ears pinned back slightly.

“Makeyo?”

His deep, accented voice pulls your focus towards where the boy sat.

All the sudden the space arounds you feels a bit shallow. Lo’ak answers for you.

“Oh yeah. He was really quite brave. He wouldn't have been so brave if he knew me and spider were planning to feed him to a thanator.”

Jake sighs.

“Must we plot a murder at the dinner table?”

Neytiri nods, swallowing her food and handing a piece of her fruit to Tuk.

“Your father is right. Besides, There is no rush for any of you to mate. Y/n, Makeyo would make a fine life partner but you need not decide anytime soon, my sweet.”

Tuk pipes up suddenly.

“Teyam is gonna be mated with kyuna!”

Neteyam nearly spits out his water, going into a coughing fit as he repeatedly brings his fist to his chest to attempt to stop it.

Jake immediately started patting his back, concerned.

“Jesus christ boy! Easy now, don’t forget to swallow.”

“You have chosen Kyuna?”

It comes out more bitter than you thought. The mere thought of another woman in his arms stinging an unfamiliar scorch in your chest,

Or maybe..it wasn’t so unfamiliar.

Neteyam finally breathes normally again and shake his head frantically.

‘“What? No! Of course not.”

“Kyuna? Really bro? Shes kinda a bitch…”

Lo’ak says, attempting to mask it with his own fake cough.

“Hey. Language.”

Jake scolds, pointing his knife he was using to cut Tuk’s meat with at Lo’ak.

“Its true though! She’s always hustling me to do her chores!”

Neytiri raises her eyebrow.

“If it happens repeatedly why do you keep falling for it?”

Lo’ak had no answer.

Kiri clicked her tongue.

“Y/n, didn’t you overrun Kyuna’s role for training the younger children.”

“Oh yeah! That's right! Y/n made her eat dust in that archery trial. No surprise there.”

You felt a small heat spread to your cheeks out of embarrassment.

“It wasn’t that big of a deal…”

Neytiri chuckles and Neteyam speaks up.

“so..Makeyo. You work with him?’

You nod.

“He helps me train the younger group of children. He’s actually quite helpful.

You didn’t notice the way neteyams ears pinned back slightly.

But Lo’ak did.

“Yeah. But he sucks at Ikran riding.”

You raised your eyebrow.

Come to think of it, You don’t think you ever saw him ride his ikran.

“He is?”

Lo’ak nods.

“He and Neteyam went hunting one time. The idiot crashed into a tree while neteyam swerved it easily.”

You can’t help but laugh at the image, and Lo’ak winked at neteyam.

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆

Authors note:

HOLY FUCKKKK! I’m finally done! This actually did not take as long as i thought it would.

It’s not as long as the last chapter ya’ll i’m sorry. But hopefully the close times in which both were posted makes up for it?

We’re gonna get some kiri and y/n bonding time in next chapter and hopefully some more jealous neteyam. Btw what did we think of the neteyam pov? Leave some comments about it so i can know whether to add it in later.

Taglist:

@mntx666

@isnt-itstrange

@thebestrouge

@bay7let

@fairuzwhat

@jackiehollanderr

@6423btw

@satesatesate2009

#avatar the way of water #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #jake avatar #kiri sully #neytiri #avatar fanfiction #lo’ak x reader #neteyam x you

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vivwritesfics · 29 days

Text

Shine A Light Into The Wreckage

Chapter Seven - Somewhere Unfamiliar

Bob Floyd was many things. He was an instructor at Top Gun, a lover of Tolkien books and a huge fan of coffee. But Bob was also clumsy. That was how he bumped into the table, knocking her drink onto her notebook. He felt bad about it. Bad enough to come back time and time again, in the hopes that she would be there. And, every time, she is. Each time looking a little worse for wear. It doesn't take Bob long to realise he has to save her.

Warnings: Abusive relationship! Abusive hair pulling! Abusive choking! Forceful sex! Domestic abuse! Seriously don't read if you're affect by stuff like this! Talks of stalking (but in a non serious manner), talks of non consensual groping. she gets called a whore, choking, SA, 'missing' birth control

Series Masterlist

There was nothing scarier than waking up somewhere unfamiliar. She knew something was wrong even before she opened her eyes. Mattress too soft, sheets too warm. There wasn't another body beside her, taking up too much space.

Her head hurt, but she wasn't hungover. No it was more muddied and part of her couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was wrong. She pushed the covers away from her body, revealing a Star Wars shirt that wasn't her own. That small part of her brain that compelled her to lift the collar to her nose and sniff, she couldn't deny it. And, the moment she inhaled the scent, she felt safe, comforted.

She left the room and headed down the stairs, with each bend on her knees, her skin pulled at the plasters, but she ignored it as she walked into the kitchen and adjoining living room.

Bob was nowhere to be found. He wasn't sitting in the kitchen, newspaper open as he read the cereal. He wasn't on the sofa with Frodo, flipping through channels as he drank a coffee. She could feel the tears stinging behind her eyes, the impending breakdown building.

"Hey."

Her feet had never moved so quickly. She turned towards the glass back doors to see Bob sitting out on his back porch, bed hair messy, coffee mug in his lap and cigarette in hands. His glasses weren't sitting straight on his face, adding the domesticity of the look. She didn't care that she was in nothing but his shirt and underwear as she rushed over to sit with him.

It was pathetic, wasn't it? She'd never felt this way before, never felt this kind of dependence on someone. All she had endured, that was her strength. And now it had all crumbled into nothing.

As soon as she was with him, Bob put out his cigarette. "It's a bad habit, I know," he said and sipped his coffee. "I'm trying to kick it."

In that moment, she didn't care about the stench of cigarette on him. From the moment she looked at him, that feeling of safety and security settled in her chest, something she'd never had with Ken. And Bob didn't seem to mind when she sat down beside him and curled up against him.

He didn't put his arm around her. God, he wanted to, but he couldn't, not yet. "I'm sorry," she said after a moment, her gaze moving across his garden. "I don't want to drag you into this mess."

The laugh that Bob released from his lips was soft and had the air tasting of smoke and coffee. "I want you to drag me into this mess," he said. But, as soon as he felt her stiffen up, he regretted it. He scrambled to recover. "So that I can pull you out of it."

It was an answer he hoped would placate her. But, suddenly she was on her feet and pulling the bottom of her shirt down to cover her up some more. "I should go," she said suddenly as she headed back into the house.

"Have you got work?" Bob asked quickly as he got to his feet. He left his mug on the porch as he followed her towards the bathroom.

She collected her jeans from the bathroom floor and walked past him, heading to the bedroom. "Thank you for your kindness, Bobby," she said as she walked into the bedroom. "But I really should be going." She began getting dressed. When she pulled the star wars shirt over her head, Bob turned around (even if she had her back to him.)

"Let me drive you," he said as she patted her pockets for the few things she had brought with her.

She shook her head. "Honestly, I think it's best if you stayed away from my apartment. Ken might get the wrong idea."

The scoff that left his lips was involuntary. As soon as she turned to him with an ice cold stare, he had regretted it. But it was too late. He couldn't take it back, so he pushed forward. "You're seriously going back to him?" He challenged, folding his arms over his shirt. "After everything I saw yesterday, you want to go back?"

"I haven't got a choice, Bob!" She suddenly cried.

The outburst had his own features softening. Part of him hadn't realised how much it was affecting her. Of course, he knew. But she'd been so calm and cool until now. "You do have a choice, Doll," he said, his voice soft and sweet.

She shook her head, falling against Bob and she wrapped her arms around his middle. Tears were falling, but she didn't want him to see. "No, Bobby, I don't."

All the other times he'd held back, stopped himself from allowing any kind of intimacy. He didn't stop himself from kissing the top of her head. "Last night, you kissed me," he said. She tried to move away, but Bob kept a tight hold of her. "You have a choice, and you've got me, no matter what you decide."

She could have kissed him then and there, but she held back. How could she kiss him when she was heading back to Ken?

"Come on," he said, pulling away to grab his truck keys. He was still in his lazy day shorts and yellow shirt, but he didnt much care. "I can't let you walk all that way on your own. I can drop you around the corner."

Reluctantly, she nodded.

Bob did exactly as he said he would. He drove her to her apartment, her hand holding his as he drove. Bob didn't mind. He didn't mind one bit. Just as she had asked, he parked around the corner from her building.

He still had her hand as he parked. Even when his truck was at a complete stop, he didn't let go of her. "Bobby," she whispered as he squeezed her hand. "I have to go."

"Gimme your phone," he said and straightened out his glasses. She loved his glasses. She fished her almost dead phone from her pocket and handed it to him. Quickly, Bob put his number into her phone and passed it back. "There. Now, whenever you need me, you can call me."

The way she swallowed thickly wasn't lost on him. "You're too good to me," she whispered as she climbed out of the car.

Bob watched her. He watched until she disappeared around the corner. The moment she was gone, his head hit the steering wheel. His heart had utterly shattered at her words, and he wasn't entirely sure how to put it back together. She could help, he knew. After he'd fixed her own heart.

As he drove away, went back home for a relaxing day with Frodo, she climbed the stairs of her apartment. She knew what she had to do, knew she should go and break up with him.

When her search for her keys came up empty, she knocked. Knocking on the door to her own apartment, it was laughable. But she waited, tried to listen to what was going on inside as she waited for Ken to open the door. Her heart was erratic in her chest, that feeling of safety and security she had with Bob long gone.

The door was yanked open. She didn't mean to hesitate to step inside, but she couldn't exactly help it. "Oh Barbie," Ken said, his voice calm, kind. "I missed you."

She kept her hands at her sides, but she so desperately itched to reach out and slap him. Why couldn't she? He'd been nothing but awful to her, why couldn't she slap him? "I'm just here to get my stuff," she said, voice strained. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

Ken let out a laugh. "What the fuck are you talking about, Barbie?" He asked as he pushed the door shut. "You're not leaving me."

"Ken-"

"No fucking way. I don't care if you're fucking that pilot. You're not going anywhere." He pulled a key, one that didn't look like their usual front door keys, from his pocket and locked the door. "Bedroom, now."

She ignored him, instead reaching for the door. But one twist of the handle confirmed her suspicions. It really was locked. "Let me out." She desperately tried again, desperate for a way out of this apartment. "Ken, open the fucking door."

But he didn't, so she pulled her phone from her hands. Within seconds Ken had snatched it away from her. "I said bedroom, Barbie."

"Don't fucking call me that."

That calm demeanor Ken had been wearing finally disappeared. He went to grab her but she flinched, body hitting the door. But that was enough for Ken. He pushed her to the floor and yanked down her jeans. "Where the fuck did you go last night, Barbie? Who the fuck fixed you up?" But, when only a whimper left her lips, he pulled down her underwear and freed himself from his trousers.

"Please," she tried, but part of her knew it was inevitable.

He'd never raped her on the floor like that. It had always been in the bedroom or the kitchen counter. Never on the floor in front of the door. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting her mind take her back to that morning, to sitting on the deck with Bob. Bob. He'd given her his number just for this, and she couldn't even contact him.

"You're not going anywhere ever again, Barbie," he said between grunts.

It wasn't long until Ken brought himself to completion. He climbed off of her, leaving her on the floor. She pushed herself against the door and brought her knees to her chest. Why had she ever come back here? Why hadn't she stayed with Bob?

Sudden realisation hit her and panic overtook her chest. Fuck, she hadn't taken her birth control last night. As quick as she could she climbed off of the floor and ran to the bathroom. She searched through the cupboard, desperately searching for the empty tub of lotion that held her birth control.

It didn't rattle as she picked it up, the pills inside not rolling around. Her heart was in her throat, guts ready to spill as she pulled off the lid.

Empty. There was nothing inside. Her birth control was gone. She couldn't stop the tears that sprang to her eyes as she sank to her knees.

a/n: spoiler alert but this is the last chapter before Bob finally does something about ken

Taglist: @nurse-sainz

@not-nyasa

@burningwitchprincess

@darksparklesficrecs

@primroseluna

@littlemsbumblebee

@wretchedmo

@imaginecrushes

@calpalsbestie

@hiireadstuff

@lyn-js

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@teacupsandtopgun

#bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x you #robert floyd #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd fluff #robert floyd x you #robert bob floyd #top gun #top gun maverick #tgm #top gun fanfiction #bob floyd fic #bob top gun #top gun fic

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gabessquishytum · 2 months

Note

Oh OG Warprize Hob Anon wherefore art thou..... I just thought it was time to show thanks and appreciation for one of the best AUs (imo) to come out of the Dreamling ship. Not a week goes by where I don't think about their writing, and spin headcanons and scenarios of my own in my head. One of the most underrated aspects of their writing I think is Dream's ruthlessness and cruelty in that AU, it's so rare to see Dream just be a toppy asshole all the way through, fellow fans seem to prefer to see him as an emotional bottom twink 😭. One of the rare AUs where Hob is allowed to be the sensitive wanton bottom all throughout 🤤🤤 Ohh OG Warprize Hob Anon, I miss your writing so much, I hope to see your writing grace this dashboard once more, especially with more dark Dream moments. For my fellow fans, I thought I'd do a small thing and compile all their asks here. I'm so sorry if this is sloppy, but I just copy-pasted these here.

Warprize Hob AU

Anonymous asked:

I don’t know where this came from?? Dubcon/noncon cw, or it’s kinky roleplay if you prefer that. But...

Hob fought bravely, a solider in the war of greater men. He even crossed blades with terror in all black, the Nightmare King himself once. They said it was better for a solider like him to die with honor than to be taken alive. But when the tide turned and Hob’s own sworn sovereign fell, all he wanted was to live. He laid down his blade, expecting to be taken into chains. But not chains like these.

He kneels, blindfolded, on the bed, naked other than pure gold bondage, thin chains that truss him everywhere. Gold binds his hands at his back. Gold cuffs secure his ankles, connected by a flimsy thread only put there so it could be snapped apart. Gold laces around his tits, catching in his chest hair. Gold threads between new ruby piercings in his nipples—still so sensitive that even the touch of silk sends bolts of pure heat through his body. Every time he twitches, he sees stars. Gold loops like garters around his thighs, connected to the glimmering chain around his hips. And gold ribbon cages his achingly hard cock and full balls.

Hob is so, so hard. He has been since they fed him sweet candied fruits laced with a magic that heated his blood until he was begging those faceless servants to please, please let him come. They didn’t. Instead, he was bathed and perfumed with jasmine oil brushed through his hair (everywhere). He was opened with gentle touches and generous oil, a marble plug nestled inside him, blessedly cool against his burning skin. He was left on the bed with a final chain connecting his collar to the bedframe.

His prick so hard in its confines, and the plug is not enough. He still feels terribly empty. Against his own will, he finds himself rocking back and forth, rubbing his thighs together, desperate for anything that might help him get pleasure where he needs it most.

Until with no warning, a hand touches his head. He stills. He thought he was alone. Strong, thin fingers brush down his face, linger on his lips. A gentle thumb pushes inside his mouth. Hob moans, body thrumming like a harp just to be touched so simply.

“Peace, my prize,” a deep voice, peaceful as slumber, murmurs. The blindfold is pulled down and Hob blinks blearily into the face of the Nightmare King himself. He smiles, confident and regal, and slim fingers caress his side, down to his ass, and push against the plug until it finally presses where Hob needs it. "I will give you what you crave.”

Gabe:

Mmmm yes!!!! I love this.

Hob as Dream’s chosen prize after his victory in battle? Oh yes, excellent. I particularly adore the idea of Hob being unknowingly fed some kind of aphrodisiac to make him needy - Dream wants him to be willing, so he will simply make sure that he has no choice but to be.

Also, the preparation... Hob would usually be utterly humiliated by such an act. It's so impersonal and degrading. But all he can think about is how much he wants to cum, so he spends the whole time whining and begging for more. By the time Dream gets to him, Hob is spreading his legs like a well trained whore who's never known anything different. He's nearly forgotten the battle and his instincts as a warrior, he just wants to be fucked. Anyone could come into the room and have him and Hob would just be grateful.

But he isn't for just anyone, oh no. He's the king’s prize, his spoils of war. He suckles desperately on Dream’s thumb, sticks his arse out temptingly and generally tries to make himself as tempting as possible. He aches, and his brain is fuzzy, the king is absolutely the most beautiful thing Hob has ever seen right now.

Not to mention his cock is perfect - the most perfect Hob has ever had inside him. It's as though his body has been molded perfectly for the king’s cock. He's not sure if he's ever cum so many times in his life.

When he comes back to himself several hours later, sweating and sticky and aching... he knows that he should be angry and hurt. He should get up from the beautiful bed and find some way to escape. But. He's tired, and hungry. The bed is comfortable, and the king is staring at him with sparkling black eyes.

He rolls over. Cum trickles gently down his thighs. The king holds out his hand, one of those candied fruits held between his long pale fingers.

Hob opens his mouth.

Anonymous asked:

Hiii I’m the originally war prize hob anon, lured back because I was blown away by how you and everyone else responded to the idea! Amazing work, go team.

Here’s more. (It’s so long. I’m sorry)

At first, Hob was confined to the bed chamber, a decoration, a pretty thing—and so rarely has Hob ever considered himself pretty. Pretty was for swallow-boned young men and women with smooth thighs. Pretty was not him, full bodied and furred. He has always pleased his lovers, they have found him handsome. But most have expected him to take charge and take care of them, not to—to—

Submit with spread legs and open mouth. To tempt. To eat sweet aphrodisiacs from those long, pale fingers until he’s begging to feel them for inside him. Sweet humiliation.

The king wants this. They pass long nights pounding Hob’s pride to shreds. He learns to beg under the king’s cock, his cruel mouth, and the touch of those inhuman eyes. Even sober, he only has to think of the king and his body floods with hot want. But still. Hob doesn’t understand.

“Why me?” He dared ask the first week, the king with a hand fisted in his hair, thrusting into him so deep and slow, Hob could feel it in his throat.

The king paused. A cool hand trailed down Hob’s back. Gathered the chains that pooled at his back, the ones he hadn’t yet snapped in his fervor. “I am interested.”

Hob meant to press him, even at the risk of his own peril, but the king slammed back into him and every thought vanished.

And then Hob is brought out of the bed and taken to kneel at the throne during the days too, chained to the king’s hand. At first, Hob assumes he is meant to be a symbol of the king’s power. Or a toy to warm the king’s cock when the duties of court grow dull. (Hob is both.)

But then comes a night when the king ponders battle plans for his next great war. And he turns to Hob.

“My general suggested we surge ahead and meet the enemy at their own gate. You rolled your eyes.” The king looks at Hob as if he is peeling the layers of muscle and bone away, finding the heart of him. And Hob realizes that all day, the king had noticed him listening. Not always—sometimes the king prefers to see him squirm, prefers to press the heavy gold plug into his hole and watch Hob strain for hours to keep it in, only to fail. During those hours, Hob had not heard a thing.

But when the king had allowed Hob to rest his head against his solid thigh, Hob had listened. And he had been seen doing it.

“Your enemy will expect a frontal attack. A show of strength. For you are a strong king. Respectfully, that’s a brave way to kill many of your own men.”

“Hmm.” The king says nothing else. He beckons until Hob kneels again at his side, the bowl of candied fruits, as always, sitting on the table. The king plucks one up and offers it to Hob.

“My lord,” Hob breathes. “Why do you care what I think?”

Hands brush through his hair. “Eat,” the king murmurs.

This king wants something. He waits for something. Hob cannot work out what. Yet.

He eats.

Gabe:

Assfggjkl og warprize anon!!!!!!

I am so taken with Hob’s thoughtfulness, his curiosity. His fearlessness. And I think that Dream is rapidly becoming besotted with these things too.

Hob isn't scared of him. No matter how ruthless and harsh he is, no matter which way Dream forces Hob to bend, he always springs back up with those curious eyes, wanting to know what's next. Dream suspects that he doesn't need the aphrodisiacs at all - that Hob would be willing to spread himself out in any arrangement of Dream’s choosing. But Dream is afraid of rejection, and Hob enjoys the lustful oblivion just a little bit too much to ask for a change.

Hob is clever and capable and good with his hands. When Dream comes to him wounded from some accident or skirmish, Hob knows exactly how to bind the flesh carefully but firmly. He rests his head in Dream’s lap after, like a beloved pet hound. His breathing is so soothing, Dream even manages to fall asleep. He wakes up and Hob is already between his legs, ready and waiting to be choked on the king’s cock as usual.

Dream fucks him instead, as ferocious as ever but this time with a purpose. Hob is his prize and the world ought to know about it. From now on, he'll have Hob smelling of his cum, always. He'll have him littered with bite marks and bruises. He'll keep Hob close, make sure the end of his gold leash is always within reach. He'll bring Hob to the battlefield, if he must.

A creature as magnificent as Hob must be treated as he deserves. And Dream alone can give him what he needs.

Anonymous asked:

War prize hob anon, here!!! I am loving the responses to this idea! So many amazing brilliant takes, love to see it.

The talk of whether Hob would escape or stay and be spoiled inspired me (glorious takes on both sides) so I drabbled on the subject…

It takes time. Trust. And a letter opener left unattended.

That night, Hob slides quietly as he can out of the silk sheets. He sits astride the sleeping king, his face turned toward the moon, his neck a deceptive swan’s curve. And Hob raises the blade to it.

One slice. And he is free.

It does not matter, he tells himself, that he has never been fucked so well. That the king is kind to him, relatively. He could take Hob with violence and pain or share him. Instead he feeds Hob fruits to heat his blood so that every time he plunders his body, with fingers, tongue and cock, Hob welcomes him.

Even the humiliations and hurts of his new service are given a sweet edge. The way he was spanked for misbehaving, hard and brutal, until his skin was red and tender. Followed by a hot tongue in his ass. The way he was made to kneel for hours and hold the king’s cock in his mouth. Followed by servants massaging the aches from his body and tending to his bad knee. (Yet another reason Hob is a poor choice for a prize.) In the king’s service, Hob might hurt. But he rewards him with such care…lavishes attention on him until Hob cannot come any more.

No. Hob has to do this. He must escape. He has his pride. This is just pleasure. Nothing more.

“Well?” The king’s voice interrupts his turmoil. Oh gods. He is awake. He surges up, knocking the blade from his grip. A hand clamps on his thigh, another on his wrist and he is rolled on his back, away from the blade. The chain between his wrists, once wide to allow him movement, slithers shorter until the cuffs kiss, and the collar tightens just enough to threaten his breathing. For all his battle prowess, struggling it gets him nowhere but squirming and pinned. The nightmare king settles over Hob like a dragon on top of its hoard. He stares unblinkingly down at him.

“You could not do it,” comes that deep whisper. Hob stills. “You are a well-trained solider yet for nearly five minutes you sat with a blade at my neck and did not make your move. Why?”

Hob swallows. A hot open mouthed kiss blooms just under his jaw, followed by the press of teeth. Even without the candied fruit his body sings for this man. What is happening to him?

“My pet. My prize. You must already face great consequences for this disobedience,” the king says. “I may not let you come for weeks. Answer me or it will be months.”

“I had to try. I had to—I don’t understand.” It isn’t the first time he has asked, pled, begged to know. “I’m at my wits end. Please. Why me?”

Fingers slip between them to tease at his hole and Hob resists the powerful, heady urge to submit and grind against him. For as long as he can before his resolve crumbles into lust. It will not be long. It never is.

The king gives the same maddening answer he always gives. The only one, whispered against his lips. “I am interested.”

Gabe:

Hnnnnng.

Og warprize hob anon…… i hope you know that you’ve created a beautiful monster and we’re all horny about it. i hope you also know that your words are beautiful and your prose is delightful. it’s a pleasure to read.

Oh but the turmoil Hob goes through. There’s nothing that the king can do to soothe the way his mind is twisting and turning, bouncing between loyalty to himself and some mad, misplaced loyalty to this nightmare of man. What does Hob owe Dream, really? His life? What kind of life is this?

He could set himself free. He thinks he’s almost worked it out. He could take away the one think the king seems to want. He could make himself… dull. Boring, predictable. Uninteresting.

But.

He thinks about long, thin fingers running down his spine and soothing the perpetual ache at the small of his back. Warm salve on his knee, applied at the king’s own orders. His body rigid and sweating in the night from some bad dream, suddenly embraced by cool arms. A kiss on his brow in the early morning. He’s been so greedy for those things, has coveted them and gloried in them. How can he live without them now?

Worse: what would the nightmare king do with a broken toy? Hob doesn’t want to find out.

He bounces in Dream’s lap with renewed fervor when he’s finally allowed the privilege of taking the king’s cock again. But there’s a heat behind his eyes, a kind of determination that he’d thought long dead and gone. He’ll find some way to win this game, this strange warped little battle. His own feelings be damned, Hob will not be broken. Even a king must have some chink in his armor, somewhere.

Dream raises a delicate eyebrow and almost, almost smiles. Pulls his prize closer by his golden leash.

“Interesting.”

Anonymous asked:

Hiiii warprize anon here! Glad to see people are still warprizing hob, I think it’s good for him. Truly, anons, you are doing glorious work with that AU.

I wanted to write dark obsessive dream next in all his dubcon glory next but no one cooperated? Have some less porny character introspection instead ig…

It’s amazing how little it takes for a grown man to become used to being a pet. As weeks stretch into months, Hob revels, just a little. In the lustful linger of eyes on his body. In the quirk of that cruel mouth when Hob pleases the king. The eager stirring of his cock even before he eats aphrodisiacs. Even his punishments—even the hot lash of the whip—begins to feel like sacrilegious worship. Gasping for breath, holding his thighs spread as the king buries himself in his body certainly is. In the blackest and most honest hours of the night, Hob knows the truth. He is starting to like it.

That’s the danger of the king’s service.

Hour by orgasmic hour, the king is twisting himself into Hob’s mind and body like a key carving out its own lock. He demands Hob’s submission, his pleasure and his desire for his own. But how many people had the king had in such a way? How many prizes have knelt, and learned to live at his pleasure? And where are they now? Abandoned surely, replaced. Hob is the chalice the king sips from now but he is one of dozens, maybe even hundreds. The king might have taken a prize from every battle won.

Hob is…not special.

He kneels on his cushion, waiting for the king who has stepped from the throne room, and reminds himself.

Footsteps approach and stop just behind him. Always, when the king is away, a guard is assigned to keep a close eye for Hob’s protection, though none are allowed to take his chains in their grip. Not unless Hob runs. Daring, the guard plucks at the chain between his nipples until it swings against Hob’s chest. He holds his breath.

“How’s it going?” A voice drawls. “Knees a little tired?”

Hob glances at the door for the absent king before raising his head. The guard above him smirks like he knows a joke and Hob is the punchline.

“Yes, rather,” Hob replies. “Even with the cushion.”

“His majesty seems to like that,” he muses.

Corinthian. That is his name. He’d heard the king give him orders with iron in his voice. The way one talked to a guard dog who wasn’t trusted. A creature who couldn’t be taught to fear the whip.

“You’d know better than me.” Hob meets his eye as best he can through the man’s dark glasses. He is very handsome, golden and strong. Perhaps this is the answer. Perhaps prizes who lose their luster are given other ways to serve.

Corinthian tilts his head. Hob feels his eyes trace down the marks the king left. Lurid love bites at his throat and faint fingertip bruises on his hips. “I really don’t. Suppose I’m not his type.”

“Surely you’ve seen the others then.” Hob replies. He keeps his hands folded where they’re bound at the small of his back.

“Other … prizes?” Corinthian’s grin only grows. “Sweetheart, no. You’re the first.”

Hon stares but senses no lie. “Can’t be.“

“Picking a prize always been his right but he’s never felt the need to use it until now. Until you.” The man leans closer, dangerously into his space. Hob feels him breathing, he’s so close. “I’ve heard the sounds he pulls from you at night. He must have years of pent up energy.”

Hob’s throat is dry. Something fragile, winged and stupid flutters in his chest. But before he has to think of a reply, Corinthian snaps back to a respectful distance an instant before the doors swing open, and the king sweeps in. He climbs the stairs, slinks back to claim his throne. Hob is still reeling when his cool hand finds his chin and tilts his head up.

“You did not move,” the king says. It is not a question but an expectation.

Hob shakes his head. For a long moment his eyes glitter down on him, simply watching. Then fingers card through his hair and he is guided to rest his head against his king’s knee.

Gabe:

Lying face down on the floor after reading this tbh. Like. What can I say? What can I add?

Knowing that he's the only one is a further kind of beautiful torture for Hob, because once again he's asking himself over and over again: why? Why him, above anyone else? There's a part of him in agony over his imprisonment, the curtailing of his freedoms, the fact that his mind and body are no longer his own. Then there's the part of him who wants to know why, so he can be good. He needs to know how he can keep the favour that he has miraculously obtained.

And Dream? He never gives answers. If Hob even dared to ask more than a small, sobbed "why me?" in the midst of some blissful torture, Dream wouldn't bother to answer. Hob thinks that the king likes him kept ignorant and confused. It's another way to keep him in line. He's always dancing on a knife's edge, wondering whether the king will eventually toss him aside - never knowing if he's truly safe.

So he'd better be as good as he can. Never give Dream a reason to throw him away. But he will slip up eventually - its only a matter of time...

Anonymous asked:

As requested, here’s some warprize!hob being punished by dark!dream for bad behavior. Also… thanks panickingstudent2’s last ask for some very specific inspo!

The king chains him up by his wrists. No gold cuffs with velvet interiors here. Not for this. This is punishment, work fit for dungeons, cold and deep as his king’s displeasure. Hob is already delirious from too much candied fruit. The cage has been cruelly clenched around his hot, aching cock for days now but he needs to be fucked, he needs it, he needs it.

“Mercy,” he begs but it won’t do him any good. He’s been begging for days, his cock and balls hot and aching.

Fury is divine on the nightmare king’s face. Other kings would simply kill him. Leave his body for the ravens. But Hob’s king will not let him go.

“I would have you obey me,” the king says. Fingers brush against his hole and don’t even push in where Hob yearns for them despite himself. He cants his hips back weakly, but the fingers go away. “But if I must bring you low again and again, I will. And I will enjoy it every time.”

He steps back. And the whip snaps through the air and white-hot fire flashes across Hob’s back.

Wet agony blooms across his shoulders and bloodred welts.

“You know why I must do this,” the king says. “You know why it is my pleasure to do this.”

The whip lashes again and again, fire licking across his skin. It doesn’t stop when Hob screams. Or when he sobs. When it’s done, his entire back glows like an ember. The king faces him, eyes black holes in his pale, sharp face. He places a cool hand on Hob’s back and he presses into the soothing touch, whining like a newborn babe.

“Please, I’m sorry, please, pleasepleaseplase,” he breathes. The king twists him around until the cuffs pull tight. He drags the plug from his hole, and finally buries himself to the hilt in his ass. Hob wails. Hands tangle in his chest hair and pull him flush against his king, as he plunges in and out at a ruinous pace. Being finally filled is sweeter relief than when the whip stopped.

“Say you are mine,” the king says. Once he was quiet, and constrained whenever he touched Hob and this is why—the need in his voice is barely bridled. Hob is not the only desperate one. “Say it.” The king bites, sudden and sharp at Hob’s earlobe.

“I’m yours—Morpheus!” His head snaps back as his body thunders through a cruel, dry orgasm. He doesn’t hear the king’s soft gasp against his ear, or register the name he’s cried. He’s in pain, from his cock to his shoulders—yet Hob floats. Perhaps he could fly.

Love, Warprize Anon

Gabe:

Hnnnggg. I am. Deeply obsessed with this. I love it when you drop these beautiful snippets for us!!! Hob calling the king by his name in the middle of a punishment/orgasm? Talk about a mind-fuck. Poor thing, he's truly terrified.

But it isn't just fear, is it? It would be so much simpler if he could say that he's scared and be done with it. So much easier to handle that emotion. What he feels is more that fear. He's grown attached to the king, longs for him when they're apart and fears him when they're together. When he tries to imagine a life away from his capture, he can't even manage it anymore. It's impossible to see beyond the king, who looms so large in Hob’s thoughts all the time. He's obsessed, addicted, terrified, longing to be taken and horrified by the idea all the same.

All he knows is that his king has power over him that he will probably never comprehend. Perhaps its time to surrender and acknowledge that he's lost. He no longer belongs to himself. He belongs to Morpheus.

-Love Yan Anon <3

Aww, hey Yan Anon!!! It's nice to hear from you. And thank you for highlighting OG Warprize Anon and their incredible work (you're a trooper for scrolling through and copy/pasting everything, seriously). Warprize au has definitely been a big hit, as it rightly should be, and it's great to look back on how it all started. Hopefully OG Warprize Anon is out there doing great and knowing that they inspired many, many people.

Hopefully we'll see more content for the Dark Dream enjoyers out there. I certainly lean towards a mean toppy Dream myself, although I'm not immune to Obliterating That Twink either. There's room for everyone in the fandom - and don't forget to leave comments for your favourite authors as Yan Anon has here. It's a great way to encourage your faves to write more of the stuff that you love!

#yan anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #warprize hob #cw dubcon #cw drugging #cw intox #cw pain #cw physical abuse

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anarchy-n-glitter · 1 month

Text

The Good, The Bad, and...

Summary: Lucy and The Ghoul encounter a shadowy figure from his past while on their way to New Vegas. This stranger, nicknamed Red Eyes, is intent on collecting a bounty on The Ghoul as a means to settle a feud between the two after they were betrayed by him. Will Red Eyes succeed, or will they have a change of heart based on their complicated feelings toward the man? (Cooper Howard x OC/reader) Words: 2,941

A/N: I forgot to post chapter 1 of this on here sorry guys. Anyway this is low key a Star Wars AU because as a Cad Bane fan I simply could not help myself so this is technically kind of a follow up to this fic. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

From the Desert Comes a Stranger

“I’ve taken down so many of dese clones over da years…” Her father began in his heavily accented manner, sighing, and pushing his hat back with his pointer finger as he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. The red of his irises were somehow muted by the red lenses of the goggles he wore, which made it hard to see the look in his eyes as it was. He quickly dropped to his knees and with a single swipe of his knife he removed something from the clone’s body. She couldn’t quite make out what it was before he pocketed it.

He turned around quickly, pointing his gloved finger up at her. She straightened up.

“Now, Ciella, what ya need to know is…” He handed her the bloodied knife, closing her fingers around the hilt and holding her smaller hand in his. It was one of the only times he made a tender gesture towards her other than the odd hug here and there.

“Once you figure out one da rest are easy.” She had to wonder what the point of all this was.

When they arrived on the site - an old, decrepit warehouse with a caved-in roof - her father was quick to corner the clone that now lay dying before them. He tried his best to grab the gun that was strapped to his leg, fumbling with it and managing to point it in her father’s general direction before he was gunned down. Two shots in the chest from the looks of it, shots that left the man (clone) heaving and wheezing on the floor with blank eyes, and she knew that’s what he wanted to happen. If he wanted to shoot the man in the head he would have. He was the fastest shot in the Wasteland, and it would stay that way for many years.

“Now, I want ya to take dat knife dere and,” He finally stood and moved her closer to the dying man. “Yer gonna have to cut his throat, unless ya want to hear him scream. I’m not against it but it’s best dat we keep him quiet. Don’t want any stragglers comin’ in and takin’ us by surprise.”

Ciella drew in a deep breath as she knelt down beside the man. His blank eyes suddenly held so much emotion, it was a look she’d seen in her own eyes a few times before. Mostly on dark nights in the Jewel as she listened to the way men spoke to her mother… and the way her father spoke to her at times. It was the look she saw in the mirror after she saw how her mama took care of those men - their purple, mangled faces contorted in pain and their eyes bloodshot staring up at her, and their hands clutched around their throats.

This man was in pain, and he was afraid of dying.

There was a large tattoo on the side of his face, around his eye. It was a symbol, most likely belonging to whatever faction he belonged to since escaping his vault. From what she overheard her dad discussing, Vault 66 seemed to be defunct, with the clones created within revolting and escaping into the Wasteland. He had been hunting down the clones for the last five years, among other things. She never quite understood why anyone would flee a vault to live on the surface.

Her father took the respirator off of his face, letting it hang below his chin. She felt more at ease at this, happy to hear his own, unmodified voice walking her through what she was about to do. Her heart was beating fast and felt like it had leapt into her throat. She glanced at the open ceiling and focused on the large, white moon that hung in the deep blue sky.

Perhaps the sky full of swirling stars would be enough to comfort her.

“When he’s dead, cut off da part of his face with da tattoo and hand it to da Tin-Man. Den we can go home.” He instructed. Ciella hesitated.

The clone looked at her, stared her down, silently begging her for mercy. He was just a clone, and he was wanted so he must have done something bad, right? She looked back at her dad, who had pushed his goggles up onto his forehead, revealing his bright red eyes staring back at her expectedly. Tufts of navy blue hair peeked out from under his hat and over his goggles and his lips were curved into a small smile.

He actually looked like a supportive father for the first time in his life.

Ciella made her decision at that moment, and the girl at only eight years old turned around and drove the knife into the clone’s throat. His eyes widened and met her gaze for a moment and she felt her heart drop. He groaned and wheezed, the blood gurgling in his throat as the crimson substance dribbled from the corners of his mouth. A sputtering cough had his blood spraying across her face and she wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or not. She tried not to heave at the disgusting feeling.

On instinct, she pulled the knife from his throat and drove it back into his flesh. Over and over. A larger, warmer hand wrapped around her wrist and stopped her mid motion.

“Dere ya go.” Her father smiled wider as pride swelled in his chest. His baby would be a killer, just like he was. “After dis I’ll teach ya everyding I know.”

☠☠☠☠☠☠☠

The sun bore down unbearably upon the duo traveling along the Mojave Desert. It had been miles and miles of desert between the Griffith Observatory and the place the Ghoul was certain Lucy’s father was heading. The vaultie was starting to fall behind, clearly tired from the constant moving. It was hard to find shelter all the way out here, and unfortunately for her the Ghoul didn’t feel comfortable stopping out in the open.

They had traveled through a few settlements at that point, each one growing more and more decrepit and sparse. The people were quieter and hid away in their own corners of the small towns, eyeing the Ghoul and his traveling companion wearily. The whispers and glares of the different townsfolk hardly made for good hospitality, if anything it was that fact that drove him away from each place. Something was happening, someone said something, and he felt it was too risky to stop for a few nights in any of the settlements.

The last place they’d been to was a day’s walk away at this point, and the talk amongst the people in that saloon made him deeply uncomfortable. Then there was the body.

In the sandy dunes of the last settlement they had been to laid a man with sun kissed skin and snow white hair stained at the temples with red. The poor man had his brains blown out, by who… well, let’s just say he had a good idea of who it was. It was clear the job was done quickly, the man clearly didn’t see them coming, and the fact the man’s armor and other supplies went untouched raised even more alarm bells. He got them out of there quickly and quietly.

Unfortunately for Lucy, the Ghoul was one-track minded at the moment. His family was out there, he could feel it. There was a reason he kept going for over two hundred years, and he would not let those years of anguish be in vain.

He would kill anyone who tried to get between them.

“There’s gotta be somewhere we can stop, right?” Lucy sounded hoarse, tired. He wished he could answer her truthfully. He hadn’t traveled this far into the desert before, and the way the sun seemed to hang so high in the sky for so long made him question whether anyone ventured that far, let alone set up shop. He shrugged.

The dunes seemed to stretch on for miles and miles, with only a few rocky formations on the horizon. A few dried plants littered the ground here and there, somehow finding the strength to grow in such a harsh climate. It was a wonder anything was able to grow and flourish after the bombs. Maybe he should have sent the vaultie to ask for some sort of transport back at the saloon instead of being stubborn like he usually was.

“Maybe that person’s coming from a settlement down that way?” The Ghoul froze, feeling himself go numb.

Among the dancing heatwaves stood a dark-clad figure on the horizon.

They stood still, any discernible features hidden by a wide-brimmed hat and respirator over the figure’s mouth. The wind blew and kicked up dust and whipped the figure’s coat to the side, revealing the large holster against their hip. Their dark attire starkly contrasted with the bright blue sky and pale sand.

The words of the men in the saloon ran through his mind.

Someone’s lookin’ for a ghoul just like ya! There was a bounty put out not too long ago, I think it’s been taken offa the board. A lotta caps goin’ for that guy. He considered that a warning at the time.

Anyway, it looked like the guy who took the bounty was Red Eyes. He had the goggles an’ everything, but we all thought he was dead.

And Red Eyes was supposed to be dead. He died around five or six years ago.

The figure in front of him was a ghost.

Red Eyes stopped a good twenty feet in front of them, standing perfectly still. The wind shifted again and from beneath the wide-brimmed hat came a tuft of navy blue hair that blew in the breeze. The desert was all too quiet now, and it felt like something from one of his old movies. Red Eyes felt like an old western villain, dark and ominous, seemingly a force of nature. He worried the figure wasn’t only after him.

“Lucy, you should head back.” The Ghoul muttered, putting a hand out to stop her from moving any further. She stared at the figure for a moment, suddenly afraid because of the Ghoul’s reaction.

“It’s only one person.” She muttered. “Maybe they’re lost?” The Ghoul stayed silent. He would not repeat himself.

Her doe-like eyes flickered to him and she noticed the way his mouth was set in a seemingly permanent frown. His whole body looked stiff, like a cornered animal. She nodded, understanding finally, before turning on her heel to make a run for it.

The Ghoul watched as the stranger glanced in Lucy’s direction. Red Eyes observed her, seemingly studying her like an unbothered predator eyeing a nearby animal knowing it couldn’t do anything to stop it. He grit his teeth and took a few steps forward, spurs jangling with each stride.

This was not good.

“Now I know that fancy getup you got on is not yours.” He began through a false bravado, flashing teeth that used to be a pearly white. It was so easy for him to slip back into a role, something he had been doing this entire time. Yet, this time, he was given the chance to play the good guy. It felt unfamiliar somehow, after all, it had been several years since he’d done such a thing. He was almost grateful for this stranger’s theatrics. “Who might you be? Cause you sure as hell ain’t Red Eyes… he’s dead.”

He knew all too well who this was.

Red Eyes looked up, the red goggles reflecting the bright sun and making it impossible to see past their lenses. More of the stranger’s hair seemed to flow from behind them, long strands of navy waving in the wind like a flag. Their stance shifted from one of leisure to subtly looking like they would pounce. The stranger moved their coat away from their hip, revealing the large gun strapped to their form.

“I’d be careful where I was sticking my nose if I were you.” The heavily modulated voice called out. “Or lack thereof.”

The Ghoul bit his tongue. “I’m assuming that corpse we found back there was you, then? Certainly wasn’t the handiwork of any ol’ fiend.”

“Wasn’t much work.” Red Eyes spat quickly. “Was a clone. They're easy. Woulda gotten in my way.” Their accent, even through the voice changer, was thick. Louisiana, most likely from the New Orleans area.

“You’re here for me.” He didn’t feel the need to ask. He threaded his thumbs through the belt loops on his trousers, opting to seem more relaxed than he was. He knew Red Eyes would see right through his guise.

“Isn’t that obvious?” Their hand twitched beside their gun. He eyed them wearily.

“Well, I’m not goin’ willingly.” A low, rumbling chuckle sounded from the stranger.

“I never said I was gonna take ya in alive.” They answered, voice cold with an edge to it. He fought the urge to argue, to call their bluff, for doing so would be too risky.

Truthfully, Red Eyes had every reason to want him dead. It had been a few years, five to be exact, since they last saw each other. Five long years since he turned the fellow bounty hunter in for killing a crime lord. Five years since he left them for dead. This would be a fitting end for their little rivalry, even if it wasn’t always that way.

But he wouldn’t go down just yet. Not without a fight.

He had to find another way to fight them. A quick draw duel would mean a death sentence for him, unfortunately. Red Eyes was and still is the quickest draw in the Wasteland. He would have to throw them off somehow, say something to really disarm them.

He did the only thing he could think of, and instead of indulging in the stranger - instead of going for his gun - words that he never thought he would say slipped from his dry, cracked lips.

“Ciella, I’m sorry.”

Red Eyes froze. Their hand was still dangerously close to their gun’s grip. Over the wind, he vaguely heard the sharp, uneven intake of air from the figure. The breeze picked up again, blowing open the stranger’s coat to reveal the figure of a woman.

“It’s a bit late fer that, isn’t it, cher?” It most definitely was her. “I came ta finish the job. I shoulda known a coffin wouldn’t hold yer ass.”

Cooper held back a laugh. Ciella Bane was an ally at one point, and maybe even a friend, but the moment her picture was up on one of those boards he knew their partnership was over. Someone was offering a hefty reward for whoever could bring the bounty brat in, preferably alive.

That was his mistake. He knew he probably should have killed her while she was sleeping and taken the smaller reward for her corpse. Killing her like this would be a pain in the ass.

“You wanna take off that ridiculous getup and let me see you?” He taunted, much to Ciella’s dismay. He just had to hit her where it hurt, get her emotional and in her head so she missed when she inevitably shot at him. However, it had been a few years, he couldn’t be sure that trick would still work.

Though with dear ol’ daddy not around to give her more of his tips and tricks he doubted she would have improved much more than the last time they brawled.

Ciella scoffed. “The last thing you’ll see are these goggles. Everyone’s gotta know it was Red Eyes who took ya out, ghoul.” She spat, though there was a sadistic playfulness in her voice. Cooper rolled his eyes.

“I got places to be, girl.” Cooper countered with equal venom. He was getting antsy, and he felt she was wasting his time. “Let us through and…” He stopped.

What would he do? What could he do? What could he possibly offer her where she wouldn’t be on his trail while he and Lucy trekked the Wasteland on a wild goose chase? Ciella coming back from whatever corner of the world she ran off to after burying him alive was the last thing he wanted.

“Let us through and we can finish this some other time. I’ll tell you where I’ll be and you come find me.” He offered finally, feeling the weight of his words in his chest. He wouldn’t give up finding his family so she could have her petty revenge, but maybe one day, when everyone around him was gone and he knew his daughter was safe and could live a happy life, he would go to Ciella and let her put him out of his misery.

“We do this here and now.” The bounty hunter replied. “That head o’ yers is fetchin’ a pretty penny. Figured it was better I did it than some chem addicted fiend on the street.” Her words were purposefully inflammatory. She was doing the same thing he was.

She straightened up again, mimicking the stance of a cowboy in a western getting ready to draw, and Cooper knew what it meant. She wasn’t giving him a choice. They’d done this dance once before, and unfortunately for him it didn’t end well.

The Ghoul sighed and moved his coat from his holster, and he mirrored her stance. “This ain’t gonna go the way ya think it will, sweetheart.”

“I doubt that.” That same, robotic voice answered, yet he knew she was still all too human underneath.

#cooper howard x oc #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #star wars au #fallout fanfic #cooper howard #the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x oc #fallout #cad bane mention!!!#so #cad bane #fallout tv series

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justmeinadaze · 1 year

Text

I'm in Control Part 3 (Steddie X Reader)

A/N: Im such a whore for these 2 <3

Warnings: Steddie relationship and all that that implies ( I regret nothing) Daddy Steve and Sir Eddie (I'm drooling) , Reader does get harassed but our boys save the day <3

Word Count: 3041

“The convention is Saturday in Vegas. Eddie and Steve, you guys will be with Y/N here and she can show you the ropes. Y/N, I’m bringing some of the other ladies as well. Later on, you and I are going to go scouting for some talent, ok? Nothing new.”

You nod as you smile. “You boys won’t get much sleep depending on when you wrap on Friday.”

“Eh, we’re kind of used to it by now.” Steve grins at you as he sighs. “Just grateful to be a part of all this.”

“Speaking of not getting much sleep…”, TJ spins around in his chair. “Your date with Malcolm? Yay? Nay? Wedding bells?”

“Calm down. It was one date.”, you giggle as you collect some things from your desk and stand.

“Oh, come on. We’re all grownups here. Was the sex at least mind-blowing?”

You look at your boss before glancing over at your clients. Their eyes were full of hope, waiting on pins and needles for your answer. You lightly swat at TJ’s arm as you exit the office.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

################

“Mmmm… I don’t morning well.”, Eddie climbed into the backseat and immediately rested his head against the window, folding his arms as he closed his eyes.

You scooted towards the middle as Steve squished in beside you. Leaning over the backseat, you grab a blanket you brought and tenderly throw it over you and Eddie’s legs.

His eyes briefly open as he looks down before turning to smile at you. “Thank you, Sweetheart.”

“Alright lady and gentlemen, hopefully we won’t hit too much traffic. Y/N, I’m sorry, honey. I have everything piled in the front seat and trunk. Are you ok back there?”

“Yeah, TJ. I’m fine.”

Once you guys were on the road, Eddie was completely knocked out.

“Wow. It didn’t take him long, did it?”

“He really doesn’t do mornings. Being a porn star, musician, and all-around nerd, his active hours are usually after 8pm.”, Steve chuckles.

“Nerd?”

“Oh, yeah. Mr. Munson here is a huge fan of D & D and most things fantasy.”

That makes you genuinely smile. “What about you? Are you a nerd to?”

“No ma’am. I was definitely a jock guy in high school. I mean… I liked Star Wars. That was fun.”

“Star Wars is good. I’m kind of more of a Star Trek girl though.” His eyebrows knit together in confusion. “You’ve never watched Star Trek?”

“I don’t know what that is.”, Steve laughs at your shocked expression. “What else do you like?”

“I love music and dancing. Um, I don’t really know to be honest. I grew up in a small, tightly wound community. Their definition of fun was vastly different. Everything I got into didn’t start till I moved out here except…”

“Except…porn?”, he asks.

“I remember once, when I was a kid, my brother got caught with a porno magazine under his bed. My mom flipped out and called our church pastor. We rushed him down so he could be “cleansed of his sins”. It just never made sense to me. Sex is supposed to be beautiful and fun. How can it be so bad?”

“You’re a fascinating woman, Y/N.” Your eyes lock on his as you both grin.

Halfway into the trip, you found your eyes getting extremely heavy. Your head lazily fell on Steve’s shoulder as you drifted off to sleep.

#############

“I can’t believe you’ve never been to one of these conventions before.”, you smile at the boys as you finish setting up the booth for your agency.

“Technically, I have been to a convention but it wasn’t like this.” Eddie quickly rose from the chair he was sitting in and gestured for one of the actresses who had just come back from freshening up to take the seat.

“Oh? Was it one of those nerdy conventions Steve was telling me you were into?”

The metal head playfully squints at his friend. “Traitor.”

“Hey, you fell asleep. We filled the time with conversation on the ride up here. Stay awake next time and then maybe you can participate.”, Steve grins.

You reach over and pat Eddie’s shoulder. “It’s ok. I like that you’re a bit of a geek. I’ll finally have someone to talk nerdy with.”

“Y/N!”

“TJ!”

“Look at all my beautiful people. I love it. Are you ready to come find some talent?” His smile widens when you nod, grabbing your clipboard. “Everyone else, stay here and look gorgeous. Gentlemen, if you could keep an eye on these ladies. We’ve never had a problem before but people can be a bit to…grabby.”

You and your boss walk the floor for hours, finding a few people he would like to sign. While TJ was talking to the stars, you were mingling with the managers. Managers brought talent to agency for a finder’s fee so you knew you guys would have a higher chance of getting more signs if they brought their stars to you.

When you two make your way back to your area, everyone seems to be having a good time. The girls were talking to some fans while Eddie and Steve were mingling with other male porn stars needing advice.

“My family has no idea I do this but I’m glad I’m able to send my mom money every week to help the bills.”, the young man hangs his head.

“Do you do it just for the money?”, Eddie’s voice is full of compassion as he speaks.

“Not really. I like… I like the job. I find it exciting.”

“Well, then you have nothing to be ashamed of, man. As long as you enjoy it then fuck everyone else.”

The boy giggles at him. “Do your parents know what you do?”

“Pfft, my dad would actually have to care first.”, Steve rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, mine can’t even watch porn where he is.” Eddie’s smile falls a bit before he continues. “But my uncle knows and he doesn’t really care. He told me the same thing I told you.”

“Hey, baby.” You extend your arms out to the boy talking to the guys.

His eyes light up when he notices you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he lifts you off your feet. “Y/N! I was hoping I’d see you.”

“TJ would kill me if I didn’t come with him to these things.”

“She’s right I would.” Your boss smiles at the young man. “Y/N, take the guys and grab some lunch. I’ll wait here with the other ladies and we’ll go when you get back.”

“Ok.” You tenderly cup the boy’s face as you grin up at him. “Remember. You are amazing.”

##############

“How do you know that kid we were talking to? Or do you just know everyone?”, Steve stabs his fork into the Styrofoam container in front of him.

“I’ve known Avery since he first got here a couple of years ago.”, you cover your mouth as you talk. “He was wondering around the convention with these wide dough eyes. He looked so terrified. I showed him around and answered his questions. He’s a good kid.”

When you looked up from your food you noticed they were both smiling at you. “What?”

“Nothing. You’re just really sweet. It’s adorable.”, Eddie’s grin widens before he puts the beer bottle in front of him to his lips.

“Like I said, this industry has a way and a reputation. I want everyone to be comfortable.”

Your phone on the table comes to life as it vibrates next your plate. You glance over at the it before pushing end. You know when you look back at them, they had read the name on the screen.

I’m in control.

“So your date with Malcolm went well, huh? You never told us how that ended.”, Steve leaned back in his chair as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re right, I didn’t.”

“Must have ended rather well if he’s calling her phone while she’s out of town.”, Eddie closed his container, moving it to the side and out of his way.

“To be fair, Mr. Munson, that’s none of your business. What I do with my private time is none of my client’s concerns.”

“She’s absolutely right, Steve.” You rolled your eyes at his sarcasm. “Now, I’m going to ask a question and please tell me if I’m crossing a client/ agent boundary here, Princess. Do you usually let clients finger you while you watch your other client get head?”

Eddie leaned back in his chair, smiling in triumph as your jaw clenched in frustration.

“What I do with my private time away from you both has nothing to do with either of you and you have no right to be upset. I can fuck whoever I want especially since you’re allowed to get your shitty blow job and both of you are allowed to kiss on anyone you please.”

Steve turns to Eddie delivering a joking glare. “Traitor.”

“What did I do?”

“You told her I hated the way that girl sucked my dick.”

“Was I wrong?”

“Missing the point!”, their heads turn back to you as you shout at them. “It’s not fair.” You abruptly stand from your chair and start to leave them before stopping yourself, charging back toward the table. “What the fuck am I even saying? Fuck whoever you want. I don’t care. We,” you gesture between the three of you. “We are nothing except client and agent. This is a business relationship.”

Steve’s smile grows as he turns to Eddie who smiles back. “I notice she keeps preaching the client agent thing but has yet to answer your question.”

I’m in control AND I’m fucking angry.

“You know what, Daddy.” You watch with contempt as he straightens up at the name. “I’ll answer his fucking question. No, Sir. I don’t usually let things like that happen. I fucked up but that’s ok because that’s the last time that it will. Especially since I found a man who can satisfy my needs way better than I’m sure either of you can.”

Eddie watches your rant with amused eyes as Steve’s slowly start to fill with annoyance. You lean against the table on your palms, alternating your gaze between their own. “Oh, boys and trust me. Malcolm can sat-is-fy.” You overdramatically roll your eyes to the back of your head as you bite your lip. “I’ve never cum so hard in my life.”

##############

“TJ, today was exhausting. Can’t we just relax?”, Eddie asks with a sigh as he pulls the Metallica shirt over his head.

“Tomorrow, guys. I promise. This is a big party that the host of the convention throws on that Saturday and a lot of important eyes will be there. Speaking of,” he looks them both up and down, “are you sure you don’t want to change?”

Steve and Eddie had changed out of their tight, revealing wardrobe they were wearing that day into more loose fitting, comfortable clothes. A small knock on the door gets your bosses attention. “That’ll be Y/N.”

The guys listen to you and him exchange some words before he leads you further into the room. “See, gentlemen. This is how you should look.”

Their jaws dropped when they saw you in your little black spaghetti strap dress that cut off just above your knees. Your hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail and the heels that you had on made you a couple of inches taller.

Eddie was the first to regain his composure. “I don’t think a dress like that would fit me.”

You smile as your eyes flick to Steve’s waiting for him to say something. He casually exhaled before leaning back on his elbows from his place on the bed. “Well, definitely fitting for a party full of porn stars.”

Your head tilted to the side. “I sent a picture of it to Malcolm and he said I looked gorgeous.”

“And he was right.” TJ grinned as he threw on his jacket. “Ugh, fine! Come on then.”

###########

The bass in the ballroom of the hotel room beats loudly against the walls. You survey your surroundings from your spot at the bar as you take a sip from your glass.

“Hey there, sexy.”

Not even hiding your disgust, you cringe as you turn to see the man addressing you. You recognized him from other films. He was a popular choice to star in most roles due to his conventional good looks but his personality was absolute garbage and you hated talking to him every time you had to.

“Hey Jack.”

“You’re here alone again? I will never understand how someone like you comes to these things without a date.”

“Maybe that’s because I can have fun without having someone attached to me.”

He chuckles as he chugs back the drink that was handed to him. “I think it’s because you have a crush on me.”

You scoff as you leave the bar trying to distance yourself from him. To your dismay, he follows you. “Come on, Y/N. I’m single. You’re single. It doesn’t even have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

“You’re disgusting.” You shove him away, power walking in the opposite direction hoping to find your 6’3 muscle bound boss.

Jack grips your wrist and tugs you against the wall, pressing his entire body into you. “You play this game with me all the time, Y/N. I know you want me. Everyone does.”

“Trust me, Jack. I don’t. Now get off me.”

A wicked smile crosses his face as he leans down to try and kiss you. You kick his shin and move around him bumping straight into Eddie. Steve comes from the side and pushes Jack against the wall, holding him by his collar.

“When someone says no, the answer is no. If you ever touch her again, my friend here and I will make you regret it. Do you understand me?”

“Hey. I was just—”

“I said do you understand me?!”

“Yes! Jesus Christ.”

“Good. Now get out of my sight.”, he lets him go, tossing him away.

“Are you okay?”, Eddie asks as his eyes scan you over.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you.” They both smile as the he adjusts the strap that had slid down on your dress.

“I’m sorry, Y/N but we’re tired. I don’t care what TJ says.” Steve sighs as he grabs Eddie’s arm. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

You hug your arms as they disappear suddenly feeling extremely cold and alone.

I’m in control.

“Hey!” Your heels smack against the tile as you run after them. “Hey, um, do you guys want to, um, order a pizza or something? I don’t know about you but I’m starving.

They glance at each other before turning to you.

“We could eat.”

##########################

You cover your mouth full of pizza as you laugh at a story the boys had just told. “Eddie, I had no idea you could play the guitar. I mean Steve mentioned you were a musician but he didn’t say what you played.”

“Oh yeah, Sweetheart. When we get back home, I’ll show you.” Eddie strums his fingers over invisible strings.

“What about you?”, you point at Steve.

“God no. I don’t even know popular music let alone how to play it. You?”

“I’m not that cool, unfortunately.”

“I think you’re pretty cool.” Eddie grins at you before your phone vibrates.

“Hey TJ.”

“Where the hell are you? And where are my stars?”

“I am upstairs getting ready for bed. As for Steve and Eddie, I have no idea where they are.”

“You’re their agent, Y/N.”

“It’s a party! Jesus. I’m sure they both found some pretty girls and are having fun. Do the same!” You chuckle as you hang up your phone and throw it against the sofa chair near the window. “What?! Why are you staring at me again?”

“Sheesh, calm down.” Steve grins as he holds up his hands. “You just always find ways to surprise us. That’s all.”

“Why do you talk like that? Like you’re one person?”

He turns to Eddie. “Are you not surprised?”

“I’m very surprised she didn’t play her agent card and rat us out.”

You tilt your head and turn away from them as you whisper loud enough for them to hear. “They aren’t answering the question…Yeah I noticed that.” You raise your eyebrows at them. “See? It’s fucking annoying, isn’t it?”

“You spend enough time with someone you get to know them pretty well. Remember, we told we grew up together, spent time together in and after high school, and now we work together in a business that requires you to be vulnerable.”

“That’s ironic.”, you respond to Steve with only mild sarcasm. When they both look at you with confusion, you explain. “Since I’ve met you, I think the only time you’ve been vulnerable is on the drive up here. If you were being more open you would have told me you how you felt about me and Malcolm from the start instead of throwing your little tantrums.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk, Miss I’m-the-agent.”, Eddie sits up on the bed giving you more attention. “If you weren’t attracted or didn’t at least feel something for us, you would have told me to fuck off at that party just like you did with that douchebag downstairs.”

“Did you fuck him?” Steve gruff tone froze you both.

“Who Jack? God no—”

“No. Malcolm. Did you fuck him?” You and the man stare each other down, waiting for the other to concede.

“It doesn’t matt—” Steve’s arm shot out, reaching for your throat before pulling your lips to his. There was a tenderness behind it that you weren’t prepared for but desperately wanted more of.

His mouth hovered over yours as he pulled away. Your throat moved under his grasp as you swallowed. “Did. You. Fuck. Him?”

“No.”, you breathed out.

“No what?”

I’m in control. I’m in control. I want him to kiss me again. No! Shit. I’m in control. His lips tasted so good. I wonder what Eddie tastes like. No! I’m in control. I’m—

“No, Daddy.”

###########

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