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tojisbbg · 1 month ago

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compass

❝i think i need you with me for all-time, when i need new direction for my mind.❞

♡ sylus ♡

sypnosis: april showers bring may flowers, transitioning from winter to spring; life will once again feel warmer and brighter. but, who knew that instead of getting flowers... the rain has brought you an injured crow.

wc: 3.5k

a/n: hehe, hello sweeties. i am back with another lads fic and this time i present to you with our babygirl sylus (who also happens to be my main). i thought of this cute little idea for him because it's been storming all week, so hope you guys like it! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated <3

content: sylus x fem!reader, sylus gets turned into a crow (lmfao), crackfic/fluff, not edited.

⋆.˚𓅆࿐⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.˚𓅆࿐⋆

you stirred awake, groaning as you managed to peel one eyelid open. your curtains were still open, but you noticed how it was darker outside than before, your windows still wet as you could hear the pitter-patter sounds of the rain. you tapped your phone screen, showing you that it was nearly seven in the evening.

it's been storming frequently this past month, and this week by far had the most rain. nonetheless, you were grateful that you had a light schedule for work.

you were in the process of training to be a hunter under the deepspace hunter association, but your classes canceled for the week due to the weather. so, everything was online and easy.

sitting up, you rubbed the remaining sleep out of your eyes. you scanned your room in search of your cat, piki, who initially joined you for your nap earlier. however, it seems that she had abandoned you so soon.

you got off your bed, slipping on your slipper before exiting your room. the house was dark, making the atmosphere more gloomy, so you decided to turn on your lights before lighting the candle on your counter.

"piki?" you called out for your calico, shimmying on the smooth wooden floors as you looked for the feline. however, she was nowhere to be found.

"what the hell?" you furrowed your eyebrows, now internally panicking 'cause where the hell did your damn cat go?!

before you could go into a full meltdown, you heard the familiar jingling noise of a bell, exhaling in relief. as expected, your cat entered through the small flap on your main door.

you crossed your arms over your chest, sighing like a disappointed mother as you prepared yourself to give your naughty child an earful.

"piki! i've been looking everywhere for you- oh my god!" your eyes widened as you noticed the feline look up at you with an innocent look—

with a crow in her mouth!

you couldn't even process the whole situation, did your cat just murder an innocent crow? was it alive? by the looks of it, either it was one hell of a nonchalant crow or it really was dead.

"bad girl, piki, put him down! oh my god!" you scolded, watching her spit the poor bird onto your floor. you bent down, looking at the crow that was drenched from the rain and some remnants of piki's spit.

"oh no... i'm so sorry.." you whispered, eyes softening as you took a gentle finger to stroke the top of the crow's head. your touch didn't go unnoticed, as his wings twitched.

a strangled caw left his beak as the crow struggled to pick himself up. you scooped him up in your hands, careful of his wet black feathers as you examined his wings.

"looks like you hurt yourself, little guy. don't worry, i'll help you." a warm smile etched on your lips, talking to the crow as if your words could be understood.

you stood up, bringing the crow to your bathroom as you gentle placed him in your sink.

"let's clean you up first." you turned on the water and began to rinse off piki's spit as the bird obediently let you touch him.

after doing so, you turned off the faucet and grabbed the small hand-towel to dry him before bringing him into your room. you placed the crow on your desk as you sat on your chair.

"i never cared for a bird before, but i'll try my best." you assured, grabbing the first aid kit from your drawer as you set it down; pulling out some medical tape and bandages.

you carefully held his injured wing, wrapping the bandage and tape around it to secure it. the crow occasionally cawed and flinched, making your heart clench.

"i know, i know, i'm sorry. just a bit more." you comforted the bird with a soft voice, finishing up your work.

you placed the lat strip of tape on to seal everything. a satisfied grin danced on your lips, happy with your skills.

"there, all done." you chirped, noticing how the crow now turned away from you, not meeting your gaze.

"aww, no need to be embarrassed. it's okay." you chuckled, stroking the top of his head. the crow immediately turned his head towards you, an angry caw squalled out of his beak.

"a thank you would've been nice, y'know." you teased, making the bird go quiet.

the crow stood up, slightly wobbling as he tried to walk with his feet; but it was more so like a little limp. you didn't know what happened to him (praying to god piki wasn't the culprit for his injuries) but you knew that it would take him some time to heal. the crow suddenly lost his balance, falling on his butt before staring up at you with big, black beady eyes.

"hey, you don't have to push yourself so hard. you can stay here until you get better." you gently pet him, feeling how soft the black feathers encasing him were.

and just like that, you spent the rest of your evening with the crow perched on your desk, like a showpiece; watching you complete your report. surprisingly, he was well-behaved, not cawing to disturb you.

you soon finished, placing your pen down before turning your attention to the bird.

"hmm... i can't just keep calling you my 'little guy' or 'birdie'. i should give you a name." you suggested, about to indulge yourself into a deep pondering moment; only for him to spring to life and cawing, taking you by surprise.

he lifted himself up before walking over to your report. then, he bent down and begin to tap his beak on the paper to different letters.

"what are you doing?" you asked in bewilderment.

you once read in your biology textbooks that crows are one of the most intelligent animals to ever exist; having amazingsocial skills and intelligence.

but this was just....incredible—

a bird telling you his name.

so, you followed the letters he pointed to.

s-y-l-u-s.

"sylus?" you called out-loud, making the crow caw in agreement.

"what a pretty name for such a handsome bird. someone must've named you that, huh?" you smiled fondly, petting him once again.

and just like that, the crow—well, sylus, became a part of your routine.

⋆.˚𓅆࿐⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

sylus woke up and tried to stretch out his little legs, unknowingly stretching out his injured wing as a small caw left his beak. he noticed the figure sleeping on the bed, glancing at the clock that showed it was well past noon.

he hopped off the desk and onto the chair before hopping across to the bed. with small, wobbly steps, he managed to bring his tiny body to her pillow. then, he softly bent down and began to peck his shiny, black beak on your forehead.

your eyebrows knitted together at the feeling of something poking you, opening your eyes to be met with tiny, beady ones looking at you.

"sylus?" you groggily called out, the crow cawing in response.

you sat up, stretching your arms before looking down at him as he jumped onto your lap. you chuckled, using one had to scoop him in your hands while the other came in suit to stroke his feathers.

"good morning to you too." you hummed, feeling the bird nuzzle into your palm.

he was cute and soft.

your eyes trailed away and fell onto the clock hung on your wall, eyes blowing open as you realized-

"shit, i'm late!" you gasped, carefully setting sylus to the side as you began to scramble to get ready.

the crow watched you rush. how your fingers fiddles with your white button up as your mouth simultaneously chewed on your toast. the way you were packing your bag while fixing your hair at the same time.

you were a mess, but a pretty mess in his eyes.

as you walked to the door, you quickly remembered something.

sylus heard your footsteps coming back into your bedroom, a piece of buttered toast in your hands as you set it on a paper-towel on your desk.

"i don't know what crows eat, but you can munch on this for now. be a good boy, sylus." you stroked the top of his head before leaving.

⋆.˚𓅆࿐⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

the days begin to pass and you grew comfortable with your little friend.

sylus became your alarm clock, pecking your forehead with his beak exactly at six in the morning to wake you up on time for work.

talk about punctual, seriously, he must've been a businessman of some sort in his past life.

the would come breakfast, the crow perched on your shoulder as you whipped up something quick. your hand coming up occasionally to let him nibble on while you ate as well; shimmying around your house to prepare to leave for the rest of the day.

then you would come home, greeted by piki and the crow who ran to the door. you'd sit on the couch, petting sylus as you talked to him about your day.

you'd bathe him, being careful to wash his delicate feathers before drying him. surprisingly, the bird had good taste in food.

also, he was so well-behaved.

can you believe the crow is potty trained?! of course, his body is too light to press onto the flush button; so you'd be surprised to see the two small pebbles of poop in the toilet bowl. the crow not meeting your eyes as you flushed for him.

although piki wasn't the type to feel threatened by other animals, she was envious of how much your attention went towards the bird. so, one night, you heard loud cawing in the middle of the night.

you looked down from your bed and saw an alarmed sylus panicking, eyes terrified before you noticed piki by the door; hissing.

"oh my...sylus? did piki scare you? there, there, it's okay. i gotchu." you picked him up before placing him on your chest, petting him to calm down his trembling body.

"you can sleep with me tonight." you gently placed him on your pillow, watching the crow settle in with a small dent from his weight. you reached for the covers before going to bed with him sleeping beside you. seeking warmth and comfort, sylus scoot closer to you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck; making you smile as you placed your palm behind him to assure him he was safe.

over the course of the days, you've grown a huge soft spot for the crow. nonetheless, he became fond of you too.

⋆.˚𓅆࿐⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

you dropped something under your bed?

sylus is already running under the crack to get it for you.

scared of a little bug on your wall?

don't mind if he indulges in a little sweet treat after dinner.

need someone to fetch you something from a different room?

just say the word and your wish is his command.

so naturally, it would be hard to say goodbye.

you unwrapped the bandages from his wings, seeing him flap it with ease now.

"all better." you chuckled, hearing him caw before he experimentally took flight around your house. sylus was elated, feeling like someone just freed him from a cage. but, he ended his flight, finding his spot on your shoulder.

"well, lets get you back out there. i can't keep you glued to me forever no matter how much i love you." a sad smile was plasted on your face, walking to the door as you unlocked it, stepping out side.

you placed your hand out, watching sylus fly onto your palms; looking up at you as he tilted his head to the side. your eyes welled with tears, feeling a rush of emotion as you really did grow attached to the bird.

"you're always welcomed to come back to me any time, sylus. i'll miss you." a stray tear escaped your eyes, as you brought the crow close to your cheek, hugging him.

sylus rubbed his head on your cheek, trying to engrave your scent onto his feathers.

a small caw left his beak before he took off.

⋆.˚𓅆࿐⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

within the next few days, you'd notice how a small rock of some sort would be left on your front door. you'd then hear the familiar cawing of a familiar crow, catching him fly away in the distance; too shy to greet you.

but, his gestures wouldn't go unnoticed.

of course, sylus wasn't always a well-behaved crow; he could be rather naughty.

you still remember how you planted some flower in your garden, only to come back home later that day to see them destroyed. you saw the soil with some kitty paw prints and the prints of a certain bird.

so you nagged both at piki and sylus.

the next day when you came home from work, you saw the crow waiting in front of your door step, a small flower dangling on his beak.

sylus noticed you and immediately flapped his wings as he saw you bend down. he dropped the flower in front of you, looking up to see your reaction.

of course, your heart melted at the sight and action, giggling at the silly crow before poking his beak.

"you really are a bad boy." you smiled at him before petting his feathers.

⋆.˚𓅆࿐⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

you were sat on your couch, crocheting a small sweater that you had in mind for a certain little birdie. until you heard a bunch of cackling and cluttering sounds coming from outside followed by strangled cawing noises.

you quickly dropped all your things and bolted out the door, investigating the ruckus.

your eyes widened as you saw three teenage boys holding the familiar crow hostage. one of them tightly gripped sylus while the other threw rock at the bird; as if it was some kind of target.

"the fuck are you kids doing?!" you yelled, running towards them. the boys looke at you, a sinister grin painted on their faces.

"this little shit kept raiding my mom's flower garden, it's time for some payback." one of them snarked, making your stomach pool with guilt.

the pretty flowers you've been noticing on your doorsteps were left behind by sylus and you knew he stole from their garden to gift you those flowers.

"fuck your mom's flower garden, give me my damn crow." you demanded with a grave tone, eyes glaring darkly at the boys.

they gulped in fear, watching you reach for your rake in a threatening manner; quickly dropping the bird before running away.

you threw the rake to the side, rushing over to sylus as you bent down to scoop him in your arms.

"oh, you poor baby. i'm so sorry, god, it's all my fault." you held him closely to your hammering chest, heading inside your house to patch him up.

his cries were painful as you bandaged his wounds, drops of blood staining your fingers and desk. your eyes watered at the sight, lips quivering as you tried your best to offer him some words of comfort.

"it's okay, honey, i'm almost done." you whispered, placing the last bandage on.

later that night, you set him on your pillow, stroking his feathers as you hummed a small song. you watch the crow relax under your touch, slowly closing its eyes before falling asleep.

"sweet dreams, sylus." you mumbled quietly, leaning down to press a small kiss on his beak before laying besides him to sleep, your palm gently resting on his body.

the following morning, you stirred in your sleep as you felt a huge lump next to you. a confused groan left your throat, curling your fingers as you swear you could feel warm skin under your finger tips.

you opened your eyes, before letting out a blood-curdling scream at the sight. you scooted backwards until you tumbled off your bed, your scream and the loud thud of your body woke up the man sleeping beside you.

he jolted awake, sitting up as his eyes opened; bright ruby orbs staring wide at you, silver hair tousled and he was shirtless.

"w-who are you!?" you stammered, heart racing as you were confused and a little scared.

"looks like that potion wore off." his voice was deep, a husky chuckle rumbling in his chest as he examined his hands.

"the hell are you doing in my house?!" you asked again, voice more firm as you demanded answers. the man simply looked down at you, lips curling into a smirk.

"you were the one who brought me in, sweetie." he replied casually, a playful glint present in his eyes.

"don't be ridiculous, i have never met you in my life! and- oh my god, sylus... where's sylus?! he was sleeping next to me, you probably squished him to death! my poor baby!" you cried out, standing up to frantically look for the potentially dead crow.

the man watched you in amusement, rolling his eyes before sighing.

"i did not squish him because i am him." he calmly spoke, making you glare at him.

"first you kill my crow and now you tell me this bullshit? just shut up and leave my house before i call the cops, dude." you snapped, making the silver haired man face palm himself.

"for fucks sake, y/n, i'm sylus. i was that stupid crow that your damn cat found that night 'cause i broke my wings. you took me in yesterday 'cause of those stupid teenage fools capturing me." he truthfully recited, making you stop in your tracks.

"b-but... how is that possible? you're human." you were confused and astonished at the same time.

"yes, my... trustworthy henchmen recommended me a potion that would allow me to shift into the form of a crow because i'm currently a criminal on the run and needed to gather some intel. i had a mechanical crow, but it broke and making one would take too long; so i took it upon my own hands. unfortunately, those idiot didn't tell me how long the effects would last. the first time i happened to injure my wings from flight... i crashed into the tree outside your house." he confessed, making you snort a laugh.

"that's funny." you bit your bottom lip to stop the giggle that itched to come out of your throat.

"yeah, yeah, laugh all you want." sylus sighed, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

he was completely naked under the sheets, so you offered him to wear your robe. it wasn't much coverage, insanely tight around his more larger and muscular figure; and fit like the length of a mini dress because he was tall.

now you both were at the table, eating some cereal because you felt too lazy to prepare breakfast.

"thank you for taking care of me while i was a crow. not many humans have such compassion for animals like you do." sylus suddenly blurted out, making you stop mid-chew as you looked up at him.

you took note of how handsome he was. his facial features struck out and were sharp; yet his garnet eyes were beady and resembled a crow.

"you're welcome." you smiled.

⋆.˚𓅆࿐⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

the following few days, you'd receive gift bags on your front door from various luxury brands.

the items ranged from purses, belts, jewelry and at some point even a gun!

you knew that this kind of behavior, that similarly resembled a certain crow's could only mean that it was none other than sylus who was behind this.

one day, you caught him in the act, standing behind the silver haired man with crossed arms over your chest. he was dressed in a black leather jacket, leather pants and black boots; a motorbike parked at your gates. sylus turned around with a smirk, sensing your presence.

"it's not polite to sneak up on me like that, sweetie." sylus chuckled, towering over your smalled frame.

"uh-huh, and it's not polite to leave such expensive gifts and fleeting without any explanation." you retorted.

"i'm simply paying my debt to you." he defended, making you huff in annoyance.

"you are not indebted to me, it was really no big deal. besides, these things are too expensive!" you grumbled, making him wave his hand in a dismissive manner.

"i can afford it and more. this is my way of thanking you, so just accept them, sweetie." his lips twitched into a smile, making your heart stutter.

"fine. but at least stop disappearing before i could even thank you." a grumbled left your lips, making him chuckle.

"you make my heart feel nervous, i can't help it. but, i'll make it up to you. how about i take you on a joyride tomorrow?" he suggested, pointing at his vehicle, making you chuckle.

you walked closer to him, tiptoeing before wrapping your arms around his neck.

"where you wanna take me?" you asked teasingly, pressing yourself further onto him. sylus's breath hitched at the sudden proximity, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"guess." he breathed out, rubbing the small of your back.

"i get off at five in the afternoon tomorrow." you replied, before pressing a small peck on his lips, making his brain short circuit. he finally came back to his senses, smiling before leaning down to press a more long-lasting kiss on your lips.

"perfect, tomorrow it is, sweetie."

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sturnsblogs · 2 months ago

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heyyy i love ur writing sm!!!

can you do a oneshot where reader meets chris at a meet and greet during tour, and he likes her and then he messages her later after seeing that the reader dm him ages ago on insta. idk if that makes sense 😭

MEET AND GREET

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈·✦

Chris Sturniolo. The name you’d been obsessed with for the past four years. Your Sturniolo collection on TikTok was practically a shrine—every video, every edit, favorited without hesitation. Sure, Matt and Nick were great, but Chris? Chris was everything. A literal superstar. Effortlessly handsome, naturally funny, and just so him.

And now, finally, you were about to see him in person.

The Versus tour. You and your best friend Delilah had been counting down the days for months, and now you were here, standing in line, buzzing with excitement. She was all about Matt, and you? You were a Chris girl through and through. It was the perfect balance.

You had dressed to impress—denim skirt, an orange top that hugged you in all the right places. You knew you looked good. And the color choice? Not an accident. Everyone knew orange was Chris’s color. Delilah had matched your vibe, but instead of orange, she wore a blue top—Matt’s color. A silent statement from both of you.

And then, finally—it was your turn.

Your breath caught in your throat the second your eyes locked onto him. Chris.

For a moment, his easygoing smirk faltered, his gaze flicking over you with something unreadable—curiosity, maybe, or amusement. His smirk returned just as fast, but there was a glint in his eye, like he had caught onto something. Like he had noticed you.

“Hey, what’s up?” His voice was smooth, casual, but it held a certain warmth that made your stomach flip.

You somehow managed to smile, stepping closer. “Hi,” you breathed, barely trusting your own voice.

Chris’s eyes lingered on you for a second longer before he tilted his head. “What’s your name?”

Your heart stuttered. He wanted to know your name?

“Y/N,” you answered, voice a little shaky but still audible over the buzz of the crowd.

Chris nodded, his smirk deepening. “Y/N,” he repeated, like he was testing it out. “You from here?”

You swallowed, trying not to overthink the way he was looking at you. “Yeah,” you said, nodding.

Chris hummed, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “That’s cool.”

Before you could even process how casual yet oddly personal the moment felt, he opened his arms for a hug. You didn’t hesitate, stepping into his embrace, feeling his arms wrap around you in a way that felt almost too natural. You expected it to be quick—just a brief squeeze before he moved on—but it lingered. Not in an obvious way, just long enough for you to notice. Long enough to make your pulse quicken.

His cologne was warm and slightly sweet, his hand resting lightly on your back, unmoving, like he wasn’t in a rush to let go. It wasn’t just a fan hug. It was something more.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes flicked over your outfit again, his smirk deepening. “You’re wearing orange,” he noted, tilting his head slightly. “So you’re a Chris girl.”

Your breath hitched.

You let out a small, nervous laugh, warmth creeping up your neck. “Yeah… something like that.”

Chris chuckled, his gaze still lingering before he turned to Delilah. “And you’ve got blue on. Matt girl, huh?”

Delilah grinned. “Of course.”

Chris hummed, amused. “Guess that makes sense.”

Then you turned to Matt and Nick, who were both grinning just as wide. “Hey!” you greeted them excitedly, trying to keep yourself from combusting.

Matt smiled warmly. “Hey! How are you guys?”

“Literally freaking out,” Delilah admitted with a laugh, making Matt chuckle.

Nick nodded. “Good, good—that’s how it should be.” He pulled you both in for quick hugs before playfully nudging Chris. “And this guy didn’t let go of you for a whole five minutes, huh?”

Your face went hot as Chris rolled his eyes, shoving Nick lightly. “Shut up.”

After a few more laughs and pictures, you and Delilah finally stepped away, still high off the moment.

—

The energy in the venue was insane. The crowd was roaring, lights flashing, music thumping through the speakers. You were fully in the moment, but nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for what happened next.

Chris stepped forward on stage, scanning the crowd with a thoughtful expression. “Alright,” he called out, voice amplified through the mic. “I gotta pick someone for this next part… let’s see…”

Your heart pounded as you watched him look around, his eyes sweeping over the crowd.

Then they landed on you.

Your stomach dropped.

Chris smirked, pointing directly at you. “You,” he said, nodding. “Orange top. Get up here.”

Delilah practically screamed, shaking you. “Oh my God, go!”

You felt like your body wasn’t even yours as security helped you to the stage, your hands trembling, heart racing. Chris met you halfway, offering you a grin that was somehow both teasing and warm.

“Told you,” he murmured just for you to hear, his voice smooth, almost smug. “You’re a Chris girl.”

And just like that, you knew—this was going to be the best night of your life.

—

Somewhere miles away, Chris was unwinding in his hotel room. The adrenaline from the show was still buzzing through his veins, making it hard to sleep. So, like he usually did after a long night, he grabbed his phone and started aimlessly scrolling through his DMs.

Most of it was the usual—fans freaking out about the show, edits, random messages. He wasn’t really looking for anything in particular, just tapping through for fun. But then something caught his eye.

A username.

@the_realY/N.

His brows furrowed slightly, something about the name tugging at his memory. And then it clicked.

Y/N. Orange top. The girl from earlier.

Curious, he clicked on the message thread. His eyes scanned the messages, and for some reason, he found himself smirking.

“The fact that you’re a real person and not some AI-generated perfect man is crazy.”

Chris chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. Perfect man, huh? His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second before he typed:

Chris: Nah, you’re good, mama. But I was starting to wonder if maybe you weren’t real. Orange top, Chris girl, and you got on stage? Feels kinda meant to be, don’t you think?

Y/N: Meant to be? So what, we’re soulmates now?

Chris: I mean, I’m not saying that… but I’m also not NOT saying that.

Y/N: Currently debating whether or not to frame this convo and tell my grandkids about the time I talked to Chris Sturniolo.

Chris: I support it. Maybe I’ll give you more to add to the story.

Y/N: Oh yeah? And what exactly does that mean?

Chris was typing. Then he stopped. Then he started again. You held your breath until his message finally popped up.

Chris: Guess you’ll have to keep talking to me to find out, baby.

Your heart stopped.

Baby.

You swore your brain short-circuited.

Your fingers hovered over your keyboard, trying to think of something normal to say, but your mind was blank. This was real life. Chris Sturniolo, the same guy you had obsessed over for years, was calling you baby in your DMs like it was nothing. Like you weren’t about to combust.

Y/N: Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t keep talking to you.

Chris: Knew you were gonna say that.

Y/N: Oh, so you think you know me now?

Chris: I got a pretty good idea, ma. Orange top, Chris girl, clearly got good taste. You’re hyping me up in my DMs before you even met me? Yeah, I think I got you figured out.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a grin.

Y/N: Okay, okay, maybe I did hype you up a little. But can you blame me? I wasn’t expecting you to actually read them.

Chris: I wasn’t expecting to, either. But here we are, mama.

Your heart was going a mile a minute.

Y/N: And where exactly is ‘here’?

Chris: Me in my hotel room, still awake at 2 AM, talking to you.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Y/N: Should I feel special?

Chris took a second to respond this time. But when he did, it was so worth it.

Chris: Yeah, baby. You should.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

A/N- I HOPE THIS IS TO YOUR LIKING!!! (:

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @jimmasterflashh @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl

THANK YOU SO MUCH TO THIS BEAUTIFUL GIRL FOR GIVING ME THE IDEA SINCE I DIDNT REALLY KNOW WHAT TO DO FOR THIS REQUEST!!! @oopsiedaisydeer

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enchantresss97 · 2 months ago

Text

Dark Gravity-Part four

Characters: Au!Eric Draven (Bill Skarsgård) x reader

Description: This is a Au!Eric Draven, no Shelly involved(although is another girl involved), no Roeg and no powers, other than that is still the Eric we know. He is powerful, dangerous, and infamous for his violent reputation, he’s someone people know to stay away from. A man whose name strikes fear in the hearts of many. His presence is commanding, intimidating. He’s not the type to open up, but when he locks eyes with you, there’s an undeniable tension that pulses in the air between you two. It’s hard to ignore the way he looks at you, the subtle flirting, and the dangerous charm that seems to surround him. You never imagined to meet him, but here you are, caught in a web of questions. Where will this lead? Can there be something more between you two? Will you end up friends, or is there something darker, more complicated in store? You can’t deny the tension, the attraction, it’s palpable. Could something truly happen between you and him? Only time will tell, but you can’t help but wonder: where will this take you?

Warning: (the warnings are for the whole story, not just this chapter) language, angst, drugs, alcohol, blood, guns, sex (at this point you know me), cheating.

Word count: 8577 (buckle up fellas)

THIS PART IS NOT EDITED, so don’t come after me.

Dark Gravity

Back in the cabin laughter rolls through the room, drinks are poured, a joint passes from one set of fingers to the next.

It’s easy. Loud. Alive.

And across from you, sprawled in his chair like he owns the whole damn room is Eric.

He’s relaxed, one arm slung over the back of his chair, the other wrapped loosely around his glass.

There’s a slow, lazy amusement in his eyes, something sharp at the edges, something that makes your pulse tick just a little bit faster.

It doesn’t take long before the conversation shifts. Before it turns to you. Before he turns to you.

“Didn’t think you’d come out here,” he muses, fingers tapping idly against the rim of his glass.

His gaze flickers over you, slow and deliberate.

“Thought you were the kind of girl who stayed away from bad decisions.”

“You saying you’re a bad decision?” you counter, leaning back just enough to feign ease.

His smirk is immediate. Sharp. Filthy. “The worst.”

The table erupts in laughter, but you’re barely hearing it, barely processing the voices around you because his attention is still locked onto you, and suddenly, the air feels too thick. Too hot. Too charged.

“That so?” You arch a brow, keeping your voice smooth, keeping your expression carefully neutral.

Eric takes a slow sip of his drink, watching you over the rim of his glass. Then he sets it down, tilting his head just slightly, that damn smirk never faltering.

“You tell me,” he murmurs.

It’s not fair. The way he says it. The way his voice dips just a little lower, rough around the edges. The way it makes something in your stomach twist, tighten, heat.

“You two gonna fuck or what?” someone cuts in, laughing, and the table breaks into more noise, more teasing, more laughter.

You feel the heat rush to your face, but Eric? Completely unfazed. In fact he grins.

“Ask her,” he says smoothly, tipping his chin toward you.

“Fuck off,” you mutter, reaching for your drink, but your fingers aren’t entirely steady. And Eric? He just watches you. Like he’s already won.

And then, somewhere in the noise, between the teasing and the easy flow of conversation, someone offhandedly mentions the cabin. Something about how it’s a good spot for weekends like this. Something about how Eric always brings the best liquor when he invites people up. And just like that, everything stops. Eric. Invites people up. Because this is his place. The cabin is his. Not some random friend’s, not a borrowed getaway—his.

You glance toward Lily, but she’s caught up in another conversation, laughing at something Mark just said, like this is completely normal. Like it was never something to mention. Like she knew and just didn’t bother to tell you.

Your gaze flicks back to Eric, and maybe it’s in your head, but he’s watching you.

Glass in hand, relaxed, unreadable, waiting. And you don’t know what unsettles you more. The fact that Lily never told you. Or the fact that he didn’t, either.

After a while, the group drifts upstairs.

The cabin’s upper floor is more open, the warmth of wood and dim lighting giving it an inviting feel despite the size of the room. It’s a game space, a pool table sits at the center, a ping-pong table pushed off to the side, a dartboard mounted on the far wall. There’s a couch in the corner, low and wide, already littered with drinks, jackets, and the careless sprawl of people settling in.

The energy more louder, messier, more reckless now that the alcohol has settled into everyone’s bloodstream. People pick up games in lazy competition, others linger by the couch, still drinking, still laughing.

Eric’s already playing billiards, his body leaning over the table with that effortless confidence, the cue stick gripped in his hand like he’s done it a thousand times. His focus is sharp, but you notice the way his eyes flicker toward you the moment you step closer. There’s that thing between you two, the tension that’s always been there, thicker tonight than ever before.

You watch the way he sinks the ball into the corner pocket, the smooth, controlled movement of his hands as he sets up his next shot. It’s hypnotic, the way he moves, like he’s in complete control of everything. But when he looks back at you, that familiar smirk returns to his lips.

He turns to you, lifting the stick slightly, then nods toward the table. An invitation.

“Go ahead,” he says, his voice smooth, amused. “Make it count.”

You blink at him. “What?”

Eric smirks. “You heard me. Take my shot.”

You take the cue stick from his hands, the warmth of his touch still lingering on the wood. Stepping forward, you line up the shot, aware of him behind you, watching. His presence is a weight you feel along your spine, solid, unshakable.

You take a breath, steady yourself, and strike.

The ball rolls, bounces—barely misses the pocket.

Eric hums behind you, stepping close enough that you can feel the heat of him.

“Not bad,” he murmurs, voice low. “But not great.”

You glance over your shoulder at him, rolling your eyes. “You let me take the shot. Don’t complain about the result.”

Eric’s smirk deepens, and then, as if just because he can, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice just for you.

“I let you take it,” he says, “but I didn’t say I’d let you win.”

You shift, tilting your head at him. “Is that how you always play?”

Eric quirks a brow. “How’s that?”

“Stacking the odds in your favor,” you say.

His eyes flicker. Something amused, something darker. Then he lets out a short laugh, shaking his head before looking back at the table.

“Maybe,” he muses. “Or maybe I just know how to win.”

You huff, shaking your head as you step back, leaning against the edge of the table while he lines up his shot.

It’s only when he moves, fluid, effortless, completely at ease, that you say it.

“How come this is your cabin, here, all the way out in the woods?” you ask, not sure why you’re asking but feeling the need to understand more about the man in front of you.

Eric’s shot is precise, the ball sinking into the pocket with a satisfying click. He doesn’t even look up.

“Oh, this?” he says lazily. “This is where I cook all my drugs. The stash is in the basement.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, but before you can respond, he steps in closer, his body just a fraction away from yours. The space between you both feels electric, charged, as though he’s daring you to say something, anything.

His presence is overwhelming, pulling you deeper into this tension that’s been simmering since you walked through the door.

“And I bring people here, too,” he adds, his lips curling up in that same wicked grin. “You know, for a little… soul-searching or... redemption. Depending on what they did.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of what he’s saying, and for a second, the air between you thickens, no longer playful. Eric takes a step closer, and the casual teasing fades from his voice, replaced by something darker, something more intense.

“But yeah,” he adds with a smirk, his lips curling just slightly, “it’s all very private. In the middle of nowhere? No one around?” He leans in slightly, tapping his cue stick against the table. No one knows what goes on here? Perfect.”

Your mouth opens, then closes.

Eric watches you, the glint of humor in his eyes is undeniable. You pause for a second, then, realizing he’s just messing with you.

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “You’re an idiot.”

Eric raises an eyebrow, giving a half smile. “Oh, I was just about to tell you the truth,” he teases, his tone lightening. “I run an underground spa business here. All about that relaxation vibe, y’know?”

Your laugh comes a little louder now, a mix of relief and amusement. “Right, sure,” you say, shaking your head, still grinning. “Next, you’ll tell me you’re a philanthropist.”

Eric chuckles, the mockery softening into something else. “Only for the right people,” he responds, voice quieter now, with just a hint of seriousness.

You linger there, locked in that moment where sarcasm mixes with something less clear, but then you shrug, deciding to move on.

“Alright, I’m going to go find Lily,” you say with a wink, slipping away toward the others.

_____________

You head off, feeling a little lighter, the buzz of the alcohol making you feel bold, more confident. The music is loud, the bass vibrating through the room, and you feel it in your body. Without thinking too much, you begin to move, letting the rhythm take over. It feels good, the freedom of it, the easy flow of the night, and the heat that builds as you sway your hips.

You spin, your movements now bold, sexual, eyes never leaving Eric as you sway your hips. Every step, every turn, it’s all for him, and you know he’s watching, just as you want him to. It’s almost like a game, a dance for his attention, and you relish in it.

The song comes to an end, and you’re breathing heavily, flushed, feeling the heat of the room in your chest. You don’t even realize how much you’ve moved until it stops. But the vibe’s still there, that electric tension. You head toward the couch and slide down, glass of wine still in hand.

Your phone’s nearly dead. You take a sip of your wine, letting the taste settle on your tongue, but the buzz still lingers, your body still warm and buzzing from the dance. The moment feels easy, but there’s that feeling. Eric’s still watching, his gaze never leaving.

You have to head down the stairs to take your charger, your steps a little slower than usual, you feel that familiar sway in your body. You’re tipsy, sure, but you still know what you’re doing. You drank wine all night. Just wine. Not like most of them who combined whisky and vodka and other drinks. Not to talk about the pills and weed. A glass of wine never killed nobody. You said to yourself taking another sip from your glas.

Passing through the hallway, you spot the kitchen. Then the fridge, your stepping towards it and open the door, and there it is, in front of you, an entire cake.

Without thinking twice, you pull it out, grabbing a spoon. You’re not going to cut a piece, you’re taking the whole cake, exactly what you want.

The frosting’s sweet, the cake rich, and it’s the best thing you’ve tasted in a while.

You dig in, savoring every bite, your eyes wandering lazily over the room.

That’s when you hear the footsteps, slow and deliberate.

“Now, this is an interesting way to finish the night,” Eric’s voice rumbles behind you, a smirk in his tone.

You’re laughing, giggling more than you intended, feeling light and carefree. The wine in your hand is a warm comfort as the cake melts on your tongue, its sweetness matching your mood. You’re not exactly sure why you’re having so much fun, but you just are. The night has a way of feeling endless, and every movement feels like it’s a little more bold, a little more playful.

Eric steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he’s already tasting the scene. His smile curls into something that’s far too knowing, too dangerous. “You got a thing for sugar, or you just like to indulge?”

You laugh again, more playful this time, not caring that he’s getting closer, towering over you.

You look up from your cake, eyes twinkling with mischief, trying to act unaffected by his presence. “What?” you ask, your voice laced with a playful tone. “You’ve never seen someone enjoy cake this much before?”

He doesn’t say anything right away, but you can feel the heat between you, the tension thickening as his gaze moves down to your lips, then back to your eyes.

You bite your lip, fighting the rush of warmth that spreads through you. You’re not sure if you should laugh it off or challenge him, but before you can decide, you catch that look again, the one that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

Eric steps closer, his body nearly touching yours. His eyes are dark, focused, and his breath is warm against your skin as he murmurs, “I’m not so sure. You’ve got a real sweet tooth… I bet you enjoy all kinds of things, don’t you?”

The air feels heavier as you take a step back, suddenly aware of the tension crackling between you two. You keep your composure, even as his words linger, making your pulse race. “Oh, you know. Cake. Life. That’s about it.”

Eric smirks, his expression amused, but his eyes are hungry. “Yeah, sure,” he drawls, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm. “And here I thought you were a woman of secrets.”

You laugh again, your voice a little lighter now, but his gaze still holds you, unflinching, like he sees right through you. There’s something thrilling about it, like you’re in the middle of a game that you didn’t even know you were playing.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Then, you remember—your charger. You freeze, suddenly aware that you’ve wandered off track. Your purse is in your room, and the thought pulls you out of the moment.

“Oh, crap,” you mutter, taking a step back, still holding the cake in one hand, spoon in the other. “I forgot my charger. It’s in my room.”

As you turn to leave, you feel him follow.

You enter the room with the cake still in hand, the sweet scent lingering in the air as you sit on the bed. You quickly search through your purse, pulling out the charger and plugging your phone in.

The quiet hum of the room is broken only by the sound of your movements. You feel his gaze on you, sharp, like a predator sizing up its prey. There’s something in his eyes, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t say a word, but the tension between you is palpable.

The silence between you two is thick, the kind that feels charged with anticipation, like you’re both waiting for something to break it. And when you rise, cake still in hand, you turn toward him with a teasing smile.

“Want some cake?” you ask, the words light, but they carry a meaning neither of you can ignore. It’s playful, but the tension between you two pulses through the air, thick and almost suffocating.

He smirks, stepping closer, eyes gleaming with a dark amusement. “Sure,” he says, voice low, “I’ll take some cake.” But the look in his eyes says it all. He’s not talking about the cake anymore.

You let out a breath, knowing full well what he means, but you don’t back down.

“Go grab a spoon,” you tease, but it’s more of an invitation than an order. His grin widens, and you know, you feel it, that dark pull between you two. There’s no escaping it.

Instead of walking away, he closes the distance, slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. He doesn’t hurry, doesn’t need to. The way he moves is calculated, his gaze never leaving you, reading you, testing you.

“I think I’ll just use your spoon,” he says, voice low and dripping with innuendo.

The words are simple, but the way he says them sends a shiver down your spine.

You laugh softly, trying to keep it casual, but your heart is racing in your chest.

You hand him the spoonful of cake, your fingers brushing his in a fleeting touch. The second your skin meets his, it’s like electricity surging through you, your body responding in ways you can’t control.

He takes the spoon from your hand, his fingers brushing against your palm, and then he eats the cake slowly, deliberately, his lips curling around the bite like it’s the most sensual thing he’s ever tasted.

His eyes stay on you the entire time, never breaking contact, and you can’t help but feel like he’s savoring more than just the cake.

There’s something about the way he eats it, something dangerous in the way he looks at you, that makes you feel like you’re burning alive.

The room feels smaller with every passing second, and you can’t tell where the cake ends and the tension between you two begins.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, and the word hangs in the air, heavy with meaning.

The way he looks at you, the way he moves, the way he eats that cake.

You know exactly what’s going to happen, but the anticipation is making it feel even more electric, even more intense.

He steps closer, his body brushing against yours as he leans down. His lips hover just above yours, and your body reacts without thinking, your lips parting slightly as you feel the heat of his presence.

And then, he kisses you.

The moment his lips touch yours, everything else disappears.

It’s soft at first, just a brush of contact, testing, exploring. But it doesn’t stay gentle for long. It deepens quickly, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you closer as his mouth claims yours with an intensity you weren’t prepared for.

His lips are warm and demanding, his kiss hungry, but there’s a tenderness to it, a quiet promise of something more.

Your heart is pounding, each beat syncing with his. The kiss is everything you imagined, and yet, it’s more.

It’s urgent and fiery, like he’s trying to consume you whole, and you let him.

Your body responds before your mind even catches up, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt, the heat of him radiating against your skin.

His touch is possessive, and you can’t help but melt into it, your body leaning into him, pressing closer, craving more.

His hands roam down your back, pulling you even closer, until there’s no space left between you. You can feel his heartbeat, the solid strength of him, and it makes you dizzy.

The kiss deepens again, his tongue brushing against yours, coaxing with you. Everything feels raw, electric, dangerous, and all you can do is let go and feel.

And then, he pulls back slightly, his lips grazing yours as he whispers against your skin.

“You taste better than cake.” His voice is rough, filled with hunger, and you can feel the heat spreading between you two, the desire crackling in the air.

You laugh breathlessly, but it’s more of a gasp than anything, the sound caught in your throat as you try to process the intensity of everything happening around you.

Before you can speak, he takes the cake from your hand, the spoon still resting in your fingers, and places it gently on the desk, as though it doesn’t matter anymore.

His lips return to yours, and this time, they’re even hungrier, more demanding, more desperate.

You’re not sure when your back hits the wall, but it happens in a blur.

His body presses against yours, the heat between you both undeniable. His hands grip your waist, and you feel his fingers dig into your skin, pulling you tighter against him, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

The kiss is wild, raw, passionate. It’s everything you’ve wanted and more.

You feel him everywhere, every inch of your body alive with the touch of his hands, the heat of his mouth. His lips are insistent, bruising, and you can’t help but give in, your body responding to him in ways you didn’t know it could.

Everything else fades into the background. There’s just the two of you, tangled up in the heat of the kiss, lost in each other.

This is more than you ever imagined. This is everything.

Eric breaks the kiss slowly, he doesn’t say a word. He just stands there, looking at you, his green eyes locked onto yours, dark and unreadable. The silence stretches between you, thick with the weight of everything unspoken.

Your breath is uneven, your pulse hammering against your ribs, and you know he hears it, knows exactly what he’s doing to you just by looking. The air in the room feels hotter, heavier, wrapping around you like something alive, something pulsing with the same tension that’s been there from the very first time your eyes met.

He watches you for another beat, his jaw clenching slightly, like he’s making a decision. Then, without breaking eye contact, he turns, walks to the door, and locks it.

A soft click.

Final. Unshakable.

The sound sends a shiver down your spine.

You should stop this. You should say something, do something, anything to slow this down before it goes too far. Because if this happens, there’s no turning back.

He’s bad. This is bad.

But the way he’s looking at you right now? Like you’re something he’s been waiting to sink his teeth into? God, it makes it hard to think.

You want to be good. You want to be careful.

But more than that, you want him.

And then he’s moving.

Slow, deliberate steps, like a panther stalking its prey, muscles coiled, eyes sharp, fully aware of the effect he has on you.

The breath catches in your throat, your whole body tensing in anticipation as he reaches you, so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. He lifts a hand, fingers grazing your cheek, tracing down the curve of your jaw, tilting your face up toward his. His touch is rough, calloused, but the way he handles you, like he’s memorizing you, like he’s savoring this moment—makes your stomach tighten with something hot and deep.

He’s so close now, you can smell the whiskey on his breath, can see the way his lips part just slightly as he looks down at you. The moment stretches, unbearable in its intensity, until finally…finally he moves.

His lips crash against yours.

The kiss is fire, raw and consuming. It’s everything you imagined it could be and more.

Eric kisses like he owns, like he takes, like he doesn’t ask for permission. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging in, pulling you against him. You gasp into his mouth, your body pressing into his instinctively, craving the solid heat of him.

His hands roam, trailing up your back, slipping under your shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin. Every touch sends a spark through you, makes you arch closer, makes you whimper against his lips.

He groans at the sound, deep and rough, like it’s being dragged from somewhere deep in his chest. And God, it makes something inside you snap.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping against the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, needing more. The kiss grows messier, hungrier, his teeth catching on your bottom lip, his tongue pressing past your lips.

You moan into his mouth, your body burning, every nerve ending alive with the sensation of him—his heat, his strength, the way his hands move over you like he already knows exactly what you like, exactly what you need.

And then he moves.

His hands slide down, gripping your hips, guiding you backward. You don’t even realize he’s pushing you until your back meets the wall, his body pressing into you, caging you in.

Your head tilts back, lips parting in a soft gasp as his mouth moves to your neck, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your throat. His teeth scrape against your skin, just enough to make you shudder, to make your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you whisper, barely even realizing you said it.

Eric exhales a rough chuckle against your skin, his breath warm and teasing. “Yeah?”

But you don’t answer. You can’t. Not when his hands are sliding lower, gripping the hem of your skirt, fingers playing with the fabric.

Your mind is hazy, lost in the way he feels, the way he tastes, the way every single touch seems to melt away any last bit of hesitation you had.

You should stop. You should slow down.

Eric kneels before you, eyes dark, locked onto yours with an intensity that sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body. His hands are firm as they slide up your thighs, his fingers pressing into your skin, rough and unyielding. You shudder beneath his touch, your body betraying you, reacting before your mind can catch up.

You don’t want to stop.

You don’t want to slow down.

You want this.

Your mind is a mess, a battlefield between reason and desire. This is a mistake. Every warning you’ve ever told yourself about him screams in your head. He’s bad. This is dangerous. If you do this, there’s no going back.

Your breath is a mess, shallow, frantic, like you can’t get enough air. But maybe it’s not air you need. Maybe it’s him.

He doesn’t rush.

He wants you to feel this.

Your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths as he gathers the fabric of your skirt, pulling it up, exposing you, dragging the moment out until you’re shaking. The air feels too cold against your bare skin compared to the heat of his hands. His breath, hot, teasing, ghosts over your inner core, and a small, helpless sound slips past your lips.

His eyes flick up to yours, and the smirk that tugs at his lips is pure sin. He likes this. He likes the way your body reacts to him, the way you’re coming undone before he’s even really touched you.

His fingers, rough, calloused, experienced, drag along the inside of your thigh, slow, deliberate. His touch burns, leaves behind a trail of fire that makes your stomach tighten, makes your breathing come faster. Every part of you is tense, strung so tightly that you feel like you might snap.

“Eric—”

His name is barely a whisper, a breathless gasp that you hate yourself for letting out.

But he loves it.

A low chuckle vibrates against your pussy. He pushes your underwear to the side.

And then—

His mouth.

His tongue.

Hot. Slow. Devastating.

His lips press against your clit, warm, firm. A kiss, soft, almost sweet, before he ruins it, biting down just hard enough to make your breath stutter.

A gasp rips from your lips, and his grip tightens, fingers pressing deeper into your skin.

A low chuckle rumbles from him, wicked, sinful. His tongue follows the bite, soothing the sting, tracing messy, open-mouthed kisses, teasing, playing, making you ache for more.

Your whole body jerks, a strangled sound escaping your throat. Your grip in his hair tightens, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you breathe.

His fingers tracing over your inner thigh, over places no one else has ever touched like this. It’s too much and somehow not enough, your body a live wire beneath his hands, his mouth.

It’s intoxicating.

Then you feel his finger opening you up. One finger, slow and smooth, stretching you open in a way that makes your breath break. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your legs trembling, and when he curls his finger inside you, just right, just perfect…a ragged moan rips from your lips.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice thick, rough, like he’s barely holding on. “So fucking tight.”

And then another finger joins the first, pushing deeper, moving in slow, deliberate strokes. His mouth follows, his tongue flicking, circling, devouring your clit and you swear you can’t take it.

It’s maddening.

His fingers move, slow, deliberate circles, teasing, pressing, stroking, his tongue move up and down, just barely enough to keep you from losing your mind. You want more, you need more, and you’re not even thinking when your hips move, chasing his touch, desperate for anything he’ll give you.

A broken moan spills from your lips, and he chuckles. He actually chuckles—like he enjoys watching you fall apart, like he lives for this.

His fingers move faster, pushing, stretching, his mouth working in perfect rhythm, and all you can do is feel.

Feel the way he ruins you.

Feel the way your body bucks against him, the way your moans get louder, sharper, more desperate with every stroke.

Feel the moment you shatter.

And the pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, when your body trembles, your breath breaks, your mind blanks, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t let go.

He holds you through it, he keeps his mouth on your cunt, his fingers inside you, drawing every last pulse, every last shake, dragging it out of you until you’re limp, until you can’t even stand without his hands holding you up.

And when he finally pulls back, when his lips are on your thigh again, when his voice, low, husky, dripping with amusement, murmurs, “Fuck, you taste good.” His lips are wet, when his fingers slip out of you, slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second. You can barely keep your eyes open.

Slowly, he stands up, you see the way his green eyes burn. See the way he licks his lips, like he wants more, like he’s not done with you yet.

Without saying anything, he grabs your waist and lifts you like you weigh nothing and carries you to the bed.

For a moment, the world is still.

Eric hovers over you, his green eyes locked onto yours, his breath slow and heavy, chest rising and falling as he just watches you. You swear you can feel the way he’s looking at you, like he’s drinking you in, memorizing every inch of you before he ruins you completely.

His hands move first. Rough palms sliding down your arms, gripping your wrists, pinning them above your head as he leans in, his lips brushing against yours, barely touching, just enough to tease.

“You sure about this?” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something dark, something dangerous.

You don’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

That’s all it takes.

Eric moves.

His mouth crashes into yours, all heat and hunger, his hands gripping your waist, dragging you closer as his body presses down, caging you beneath him. You feel the sharp tug of his fingers at the hem of your top, feel the desperation in the way he pushes it up, exposing more and more skin, until he’s yanking it over your head and tossing it somewhere behind him.

A breath catches in his throat. His eyes flick down, over your bare skin, and his jaw tightens.

“You are so fucking beautiful.”

The word is low, guttural, like he’s fighting somethin, some last thread of restraint snapping inside him.

Then his hands are back on you.

Sliding down your sides, gripping your thighs, then up again, slowly, teasingly, until his fingers hook into the waistband of your skirt.

There’s a beat of silence. His gaze flicks up, meets yours. And then—

He pulls.

Not rough. Not rushed. He drags the fabric down, inch by inch, his fingers skimming over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. And when he finally pushes the material past your legs, all the way up to your feet, letting your skirt to fall down. His smirk is pure sin.

Green eyes raking over every inch of exposed skin, his gaze dark, heated, possessive.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he mutters, almost to himself, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading them apart. His touch is rough, firm, controlling. “Better than I ever imagined.”

A gasp escapes your lips, your body reacting before your mind can, hips bucking up just slightly and Eric sees.

His smirk deepens.

His hands go lower, trailing down your stomach, your hips, fingers tracing the waistband of your underwear before take it down. His finger dipping inside you, just a single stroke, light, teasing, before he pulls away entirely.

Slow. Deliberate. His fingers gripping the hem of his shirt, dragging it up inch by inch, revealing toned muscle, tattoos stretching over sharp lines, shadows dipping into the ridges of his stomach. He pulls it over his head, tossing it aside, and your mouth goes dry, your fingers twitching with the need to touch him.

He leans in, guiding your hands to his stomach, letting you feel every inch as he shoves his jeans down, the sound of denim hitting the floor filling the space between you.

And then he’s back.

Caging you beneath him. His lips find your throat, his hands gripping your breast, grinding against you, letting you feel exactly how much he wants this, wants you.

“You still want this?” he murmurs against your skin, his fingers dipping between your thighs, teasing, torturing.

A whimper slips past your lips, your nails digging into his back.

“Yes.”

That’s all he needs.

You gasp, your back arching, your body betraying you completely, as without hesitation he touches your wet pussy, introducing one finger inside you teasing, as he watches every reaction you give him.

“So fucking wet, just for me,” Eric mutters, smirking, pushing another finger and dragging them lower, deeper, drawing another strangled sound from your throat.

He leans down, his mouth at your ear, his fingers still working you, still teasing, still pushing you higher and higher.

“Tell me how bad you want it.”

A sharp, helpless moan rips from your throat as he presses harder, deeper, his thumb circling your clit in a way that makes your vision blur.

“Come on,” he murmurs, dragging his lips down your neck, biting at your skin, owning every inch of you. “Tell me, baby.”

You can barely think. You can barely breathe.

“I—I need you,” you gasp, voice breaking, hands gripping his arms, his shoulders, anything to ground yourself.

Eric groans, deep and satisfied, dragging his mouth back to yours.

“That’s my girl.” He said in a raspy low voice, removing his fingers slowly.

And with the same hand he grabs his hard, thick cock, stroking himself, spreading your juices all over, a soft moan rips from his throat as he's moving his hand from the tip to the base.

Your both are looking down at his movements, moaning softly. You can't believe that you couldn't be more aroused but yet, seeing him in this position, made you shiver.

His gaze turn up to you, a smirk on his lips, making you to turn your eyes into his. His green eyes are half-lidded, heavy with something unreadable as he looks at you.

And slowly he pressed himself between your legs, between your folds.

You moan in harmony as his cock slide inside. You can feel him stretching you, inch by inch as he takes the time for you to adjust.

Your breath is ragged, your skin burning, every inch of you pulsing with need. He’s everywhere. The heat of his bare body pressing into you, the weight of him heavy, solid, overpowering.

Eric smirks against your lips, catching the sound of your hitched breath, the way your fingers grip his shoulders, digging into the inked skin as he presses you deeper into the mattress.

His body presses against yours, warm and firm, every movement deliberate, slow yet desperate, like he’s savoring every second but also losing control. His hands trace your skin, fingers pressing, exploring, claiming, setting off shivers that leave you gasping against his lips.

Your voice breaks off into a moan when he’s start moving, hard, fast, making your head fall back.

“You feel so good,” he mutters against your skin, voice rough, thick with something dark and pleased. His hands grip your hips, while his pushing deeper inside you, his hold unrelenting, possessive, like he’s savoring every second.

His mouth finds yours again, desperate, greedy, swallowing every sound you make, every shaky breath.

Eric moves like he was made for this, like he was made to ruin you. Every touch, every shift of his cock inside your pussy sends another wave of pleasure crashing through you, stealing your breath, making your fingers dig into his skin, needing to hold onto something—onto him.

Fuck, you feel good,” he groans, the words hot against your ear, his breath uneven, thick with pleasure.

Your hands roam over him. His shoulders, his back, nails sinking in when the pressure becomes too much, when the fire coils too tight, threatening to snap.

You don’t think, you don’t speak. You just feel.

The tension builds, sharp and relentless, every sensation heightened, every touch sending you spiraling closer. Your breath hitches, your body arching into him, chasing that breaking point, knowing it’s right there, knowing you’re seconds away from falling over the edge.

Eric’s grip tightens on your waist, his movements growing more intense, more urgent, like he’s chasing it too, like he’s right there with you, holding on just long enough to watch you come undone first.

And then—

It crashes over you all at once.

A gasp, a moan, your body trembling beneath him as pleasure rips through you, overwhelming, unstoppable, drowning out everything but him, the way he holds you through it, the way he watches you, eyes dark, heated, devouring every reaction.

And then he follows, his body tensing, his breath catching as he lets go, as his own pleasure overtakes him, raw and unrestrained.

For a moment, neither of you move.

Your chest rises and falls in sync, your skin flushed, sweat-dampened, your limbs tangled together. You’re weightless, floating somewhere between reality and the aftermath of everything that just happened.

Eric exhales a deep, almost disbelieving breath, his fingers still lazily tracing your hip, his body still heavy against yours, his cock still inside you.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, for a hundred time this night, his voice a low rasp, teasing, satisfied. “I think I might be addicted.”

And God help you

Because you think you might be, too.

———————————

You lie there, your head resting against Eric’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his skin grounding you. The air around you is thick with the lingering weight of what you both just shared, but there’s a calmness to it, a softness you don’t often see with him. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, his touch gentle but lingering, as if he’s not quite ready to let go.

His chest rises and falls beneath your head, steady and comforting. You can feel the warmth radiating off him, the heat from his body wrapping you up in a way that both relaxes and excites you.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, the aftereffects of the night still thick in it.

You feel his lips brush against your hair, a soft, fleeting kiss that sends a jolt through you, reminding you just how close you are to him.

You shift slightly, pressing a little more of your body into his side, but still not quite meeting his gaze.

“Just thinking,” you whisper, your voice softer than you intended, but it feels right in the moment.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating in his chest beneath your ear.

“About what?” he asks, his hand moving to gently slide through your hair, fingers threading through the strands, massaging your scalp.

The touch is tender, but there’s that same underlying heat in the way his fingers curl into your hair, a reminder of who he is.

You shift a little, looking up at him now, your eyes meeting his with a quiet challenge in them. His gaze is dark, predatory, but there’s something else there too—something that feels like… something you can’t quite name. His fingers trace your jaw, lightly, before skimming your neck, and the touch sends a small shiver down your spine.

He gave you a small kiss on the lips.

You feel the heat of his breath against your skin, his lips brushing over your and he murmurs,

“ I’m not letting you off the hook that easily, baby. I’m not done with you.”

Your heart races, a quiet ache pooling in your stomach as his words sink in. He’s right, though. You are still here, wrapped up in everything he is. That pull, that irresistible force, is always there, lingering in the space between your bodies. Even now, with his hand gently resting on your waist, his fingers splayed over your skin, you can feel it—the tension building, ever-present.

Then you take a deep breath.

This is it. The moment you’ve been waiting for, when everything you’ve been wondering about him, about this whole thing, finally has to come out.

“Eric,” you start, your voice quiet but firm, your body slightly tensing against his chest. He looks down at you, his dark eyes softening just enough to show you that he’s listening. “I’ve been thinking…”

You pause, unsure how to begin, but you know you need to ask the questions, to understand why he is the way he is. “About the explosion. Who were those people? And why’d you burn the car?”

For a second, he goes still. You can almost feel the weight of his thoughts, but he doesn’t pull away from you. He lets out a slow breath, his fingers gently tracing the back of your neck, like he’s deciding just how much of the truth he can give you.

“You really wanna know?” he finally asks, his voice low and guarded, but there’s something about the way he says it that makes you feel like it’s not just a question, it’s a challenge.

You nod, your eyes meeting his, and he lets out another breath, this time with a dark edge to it.

“They weren’t just anyone.” His voice is rougher now, like he’s telling you something he’s buried deep. “They were abducting kids. Using them to sell their drugs. I found out about it, they came to me to ended and I made sure I will ended it, not them.”

You don’t know what you expected, but this… it hits you harder than you thought it would. Your chest tightens as you process his words. His touch hasn’t stopped, his fingers still trailing along your skin, but his eyes are distant now, like he’s back in that moment, reliving the anger.

“Usually I don’t give a fuck how the others run their business, but this? I couldn’t let that go,” he adds, almost to himself. “I couldn’t just let them get away with it.”

There’s a pause, a heavy silence where you try to digest everything he’s just told you. It makes sense in a twisted way, but there’s still something lingering, the things he’s done, things you’ve heard.

You swallow, suddenly feeling the need to ask the question that’s been haunting you for days. The story your friend told you, the one you couldn’t quite shake, the one that kept echoing in your mind whenever you saw him.

“Eric,” you say quietly, lifting your head just enough to look into his eyes. “I heard a story, from a friend of mine. About… about you. About a place. You went there and beat them, tortured them. Tied them to chairs and left them out in the cold, on the balcony. Why? Why did you do that?”

The question feels like a heavy weight in the air, but you need to know. Your voice is almost a whisper, but it’s firm, determined. You need him to answer, to tell you why he did something so brutal.

Eric’s gaze hardens, his expression darkening in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t look angry, but there’s a coldness in his eyes now, a hardness you hadn’t seen before. But then his voice comes out, low, almost like he’s speaking through clenched teeth.

“I did it because I saw them,” he says, his words slow, deliberate. “I saw them that day, in the park. They were beating their dogs to death. Not just killing them… they were torturing them. And they were laughing about it. Their own fucking dogs. The poor souls.”

You shudder involuntarily, the weight of his words hitting you harder than anything you could’ve imagined. But then, just like that, a memory flashes in your mind, the dog tattoo on his back. You’d seen it earlier, the black ink etched into his skin, the outline of a dog, a symbol of something deeper.

And then, you remember something Lily had told you, something you had pushed away until now: “He had a dog,” she had said. “He loved it. But he had to leave it with someone, and when he came back, it was dead.” It stuck with you then, and it sticks with you now. It connects, the anger in his eyes, the brutality of his actions, and the pain that’s hiding underneath all of it.

You look back at him, your gaze searching, trying to piece it all together. “The dog,” you whisper, almost to yourself. “Your tattoo… “

For a moment, Eric’s face softens, his gaze flicking away, as if the memory is too much for him to bear. But then he exhales slowly, like he’s releasing something heavy.

“It was… everything to me,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost distant.

“I left it—” He pauses, like he’s searching for the right words.

“I left it with my girlfriend when I had to leave for a while. When I came back, it was gone. Dead. I never forgave myself for it.”

The room grows still. You can feel the weight of his words, the heaviness in his chest that he’s trying to keep buried, and in that moment, it’s like you understand him a little more, why he is the way he is. There’s pain there, deep and raw, and it’s not just about what he’s done. It’s about the things he’s lost, the things he couldn’t protect.

He stands up suddenly, his back to you as he reaches for his pants, rummaging through the pockets for a cigarette. The silence stretches out between you as he lights it, and the sound of the lighter flicking in the quiet room seems louder than it should be. He inhales deeply, the smoke swirling around him as he turns his back to you, facing the window.

His silhouette is framed against the dim light of the room, and his back is fully exposed to you.

That’s when you see it. You blink, your stomach twisting slightly. You’ve noticed it before, but only in glimpses. Now, with him standing still, with the low light tracing every bold letter inked into his skin, you can see it clearly, it’s not just a climbs the name, now you see clear the bold letters etched into his skin on his shoulder. Aurora

The word leaves your lips before you think about it.

“Aurora.” You said

Eric exhales, dragging smoke from his lips.

“Yeah.” His voice is flat, uninterested, like it’s just another word, another detail that doesn’t matter anymore.

“Your girlfriend?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a long moment, Eric doesn’t answer. He takes another drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling around him like a veil. Then, when he speaks, his voice is low, almost too soft to hear.

A strange tightness builds in your chest. You don’t know why.

You should drop it. You should act like it doesn’t matter either, just like he does. But instead, the question slips out. “What happened between you two?”

Eric takes another slow drag, then tilts his head slightly, exhaling toward the ceiling. “I loved her.” The words are simple, like they don’t carry any weight, like he’s just stating a fact. “A lot, actually.”

That tightness in your chest deepens.

He pauses, rolling the cigarette between his fingers, flicking the ash away. “But while I was gone, she was with someone else.”

It’s blunt. No hesitation, no emotion in his voice. He takes another drag. His posture remains the same, loose, unconcerned, like the story doesn’t really matter anymore. “People told me. Everyone around me knew. I didn’t want to believe it, though. Thought it was bullshit.”

His voice is steady, but his hand lingers near his cigarette longer than necessary, like he’s using it as a distraction.

“Then one day, I came home.” He lets out a slow breath. “And I saw them together.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t give details. He just lets the sentence sit between you, as if there’s nothing more to say.

Your stomach twists again, but for a different reason now.

He doesn’t sound angry. He doesn’t even sound bitter. He sounds… done.

Like it happened, and he accepted it, and that was that. Like Aurora was nothing more than another part of his past. But you know that’s not true. Because people don’t just tattoo names on their skin for nothing. Because he said it��he loved her.

And you hate it.

You hate the way he said it so easily. The way he let those words roll off his tongue like they meant nothing now, like she meant nothing now. But at some point, she meant everything. At some point, she had all of him.

“She was supposed to take care of my dog,” he says after a while, his tone still indifferent, still distant. “But she was too busy doing other shit.”

You swallow, pressing your lips together.

She had everything. His love. His trust. And she threw it away.

“And you never tried to—” you start, but Eric cuts you off with a humorless laugh, shaking his head slightly.

“Nah. Wasn’t worth it.” Another slow drag of his cigarette. Another exhale, thick smoke leaving his lips. “Shit happens.”

That’s all he says. Shit happens.

Like it didn’t break him. Like it didn’t matter. Like he didn’t matter.

And maybe that’s what stings the most. That after everything, he truly believes that.

That nobody stays. That nobody loves him. That he isn’t worth love.

And even though you hate the way Aurora’s name sits on his skin, even though jealousy burns in your stomach at the thought of her—you hate that more.

After finishing his cigarette, Eric exhales one last drag before stubbing it out, then shifts, moving back onto the bed.

Then, without warning, he shifts, crawling back onto the bed, his body looming over yours, all heat and weight and purpose.

His gaze drags down your face, sharp yet lazy, the way a predator watches prey before making a move. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips.

“Enough with my fucked-up past” His voice is low, thick with something darker.

One of his hands trails down, fingers ghosting over your bare skin, deliberate, teasing. “Let’s talk about you instead.” He said while his hand finds your pussy and push it, slowly, one of his finger inside.

You let out a slow gasp.

He leans in, mouth hovering just above yours, his breath hot, teasing, but he doesn’t kiss you—not yet. He lets the moment stretch, lets the tension coil so tight it’s suffocating.

“Tell me,” he drawls, voice pure sin, “how do you want me to please you?”

————————

Part one Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

@paraficwriter @clairesblouse here we go ☺️

I know, I know… this took longer than I expected, longer than you expected, buuut in my defense, I had already written it once, and when I was almost finished, I don’t know what happened, but it got deleted. So you can imagine how frustrated I was, and it took me a while to pull myself together and rewrite it.

I hope you like it! This part is longer because the next one will be the last. I know most of you voted for me to extend the story, but for my sanity and for yours too, I’ll keep it at five parts. However, I’ll make up for it with longer parts—much longer than the previous three.

Now, I have one more question. When I started writing this story, I wanted it to be darker—I still do. The next part will be very dark: blood, fear, death, etc. My question is: would you want it to have a sad ending? Or we’ll stick with the good one?

I’ll leave a poll below.

Thank you so much for waiting this long.

I love you, and happy reading!

#bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård x reader #bill skarsgard x reader #bill skarsgård imagine #bill skarsgård smut #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgård fanfiction #eric draven x you #eric draven x reader #eric draven imagines #eric draven smut #eric draven #dark gravity #dark gravity fan fic

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sims3fiend · 7 months ago

Text

Sims 3 Settings Setter

DON"T USE OLD USE THIS INSTEAD: https://sims3fiend.tumblr.com/post/777075618948005888/s3settingssetter-new-new-version-new

SORRY ONE DAY I'LL LEARN HOW TO DO THIS PROPERLY LMAO I KEEP FORGETTING Proper release notes and beta edition

I've added support for setting any Config or Option setting, plus live editing of many many others, so it's now release time. Full feature explanation below, but essentially this lets you edit lots of settings ingame directly instead of having to make .package mods, and provides a "better" and more shareable way of editing GraphicsRules.sgr settings (IMO). Sorry if a new post is annoying idk what I'm doing

THIS IS A BETA, I haven't tested a lot of the settings, there are bugs, etc.

DOES NOT CURRENTLY WORK WITH THE EA VERSION

Downloads: Sims File Share Sims File Share - Less stutter config GitHub

More info about what it is (I yap a bunch) under :)

Installation and use

Please note, some settings wont appear until you load into a world.

Download the ASI file and wack it in to your Sims 3 base directory, where the ts3w.exe is located. If you're using one of the presets, make a folder called s3ss_presets and pop them in there (you'll need to activate them in the presets menu ingame).

Make sure you have an ASI loader, these are either from Smooth Patch's ASI portion or dxwrapper. I recommend dxwrapper, just make sure you set the LoadPlugins value to 1 (should be default)

Start the game, you might experience a little more of an initial "freeze" when starting the game than usual, this is from the script logging a bunch of config calls during initialization, there's like 800 or something nuts. It should not have any negative impact on regular loading or gameplay, and I plan to turn the logging off… eventually.

Press Insert to open up the menu. Go crazy and change everything, make the sun huge, crank bloom up, live.

Check the box next to a live setting to have it save for next time you launch, same thing for config but you also have to press save down the bottom because I forgot

Help I crashed/the game doesn't start with the mod!

Please send me your hooks_log.txt if you're experiencing any crashing issues. If the crash is because you set some value to like 7 billion, that's on you, you can just delete the line out of script_settings.ini or go to Settings -> Clear all settings

If you can't get the game to run with the mod, lmk also, please tell me if you're using a launcher, if you're using any other .asi mods, using dxvk, etc. as well as what operating system you're on.

Features

Live Edit

This is the new™ and now main part of the mod. I've mapped out several/most of the exes main "settings" (anything that interacts w/ 0x005a00a0 and some that don't) areas, which allows you to now, in game, change these values whereas before it was a whole arduous process of making .package mods. I mapped these all statically so some of the offsets/addresses might be wrong.

I was gunna list the settings but there's 260~ of them so maybe not?

I plan to add missing specific individual settings from Config eventually. If you think a setting is missing, or if you think I've mapped a value wrong (i.e. you know it has an effect but it's not working with my mod or is crashing you, or one value is changing multiple things), please let me know. Render/er is definitely missing some, that's because the function is scary and I don't like it.

Values (sometimes) have sliders with the min and max value I found in the exe set, if you want to go higher, you can double click to type in your own number.

Some interesting things you can do with the settings:

Set max lots higher than 8 AND increase the radius so it actually shows (will crash if set too high ~35+, need to investigate) by changing values in Streaming

Play in a game where the sun never sets or rises by editing Sky Common -> Sunset/Sunrise Time

Change shadow settings (includes the same thing as LD's shadow extender mod under), extending shadows (they will still look hideous, writing a post about why currently)

Change various light settings to get the perfect look for your game. Some popular mods edit these values for their looks (presets soon?)

Do whatever… this is…?

Game Config

The function we're hooking (0x0058c380) only seems to effect Config (GraphicsRules.sgr in the .exe directory) and Options (Options.ini in the documents/Sims3 directory), but logs a whole bunch of other thing. Feel free to toggle the option in the settings tab and try changing a bunch, it should in theory work because the function is reading and writing but somewhere it gets overridden or something idk 🤷

It lets you set any that fall under those two categories/headings, which means there's some like ForceHighLODObjects that aren't in the actual file and are settable. You might notice some show different values than what they're set as in your config, this could either be that I'm hooking it too early (I don't think I am), or the value is getting overwritten or changed somewhere in the exe. If there's a setting that's in the file but not in the list that you think does something, lmk, but it should capture everything.

I haven't mapped all of the Config/Option settings to Live Edit as they're all split up in the exe, if there's one you want in particular, lmk.

Presets

I've prepared a preset with just the essentials from my GraphicsRules file post with the idea that you can then use this with a stock GraphicsRules file instead of having to manage different versions, giving you the ability to toggle certain things back to default. I might make some visual "enhancement" presets or something later, either based off popular mods or my own insanity, we'll see.

Presets go into the s3ss_presets folder, and currently they stack rather than replace (not intentional but I might keep it)

Known issues:

Rendering toggles need to be re-toggled each load - Easy fix I'm just lazy

Options settings overwrite the actual Options.ini file (idk why??)

Occasionally D3D9 wont hook, I can't replicate this reliably to test so lmk if you can lmao

I mapped all the settings pretty hastily, so some are bound to be wrong

Was flagged as a virus briefly??? Praying this never happens again because I have no idea what to do to fix that dshjakfhhsdaj

Presets stack, if you apply a preset and you have existing values, they stack together… I kind of like that though as a concept so I just added a clear all option to settings, I might rework it later.

Some Live Edit value locations might change during gameplay, resulting in the menu displaying them incorrectly and crashing the game if edited in a broken state. I've checked most off them and they don't seem to, but Render ones did. Let me know if you experience it as I can probably find a static pointer like I did for Render.

Planned things:

Searching. God that'd be good…

Go over existing maps again, some I did early on before I supported static values, 4 float arrays, etc. so I've probably messed some up

Adding every single GraphicsRule.sgr setting to Live

Maybe adding some of my performance mods to it? Or should I keep them as their own individual thing? Mmmm I dunno

I still haven't looked at the way everyone else has been editing the "live" settings, so I should probably do that, there's probably a lot of info out there but at this point I'm too invested in my weird approach djsakfsksaffsa

Updates:

18.10.24 - Hopefully fixed an issue effect people using launchers, as well as a fix for the process hanging after quitting (would look closed but the process is still there in the bg). Also fixed presets applying. 17.10.24 - Hopefully fix a D3D issue that might've resulted in the game freezing/looking frozen. Handles D3D device resets. Will expand in the future to cover other areas maybe.

#sims 3 #sims 3 mods #another rambling post #sims3 #ts3

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emeraldserenade · 16 days ago

Text

Feels Like Home ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: you go to Joaquín after a date gone wrong

tw: fem!reader, implied/mentioned attempted SA and all the emotions and feelings that come with it (or at least the one's I felt), ex!Joaquín, happy ending, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

I had thoughts while in the shower, I'm sorry. Enjoy this though because I finally feel like I'm back in the groove of writing.

➽──────────────❥

You were drenched from the rain, your sobs tore up your throat and out of your mouth. Your tears were hot and heavy as they fell from your eyes. Your purse hung from the crook of your arm while your hands clutched at the torn fabric that was the bodice of your dress.

You knew Joaquín was home, you saw him pull into the parking garage when you drove by for your date. You wanted to lie and say you had no idea why you chose somewhere so far from you yet so close to him. You knew why, it’s the same reason you stood just right of his door, you still loved him. You had fought your own mind the whole way there, telling yourself that he owed you nothing. You broke up with him, you hurt him. Yet there you stood, at the side of his door trying to work up the courage to knock or ring the doorbell. To remove your hands from your ruined bodice, thus removing the only sense of safety you felt at the moment.

It was a moment that you felt just as horrible as the other part of your night. Another man left his apartment, and you saw the way his eyes flashed with something dark when he took in your appearance. You stepped in front of Joaquín's door and before you could process what was happening, you were being pulled by the elbow away from it. He shifted his hands to your upper arms when you were forced to face him.

"Do you need help, pretty?" The man was uncomfortably close and you felt your sobs pick up. You frantically shook your head, unable to form a sentence.

"Let her go," you heard the low growl and prominent threat from Joaquín behind you. You didn't notice him opening his door, but you were thankful he did. The man let you go and you stumbled back from the small push he gave you. You clutched your arms even tighter to you, your crying never ceasing but it turned silent a while ago.

You watched as he made his way to the elevator and you almost fell in relief, but Joaquín gently lead you into his apartment. "I'm sorry," you cried, the fear and exhaustion from the night finally falling over you. "I am so sorry, for everything," you did fall to the floor this time. Joaquín had let you go to grab you one of his shirts, and it was in that brief moment that you fell. You mumbled more apologies that Joaquín barely gave any mind, he knew you were an emotion wreak and he forgave you for breaking his heart a while ago. Sam told him that it's crazy what love can make you do. So he busied himself with making you your favorite tea, now his favorite after you introduced it to him. And grabbing the cookies he showed you that he knew you loved.

"It's all my fault, I led him on," your words sent Joaquín into hyper protection mode.

"Hey, hey," he knelt down to the ground as he grabbed your attention. The shirt he gave you was still clutched in your hands so he helped you slip it on as he spoke. "This, whatever happened, was not your fault. None of this was your fault," he smoothed your hair back into place as you slipped your hands through the sleeves. You felt the safety that was ripped away from you slowly get replaced, it's partly way you came to Joaquín. You knew he could make you feel safe with no effort at all.

"But," you were cut off by Joaquín giving you a look.

"No buts," he told you and you just nodded.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You woke up in Joaquín's bed. By the time you had calmed down enough to drive back home, it was 3am and Joaquín didn't want you to be alone after what happened. Joaquín wasn't in bed with you, and you hoped he had gone to work so you could slip out without the shame of what happened getting to you.

Luck wasn't on your side you noticed when you saw Joaquín walk back into the room with his phone and a water bottle in hand.

"Good morning," he spoke softly and moved to the unoccupied side of the bed. "I brought you water and pain meds in case you need them," he pulled the small rattling bottle from his pocket and held it out to you along with the water. You took both from him, you had a raging headache from all the crying you had done the night before.

"I'll leave," you told him, moving to get up. You were stopped by his hand landing on your arm.

"No, I just talked to Sam, I have the say off. Stay," he told you, you could hear the desperation in his voice.

"Ok," you settled back into the bed and he moved to be beside you. "How'd you know I was out there last night?"

"I have motion detectors on my doorbell, I got an alert and saw you out there with that man," he told you and you realized that you standing off to the side saved you from having to face him before you were ready. "Why'd you come here?"

"I needed to go somewhere I knew I would feel safe, be with someone I," you stopped before you could admit you still loved him but you knew it was too late. He was smart and could figure it out from what you said.

"Is that why you chose a place closer to me?"

"It's why I chose our favorite place," you admitted, staring at the ceiling to keep from crying again. You heard the small huff of laughter that came from Joaquín and you knew you were done for.

"You chose our favorite place for a first date?"

"I chose our favorite place because I was trying to convince myself that he didn't need to be you. That I made my bed so now I have to lie in it," you told him, defensive over nothing.

"You don't have to lie in it alone, I'm right here," you could hear the underlying offer in his words. He was asking for another chance, even when it wasn't his fault you weren't together anymore.

"Yeah, that would be nice," you lowly said as you took his hand.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #mcu #cabnw #cabnw spoilers #marvel mcu

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1x20 · 6 months ago

Text

hello and welcome to my tutorial on how to create gifs like this one! full explanation under the cut, but if you wanted to take a little peek at the gifset attached to this tutorial, here ya go!

for the purposes of this tutorial i am assuming you know

how to make a gif

what vhs footage looks like

STEP ONE: MAKING YOUR GIF

choose your footage and plug it into your desired software of choice! i use photoshop for this so i can only attest to the efficacy of these methods in that context

as for shot selection, you could feasibly choose anything. however, i prefer shots without too much movement in them - makes it look more like a home video.

because of the heavy amount of colors and filters, i'd recommend a gif somewhere around the 40-50 frames! but of course you can play around.

oh i also set the frame delay to 0.08 seconds. this is slower than most gifmakers tend to set theirs, but it makes it run buttery smooth imo.

STEP TWO: MAKING THE COLORING

here's where we get vhs specific. if you're unfamiliar with vhs footage, i recommend clicking through this youtube playlist! if you're not interested in the coloring, skip to step three (smart object fuckery + filters)

now while making a set i tend to choose some primary colors for my gifs. in the gifset i linked above, i chose to work with blue and orange-y yellow. in some of the other gifs i'll be using as examples (from an unfinished set) i chose green and yellow.

to create the above coloring i generally use these steps:

1) curves

i'm a maniac so i use the same curves layer to initially edit the luminosity AND colors of my gifs. the purpose of this layer is to edit brightness/contrast like i normally would and already start the process of changing the colors a little bit. this is my curves layer for the blue house gif:

to make the gif go from the left image to the right image:

as you can see i used the brightening curves to make the footage a whole lot lighter. i also increased the reds to get rid of the cyan tint a lot of blue footage has, slightly increased the blues, and once again decreased the greens to get rid of any cyan. this does make the blue hue a bit more purple, which is a nice bonus!

as for the gif of the boy, that one's a little harder to show a before and after for, but i'lls how the curves for good measure:

the original shot was already quite bright so i only edited the brightness a litttle bit. because i knew i wanted the gif to be green and yellow, i increased the greens, decreased the reds (except in the shadows), and decreased the blues (to get yellow)

2) channel mixer

now the channel mixer layer takes a little getting used to so i recommend experimenting. ALWAYS USE THIS LAYER ON THE COLOR BLENDING MODE for a more even result.

i use channel mixers to sort of... unify the colors a bit more. for the house gif, for example, i increased the blue channel to +110% blue, but decreased the blue in the red (-12%) to retain the yellow in the window.

if you want me to explain this more in depth, send an ask! it'll be kinda longwinded though

before / after of the boy gif with curves/channel mixer.

3) levels

this is where it starts looking more vhs-y! vhs footage has light shadows and dark highlights.

first, set your levels layer to luminosity blending mode to retain your beautiful colors.

then, crunch the hell out of your gif to make it very... mid.

this may feel a little wrong at first but i prommy it'll look okay at the end. a before/after for the boy:

now that's starting to look familiar right?

4) color fill/gradient map

because i want to unify my colors/make sure my gif is saturated, i usually add either a color fill or gradient map layer. in the case of the house, i chose to go with a dark blue color fill:

because the coloring of the boy gif was a little more complex, i decided to go with a brown to green gradient map.

this will make the shadows yellow, and the highlights green.

BOTH THESE LAYERS ARE SET TO OVERLAY. i usually fiddle with the opacity of them until i like it, but it's anywhere from 7% - 17% depending on what i feel like that day

5) curves (again)

this layer is probably useless but i do it anyway to make myself feel better. this is just a regular curse layer to up the brightness a tiiiiny bit and amke sure everything's clear. also it helps counteract the darkness your overlay color will add in.

6) color balance

this is my most subtle layer so i won't be able to show before and after but i fiddle with the color distribution a little until i'm satisfied. set this layer to color blending 'cause that's what you wanna affect!

i decided i wanted the house gif shadows to be a little more purple, for example, so i added in red (+3), magenta (-1) and blue (+1). etc etc. do what feels good!

STEP THREE: SMART OBJECT FUCKERY AND FILTERS

OKAY that was a lot. sorry or you're welcome. but good news: now's the fun part. convert your animation to a timeline, then select both your coloring and gif layers, right click, and select convert to smart object.

now that your gif's a smart object, i usually crop it. i tend make vhs aes gifs a 4:3 ratio (so 540 x 405 px) because that's what vhs footage was usually recorded as! crop your gif, resize, and then we can continue.

1) color bleeding

vhs footage usually bleeds its colors - this manifests as a short of... weird subtle halo around any object. the way to recreate this in photoshop is to duplicate your smart object.

set your copied smart object to color blending. now move it to the side a couple of pixels (i usually do around 5px, but you do you!)

as you can see, the tree and chimney (and everything else but less prominently) have a yellow shadow to them. this is exactly what we want!

2) filters

now's the time to add your filters and make it look like shit (but on purpose!) first, select both smart objects and convert to smart object again. this will ensure the filters apply to all layers evenly.

i use the following filters:

unsharp mask (amt 35%, radius 4px) - this will subtly add some sharpening but only on the edges of objects

add noise (amt 7.5%, distr. uniform, not monochromatic) - this will add the signature vhs grain.

box blur (2px) - i edit this to be 75% opacity with the little arrows to the right, just to make sure you can still make SOMETHING out when you're looking at the gif. MAKE SURE THIS FILTER IS ON TOP OF YOUR NOISE FILTER. tumblr will kill your gif otherwise

4) ONE LAST THING

usually at this point i'm not happy with either the saturation or levels. (usually the levels). so on top of your smart object, add another saturation or levels layer and fuck around!

in the case of the house gif, i thought it was too bright still so i set my output levels to 13 and 216. for the boy, i thought the shadows were too dark, so i set my shadow output to 11.

BEFORE & AFTER:

aaaand that's it! thanks for reading! if you have any questions, feel free to come to my askbox, i'm always happy to explain my process. happy giffing 🥰

#gif tutorial #ps tutorial #photoshop #completeresources #allresources #giffing tutorial #vhs gif tutorial #idfk. what do you even tag for tutorials lmao

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bathylychnops · 8 days ago

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would love tips for how you got started with texturing your model! it looks great!

thank you!! texturing used to really confuse me but noww i know the basics! also go look atmy recent post i shared the free blender addon that lets me use layers! :D ok so before you can texture you need to unwrap the model in Edit Mode, and 2 do that u need to kindof cut it up by marking where the seamss are

the red lines are the seams and i just shift + left click select each one iwant and then control + E and click "mark seam" after u have all the separate pieces marked then you hit A select all and click UV unwrap thats the annoying part the fun part is then u make a material for the object

and in HERE u click

base color set that as 'image texture' and either select an image you made or create new one!! if youre just texture painting & not uv remapping (moving the pieces around on the uv texture in edit mode) then you just create new one then switch mode to 'texture painting mode' make sure to save your texture here too! blender doesnt save it auto

if you DO wantto do uv mapping to an existing atlas, then youre going to be in edit mode & not texture painting! thats what i did for the hairrr here i have a flat texture and im manipulating the uvs

HUGE help here is make sure to mark the seams bc then you can click 1 face of the 'piece' and hit Ctrl + L and itll select the whole piece! bigg timesaver so u dont needto shift + click everyyy face

you also dont really need to re-unwrap the WHOLE mesh everytime you create new seams, that might also mess it up, you can just select the faces of the new marked piece and uv unwrap that! ^-^

this post so long but i continue..

this is the node setup i like using for my textures i just think the minimal lighting/shadeless-ish look is soo nice but theres still shadows!

just plug the texture's color into emission! its good if you like the more low poly game look/focus on textures ALSO a fun one i dont see tutorials for enough is if you want TRANSPARENCY. pieces on your texture. plug the image's Alpha into the BSDF's alpha & then back in material tab mess with these 'alpha clip' will give you a very clean hard edge good for things like my abbey babbey model but badd for smooth fades, i like alpha hashed for that,

alpha blendd makes thjings weird if u have intersecting pieces so thats best if its like for 1 single object but idk

and dats it ithink! lalalalaaaa its alot of funn once you get the hang of the workflow! ilove 2 talk abt blender processes if anyone has anymore questions abt how i do blender stuff pleaaasee ask me.. bro ask me...

#thank u for chance to yap abt blender #art #my art #ask #blender #blender tutorial #? i mean KINDOF a tutorials #kindof #blender 3d #3d model

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maybe-im-dark · 8 months ago

Text

Rugged choices

Logan stepped into the dusty secondhand clothing store, his eyes scanning the racks of well-worn shirts and faded jeans. The air inside was heavy with the familiar scent of old leather and aged fabric, the kind of smells that always put him at ease. Without hesitation, he made a beeline for the racks, already flipping through the clothes as if he had been here a hundred times before.

Wade, however, came to a sudden stop just inside the door, looking around in bewilderment, his arms thrown out wide in exaggerated confusion.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Wade exclaimed, his voice bouncing off the walls of the cramped store. “Logan, we just got handed a stack of TVA-cash the size of a small country’s GDP, and this is where you want to spend it? A secondhand store?”

Logan didn’t bother looking up from the rack of flannel shirts he was flipping through. He pulled one out, a red-and-black plaid that had clearly seen better days, and held it up, his nostrils flaring slightly as he sniffed the fabric.

“Don’t like the smell of new stuff,” Logan muttered, tossing the shirt over his arm. “Chemicals. Hurts my nose.”

Wade blinked, his brain working to process Logan’s explanation. Slowly, he nodded in acceptance, though his bewilderment was far from gone.

“Huh. Okay, that actually makes sense. Super senses and all.” Wade paused, then threw his arms out again in an exaggerated gesture. “But come on, man! You could be rocking designer leather jackets, limited edition jeans, silk boxers—the whole nine yards!”

Logan ignored him, already pulling another flannel shirt from the rack, this one in muted blue and green. He sniffed it, grunted his approval, and added it to the pile in his arms. It wasn’t long before the pile grew to include several more flannels in different colors, along with faded jeans and plain white undershirts.

Wade watched with a growing smirk as Logan’s choices all started to blend into a singular aesthetic.

“So we’re just committing fully to the lumberjack aesthetic, huh?” Wade teased, leaning on a nearby rack. “Maybe pick up an axe while we’re at it, chop some wood, live in the woods, grow an even bigger beard. Real 'I’m-going-off-the-grid' vibes.”

Logan stopped rifling through the clothes just long enough to glare at Wade, his patience visibly thinning.

“Better than prancing around in pink Hello Kitty shirts and leggings two sizes too tight,” Logan shot back, his voice low and sharp as he pointed at Wade’s current outfit—a ridiculous hot pink Hello Kitty tee and a pair of black leggings that left nothing to the imagination.

Wade, ever the showman, grinned beneath his mask and struck a pose.

“Touché, Logan,” he said with a wink. “But I make this work. Not everyone can pull off this level of hotness.”

Logan rolled his eyes, grabbed his pile of clothes, and headed toward the checkout without another word. Wade followed close behind, still grinning like a kid who had just gotten away with something.

A little while later, they found themselves walking through the sunlit car dealership lot. Logan moved with the same deliberate focus he had shown in the clothing store, his eyes scanning the rows of cars with little interest. To him, they all seemed impractical, too flashy for his tastes.

Wade, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with excitement as he raced ahead, his eyes zeroing in on a sleek, cherry-red sports car parked under the sunlight. He darted toward it like a moth to a flame, throwing himself over the hood with a dramatic sigh.

“THIS ONE!” Wade shouted, running his hands over the smooth surface of the car. “This is it! The Wade-mobile! Look at her, Logan—pure power, pure speed. A sexy beast, just like me!”

Logan stood a few paces away, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with mild disdain. He shook his head, his voice flat and unimpressed.

“You look like an idiot,” Logan said.

Without hesitation, he walked over and grabbed Wade by the back of his collar, yanking him off the car with a gruff grunt. Wade stumbled, barely managing to stay upright as Logan dragged him away, heading straight for the section of the lot where the used pickup trucks were parked.

“Come on, man, live a little!” Wade complained, rubbing the back of his neck as he followed Logan. “We’ve got all this cash, and you’re going for a pickup truck? You’re not a soccer mom.”

Logan’s eyes landed on an old, battered truck with faded paint and a few dings in the side. It looked sturdy, reliable—just the way he liked things. He opened the driver’s side door, inspecting the interior with a thoughtful grunt. The worn leather seats, the lack of fancy electronics—everything about it spoke to him.

“I don’t buy what I don’t need,” Logan said, running his hand over the dashboard. “This has enough room, no fancy electronics. Just how I like it.”

Wade looked utterly flabbergasted, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“But… sports cars! Leather seats! Bluetooth everything! Cup holders that hold more cups than you could ever drink from!”

Logan gave him a flat look.

“This does the job. I’m not gonna buy something I’ll hate driving,” Logan said, his tone final.

Wade slumped against the truck, his head hanging in defeat.

“You’re like… an old man stuck in a body that’s technically old but still kinda jacked,” Wade muttered, sulking. “It’s such a waste. This truck screams 'I live in a cabin and don’t talk to people.'”

Logan ignored him and went into the building to buy the car. Wade waited outside, shooting the sports car longing looks. After a while his partner came back.

Logan climbed into the driver’s seat, his movements efficient and calm. The truck’s engine growled to life with a low, rumbling purr, and Logan smirked just a little as he looked over at Wade.

With a resigned sigh, Wade hopped into the passenger seat, his pink Hello Kitty shirt standing out like a sore thumb against the muted, rugged interior of the truck.

“You and your cabin-man aesthetic… Whatever,” Wade muttered, leaning back in his seat. “Just know, when I get my sports car, you’re driving behind me. And I’ll make sure it’s painted Wolverine yellow, just for you.”

Logan didn’t bother responding, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he pulled out of the lot, the old truck rumbling steadily beneath them. Wade, never one to be silent for long, leaned over conspiratorially.

“Next stop, Taco Bell? My treat,” Wade offered.

Logan remained silent, eyes on the road, but Wade took it as a yes.

“That’s the Logan I know and tolerate,” Wade said with a grin.

As they rumbled down the road in the beat-up old truck, Wade continued to chatter away about the missed opportunity of getting a sports car, but Logan was content. Simple, reliable—that’s all he needed. And maybe, just maybe, some peace and quiet.

But with Wade sitting beside him, that last part was a long shot.

#hugh jackman #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #ryan reynolds #poolverine #deadclaws #fanfiction #domesticated logan #practical logan #no nonsense logan #that's just how he is #wouldn't buy expensive stuff if he was rich

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heliza24 · 11 months ago

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Thoughts about Domesticity, Carework, and the American Dream in episode 2.5 of Interview with the Vampire

I’ve been mulling over episode 2.5 a lot. There was so much to love in the episode (the incredible writing, the kitchen sink off Broadway play of it all, the chemistry between Luke, Jacob and Assad, the vulnerability in Eric’s performance). But my mind keeps circling a couple of themes, trying to piece them together. So as usual I’m here on tumblr to try to work it out.

I keep coming back to the way that Armand was gendered in this episode. His big complaint to Louis was that he was “home picking lint off the sofa”. He arrives with “mop and misery” to clean up the mess. Louis insults him by calling him “the good nurse”. All those things are feminized. They’re also extremely of the era; these are Feminine Mystique, mid-century housewife type complaints. The wife’s job is to make the husband’s life smooth and never worry about her own happiness. Obviously in the 1970s we’re seeing this begin to change thanks to second wave feminism. We’re in the process of trying to ratify the ERA, Ms. magazine has just been founded, and things are shifting. The kind of cheery domestic American dream of the 1950s is definitely shifting, and we see this in the episode as well. Betty Hutton selling sewing machines competes with Spiro Agnew resigning on TV. The watergate scandal signified a loss of faith in American authority, a kind of parallel destruction of the country’s father figure (brought down by journalists, no less). The comfortable lie of domesticity, the “prison of empathy” that Armand has created around Louis is crumbling. Armand is boring but he’s also bored, like a housewife taking valium to get by. The whole episode is set in an apartment that reeks of divorce, according to Daniel, and we’re seeing it play out in real time. When Armand lashes out to hurt Louis, he does it not through direct violence, like Lestat, but by holding his failure as a father over him, telling him that Claudia never loved him. That jab, in combination with the way he’s edited Louis’s memories (gaslighting, another time honored form of domestic abuse) is enough to get Louis to hurt himself. LIke a wife who is always outwardly obedient to her husband but spends her time exacting petty revenge against him for the way he takes her for granted, Armand’s methods are never violent. They are soft and subtle and targeted.

I have to thank @bluedalahorse for first alerting me to the way the crumbling domestic American dream is threaded through this episode. And after she mentioned it I saw it *everywhere*.

Obviously there is a level of complexity here in the Loumand relationship that this metaphor cannot fully capture. For one thing, Armand is a man. He was turned in a time before modern understanding of gender and sexuality really solidified, so in some way it makes sense that he would be the most gender fluid of our main characters, but his position would be a lot different if he were a woman, even a woman vampire. And Armand is very powerful. His insecurities and crippling fear of being alone keep him from exercising this power and walking away in a way that would perhaps be healthier for both him and Louis. But he is not trapped economically or socially in the way a wife would have been in this era. (That being said, I get the sense that *something* about the way the fire happened in Paris has made Louis and Armand go to ground. Maybe there is an element of being “trapped together because of fear of exposure”. But even then, I think my point still stands.)

To drill down and become more specific, there’s an extra added layer to the way Armand is feminized in this episode. I’ve written a lot about disability in this show and also the way it approaches eugenics, and those things were very on my mind as I rewatched this episode. (To be fair, they are always on my mind when I watch anything. Being disabled will do that to you.) Anyway, the specific way that Armand casts himself in this episode is as a caregiver. He is a beleaguered, bitter caregiver to those weaker to him. I think you hear this especially when he describes to Louis what happened: “you said the worst things you ever said to me, and then you walked into the sun. And now you are a convalescent.” The absolute sneer on the word convalescent. The absolute disdain for being put in this position again. The way he denies Louis the blood and keeps him out of his coffin for so long. The “final act of service” in calling Lestat. And then the tenderness laced with fear. Will he “be on suicide watch for the next 1000 years?”.

Armand is fascinating to me because of the way he seems to instinctively reject people who remind him of his own past weaknesses. Those weaknesses are buried down deep in his characterization, but they’re there and they’re important. He was sick and wasting away when he was turned. And before that he was an abused sex worker. You can see the way he dismisses people in similar situations in the way he treats Daniel in this episode. He calls Daniel a “broken boy” when he’s talking to Louis. He casually rejects the idea that there might be any sort of truth captured in Daniel’s tapes. The interviews on those tapes are with a sex worker and gay veteran and his disabled refugee husband. All of these people are so close to Armand in so many ways. I even think this is why Armand comes down so hard on Claudia, and why he cannot abide the true empathy and love Louis has for her. Claudia was turned when her body was weak. Weaker and more disabled, so to speak, than Armand. But they are not dissimilar. But Louis loves Claudia anyway, and respects her strengths. No one ever shown the love Louis shows to Claudia to Armand. No one ever granted him true empathy. The only way he has been able to hold on to any love at all is to grovel, to manage, to care give. The only way he experiences care is to give it. Of course he’s broken, of course he’s bitter.

So now we come to Daniel. The broken boy who has suicidal ideation and a drug problem, things that make him imminently dismissable in Armand’s mind. But Daniel also has a drive, a passion for life, and a love for the people who slip through the cracks. Louis and Daniel definitely share this great affection for humanity, and it’s what allows them to connect in San Francisco and again in Dubai. And it’s what makes him inscrutable, and captivating, to Armand. Because there really is no greater act of service than telling somebody’s story. Daniel describes himself as a therapist ironically in Dubai, but what he’s doing is carework. It’s real empathy. And Armand doesn’t understand that. Armand doesn’t understand what someone is doing recording the stories of people who were just like him. A whole universe of possibilities opens in the moment when Armand almost starts telling Daniel his story. Out of all the ways Daniel tries to save himself, that little life line of empathy is what almost snags Armand. But then Armand clamps back down, realizes he’s staring into a “black hole”. He’s trying to insult Daniel when he says that, but to me it just sounds like he’s describing himself.

When Armand is lulling Daniel into death, the thing he chooses to describe to him is the American domestic fantasy. He describes it as a fate worse than death. He describes it as a boring trap. And he specifically casts Daniel in the masculine, straight role in that fantasy, with a wife “vacuuming on valium” who “counts down his thrusts”. In some ways Armand is painting his own relationship to Louis as the worst possible fate that Daniel could suffer. (And it makes me wonder– did Armand ever wonder if he would amount to anything? Does he think his life has any meaning at all, if you subtract the vampiric powers? Armand has never stopped to introspect like this, but I wonder what would happen if you forced him to.)

But Daniel is stubborn, and his desire to tell stories and empathize with people resists death. I love that he still defends himself, still claims that he’s “a bright young reporter with a point of view” and that that is worth something. Because it is.

When Louis asks Armand to save Daniel, Daniel unwittingly becomes a symbol of Louis and Armand’s continued marriage. He’s a wedding ring, a vows renewal. He’s emblematic of the continuation of failing vampiric domesticity. And when Louis tries to repair the damage Armand has wrought, he isn’t able to offer Daniel soothing words about his ability to find a spouse or raise children or understand love. Louis doesn’t understand those things, so how could he teach Daniel about them? But Louis has always understood stories and humanity, so he is able to gift Daniel his writing and his reporting back.

I think you can interpret Daniel’s failed marriages and difficult relationship with his children in a lot of ways. We could say that he was always going to fail at these things, regardless of whether or not he met the vampires, because of the discontent that Armand sensed in him. Maybe the trauma that this aborted gay hookup with Louis created was enough to re-closet him, and send him down a dark road of unfulfilled straight relationships. Or maybe Armand’s words really did echo around in his head and pull him down as much as Louis’s lingered and sustained him over the years. Maybe we’ll get more answers about this as the show goes on, or maybe it will live in the ambiguous world of memory and manipulation the show so often plays in.

Regardless, I think this episode was a masterpiece, and the way it firmly established these themes about the failure of domesticity and the burden and joys of carework are going to really matter, I think, as we hit the brutal conclusion of the season. When emotions are at a breaking point, especially between Armand and Louis, they are going to resonate because they were grounded in this little claustrophobic wonder of an episode.

As a little postscript, I’m not quite sure where we’re going with Devil’s Minion after this episode, or if we’re even going there at all. If a DM timeline happened in the past, it would require additional editing of Daniel’s memory, and I’m not quite sure if that reveal would work structurally. (I would love to be proven wrong about this though, because I would love for young Daniel and Armand to have interacted more, for Assad and Luke’s chemistry if nothing else. They were so wonderful together.) If it were to happen in Dubai, or to happen again Dubai, however… well that’s interesting. Because older Daniel is disabled. He’s even more firmly in this category of people that Armand is apt to dismiss. And if they were to get together, there would probably be some aspect of caregiving on Armand’s part. And there would also be some caregiving on Daniel’s part, in his ability to listen to Armand. So that has the potential to be really fascinating, and maybe mutually beneficial to both characters. But I think we have to cover a lot of ground before we would be able to get there.

#iwtv #my meta #interview with the vampire #i know this is long but I hope people do read and talk to me about it bc I find it fascinating #loumand #devil's minion #daniel molloy #louis de pointe du lac #armand

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toxicanonymity · 2 years ago

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Apple Blossom. Left in Lincoln, pt. 4

7.5k / dads best friend!Joel x virgin!Reader

story master list / joel miller master list

His cheeks turned a little pink and his eyes lit up. He handed you the rag. "What?" you asked. “Nothin',” he said softly and shook his head. “You sure are pretty, darlin’. That’s all.” He dried his hands then gave your butt a squeeze. The moment of domesticity almost made you forget the town was rotting away beneath your feet.

WARNINGS: I8+ mdni, slow-burn horror w/ potentially disturbing implicit content, big girthy age gap (20s/50s), plot, angst, toxic/dark fluff, gaslighting, manipulation, pressure, grooming, grinding, fingering, oral M receiving, pet names and praise. Very TOXIC, dark Joel. Impaired editing.

You fell asleep in Joel’s arms and woke up alone in your bed. The apple blossom was gone from your night stand. You showered and got dressed. You couldn’t find your baseball cap and realized the last time you wore it was in Joel’s orchard. When you came downstairs, Bill and Frank's bedroom door was open. Before you could investigate, you heard screeching outside, then cursing. You ran to the door. Joel was waving his arms and a crow was flying away from him. He had a screwdriver in one hand. He stood up and smoothed his shirt and a feather floated away from him. He was wearing Frank's clothes with his hair freshly slicked back from a shower.

You went outside and looked down at the open vent. You asked, “How’d you get it to come out?”

Joel shrugged with his arms hanging heavy at his sides. "Nowhere else to go. Gotta be patient sometimes.” He bent one knee and put the hand with the screwdriver on his hip, looking up at the roof of the house. He squinted at the chimney. “I reckon we left the fireplace vent open the other night.”

You approached Joel and he extended his free hand for a hug. He stroked your head and looked at you lovingly. You were still taking that in - the fact that Joel told you he loved you. He gave you a kiss on the head and inhaled your scent. Then he went to screw the vent back into the side of the house, and your eyes followed his ass. That was one thing about Joel always having his shirt tucked in - You were very aware of his ass. He was so muscular, almost statuesque to you. His proportions reminded you of classic art.

Joel glanced back as he bent over and your cheeks burned as you looked away from his body.

“Can we plant the strawberries today?” You asked.

“Not the season, darlin’. Won’t survive.”

“Ours are still alive," you said.

“Really?” he asked skeptically.

"Yeah, they just never fruited."

“Show me.” Joel finished screwing the vent back into place then stood up and brushed off his knees.

You led him to the failed strawberry patch and showed him the plants.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Joel said and squatted down to finger the leaves. "You wanna bring’em, guess we can try it."

You were excited to surprise Frank and Bill with fresh strawberries. Once they fruited, maybe you could transplant them somewhere at home too.

"Grab a spade and bucket outta the shed. Some of that cloth, too."

You returned with the requested supplies and Joel said, "Alright, I’ll work on this and you can pick some veggies to take with us if ya want."

“We’re not coming back today?”

“Not ‘til we figure out what’s goin’ on, darlin’.” He put his hands on his knees and stood back up with a groan. “Anything else you wanna plant from here? Arugula?”

You were still processing the idea of leaving home for multiple days. “Sure. Wait, what if we get the computers back up to check the cameras?” you asked. “Then we can see if it’s safe.”

He wiped his brow with the back of the flannel sleeve. “Just looked at ‘em. All static. Lines must've been cut. Been down at least a few days."

"What??" A pit formed in your stomach. This whole time, you should’ve been even more scared than you were. Joel sensed your fear. He stepped forward and put his arm around you. He cradled your head against him. He smelled a little like Frank.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m not leavin’ you again," he reassured you. The low vibration of his voice in his chest was an extra layer to the hug.

You tried to shake off the dark mood that fell over you. "Can we make apple juice?” you asked.

“Sure we can, peaches.”

Joel uprooted some strawberry and arugula while you picked vegetables then brought them inside. You got out the empty apple juice jar to take with you and took the cider jar out of the fridge, too.

Joel walked in and froze. “You’re not drinkin’ that, are ya?”

“No,” you said, but you didn’t want to offend him since he brewed it. “Not right now.”

“But you did?” He stepped forward and looked so serious. Your face went cold.

“Well, no-”

"You shouldn’t be drinkin’ without me, darlin’. It’s not safe.” There was an air of judgment in his voice. You were embarrassed, but shouldn't have been. You were old enough to drink and your house was full of wine. You could have a drink alone if you wanted to. Joel extended his hand and looked at you sternly. “Gimme that.” You felt defensive as if you had done something wrong. Even knowing you hadn't. You suddenly realized you had no idea where his bottle of whiskey was that he left there days ago. He might have thought you drank it, too. You were mortified.

“I was just gonna pour it out so we could use the jar,” you explained as he opened the cider. Joel's face softened and he poured it out in the sink.

“Got plenty of jars at home, baby. Good idea though." He rinsed the jar then patted the back of your head tenderly. It wasn't enough to soothe the feeling of being scolded, but the feeling would fade. You had bigger things to worry about anyway. He just wanted to keep you safe.

On the walk to Joel’s house, you told him all about the night before. How Abe didn’t come by, then you heard Abe's truck, but didn’t see him. You told him about the songs playing on the radio station, which gave you chills to even think about.

Joel heard the distress in your voice and stopped dead in his tracks, disturbed. “Sorry I wasn’t there, darlin’. Never shoulda left ya." He took a deep, ragged breath in. He cupped your cheek. “Guess I didn’t wanna be a bother if ya didn't want me stickin' around.”

You felt a wave of guilt for sending him home each night. You imagined him walking alone in the dark worrying about you, thinking he was bothering you.

"It's okay, Joel," you reassured him. "I should've asked you to stay."

"It's not okay, baby.” He shook his head at himself, then looked at you with grave concern. “What if somethin' happened?"

"Well, I guess it didn’t. I'm okay," you said.

He sighed and cradled the back of your head.

"But I'm worried about Abe," you added.

Joel dropped his hand, and looked off into the distance, jaw muscle flexing.

"What if he's in trouble?" you asked.

Joel took a deep breath and looked in the direction of Abe’s property. "Tell ya what, darlin'. I'll go check on him today, how’s that sound?”

The distress melted away from your face. “Thank you,” you gushed and wrapped him in a hug. He kissed the top of your head.

A bird cried and both of you turned toward the sound. It was a crow. It followed you the rest of the way to Joel's house, squawking obnoxiously.

It was your first time being in Joel’s house. It was about as neat and clean as you expected for the most part. It smelled woodsy and nutty, like pine and almonds, and faintly of apples. He led you upstairs to a spare bedroom and left you there to get settled in. He said to let him know if you needed anything.

You walked around the room and picked things up. There was a dresser, a vanity, and a mirror. On top of the vanity was a jewelry box and a hairbrush. A stationary set. There was a stool at the vanity and a box fan on the floor.

Everything was so perfect and comfortable. It was what you imagined a hotel might be like. Clean and cozy. You sat down on the neatly made bed and took your shoes off. Joel came back a few minutes later and stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He looked around the room then nervously put his hands in his pockets. He asked, "What do you think?"

"It's amazing."

He looked relieved. He came over to sit next to you on the bed. "Good," he said. He smiled and his eyes scanned your body. He caressed your neck and planted a kiss on your cheek.

"Can we pick apples to make the juice today?"

"Not today, darlin'. Not 'til we're sure it's safe." He raised your hand to his mouth and kissed it. "Got some apples in the kitchen, though."

Joel made lunch and told you about the different improvements he made to the house and orchard in the past few years. You asked for a tour and he said you could have one after he knew the community was secure. He got up and took the dishes to the sink. He turned on the water to wash them and you got up and volunteered to do them instead. It seemed only fair since he made lunch. You stood next to him at the sink and reached for the rag. His cheeks turned a little pink and his eyes lit up. He hesitantly handed you the rag with a slight smile.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothin',” he said softly and shook his head, looking at the floor. He looked back up at you and sucked his bottom lip. “You sure are pretty, darlin’. That’s all.” He dried his hands on a clean towel, then gave your butt a little squeeze. You smiled and giggled silently. The moment of domesticity made you forget the town was rotting away beneath your feet.

Joel moved to stand close behind you and put his hands on your hips. He spoke softly into the crown of your head. “I'll go take a look around the neighborhood and check on Abe.”

You turned your head and nodded, “thank you, Joel.”

His voice got low and serious, but remained gentle. “Stay here. Don't go outside.”

You nodded again.

“You don't answer the door for anyone but me. Real important, okay?"

You put down the dish in your hand and turned around to face him fully. "Okay."

"Even if you think you know 'em. Don't know who could be infected." He swallowed regretfully.

You nodded in agreement, "Okay."

His hands on either side of your hips casually caged you against the sink. He gently pressed his hips, then his lips into yours.

“Back before sundown,” he muttered.

He put on a jacket, went down to the cellar, and returned with two firearms. He handed you a pistol, put on his jacket, and kissed you goodbye. He winked as he left, then locked the door behind him from the outside.

While Joel was out, you got curious and bored. You walked around the house. The first door you tried to open was locked. The second one led down to the cellar. You took a few steps down and tried to reach the light string that hung from the ceiling. it swung away. After another step down, the door behind you began to close. You panicked and lunged up the stairs to keep it open. That was stupid. You could have gotten locked in. You scurried up the stairs back into the living room. Once you caught your breath, you shut the door behind you and didn't go back.

Another door was a closet. Jackets, hats, boots. You saw an old Red Sox hat and your heart skipped a beat. Your first thought was Jesse. Your heart pounded in your chest and you weren’t sure why. It was probably yours. Joel must have scooped it up when you left it in the orchard. It could have faded from the elements. You had the strongest urge to touch and smell the hat, but you didn’t dare disturb it. Joel seemed like the type to know exactly how things were. You didn't want him to know you were snooping.

You didn’t try any more doors after that. You went back to the kitchen. You opened the pantry and there were two crates of jars, one of them locked. You looked around the opposite counter from where you had been doing the dishes. A basket of apples, a jar of apple seeds. A fresh branch in a vase of water with a budding blossom. You held up the vase and smelled the bud.

You were startled from the moment by a faint scraping and clinking sound outside. You fumbled the vase and almost dropped it but caught it. Your pulse sped up and your eyes darted to the window. You put the vase down and walked to the kitchen door which looked out into the backyard and orchard. You put your hand on the knob, then changed your mind, Joel’s cautionary words fresh in your ears. You stood at the window and looked. You didn’t see anything. You heard it again. It sounded like it was coming from the back of the orchard, which you couldn’t see. All you saw was dirt, grass, a fire pit, neat rows of tree after tree, dead leaves tumbling across the ground with the wind. Maybe it was the wind.

When you heard it again, you were unsettled enough to step away from the window. You went back up to the bedroom, figuring it was the safest place. You covered yourself in the quilt and hugged one of several pillows, waiting for Joel's return, hiding, praying no one was around. Hoping no one could possibly know you were there. Grateful you weren't home alone at a time like this. You kept the bedroom door open so you'd be able to see trouble if it came.

You dozed off and awoke when the back door to the kitchen unlocked downstairs. Your heart raced and it took a moment to remember where you were. It was almost dusk outside. You quietly slid out from under the quilt and prepared to cautiously venture downstairs, assuming it was Joel who just came in the house. A door closed downstairs, then the water heater turned on. You pulled the quilt back over you and turned off the light, waiting in the dark. After about ten minutes of lying there slowing your heart rate, the water turned off. A few minutes later, a door opened downstairs again. You wished you could fast forward to the next time you'd be in Joel's arms.

You felt a presence. "Joel?" It came out far quieter than you intended, but you were too afraid to repeat it louder. The stairs quietly creaked with padded footsteps. The creaking got closer and closer, then stopped. You sat frozen, looking at a looming shadow in the hall, trying to make sense of it as Joel’s silhouette. The shape looked jagged, angry, nothing like him.

“Peaches?” his voice made you jump; it was much closer than you thought. Your hand came to your chest as he stepped into view and asked, “You okay? Thought you might be nappin', didn't wanna wake ya up.'”

"I'm okay," you said and took a deep breath. "What's going on?"

Joel approached the bed and sat down with his hand on your knee. He was freshly showered and dressed in his own clothes again.

"I think Abe left, darlin'."

"Left?? Why??"

"I dunno, sugar. It was like he just packed up."

You were stunned. Abe couldn't possibly have packed up and left. This didn't explain anything at all. You'd have to see it to believe it.

"No. He wouldn't just leave," you said and got de ja vu. You were quiet. Nothing felt right. You spent the whole afternoon scared and alone, and now this?

"Sorry, peaches. Didn't know you were close."

"We weren't. I just - I'm surprised. He didn't say anything this week, did he?"

"Sure didn't."

"Just like Jesse,” you whispered.

Joel inhaled through his nose as though calming himself.

“I don't understand it," you said.

Joel was quiet for a moment. "People leave, darlin'. But I promise you I won't. Not ever."

You mustered half a grateful smile and indulged him. “Promise?”

"Never.” He looked gravely serious. “Not unless I take you with me,” he said softer.

“Thanks,” you said.

He shook his head. “I mean it, peaches. Nothin' in this world could take me away from you." He stroked your thigh and leaned in for a much-needed kiss.

Then he put his arm around you, rubbed your shoulder, and leaned his temple against yours. You sat side by side on the bed in silence for a minute, then Joel said, “been a rough day or two, huh?"

You nodded pensively.

"I know what we need."

"What?"

"How 'bout a special dinner?” he lifted your chin with his finger and your eyes met his affectionately. "There she is."

"Okay."

"Put on somethin' nice, I'll get cookin'."

“Oh, I didn’t bring much,” you said, embarrassed.

“Let's check the closet,” he said with a wink. "See what got left behind."

He kissed you on the head and stood up. It was a shallow closet that rolled open from two doors to expose a single rack of clothes. He rolled open the left door and there were five or six dresses. They didn't look like anything Ellie or Tess would wear and you didn't know who else could have left them behind. Whoever lived there before, you supposed.

Joel pulled out two coathangers. A floral wrap dress and a low cut burgundy sweater dress. "See what ya like," he said softly with a sparkle in his eye. "Take your time. I'll get cookin'." He winked and put the hangers back in the closet before leaving you to the task.

You stayed seated on the bed and stared into space for a while, thinking about Abe. Then you got up and put on the burgundy dress. It was a perfect fit. You stood in front of the vanity as the smell of fried rabbit wafted upstairs. You primped yourself and touched your neck, looking yourself in the eyes. You wanted to be happy, but your eyes were sad. You opened a dresser drawer looking for socks. Sure enough, there was a small drawer full of socks and stockings. Another drawer full of underwear, and even the same type of fabric washable pads you had to use for your period. You dreaded your period coming in a few days. That probably wasn't helping your mood.

Joel served a candlelit dinner at a card table in his living room. He said it was safer away from the windows at night. He wanted to give it another day or two to make sure the community was safe. He was walking to the table with a bottle of wine and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you in the dress. He put down the bottle and said. "My lands, peaches." He wet his lips. "C'mere, gorgeous." He rubbed your forearms with his thumbs and looked you up and down. "You're so goddamn beautiful," he whispered.

"You look nice, too," you said. He chuckled. He wasn't wearing anything out of the ordinary but he always looked nice. He took your head in both hands and kissed you softly. Then he looked at you again, wrapped his arms around you, and kissed you harder with an "Mmm," into your mouth.

He pulled out your chair for you at the table. He poured your wine, served you salad with no cucumbers, rabbit, eggplant, and applesauce. The salad dressing was incredible. He made it himself. "secret's in the basil" he said proudly. "Gotta mash it up real good, let the flavor out. If ya like it, we got more to plant out back. Rosemary, too. Make us a little herb garden.” You smiled. The applesauce was amazing, too.

He got up and retrieved a stone bowl from the counter. "Fresh cinnamon sticks. I crush’em up dry first. Then add just a little apple to the cinnamon, mash it up so it’s all wet, then add that to the rest at the end." He tasted the cinnamon mixture with his finger. “Kinda spicy.” He dipped his pinky for more and held it up to your mouth. "Go on," he said. You held eye contact with him as your tongue met his pinky. The cinnamon was strong. Delicious. He took a deep breath as you sucked his digit clean. "Good girl," he whispered, watching you in a trance. He put the bowl back on the counter. “Use it for cobbler, too. We can make some if ya want.” You never knew Joel was such a good chef.

You ate quietly. You wanted to let Joel’s nice dinner take your mind off things, but it didn't. You didn't want to grill him about Abe's house or say anything negative at all since he put so much effort into the meal. He put so much effort into making you feel good in general. So you tried to pretend you were okay, but he sensed your mood.

After cleaning up from dinner, the two of you sat down on his sofa in the living room. He brought whiskey and a bag of pills and put them on the coffee table with two glasses. “Need a good night’s sleep,” he muttered as he sat down and poured a glass. “How ‘bout you?”

You didn’t say anything.

“What’s wrong, peaches?”

You were quiet, but he didn’t let you off the hook. He looked at you, expecting an answer. Finally, you blurted out, “I’m lonely.”

Joel looked confused. “We’re together now, baby."

The tears welled up over your eyes. “Not right this second. I mean in general.”

Joel swallowed, then nodded. “Must get lonely on your own. Why don’t you stay here with me?” He took a sip, put down his drink, and scooted closer. He rubbed your back.

You ignored his offer, frustrated that he didn't get it or didn’t care. “Everyone's gone,” you said and started to cry. “Everyone left.”

Joel’s face darkened and his jaw clenched. His body tensed and he stopped rubbing your back. He sank back into the sofa and clasped his hands in his lap. You turned around to face him, expecting more comfort, but he didn’t look at you or open his arms.

“Not sure what to say to that, peaches," he said flatly. He took another sip of his drink. "You mean the world to me, and it sounds like I’m nobody to you.”

“Of course not,” you said. Your heart dropped at your foolishness. Here was the one person you had left. The best person who could possibly be left. Someone who would take care of you no matter what it took. Someone who cared more about you than anything or anyone else. And instead of being grateful, you acted like he was nothing.

Joel nodded slowly, looking down with a scowl. He swallowed.

You said, "I just miss them, that's all."

His eyes intensified and he took a deep, calming breath.

“Bill and Frank, I mean,” you clarified, desperate not to make it worse.

"I know ya do," he said in a near whisper, still looking down.

You continued, your tears slowing but not stopping. "It doesn't feel right here with everyone gone."

“Doesn’t feel right here,” he repeated. He raised his eyebrows and bit his tongue, sticking it into his cheek.

You looked away, sensing that you hurt him but unsure what to do. You sat in silence for what felt like several minutes, both of you looking straight ahead. Your back felt so cold without him comforting you.

When you looked back at Joel, his eyes were glistening. “You're enough for me, peaches.” His voice cracked. “You’re all I need in the world.” He dabbed his eye and your heart broke. "Nothin' feels more right than bein' with you. I love you that much.”

No one ever made you feel that way before, like you were their entire world. His affection overwhelmed you. It felt like he cared as much about you as Bill and Frank, just in a different way.

"I love you too, Joel." You squeezed his thigh reassuringly.

“No, darlin'. I’m in love with you. I don’t care about anything else.”

You turned toward him and tried to meet his eyes. “I’m in love with you, too.”

He finally stroked your back. “You might think so, darlin’.” He sighed. “And I ‘preciate you sayin’ it. . . But when you say, ‘it doesn’t feel right here’. . .” He dabbed his eye again. “I gotta wonder.”

“I do, Joel.”

“I dunno if you understand love, darlin’. Or you wouldn’t say that. And you wouldn’t feel lonely.”

You were overwhelmed and confused. It didn’t make sense to you. “I wouldn’t miss my parents?”

“Course you’d miss’em,” he conceded. “But you wouldn’t feel lonely.”

“Guess that’s what I meant,” you said. He nodded and his face warmed slightly. "Plus, I'm worried about Frank," you said and started crying again. Something was tugging at your gut. You felt worse, not better.

Joel started to say something, but didn't. He rubbed your back. “I know, darlin’. He poured you a glass of whiskey and composed himself. “They’d be proud of ya, how you’re doin’.”

You laughed through your tears. “Sorry,” you sniffled. “I didn’t mean I was lonely. I’m not.”

“Okay, darlin’,” he whispered

You couldn’t tell if he really forgave you. Your whole face felt tense.

Joel looked at you and a look of deep concern washed across his face, realizing how bad he made you feel. “Hey, hey. . . . c’mere. . . “ He rubbed your back. You scooted closer and hugged him from the side. He brought your far leg into his lap so you were twisted over him. “Shhhh,” he said and kissed your forehead, but something was still off about him. “It’s okay, baby.” He softened but still felt more distant than usual, like he wasn’t sure he could believe you. The distance made you panic.

“I love you, I really do,” you said.

He drank the rest of his whiskey and bent forward to put the glass down, then stretched his arm out on top of the sofa. You tucked one leg under yourself and rested the other leg over his lap. He draped his hand on your knee, but didn’t make a move to pull you closer. You climbed into his lap, suddenly more concerned about his feelings than anything else.

You wanted to be closer to him, as close as possible. You wanted him wrapped around you, inside you. You wanted to be a part of him and for him to be a part of you. You kissed him on the cheek. He smiled but didn’t look at you, not really. He looked at your eyes but it felt like he was looking past them. “Joel,” you whined, eyes welling up at the lack of validation. You cupped his face in both your hands and kissed him. His lips pressed softly into yours. You looked back and forth between his eyes, trying to connect enough to show him how much you meant it.

“I wanna be with you,” you whispered. “I don’t care about anything else.”

Something behind his eyes flickered on. “You mean that, peaches? You don’t care about anything else?”

You nodded and pressed your lips into his again.

He asked, “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

His hands embraced your back and the affection returned to his eyes full-force like it was in the morning. He wet his lips.

“Good,” he whispered. “It’s you and me, darlin’. We only got each other.”

You nodded.

He looked from your eyes to your mouth and back, closed his eyes, cradled the back of your head, and kissed you deeply. He held you and kissed you, the taste of whiskey fading after a few seconds as your mouths combined. He pulled you closer into his lap and his jeans hardened against your dress and panties, making your core tingle. He moaned into your mouth and your panties moistened rapidly. His cock was big, and feeling it get so hard just for you made you feel special. Earlier, when you said you wanted him inside you, he said you were still being shy with him. He said you hadn’t even touched it yet, that you weren’t giving him everything.

You wanted to show him you could give him everything. His big hands pulled you close and his hips lifted your body as he licked into your mouth. His hard cock pressed perfectly against your clit as his hips moved. You reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, then tugged his shirt up and he let you untuck it. He was truly in the moment. He was yours. You gently grabbed at the bulge in his jeans – it was more than a handful – and he thrust into your palm with a sigh.

You broke the kiss to unzip his jeans, and he watched you like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. You slid your hand into his pants and softly gasped as you felt the stiff outline of his cock through his boxers. His hips lifted into your hand with a soft grunt and he said, “Givin’ me everything, aren’t ya baby?”

You nodded earnestly. He slid his hand between your legs, ghosting your clit over your panties, making you moan.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you whispered, groping his hard cock and feeling a wet spot at the tip.

“Always feel good when I'm with you, darlin’.”

“Want it in my mouth,” you said.

He inhaled sharply. “Fuck, darlin’.” His eyes widened. “That what you want?”

“Yeah,” you nodded and got down on the carpet.

You got out of the way while he took his jeans off for you.

He spread his knees again and pulled the waistband of his boxers down below his balls. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft with his thumb at the tip. Butterflies swarmed between your legs at the sight of his strong hand holding his cock at attention for you. You nestled yourself between his legs.

“You sure?” he asked and looked you over.

You wet your lips and nodded without taking your eyes off his imposing cock.

“Alright, darlin’.” He looked at you with pride and curiosity.

You held his cock at the base and opened your mouth, hovering over the tip.

“Just a little kiss,” he murmured.

You pressed your lips against the tip and kissed it, sucking the salty precum into your mouth.

“Good girl,” he sighed. “Now a little at a time.”

You wrapped your lips around the tip and licked it, looking up at his face for approval. The look on his face made you wet. Joel sighed and tried not to lift his hips. “Good. Doin’ great, baby.”

You sucked a little more of him into your mouth. He was so big, the head alone seemed to stretch your jaw.

“Good, baby. Nice and slow, not too much.” His velvety tip grazed the roof of your mouth. You throbbed between the legs, wishing so badly to have him there instead. But you had to show him you could give him everything.

You braced the shaft at the base and the humidity of his salt and pepper hair made you throb more. You sucked and tongued his shaft and looked up at him for approval.

“Good girl,” he nodded. His validation made you slurp more of him into your mouth, a little too much, and you started gagging.

“Easy, darlin’, hold on,” he chuckled. “Take a breather,” he said.

You were a little embarrassed. “I wanna do it,” you whispered.

“Okay,” he smiled. “How ‘bout you lick it, get it real wet for us.”

You salivated at the sight of his cock in his hand and licked him from base to tip three times - once on the underside, and once from each side.

“Now use your hand, darlin’.” You hesitantly wrapped your fingers and thumb around his shaft and he swelled into your hand. His cock dwarfed your fingers, making you wetter. You were salivating.

You asked, “Are you sure you don’t want my mouth?”

“Darlin’, I love your hands.”

He covered your hand with his and stroked himself with it.

His hips thrust into your hand and it was so easy to imagine yourself impaled on his cock, it was all you could think about.

“Give it another kiss, baby.”

You brought the tip into your mouth again, then licked his cock from base to tip and sucked the head again, curiously tonguing the salty slit. You left as much saliva as you could.

“Good girl,” he murmured and took your hand in his again.

You ached to have him inside you. You wet your lips thirstily.

He watched your face as his breath grew heavier. “Whatcha thinkin’ bout, peaches?”

You had a feeling he knew. You looked down at his cock then back up at him, then away.

“Don’t be shy, baby.”

You looked up and made eye contact. “Putting our bodies together,” you said breathily and watched his face melt into a puddle of want.

He inhaled through his nose, then murmured, “Want that real bad, don’t ya?”

You nodded.

“Why’s that, darlin’?” His lips glistened and his eyes were half-lidded.

“Wanna feel you inside me.”

He breathed heavier as your hands slid up and down on his shaft. He asked, “How ya think it’s gonna feel?”

“I’m gonna be full of you. Attached to you.”

“Yeah, you will,” he nodded. His grip tightened around your hand as he stroked himself. “You’ll be so full of me, baby. ..”

“I really wanna be,” you whispered. You wanted it so bad you could cry. “I need to be.”

“You will be, baby,” he said soothingly. “You want your mouth filled up now?”

“Yeah,” you hovered your mouth near his cock again.

“Go ‘head, baby. Take it, it’s yours.” He took his hand away and put it gently on the back of your head.

You sucked the tip of his cock into your mouth again and made eye contact as you sucked.

He groaned and his thumb stroked the nape of your neck, then he lifted his hips and erupted in your mouth. His warm, salty spend hit the roof of your mouth, then the tip slid back along your palate, and he pulsed again. More cum hit the back of your throat. Your eyes watered and you swallowed.

“You did so good, baby.”

He tucked his cock into his boxers and spooned you on the sofa.

“Why’s it feel so good, doing that?” you asked.

“Doin’ what?”

“Just having it in my mouth.”

“S’posed to, baby. Your body’s gettin’ ready for mine.” His words sent a pang of desire between your legs. “Turns you on, right?” He reached under your dress and stroked your panties from the outside. He felt the dampness and murmured, “Guess it does.”

“A lot,” you said. He began stroking your clit rhythmically over the cotton. Your hips started to move on their own in his hand. You moaned softly.

He slid his hand into the front of your panties and thumbed your soft curls. “It’s ‘cause your special parts think I’m fixin’ to put mine right here.” He dipped his middle finger into the pool of wetness hanging at your entrance.

“I wish you would,” you sighed.

He groaned softly at those words, the blood already flowing back to his loins. “You really do, huh?” His voice was low and soft. “You really wanna be full of me.” He wet his fingers with your slick and began gently circling your clit. “Attached to me.”

“Yeah,” you said. “More than anything.”

“Love hearin’ that, peaches.” He held you tighter.

“I wanna give you everything,” you said.

“Gotta be ready, darlin’,” he said into the crown of your head.

“I’m ready.”

“Your body too, angel.” You could hear the smile in his voice.

“My body wants yours so bad,” you whined.

“Wantin’ it’s not enough, baby.”

You groaned in frustration.

“Well. . . you tell me, darlin’. You’ve had it in your mouth now. Think it’ll fit in this sweet little hole?” he swirled his finger around.

“I dunno,” you sighed. Your body didn’t care, it wanted whatever he would give you. “I’m sorry,” you muttered.

“For what?”

“Not having my body ready.”

“Oh peaches, I’m glad you’re not. It’ll be a privilege gettin’ you there.” He gently circled your clit.

“Really?”

“Of course, darlin’,” he said softly. “Sometimes they bloom late for a reason.” He dipped his finger into your wetness again. “And this one’s just for me, ain’t it?”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“We’ll get there, baby. We’ll get there in time.”

“Okay,” you sighed.

“Let’s see how much you can handle,” he said. “See what it’ll take to get there.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Please.” You lifted your thigh to make more room for his hand.

He slowly slid half his middle finger into your tight, wet heat. You moaned at his first intrusion.

He sucked air in through his teeth. “How’s that feel, baby?”

“I want more.”

He took a deep breath and pushed his finger all the way in.

You whimpered, “yeah,” as your body adjusted.

“God damn,” he whispered as your cunt hugged his digit.

He curled his finger just slightly and you moaned again. “It’s so thick,” you said.

“See? Got a long way to go.” His cock twitched against your ass.

“No, it feels good,” you said as he slowly moved his finger inside you. “I want more.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you answered impatiently.

“Just one more.” You squinted in frustration. Why just one more?

He took his middle finger out and flattened it alongside his ring finger. He slid them up and down your slippery seam before slowly plunging them inside together. It was a tight squeeze. “God damn,” he breathed. He paused half-way in.

“Feels so good,” you panted. “Keep going,” you begged.

“Don’t wanna hurt ya.”

“Doesn’t hurt at all.”

He slowly sank his two fingers into you completely. “Real snug,” he muttered. “You sure it doesn’t hurt?”

“Too snug? Is that bad?”

“No, no, not at all, baby. But it’s gonna take time to be ready.” He began to move the heel of his palm against your clit and you grinded back against it.

“God, Joel,” you sighed.

“Gonna take time,” he repeated. “‘fore you’re ready for this,” he said with a thrust of his hips, grinding himself into your ass, already fully erect again. He thrust against you again with a soft grunt.

You asked “You want it too, don’t you?”

“Course I do, baby,” he panted. “Gotta feel good for both of us, though. Gotta do it right.” He kissed your head and curled his fingers inside you, digging the meat of his hand against your clit again. “Gotta be real special.”

Your clit twitched against his hand and he said, “C’mon, baby,” moving his hand at a slow rhythm. “Every time you come, gets us closer to what we want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sugar.” He breathed heavily with his body enveloping yours, pumping his fingers deep in your cunt, pressing his palm against your clit.

You let your hips grind back unrestrained.

“There ya go, darlin’,” he said, pressing his hard cock against you as he moved his fingers. “Yeah, just like that.”

You closed your eyes and pretended his fingers were his cock. You knew his cock would feel even better.

“Can’t wait to be inside ya, baby,” he whispered. “Nothin’ I want more.” He slowly pumped his fingers deeper into you as your body opened up for him. “Wanna slide into this tight little hole,” he panted, his cock rutting gently against your ass. “Want you wrapped around me.” He rubbed his palm against your front. “Yeah. . .wrapped so tight around me, baby. Like ya can’t pull us apart” Your hips grinded into his hand with your climax in sight. “Gonna have you so full of me,” he breathed, then he moaned with a harder thrust against you. “Joined together,” he added. “Forever, baby. It’s forever,” he whispered in your ear. “Me and you.” You whined on the edge of your climax. “C’mon, baby,” he whispered, pumping his fingers, rocking his palm, grinding against your ass.

He thrust against your ass with a grunt, and his grunt in your ear was enough for you to see stars. “Joel,” you whined.

“Yeah,” he said as your climax seized you. You whimpered as you came. “Yeah, I got ya, baby,” he whispered. “Good girl.” He kissed your head.

He held you and caressed you as you bathed in the afterglow. It gave you clarity on how wrong you were earlier. You felt the things he felt. You realized how hurt you would have been if he said the same things – That he was lonely, that it didn’t feel right there.

“I’m not lonely,” you whispered. “And of course it feels right, bein’ with you.”

“Okay, baby.” He kissed your head.

“Guess I meant the town didn’t feel. . .” You meant the town. Your stomach dropped as you realized it.

The town. If Abe was really gone, you and Joel were the only two people left in Lincoln. Joel was the town. You couldn’t put your finger on why, but you felt like you might be sick.

“I know, darlin’,” he said obliviously. “But in a way, it’s nice we have this time together.” His arms tightened around you. “Silver lining. Right?” He sighed. “We’re together, don’t care about nothin’ else.”

“Right,” you whispered and tried not to think about it. You shivered and Joel rubbed your arms. “It’s chilly down here. Let’s get you tucked into bed.”

Joel showed you the restroom and your toiletries and towels. He offered you a painkiller to help you sleep. You didn’t want to take it, but he left it on the nightstand with a glass of whiskey in case you needed it. “Know it’s weird, sleepin’ somewhere new,” he said. He took a nightgown out of the dresser for you. He kissed you good night, then shut your door behind him.

You woke up in the middle of the night when you heard something metal clang then rumble outside. You felt safer with Joel in the house, but you wanted his arms around you. Maybe he’d let you climb in his bed. Surely he wouldn’t turn you away. He was being a gentleman, offering you a bed of your own. You opened your bedroom door as quietly as possible and gathered the courage to go downstairs.

Downstairs, you pushed his bedroom door open. “Joel?” you whispered. He didn’t answer. “Joel?” There was a flickering glow outside his window, which made it harder to see the inside of the room until your eyes adjusted.

He wasn’t in bed. Not the bathroom, either. You sat down on his bed and smoothed your hand over his pillow. You dipped your nose into the cotton and inhaled his scent, closing your eyes. It gave you a rush of comfort. A metal clang jolted you back to the moment and the flickering light brightened for a moment. Your heart raced. You carefully peeked out the window and faintly saw what looked to be the silhouette of Joel standing over a burning barrel. You felt like you should go back upstairs, as much as you wanted to curl up in his bed, inhaling his scent.

Your heart was beating too fast to get back to sleep, and you didn’t know why. You paced around the room and looked out the window. You sat at the vanity. You looked in the drawers. You were waiting to hear the door open downstairs. Then you could pretend to come down for the first time. Joel would comfort you, kiss you, cuddle you to sleep. But the door didn’t open downstairs. You paced more and sat on the bed. You opened the closet and looked at the dresses again. You held one up in the mirror.

You opened the other closet door and something caught your eye. In the back, on the very last hanger, there was a dress that made your breath hitch. White with lace sleeves. The longer you looked at it, the more butterflies gathered in your chest. Maybe your eyes betrayed you. It was too dark to tell. You closed the closet, took the painkiller, and got back in bed. You listened out for the door and tried to conjure the feeling of Joel’s arms around you. That was all you wanted.

Thank you so much for reading and engaging! Thank you for your patience, too. I love you guys!!!

I'm not sure if there will be one more part or two; I have to see how it writes. I feel like probably two, but it could be one long one with a little bit of a time jump.

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor

Lincoln: @fan-fiction-floozy @ivyblxnde @lhymer1995 @sugarspiceanthrax @isimpforfictionalmen @zynbsblogg @swedishscumfuck @sadgirlstoohightocare @steveharringtonswh0re @skythighs @aoziety @leeeesahhh @jupitersmoon-cal @peekymoon @dtfawn

(ct'd in comments or reblogs)

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whimsicalpolitical · 2 months ago

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i just saw an edit w this caption and thought u would be able to write something good with it

“i just want him to whisper in my ear that im the prettiest girl hes ever seen and then tease me infront of his friends”

thank you!! cw: suggestiveness, dirty talk

“god, i needed this,” you sigh, taking a slow sip of your champagne.

your friend laughs, swirling the bubbles in her own glass. “what, a dinner with all of us or the free-flowing alcohol?”

you grin. “both. but mostly this,” you lift the glass slightly. “you know how much i love champagne.”

“yeah, you do. should’ve just gotten you a stache for your birthday.”

“should’ve.”

she nudges your hip with hers, teasing. “next year then.”

you clink your glass against hers in agreement. the kitchen is warm, cozy, full of the quiet clatter of plates and the occasional burst of laughter from the dining room.

“i’m gonna take these to the table,” she says, balancing two bowls of snacks in each hand.

“got it,” you say, watching as she disappears through the doorway.

and then, like clockwork, matty steps in.

his eyes land on you immediately. he looks good—slicked-back hair, slightly rumpled shirt, that lazy kind of confidence in the way he moves. his gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate, and he’s already smirking by the time he reaches you.

he doesn’t say anything at first, just steps in close, presses a warm, lingering kiss to your cheek. his hands settle on your hips, thumbs brushing over the fabric of your dress.

“you alright?” he murmurs.

you nod, smiling up at him. “yeah, i’m good.”

but his eyes linger, like he’s seeing something more. “nah,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “you look more than alright.” his fingers flex against your hips. “you look fuckin’ perfect.”

heat creeps up your neck. you bite your lip, but he catches it, grinning like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“this dress,” he continues, voice smooth as silk. “christ, love. love this dress on you so much.”

you roll your eyes, trying to downplay how flustered you already are. “you’re ridiculous.”

he hums, pretending to think. “don’t think i am actually,” he says. “i think i’m completely serious.”

his hands slide lower and over your arse.

“can’t wait to make you feel good in it,” he says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

your grip tightens on your champagne glass. “matty,” you whisper, warning, but he just grins, leaning in like he’s telling you a secret.

“gonna use the mirror, yeah?” his breath ghosts over your skin. “wanna make you look at yourself. see how perfect you look while you’re wrapped around my fingers.”

your stomach flips, heat pooling deep in your core. he’s looking at you like he already has you unraveling, like he knows you’re already gone for him.

you exhale, shaky. “you’re—”

“—the best boyfriend ever?” he supplies, grinning.

you huff out a breath, trying not to let him see just how much he’s affecting you. “insufferable.”

you close your eyes as he presses feather light kisses to your jaw and your neck and your shoulders.

you hum and cup one side of his face, brushing your thumb over his stubbles as he continues to quietly worship you.

he presses one last, teasing kiss to your lips before pulling back. “come on, darling. let’s go back in, yeah?”

you blink, trying to gather yourself, but your mind is already stuck on later—on the mirror, on his hands, on everything he just promised.

you sit next to him at the table, conversation buzzing around you, but all you can think about is him. the way he smells, the way his voice dropped when he said your name, the way your whole body is burning for him.

then his hand lands on your thigh.

you inhale sharply, but no one notices. he acts like it’s nothing, just resting his hand there, but his fingers start moving, slow and teasing, creeping further up.

you shift slightly, pressing your thighs together, trapping his hand between them in the process. that’s when he leans in, his breath warm against your ear.

“seriously, darling,” he whispers. “you’re the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen and i’m gonna make sure you won’t forget that after tonight.”

your whole body shivers. butterflies burst in your stomach.

you’re done for.

but then he just—goes back to eating. like he didn’t just whisper the filthiest promise into your ear.

he squeezes your thigh once before pulling back, picking up his fork like nothing happened. he laughs at a joke someone makes, something about a terrible first date, and chimes in with a story of his own, gesturing with his free hand.

meanwhile, his other hand stays right where it is.

you can barely focus. your head is spinning, body wired, and he’s just—smirking, sipping his wine, completely unaffected.

you shoot him a look. he just quirks an eyebrow, all innocent, fingertips tracing a pattern over your thigh. again and again he writes something on your thigh.

your head shoots up at him as you figured it out. matty. he presses his finger further into the skin of your thigh to write it one last time.

he leans in, pretending to be interested in whatever conversation is happening across the table. “bit quiet over there, love,” he murmurs, just for you. “is somethin’ wrong?”

you glare at him. “you know exactly what’s wrong.”

he grins, ducking his head slightly so only you can see. “mm,” he hums, “do i?”

your stomach tightens.

his hand leaves your thigh, and for a moment, you think you might actually be able to breathe properly again. but then he takes your hand, lifts it to his lips, and kisses your knuckles like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

his lips linger, warm and soft, before he pulls away just enough to glance up at you. his eyes are dark, glinting with something wicked, something knowing.

then—just as easily as he’d let go—his hand is back on your thigh, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin.

you suck in a breath, barely audible over the hum of conversation, but he catches it.

his fingers slip higher, inching toward the hem of your dress, then underneath it. he’s not rushing. he never does. it’s slow, deliberate, teasing. and then—

he finds the lace of your panties, fingertips brushing over it like he’s just absentmindedly resting his hand there. like he’s not driving you absolutely insane.

and then he laughs. just a soft chuckle, like he’s genuinely amused by you.

“you’re so easy, aren’t you?” he murmurs, just for you. “i could say just about anything filthy, and you’d be ready for me.”

your stomach flips.

he still switches conversations and talking to your friends like nothing’s happening, still nodding along to the conversation, but his fingers?

his fingers ghost over the wetness of your panties.

his touch is featherlight, just barely there, but it’s enough to make you squirm. enough to make your breath stutter.

he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head slightly, lips twitching into a smirk.

“christ, love,” he mutters,“what am i gonna do with you?”

his fingers trace along the lace again.

“gonna be a rough night for you if you’re already this excited,” he muses.

and then he leaves you like this. stops touching you all together and you miss it already. you need him to touch you again.

he leans back in his chair, reaching for his drink, taking a slow sip like he hasn’t just set your entire body on fire.

he glances at you, smirking around the rim of his glass.

“patience, darling,” he murmurs. “don’t want you falling apart before i even get you home.”

#matty healy #matty healy blurb #matty healy x you #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy fluff #matty healy oneshot #matty healy imagine #the 1975 #ross macdonald #george daniel #adam hann #the 1975 fic

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chaaistained · 3 months ago

Text

hazy fairy lights and the thought of schedules

me waking up in my kpop dr for a total of five seconds ..

i didn’t exactly go into this with the desire to wake up in a bedroom i’d only ever seen from one angle, in a picture, off of pinterest . i even started out this whole “process” feeling so desperate that i’m embarrassed to go into further detail but, we persevere —

the night before, i was plagued with insomniac anxieties, the fidgety kind, where your mind won’t sit still and your body thinks “hey! that’s a grand idea, let me do the same!” as if i’m not laying there in my bed, tempted to pull my hair out

i figured, what’s there to lose? like every other night, let’s give this another go, and i went to look at my screenshot of emma’s method (@hrrtshape — tysm lovely <3) and started trying to shift to my wr

the desired outcome of a mind bending epiphany, an almost destruction of the very construct of reality . that didn’t happen .. and truth be told, i found it hard to concentrate in general. but eventually i just kept telling myself that “this isn’t a chore, this a hobby, this is something i do for fun. i’ve done this [shifting] before, even if it was only for a few seconds, i can do it again” and i let my mind think about my daily routine and plans for my wr

after that, i don’t really remember falling asleep. i sorta wafted from dream to dream, mostly about my cr life — university, my high school best friend and our galentines plans, i had a weird panicky one about a chemistry test .. i haven’t taken chemistry since i graduated high school four years ago . but anyway apparently the body keeps the score.. yay us

i think what set me off into a more calming deep slumber was how my dream rippled from chemistry and science to literature, english, writing, and more specifically, editing — before i went to bed i was editing an upcoming fic i will be posting to my fic account (shameless plug : @yourislandgirl) and it was a drabble featuring enhypen’s jake, a kpop idol for those who don’t know ^.^

next thing i know, i hear a twinkling alarm, the kind of one that sounds like stars? not exactly the same as the standard iphone alarm sounds but, i remember it feeling familiar ??

i instinctively went to rub my eyes, expecting the usual crust and sleepiness only to find that they were relatively clear-ish (a point i make bcs i specifically scripted that i don’t get super crusty eyes bcs i hate it). it didn’t exactly hit me then, but i patted around my bed for my phone, snoozing the alarm, my eyes still closed as i took in a few deep breaths.

my room smelled like lavender . which is odd bcs i don’t have a room freshening spray in my cr, i rely on candles but wtv not the point, i don’t own a lavender mist .. but for some reason the only thought running through my head when i sighed out in relief, curling myself back under the sheets was “man . my rooms smells nice”

for your information i’m rolling my eyes at myself while i type this up bcs BITCH (directed at me) YOU SHIFTED

anyway, i kinda felt myself dipping in and out of consciousness, or at least that’s what i thought, bcs in actuality i think i was dipping BETWEEN consciousness’ — the cotton softness of my cr sheets was suddenly a smooth milky satin, and then it was cotton, and then satin, and it wasn’t until this hellscape of a cycle repeated itself for the third time, that i finally realised my surroundings were changing.

it was sort of like what being tipsy felt like, a little buzz in my head, my mind feeling fuzzy, like a pom pom . (that’s legitimately how my mind feels when i’m tipsy btw) and it was like my energy was rising slowly and then getting sapped out of me and then rising and falling

i think i was getting sick of it, and knowing me and my lack of patience, that totally tracks, so when i felt a bit more energy bloom inside, i took the chance to open my eyes. my only thoughts were “god i need to get up, i can’t keep laying here dreaming..”

and that’s when i saw it, the room of my kpop dr self, from an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT ANGLE — i saw a vanity, 80% of it filled with lip products which, again, totally tracks . there was a door open and a stepping stone path of clothes leading out of it, my wardrobe . guitar stands, one for an acoustic, one for an electric . a desk with a monitor and a laptop . i EVEN HAD ROOM FOR A BEANBAG COUCH IM SO JEALOUS

AND AND YA KNOW WHAT SUCKS . IT WAS SO NORMAL?? I KEPT BLINKING TRYING TO WAKE MYSELF UP

my mind was like “ . . . huh”

and THE CHERRY ON TOP OF THIS MIND FUCK — all i could stare at were the strings of fairy lights going along the edge of my ceiling, little stars and diamonds, they gave off a warm golden glow and as i laid there with silk soft hair and skin so smooth i can’t believe i didn’t notice when i touched my face . my brain had the AUDACITY to go “oh fuck . i’ve got to record something today. …(sigh) and rehearse”

LIKE- THATS NOT SMTH TO COMPLAIN ABOUT GIRLYPOP??!!)?)!?,?!

i swear- i swear to you guys . i’m appalled at myself

because i just HAD to think abt something important something tiring, something like my DAILY SCHEDULES BCS THEN

I CLOSED MY EYES AGAIN AND FELT LIKE EVERY OUNCE OF STRENGTH WAS BEING PULLED OUT OF ME

and then i woke up here. again.

my hair was drier, and so was my skin, my eyes were crusty and sleepy, my pillows were comfy but nothing could compare to the marshmallow cloud of comfort that were my kpop dr pillows.

i sat up, stretched, cracked all my joints, went straight for my phone and started to doomscroll . like it was some coping mechanism or something. my mind kept going : “that was a dream. that was just a dream. man what a VIVID dream. yeah, that’s it chaai, you had a vivid dream, you’ve always had vivid dreams, that’s your thing! (true story) that’s all this was…”

but, and i swear you can’t make this shit up, it all felt NORMAL , creepily normal. usually in a dream you’re like “ah yes, i’m dreaming, i can’t exactly wake up right now bcs i’m enjoying this dream, but i know i’m dreaming”

no, no, this quote unquote dream, felt like those sleepy mornings when the world feels slow, when the simplicity of the small rays of morning sunlight coming through your window feel cinematic, when you want to close your eyes and keep taking in gentle deep breaths, hold off on getting up, just for five more minutes.

that’s what it felt like.

i didn’t know i was dreaming bcs i wasn’t dreaming. i was just waking up to a dream, as my reality.

and honestly, another factor is how my mind immediately went to the events of my day, a CLASSIC trope in yours truly. honestly nothing is more on brand than me being like “(sigh) life feels so soft and sweet right now .. alright now let’s cause myself a mini panic attack by thinking about my responsibilities for the day and how many there are and how little time i have to complete everything, isn’t that fun???!?”

finally, my energy levels, that thing i mentioned earlier? about how i’d feel the strength grow and decline over and over again? those five seconds i had in my kpop dr were tiring and drowsy, but not lethargic, they weren’t draining, they weren’t exhausting. i had some energy in me .. and when i closed my eyes, it felt like i was being drained, and i woke up here and felt like i had the life torn out of me and then forced back in. as embarrassing as this sounds, i actually think it “proves” this shift a bit more — logically speaking, i’m more fit, more toned, more active in my kpop dr, where my career is hugely based on my skill levels, as a dancer and singer and performer, where an asset in my job is my appearance, and how i keep myself in shape .. i don’t have to worry about those things here, i don’t have the strength or flexibility or just straight up energy that i do in that reality.. i guess it didn’t hit me, how much difference there would be in my physicality, until this shift

so , yeah. that about sums it up

i think i would have benefitted from grounding myself. and i’m 99% sure i’ll face this problem again bcs i can’t even ground myself in this reality let alone another, mostly bcs i don’t want to, (life’s just so much lighter when your head’s in the clouds .. this is very unhealthy, i do not recommend)

but, for the five seconds that it lasted, it was honestly worth it. my room looked splendid, it was spacious, it was not messy (no matter what dr-self tells you), it was instead, aesthetically chaotic in a pleasing way . and i stand by that

but those fairy lights… mf they’ll be haunting my dreams, ghostly and golden and glorious, i can see them so clearly if i close my eyes.

anyway, here’s to more shifts to come !! i’m not giving up just yet, i WILL get back there, or any other dr for that matter, and i wish you all a happy shifting experience <33

bcs trust me, it took me five years to get five seconds, but in those five seconds i felt a whole 16 years of life in me, i felt a definitive existence there, like i had places to be, people to see, things to do. and i hadn’t even sat up in bed yet ..

this shit is real. it’s as real as you reading this right now. and i’m gonna keep trying, even if all i get next time is another five seconds. and i hope you try with me ≈

chaai brews; tea assortments — dr archive

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gsweazel · 4 months ago

Note

your work is so beautiful!! can you share a little bit about your process when working with gouache and india ink?

thank you so much! and of course I can!!!

it’s a long one…details below!

I use gouache just because it’s what I have to hand, but watercolour would work well, if not better.

I start with a sketch, then a wash of the blue, covering the whole page - it can be messy because most of it will be covered with the black ink. at this point I like to go over the shapes with the blue just to vaguely define the forms.

I like to start with the darkest areas! usually this is around the studs, or the ��seams’ (if there are technical names pls let me know 🙏). I try not to focus on one area too much at once just to keep everything proportional and remind myself of the overall form! India ink is fab because it dries so quickly, and as far as I’m aware it doesn’t lift once dried, so I can go over the fine details to add reflections and shading! when I do the shading, I treat the ink like watercolour - I dilute it heavily, going from light to dark. you can always add more pigment later!

I always forget to take photos as I go along, but hopefully this kind of illustrates what I’m yapping about

I was very silly and forgot to take my brushes with me to uni… buuuut from memory, I think it’s a ‘round’ brush? it can carry a lot of ink but tapers to a very fine point at the end, allowing for the teeny tiny details on the armour, as well as the larger washes of pigment. this is a4 paper for scale (I think that’s around 8.5 x 11 inches!) I use a bigger round brush for bigger areas! I also loosely sketch out the details in pencil before painting but the drawing is usually more ambitious than what I can realistically achieve at this scale - the squiggly lines were the hardest! I tended to depart from the reference at this point and make up some organic shapes. basically the smaller scale means it’s no biggie if you do make a mistake!

I use bristol paper - super smooth surface that holds the ink really well!

it’s a little different for my first knight though (below)! still started with the blue gouache wash, but I used fine liner pen. I think it’s either 0.5 or 0.3 - leaning towards the latter just because of the smaller details! this is a less forgiving medium imo, but super satisfying. I used black gouache to fill in the background for this one - I didn’t have any inks at this point. I’m working on a5 paper here in a moleskine notebook, so it wasn’t really meant to be damp.

also I am still bad at taking photos of my art - but I am getting better! I scanned the painting, then adjusted the shadows (just using the photos app). literally the only edit is turning ‘shadows’ down to -100, but you can see how much of a difference this makes! I’m including this because it’s always so disheartening when the camera doesn’t pick up the artwork properly. something I struggle with when using ink is getting an even surface with large areas of undiluted black, which is why I tend to adjust the contrast. if anyone has any tips on this I would appreciate it!

apologies for the very long post - if there’s anything else I can clarify please let me know!! I’m quite new to tumblr so sorry if the formatting of this post is a little off.

unfortunately I have just gone back to university, so it will probably be a while before I have some art to post - I also left all my art supplies at home… whoops! maybe this is a chance to improve my digital art!!

and thank you so so much for all the notes on my previous post! I read every tag on reblogs and they always make my day <3

#my art #knight #lineart #art #illustration #drawing #gsweazel asks #artists on tumblr #art process

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genericpuff · 2 years ago

Text

On this week's episode of "Webtoon Controversies That Could Have Been Avoided If Only They Had Some Damn Quality Control"-

Oh boy, prepare yourselves, there's some TEA on this one.

Quantum Entanglement, a new Webtoon Originals series from creator Arts Angel (aka Sarah Ellerton) is uh... a teeny weeny painfully obvious that it was made with AI.

AI is getting better, but when it comes to comics, there are still a lot of "tells" you can pick up on once you know where to look. Hands are certainly one of them.

Not knowing how to draw hands efficiently and consistently is definitely an Artist Problem(tm) but it becomes a lot more obvious it was made by AI when you get weird little off-putting mistakes like a fingernail being just a little too long or missing joints (hot dog fingers, eyo) or the distinction between fingers not being clear.

But there's also hair and other detailed parts that are often lost in the translation process between prompt to final piece. Jewelry, text on a screen, phones, that sort of thing. The insinuation of a 'thing' is there, but it's like looking at it through a fishbowl.

And ultimately, a lot of AI art tends to just be a little too 'perfect'. Everything is just a little too smooth for it to look like it was naturally made by a person. Faces end up veering into the uncanny valley territory and there are inconsistencies between the eyes and the rest of the body. Backgrounds become lost in what I like to call "AI goop", becoming nothing more than weird blurred/filtered out insinuations of what's supposed to be behind the character.

Basically, at this point, it's undeniably clear that AI is being used to create this comic. While there are also plenty of signs in the handiwork that show a human was involved in some parts, there are other places that are undeniably filled in with the use of AI. So it's not necessarily a 100% made-by-AI comic, but it's absolutely AI assisted.

But what's REALLY absurd about this whole situation? The creator denies it. To the point of including a disclaimer in the first episode trying to "get ahead" of people who are assuming it's AI by saying, "No, it's not made with AI, here's the proof! Don't look at the blood on my hands or the body in the trunk of my car!"

Now, first off, the absolute absurdity of making yourself look guiltier by trying to prove your innocence before people have even started to suspect you... I'd like to think that this was edited into the first episode after the initial accusations started rolling in but considering it's an Originals series, it's hard to know if it was, as creators typically don't get as much control over just editing their episodes on the fly like Canvas creators do. Typically it's their editors who do that sort of thing for them. And even if it was edited in afterwards, it's still there for people who have no idea going into the comic blind and might not automatically assume it was made with AI, so it just looks like you're bringing up the potential of AI being used completely unprovoked. By planting the idea in your audience's brain that AI is even a question, you're making them suspect everything.

It's kind of like when Dream was suspected of cheating in a way-too-lucky-to-be-real speedrun of Minecraft a couple years back, so he went to all these painstaking efforts of hiring a quantum physicist to "prove" his innocence with a straight up THESIS documenting all of the reasons he couldn't have cheated through math and figures and jargon. Ironically, this just made Dream look guiltier, and sure enough, he eventually admitted he had cheated.

That said, did you notice something in that "art process" pic?

That finished panel isn't even what showed up in the final comic.

So the absurdity of this all, again, just makes Arts Angel look a lot more guilty of actually using AI, especially when it's basically undeniable in so many of those panels above. People don't paint like that.

But that brings us to talking about Sarah Ellerton, aka "Arts Angel", the creator. Many long-time readers of her work are defending this, claiming that she has, in fact, "always drawn like this".

What's insane? She actually is who she says she is. This isn't like some kid who came out of the woodwork with AI and claiming that they had 20 years of experience, Sarah Ellerton's main site, The Seraph-Inn, has been live and crawled by Wayback Machine as far back as 2005.

And you can see the art evolution over the years, starting with Inverloch-

-into Phoenix-

-and all the way to Immaterial-

But here's the thing about that last comic. The main protagonist is, apparently, the same girl from Quantum Entanglement, the newest installment in this series where it becomes abundantly clear the creator has started using AI.

You can see the effects of this being parsed through AI, because she's gone from being a unique character with two-toned hair and darker skin, to being turned into a generic Instagram anime girl. And lemme tell you, AI used in comics has NOT gotten better at depicting darker-skinned characters (I actually tested an AI-coloring tool WT was planning on putting out a year or two ago, it was uh... not great.)

But the most damning thing about Sarah?

She works in IT.

That on its own wouldn't be so telling if it weren't for the 20 years she clearly spent actually honing her craft, only to suddenly switch to using AI as a crutch.

Quantum Entanglement was picked up for Originals in July 2023. It launched two days ago, with four free to read episodes and 6 more under the FastPass paywall. Three months after it got picked up. That turnaround speed is insane for an Originals series. Now, I'm more inclined to believe that maybe she's using the exact same pages she used in the Canvas version (there's unfortunately no way of checking through Wayback, it never crawled the Canvas version, so unless someone has backups of the Canvas pages they're willing to share, we'll never know) but that short turnaround time is insane for a comic that's this insanely detailed. It likely means they didn't need much pre-production time to get a strong buffer going, and that it doesn't take them as long to produce these episodes on a weekly basis so they could be under way less crunch than creators who do this by hand.

By comparison, the winners of the Call to Action contest from last year are STILL working on their pre-production. Many other greenlit Canvas series are known for getting picked up and stuck in pre-production for several months and even a year or more simply due to how the company operates with when it chooses to launch these series and how much pre-production is necessary. Some creators have literally said that their pre-production was done, but WT still kept them waiting to launch. So three months for a freshly greenlit Canvas series to launch is NOT the norm.

All that said, I feel for the people who are trying to defend her. But it's so undeniably AI with the creator herself providing fake proof that it makes it really sad to think that this person was honing their craft for 20 years just to wind up utilizing AI. Being a good artist does not make you immune to the temptation of using cheap methods or developing bad habits. Going through "the struggle" does not make you immune to taking shortcuts that wind up cheapening your work or taking advantage of the work of others.

Now, maybe Sarah trained AI around her art. If this didn't play out the way it did, I'd be willing to give her benefit of the doubt and assume that. Training AI off your own work, while still up for debate as to how ethical that is, at least doesn't hurt other artists, because it's your own work the AI is "stealing". There are definitely ways AI could be used to make life easier for artists without replacing the art process entirely, the same way artists have learned to use 3D assets and digital art filters to make their process more efficient and boost the quality of their art up to the next level.

But the fact that she's being so cagey over it, claiming she's not using AI period when she very clearly is, providing "proof" that actually proves she definitely used AI, while operating under a penname that's strangely similar to a name Grimes - former tech wife of Elon Musk and staunch supporter of AI - used for one of her studio albums-

- that's what makes it a lot more clear she's using it maliciously.

The AI is very likely trained off another artist's work. Maybe someone whose art style is similar enough to hers that she could integrate it into her own and pass it off as legitimate. Someone whose art style is cartoonish but still modern, like if Disney made anime. Someone who's so prolific and consistent in their stylization that training an AI off it would seem like a no brainer to those who want to replicate that style quickly and easily.

Damn. What a disappointment. Do better, Sarah.

And for god's sakes, Webtoons, pay more fucking attention. I've been steadily picking away at moving the entirety of my comics over to other platforms on a weekly schedule, but at this point I kinda just wanna dump the last 30 or so chapters onto ComicFury all at once so I can ditch this platform for good, especially if it turns out AI comics getting greenlit is a feature, not a bug. The ratings for Quantum Entanglement have dropped significantly overnight, now sitting around 5.09 and still dropping, but is Webtoons going to do anything about it? That remains to be seen.

#webtoon critical #anti AI #quantum entanglement #quantum entanglement webtoon #webtoon controversy

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royalsunshinehotel · 7 months ago

Text

Eating (Vampire!Kid x F!Reader, 18+)

Author’s Note: Thank you for your patience. I am back. RIP to that one fic I wrote in 2020 and LOST in the depths of my laptop, you had fisting and dubcon and whatnot. This doesn’t have that, but is a lot better written. YN has very American dialogue here. Editing by @youlooklike-clarabow

It wasn’t right to call this feeling bloodlust. Was it freedom?

He’d just beaten a mortal to death with a heeled shoe, and, in the morning, the people would think that Baba Shakti had been mauled to death by a tiger.

He’d drained that man of his life force, the evidence soaked Kid so thoroughly, he felt it down to his socks with each step he took.

Now, all he wanted was you.

From the first day he’d met you, he’d allowed you to become a constant. He met Lucky first, your little brother, and Lucky had brought him right to you.

What a gift that Lucky had given so freely, he’d have to thank the boy when he saw him next.

He knows exactly where you are too.

You’re stumbling home after a harrowing shift at the bar. It’s Diwali, so of course your work was a little…intense.

You couldn’t fault the people for enjoying the holiday, but Christ that was a lot of work.

And here he was again!

“Funny how that all works,” you think.

He’s playing it off as if he wasn’t waiting up for you, on the steps of your apartment building.

Maybe it was that half-drink you’d had earlier, maybe it was that costume he’s wearing, a black suit, covered in blood.

The blood had dried, but the tears hadn’t.

Maybe it was that half-drink you’d had earlier, but you could hardly look at him, only holding out your hand to take his arm, tightly, up to your place.

On a good day, it’s hard to look at him - and truly see him - fully. It was like staring into the sun. Here, in the dark, maybe you’d scrape by. He’s vibrant, even now

His socks were making a squishing sound with each step.

You unlock your door, and deposit him to lean against a counter, and calmly walk to your kitchenette for some towels, wetting them under your faucet.

It wasn’t your business.

Maybe he’d just been at Tiger’s, Maybe it had been another fight. You’d helped him after those before…

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “just wait.” He droops a little, hopefully relaxing. You’d like him to be comfortable here, with you.

You take a long step and pull out a stray garbage bag from a drawer, waving it around to open in, and gesturing to him.

It was safe to say the suit he wore was ruined. And if that blood was real, and didn’t belong to him, it could open up a whole world of trouble.

Your mind races with a thousand different possibilities and outcomes, what you were liable for, what charges he could be brought up on.

He only stares at you with an expression you can’t place, and unbuttons his shirt.

And your thought process evaporates.

When Lucky had helped him to your apartment after fights at Tiger’s Temple, you’d seen his bare chest before. He was a tall man, and thin to match. His chest was broad, smooth, as ever, but you couldn’t see his ribs anymore.

When he’d come to you for help before, he’d been something of a stray dog, wandering in the streets, begging for any scrap one could spare.

And you had fed him before, but you wouldn’t need to now.

You knew from your little brother that Kid hadn’t been around. Rumors swirled in your little community, but nothing was concrete. He’d been gone, out of town. Eating.

Blood dried on the breathtaking torso of someone who’d been eating.

A little spark of jealousy starts to burn in the front of your skull.

“Had a good vacation?”” You scoff at him. His large brown eyes darken, only slightly. He says nothing.

Heat rushes to your face as he steps forward, dropping his shirt into the empty garbage bag.

You want him close, as usual.

He never takes a half-step more, just to kiss you, be near you. It doesn’t feel as cold as it usually does. It feels like he’s playing with you.

Kid smiles a little, to himself, taking the wet towel off the side of the sink, running it down his reddened neck.

You frown. He’ll have to scrub.

You grab another towel, and begin to do just that.

He doesn’t make a sound as you dampen your towel under the sink and step around towards his broad back.

“This isn't gonna work. You’ll have to shower.” Your voice sounds a little hoarse. It had to be some kind of condition, or spell he’d fallen under.

He seemed flushed, a little more alive.

When you first met him, you noticed large, glossy brown eyes first, but seeing the rest of him makes the awareness of being close to him all the worse, even standing behind his back.

His thick,curly hair reached out, practically begging someone to put their hands in it. The skin of his shoulders is always warm, just like the rest of him.

You’d sat next to him, on your couch in your apartment. Being aware of his body heat was obvious, but it felt heightened tonight. Did he run warm? Or did you just notice it because it’s him?

You knew the answer, but the air was so thick in your room, it seemed to soften any hard thought you were trying to wrap your head around.

The rag in your hand was spent, so you threw it into the trash bag, and you tap his spine,

“Go shower.” You command, and he obeys you, removing his shoes and putting them in the bag after.

He looks around, spell broken, only to feel lightly proud that he’d only left a thumbprint on your counter.

In the shower, he wishes you were still next to him still, in the water . . . helping. You were so eager to be kind, why? Especially to the likes of him.

He watches the faint traces of red and pink rinse from his skin, to circle the drain.

It was all he could do not to step out of the shower and put his face in your neck.

He’d never indulged so freely in someone’s blood before, and he’d never imagined that his first real taste would be from the man who ruined everything, and harmed so many.

And he’d come right to you, thinking he’d been sated, but he just wanted more.

He’d never hurt you, he’d die before he hurt you.

Kid lets some water fall into his mouth, and spits it out between his feet.

There had been a time, when he was younger, where he’d known a street performer who’d played a cello. It was a large, cumbersome instrument, but the performer had made it seem light, elegant.

The vibration of the strings had stayed with him, humming inside his head whenever he’d gotten hungry.

And now, wet, in the shower, he felt absolutely starved.

No. Get a grip.

He needed to pick something else to focus on, not the tantalizing hymn coming from your throat.

Your apartment!

He’d been in your apartment before, of course, but he felt he’d never gotten the chance to appreciate it.

Your bathroom was old, but clean. Faded white tile, and one singular bottle of shampoo and conditioner on the counter in front of a small, circular mirror.

He already knew that you had made a friend who sold soap to tourists, he recognized the cut of the bar in a little dish to the side.

He shouldn’t snoop.

One lone towel is hanging by the shower, and he takes it, dressing in large gray sweats that you’d picked for him.

He doesn't like that you have men’s sweats, but he doesn’t have a right to not like it, when he benefits from it.

He gasps a little as he opens the door back to the rest of your studio.

Warm.

When he first knocked on your door, he hadn’t noticed the few candles you’d had burning. He didn’t realize you’d be perched on the armrest of your old couch. He’d helped you carry it in, hadn’t he? He thought the color of it suited you, just as he does now.

“How was your shower?” You ask, voice soft. You don’t betray the fact that your mouth is watering.

He’d showered, obviously, but the steam coming off his skin didn’t help the knot of feelings, tightening in your stomach.

Ugh, fucking feelings. They’d never done anything but betrayed you, why would this time be any different ?

“Um…good.” He replies, just as soft, taking long, even strides to meet you on the couch, and sit on the other side.

There’s a golden cast of light on your skin, and he knows he has some fundamental truths he needs to face.

The first being, that he had died with his Mother that night, and came back as well…this. Whatever it was.

The second was, he’d just torn the nation's religious leader limb from limb. It would look like a wild animal, but if that stupid penthouse had cameras, they’d know it was him.

The last was, he desperately wanted you. Whatever you’d be willing to give, he’d devour greedily. It was time to do something about it.

“You haven’t asked me what happened.” He states, almost groaning as he felt the couch lean from your weight.

“I don’t want to know.”

Kid exhales a sigh of relief.

“I do wish you’d stop putting yourself in danger.”

He blinks at that.

“You gotta stop showing up covered in blood.”

“Should I show up with flowers? Would you like that?”

“Depends on the flowers.”

He leans in, the warmth of his body making your head start to swim, “I’m serious. What the fuck happened tonight?”

“Things have changed. I’ve changed them. It’s going to be better now.”

You cross your arms.

“You know I’d never let anything happen to you. No one follows me when I come here.” His round eyes seem to burn in the half-light.

“If things have changed…does that mean I can kiss you?” the words fell out of your mouth easily, but you wince as they make their impact. The energy that was humming in your ears drops, leaving you in silence.

Waiting for a response, simple.

His mouth is on yours in an instant, your head spinning, taken by the impact.

His hands find your hips, and you’re placed securely into his lap. How, in all this time, had you never felt his hands before? All of those times he’d come to you for help after a fight, and he’d kept his lovely hands to himself.

You couldn’t allow that anymore!

You take his wrists in your hands to move his warm, wide palms. You push yourself into his hands because you want to, you want him

His hardness grows steadily underneath you, as he lets you rub yourself against him, allowing himself to get lost, soaking you into himself. He simply had to be yours.

You were a softness he’d wrap himself in, an extra layer to keep him warm through the winter (A/N: FROM A CHALLENGERS FIC).

You feel his hands wander to your shoulders, pulling your mouth away from his with a slight pop.

“You know I’m different.” It wasn’t a question.

All those fights, all those blows to the head that should have killed him, and he’d simply walked away. Of course you knew.

“Are you trying to scare me?” You asked, earnest. You had nerves, of course you did, but it wouldn’t break through.

“No! Never. I’m just trying to be honest.”

You giggle. Your hands cup his face, and you smile at how he relaxes into your grip.

“I think I’m just curious… How long have you been . . . different?” You questioned, taking his chin between your thumb and forefinger.

“Long enough to know what I’m doing?”

“So you won’t kill me.”

“I think Lucky would kill me first. You can send me away if you like. I won’t be back again.”

“I’m not saying no, I just want to see.”

He blinks at you.

You trail off, “May I see?”

“...Sure.”

You put your hands on either side of his face, dark beard soft, he lets you pull u a pink lip, revealing white teeth, one long canine tooth, flat, thin, sharp. There’s another one on the other side. Like a predator, like a beast you’d find in the wild.

Yeah, he’s exactly what he says he is. Different.

“Good?” He asks, neutral.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

The air in your room is cool , his eyes wide and wet.

Is this what all creatures are like?

You almost ask, but fall into his mouth instead.

“Still curious?”

“Ask me tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. He likes the sound of that. Has he ever had anyone want to stay until tomorrow? He couldn’t remember when. How strange, to be alive as long as he had, and never been more than a kink, someone dipping a toe into the dark, as if he hadn’t had to make a life here.

That was by design, he thought. Wasn’t he supposed to be the greatest predator and killer of all time? Ha!

Maybe he’s comfortable right here. Maybe the Devil’s perfect predator yearns for a collar and a leash.

What a magnificent leash it would be.

Your back arched against him, you gasp, grinding him. You receive a soft peck against your lips, and the most gentle smile.

Your eyelids flutter close, and he makes himself comfortable against you.

Kid makes a trail between your mouth and the most delicate column of your throat, licking and sucking. You allow him to pull off your shirt, before lowering you back into the worn out couch. You shiver, in spite of the heat coursing through your veins.

He leans over you, tracing his nose against your jaw, inhaling.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” he hums against your ear, the cello strings getting louder and louder in his head.

Putting a hand between your legs, he smiles into your neck. You push yourself against the heel of his palm, enjoying the sparks against your clit.

Your pulse feels too correct under his mouth, and he throbs for it. What a lovely thing, to be able to have your neck between his teeth.

He lies between your legs, comfortably, like he’d been laying with you for years.

He smiles to himself as he feels your wetness against his hand, his mouth wandering over every piece of flesh you had exposed. You gasp as his mouth catches a nipple, tugging it, making you squirm.

He lets you put your hands in his damp hair, his fangs lightly piercing the underside of your breast, red droplets against the softness of your skin for him to lap up.

You whine at the faint pain, but he knows better. The hand between your legs knew better, your pathetic hole fluttering against him.

You were everything.

What a pretty picture you made, wide eyes, a warm, soft mouth, comfortably underneath him like you were meant to be here. How could you make the picture of someone so docile, fuckable, like he didn’t owe you absolutely everything?

To your dismay, he pulls his hand back, and brings it up to his mouth. Your eyes snap open as Kid is struck with a full body shudder. The red against his hand seems to burn into him.

It can’t be true. It’s too perfect, he thinks to himself. You watch him pant, chills down your spine.

“...are you…bleeding?” He asked, rasping into your mouth,

You couldn’t do too much, only nod.

He’d had you too intoxicated, you’d gone and forgotten about your period.

A heartbeat passes. Maybe two.

“I need to eat now. May I?” He asks, polite, but his face betrays him.

“Yes.”

In a blink, he’s upon you. Head between your legs, sucking at your bloody heat like he’d been made to do it. And he had, you supposed.

Your back bows as he smoothly works a finger into you, your own blood and slick guiding him in.

Kid slurps, a filthy sound that nearly made you jump off the couch.

An unfamiliar fog descends over your mind as you let him take what he wants. You're nobody’s fool, except his.

You faintly feel his hands dig into your ass with an unrecognizable strength. You know he’d let you go if you asked, but his brute strength against yours is nothing short of exhilarating.

Is this what it would take to keep him? Blood? You had that! You could always make more too.

Your back arches, trying to get closer to his face, the sharpness of his nose breathtaking against your core.

Your heart pounds in your head as he drinks from you, ears ringing. If you were a little more coherent, you’d be impressed with him, scraping his fingers mercilessly against your front wall, trying to drain any last drop you had to give. He’s taking what he wants.

Whatever had happened earlier in the night, whatever put light behind his eyes, you thank every star.

He frantically scissors his fingers into you, lapping and sucking up everything he earned, bringing you closer and closer.

He lavishes every mark made on you with his tongue, savoring the taste.

You pout, and he holds you while your shaking and shivering dies down.

“Will you forget about everyone else?” He asks, low in the dark.

You blink at him, as if he were speaking another language.

“What?”

There was nobody else. No other ‘lovers’ in the past decade that could match what the two of you had just done.

You feel something twitch against your thigh, in spite of your tiredness, you stick out your lower lip. He stares at it, eyes glittering.

“You-” You puff, all those pesky feelings rushing straight to your head, “You’re holding back!”

“And you're about to be anemic if we aren’t careful.”

You can’t say much to that, so you let out a low, pitiful whine.

“You're going to rest, and you’re going to like it.”

“Only if you stay put,” you blink. He smiles, mouth wet and red.

You turn on the couch, pressing against his thin form, wiggling against him, making yourself comfortable. He lets you take his hand in your own, blood is already drying when you take two of his long, elegant fingers, and put them in your mouth. You sigh, satisfied. He does too.

All will be well, because it’s him. You’ll do anything to keep him.

#monkey man #dev patel #i feel sick #enjoy #could have been nastier #but still

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