#I realize on the one hand that it might be more fitting for Miles to be the one Peter comes to at the end

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 6

Summary: Reeling from a confrontation with Rhys, you find yourself at the whim of one of Amarantha's power plays.

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood and gore.

Author's Note: It gets worse so it can get better, I am so sorry for the amount of angst I just put out into the world, there will be better things coming I swear.

Pt 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

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There is nothing but darkness; empty, cold, all consuming darkness. It holds you, carries you through the void as if it has a mind of it’s own. You have no desire to fight it, no will to struggle. It can move you wherever it sees fit; do whatever it desires. If it desires to consume you until you become nothing but the unceasing void, then you will allow it.

You float for hours, days, weeks, you’re unsure, time does not exist here. There are no stars, no light, no varying shades to catch your attention in the emptiness. It’s a shame you’re conscious enough to feel it, because it might have let you sleep more soundly than you ever have.

The darkness flows like a river, carrying you farther and farther away until it finally sets you down, the cold, stone floor beneath you biting through your clothes. As the mist begins to fade, shapes begin to come into view: It’s an alter, lit by thousands upon thousands of candles, their wax melting down the stone steps beneath the alter. Strange symbols have been carved into the sides, a language long forgotten, even in the history books. You manage to raise yourself onto your knees to get a better look at them, dusting your fingers over the markings. Your fingertips are claws again, your hands wreathed in darkness, like shadows, scales crawling their way up your wrists.

It’s wrong.

So wrong.

You’re not a monster! Your hands shouldn’t look like this!

“No! No!”

The symbols on the alter start to glow, spinning, the ancient stone groaning and moving as something from somewhere in the darkness starts to chant.

The scales continue to crawl up your wrists, your arms, spikes forming from your elbows. You try to scream but the sound that comes out of you is the thing of nightmares.

“Stop!” But no pleading will change what you’re becoming…

You jerk awake, screaming.

After your last interaction with Rhys you’d crawled under the covers to have a good cry and must have fallen asleep. You peel of the sheets, tangled around your limbs, and realize with horror that there are claw marks in the mattress, the stuffing scattered around your body. You jump out of it, stumbling, nearly throwing yourself onto the floor, trying to get away.

What have you done?

There are no claws at your fingertips now, no scales crawling across your body, it’s nothing but your own skin and the bandages Rhys had put there earlier. It’s normal. You’re normal. Right?

You stumble your way into the bathroom to wash your face. There is no monster starring back at you in the mirror, but you stare and stare anyway, the water turning cold as it drips off your skin into the sink. “You’ll destroy us all.” Rhys had said, the words an echo in your skull.

You can’t help yourself as you make a fist and slam it into the mirror, shattering it. The impact burns, but it can’t ease the ache in your chest, the yawning chasm you’ve been tumbling into for hours. There is no end to the fall, just nothingness for miles and miles, pulling you down into the deep, dark abyss. You have no way of knowing what’s at the bottom, if the dream is a warning of what sleeps there. You’re about to hit it again when the lock on your door slides out of place.

“What do you fucking want now?” You snarl, fully prepared to find the nearest object in reach and hurl it at Rhys’s stupid head.

But it’s not the violet eyed male you’re so used to seeing at the door this time; not the Attor either, but two shadow figures, made of mist and darkness, their features soft and feminine. Wraiths. They gently shut the door behind them.

“We’re here to get you ready for dinner,” one says in a soft voice.

The other is holding a long swatch of fabric. “The High Lord said you might need some help.”

You grit your teeth, “You’re welcome to tell Rhysand to fucking shove it up his ass.”

One of them giggles as she floats over to you, “I like you.”

The other sets the fabric, no it’s a dress, you can see that now, the fabric such a deep purple it’s almost black, on the ruined bed. She has no mouth to frown, but the way the shadows of what should be her head move makes you think she’s troubled by what she sees. “Amarantha will not be pleased if you show up wearing that to dinner.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You’d forgotten about the dinner.

“It’s an excuse to get dressed up!” Says the first, her shadowy hands reaching for the hem of your shirt. “It’ll look so pretty on you!”

The fact that Rhys had sent them is enough to put you on edge. He is either still so pissed at you that he can’t bare the thought of being in the same room as you, or Amarantha is still so pissed at you that he’s still trying to find a way to calm her down. Either way made you want to bury yourself back under the covers and never come out again.

“How’d I get into this mess?” You grumble.

The first wraith pulls your shirt over your head for you as the second says, “We must be quick. It’s best to not keep her waiting.” That’s all the warning you get before they start dressing you. They’re a bundle of activity as they move you out of your training clothes and into the dress. You can’t help but note that this fits you too, just like the others. It’s velvet, warm against the chill, with a tight bodice that accentuates your figure and then loosens around your hips and falls to your ankles. It glitters when you move in the light as if there are little stars woven into the seems.

It’s beautiful. Something from the Night Court. You want to tear it to shreds.

One of the wraiths brushes and sweeps your hair into a braid that wraps around your head, leaving a few curls loose to frame your face. The other cleans and adds a gloss to your nails. As soon as that’s done they’re swiftly applying powder to your face, coal to your eyes, and a brief swash of dark lipstick across your mouth.

“I’d show you your reflection in the mirror, but…” one of them says.

You eye the shattered glass with a wince. “Sorry.”

The other fixes a stray hair. “You look beautiful all the same.”

You find yourself blushing despite yourself. “Thank you, for all your help.”

One of them giggles and then they disappear as quickly as they’d come, back to wherever the High Lord of the Night Court keeps his, what were they, subjects? Maids? You hadn’t considered that he’d have the people of his court here, especially not after what he’d said earlier about protecting them.

When the door opens again, it’s one of Amarantha’s guards waiting for you. That can’t be a good sign either.

You draw a deep breath as you follow him out. At least it’s not the Attor.

He doesn’t lead you back to the throne room but down a several sets of stairs, past rooms where you hear screaming coming from behind closed doors, into what feels like it might be the very base of the mountain. The floor is rocky here, the walls pock marked with little caves and crevices, some filled with little fires and more armed guards. Monsters you can’t name and things with dozens of eyes peer out at you through the cracks in the walls. Some hiss and snarl. Some scream at you to run away.

You’re heart’s in your throat, the train of your skirts clutched so tightly in your hands you think you might actually rip through it. What have you done?

The guard says nothing as he walks you through the halls. He only stops when you finally come to another humongous door, carved with old and fading symbols. Pillars hold up the roof above it, carved into the shapes of snarling wyverns. This is her dinning hall?

Two more guards stand at attention between the pillars, waiting for the signal from the first to open them. But as you’re ushered inside, there is no great hall waiting to meet you. It’s more of a cave, a single torch mounted to the wall, burnt almost down to the end. At the far end, a metal grate separates you from what looks like a tunnel, but it is too dark to tell.

“What is this?” You demand but the guard is already stepping back, the doors swinging shut behind him, and to your horror, being bolted shut from the outside.

“Hey!” You bang a fist on the door. “Let me out of here!”

But the doors remain locked, no sound coming from behind them.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. You will yourself to breath, to remain calm.

The grate at the far end of the wall slowly begins to slide upward, the ancient, rusted metal groaning and creaking from disuse. It makes the walls rattle as it opens, bit by bit. To your relief, no horrible monster comes climbing out from behind it, it merely opens until there is enough room for you to walk under it. There is in fact a tunnel, the path curving in strange directions like a living thing had been burrowing through the mountain. It smells like it too.

Rhysand had given you the wrong damn thing to wear, that was for sure.

You hike your skirts up with your hands and step into the tunnel, seeing no other option, but the sinking feeling in your stomach grows bigger with each step forward you take. It was a terrible, terrible mistake to challenge Amarantha this early.

The tunnel goes on for miles, twisting and looping the expanse of the mountain, often doubling back on itself like some sort of maze. You’re about half way through, the bottom of your skirts so caked in mud that’s your having a hard time holding them, that you hear a strange, scuffling sound come from behind you. When you turn to look there’s nothing there, but you can hear the echo of footsteps squelching through the muck.

“Hello?” You call, but nothing answers.

You move a little faster, trying to find a way out, your mind imagining a dozen different possibilities of what’s behind you. The chasm in your chest widens, beckons, the thing that prowls at the bottom of it stirring to life. It’s an effort to focus, to breathe, to try and keep it at bay while simultaneously trying to not trip over your skirts.

The tunnel veers so sharp and suddenly left that you slam into the wall.

The footsteps are getting louder behind you; you can hear the heavy rasp of breath too. It doesn’t sound fae, it’s heavy almost, like a creature’s might be.

You hike your skirts back up and run, fighting the mud and the building panic in your chest. Another left, then another, and there, at the far end, light pokes through. Light, so much brighter than any you’ve seen in weeks. You barrel towards it as fast as your legs can carry you, for as fast as you are, that thing behind you is faster. It’s running now too, the walls shaking behind it.

From somewhere beyond the light you hear Amarantha’s cruel voice call out, “Oh good, the entertainment is finally here.”

Shit shit shit!

Are you the entertainment?

Does it matter in the end?

You burst out of the tunnel, the light so blinding after weeks in the dark that you slip and loose your footing trying to shield your eyes. There’s a chorus of laughter above you, as if a large crowd is starring down at you. There’s too much light! It burns.

“Having fun yet, little mouse?” Amarantha coos.

And then something with claws latches onto your shoulder and hurls you across the space.

You don’t even have time to scream, have time to register anything beyond the flash of pain in your shoulder before a wall rises up to meet you. Everything spins as you slam into it and crumple into the mud. The cold seeps through you, plasters you dress to your body. You taste blood.

Something from within the blur of colors swimming across your eyes roars at you.

There’s a crowd somewhere above you cheering.

Trying to wipe the spots out of your eyes only smears mud across your face.

"Get up!" Rhys's voice echoes like a banging gong in your head.

"Stay out of my fucking head!" You slam the door to your mind in his face. Now he suddenly wants to be helpful? Bastard!

You stumble onto your knees, the mud sinking beneath your palms.

"Move!" Rhys has barreled right through the door in your mind like it's made of toothpicks, panic edging his voice. You don't have enough presence of mind to look up to wherever he might be in the crowd. Not when a jagged set of teeth latches onto the already gaping wound in your shoulder and drags you into the center of what you’re pretty sure is a pit. It’s breath is rancid, rotting meat clinging to it’s rows and rows of jagged teeth, clamping down on your shoulder as it shakes you like a rag doll.

You’re going to die here, shaken to death like a toy if you don’t do something. Amarantha certainly isn’t going to save you, not when you’d wounded her pride so thoroughly this morning.

The thing that lives beneath your skin calls again, you can almost imagine a hand reaching out of the chasm, dark and scaled like that thing in your dreams had been. It begs you to reach out and take it.

The pain in your shoulder is blinding, you’re sure you’ll loose that arm entirely if it doesn’t stop shaking you.

You reach out and grab the hand offered, you’re only lifeline, and the chasm does in fact split open. The darkness that lives there swells and fills you so thoroughly you wonder for a moment if you are dead. But then you’re blinking against the light and things start coming into focus, even as your body shifts and morphs. You have talons again, but they’re longer now, slicing through the chest of the beast like they have a mind of it’s own until it’s terrible jaws unclench and drop you. It whimpers as it eyes the dark mist leaking from your body and when you flick a wrist in it’s direction, scattering that darkness, it slams the beast into the wall.

It’s some sort of chimera, it’s great wings flared out behind it’s scaled body. It’s got more teeth and horns than the ones you’d seen depicted in books, like it’s been modified for whatever this great pit is.

The crowd is in fact situated above you, the pit and all it’s tunnels separated by a chain-link dome high above your head, there are tables and benches, and another throne for Amarantha, around the edge, all gaping at your display.

You manage to rise, legs shaking beneath you. The bodice of your gown is in tatters, clinging to your shoulder by no more than a thread, all your exposed skin covered in blood. You can barely raise your right arm, but your left, wreathed in dark tendrils of magic and clawed is clearly visible in the light.

The chimera growls as it stalks back over to you, crouched low, ready to pounce. You’ve sprouted fangs, you can feel them poking into your lip as you snarl back at it, now more animal than girl. Maybe Rhys is right, maybe you really are a monster capable of destroying everyone. You have enough time to finally mark the section of the viewing platform where all the High Lords sit, and you can feel that assessing gaze of his more than all the others. You spare him a glance because you can't help yourself, because for all the pain he's caused you, you want the final nail in your coffin to be the look of disgust on his face when he sees that he's right about you. But it's not disgust that you see at all, but genuine, unbridled fear.

"Don't stop," he urges. "Kill it now!" Not fear of you, but for you? This isn't the time to try and make sense of what games Rhys is playing. The back and forth games, the way he pushes you away but comes back on his own is something you'll have to deal with later, when there's not a monster snarling at your feet, ready to devour you.

You reach into that darkness inside of you, where all your confusion and anger goes, pushed like some sort of sacrifice to the monster that lives within. You grab it, will it back to the surface, and when the chimera lunges, you blast all that energy out of your fingertips. The wave of darkness that flows from you turns the creature into a bloody mist, no bones or claws or teeth left in it’s wake. The mist splatters across your skin; you can taste it on your tongue.

You might have had more time to freak out over it if a second beast didn’t come hurtling out another tunnel. There is no time to think, only to move, as you throw yourself out of the way of it’s claws and back into the mud.

"Good girl."

"Shut up, Rhysand!"

The crowd cheers on the new beast. This one is quicker than the first, catching itself and spinning back to you faster than you can blink. You don’t have time to reach for any of your power, only to raise a hand and your claws tear through the thing’s belly as it flies overhead of you. Blood and gore rain down on you as it crashes into the wall, whining.

It’s in your eyes, your nose, dripping down the back of your ruined dress. Good. No more Night Court clothes for you.

You haul yourself back up and slash at it’s exposed sides, it’s wings, any part of it you can reach with your claws. There is nothing to stop you, your claws slide through it like butter, spraying blood and no matter how your mind screams at you, you can’t stop. Your powers have taken over, it demands that you keep pushing. There isn’t much left of it by the time the third chimera makes it into the pit.

There’s no telling how many Amarantha has at her disposal. Judging by the booing and screaming of the crowd, maybe there isn’t that many.

You’re aware, as you finally leave the ruined corpse of the second, that something is happening to your eyes. They feel different. Things look sharper, clearer. They’ve shifted into something else, but you’re not quite sure what.

As the beast lunges for you, you lunge right back, a flurry of claws and fangs and dark power that makes mud and blood fly. The lights from the chandeliers far above your head sway and shutter, like you’re sucking the power from them, dimming the room. The darkness of the mountain is nothing compared to the void that lives inside you.

You black out for a moment, seeing nothing but darkness and hearing only the sound of your own wild roaring, and when you come to, you’re on your knees in the mud, panting, half laughing with delirium. And the chimera is in pieces before you.

The crowd overhead is on their feet screaming and cursing in disbelief.

You manage to drag your gaze over to where Amarantha sits on her throne, her mouth hanging open. Rhys is standing behind her, stone faced. At her feet, sits that male wearing the collar.

"Get up."

It's too much effort to fight him or push him out of your head, it's clear he's capable of getting in regardless. All those lessons he'd been toying with you, probably trying to lull you into a false sense of security so you weren't prepared for the next time he needed to get something out of you. It's exhausting trying to figure out his play.

Still, there's a small piece of you that knows he's right, that Amarantha is watching, waiting to see what you'll do. If you stay here kneeling, crying in the mud, she'll still take it as a victory, she still found a way to beat you. It takes all your effort to get yourself onto your feet again. Everything feels like it’s trying to push you down into the mud. You’ve never been this exhausted in your life. It’s by sheer force of will that you manage to stand and lock your knees so you don’t crumble back into the mud.

You’re sure you look absolutely disgusting. No one is going to point you out as the daughter of the King of Hybern. There is no princess here in the pit, only this clawed thing.

So, from one monster to another, you look Amarantha in the eyes, and raise your middle finger.

Flame and ice and wind explodes from her so fast that the crowd around her has to jump out of the way to avoid being hit.

There’s another grate in the side of the pit, hidden by rocks and debris but you hear it open all the same. Two guards emerge this time to drag you out. No more beasts for you to fight.

You manage to walk yourself under the grate, but once it starts to close behind you, blocking you from the crowd's sight, you collapse against the wall. As you catch your breath, your claws slowly retract. The dark mist that wreathes your body begins to slow and settle. Your eyes readjust to the dark, to whatever they were before this all started. It feels like the chasm you split open shrinks back inside of you--a volcanic eruption suddenly bubbling back down into the mountain. It leaves you slowly, settling back beneath the surface as if it hadn’t just caused such utter chaos. Your hand shakes as you run it over your eyes, trying to clear away everything clinging to your face. What did you just do?

One of the guards grabs your arm and hauls you off the wall.

Your whole body aches, but the pain in your shoulder, your right arm useless and limp at your side is excruciating. Even the movements from the way they drag you makes it feel like your whole arm might just pop off.

You can’t focus on where they’re leading you, all your energy into staying upright. You hear doors open and see the lights shift and change as you’re lead through other rooms but none of it makes any sense to you.

“I’d like to go back to my room now,” you say, your voice raw. Were you screaming that much?

They ignore you as they continue to lead you in what feels like circles. It’s only when you see a shock of red hair beneath a glittering crown made of bones and rubies that you realize they’ve led you up to where the crowd had been watching your little display. Most of which is clear now. There are jagged icicles sprouting out of one wall, a body impaled on it, another crushed beneath it. The chain-link separating the room from the pit is partially melted, the remains of it swinging back and forth on the wind. Tables and chairs have been strewn about, some broken. There’s a few people moaning and bleeding on the floor, everyone else that could had scattered.

Amarantha remains shaking with rage in the center of the room, ice sprouting from her left hand, crackling and crawling all the way up her elbow, even as her other hand is wreathed in flames. Her eyes are so dark they’re almost wholly black.

The sight of her shakes some alertness back into your body, so at the very least you’re not about to collapse onto the floor.

Most of the High Lords are gone, save for a masked blonde who you can only assume is Tamlin. He’s wearing a collar too, the chain hooked into the floor beside her throne.

And Rhysand, half his shirt torched, is dabbing a damp cloth into a deep blister across his tattooed chest.

This damage is your fault, you realize with a sinking feeling in your gut. If you hadn’t challenged her, pushed her too far, none of this would have happened. Those people under the ice would still be alive and Rhys wouldn’t be hurt. You’re pissed at him but you don’t want to see him hurt. You don’t want to see anyone hurt. You had just been so on edge earlier, so focused on doing something to make Amarantha pay you hadn’t stopped to think about who she’d hurt in the aftermath.

“I’m sure you’re very pleased with yourself,” Amarantha snarls.

You can still taste the blood of those beasts in your mouth. “Thrilled actually,” you say because you can’t stop yourself. You can’t keep all these things at bay, it’s like they just slip out of you and no matter how much your mind reels and balks at it, it comes out anyway.

She moves so fast you barely have time to blink before she’s slapping the hand covered in ice across your face. “You stupid, little bitch!”

It burns as if it was the fire, but even if you wanted to hit her back, you can’t. You don’t have anything left in your body other than to hiss at the contact and try to retain your balance. The last thing you want is to end up on the floor at her feet.

Maybe it doesn’t matter in the end, because, despite all he’d said earlier, and despite the massive blister, Rhys manages to weasel himself in between the two of you. He’d been right about you and he still jumped between you.

“It’s not her fault,” he says.

The room shutters so hard one of the chandeliers falls from the ceiling and crashes to the floor.

“Get out of my way, Rhysand!” She screams.

“It’s my fault.”

The world stops turning for a second. He can’t be serious.

“I pushed her too hard training earlier.”

The lie makes your stomach twist, you sway on your feet trying to reach out and push him out of the way, to tell her that’s not true. But your body won’t move the way you need it to. Everything is sluggish and slow, all your energy reserves tapped. You’d overdone it.

“So you knew she could do that?” Amarantha says and her voice is so deadly quiet that you use the last little bit of your strength to grab Rhys’s wrist and try to pull him out of the line of fire.

“I suspected.”

“And yet you said nothing?”

There is no hesitation in his voice as he says, “No, I didn’t think it was necessary until we knew for sure.”

He needs to move. Maybe there is still some small chance that she can’t kill you, that she would have pulled you out of the pit at the last possible second just to save face with Hybern, but you’re not entirely sure Rhys has that same protection. New High Lords can be made. You tug on his wrist again, but he pays it no mind.

You’re only other option is to hope he can hear you as your stand at the edge of the hallway in your mind, the yawning, dark precipice beyond swirling in various shades of blue and black. “Rhys stop!” You scream. “She’ll kill you!” Damn him. As cruel as he is, as much as you want to hate him, you can’t stand here and let him do this for you. You challenged her and you had beaten her, whatever consequences came with that are yours.

If he hears you, he doesn’t acknowledge it either.

“We’re going to have a very long conversation about where your loyalties lie, Rhysand,” Amarantha snarls as she gestures towards the guards still hovering around behind you.

You’re so dizzy from he blood loss, crimson dripping off your fingers, pooling at your feet, that you’d forgotten they were there. When they move to grab him, he doesn’t fight it.

You can’t breathe again, reaching desperately for any bit of power you can reach inside yourself. He’s an asshole but you can’t let this happen, you can’t let her hurt him. But the chasm that was so readily open to you before is closed, nothing there for you to reach like you’d used every bit you had available.

This couldn’t be happening! Not now.

“It’s not his fault!” You say, but they’re already clamping irons down on his wrists, as if he’d been putting up any fight at all. “This is between you and me.”

She finally flicks her gaze off him to look at you, the corners of her mouth turning up in a grin. “Don’t worry, little mouse, you and I will be working very closely from now on to make sure something like this doesn’t happen again.”

Mother save you!

“Don’t do-”

“Stay quiet.” Rhys hisses before the door that leads to him slams shuts and locks from the inside. He'd heard you, and then he’d locked you out.

You look back and forth between them. Spots are starting to form in the corners of your eyes and there’s pressure in the base of your skull. You can’t tell if it’s from the pain radiating in your shoulder or a headache from expelling so much power at one time. Either way, it’s like a countdown has started. You only have so much left to give before you collapse.

“Get them both out of here before I change my mind about being merciful,” Amarantha hisses.

One guard grabs your busted arm and you can’t help but scream as he gives it a yank.

Rhys lunges at him, snarling something you can't make out, but the other guard grabs him by the hair and yanks him backward.

You’re going to throw up or pass out, the pain making the room spin.

“As if I don’t have enough to deal with with my mate tonight,” she hisses and you barely have enough presence of mind to hear the growl the word drags from Tamlin. Mate. Amarantha is the High Lord of Spring’s mate. “You’re lucky it was you that brought him in today, Rhysand, or things might have gone quite differently.”

The room tilts and blurs and the floor is suddenly rising up to meet you. It’s too much!

The guard yanks you up by the back of your dress, or what’s left of it, the torn fabric tearing further beneath his gloved hands, and back onto your feet. You’re pretty sure you’re crying as he drags you to the door, but there’s so much caked to your face your not entirely sure if it’s tears, blood, or mud sliding down your cheeks.

“Rhys,” you whimper because there is no one else to beg for help, your powers as illusive as ever and damn Amarantha and her stupid court, but your terrified of what will happen to you and him if you pass out right here.

A familiar brush against your mind is the only answer you get as you're dragged back down the stairs. Those stairs, the guard’s boots, it’s the last thing you remember before it all becomes too much and you black out.

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Tag List: @mariahoedt, @lovelydove, @twsssmlmaa, @sleepylunarwolf, @judig92, @willowpains, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @annaaaaaa88, @myheartfollower, @uniquecolorwizard, @eternallyelvish, @waytoomanyteenagefeels

#rhysand x reader #rhysand x reader fic #rhysand x reader smut #rhysand x reader angst #utm!rhys #acotar #rhysand acotar #acotar fic #datura #my fics #my writing

[hey-august]

Miles above, it’s so serene

A/N: This didn't win in the poll, but I just couldn't let the idea go! (See the smuttier fic here.)

Word count: ~1.4k Warnings: Pretty much SFW, buggy x GN!reader, no use of Y/N, partaking in the devil's lettuce 🍃, buggy is smitten, talks of sex but it doesn't happen, bit o fluff at the end

Title from "High as a Kite" by Weezer

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Cheers, shouts, and laughter from the pub spilled into the night street every time the door opened. A soft breeze carried the chatter and echoing footsteps, picking up the smoke from your group on the way. The edge of the glowing pool of light from the pub was the perfect spot to stand in a circle and bullshit about nothing. 

A lighter clicked, creating a red cherry that flared as one person inhaled. The roll passed to the next hand and the ember burned bright, before making its way to your hand. You took a shallow drag, pulling in just enough to maintain your comfortable buzz, before continuing the chain.

Raunchy jokes, lonely laments, agitated frustrations, and casual gossip bounced around the circle. Lobbies and spikes were unpredictable. New topics and responses overlapped to create a tightly bound weave between the crew. When one pirate beckoned a newcomer to join the pod, the rest of the group shuffled aside to make room. The empty space was filled by your captain. 

While extremely common for Buggy to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his mates, he was usually found in the pub draining bottle after bottle. Periodically, in certain crowds, he could be found with a cigarette dangling from his lips. It was rare, nearly fable, for him to choose to bond in a hazy cloud. And yet, there he was, standing next to you and effortlessly sliding into conversations like he had been here the whole time.

Soon it was time for your next hit. The roll sat between your fingers as you finished sharing a heated thought about the recent meals. It was a complaint that nearly everyone onboard had said at some point, yet you felt an odd strain emanating from your side. From your captain.

“...it’s whatever, really. Doesn’t actually matter, I guess.” 

You wrapped up the venting with a non-committal comment, hoping it might ease the subtle tension that only you seemed to sense. Maybe it was all in your head, so you set to work filling the space with smoke. You exhaled slowly and held out the roll for Buggy to take next, half expecting him to pass.

You were surprised when he nearly snatched his turn from your hand and took a hard drag, the unseen pressure finally relaxing. Watching the smoke drift from Buggy’s painted mouth as he spoke, you found a way to wheedle your way into his conversation. There was something intriguing and novel about seeing your captain like this, and you needed an excuse to stare.

It quickly became clear that this was not an activity Buggy participated in frequently. His comments became looser and his booming laughter had him bumping against you more frequently. Buggy’s personality was infectious. When one of his hands clasped your shoulder as he doubled over in laughter, it brought out your own fit of joy.

A new roll began its trip around the group. Still comfortable with your buzz, you took another shallow inhale. Buggy, on the other hand, pulled the ember ever closer and refilled his lungs with more unfiltered air than they were used to. Focused on himself, the captain missed the glances and suppressed smiles that flitted around the group.

You accepted the non-verbal remarks when your turn came around again. This time, you passed.

“Actually, I think I’m gonna head back. Captain, wanna walk back with me?”

“Heh, afraid of the dark?” he teased. “Sure, who better to protect you than the guy who ate the chop-chop fruit. No one will screw with us.”

You smiled, pleased that the plan worked. The warmth of the achievement flickered briefly when you realized that the roll hadn’t passed both of you yet. There was a possibility he’d take another hit, which is what you were hoping to avoid. The pirate standing on Buggy’s other side caught your eye and reached over to remove the obstacle. With the roll continuing it’s journey, you and Buggy left the group to start your own.

The walk to the ship was illuminated by the full moon. The ocean was calm, just barely rolling over the small stones on the shore. A soft wind followed you both, whispering through the palm trees and sea grass. With each step, you both continued talking and laughing. 

Buggy’s comments started drifting more frequently. He’d end with trailing thoughts, repeat himself, and launch into conversations that started in his head. It was endearing. You were more than content to follow along, watching to see how high he’d float.

“Y’know, I wish we weren’t walking back together,” Buggy drawled, clearly saying the thought as it appeared in his head.

You stayed silent, waiting to see if he’d elaborate. Did he not want to head back yet? Or did he want to walk with someone else?

“Not tonight, you know? I wouldn’t be able to consent to anything. I want to, but I can’t.”

Despite his continued babbling, you still couldn’t follow the thread he was dangling in front of you.

“What do you mean?”

Buggy turned to face you, leaving his feet to continue walking forwards to the ship.

“If we were to do something back on the ship,” he said, with a tinge of annoyance that he had to explain something that was only obvious to him. “Something,” he repeated, raising his eyebrows.

You bit back a laugh and nodded along.

“You and me, having sex together. Something. But I couldn’t consent like this.” Buggy emphasized his point by spreading his arms wide. “I wish I could, though. With you. I like you.”

It was your turn to raise your eyebrows. This was not how you expected the walk back to go. You rubbed your face, massaging your cheeks which would not relax or let go of the ecstatic smile hidden under your hand.

Buggy continued to prattle on, sharing all the things he likes about you. Observations that you didn’t think he noticed. Compliments that fill your stomach with butterflies. You captured your captain’s attention long ago and his list was long. From your fiery temper to your soothing smile, the way your hair caught the sunlight, how you smelled like the ocean, the scratch in your voice when you sang sea shanties, the shape of your hands, and so much more.

The monologue wrapped with another repeated lament about his inability to safely agree to sex. Buggy’s shoulders drooped and he hung over in remorse as he reconnected with his feet and turned away from you. He was adorably pathetic. Truly a clown.

“I like you too, captain. I promise not to take advantage of you, though.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

The rest of the walk was uneventful after that moment. If anything, it was as if the confessions didn’t happen. Buggy grew quieter and retreated into himself as you two boarded the ship. You knew that he was losing his hold and becoming untethered. It can be scary to feel like you’d float away, so you continued to fill the silence as you guided the captain back to his quarters. 

“Fuck, why is the ship swaying so much?” Buggy whined, flopping into his unmade bed.

You talked through the laughter that threatened to slip out. “It isn’t. The sea is calm, remember?”

Buggy groaned dramatically and pressed his palms against his eyes. “Everything keeps moving when I close my eyes.”

“Keep one leg off the bed.” You slapped one of his boot-clad feet, prompting him to let it fall to the ground with a thud. “Does that help?”

“I dunno. Maybe?” Buggy stayed silent for a moment, breathing deeply. “It helps a little.”

You were only going to hang around until Buggy fell asleep. With how quickly the smoke consumed him, it shouldn’t take long. However, the night had other plans.

You found yourself waking up in the captain’s bed, with the sounds of your own sleepy breathing fading from your head. Moonlight seeped into the room, but not as much as when you were last awake. Both of you were still wearing the clothes from earlier and laying on top of his sheets. 

In your hand was Buggy’s own, fingers entwined. Flattered heartbeats returned to your chest, nearly aching with how hard they started. As the content feeling flooded through your body, you gave a tentative squeeze. This was real. This was all real. While part of you was eager to know what tomorrow would bring, you also wanted to stay like this for as long as possible.

A moment later, you felt the comforting hold on your hand squeeze back.

#buggy fluff #buggy x reader #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy

[blueywrites]

out to play

part one of the cottage: a beastly collection

werewolf!eddie x fem!satyr!oc, 8k

collection tags: all installments will feature monsterfucking unless otherwise noted. 18+ only.

story tags: 18+. established relationship, primal play, rough consensual sex, unprotected sex, scratching, biting, blood, pain, overstimulation, knot emergence, aftercare. 1st person pov. includes physical descriptions of the OC named Juniper/Junie.

here it is - my little writing break passion project! while this will not become a full-blown fic, I do have another nonsequential part already planned, and I am very open to contributing more to the monsterfucking universe 😌. If you have any ideas, let me know!

enjoy 🥰

In the wood, about a three-quarter mile by meandering path from the nearest village, there is a cottage. It is nestled among the alders, having been fitted into a small clearing like a creature smooths and flattens the ground to establish its resting place. This resting place is fringed on all sides by wild bramble, tall goldenrod, and soft ferns, which insulate it from any who may wander its way without being meant to. 

The cottage is quaint. It has four walls made from large stones of varied shapes and colors, a mish-mash of protection borne by the earth. Its windows are shut up tight by wooden shutters, and it is topped by a thick thatched roof to keep out the bitter wind. Its chimney is cold now; firewood lies in a dwindled pile near the modest garden out front, ready to be stored away for the season. In the small clearing where the cottage dwells and in the forest beyond, all is still quiet— the honeybees are sleeping, and the birds have not yet returned from their migration south. But the clover is beginning to emerge again. Dew has replaced the frost. And today, the air is sweet with the promise of springtime. 

We are out to play.

Only the barest rustle gives me away as I weave between the alders, step delicately over ferns, and skirt the thorny brambles with equal parts caution and swiftness. My hooves skip lightly over low brush, nearly silent; I take care not to be noticed as I pick along, weaving a meandering path through the wood for some time. I continue drawing farther from my cottage and its clearing until, guided by some intuition, I allow myself to slow and pause near a felled tree. 

My soft ears flick, searching for tell-tale sounds. I scan the awakening forest, trying to catch a tell-tale glimpse of that which I’m evading. Yet, all is still. For some long moments, it is just me and my breath alone in the wood, and the prickling awareness that keeps me wide-eyed and alert to every sight and sound begins to wane. I relax; my bunched muscles ease, no longer ready to flee at the merest suggestion of danger. It is safe here now.

I take stock of myself. My bangs are mussed, and a blind attempt to tame them yields what is most likely lackluster results. Still, as I lift my thick braid from my shoulder, examining what I can see of its end, it seems to have held its shape. This consolation is quickly overshadowed as I move down my body and realize something with my dress doesn’t feel right. I smooth my hands down the linen, frowning lightly as I try to figure out why it is pinched and pulled uncomfortably around my midsection. That mystery is quickly solved when I reach behind me, unwedging the hem where it has bunched above my tail. 

In my escapade through the wood, my furry rump has, apparently, been exposed for all around to see. I am bare beneath the dress, having donned it only for modesty’s sake in case I were to encounter someone unexpected here— perhaps a villager who’d wandered too far from the road, or some curious children following the stream too deep into the forest. Though, since I’d chosen a frock short enough to keep me unencumbered as I run, I’m now realizing that it might be more trouble than it’s worth. Maybe I won’t bother with the dress next time. What’s the point? No one ever comes this far in, anyway—

There’s a subtle crackle nearby, and instantly, my prey-mind overwhelms me.

With a squeal of fearful delight, I take off at once, bounding into the brush. Knowing he’s been exposed, my hunter abandons stealth, and his pursuit becomes obvious now. Pounding feet race over old, crumbling leaves. Branches rustle and snap as they’re pushed hastily aside, almost close enough to brush me. When a familiar raspy cackle kisses the end of my braid, adrenaline bursts like goosebumps along my skin. I squeal again, but the sound subsides into a girlish giggle as I feint from him and dart to the left. With great commotion, the sounds of Eddie’s pursuit falter as he scrambles to adapt and continue after me. 

Bits of my hair fall free from the braid. No longer neat, they feather my cheeks, blowing in the wind I create with my escape. I feel that wind lift my hair and ruffle the hem of my dress; I feel the ferns and the grass crush under my hooves, and I grin. My heart throbs as I race through the wood, thumping wildly with the euphoria of the chase.

In the winter months, we could not indulge in this game of predator and prey. The snow was too harsh on the soles of Eddie’s feet, and he always refuses to wear shoes, only relenting when I insist he wear them on our forays into town. Even with his tough skin, the threat of frostbite is daunting. Plus, though I am sure-footed, Eddie is more so; and as I would make every attempt to escape him, there’s always a chance my hooves would skid on hidden ice. I did not want his feet to freeze, and he did not want to risk me hurting myself. With these concerns in mind, we spent the winter occupying ourselves with other activities. But now that the ground has thawed and spring is here — on this, the warmest day in many months, sweet and fragrant with that new emergent growth and pregnant with supple dew instead of biting frost— I begged Eddie to play chase with me once again. 

He’d seemed hesitant at first to oblige my request. His hand had cupped my cheek, broad and callused, his fingers tipped with blunt nails I always file short for him. “Full moon’s tomorrow, Junie,” he reminded me, searching my face. “You sure you want me to chase you?” 

I nodded, my eyes bright and eager, and he relented quickly. Being cooped up without the release of the chase had been difficult for both of us. Eddie was too pent-up to put up an earnest argument, and I was too aflame with the promise of play to care about what time of the month it happened to be, though I knew that Eddie would likely be rougher than normal because of it. Eddie always gets a little wolfier in the days leading up to the full moon, something he and his friends jokingly refer to as ‘pre-lycanthropic syndrome.’ I know that he is more easily excitable, more feral, when his transformation is imminent. Today, as he pursues me with the intent to capture, the thought of that is quite thrilling.

That thrill spurs me on now as I redouble my efforts to escape. No longer do I try to be silent as I flee— the only priority now is to evade my mate for as long as possible, to fuel the stirring in his blood and mine. But at this first test of true exertion, I find my joints are stiff, still creaky from disuse. I had, after all, spent most of my time curled up within our cottage this winter, tangled in blankets with Eddie near the fire. Reading, dozing, fucking, nuzzling, murmuring, grazing, only to doze again and repeat the process day after day. We did this all within the comfortable nest we’d made for ourselves, wiling away our time until the spring finally returned. 

I know I will become more limber the more I frolic; I need only to warm to it. But being what he is, Eddie needs less time to adjust after a long, lazy winter. From the corner of my eye, I see one of his broad hands sweep towards me, tipped with wicked claws longer than they typically are when playing this game. Those claws snag and tear through the side of my dress, and though I do not slow, the scratch blooms like a chilly sting across my ribs. 

That pain only excites me more. I feel my arousal stir, mixing with the impulse to flee from that which is chasing me. I gasp for breath, my muscles burning as my body chooses which way to go in a flickering haze of instinct. My eyes dart over rocks and logs, ferns and bushes, moving only a split second faster than my hooves follow. 

I don’t think too hard about where I am running. There is no way to evade Eddie forever; the chase always ends the same way.

And end it does. In a field of blooming heather, Eddie finally catches me. There’s a sudden heavy weight upon my back, a lurch, and then firm arms snatching me tight around the waist as I careen toward the ground. The impact dazes me, and I lay limp as we roll. The landscape becomes a blur of purple-tipped stalks until Eddie pins me down by my shoulders, looming over me. 

When my doubled vision clears, all I see is him. 

Eddie’s curls brush my clavicle, tickling my sweat-dewed skin, mixing with my braid which has finally fallen entirely to disarray— dark oak on pale wheat. My breath burns ragged in my lungs as I gulp deep breaths of air, staring up at my captor. I can see his gaze is fixed on my throat, where he my pulse is pounding beneath the thin skin there. Hungrily, he eyes me, panting out his exertion, revelling in the sight of his prey beneath him. And now that I am caught, there is no thought of escape— instead, I melt beneath him, laying pliant as I drink in each beloved feature of the one who has won me. 

Eddie’s handsome face betrays his arousal— dark eyes wide, pupils entirely dilated, nose scrunched, mouth open in a grimace of feral delight. He is wolfier than usual, as he warned me he might be. His ears are pointier, tufted with fur; his teeth are longer, especially his canines. Both the top and bottom sets look wickedly sharp where they frame his deep pink tongue, which wags with each heaving breath— not quite lolling from his mouth, but close to it. I can see that it, too, is rougher and longer than it typically is when we play chase. The thought of what he might do with it now that he has caught me makes a wicked thrill bloom low in my belly.

Eagerly, I devour more of my mate. I trace reverent eyes over his corded neck, his broad shoulders, his heaving chest, his nipples tight from excitement, the sparse hair between his pecs, which is denser now with his partial transformation. My breath begins to quicken as my gaze sweeps over lean, angular limbs, a soft belly that conceals a powerful core, and a trail of thick, dark hair leading down from his navel beneath his britches. Those are tented impressively, and I shiver at the sight. Unconsciously, I draw my tongue along my bottom lip. I throb between my legs as I anticipate the reveal of his straining cock.

As the sight and scent of my arousal grow more apparent, Eddie becomes evermore excited, descending further into the animal part of his nature. With muscles coiled and quivering with tension, he wraps large hands around my bare shoulders, pressing me down to the earth and squeezing, as if urging me to stay there. His claws begin to dig into my skin. I can feel the cold sting intensify as his grip tightens enough to make blood well up around each sharp tip. 

But the bloodletting is not frightening. It just makes me submit further to him. My eyes remain wide and doe-like as I gaze up at him adoringly, and my plump lips part just slightly. My mouth pools with saliva as I imagine him slipping in there— his thumb, his tongue, his cock, anything would do. My soft, fuzzy ears flick with anticipation at the thought, and my thighs press together, an ineffectual attempt to soothe the ache inside until Eddie takes care of me. I am his prey: helpless, docile. Entirely at his mercy, and so utterly happy to be so.

Typically, Eddie would now divest me of my clothing, perhaps by shimmying the hem of my dress up my body, or by untying the bows atop my shoulders and letting the dress fall away. 

Today, our play is not typical. 

Eddie rises up onto his knees, towering over me as the sun glints off his wild curls, casting an auburn halo at their edges. A small sound escapes me at the sight of him— proud, powerful, imposing for the wicked smirk that crooks his plush lips and the white tips of savage fangs that peek from between them. He would be a terrifying sight to behold if not for his eyes. Even when he is overcome with lust, and Eddie’s eyes are wide, frenzied, pitch-black with his desire, when he looks upon me, there is a softness in their corners, never overtaken by the violence he is capable of. 

That softness is there when he pins my legs with his powerful calves, pressing tight so I will stay still and flat beneath him. When I do not resist, Eddie takes up the bottom hem of my dress and begins to rend it apart, exposing my flesh for him. I keep my arms curled in the heather above my head, watching as his claws make quick work of my clothing. It does not bother me to have my dress destroyed; the sacrifice is worth it to see how Eddie relishes in the sight of me pliant and obedient beneath him, allowing him to destroy my clothing. 

The fabric tears unevenly, parting in jagged strips. I hold perfectly still as the fur of my legs is revealed up to the top of my pelvis, midway between my mons and my navel, where it transitions into skin. He continues up my body, and the ripped fabric flutters down like the kiss of a bird’s wings on my skin. Rip, and my navel is exposed. Rip, and my ribcage emerges. Rip, and my breasts fall free, with little pink nipples the color of ripe watermelon. Cool spring air kisses them puckered, and the sight pulls a low rumble from Eddie’s throat. It is clear from the gleam in his eye that the sight has tantalized him, reminding him of the other place on my body that is so brightly-colored. 

I know before it happens what the sight will have him do.

Sure enough, Eddie’s warm knees are suddenly no longer crowding the outside of my thighs. I look down the plane of my body to find him discarding his britches with impatience, and then all at once, Eddie seizes me with needy roughness. My bare back drags against heather flowers made abrasive by the sudden motion. The feeling is unpleasant, as my skin is far more sensitive than my fur. Yet I do not dwell on it, more arrested by the way Eddie is parting my legs as he hefts me onto his lap, lifting my lower body easily, tilting me up until only my shoulder blades are pressed to the ground. My inner thighs stretch tight around his waist as he pulls me close to him. He plants me there, with my ass resting on his muscled thighs. His broad, clawed hands squeeze at the rolls of tender fat that mound up at the outer juncture of my hip and thigh, covered by soft, bristly fur. I sigh at the feeling, thinking about how Eddie often draws his nails through my fur. Whether blunt or sharp, I relish in the feeling of my mate doting on me that way. And I know he loves the breathy sounds of contentment I make when he strokes up and down my legs, scratching lightly as I stretch and preen and lilt into his loving touch.

But Eddie is not interested in tantalizing me with light, delicate touches today. Instead, his gaze is locked on the place between my legs where my fur parts to reveal bare flesh. It’s the deep, watermelon pink of my pussy— the same color as my nipples, but soft like the skin at my inner elbow, puffy and supple. 

I feel a familiar rush of pride at the way Eddie’s panting mouth waters, tantalized by my sex. Drool glistens, gathering underneath his tongue as he salivates at the sight of me. I feel the rough pads of his fingers carefully spread my sticky lower lips, angled to keep his claws from catching my delicate flesh. I hope that he will lift me high and swipe that hot rough tongue through my folds. My fingers crawl along the grass in anticipation, reaching for the strong knobs of his knees. I want to hold them, to squeeze them in my grip when he buries his face in my pussy, ravenous for the sweet taste of my arousal.

But Eddie surprises me. Instead of lifting me to his mouth, he slots the underside of his hot cock against my heat. Pinching my plump lips closed with his thumb and index finger, he creates a tight space where he can rut along the length of my pussy without entering me. 

I gasp at the first thrust along my slick, sensitive flesh, and Eddie grunts in satisfaction to hear it, rumbling deep in his chest. He is being quieter than usual— that is, he typically talks more than this, but it seems that with his transformation so close, he’s caught in the haze of his baser nature. He is communicating with his body and his sounds, and so, I decide, will I. I tip my chin and hum happily for him as he drags his cock along my hot slick pussy with one long, slow thrust, and he rumbles back in reply. Again, he drags himself along my heat, and my hips squirm in his lap; he answers with one more slow thrust, as if he’s savoring the feeling of teasing my body in this way. And then Eddie begins to grind against my sex with a rough, staccato rhythm, rutting with sharp jerks of his hips that have me throwing my head back against the soil, moaning out my pleasure. He gathers my slick with his fat cockhead and catches my clit every time he ruts forward— there’s a spark of fire at the end of each thrust, and I whimper as that delicious feeling begins to build in my lower belly, enough so that my tail begins to twitch, a tell-tale sign of my pleasure. 

The little brushes of my tail against his hairy thighs show him how good he’s making me feel, and as I think about how it must look, him using my body like this, it flicks even harder, more insistently. But my mate does not indulge in what I can only imagine, though he could easily watch himself rut in and out of my pink lips if he were to tip his chin. Eddie does not look down to see the way his cock grows sticky with my gathering arousal. Instead, his wide, dark eyes remain fixed on my face, taking in every detailof my expression, feasting on my enjoyment. It’s as if the only sustenance he could ever need can be gained by the sight of me beneath him— my lower lip clamped between my teeth, my glazed eyes locked on his face, my expression so clearly transfixed by him, so entirely enamored with him. 

Eddie sees the way I’m looking at him, and the corners of his eyes soften even more. He grins down at me fondly, but the movement of his body does not soften with it. It only intensifies. Each inhale becomes a huff, each exhale a grunt as he ruts harder along my heat, hard enough that his hairy balls start to slap against my ass. He maintains this faster speed only briefly before I feel his grip falter and his cock lose traction in the increasing slickness. But Eddie adjusts quickly. He finally looks down at the place we are nearly joined and watches as he pinches my slick, puffy lips tighter around his slippery cock, adjusting the angle of his hips to compensate. And once he regains his pace, Eddie ensures that it will not happen again. He abandons his grip on my hip to reach higher up, grasping handfuls of the flesh at my waist to pull me up against him. 

It’s a commanding hold that ensures our slick, heated bodies remain pressed together tightly, as tight as can be without one of us being inside the other. Eddie grinds himself against my pussy, undulating his hips in a slow roll he is clearly enjoying, and I’m enjoying it too— enjoying the teasing pleasure of his cockhead catching against my clit, enjoying the sensual scratch of his wiry bush rubbing against the soft fur between my thighs, enjoying the way he gnaws his bottom lip and regards me through his eyelashes, his stare unwavering. I’m relishing in all of these things, yet before long, it is no longer enough for me. I begin to yearn for his next thrust to catch his head on the rim of my entrance. I want his cockhead to snag there, to pause for a moment as it threatens to breach me. Until all that is needed is the slightest cant of Eddie’s hips for his cock to ease right into my aching hole and stretch me open at last.

My pussy flutters at the thought, as if trying to entice him with the promise of its grip. When he doesn’t seem to notice, I begin to coax him with a slight rocking of my hips, biting my lip to try and stay my protestations, to resist the petulance rising within me. But when he ignores the language of my body, I am forced to make myself known. 

My whine is a high, needy thing, quiet at first, then repeated with increasing strength and desperation until he cannot escape me.

This Eddie cannot ignore, and his eyes flick up to mine. His face is beautiful and rugged, his expression animalistic. That plush top lip is half caught in a snarl and those dark eyes are half-lidded, with eyelashes that almost flutter as he works his cock with my soft body. As my whining increases in pitch, I watch a flicker pass across those dark eyes— smugness, or knowing, perhaps, though Eddie doesn’t yet acquiesce to my request. 

But I have caught his attention now, and having caught it, I know he will yield to me. Eddie may be the predator between us, but I have learned that what he truly desires is to give me what I want. Even if Eddie winds me up for his own amusement, in the end, he is too soft, too devoted to deny me for long. 

So I play into my strengths. My brow pinches pleadingly; my lower lip quivers, pouting out for him, flushed darker from having been bitten and chewed on as I tried to maintain patience. I look up at him, doe-eyed and weak as I sniff and wriggle, whimper and whine. Please, I implore him with my eyes, still neglecting speech. Please fuck me.

That flicker of smugness in Eddie’s eyes is replaced by a deepening of umber to gold, accompanied by a gradual flush that raises high on Eddie’s cheekbones. He is moved by watching me beg for his cock, and there’s no way for him to deny it. 

As soon as that understanding passes between us, it’s as if a string has snapped. Without warning, Eddie wraps his massive hands around my hips and, with an ease that is equally startling and arousing, he flips me over. 

Ever conscientious, Eddie continues holding me around the middle to keep my chin and shoulders from slamming into the ground too hard. But I wouldn’t have cared. Not even if he’d been too far gone and I’d found my teeth scraping fresh, fragrant grass. My moan of anticipation is almost a bleat as my hands press the heather flat beneath me. When I feel Eddie nudge at the inside of my knobby knees with the outside of his, I scramble to assume a position he can mount me in. I arch my back and spread my knees, sticking my ass high in the air. The breeze caresses me between my legs, a cool kiss against overheated flesh, though even that brings little relief when I’m aching this way. 

When that slight breeze is suddenly interrupted, I know that Eddie has moved to kneel tall behind me. His claws bite into my furry hips as he grasps me, his grip tighter than it has been yet today. The ache inside lessens as flutters of anticipation replace it; my heart throbs the whisper I hold back from voicing. Finally. Finally. Finally. 

Imagine, if you will, the nature of my mate. Roguish, playful, and so mischievous, I sometimes can’t decide whether to kiss or smack him. I know this— I relish in his wild cackle and his manic grins, most of the time. So perhaps it should not have surprised me when Eddie’s cockhead presses against the thin skin below my entrance, sliding down, down, down with even pressure before skating right past my entrance and pressing against my sensitive clit instead. 

Despite the promise of this new position, despite the way I’m arched and ready for him, Eddie chooses to rut himself along my pussy again, teasing me more. From this angle, he has more to reach, too, in his efforts to torment me. He slides up, up, up again, and I feel his cockhead slip between my asscheeks; the underside of his thick cock rubs along just the rim of my entrance and over my puckered hole in slow strokes that do not satisfy me. 

Of course, I whine again. The sound is more rough, less sensual, almost a growl of frustration as if in some pale imitation of Eddie himself. And Eddie has the gall to chuckle. It’s a rumble in his chest, but lilted, almost a purr until it breaks at the end into the familiar sound of Eddie’s raspy laughter. My tail is wagging now— not in desire, but in impatience, with jerky flicks that convey my displeasure. I dig my blunt nails into the earth, trying to endure my mate’s teasing, but I am quickly passing desperation, approaching feralness.

I will need to play dirty.

I coordinate my plan with the slow withdrawal of Eddie’s cock. When his cockhead lifts from my lips, I widen my knees, lowering my ass slightly in preparation for what I will do. And then my next shift comes all at once— exaggerating the curve of my spine, pressing my shoulders flat to the ground as I reach behind me. Stretching my arms as far back as they’ll go. Grabbing handfuls of my inner thighs, inching my fingers inward, searching for flesh beyond the fur. When I find that smoothness, I turn my head. And with my cheek smushed to the heather, as the flowers smear the apple purple, I look back at Eddie, arresting his attention to my hole as it stretches when I pull my sticky lips apart to entice him. “Eddie,” I whimper, high and throaty and sweetly feminine, abandoning my attempt to match him in wordlessness. “Please, baby, I need you.” I tighten my fingers. Divots form as my plumpness mounds up around them, and I stretch open my hole a little farther. “Need your cock, Eddie. Please.”

Rough, quick, filthy, more wolf, more man, any which way— I don’t care how Eddie takes me, as long as he takes me now.

When his powerful thighs press to mine so immediately, I let go of my pussy lips, quickly raising my hips and tucking my hands under me again. I can’t see his face anymore, but this is it. I know it. And it’s such a relief to be stretched, to be split open when he enters me at last. We both whine simultaneously as we feel my pussy yield to him, welcoming him in with a lewd squelch, hugging him tightly. 

So tight, and wet, and warm, only for my Eddie. 

I hear him rattle a sigh of relief as his cockhead pops in. I imagine the way his face looks— eyes closed, lashes brushing his cheeks, head tilted, neck stretched, wild curls dipping down his powerful back. Eddie is finally fucking me open with short, shallow strokes, growing slowly deeper until at last he’s plunging all the way in, nudging up against the end of me. And now that he’s seated fully inside, I want it hard and rough— I want so badly for him to beat into me until my brain is fuzzy and my legs are trembling. In my wanting, I begin to rock back into him, moving myself on his cock in defiance again of the dynamic we have set for our play today. 

Eddie allows me to assert myself for a short time before squeezing my hips again, holding me tight with a warning growl low in his throat. I’ve let you have your fun, that rumble seems to say. Let me fuck you now.

I am eager for Eddie to take the lead. Perhaps overly eager as I show my earnest submission, whimpering and humming as my hips jerk to a stop halfway sunk down on his cock. There, I hold still, turning my face and smushing my cheek to the crushed flowers again. I want Eddie to see my thoroughly docile expression, my innocent eyes, my downturned ears. My small tail falls slack, and if he were closer— if he were pressed all the way up inside me— I would trace a soothing pattern with its tip along his soft belly, hoping he would accept the gesture.

Eddie smiles, a slow grin full of heat and satisfaction, and I uncrick my neck as I see that he is not upset with me. The relief mixes headily with my arousal, and I press back into his touch as he grabs palmfuls of my ass, fanning his fingers in my soft fur. I feel him spread my cheeks, hear him hiss as he sees the evidence of my desire for him. He plays with me— pushing himself slowly in to watch my cream gather thick around my entrance. I can feel it beginning to mat the hair that frames my bright pink lips, and I imagine my arousal dragging sticky along his thickness, coating the hot flush of his skin and his throbbing veins as he inches out and back in, over and over. I know he will do this for as long as he likes. I am happy to let him, to be the plaything he has caught, stretched out on his thick cock. 

And almost better than the way Eddie is making me feel is the evidence of his own enjoyment. Little absent sounds of satisfaction murmured under his breath. His claw-tipped fingers flexing, grabbing, groping. The increasing desperation behind his thrusts as his pace begins to quicken. The brush of his soft belly against my tail as he begins to curl his body over me, seeking more leverage. Lost in the feeling of my squeezing heat.

Those little sounds soon subside to panting, and I lose myself in my own pleasure until something wet and warm drips onto my spine. One drop. Another, catching the first. Combined, they crawl down the slope of my back, slipping toward the nape of my neck. As they dampen my hair, I feel them chased by a new drop— a third, and then a fourth. 

I realize what it must be: Eddie’s drool, dripping from his open jaw onto my back.

The feeling of his spit— the knowledge that I have him so drunk on my pussy that his mouth is just hanging open in absent enjoyment— makes me flush warm with giddy pleasure. A warm spread of happiness in my chest; a sparkling, tightening heat low in my belly, like embers of a flame. I seek to grow that burn; unconsciously, I roll my hips, rubbing Eddie’s tip inside me.

As if in a coordinated effort, Eddie juts into me sharply just as I roll my hips. The effect is is startling— he ends up slamming in to the hilt so roughly that I feel his balls squish up tight against my inner thighs. It’s almost painful, but in the best way as I’m wracked with a sudden burst of intense pleasure. The feeling is dizzying, overwhelming, as if I’d been shot through with electricity, hoof to head. It punches a moan out of me, one loud enough to stir the wood around us; my pussy flexes and flutters on his hardness, my puckered hole winks, and my tail stiffens straight up, quivering from base to tip. 

Such a visceral reaction from his mate must speak to the beast inside Eddie. He crowds me into the ground, belting his arm around my waist, squeezing me to his chest. His heavy warmth envelops me— tight, tight, so tight and sticky with his sweat and mine. The hold presses the breath from my lungs, which I regain quickly as I gasp as bright pain blooms in near the base of my neck— Eddie’s curls spill across my upper back, barely a warning before his sharp teeth sink into my shoulder.

I cry out, squealing a broken sound as he begins to rut hard and fast into my cunt. Suddenly, all I am is sensation, every nerve awakened as I flood with adrenaline and arousal. I feel all of it at once, and somehow each sensation so distinctly: Eddie’s balls slapping against my furry mound, beating an even rhythm. His corded throat rumbling as he hums around my flesh in his mouth. His warm breath fanning me as he huffs through his nose. And then the feelings converge into the sharp, cold agony of his teeth in my shoulder and the hot sparkling pleasure of his cock plunging into me. 

The potent combination drives me quickly to overstimulation. I reach back and fist my hand in his wild mane of curls. And even though, as Eddie rocks his body into mine, each tug makes his teeth dig a little more into my shoulder, my fist just tightens as I endure the onslaught of sensation. 

Tugging so viciously on Eddie’s hair isn’t meant as a complaint, but his decision to bite me was clearly impulsive, and perhaps he interprets it as such. He releases me quickly, and there’s both relief and disappointment in the loss of his teeth. Relief and disappointment in my conscious mind, but at this juncture— so overwhelmed by sensation— instinct takes over. By instinct, my body drives my actions. It hunches my back to lower my hips, which retract and squirm away from the intensity of that stimulation, afraid of my coming orgasm as much as it yearns for it. 

I act on instinct, and so does Eddie; as I shift away, his predator-brain activates. I hear him growl— an intimidating sound meant to make prey freeze. I do. And I find my tail snatched in a commanding hold and tugged hard.

My furry knees drag against the crushed heather as I’m pulled back into the curve of Eddie’s muscular body. In one motion, before I can make a sound, he uses my tail to lift up my hips and sink his cock into my gaping cunt. I gasp again, and it chokes off into a pained moan as Eddie sinks his teeth back into my shoulder. 

Eddie might be consumed by his predator-brain, but he does not rip through the muscle. The action is not to devour, to consume, but instead to keep me still, to take my pleasure no matter how overstimulating it might be. He holds me there with his teeth in the meat my shoulder and his hand fisted around my tail, fucking with feral, single-minded intent into my cunt. He wants me to fall apart beneath him; he wants to possess me entirely, to work my body to the point of shattering pleasure. 

And Eddie will get what he wants. My heart pounds as he bullies my cunt, unrelenting in pursuit of my orgasm. My breath puffs out in little vocal squeaks, which grow more and more desperate and broken until the feeling finally surges up, powerful and dizzying and utterly unstoppable as it overtakes me.

It’s a euphoric release from a build-up so intense it had been approaching agony. I shudder, jerking as it crests and breaks inside me, and then pleasure is all I know. 

In the moment, I am not conscious of it, but my cunt clamps down on him, squeezing hard— almost possessively— around Eddie’s cock. Almost instantly, his grip on my tail eases, softening when he feels it twitch and quiver erratically as I begin to cum. His teeth release me, and he growls again, but this time it is warm— possessive, satisfied as I writhe beneath him, caught in the throes of the blinding pleasure he has given me. My brain is blank, fuzzed completely stupid as I cum. 

Slowly, I come back to myself. Eddie is still draped over my back, and I’m beginning to bow under his weight, my muscles weak and slack in the aftermath. Sensing my exhaustion, Eddie pulls out and turns me over, and I remain limp as he manipulates me onto my back. My chest is heaving, my body shaking, my cheeks hot, my eyes heavy-lidded. Dazed and absent, in a state of total bliss. I only realize I’d been screaming out my ecstasy when I swallow, and my throat feels raw. 

With as much gentleness as he can muster, Eddie folds me in half. My legs fit into the crooks of his shoulders as he bends forward over me, bracing his palms in the dirt alongside my shoulders as my hooves hover in the air, tickled by the soft fur that tufts his ears. Eddie is a sight— wild, sweat-drenched curls, pink chest, a vein popping in his forehead. There’s desperation in his brow, the darkness of his eyes, and the pinch of his plush lips. I whimper as he enters me again, still achingly hard; I stare into his eyes as he begins to fuck into my sopping cunt, squelching into me with audibly lewd strokes. He fucks me slowly now, savoring the way my pussy hugs and grips him, the way she sucks him in greedily every time his hips draw back. I can’t help but stare up at him with such utter, mindless devotion, and that devotion is mirrored in his expression. Despite his need, Eddie clearly wants to relish in the feeling of me pressed beneath him as long as possible, and I can see how he’s fighting himself as his nostrils flare, his lips press pale and thin, and his brow begins to twitch, that vein throbbing now as he stubbornly tries to hold back. 

Eventually, though, even that Munson stubbornness isn’t enough to prevent Eddie’s aching balls from their release. He’s pressed in deep, and I feel them brush against me as they jump and tighten. Instantly, Eddie is pulling out of me, dipping down, leaning all his weight on one elbow as he fists his cock desperately with his free hand. I look into his fluttering eyes, feeling his cum begin to paint my lower lips as he shudders and bucks into his own touch. When I cup his face, Eddie rolls his cheek into my palm, and then he whines. Confused, I watch as his eyes scrunch tightly shut; he keeps bucking until his chest is heaving and he’s panting fast, grunting on each exhale. A curious feeling blooms in my chest as he trembles, still fucking his fist; I stroke back his hair, concern turning to fascination as he tears from my grip and abruptly sits up, towering over me and throwing his head back in a strangled howl. I drop my aching legs and prop up on my elbows, reeling as I look down my body to see the swelling at the base of Eddie’s cock, so bulbous it’s visible behind his fist as he strokes himself. And then his hand grips my thigh tight as his howl turns to a long, low groan of relief; he nestles his fat cockhead between my puffy lips to cum on me again.

I realize that this must also be because of his imminent transformation— his knot, this second release. His hot mushroom head pulses as he paints my clit with hot spurts of his cum. Eddie cums, and he keeps cumming, enough so that I can feel his spend drip down my entrance, collect in the rim, and then spill over onto my fur on its crawling path toward the ground. It’s the messiest we have ever been. I can feel how matted my fur is around my entrance, tacky and coated in his spend and mine. He’s still stroking his cock slowly, and I can see that the motion is inadvertently spreading some of his cum over his shaft, thick and slightly opaque as it sticks to his flushed skin.

Eventually— after quite a bit longer than usual when he only cums once, which apparently is not always the case, I realize with a little thrill of excitement— Eddie stops cumming. He sighs in relief, his shoulders sagging. And in the aftermath, I want to scramble to my knees and take him into my mouth, to explore that new aspect of his body revealed to me.

But Eddie has other plans. 

Despite his clear fatigue, he lifts my hips carefully before I can make any moves to get up; my knees spread as he bumps one gently with his temple. As I give him access, Eddie leans down until his mouth meets the juncture of my spread thighs and begins licking my fur clean of his seed and my slick. 

I am a little envious that he gets to taste that mixture of us, but after a few strokes of his tongue, I sigh, relaxing bonelessly in his hold. It soothes me how gently he licks me, and it feels so nice that I don’t even mind waiting to explore his knot. I hum contentedly as his rough tongue drags warm and wet over my fur in long, gentle strokes. And once my fur is clean, he licks between my lips, all over my puffy pussy, dipping into my entrance too. His chest rumbles as he tastes my sweetness mixed with his tang, and I can feel the vibrations in the backs of my thighs as he enjoys cleaning me. My tail quivers happily, and he smiles, pressing a kiss to my mound before setting me down again.

As soon as he lets me down, I right myself in a sprawl of limbs so I can crawl over to him. Eddie must think I am looking to cuddle as I usually do after we make love, because he lounges back with easy confidence, propping himself up with an elbow and opening his other arm in invitation. But I am not ready to cuddle; instead, I want to explore his knot. 

I climb over his leg and settle to his side near his hip, ducking my head, my eyes fixed between his thighs. Cautiously, with a twitching nose and flicking ears, I draw close to his slowly-flagging erection, looking at his swollen base with unfiltered, wide-eyed curiosity. He huffs tiredly in amusement, and spreads his hairy thighs further, allowing me to sate that curiosity. 

It is hot and sticky— I can tell without even touching it. Eddie’s body always runs hot, but the heat radiating from this new emergence is more potent than I’ve felt from him before. Timidly, I begin to touch his knot with light brushes of my fingertips, ready to flinch back should it make any sudden moves. It feels stiff like his hardness, just as unyielding, though mounded up in a supple curve rather than a hard line. 

His thighs tense when I lick it, and I realize it must be sensitive. But though he grunts and his muscles draw taut, Eddie holds still, letting me lick up the vague tang of his cum from his velvet skin until I’m satisfied. When I have had my fill of his taste, I rest my cheek on his wiry bush, looking up at him. His brown eyes are warm, the line of his brow eased as he meets my gaze, and with fond gentleness, Eddie strokes my hair. He draws his fingers through the strands, lightly scratching my scalp as I hum. But when his fingers skim the base of my throat, pushing back the hair there, they freeze at the same time I register an ache. It’s the bite I am only just starting to remember as my post-orgasmic daze begins to fade.

Eddie whines, high and distressed, his eyes no longer hazy but now sharp with concern. “Junie,” he croaks, and my name is the first word he’s said since we left the cottage. He reaches for me, and I let him pull me onto his naked lap so he can examine my wound. He prods around it lightly with his fingertips, and I feel my skin is sticky with blood. I scrunch my neck, tipping my chin to try to look, but it’s too close for me to see, and that just makes it hurt more. Eddie grunts in protest, and I sigh when he takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, directing my face away from the mark. 

I stare up at the alders, letting him fuss over me. I know he’s done when Eddie whines again and nuzzles me, pressing his nose against my neck in contrition. 

“Told you I’d be too rough, baby,” he whimpers. “I’m so sorry—” 

The words are mumbled into my skin, but nonetheless, I frown to hear how Eddie sounds almost beside himself. I take his face, stroking his cheeks and then his ears, rubbing them lightly between my pinched fingers in the way I know he likes. “I’m okay, Eddie,” I say quietly, letting him tend to me. Carefully, so carefully, I feel Eddie’s tongue brush over the punctures, and I keep rubbing his ears as he begins to lick the wound he left on my shoulder. 

I am not concerned the way Eddie is; I know it will heal, and faster now that he’s coated me so thoroughly with his saliva. But Eddie still insists on carrying me back to our cottage. He leaves his britches and my tattered dress discarded in the heather. I rest my head on his chest, listening to his strong and steady heartbeat, which lulls me into hazy contentment until I crack my eyes and see stone walls and a thatched roof— our familiar resting place. I let my eyes slip closed again, and even so, I sense the moment he crosses the threshold.

Inside is warm, smelling of fresh herbs and our combined musk. I am filled with peace as he lays me in our bed, curling around me, keeping me safe with the heat of his body. My wolf and I are thoroughly worn, thoroughly sated. For now, at least. I am eager for what more we can get up to as the weather grows fair, and the birds and bees return.

thanks for reading! please let me know if you enjoyed it! 💙

#blueywrites #monster!eddie #werewolf!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #monster smut #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x original character #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine

[mrs-kmikaelson]

01| The Tribrid

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x daughter!reader, Marcel Gerard x reader (platonic) Summary: While you're away on an impromptu break, Marcel comes to try and get you to come back to help him face the Mikaelsons who just so happen to be your long lost family (but no else knows that). Warnings: none Words: 3.2K

Masterlist | Part 2

a/n: i guess this kinda fits in with season one, but it's more of an AU than anything. so, it has elements of the s1 plot, like the marcel and klaus feud, the hope plot, but the villains from s1 won't really be present. like i said, AU. but without further adieu, on we go.

New Orleans was a land of plastic beads and festivals for days–a tourist attraction, which basically meant a blood bank. I knew what lurked in the shadows, what whispered through the grapevine behind the music, but Originals... I didn't know they were back.

Word travels fast around the Quarter, but I haven't been there; I was in Mystic Falls, too busy following up on a lead about the Mikaelsons to even realize that they were at the place I started, my home. 

Marcel wouldn't stop talking about it. As soon as I got back, I was flooded with information and, as soon as I got back, I could hear the whispers from a mile away. Most reactions to the arrival of such a family were scared, livid, shocked, but I was none of the above.

I didn't have a thing to say back to Marcel, not a thing to say to the people who were suddenly confusing me with Rebekah Mikaelson. I didn't have an inch of emotion about it, not surprise, not fear. I mean, how could anyone be surprised? How could I be surprised, scared?

How could I be surprised by my own family?

"Klaus needs to learn his place." I internally rolled my eyes at Marcel's, basically, monologue, continuing to sift through pages of the magazine in my hands. "He's outta line." 

Klaus Mikaelson was always out of line– he had no line, no boundaries. He was Klaus Mikaelson and that was the only line there was, but I didn't say that. When Marcel was having one of his tantrums, I learned to just listen to him; interrupting or putting my own two cents in just made the conversation longer and I only wanted it to end. 

"He thinks he can just kick me out of the Quarter, out of my home, the bastard. Who does he think he is?" Rhetorical question, I had to remind myself, holding my tongue. The former king of New Orleans was sitting across from me at a coffee shop in New York. A coffee shop.

He was calling this his 'vacation' but we both knew that the only reason he was here was because boss man told him to leave. Honestly, I don't know why I'm here. I'm supposed to be in a university class, but it doesn't really matter if I can just compel the grade, right?

I was doing psych this time; Cami's always saying all these things to me about how she thinks my brain works and I honestly want to learn how it does. Saying I have a PhD might actually get me a significant other, but, knowing myself, the whole triangle of creatures thing might freak them out. 

At least I haven't gone as low as Marcel.

"Y'know, just because that ass is an Original doesn't mean he's suddenly the shit." 

This time, I didn't bother trying to hide the roll of my eyes, continuing to flip through my magazine as I responded. "Uh... it kinda does." I could feel his glare on my forehead as my eyes widened at Kim K's ass. Not even being a Vampire gives you that- "And, Marcel, I don't know if you've realized it yet, but he isn't just an Original."

I looked up at him for the first time since his rant started and gave him a pointed look. Sometimes, he didn't think with his head. 

Marcel shrugged like he was saying, 'so what' silently. "Tyler what's-his-name is a hybrid, too."

I raised a brow at him. "A hybrid turned by Klaus, and wasn't he the guy who tried to kill Klaus' wife or whatever, inadvertently but intentionally trying to kill himself, and then failed?" 

"Not the point, Y/N/N." The fuck it isn't- "The point is that the man is such a dick because his is so small." Gross. Didn't need to hear that.

"Didn't he adopt you or something?"

"Is that all you're getting from what I'm saying?"

I made a face at him, putting my magazine down on the table. "Can I be honest and say I don't get anything from this conversation?"

He deadpanned, "You're annoying."

"Glad you're just now figuring that out, Cellie." I got up from my seat, patting him on his back. "Please, though, go have this talk with Camille instead."

I started walking away, but Marcel only got up and began following me out, making me hold in a groan. God, men, they can never take a damn hint.

"Hey, where you headed?" He asked, but he dismissed his own question just as quick as I would've. "And aren't you supposed to talk to me and help me figure out my problems? You're studying psych, aren't you?"

I scoffed, "Yeah, people usually pay for a psychiatrist to talk to them." Honestly, I don't know why Marcel was here. With a God complex like his, you'd expect him to stay and, y'know, get himself killed. It's not like him to use his brain so suddenly.

He could've gone to damn Vegas, maybe LA, but he just has to come to where I am, right after I leave. He's getting a break from his 'Kingly' duties; Klaus is taking that off his hands, so why isn't he enjoying it and taking an actual vacation instead of visiting me and calling it a holiday? I'm not the Eiffel Tower, for Pete's sake.

It's a power struggle. People like him, came from the bottom and wanted nothing more than to be at the top, fighting against people like Originals, who had been where my friend wanted to be since the beginning of time. 

Marcel didn't want to admit he was playing a losing game.

"You telling me to go home, Y/L/N?"

I rolled my eyes. What gave it away? "Precisely, Gerard."

I was just about to make it to my car when Marcel sped in front of me. I looked up at the sky and pinched my eyes. God, he was insufferable. Honestly, it shouldn't have surprised me that he came all this way just to bitch. But what he said next did surprise me.

"Come back with me, then."

My eyes snapped open and I stared at him incredulously. What the fuck.

I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn't hallucinating and Cellie slapped my arm. "C'mon, Y/N/N. It'll be funnnnnnnnn." The way he dragged out the word did not convince me in the slightest.

I got over my shock and voiced my thoughts. "You want me to come back because you think drama with the Mikaelsons is- fun?"

He was quick with his response. "It could be." He then snorted. "Hell, I'd love to see Klaus' reaction to a girl like you, stronger than him-" I cut him off with my magic, his lips slamming shut immediately. It was only a temporary thing, just stops a person from speaking for a second, so he'd be able to continue right after, but he got the point and shut up.

I've known Marcel for close to fifty years. Met him in the seventies. He tried to kill me and I knocked him off his feet with a classic telekinesis spell. Since then, he's known about who I am and he's also decided that he's better off having me on his team. Whatever the hell that means.

I usually like to keep the whole tribrid thing under wraps, hence why I got Marcel to stop talking.

I gave him a look. "Klaus wouldn't have any reaction what I am, because he wouldn't know." Apparently, my gaze conveyed my message well enough because Marcel raised his hands in surrender. 

"Okay, okay," he conceded. "No one's gotta know. But you should come back anyway."

I can't say I haven't thought about it. I know I can't stay out in New York forever. 

I rolled my eyes. I can't believe I'm actually giving thought to something Marcel says. "Okay, gimme time and I'll think about it."

He grinned and pointed finger guns at me, walking backwards away from me. "Think it over and we'll talk about it tomorrow." He turned around and walked away with a kick in his step before he disappeared completely, moving too fast for the human eye to detect.

I sighed and shook my head, the smallest of smiles growing on my face. Ah, Marcel. 

I pulled out my keys, walking to my car and thinking about what he asked. 

It's sorta odd, I suppose. Considering how long I've been watching the Mikaelsons, you'd think I'd be the first one there in New Orleans, keeping tabs on them, but the only way I knew about their escapades was from Marcel who told me voluntarily.

That was one thing he didn't know about me; no one did. No one knew about my connection to the Mikaelsons, not even the Mikaelsons themselves, which is partially why I don't wanna go back to NOLA just yet.

My apartment's in the Quarter, way too close to the Abbatoir and, according to Marcel, that's now Original HQ. It's too risky, my rational side said.

Yet, the other part of me that spent almost my entire life tracking them, being infatuated with them, thinks that being so close to them would be favourable. 

And, like most times, the irrational part of my brain wins the battle in decision-making.

Fuck. Marcel's gonna have to buy me a lot of alcohol for this one.

Walking through the quarter again is like that human expression 'like riding a bike.' I've obviously never ridden a bike, but I get what the expression is meant to say. It's referring to doing something that comes naturally to you.

That's what this is.

Marcel is beside me as we walk past both all the tourists and locals. It's easy to tell the difference between the two. I compelled movers earlier to unload all my stuff back into my apartment so I have nothing to worry about other than getting reacquainted with my city.

The path we took eventually led us to Rousseau's and as soon as we entered my eyes scanned the bar for Cami, who I know for a fact Marcel is obsessed with. But she's way too good for him.

I went and sat down at the bar and waited for her to come our way. She wasn't paying much attention when she came over, wiping down some glasses. "Hey, what can I getcha?"

"The usual." Her head shot up when she heard me and a smile broke out on her face. "Y/N/N?" She put down what she was holding and came around the counter, embracing me in a hug. "Oh my God, I thought you were gonna be stuck in the big apple for a while still."

I chuckled. "Yeah, well Marcel happened to- no, nevermind, Marcel just happened." She let out a laugh and went back around the counter, greeting Marcel and getting to work on our drinks.

"Well, I'm glad you're back," she said.

Marcel inserted himself into the conversation and I tuned them out after that, letting the two of them flirt. Cami probably didn't define it as flirting, but she definitely was.

I think she liked Marcel, but she was in denial about it. I get why though. She didn't wanna fall for a guy that was bad news and she had doubts about him, reasonable doubts.

But beyond the vampirism and ego, I knew Marcel would treat her right. That's why I got up from my seat straight after downing my drink, catching their attention. 

"Hey, I'm gonna head out, It's getting late anyways and I still have to unpack." Marcel rose a brow at me, knowing I didn't have to unpack shit, but he should be grateful. I'm basically cupid and I'm shooting them both right now.

Cami gave a little sigh. "You just got here, though-"

"I'll be back tomorrow morning, promise!" I smiled at her for emphasis and she untensed and reciprocated the action.

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow then." Her and Cellie both waved bye to me and I walked out the door. God, I was just itching to get out of there. The tension between them was suffocating me. 

I put my hands into my pockets and glanced at the sky that had darkened significantly from when Marcel and I entered the bar. I guess we were there for longer than I thought.

There weren't really any tourists left walking around, only a few people that actually lived in the area. No vampires were allowed to fuck with the locals and, besides, most of the locals were witches, anyways. 

Even humans like Cami should be safe walking through the Quarter at night, but even then, if you didn't know about the supernatural while living in NOLA then you were in a whole other kind of danger. Knowledge is power.

Even if you were a witch, that was still risky. And if you were a werewolf, then forget it. Vampires were the only people without fear nowadays, it seemed.

Luckily, or unfortunately, I was all three creatures. 

"Back off," My ears picked up the sound of a girl growling. My eyes hadn't found her yet, but my nose worked faster. Werewolf.

Whoever she was talking to seemed to have that ability as well and murmured, "You're a werewolf." He was shaken but then he laughed, "Oh, I'm gonna have fun with you." Vampire.

Damnit, my first day back in the Quarter and, already, I'm dealing with the remnants of drama caused by Marcel. I sighed, thinking it's none of my damn business. But I could hear the sound of that girl's heart pitter pattering and I knew I couldn't just ignore it.

Motherfucker.  

I rolled my eyes and strained my ears a little more to guide me to where they were, my senses leading me to an alleyway where the wolf girl and the vampire stood. His back was facing me so he couldn't see me, but the girl caught my gaze and her eyes widened.

The vampire's head cocked. "What are you looking at?" Just as he turned to face me, I ran up to him and snapped his neck. His body fell to the floor with an ungraceful thump and I pushed a lock of hair away from my face, looking up to the girl who wore an expression of shock.

I had a sarcastic comment in my head that I felt like saying, but honestly, I just wanted to go home so I pushed it to the side and gave her a serious look. "You shouldn't walk all alone in the Quarter at night. It can be dangerous."

She shook off her surprise and stood taller, scoffing, "I can handle myself." Oh, for sure, I thought. This time, I was gonna speak my thoughts, but a heartbeat caught me by surprise. I held back a stagger and looked down to her stomach where the little thumping was coming from. 

A pregnant werewolf.

My stare remained on her stomach as I cautioned, "You really shouldn't be out in the Quarter on your own. Especially if you're pregnant." I looked back up to her when her arms quickly wrapped themselves around her stomach. 

She was a little more reserved now, stepping away from me a little and saying, "Trust me, I've got people looking out for me."

I snorted. "And where are they?"

She didn't reply, instead she only wrapped her arms around herself tighter. I get it; werewolves oughta be careful with vampires in this city and she thinks I'm a vampire- or just a vampire, rather. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and waved it. "I'll call the baby's father now and he'll come get me." She kept staring at me for a few more seconds before adding, "So thank you, really, but I'll be fine now." Translation: please go away. 

I nodded at her and turned around as she began dialling. I wanted to get home anyway and I didn't need to stick around to see any baby daddy drama. Since that girl was a werewolf, baby daddy was probably some form of supernatural and therefore huge ego. Entertaining, but could get annoying.

I continued back on the route to my apartment per usual, passing by a few people and a few other neighbours I waved to. I knew all the locals, and I know for a fact girl doesn't live in the Quarter for two reasons. One, I don't know her, and two, werewolves aren't exactly welcome in the Quarter.

Of course, I'm a werewolf too, but no one knows that.

Knowing that werewolves aren't welcome here makes me wonder if she knew that, makes me wonder why she's here in the first place but as soon as my mind starts wandering, I steer myself back, reminding myself it really is none of my business. 

I'll probably never see her again, anyway.

Sooner than not, I make it to my townhouse. Just before I'm about to go up the steps to the door, I stop and turn to the side, staring out at all the other houses and little shops. If I walked a little further, I'd make it to the compound that was no longer Marcel's territory.

If I walked a little further, the Mikaelsons would be right there. And should they ever walk this way, they might just see me.

I shook my head and walked up the steps, opening my door. 

The Mikaelsons are a problem for another day. Right now, I'm going to bed.

When I wake up the next day, it's noon and someone is calling me. I picked up the phone without checking the caller ID, knowing who it was anyway. "Yes, Marcel?" I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand and turned over so the sun wasn't fucking my eyeballs.

"Ooh, you sound happy to hear my voice."

"Just elated, Cellie." I stuck my head into my pillow and grumbled, "Elated."

Marcel snickered. "Well, good because we have a party to go to."

My head moves up from the pillow. "What?" Marcel threw parties all the time, but since he lost his power, he didn't have anywhere to throw one.

"It's a Mikaelson bash." My breath got caught in my throat at the mention of the name, but Marel didn't notice, continuing on with bitterness in his voice. "It's to show the city who's in charge now."

I quickly got over the Mikaelson name drop like usual and probed, "But aren't you supposed to be banished from the Quarter?" I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. "Going to that thing just sounds like a recipe for disaster."

"Sure, you could view it like that, but Klaus won't try anything while we're there."

"And why's that?"

"Because the party's supposed to be a symbol for peace, too. We'll be fine. Plus, I need a date."

I held back a snort. "What, Cami's busy?"

"She's working the bar tonight," he replied. "So you've gotta come with me."

I felt a sigh coming on. For fuck's sake, I just got back. I wasn't expecting this to happen yet.

I was gonna contemplate for a while longer but Marcel didn't give me that time. Instead, he just quickly told me he'd be picking me up at 8 and hung on me, making me gasp.

Son of a bitch.

#klaus x reader #klaus x daughter!reader #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader #the originals #tvd #tvdu #tvd fandom #angsty imagine #camille o'connell

[gatorbites-imagines]

hii! if this req is too complicated dw ab not doing it but if it’s not il req billy/stu (poly or not , any is okay !) with male!s/o who is autistic?

tysm!

Billy Loomis x Stu Macher x autistic male reader

Headcanons

The experiences with autism in this are based off my own, as its all I know. If something doesn’t fit your own that’s why, as the experience with being on the spectrum is different from person to person :)

-          Now personally I think Stu is on the spectrum, but maybe that’s just me projecting onto one of my comfort characters. But since everyone’s experience with autism is different, it might still take a bit of time for you all to understand each other’s limits and boundaries.

-          For example, Stu is a very physical and loud person, so if loud noises and sudden touch makes you uncomfortable, it would take a while for him. He might not realize until he’s wrapped around you, then he pulls back and apologizes.

-          If you don’t have access to the items you need to help you, like stimming toys, noise cancelling headphones and alike Stu most likely has some laying around.

-          Either that or He and Billy get you some. They would totally get you a pair of headphones with a Halloween or slasher design because they think it looks cool on you.

 -          If you struggle a lot with reading facial expressions, sarcasm and alike, that could pose somewhat of a challenge for Billy. As he doesn’t speak much of how he’s ever feeling and loves sarcasm.

-          If you are a person that struggles with speaking up about being uncomfortable or feeling stupid or similar because of your struggles, Stu ends up pointing it out because he notices you are uncomfortable.

-          It ends up with the three of you cuddled up at Billy’s place when his dad isn’t there, if you are up for all that touch, and talking it over. They make sure you don’t feel like a burden, since some people do feel like their needs being met are a burden after a life of struggling with allistic people telling them they are the problem.

-          The three of you set up a system of some sort, be it a chart, a color-coded system like hair ties or bracelets, or just telling them the moment you guys meet up how you’re feeling.

 -          Billy and Stu let no one insult or talk badly about you, not just about your autism but also just in general. They have definitely gotten into a couple of fights or threatened a couple of people because of it.

-          Stu always lets you borrow his jackets or hoodies if you need it to feel safe, where Billy is more the person to hold your hand or wrap his arm around you for some grounding.

-          They are both interested in your special interests and hyperfixations. Stu will start stimming along with you and talking a mile a minute with you about the subject, where Billy is more likely to lay back and ask some questions but listen with interest.

-          They love to see you stim, especially if you masked a lot in the past. They would have helped you feel more comfortable not having to mask, and Stu will also let himself be more open with not masking so you don’t feel alone.

 -          They can be a little much at times when its all three of you, just because they both have such strong personalities. They wont feel anything negative for you if you just need to be alone for a bit.

-          Though Stu will always need to kiss you and hug you when you return, Billy will want a kiss too but just wants to hold you for a bit.

-          It wouldn’t surprise me if they have targeted ableists as Ghostface. Not only if they insulted you or Stu but just ableists in general they hate them.

-          They love you very much and feel safe with you, so they hope you feel safe with them too.

#male reader #poly ghostface #billy loomis #stu macher #ghostface #slasher #billy loomis imagine #billy loomis headcanon #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis x male reader #stu macher imagine #stu macher headcanon #stu macher x male reader #stu macher x reader #ghostface imagine #ghostface headcanon #ghostface x male reader #ghostface x reader #slasher imagine #Slasher headcanon #slasher x male reader #slasher x reader

[xxbranch-dressingxx]

Personally, i love when people give Izzy more tattoos than he has in canon bc it's always fun to see. But Actually it fits his character so well that he only has a few small ones. He's sentimental. It makes sense that his most prominent tattoo is the Swallow on his neck to represent 5,000 nautical miles, a little x that we for the most part associate with Ed as there is no one definition to an x tattoo, a spade on one hand that has been historically used to represent good luck (i think this might represent the fact that Izzy is, as Ed puts it, an "indestructible little fucker") and, quite possibly, a heart tattoo on his other hand that he keeps hidden.

All of these are sentimental to him, they mean something, Ed gets tattoos willy nilly and for silly reason, such as the spider tattoos, but Izzy doesn't. To him it has to really mean something. And it's just... the little details of his character that make me realize just how much love has gone into his character.

#ofmd #our flag means death #izzy hands #maybe we'll see him get another soon but he seems resistant to change #thats why he's never changed his shirt ever

[lunawritesaa]

i am tired !! but i also have a drive to write,, random sleep hcs! they are my forte.. my light atm. i had a desire to write and this is what happens

might do more of these.. they were fun lol :D

——————

-> phoenix: the bed hog. takes up so much space that you will be curled into a ball at the edge, praying that you don’t fall off in the middle of the night. bonus! he’s also a huge cuddler! so while you have no space, you also have a 5’8” man curled up beside you, wanting to be as close as possible. if he feels you drift away, he inches closer.. there is no escape

-> miles: very silent, and very still. he is not very touchy at night as he values his sleep time. he’ll lay on his side of the bed, on his back, and just still. honestly, you might think he’s dead by how little he moves. occasionally, he’ll have nightmares that jolt him awake. but other than that he tends to keep to himself at night.

-> apollo: SNORES. SO. LOUDLY. you’re going to need one of those beds that automatically adjusts when one person in the bed is snoring because holy crap. his chords of steel shine brightly as he snores the night away. he’s a very heavy sleeper too, so even when you try to jostle him awake to shut him up, he doesn’t.

-> athena: takes her “bedtime” a little too seriously. she has a very strict bedtime that she follows every single night, and hates to disrupt it! good sleep means good health! she will routinely be in bed by the same time every night, and wake up at the same time every day. she likes to drag you to bed with her because what’s a good night’s rest without cuddling your partner, huh?

-> klavier: a huge cuddle bug. this man.. is so touchy. you cannot be within a foot of him and not have him touching you in some way. he refuses to sleep without you, and insists on holding you as tightly as possible. will whine and complain if you have to get up at any point throughout the night, or get up earlier than him. he just doesn’t sleep as well without his love in his arms!

-> maya: starfishes on the bed. she always flips onto the bed and completely spreads out. and then she’s OUT. it’s almost comical how quickly she falls asleep. most of the time, you’ll end up sleeping on the couch. on the rare times that you do fit into bed with her, she tends to steal the covers. she’ll apologize profusely the next day.

-> simon: tends to fall asleep at his desk. he’s a workaholic, and will sit as his desk for hours working. he loses track of time quickly as the sun sets without him realizing. before he knows it, his eyes are dropping as the words on the paper blend together. he’ll only realize he’s fallen asleep when you nudge him awake and drag him to bed. he’ll fall asleep practically immediately, but he’ll open his arms so you can fall asleep on his shoulder first.

-> herlock: takes forever to fall asleep. he has too much energy for this own good. his brain is always working and you have to force him to bed. however, even when he’s in bed, he will lie there awake for hours. and if he’s awake, that means he’s going to bother you! he won’t shut up until you shove a pillow in his face and beg him to stop talking. jokes on you, once he’s asleep he’s a nuisance to wake up.

-> barok: a very light sleeper. he’s always on alert, especially when he’s sleeping. being asleep means he’s vulnerable; he could be attacked at any moment. so any little noise or movement will wake him up. surprisingly, he likes to keep you within arms reach at night. he’ll never vocally admit it, but he likes knowing you’re nearby so he can protect you. likes holding your hand while sleeping.

-> kazuma: a late sleeper and an early riser. he tries not to stay up late, but work often keeps him up. he always tells you not to wait for him to go to sleep; however, he does love falling asleep next to you. there’s something very relaxing about it all. he often finds that he enjoys waking before you, too, as it brightens his mood to see your peaceful face.

—————

#ace attorney x reader #the great ace attorney x reader #phoenix wright x reader #miles edgeworth x reader #apollo justice x reader #athena cykes x reader #klavier gavin x reader #maya fey x reader #simon blackquill x reader #herlock sholmes x reader #barok van zieks x reader #kazuma asogi x reader

[10moonymhrivertam]

A lil Dreamling bodyswap thing I’m directly copy-pasting from my phone notes, hopefully I get back to it someday

Apparently I was taking inspo from a Witcher post I’ve lost XD I’m gonna go look for it

@avelera if you’re interested 💜

~~~

“Sounds like you’re living the dream.” Their lips curl into a conspiratorial smile over their glass. “Still. All bounds of ‘reasonableness’ aside. If you could have anything you wanted. What would it be?”

“Careful. Dressed like sin, shelling out for the good whiskey…a man might think you’re trying to trap him with a question like that.”

“Who, little old me?” They batted their eyes. Hob wondered if perhaps they knew Morse code for ‘I am absolutely trapping you’. “I’m just having a bit of fun. Come on, what could it hurt?”

Hob frowned at them. “Are you one of the Fair Folk?” He blurted.

They snorted, and their coy smile twisted downward into something just short of a sneer. “The faeries dipped out half a millennium ago.” Hob felt a little dizzy, his brain buffering through the realization that it was within his lifetime. As the matter-of-fact tone penetrated past the haze, he found himself rewarding the frankness with honesty.

“I’d like to know what’s going on in my best friend’s head once in a while.” STHe hesitated, but…in for a penny. “[Dissonance of glad to be back but definitely traumatized?]”ST

“A ‘walk a mile in their shoes’ sort of thing?”

Hob snorted. “Not sure I have enough style in me for his shoes.”

“You never know.” They shrugged sinuously. They set down their glass and stretched, full-bodied. It was the dangerously toothy yawn that really made it cat-like. “I really must be off.” They stood, pausing beside his seat. “Good to meet you, darling.” They pressed a kiss to his temple. A sudden shiver ripped down his spine.

“Good to meet you, too,” he said absently

*

For five centuries, Hob always remembered when he dreamed, even if their details slipped away like water come morning. In his sixth century, it was more questionable. He suspected he still dreamed, but he never woke up with anything on his mind, unless it was old memories returned to haunt him. He was just getting used to having the full experience back, which is what made the blankness he was waking up from so strange. He was so preoccupied with it, staring into the middle distance, that it took him at least three minutes to register the voice that had groaned when he’d sat up; the fine bedding beneath the hands propping him up; the wall he was staring in the direction of.

[And then he wanders around and eventually runs into Matthre and Lucienne. Matthre recognizes him as not-Dream on a close examination]

“That’s not ideal.” He’d hoped speaking would calm him down a little, but - he knew that voice. That fucker. They’d never actually denied being Fae, had they? Hoping he was wrong, he looked around for a mirror. He felt himself call it, but it appeared like in a dream - like he’d simply overlooked it before. The face staring back at him was familiar in all the wrong ways, save the eyes. Instead of the icy blue he’d expected, there were voids with twin stars. As bizarre as it seemed, it - kind of fit, actually. Hob raised a hand to his face reflexively, resting under his eye. It was strange to see Dream’s figure doing it.

“Right. Okay. Right.” Wind rattled at the doors to the balcony - balcony? Of course Dream had a balcony. “Maybe if I figure out where we are?” He mumbled to himself, making for the door. For all that Dream seemed more amenable to sharing personal information now (a name, even!), they were still used to Hob doing all the talking, and they hadn’t met much yet despite agreeing to keep a more friendly schedule. He hoped he was in or near London, but there was a pit in his stomach that doubted it. It grew as he stepped into the hall and realized just how massive Dream’s home must be.

He picked a direction and set off. Whatever storm lay outside seemed to be growing, which didn’t help his sense of dread in the slightest. As he kept walking, it seemed like a lecture hall’s worth of chatter was growing louder without growing any closer. Eventually, he came to hear snippets of it: “I have to remember to change that lightbulb”; “she reminds me of my niece”; “Did someone break in? …I really need to fold those clothes”; “Did I leave the stove on?” It left him distracted enough that he didn’t take in many details. The chatter and the storm and the knowledge that this was absolutely his fault swirled around him until he broke free to an open area. After looking around, he realized it was a throne room. Because of course it was. Suddenly, a number of things about Dream’s attitude and conduct made sense, but now he had absolutely no idea where he was.

“Hey, have we got another mission or something? That’s a hell of a gale.” He turned around, his eyes searching upward for the voice without him deciding to do so, landing on a raven flapping towards him from the presumably-front door. Before Hob decided what to say, the raven suddenly winged back, staring hard at him. He settled on the floor halfway down the room. “You aren’t the boss,” he said warily.

“No,” he confirmed. “I know him,” he added, hoping to head off the worst of any panic or interrogation. “But, um…yeah. I’m not Dream.”

“Oh, don’t do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Hearing him say ‘um’ is freaky.”

He cast his mind back over old meetings, recalling how deliberately Dream spoke on the rare occasions that he did, even in 1689, when he’d done most of the talking. “Yeah, no, that’s fair.” He paused, contemplating what to say next. “This is my fault. I think I accidentally made a deal. Anyone I can talk to about that? Besides, y’know, Dream?”

“…yeah, yeah there might be someone.” He took to the air again, and Hob followed in his wake. The chatter and the storm pressed at the edges of his brain, but having someone to focus on helped. He paused as they crossed the threshold to a library. He was sure he’d been in here before, once or twice, and yet…he didn’t remember a damn thing about it.

*****

• Lucienne &/or Matthew call Death

• Death calls a family meeting

• “Alright. I’m hoping one of us did this, because if it was someone else, this becomes much more serious immediately. I have two prime suspects. Given that Delirium isn’t pointing and laughing, Desire needs to start talking”

“What, i didn’t do anything to Dream” and/or similar until “wait YOURE hob gadling?”/“someone tell me what Hob gadling looks like”/“where does Hob gadling live” and Desire realizes they fucked up more than intended and they are simultaneously delighted and terrified

#the sandman #dreamling #fanfic #writing #desire of the endless #hob gadling #Matthew the Raven #body swap #hints of a #power swap

[bridgyrose]

Weiss, Yang and Blake find out Ruby is dying of an incurable disease. What would be their reactions?

Ruby panted as she dropped out of her semblance, falling to her knees and letting go of her scythe. Her hands shook as she struggled to keep her breath, vision starting to blur as she watched her friends fight the grimm they were assigned to destroy. Once her vision started to clear, she picked up her scythe and stood up, legs and arms shaking as she rushed towards the grimm to help. “Weiss! Use your ice dust to freeze them! Blake! Yang! Smash through them!” 

“Got it! Weiss yelled out as she slammed her rapier into the ground. 

Ice started to cover the ground around the grimm, freezing their feet as they struggled to get free. The few that were able to started to slip and slide around the ice, only for Yang to slam into them. A few grimm practically shattered from the cold while others dissolved into ash once their forms were broken. 

Ruby smiled a bit as she coughed, covering her mouth with her hand. She paused for a moment when she saw black and red blood on her hand, quickly wiping it away. One more mission, that’s all she wanted. It didnt matter how much worse her condition got, all she wanted was to do one more mission and then she might tell her team about what was going on. With one more slash of her scythe, she sliced through the last of the grimm, propping herself up against her scythe. “That’s… that’s the last of them…” 

“You okay, Rubes?” Yang asked.

“I’m… fine,” Ruby lied as she put up a smile and straightened herself up. “This was a more intense mission than I thought. But now that we have that out of the way, we can start making our way back home-” 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Blake interrupted. “Normally you’re running circles around us after a mission like this and ready to go for another.” 

Weiss nodded, then paused. “Now that I think about it, you spent a lot more time behind us today than racing to take out the grimm.” 

Ruby felt her legs start to struggle to keep her standing as she leaned against her scythe again. She hadnt realized how much she needed to cough until she found herself in a coughing fit, turning away from her teammates as she tried to hide the blood that covered her hand. The world started to spin again for her as she wiped her hands against her skirt, the smile she wanted to put up fading as she looked at her concerned teammates. “I-I’m just… just a little sick. Nothing more.” 

Blake sighed and propped Ruby up a bit. “This seems more than just ‘a little sick’.” 

Ruby looked away as she felt her legs give out for a moment, only being propped up by Blake until her legs started to work again. She could feel the stares of disbelief of her teammates as she managed to steady herself. Months of hiding everything going out the window on a single mission. “Can… can we talk about this at home? O-or at the inn?” 

“Why cant you tell us now?” Yang asked. 

“Because I want to be somewhere a bit more… comfortable.” Ruby pulled herself away from Blake and started to walk back to the village, using her scythe as a crutch. “I’ll tell you everything there, but I want to turn in our mission first.” 

“You better tell us.” 

“I-I will.” Ruby nearly lost her footing for a moment, only to be caught by Weiss with a glyph. It almost felt insulting that she had to rely on her team to help her walk just a few miles back to the village, but it wasnt unexpected. Especially after a few rough missions. A grateful sigh left her lips as she entered into the bedroom of the inn, nearly falling onto the bed as her legs gave out under her. 

Blake shut the door and locked it behind her. “Ruby, what’s going on?” 

Ruby sat up and sighed a bit as she looked away from her teammates. “I… I’m dying.” 

Yang frowned, then sighed as she sat down next to Ruby. “What exactly do you mean you’re dying?” 

“The doctors… they think its a type of cancer, but…” Ruby leaned back and took a deep breath to calm the tremors in her hand. “But they cant find a tumor. O-or any other reason that my body seems to be shutting down. And at this point I cant tell if its the strain from using my silver eyes, or… or if its something that the Ever After did to me.” 

“Why didnt you tell us?” Yang asked, slightly annoyed. “This is something we should know about.” 

“And if you’re this sick, then maybe its time to retire,” Weiss added. 

Ruby frowned and tried to get up. “This is why I didnt want to tell you!” She paused as she felt her head spin for a moment until she could keep herself steady. “I-I know you all mean well and that there’s no shame in retiring, but I… I wanted to spend time with you all.”

Blake cocked a brow. “And you thought hiding all of this and pushing yourself was the answer?” 

“N-no, not… exactly that. I… I was fine a couple years ago. It started with a bad cough, some aches here and there, light-headedness after using my semblance… annoying but manageable. Its only been over the last three years that everything has gotten… worse. And it would’ve gotten this bad whether I pushed myself or not. So, instead of making you guys worry about me, I… I kept telling myself that I was okay and could keep up.” 

“I thought we were past this!” 

Ruby flinched as Yang stormed out of the room, slamming the door. She slowly sat down, feeling Blake’s hand on her shoulder to comfort her. “I… I didnt…” 

“I’ll go calm her,” Blake said as she got up. 

Ruby watched as Blake followed Yang, starting to feel guilty for keeping everything a secret from her team. All she wanted was to do things on her own terms and not how others wanted. 

“How… how long do you have left to live?” Weiss asked quietly. 

“The doctor said maybe another two or three years the last time I went to see him and that was-” Ruby pulled out her scroll to check when her last doctor appointment was. “-a little over six months ago. So, maybe another year and a half or so.” 

“Ruby-” 

“I know, I should’ve told you guys sooner, but I didnt want to deal with you all telling me how to handle this. Besides, this was my last mission. Even if I wanted to go for another one, I cant. Once we get back to Vale, I’m retiring.” 

“And then you’re resting, right?” 

“I… I dont know.” Ruby sighed and leaned against Weiss, starting to doze off. “Maybe rest, maybe do everything else on my bucket list.” 

Weiss nodded and rubbed Ruby’s back as she dozed off. “Please rest. I… you’ve helped Penny once before, and I think we can help you the same way.”

#rwby #ruby rose #rwby ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #incurable au #drabbles

[hlficlibrary]

✤ Roommates Fics ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ Autumn At My Window by TheCellarDoor / @donotdialnine (M, 20k)

A canon-compliant AU, in which Harry and Louis are both in the band and have been sharing flats and hotel rooms for nearly five years, but never made the leap past 'friends who are too close for comfort'.

Featuring a lot of pining, Louis' addiction to Harry's scent, and a whole lot of sexual tension that might just snap loose when they decide to spend some time together all on their own.

2️⃣ Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices by Toomanytears / @toomanydreamers (E, 126k)

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

A canon-compliant AU, in which Harry and Louis are both in the band and have been sharing flats and hotel rooms for nearly five years, but never made the leap past 'friends who are too close for comfort'.

3️⃣ This Road Leads Where Your Heart Is by @littlelostpieces (E, 14k)

Alright, so Louis has a bit of a type is the thing. And as fit as his supermodel flatmate (Harry) may be, he isn't what Louis is looking for in a potential partner. That’s all. He’s not Louis’ type, with his miles of lanky limbs and his bright, boyish eyes. His impossibly tight, little body and infectious laughter are not what Louis wants. They're not. Really.

4️⃣ Undone, Undress by @angelichl (E, 134k)

Louis' new roommate is shy, skittish, and flinches at the slightest sounds. He's an art major who gets drunk on cherry wine, wears lacy lingerie, and shows up late at night covered in bruises that blossom across his skin like flowers.

Obviously something is wrong. Louis just doesn't know what it is.

5️⃣ Talk Dirty To Me by BriaMaria / @briannamarguerite (E, 13k)

They were both naked. And that seemed, again, like a catastrophically bad idea, but here they were anyway. Naked. In the dark. Only a few feet apart.

It hadn’t even been a discussion. The minute Harry flipped the lights off, they’d both shucked out of their clothes as if they’d been on fire.

“Alright darling,” Louis said, his hand wrapped loosely around his own cock. “Just remember, start slow. Lots of descriptions. Light on the hygiene, heavy on the compliments. You’ve got this.”

As if Harry were about to compete in some kind of athletic game.

Or the one where Harry is absolutely terrible at dirty talk so he asks his best friend to teach him. And the one where Louis knows it's a catastrophically bad idea but agrees anyway.

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 Set the Sky Alight, Oh Holy Night by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup (T, 33k)

“It’s a starter home,” Niall says. He looks ridiculously proud. Louis does not think he should look that proud.

“That bathtub’s fallen through the ceiling,” Louis points out.

“Starter home,” Niall emphasises.

One house, five almost-strangers (plus Niall), six new beginnings.

Happy Christmas, here's to many more.

💎 baby when you’re gone (i realize i’m in love) by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou (G, 13k)

Harry recently moved to London to study music. He doesn’t know he has a crush on the charismatic fashion student Louis, who just so happens to be his flatmate. Everything is fine until Louis leaves to spend a long weekend with his family.

💎 All I Do the Whole Day Through by @lululawrence (NR, 6k)

Louis reached up and grabbed the ridiculously thick jumper that had the planets all over it and slammed the wardrobe doors shut. It was only as he turned around that he realized why Harry’s bedroom door had been shut.

There was a nest on Harry’s bed.

But why was Harry using Louis’ clothes and items that probably smelled like him in his nest?

💎 Oblivious by grapenight / @louiswolves (G, 2k)

Louis and Harry are roommates, and Louis is instantly attracted to Harry.

💎 It's a match! by @maggieisalarrie (G, 1k)

What if, he thinks, I just swipe right?

And really, what’s the absolute worst that can happen? If he swipes right, they simply won’t match and that’s the only way he could ever see this playing out.

So against his better judgement, he swipes right.

#28th appreciation #hljournal #hlcreators #hlsource #ficrec #trackinghome #trackinghappily #1dficvillage #1dsource #tracksintheam #roommates #maggieisalarrie #grapenight #lululawrence #4ureyesonly28 #ladylondonderry #briamaria #angelichl #littlelostpieces #toomanytears #thecellardoor

[tacobellabeanburrito]

*slams hands on table* LITTLE LAW OFFICE OF HORRORS.

Also, it might say mature or something, promise it’s not. Tumblr is just stupid.

I’ve had this idea in my head for a long while, and only now started to get started on it. I’ve been wanting to write a fic for it but I don’t think I have the talent for it. I might end up doing a script type fanfic deal just to branch out and it’d be easier and also I could do my own lyrics for the songs that would fit with the Au.

In this au Miles had to move schools and lost touch with Phoenix, so yeah.

And anyway, Mia also did the Fawles case and Diego is still in a coma and because of this tragedy she goes and gets a job at Edgeworth & Co. where Miles of course works at. She gets a plant for the office and names it Charley.

During this time she gets Phoenix’s case against Dahlia and gets Dahlia imprisoned and Phoenix ends up working as a paralegal for Edgeworth and Co. when he finds out Miles works there and they reconnect.

Phoenix in this au is also in an abusive relationship with Kristoph (a defense lawyer in this au of course) and Miles still has a crush on him. ANYWAY.

So Maya ends up bringing in a strange plant on the day of the solar eclipse (and also the same day Dahlia got executed hmmm maybe that’s why there’s dahlia flowers hmmm (if I ever end up writing a fic I’ll do a thing where they cut up the plant leaves and make an antidote to the poison or some shit) and she names it Charley II. And she says that it’s gonna be lucky for the office and they start getting more clients (maybe the plant keeps killing people?)

ALL THE LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS STUFF HAPPENS. Just wanted to add little bit of context…

In the fic I would have like, idk, Maya and Mia exorcize the fucking plant LMAO.

Close up fo scared Edgeworth becuase he is my favorite.

More close ups. Hands are hard. ALSO DON’T MENTION MY TOTALLY INCONSISTENT ART STYLE.

(I might post the drabbles I wrote of the Au cause I actually kind of like them…)

Edits: SHIT I JUST REALIZED I WROTE CALLIN INSTEAD OF CAUSIN bro. Also forgot Edgeworth’s glasses in that other one.

#ace attorney #Phoenix wright #Krisnix #Narumitsu #miles Edgeworth #just realized I forgot Edgeworth’s glasses #whatever #little law office of horrors #I LOVE THAT NAME SM #I’m so smart #I loveeee Phoenix as Audrey #it’s just #perfect #also there’s something soooo nice about Edgeworth being really nerdy #if his dad didn’t die he’d have time to fully develop as a nerd #already a nerd #but if he had a normal childhood? #ULTRA NERD #he’s soooo Seymour coded #Wrightworth

[strangenewfriends]

"Harry Styles is a better singer than me. As People magazine’s sexiest musician alive 2023, he’s better looking too. But because I’m a fitness writer by trade, the hardest pill to swallow is that he might be in better condition.

This realization dawned on me as Styles’ coach Thibo David walked me through one of his typical training sessions. 

They kick things off with a slow 10 to 30-minute jog, followed by a rapid one-mile run and a bodyweight challenge comprising 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups and 100 air squats within eight minutes. Once that’s done, David considers the warm-up complete. 

What follows is a melee of weighted circuits, more running and core work which left me both intimidated and intrigued. So, as a fitness aficionado and Coach’s unofficial workout guinea pig, I decided to give it a go. All of it. 

30-minute slow-paced run 

If you include the one-mile run and bodyweight challenge, this is the hardest warm-up I’ve ever done, but, given the intensity required for the next two elements I’m promoting them to workout status. 

My usual warm-up routine consists of 10-minutes on a bike or exercise bike, followed by 15 minutes of dynamic stretching. The slow-paced run offered a similar introduction to my morning session, but after that I was in unfamiliar territory. 

Run one mile as fast as possible

David says Harry Styles can run a mile in an impressive 5min 13sec—a standard some of the professional athletes David coaches can’t match—but I was urged to run my own race.

“Don’t go in thinking ‘he did it in five minutes, I’m going to do the same’, just keep on pushing,” says David. “Don’t think about anything else, your time is yours.” 

So I found myself haring through a UK park at 30°F. The cold air stung my lungs and my heart rate soon soared, but I managed to stick to a pace I, as an average runner at best, was fairly happy with and finished in 5min 59sec.

In eight minutes complete:

100 push-ups

100 sit-ups

100 unweighted squats

This was far closer to my wheelhouse as a CrossFit fan. I chose to tackle it in alternating sets of 10, transitioning quickly between exercises to finish within the eight-minute limit. But even commando rolling from push-up to sit-up then springing into the squats left me little time to spare.

I took 7min 39sec, and, somewhat unexpectedly, given I can barbell squat more than 300lb, it was my quads that blew up the most. Whether this was the result of the one-mile run before it or heavy front squats the day before, I couldn’t say, but my thighs were on fire by the final rep. 

Four rounds of:

1min kettlebell swings (16kg)

1min box jumps

2min sandbag over-the-shoulder (20kg)

2min alternating dumbbell clean and press

1min rest

This was the part of the training day I felt most comfortable with—probably because it bore the closest resemblance to CrossFit.

“I like to say that I train very smart, but you also have to be very stupid sometimes, you know? Do this type of workout in the most stupid way; go hard at the task at hand, like when you throw a ball for a dog and it goes super crazy. 

“This is a very good workout for that. Very good at building everything that needs to be added after the aerobic base; aggressiveness, speed, that go-hard mentality.”

I tend to ease off the throttle in timed workouts like this, so I set a couple of goals going in. 

Firstly: no taking long breaks mid-minute. Secondly, hit a set number of reps each round. I pushed my body reasonably hard during the first round and found that 30 kettlebell swings, 18 box jumps, 20 sandbag-over-shoulders and 30 clean and presses made tricky but achievable targets for me.

Things did become particularly spicy during round three and four though, as my body began to tire with the sustained effort. 

My posterior chain (the muscles running along the back side of the body) took a battering from the kettlebell swings and sandbag-over-shoulders, my already-fried legs felt heavy during the box jumps, and my shoulders grew tired from two minutes of straight clean and presses—it was a serious test of muscular endurance.

Eight rounds of:

30-45sec sprint (16-21km/h) at a 0.5-2.5% gradient

90sec rest 

In the absence of a treadmill I sought out a nearby hill. For the first interval I ran as far up the hill as I could in 30 seconds (about 220 meters), sending my heart rate skywards. 

Then I took 90 seconds to walk back down the hill before repeating this distance. I also did 12 total rounds—I wanted the full Styles experience, after all—but I’d live to regret this. The hill I chose grew progressively steeper as I worked my way up it, and by the eighth round I felt like death. My sprints turned to slogs, and the time it took me to complete the distance I established in the first interval grew longer. 

The prior running and box jumps didn’t help either, but I got it done eventually in less than 30 minutes

15 minutes of “diverse core exercises including planks, one-sided farmer’s walks, side planks and sit-up variations”.

These exercise suggestions offer a comprehensive core workout, recruiting a wide range of mid-body muscles from the rectus abdominis (of six-pack fame) to the spine-supporting transverse abdominis and erector spinae, which play a major role in maintaining posture. 

I also appreciated the addition of a one-sided loaded carry, which challenged my core to keep me upright as a weight pulled me sideways. After all, while the core is always credited with moving the spine, it’s also needed for resisting unwanted movement under load.

10-15 minutes of assisted stretching

David left me to my own devices for this final part, so I worked my way through a 10-minute mobility routine on the Pliability app. 

This was a relaxing way to wrap up a far from relaxing morning of training, and gave me a second to catch my breath after a monumental effort which lasted a little over two hours.

How I Found Harry Styles’ Workout

I swapped this day of training for one of my usual CrossFit sessions and had a lot of fun doing it. Every part of my body felt like it had been put through the ringer thanks to the muscle-burning circuit and lung-taxing running elements. I was also very, very hungry. 

Another thing that impressed me was Styles’ evident fitness levels and work ethic; how he has the energy to perform for two hours during a stadium tour is no longer a mystery.

Another thing I liked about my chat with David was his openness and honesty. I often see articles online saying celebrities do a few Pilates classes or HIIT workouts each week to stay in unbelievable shape, and he was keen to dispel this myth.

“Collaborating with Harry Styles was an absolute delight; his commitment is unparalleled,” says David.

“But it’s important to note that this level of training isn’t suitable for everyone. Harry was inherently fit, but achieving the level of fitness needed for this session still required time, work and effort. Rushing into such high-volume workouts can pose risks.”

David also stressed that sessions of this intensity weren’t done every day, and the nature of his workouts will often “depend on the day and the state of the athlete”.

“It’s crucial to emphasize the significance of proper periodization,” says David. “Not every day constituted an intense session. In fact, we strategically incorporated recovery sessions which often involved a light run combined with core exercises and mobility work. Every workout was thoughtfully placed within the overall training plan.”

#harry styles #thibo david #this is from his trainer before brad so am curious how it changed

[annonniiiiieeeee]

Ok, so unless this is a spoiler question: How does Hueso react to Usagi? Do Leo and Usagi ever babysit Jr? :)

(It is a little bit of a spoiler but I also think most people can guess it a mile away so might as well confirm it.)

Leo tell Hueso all about Usagi before Hueso ever gets to meet them boy. On one hand he is happy Leo found someone who took care of him and helped him when he needed it most. But if the boy was not everything Leo said and more than He didn’t deserve his pepino.

Hueso is one of the few people who Leo confides his insecurity in. He knows how Leo thinks about himself and he doesn’t need anyone taking advantage of the boy’s low self esteem. When he finds out that Usagi knows about all of Leo’s insecurities and still told Leo he loves him he has mixed feelings. He is not sure if this Usagi phased his ‘love’ as I love you despite all of these things, or if he said I love you except for your flaws, or was it I love you, flaws and all.

If it was the first two then this boy had to go. He would make Leo’s insecurities worse and could manipulate the boy into thinking worse about himself.

Even the third option made him wary. Leo did have flaws but many of his insecurities were unfounded and he just needed support.

Thankfully when they met he found that Usagi was a mixture of option three and something better. The boy loved all of Leo and supported him in his insecurities. Pulling Leo aside to reassure him of his worth and value. Hueso liked this Usagi.

He saw that the two were a good fit together, balancing each other’s personalities well. Leo had become less boisterous about his own achivments. Instead of bragging in the hopes that someone else would agree with him, he had become more reserved. At first Hueso had worried this was the boy valuing himself less but when Usagi showed up he realized what it truly was. Leo didn’t have to praise himself anymore as someone else was doing it for him. Usagi acknowledged Leo’s successes and praised him for them while also helping the boy with his failures. Leo had need that for a long time.

But it wasn’t just Leo that this relationship balanced. When he talked to Usagi’s friends he found that the boy used to be very serious and was now starting to find joy in their daily lives. He was having fun and enjoying his time with Leo. But it wasn’t until much later he truly saw Leo’s effect on Usagi’s personality.

The boy and his friends had approached Hueso with a request. They had wondered where to go to find employment in the hidden city. They were all use to working for money, and specifically Usagi wanted to start establishing themselves here. This was now their home after all. They didn’t asked him for jobs as they didn’t want to “take advantage” of his and Leo’s relationship, but the other two adults they could go to were unemployed rat man and mad scientist turned lunch lady. April worked in the human world as did Draxum but it would be harder for a bunny, fox, and rhino to pass as humans.

Hueso had offered them jobs at the restaurant anyways. ‘Just until they found something more suited to them.’ He could tell they were hard workers and it was better to keep them out of trouble while they learned their new city. Besides at this point he still didn’t fully trust the bunny.

The three did great. Usagi was all ways polite and respectful and Kitsune had a bubbly personality making them popular as waiters. Gen was more gruff but his love of food had made him a fast study in the kitchen as a bust boy turned chief. They were good workers. They were even better on days when he had ruff customers.

Most of his staff didn’t want to work on the nights he had crime bosses come in. These were the nights he normally would call Leo and his brothers in for some extra hands. He had learned to play the boys to their strengths Leo as a server and Mikey in the kitchen. If Donnie or Raph tagged along they would help Leo bring out food or just be in the back, just in case something went poorly.

His three new servers didn’t take off the first time. He still called in Leo and Mikey just for the extra hands. He had a feeling that his new servers weren’t fully aware of what was happening that night.

The restaurant was cleared out of it’s usually guest and staff confusing the three new members. It confused them more when Leo and Mikey, who had arrrived with them, went to the back to get ready instead of taking their normal booth. Leo, Mikey, and Hueso all did their best to explain who was coming tonight. The three were not happy.

The best Leo could do was describe the mob boss as a lord who ran a criminal gang instead of a city. Usagi had given him a flat look and said “so they are like the leader of a group of bandits.” Usagi was not happy about servicing such people. Gen and Kitsune had left a life of crime but that’s the difference they left, these people still actively hurt people. Judging by the way Hueso was stressing, they would hurt him if this didn’t go well.

Usagi didn’t understand why they couldn’t just deny them entry, Leo tried to explain that they had power in the city and that it was better for Hueso if they just grinned and bared it. Leo didn’t like it either but he understood how the underground worked. Most of these gangs wouldn’t actually cause to many problems as Big Mama kept smaller gangs in line.

He told them that if they didn’t want to do this Hueso wouldn’t hold it against them if they left. He was used to doing this by himself before the turtles entered his life. Raph had only helped out once as serving criminals rubbed him the wrong way. He made it clear though that him and Mikey were staying as he wouldn’t abandon Hueso. Just because he had done it by himself before didn’t mean he should or that it was easy.

Gen and Kitsune were fine staying. Both understood that dealing with these kinds of people was necissary. Kitsune’s past as a theif and entertainer made her more then aware of what bad people in power could do to businesses. Gen didn’t mind as long as they got paid, he and his family had been bounty hunters after all.

It was Usagi whose fur fluffed up at the thought. Gen and Kitsune both told him he should probably go and Leo reassured him no one would mind if he left. Leo loved his boyfriend’s sense of morals and duty, he knew Usagi wouldn’t be comfortable with this. But Usagi couldn’t leave. The idea of leaving his boyfriend, his sibling, his boyfriend’s little brother, and their boss (who had been to kind to them and was more of an uncle at this point) behind to face these people made his skin crawl.

He stayed but Leo suggested he stay in back or with Hueso. He and Kitsune could handle being the waiters tonight. This allowed Usagi to not have to serve them while also giving him something to do besides watch and worry.

The night had started off great Leo and Kitsune were charming and Mikey and Gen were killing it in the kitchen. Hueso was bouncing between helping in the kitchen and keeping an eye on everything, Usagi stayed by his side ready to step in if necessary. Everything had been going great. Until an order came out late.

They started to yell at Kitsune and Leo stepped in only for one of the henchman to shove Leo into Kitsune knocking them both down in a spill of food. Usagi moved before Hueso could stop him. He was in between his loved ones and the threat his wakizashi at the henchman’s throat. The fight that followed was nothing new. They had managed to keep the restaurant safe which was all Hueso really wanted out of the night.

It was after they were gone that Usagi righteous anger was fully on display. It had been the whole fight but now that it was over he was still infuriated that any of them were put in that situation in the first place. It was here that Hueso got to see Leo’s true effect on Usagi for the first time. Usagi was ranting about what had just occurred asking if it had happened before. The boy was rightfully upset at the treatment of his loved ones. Leo just got up and hugged him stilling the boy’s fury. Leo calmed him with gentle touches and whispered reassurances and Hueso could now see exactly how balanced they were as a couple.

Usagi continued to work for him as did his friends. They never took off a ruff night though Usagi never acted as a server on those nights, more of a bouncer. It quickly spread through the underworld to keep your hands to yourself at Run of the Mill, there was a new samurai there.

Hueso became quite fond of the lot of them. When he called Leo to babysits Jr. he would also allow Usagi to join them. He was trusting the couple with his boy. (Besides there was no better birth control then a child running around your ankles. He might like them as a couple but he didn’t need any grandnephew or grandniece running around just yet)

He might have also give the group a small pay raise when he found out that Usagi used his salary to get things for Leo. The boy’s love language was gift giving and who was Hueso to stand in between that. (For a man made out of bones he is quite soft for his adopted boy and his sweet boyfriend)

#a world of samurais and ninjas #asks #leosagi #rise leo #awosan miyamoto usagi #rise hueso #awosan kitsune #awosan gen #future oneshot

[strawbrygashez]

Lots of hcs for HS fc au bc I’m bored :3

•Tyler eventually ends up spending most of his days at Jacks house. It’s less hectic, Jacks mom is like the mom he never had, he loves jack (dUH), and is allowed to act more like himself there. Tylers mom doesn’t care at all that much that Tyler is never home. Tyler never tells her where he goes/stays.

•Tyler was the one who got the most attached first. He follows him around everywhere and picks on him. It takes Jack a while to realize Tylers ‘picking’ is just him trying to play around with him and his way of initial way of interacting with him. As time goes by Tyler gets more kind & thoughtful (he will forever be a bit of a jerk tho)

•Jack is friends with Marla before Tyler. Marla and Jack are outcasts so they ended up hanging out together. Well more like Marla started talking to him because she noticed he’s always by himself too.. and she liked how weird he is like Tyler likes as well.

•Marla doesn’t trust Tyler at all at first because Tyler runs with the more popular crowd & he used to make Jack actually a little annoyed with the teasing so she’s confused why Tyler all the sudden is always joined at Jacks hip.

It’s only when Jack starts talking really fondly of Tyler or she can start seeing for herself he has no bad intentions, she will start to care less and less about Tyler being around.

I think Tyler would take a slight interest in her too since she’s probably the only goth person he’s met

(💀 honestly it’s just funny thinking about how Jack was like •_• and never bothered anyone but two people (Tyler & Marla) just randomly decided they wanted to be a part of this quiet guys life.)

•oh yeah, I feel like this should take place in a town that’s like.. u drive out and ur in the country but the schools more into the city. Marla is in the city near Jack while Tyler is in a trailer park. This AU would probably be late 90s early 00s too.

•Tyler abandons his friend group for Marla and Jack because he loves how those two aren’t suck ups like his old usual friends are & just finds himself having really interesting conversations with them both. He finds comfort in knowing those two think like him… well he still tries to push more of his opinions on life and whatnot onto them but they at least truly listen and Marla slightly argues back and points out the flaws in what he’s saying/argues back a bit. (She agrees with him on most things but yknow how Tyler can get a little too extreme lol)

•Tyler thought the two would leave him after his first real bad manic episode around them but they don’t. Marla might be kinda pissed if he did something dangerous or said something really rude and Jack might as well but they assure him it’s nothing. Jack & Marla are ‘messed up in the head’ as well so they can’t really say anything. They just empathize with him.

It scares him a bit that it doesn’t make them leave him bc that’s what he’s used to :,/ and he knows sometimes he really screws up so he doesn’t get why they won’t leave.. because he really cares about them.

•After Tyler just leaves all his old friends for Marla & Jack, Those three become that group in school. People probably have made up names for them all or a made up name for the group in general. But it never really gets back to them that often because people still hold respect for Tyler.. it’s just stupid dramatic teen crap.

•Tyler is really good at sports while Marla will just sit out no matter what Tyler says unless it’s something like super easy. Jack on the other hand joins in no matter what if Tyler tells him to. Tyler tells him he needs to get some muscle and stamina because he’s built like a stick.

Tyler won’t do certain things if he doesn’t feel like it though, he’ll just walk those mile long track things with Marla with Jack on his back because Jack is exhausted and not fit at all to walk or run for so long.

•Besides exercise and fighting Jack, Tyler also likes taking pictures and learning guitar around this time. He takes classes where he can do both. He’ll hunt down Marla & Jack during school so he can take pictures of them for the year book even though both will tell him they don’t want extra pictures in it :/ after enough complaining or pushing by Tyler they agree though.

Jack knows how to play the guitar some and they’ll teach each other things they learn :3

•Tyler and Marla are protective of Jack. Jack doesn’t really realize he’s being messed with unless it’s like very clearly obvious so they both have a eye out for him.

•At their final prom as their final F U to the school, Marla wears a tux while Jack wears a dress :D because there isn’t much point of anyone saying anything to them when everyone is going their separate ways soon and probably won’t see these three again. Tyler won’t shut up about how badass it is that they dressed up like that.

[billthedrake]

DECLAN'S VAIL WEEKEND

(I wrote this with a big assist from @aestheticsupremacy. Real people are mentioned, but it's completely a fictional story.)

"Make yourself comfortable, Declan," the 48-year-old said as he turned on the lights of the modestly sized but well-appointed mountain home.

Declan Miles had a good sense this guy was well-off, but as he looked around the place it was clear this two-bedroom Vail pad was crazy expensive. A part of him had hesitated when USC, as part of their hard-press courtship of the Boise State defensive end, had put the player in touch with one of their alums just as the 2018 season ended.

"We call em our Trojan ambassadors," Coach Helton explained over FaceTime. "We figured you might want to hear about what USC is all about from someone outside the team."

The D-line jock might not be the brightest kid in the classroom, but he had a good idea this was USC's way of skirting some NCAA rules. He half objected when Mr. Fuller invited him for this weekend in Vail, but the man just brushed off his concerns. "It's my own place, so I'm not paying anything for it. It's all kosher, Declan," he assured the young man.

Declan knew better, and at the very least there was the cost of the flights, but as he looked out the big plate glass window over the town and mountains and snow, he didn't care. Every bit of awkwardness of accepting Mr. Fuller's invitation disappeared in his awe at the view.

He felt a hand clasp his meaty shoulder. Craig Fuller wasn't as big as Declan's 245 pounds, but the man was a fit ex-water polo player and an inch taller than the jock's 6'3".

"That's the view that sold me on the place," he said, giving Declan's trap a gentle squeeze before relinquishing the grip. "You ski?"

The player looked at the man, who was almost movie-star handsome and had some gray mixing in with the dirty blond hair kept corporate-exec medium-short. "No, Mr. Fuller," he replied. Even if he was from Idaho, he was from the foothills and his family wasn't the sort to ski in the winter. "But I've snowboarded with my buddies some."

The man smiled. "Please, Declan, it's 'Craig.' I get enough 'Mr. Fuller' in the boardroom." The man stepped back but didn't take his eyes off the athlete as he casually undid the buttons of his button-down shirt. Declan could see the matching silvery-blond fur on the man's pecs as he untucked the tails. "We can hit the slopes first thing tomorrow... in the meantime, whaddya say we fire up the hot tub? I swear there's nothing better than that hot water in the cool mountain air."

Declan dumbly nodded. It had been a long flight, and a soak in the hot tub did sound nice. Besides, it was clear Mr Fuller - Craig - wanted to show off his luxury retreat.

The exec gave the jock a sly wink and went to pick up Declan's bag. "Here, I'll show you to your room," he said. "Make yourself at home while I get the tub going."

Declan followed. He didn't want to be under the spell of this rich guy, but he had to admit the guest bedroom was nicer than any place he'd been. Simple but luxurious. Craig set the bag down on a cushioned bench and turned to the jock with a friendly, paternal face.

"I sometimes take a quick rinse in the shower before getting in the tub," the man said, a statement that was clearly a request. "You should have everything you need," he nodded down to fluffy towels folded on the mid-century modern desk.

As Craig went off to get everything ready, Declan hit the shower. The warm water did feel great after a long day, and he looked forward even more to the hot tub. But when he got out he nervously realized he didn't pack swim trunks or anything. He figured the mesh football practice shorts he packed would do, so back in the guest room he slipped them on over his creamy-white naked, beefy bod.

The jock took a second to look at his reflection in the full-length mirror. He had some post-season heft around his midsection but otherwise was solid with what the last few years of bulking had done to his 19-year-old frame. Boulder sized shoulders, strong round pecs framed by his thin gold necklace, powerful legs.... Declan didn't like to be conceited but he was entering his prime as a player and he knew why USC wasn't the only school gunning for him ever since he put his name on the transfer portal for the 2019 season.

He took a minute to call home: "Yeah, Dad, it's great here... nah, he's just a regular dude, though a little richer than most guys.... he says he's gonna arrange for some ski lessons if I want... no, sir, just the bunny slopes, definitely don't want an injury... no, I know Dad... all right, good night, sir."

After he hung up, Declan realized his parents were suspicious about the whole set up. Declan knew he should be, too, but his instinct told him it was gonna be a blast of a weekend. Maybe if he made it to the pros he'd have lots of high-flying experiences like this. But for now, he just relished being out of Idaho, away from Boise and his remote, tiny hometown.

The jock slipped on his flip flops and padded down the hall and to the back balcony, where Craig stood, a towel wrapped around his waist, dipping his hand in the water to check the temperature. The man's body was fit and muscular. Not beefy like Declans but in-shape and almost sculpted, with just a hint of love-handles clinging to the abdomen. And along the belly and forearms, more of that blond fur to match his chest hair.

"Hey," Craig grinned as he looked up. "It's ready. Might seem too hot at first but with the cool air outside you can always sit on the ledge if it gets too much." And like that, the man dropped his towel and stepped on the step to climb in.

It hadn't occurred to Declan they'd be nude in the tub, but it was just the two guys and he figured there was no reason to be shy. Mr. Fuller sure wasn't... his genitals hanging heavy from the blond bush, whose hairiness formed a contrast with a mostly smooth meaty round ass a shade paler than his light California tan.

Declan slipped down his shorts and got an ego boost from Craig's approving glance at the size and heft of his soft dong, just before the jock sank into the bubbles.

"Fuck, that's nice," Declan sighed. Then he looked at Craig. "Sorry for the language, sir."

Craig chuckled. "I said make yourself at home, Declan. I meant it." His blue eyes twinkled and in the dim light Declan could make out the slight wrinkles and pores that made the man's youthful handsomeness look closer to his age. "And fuck, it is nice," the man added playfully.

Declan laughed. They made some small talk before Craig cleared the air.

"Listen, son, I'm not gonna give you the whole song-and-dance about why you should come to USC. I figure you have a half dozen coaches already doing that. This weekend's about relaxing and having fun... if that sounds OK to you."

Declan nodded. "Oh yeah. Definitely more fun than the foothills I'm used to," the jock said as he spread out wide in the water, his necklace hangin a little taut over the broad smooth chest.

Craig grinned and for the first time Declan picked up on the distinct vibe. He was used to the attention he would get from mothers at the football association events, not to mention sorority girls at Boise State. But Mr. Fuller was looking at him with the same knowing intensity, only a more masculine version. Declan couldn't help it. He started chubbing up beneath the bubbles.

"I like to get up here without the wife and kids sometimes," Craig said. And with impeccable timing the man's ankle brushed against Declan's calf. A quick nudge, plausible in its deniability. but it made the jock's prick firm up to complete erection.

Declan blushed, his pale cheeks growing pink, but that could have been the hot water, too.

"You treat all the jocks like this, bud?" he asked in a teasing manner, taking the liberty to address Craig as a friend and equal.

"Just the real talent, son," Craig assured him.

The defensive footballer was getting real turned on from the intimacy of being in the hot tub with this man, and the heavier eye contact. His eyes took in Craig's handsomeness and the strong knotted arms and shoulders and the way that chest fur was matted down from the water. Declan couldn't recall ever meeting a water polo player, or ex-water polo player but he decided then and there it was his favorite type.

The man's toe brushed against his calf again, and this type Declan pressed back, openly rubbing the man's shin with his leg. That brought a big smile to the alum's face. And now the guy's toe was traveling up Declan's meaty leg, sending shock waves to his young hard cock.

The jock had a few experiences with men under his belt but they'd been fumbling, secretive encounters. This... this was something else. Open, flirty, playful. It turned Declan on and thrilled him. His eyes locked on Craig's as he spread his legs wide and let the man's foot trace the inside of his lightly hairy thigh.

"Oh fuck," the defensive end let out, his cock rock hard beneath the water.

Craig's smile had gone replaced with a more determined, lusty look. "You like this, son?" he asked. A little concern to give Declan an out if he wanted, in case he was pushing too far.

Declan nodded, "God yeah," he chuckled nervously, then felt the man's toe nudge his heavy ballsac then trace up the base of his hard stalk.

The man's voice was smooth and mellow now, a sexy masculine tenor. "Come on, Declan. Sit up on the ledge... let me take care of this for you."

Declan was putting two and two together and realizing what this weekend was all about. Sexual bribery if Declan was into that sort of thing. Turns out, he was A-OK with it. The young football bull hoisted himself out of the water, drops slipping down his beef before the cool air made his nipples firm up. As he sat on the ledge, his legs spread to showcase the prime 8.5 inch teen dong, thick as a Red Bull can. It hung heavy over the water, his low hangers bouncing just about the ripple of the hot tub.

Craig's eyes went wide at seeing the jock's endowment, but he reacted with understatement. "That's a beaut, son," he said, gliding through the bubbling water to edge toward the sexy-shy Bull. With an excited gaze, the man reached out to wrap his fingers around the girth. Barely able to take his eyes off that massive prick, he looked up. "Just tell me how you like it, buddy... if you want me to go faster, or slower," he said. And like that, the water polo dad took the round head between his lips.

Declan let out a low moan when Craig sucked the mushroom head into his mouth. "Fuck, that's it... yes..." he breathed out, holding steady as dick leaked a heavy stream of precum, right as the daddy hollowed out his cheeks and sucked down.

The jock was in awe. This wasn't some co-ed blowjob, this was years of honed skill at work. And that knowledge fed Declan's primal ego.

"Nice and easy, daddy..." he said before stopping nervously, wondering if he'd gone too far.

Craig sensed his hesitation and pulled off, feeling that rigid fullness in his fingers. "It's OK, stud... you can go there if you want. It's your big weekend, buddy." And like that he resumed sucking, taking even a couple more inches with each mouth stroke.

"Fuck yes, Dad," Declan grunted, succumbing to the incest fantasy. "Work my hard son cock... Work for it, sir."

He was realizing the Trojans had sent a grade-A daddy stud with some pro skills. Particularly once Craig shifted the angle some and those remaining fat inches sank right in, to lodge in that tight DILF throat.

Declan's eyes went wide and his big chest puffed in excitement. No one had ever deep throated his monster dong. Not even close. And here was this corporate exec making a show of his sword-swallowing ability. That visual was almost as hot as the constriction of the man's gullet clenching against his girth.

Declan couldn't help it. Instinctively, his hand clamped down on the back of Craig's head and he thrust repeatedly, feeling the throat work around the shaft. "Fuck YES, that's it, man. All the way down, Dad... so fucking good for your jock."

Craig has to admit it was on the cusp of too much dong to take. This fucker was FAT and hard as well as long. And it was being force fed, in a not-gentle manner. Shy, sweet Declan had somehow taken back stage to this natural jock aggression. Tears streamed down Craig's cheeks as he strained to open his jaw and fight the gag reflex. But he knew his mission and knew he was lucky to get a weekend with a jock hung like this.

Pretty soon, the middle-aged stud got in a zone and a groove with the face fuck. He started enjoying that stuffed feeling in his throat, even, when Declan pulled his cock out fully, letting it pop out of the daddy's mouth. Declan grinned down at the DILF, and used a fat thumb to wipe away the tears. "Not too much for you, bud?" A little bashful now, but flushed and clearly loving it.

Craig looked up and caught his breath before flashing the Bull a game smile. "Your special weekend, son... tell your Dad how you wanna run the play." The man leaned in with a lewd swipe of the tongue along the heavy shaft. "I can take it, buddy."

While Craig fisted the oversized shaft, Declan smirked even wider now and pushed two fingers into the man's mouth, testing the give of his lips and the way Craig's tongue worked around the calloused fingers. "You're gonna be so good to me, aren't you, Dad?"

Craig got a glint in his eye and nodded. As Declan's fingers pull out he teased. "Just want you to give USC your due consideration, stud," he winked.

"Is that right?" Declan grinned. The jock could almost imagine the "Sex for Play Scandal Rocks USC" headline, given the rules Craig was breaking for the both of them. But it was just the two of them, in the privacy of this mountain cabin, and it turned him on that this 6'4" ex-jock was fucking his to use. For the weekend probably. At least for right now. With a surge of horniness, he angled his steely erection down and pushed past the man's wet eager lips.

He heard Craig's hungry grunt. Then a soft choke as that throat got used to Declan's size once more. The jock's thick fingers massaged the short blond-silver hair on the sides of Craig's head as he pumped in and out, working back to the full deep throating the two had achieved early. As worked up as the jock was, he was cautious at first, watching the alum to make sure he was OK, that Craig actually could take it.

Then something clicked in the older man and it was open sesame. And Declan was fucking on the perfect combo of tight wetness and openness. It all felt so good. Incredible even, and the defensive-line jock just wanted more of those sensations. Holding on tighter he fucked Craig's face faster, deep pumps of that 8.5 inch dong that made his heavy nuts slap against Craig's chin.

The man moaned, but the strong hands massaging Declan's thighs told the jock they were moans of sexual excitement. The jock's hips pumped faster, his glutes clenching in time. He was cumming now, hard.

"Holy shit!" he cried, leaning his head back and shoving all the way in as his balls felt like they were turning inside out to unload his heavy jock wad, delivering it right to Craig Fuller's belly.

He rode that nut and savored it. He'd NEVER had an orgasm that intense, and half it was the psychological dimension of the hard changing sex. But after taking a couple seconds to enjoy the aftershocks, his fingers massaging Craig's hair softly, he realized the poor man probably needed some air and a well-deserved break.

Quickly, but not too quickly, he extracted his spent dick, feeling the slurp of Craig's mouth as the man sucked down the excess saliva, and with it some cum dribbles from the tip of Declan's stalk.

"Fuck son," Craig said as he caught his breath. "I think you needed that."

You have no idea, Declan almost answered. But instead he sank down into the water again and kissed the hunky, handsome man. It was his first kiss with another man, and it felt right. The move surprised Craig, for sure, but he quickly melted into it, feeling Declan's signature approach of soft and overly eager. It worked for the dad, no doubt.

"No way am I gonna be able to get in a hot tub without throwing hard," Declan joked as they broke their kiss.

Craig had a thrilled expression on his face, like he was the newbie 19-year-old and Declan was the old pro at dude sex. Reaching down he wrapped his hand around that Bull cock, feeling it still rock hard. "You think you got another in you tonight, kiddo."

Declan was now taking the opportunity to feel up his host's hunky, fit body. "Damn, Craig... you have no idea."

****

It wasn't too early when Craig Fuller slipped out from the sheets, but it was winter dark out. He could hear Declan softly sleeping in the queen bed as Craig padded softly toward the master bathroom to rinse off the previous night's sex.

God, that Miles kid could fuck, the married man thought with a shudder as he relived the previous evening in his head. He'd met jocks not interested in sex with other men. And he'd met young studs who could be coaxed into getting some no-recip head. Craig had even occasionally hit the jackpot with a real player in the bedroom, often a water-polo prospect who loved man-on-man sex.

But he'd never encountered anyone quite like Declan... a shy newbie who was so game for everything. The corporate exec had walked the defensive end through giving his first rim job and fucking his first ass. The kid was a natural, feeding off the excitement and the casual roleplay and getting off when Craig teasingly called Declan his Young Bull.

Craig now stepped under the shower spray and soaped up. Reaching back between his smooth buns, he felt the tender, raw hole that was now stretched more than a little. He'd actually almost backed down when he first saw Declan's huge wang, but now he was glad he rose to the challenge. After the discomfort and struggle, that girth had powered Craig Fuller to two toe-curling cums last night. And in the process Declan had shot a couple of football-jock-sized loads up his guts.

As his fingers massaged soap around the pucker, some of that semen spilled out and landed with loud plops onto the shower tile.

"Jesus," Craig gasped, feeling impressed and more than a little slutty. Maybe Declan would want to stay inside all day rather than go skiing. "You're out of control, old boy," he laughed out loud, to no one but himself. Giving one final rinse he turned off the shower and stepped out into an oversized fluffy towel.

He was quiet as he could be as he turned out the bathroom light and stepped back into the master bedroom. Craig slipped on some briefs and made his way out, leaving the door ajar behind him. He fired up the coffee maker and picked his phone off the counter. A voicemail from his wife awaited, but he'd return that later. And a couple of texts from Clay Helton wondering how it was going.

"Pretty good Coach," he typed. "Let's just say if he signs some guys are gonna be VERY happy with his stats."

He set down the phone with a grin and padded back to the bedroom. Peeking in, he saw Declan stir with the morning dawn that seemed amplified by the snow cover outside.

"Hey," the jock greeted in his deep morning voice.

"Hey," Craig said. "Not sure if you drink coffee or how you take it," he offered.

"Cream, no sugar," the stud grunted, not fully awake.

"Coming right up, buddy."

When he returned with two mugs, Declan was sitting up in bed, his magnificent, strong chest on full display, unconcerned with the cooler air in the cabin. "You're the best, man," he said, with the chipperness of the previous evening now returning.

He took the mug from Craig and tossed out a compliment. "God you're so fucking hot. I almost thought last night was a dream."

"I take it you're OK with everything that happened," the man said, half flirting but also cautiously checking in. If Declan freaked out the next morning, he wouldn't be the first prospect to do so.

The jock took a sip of coffee then slid down the covers to show off that massive tool, rigid and lying against his lightly hairy belly. Like last night, those fat testicles dangled beneath the fat stalk.

"What do you think?" he laughed.

Craig lay in a position to match Declan's, only his full body was on top of the sheets. "I think it's insane you're hard like that after last night."

The defensive end shrugged. "Always wake up with morning wood."

"Can I help with that?" Craig grinned.

"Fuck yeah, Daddy," the athlete grunted, kicking down the sheets and spreading his meaty legs.

The business dad set down his mug and leaned over to start licking that amazing cock. Impossibly it seemed even bigger than the night before and just as rigid.

"Fuckin' A, buddy... suck that big Bull dick," Declan growled, tossing back the sex talk Craig had used on him the night before. "Jesus, you're a hot fucking cocksucker."

Even with the dom talk, there was a playfulness to Declan's love of sex that excited Craig. He worked more of those fat inches deeper into his throat, working up and down with clear skill.

"Aw... FUCK!" Declan hissed and his fingers now ran through the cocksucker's hair. Not face fucking like last night but savoring the man's ability. Letting Daddy do the work. He could feel his nuts twitch as Craig bobbed up and down all eight and a half girthy inches. If he kept that up, Declan would cum and son.

Craig was so into his efforts and his deep throating success that he at first didn't realize the signal to pull off. But now Declan was lifting his head off his lap. That beautiful dong was rock hard and covered in spit, inches away from his face and shining in the morning light. Craig would say Declan was like a porn star, but at that moment he was more. A young God of a Bull. Horny and in need.

"We didn't do doggy last night," the jock said simply. Round one had been missionary, the second one had Craig riding Declan cowboy.

Craig looked up. The Idaho stud was so cute, almost angelic with his bed head and his big body. "Just go easy, buddy," the man said. "Please."

"You got it," the jock hissed. He'd watched a lot of porn before and loved the primal nature of a man fucking another man from behind. He wanted to try that with Craig. Excitedly, he watched the ex-water polo player position his tall hunky body on all fours, and the position made the surprisingly smooth ass cheeks seem more impressively strong and round. Declan got behind and crouched down.

"Aw yeah, eat my ass, buddy..." Craig sighed as he felt Declan's tongue root around. It was like the hesitation of last night was gone, as the jock munched hole like a starved man. "Make your Dad want it..."

Declan slapped both round buns at the same time and started tongue fucking Craig's relaxed pucker. In all the rim job lasted maybe five minuted, but to both men it felt like an exquisite stopping of time.

Until the executive felt the cool air on his wet pucker and then a rough application of lube by Declan's thick callouses fingers. The application was without finesse, but Craig was horny now and enjoyed the rough probing, almost jabs, before the digits withdrew and he felt that huge blunt instrument press against his entrance.

"Coming in, Dad," Declan announced. "Slow.... there you go... open up, buddy..." The entry stung for sure, but after the initial breach, the penetration went far easier than the previous ones for Craig. The jock's hands were now massaging along the older man's back as more thick meat pressed in, up until a tight spot four inches in. "Come on, Fuller... I fucked you twice last night... you can do this bud..."

Craig bit his lip and willed himself to relax. It didn't work, the more he thought about it the more his bowels clenched and tried to repel the oversized invader.

Until they didn't. Somehow, suddenly, the man's ass flowered open for Declan, who sank balls deep.

"Oh fuck, man, that's hot," the jock enthused as he took a second to feel the sensations of bottoming out. "I love fucking you, Dad..."

The first thrusts were gentle and slow, even if Declan's grip on Craig's waist was firm, to the point of being tight. See sawing that shaft in and out, and gently pressing against the man's prostate in the process.

"Fuck me, son," Craig urged in response. "Show me what you got."

Declan puffed his chest out and felt the strength of the sex hormones pump through his arms. "Careful what you wish for, sir." He pulled out and jabbed in with a hard thrust.

"Fuck yeah," Craig growled in attempt to keep the sensations on the pleasurable side of the dividing line. Then came another shove. "Fuck me you goddamn Bull," he said, excited he was taking this massive cock.

That was all Declan needed. He threw his whole body into fucking Craig Fuller. Ass, legs, arms, core... everything to give deep rhythmic strokes in and out of the man's guts. He was living out the hottest porn fuck he'd ever watched and then some. And once Craig bucked his ass back, even a little, it was all the jock needed to go wild. Kicking apart the DILF's legs, he nailed the middle aged hunk flat to the mattress and just FUCKED.

The last night he'd tried to follow Craig's lead and had been eager to get the older man off, too. Now, he was gonna cum and every thought in his head had vanished next to that pure animal need. The two men were bouncing up and down on the mattress, Declan was nailing him so hard.

Then the jock felt himself orgasm, the tightness of Craig's ass now a little slicker with his seed. He slowed his thrusts but still rode out his cum. Then he collapsed, satisfied on the man's sinewed back.

"Tell me you liked that, too," the jock finally asked with concern as his 245 pounds of football beef rolled off Craig's tall body, the sticky slick dong slipping out from between those daddy buns. Casually, affectionally Declan ran his hand up the man's hamstrings and over the smooth melon-shaped ass cheek.

Craig nodded as he twisted his upper body so he could face his jock fucker. "God help me I did." He looked down at the sheets and realized he hadn't in fact cum yet. But he'd been so close, before Declan nearly fucked him unconscious. "I guess you like it a little rough, huh, buddy?"

Declan scooted his big bulk up to sit against the headboard again. His dick not going down completely, he relished the way this man twice his age looked lovingly at it. "Yeah, I guess I do. Don't get the chance to go wild like that normally." He got a sheepish look that had an impish quality just behind. "And you said I was calling the plays this weekend," he reminded Craig.

***

Declan returned to Boise drained. He hadn't even been able to come with that last blowjob before Craig drove him to the Vail airport, but neither men cared. It was the attempt that thrilled them both.

"Feel free to drop me a line, stud... anytime," Craig had instructed him with a pat on the leg as he dropped him off.

The defensive end was on cloud nine the whole flight back. Imagining his future playing career at USC come 2019, imagining what he'd look like in a red and gold Trojan uniform, looking forward to the warm California weather. Anticipating hooking up with Craig Fuller again. Declan would contact Clay Helton on Monday and sign the papers.

Only as the plane taxied and Declan turned on his phone there was a voicemail from a number he didn't recognize.

"Declan! This is Coach Cristobal from Oregon. We're really impressed with what you have to offer and would love to talk more. I have some business down in Hawaii next week and was wondering if you wanted to join me. You know, talk about Oregon Football and if it would be a good fit for you. Anyway, give me a call back when you get this message." The Coach then left his number. "Hope to hear from you buddy."

Declan grinned and leaned back in the roomy business class seat. As he spread his legs, he felt that meat firm up in his jeans.

#drakestories

[scoops-aboy86]

Okay, I took about a day to process the fact of being Perceived, and now I’m back. 

Continuation of this. Tagging all of these with “#witness protection wg au” too, so they’re findable later. On my blog at least.

- - - - -

Sitting on his bed in pajama pants and nothing else, the paper brownie tray balanced across his knees, Eddie feels so high and so, so full. Every now and then his breath catches in a little hitch of a hiccup, and he rubs both hands absently over his stomach. He’s long since freed it from the pajama bottoms, letting his belly sit in his lap more than it had in the kitchen and tracing the now faint lines his Scoops uniform had pressed into him. Gonna have to put in a request for the next size up, he thinks with a faint grin.  

The matching pajama top is still in his dresser, not because it doesn’t fit (it kinda doesn’t) but because he feels so warm. 

There’s one more brownie left, and a not insubstantial puddle of melted ice cream still in the bowl by his hip. He’s going to finish it, this is his Everest… He’s just taking a little break is all. Letting it settle, letting himself really feel it. 

“Full” was a mile marker he’d passed even before getting high; this is something new, a plateau he’d either never reached before or never paid enough attention to notice. Which is a goddamn shame, because it feels good. Heavy and content and a little floaty, a little in awed disbelief of himself, but proud, too. When he touches his belly the skin is pulled taut, like new stretch marks are only a matter of time, but there’s still a little softness, a little give. He shifts just to see if he still can, and the motion jostles loose a soft burp. 

Okay. Last brownie. 

Eddie reaches for it, feeling his belly plop right onto the tray when he has to lean forward a little with a grunt. Well, he’s already covered in crumbs and little smears of chocolate, a little more can’t hurt. Sitting back with the brownie in hand—even that feels like an accomplishment with how stuffed he is, a little tingle of satisfaction warming him from the inside out—he looks it over. Scoops is discontinuing these in, what, a few days? A shame, really. He finishes it in a few bites, each one landing heavily in his stomach atop the rest. 

And there’s no more room in him, but he picks up his bowl, casts aside the spoon, and sets the edge to his lips. The melted ice cream slides down his throat, rich and thick and slowly sinking into all the tiny gaps and oh.

Eddie knows right away that he’s overdone it. Not so badly that he can’t keep it down, but he’d been wrong before; now there’s no more room. He doesn’t test whether he can move like this because he wouldn’t want to even if he could. 

There’s nothing to do but sit there, maybe slouch down a bit against the headboard (which creaks) and his pillows, and keep his breaths as shallow as possible. Relax into it. Ghost his hands gently over his middle as though one wrong touch might cause him to pop, because maybe it could. 

And it feels amazing.

And he pictures Steve on the bed next to him the way he’d pictured him across the kitchen table, because Steve was always so careful with him in the hospital, gentle and protective. Steve could take care of him now, like this, and wouldn’t let him pop. 

Or maybe, Eddie muses as he realizes he’s stiff in his pajama pants and lets his hands drift down to attend to that. 

Maybe he would.

Your turn, partner in crime @hotluncheddie! Lol

#scoops words #chubby eddie munson #wg steddie #witness protection wg au