#and someone likes to wear massive boots

[risestarkiss]

On His Own Terms

Rise Ramblings #2

In my post, “This Whole Situation,” I discuss how Donnie doesn’t see himself or his mutation as something that needs to be hidden away. He wears clothes when he's out and about, and that’s about it. However, as turtlemen in the middle of NYC, sometimes they need to actually wear disguises. So, what does Donnie do in those cases?

Old ladies? Well, that’s a choice. And the way Leo phrased the question is interesting as well.

“Why do you always make us dress up as old ladies.”

This means that every time it’s up to Donnie to choose the disguise, it’s not up for discussion. They’re going to be old ladies. Period.

But the most interesting part of this scene is Donatello's answer to Leo's question.

You would think that blending in would be the main goal, but no. Donnie’s main goal with his chosen disguise is: comfort. He’s not willing to sacrifice his own comfort just to make other people comfortable with his presence.

He’ll wear a disguise if he must, but only on his own terms.

And I’m happy that he can set his boundary and stick to it.

Never change, Donnie, never change…

○○○○

…Does anyone else see Leo’s old lady drip?! Where did he get those pearls from? Forget the pearls, where did he get the pantyhose? Did he style his own wig? How long did it take for him to put on his makeup? What color eyeshadow is that? Look at those lashes! Look at those bazongas! He put so much work into his fit, no wonder he received a compliment.

#I can't with these two #this is a donnie centric post I promise #but I couldn't resist the leo drip #but honestly donnie's little hair bun is so cute #also when the turtles are wearing clothes around town they tend to stand out not blend in #has to do with the outfits they choose to wear #someone likes to wear massive shoulder pads #and someone likes to wear massive boots #starkiss ramblings #rise analysis #rottmnt analysis #character analysis #rise disaster twins #Donatello Ramblings #rise don #rise donnie #rise donatello #donatello hamato #rottmnt donatello #donatello #rise leo #rise leonardo #leonardo #rottmnt leonardo #leonardo hamato #rottmnt #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt

[dykeinthedark]

if i had a nickel for every time i befriended a trans guy with a J name who became one of my best friends and most beloved and important ppl to me really fast bc our souls communicated to each other and linked immediately i would have 2 nickels which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice

#introducing juno who is the guy ever.... little shit..... little rascal.... the crazy younger brother i never had...... (hes 5 months older) #he's goth and asian and wears a million handmade silver chain accessories. he's like 5'2 with tall platform boots. he's a massive nerd..... #fucking love him man we knew each other for 1 day and just. we started joking around like old friends who'd been hanging out forever #like kris and susie from deltarune (met after 1 day and they're best friends and go on adventures) #jonah is ofc my best friend ever Dude you guys don't understand how much i think he's just the best guy ever literally an absolute gem #they're just. 2 halves of what i didn't know i needed to be fulfilled. jonah is a tall gentle angel juno is a short rascal devil #jonah keeps me mature and grounded juno is someone i can yap around with. god i love my 2 opposite aesthetic opposite vibe bffs #a lesbian and their trans guys who mean everything to them

[rxtgallows]

being the same age as most long term lolitas were when they started getting into it but its different now bc there is just so much less of a community it feels like... like for me i feel more like i am finding a lot of individuals but no local communities bc its just rlly died down i think... like i found a 2013 pph article about a lolita meetup downtown. i dont think that wld happen now even if i COULD find a local community

#i think if theres not a lolita tea party/panel this year at pcm i will host one next year... #by then ill have been actively in the subculture for like a year and ill know a little more.. rn im JUST starting out i wld have no clue #what to do... but like i have ideas for stuff that wld be soo fun and ive always wanted to host/participate in an event or panel #once i was picked to participate in the fandom state alchemist test or w/e its called but then they wldnt let me after they saw my boot #which was so fail bc i absolutely cld have done tthe challenges with a broken foot. BLAH anyway #or like i hope they try the jfashion show again UGH probably not since it had to be cancelled due to lack of participation... #i jst would looove to have lolita friends in the area... idk how successful i wld be at converting someone and my sibling doesnt count #or ONE lolita friend... i only know of one lolita in maine and shes pretty well known in the NA lolita community from what i can tell so #ive met her a couple times actually she is very nice. idk what i am trying to say tbh #im more open to making friends at pcm in a lolita context and not a cosplay context bc every cosplayer ive interacted with for more than a #passing comment or picture turned out to be like umm a freak #or one of my moms students <- student who made all the dresses for the haunted town tour cosplaying kanaya that one year and then me showin #my mom the meetup pictures and her going omg.... thats d/////// #she was a really really incredibly seamstress btw her costumes were beautiful. anyway. iconic. #i think probably i havent talked to anyone in a while and it is wearing me down i have to make these massive posts every day

[peachesofteal]

ghoap x reader / 18+ mdni / dark themes / prev here

Six thirty in the morning might be your favorite time of day. 

It’s the before.

Before anyone else comes in, before the morning rush, before the chime of the front door’s bell, before the shop is filled with lines of people, before it all upends you.

At six thirty in the morning, you sit in the back, perched on the prep table, with a fresh cup of coffee. You leave the side door open, screen separating you from the world, fresh air mixing with the smell of strawberry basil scones, cinnamon coffee cake and mini kolaches, fruited with whatever jam you’ve managed to throw together. Steam rises, semolina spills, the sun dawns, and the world wakes… all well after you’ve had your breakfast.

This corner of the city is busy, and the shop always hums like a well-oiled machine in the dregs of a rush, the front counter team churning out specialty coffees and teas effortlessly. It’s cyclical, similar faces every day, morning commuters rushing in and out, locals settling in a nook with their laptops and lattes, people swinging in for a quick bite. You hide in the back, usually, elbow deep in sudsy warm water with your mountain of dishes, answering the occasional shout of 'do we have more of-' and 'just sold the last-'

This morning in particular, cranberry orange scones, pumpkin muffins and mini quiches are the only things left cooling on the speed racks, waiting patiently for their turn to be placed in the display case, an endless cycle of replenishment lasting until the rush dies down, morning fading into afternoon, triple shot monstrosities turning into decaf coffees. 

It’s laborious, this routine. Five, six, sometimes seven days a week, going to bed with the sun, rising before it. Your wrists ache from rolling dough, cutting dough, scraping dough. Your back weeps when you lift the bowl from the mixer stand every morning, and your joints fare no better. You need new boots, and new insoles for your new boots, and probably a new standing mat, though you know your boss will never go for it. 

You’re tired.

The exhaustion settles into your bones easily today, wearing you down until you’re allowing your eyes to close, wilting atop the butcher’s block- 

The shop phone rings. 

You heave yourself down and swing through the double doors to the front, scrambling for the classic corded receiver, nearly fumbling it in your hands. 

“Hello?” Shit. You always forget to answer with the shop’s name. You’re not exactly the customer facing part of the operation. “Galaxy’s.” You correct and… wait. 

There’s no response. 

You think you can hear someone breathing, something rustling, but it’s too faint and difficult to make out. 

“’Lo?” You try again, but still, there’s silence. It’s an unending moment, you on one end… who knows what on the other, and you hold your breath, straining to hear, to listen. 

The line clicks dead in the next second. 

Odd. 

The shop girl is chewing gum. 

You’ve told her a million times not to chew gum when she’s working the counter, but clearly, she’s never heard of norovirus, and you’re not the boss, or the owner, so being the broken record only gets you so far. 

“There’s someone out front to see you.” She snaps it between her front teeth, and your molars grind together like stone. 

“Who?” You toss a clean towel on the stainless steel table in the middle of the kitchen with a frown. You don’t really get visitors here, most of your friends are in the same industry, and either work the line too late to be up in time to even get coffee somewhere, or are already at work, buried beneath a bain-marie and the never-ending sound of a ticket printer. 

There’s dried, caulked dough caked to your fingers, shoved up underneath your nails, and you brush them self-consciously against the ratty old apron stretched across your waist. 

The surprise lingers on your tongue, and then explodes when you spot the massive dusky blonde from the other day, the one who was with the guy who split the coffee all over your favorite dress. He’s too tall, and too broad, and too imposing, everything in your sense of self-preservation screaming at you to run when he notices you approaching, gleam of a predator sparkling in his eyes.  

Still, somewhere, tucked away, it thrills you, the idea of them, the balancing act, two halves of a whole. He’s etched from stone, strong and steady, while his partner is saporous, vibrant, and riotous, crystal blue eyes sparkling in the mid-day sun. 

You wonder what they're like. What they talk about. What they do.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Your skin prickles once you fall into his orbit, immobilized by the molten toffee pooling around his irises. You float for a second, tracing his knife’s edged jaw, the fullness of his lips, imperfect pieces puzzled together to make a masterpiece, and then crash back to earth quickly, realizing you’re standing in front of him… staring. 

“Uh. Hi.” What is he doing here? How did he know where to find you?

“Sorry to barge in on you at work.” He starts immediately, wallet appearing from his back pocket like a magic trick. “Wanted to make sure we settled up.” Thick fingers hold a folded nest of notes, and you stare down at them, slowly processing what he means.

Cash? 

“Oh, I… I have… venmo. Or we could use apple pay, you didn’t have to come all the-“ 

“Don’t have venmo.” His mouth tilts, and you go with it, head listing to the side like a wayward buoy. “This is easier.” He pushes it into your hand, peeling your fingers back to enclose the money in your palm, heat sparking up your spine. 

“How did you know where I worked?” You blurt, unable to keep it at bay any longer. The question singes, settles uncomfortably in the sparks between you. 

“Saw you in the back yesterday, when we were in for a cuppa.” Oh. Suspicion sheds, snakeskin left behind on a cold, dusty trail, suspension of disbelief settling in the back of your mind. Sure. After all, this is where you ran into them last week, on your day off. They do come here. 

“Well. Thanks.” 

“It’s our pleasure. Hope the stain came out okay.” 

“Oh, yeah. It’s… still at the cleaners.” This is absolutely false, but he doesn’t need to know that. The spare bills will probably go towards your energy bill, and the ruined dress will go in the trash. 

It is what it is. 

“Couldn’t help but notice when I was comin’ through the parking lot that the back door is open.” His voice swoops low, dropping into a rumble, and you blink, lips parting. 

“Oh, um y-yeah. I like the breeze.” He shakes his head, a simple rejection, leaving you spinning. 

“City’s not the safest right now, yeah?” Oh, yeah. Of course, you knew. Rival factions of organized crime were leaving a red sea of bodies in their wake all over town, a new murder popping up in the headlines nearly every week. 

But you were safe. You were fine. Galaxy’s had never been stained with the bloody touch of any of them, and you took it as fact. Permanence. 

You agree reluctantly, watching the storm clouds roil on across his expression before evaporating. You shrug, hands clutched in your apron, doubt and skepticism clear on your face.

His expression shutters. His eyes turn cold.   

His thumb and forefinger dart through the air, latching onto your chin. 

You freeze. You should tug away, jerk backwards, yell and scream and hiss, but all you can do is stand there, caught in a trap and trembling as he leans forward to murmur in your ear. 

“Lock the door, little doe.” 

#peaches writes #guess the au? #ghoap x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #still written on the phone so #mind the mistakes

[shotmrmiller]

ok fuck that "reader reminding them of Soap" thing has me fucked up so what if one day you snap.

Ghost moans Johnny's name, or Gaz says "you're always so funny, Johnny" or Price, god forbid, calls you Soap, and you fucking snap.

you're not Johnny. you don't want to be Johnny. when you have all three of them together, you scream at them. how you almost don't want to live anymore because of the way they treat you. how much you hate it. how much you hate them for doing this to you. how your entire life nobody has loved you, and the first time someone does it's because you remind them of their dead friend.

mmmm this is the only correct answer.

they don't want you. they want johnny, their sniper— not you, someone who could never fill the massive boots he's left behind.

eventually, it wears you down.

if you do blow up, the only one that says anything at all is simon and his tongue transforms into a razor-sharp blade that effortlessly slips itself in between your ribs.

"you're right. you could never be him."

without a hint of remorse, he turns his back and walks away without a backward glance, taking the knife with him.

the rest also abandon you, leaving you alone to bleed.

the weeks after are insufferable.

kyle wont speak to you. simon doesn't even acknowledge your existence, bumping into you roughly— almost like he wants to walk through you in hopes that you aren't real.

even your captain keeps his sentences short, ending the interaction with a terse 'dismissed.'

so you pick up the remnant tatters of your pride and go to Laswell, begging her to transfer you anywhere else.

a few days later, you've packed a few belongings that are yours and not johnny's and get ready to take a plane to america.

no one bothers to see you off.

maybe you're sent to graves who takes care of all of his shadows. he treats them all equally, like a true leader.

[cheesecakethots]

Maybe your intuition was right about this job.

You were broke, only a few days away from having to live on the streets, streets where dangerous men lurked waiting for an opportunity to snap up young women like you.

You remember shivering at the thought, and so when you saw a job opportunity at some nearby hotel, you thought you were saved. It paid pretty well considering you were only coming in to be a cleaner, but you were quick to realise why.

Gangs and mafia had wormed their way into the very foundations of your city. You were hired to clean and keep your mouth shut if you saw anything. Up until now, you hadn’t seen anything, thank god.

Despite your guilty conscience, you continued working, making a habit of bringing in headphones just so you could block everything out.

You regret every decision you’ve made that has led up to this moment.

You’re practically plastered against the wall, eyes wide and body trembling. The headphones you usually wear are still blasting some pop song, but it’s practically white noise compared to the sounds of crying, screaming and groaning.

It’s a bloodbath. Quite literally too. You can feel pools of it soaking into your cheap shoes, which doesn’t help the sickness in your stomach.

The man, if you can even call him that, still hasn’t noticed you. You won’t be surprised if he turns around and reveals himself to be some bear-man mutant thing. He’s fucking massive, despite the fact that he’s currently sat down, boredly snapping bones. You’re extremely lucky he hadn’t heard your mop drop to the floor after you walked into the carnage.

Fucking move! Move! Move!

You don’t. You stand still like an idiot.

“Are you going to say anything, little lady?”

Now you just might throw up.

He turns his head to the side and watches you with one eye, a grin on his lips. He chuckles a little, before standing.

By fucking god he’s huge. Your knees become wobbly within an instant.

“Hm. I don’t think you should be here, girlie.”

“I-I work here,” you stammer out.

He raises an eyebrow, turning to face you a little more, the grin on his lips widening.

“Is that so?”

He stands to his feet, casually crushing the head of some poor man under his boot. Your eyes divert to the ceiling, struggling to find a spot that isn’t covered in splatters of blood.

“I gotta admit, you don’t look the type to be working here.”

There’s a spot. It’s grimy, and there’s a dull light that looks like it has dead bugs in it.

“I-I need the money, and it’s only- it’s only cleaning.”

Another wry laugh, “Cleaning, huh? Tell me, do you think you can clean all this?”

The light flickers a little. Someone should check that out, but not you, you’d be hopeless with it.

“Maybe for a raise,” you mumble.

He laughs again. That’s good right? He must think you’re funny. Or maybe he thinks the thought of splattering your intestines across the wall is funny.

The spot on the ceiling becomes all the harder to focus on when he’s right in front of you, tall enough to reach your line of sight despite the fact you’re basically looking straight up.

There’s a bit of blood in the toothy smirk he wears, a fact that makes your stomach sink even lower. “You not gonna run?”

You don’t even realise you’re crying until you hear your own pathetic sniffles, “Wha-What would be the p-point?”

He pouts mockingly, the amusement in his eyes clear as day, and you flinch harshly at the sight of his massive hand raising towards you, a sharp breath of air entering your lips and your headphones clattering to the floor.

The hand slowly pats your head, and the heaviness of it reminds you of the fact he could so easily crush your skull. You can feel the blood from him dripping into your hair.

“You’re cute, you know that? In a bit of a pathetic way.”

How lovely of him. You’re not really sure if you should say thanks.

You gulp, and it scratches at your dry throat painfully. “I-I won’t te-tell any-“

“Ya got a boyfriend? Maybe even a girlfriend?”

Only spluttered and clipped words leave you, and so you settle for shaking your head.

The hand on your head crawls down your face, akin to a spider, before eventually settling on cupping your cheek.

“Yeah, I figured. I mean, no offence. If I had a pretty thing like you I wouldn’t let you work in a place like this,” he motions to the hellhole behind him, before glancing back down at you with slightly narrowed eyes. “Hell, I doubt I would even let you out of the house. You’re too cute for your own good.”

God. Why didn’t you just tell your coworker to find someone else to cover? Why, why, why?

A rough thumb wipes under your eyes, creating a thin layer of blood, sweat and tears on your skin.

“Awe, no need to cry,” he coos, and you yelp when his other hand encircles around your waist, tugging you against him.

“I’ll take care of ya.”

#im alive lmao #getting back into writing again fr #tw yandere #yandere #tw.yandere #yanderecore #yandere hxh #yandere hxh x reader #yandere uvogin #yandere phantom troupe #uvogin x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hunter x hunter x reader

[ilovefictionalmen-123]

more könig x wife!reader

it has me in a chokehold 😔

hehe yesss, i have something cookin

KÖNIG X WIFE!READER

He absolutely adores you.

It was a hidden dream of his to settle down with a woman, but he never thought he's actually find someone to love... him.

The way you look at him makes his heart skip a beat. Even when you're scolding him for leaving his boots in the doorway again after you tripped over them.

His favorite part of the day is lying in bed with you by his side, his massive hand engulfing yours.

You never notice, but he often catches himself staring at the wedding band you wear.

It makes it feel oh so real. And it is real.

Appreciates every single thing you do for him.

He keeps every single note you leave with his lunch in his office desk drawer. He doesn't know you know.

But you put more effort into the notes, even adding little drawings and puns.

He will compliment you every day and notice every slight change in your appearance.

He's always giddy when you let him be a part of your skincare routine, even though he was anxious at first.

"Are you... sure about that?" He mumbled, looking into his reflection in the mirror as his hair was kept out of his face by one of your fluffy headbands.

"Of course, silly." Your cheery voice made all of his worries go away.

It was so nice to spend time together like that.

The way your hands gently applied the face mask on his skin, the way you brushed his hair.

It all made him melt into your touch.

#call of duty x reader #x reader #konig x reader #konig cod #könig x reader #könig

[empresskylo]

ghost thought you hated him, but he had no idea why. he didn't remember ever doing anything to cross you. when you're stuck doing a mission alongside him, he gets curious enough to finally ask. (reader has similar personality as ghost and also wears a mask)

a/n: basically the reverse of this fic i did. also here's some fanart to help you visualize better (;

cw: slight nsfw content, nothing serious. uncomfortable sexual remarks from side characters.

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader

wc: 3.8k+

masterlist

“Come on, Soap! Please!” You whined, interlacing your fingers together and looking up at the much taller man with your eyes twinkling in desperation. 

“As much as I like it when you beg…” he paused, smirking at you, “No. If it’s that big of a deal, lass, talk to Lt.” You scowled at him and his eyebrow kicked upwards. “That’s not a problem, is it?” He asked, a teasing tone in his voice. You rolled your eyes and turned to storm off. “You’re much more enjoyable when you want something from me, you know that?” He laughed as he went in the opposite direction.

Your next mission involved you infiltrating the neighboring town, making your way through the busy streets, dressed as a civvy–at least that's what Soap told you. 

With Ghost.

Fuck.

You were a goddamn sniper, why on earth would you be assigned to do hand-to-hand work? And the last thing you wanted to do was talk to Ghost about it, hence the pathetic pleading with Soap to get you to change positions. But of course he loved to torture you. He knew you didn’t like working with Ghost. It wasn’t like you hated the guy. In fact, it was pretty much the opposite of that. He distracted you. You got flustered and jittery whenever he was nearby, and that didn’t exactly work well when you needed steady hands and a clear mind–devoid of such attributes literally put people at risk.

At first you wrote it off as being intimidated by him. He was massive and daunting. But then you felt your whole face go warm at the one bawdy joke Soap made while Ghost was beside you. The joke wasn’t even directed at you; solely being near Ghost when someone made a crude remark had your mind racing. These types of feelings didn’t mesh well with this field of work. And, theoretically, if someone you worked with ever returned these awful, embarrassing feelings, you didn’t think you were capable of letting someone in. So you decided it was best to just stay away from your lieutenant as much as you could.

You adjusted your mask as you slipped into the bunks, grabbing your stuff for the mission. You slung your backpack over your shoulders and made your way outside. You wore a black, slim turtlenecked shirt, black cargo pants, and black boots. Your gator mask was snug over your nose, your hair loose. You weren’t geared up like usual–it would be pointless knowing there would be an outfit change required to slip into town. 

The bright sunlight burned your eyes as you stepped out into the cooling air. You looked down at the vehicles and spotted only one humvee left. Soap waved up at you. “Bloody hell,” you mumbled as you hustled down the steps. You slid into the seat beside Soap and sat back, sighing. 

“Cheer up, lass. It’s not so bad doing the groundwork.”

You glared at him, making him laugh heartily at you. As cold and reclusive as you were, Soap didn’t seem to mind all that much. And while it definitely annoyed you at times, you also enjoyed his silly humor and uplifting attitude. It was a nice change of pace to the rest of the dark bullshit surrounding you on a day-to-day basis. But you’d never tell him that–though, you suspected he knew already. 

“Why would you want to send in the two people who always have their faces covered to go blend in with locals?” 

Soap nudged you. “Because you’re not trying to blend in with locals.”

You raised a brow at him. He roiled in your distress, you wanted to punch him so badly. “You’ll be infiltrating the hideout at sundown.” 

Okay, that was a little better than blending in with regular people, but still, you had questions. “But why me?” You paused. “What? Ghost can’t handle a few bad guys on his own?”

The weight of the humvee shifted. “Got quite the mouth on ya,” a deep voice grumbled. You felt your cheeks heat. You slowly looked up to see Ghost stepping into the vehicle, sitting across from the two of you. The vehicle rumbled and began to move. 

Ghost’s eyes were locked with yours. You felt yourself shrink under his gaze. Fuck. He did something to you. Something that wasn’t good. Something that made you libidinous, unnerved with the weight of his eyes on you. 

If you were really going to have to tough this mission out with Ghost, you hoped it would at least go smoothly. The last thing you needed was your hands freezing up because of some snarky remark he’d make on the comms, flustering you. 

“I'm that bad, huh?” 

You snapped out of your thoughts, realizing Ghost’s mask was shifting as he looked at you–those must have been his words.

Uncomfortable with your silence, Soap spoke instead. “Lass is just privy to working alone. Come to think of it, she reminds me of someone else I know.” 

Ghost’s eyes darted to Soap’s, a wide grin on the mohawked man’s lips. 

Ghost trailed his view back to you, but you were already looking out the back of the vehicle, trying to ignore the two men beside you. 

There was something about you that he liked. Maybe it was the fact that he saw himself reflected in your visage. Not that Ghost would ever like someone like himself, but you seemed to understand where he came from. You even wore your mask at all times like he did. Something drew him to you, making him curious. Interested in why you hated him.

Standing in the shadows of the safe house, you slid on the outfit provided. “Jesus,” you grunted, the top you slid on tight around your chest. It was made to look like members of the gang you were scoping out tonight, the goal of this mission was to get one of the men alone and bring him back here. 

“‘Bout ready?” A husky voice echoed behind you. You jumped, quickly pulling your mask up before turning to him. You felt his eyes rove your body, his eyes lingering on your mask that you hastily shoved back above your nose.

“Who the fuck picked this shit out? It doesn’t fit.” 

Ghost’s outfit seemed to fit him just right. “It looks fine,” he grunted before turning away, his fist clenching. 

You sighed before following him. You looked down and noticed how your breasts billowed over your bra, strangled by the tight clothing. Even though no skin was showing, this shirt was revealing way more than you were comfortable with. Soap must have been the idiot who picked out the size.

You matched Ghost’s stride, a few feet behind him. “We’ll enter separately,” he told you as you entered into the cool night air. 

You nodded, your hand instinctively brushing over your gun hidden in the waist of your pants. 

You turned your comm on and made your way down the path you had gone over earlier on a map with Soap. There were two snipers watching you from the adjacent buildings, ready if something went wrong.

You felt uneasy as you approached your target building, seeing men much bigger than yourself outside its doors. 

They looked at you as you approached, their faces hidden beneath masks, mirroring you and ghost, preventing you from recognizing any of them. You paused in front of the one guarding the door, looking up. 

“Here for the meeting?” He asked, something sinister in the way he spoke. You nodded, your fist tight, hoping to god he let you in and didn’t sniff out your true intentions. 

The gravel crunched as two other men walked up beside their friend, their eyes taking you in. “Cute, little thing.” 

“Haven't seen you at one of these before.”

You turned your head. “First one in this location,” you said cooly, your insides boiling at the way they were demeaning you. Feeling sick as they looked you up and down.

You were certain they weren’t fooled, their eyebrows raised, letting you know they had sly grins on their lips beneath the thin material stretched across their faces. 

The guard stepped aside, letting you pass. 

“I’ll see you upstairs,” one of the other men called to you before pulling out a cigarette.

When the door behind you closed you let out a deep breath. 

“Fuck. Soap! So that's why you needed me!”

“Sorry, love. There were no other women on the force who could help out,” Soap’s voice genuinely seemed concerned.

You sighed, knowing the only reason you got past them was because of how engrossed they were with your body. Men were so stupid. Then you realized that’s why they would let Ghost in too. His tall, muscular frame was certain to impress the other men. Make them uncomfortable even. They wouldn’t turn away a guy built like him from coming to one of their meetings, even if they had never seen him before. You blushed thinking about Ghost’s frame and the way his shirt spread taunt over his chest.

“Didn’t give you too much trouble, did they?” A rough British accent spoke into your ear. You felt a chill run down your spine.

“Apart from them eye fucking me? No.” You paused. “Where are you?” You asked him, hoping your voice sounded more solid than it did in your ears. 

After snaking around the inside of the building, hearing a commotion on the top floor, you made your way up the stairs. Your eyes narrowed in on the men in the room, searching for your prey. You spotted a smaller man on the outskirts of the crowd of masked men, thinking he’d be best to get out of the building without alerting any of the other members. 

You moved to enter the room when large hands grabbed your arms and pulled you into the adjacent dark corridor. 

You looked up, surprised to see Ghost hovering above you. “Shit. What are you doing?” You asked, your eyes shooting bullets at him and your arms on fire from where his fingers wrapped around your bicep. 

“You were about to walk in their without me.”

“So?”

“This is a team mission,” he growled. “Those men are dangerous.”

“Oh, and what? Because I’m a girl you think I don’t know that?” 

He rubbed a gloved hand over his face, your body warming realizing his chest was almost touching yours. The hall was small, his frame engulfing you. He actually had to put effort into not leaning up against you. 

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing your way past him, your fingers tingling as you touched him. “Whatever you say, Lt.”

Ghost grumbled something behind you, aggravated with your attitude.

You both entered the room, eyes darting to the two of you. A few of the men smiled. You weren’t sure if it was because they were admiring Ghost’s build or your clearly defined chest. Probably both.

The meeting began and Ghost hovered near you. You felt a presence on your side and looked over, a man a good foot taller than you looking down. He bent over and whispered in your ear, making goosebumps rise on your neck. You had to stop yourself from snaking away then kicking him in the balls. You couldn’t make out what he said with Soap muttering something in your ear,  but you definitely heard him call you “doll.”

A few of the other men looked at you like you were their next meal, making you clench your hands, your nails digging into your palm. Fuck, you were so bad at this close-up shit. You’d do anything to be propped far away in a building looking down the scope of your sniper right now. You felt like you were intimidating enough to get by, but when surrounded by men much larger than you, you were an easy target. 

You felt someone grab your waist. Your hand instinctively went to your knife, fed up with these men already, when you realized it was Ghost. You looked at him in confusion as he shifted you so you were standing in front of him. He had slid you away from the ogling men without even glancing down at you, the men in the room getting the subtle hint that you were Ghost’s. And no one would dare challenge Ghost if they had any brains–he was easily the biggest man in the room. You suddenly felt protected with his frame towering behind you. He claimed you, in front of everyone. Your chest was pounding loudly.

Your ears warmed, but you kept a scowl on your face, frustrated that you weren’t hearing a thing from the meeting because your thoughts were now swarming with Ghost. Your body was tense as you felt his proximity close behind you.

You tried to erase the feeling of his fingers on your hips, but they lingered like a phantom. 

Almost an hour later, you both had slipped out of the room, waiting to pounce on the next guy to exit, which should be the smaller guy you spotted earlier if your timing was correct. Ghost stood a few feet in front of you, shadowed in the dark as you both waited. 

A man came out close to where you were, digging in his pocket for his phone when you grabbed him around the neck, your hand covering his mouth, pulling him against you. He struggled, dropping his phone in the process. You prayed no one could hear the shuffling of bodies as you fought against him. 

The man grunted then elbowed you in the chest, making you stifle a groan. Before you could swing him to the ground, Ghost’s fist collided with the man’s cheek, knocking him unconscious in one punch. You held the man as he went limp in your arms. You gulped, trying to settle the fluttering in your stomach at Ghost’s raw strength. 

Once you made it to the bottom of the stairs, the man slung over Ghost’s shoulder, you broke the silence. “I had that,” you snapped. You weren’t sure why you were so upset. It probably had something to do with the fact that Ghost had made you flustered again and again. You were more mad at yourself than anything.

Ghost’s eyes flickered to yours, something unreadable in his expression, likely anger. “This is a team effort, soldier. It doesn’t matter that ‘you had it.’” You slid out a back door, the sky dark now as you motioned to Ghost that the coast was clear. 

“You’re so full of shit,” you mumbled under your breath, not sure if you were talking about Ghost, or yourself. 

“Lover’s quarrel?” Soap’s voice sang over the comms into both of your ears. Your face went hot.

“Shut the fuck up, Johnny,” Ghost growled. You felt a chill spiral up your spine at the way his voice vibrated in your ear. It was like he was leaning over your shoulder and speaking with his lips only inches away from your ear. 

You hurried on ahead of Ghost, worried you might fumble or stutter with how fast your heart was beating.

Once you made it back to the safe house, Soap had appeared before you two to haul the guy you captured away into the other room as he slowly came back to consciousness.

Soap’s footsteps echoed down the hall as Ghost shoved you against the wall, his forearm extended over your neck, holding you in place. “Have I done something to you?” He snarled, his eyes shooting you daggers. 

Caught off guard, all you could do was shake your head. Your lips frozen.

Ghost freed you before moving into the living room. “Yeah? Then why are you so fucking spiteful towards me all the damn time? Thought it might just be your personality, but I’ve seen you with Soap. Clearly you have something against me and it’s distracting.”

You were distracting Ghost? You pushed the thought that was quickly rising back down, you were obviously distracting him in a bad way. This was nothing to blush over.

And yet… 

You followed him as he sat on a wooden chair, the safe house dark now that the sun had set. 

“I know I’m not the most likable–” he began, but you cut him off.

“I don’t hate you.” Your voice was meek as you sat on the couch, taking your gloves off. 

Ghost’s eyes traced your outline in the dark room, taking a long moment before speaking again. “Why do you always wear that mask?” He asked out of the blue, his mind still curious as to what he could have possibly done to make you hate him. He wasn’t even sure why he cared so much.

Your eyes shot up at him, your hands squeezing the gloves resting in your hand. “I could ask you the same thing.” You don’t know how, but you could tell he began to smile under his mask. 

“You ugly under there? Is that it?” 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing… The lieutenant was teasing you. You rolled your eyes, trying to control your composure. “Quite the opposite,” you said, your voice not as confident as you wanted it to be. 

Ghost’s eyes lingered on you a minute longer before he got up and began shuffling through the files sprawled on the kitchen table. 

You got up and peaked down the hall, making sure Soap was still preoccupied in one of the rooms with your hostage. 

“I don’t hate you,” you said again as you appeared beside Ghost. You looked down at the files, his fingers stopping. You looked up, tracing his fingers up to his chest, and then his vibrant eyes. He was staring at you, waiting for you to say more. You cleared your throat. “I, uhm. I guess, you just… distract me.” You could tell he raised an eyebrow. “Intimidate me.” You corrected, your ears warming. You were certain Ghost had known you had a little crush. You thought your demeanor was obvious with the way you always seemed nervous around him. The way you’d avoid him. The way Soap would tease you when Ghost was in hearing distance. You didn’t think that he would think you hated him.

“I don’t believe that,” he finally said. 

You gulped and Ghost noticed the way you were suddenly shy. He saw it then. It finally clicked. The way you were shy around him. Not cold or put off. But fucking shy. You, of all people, were shy. Ghost’s cheeks suddenly felt hot as he watched you squirm under his gaze. It was that bloody mask’s fault. It made it hard to read your face most of the time. How could he be so oblivious? 

“Tell me,” his voice was deeper than earlier, startling you, needing to hear you say it. 

Your eyes nervously bounced between his, your hands clenching. He took a step closer, invading your personal space. “I don’t avoid you because I hate you,” you started, looking at his feet. 

He reached a hand out and shoved your chin upwards so you were looking at him. He quickly removed his hand and you almost whined. “Go on,” he egged. 

You swallowed hard. This was so embarrassing. You were about to come clean, things were going to become so awkward between the two of you—well, more awkward at least. “I avoid you because I like you.” There, you said it. His eyes were squinted as he studied your face. After a long moment of heavy silence, Ghost laughed. It was a beautiful sound that sent jitters through your body. 

Your face stayed stoic as you watched him. Ghost couldn’t believe that this was all because you had a little crush. His fingers came out to hook onto your mask, his eyes searching yours for permission. Without speaking, you let him. He pulled your mask down, peeling it away from your face, letting Ghost see the scars that lined your chin. The scar that cut through your lip. You wanted to cave in on yourself.

He just stared at you, not saying anything. You were feeling very uncomfortable as he dissected you, regretting ever saying anything at all. You should have just let him think you hated him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ Ghost cut you off as his hand slid along your jawline. Your breath caught in your throat. Ghost reached up to his own mask, pushing it up to the bridge of his nose, his thin lips and scruffy jaw becoming visible to you, along with his mirroring faded scars that sliced through his skin. He smirked. “Not so cocky now, huh?” His eyes danced between yours. “Cat got your tongue?” He teased, enjoying the way you had done a complete 180. Usually you were cold and grumpy, like him, but now, locked under his gaze, you were stuttering and blushing. Something inside Ghost melted a little. 

Before you could retort, Ghost was bending down, his lips hovering above your own, his breath hot on your face. Your eyes were wide as he gripped your chin in his gloved hand. When you didn’t pull away, Ghost closed the gap, your lips connecting. You were shocked at first, not sure what to do. But after a moment, after Ghost began to move his lips, you did as well, in sync with his. Your hands instinctively came out and grabbed onto Ghost’s jacket as he hunched over, pushing you into the wall from his sheer strength as he kissed you. You went on your tip toes, smashing your lips harder against him. His arm rested on the wall behind you, holding himself steady as he bent in half to reach your lips.

There was something heady and passionate in the way he kissed you. It was unlike any other kiss you ever experienced. Ghost softly pulled back, his eyes trying to read your own as you looked at one another breathlessly. “Ghost,” you whispered, unsure of what else to say. 

“Simon,” he corrected, his lips still hovering above yours letting you feel his hot breath against your face. 

Soap cleared his throat from behind you two. You jumped, startled. Ghost stood up straight, his back still to Soap and waited for you to pull your mask up before he turned around. 

Soap leaned against the doorway, his eyebrows wiggling as he looked at Ghost. “Sorry, didn’t realize I was interrupting something.” 

Ghost growled as he walked towards Soap. “Not a fucking word, Johnny,” he said harshly as he pushed past Soap to go into the other room where your hostage was being kept. 

You took in a unsteady breath, you probably should follow him. You had a job to do. 

Soap had a big grin on his face as you went to walk past him. “Was ‘bout damn time,” his Scottish accent was heavy. You shoved him, your body language betraying you, displaying just how embarrassed you were. “What?” Soap asked, playfully raising his hands as he turned to follow you down the hall.

As annoying as Soap was, you felt a smile form under your mask. This was not how you thought the day was going to go. Fuck. You were screwed.

#ghost #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod #ghost cod #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #fluff #angst #ghost angst #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley

[ereardon]

The Backup || Chapter 2

[Jake Seresin x Reader]

A friends with benefits AU

Overview: No strings attached sex never works, right? You and Jake Seresin have fallen into a bad pattern of seeking each other out for sex after dates go awry, but a year of being friends with benefits with Jake hasn’t been good for your dating life. Especially when the two of you are hiding your antics from your lifelong best friend Coyote and the rest of your tightly knit friend group. But what happens when you decide to take a step back and end the cycle with Jake to focus on your dating life? And why is it that all of the sudden Jake looks more irresistible than ever when you know he’s off limits? 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader

Chapter summary: Y/N goes on a first date with someone and sparks fly; Jake shows his first crack of jealousy

Warnings: Implied smut, cursing

WC: 3.3K

Previous chapter here; masterlist here

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“He’s hot!” 

You turned your head to where Phoenix was pointing and grimaced. Goatee, Chelsea boots, jeans skinnier than yours. “Is this 2014?” you asked, turning back to the table and putting your hands on the sticky wood. “No thanks. Going to get a second round. Want anything?” 

“Rum and coke.” 

You pushed your way to the busy bar, propping your elbows up and flagging the bartender. “Rum and coke and a tequila soda please.” 

He nodded, turning away and you looked back at the table. A tall blond was chatting up Phoenix, one of his arms looped around the back of her chair. You rolled your eyes. Everyone always flocked to Phoenix. Men, women, it didn’t matter. She had that carefree attitude that attracted people like flies to honey. It would be a lie if you said you weren’t jealous. Her taste was abysmal but that was besides the point. She had options, and you envied that.

“Here you go.” The waiter set the drinks down. “Twenty two dollars.” 

“Let me get that for you.” A voice from your left appeared out of thin air. You turned. A credit card extended from his massive hand, held out over the bar. The arm was covered in a leather jacket, and you trailed your eyes up his arm to his face which hovered a good foot above you or more. Dark hair, slightly overgrown, and a sharp jawline with a slightly hawkish nose. His eyes flickered down toward you and you felt your heart throb in your chest. 

“I have a tab,” you interrupted, sticking out one hand, putting it over his hand that hovered out with a credit card glued between two massive fingers. You didn’t pull away and neither did he. 

The bartender’s voice interrupted. “Name?” 

“Natasha,” you replied, and he moved away, tapping Phoenix’s name into his system and finding her card from when the two of you had arrived an hour before.

You felt a rush of air as the stranger’s hand pulled away, sliding his credit card back into a thin black wallet. He looked down at you from where he was leaning against the bar. “Now I owe you a drink, Natasha.” 

You shook your head but he never flinched. “Natasha is my friend over there.” You pointed at Phoenix who was now laughing with a new person, this time a girl wearing a tight miniskirt. “I’m Y/N.” 

His voice was deep. “I’m Liam.”

He was the definition of tall, dark and handsome. A mysterious almost Adam Driver-like quality. You leaned forward, pressing one leg against his. “Here.” You reached into your purse, tugging at a loose business card and holding it out. “If you were serious about that drink.” 

Liam held the card up in the dim lighting of the bar, one thick black eyebrow raised as he read off the card. He lowered it, sliding it into his pocket, inching forward, musk filling the air around you. “Are you here to meet guys, Y/N, or to get stock tips?” 

You tossed your head back in a laugh. When you caught Liam’s eye he was smiling, lips pulled tightly together but in a grin. “I know better than to look for tips at a bar in the Marina,” you replied. “I’d just go to the Philz at Embarcadero.” 

Liam’s lip twitched up. “I’ll let you get back to your friend.” 

“Thanks for the hypothetical promise of a drink,” you replied, picking up both drinks. 

Liam’s hand reached out, fingers spread across your bare wrist. “Y/N.” His voice was deep and gruff; it scratched that inner part of your ear that felt like a tickle. You looked up, eyes wide. “I’ll call you.” 

You grinned. “You better.” You could feel his gaze, hot on your back, as you made your way back to the table where Phoenix was now alone. 

“That took ages. What was the hold up?” 

You looked back at the bar. Liam held up his drink with a wink. You turned back to Phoenix, taking a sip of your tequila soda. “Nothing. Just some guy.” 

“Some guy, huh? Any potential?” 

You snuck one last look at the bar. Liam’s spot was empty. You turned back to Phoenix and shrugged. “Probably not.” 

***

“You can’t seriously think this looks good.” 

Coyote walked out of the fitting room in a pair of green chinos and a quarter zip sweater layered over a white shirt. You stood up from the chair and reached for his collar, fussing with it as he grimaced. 

“Y/N,” he groaned. 

“Stop fidgeting,” you snapped. He dropped his hands to his sides and you gripped his shoulders, pivoting him toward the three-pane mirror. “You’re insane, this looks perfect.” 

“I feel like a Ken doll.” 

You opened your mouth to respond as an older woman appeared behind the two of you. “Aren’t you two a lovely couple!” 

Coyote’s face in the mirror transformed into a sigh. It wasn’t the first or third or tenth time someone had mistaken the two of you for a couple. Sometimes it was hard not to. Whether it was picking out new clothes at a J. Crew or Christmas tree shopping in Oakland or late at night at the bar, his arm slipped around the back of your chair, your head resting on his shoulder. 

“Oh we’re not together,” you replied after a moment. 

The lady frowned. “Why not?” 

You looked up at Coyote. Why not was a good question. He was everything you wanted in a partner. Strong and stable and kind. He could predict your needs based on your mood and he wanted the very best for you. 

Coyote smiled down at you. You grinned at him. Why not was only for you two to know. 

***

“Fuck!” 

You slammed back against the mattress, chest heaving, a thin layer of sweat covering your skin from where you laid naked in Jake’s bed. He looked over at you with a smirk. “That good, huh?”

“Shut up,” you groaned, slapping one hand over your eyes, blocking him out. 

Jake laughed, one hand squeezing your thigh. His grip was tight and familiar. “You love it,” he replied, rolling out of bed and pulling on a pair of boxers. “Want some pizza? I have some in the fridge.” 

“Yeah, sure.” As Jake rounded the corner into the kitchen you reached for your phone on the nightstand, a voicemail from an unknown number blinking on the homepage. Frowning, you clicked on it. 

Hi Y/N, this is Liam, from Tostado’s bar. What are you doing on Wednesday night? I’d really like to see you again. And I still owe you that drink. Call me when you can. Talk soon.

Jake returned with a box of pizza and two beer bottles wedged between his fingers on one hand. “Everything OK?” 

You smiled, sliding the phone face-down onto the table. “Yeah, everything’s great.” 

***

“Tell me again who this is?” Coyote pinched a french fry between his fingers and popped it into his mouth. 

“His name is Liam, we met at a bar last weekend.”

“And how do we know Liam isn’t a serial killer?” 

You rolled your eyes and took a sip of your drink, leaning back into the plush seat of the restaurant booth. “Javy, are we really going to do this again?” 

He sighed. “I just worry about you.” 

“I know you do. But I’m a big girl. And besides, don’t you want me to find someone?” 

“Of course I do.” It was a thin whisper. 

“What did I miss?” Jake slid into the seat to your left, immediately reaching for his beer. 

“Y/N has a date tomorrow,” Coyote said. 

Jake’s eyebrow shot up. “Is that so? What’s his red flag?” 

“He has none.” 

Jake laughed but it sounded empty. “Sounds like bullshit to me. They all have red flags.”

“Just because you date teeny boppers with the emotional intelligence of an eraser doesn’t mean I do, too.” 

“Not my fault you pick the biggest losers on the planet to date in a city that’s literally chock full of startup geniuses.”

Coyote watched with wide eyes as you and Jake laid into each other. Your face was practically red. After a pause you leaned back and shook your head. “New subject. Has anyone seen Bradley’s new motorcycle?” 

Jake launched into a full rundown of the specs of Bradley’s new bike. You finished your pasta, nodding in rapt attention, but the heat of Coyote’s gaze was undeniable. At one point, you looked up to catch him staring at you, head tipped, like he was solving a puzzle. You smiled, and he did, too, but it didn’t reach his eyes. You turned back to Jake, trying to ignore the pinch in your stomach. 

***

The wind rippled through your hair as Liam returned from the bar with two drinks. He smiled broadly, lips spread back but still closed. You held out a hand, wrapping it around the plastic cup. “Thanks.” 

Liam took his place next to you near the boat railing, the water splashing high on the sides. “Is this what you had in mind for a first date?” 

You shook your head. When he had first suggested the two of you take a nighttime tour of Alcatraz you had been surprised. But it turned out to be monumentally more fun than you had imagined. You’d worn the complete wrong type of shoe — a pair of stiletto boots — and on your way back down the side of the hill to the ferry boat you had stumbled and Liam caught you. His arms were solid and strong and to your shock he crouched down. 

“Get on.”

You had hopped onto his back, and he carried you down the side of the hill, all the way onto the boat. He set you down gently, hands caressing your thighs carefully. You could still feel the mark of his fingertips on your skin when he was inside getting drinks. 

“Well?” Liam asked, taking a sip of his margarita. “You up for one last adventure?” 

You smiled. “Another surprise?” 

“One more,” he promised. “Or if you’re desperate to get off this boat with me I can call you an Uber the second we get to the Ferry Building.” 

“Not at all.” 

“Good.” This time, he flashed his pearly white teeth. “Do you eat meat?” 

Twenty minutes later, you and Liam were squished in a small booth in a restaurant in Chinatown with a vast spread of food on the rickety table in front of you: pork dumplings, half of a roasted duck, fluffy buns filled with red bean paste, shrimp shumai. 

You stabbed a dumpling with your chopsticks, plopping it into your mouth. 

“That’s so good.” 

Liam’s knee knocked against yours as you reached for another bun. “Have you been to China?” 

“Never. But it’s on my list.” 

“I spent two years there teaching English,” he said, taking a sip of beer in-between words. “Unreal experience.” 

“I’m jealous,” you said. “I’ve only ever lived here and LA, where I grew up.” 

“What made you leave LA?” 

“My best friend,” you replied, lifting the neck of the beer bottle to your lips. “He got a job out here after graduation and said it was the best place ever. We both kind of needed a change of place, to get away from where we were from.”

“San Francisco is the greatest escape,” Liam said, “and it’s a vacuum, sucking you in, all at once.” Even though it was dark, you understood what he meant. There was something about the city that called to you. When it was night and the streets were practically empty. Something overwhelming when the fog finally broke and you could see for miles across the abundant hills. San Francisco was more of a home to you than LA ever would be. It was your escape, but it was also your Hotel California. You could show up anytime, but you would never leave. 

“What do you do?” you asked, leaning forward, one ankle brushing over his calf. Liam’s hand dangled off the back of the red booth, fingertips dancing lightly on your shoulder. 

“I’m a publisher.” 

“Books?” 

He nodded. “I’m here for six months. A kind of sabbatical.” 

You frowned. “Six months? Then where are you going?” “Back to New York.” You sucked in a breath. “I live in the East Village, off Eleventh Street.” 

“New York,” you breathed. “I’ve never been.” 

“It’s different than here,” Liam replied. “This has the better Chinatown.” 

You smiled. “What do you like better?” 

“Neither one is better,” Liam said, his voice graveley and deep. You felt his fingers brush gently over your shoulder, and you unconsciously nudged closer. “Coffee in New York. Mexican food here. People in New York are ruder, but genuine. People here are California kind — pleasant, but hollow. I like being close to the water. But New York has bagels and there’s so much more life at three in the morning.” He paused. “Besides, you’re here. So that’s an automatic win for San Francisco.” 

Under the flickering fluorescent light of the Chinese restaurant, you looked up at Liam. For the first time in a long time, you felt it. That spark. That small piece of chemistry every romcom, every romance book, every person who had been in a committed relationship said was the start. The one little ember that would ignite and start a whole forest fire. And despite all of the noise, the shouting and the clamoring and the sound of dishes smacking against linoleum tables and chairs screeching as they got pulled back on the sticky tile floor, for a moment in time it was just you and Liam sitting next to each other in silence, your smile reflected on his face, his fingertips warm against your shoulder. 

Outside, the air was chilly. You winced as the two of you stepped into the street, your feet aching in the heeled boots. “Wait here,” Liam said, ducking into the store next to the restaurant the two of you had emerged from. He returned a few minutes later, holding out a pair of red silky slippers and you laughed as he bent down, unzipping your boots carefully, sliding the slippers on. You sighed in relief, heels hitting the ground for the first time all night. 

“I can hold those,” you said, reaching out for the boots. 

He straightened up, towering over you, and shook his head. “I’ll carry them for you.” 

Liam’s hand found yours as the two of you walked down Grant Street. There was something calm about him. Sturdy. As you rounded the corner onto Market Street, your gaze flickered up at him. 

“When can I see you again?” he asked, voice melting into the wind that whipped down the street, blanketing the two of you in a chill. 

“I’m free on Friday.” 

He grinned. “Friday then.” Liam pulled out his phone as a black sedan pulled up next to the curb. “I ordered you an Uber Black to take you home.” Liam stepped forward, opening the door. You lingered for a moment, your right hip brushing against his. 

“Goodnight,” you whispered. For once, you wanted him to kiss you. It wasn’t a reluctant end of the night forced event. It wasn’t out of pity or to cut the date short. It wasn’t because you felt like you owed him for a drink, a dinner, a ride. You wanted him to kiss you. 

So when he leaned down, one hand cupping your cheek, you sucked in a breath, his lips landing on yours, soft and pillowy, the pine scent of his musk overwhelming your senses as he pressed closer, his thumb sinking gently into the soft skin behind your ear as you opened your lips, letting him in. And when he pulled away, you were breathless. “Goodnight, Y/N,” Liam murmured, taking your hand, helping you down into the leather backseat of the car, placing your discarded boots down at your side. 

You watched him fade into the dark as the car pulled away, headed west, your lips still bruised with the thought of him. 

You were so caught up that you didn’t feel your phone buzz in your purse, Jake’s text sitting unread. 

How was the date? I have tequila. 

*** 

You and Jake had agreed early on that you’d keep your relationship, or whatever you could call it, a secret from the group. Not only would Coyote flip, but it would create another layer that would inevitably create fissures if and when things went to shit with the two of you. Which, taking into account both of your dating histories, was practically inevitable. 

Only once had you come close to exposing yourselves. 

It was Bob’s birthday party, which had started at a restaurant in the Mission and ended at a rooftop in Cow Hollow. Jake had struck out early in the night with two different blondes, first at the restaurant and then at the second bar. You had early success chatting with a guy from the first bar, but by the time you got to the rooftop he confessed he lived with his mother and sometimes slept in her bed. 

“Ew,” you shuddered, taking a shot, physically shaking away the ick that had crawled under your skin the moment he said that. 

“What happened Stink? Strike out?” 

You glared at Jake. “Fuck off.” 

He tipped one of the small shot glasses down his throat and winced. “So did I.” Jake leaned in closer, his hand brushing against your low back. You felt a tickle of excitement creep up your thighs. “Want to get out of here?” 

“We can’t, it’s Bob’s birthday. Someone will see.” 

“You leave first, I’ll wait five minutes and follow. Your apartment is just ten minutes away.” 

You looked up at Jake. He had stepped closer, his thumb hooked against the waistband of your shorts, the edges of his hair stuck to his golden skin from the sweat. It was hot, July, and the evening breeze that usually chilled San Francisco was nowhere to be found. And yet, somehow all you wanted was to be rolling around with Jake in a mess of sweaty limbs. “You’re desperate for me, huh?” you whispered. 

Jake rolled his eyes and you smirked. Just as you were about to pull away, head for the door, you straightened your glance. Phoenix had her eyes trained on you across the room. Quickly, you sidestepped away from Jake, his fingertips falling from your waist. “What?” he asked, loudly. Too loudly. 

“Shh,” you hissed under your breath, taking another definitive step away from Jake and jutting your chin out toward Phoenix. Jake looked up, catching Natasha’s eyes, and then grunted. 

“Fuck.” 

“You’re an idiot,” you said, pushing him out of the way, trying to cut across the room toward Phoenix to explain. 

“Wait, Y/N.” Jake grabbed your wrist. 

You turned back, thrashing out of his grip. “Jake. Let go of me.” Your eyes burned into his and he opened his fingers, letting your wrist slide away, out of his grasp. “You better hope she doesn’t suspect anything.” 

By the time you made your way across the rooftop to Phoenix she was pounding another drink, the memory of you and Jake cozy near the railing a distant memory. But that didn’t stop the tiny little voice in the back of your head that said you two were ticking time bomb. That sooner or later, one of you would make a mistake. And it wouldn’t just be your pseudo-relationship on the line. It would be all of your friendships, too. 

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#jake hangman fic #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin #top gun imagine #jake hangman x you #hangman fanfiction #jake seresin au #jake hangman imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman fic #jake hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x you #top gun x reader

[bigboysfalldeep]

desire - body swap

Ben loves wearing his biker gear every time he gets Riding his bike, getting groceries, or simply having a walk through the park Wearing that leather combo gives him a massive confidence boost, increasing his feeling of self-worth and, most importantly, tickling his inner kink. Hed always get hard as soon as another man looked at him, complimented him verbally, or just by the way theyd often reach down for their crotch. Ben would smirk playfully, knowing very well what an impact his extraordinary looks have on other people. Unknowingly, however, this would attract someone who is bound to change his life forever.

The sun is shining brightly when Ben returns home from a rather steamy bike session. He loves how the suit fits, especially after a sweaty, two-hour ride. The sound of his thighs rubbing against one another, the leather squeaking, and the whole suit clinging to his form make him smirk. Ben passes a few people walking towards his apartment, and they all look at him, adoring him. He puts his bag down, bends, and looks for his keys. After a few seconds of searching, he pulls it out with a long, deep sigh. "Back home," he mouths, opens the door, and steps inside. Before he can close it behind him, however, something—someone—approaches him from behind.

In the blink of an eye, he is simply overpowered and gets pressed against a wall. "What the fuck!" He exhales, trying to fight back, but then a pinching burn at his neck snaps him out of the fight. A burning sensation runs down his spine, and for a second, he feels at ease. His body goes numb, and his vision goes out.

When Ben opens his eyes again, he is confused and dizzy; his whole body aches for relief. He lifts his head slowly, his vision still blurry. Blinking slowly, he looks around. He is in his own bedroom; everything seems fine, but then he hears someone walking around him.

At this point, he remembers what just happened. Slowly regaining his composure, he tries to move, but his body is still weak. To his shock, he is handcuffed in front of his chest, and his ankles are taped together. "What is going on?" He growls, trying to move, but his feet won't steady him, and he sits back down at the edge of his bed.

"Are you awake already?" A voice rings through his mind, and he turns his head towards the noise. Sitting on a stool, there is a young guy, around his age, looking at him with a gigantic smirk on his lips. As odd as this may be, he's just wearing a pair of joggers and boots. His hair is nicely done, and his chest is slightly hairy.

"I wasn't sure I had the right dose." The man chuckles and runs a finger down his wrist, admiring his own skin. "Who. Who are you? What are you doing here?" Ben, steadily regaining control of himself again, demands answers. This guy just can't get into his home, knock him out, and sit there like this. He doesn't look too tough. Ben might stand a chance in a fair fight.

The man tilts his head teasingly and stares at Ben for a good minute. Before he can ask him again, however, the man exhales. "Straight to the point, huh?" The man strokes himself once, making Ben's eyes follow his hand across his bare chest.

"I had many names. I can't even remember this one's." He pats his chest, chuckling. "What does he mean?" Ben thinks and frowns. "He must be someone who's on a trip."

"Look, man. I don't know what kind of pill you took, but just untie me and we can talk it out." Ben reasons with him, and if amused by his request, the man chuckles again. "Untie you?" He gets up and smiles. With silent steps, he approaches Ben, who is startled by his actual physique. He didn't seem that imposing, but the closer that man gets, the more he regrets him speaking up.

With a single finger, that man lifts his chin and his gaze to meet his own. "Why would I do that?" The man licks his lips and lets go of Ben's chin, which is shaking slightly. Something about that man is definitely off. There is a certain chemical smell hovering all around him; his body is well-formed yet oddly cold, but his eyes are the worst. They are multicolored, unlike anything he has seen before. So beautiful, so alluring.

"Please just let me go. I won't tell anybody." Ben pleads with a shaking voice, but the man just grins. "Oh dear, you won't be going anywhere." The man squats down, so their faces are just inches apart from each other. "Your way too," he breathes, his eyes wandering down Ben's body, who's still wearing his tight leather suit. "Special." He breathes against Ben's body before placing a hand on his chest and lovingly stroking him through the fabric of his gear.

Ben shifts his body weight, trying to evade that man's gentle strokes, but he doesn't seem to care. Quite the opposite. His hands start to encompass all of Ben's body, his firm chest, his shoulders down his arms, and right to his huge thighs. Shivering, Ben looks away, not wanting to play any part in this crazy man's game.

Breathing deeply, he contemplates how to get away and how to overpower this stranger when a hand finds its way between his legs and right to his already bulging dick. A side effect of his own brain. Every time he wears that suit, his mind is taught to feel aroused, to get hard, and to fill that suit fully. Just like now. "Please, dont." He breathes again when a hand again grabs his chin, forcing him to face that man. "Look at me when I tease you, boy." He says it angrily, his beautiful eyes burning red, and his gentle strokes get firmer, making Ben moan under his breath.

Just like that, the man steps away, turning his back towards Ben, who is desperately trying not to freak out. He looks at him, touching himself, his chest, his abs, and down to his erect cock. "Will you.." He swallows hard. "Will you kill me now?" Ben's voice shakes, causing the man to turn back around, a curious expression on his face. "Kill you?" He tilts his head again. "No. There is no fun in that." The man approaches him again; this time, he stands there, towering over Ben.

"You see." Ben prepares himself for whatever that guy could say. What could be worse than getting murdered? "My people have been here long before your kind showed up. They invaded our spaces, ruined our homes, and... He says, his voice slightly lower than before, his eyes now staring into the distance, seemingly tapping into a memory, before his mind finds its way back to this. "I think it's only fair if I repay the favor." He shrugs. 

Ben is confused now. What the fuck is he talking about? Maybe he is insane or on a really, really bad trip. "What the fuck are you on, ab..." The man leans in quickly, making Ben flinch. "Look." The man breathes. "I'm some sort of shapeshifter." He tilts his head teasingly, his eyes again wandering down to Ben's body. "And you're someone I can't let go." He places a hand at Ben's chest again, making his heart beat accelerate heavily.

"Shape...shifter? You're fucking crazy." Ben shouts, but the man doesn't even react. Challenged, the man gets up, raises his hand, and a thin, needle-like tendril grows out of his wrist. Shocked by this, Ben tries to move away, and with that, he falls down to the wooden floor. As he lets out a painful groan, the man just laughs. "Fuck. That was intense." He laughs, approaches him, and turns him on his back with his boot before pinning him down easily.

It feels like a boulder is trapping him; he's barely able to breathe, and with his arms and legs tied up, he can't do anything but watch that shapeshifter laugh at him. "You're even funnier than the last guy." He giggles, moving his boot slightly, like squashing a bug. "Pleaseee." Ben moans, and after a second or so, the guy releases him.

Catching his breath slowly, Ben can't fight back once the man lifts him up, placing him right at the edge of the bed again. "You should be proud. To be my new host." He smirks, stroking his own chest once more. "I like this one, but not yours." The man locks eyes with Ben again. "Is fantastic." Shaking his head, Ben refuses to accept this as reality. It must be some sort of prank or dream. "Just let me go, please." He begs, and the man pouts mockingly. "Let me go." He cries, mimicking Ben's despair. "Fuck off." The man shoves Ben just enough to make him lay on his back.

Effortlessly, the shifter climbs on top of him, exploring his whole body now with both of his hands. Even though it's a horrific situation, something about it begins to turn Ben on. It's a mixture of those gentle strokes, the man's scent, and his low voice penetrating his mind ever so slightly. "You're so huge." He says, as he grinds his hips against Bens, their faces now inches apart. In a desperate attempt, he tries to overpower him, but he's just too strong. "Getting feisty, eh?" He chuckles. "This should calm you down." Ben watches in terror as that thing grows out of his wrist again, and before he can protest, the man injects him.

This time it's different, however. Slowly, warmth spreads through his neck, his chest, and further into his whole body. "What is thaaaat?" Ben opens his mouth and moans loudly. "Something to calm you down." The man stares at him. "See, so easy." He pats Ben's chest firmly and gets off him. "It feels funny." Ben stumbles over his words as the warmth keeps spreading further and further, reaching his fingertips and toes now.

"We don't need that anymore." Smiling, the man removes the cuffs and uses a small knife to cut the tape between the legs. Ben's body enjoys the relief and spreads across the whole bed, with him groaning in comfort. "Thats right. Good boy." The man bends down, running a hand across Ben's heaving chest again. "This will be fun." He smiles and pats Ben's cheek lovingly.

As the man separates himself, Ben's head starts spinning, and he doesn't even notice the man slowly undressing beside the bed. In fact, he pulls his joggers down, exposing a massive, throbbing cock standing firmly. Easily, the man pulls Ben to the side of the bed, his neck now hovering in the air, his gaze on the man's pulsating cock. Blinking quickly, he instinctively opens his mouth as the man approaches him again.

With ease, he enters Ben's mouth, filling him and part of his throat fully, causing him to gag heavily. "Shhh. Shhh. Its okay." The man comforts him by running a hand across his firm chest again. The warmth is now taking over his mind, and as the man's balls and thighs block his vision, he closes his eyes. Rhythmically, he starts thrusting into Ben's mouth, who is gagging, licking, and sucking the lengths tightness lovingly. His mind is flooded with warmth as waves of pain and pleasure swing through his entire system. Ben sucked cock before, but nothing compares to this. The feeling of his throat getting penetrated, the taste of the cock, and how the man moves so easily make his whole body react at the same time.

While the man keeps thrusting, stroking his chest and neck, Ben's hands move to his own cock, vibrating intensely inside his tight leather pants. Still, he starts touching himself, feeling himself grow bigger and bigger. "Thats right. Thats the way." The man breathes deeply, his voice changing slightly and becoming deeper—nothing like any man had sounded before. Ben doesn't care, however. All he can think of is sucking that cock and pleasing that man, and as soon as the cock starts to leak pre-cum, all of this gets even worse. As the first drop enters Ben's mouth, waves of electricity spark inside his body, and they run along his spine, down to his hands, his legs, his feet, and right into his cock, making him bulge even harder.

Gagging heavily now, while his body gets even stiffer, Ben keeps on sucking, craving more of this man's cum. "Go for it." The man chuckles and hits Ben's chest with the palm of his hand again and again before letting out a low, guttural grunt. "Fuck." 

Just then, he stops for a moment, and his cock erupts into Ben's throat, causing him to nearly vomit, but the man tries to comfort him by stroking his chest and neck tenderly. "Don't resist now." He exhales as more and more cum leaves his cock, sliding down Ben's throat. That feeling is unbelievable. It feels like steaming water, yet it is so soft, not hurting him at all. He makes sure to swallow it all before he feels the cock leave his mouth. Closing his mouth slowly, his whole body gets stiff and rigid, and it feels like he's retreating deep inside his mind. It feels easy to let go of all that pain and all that pleasure.

Ben falls back—no gravity, just him floating about. Everything goes dark, fades away slowly, and thats okay with him.

He doesn't know how long he was out of the picture, but he doesn't feel any pain once he wakes up. Ben opens his eyes, and he's lying in his bed. At first, he is relieved, but just a mere second later, he realizes something is wrong.

His body moves, gets up from the bed, and walks towards a mirror.

"Even better than expected." A voice says, using his voice, but he isn't the one using it anymore. "What happened?" He thinks to himself, and immediately his consciousness is simply overwhelmed.

"You're awake." The voice says this as he starts to touch himself, stroking his chest through his leather jacket. "What? I can't move!" Ben protests, but his reflection just smirks at him.

"Its because Im here now." He says this, running a gloved hand through his hair and down to his beard. "It can't be!" Shocked, Ben tries to regain control somehow, but it's futile.

"But it is, see?" Ben's body turns around, pointing at the lifeless body of a man lying on the floor with his pants down at his ankles. "No. NO. GIVE ME MY BODY BACK." 

The man walks over to the body and moves it with his biker boots. "It was a beautiful body, I have to admit." Ben can't help but stare at the body and the shell—a simple husk. It is the same man who overpowered him, fucked him, and now is lying on the floor next to his bed.

"What have you done?" Ben says it angrily, still protesting. "I told you." The man chuckles mockingly and walks back towards the mirror. "Oh fuck. Your musk is even better now." He sniffs at his armpits and moans again and again, much to Ben's dislike. "STOP THAT." He shouts, but his body just laughs. "I know you like that."

The man looks right into his own, now multicolored eyes, right at Ben, who's shivering again. "I have access to your thoughts, Ben." He says. "I know you're kind of a slut. So kinky, so...fuuuck." He starts to firmly stroke his neck, chest, arms, and thighs. All of his muscles instantly react by getting hard and bulging against the tight leather suit, filling it fully.

"Fuuuck." They both moan in unison.

"Just....give it back." Ben says softly, unable to move an inch of his body. "I wont." The man says it seriously. "But I will do something for you." He smiles again. It doesn't matter what he offered; all Ben wants is his beautiful body back. "Fuck you. Its mine. MY BODY." He demands, but his reflection just rolls his eyes. "It was your body, yes. But you will have a new form soon." The man smiles and walks back to the bed, lying down on his back.

"What are you doing?" Ben says anxiously, not sure what to make of this. But the man doesn't reply; instead, he gets really quiet and focused. "Hello?" I am talking to you." Panicking, Ben doesn't even notice his body chanting something under his breath until it's too late. He feels the body tensing again, harder than ever before. All of the muscles are bulging, testing the limits of the fabric. Just then, his essence gets pulled out of his mind, and everything goes dark. He tries to fight back, but he can't even see anything.

The warmth spreads once more, engulfing him in a flaming ball of pain and pleasure. He can't think or speak. His surroundings move, vibrate, and pulsate heavily as he gets pushed down a hallway. Ben gets sticky, wet, and warm. Unable to process anything, he gives into that sensational feeling of pure pleasure.

Just then, he leaves his old body, embracing the touch of something new. He spreads across the landscape, exploring every inch of this world. It feels good, and he moves in a lovely dance, swirling around. But this form isn't free, as Ben feels pulled and pushed. His arms, legs, and chest grow into place, hugging something in a tight embrace. He feels a familiar thing—the feeling of skin, small hair tickling him, and the smell—a wondeful scent, so familiar yet stronger than ever before.

Ben can't see, just feel and taste, and in a horrifying realization, he remembers that smell—his sweaty, musky smell—after riding his bike for hours in the steaming sun. "It can't be." He thinks, as his being starts to bend, to move, so tight, so strong. "How do you like it, Ben?" A voice echoes through him—a very familiar voice. "You're now what you love so much." The man says, and slowly, Ben is able to open his mind for this experience. In fact, he is now inhabiting his leather gear.

He feels his skin move, his muscles bulge, and his wet, throbbing cock imprints through him. Unable to form a coherent thought, his mind gets overwhelmed by all of this. The smell, the feeling of skin—when something starts touching him like no one has ever done before. The man touches his core with every soft stroke, with every move of his body, with his twitching cock. Just sensational. "Fuuck." Ben moans loudly, making him vibrate.

"Thats right." His old body purrs. "How about we go for a ride?" The man strokes himself and smiles at the mirror.

"Edit; longest story yet, hope you enjoy."

#male on male #tf story #male domination #male transformation #male meat suit #male body switch #male body swap #male body suit #inanimate tf #inanimate transformation #leather man

[vodika-vibes]

Can you please do Blue Daisy and Anemone for Crosshair with a Bounty Hunter Reader? I really love your stories, you're doing amazing!

For The Love Of A Sniper

Summary: You're a Bounty Hunter and Crosshair is your partner in every way. And when your family threatens you, Crosshair offers to deal with it.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Reader

Word Count: 1234

Warnings: Crosshair is soft

Prompts: Blue Daisy - Long Term Loyalty, Anemone - Undying Love

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I hope this is close to what you wanted, I was going to make this a sequel to my recent Crosshair series, but I had a better idea!

When you were a little girl, your parents planned your life almost to the minute. You were ferried from school to dance lessons or music lessons or voice lessons or language lessons. Every second of free time had to be accounted for.

You didn’t have time for friends, and barely had time for family.

Your parents also planned your outfits, frilly dresses in pastel colors and your hair meticulously curled every morning, and then styled with bows and ribbons. And shoes that were so uncomfortable that, on more than one occasion, you considered cutting your toes off so it would hurt less.

Even your schools were devoted to making you the best daughter. High end boarding schools with even more high end finishing classes, with the end goal of sending you to Naboo to attend Theeds Law School.

Perfection was the expectation.

And you were never perfect.

The day that your parents dropped you off at Law School, you dropped out. You managed to get the school to send the refund, nearly 3 million credits total, to your personal bank account, and then you spent a massive chunk of money cutting and dying your hair, and then buying a new wardrobe. 

Within a week of your parents dropping you off on Naboo, you were gone.

That was four years ago. And over the last four years, you’ve made something of a name for yourself as a bounty hunter. You have your own ship, painted vibrant purple and named Spoiler, and you often bounce between cargo delivery and Bounty Hunting, based on what is the most profitable at the time.

Sometimes you do both at the same time, just for funsies.

And you know, because you’ve seen it, your name is plastered on missing persons lists and on bounty boards. Too bad that you don’t look anything like the cherub looking girl on the posters anymore. 

In fact, the only person who might recognize you as the girl in the poster is your boyfriend. And even then, only because you told him. 

Speaking of said boyfriend-

You hang your body armor on the rack in the cargo hold, and climb the stairs to the main part of the ship. You slide open the door to the bedroom, and grin at the man stretched out on the bed. “You ever planning on getting up, handsome?”

Crosshair seems to stretch out even more, and he tucks his arms under his head, his dark eyes locked on your face, “I thought I’d be lazy today,” He drawls, “You could join me.”

You lean against the doorframe, a small smile on your lips. He really is too handsome. Especially lounging in your bed wearing nothing but the dark sweatpants that you bought him. He looks healthy, finally, having put some weight on now that he’s no longer with the Empire.

“See something you like, doll?”

You grin at him, lazy and slow, “I see something that’s mine.” You tease.

Crosshair chuckles and shifts to free one arm, “Come here, princess.” He almost purrs. And, really, how are you expected to deny that request?

You kick your boots off and climb on the bed to drape yourself across his chest. You take a moment to press a light kiss just over his heart, before you slide up to tuck your head against his neck. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm, I did.” He wraps an arm around your shoulder and presses a light kiss to the top of your head, “And then I got an alert-” He uses his free hand to grab the datapad on the side of the bed, “Someone put a flag on all accounts attached to your old name.”

“Another one?” You roll slightly so you’re able to see the screen, and then you sigh, “This is, what, number five? Six?”

“Eight in the last six months.” Crosshair corrects.

“Well, following the money is step one in the ‘how to find someone who doesn’t want to be found’ handbook, I suppose.” You mutter under your breath as you roll again and fold your arms on his chest.

“You would know, wouldn’t you, princess.”

“It’s fine. It’s not like those accounts are attached to my name anymore.” You reply as you look down at his face, “Which is a shame, there’s nearly 3 million credits in that account.”

Crosshair reaches up and slides his fingers across your cheek, “Those credits have so many strings attached, you might as well be a puppet.”

“Mm, don’t I know it.” You lean in and kiss him gently, “Luckily, they won’t find me. And 3 million credits is a lot less than I would pay to never be their perfect little doll ever again.”

His eyes glitter, “Even if they did, if you think I’m giving you up without a fight-”

A soft laugh falls from your lips, “Aww, I knew you loved me.”

His lips curl up into an amused smile, “You’re alright, I suppose.” In spite of his light, teasing, words his hand tightly clutches at your hip. 

You shift and press feather light kisses across his face, “I’m not going anywhere. Not willingly.” You whisper to him.

His grip loosens slightly, “Of course not. You’d never find anyone as good as I am.” His hand slithers up your side to grip the collar of your shirt between two strong fingers, and he pulls you down to crash your lips against his. “We do, however,” He murmurs after a moment, “have to deal with this.”

“Can’t we ignore it?” You whine.

“You know we can’t.” He finally moves his other arm from under his head, and he wraps it tightly around you, “Let me handle it.”

You nervously bite your lower lip, “I don’t know-”

“I’m not going to hand you in,” Crosshair murmurs, as gentle with your anxieties regarding your family as you are with his anxiety about you leaving, “My loyalty is to you. Now and forever.”

You sigh, “I know. I just don’t like you going off on your own.” You kiss him quickly, and then press a longer, slower, kiss against his lips, “I never wanted to demand your loyalty.”

“You never had to.” There’s something soft and vulnerable in his gaze, and you think you love him a little more for it, “You didn’t expect my loyalty like my brothers.” He kisses you just under your eyes, “And you never demanded it like the Empire.” He drags his lips across the bridge of your nose, “You were loyal to me, so I became loyal to you.”

“That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” You say warmly.

He rolls his eyes, “Then how’s this? I love you. Forever. Until there’s no more breath in my lungs. Until my heart beats it last.”

You press your forehead against his, “You’re going to make me cry and mess up my make-up.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll never say anything so gross ever again.” He jokes. “What do you say, Princess? Trust me to handle this?”

“Deal. You can handle it, and I’ll just…hang out in the ship for you.”

“Deal.” He pulls you back into a deep kiss, “Later though. For now you’re on top of me and won’t stop squirming-” You release a bubbly laugh as he flips the pair of you and pins you to the bed, “Really, you brought this on yourself, princess.”

#star wars #tbb #vodika-vibes follower celebration #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

[mrvlbimbo]

hii, i wanted to request eddie and bimbo reader!! a unique pair, but reader likes metal and rock music, and they find other ways to bond later!! ( you can take the last however lol )

Genuinely love this character and their dynamic sm in this fic!!! I was going to wait to post it till I wrote everything I wanted to with this HC but I figured I’d pass it off to y’all and see what u think abt it as well

(Finally living up to my username ig)

Eddie x Bimbo!reader (this is going to be a series btw)

1.6k words

When the hottest girl in his math class asked him out he thought someone was playing a cruel trick on him. Like haha laugh at the freak and his massive crush on the school bimbo.

She came into pre-calc that day all giggling and happy and usual. She sat down right next to him, now that was unusual. Twirling her hair and smiling, she leaned over to him and asked “Hey Eddie, what are you doing this weekend?”

“I dunno.” His heart raced when she ran a finger over his bicep and looked up at him, fluttering her eyelashes.

Her nails were done in a French tip manicure and he wondered how she got anything done with nails that long and fancy. “I have tickets to a rock concert. Will you go with me?” She bit her lip in anticipation of his answer.

He did not give her one, deciding instead to jump out of his seat and rush to the bathroom and not return until the very end of class. She was still right there waiting for him with a pleasant smile. “I’ll have to check my schedule,” he finally answered, still not sure if it was a joke.

She was also repeating her senior year but it didn’t seem to affect her popularity. But that might have had something to do with the fact she was drop dead gorgeous and absurdly friendly and kind. He was skeptical of “preps” like her but he couldn’t imagine she would ask him out as a joke just to be cruel. She didn’t have a cruel bone in her body.

But he also couldn’t imagine her actually wanting to hangout with him. Still perplexed by the time lunch rolled around, he decided to ask the rest of the hellfire club what they thought. They didn’t have any helpful advice, due to the fact they did not believe him.

That was until the girl in question practically skipped over to their table and took the seat right next to Eddie. “Hiiiii Eddie. Did you check your schedule?” she giggled, tapping her nails on the table and looking at him expectantly.

The rest of the group was freaking out now and she had a confused look on her face, soon she was going to get upset if she realized the others were poking fun at them. So he did the only logical thing, grabbing her hand and leading her out of the lunchroom and into his secret spot in the woods.

If she was confused before she was really confused now. But there was still a soft smile on her face when he looked at her. “Why are we out here?” she asked, stepping closer to him. Her hands were resting on his chest and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever been this close to a girl before.

“I wanted to talk to you in private,” he answered, stepping away so he could breathe without taking in her floral femine scent that made him a little bit delirious and very horny.

“It’s ok,” she blurted out, shaking her head and looking a bit embarrassed.

“What?” he asked dumbly.

“If you don’t want to go. It’s ok. I won’t be mad,” she assured him, her gentle tone encouraging him to finally agree to her offer.

“No no. It sounds really fun.” She perked up at that, giving him all the information about the concert and hurrying off back to her other friends who were probably missing her.

They had a really good time at the concert. He stuck by her side the whole night, glaring at any guy who looked at her. Which was a lot of guys, she was very attractive. And it didn’t hurt that she was wearing knee high boots, the shortest and tightest skirt imaginable, and a top that barely qualified as anything other than lingerie.

His eyes were glued to her the entire night and when she asked to stay over at his place that night he thought he had died and gone to heaven. In the morning when he woke to her wearing one of his t-shirts while trying and failing to cook breakfast, he was sure she was an angel.

Their friendship grew quickly. It seemed like she always had an extra ticket for him to go see whatever band she was into at the time. Despite having little in common besides music taste and the same pre-calc class, they got along well.

He was fiercely protective of her once he noticed she wasn’t as popular as she might have seemed. People took advantage of her trusting and kind nature to make fun of her behind her back and it made him sick. From then on anyone who had a bad word to say about her would end up with a ring clad fist to the face.

After months of hanging out, things started to change. She looked at him with this longing in her eyes that he didn’t understand. There was always fondness but now when she looked at him there was hurt piled on top of it.

One day after school he had invited her back to his trailer and when he turned on a movie she just crumpled. He could instantly tell something was wrong. “Hey hey. What's wrong sweetheart?” he asked, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her in for a hug.

He wasn’t much of a hugger before her but she was very affectionate and he tried to match that since it seemed to comfort her. She pushed away and stared at the floor, angry tears starting to fall down her cheeks. “Why haven’t we had sex yet?” she asked softly, the words barely above a whisper as if she was embarrassed to even be saying them.

“Huh?” he questioned, his eyes widening at her words. He was very into her but he was sure that they were nothing more than friends. Had she been waiting for him to make a move this whole time? Now he felt like an idiot.

“We’ve been dating for months now. And at first I kinda liked it because I thought we were taking things slow. Usually guys don't take things slow with me. But like you wont even kiss me and I’m starting to think you don’t even like me that much.” He tried to interrupt her but she just kept rambling, her voice speeding up and shaking a bit since she was still lightly crying. “And then I thought, well maybe he’s just not that into sex but you don’t tell anyone about us either and you never hold my hand.” Her lip trembled when she looked up from the ground to look at him.

He had an utterly dumbfounded expression on his face “We’re dating?”

She ignored his question and kept on with her nervous monologue. “Are you allergic to me? Like my perfume or my shampoo? Because I can change that, it’s not a big deal.”

“We’re dating?” he repeated, sounding more stunned than the last time. The longing stares were starting to make sense now.

“So I just want to know what’s going on,” she finished, looking at him expectantly. She had seemingly not heard his twice-asked question.

“Ok this is a little embarrassing but maybe I didn’t quite realize we were dating,” he admitted awkwardly, fully prepared for her to blow up and never speak to him again.

“It’s not embarrassing, it’s cute. You’re really sweet to me, for a not-boyfriend. I like really really like you.”

“I don’t wanna be a not-boyfriend.”

“What-what does that mean?” Her face fell, confusion and hurt setting back in.

“C’mere, I’m such an idiot.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest tightly. She gasped, hands steadying her on his chest and clutching the fabric of his shirt. “Let me take you on a date officially alright?”

“Ok!” she perked right up when he touched her, bubbly and happy once again at the idea of a date.

Their first date was to the county fair. He took her on the ferris wheel and as she had earlier mentioned was an issue, he did hold her hand this time. When the wheel abruptly stopped right as they were at the top, he took it as his opportunity to finally make his move.

When he cupped her cheek and turned her face to him she said “Oh no! We’re stuck.” She was pouting with a very serious expression on her face, not quite understanding that the ride had stopped on purpose.

“No. They just do that so you can get a nice view from the top,” he explained, gazing lovingly into her eyes as if he was trying to send her a really sweet telepathic message.

“Oh. It’s beautiful,” she gasped, not taking her eyes off of him for one second.

“Can I kiss you?“ he asked, already leaning in so their lips brushed.

“Oh Eddie. Please.” He loved the way she said his name but in that moment he loved even more the way her lips moved against his. Her pink nails scratched at his chest over his shirt as she moaned and whimpered into his mouth, quickly getting worked up just from kissing.

When her hand started to slip down his chest and closer to the growing bulge in his pants, he had to stop her. “Woah. Let’s uh wait for that.”

“Why?” She asked innocently, batting her eyelashes up at him.

“Because we’re at the county fair and I think handjobs are generally frowned upon in that setting.”

“Oh yeah,” she giggled, turning to rest her head on his chest instead.

“I know it’s probably soon for this but I think I love you,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head lightly as he stared down at her sweet smile.

“I love you too, Eddie,” she replied, tilting her head up to meet his lips again.

@angelsarecallin @sebby-staan @niviiera @chaoticgurl @evqans @slut-for-matt-murdock @multihaven @tinyboxxtink @hold-our-destiny @weh-heh-heh @battiebabe216 @captain-satan @avril-reblog-cave @dragon-ash13 @stxvercgersslut  @fangirl199812 @variety-fangirll @buckybeefybarnes @strangerthings64 @baddestbiddiesonly @the-obscurity @racyreverie @ches65 @onxlymnsn @e-girl-on-the-server @marlrocks @endercherries @totallybiasedreviews @st3venluvbot @duyukneeewowutimeeen-anjodi8 @creepytoes88  @beyondblissxoxo

(lmk if you want to be added, and for those of you who are on it can u lmk if your tag is working bc its been giving me trouble)

#stranger things season 4 #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #Eddie x bimbo!reader🎀

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Blanche (Yandere Oc)

tw: depiction of abuse, stalking, heavy gore, violence, captivity, torture, human excrement, like really gross stuff, lots of words 4.5k

"Oh, why, hello my darling dove." You approached the man with the kindest, deep blue eyes you have ever seen. He sets his notebook and pen down on the table nearby. He stood up from his garden chair and opened his arms wide as he smiled, his sweet, downturned eyes closing into crescents. The corner of his eyes and mouth wrinkled in genuine happiness upon seeing you.

You hugged him, allowing his gorgeous, tight curls to brush against your arms. You wonder how he could maintain such Rapunzel-esque hair that reaches the back of his knees, especially when it's deceptively short. You remember unraveling one of his curls, to find out that it's twice as long than it originally presented itself as. If it was straightened, it would be pooling around his feet like a massive flood.

"How are you, my sweet? Did you have a wonderful day?" He asked, his voice honeyed and at a higher pitch than how he usually talks to others. His long, natural nails gently raked through your hair, while you played with his pitch-black but streaked with the lightest of grey strands.

You told him that you were thirsty, and you asked if he had anything for you to drink.

"Of course, my beloved flower. Come, let me lead you to my kitchen." You removed yourself from him as he wrapped his fingers around your hand. The man picked his cane up that was resting on the side of his chair. He then hummed a happy tune to himself as he leisurely walked away from his resting spot in the garden, bringing you along with him.

You peered up at the tall, loving man. You always thought that he had a peculiar sense of fashion, especially in this modern day. He looks like someone straight out of the romantic era, around the 1800s. The man, who you know as Blanche, would never be seen without his dark brown waistcoat, a tailcoat of a similar color, white frilly cravat, and long beige trousers. Likewise, he brings his antique, wooden cane wherever he goes.

You don't think you have ever seen him wear anything else other than his polished leather shoes and black garden boots. You certainly never seen slippers around his cottage home.

"Here you go, my darling." He handed you a cup of fresh juice. "I just squeezed them this morning. I can only hope to have my oranges as sweet as you, but I believe it should at least taste decent." Blanche caressed the side of your face as you drank, kissing the top of your head.

Once you're done, you grin and thank him earnestly. He simply nuzzled his charming Greek nose against yours. "You're very welcome, my dear dove."

You like how calm he is, it's evident in the way he speaks; he speaks slowly and softly as if there wasn't a single rush in the world, perhaps sometimes it's frustrating that it takes him an eternity to finish a sentence, but living in a reality where the fast and the furious is greatly rewarded, Blanche is a nice escape for you. Especially when you're exhausted and anxious.

His movements too, remind you of a carefree snail. He takes his time doing anything ever. You watched him pour himself some juice for himself in the same cup, you would have done it in half the time he took to do so.

"My light, are you hungry?" He asked before taking a sip of juice. You said yes, you're a bit famished after making that long trek into the forest to find his home, you just came right after your classes too. "That's wonderful. I just made a blueberry pie today." He walked to the kitchen window, where you saw a delicious, golden brown pie slowly cooling. Blanche picked it up and set it down on the chipped, dining table.

"How was school, my dear?" Asked Blanche as he opened his drawers and cupboards agonizingly slowly to find the appropriate cutlery for you and him.

You reminded him that you're studying in university, He seemed to ignore that. So you continued, telling him that it was exhausting and boring, you wished that your lecturers would be a bit more entertaining in teaching the materials.

"That's quite a shame." He cut a slice and placed it on a ceramic saucer with painted floral patterns on it. Blanche gently sets it in front of you, putting a small dessert fork on the same plate.

You then went on to tell him the good news: the creep who has been trying to get into your pants for the past few days must have given up because you didn't see him around anymore.

"That's nice, dear." He smiled, gathering a couple of serviettes from a drawer nearby and setting it on the table.

You dug in as always, the man smiled at you, feeling his heart swell in glee as you enjoyed his baking.

He gave himself a slice too and sat in front of you. Then, you asked him about his day.

"Oh, the usual. Deary and dull before you come along and fill it with such vibrant colors. I'm so happy that you're visiting me today, I was lonely." He replied, cutting the slice into small pieces first.

The way you met Blanche was somewhat bizarre, but you're glad that you met him. he's the comfort that you need in this world. You would always go to him when things get tough, he will tell you that everything is going to be okay; and you would only believe him, no one else.

You met him online, there was this website where people from all walks of life visit to make friends. You initially used it to date or do one-night stands to try and fill the void in your life, but you end up finding sweet, old Blanche. You find it humorous and sad that his own profile described him as a very lonely and eccentric middle-aged man, who is looking for someone to love. He didn't specify what type of love he is seeking, but he expressed his displeasure and sadness towards previous online 'friends' of his taking advantage of his kindness and desperation to have a companion- stealing his money, robbing his house and even beating him up numerous times because he was perceived as this weak, old man.

You felt your heartstrings being tugged at as you read the words, he was really begging whoever was making those numerous fake accounts to stop harassing him. Apparently, some younger folks thought it was funny to cyber bully him, reveal private information online, send him death threats, and send him disgusting, gut-wrenching hate messages just because he wasn't as well versed in the internet as the others.

Luckily, one day, they just stopped. Ceasing all torment towards the kind man. No one knew what happened, but from that day on, no one tried to talk to him anymore. It's all radio silence.

Until you came along and decided to give it a try. It takes him a good amount of time to type a string of text, but it's always meaningful, poetic, and beautiful. He sends paragraphs as if he's writing a letter to be sent through a carrier pigeon.

The first time you met Blanche, you were filled to the brim with anxiety. Shaking and gnawing on your fingers as you take the bus to the cafe you and him were supposed to meet. This isn't someone who's the same age as you, he is much older and you feel... Weird. There isn't anything wrong with seeking friendships with him because you're an adult, you know what you're doing.

But it's so... Different. You don't know what to expect.

You definitely didn't expect the instant warmth that brought your panic and anxiousness to an all time low. Something about his vibes, his looks and the way he carried himself was so soothing. He didn't have to say anything, all he did was look your way and gave you such a genial wave along with a toothy smile.

The afternoon went swimmingly, it wasn't awkward at all; it was as if you were talking with a close, guardian-like family member. You were comfortable, maybe a bit too comfortable because you realized you overshared after you went back home. You really didn't have to tell him about your stomach problems you're suffering at the moment in such detail.

The next time you met up with Blanche, he gave you a wooden box filled with teabags of his homegrown herbs. He claimed it will help cure your condition as long as you drink it.

You didn't really believe him, thinking he's just some old fart who practices pseudoscience and most likely doesn't agree with the use of vaccines. But you decided to brew some of his tea anyways, since he seems so excited to share you a part of his world.

To your surprise and embarrassment, it got rid of the symptoms. You're no longer bloated on most days and you feel great.

Now, you would just describe to him whatever is plaguing you; it could be insomnia, a common cold, or even your crippling mental health crises. Blanche would always have something growing on his land that would cure it.

That is where you learned that he lives in a cottage, in the middle of a forest. His garden is extensive, planting all sorts of trees, shrubs, shoots and flowers. He has the greenest thumb you have ever seen. You once gave him a pot of succulents which you thought were dead, due to your failure to water it at all. Blanche looked positively horrified at the condition of the poor plant in the beginning, but he assured you that it's okay, he can help it.

You were confused, you gave it to him because you thought he would use the clay pot. But instead, he returned it to you with its planty resident healthy and plump. You knew it was the same one because it looked exactly like how you first bought it.

Blanche gave you a handwritten card of instructions on how to take care of your new, leafy friend. You tried your best to follow it, but ultimately, you gave it back to him. It now rests on the windowsill beside his bed.

Your friendship with him grew as months went by. He would have you in his cottage, you would have him in your shared dorm. To which, he prefers not to step foot into the biohazardous student kitchen. That's why, you're usually visiting him, instead the other way round.

Blanche is lovely to have in your life. Whenever you visit him, you will always leave with a week's worth of groceries; mostly vegetables and fruits that happily grew on his plot of soil. But also, there would be containers upon containers of ready-to-eat meals he cooked prior to your visit.

You became healthier and your grades went up, thanks to the convenience of his delicious cooking. Although they're mostly vegetarian since he's almost solely using produce from his back yard, it's still so tasty even the average carnivore would scarf it down without hesitance.

You're also convinced whatever he adds into his meals are making you smarter. You get to focus on your classes better and you could retain much more information than before. He would excitedly tell you all about the strange and whimsical spices he added into your dish, describing what chemical compounds might be the culprit in helping you form more brain cells.

Aside from planting, he would crochet, knit or sew. And he would churn out items fast. It was so jarring to see his hands move like the insides of a racecar motor when you could fit five eye blinks in one of his own. He was the person who crocheted your laptop bag, your favourite winter and summer top, knitted your beanie, your comfiest pair of socks and your snow gloves.

Whenever there is a rip or tear in your clothes, even if the shoulder straps of your bag fell off, you could simply bring it over to his cottage and he would return it good as new. Being friends with Blanche allowed you to save up a substantial amount of money, you would then use it to buy him a new smartphone. It may not be the most luxurious, but it's definitely worlds away from the yellowed brick phone with a numerical pad he owns.

You think it is time for him to transition into the modern world, and you care for him enough to bust a hole in your already very empty university student wallet to help him. The next thing on your agenda was to buy him a new computer or laptop because he is using one that is ridiculously thick and cuboid; with a terrible screen resolution. It took him half an hour just to access the internet.

He was over the moon upon gifting it to him. To the point of tears, he was indescribably happy. You were worried as to why he was on his knees, hugging you close to him as he sobbed loudly on your shoulder. Initially, you thought you triggered something traumatic or did something to offend him, but Blanche assured you that wasn't the case.

Only after he calmed himself down, prepared a teapot of his homemade tea blend for the two of you, did he explain:

You are his one true friend, who consistently showed up for Blanche, cared for him, showed interest in his character, never hit him, and did not try to swindle money off him. It was surprising and melancholic, to say the least, that this was the only gift he ever received out of love and kindness; without the other party wanting anything in return. It was so nice for once to have someone around who isn't only after his wealth or free labor.

You didn't get how the world could be so cruel to such a kind spirit. It made you angry how he was badly mistreated in the past, but he simply smiled and told you that everyone must move on. Blanche has you, and that is all that matters to him.

You still weren't satisfied. You asked if he had gone to the police, told their parents, told their workplace- anything! They can't just get away without any repercussions, it makes your blood boil and heartache for your friend.

Blanche merely smiled, albeit ominously. He told you not to fret over them, as they eventually "Got what they deserved." He didn't elaborate on that further, you simply assumed that he said what he said due to his overly forgiving nature and not wanting you to worry about his torment.

It wasn't easy teaching him how to use the smartphone, though. Every little thing, he would call you using his rotary phone on how to use it; "Hello, darling. This is Blanche speaking, Could you please come over sometime this afternoon to guide me through the steps on how to surf the interweb on this lovely gadget you gifted me? I seem to have forgotten how to do so."

You think he's just using that as an excuse to hang out with you. Because there is no way he would forget how to tap on a couple of things after the 16th time.

You did ask him about his family. Blanche would tilt his head to the side and give you a saddened smile. Before telling you about how his parents weren't good people, he ran away from home and didn't know the fate of his other siblings. Because of his background and peculiar personality, he found it hard to create lasting bonds as they would always wound up abandoning him or abusing him. He said that he must be excreting some sort of pheromone that attracts people like these.

But he held no ill will towards them, as they "got what they deserved". You brushed that off again as Blanche being too nice to the cruel world.

You're concerned, though. It really seems like you're his only ally. He is definitely clingier now that the friendship has deepened. You're worried that you're going to have to say "no" to some of his requests to have your presence here as he grows more and more unbearable, it's definitely going to break his heart.

"My rose?"

You were snapped out of your thoughts upon feeling Blanche's fingers gently pushing your hair back. You're now back to the present, where you and he are comfortable with light skin-ship, you also liked how he would call you all these pet names. It made you feel so fluttery inside.

"Are you alright, dear? You seem to be distracted with something." He cupped your cheeks and inspected your face further. His eyebrows were knitted in concern.

You said that you were fine, just thinking about your daily obligations and how you should get going soon.

He frowned. "Must you go?" He whispered. "I'm so lonely out here. Please stay for a while longer."

You can't because you have a work shift starting soon. Plus, you have to complete that assignment that you're putting off because you were too busy accompanying Blanche in his isolated Cottage with the world's worst internet connection.

He sighed, looking miserable. "Please wait for a few minutes, I have something for you." Blanche stood up and made his way upstairs.

You watch him ascend the stairs with one hand on the handrails, and the other on his cane. You think that this might be an extremely dangerous lifestyle for a man like him to live, what if he trips and falls? He wouldn't be able to call for help, especially when phone reception out here is atrocious.

You continued eating your slice of blueberry pie, even taking another slice from the dish for yourself. You knew Blanche wouldn't mind, and you knew that he was going to make you bring the entire thing home anyway.

He came back down a few minutes later, holding a brown envelope. Immediately, you went on to reject it. You already knew what was in there and you didn't feel comfortable accepting it.

"Please, I insist, my love." He tried slipping it into your bag, but you wrestled it away from your belongings. You said that you have no use for it, you can make your own money.

For the past few weeks, he has been giving you regular allowances. It isn't anything to scoff at either, it's always one grand per envelope. Now you can see why there were so many people who tried to siphon as much funds out of Blanche as possible.

"I have no doubt in my heart that you are capable, but I... I'd like to buy your time, please." He clasped his hands around yours, bringing your fingers to his soft lips. "I want to spend more time with you, I want you to stay longer. Will you do that for me, my love?"

You paused, it was hard to say no to those big, pleading eyes of his. But you have to, even if you don't necessarily have to work with Blanche's financial help, you still need to put in effort in your studies to not fail.

So with a heavy chest, you said no. You promised that you would visit him again very soon, you just need to get your assignments out of the way and you will be golden.

His shoulders sagged in defeat as he softly whimpered under his breath.

"Alright." He muttered, before reviving the loving smile on his lips.

He opened his arms, to which you gladly threw yourself in. He laughed, picking you up and pressing kisses against your cheek. Blanche tenderly twirled you around, letting your legs dangle in the air as you too giggled. You rubbed your face against his frilly cravat, also enjoying the feeling of his lips on the crown of your head.

__

Blanche is now alone in his garden. His lips were pressed in a thin straight line. You left a few minutes ago with his personal cart filled with his fresh produce for the week. And also the remaining blueberry pie that is stashed away in a container for convenience. He hopes that the eggs he gave you are enough to last until your next visit, his chickens are producing a bit less than usual.

He picked up his pen and notebook he left on the garden table earlier. Blanche then tucked the cane under his arm before marching away without wasting any time. Without you witnessing, Blanche actually moves scarily quick, his graceful agility allows him to traverse the span of his garden speedily without damaging any of his crops.

Blanche walked deeper and deeper into the foilage until the sunlight could barely be seen through the dense vegetation.

Eventually, he reached a dilapidated wooden shed. Blanche stood right in front of the door with a heavy lock and took out his golden stopwatch from his breast pocket. The male noted the time before writing it down in his notebook.

He kept them away, Blanche then fished out a key, along with a hairband from another pocket in his trousers. His lower eyelid twitched as he tied his voluptuous hair into a large, very messy bun. But at least it's not going to interfere too much with what he's about to do.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open using his shoulder, it was hard to move it as the hinges had rusted to a considerable degree. Blanche dusted his sleeve off before taking out his notebook again, noting that he had to replace its parts soon.

Finally, he kept everything back in his pockets. Blanche tightened his fists in anger as pathetic muffled screaming and wailing reached his ears.

"Oh, be quiet, will you?" He snarked, a complete 180° from the Blanche that you're used to. Luckily, you're not here to see it.

He turned around to see your harasser. Completely naked and covered in bloody, infected lacerations. His face and body were blue from bruises and other injuries. He was gagged using his own clothes that were cut up by Blanche. His victim couldn't escape if he wanted to, as he was tightly bound by metal chains that were cutting circulation around his wrists and ankles.

There was rot, maggots, blood, and excretory products all around him as the bodies of Blanche's ex-friends decomposed around the creep. He was squirming in his own puddle of urine and vomit, as Blanche has kept him there since yesterday, right after you went home from your last class.

He is used to the smell of death. He worked with natural fertilizers, after all.

Blanche took long strides towards his trembling form, which only shook even more the closer he got.

He lets out a shout when Blanche strikes him using the end of his cane, the force is so strong that it instantly breaks the skin on his head, making him bleed profusely.

Blanche's eyelids twitched even more, he suddenly discarded his cane before pulling out two brass knuckles from his left pant pocket. He hastily puts them on before throwing powerful punches against his current, human punching bag.

Cracks, screams, and crunches resonated throughout the small space as Blanche let out all his frustrations on him. All his hatred towards the world, his anguish, and misery of not being around you, all of it- your harasser has to bear. Just because he chose the wrong person to mess with.

Blood, spit, and other fluids splattered on his once pristine clothing, dying his cravat red.

"Fucking disgrace." He mumbled as he managed to beat the man to a pulp, striking him hard and long enough to expose the broken bones to the stagnant air. Blanche continued scraping the flesh off his bone using the brass, there is an easier way to extract his bones, but he would very much rather use this method to relieve him of his rage. And, this delivers the maximum amount of pain and fear into your offender, a justified punishment for him, for disturbing Blanche's precious flower's peace.

Sweat beads down Blanche's forehead as he went on whaling on the unconscious, deformed mass that was starting to lose heat. Ichor pooled around his shoes, mixing with the other foul fluids around him.

Once he has managed to liquefy his flesh from his repeated, rapid pummeling, Blanche dug his bare fingers into the gory heap to extract the bones, gathering them in his arms and not caring that he has dirtied himself greatly.

He grunted as he ripped the bones from its weakened ligaments, spraying scarlet all over the already viscera-covered walls.

Blanche panted as he stood up straight, one arm holding his yield, the other hand taking out his once clean pocketwatch, now he's soiling it with bloodied fingerprints.

Five hours. Five whole hours of brutalization to pacify Blanche from his sorrow of watching you cut your visit short, due to some silly little assignments. He shook his head, he could have used all that time doing something else, but he needed to take care of this bastard anyway.

Now that he's not as upset, he took his time documenting whatever he did in his notebook which is equally covered in biohazardous grime.

He then turned around, and picked up his cane, not bothering to face the mutilated, unrecognizable mass of meat behind him one last time. Blanche was already thinking about what to do next as he locked the shed up, the previous bloodied fingerprints on the pad were washed away by the rain a few days prior.

He lets his mind wander to you, thinking about what you're doing right now. Blanche knows there is zero chance of you calling or contacting him through the phone because he knows that you're now at this stupid house party instead of working on your assignment like you told him.

Blanche isn't as tech-illiterate as you think. He is also not that gullible, he knows more than you believe or could ever imagine.

He wishes that you would be a bit more truthful towards him. But as of now, he's content with the amount and quality of bones he managed to harvest.

He made the long walk back to his cottage in the dark, his eyes already adapted to the darkness from decades of 'gardening' at night.

Blanche was mentally calculating the amount of time and heat needed to dehydrate the bones, to make them into bonemeal for his chickens. He suspected that they weren't producing as many eggs as usual because their calcium count was low, so the shell wouldn't be developing properly.

But thoughts of you kept interrupting his head. Blanche would smile, looking forward to your next visit. He would definitely have enough eggs for you by then.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc Blanche #ngl idk if i should make it platonic or romantic #but i guess this old man is my first platonic yandere #well maybe its in the same vein of yandere older brother #where the love is pretty dubious?? #i too would like to sex the old man

[rendy-a]

Congrats on the followers 🥳

For the self aware au with Malleus's thing about not being invited to events what about reader making sure he gets an invite by inviting him to the dance with them

Writing this one sure was a roller coaster! I wrote half of it with some random plot that I had no plans for. I'm glad I got a sudden inspiration on how to tie it together! Thanks for joining my event. I hope you like it!

You’d never have suspected that you’d become a member of the fashion police in another world.  Not that you’d put in any effort into it.  People just seemed to ask your opinion on things.  Ever since the dance was announced, the number of random students who would stop you in the hall to pull out a handkerchief or pair of socks and eagerly request your opinion on the color or material was growing.  You weren’t sure you were even qualified to give expert opinions on otherworldly fashion, but it didn’t seem to matter.  Any item you deemed nice was shown off like a treasure.  If you should happen to pause or trail off instead, the article in question was quickly hidden from view and the unfortunate student requesting evaluation of such an inferior item scurried off equally as quick. 

It surprised you greatly when the requests began and even more when you started to notice some of the names requesting a moment of your time.  Azul asked you to weigh in on a tie.  Kalim came with an armful of bangles that only you could possibly select the best from.  Even Vil had one day haughtily remarked he was going to wear his hair up to the dance and subtly prodded you for an opinion on that.  You had no business giving Savanaclaw A advice on his fashion, let alone Vil, but each time you were requested an opinion, you answered honestly.  Overtime, you’d come to give just about every member of the main cast advice, including the teachers!

Professor Crewel smiled at you like you’d preformed a wonderful trick, “Well done, pup.”  You smiled back indulgently, used to the unique way he addressed his students.  “You may go, Prefect,” Crewel replied, still gazing at the boots you’d said suit him well.  You’d almost made it to the door when Crewel’s voice stopped you, “Matching colors.”  You paused and turned toward him, “What was that?”  Crewel turned his sharp gaze to you, “Everyone is waiting to see whom you attempt to coordinate with.  Such a show of favoritism means a great deal to a young man.  And if it’s with you…”  Oh, well.  That was a complication you didn’t need.

---

“Get this junk out of here!” Grim complained for the third time tonight.  You look up from the assortment of notes you have spread out over the floor and remind him, “I can’t do that Grim.  If I pick someone to favor, I’m only going to trigger…I don’t know what.  Mass overblot?  Chaos in the streets?  Who knows!”  Grim opens his mouth to disagree but then appears to think twice about it.  “So, what are you gonna do about it then?” he asks softly.  You gesture to the massive network of notes, “I just have to find it here; a color that no one is wearing and pick that one.  Then no one can get offended or misunderstand.” 

From all the fashion advice you’d been giving out, you had a vague idea of what each character of the main cast and good portion of the general student body would be wearing.  That information was spread out on notecards across the Ramshackle Dorm’s floor.  Only, finding the thing you needed was harder than you anticipated.  You’d tried organizing the students by color family, school years and dorms before looking for that elusive missing shade.  Maybe it was Grim walking over your notes or perhaps it was the Ramshackle ghosts playing tricks but every time you think you have it; a card will turn up with your chosen color, turning your unique shade into a matching pair.  

“Ugh,” you toss a handful of cards up, “This is hopeless.”  Grim looks at you from the table where he eats his tuna, avoiding your little project as much as he is able, “So don’t go then.”  You sit up and consider, is that an option?  You tried to picture it.  ‘What do you mean They aren’t coming!  Let’s start a riot!  Everyone to Ramshackle, let’s drag Them out!’  Ok, you were probably being dramatic but still, people in this world weren’t normal about you.  “So, I guess everyone has to go then,” you say as you throw an arm across your eyes and moan to Grim about your ordeal.  He endures your antics for a moment before he mutters, “Not everyone,” under his breath.

You drop your arm and look at him, “What do you mean, Grim?”  He gestures with his eating utensil to your pile of cards, “Tsunataro isn’t there.  Why do I hafta attend a dance if he doesn’t?” Grim scrunches his face and shouts, “I only wanna go to the banquet!  The party ends when the food is gone!”  You’d already tuned out Grim’s complaint on food, instead focusing on Malleus’s omission.  That can’t be right.  You’d have noticed if Malleus wasn’t in your notes, wouldn’t you?  You head over to the Diasomina stack and rifle through them, no Malleus.  Could it be mis-sorted?  You check the entire collection again but still no Malleus.    “How can this happen?  I get that he doesn’t get invited in the game but why didn’t I notice?” you gesture dramatically, “I mean I even sorted them by dorm, for crying out loud!”  Grim slowly chews a bite of tuna as he watches you, “You know, I don’t like to bring it up since you are who you are and all but…why do you think you are so special that you can go against the Will of the World?” 

You consider that point.  When you’d first met Grim, well, you’d sort of freaked out at him.  He’d listened to your ravings about games and characters before calming you down.  He was the only ‘person’ you actually spoke to about the game world and, somehow, he seemed to both believe you and guide you through your unusual situation.  So, when Grim suggests that you are also being restricted by the game plot, you have to give the idea merit and it made you profoundly sad.  You had a soft spot for Malleus, he was one of your favorite characters, and now you might end up forgetting about him like the rest of the cast? 

You put aside your quest for the perfect color, having grown frustrated with that anyway, and pulled out your phone.  Unsurprisingly, you didn’t have Malleus’s number.  Nor Lilia’s, which was odder considering what a social butterfly he was.  You scrolled through your contacts, searching for someone you thought might know his number and settled on Cater.  You seemed to recall a vignette where Cater forgot to invite Malleus to a party, which was not the best of signs, but at least it suggested he had a method of contacting him.

[Hey, Cater!  It’s just me.]

[YES]

[I mean hi there Great One]

[I mean buddy…great buddy]

[What can Cay-Cay do for you?]

[Do you have Malleus’s number by chance?]

[Oh noes!  I don’t!  So sorry!]

[But I do have Lills number!]

[Want Cay-Cay to hook you up?]

If you texted Lilia, then he’d have your number.  He can be…rather odd sometimes.  Perhaps it was best not to let more people have access to your number.

[Can you just pass a message along?  Ask him to make sure Malleus is invited to the dance?]

[Sure!  You can count on me!]

You couldn’t count on him.  It wasn’t until the very night of the dance that you pulled out your phone to plan where to meet up with your friends and saw the old text.  You felt a foreboding sense of dread for you had fully forgotten about the situation until that very moment.  The power of the plot was no joke.

[Hey Cater]

[Hiiii]

[Are you here?]

[Where are you?]

[Do you need me?  I’ll do anything you need]

Of course, he was freaking out.  You interrupted his text stream.

[Focus!]

[Did you get that message to Malleus about the dance?]

[Ah, Malleus.  Of course.  Let me check]

You didn’t consider texting to be particularly personal, but you can feel disappointment through the text.  You’d have to make it up to him.  While you were waiting, you took a selfie and sent it to Cater. #readytodance.  There, that should cheer him up a bit.

[Ah!  You look so cute in that!]

[I’m totes jealous of your style]

You can picture him making his signature v hand sign as he says that.  At least you could count on Cater to be easy to distract.

[Lils says Malleus was out when he got the text and he forgot]

[I’m SOOOO sorry!]

Dammit.  So, after all your bravado, you’d let him get left out of a social event again.  Some all-knowing Player you were. You sigh and look at the ceiling for a long moment until you hear your phone’s notification chime again.

[So…are you still coming?]

You look at the question puzzled.  What else would you be doing?  You’d spent all this time finding this horrid shade of pink to wear just to attend.  Why did he think your plans might change?  Then you had it.  A smile came over your lips as you knew exactly what you should be doing instead.

[Yeah, tell the guys I’m just going to be a little late.]

---

The towers of Diasomnia gave off an imposing aura, like that of their master.  The sudden and frequent lightning strikes did nothing to tone down the atmosphere.  He clearly realized he’d been forgotten again and was deep into a sulk.  You kept a wary eye on the sky as you crept closer to the castle gates and finally felt less dread once you were inside.  You didn’t exactly know where Malleus would be but sort of figured you’d try the top of the tallest tower and see how that went.  This was a storybook inspired world, after all.  True to tale, that was where you found him, gazing deep into the darkening night from his window with a sever frown set upon his face.

You knocked carefully on the doorframe.  “Hey,” you called out gently, gaining his attention.  “It’s you,” he says in surprise, “Why, whatever are you doing here alone?” You give him a mournful smile, “That’s what I was going to ask you.”  He clicks his teeth in annoyance, “Where else would I be?  I’m not wanted at their little celebration.  I’ve not such bad manners to attend a party I’m not invited to.  Even if everyone else has been.  The royalty, the nobility, the gentry…” You gesture to yourself and finish for him, “Even the rabble.”   At that, he looks upset, “Certainly not.  I’ll let no one refer to you so.”  You waive your hand, calming down the ire of your draconian friend.

“It was a joke!” you assure him, “I just…thought this color didn’t suit me is all.”  He considers your pink formal wear.  “Is it not to your liking?” he asks musingly.  “Hmm, I don’t know if I’d say that.  It’s more that I didn’t really pick it out totally myself,” you sigh, “There was a whole situation there.  I couldn’t let anyone think I was showing favor or inviting a date or…”  You trailed off, getting an idea.  “Actually, Malleus, what do you think if we…”

---

You stood at the door to the gardens where the ballroom venue had been set up.  You smiled at Malleus, who stands by your side, and give his hand a nervous squeeze.  “Are you ready for this?”  You were worried about the reaction this entrance is going to cause but apparently Malleus is unphased, “With you by my side, Prefect, I am prepared for anything.”  Perhaps this should have made you happy to hear but all it did was to remind you that even a great dragon mage like Malleus believed ordinary you were capable of amazing feats because you were the famed Player.  Well, if you manage to open this door without setting off a riot, maybe he was right.  You stepped in front of the door, grasped the handle, pulled it open and entered the ballroom.

Two things happened immediately.  Firstly, you looked in shock at the sea of pink filling the ballroom.  You’d spent weeks helping the students of NRC choose outfits and sneakily collecting notes on what they planned to wear only to have basically everyone change their formal wear last minute.  And to pink, surprisingly.  At the same time you were entering the ballroom and taking in the array of pink, the gathered students were noticing you.  And how you weren’t wearing pink.

“GREEN!” Epel shouts, “Why’m I wearin’ PINK if the Prefect is wearin’ GREEN!”  The aggravated boy isn’t alone.  A crowd of angry students gather around Cater.  Azul pushes his glasses up and peers at Cater from between his fingers as he speaks enquiringly, “Were you attempting to make fools of us, Cater?”  The nervous third year glances at the menacing Leech twins that accompany Azul, all three in matching pink suits and fedoras.  “Of course not!” Cater stammers with his hands up, “Why would I be dressed like this otherwise?”  The formidable crowd of pink adorned students considers Cater and his equally pink formal wear carefully.

“Hey guys,” you say as you carefully push your way through the crowd, Malleus following in your wake, “What…what’s going on here?”  Cater clutches onto your sleeve and exclaims, “PREFECT!  I’m SO GLAD to see you HERE.  In…in green.  Wha, what happened to the pink from that pic?  You…you looked so good in that.”  You give him a sheepish smile, “Ah yes, about that…”  You gesture to Malleus who smiles proudly at your side, “I thought it would be better to match with Malleus, since he is always getting left out of things like this.  So, I had him use some color-changing magic to change my clothes to Diasomnia green!” 

There is a moment of silence as everyone takes that in.  Then that silence is broken when Jamil smiles a most devious smile and remarks, “Color-changing magic?  Is that so?”  Then several other students look slyly at each other and draw their magic pens.  “Hey,” you say backing away slowly, “Let’s not go crazy here…”  It’s not surprising when Deuce, who rarely thinks things over, is first to shout his spell.  It is unfortunate though, that his magic is so unpracticed, resulting in your garment taking over a spattered pattern of blue; much like paint covering the cloth. 

“That won’t do,” you hear Riddle tut from the side of you, “I’ll fix that up for you.  My apologies, Prefect.”  With that, a much firmer wave of magic washes over you and you see that your formal wear is now a vibrant red.  “Red?” you say questioningly before looking up to see a sly smiling Riddle has also changed his own garment back to the original Queen’s Red.  “I see how you want to play this,” Vil remarks sharply, “Well, if you want a challenge, you’ve got one! Rook!” The deviously smiling huntsman barely joins the Dorm leader of Pomefiore before an utter cacophony of spells begins.  In just a few moments, you were hit with at least fifty spells, causing you no harm but nearly knocking you off your feet. 

Malleus catches you, lending you a supporting hand and you look up at him gratefully.  Then you sadly consider the state of your formal wear.  So many spells landing at once seems to have caused an unexpected reaction.  Now, instead of your garment being one color, it shifted from one to the next as each spell fought for dominance over your clothes.  You look beseechingly at Crowley, who is chaperoning the dance.  He sighs, “There isn’t anything to be done until it settles, I’m afraid.”  You look at Malleus for confirmation but he only frowns, not able to meet your disappointed gaze.  You feel a pat on your back and Lilia remarks, “You know, it has a certain charm this way.  Yes, I rather like it.” 

You give him an exasperated sigh, shaking the hem of your color shifting garment, “I can barely look at it.”  Lilia laughs and suggests, “Well then don’t look!  You’re not meant to look down when dancing anyway.”  Such practical advice from Lilia makes you snort at him, but his words have reached you.  Fine then, you can’t change the situation, but you could control how the rest of the night went.  The three fae waited patiently for you to respond.   You turn and calmly ask, “Malleus, may I invite you to dance?”  With a glad smile, he takes your hand and leads you to the floor.  You glide through the dance with your prince and color changing garment.  First pink, then green and now blue.  It’s a sight like something from a tale you’d heard long ago.  A tale you’d make end happily ever after.  It was up to you to decide; you were the Player, after all.

---

Malleus happily opens his shrine to the Player and adds a scrap of unusual color shifting fabric to the collection.  For now, his treasure would sparkle and change; offering him a reminder of the first dance he’d ever been invited to (and by the Player, no less!).  Someday, he knew the magic would fade and the small scrap of fabric would settle on one color.  No matter what color that was, Malleus knew that he’d change it to green.  Afterall, it didn’t matter how the story began, just that it ended with you and him paired in Diasomnia green.  He had to honor your decisions.  You’d chosen him and you were the Player, after all.

#500 follower event #twst #twisted wonderland #tw: yandere #yandere malleus x reader #yandere malleus draconia

[user211201]

Branded

---

Originally posted on 2020-05-27 by dumb-and-jocked

Unfortunately dumb-and-jocked's account has been deactivated.

If the original author ever reads this: thank you for all your works!

---

Zane wasn’t particularly excited about going out to his uncle’s ranch. The two had never really known how to connect, with one being from the East Coast and the other in rural Wyoming. Zane had grown up privileged in the urban lifestyle, with many stores, jobs, and more progressive influences around every corner. His parents were also a little richer than most, so he was able to enjoy a luxurious apartment all to himself while he attended Yale. Well... not all to himself. His boyfriend Kaeden visited so often he was practically a second resident, but Zane didn’t mind--he loved the attention.

Zane practically adored his modern lifestyle, and made sure to show it by never leaving a five-mile radius. This caused his parents to worry, assuming if he didn’t start now he’d never know how to go out on his own. Trying to help (like all parents did), his father spoke with his brother and the two set up a little spring vacation for Zane. When Zane’s father had proposed the idea, Zane didn’t exactly jump in excitement. In fact, he didn’t seem excited at all.

“Really?” Zane asked coarsely. “Spring break is for beaches, coasts, actual fun!”

“Zane,” his father replied coolly. “I didn’t raise you to be a leech off of my own money. Go out to your uncle’s ranch and give him a hand; earn something for once. And anyway, Wyoming’s great this time of year--you might enjoy it!”

“Can I at least bring Kaeden with me?”

His father’s eyes went down for a moment. Zane always had a lurking feeling that his father wasn’t truly alright with his only son being gay, his Western Christian roots molding him that way, but his dad always acted like he was accepting. Proving Zane’s point, he swore he could’ve seen his dad’s ears perk up a second after the proposal was made.

“That’s a great idea!” his dad cheered, almost too enthusiastically. “Now someone can relish in the same pain you’ll be experiencing.” Zane rolled his eyes in response to the sarcasm before walking out to his car.

Reflecting back on that moment, his father did seem a little more eager than usual, but Zane didn’t care. It was too late now, as the old pickup truck was pulling into the driveway of the ranch. A huge arch loomed above them, displaying “WELCH” in iron letters across the top. Back when it used to be his grandparents’ ranch, Zane’s father loved this place. He used to thrive as a cowboy, but once he got a taste of the other side of the Mississippi, he left the lifestyle behind him. The rest of the family seemed alright with the transition, with Zane’s uncle being the older brother anyway, meaning he would be taking the ranch, so they decided to let him roam. His uncle had now been running the ranch for almost ten years, just him, his wife, and a small crew to help with the daily tasks.

“Alright, boys, enjoy the trip,” the man in the front grunted as he halted to a stop. Kaeden and Zane slowly jumped out of the truck, grabbing their bags as they looked at the massive farm. Zane swore it looked bigger than the last time he was here, but that was to be expected. The last time he was here was a decade ago for his grandparents’ funerals, so there was probably going to be change. While Kaedan gazed around in awe, Zane spotted what--or who--he was looking for. Leaning against one looming building was a tall man wearing a blue button-up and worn-out jeans. His large boots were placed firmly on the ground and a barn wall, while a beige hat rested proudly on top of his head. He looked like a more muscular, worn-out version of his father, his similar salt and pepper stubble pulling the whole look together.

“Zaney boy, is that yeu?” the man asked in astonishment, the southern accent as prominent as ever.

“Yeah, Uncle Treyton.”

Zane tried to sound enthusiastic, but he never felt like family with the redneck. Not only did the two have completely different perspectives, but they didn’t even look related. Zane didn’t share the same muscular body as the silver fox, but instead had a little too much meat on his bones. He also didn’t get the Welch height, with Zane’s lime-dyed hair barely even reaching his uncle’s neck.

“And this must be Kaeden Sargent, put it here!”

Zane’s uncle shoved a meaty hand in front of him and Kaeden quickly accepted. He was always more optimistic than Zane, putting his best foot forward into every situation. The tall, lanky man took the other’s hand and shook it vigorously, so much in fact that his ginger curls bounced in a rhythm. Fortunately, the baby fat surrounding his face allowed him to act a little childish.

“Firm, that’ll go a long ways here, son.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“Ah, y’all can call me Treyton.”

Kaeden and Zane exchanged looks at each other. For a Christian cowboy, he was awfully accepting of their relationship. Neither of them expected Zane’s uncle to be so understanding.

“Where’s Aunt Joelene at?” Zane inquired as they hauled their bags inside.

“Her and the lady folk already had a vacation planned, so she ain’t gonna be here this week. Just some good ‘ol male bonding!”

He led them to two guest rooms on opposite sides of a hallway, telling them to toss their individual bags into one or the other. Zane and Kaeden exchanged looks again, although this time it was for a different reason. They both knew they might be staying in different rooms, but not sleeping.

All of a sudden, the doorbell rang from the front of the house. After dropping their things, Zane and Kaedan followed Treyton back out to the front door. The trio wandered out to the foyer to see another cowboy smugly standing on the porch.

“Harry!” Treyton shouted as he swung the door open. “‘Bout time ya got here--the nephew’s in town.”

Harry looked over at Zane, inspecting him and then Kaeden with hawk eyes. His tight black shirt didn’t hide the impressive muscles from years on the farm. The same could be said for his faded jeans and massive belt buckle, both of which did nothing to camouflage his gargantuan pouch.

“Is yers that paddy?” he remarked with a deep voice, his accent as thick as Treyton’s. “Or the fag.”

“They’re both fags,” Treyton corrected. “The paddy’s his ‘boyfriend’.”

Kaeden patted Zane’s shoulder in a comforting way. Treyton’s language had just confirmed that they had signed themselves up for a long vacation.

“I don’t mean to be abandonin’ y’all so quickly, but the town’s rodeo’s goin’ on tonight and I’m a volunteerin’,” Zane’s uncle began. “Everythin’ there is free, so I expect to see y’all out there. It’ll be a great time!”

The two hicks strutted over to Harry’s old pickup truck, the engine roaring mighty proud as it came to life. Zane and Kaedan wondered how they hadn’t heard it coming down the driveway.

“Keys are on the counter!” Treyton hollered as they drove off. Kaeden smirked lowering his hand from Zane’s shoulder to his butt as they watched the other pair leave.

“Might as well taint your uncle’s house before we go to the rodeo.”

“You really want to go to that thing?” Zane whined, missing the hint.

“No, but we should,” Kaeden replied. “Until then, let me keep you entertained.” He then started kissing Zane’s neck passionately, dragging him down a hallway.

“Alright!” Zane giggled, following along. He loved his boyfriend.

— —

Kaeden and Zane hesitantly pulled into the parking lot, the dirt flying into the air as they parked the rusty pickup near the back. The whole event took place in some kind of stadium, but instead of a neatly trimmed field with shiny seats, there were wooden bleachers and a dirt floor. They weren’t particularly excited, going from hardcore sex to this dump, but as long as they were at each other’s sides they’d make it through. At least, that’s what Zane kept telling himself.

The two cautiously jumped out, wearing sweatpants and matching concert tees from an event they went to on their fifth date. Zane had thought that if they wore their most casual clothes, they’d blend into the crowd, but it turned out this was truly his first rodeo. Walking up to the front gate, they saw a rainbow of button-ups scattered among the stretched and stained tees. Hicks and cowboys galore excitedly hollered as they entered the rodeo grounds. The strange thing was, it seemed like people were gathering by color. Zane and Kaeden watched the red button-ups slowly separate from the yellow tees, who themselves avoided the purple plaid-clad group. Even with the odd formation, the pair stuck out like two weeds in a freshly-planted garden.

“Alright next!”

Zane and Kaeden had been so perplexed by the entire situation that they hadn’t noticed they had crossed the parking lot, gotten in line, and made it to the front.

“Zaney boy, ya made it!”

Zane’s uncle proudly stood behind a booth, waving as the boyfriends walked up. Harry was placed on the other side, his look much more calculating than Treyton’s inviting smile.

“Are y’all excited?” Uncle Treyton asked, his accent coming out stronger with each syllable.

“Totally,” Kaeden answered, assuming his other half wouldn’t.

“Let us just stamp y’all and yeu’ll be on in.”

“Wait, why are we the only one’s getting stamped?” Kaedan observed. Zane hadn’t noticed, but all the other attendees had gotten in without a mark.

“Remember how I said y’all are gettin’ in free tonight,” Treyton explained. “This is yer free ticket.”

They nodded their heads as Kaeden extended the back of his hand out to Zane’s uncle. Treyton solidly pressed a stamp down on his hand, the blue color left behind sinking deep into his pale skin like a tattoo. Zane proceeded to do the same for Harry, who marked his hand with a black darker than the night itself.

“What do the colors mean?” Zane questioned.

“Whatever ink we’re usin’.” Harry snarked, sending him on his way. Zane sighed as he strolled through the gate.

“I’ll be at a food stand later tonight so make sure to come and visit me!” Treyton shouted as they disappeared into the crowd.

“We can do this,” Kaeden whispered, grabbing Zane’s hand and dragging him to the stands. He sounded reassuring, but Zane couldn’t tell if it was for him or Kaedan himself.

“It’s just for tonight,” Kaedan continued, “After that, we won’t have to deal with Harry, or anyone for that matter. Except for your uncle of course.”

Zane grinned--his boyfriend always knew how to cheer him up.

“And besides,” Kaeden continued. “Look at how much we have to explore!”

It might have been a bit exaggerated, but there was a some space to venture. Besides the stands, there were a few porta potties, some food stands, and a big tent filled with gear for the local country radio station. The tent was their first destination, looking through all the merchandise and advertisements. Although they both hated country music, they had fun exploring the booth, even signing up for a raffle to a Chase Rice concert. Did they know who he was? No--but they didn’t care. Even though they got a few sideways glances from passing families and couples, they were actually enjoying their time at the rodeo. Zane and Kaeden were there to have fun just like everyone else.

9.8 SECONDS! THAT WAS A GOOD TUSSLE, DAVE!

The pair watched on as the participant was whipped off the horse’s back. The first few rounds had looked painful, but Kaeden and Zane eventually stopped flinching after every contestant. It was the sport after all, so they shouldn’t be worried unless everyone else was worried. The uncomfortable thing was, everyone at the rodeo did seem slightly on edge, but it wasn’t over the participants. Unsurprisingly, it was over them.

“Hey,” Zane said, elbowing his partner to grab his attention. “Is it me or is there something strange about the crowd here?”

“You mean how they’re all looking at us like we’re sick?” Kaeden asked, not tearing his eyes away from the next contestant.

8.7 SECONDS! IMPRESSIVE GRIP FROM HANK!

“Well, yeah, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t know, I mean…” Zane stumbled off, noticing Kaeden was still focused on the riders.

9.4 SECONDS! NICE JOB MARV!

“Earth to Kaedan!” Zane snapped, finally snatching the other’s attention. “For example, did we miss out on some color-coded theme? Why is everyone segregated?”

Kaeden glanced around the stands, noticing what his boyfriend was talking about. Although everyone was clumped together, there were noticeable separations. It seemed like groups of men, women, and children were organized by the shading of their clothes. It was peculiar, but so were most small, rural towns.

“Calm down, babe,” Kaeden replied nonchalantly. “It’s probably just some cheerleading thing, you know? Like someone’s family wears orange because their their fanclub.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Zane conceded.

10.1 SECONDS! I’D EXPECT NOTHING LESS FROM RYLAN!

“You’re probably just paranoid from all the homophobia around here,” Kaeden reasoned. “But luckily, I know what’ll cheer you up.”

“Oh really,” Zane responded coyly.

“Definitely, meet me at your uncle’s food stand and I’ll get us some snacks.”

“Alright, but I’m gonna head to a restroom first.”

“Miss me!” Kaeden exclaimed as he rushed down the risers. Zane grinned, knowing he was lucky to have snagged his boyfriend.

— —

“Ah! Sorry,” Zane grunted as he shimmied out of the porta potty door, noticing the growing line that had assembled outside. He thought he hadn’t taken too long, but when one’s bowels beg for release, one has to give in. Walking with a little pep in his step, he eagerly bounced his way around the rodeo grounds to find his uncle’s food stand. Kaeden knew Zane had a soft spot for food, which was pretty evident by the soft spots around his hips. He was excited to see what he had gotten for him. After wandering around for a minute, he finally spotted his uncle stepping outside an old trailer.

“Uncle Treyton!” Zane shouted as he approached.

“Eh, Zane! What’s up? Enjoyin’ the rodeo?”

“I guess?” Zane replied honestly. “Have you seen Kaeden?”

“Ah yeah, he was my last customer for the night. I saw him walkin’ over to the picnic area,” Treyton grunted, locking the door to the trailer as he closed up.

“Thanks!” Zane responded, beginning to walk off.

“Hold on there, cowboy!” Treyton demanded, chuckling at his own irony. “I’m gonna be headin’ back to the ranch, gotta long day of work tomorrow, so make sure y’all don’t stay out too late.”

“Sounds good, Uncle Treyton!” Zane started again, desperately wanting to get back to Kaeden.

“AND!” Treyton emphasized. “Harry wanted to see ya ‘bout somethin’ before ya left. He should be at the stables.”

“Great, thanks!” Zane tore off, almost kicking up the dirt behind him as he darted back towards the porta potties. He made it to the picnic area in record time, almost panting as he slowed down. The so-called “picnic area” was really just a group of tables resting behind the bleachers, with no real purpose besides having a surface to eat at. Zane searched for Kaeden, but it seemed like the place was totally empty. The only person he saw was a man sitting alone, ravenously scarfing down an order of nachos. He was wearing a blue plaid button-up and the same straight, overused jeans as every other man at the rodeo. He also adorned a cowboy hat, a quite brawny body, and a bulge much larger than both Kaedan and Zane’s combined. The cowboy looked to be in his late 20’s, but his brunette chin strap and mustache combo made him seem older. Zane approached the other man delicately, noticing the redneck’s very large boots tap eagerly as he chowed on his food.

“Um, excuse me…” Zane mumbled quietly. “I was wondering if-”

“Zane!” the man jumped up from his seat. “I was worryin’ ‘bout you! Thought you might’ve gotten stuck er somethin’.” Zane shook his head, confused at who the low-pitched, southern gent was exactly.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Zane, it’s Clayton!” he paused, waiting for Zane to remember.

“Clayton Sherman?” Zane was still bewildered, until something clicked in his head.

“Wait, Kaedan?”

“No, Clayton. Didja hit yer head or somethin’?”

Zane felt a little crazy, but something supernatural was pulling him towards this stranger. He didn’t know what the force was, but his curiosity guided him.

“One sec, just let me check something.”

Zane grabbed Clayton’s right hand swiftly, finding the same blue stamp that his boyfriend had received earlier. Although it had faded dramatically, it was good enough proof for Zane.

“Kaedan, what happened to you? How did you become like this? What happened after you left the stand?” Zane must have been hallucinating. There was no way his long, slim, ginger lover had become some horse-kickin’, tobacco-spittin’ cowboy, right?

“First off, it’s Clayton,” Clayton responded calmly. “And I did exactly what I said I would. I went to yer uncle’s stand and got us some food. He told me he’d give us ‘somethin’ special’ and slapped my hand, saying it would be on the house. Can you believe it? These darn nachos were free!”

“Alright,” Zane quickly remarked. “Then what?”

“Well, I waited for ya, but the nachos kept lookin’ at me. So, I thought ya wouldn’t mind if I took a bite. One bite became two, then three, and now we’re here.” Clayton showed Zane the empty box, beaming a childish smile.

“Kaedan, I don’t under-”

Suddenly, Zane grabbed his head as he felt a shock go through his skull. He grimaced as it coursed through his brain, causing him to shake momentarily before regaining his thoughts. As fast as the pain had come, it had disappeared too.

“Y’all ok there?” Clayton asked, patting Zane’s shoulder in a brotherly way.

“Yeah, I think so,” Zane blinked. “What were we talking about again?”

“How I ate all the food!” Clayton hollered, laughing at himself in a low guffaw. “We oughta get back to the rodeo though, Little Petey’s going up soon.”

“Little Petey?” Zane mumbled to himself as the two hoisted themselves up. At first, he didn’t recognize the name, but the more he thought about it, the more memories that seemed to appear. Little Petey was Clayton’s little brother of course! Both Clayton and Pete Sherman were expert horse riders, having both broken records for steer wrestling and bull riding. They’d also been the star quarterbacks for the town back in their prime, but now with Pete turning 26 and Clayton having his second kid on the way, they were ready to settle down and start (or continue) their families.

“Yeah! I gotta run on back to Cassie and Trevor. Nice seein’ ya round these parts again!”

Clayton tossed the empty carton into the trash and ran off back to the stands. Zane watched the man dash up the wooden bleachers to his wife and first boy, embracing them as he sat down to continue watching the show. He sunk right back into the cluster of blue, completely camouflaged by the other people in the crowd. Zane didn’t really know Clayton, just remembered him as someone who worked at his uncle’s farm. He seemed nice, but definitely not friend-material. He had a little too much homophobia and country in him. Zane stopped for a moment to correct himself. Clayton didn’t have a little too much; he had a lot of too much.

8.3 SECONDS! LET’S HEAR IT FOR MIKE!

Deciding he had nothing else to do, Zane started heading back towards the parking lot. Although the event seemed kind of interesting, Zane was too lonesome to really find any joy in the situation. Even his uncle’s presence would’ve made him want to stay, but with no one there by his side, Zane decided to head out. Right as he stepped through the gate, he suddenly recalled his uncle saying something about Harry wanting to see him. He didn’t like Harry, and he assumed it worked the other way around too, but Zane knew he should respect his uncle’s wishes.

8.9 SECONDS! DANNY’S HERE TO STAY!

Zane stumbled into the area housing the horse stables, the place completely deserted besides the rolling tumbleweeds. Strolling past a few horse-buses, it didn’t take long to find Harry. He grinned as Zane approached, holding a lasso in one hand.

“‘Bout time you got here, thinkin’ you got lost er somethin’.”

“Wish I would have,” Zane mumbled to himself as Harry tossed an arm around his shoulder. Harry suddenly seemed more cheery than he had been before.

“Did yer uncle tell ya what yer doing here?”

“No, but I hope it’s not too long; I’m getting tired.” To emphasize his point, Zane faked a huge yawn.

“Not that, fag,” Harry chuckled, dropping down one end of the rope. “I mean this vacation.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Back in high school, yer pops, uncle, and I used to be the studs of the town. Valuable players, intimidatin’ cowboys, 100% corn-fed beef. But when yer pops was offered an education out east, the three of us fell apart.”

“Yeah, so what?”Zane was uninterested, finding the cowboy’s bulge as the only thing appealing about Harry. Zane had a bad habit of checking out other men when he was single.

“Well,” Harry continued, dragging Zane into a stable. “When yer pops saw how off-track he had raised ya, he called up Treyton and I to put a little country in ya. We knew we were gonna have fun, but when ya brought along that Irish laddy too, that was just a cherry for the top.”

Zane shook his head in bewilderment. Who was Harry talking about? He had obviously come here alone.

“See, originally Treyton wanted you as part of his ranch, but when yer boyfriend came he decided to pass the sweeter treat off to me. I think yeu’ll really-”

“Woah, slow down a moment,” Zane rubbed his temples, losing track of everything.

“Ah, I fergot about the mental stuff,” Harry contemplated, thinking about how to explain everything. He had to find a way to explain it all to the boy.

“Remember how everyone in the stands was segregated by their clothin’ color?”

“Yeah?” Zane clearly remembered, as he had stuck out like a sore thumb, but he didn’t understand why this was important now.

“Well, they’re all branded to some ranch, that’s why they stick to one color.”

Harry’s answer made sense to him, but Zane was still visibly perplexed.

“Look at Kae- I mean Clayton Sherman,” Harry started. “He works for yer uncle’s ranch. What color to they wear?”

“Blue?”

“Exactly!” Harry slapped Zane’s back, knocking the wind out of the other man.

“Every color here is for someone’s ranch. Blue is Welch, green is Smith, white for Johnson-”

“How... how many are there?” Zane stuttered, the pieces gradually coming together.

“10, ‘cluding myself,” Harry responded proudly.

“So what you’re saying,” Zane reasoned. “Is that these ranch owner’s ‘brand’ people to be part of their ‘ranch,’ claiming them as their property?”

“Eeyup.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

“Thought you oughta know beforehand.”Zane was about to ask what that meant, but before he could speak, something clicked together in his head.

“You own one of these ‘ranches’?”

“The stunnin’ Mueller Ranch.”

“And what color are you?”

Zane already knew the answer, hoping to distract the other man, but he wasn’t fast enough to dodge Harry’s launch. The older cowboy tackled Zane to the ground, the stench of hay and manure infiltrating Zane’s lungs as his face graced the dirt floor. Zane, not one to be athletic, surprisingly twisted himself out of Harry’s grasp, rolling sideways before getting up and escaping. He started running to his truck, desperately shuffling through his pockets to find the keys. Frantically scurrying away, he didn’t even notice his foot slip right out from beneath him.

“Gotcha!”

Harry cackled heartily as he looked upon his captured prey, who was clawing at the rope helplessly. It seemed like a scene from an old western cartoon: the fool stepping into the lasso and getting caught. Harry had already tied the other end of the rope to a stable post, approaching Zane with a face gleaming with malice. Zane trembled in fear, giving up hope on flight and nervously accepting the fight. As Harry took the final steps, Zane's cowered timidly as he gave up. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he knew something was going to be over. Then, to Zane’s pure surprise, a hand stretched out to help him up.

“Come on,” Harry welcomed warmly.

Zane’s heart stopped. Was Harry… serious? Was this all some prank just to scare him? Zane didn’t know what was going on, but he decided that once he got out of this mess he’d stay in the sweet shelter of his uncle’s ranch. After the week was over, he was never coming back to this pathetic town, or Wyoming for that sake.

“Are ya gonna take it or what?”

Zane sighed, clasping his hand into Harry’s. As soon as they connected, Harry’s flowery smile instantly twisted back into the thorny smirk.

“It’s just too easy.”

Before Zane could react, Harry flipped the other’s hand over and tapped the black stamp. Instantaneously, time stopped around them. The whole moment felt electric, almost as if everything in existence had shifted, but it was simply only a light touch. Zane gasped as he got up, struggling to speak.

“What… what did you do?”

“Eh, nothin’ yeu’ll remember,” Harry chimed. Zane investigated the back of his hand, noticing a slight pulse as the black stamp began to fade. He was shocked to see the color slowly draining from it into his veins, noticing the same inky shade pumping into his bloodstream.

“Oh no,” Zane cried as a small crackling came from his knuckles. It sounded similar to an orchestra of crickets, the hundreds of minuscule pops signifying the growth of his average hands. Zane’s palms grew thicker at a sluggish pace, bloating with meat as his fingers grew into calloused sausages. Zane groaned in pain while his hands became paws, now feeling like he was wearing bulky, leather mittens instead of skin.

The raven color flew through Zane’s arms, gliding across his chest before venturing vertically. To Zane’s dismay, his unused tendons stretched intensely, expanding as they made room for the arriving muscular tissue. Biceps proudly emerged as their brotherly triceps erupted from underneath Zane’s flesh, causing him to writhe. His forearms gained some meat too before a tan wave swept across the surface of his skin. The classic shade darkened Zane’s pale skin as a field of hair was planted on top. Before long, Zane’s arms looked like an avid gym-goer’s, yet for some reason his mind told him they were from the farm.

After improving the upper appendages, the ink moved downwards, cutting through Zane’s chest. His deltoids pushed outwards as his collarbone expanded, barely extending his traps as his torso began to shift into the shape of a “T”. His pectorals ballooned outwards, forming into meaty packages with two perky nipples, obviously erect underneath his shrinking tee. After the pecs squared out, Zane moaned as a sturdy six pack pounded in, each abdominal packing a punch as it pushed forward. A light covering of fur erupted from his chest while the tan wave made sure to paint itself once more. Zane began panting for air violently, each breath sucking in a little body fat. It didn’t remove all of his fat, but enough to maintain something barely below a body-builder’s standards. His shirt also stitched itself back together, having been torn apart seconds before. The cheap concert tee grew black as it painted itself back onto Zane’s torso, the dusky color hiding its overuse.

Following were Zane’s legs, as the black blood dove deeper. His juicy thighs began to tighten, retaining their above-average size, but now containing more muscle than meat. After his quadriceps had hardened, his knees cracked violently, stretching out Zane’s calves to max him out at 6’2. The bottom of his sweatpants violently tore to reveal two meaty forelegs, both veiny, firm, and covered in a lathering of hair. His pale skin darkened as his legs were covered in a loose denim, locking away his lower appendages.

With Zane’s lower body now covered in an old pair of Wranglers, the ink took hold of his feet, which were currently snug in a pair of Sperry’s boat shoes, the only shoes he had brought with him. In an instant, the leather and cloth tore apart in the middle, blossoming open like a flower to reveal gargantuan Size 15 feet. Zane was appalled to see the hairy, meaty, and awfully rank monsters attached below his ankles, but to his luck, the shredded shoes began to reform. The leather gracefully became cowhide as it expertly resowed itself around Zane’s feet, traveling up to his midcalves to create two authentic cowboy boots. Zane however didn’t feel relieved, in fact all he could feel was the sweat of his massive feet filling up the shoes. His socks hadn’t reformed, so it appeared he was going commando in his boots.

The ink swam up to the top, touching up on any missed spots. After filling in Zane’s pits with a hearty amount of hair, the black blood filled in his neck, adding girth to support the maturing Adam’s apple. Vocal chords stretched as the Zane’s register reached new depths, causing him to violently cough and sputter as he adjusted, allowing the ink to shoot upwards. Zane cried out in pain as the black blood clutched his skull, pulling apart at the bones to give him a thicker head. While the baby fat was removed, his jaw was stretched horizontally, giving him a prominent chin just large enough for a cleft. His lips shrunk while his nose expanded, filling in along with his expanding brows. Zane’s eyes shifted from a bland brown to easy-going blue as his hair shaved away, leaving a no-effort buzzcut where a manicured mane once laid. The vibrant green color rapidly faded, giving way to a light brown that easily shaded in Zane’s new haircut and thickening chinstrap. Across his body, his skin tightened barely as his body packed on a few extra years. It wasn’t a noticeable difference, but Zane no longer had the same glow of young adulthood.

“Ah Lordee,” Zane grumbled, getting up as his language center reorganized itself. “What’d y’all do to me?”

“Well, there’s still one more thing to go,” Harry replied, watching Zane shakily ascend. When the other man stood straight, he now faced eye to eye with the other cowboy.

“What in tarnation is left?”

“Just give it a sec-”

“I ain’t got no time for games, I’m gettin’-”

Suddenly, Zane felt an electrifying pulse throughout his groin, the rest of the ink finally reaching his reproductive center. The black blood infiltrated his testicles, killing off the weak sperm as it overtook his pouch. Zane’s balls bloated as they became heavy with cowboy sperm, dropping dramatically due to the increased weight. The ink traveled into his medium-sized penis, engorging it almost instantly. At first, Zane felt like he was having the most powerful boner of his life, but he began to realize his dick was in fact growing. His member began pulsating with the foreign blood, elongating as it grew to a mighty 10 inches. In the back end, his buttocks blew up into two massive, hardened globes, pushing against the confines of one end of the jeans while his pouch took the other.

Losing all sense of reality, Zane furiously palmed himself through his jeans, the feeling of his newly-materialized boxer shorts rubbing against his sensitive tip driving him crazy. Precumming in seconds due to the pent up stress, Zane was too horny to realize what he was doing, or what he was losing. His prized Yale education evaporated like powdered milk into his ballsack. Next went his East Coast upbringing, his progressive ideas and urban lifestyle disappearing into the void that was his semen. In tow was his homosexuality, which was thrown into the fire inside his testicles. Even a sizeable chunk of his IQ was tossed into the mixing pot. Everything about Zane was sucked down into his sperm, ready to be expelled permanently.

“C’mon boy,” Harry shouted eagerly. “Ya know what ya want to do!”

Zane grunted as he groped himself once more, feeling a burst of static electricity coarse across his body. Grabbing a nearby fence, Zane steadied himself against the stable wall as he felt the rush coming.

“Wow-ie!”

A huge load of sperm coated the front of the Wranglers, causing the area beneath the giant belt buckle to darken dramatically. Not bothering to clean himself up, the young cowboy basked in the afterglow of ejaculation, truly content with himself. He adjusted his pouch one last time, with his other hand still secured to the fence.

“There ya go, that felt better, didn’t it?” Harry slapped a hand around the other man, securing the black cowboy hat on top of the other’s head while doing so.

“Ah yeah, Sir, that one was a goodie,” the other replied, the two slowly making their way back to the main grounds.

“Tell me, Wayne, where the wife and kids at? Shouldn’t they be at the rodeo?”

“They are, Sir,” Wayne responded quickly. “They’re sittin’ near the back of the bleachers with the other ranch families.”

“Ah I see.”

10.5 SECONDS! PETE’S WOWED US AGAIN FOLKS!

Harry paused in front of the main gate, shuffling his hand through his pocket to find his keys and some Copenhagen chew.

“I best be headin’ out,” he stated. “We got a long day at the ranch tomorrow, lots of hay bale shipments to move out.”

“Sounds good, Sir.” Wayne extended his hand out, “I’ll see y’all bright and early tomorrow mornin’.”

“See y’all then, Wayne.”

The two vigorously shook hands, with Harry delighted to see the disappearance of a certain black stamp. They waved each other off as Harry walked back to his truck. After watching his boss leave, Wayne was elated to go back to his family, with one beautiful wife and three handsome sons to entertain. Turning 29 in a matter of days (his birthday shared with Pete Sherman’s, or “Little Petey” as the town called him), Wayne had already accomplished his major goal in life, growing the Woods family. It only seemed like yesterday that he and his wife were high school sweethearts, but now they owned their own little home with three rowdy chaps running around everywhere. It was going to be Wayne’s job to teach them the right morals just like how his father taught him. Over the years, he’d teach them about Christianity, voting Red, being country men, and how to swoon ladies. But, with the oldest one only in first grade, he thought it might be best to wait a bit longer.

Inspecting the bleachers, it didn’t take Wayne long to find his family. He ran up to them and sat down immediately, ready to keep enjoying the show. He quickly explained to his wife what his boss had wanted him for, saying Harry had just wanted an update on the coming fourth child. Wayne then kissed his wife passionately before giving his attention back to the rodeo, applauding as the last participant finished off the night.

10.3 SECONDS! CHRIS ENDED THE NIGHT STRONG!

ANOTHER GREAT YEAR WITH A DARN GREAT CROWD! THANKS FOR COMIN’ OUT FOLKS, WE’LL SEE Y’ALL AGAIN NEXT YEAR!

#country #gay to stright #bottomtotop #age progression tf #nerdtojock #jock #Christian #dumber #political #lib to con

[beansprean]

Atlantis AU….. for @fanfic-fugue who asked the very important question what if a vampire fanboy with Van Helsing lineage led an expedition to an ancient lost vampire city no one thinks exists? And also Nandor had his tits out? 😈

(ID in alt and under cut)

1a. Background of an underground Persian palace of cracked stone and tile, overgrown with vines and moss and surrounded by pink silk trees. Closer to the viewer, beyond a plain that is half sand half meadow, is a double waterfall flanked by cracked stone pillars, pouring into a basin covered by a gulley of cypress trees. Closer still is a short set of fallen stairs leading down to a peaceful blue pond with floating lily pads and a massive cracked stone pillar set crooked in the ground. The pillar is coated in vines and algae and has a center ring of round protrusions capped by red gems, some of which are missing. Standing at the top of the ruined stairs are Guillermo and Nandor. Guillermo is dressed like Milo Thatch in an army green tank top, brown breeches, and stockings, a leather bag crossed over his chest and an old book tucked under his arm. He is reaching out towards the pillar with his free hand, smiling in fascination as he remarks, “Wow, this architecture is amazing!” Nandor stands behind him, arms tucked behind his back, and replies “I suppose. It looks like breasts.” Nandor is wearing a version of his usual layered kaftan in light purples and blues, a long dark blue sash with gold patterns draped over his shoulders and tucked into a leather belt at his waist. 1b. Full body drawing of Nandor in the same outfit, showing more detail like brown leather boots, the ancient-looking sword strapped to his belt, and the looser bun holding back his hair. Nandor is standing proud and upright, looking directly at the viewer with one hand on the hilt of his blade.

2a. Close up of Guillermo soaking wet and dripping, his tank top now translucent enough to see his nipples through. He is talking excitedly, almost manic, grinning and gesturing wildly with his hands at someone offscreen. There is a plain gold crucifix around his neck. 2b. Close up of The Guide dressed like Helga Sinclair in a long silk black evening dress, black gloves, ushanka, and fur stole, draped casually in a chair with legs crossed, the fur tucked into her elbows and one strap of the dress slipped down over her shoulder. She lifts one hand in a “what the heck?” gesture and says, “Guillermo de la Cruz… I sent, like, 50 ravens!!”

3a. Full body of Guillermo smiling confidently, holding up an old leather book with a red skull design, titled “Vampyr”. He is wearing a khaki colored sweater, brown breeches, stockings, button boots, and a long faded green coat. He has a leather bag strapped across his chest. 3b. Full body of Nandor stripped down to a tiny wrapped-cloth undergarment, standing with hip cocked flirtatiously, one arm stretched up to rest against the side of the image as he grins teasingly, one eyebrow cocked. He asks casually, “Do you swim?” 3c. Close up of Guillermo pausing in the act of pulling off his own shirt, clutching the hem with both hands at his breast line. He stares openly at Nandor, face tomato-red and shaking mouth struggling to form words, stuttering out, “I-I swim pretty guy- pretty good!!”

4. Nandor and Guillermo floating together underwater, Nandor in his cloth briefs and Guillermo in white boxers. They both have their hands placed on a cracked stone mural depicting an ancient bearded warrior on horseback, wielding a sword much like Nandor’s and a helmet and armor similar to the one his ghost wore in the show. Their hands touch against the stone and they turn to look at each other, Guillermo flushed and spilling bubbles between his lips, Nandor unbreathing with large liquid eyes. Guillermo’s crucifix is floating up in the water, shining bright gold. The entire scene is overlaid with teal and shining water effects, light piercing down at them in rays. /end ID

#wwdits #nandermo #atlantis the lost empire #atlantis au #mlm #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #wwdits the guide #what we do in the shadows fx #what we do in the shadows #my art #fanart #image described