would you ever consider writing different pairings? evan and regulus are so cute but ive always imagined him either with barty or james (the extrover/introvert dynamic)
what are your thoughts on other ships?
also will dorcas make an appearance in ttdl? i know a lot of people headcanon her as a slytherin so I was wondering what you thought
i don't really pick out a pairing and go 'i will now devote my life to this and never think about anything else ever' ajfslghskdfhjd - i am really just writing whatever i'm interested in at any given time
so like sure i'd consider writing different pairings but i wouldn't do it just for the sake of writing a particular pairing or 'switching it up' - it would have to be a product of a story concept that makes it fit
that being said i'm rather burned out on jegulus atm
dorcas has made an appearance! she's in ravenclaw
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The thing with the Mari Lwyd, though, is that it's being... I don't know, 'appropriated' is the wrong word, but certainly turned into something it isn't.
Thing is, this is a folk tradition in the Welsh language, and that's the most important aspect of it. I feel partly responsible for this, because I accidentally became a bit of an expert on the topic of the Mari Lwyd in a post that escaped Tumblr containment, and I clearly didn't stress it strongly enough there (in my defence, I wrote that post for ten likes and some attention); but this is a Welsh language tradition, conducted in Welsh, using Welsh language poetic forms that are older than the entire English language, and also a very specific sung melody (with a very specific first verse; that's Cân y Fari). It is not actually a 'rap battle'. It's not a recited poem. It is not any old rhyme scheme however you want.
It is not in English.
Given the extensive and frankly ongoing attempts by England to wipe out Welsh, and its attendant cultural traditions, the Mari is being revived across Wales as an act of linguistic-cultural defiance. She's a symbol of Welsh language culture, specifically; an icon to remind that we are a distinct people, with our own culture and traditions, and in spite of everyone and everything, we're still here. Separating her from that by removing the Welsh is, to put it mildly, wildly disrespectful.
...but it IS what I'm increasingly seeing, both online and in real world Mari Lwyd festivals. She's gained enormous pop-culture popularity in recent years, which is fantastic; but she's also been reduced from the tradition to just an aesthetic now.
So many people are talking/drawing about her as though she's a cryptid or a mythological figure, rather than the folk practice of shoving a skull on a stick and pretending to be a naughty horse for cheese and drunken larks. And I get it! It's an intriguing visual! Some of the artwork is great! But this is not what she is. She's not a Krampus equivalent for your Dark Christmas aesthetic.
I see people writing their own version of the pwnco (though never called the pwnco; almost always called some variant on 'Mari Lwyd rap battle'), and as fun as these are, they are never even written in the meter and poetic rules of Cân y Fari, much less in Welsh, and they never conclude with the promise to behave before letting the Mari into the house. The pwnco is the central part to the tradition; this is the Welsh language part, the bit that's important and matters.
Mari Lwyd festivals are increasingly just English wassail festivals with a Mari or two present. The Swansea one last weekend didn't even include a Mari trying to break into a building (insert Shrek meme); there was no pwnco at all. Even in the Chepstow ones, they didn't do actual Cân y Fari; just a couple of recited verses. Instead, the Maris are just an aesthetic, a way to make it look a bit more Welsh, without having to commit to the unfashionable inconvenience of actually including Welsh.
And I don't really know what the answers are to these. I can tell you what I'd like - I'd like art to include the Welsh somewhere, maybe incorporating the first line of Cân y Fari like this one did, to keep it connected to the actual Welsh tradition (or other Welsh, if other phrases are preferred). I'd like people who want to write their version of the pwnco to respect the actual tradition of it by using Cân y Fari's meter and rhyme scheme, finishing with the promise to behave, and actually calling it the pwnco rather than a rap battle (and preferably in Welsh, though I do understand that's not always possible lol). I'd like to see the festivals actually observe the tradition, and include a link on the booking website to an audio clip of Cân y Fari and the words to the first verse, so attendees who want to can learn it ahead of time. I don't know how feasible any of that is, of course! But that's what I'd like to see.
I don't know. This is rambly. But it's something I've been thinking about - and increasingly nettled by - for a while. There's was something so affirming and wonderful at first about seeing the Mari's climb into international recognition, but it's very much turned to dismay by now, because she's important to my endangered culture and yet that's the part that everyone apparently wants to drop for being too awkward and ruining the aesthetic. It's very frustrating.
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More of the yandere monster???? Like their married life, him being such a cutie cutie and the reader is a willing person to his yandere tendencies. Like him physically fighting someone for flirting with her for .01 second and her just being 😍🥰
Alright anon, seeing as this has once again resurfaced, I'll cover a little bit of marital life as per your suggestion. (I'm hoping you're referring to the older sibling monster)
Yandere! Monster Husband x Reader
A little change of plans and the wedding you've been kidnapped for continued without a hitch, except you married the monstrous sibling instead. Made for an awkward celebratory dinner, but no one dared to oppose the Beast.
Content: female reader, monster romance, mildly NSFW, saga of the monster hoe reader continues
[First part]
The next family dinner was quiet. You couldn't help but wonder if your horniness had gone too far, slowly chewing your food and occasionally peeking at the ex-groom with remorseful eyes. Poor guy, you thought. "Well, it's quite convenient, isn't it?" he finally said, breaking the silence. The cutlery sounds paused, and you lifted your gaze again. The man flashed you a radiant smile, which emphasized his handsome features even more. "I mean, we weren't sure we'd ever find a wife for my brother. He has a bit of an attitude, and even monsters are afraid of him. The only marriage attempt-" his speech was interrupted by a grunt, and you turned towards your monstrous boyfriend. The older sibling was frowning, visibly embarrassed. "Oh, I remember!" the mother of the siblings, a halfling herself, suddenly chuckled into her glass, taking a generous sip before continuing: "We'd arranged for a fellow monster to meet him, and the poor soul got so frightened she blended in with the background! Took us two days to find her! She came from a chameleon family, I recall."
Everyone at the table began to laugh and you joined, although with a mild annoyance tinged into your voice. So what, there was no reason for you to be plagued by guilt? You even refused a night escapade with your boyfriend until things "settled", as a way to be respectful towards the cucked party. All for naught. At least now you could be ravaged without further consequences. When the mother in law had pulled you aside hours earlier to make sure you weren't coerced into this arrangement, you had to hold back from crassly confessing you'd slurp her son empty of fluids at any hour of the day. Some things are better left untold.
Unfortunately, one detail couldn't be changed in time: the guest list. As this had been an event meant to strengthen the ties between humans, no one outside of the immediate family graced the venue with their monstrous presence. Many guests were intrigued by the outcome of the affair, terribly curious to see the famed wife-to-be of the gruesome, feared Head of the royal army. Even more so once they discovered it was a regular human by all means. "Fascinating!", the old ladies would occasionally cry out, clutching the plump, expensive pearls adorning their necks. You had to frequently excuse yourself in order to dodge the rather indecent questions regarding your relationship. Except when you did manage to sneak away, one of the younger men of names and titles you never registered would approach you for a dance. "Truly a pitiful matter", they'd whisper much too close to your ear. "You would've made a lovely bride for a fellow human."
"You're unexpectedly calm about this", the prince mentioned to his older brother at some point during the wedding night. "Are you not bothered by all the acquaintances flocking to your bride?" The monster shook his head with a sigh. He hadn't known you for that long yet, but one thing he was certain of: it's not humans he needed to fear.
Indeed, having a wife with a monster kink is particularly challenging when most of the husband's work involves similar creatures. The first months after the marriage were stalked by the insidious doubt that his luck was just that: mere coincidence. Would you have displayed the same interest had he not been the only beast at the table? Would you still pick him in a room full of monsters? Such questions followed him each day, feeding into an ever-growing jealousy.
"What are you doing here!", he exclaimed in despair once he noticed your arrival at his training camp. "You forgot your lunch", you explained, eyebrows raised in confusion. Oh, for fuck's sake. He quickly pulled you away, glaring at the subordinates startled by the commotion. They must've been eyeing (Y/N) like rabid dogs, he thought. Next thing you know, you'll be scooped away by some horned scoundrel. He can't have that.
Initially, the rage-filled, obsession-driven fuck you'd receive almost daily was welcomed with shameless begging. The way your monster husband would pin you down under his claws and thrust into you so hard, you could see its movement in waves across your stomach. The way he'd forcefully spread your legs, hungrily sinking his nails into the soft flesh of your thighs and gnawing your shoulders in delirious need. The tears that sheepishly formed in the corners of your hooded eyes would only incite him more. "Bite onto my hand if you can't take it anymore", he'd coo without stopping. As much as you liked to be left a limp, drooling mess, the soreness grew unbearable. Enough was enough when you found yourself carrying a cushion to sit down on any surface.
"Listen, we need to have a talk." You greeted him solemnly once he returned from his military duties. Oh, no. Absolutely not. The monstrous husband bit his lips in panic, immediately going through a mental list of all his subordinates. Or was it someone in the family that slithered their way into your heart? Is that what it was about, that you'd found a different creature? No matter, you weren't going anywhere. "I don't want to hear about it", he declared dramatically. "I have a bruised cervix!" you shouted in disbelief. "Huh?" He stared at you. "It hurts even when I lay down, man. You have to tone it down. At least for a little while."
Ah. Awkward. You noticed his flinch, and patted the empty seat next to you. "What did you think I was going to say?" The bench groaned under the weight of his gargantuan body. Hands folded in his lap like a punished schoolboy, your husband began to narrate the tale of his seething envy and frenzied passion for you. You must understand, he's never cared for anyone as much. To hell with duty and honor, he would kill his own father if his touch on you lingered one second longer than permitted. "Alright, but you must control yourself a little", you reminded him gently. "Never, my urge to obliterate any threat in my path is insatiable", he concluded with vehemence. "Yes, yes, that I understand. The sex, I mean", you gesticulated. "Of course. My apologies, I got sidetracked."
Somehow, he didn't expect to leave this conversation with a cathartic approval of his possessiveness. "Surely you must be upset by my fanatical behavior", he suggested meekly. "Oh no, it's part of your charm", you reassured him with a smile. "It's just not that sustainable in bed without the occasional break." You pat your stomach to express your misfortune.
Sadly, your monster fucking dreams must adhere to the laws of biology.
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Through the entire first episode I couldn't get a good idea of what Ashley's character looked like, but now that I've seen her official art I am in Love
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did some poking around and either the other people receiving that ask haven’t responded to it or don’t intend to, or it was just me that also got it. how exciting! to post about my own attempts at whimsy and mystery and to then be involved in such a peculiar event...this world is always so much bigger than i imagine and there is still so much to see :)
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It’s canonically Miguel’s birthday soooo….a fluffy/cute/ lil steamy drabble? yes pls.
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It was late, you and Miguel were both a little tipsy from the wine you plied each other with, but the night was starless, the fire was roaring, the city lights were gleaming and it was Miguel's birthday.
Miguel always hated his birthday. It was an unpleasant reminder of the years before him and the unforetold future ahead of him- all in all, it was an unsettling and borderline depressing experience, it was clear that everyone around him was viscerally aware of that. Even when he was in the warm blanketed safety of his own home, with the woman he wanted to spend his life with, it was still a struggle for him to not hate the predicament he put himself in. Your head rested on his lap while he was sat on the couch like a normal careless couple would do, your fingers stroked against him tenderly, normally, like it was second instinct but from this angle, you could tell his mind was wandering, twinges of apprehension and sullenness tweaked at his face so faintly, you almost didn't notice
“What's going on up there?” You said with a strained soft breath, your eyes flickered to his, the flames licking at the fireplace illuminated the deep crimson of his eyes. He looked so beautiful and you hated that he barely recognized it. Even now when he stroked your hand with his thumb, the familiar heat he ignited when you first wanted him crept its way back to you all this time.
“Nothing mi amor, let me just be here with you.”Miguel pursed his lips as he so obviously tried to dismiss the situation, he snapped his stare awayfrom yours. Your mind drew to a blank, unsure of what to even say after that but then you remembered, you didn'teven give him his gift yet. You shot up and Miguel instantly raised an eyebrow, watching you hurry away out of the room.
It was only a couple of seconds before you came back with a wrapped box with a cute little bow, a card, and a bouquet of roses.
“Oh my god.” Miguel said mildly but you could tell he was trying to stifle a giggle. He gave you a cute little defeated scoff and got up and came to you, slightly amused by this cute display you provided. He couldn't help but sigh dryly, he pondered you for a second, he had never felt so...appreciated. His heart fluttered in his chest at the realization. His eyes darted to the flowers and he chuckled and then looked back at you with a quiet playfulness.
“You bought me flowers.” He said flatly and smirked, you shoved the flowers in his face aggressive for him to smell them.
“You always buy me them, why can't I buy you some? What? Don't like 'em? Here sniff 'em.” You teased with a pretty smile and Miguel spluttered as he shoved them away
“Alright baby, I got it, I got it.” He protested playfully through short laughs, his smile was gorgeous and you were gawking at him like a lovesick fool.
“Open the card.” You say softly, handing him it, you flash him a flirty look, fluttering lashes sly smile and all. He quirked an eyebrow at yourlittle shift in tone and expression- he always hyper-analyzed you, and every single move you made, he he enjoyed it thoroughly. Even after all this time, he was still crazy about you, your tease, your ability to make him wonder. Miguel opened the card, intrigued by your boldness.
Happy birthday mi amor.
You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. You are the most incredible man I've ever known. I'm the luckiest girl in the world to get to be with you, care for you, love you.
This is your day. I want this all to be about you. I'll let you do anything you want to me, anything, fuck me any way you like. I'm yours. All yours. Tonight and forever.
All my love
Miguel's gaze softened when he read the sweet words, you knew exactly what to say to make him melt in your hands, he glanced up at you and your cheeks colored with a heated blush, a suggestive smirk playing at your lips. You were acting coy as if you weren't aware of what you had written just for him. Even when you were trying to be sincerely romantic, you couldn't help but slip how much you loved his cock.
“Dirty girl.” He said with a crooked smile, biting his lip, gaping into that gorgeous face he's been fascinated by since he met you. “God I love you.” He muttered when he cradled your face in has hands.
“Open it.” You handed him his little wrapped box, your eyes brightened as he took it and unwrapped it.
It was a box. With a few things stuffed inside of it.
There were many cute knicknacks inside of it: a frame with you and Miguel absolutely drunk off your tits at a party that you can’t even remember, Peter took that amusingly hideous photo and he wouldn’t let either of you forget it so instead you thought to embrace it. Funnily enough, you bought him a nail file for his talons with his name engraved on it and you just shrugged with a smug face and said it was when he was in the need for self care. Miguel scoffed dryly, you were enjoying himself. You also got him a real gold ring with his spider emblem engraved on it. He felt very appreciated indeed.
But what really caught his attention was the less wholesome side of it.
You gave him your tiny lacy panties that you knew he loved.
Nipple clamps? Really? Oh my God.
And then he came across it, the multiple polaroids of you naked for the camera. All for him. All his. You looked heavenly.
“Hmmm.” He hummed apppreciatively. Completely enjoying what he was looking at, your body was made for him, you looked adorable.
“You like it?” You ask sincerely but you always had that stupid, smug smirk on your face.
“Of course I do.” He chuckled before grabbing you, letting the box drop to the floor and picking you up off the ground, holding you as he nuzzled into your neck, you yelped in surprise but that soon melted into a soft breath as you inhaled his scent.
Miguel settled you down, his hands still wrapped around your waist, your fingers found hospice in his hair, you tucked a few loose tufts behind his ear.
“I love you, you know that cariño?” He muttered. “I’m not good at stuff like this, I hate my birthday…but you make me feel worthy of it.” His voice was barely audible but you were so close you could hear every syllable.
“I love you too….” You said before planting a soft chaste kiss on his lips. Miguel’s hand went to your hair, your soft pecks turning into deep, heady kisses. “Let me take care of you.” Your breathing become shallow as his hand gripped the back of your neck.
“I want slow.” He slurred against your already wine soaked lips, you always taste so sweet for him, sometimes he wanted to rub you down in honey or something other and just spend his night licking it off you. He’d consider that a beautiful way to die happy. “Want it slow.”
“Take me to bed.” You whispered, your voice gentle and thick all at once. Miguel tiptoed you to your room, he wanted to rip off that smug smirk off of your lips. But in the meantime, he wanted to make love to your body.
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I'm having some filthy thoughts about mid-20s rockstar!eddie and hotel maid!reader.
18+ only! I started typing and didn't stop, and this ended up longer than I thought it would be 😅 whoops!
cw: drug and alcohol usage, innocent!reader (but not really), oral m receiving, spit play, ball worship, exhibitionism
I think underneath the bravado and smug cockiness of his rockstar persona, Eddie is still the same Eddie we know - the one who resented how girls in high school hooked up with him just to say they hooked up with the freak. I think a buried part of him carries that with him long after he graduates. I'm sure once Corroded Coffin made it big he fucked his fair share of groupies and escorts and the like - the typical girls that would be invited to afterparties by his band managers and other such people. And that would be good for awhile, but I think eventually after the novelty wore off, their vibes would be too similar to those high school girls. Even though these ones are fucking him because he's a rockstar, they're still doing it at least partially for the clout. And while they're always good fucks - sensual, skilled, vocal - there's an air of exaggeration and performance to those encounters that Eddie gets tired of.
Jeff, Gareth, and Charlie aren't sick of it, though. They're still full of gleeful testosterone every afterparty, giggling like boys when the chicks take their teeny tops off and shake their boobs in their faces. Eddie still enjoys himself, too. He clinks shot glasses with them, and they all throw back top shelf alcohol, take bumps off the ornate coffee table, rub the dust into their gums and sink steadily into their highs. Sometimes the guys take their groupie of choice back to their individual rooms, and sometimes they don't even bother with that - they just hook up with those girls there on the couches while the leftovers dance up on each other and make eyes at Eddie. He sinks back into the armchair he's claimed for the night, sipping bourbon from a heavy tumbler and occasionally letting one of the bolder ones give him a lap dance if she mildly interests him. The girls don't dare complain that he won't fuck them; instead, his aloofness makes him all the more desirable, enough so that even a flirty word or a quick ass squeeze might send them into a dazzled tizzy and make them feel special.
You, though - standing at the hotel door after knocking politely with your elbow, a bucket full of ice and Don Perignon clutched by the handle in your small hands, held demurely in front of your starchy maid's uniform - Eddie is instantly intrigued by you. His hazy eyes light as he sees you, and he slips into his persona like a swan into water: leaning on the doorframe with one lean muscled arm, smirk like honey as he gazes down at you, his eyes raking over your body. He likes how you look up at him, your eyes all big and sweet as you hold out the bucket for him, the picture of hospitality. Your lips pull into a shy, innocent smile as he thanks you in a purr and calls you sweetheart. And now Eddie's thinking about what your lips would look like parted instead, the sounds you'd make with your head thrown back and heat across your cheeks as he gives it to you. He has a feeling that you - sweet, innocent, shy you - would never fake or exaggerate a single one of the sounds he pulls from your throat, and that's exactly what he's been wanting.
Eddie doesn't know it, but he's right: right that you are shy and sweet, and that you wouldn't fake your sounds, and that you've never even attempted to fuck someone famous before. But despite appearances, you aren't exactly innocent. You'd even consider yourself a little naughty, at least in the confines of your own mind. So when this pretty rockstar coaxes you inside, soothing your weak protestations that you're working by pointing out that no one but he and his friends are awake at three am, you find yourself rather quickly seated on his lap and breathing in his heady scent - smoke, earthen leather, and expensive cologne. You decline a bump but let him feed you one shot and then another, and when his lips capture yours, you don't stiffen or pull away. You sink into it, into him, heart pounding wildly as the music and feminine giggles and party sounds fill your ears and you realize this is really happening.
Before you know it, Eddie's tongue is down your throat and his fingers are tweaking your hardened nipples through your cotton uniform. You moan breathily into his mouth and he wonders how far you'll be willing to let him go. The thought that you'd let him have his way with you here, in front of Charlie, Jeff, and Gareth and all the groupies and escorts and band managers - so many fuckin' people in this room, when did that happen, anyway? - makes his dick almost painfully hard. He palms the back of your head as his kiss grows more aggressive, more demanding, and it's cute how you try to keep up with him.
Considering your shyness, Eddie is surprised how easy it is to get you on your knees. Your mouth salivates as he stands and unbuckles his belt, and the sound of others in the room noticing what you and he are doing feels distant as he takes out his cock. It's ruddy and thick if not too long, pierced on the end with two silver balls that make you want to feel that metal against your tongue. Your head spins pleasantly as Eddie thrusts into your mouth, and he's gratified at how willing you are as you let him work his way into your throat. "That's it, baby," he groans, his dick kicking against your tongue as you look up at him with big wet eyes. His palms press to your ears, holding your head still as he sets a shallow but insistent pace, fucking your face in plain view of the others. "You're a fuckin' angel," he praises you roughly, and you whine happily, throbbing between your legs beneath your uniform. "Stick out that little tongue for me." You obey, and he taps his cockhead against it, smearing your spit over his pinked skin.
There are the groupies and escorts with their perfect makeup and flawless skin, and then there's you, baby hairs sticking to your skin as Eddie rubs his cock all over your face, getting you messy with your own spit. You kneel on the hotel carpet and let him, still with that dumb little smile and your thighs squeezed tight as you try to bring yourself some relief.
Eddie thinks, then, that maybe you'll let him do anything - anything he wants. He holds up his cock towards his belly button, and his sack brushes your nose. "Lick my fuckin' balls," he tells you, thrilling inside when you dive right in, burying your face between his legs, licking and suckling with your sweet little lips and your hot little tongue. He holds you against him with a grip on your hair, and you hum as he grinds himself against your face. "Fuck," he hisses, repeating it almost desperately when he catches a glance of your face when his fist tugs up his cock, so sweet and smitten as you look up at him.
A need burns in the pit of Eddie's belly, and that's when he knows:
He's going to fuckin' ruin you.
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I NEED A EDDIE FACE RIDING
YES.
OH YES.
first of all thank u for the request, i appreciate your patience ♥ and second of all i imagine that eddie loooooves giving head and probably spends an unhealthy amount of time thinking about u sitting on his face like,,, pretty much since u met. sooo why don't we give the man what he wants right ?? <333
nsfw (18+) - minors dni !!!
word count - 1.1k
warnings - none really just some good ol' fashioned face riding
my masterlist ♥
fic under the cut,, thanks so much for reading and i hope u like it !! ♥
"B-But what if I squish you?"
"You're not gonna squish me, honey."
"But how will you breathe?"
Eddie's lips parted in a smug chuckle, thick lashes fluttering as he replied, "I'm not really worried about that either. There're worse ways to go."
Cheeks burning, you swatted at his chest, voice breaking in a shy whine, "Eddie!"
He simply caught your hands in his with a gentle laugh-- he gazed up at you from where he laid on your plush, pink bed, as you were sat on his stomach, knees tucked to either side of him. It wasn't like he'd never gone down on you before, in fact it was one of his favorite pastimes-- his words, not yours-- but now that he was asking you to sit on his face, you found yourself inexplicably nervous. You'd never tried it before, not just with him, but with anyone. Certainly you were intrigued, just worried about the logistics.
Lucky for you, Eddie had practically mastered calming your nerves by now, having familiarized himself with the quirks in your thought processing enough to break through them, when the situation called for it. Big brown eyes softening, he reassured you, "I'll be fine, I promise. I wouldn't ask you if I felt otherwise, m’kay?"
"A-Are you sure?"
"Positive. Now, have a seat, princess," He encouraged, tone dropping to that husky whisper that he knew always cut right through you, fingertips hooking into the hem of your thin cotton panties.
Blushing at his words, you buried your face in your hands as he helped you shimmy out of your underwear, but of course he was quick to call you out on such behavior. "Hey," Eddie warned, "C'mon, sweetheart, no hiding. Lemme see you, hm? Wanna see that pretty face while you ride mine."
That definitely didn't help with the blushing, but he'd convinced you all the same. You pulled your hands away, however hesitantly, tilting your chin down enough for him to see, though you still had a hard time meeting his eyes. His thumbs dragged back and forth on your soft thighs as he waited patiently for you to collect yourself. With a mildly unsure breath, you squeezed his hands for comfort before scooting yourself forward, hovering shakily over his face in what you could only guess was the right position. Your heart was hammering away inside your chest, accompanied by a familiar growing heat between your legs. For a moment, driven by anticipation, time slowed to a crawl.
Pupils swelling with lust and adoration, Eddie smooched lazily inward until his lips met your dripping cunt, pulling you downward by your hips until you were properly seated. Almost immediately your jaw dropped in a breathless gasp, “O-Oh, fuck, Eddie...”
With his mouth otherwise occupied, he couldn’t exactly reply with words, but the slight chuckle he let out against you was enough to communicate his pride, both in himself, and in you for trusting him. Clearly you were right to do so. His tongue slipped teasingly inside you before trailing upward to swirl around your jewel, and you drew in a sharp breath in response, hips bucking forward as your shaking hands quickly found purchase in his thick, curly hair. The motion only seemed to encourage him.
Sucking harshly on your clit, his tongue slid forward to flick at the swollen bud, sending waves of white hot pleasure through you. You let out a broken cry, trying desperately to keep still as your hips trembled above him, thighs tightening over his ears. Face burning, you subconsciously began rocking into his ministrations, the (perhaps irrational) fear of suffocating him slowly melting away to make room for the glittering heat that was pooling up inside you. As if to encourage you further, he tugged you down just a little more by the plush your thighs, fingertips printing into your skin until you fully relaxed your weight into him.
He lapped at you greedily with a satisfied hum that ricocheted through your core, making you jolt and clutch his hair at the roots. Your breathing faltered, chest rising and falling in stutters, and as you looked down to check on him, you nearly thought you would faint-- Eddie looked exceptionally good between your legs, the inky black of his pupils swallowing up almost every last trace of that familiar coffee color as he raked up the length of your quivering body with a hunger you almost couldn’t believe. By the looks of it he was in his element, and he was enjoying himself just about as much as you were. After all, he’d been waiting on this for a while.
Dragging the flat of his tongue up the length of your cunt, collecting a pool of your slick arousal in his hot mouth, the two of you moaned almost perfectly in sync. His hands slid upward and back behind your hips, cradling your body and rocking you into himself a bit harder than you were on your own, sending white hot pulses of pleasure deeply through you with every seemingly minute bump of his nose against your heat. As much as you hesitated to admit it, you could feel your peak looming on the horizon already, and quickly at that. Surely he could tell, but Eddie certainly wasn’t cutting you any breaks, the devil that he is.
“E-Eddie,” You gasped, blushing body misted with a thin sheet of sweat, hands fisted tightly into his locks. “I’m close, I-I’m getting close--”
Your words trailed off as he sucked your swollen, aching clit between his lips, before pulling back with a soft pop just enough to free himself to speak. “No one’s stoppin’ ya, doll,” He mused, taking a short moment to catch his breath before he continued to mercilessly devour you.
As if his encouragement was the only thing holding you back, your eyes screwed shut and you let out a breathy, high pitched whine as that coil deep in your stomach wound itself tight, and then snapped. Sparks showered over you in rhythmic waves, and you couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed anymore as your pussy clenched around nothing, and your cum flooded his tongue. Grinning against you as he held you down by your thighs to lick you clean, he truly looked like the embodiment of the cat who got the cream.
Only once he was satisfied with his own performance did he let go of you with a parting squeeze of the flesh, fingertips trailing softly down the length of your legs, and in the aftermath, it quite tickled-- it was hard not to giggle a bit as you jolted away from him, toppling over on to the bed beside him as he tried to subtly regain control of his breathing. His lips and cheeks glistened with your arousal, and donned a proud smirk.
Eddie reached for you, rubbing your back as you shook and caught your own breath. “Good girl,” He hummed. “I take it that wasn’t so bad, huh?”
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you're out of touch, i'm out of time
aegon ii targaryen x reader
wc: 3.3k
summary: you have a tendency to pick up strays, but when you pick up the king of westeros (who was supposed to have died hundreds of years ago), things begin to get a little complicated
cw: NSFW, f!reader, aegon being a creep (shocker), aegon being deeply pathetic (also shocker), aegon is drunk or possibly hung over, attempted sex (aegon begs for a handjob but doesn't get one)
read on ao3, divider by saradika
You’ve always been too nice. You’re aware of this unfortunate fact, though you staunchly refuse to admit it’s a weakness. Has this trait left you without necessities from time to time because you gave them to someone who needed them more? Yes, but you sleep better at night knowing that that homeless girl had sturdy new shoes, even if you had to walk home barefoot. You can always handle a bit of discomfort if it means improving someone’s day marginally. It’s not as though you’re without any sense of self preservation– you know when to say no, or when to walk away. When someone is out for their own self interest, or just plain dangerous.
You’re smart about it. Mostly. Sometimes, though, your sympathy gene takes over, and you approach the danger because you feel there’s more beneath the surface. So far, it hasn’t put you in any troubling positions. Still, first time for everything. And as you stand on the edge of the pavement, toes of your shoes swinging down into the gutter as you sway back and forth, you wonder if you’re about to break your successful streak.
There’s a man in the busy city street, raving and desperately trying to get someone’s attention. Usually, he’s the type you’d regretfully ignore for your own safety, but he seems different. He doesn’t seem like the usual King’s Landing crackheads. He’s dressed too nice, for starters. Strange, yes, but still nice. In fact, it looks to be better quality than anything you own. And he’s young– which isn't uncommon in this situation, but it always makes your heart ache when they’re young.
He looks desperate, terrified, and as another person ducks their head and walks past him, you feel yourself moving toward him. You don't know why. Maybe because you know if you leave now, you’ll not sleep tonight for the sheer guilt of passing him by. He spots you making your way over and turns to you, seeming to hope against hope that you’re going to acknowledge him.
“Hi,” you say in a calm, even voice. It's a tone you’ve gotten quite good at. You’re not professionally trained by any means, but these things generally come with the territory. “Let's get you out of the road, okay? You could get hurt.”
“What the fuck are those things?” He demands of you as a car stops to let you take him across. You wave your thanks to the driver, who looks mildly disgruntled, and take the young man gently by the arms to get him onto the pavement. “Where are the horses?”
You know he must be confused, so you’re gentle with him. “There's no horses,” you say, still holding his arms as he finally looks away from the disappearing car and into your eyes. He looks so deeply afraid, but you notice he does take a moment to look you over. You let him, trying to see the best in him and hoping it's just curiosity. It doesn't matter right now anyway, you tell yourself. “Are you okay?”
“No!” He snaps. “Course I’m not bloody okay! Where am I?!”
“You’re in King’s Landing,” you say. “Let's get you somewhere quiet, okay? Are you hungry?”
“This,” he laughs in disbelief, looking around. “Is not King’s Landing, I know what King’s Landing looks like!”
“Okay,” you nod. “I believe you. Let's go sit down, I’ll buy you something to eat.”
The man looks at you with what you think is an offended scowl, but the offer of food does seem to intrigue him. “And wine?”
“No,” you say, and he deflates.
He scratches at his chin, but nods in agreement. “Yes, fine.”
You smile, a bit of relief easing the worry in your ribs. Sometimes people won't cooperate, or they’ll turn you away when you say you won't buy them booze or give them money outright. This young man seems to be content enough without wine, so you wave your hand and lead him down the road toward the nearest fast food joint.
He follows behind you, panicked eyes still looking around as though he's never seen the world before. It's not wonder, but something close to anger, indignation maybe. You make it to a diner you like, opening the door for him. He's clearly astounded by the ugly cacophony of colours inside, but you can't blame him. You don't come here for the aesthetics.
“Go sit down?” You tell him gently, framing it like a suggestion as you point to your favourite booth. He scowls, but does as bid.
The teen behind the counter takes little notice of your strange company. It's King’s Landing, he's probably seen something ten times as strange already today. Once you’ve paid, you join your new stray, sitting down across from him and folding your hands on the table.
“So, what's your name?” You ask him, and he looks away from the bustling street outside the window to stare at you in what you assume is disbelief.
“What’s my name?” He echoes, leaning slightly over the table. “Are you serious?”
You blink. That’s… not a question anyone’s ever been mad at you for. You learned quickly which questions to steer clear of to avoid pissing people off.
He scoffs, leaning back in his seat and tapping a dirtied fingernail against the peeling surface of the table. “Aegon,” he says, almost experimentally. Like he's testing the waters.
You nod politely, and tell him yours.
He stares at you. “Nothing? Aegon? You’ve not heard the name Aegon?”
“Well, of course I have,” you say, confused smile pulling at your lips. “It's a common enough name. I think I knew a guy in school named Aegon–”
“You have been to school?” Aegon asks, eyebrows shooting up and a laugh spilling from his mouth. He leans back, dragging his hands over his clammy face. “Have I been drugged?!”
You’d put serious money on that being a resounding yes.
“This is crazy,” he says, leaning forward again. He says your name slowly, glancing around before his eyes land on you. “Can you tell me what's going on?”
You bite your lip, thankful when the cashier calls out your order number. You rush to get up and get it, fearing you may be way out of your depth this time. He talks like he’s never seen the world before, and his comment about you having gone to school… none of it makes any sense. You’ve never even had the thought of dropping someone off with someone who’s better equipped to handle problems of this magnitude, but Aegon has you really considering it. When you return with the tray of food and set it down, Aegon has the specials menu in hand and is squinting at it.
“I got you what I usually get,” you say, setting the tray down and placing his wrapped burger in front of him, leaving the fries on the tray. “Aegon, I want to help you, but I’m at a bit of a loss.”
“That certainly makes two of us,” Aegon says, unwrapping the burger curiously. “What meat is this?”
“It’s beef,” you tell him, unwrapping your own. He watches as you take a bite of yours, and he nods as though in satisfaction before taking a hefty bite of his. “Aegon, I want to understand what’s going on in your head. Can you just…”
You’re not sure how to say it, really. It’s invasive, and you don’t want him to feel like you believe he’s crazy, or lying.
“What’s your deal?”
He chews slowly on his burger, eyeing you suspiciously. “My deal,” he echoes, lips turned down in a scowl. “Is that I’m the King of Westeros.”
You nod slowly, biting into your burger so you don’t have to answer right away. You hope if you stay silent long enough, he’ll feel compelled to keep talking.
“King Aegon,” he says slowly, like you’re the deluded one. “Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, Protector of the Realm, all the rest. Are you serious?”
You swallow your mouthful and nod. You’re not particularly well versed in history, but the titles ring a bell. It’s some sort of messiah complex, you’d wager. Trying your best not to seem dismissive, you pull out your phone. “Let me see,” you say.
“What’s that?” He asks, leaning forward and trying to snatch it from you. You move it out of his way, yelping softly in contrition.
“My phone!” You say. “I’m just looking you up, Aegon.”
“You’re what?” He says, looking horrified. “Give me that!”
“Dude, no! Let me just–” You stand up from your seat to be out of his reach, hurriedly typing the name he’d told you into the search bar. “Look, I know the name Targaryen, that’s the Conqueror's name!”
“Yes! Aegon the Conqueror!” He cries. “You’re finally making sense!”
“What? No, I mean Daenerys!”
“Who!?”
“Aegon, sit back down!” You snap, and he pauses in his pursuit of your phone, stunned into silence by your firm tone. Slowly, he returns to his seat, picking up a fry to eat it.
“Only because I want to,” he says childishly.
You frown at him, shaking your head before looking back at your phone as it pulls up the results for your search.
‘Aegon II Targaryen, also known as Aegon the Elder, was the sixth Targaryen king to sit the Iron Throne, succeeding his father, Viserys I Targaryen, as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.’
The search pulls up a picture as well, one of those terribly done paintings from the dark ages. It’s hard to say whether the Aegon in front of you looks much like the one in the painting, but he does have the same pale blonde hair and violet eyes. He’s a lot more pathetic than the portrait, too. He has the qualities of a wet cat, and you hate that it’s somewhat endearing. When you keep scrolling, you find a painting that can’t have been contemporary. This is a more detailed portrait, likely from half a century ago, where Aegon is covered in burns and lies dead in a carriage.
You look up, meeting the wary eyes of the confused but un-burned man before you, and slowly sit back down. You know that he isn’t actually the king from nearly a millennium ago, but there’s an uncanny quality about him that makes you want to doubt the logical truth. His clothes, for one. You don’t know many homeless guys with such fine embroidery on their clothes. And there’s his features… you know them to be Valyrian, but rarely does anyone still pop up with the stark blond and violet irises. You remember well enough from your high school history classes that the Targaryen dynasty had those features.
“What does your little brick do?”
You blink, looking down at it and pulling up the contemporary portrait – part of you tells you not to show him the other. He scowls at it, but nods. “Seven hells, that’s not flattering. Where did you get this miniature? You have this and yet claim not to know me? What game do you play?”
You sigh. He truly doesn’t understand, does he?
“Aegon, what year do you think it is?”
He rears back and regards you with more suspicion. “129 AC,” he says.
“And what were you doing before this?”
“I will not tell you that,” he says. “You’re one of Rhaenyra’s spies, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know who Rhaenyra is,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, Aegon, I’m not a history buff.”
“History–” He stops, and goes deathly silent for a long moment, as though the whole situation is finally processing for him. You wonder if it’s the stench of wine that hangs off him explains his slow processing. “What year do you think it is?”
You tell him the year, even tack today’s date on for him. He stares are you, and you can see his brain buffering yet again.
“Seven hells,” he murmurs. You find you share a similar sentiment.
He picks up his burger and begins to eat it slowly. He’s silent for a long while, eyes seeming far away as he contemplates. You try not to stare at him, but it's no easy task.
“This is going to sound crazy,” he says after a long while. “But I believe I may have travelled… through time.”
“I’d say so, yeah,” you respond. At this point, it's the only explanation. You’d usually say something about eliminating all the impossible options, but that just doesn't work here. Time travel is impossible, or it should be. And it's possible Aegon is just suffering from a deeply intense messiah complex. But that doesn't seem right. Your instincts haven't led you wrong before, you’re not about to ignore them now.
“What am I going to do?” asks Aegon.
You want to tell him you’re going to try to find a way to get him back to his own time, but you’re struck once more with the image of him burned and twisted, dead in a carriage. How can you send him back to his fate knowing his grisly end?
You take in the man in front of you, this historical figure you’d never heard of until five minutes ago, and bite your lip. “We’ll figure it out,” you promise him. “You… can stay with me until we do.”
That’s probably dumb, and you’ll probably regret it. But not more than you would regret leaving him out on the streets.
“I suppose,” sighs Aegon like he’s spoiled for choice. You get up to ask for a bag for your food, glancing back as Aegon chews sadly on his burger.
You get Aegon back to your place, and he wanders into the flat ahead of you. You watch him go with a soft huff, rolling your eyes. If everything else hadn’t convinced you, his attitude is proof positive that he’s from the past. He has all the entitlement of a prince and none of the consideration of those around him that modern men have (sometimes) gained.
Your flat isn't much, two bedrooms and mostly paid for by your university. You had a flatmate for a time, but their sudden withdrawal left you without anyone and the school doesn’t seem to have noticed. Aegon can stay in the empty room until you figure him out.
Aegon’s standing in your living room, staring in wonder at the decor you’ve collected over the course of your degree, at your television, maybe he’s just looking at all of it. He’s turning in a slow circle, eyes narrowed.
“This is very nice for a commoner. Very strange, but it is not… disgusting.” He pauses in his assessing, looking between you and the ridiculous tapestry you purchased one night after far too many drinks. “Who is this man?”
“Oh, he’s this guy from a movie,” you say, not really processing that he won’t understand what a movie is. He stands there, dumbstruck, while you go to put your leftover food in the fridge.
“A what?”
“Just… don’t worry about it. There’s going to be a lot for you to take in, but with any luck you won’t be here too long.” You come back over to him, taking him in. He looks out of place standing here in his king’s threads. “Let me get you something to wear.”
“There’s nothing wrong with this,” he says, shifting and taking in your clothes. “Where is your father? Your husband?”
“My father is in my hometown, and I don’t have a husband.”
“You live without a man?” He eyes you suspiciously. “A whore?”
“Okay,” you say, gently grabbing him by the shoulders and walking him over to the sofa. “Sit here, I have some men’s clothes lying around. Do not move.”
Aegon huffs, rolling his eyes and sitting back with folded arms. You wonder, as you go into your room to find something for him, if he’s heard the word ‘no’ very much in his life. It wouldn’t seem that way, but sometimes the way he reacts to you telling him off leaves you thinking otherwise. He’s a bigger mystery than you’ve ever faced, but something tells you he’s worth it.
You emerge after a while to see him flicking through the book you’d left on your coffee table, frowning. He looks up when you enter, setting the book down. “Your home is peculiar,” he informs you.
“I know,” you say, handing him the soft clothes you’d found. “Student housing is kind of a lottery. You can get changed in the spare room, if you want. I’m going to go shower. If you get hungry, your leftovers are in that big white box there, okay?”
“Yes, yes, whatever.”
You watch him enter the near-empty bedroom and shut the door, heaving a heavy sigh before you go off to your own room. You don't shower. Instead, you pull out your computer and set out to learn all that you possibly can about Aegon.
What you learn twists your stomach into knots so tight you feel that they would trap the nausea that grips your throat from escaping. Aegon was no saint, no, but what you find is that his life is steeped in tragedy. If he believes himself to be king now but remains unburned by his cousin’s dragon, he must be near the end of his life; but the worst of his troubles have yet to begin.
It is strange to think of the pathetic and bratty man in your flat as growing into the role of a king, if one could say he ever did. He seems nothing but a lost young man, unloved but for the power he afforded his Hightower family.
The reports on him are so extensive and exhaustive that an hour has passed before you realise you haven’t been disturbed. You get up from your desk, wondering if Aegon has somehow wandered out of your flat and back onto the street.
When you open the door, you’re greeted by the sight of your kitchen cabinets strewn open, and your cheap bottle of vodka now empty on the counter. Aegon is sprawled on your sofa, cradling a novelty ceramic beer mug you won in a pub quiz in your first year.
“Seven hells,” you mumble, going over to him and snatching the cup from him to be met with his whining protests. You sniff the cup, nose scrunching in disgust at the acetone-y smell. “Not even a mixer…”
Aegon looks up at you, trying to reach for the cup and whining your name. At least he changed into the sweats. The King’s Landing University jumper rather suits him, actually.
“Please,” he says, looking even more closely akin to a wet cat. He seems on the verge of tears. “You’re pretty, do you know?”
“I’ve heard,” you say, setting the cup down on the coffee table and turning to him.
He grabs your wrist, tugging you closer with surprising strength considering how sloshed he is. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. He almost sings your name. “Will you get me off?”
“Wh- Aegon!” You snap, tearing your wrist away. “No!”
“Please! Just your hand, you’ve got such soft hands!”
“Aegon,” you hiss. “No. You’re drunk. Even if I wanted to, that wouldn't be okay. You don't know what you're saying.”
Aegon pouts at you, falling back against the sofa and letting out a soft hiccup. “That doesn't make sense.”
“Maybe not in your time,” you say, grabbing him a blanket and laying it over him. “Gods- just- just try to get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning when you're fully sober.”
“I’ll die before that,” he says, snuggling up to the soft blanket with a ridiculous cartoon of a wolf on it. Another of your decor purchases you thought would be hilarious in the moment. You grab his cup and pour what’s left of the vodka into the sink before gathering up your remaining bottles and vowing to take them to the cabinet in your room with a lock.
“Maybe. But if you vomit on my carpet, you’ll be paying the cleaning bill, your grace.”
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Hello! I see you are taking requests for Alice in Borderland? If I may, can I request some Chishiya boyfriend headcannons?? Thank you <3
A/N: Absolutely, Chishiya's my favourite character hehe 🥰️ thanks for requesting!! My inbox is open for Alice In Borderland characters until the 15th, so send yours in now 💙 I think I'm gonna get started on some Banda Sunato relationship headcanons afterwards tho, because DiD yOu SeE hIs EyeS??! And his smILE?? Imma have to start writing more 😍
Warnings: Small spoilers for season 2, fluff 😁
♡ Dating Chishiya Shuntaro Includes: ♡
♡• Damnnn, I don't know where to start 😵 he's a clever, smug ass, and he knows it, but I'm a full believer that this man could fall in love with the right person surprisingly deeply. I'm not making him out of character in any way by saying he'd fall in love at first sight, because he wouldn't, but he would have a growing interest in you that develops over the weeks into something more without him even realising it.
♡• You probably met when you both caught on with an outcome of a game, or someone giving off weird vibes. Probably in the Jack of Hearts game? He'll watch the manipulation and secret communications going on, and then notice that you're looking in the same direction. Your eyes will meet, and you'll just know that you're thinking the same thing, which interests him, and he'll raise a brow at you with that smirk of his from the other end of the room.
♡• Your independence and surprising intelligence are what moved Chishiya to wander over to you and make a comment or something about how it's going, and you'll get short conversations afterwards that pick up from there. It's nice to see someone who's not already breaking down from the intensity of the bloody games or is too stupid to notice that they'll probably be one of the first to die. So he starts popping up in place you hang around, just to see if you really are different in the way he likes. You are, ofc 🙃
♡• Once you've properly got a chance to talk outside of the game and form an unspoken sort of friendship, Chishiya finds himself intrigued by your personality. He wants to know how you think. How you feel. What you like and don't like. As the games and days go by, he's kind of borderline obsessed in this way 😂 because he's never really found someone interesting and special enough to catch his attention and hold onto it before, so with you, he's mesmerised in his own way.
♡• You can feel his stare from a mile away and damn he's a shameless starer 😏 and him being him will just give you a smirk, hold your gaze and then look away again. It happens a lot, and it always leaves you puzzled. Or he'll wave at you from a different vantage point of a particular game like he did with Aguni. The other people in the game get kind of suspicious by how you're both so ahead, whispering to each other every now and then and making it out of everyone alive, but Chishiya doesn't really care. He doesn't make his partnership with you in games a secret unless it's necessary.
♡• He gets to that point of trusting your decisions and you as a person where he starts speaking his mind to you instead of quietly to himself as well, and when you're on the same page of finishing each other's sentences, Chishiya definitely compliments your thinking, especially when you pick up on something that he didn't. He looks uncharacteristically, mildly taken aback as he studies you for a quick moment, but then it's replaced with that signature smile with a hint of something more in those deep brown eyes. "Clever girl, aren't you?" It's not condescending at all, it's more admiration and fondness, enough to make you smile and look away.
♡• When Chishiya comes to the point where he realises that it's not just fondness as a captivating friend that he feels for you, it's turning into a lot more than he ever expected himself to feel. He has to be alone for a little while to think about it, since it's another life, another responsibility besides his own, and close relationships have always been something he's never thought right for him. Until you.
♡• Frustrates the hell out of him on the one side, but he doesn't want to deny and push it away either. So after a time, he'll come and find you again, and instead of straight up asking you out like a normal person, he'll softly comment about how you two just work, have a meeting of minds he's never felt before. Not only in games, but in other ways too. He's not sappy or anything, but it's obvious he really likes you by the unusually gentle look on his features.
♡• Just kiss him 😵 that'll seal the deal, and suddenly you're the power couple of the borderlands with a smug-looking grey-blonde haired man who casually says, "I guess we're in this together, then, hm?" in the sweetest and cockiest way, like you didn't just make out for a solid five minutes just a second ago. He's a surprisingly good kisser hehe
♡• He only really won games out of observance and amusement before, but since you've come into his life, Chishiya finds himself winning them in the hopes of seeing you again, and hoping even more that you'll both pull through to make it out of this twisted world and into a reality where you can have a proper relationship. That's what he wants. He wants you.
♡• A lot of people think he wouldn't be into PDA, and I agree to the point that he wouldn't go strutting around all affectionate and loudmouthed with you attached to his hip *cough* Niragi *cough* but I just know he'd be proud to have you as his partner, in and out of games, when you go to sign in for each one. Like the Jack of Hearts. You'll be watching everyone go mad and trick each other, the secret communications and all, while Chishiya watches with his casual, amused expression, sharing his snacks with you while your arms swing between you slightly as you hold hands.
♡• Again, power couple 100000% 😏 he knows it, he's silently proud and smug about it, but again, not a loudmouth. He won't hide your relationship in any way because he values it, but he won't make a big deal of it when the group start asking.
♡• Chishiya knows you can handle yourself, since he's seen you win games independently using your own skills and knowledge, but still, he doesn't want to take chances. Not with you. So outside of games, he'll give you precious insights into how he thinks, so that you can realise things more quickly and win more easily. Probably even goes as far as to help you win when you're sticking by communicating with you in a secret way too. You've got to stay alive for each other. That's his only priority. He refuses to even think about a mistake that could be made, and the price you'd have to pay. It won't happen, not with him around. And I mean, he's a doctor too, so if you get hurt, he'll fix it up pretty easily.
♡• If you get overwhelmed every so often by the deaths and the blood and the pain, like having to take a step back and control your breathing, stop yourself from crying, Chishiya will know straight away. He's not afraid to show part of his hidden soft side with you, even if it's only been a week or so since you've met or you're not officially dating - he's not shy. Just reserved. So he'll tilt your face to look him dead in the eye with a gentle touch, and whisper so only the two of you can hear, "Don't cry now. You've got to use that brain of yours to get back home with me. Understand? Come on, breathe, you can do it."
♡• Behind closed doors, he's a lot more open to affection. Chishiya is the warmest boy ever when you want cuddles after a particularly rough face card game, or just to be close to him. Sometimes you'll talk in hushed tones about your pasts, or what you'll do in the future outside of the borderlands, sometimes it's just a comfortable silence. He finds it hilarious when you make up stories and tell him exactly what you want to do back at home, like get a cat or travel somewhere and eat something particular. He'll be all teasing about it like, "I'm going to be dragged with you to all these places then, am I? Just because I'm a doctor and make good money, you're gonna spend it all for me?" "Yes." "Minx."
♡• He's a whole simp in his own way, so at the end of the day, when you make it out of there alive, you can take him anywhere. Chishiya hated his empty life anyways, so going back to it after all this effort would be ludicrous. He's a sweetheart really, for sure, just give him a little time, and he'll open up to you, be there for you whenever you need him... I want a Chishiya 🥲
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Bestie, I just saw the Calvin Klein ad for JAW, and he got me thirsty for some Carmy. I'm thinking childhood friend he was head over heels for before he left and never told them. friend comes to the Bear and something cute occurs?
idk bestie my brain just fried itself coming up with just that, message me if you want more info and I'll pull something out of my ass
Note: requests are currently close
Ugh, same! That ad was certainly something!
I hope you like the fic :)
Title: Reunion
Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites. @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee
It felt strange coming back to the restaurant after so many years staying away from it. You popped in occasionally after Mike’s suicide but it never really felt the same. You hadn’t really been a regular since Carmy left (not that he was ever in the restaurant that often) but now you had a reason to come back. You smiled as you walked through the doors and into the familiar restaurant, however you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. You really shouldn’t have stayed away for so long.
“Oi, y/n, where the fuck have you been?”
The lunch rush had died down and you beamed at Richie who was behind the counter. He gave you an unimpressed look but you could see the amusement in his eyes.
“Missed me?” you asked teasingly
“Fuck no.”
“Then I guess I’m not welcome here.”
“You don’t get to leave this fucking quickly. Not after being away for so fucking long.”
Richie practically pushed you into a seat and you rolled your eyes teasingly. Maybe you shouldn’t have stayed away for so long. You looked over your shoulder as you heard the door slam open.
“What the fuck- y/n?”
Ah. And there was the reason why you decided to visit again. Carmy was staring at you wide eyed. You smiled softly and stood up.
“Heya Carm.”
“Y/n… you’re here… I thought…”
The colour started to rise to Carmy’s cheeks and you stood up and walked over to him. He seemed mildly startled and stumbled back.
“I’ve got to, y’know, go to the kitchen. Start cooking.”
Carmy practically ran into the kitchen and you couldn’t help but feel deflated. You had always been too afraid to tell him your feelings and when he went away you knew your chance had been lost. You had tried to move on (emphasis on tried) but seeing Carmy again ignited all your old feelings. You went back to your table and slumped into your seat. Well, that certainly cleared things up about Carmy’s feelings towards you.
What you didn’t know was that Carmy was having a similar dilemma in the back. Syd stood in front of the door to his office. She folded her arms and raised her eyebrows at him.
“What’s going on out there.” she said
“Nothing.”
“Didn’t look like nothing.”
“Cousin here was always fucking in love with y/n out there,” Richie said as he slung an arm over Carmy’s shoulders, “but he didn’t have the fucking balls to tell her before he left.”
“I wasn’t in love with her,” Carmy snapped, shrugging Richie’s arm off of him, “she was a friend.”
“But he always wanted it to be more.” said Richie
“No I fucking didn’t!”
“Well y/n certainly did,” Tina said from the kitchen, “you never noticed the looks she kept giving you.”
When nobody responded Tina looked up from her chopping. Richie was giving Carmy an amused and smug look while Syd looked intrigued, clearly wanting to hear more. The colour had drained from Carmy’s face and he was looking paler than usual.
“What?” Tina said, “It was fucking obvious.”
“I didn’t know.” said Carmy weakly
“‘Course you fucking didn’t.” Tina said rolling her eyes
“Then now’s your fucking chance,” said Richie, “to stop your fucking pining.”
“I don’t pine.” snapped Carmy
“Well maybe now would be a good time to-” started Syd
“I have work to do,” said Carmy, “we have the dinner rush- hey, what the fuck are you doing!”
Richie grabbed Carmy and practically pushed him out of the kitchen. You looked up when Carmy stumbled out. An awkward silence settled between you and you thought that Carmy was going to run away again. Instead he took a deep breath and went over to you and sat down opposite you. You smile gently at him but Carmy was looking down at the table.
“So,” you said, “long time no see.”
“Yeah.”
“I missed you.”
“I…”
Carmy cut himself off, unable to tell you how he really felt. You pursed your lips but didn’t press the issue. You knew Carmy too well to push him too far.
“Not in the kitchen then?” you asked
“No I-”
Carmy ran a hand over his face. He couldn’t exactly tell you that he was forced out here. How he really wanted to be here with you but didn’t know if he could do it.
“To tell you the truth,” you said, “I’m glad you’re out here.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. I-”
This time it was you who cut off mid sentence. You tried to find the right words as Carmy looked up slowly, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
“I wanted to catch up.” you finished lamely, the courage you had originally felt disappearing
“Catch up?”
“Well, among other things.” you muttered, face hot
“Such as?”
“Oh you know.”
“Would you like to get dinner?”
You looked at Carmy wide eyed and even he seemed shocked at his outburst.
“Only if you want,” he said, retreating back into his shell slightly, “If not just forget I said anything.”
“Yes,” you said quickly, “Yes I do.”
“Really?”
“Yeah!”
It took Carmy a second to realise what you had said. In a flash he was on his feet and offering you his hand which, much to his surprise, you took.
“Shall we go somewhere else,” he said, “I don’t think we’ll get complete privacy here.”
You glanced over at the kitchen and immediately heard people running back into the kitchen. You heard the familiar yelling of Richie and smiled.
“Sounds like a plan.”
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okay, hear me out: mean girl!reader x nerdy/sub!yandere
nerd!yan who gets bullied by you all the time, with harsh name calling and forcing him to do your homework.
nerd!yan who grows intrigued with you. you’re so confident, so pretty, so cool! how can he not like you?
nerd!yan who’s slowly growing more obsessed. his breath hitches whenever you loom over him with that annoyingly hot smirk of yours, calling him such mean, degrading names
nerd!yan who gets jealous whenever he sees you targeting someone else. you can’t bully them!! you should pay attention to him and only him. oh well, he’ll just have to eliminate the competition, so you can go back to “tormenting” him again.
nerd!yan who’s really such a pervert! he followed you home and was pleasuring himself to your scent that lingered on your clothing… such dirty behaviour!
mean girl!reader who returns home to find one of her classmates in her bedroom, and how can she not smile at the sight? he’s so pretty, such a cute little plaything…
mean girl!reader who had always been aware of nerd!yan’s obsessive tendencies, and played along. but now that he’s been caught red handed…
mean girl!reader who degrades poor nerd!yan for being such a disgusting pervert, but submits to nerd!yan’s fantasies anyway. she plays with him, leaving harsh love bites and scratches over his soft skin, reducing him to a moaning, whiney mess.
nerd!yan who’s basically your pet now, obediently following you throughout school, happily accepting all your orders, no matter how demeaning or gross they are.
people who even dare look your way with romantic interest? they get disposed of in…well, let’s just say, messy. oh, but not that nerd!yan will ever let you see it happen! your precious, beautiful eyes should be shielded from such violent acts. but if you ever ask… tilt your head playfully with a soft smile and ask him to let you watch, he might.
tldr; mean girl and a nerdy yandere that are both equally toxic for each other
have an awesome day!! I would really like to see you write a concept like this <3
-Ash
A/N: I'm including someone else's request as I think they mesh well together: "a mean bully!reader with a yandere!loser, where reader basically just uses him like a pet and has him do whatever she wants"
I'll be doing my best, but do keep in mind this is written by a loser nerd so I can't guarantee accuracy. I also don't want to be too mean, even if it's hypothetical, y'know? 😭
Nerd! Loser! Yandere x Mean Girl! Bully! Reader
They say being in the right relationship motivates you to strive for the best version of yourself. Sometimes, the opposite is true. What happens when your soulmate brings out your most depraved self?
Content: female reader, mildly NSFW, obsessive behavior, violence, bullying, loser is meant in a loving way, yandere consents to everything
You really aren't that bad of a person. Or at least you weren't before you met the odd man you now call your boyfriend. How did it all begin? For the sake of full disclosure, alright, you have always been somewhat on the mean side. A little too sarcastic, a little too blunt, perhaps a little too harsh. You don't like soft people and have little patience for their stumbling attempts. But, you can hold your tongue as long as it doesn't involve you.
The meeting, at least from your point of view, was entirely accidental. Despite just starting your university year, your charisma had quickly gained you enough friends and acquaintances to have a stable sample of potential group partners. Except for one class. One single missing person, and you were asked to include a name you didn't recognize. Some young man who almost never showed up to class.
Oh, but he did. He was there for every lecture, for every seminar. His, and yours. His first encounter with you was not what most would call romantic. On day one he'd gotten lost. The crowded halls, the new environment, the noise, the smell, everything overwhelmed him, and he found himself wandering in a panic, until at last he bumped into you. The impact sent him straight onto the ground, books pathetically spilling from his trembling arms. You, on the other hand, remained standing as if nothing happened. "Pull yourself together, dumbass", you hissed through your teeth, looking into his eyes for one brief moment before moving on to your friends: "You have to give it to them straight, otherwise they'll think we're still in high school and someone will hold their hand all the time. It's embarrassing! Grown adults!"
He can't remember anything else from that day. Only your voice, your expression, your stance. Somehow, for whatever reason, that "dumbass" went straight to his heart. To think you'd look after him, a complete stranger. You were right, he needed to recollect himself and figure it out. Something even his own mother omitted to mention.
How he wished he could be like you. The way professors relied on you for discussions, the way your friends flocked for advice. But see, he knew you were faking most of it. That overly sweet smile and exaggerated politeness, all of it was a mask you'd learned to wear at any time. It only came off when dealing with people like him. There was a certain pride in that fact: he'd seen the real you. Not your "friends".
The more he thought about it, the more plagued by need he became. The need to hear you speak to him again, in that raw, unfiltered voice, with that disgusted glare piercing through his entire being. Thus, he did his best - as per your advice - to find another opportunity. The group work. One glance at him was enough for you to remember: "Ah, fuck, you're that dumbass from first day", you whined in frustration. Instant arousal.
And so, your unusual partnership began to develop. Or rather, your game of tormentor versus tormented. (Un)Paid actors and nothing more. It didn't take you long to notice his strange reaction to your verbal aggressions, almost as if the man relished in your ruthlessness. He seemed to know exactly what buttons to press in order to anger you. In return, you decided to see how far you could go until he'd finally cave in. From insults, to flicking him in the forehead, shoving him against the wall, ordering him around like a collared dog. You had your suspicions, but it all culminated when you went over to his little dorm room for a final project review. You'd gotten so upset - what did he even do? - that you pushed him hard into the ground and straddled him, holding onto the collar of his jacket and shouting profanities. A horrified grimace struck his face, and you froze. Have you gone too far? Was he finally going to ask that you stop, and put this strange charade behind? "P-please give me a moment, I..." he panted, frantically trying to move you aside. "I need to take care of myself. I'm so sorry." You hesitantly stood up and noticed the obvious erection in his pants.
You have a strange effect on him. He is not incapable; he knows it very well. And yet, the temptation is too great: to pretend, to exaggerate, to fail, anything to have you take the lead and lovingly scold him in the process. "What do you mean you're too anxious to present your part? Christ, you're useless. Utterly, completely useless." He can't wait to pleasure himself later to the memory of your words. Truly addicting. He doesn't mind being a doormat if it's your feet keeping him down. You bring out his most pathetic, perverted, deplorable self.
The same can be said about you. You've never been this mean to anyone. You hadn't even intended to reach this point, yet something keeps riling you up. Maybe it's his pleading pout whenever he's being reprimanded. The hooded, lustful eyes gazing up at you submissively and waiting for the next burning whip of your tongue. He brings out the worst in you and he loves every second of it.
You unlock the door and march into the bedroom (you've since moved in together). Without a warning, you grip his chin tightly and give the man a firm tug, forcing him to pay attention. "You did something, didn't you? I was supposed to meet with a classmate for coffee and he vanished without a trace. Won't answer my texts or calls." He shakes his head in denial at first, wide innocent eyes glistening in fear. Ah, he can't help it. His lips curl in a crooked grin. He's been caught. You shove two fingers in his mouth, and without delay he twirls his tongue around them hungrily. "What a psychotic bitch you are. You want to be the only one, huh? Is that what it is about?" Between the slurps and the whimpers, you can discern a hurried nod.
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Midnight Pals: Desert Planet
Stephen King: so i'm gonna go over to space coven tonight to tell a story
Clive Barker: what, the sci fi nerds? good luck with that
King: oh they're not so bad once you get to know them, clive
Barker: i do not intend to know nerds
King: look, clive, you know mary goes over to the sci fi campfire sometimes
Barker: i do not believe it
King: it's true! she invented sci fi, you know
Barker: mary shelley? OUR mary shelley? the queen witch?
Barker: she invented being a nerd?
Barker: oh steve
Barker: you can't expect me to swallow that whopper
King: it's true! edgar, tell him
Poe: steve's right, clive. she really did
Barker:
Barker: well now i just don't know what to believe
King: i know those sci fi guys are a little odd but
King: if you ever want to read a prose version of a mildly confusing math problem
King: i mean bam they're your guys!
Barker:
Barker: yeah well
Barker: have fun with that
King: you know, clive a lot of science fiction actually deals with important issues in today's society?
King: they really make you think
[at space coven]
Robert Heinlein: so once we space-stead Pinochet's Gulch on an asteroid, we'll be free from the tyranny of age of consent laws
[at space coven]
King: so in this story they invent a way to travel through space
King: but you have to be unconscious for it to work
Frank Herbert: i have a better idea for space travel
Herbert: what if you had to get really blasted
Herbert: let me explain my vision steve
Herbert: In a distant time
Herbert: And far away place
Herbert: The planet Arrakis floats deep in space
Herbert: Sky of three suns
Herbert: Land of precious spice
Herbert: The melange rush brought great houses at any price
Herbert: Then one day, a Muad'Dib appeared
Herbert: With powers of hawk, wolf, puma and bear
Herbert: Protector of peace, scion of the Bene Gesserit ladies
Herbert: Champion of justice, Marshall Paul Atreides!
King:
King: hey how many of those mushrooms did you eat
Herbert: so the important thing about Dune, okay
Herbert: is there's all this political intrigue
Heinlein: and worms?
Herbert: yeah yeah there's gonna be worms
Herbert: let's talk about these factions though
Heinlein: how big are the worms
Herbert: you're gonna love this story
Herbert: though its not as great as the melodic beauty & divine truth of the 114 surahs of the Qur'an
Heinlein:
Herbert: inshallah
Heinlein: why do you always have to put so much islam in it
Herbert: i just
Herbert: i just think its neat
Mary Shelley: [busting into clearing] sup fuckers
Shelley: who's ready for their weekly beating?
Heinlein: no! no! not mary shelley!
Heinlein: have mercy!!!
Heinlein: here, take all our lunch money!
Heinlein: just don't punish us anymore!
King: mary! Is this what you've been doing when you come to this campfire?
Shelley: [wailing on Heinlein] what? oh yeah, p much.
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I'm having a crisis why am I so obsessed with Adam. I didn't even think much of him when he first showed up, and then in the finale I was just like, mildly intrigued. Then I thought shipping him with Lucifer would be funny, then I started shipping it more seriously, then I kept looking at his face and hearing his voice and now I'm nnnNnnnNNNGGHRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHGGHHHHGG I SWEAR I HATE HIM HE'S THE FUCKING WORST, STAY AWAY FROM ME ADAM, NO YOU'RE NOT FUCKING CHARMING, FUCK YOU!!!!!!! AAAA!!!!!
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Book recs: DC-specific
If I'm going to make official book recs specific to good dads and found family and all the things we love about BatFam, it makes sense to first start with actual DC things. I've talked about these books before, but here's another look at books I own and enjoy.
Anatomy of a Metahuman
This is a collection of scientific notations and hypotheses written by Bruce Wayne about various metahumans in his world, from Superman to Bane. It's intriguing, as grounded in real-world science as a thing like this can be, clever in its references to comic canon (which, in-text, is just "real life" for Bruce), and nails Bruce's voice.
I would not be surprised but would be delighted to learn that S.D. Perry and/or Matthew K. Manning wrote fic, because they get our boy's interiority so well.
The DC Book of Lists
This is maybe the least voicey of all the books on this list because there is not a narrative and therefore there is no point of view. This is the Guinness Book of World Records for comic geeks. It is an exhaustive compiling of DC across universes and story arcs and refresh after refresh. It makes me worry for the author's sanity, but in a mildly approving way.
My Buddy, Killer Croc
This book has my entire heart. It is a graphic novel for tweens about a Gothamite child who adores Killer Croc. Absolutely 100% hero worship of both Waylon James the wrestler and Killer Croc the rogue. Batman and Bruce Wayne both make appearances that are wonderful and in line with what I love about him/them, and Killer Croc is still a villain. He still causes harm, but he's also given depth and it's a thrill to experience him through the eyes of the one person in Gotham who stans him.
Wayne Family Adventures
Obviously I love the bindups of the Webtoon comic series. Books one and two are out now (November 2023) and books three and four are on their way. If you are somehow unfamiliar with the series, WFA shows the daily life shenanigans in the DC universe, largely centered on the Manor and Gotham but sometimes branching further afield. All your faves make an appearance and so many of the storylines feel so freshly plucked from fanfic tropes that I feel Seen.
--
There are other books out there that I want to try or that I have tried and don't feel strongly enough about to recommend, but if you enjoy the kinds of fanfic I also like and want to try DC-approved published works with those same vibes, start with these.
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Blah blah blah, massive jerking off motion, sugar daddy Colonel König with a f!reader!30 year old, established sugar baby doing it for a laff fic bullet point idea I've been bullshitting around with under the cut:
Again, bc y'all know me, this is just my fuckin oc dressed up as a reader but yknow what whatever. It’s my maladaptive daydream and I’m generalizing enough to share it.
You’re a doctor of organic chemistry, working in pharmaceutical forensics at a lab that largely deals with multinational jurisdiction drug offenses for various state agencies. The work pays pretty well, as it’s government scale, but it is dull and repetitive.
To get your kicks, you sugar baby casually on a semi-regular to regular basis. It suits you. You’ve never established a meaningful long term relationship, flings come easily to you, and older would-be romancers have always taken interest in you in ways that people from your own age bracket haven’t.
Sex or no, it all depends on who is approaching you, the decision ultimately yours.
And they don’t have to provide monetarily, no. You’re well established, more than that even. Once they understand that aspect of you, they shift their approach, and that’s when the fun starts.
Gifts, trips, concerts, dinners—whatever you want, all of it a discreet text away.
None of your entanglements last terribly long. You’re off-putting, in your way, your mannerisms, your directness. Most of your paramours find that it doesn’t click for them. If you’re having sex, it doesn’t matter how mind blowing it is—usually for your partner, though you’ve had the occasional winner—one way or another it ends. And you have been the one to end it, especially when you feel it growing strained and pointed toward what services you provide your temp partners. You’re no stranger to the sudden and surgical cut.
One such situation leads a Colonel to a spot at your feet.
One of the dudes who wandered into your carousel was Declan O’Conor, of KorTac. He’d been intrigued by your intensity at first, and the sex was some of the best he’d ever had, though you thought he lacked skills in foreplay. He was generally brusque however, and tended to ignore the trade of attention and gifts in favor of his desires, which left you cold and unimpressed.
gonna be real, i left off here like two days ago, and i'm 2 hours into my last work day before my weekend, so i'm not bothering with extra detail, we're wheelin' and dealin' now, lads.
a certain colonel gets a hold of your email through declan, a nanosecond before you dump declan's ass. the timing? immaculate. the colonel could not have done better. isn't he fucking lucky.
he's heard declan bragging about his new bird. she's smart, she's discreet, she fucks like a succubus. she doesn't even want money, or a relationship. shit, she doesn't even care if you're married or have kids, she wants no part of your real life. she just wants fun and stimulation.
well. ain't that just what the colonel is looking for, he lies to himself. könig is almost half convinced you're an escort dressed up as a woman looking for a good time, but what the fuck does he know. and from what he's gathered, the way people approach you is myriad, but you're picky as for how long things go on.
he's drowned at work, has no desire to go bar crawling or trying to pick up a dumbass hobby to try and meet someone, and he, if he's honest with himself, does not have the time to dedicate to an actual relationship, is mildly horrified at the idea of using an app to date, and is approaching his mid 40s. his work is too demanding, he travels too much, he's too burnt out. fun sounds fun.
he shoots off the email.
what he gets in return: "interesting that o'conor seems to be recommending me around, as that's not part of the agreement. but i'll meet you. tell me when you're next in berlin, and we'll set a date. should it cross your mind, bring me something interesting."
smth smth, time moves on, you end up meeting up with him for dinner. he insisted. he knew a place. you hoped like hell it wasn't some overblown officer's club. that shit was always dead boring and full of the most disgusting braggadocio you've heard in your life. testosterone beating off against testosterone, trying to find out which one nuts first.
but, nah. he hauls you to a korean bbq joint that's a real down and dirty hole in the wall, and immediately you're impressed. the food is amazing. it's quiet. he is ENORMOUS, but has an air of cinders about him.
you can tell he used to run off rage, almost solely. it must've burned down over the years, or his fuel had taken a hit that it could never recover from. he's tired. he's looking for ease.
he wears a gaiter covering the bottom half of his face and neck, and you find it curious as the dinner starts, your booth in the far back, away from prying eyes.
thought it was for your comfort. he'd already spoken of your discretion, that he was well aware, and interested in the same. his position in his org is high up, he works with sensitive info, his clearance is big time spooky. things you're familiar with from your own work.
he calls his work security, and you call your own science. it is enough.
he warns you about his facial scarring before the meal begins, giving you the choice to avoid seeing him eat, and you turn down that offer. "i can assure you that i've seen worse," you say, confident, unshaken at what he might be hiding. your history is a darkness, it runs deep, and ruin is not unfamiliar to you.
he seems pleased, or at least mollified, and pulls down the gaiter. the lower half of his face is a wreckage, almost at odds with the wheat colored curls - all shot through with silvery-gray - tied into a tail at the base of his skull, and the blue of his bag-bruised eyes. a botched cleft lip surgery, exposing big, fuck-around-find-out teeth in a scar that leaves him always snarling. rippling burn scars crawling up from his ravaged neck, pulling at the corner of his eye.
at least he will eat, if nothing else.
it is one of the rare times he will allow you to see this.
at the end of the meal, after some good conversation, dancing light around heavy realities, secrets that can't be told, you sit back and watch him with curiosity-heavy eyes, a contentedly full stomach, the foot of your crossed leg hovering in the air between you under the table.
he's pulled his gaiter back up, peeling euro bills off a fat clip he pulls from his pocket, dropping them on the table, overpaying the meal. perhaps the privacy. perhaps the server. perhaps the flash of it.
"i didn't forget," he laughs, voice still higher than you'd expected, but rasping and rough as gravel churning mud and blood.
"apologies. i'm impatient. it is my nature."
"hah. have that in common, then, hm?" he laughs, going for another pocket.
usually, you expect jewelry on the first date. it hasn't been uncommon with the people you run with. perhaps even technology. you were afforded an iphone 14 pro max a month before they'd even come out, but you'd held onto it and resold it later.
and this fascinating könig pulls out a box, as well. you almost feel your stomach sink. you'd been hoping...well. it doesn't matter what you'd hope. and maybe it was foolish to harbor a small, chittering desire that he'd be different, after the turns your conversations took.
he plunks it down on the table in front of you, rapping two long, powerful fingers on the plain lid. it's not even that impressive of packaging. oh, your stomach churns with impending disappointment. sometimes these men end up cheap. you steel yourself, falling into your resolve.
a fossilized horse tooth is what is presented to you when you open the package, as well as a business card for a fossil and crystal dealer. you catch sight of a beaded bracelet on his wrist, carnelians.
"didn't know what sort of science you're in, but figured i couldn't go wrong with a fossil. or a horse. you have horse girl energy."
he's smirking. you tip your head back and cackle, mind flooded with your years on your school's equitation team and the summers you spent trekking across continents with your grandmother by horseback.
the energy shifts perfectly, and you pull your head down, beaming at him. running the toe of your heels up his calf under the table, you roll the fossil-black tooth between your fingers, following the grooves, feeling the age. this horse would've been about nine when it died. not bad for a wild thing. most of them didn't find the miracles of old age.
"what gave it away? the posture?"
"oh ja. jawohl. it's the posture. even leaned back, sit like you're setting your ass in a saddle."
"mhm. sounds like you've done some riding yourself."
"when i was younger, yes. half-sway-backed plow nag, though. nothing so fancy as what people might picture, with the accent."
"not everyone can afford warmbloods, it is true."
you fold the tooth into your closed hand, silence falling comfortable between you. and here it is.
"i think we should find a place for the night, don't you?" you ask, and you can see his mouth pull into a smirk under the mask.
"hah. good thing i thought ahead then. i booked a room--some place nice. you'll like it." his confidence would be off-putting. it should be off-putting. but it isn't. it's almost a relief. it's definitely a turn on. he's not feeling out your approval, at least not visibly.
you were both looking for fun. and perhaps you've found it. at the very least, he is not treating this as a fight to be won. maybe he would not've been crushed or vitriolic if the night ended with nothing further, ever again. you don't know. you let him help you into your coat, and into a cab, and you find your flesh-ripping want yelling louder and louder with his arm draped casually across the back of the seat behind you.
and good christ, does can he fuck.
okidoke, i'm cutting this one here, sry. i will probably continue it more formally (? idk) later once i've worked on some other stuff, but i wanted to get this one out, yeehaw. hope u enjoyed!
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