#oh well hardly the worst thing in the world I know | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

merrinla · 8 months

Text

Portrait spamming

Recent discovery. If you click on the portraits of the characters like crazy, they will react to it. And the developers had a lot of fun coding these reactions xD

Tav / Dark Urge

normal - I'm awake! Mostly. - I'm starting to get a headache. - Must be the tadpole. - Quit knocking around in there! - A thousand needlepricks in my rotten skull.

combat -Ahhhhhhhh! Okay, I feel better. - I have an itch in the worst place. - Is being a mind flayer so bad? - Just waiting to venture forth here. - I'm maiming as fast as I can!

stealth - What's that ticking? - Is it me? Am I ticking? - Bomb in my head about to go off. Great. - Ah, well. I had a good run.

Astarion

normal - Why do beautiful people taste better? It hardly seems fair on the ugly - they have such wonderful personalities. - Ugh. Strahd wouldn't put up with this shit. - More like Drizzt Don't'Urden - no. No that's not funny. - Villains! Dissemble no more, I admit the deed! Tear up the floor - here, here! It is the beating of his hideous hea- oh, no, that's his brain. Where did I leave that heart?

combat: - I'm trying to focus on murder. - *Humming.* - I shot a svirfneblin in Menzoberranzan just to watch him die. - I should've been a drow. They have such stylish armour.

stealth - Shhh. Just think sneaky thoughts. - Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP. - Be very, very quiet - I'm hunting idiots. - I've got a brand new torture chamber, so come and play with me.

Karlach

normal - NOTE TO ACTOR/DIRECTOR: Blow a raspberry at the player. - Don't. Poke. The Karlach. - Who am I? - My eye!

combat - Eyes on the prize - we need to win this! - Not every soldier should've made it out of training. - Eyes on victory, tummy on dinner. - I ought to just burn this whole thing down.

stealth - My back can't take much more of this. - Not now, I'm being a sneak! - I'm getting too old for this nonsense. - I'm not built to crouch.

Gale

normal - I hope Halaster takes good care of Tara while I'm away. - Sembian wine; Cormyrian boar; Waterdhavian conversation. It's the little things you miss while on the road. - Oh, what a tangled Weave we web! - All the world's my stage and you're just a player in it.

combat - Just go for the Magic Missile and fire away. Never fails. - Don't make me go all Edwin Odesseiron on you. - Get. Out. Of. My. Head. - I really wish I could cast a Hold spell on you.

stealth - You made me hide, don't make me come seek you. - Gods, it's like trying to sleep with a mosquito in the room. - A little privacy please. - Stop it - that tickles.

Wyll

normal - Could do for a brew. - Where there's a 'Wyll', there's a 'y'. - Ever get the sense that someone's watching? - So two halflings walk under a bar...

combat - Can't hear myself think! - Wear your scars proudly. - As my father once told me: 'Can we get on with it?' - I find moderation is key.

stealth - Bad time for an itch. - Could do for a brew. - So two halflings walk under a bar... - Shush. No, really. Shush.

Lae'zel

normal - Must everyone be so exhausting? - Weapons high. Standards higher. - Is perfection too much to ask? - Pride is a virtue.

combat - I will know my queen! - There is no right or wrong, only truth. - What is the point, if not victory? - You are right to fear me.

stealth - Hush already. - There is no wisdom in madness. - Is perfection too much to ask? - There is but one way. Vlaakith.

Shadowheart

all modes - I wonder how I'll feel when I remember everything. - Strange. I've had more freedom this past while than my whole life... - Have to keep focused. Can't afford to get attached - to anyone. - If I succeed, maybe I'll be allowed a pet... ugh, stop being silly.

Halsin / his voice is currently bugged :(

normal - What I would not give for a chunk of fresh honeycomb... - Such attention... I never realised I was so popular. - Are you feeling lonely, perhaps? - Unwise, perhaps, to poke a bear this much...

сombat - Battle is afoot - you can poke me once we are safe. - Perhaps try attacking the enemy? - Admirable stamina, yet terrible priorities. - You are insistent, are you not?

stealth - Most consider it unwise to poke a bear. - My, you are eager, are you not? - Please. I am trying to be stealthy. - Calm yourself. There is plenty of me to go around.

Jaheira

normal - Oh, calm down. I'm happy to see you too. - I would poke you back, but I fear that's what you want. - My, such strong wrists. - Well you certainly have the 'omnipresent' part down, don't you? - Please go poke the ranger instead.

combat - You have my attention - now do something with it. - What? What do you want!? - Do you know, I begin to wish they had never brought me back. - Yes, yes, have your fun. It isn't you they're trying to kill.

stealth - Dry those sweaty palms and let us try this again, shall we? - Argh, my knees! Oh. It was a twig. - Would that I could hide from you, too. - Careful, or I will take your toy away from you.

Minsc

normal - ARGH! My EYE, Boo! They went for my EYE! - Know that if you poke Boo, no higher dimension will keep you safe! - Heehee. Heeheeheehee. - Well, Boo? How do you want to do this?

сombat - Are you perchance a squeaky wheel in need of a kick? - I am armed! Armoured! And entirely sick of your foolishness. - I begin to grow annoyed. It is well for you that Boo does not let me learn the bad words! - Ignore them, Boo. Let them gaze deep into their own abyss, and wonder just what it is they are trying to achieve.

stealth - A little to the left? But not so hard you make me giggle. - Boo...? Are you dancing down there, or...? - Hush! I am surprising Boo for his birthday! He is... uh... eh... how old do hamsters get...? - I am the night. A pity, then, that it is so bright out.

Minthara

all modes - You had my attention, now you have my fury. - Phlar Lolth ssinssrickla. - Your suffering will be spectacular. - Stop, or die.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #karlach #gale #wyll #lae'zel #shadowheart #halsin #jaheira #minsc #minthara #funny stuff #bg3 datamine

4K notes · View notes

beenbaanbuun · 4 months

Text

cock warming w/jongho

words - 🫣

genre - fluff, nsfw

warnings - cockwarming, dom!jongho, sub!reader, kind of non-sexual intimacy (cockwarming but not necessarily horny), a single spank, praise, guidance, it’s just very cute

you cant convince me that jongho doesn’t absolutely love cockwarming. like there’s just something about the intimacy of it that really gets him going. mix that with the casual dominance of it all - him pinning you down with a strong arm, spanking your thigh if you begin to grow restless, mumbling sweet nothings into your ear as you lay your chest against his in a dizzy haze - and he’s going practically insane.

it’s movie night, just you and him, and for some unknown reason he decided to use that feature of netflix that picks a random film for you

of course, after 4 or 5 tries, it lands on nothing good (because it never does) and the two of you decide to settle for whatever random film it decided on

it starts off with you two making fun of the poor editing and direction of the film, picking at all the plot holes until you were both giggling incessantly

that little game lasted a while, but it didn’t take long for it to become boring and the two of you were plunged into a comfortable silence once more

until, of course, a sex scene!

in the grand scheme of things, it had no relation to the film whatsoever and was quite frankly incredibly poorly made

like you don’t know who those moans were coming from, but they didn’t match up with the mouths of either of the actors

but just as you were about to make fun of it to jongho, you noticed a little something of his lap

well, more like a big something, and you couldn’t help but gasp

“this is making you hard?” you scrutinise, eyes narrowing as you pull them away from the tent in his pants to instead look at his face

you expected him to be embarrassed or ashamed, but he wore a stoic expression as he shushed you

again, you gasped and sat up from the position you were in, leant up against him

“first you get hard to the worst sex scene i’ve ever seen, then you shush me?” you scoffed, “just say you hate me, next time.”

you watched as he rolled his eyes, finally tearing his gaze away from the screen to look at you

“i’ve been hard for the last 20 minutes,” he grumbled, “you just didn’t notice so i didn’t say anything.”

oh… that’s weird

it’s not like you’d been doing anything to try and make him hard, and it’s not like the film had even been remotely sexy in any way shape or form

like you’d understand if you were lay there in lingerie, but you were in what you described as your ‘grannie nightie’, curled up against him like you would be on any other night

you frowned

“well, why are you hard?” you asked

“am i not allowed to be?” he replied

it was a fair response, but you still wanted answers

“well there has to be a reason…” you mumbled

“i’m sorry, why don’t you just call the erection police?” his voice was dripping in sarcasm, “hello? 911? yeah, i was being cute around my boyfriend and now he’s hard. come arrest him please!”

at this point the film was just background noise as the two of you went back and forth bickering about his penis of all things…

“wait, your erection is because of me?” you cock your head to the side in confusion

again, your pyjamas were hardly the sexiest thing in the world, unless you’re an 80 year old man and this is the most thigh you’ve seen in years

but jongho wasn’t 80, and he saw your thighs on a daily basis

fuck, he saw a lot more than thigh on most days

“well who else would’ve caused it?” he glanced between you and the screen, “you can’t seriously believe this shit show made me hard?”

“oh,” you mumbled

“yeah, oh…” he rolled his eyes

and you thought that was it for a moment before his hands were on you and you were being tugged onto his lap like you were nothing more than a rag doll

you squeaked in surprise as his strong arms pinned you to his lap, erection digging into your thigh

you squirmed, but the look he gave you quickly stopped you in your tracks

“you want to know why i’m hard?” he mumbled into your ear, a soft smile gracing his lips

he looked so innocent, and you would’ve believed it if it weren’t for the obvious

you nodded

“you’re just too cute, baby,” he chuckled deeply into your ear, the sound heading immediately south, slicking you up a little, “in your cute little nightie, making your cute little comments. sue me for being attracted to you…”

“but that’s not…” you trailed off, “i’m not being sexy, am i?”

“you don’t have to be, baby,” he cooed, “you don’t have to make yourself sexy for me to want you. i want you just as much now as i would any other day.”

“so you want to fuck me because i’m not sexy?”

he scoffed, “i want to be close to you, baby. it’s not the same.”

it sounded the same to you, but still you nodded as if you understood

“want me to take a seat?” you grounded down once and he groaned

his eyes rolled back into his head in pleasure, but just as you were about to do it again he stopped you

“not if you’re not going to be a good girl and sit still for me,” you barely registered the sound of the slap until the stinging sensation spread though your thigh a moment later, “i said i didn’t want to fuck you, and here you are grinding on my dick like you can’t understand basic instructions!”

you stilled at his comment, a frown forming on your face

now you really didn’t get it…

he seemed to notice your sudden change in demeanour and sighed

“i don’t want to fuck you, but that doesn’t mean i don’t want to be inside of you,” he explained slowly, desperate to make you understand, “i just want you to be around me, sweetheart. no expectations, i just want to be close to you.”

oh…

you supposed that made a little sense

with a slightly less confused look, you nodded

you didn’t move though

you misunderstood him before, now you wanted him to guide you through it so you didn’t get it wrong again

luckily for you, jongho took more than a little pride in telling you what to do

it boosted his ego, and he couldn’t deny how sweet you looked when you followed his every instruction

so he gave you a sweet smile before setting his hands on your waist

“straddle me, baby.”

his hands never left your sides as you followed his directions

“good girl,” he praised, making you puff your chest out a little with pride, “now i need you to pull my bottoms down, hm?”

and you did it, because jongho was right - you were his good girl!

you reached your hands down and shuffled back a little to give his dick enough room to spring free

and when it did spring free, you couldn’t help but sit in awe of how pretty it was

you’d seen it before, but you were still shocked at how perfect it was every time you saw it

a decent size lengthwise, but thicker than most

a pretty pink tip that leaked pearlescent precum in little droplets

jongho chuckled

“you done staring, or do you want to take a picture?” your eyes widened and your gaze shot up to his face again.

he wore a wide smirk as you mumbled an apology

“it’s okay, sweetheart,” his thumbs rubbed circles over your sides, “now, can you slip your panties to the side for me? i want you to sit on me…”

and again, you did as he asked because you were good and you wanted to behave for him

so your fingers slid south and pushed the thin cotton to the side (ignoring the way you had to peel them away from your gooey wetness) and you shuffled forwards until your core was hovering above his cock

you slid down slowly, the stretch almost painful but not quite

it took a moment for you to bottom out, his tip snug against your cervix and your thighs resting against his own

the temptation to start bouncing was certainly there, but at the risk of no longer being his good girl, you decided not to

not that you could anyway, not when he brought his arms around you, pinning you to his chest and holding you there like it was just any regular cuddle on any regular day

like his dick wasn’t resting heavily inside of you

like you weren’t so close to disobeying and seeking out your own pleasure

a big hand came up to the back of your head to hold it against his shoulder, fingers lacing themselves in your hair and giving it gentle, rhythmic tugs like he always did when you needed to chill a little

his fingernails scratched against your scalp in a way that was so soothing, it seemed to turn your whole body to jelly

and suddenly, the horny tension that laced itself up within you dissipated like it was never there

well, it wasn’t completely gone - you still had your boyfriends dick in you, after all - but it was duller, more manageable

you moaned as you relaxed into his warmth that surrounded you from every angle possible, and he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle

“do you get it now, honey?” he whispered into your ear, “do you understand what i mean when i say i want you close?”

you just nod

“oh, you’re so precious, baby,” he gave you a particularly tight squeeze with his thick arms, “so good for me, hm? letting me hold you close like this. i expected it to take you longer to settle down, but you’re such a good girl, right? shouldn’t have doubted you, baby…”

his words made your mind cloud over as you sank into the praise that he spoon fed to you

you just lay there with your head on his shoulder, staring up at him like he was your entire universe, eating up every single word he said to you

“love you, bear,” you mumble into his neck

he chuckled

“love you too, honey.”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #ateez headcanons #ateez smut #jongho headcannons #jongho x reader #jongho fluff #jongho smut

1K notes · View notes

abbeym28 · 5 months

Text

Clarisse La Rue - I'm Your Man

Clarisse x gn! reader from any cabin but Hermes and Ares

An- This is my first PJO fanfic and it took me like a week to write this lol and I don't know if I really like it?? Pls tell me if you catch any mistakes or anything, you guys don't even want to know how many words I couldn't write. But there are about 3,000 words!!! Images aren't mine

Also, I think I will open request, so if anyone want me to write another PJO fanfic pls just send a request!!!!

Warnings!!- Kissing near the end, a weird amount of Chris and Luke, they are like your besties but they are also weird??? One swear, some fights and foreshadowing and stuff, I hope that's it

You hit the ground hard after you had tripped into the boundary that separated your new camp from the outside world. The stayr that had led you here ran past you and yelled a lot of words that somehow your ears couldn't pick up on.

The monster that had been chasing you previously roared and tried to reach out for you, but the force field (or whatever it was) protect you as you watched from the ground. Farther away, there seemed to be more shouts and loud noises.

“There you go, up up up up,” Two different hands gripped onto your biceps and loosened slightly when they had both pulled you up to your feet. They quickly tighten again though once you started to sway forwards.

“Woah, what happened to you?” You blinked and tried to turn to look at the person who had said that, but more shouting and loud thumps plus the strain on your neck caused the shocking feeling of probably the worst migraine of your life stopped you from doing anything.

“Let's take them to the infirmary. Some Apollo kid can take a look at them and then we can show them around once they feel better.”

At that point, the world was started to spin and you felt like you were being moved, but it was hard to tell. You were pretty sure that everything had turned black after a shout of victory filled the air.

You were starting to wish that you were still unconscious on the infirmary bed.

You were following to guys around, Chris and Luke, and they claimed that they were the ones that had help you get to the infirmary in the first place. They were bringing you around the camp, making sure to point out the bizarre and magical things. Like the pegasus.

“And over here, this is where we train. Luke is the best sword fighter in the camp.”

“Don't brag about me like that, it's weird.” Chris laughed and Luke punched him in the arm. They moved out of the taller grass to go towards the more compacted dirt area where other campers were shooting arrows and swinging swords.

You stood still in your spot, watching them. You missed your home and old normal life.

“Move it.” A shoulder bumped into your own, and you don’t know if it was pain or something more, but your whole arm felt as if it was touched by electricity. You jerked back, and the girl that had bumped into you raised an eyebrow. She was facing you now, and two other kids who you assumed were her siblings found a place behind her, as if they were some sort of shoulder pads.

“Well?” She tilted her head to the side, and you mirrored her.

“Is something wrong?” Your question made her two goons snort.

“You’re the newbie, right? Well, it was your monster that gave me this scar. I can hardly wield my spear now!” She pointed to her arm, which you only then realized was set in a cast. You must have been too busy paying attention to how beautiful her hair looked.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn't know you were the one fighting it. Thank you.” You nodded and turned away to go back over to Chris and Luke as Clarisse looked a bit confused and surprised.

Well, this might get interesting.

“How is she so pretty?” Your chin sat on the palm of your hand as you continued to stare at Clarisse as she twirled her spear and took the final blow against her opponent, being some kid from the Apollo cabin. Sweat glistened down the side of her face as the sun casted the perfect lighting to cast upon her smirk of victory. A towel was thrown onto your face, blinding you of the surrounding scenery.

“Gods, you kind of disgust me sometimes. No one looks good when they sweat like that.” Chris shrugged as he whipped his face with a towel of his own.

You scoffed and got up off of the bench that you were sitting on. Training like this was never easy, especially at camp half blood, aka the camp of the Greek demigods. But, it did come with its separate perks.

“But Clarisse does. You shouldn't project on other people just because you aren’t fond of how you look after these battles.” Another towel was thrown at you as you giggled.

“She doesn't even like you that much, even after all of these years. Maybe you should give up trying to get closer to her. Did you see what she tried to do to Per-”

“Clarisse still isn’t really someone you want to interact with. Their are better people at this camp to get along with.” Luke interrupted Chris and handed the two of you cold bottles filled with what you assumed to be water. Chris started drinking it right away, while you sat it down on the bench along with your towel. Chris and Luke had shown you around the camp when you had just arrived, but even back a few years ago, there was just something you knew you needed to be wary of.

Even if Clarisse doesn’t like you the same way you like her, being around her has taught you some things about trusting others. And tips of how to weild a spear.

"As a head counselor, don't you think you should support relationships?” Luke rolled his eyes.

“Your not apart of my cabin, and neither is Clarrise, but I can still be worried about a friend, right?” You hummed and turned to head back up to the dining hall, or maybe your cabin. Anywhere more secluded would be nice at the least.

“Hey! You forgot all of your stuff!”

“A water bottle and towel aren’t stuff, Luke, I’m good.”

The dining hall became less and less secluded the more the minutes passed. It wasn't really getting late, but teenage campers did find themselves to be very hungry after training and various other activities.

Closing your eyes, you leaned against the wooden pillar behind you and tried to let your mind calm a bit. You couldn't quite shake the bad feeling that seemed to loom over your shoulders.

Did you choose the right group to hang out with? The weight of friendship bracelets weighed down on your wrist. Time and time again, Chris and Luke, and also Clarisse, have proven themselves to be good and trustworthy people. So why did something always feel wrong? Why can’t you just trust them? And what do these feelings say about the future?

The bump of a shoulder against yours made you shake out of your thoughts and forced you to open your eyes.

“What’s wrong with you?” Clarisse stood in front of you, slight worry lines creased between her eyebrows. Suddenly the world didn’t seem so dark, and the evil didn’t seem too bad.

You grinned at her and she backed away, letting you take a place by her side. She was carrying some food on a lunch tray in her left hand while her right still clenched around her spear.

“You scared me there!” She hummed as she sat down at a table in the back that no one else was near or sitting at. You sat next to her.

“Don’t you want to go get food?” she focused her attention on placing her spear in a safe position, so she missed the smile that seemed to glow like the moon on your face. She was worrying about you! After a minute passed and with you not answering, she turned towards you with a raised eyebrow.

“Well?” You snapped out of the seemingly lovestruck way you were to answer what she had asked.

“Oh, I’m not too hungry. You don't need to worry about me one bit!” She turned away and picked up her fork to eat the still warm meat and mashed potatoes.

“I wasn’t.” she grumbled. The rest of the lunch was silent, with Clarisse eating and you picking at the peeling paint that still somehow coated the wooden table. The minute she was done shoveling all of the food into her mouth she got up and grabbed her spear. You jumped up after her, following as she returned the tray and left the dining hall.

“What are we gonna do now?”

“Spar. But you don't have to join.” Clarisse’s words sounded firm, but despite the seeming protest against you, she did want to spar with you. You had made great progress since you had first gotten to camp, progress that had made the daughter of the god of war and many others as jealous as it did make them proud. In time, Clarisse found that it might just benefit her to keep you around. You treated her nicely, and you could challenge her abilities while not being upset when she lashes out. You weren’t someone who would just come into her life at any time, but you were more like an anchor that grounded her. Feelings she had never even dreamed of feeling seemed to grow stronger each minute she's next to you.

She was just really terrible at showing it.

The two of you spent the rest of the day up until nightfall fighting. You called it quits first, the want and ache for food and a nice shower were starting to over take the feeling of needing to be around Clarrise.

She walked back with you to the showers, and you had to resist the twitching in your hand that reached to hold Clarisse’s.

With your hair still dripping wet, you made the short walk of going to the dining hall for a snack and then to your cabin. It was the laughter that rang out in the night air and the shadow of Clarisse’s silhouette that made you pause.

“So you don’t really like them, right? Why let them stay close to you like you do?” More questions seemed to arise, all from people you could recognize to be from the Ares cabin.

“We understand that they are useful to you. When it comes to them, it doesn't seem hard to please them either. The way they follow you around just kind of reminds me of a dog, ya’ know?”

Laughter seemed to get louder as the world around seemed to stop and spin faster at the same time. There were calls of your name, or maybe not, who knew? There seemed to be more sounds that sounded like fighting, sounds that remind you of when you had first crash landed at camp.

But all you really seemed to know was the maybe Luke and Chris were right, and that maybe the ground was getting closer, and maybe there were footsteps coming towards you, and maybe-

- You passed out. Chris was pacing back and forth in front of the bed you were laying in. You groaned and moved to sit up.

“Chris, what are yo-”

“OH MY GODS, YOU’RE AWAKE!!!??? ‘Kay, how many fingers am I holding up??” A hand was pushed right in your face but you groaned and paused his hand away and messaged your temple.

"What time is it?”

“It’s noon. You were out for, like, a solid day.” The refermery door opened quickly, making it slam a bit into the wood wall. You winced.

There was no way that your headache was going to go away any time soon.

Both Clarisse and Luke walked in, and there seemed to be some sort of angry tension between them. But they both seemed to loosen up a bit once they both saw you sitting up and watching them. Luke said your name in relief, but then Clarisse pushed past him in urgency.

“Come on, let's go somewhere else,” she grabbed your hand and tried to pull you up, but you did your best to put all of your weight in staying down.

“Clarisse, they just woke up. They need more rest, or at least some food-”

“That doesn’t matter right now, I need to talk to them about something, Luke.'' They were shooting daggers at each other through their eyes. Clarisse sighed and said your name. “Come on, we need to go-”

“Clarisse, I’m staying here.” You could feel the look of shock that she was giving you, but you focused on staring at the white bed sheets that you were fiddling with.

“Your cabin mates were right, and I think I don’t want to be your dog anymore. You don’t have to pretend anything anymore just to make sure you can keep me around, because I don't know if I want to be around you anymore.” The silence that followed your words was deafening. You peeked up through your eyelashes, and it seemed as if Clarisse was literally fuming.

“My cabin mates have no idea about anything they said. You are not a dog, and you have always been-”

“Clarisse, that's enough. They don't want to be near you anymore, so you should leave.” Clarisse glared at Luke, then looked back at you, staring for a long moment. She let out an angered huff.

“Fine, but you better watch your back from now on, Castellan.” And with that, she spun around and stomped out the door, slamming it hard enough that the whole cabin shook and a little vase full of flowers that was sitting on a windowsill fell and shattered into hundreds of pieces. In a strange way, it felt as if your heart could relate to it.

For the next week and a half, Clarisse was the one following you around.

Well, for the most part.

You would catch her staring from a distance while you practice archery with Luke, or when you did swimming lessons with the younger kids and Chris. You knew that she tried to get closer a few times, but with how close Chris and Luke stuck by your side, you could see that this whole situation was frustrating her to no end.

“You guys know you don't have to follow me around like that, right?” you set your lunch tray down on the table and Luke set his food down next to you and Chris sat across from you.

“We have to make sure our favorite camper is safe, right?” Luke patted you on the back as he took a bit of his food and you rolled your eyes.

That night, you snuck away from your cabin and down to the lake. Being out anywhere in camp after dark makes you feel paranoid, but almost nothing could compare to the serene scenery. You sat down on the edge of the lake, where the sand wasn’t that wet and the water's small waves could just barely touch your toes.

You brought your knees up to your chest and sighed and buried your head in them. Why didn’t anything feel right? Was taking a step back from Clarisse really the right answer?

A twig snapped from somewhere behind you and you sprung up and squinted towards the forest. Gods, please let it not be a harpy. But it wasn’t. It was Clarisse.

“What are you doing here?” You questioned her immediately as she walked closer towards you.

“Following you. What are you doing here?”

You stayed quiet and sunk back onto the sand. Clarisse silently sat down next to you, farther away than what you really wanted, but close enough so you could feel the heat of her, the heat that all of Ares’s kids seemed to have.

“I'm here to think. Clarisse, have I- have I been stupid?” The question came out more desperate than how you first wanted it to.

“Yes.” You laughed a bit at how quick her response came. But even with that, tears felt like they were coming into your eyes, and you angled your head to look at her. She was once again already looking at you, her gorgeous brown eyes slightly lidded and a small smile graced her lips.

“I care about you, Clarisse. Like, a lot.” You blurted the words out, and you almost regretted them. Almost, but then Clarisse scotched just a little bit closer to you.

Clarisse whispered your name and brought her hand up to your cheek. Your ears felt hot, and so did the spot that the girl in front of you was softly caressing.

“Why did you push me away like that?”

“Because… you don’t feel the way that I feel for you, and I've known that for years, Clarisse. And, your cabin mates, like, hate me. I just… didn't want to put myself through anything I wasn't prepared for, I guess.” The waves lapping away at the shore was the white noise that saved you from quite literally going crazy.

Clarisse just stared at you.

“Look, I don’t really have… the best relationships with other people, but I know that I care about you too. Also, I beat up siblings for saying all of that shit, so please stop using it as an excuse. ” Clarisse pulled you a little bit closer, as if she was asking a question. You answered it by letting her pull you towards her, and it was you who leaned in first.

The kiss was like a spark, with your lips on hers and with her hands moving to sit on your hips, gripping at them in a way that grounded the both of you just a bit. Your hands went to tangle in her curls, pulling on them gently as the kiss dragged on. You pulled away first, taking deep breaths and looking at Clarisse with wide eyes.

“I’ve been waiting to do that,” She went back in for another kiss, but you put your hands on her chest to make sure she stayed a bit away.

“Clarisse!” you whisper shouted as she blinked at you.

“What?”

“Should we really be, you know-”

She lightly grabbed the fabric of your shirt and pulled you back into her. Your second kiss was just as passionate as the first one, but the second one seemed to tell you so much more.

“I’m in love with you. I want to be yours, and I wish that you could be mine.”

You were taken aback by her words, but they made you weak in your knees and you could swear you were melting.

“I’m in love with you too. Iv'e been yours “

And then with the moonlight illuminating you both, you kissed Clarisse for the third that evening, which was most definitely not going to be the last one before the harpies could find you.

#dior goodjohn #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue #pjo x reader #pjo

521 notes · View notes

fairestwriting · 3 months

Note

Hello, if you don't mind, I want to request a sceanrio or headcanons (which one you more prefer is fine by me) with Jade insist to take care of his crush after a long day of dishwashing duty in Monstro Lounge despite his crush doubt that he might wanted to get them in his debt and does not realize that he did that because he has a crush on them? Feel free to skip this req if it's makes you uncomfortable though <3 Thank you!

oldie but one that i thought of a bit even when i was on hiatus... scenario format because maybe i want jade to take care of mw after a long workday too. What the hell

word count: 1345

pairing: jade x gn!reader

content warnings: wish fulfillment none:)

You exhale heavily, your shoulders slumping even without you willing them to, as the very last plate is cleaned to perfection, setting it down with all the others...

It's not that you expected a night of dishwashing to be the easiest thing in the world — but luck really wasn't on your side that day, and it turned out it was the third years' last day of exam week.

Which meant, the Lounge would be crowded. Which meant, you'd have a lot of dishes to wash. Which meant, as you just now discovered, your upper back, forearms, and feet would start to actively try to kill you.

At least it's all just over, you think. You pull off your apron and the rubber gloves that did nothing to keep your hands from going wrinkly from exaggerated humidity, then you turn around, ready to report to Azul that your shift was over—

Then, in your tired haze, you bump into something, someone, and it doesn't even register who it is until a firm grip on your upper arm keeps you from embarrassingly stumbling for a good moment.

"J...Jade? What are you doing here?"

He looks at you. His hand is still gripping your arm, though... it's done really softly, especially for an attempt at keeping someone from tripping.

And he smiles softly, politely at you. Like he always does.

"I could perhaps ask you the same question." He says, a lilt to his voice, releasing your arm as you step back into a balanced stance. "It's rather late, you know? Azul was even looking for you."

"Oh, was he?" You cringe at the way it comes out a little more bitter than you'd intended, but... you're tired, and Jade was... strange, but definitely not a tyrant. "Well, I was about to go look for him and say I'm done with the dishes. There was just..." You glance behind yourself, seeing the piles of plates and glasses, the dish soap bubbles that got everywhere. "There was a lot."

Jade's gaze follow yours, and his smile softens, even more when he looks back at you.

"In that case, why don't you let me inform him instead, and I could... get you something to eat in the meantime? You must be hungry."

Alarm bells ring inside your head. The offer is tempting, of course it's tempting, but this is still Octavinelle, and Jade is still Azul's... henchman, or something. You grimace while you try to get your tired brain to think of a response.

"Um... no, thanks, I'd rather not be indebted to—"

"Ah. You're worried about that?" He asks, and the look on his face, while hardly different from his usual poised smile, has a hint of... something different that you couldn't quite place. "In that case, we could arrange a way for you to... give me something in return?"

"Uh..." Again, the alarm bells continue. If they weren't mental, the noise would probably be intense enough to give you a headache— "I don't... think I have anything you'd..."

"Your company, in exchange for any menu item free of charge. How does that sound?"

What.

You blink, genuinely dumbfounded. Jade still smiles. Always does. You're not sure if it's a joke, a part of you says it's a bad idea, but...

"You want my company in return for the favor." You echo to him, and he nods.

"Yes. I'll tell Azul you're done with your work, and fetch you whatever you wish. Then we can get a sit while you eat. Does that work for you?"

"That..." You really wish you could protest, but at the worst moment possible, your own hunger makes itself known. "...okay."

"Lovely. You can wait at the Lounge. What would you like to have?"

You mumble out your usual order, still a bit confused, and he gives you a nod as you part ways. Out of the kitchen, you don't waste too much time in taking one of the seats with cushy chairs, sighing in relief when you feel your body sinking into them just slightly, supporting those overworked limbs.

The Lounge really was empty. You have a few minutes to stare at it, all by yourself — it really must be late — and even dare to bask in the comfy, yet classy lighting of the environment.

It felt so much different like this. No music, no people to serve. It was... relaxing, surprisingly. Even though it was your workplace, and the source of quite a lot of stress in your life...

"The boss is notified. Here's your food." Jade chimes in with a playful tone after what feels like way too little time, setting a plate of your very favorite Mostro Lounge special in front of you. You can't help the way your eyes widen at it a bit, still not fully grasping the situation.

"And Azul is okay with this?" You grab the fork, but look up at Jade first, watching as he takes a seat in front of you.

"Of course. I wouldn't do that otherwise."

He chuckles, and despite your cautiousness, you can't resist the urge to dig into your food. It tastes even better after all that work.

And for some reason, it makes Jade's smile just a touch brighter when he watches you eat.

"It's important to eat well, you know. I hope you've been getting enough meals lately. Exam weeks are never kind."

"Yeah, I... I mean, I'm doing fine. If I want to keep up with all the work, I have to eat."

You take a larger bite, and he continues to watch you. With one more sprinkle of energy in your system, you start to try to understand what got to him all of a sudden. You look through his features, usually so unreadable and static, and you search for... something. Anything.

A sign this was a strange prank, maybe.

"That's good to hear. In any case, though, I'll discuss with Azul to have better planning for evenings like these... Friday nights and such. I wouldn't like to see you so overworked again."

You stop chewing for a split second when you catch on to his wording. I wouldn't like to see you so overworked again. Maybe you're just too tired, and making this all up, but...

What's different in Jade's face now is that there's a hint of sincere softness. One that doesn't even look all that unfamiliar— that you swear had been there when you had brief chats during work hours, even.

Your face flushes. Is he...?

You lift your gaze away from the food, and meet Jade's eyes. He's still smiling, hands folded politely on the table, though it's small enough that when you set your fork down, you swear you feel your hand brush against his glove.

"Thank you... for this, Jade." You mumble out, unsure of what to say. He gives you a smile like he always does, but in this empty, silent Lounge where you're not even sure if you're seeing things right, it makes your heart flutter.

"Thank you for the company. It really was a busy night." He gets up, taking your plate. Only now, you notice you're done eating. "I'll take care of these, don't worry. Just head back to your dorm and rest up. Unless..."

You blink at him again, now unsure of how your brain could even withstand so much confusion. "U...Unless...?"

"...Unless you'd like me to escort you?" He says, and his eyes narrow slyly, glinting— now, wait a minute...

Floyd and Azul were still supposed to be there, weren't they? They always were during closing time. Which meant...

Of course. Of course Jade would only go about something like this as deliberately as possible.

He chuckles. Your face is hot all over and his smile is wide. Skillfully, he carries the plate in one hand as he makes his way to the kitchen.

"Just wait for me if you do. We can make another deal if you want."

And then, he's out of signt, and you're left with a dizzying feeling.

if you wanna support my work, you can buy me a ko-fi or commission me!

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader #lis writing

257 notes · View notes

dontexpectmuch · 4 months

Text

i don’t really know why, but i think would jude really love to claim “so sick” by neyo as his and his partner’s song. he sings it whenever he gets the chance, even when he can’t really hit any of the notes.

yes, it’s a sad song, but it also makes him feel things he has never felt before.

he loves you, his dear partner in crime, his personal cheerleader and bestest best friend in the entire world, but that song makes him think of you. not in a bad, heart wrenching way, but in a way that no matter what he feels, he wants you to be the centre of his feelings.

jude feels it to his bones whenever he thinks of you along with the quote that you are the best, and the worst he has ever had.

you bring the best out of him, keep him pushing to his limits and above, cheer on him and comfort him, without him needing to ask you to. he learns new things every day thanks to you, he becomes a better human being and he appreciates live way more than before. you keep him humble, keep him levelheaded and help him be a kind human, no matter what.

but, you can also show him the worst sides of his being, the ones he oh-so hardly tries to hide from the public eyes. and yes, they might not be shown to the world, but having you see him in that way feels even worse. well, your relationship hasn’t always been the way it is now, full of love, understanding and trust. so many fights would occur between you guys, so many tears and bleeding hearts. times where breaking up might have been the best option for you two aren’t as estranged to you as one might think.

but you pushed through it, talking, healing and growing together as lovers and as own persons.

so, whenever jude listens to “so sick” he might remember those times, but he also feels so grateful for them, as they are the reason to why he is able to hold you in his arms, and have your wonderful being by his side for the rest of your lives.

#jude bellingham #football one shot #football x reader #x reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x you #football #jude bellingham fluff

169 notes · View notes

scrollonso · 2 months

Text

First Kiss (Race 1)

A strollonso AU where 18 year old rookie Lance Stroll falls helplessly in love with the notoriously mean world champion. (1.1k words, no warnings) {This is my first Tumblr AU so ignore how bad this is... This was fun to write so expect more!}

masterlist - next part

As quali came to an end, Lance could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He had just completed his first-ever quali, and he felt like he was about to throw up.

He heard someone speaking to him over his radio, but he was too busy registering that this was real to listen.

As he got out of the car, he was bombarded by his team, all rushing to hug him and congratulate him. It took him a second to realise why.

He qualified P3.

His face lit up at the realisation—that's insane. P3.

He was going to start his debut race in P3, but he knew it wasn't the race, so it hardly mattered, but just knowing he set the third fastest lap out of everyone on the grid was enough to boost his ego a fair bit.

Eventually, his team fell back into their usual places, and he began gathering his things to leave before he heard a familiar voice speak, a voice he'd only ever heard over the television.

"Lancito, congratulations on P3," he said, lightly patting the youngers shoulders.

He was stunned, and Fernando Alonso was congratulating him. He was so taken aback by the praise that he almost missed the new name. Almost. Lancito? He'd never been called that before, yet somehow it felt right to hear it come off the Spaniard's tongue.

"Thank you. It feels amazing being able to start my debut race so close behind you, Alonso." Lance wasn't sure exactly what to call him, hesitating to even say his last name.

"Am excited to see how you do, Lancito. I wish you luck." He flashed a quick smile before moving his hand off the other man's shoulder and beginning to walk away.

Lance watched him closely, still flustered at the physical contact, kind words, and the new nickname.

"Oh, and," Fernando started, quickly turning back to Lance. "Please, call me Fernando; there is no need to be professional when it is just us, no?"

Lance nodded, smiling at the older man as he turned and left. He wasn't sure he'd be getting any sleep that night.

After getting to the paddock the next day (and barely getting through interviews), he began talking to Nico outside of the garage, trying his best to convince his teammate that starting P12 was a blessing.

Nico was a great driver, so he knew this would just be a chance to stun the crowd with brilliant overtakes.

The conversation was going smoothly, the two meshing surprisingly well, before Lance's attention was grabbed by a man in blue and yellow.

He was hard to miss, and it didn't help that Lance had been absentmindedly searching for him all day.

He was on his way back to his team garage. Lance was unsure where exactly he was coming from; all he knew was that he looked perfect.

Lance wasn't sure how he felt about Fernando, but it seemed to be admiration. It made sense for him to admire Fernando; he had just won the world championship the year before, so a rookie admiring him was more than acceptable, right?

As everyone got into their cars, Lance couldn't help but get more and more anxious, everyone falling seamlessly into their places. Before Lance knew it, the race was starting (and he was off to a horrible start).

He felt himself getting more and more frustrated. Seeing as other drivers passed him, he continued to curse under his breath, but he knew he was going to make it up. He was so confident he was going to overtake them again, get back to P3, and finish his debut race on the podium.

Then he felt the car get worse; his tyres were locking up during what seemed like every turn, and before he knew it, his car was smoking.

"Lance, box, box, we need to retire the car."

Fuck.

He felt sick to his stomach; this had to be one of the worst ways to start his rookie season. He was beyond embarrassed.

He pulled into the pit lane and went to his garage. There was nothing positive about this situation, but somehow it felt even worse knowing that Fernando Alonso wished him good luck the day prior and he couldn't even finish the race.

He unzipped his race suit to his hips and sat down, putting on a pair of headphones and pretending to be interested in the race—his debut race, his first DNF.

The race came to an end after what felt like an eternity, and Nico came back, having scored points in his first race. A part of him was glad for Nico; of course, he more than deserved it, but he couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if he had finished; he wanted to score points. He had to score points.

The debrief passed, and so did the podium, and now the teammates were just sitting together, Nico leaning against the wall as they spoke, talking about whatever came to mind and just enjoying each other's presence before they noticed another driver coming towards them.

It was Fernando, and before either of them could speak, he beat them to it.

"Nico, very good job today." He praised, and Lance felt a pang of jealousy as he recalled Fernando saying similar things to him after quali yesterday. He wished he had raced long enough to get praise from the older man as well.

"Thank you, Fernando. It means a lot." Nico smiled, the conversation between the two ending there.

"Lancito, am sorry to hear you retired. Not a very good start, but it just guarantees Malaysia's going to treat you better, eh?"

Lance nodded, looking up at Fernando. It wasn't every day a 6'0 rookie had to look up to a 5'7 world champion, but Fernando looked good up there.

"Yeah, let's hope that doesn't mean you'll do worse then." He laughed, and with Fernando's logic, he supposed the Spaniard would DNF next.

"Don't jinx me now!" Fernando shook his head, moving closer to pat Lance on the shoulder again, seemingly a new thing between them. "Am getting older; I have to win another championship before I retire, don't you think?"

And before he knew it, the older man was gone again—back into the Renault garage.

He hadn't noticed at the time, but after Fernando left and he turned to Nico, he was met with a very suspicious look.

"So, you two are friends?" Nico asked, more familiar with the reputation Fernando had than Lance.

"Maybe? I'm not sure." He laughed, leaning on the wall behind him. "He spoke to me yesterday too; maybe he's just nice to all rookies like that."

"Maybe" Nico agreed, although he knew that wasn't true, and so did everyone, besides Lance, it seemed.

84 notes · View notes

the-s1lly-corner · 6 months

Note

Oh my God.

I had a very funny and slightly strange idea...

Imagine that there is mutual sympathy between the reader and Jax. In short, Jax has crush on reader, but the reader... don’t know it.(or just don’t see it)

So, a new person appears in the circus. It doesn't matter who it is, what it is, what his name is, etc.

So, the newcomer and the reader became very close friends. I mean, sleeping in the same room, hugging, holding hands...(I mean friends, no lovers)

Look, I just want to see Jax get jealous...?

Well, thank you!!

Jealous!Jax x reader !

Ohohohoh I saw this get sent in a few days ago and I've been meaning to get to this ! I answer requests chronologically most the time and I dont like temporarily skipping requests... but boy was I tempted

First things first he stomps his foot in agitation when he sees you and this newcomer hanging out. His ears also lower when you decide to hang out with them over him

Immediately jax targets the guy, like. I'm talking entire tunnel vision, hes hardly interested in pranking anyone else

In fact, these new pranks seem a little... mean spirited.. like before they were just annoying but most of the circus crew can tell theres some meanness set behind them

I mean, no ones all too worried since you cant exactly die or get a long lasting injury in the digital world

Jax makes it very clear that he doesnt like this person

With all of that said and done it boils over into you pulling jax to the side and asking what his deal is

And I can see this going one of both ways

Either he let's slip that he has feelings for you, or he doesnt... and both have major consequences; both good and bad

First the good, if he slips he has feelings and you reciprocate, I think you guys would try to talk the entire thing out... hes jealous.. obviously if you guys get together boundaries are going to need to be set... maybe.. everyone can find a balance where no ones jealous or upset..?

If he doesnt, and he holds his ground on why this new guy is dumb and stinky and "hes soooooooo not in your league, seriously" I think this could escalate.... worst case scenario you guys get into a heated argument. Jax isnt being honest and hes now openly putting down this person, and you're trying to come up with a reason for his sudden malice. Even worse case scenario you guys may.. well stop talking to each other

I don't think jax handles jealousy well, in my opinion

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #jax x reader #jax x you #jax imagine

158 notes · View notes

lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 year

Note

After your most recent yandere TWST fic (the one w/ Vil, Neige, etc) I just need to beg you for more yandere RSA content 😭😭

I just need more yandere Neige/Chen’ya/Rielle whatever if it’s against their rivals, fics, headcanons, blurbs, if it’s set within the Crewel’s Daughter timeline, if this is now just going to be an on-going thing

Whatever I JUST NEED MORE 😭😭 PLS IM THIRSTY THOSE RSA GUYS HAVE SM POTENTIAL TO BE ABSOLUTE YANDERE PRICKS 😭

-From an anon who needs to be thrown into the sun🤡

Well anon who needs to be thrown into the sun

I'm happy you like them, I'll try including them more

🖤🖤🖤🖤

The Dangers of the RSA | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

In a way, it’s almost worse than the boys at Night Raven. In NRC everyone at base level is a jerk or majorly insensitive. But once you peel back the layers of their onion actions you find they have a warmer center, a softer center. Even at the height of their obsession, you can’t say you don’t feel for them. And in this way, RSA is bound to be rotten on the inside. On the outside their sweet and kind, welcoming you with open arms and less confrontational behavior. But as the ice cream melts you’ll find on the inside they aren’t so sweet and instead reveal the harmful hidden danger they pose. The world loves them, their kingdoms love them, and they’re already so sweet you’ll be the one who’s crazy to turn tail and run:

Neige Leblanche

He’s the worst

he never outright says what he’s doing

Or even acknowledges

Gaslighting, gatekeeping, boy bullying you into becoming his

It seems like everyone around you is warping around you

Forcing you to play the role of his perfect little partner

And no! He’s not at fault here

He’s never at fault

You’re the one who is crazy when you plead for help

The only ones who probably believe you in any regard

Would be your beloved crew at NRC

But even so, he has eyes everywhere Rook

So it won’t be long until he’s hugging you tight

Pouting as globs of tears fall down

“Oh thank goodness (Y/n)! I was so worried you wouldn’t have made it home!”

Crewel's Daughter Reader is better at fending him off

Never before has a student of the Princess Academy gotten so far with such a sly tongue

Rielle

Annoying and presumptuous

So deluded in his belief that he is meant to woo you

He can’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that you’re just not interested

He pushes through your barriers, solely focused on getting his hands on you

Well don’t be sad that he’s cursed your legs to become a tail

It's your fault for not running into his arms immediately

You thought he was just a friend?

No no, when he invited you to his house that meant he wanted to court you

And by eating a biscuit he made you said ‘yes’

Foolish you!

The world bends a little but not entirely

Rather than blind praise, he’s excused

‘He doesn’t know any better’

‘He’s just trying to be a good boyfriend’

As is with most in RSA

It doesn’t help to call anyone other than the slimiest at NRC

Who suddenly looks a whole lot more cuddly when he’s more than willing to start a war if it means having you in his arms

Everything means nothing without you

And if the world doesn’t corroborate his philosophy

Too bad he’ll just burn it with that fire he’s so enamored by

“Yo~ho my pearlfish! When you ran for our hide and seek I was worried for a second there! Don’t be scared of these guys beside me they’re just here to protect us!”

Crewel Daughter Reader has trouble with him as well but the best method is to keep him on the farthest edge of your circle

The closer he gets to you the more likely he is to delude himself that you return his affection

“Chen’ya” Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker

Sneaky in a way that’s hard to miss

Not usually taken seriously after the initial shock of meeting him

He sways you and everyone into a false sense of security

Usually revealing himself with his head or a sneaky laugh

Because of his silly demeanor

You hardly suspect an invisible cat boy to be bearing witness to your most intimate moments

Or that the same smile is behind the sudden disappearances of your friends

He’ll let you fall in love with him

Or at the very least turn to him as a friend in need

He’s good at loosening people up

And he’s only helping you relax after an inexplicable tragedy

“Kekeke poor neko-chan you look as though you’re going mad with pain! Let me help you~!”

Crewel Daughter Reader use their magical prodigy status to force him to reveal himself

Which can be hard when he’s deciding to be wary

Deciding to pick off whoever what?! you’re not watching

592 notes · View notes

inkpot909 · 8 months

Text

The Stardust Crusaders’ Picks for a First-Dance Wedding Song Headcanons

↳ Gender Neutral Reader. Joseph Joestar is excluded.

A/n: A chill list of headcanons that came to me at 6 in the morning. Jokes aside, I loved putting this together. Although I admit I am a bit biased since I’ve always loved retro music. I did my best to pick music that coincided with the music the characters each canonically listen to (at least, as far as we’re told).

Warning(s): None.

Jotaro Kujo

-> As the World Falls Down

David Bowie

“As the pain sweeps through

Makes no sense for you

Every thrill is gone

Wasn’t too much fun at all

But I’ll be there for you

As the world falls down”

Canonically speaking, Jotaro’s favorite musician is Toshinobu Kubota. It’s admittedly a rather interesting choice for a man who was a dedicated delinquent in high school.

But music tends to touch people in a special, often times sensitive, manner. And despite looking and acting the way he does, Jotaro’s music preferences are no different.

Yeah, sure, he’s definitely a “whatever’s on the radio” kind of guy, but he has taste.

Separated from others, when he’s in control of the music he’s listening to, his choices give the impression of a casual listener that somehow always has the best picks seemingly with no effort put in at all. Perfectly on brand for Jotaro.

Therefore, he’s likely going to have an unexpected pick.

Therefore, he picks a sappy ballad from an under-appreciated 80s movie. Not because he’s even seen The Labyrinth by any stretch of the imagination, but because he just… likes how it sounds.

He likely heard it one way or another, completely detached from the movie itself, and decided he enjoyed it. Something about the slightly cheesy yet instrumentally enchanting tune gets stuck in his head in a really good way.

There is a reason past “oh, it just sounds nice” as to why he picked it but let’s be honest… he’s going to get a little embarrassed annoyed if he has to explain to you in full detail.

The title pretty much speaks for itself, in his opinion.

Noriaki Kakyoin

-> Every Breath You Take

The Police

“Every move you make

And every vow you break

Every smile you fake

Every claim you stake

I’ll be watching you”

Good god, he’s certainly the Sting fan.

Whether or not you actually like Sting it’s hard to argue against the fact that Kakyoin likely has an overall shit taste in music. Why is this the case? Because he’s been alone the majority of his life and didn’t have any friends to bully him over it.

Not having anyone around him to say “what the hell is this” or just a simple “no” will and has effected him.

He’s the type of guy who claim’s “this album will change your life” before putting on some of the worst pieces of music you’ve ever heard.

Not that he isn’t trying, keep in mind.

This man will stress about what to suggest for days on end. He’s going to take the longest compared to the others in how how much time it takes him to pick. It’ll eat away at his brain, threatening to take every bit of his sanity unless he can think of what he deems as the perfect song he can choose.

And still he manages to not only choose an extremely predictable wedding song, but an insanely creepy one as well.

It’s weirdly charming, in his own odd Noriaki way.

He likely didn’t know what he was doing at the beginning of the relationship due to inexperience, and it’s probably heartwarming to know some things never change.

And it’s completely possible the stalker-ish lyrics of the song didn’t click inside his brain. Not because he doesn’t understand the lyrics per se… but because the poor guy hardly had a grasp on what was actually considered romantic when you first met.

Please, for your own sanity, don’t let the song played at your wedding be one that he picked (with hindsight he’ll probably thank you for it too).

Jean Pierre Polnareff

-> The Air That I Breathe

The Hollies

“Peace came upon me and it

leaves me weak

so sleep, silent angel, go to

sleep

Sometimes

All I need is the air that I breathe

And to love you”

Polnareff’s favorite musician isn’t ever canonically specified, but it’s made pretty clear he’s likely a fan of The Beatles. And considering he went through puberty during the 70s, he’s likely going to lean into that era of music.

Generally speaking, he’s got decent taste. Sure, he’s got the music taste of a white suburban father, but his picks are usually pretty agreeable.

That said, he’s definitely a little high and mighty about it.

He won’t go off on the subject too hard whenever you’re around, but he thinks very highly of his preferences. Polnareff’s a huge victim of nostalgia, and a part of him feels a little elitist for having grown up in the time period that he did.

He has had the song for his first dance picked out in the back of his mind for years, swearing that it would be played at his wedding at some point or another.

Hell, he’s probably got a full roster of music in mind for the reception.

For such a monumental occasion, he’s sure to pick a ballad that starts off slow but crescendos into the chorus- easily the type of romantic tune he’d prefer.

And unlike the others, you may get pushback from him if you don’t want that as your first dance. He’s quite stubborn, generally speaking, and this is no exception to that.

Ultimately though, he would eventually cave and do just about anything you want.

But as stated before, he’s had his mind set on this one for literal years. So certainly expect this to be a somewhat tough conversation to have with him if you prefer something different.

Muhammad Avdol

-> I Love How You Love Me

Claudine Longet

“I love how your eyes close

whenever you kiss me

And when I’m away from you I

love how you miss me

I love the way you always treat

me tenderly

But, darling, most of all I love

how you love me”

Avdol’s music taste is left as a complete mystery in canon.

However, because he runs his own shop, he’s fairly attached to the calming instrumentals he often keeps on at the store. Avdol understands atmosphere well and takes it very seriously.

When he’s not working, it’s not very often that he finds himself listening to music.

But when he does, it’s usually music with soft or ethereal overtones (you cannot tell me he doesn’t listen to Enya). Throw in some charming oldies from the 50s and 60s, and Avdol’s in his element.

To put it simply, easy-listening tunes are his freaking jam.

He also enjoys listening to music from all across the world. Avdol is likely well-traveled, and is undoubtedly knowledgeable on other places and cultures. So the preference comes naturally to him.

He’s going to pick something very romantic and slow. A song that, even if you maybe haven’t heard it before, upon the first time listening you just know it’s meant to be played at a wedding.

And, unlike the others, it would take him less than 24 hours to have made his choice. It’s not that he doesn’t put care into the decision, he just doesn’t like making you wait. He’s quite efficient when it’s something this important.

Regardless, he’s the most flexible of the group when it comes to your tastes, so anything you want is perfectly fine with him.

That said, it has to be a ballad. That’s his main request. Avdol’s eager for your input, sure, but he’s going to want to slow dance with you more than anything else.

170 notes · View notes

storiesbyrhi · 3 months

Text

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: Homeward bound. 2738 words.

1986

Every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse of Eddie swooping by, keeping pace with your car. It was mid-afternoon by the time he grew tired, burrowing into his front seat nest and sleeping until twilight. As soon as the sun was safely locked away on the other side of the world, Eddie chittered and you responded by turning him back into himself.

He stretched out, making dramatic noises and pulling faces.

“You okay there?” you asked him, laughing at the show of it all.

“Only trying to make you smile, my little witch.”

Damn.

“So, you were right,” you changed the subject. “About not being the only non-witch,”

“Wolf, right? I could smell him.” Eddie’s face screwed up in disgust.

“What happened to the support group for monster lovers?”

“I draw the line at lycans.”

The seriousness of his expression made you laugh. “Well, you’ll have to redraw it, because Ev has it bad for him. The others already knew all about it too,”

“And we believed we were special,”

“I mean… We still are… Witches and werewolves aren’t mortal enemies…”

“Of course. Wolves’ mortal enemy being their own tail and all,”

“Eddie! Stop,” you laughed, hitting him with the back of your hand.

He grinned at you, then looked out at the road. “And the other?”

“That one is a bit more of a secret. Ash is seeing one of the fae folk. It’s still very new. Taking it slow… Making sure they’re not actually trying to lure her into some centuries old curse. You know how they are,”

“Trickster sprites,”

“Exactly,” you nodded. “And then there’s Steve fucking Harrington… who has elected to inexplicably haunt Mel,”

“Why? I assume he never met her,”

“Yep, but she came and asked me if the ghost in her house was him. It was. He says he’ll leave her alone but had this stupid puppy dog look on his face… So… Maybe there is a whole new world of witch romances to come.”

Eddie grinned, he liked the sound of it. Though, he really didn’t want a werewolf as a brother-in-law. “Do you want me to take over?” he asked then, pointing to the steering wheel. “I’ve been practicing,”

“And here I was thinking you disappeared in the middle of the night to eat,”

“Oh, I do. I find the worst person I can. I eat them. Then, I take their car for a lesson,”

“A two birds, one stone, kind of thing, huh?”

Eddie nodded with a disconcertingly innocent smile on his face.

“I was thinking about that actually. I think I can help,”

“With which part?” he asked. “The eating or the thieving,”

“Neither. The choosing.”

The joy left Eddie’s expression. He looked away from you, suddenly studying the hardly visible horizon out his window. “You don’t need to be a part of it. You don’t have to have it on your conscience,”

“Neither do you. Not in the same way, at least. What if I can take some of the guesswork out of picking who is, you know, bad,”

“It’s not guesswork. I watch them. I find them while they’re-”

“I know. But what if you didn’t have to wait for them to do something bad? What if you could tell what they had already done?”

Eddie stayed quiet. There was a gas station up ahead, the lights shining brightly. You pulled in and cut the engine.

“I know it’s always going to be on you. You’re always going to have to make that call, about if they have sinned and if the sins are…”

“If they justify death,” Eddie finished for you solemnly and still not looking at you.

“Yes. But what if you could see them? The sins. If you could, I don’t know, just touch someone and see the worst of them. And only when you wanted to. Would that help?”

He was clicking two fingernails together, pensive or maybe anxious. Eddie got out of the car and looked around. There was a family inside the gas station. The kids were screaming about peanut butter cups and soda.

“Would it help you?” he asked after you’d got out and walked around to him. His hands were shoved into the pockets of the sweatpants he’d been getting in and out of, vampire then bat then vampire then bat. “It might make it more precise. But it’s still conjecture. Still a judgment. Still a human death.”

You tried to read him, but he’d locked you out for the moment.

He continued, “Sometimes it hurts. Or, sometimes I think it hurts. Or, I think it should hurt. I don’t know if I can tell the difference. I don’t want to hurt anybody. I can stop myself from hurting them. But I don’t know, really know, if it weighs on my conscious. I don’t even know if I have one.”

It had been easy to get lost in Eddie’s goodness. It had been the important thing to show your coven. But it was never going away, the darkness. He might have been a good vampire, not a properly made monster, but it didn’t change the fact that he was still a vampire.

“If I say it would help me-”

“Then, I am sure, it would help me. What is good for you is good for me,” Eddie told you. “But I can tell which of them are more like me than you. I can see it in their faces. But if this makes you feel more in control of it, then I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

The neon sign of the station buzzed and crackled, the cicadas trilling back at it. The family got in their car and hit the road again, the radio turned right up to drown out the noise of bickering children.

You could see the station’s clerk watching you and Eddie from behind his counter.

“Loving you doesn’t make me feel guilty. I’m not ashamed of what you are,” you told Eddie then, looking back at him. “I’m not trying to make you into something you’re not.”

He nodded. “I know.” He saw it on your face, a flash of exasperation. “What are you trying to do?” he asked. “Because I’m not ashamed of what you are either… You don’t have to be a lawful, virtuous witch.”

There was a small smile playing on Eddie’s lips and you knew it meant he’d cottoned on to the fact that the seed of darkness that lived inside you was working its magic.

“It’s not just about making things easier for you or for me. It could be… A kind of justice…”

“Ohhh,” Eddie almost laughed. “I am your weapon, and if you can point this blade in the right direction, then well fuck, it might work faster than the humans’ courts and witches’ spells?”

Eddie had only recently started to swear, a habit he was picking up from you most likely. Fuck, in particular, sounded terribly good coming from his mouth.

You looked at him and slowly nodded. He threw his head back and laughed into the night. The gas station clerk sighed in relief at the sudden change of atmosphere around you both.

“Oh, my little witch. You do continue to delight me.”

Eddie pulled you into a rough kiss, letting the tips of his sharpest teeth run along your bottom lip. You were warm and tasted so sugary. He had been itching to eat you up since leaving the Catskills.

“I love you,” you said breathlessly when he let you come up for air.

“I love you too. Entirely.”

…

Waking up alone was bittersweet. Although you missed the weight of Eddie next to you, the immediate crawl of his body to yours, it did mean he was likely up to something. Mostly, it was innocent domestic work.

Pre-turning, Eddie never really had a place to call his own. As a vampire, the idea of home meant something different too. But now, the boy could nest. He cleaned and picked flowers to put in vases and glasses all across the trailer. He was also dabbling in cooking, though he could not eat the fruits of his labor.

So, mostly, it was domestic work, but now and then, you would wake up to him doing something different. A week after returning from the Catskills, you and Eddie had fallen back into routine, but this morning was out of the ordinary.

Eddie had stacks of books crowded around him. Pages of handwritten notes were spilled across the coffee table, your altar supplies stacked neatly below it.

“Looking very witchy there,” you greeted, voice gravelly with sleep.

“Hi, my love,” he replied without looking up. “I’m almost finished.”

Looking around, you realised it wasn’t just the books Eddie had been combing through. Herbs and other potion-brewing bits and pieces were lined up along the kitchen bench.

“Almost finished what?” you asked.

“The spell.”

Nodding slowly at him, you waited for the explanation. It never came. Instead, you let him work on his craft and went about your day.

By mid-morning, he was ready.

“Little witch!” Eddie yelled loudly. You were outside, watering your potted plants and herbs. “Little witch! Come!” There was childlike enthusiasm in his voice and it made you smile.

“Where do you need me?” you asked him, but he was already ushering you to the couch.

“I have written you a grounding spell,” he announced.

“A grounding spell?”

“Yes. Something to reconnect you to the natural world. To promote health and healing.”

Eddie was wide-eyed and on the verge of mania. He had a little dirt smeared across his cheek, and it was caked under his nails. Although his hair was pulled back in a bun, single coils of curls had fallen out throughout the night. He was beautiful.

“Go on,” you urged.

“It starts with malus domestica,” he began.

“It always does,” you noted, already holding back a giggle. He could have just said apple. Still so very dramatic.

“They connect you to the earth. Sacred. Biblical.” He really had been doing his homework. “Then, black hellebore root.” Eddie was at the kitchen bench, holding up a jar that he’d already dug through. That explained the dirt.

“I hope you’ve been careful with that,” you warned.

“I know. Extremely toxic. Even witches sometimes wear gloves to handle it,” Eddie said, reciting one of the books he’d read. “But it is also symbolic of rising from the past. And has a long history of use in witchcraft.”

Eddie had read about hellebore poisoning, how it brought on hallucinations but could also cure mental affliction. He read about how it could be harnessed and used in banishing spells and for purification. About white versus black hellebore and all the folklore surrounding them.

“Okay. What do we do with this apple and root?” you asked, playing the part of a captive audience.

“Core the apple and thread the root through it. Let it air overnight, by moonlight. Come morning, it gets wrapped in willow then cooked,”

“Willow?” you tested.

“Willow that is strong and true. Willow that takes pain and fever and grief and releases you from it.”

You nodded and smiled.

“When the apple is cooked through, falling apart, you take the hellebore root and powder it,”

“Then what?”

Eddie hesitated. “Alas, I do not know…” he admitted. “I can’t find a way to close the spell,”

“Do you have any ideas?” you asked, standing up and coming to the kitchen counter. You looked at everything he had pulled out of the apothecary.

“Moreso, bad ideas. What not to do. Consume it, for example,”

“Yeah. That could kill me. Maybe even turn me into a werewolf,” you joked. The look on Eddie’s face was priceless. “Kidding. Hellebore is an active ingredient in lycanthropic ointment though… Mostly it’s used in what we used to call flying ointment, or magic salve. So no, I cannot consume it,”

“Yes… Well… I thought then, returning it to the earth. Burying it. That didn’t feel right,”

“Mmmhmm… I think you have a clue here,” you told him, pulling a bowl of eucalyptus seed pods forward. “Did you read about these?”

Eddie shook his head.

“They’re kind of amazing. Eucalyptus trees are native to Australia, but are planted ornamentally around the U.S. They produce a highly combustible oil through their leaves. Little fire bombs, basically. They catch ablaze easily. But, these little seedpods are fireproof, and when threatened with fire, they drop lots of seeds and fertilise the scorched ground. Within a couple of years, the burnt earth is already returning to its gloriously green form,”

“Very smart of them,”

“Very smart,” you agreed. “Maybe we can learn from them. We can not just withstand the blaze, but add fuel, let it all burn, and start again,”

“The powder… we let it go free…” Eddie said slowly, catching on to what you’re saying.

“Ah-huh. We give it to the wind.”

Working side by side, you and Eddie cored apples and filled the void with black hellebore root. You set them on the kitchen windowsill ready for the moonlight. (You’d have to take down all the window’s covers though, sunproof house and all.)

Eddie was proud. It was written all over his face.

“Now who’s the little witch?” you whispered to him, stepping up to his body, pressing yours to his.

In reply, Eddie pulled you close, wrapping his arms tightly around your frame. He kissed the top of your head then pressed his cheek to it, resting on you.

“Thank you. Nobody has ever written a spell for me before… Well… Not a good one…” You looked up at him. “You are good, Eddie. And you’re allowed to be. You can be… both. Everything,”

“Everything,” he repeated quietly.

“Yeah… So… What now? We can’t work on them until tomorrow.”

Eddie swept you off to the bedroom by the time you opened your eyes after your next blink.

“But it’s not bedtime,” you said voice saccharine and purposefully dumb.

Eddie grinned. “It’s not. I don’t want you to go to sleep now anyway,”

“No?” You sat on the edge of the unmade bed, looking up at Eddie.

He stood between your legs, reaching out to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs running softly across your skin. He smiled wide, teeth sharp. “I’m very, very hungry.”

Eddie rarely let himself taste your blood, though the occurrences were becoming more regular. He was scared of a multitude of things. Not being able to stop. Seeing something in your magic blood he couldn’t unsee. Pissing off some ancient and unknown creature that would resurrect if ever a vampire munched on a witch.

Sometimes, if you begged pretty enough, you’d get a small bite out of him. But it was better when he came asking for it. The soft inner thigh was his greatest weakness.

Lifting your arms up, Eddie followed the instruction and took your shirt off. You fell back against the bed and let him push your skirt up. He dropped to his knees and kissed the tops of your thighs. Up, up, up, until his mouth was bruising the skin above where the femoral artery was pumping blood.

You still didn’t know how he did it, how he could make it feel so good. You didn’t want to know. It was his own secret vampire magic and it was one mystery that would never appear on your murder board.

Eddie’s teeth sank in and your hot, red blood began to flow. He pushed you further back on the bed, then held your leg up, so the blood would pour down towards where you were already wet. His tongue lapped at blood and arousal fast. He didn’t waste a single drop.

You writhed under him, eyes screwed shut, and body on fire. The vibration of his tongue was pulling you ever closer to climax, but he wouldn’t stay in one spot long enough to let you get there.

Eddie grabbed your hand and smashed it to where he’d bitten you. “Heal it,” he growled, barely able to form words. You did what he said and he licked your palm clean of blood as a thank you. He hooked his arms under your legs and ripped you back to the edge of the bed. Then, he was positioned exactly where he needed to be to let you get there.

End Note: We're back in Hawkins... Now what? Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner

#Mine #Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Vampire!Eddie Munson #Bat!Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson x Reader

85 notes · View notes

bruciemilf · 1 year

Text

Watching the last of us currently and I believe the " Grumpy bastard who's slowly been robbed of hope meets snarky kid who's the incarnation of sunshine" trope fits Clark and Kon so well

Jon too! I mean, just this motherfucker

Meeting a kid who's like him? Immune?

"...I knew Lex was crazy but this," he gestures to the whole of Kon, to the everything around him, " This? Is the worst crime he ever did. "

Kon bites both his cheeks, too slim and too pale and too worn out for a fourteen year old. There's pieces of Clark that scar him. His anger, for one. Only thing keeping them warm anymore, " Are you talking about me or you?"

" I'm not you,"

" That's your issue!"

" Claaaaark?"

" Not now Jonny,"

" Yeah Jon, just let him finish yelling at me about how much of a mistake I am!"

" Mistakes are something unintentional, Conner; You? are a bad decision," and he feels guilty as soon as he says it. He hates it; Hates it that he's meaner, sharper. That Kansas boy with sunshine in his hair wouldn't have talked to anyone like that.

But that Kansas boy died when the world did.

" Clark! It's really important!"

Clark bites his tongue. He already yelled at a goddam teenager, he won't yell at the toddler, too. " What -- What, buddy?"

Jon's tiny finger points to a little town, " There's light in there!" Kon doesn't wait for him, and it's not like Clark expected anything different.

They haven't grown closer since Metropolis, since their feet were scraped by walking endlessly, since they've been saving eachother's lives more often than they should've.

Clark sighs as he watches him go, Jon In his arms and a loaded gun over his shoulder, " No, Jonny, don't touch that. It's bad," He says, gently grabbing the kid when that tiny little hand tries to grab the barrel. He knows Jon'll have to use one soon.

Clark just hopes he won't be around to see it.

Let them meet Jason and Bruce when Kon and Jason literally try to maul eachother,

" Kon!" There's a ball of limbs and reds and dark hair tangled together, feral and angry, mangled like two angry snakes clutching at eachother, " is he bit?!"

" I don't care!"

Crack.

Kon isn't immune to broken noses.

The building they're in is big, like everything else in the city, but slightly more titanic, more towering. Darker and brighter all of the same. The echoing of, " Jason," frames that better, traveling through the hardwood floor and walls.

"... Oh, fuck, we're in Gotham. "

" Whats Gotham?"

Jason, who's beside Bruce, now, -- The Bruce Wayne, thought hardly anyone could tell under those bruises and scars and dark smudges dripping down his diamond jawline, -- snarls,

" How the fuck do you not know what Gotham is, dipshit? What, you've been born yesterday?"

Bruce's hands squeeze at his shoulders, slightly rounder and fuller in frame than Kon's. That was expected. Everyone bleeds in the apocalypse, but no one bleeds the same, " Jason. Language."

" Last year, actually,"

"...Holy fuck," Jason gasps when Jon wiggles around, an action Bruce mimicsm, "Holy shit. That's a baby. I haven't seen a baby in years. Bruce, do you,--"

Bruce is already advancing, taking steps, not brave but not cowardly. He hands Kon a handkerchief for his bleeding nose, but there's no breaks in his and Jon's eye contact.

A stare of wonder. Fright, but wonderful. "... Hi, honey. My name is Bruce. What's your name?"

Jon's been hiding his face in Clark's neck until Bruce talked, just as scared of other human beings as Clark was, but shyness dies quickly with him. " Hi! "

" His name's Jon," Clark says, " he'll be six next week." God. He'll be six. He doesn't know. He has to pretend to know or he'll go crazy. Bruce nods. His hand is held out, " May I?"

He asks Jon if he wants to, and of course he says yes. Who doesn't want to be loved at world's funeral? Jon and Bruce cuddle in the middle of nowhere, and they're left to stare.

" Jason, show Kon the bathroom, please. And you're welcome to a shower if you'd like. But no guns," his tone is final, and Clark doesn't mind munch. He doesn't rely on them for survival.

Kon does find it weird, " Where do you keep yours, then?"

"I don't like guns."

"Then how'd you kill sickos till now?"

" We don't kill them."

" Speak for yourself," Jason mutters, pinching Jon's cheek on his way upstairs, " How slow are you, freak?"

" Not slower than you, creep!"

Clark watches. It's nice. To see him be a kid.

He turns to Bruce, unsure, skeptical, all he ever is these days, " You seriously don't kill them? Not any of them?"

" There's enough death around, Mr. Kent. I refuse to contribute. Besides. Aren't we all dead already?" Clark hums. He doesn't know how to answer that. Watching Bruce kiss Jon's cheeks is easier.

It's human.

#really there's lots more options for this au!! clark and bruce travelling together as an established relationship and collecting the kids #one by one!! ' dont look at me like that bruce we're not picking up another one' '' We. Are. clark. Joseph. kent.'' ''...yeah we are''#clark kent #bruce wayne #kon kent #conner kent #jon kent #jason todd #alternative universe #tlou au #superbat #dc #dc comics #batman #text post #text

406 notes · View notes

eyesxxyou · 1 year

Text

Hobie Brown (Spider-Punk) x Reader!

You didn’t intend on moving to London. There was absolutely nothing about the place you desired to stick around for initially. This is only temporary, you told yourself. It’s not forever. That was all true for the first month of your stay in a city that seemed to be perpetually shaded in grey. Media did no justice for how unappealing the place was. Gloomy, rainy, and the air quality constantly had you choking.

All of that changed, however, when you met Spider-Man, the only appealing part of this forsaken city. You had known about him. Of course you did, the whole world knew about the webslinger with the electric guitar on his back. Attending protests, encouraging anarchy, denouncing all things government controlled. A hero of the people. Governments labeled him a terrorist, a disgrace to all things wholesome. Everyone with half a mind and oppressed in some way loved him.

But you met him. You knew him. Well- as well as one could know a masked punk rock hero. You could pick his voice out of a crowd in a country where everyone sounded exactly the same to you. The baritone of his voice as he hung off the balcony of your apartment— sorry, flat, as he insists you call it. “Ain’t in America anymore, love. It’s a flat.” But you could see behind his mask the way he smiled everytime you called it an apartment in spite of him. But he liked to hang out there, strum his guitar covered in peeling stickers and hum to the melody late into the night.

It started after he saved you from getting mugged. Your first week in London and already you were having the worst time of your life with a knife pointed at your throat. You didn’t try to fight it. You were already over it by then and simply wanted to find the path of least resistance to get home. Luckily for you, Spider-Man happened to be patrolling nearby, lurking on rooftops.

“Oi. that’s no way to treat a young lady is it?” You and your robber both looked up to see him with his mask half off, eating the rest of his churro before pulling his mask back down. He was so fast, you hardly saw his webs shoot out and yank the robber back. He jumped down from the roof, swinging his guitar around off his shoulder and grabbing it by the neck before smashing it against your assailant's head. It knocked him out immediately, left him slumped against the wall. A couple of webs here and there to keep him where he was before Spider-Man grabbed your bag and brought it over to you.

“There ya go, love.” He dropped the bag in your hands and adjusted your shawl. “Not the first time I’ve had to deal with this bloke. I keep telling him to stop robbing people on the street. The banks are a much better target." You simply stared at him, almost surprised by his punk rock style, the metal spikes creaking a mohawk down the back of his head. His sleeveless jacket, torn fabric, patches. He was tall and rather lanky but you could see the lean muscle hiding just beneath his unassuming statue.

"Oh-" he clicked his tongue. "Got a little nick on ya jaw, love." His hand reached out to touch the bleeding cut but you quickly covered it and coughed. "It's okay. I'll be okay." You assure him. It was probably then that he realized you're American and most likely recently moved to England. It was getting dark and you still didn't know your way around.

“I don’t know if you’re busy or not, but do you mind walking me home? I recently moved here and I'm still not sure what parts of London are safe or not.” It was a stretch to ask and you felt a bit stupid the moment the words left your lips. You could see him consider it or find the best way to let you down but in the end, he shrugged. “Why the hell not. What street?”

That was the beginning of your friendship if that’s what you could call it. He’d visit from time to time, crash at your place in the middle of the night, often sporting bloody patches on his suit that could equally be his or someone else's. He never took off his mask though and you never pressured him to do so.

You were sitting on your bed, sketching out pictures of beetles and mushrooms to hang up on your overcrowded walls while listening to Lauren Hill playing softly through your speakers when you heard a soft tap on your window. Living on the fourth floor meant it could only be one person. “The window’s unlocked.” You always leave it unlocked for him, got into the habit of it after his third visit.

The window slid open and in came the familiar hero (but don’t call him that to his face, he’ll take offense). “Oi, like what you’ve done with the place.” He looks around at your new decorations. Fake vines hanging from the ceiling, tapestries of fungi and bugs, a shelf full of plants with a grow light beaming down on them. “The earthy type. Sick. You should come to an environmental protest.” He leans his guitar up against the side of your bed and goes to examine your bookshelf.

“I would but knowing you, I’d end up arrested for being an accomplice to a crime.” You put your sketchbook down to the side and watched as he made his way over and sat on your bed right beside you. He tossed his arm across your shoulders. “What do you mean, love? That’s the best part.” You could feel your face warm, his face being so close to yours, only separated by a mask that you could so easily pull off. That would be wrong, a betrayal of the trust he obviously has with you.

There was something so freeing about his carefree attitude. It offered a level of freedom you’ve never experienced before. He didn’t judge, didn’t pry. You could tell him anything and his response would be, “rock on, fuck the system.” You could have intellectual conversations about society and structures with him and not have him give you puzzled looks or brush you off about being too serious.

To put it all simply. He was cool. The coolest person you know.

How stupid was it? To have a crush on someone you couldn’t even point out in a crowd without his mask being on or him making a scene as he does. Everywhere he went, he made it impossible to be ignored. He was so charming in the most blatant, blunt way. He told you how it was and didn’t hold punches and there was something so attractive about his honesty.

You think it’s because you know that his friendship is genuine. He wouldn’t have stuck around if he didn’t want to, wouldn’t visit you as often as he does if somewhere in that black heart of his he didn’t have a soft spot for you.

“You wanna go up onto the roof?” He scratched his exposed stomach as he was wearing the croptop you had made for him. A plain black shirt you had cut up and torn the sleeves off of before using bleach to paint on his spider logo. He absolutely loved it, wore it while out and about and asked you to make more for him, in return, he’d steal you some more decorations for your room because he “doesn’t believe in capitalism”.

You raise a brow at him. ��How the hell am I supposed to get up to the roof?” You can almost see his smile through his mask. That’s the kind of smile you don’t want to see from a man bitten by a radioactive spider. He jumped up from your bed and took both of your hands in his. They were much larger than yours, warm and calloused you could tell through his gloves. He pulled you up from your bed. “You’re gonna hold on to my back while I climb up the side of the building.”

“You must be out of your goddamn mind.” You take your hands from his but your heart swoons as he chuckles. “Just a little bit.” He grabs his guitar and swings the strap around his neck so it hangs in front of him. “You trust me?” He stands at the window where he entered and looks at you. You wanted to tell him, “with my life” but you’d never say something so corny, never wear your heart so openly on your sleeve like that. You nod.

He chuckles. “Bad idea. Come on then.” And despite your reservations, you go to him and follow him out of the window onto the terrace. He had you hop onto his back, your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck, forearms pressed against his spiked collar. “You ready?”

“No.”

He began up the side of the wall on the tips of his fingers and the toes of his shoes. You didn’t know what you had expected but you didn’t expect the way your stomach dropped. You buried your face into his shoulder and took in a deep breath to calm yourself. “Got a fear of heights, do ya?” You hated the smugness in his tone and loved it all at the same time. “Fuck you.” You murmur. “I’m not afraid of heights, I’m afraid of your weird spider shit failing and we both fall to our deaths.”

“Oh, come off it, we’re already at the top.” He pulled the two of you up over the edge and onto the roof. It had gone by a lot faster than you had expected. You peeled yourself away from him and hopped down on solid land. The wind was strong up here, whipping at your face and pushing your hair so you could properly look over the city.

London wasn’t all so bad. Sometimes you get moments like this, sitting on the rooftop of your apartment building with the most admirable person in the world. He had his guitar in his lap, pulling at strings in a pleasant little tune. You look at him and after a second, he looks at you behind that hand-painted mask of his. He stopped playing his guitar. “What? Come out with it then.” It was just the two of you, right here, right now, in this small moment of time you may never get back. Why not just go for it?

You lean towards him and he makes no motion to move away as you hand reaches for his mask. He’s completely still as you grab it and pull it up just enough to reveal the lower half of his face. His pierced lips, his chin, his nose. But you don’t go further than that. If he wanted to show you his identity, he would have. You can respect that.

Leaning in to kiss him was the scariest part because at any moment he could reject you, laugh and tell you off. He doesn’t. He lets you press your lips against his in some timid attempt at affection. It was quick and almost frightened. You look away, trying to avoid his steady gaze.

“Oh love, that is not a kiss.” He reached out and grabbed your chin to kiss you again. It was harder this time, more passionate like something that’s been held back for far too long finally came to a climax. You could feel his lip ring against the seam of your lips and wanted nothing more than to take it into your mouth, bite his lips, have him all.

He reaches up and pulls off the rest of his mask in the middle of your kiss growing more and more heated, then his hands come to cradle your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks with uncharacteristic tenderness. Or maybe it was characteristic for him and you’ve never seen such a gentle side of him.

When you part, your eyes flutter open and for the first time you see his whole face. He was somehow everything you thought he’d be. A slender face, high-set cheekbones, and deadpanned dark brown eyes painted in eyeliner against his waterline. Eyebrow piercings, dreadlocks that are more wild and chaotic than anything, just like him.

“Now, that was a kiss.

#spider punk fic #hobie brown fic #hobie brown #spiderman atsv #spiderman

191 notes · View notes

johnwickb1tsch · 6 months

Text

you're the worst thing (i'm addicted to) Part 4

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. When you meet John Wick at Helen's graveside, he invites you to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Future reference to threat of noncon, (not John! because he's our assassin sweetiepie). Mourning. Smut. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here... PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

PART 4.

When the night of your art show comes, you do not expect to see John Wick in the crowd. You had not heard from him since that night when he gave you the orgasm of your life, then disappeared from your apartment like he’d only ever been a dark dream.

Though your panties had disappeared too, and you strongly suspect he’d taken them with him.

The gallery is packed this night. It’s a group show, and you’re hardly the main act, but it’s a huge stepping stone for you as an artist. Gallery X is nothing to turn one’s nose up at, and you dare to hope that maybe, just maybe, things might get going from here. The art world is just as much politics as it is producing work, and you were never good at that part of it all.

Helen was, bless. She presented strong work, but she also knew how to read a room, and whose hand to shake, and how to tell someone to go to Hell with a polite smile. You know that her final gift to you was the cachet of her name in a collaboration, and maybe, just maybe, if you play your cards just fucking right, this could be your break.

You recognize the faces of people with big names in the art world here tonight. Critics, museum curators, journalists, and collectors. They’ve all come out to play, and your heart has not slowed its frantic pace in your chest for the past hour since opening.

You snag a glass of champagne from a passing tray, even though you hate the stuff, and that is when you see him through the crowd. He’s across the room, tall and forbidding in a dark suit, his long hair framing his angular face. You can practically feel the weight of his gaze upon you, through the crush of all these people. For a moment, time stands still, as your eyes meet his.

You have thought of him a thousand times since the night he left you sated yet ravenous in your bed. A hot flush blooms across your skin, a spear of desire shooting straight to your loins as you remember what he did to you with that perfect mouth, and those big hands, and those soulful eyes. God, but you would have given him anything, after one look from those yearning dark eyes.

He is dressed well, but he doesn’t exactly look well. There is an edge to his stare; an intensity.

A hunger.

An agonizing thrill runs down your spine; for a moment you have to look away. It’s just too much.

By the time you turn back, he is gone.

You continue to mingle, chatting with your friends and acquaintances, sipping some of the bubbly to try to calm your nerves. It doesn’t work; you feel as though you have a live wire under your skin, a thousand volts of raw emotion running rampant through your veins.

It would have been easier, had it only been lust, or even just pity. But there was something more to it, something substantial and heady and warm, and that made it a much harder beast to slay.

You slowly make your way around to look at the other pieces. It’s the polite thing to do, and interesting too. The theme of the show is Loss. Perfectly broad, and the subjects of the works vary wildly.

In front of a massive encaustic abstract a low voice in your ear stops you in your tracks. “I feel like I owe you an apology.”

You turn your head slightly to find John standing ever so near, so close you can feel the warmth of the solid line of his body behind you. The room is packed and it’s almost necessary to stand this close just to be heard, but still, you get a dark thrill out of it.

“Oh?”

“I feel like I took advantage of you, last we met. I am sorry.”

You turn to face him, standing close enough to kiss. Thanks to the heels you’re wearing, you don’t have to crane your neck too far to look him in the eye.

“Actually, I was kind of thinking I took advantage of you.”

This clearly surprises him, his eyebrows rising. Ah, this dear, sweet, man. You didn’t take him for being naïve, but he is a little older, and the claws of traditional gender roles cling hard and deep.

“Helen wanted me to look after you, and I—”

“Gave me the most incredible pleasure of my life? Yeah, it was pretty terrible. You’re a selfish beast.”

He blinks at you, clearly stunned. Then his eyes narrow, the hunger from before sharpening to a cutting edge, and a scintillating thrill runs down your spine. You cannot shake the feeling that you’ve just pulled the tail of a tiger; a predator both magnificent and deadly. Mostly it’s excitement; but just the slightest hint might be fear. There is something brimming below the surface of this man that you know you don’t entirely understand. You aren’t sure yet if it is passion, or violence—or maybe a combination of the two. You wonder if Helen ever got to see behind the mask.

Somehow, you are certain she did, and she had not run from him. Perhaps that is what makes you brave tonight.

“You don’t mince words, do you?”

“Helen was the tactful one.”

“I actually found her refreshingly direct.”

“But I'm just abrasive. I've been told, believe me. It's because I don't apologize before I tell men what I really think.”

“I don't want your apologies.”

“Either way... I'm a big girl, John. You don't have to be the responsible adult between us.”

The corner of his mouth ticks at that.

“I feel like I should at least try.”

You shrug, unable to stop yourself from fingering his tie, fighting the urge to wrap your fist in it and pull him to you again. You’ve missed him, and standing this close, what you really want to do is climb him like a tree, and the crowd be damned. “Suit yourself.” You force yourself to stop touching him, although he didn’t seem to mind, or intend to stop you. You sigh deeply, warring with yourself as ever.

This is all so very fucked.

Maybe the truth is the best way to go.

“I like you, John. Maybe I’m just lying to myself, thinking Helen wouldn’t be pissed, but…maybe she’d be happy we’ve found each other.”

You dare to look him in the eyes, and once again, he looks as though he is drowning.

Fuck. You have to go.

You force yourself to step away from him, because your skin feels like its on fire. “We’re all going to Bar Rosé later to celebrate. You’re welcome to come, if you want.”

You retreat to greet a friend who’d come all the way to Manhattan from upstate to support you, and you can feel John’s eyes boring into you as you walk away.

For the rest of the opening you follow him out the corner of your eye. As though he's a magnet, you simply cannot help it. You are achingly aware of his presence, even if it's from across the room.

He pauses before your piece of Helen for a very long time, letting the crowd mill around him like a rock in a stream. It’s heartbreaking, really, the way he stands there before her, transfixed. A part of you wants to go take his hand, support him in what you know is yet another painful moment for him. But in the end, you decide to let him process it alone. A little later, you notice him talking to the gallery owner. Chummily, almost like they know each other. Of course, Carol Banning had known Helen, so perhaps you shouldn’t be so surprised.

When the evening is winding down John Wick is nowhere to be found. You're a little disappointed, and a little bit relieved. You're not sure what you think you're playing at, but deep down, you know it's so fucking twisted.

You meet with your comrades from the show, some artists you knew before, and some new acquaintances too. You hail a van cab to go a few blocks to Rosé. Tonight was a success. Someone bought your painting for a massive amount of money. More than you’d ever dreamed you could charge for a piece of your soul put down on canvas with paint. Carol had assured you it was appropriate, and you guessed she knew her clientele. A part of you was distressed to part with the piece you’d created with blood and tears and Helen’s art, and a part of you was relieved to let it go. You completed the cycle. You were sending Helen out into the world, where she would be remembered, and celebrated, for the remarkable woman she was.

It should have felt like victory, but in truth it was bittersweet.

You are 98 percent sure you don't let it show. Your friends are giddy with the success of the exhibition, and the last thing you want is to bring them down. You are too, truth be told. You were interviewed by not one, but two journalists this evening. One who even worked for the Times. Maybe it’s just curiosity about Helen Morgan-Wick’s baby sister, but…Helen would have told you to stop overthinking and enjoy it.

So perhaps, you will.

True to its name, the neon lights that accent the room at Rosé are pink. The glassware is too. You’re sure it’s a play on seeing the world through rose tinted glasses…but the drinks are strong, and the ambiance is fun. After a round your friends want to dance. You agree, and the four of you have a great time until you pick up a bogey. A man keeps trying to dance up on you, not getting the hint when you sidle away, not engaging with him whatsoever. Finally, you get tired of dodging him, and decide to get another drink. He follows you, leaning on the bar while you wait for the bartender’s attention. “I'm Sasha,” he says in thickly accented English, looking you up and down. He’s not bad looking at all, but there is something in the way he looks at you that makes you uneasy.

“Hi,” you answer, not keen to give him your name.

“You come here often?”

“Not really.”

“What are you celebrating tonight?”

“Who said we're celebrating?”

Had this pushy creep overheard you? Had he followed you from the gallery?

Another voice cuts in from behind you, a string of Russian that almost sounds like a command.

Your unwelcome suitor frowns, answering in the same language.

You turn your head to find John standing close behind you. You hadn’t noticed him come in; it’s as though he materialized from the shadows. When he puts a hand on your waist you do not flinch, hoping the other guy will get the picture. He frowns, looking between you. He says something quick over your head, and the only word you catch is blyad.

You’re pretty sure it means fuck.

There is a heavy moment rife with tension between the two men with you stuck in the middle, before the Russian makes a hissing sound between his teeth and goes. He doesn’t just go to the other side of the bar, however. He leaves the premises, slinking out the door, and you turn to look at your savior.

“Wow. What did you say to him?”

He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Did you know him?”

“Hmm. Sort of. From work.”

You tilt your head, staring up at him. He hasn’t removed his large hand from your hip, and even though its possessive and maybe it should bother you, you revel in his touch. You’re not usually one to get off on men fighting over you, but it’s hard not to feel a little glow of primal satisfaction at the exchange. It makes you feel bold, and maybe you run your mouth a little. “Yeah? So did Helen know?”

“Know what?”

“That you’re an ex mafioso?”

You’re 99 percent sure you’re making a joke, but from the sharp way he looks at you, a trill of warning rolls down your spine. He leans down to speak in your ear, “You have quite the imagination, young lady.”

That warmth in your chest descends to pool between your thighs.

The bartender saves you from digging this hole even deeper.

“What can I get you, Mr. Wick?”

“Blanton’s on the rocks,” John answers, then looks to you.

“Vodka martini, please,” you answer.

“We have Smirnoff, Absolut, Grey Goose, Stoli…”

Before you can answer that Smirnoff is fine John answers, “Stoli.”

You raise an eyebrow at him as the bartender goes to pour your drinks. “Thanks.”

“Life is too short to drink bad vodka.”

You huff a laugh at that. “So, do you know every bartender in New York, or…”

“Probably just in Manhattan,” he jokes with a ghost of a smile.

You turn so that you are facing him completely. You have to stand close to hear each other, you reason. It has nothing to do with the fact that this man draws you like you are an asteroid caught in his gravity. If you collide…you have no doubt you’ll burn to pieces.

“Congratulations, on tonight,” he says, and you believe he means it. “Helen would be proud.”

“Thanks. Feels surreal, to be honest.”

“That’s fair.”

You find yourself looking at his tie again, fighting the urge to use it to tug him closer. My, but you are becoming a needy creature in this man’s presence. You have to remind yourself that you do not, in fact, know him that well. Even if it feels like…he could have always been yours. “It’s nice to see you again,” you dare venture, looking up from beneath your lashes.

“Likewise.” He touches you lightly, just below your chin. Your eyes meet, and you feel pinned by those dark orbs, somehow certain he can see right through you,

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but…are you okay?” Like on Helen’s birthday, you imagine tonight must have dredged up plenty of emotions that just maybe this poor man would like to bury once and for all.

“I guess I deserve that, after how I behaved.” He is, undoubtedly, referring to the way he fled your apartment a month ago.

“I’m not mad, I just…genuinely want to know.”

He bites his lip as he’s thinking, and its all you can do just to watch him, wishing it was you with his lip between your teeth instead. Finally he answers, “I am as okay as it is possible for me to be.”

It is the most non-answer you’ve ever heard.

Sensing your dissatisfaction with this pointed evasion, he digs a little deeper, leaning in so that his words are only for you. “I didn’t exactly lead a happy life, before Helen. After she passed…I was certain I would never want anyone ever again. You kind of threw a wrench into that.”

“Sorry.”

He gives a little huff of self-deprecating laughter. “Don’t be. I…I like you, y/n. Please, forgive me, for…everything.”

You don’t believe he’s telling you all this to win sympathy, or using it as a line, like so many men would. It’s just facts, and you are moved to the bottom of your soul. Somehow you know that this is not something this man would casually admit to just anyone. “John…” With your heart in your throat you find yourself reaching for him, touching his fingertips with yours on the bar. “It’s ok. You don’t owe me an apology. You don’t owe me anything.”

He tilts his head to look at you, his dark hair swinging into his face. You feel bold enough to reach out, brushing it behind his ear. His eyes close at your touch for the barest moment. It’s so easy to forget that you are in a crowded public venue, with him near. “I owe you my gratitude, at the very least.”

You shake your head, prepared to deny it, but then your drinks arrive, and the moment is somewhat shattered. “Want to sit with us?” you ask, indicating your merry band of artist misfits with your chin. He nods, following you, though his hand has found that place at the small of your back again that warms your blood to an agonizingly slow simmer. Carol has joined you, and you wonder if John will feel awkward, fraternizing here in unspecific but obviously friendly capacity with his sister in law.

Yikes. You do not like it, when you think of it that way.

However, Carol Banning is a veteran of the New York art scene, and she has seen much worse scandals than this. She doesn’t even bat an eyelash, greeting him warmly from behind her large black-rimmed glasses. They chat more about the show, and the state of the art world. Carol mourns that no photographers currently working quite have an eye like Helen did. Then she points a crimson painted claw your way, surprising you. “But this young lady. She’s going to do some interesting things, I have a feeling.”

John salutes you with his dwindling glass of amber liquid, a smirk on his lips you don’t entirely know how to read. “I have no doubts.”

After you finish your drink you find you are ready to go. It’s been a long day, and a big night. Tonight, you fulfilled Helen’s dying wish for you, and somehow you feel simultaneously accomplished and sore to the bone.

“Can I drive you home?” asks John quietly in your ear. It sends a bolt of heat straight to your center, warmth pooling in your loins as you remember what happened last time he made such an offer. You look at him, wondering if he wants an encore, or if he just wants to see you home safe. His face in that moment is so handsome it hurts, but utterly unreadable to you.

“Sure,” you answer, sensing that somehow you’ve just signed your fate over to him with your name on the dotted line.

You hit the street, the cool night air a relief after the close press of the bar. John offers you his left arm, and you take it gladly, leaning on his shoulder a little more than you really need to. Part of it is that last martini with what had been truly excellent vodka—and part of it was just a need to be close to him. A part of you thought you’d never see him again. The fact that he is here, solid in the flesh and you can touch him, kind of blows your mind.

“I’m not parked far,” he assures you, and you nod with a sleepy smile. At the end of the block you see his car parked on the street. It’s a little menacing, you think to yourself, looking at the dark paintjob and the sleek lines. Definitely a car designed to be a predator of the road; something that will run you down and eat you, no matter how fast you try to run.

As you near the vehicle three shadows separate themselves from an alley. John freezes in his tracks, pushing you behind him. You recognize the guy from earlier, Sasha, who is flanked by two intimidating henchmen. He speaks to John again in Russian, and John replies in kind. It pisses you off that you don’t know what’s being said.

“Speak English,” you demand, half-stepping out from behind John.

A low chuckle runs through the men before you that makes your blood run cold. “I said,” enunciates Sasha slowly, “That if he hands you over now I’ll let you both live. He’ll just have to watch as I fuck you like the whore you are.”

“Nice. Very original, fuck head.”

His self-satisfaction morphs to anger. You are scared, but you’re not showing it like you should, and it’s ruining his fun. You use John’s body to shield the fact that you are dipping into your purse for your pepper spray. Why the fuck can’t you ever find anything in your purse when you need it?

What comes next happens so fast you almost can’t register it. One of the toughs made the first move forward, but John is like a hurricane upon them, deflecting strikes and breaking arms, punching one guy in the throat and kicking another in the gut. He throws one with some kind of complicated grapple and flip ninja shit before hitting the other again in the knees. In the blink of an eye two of them are down on the ground, leaving John to take on Sasha, who has drawn a knife. You see that one of the grounded henchmen is fishing behind his back for something. Without thinking you surge forward, knowing it’s a matter of life and death. As his hand raises with the gun you goalie-kick it from his hand, dousing his face with mace.

“Motherfucker!”

The gun goes off before it skitters across the street and under a parked car. He howls with agony, clutching his face, trying to wipe the concentrated capsaicin out of his eyes. In the next moment there is an arm around your waist, pulling you towards the parked cars. You are so caught up in the adrenaline rush that you react without looking, but John catches your hand with the mace, keeping it pointed away from the both of you. “It’s me,” he says, taking the tube and slipping it into his pocket like he doesn’t trust you not to let loose again. “You did good, honey. Come on.”

As he is bundling you into the passenger seat of his car you look back to see Sasha is writhing on the sidewalk with his knife in his leg, shouting what undoubtedly are expletives in Russian. You vaguely wonder if he might bleed to death as the Mustang rumbles to life and you roar away.

“Holy shit!” you exclaim, trembling with adrenaline and you guess, a bit of shock. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Are you hurt?” he asks, deeming it the more pertinent question.

“No. I’m…fine,” you say, looking down at yourself. “Jesus, are you hurt?” You look over at him to see that he is bleeding from a cut on his brow. “Oh my god, let me see.” You reach for him but he holds up a hand. “I’m fine, believe me.”

You catch one more glimpse of the wreckage behind you as he makes a right turn, downshifting. The car surges forward, pressing you back into the seat.

“You totally laid those guys out!”

“Yeah.” You study him from the passenger’s seat, his hard expression highlighted by the passing headlights. His jaw is clenched so tight you think he might crack his teeth. “I'm sorry you had to see that.”

You think about the three guys he leveled out like a human tornado.

“You've got some moves, Mr. Wick.”

He just sighs, sounding so very tired.

“Yeah.”

“Should we…call the cops?”

He looks over at you like you should know the answer to that question, but shit, this is the most violence you’ve seen up close in your entire life. Finally, he just shakes his head, seeming a decade older in that moment. “It wouldn’t do any good,” he assures you.

Except, maybe get him arrested, you reason. Because even though it had been self-defense…the carnage he’d left behind was unreal.

“Helen said you used to work in security?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus Christ.”

He huffs a laugh at that. “Hardly.”

“I still don’t fucking get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why…this even happened? Men don’t exactly brawl on the street over me.” For Helen? Maybe, more likely, but not you, the boho weirdo who is lucky enough to kind of resemble your model-beautiful older sister, but will never be half as lovely or charming. You suspect there is some other reason this went sideways, that has more to do with John’s professional life before he retired from security.

That job description is holding less and less water the more you think on it. Helen was always super cagey in talking about what John Wick did for a living. You’re starting to get a better idea as to why that might have been.

John surprises you when he holds out his hand to you across the center console. “I would fight an army for you,” he tells you softly, and goddamn if you don’t believe him. You take his hand, comforted by the strength in the long fingers wrapped around yours. You only let go in between him shifting gears, and you don’t really say anything else until you pull up in front of your building.

“Come on,” you say, swinging open the heavy door of the sportscar. “I’ll take care of you.” The look he pays you is somehow both raw and predatory. A thrill of anticipation runs down your spine, because at this point you’ve lost your mind, and you don’t have the sense to be afraid.

<<PART 3 PART 5>>

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #john wick fic #keanu x you #keanu reeves x reader

105 notes · View notes

capseycartwright · 1 year

Text

and half of my heart has always been yours

Lightning doesn’t strike twice –

Except it did.

Because Eddie is thirty-five, when he watches Buck’s lifeless body disappear behind glass doors and he realises in that moment that Evan Buckley is the love of his life.

And he’s dead.

Eddie spends eight days in the hospital waiting for his best friend to wake up from his coma so that he can tell him that he loves him. It's kind of the worst eight days of his life.

ao3 link

Eddie was thirty-one years old when he watched his wife die. It’s a moment he would never forget, not as long as he lived, and maybe even after that – as he got older, he was more able to sit with his grief, accept it as part of himself, and he was glad he had been there: glad that in her final moments, Shannon hadn’t been alone. He had been able to give her that much, at least, even if he hadn’t been able to give her much else over the course of their relationship, their marriage.

Eddie is thirty-five, when he watches his best friend in the entire world get struck by lightning, and he clambers up a ladder – a metal ladder, he realises later, hardly a safe place to be in the middle of a lightning storm, but surely lighting couldn’t strike twice – and tries to pull Buck’s lifeless body toward him, because his automatic response is to want Buck to be closer, closer, even as his arms burn with the effort of trying to pull Buck closer.

He has to lower him down, in the end. Eddie didn’t want to - but he couldn’t bring Buck’s lifeless body closer to him, so he did the next best thing, and he lowered Buck into Bobby’s waiting arms.

Eddie is thirty-five, when he watches his partner hit by lightning, and he’s thirty-five when he drives the ambulance containing Buck’s lifeless body, Hen and Chimney’s yelling in the back as they desperately work to save his life static noise as Eddie tried to focus on the road and getting them to the hospital as fast as the ambulance allowed.

Eddie is thirty-five, when he feels Buck’s ribs crack under the force of his own hands, the crunch sounding sickeningly loud as he takes over from Chimney and tries to force life back to Buck’s body.

Seven minutes, seven minutes - Buck had been down for seven minutes, and he barely registers the meaning of the words when he hears Hen yell that Buck has a pulse because all Eddie can think of is that he broke his best friends ribs, and -

Lightning doesn’t strike twice –

Except it did.

Because Eddie is thirty-five, when he watches Buck’s lifeless body disappear behind glass doors and he realises in that moment that Evan Buckley is the love of his life.

And he’s dead.

“Do more.”

Do more, do more - as if Eddie doesn’t know that every doctor and nurse in LA General always did their best, did more, went above and beyond the call of duty to try and save lives: but they weren’t just saving any life, they were saving Buck’s, and Eddie knew how this story went because he lived it before, and it ends with him standing at a graveside wearing a stiff black suit and wondering if his love is the curse, wondering if everyone he loves is doomed to die.

Do more -

Because their best wasn’t enough, not when it came to Buck.

“Eddie,” Hen’s voice sounded fuzzy. “Eddie - can you focus on my voice?”

Eddie thinks he shakes his head. He’s not sure.

“Eddie, I need you to focus on my voice,” Hen continued. “Eddie, you’re having a panic attack.”

Oh. Oh - well, that made sense, actually. Eddie hadn’t had a panic attack in a long time: Frank, and Buck, probably, would assure him it's because he has been putting in the hard work and focusing on his mental health, and all that hard work made for less panic attacks. Eddie would probably say it’s because his life was finally happy - he hadn’t felt like he had all that much to panic about, lately, and so in the months since the last time he’d had a panic attack, he’d forgotten the way it burned his chest as the terror consumed his body.

“That’s it, that’s it Eddie - in, and out, nice and slow.” Hen had a soothing voice - it made sense that she was a paramedic, because she had a calming effect on people. She was born to help, Eddie figured - maybe he should tell her that.

The room slowly came back into focus, Hen’s concerned face close to Eddie’s own.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, face burning red with embarrassment as he realised what had happened - the way he had panicked, as if he was the only one of them who cared about Buck. Buck, who was like a son to Bobby. Buck, who was Chimney’s brother-in-law. Buck, who Hen loved like a brother. Eddie wasn’t the only one who staked a claim on Buck, and here he was, making it all about him.

“It’s okay,” Hen reassured, gentle, always gentle. She brushed Eddie’s soaking hair back off his forehead, her gesture motherly. “It’s okay to be scared, Eddie.”

“We all are,” Chimney reassured, solemn in his words. He didn’t know - how could he know? Eddie didn’t know, until a few minutes ago - consciously, at least. Maybe subconsciously he had known for longer, but not consciously, no: his treacherous brain had waited until the moment Eddie had felt Buck’s heart stop beating under his hands to let him in on the secret.

He loved him.

Eddie was in love with his best friend.

read the rest on ao3

#911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911fic #in which i ramble #in which lorna writes fic #i actually wrote fic its a miracle #theres just something so inspiring about coma buck actually

260 notes · View notes

beastofburdenxo · 6 months

Text

A Closer Encounter

Here it is, Part 2 of Close Encounter. Emmett has been spotted. Does she run? Does she stay? Smut MINORS DNI tags: dirty talk, daddy kink, p in v sex, unprotected sex 1.5k words

She smiled. All the air in Emmett’s lungs disappeared. He tried his damdest to keep eye contact and not wander downwards. His mouth suddenly dry as her hand reached up to touch his beard. Time stood still between the two as she ran her hand through the soft hairs. He wanted to close his eyes at the sudden touch but didn’t, in fear it was all a dream. She didn’t know why she did that, before all this, touching him would’ve been the farthest from her mind. She literally just caught him watching her bathe with his pants down, he didn’t deserve her touch, yet she did anyways. She noticed his strong shoulders, and how easily he could pick her up and move her as he pleased. It wasn’t the worst idea in the world. “Stop it, you`re just as bad as this pervert.” she thought to herself. “What are you doing, get your hand away from him. Over here petting him like a stray dog.”

As her hand starts to move away from his face, Emmett panics and grabs her wrist. “Please don’t,” he pleads. His voice rough and hoarse from hardly being used, “It’s been a long time since another human touched me, I had almost forgotten what it feels like.” In a moment of recklessness, he pulls her towards his chest, lips almost touching. She can feel his heart beating one hundred miles an hour under his shirt. His rough hand still holding her wrist, the other he had placed on her hip. He wasn’t hurting her; his grip was hard enough to just keep her from running away. “I won’t hurt you,” Emmett rasped, “Just please don’t go.” blinking, she replied, “You do realize I could kill you on the spot for watching me? The world might have gone to hell, but that doesn’t mean common courtesy has to!” She tries to turn away from the gaze of his crystal blue eyes, and that’s when Emmett takes ahold of both her hips. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aiming to you know...” a slight flush takes up space on his cheeks. “I don’t know what came over me, I just lost control for a minute. I was originally hanging around to keep watch in case something bad happened and you needed help. Besides, you started watching me too!”

She rolls her eyes at this remark and tries to shove him away. “Oh please. You`re just upset because you got caught. I bet you was a real peeping tom before the world ended.” Emmett’s nostrils flare in frustration at where this conversation is headed. “Peeping tom, huh? Says the naked woman with her thighs crossed tight, like she didn’t enjoy what she saw! Yeah, that’s right, I noticed! Getting all worked up, are we? Should I check you and see if I'm right?” Before there’s even a chance at a rebuttal, Emmett grabs her face and roughly plants his lips on hers. She wants to slap him then and there for the intrusion, but part of her is relishing the attention. There is a fight for dominance during the kiss, but after a while Emmett calms down and his kisses turn sensual. His arms wrapped around her body holding her to him. “Damn him,” she thinks to herself, “Why does he have to be such a good kisser?” Her hands return to his beard, and he moans in her mouth. “Well, if handsome stranger here wants to play, let’s play.” With the realization that she isn’t fighting him anymore, his hands move back to hold on to the ass he spent an afternoon watching.

Things heat up between the two, teeth and tongues clashing. Trying desperately to stay quiet, Emmett’s shirt comes off. She tries to speak in between kisses, but Emmett holds his hand to her mouth. “Hush now, we must stay quiet, don’t we? Just follow my lead, I'd hate for the creatures to eat you up before I can.” he purrs in her ear backing her up against the nearest tree. To muffle her mews, she busies herself by leaving marks on his neck, and then it’s her turn to hush him. Emmett uses his knee to separate her thighs for him. “Let’s see if I was right, shall we?” he mumbles as his large hand makes its way to feel in between her legs. Knowing what he’ll find, she turns away in embarrassment. An evil smirk appears on his face, as he grabs her chin to make her look at him. “Well, well, I was right, wasn’t I? Why are you so wet right now? Did someone enjoy the little show?” he immediately finds her clit and makes small circles around it. “Just as horny as I am huh? Poor baby, at least I'll admit it.” She clenches her fist at his verbal bashing, ready to hit him. But her pussy also clenches as his thick finger enters her and she hesitates. “Shut the fuck up,” she hisses in his ear, “There is no need to belittle me while having me up against a tree while naked.” She feels Emmett chuckle against her neck. “Poor little thing, so worked up and nowhere to go. Don’t worry, Emmett’s got you Babygirl.” Breathing heavy, her body betrays her as her thighs tremble to keep her upright. The speed and movements of Emmett’s fingers are delicious. He notices her struggling, “Lean on me, I got you. You take my fingers so well. No screaming like a whore now, okay? Be a good girl for me.”

The pleasure is too much for her as she leans on Emmett. He holds her head into his neck to silence her as she falls apart. As his fingers are being squeezed to death, Emmett mutters curses under his breath. She's not even listening to what he’s saying, as she clamps down on his shoulder. Nails digging into his back, he lets her ride it out. “Well, look at you, that was awful quick.” She looks up at him to glare, but her eyes are all big and glazed over with pleasure and need instead. Emmett wastes no time as he pulls himself out and lines himself up at her entrance. She looks down and finally notices the size of him. He's bigger than she imagined. Biting her bottom lip, she thinks to herself, “This is either going to be really good or really bad.” As if Emmett heard her thoughts he moaned in her ear, “I’m going to make you feel so good baby girl, I worked on you, so it won’t hurt as bad. Don’t let me hurt you too much, keep your eyes on me. I want to see when I hit that spot you like.” With one swift motion he enters her, and her body lets him in.

Her eyes bulge at the sensation of her walls being stretched by Emmett. It's not unpleasant, but she can tell it’s been a while. His beautiful blue eyes darken as he feels her swallowing him up, her little pussy so small but compliant for him. “You feel so good,” he growls, “I’m so glad I found you so I can give you what I know you need.” All her thoughts go blank as he finds a good pace. She can’t even form words; all she can focus on is Emmett and how good he’s making her feel. She doesn’t even realize her voice is working until his hand goes over her mouth. “I know it feels good, but I'm not trying to share you with the creatures right now. Any other time I'd expect you to scream for me, maybe I'll take you back with me and really wear you out. Be my own personal slut, would you like that? Have nothing to do but take me all day and night. I'll take care of you I promise, daddy just wants to take care of you baby.” At this point her muscles are gone and it’s Emmett that’s holding her upright against the tree. Her arms cling to him for dear life, softly pleading for the release that’s on the horizon.

Sweat is pouring from them both as he swallows her moans and pleads. Emmett knows she’s close and has a feral need to get her there. He grabs her neck as his other hand goes back down to her clit. “Come on now, I can feel how close you are. Can daddy have it? Can daddy have you come? That's it, just let it go, let it all go.” at his words her orgasm hits her like a freight train. Her eyesight turns hazy, back arching into him. She's too tired to even cry his name out as her mouth opens silently. Emmett is still moving, taking her through it. With one final growl he fills her up, his legs now shaking as well. She feels the warmth that is his cum inside her, making her softly squeeze him with pleasure. He kisses her softly as he moves them down on to the ground. Emmett’s legs have given out finally. Silently, she climbs into his lap, gently kissing his face and neck in thanks. Emmett rubs her back and massages her aching thighs. “Take me back with you.” she tiredly mumbles, “Please Emmett.”

He looks at her satisfied face with a small smile. “Of course, never thought you’d ask.” kissing her forehead.

#cillian murphy #a quiet place #emmett x fem reader #emmett a quiet place #emmett x reader

120 notes · View notes