#But in any case if I have my numbers right it was over halfway through his banishment that Xie Lian was Guoshi Fangxin

[fluffypurpleglitterdemon]

Xie Lian is not making figuring out the timeline of his 800 years of banishment easier. He'll say "oh, this happened recently" or "this happened a few years before or after this" and if you look at the dates given it's centuries ago.

[euphoriaslux]

we can’t be friends

summary: you hate vincent. vincent hates you. and yet somehow you end up in his bedroom.

word count: 4262( i… am so sorry.)

warnings: fem reader, smut(f oral receiving) vincent being a meanie, drinking and smoking, disrespect of the french justice system (désolé) me making head canons about vincent’s family life, some mischaracterization of sandra (ily sandra huller)

a/n: folks i was locked in when i was writing this, can you tell because it’s autocapitalized? i was Serious! this was supposed to be like a thousand words and ended up being 4k… i apologize i have to spread my illness (being my obsession with swann). i had SO much fun writing this i hope yall enjoy, all the reblogs on my first post make me all warm and fuzzy. drop some requests if you’d like, and im going to make a masterpost of all the fictional characters im obsessed with bc i’m chronically online. i’ve reread this like a million times so if there are any spelling errors i simply do not see. enjoy!!! <3

You cannot fucking believe you’re going to be late to trial.

Well, actually, you can believe it. Somehow, during the two hours of sleep you got last night, you managed to unplug both your alarm clock and your phone charger, leaving you to blissfully sleep through the multiple alarms you had set the night before. It was only when your cat sprawled across your face, her paws tickling your eyelashes as she eagerly awaited her breakfast, that your body decided to wake you up. An hour after you were supposed to.

Your methodically planned out morning routine for the indictment today was quickly replaced by you sprinting around your apartment muttering curse words under your breath and trying not to trip over the copious amounts of documents on your floor. You nearly cried when your tangled hair would not cooperate with you, but somehow managed to make yourself look halfway presentable. You didn’t have the time to be stressed today, especially because of the attention you know this case is going to get.

And because you knew you were going to see him.

After driving like a bat out of hell in the Parisian rain, violating multiple traffic laws, you somehow make it to the courthouse only one minute late. Jogging up the steps, you push the door open and yell out apologies to the bewildered lawyers and judges in the courthouse as you sprint against the browned hardwood floor, your briefcase thumping against your side in tandem with your heartbeat. Your eyes scan the chamber numbers and you breathe a sigh of relief once you find the one that matched the summons notice, pausing to smooth down your pantsuit set and pat the beads of sweat off of your forehead.

You push open the chamber doors as gently as you can, but you quickly realize there is no use as every head in the room turns towards you, gawking at you. Some have a slight frown on their face, looking at you with thinly veiled pity, but most have a clear show of annoyance. With your head down you speedwalk over to your team’s side of the chambers, pulling out a few labeled folders before you place your briefcase next to your seat. You take a deep breath and force yourself to look up, and right across from you is the defendant’s lawyer.

Vincent is wearing a black turtleneck and a matching black blazer, with effortlessly swooped gray hair and his arms crossed over his chest. He looks perfect, too perfect, in a way that pisses you off. He’s already staring at you when you glance at him, his mouth slightly turned upward as he leans over to talk to his client Sandra, maintining eye contact with you as his whispers in her ear.

“Glad you made time to join us Mademoiselle,” the judge says as she shuffles some papers around, using a few fingers to wave over a magistrate to her right, ostensibly for the indictment sheets.

“I am so, so sorry I-” you start before the judge moves her hand to wave you off, finally sparing you a sharp glance.

“Enough time has been wasted. Let us proceed, yes?” she asks, and you almost start to answer before you realize it was rhetorical. There are a few quiet laughs in the courtroom and you fix your eyes on your folder, feeling like a child who was just scolded in class for sneaking a cookie from the lunchroom. You feel Vincent’s eyes on you but you don’t dare to look up. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

Sandra was indicted, of course. This case was going to be a media circus because of her literary career, and you knew this was not going to be an open-and-shut case. Part of you hated trials like these - when the media would decide an angle that they found the most titillating and not leave a single person involved alone until they got a headline that matched their narrative. Another part of you, a massive part of you, hated working with Vincent. You could just constantly feel the smugness dripping off of him, and with every snarky comment and reply you could sense the anger just drilling deeper and deeper into you. Each interaction you had with him managed to make you even more and more mad. At least you’d hopefully only see him for another couple of months.

five months later

Like clockwork, you stepped out of your taxi to be bombarded by reporters with an endless sea of microphones and cameras, a cacophony of aggressive voices yelling your way. You keep your head down and try to push through the crowd, noticing Vincent talking to a reporter with Sandra to his side. You hear a few words, noticeably about Sandra’s innocence and the ignorance of the defense, and that word makes you stop in your tracks. Reporters are asking you questions but you look for the first microphone you can find and start to talk, making sure to project your voice.

“Judicial integrity is what’s most important to me. Not a narrative, not a story. I took an oath to protect this country. Some people don’t take that seriously, but I do, and that’s what I am focused on.”

There is a sea of follow-up questions but you weave through the hoard of people to the top steps of the courtroom, making your way inside. You arrived a bit early to trial today because you knew Daniel, Sandra’s son, was testifying today. You couldn’t shake the unease you’d had all week knowing you had to cross-examine him, seeing his grief-stricken face as he heard the prosecution and defense make a myriad of accusations about the one parent he had left.

“Were you talking about me?”

Vincent’s voice makes you jump, and you turn around to see him staring at you from behind the court pew. You must’ve had a look of confusion on your face because he then clarifies:

“Outside, when you were talking to the reporter from Euronews. Are you implying that I don’t have judicial integrity?” he cocks his head at you, his eyebrows slightly raised. You shrug, grabbing the manila folders with notes from your bag and putting them in front of your seat.

“If the shoe fits, I suppose,” you say with a tight smile as you sling your bag from your shoulder to under your chair. Vincent scoffs, lightly brushing his hair out of his face.

“Right, I should have looked to the attorney who walks in late smelling like cheap wine for… integrity,” he emphasizes that last word, each letter feeling incredibly loud in the silent courtroom. You feel the heat rise from the back of your neck, both in embarrassment and fury. You take a step towards him and he doesn’t move, your faces only a few inches apart.

“Do you think you’re any better? You took this case because you are plagued with this superiority complex that you have to subject everyone to.”

“Hm, so being a good lawyer makes you think I have a superiority complex, good to know,” Vincent says, touching his chin in mock curiosity. Jesus Christ, this guy irritates you.

“No actually, I think I figured it out,” you say with a laugh, poking your finger at his chest.

“Is it because you used to fuck Sandra, and this is some weird fucked up sort of foreplay that you’re forcing us to watch? I wonder if there’s a tape in evidence, of Sandra telling her now-dead husband how many times you two had shitty sex.”

Your sentence sits in the air as the smirk falls from Vincent’s face.

“Do not project whatever bullshit you’ve created in your mind onto me,” he says, staring at you with an intensity that makes you start to squirm.

“You don’t know me, Vincent,” you turn to end the conversation but Vincent grabs your arm, turning you back around to look at him.

“But I think I do,” he says, and you are so close that you can make out the pack of cigarettes in his jean pocket through his cloak is what’s pressing against your thigh.

“I think you put on this show, that you are meek and timid, but it is all an act. Every movement of yours is calculated. Nothing you do has any underpinning of integrity.”

You feel tears well in your eyes and you quickly wipe them away, opening your mouth to speak as the chamber doors open and members of the jury begin to walk in.

“Fuck you,” you tear your arm away from his grip and walk back to your seat.

four months later

It’s been two weeks since the trial ended. The chaotic hustle and attention has died and reporters are gone, with no more requests for comment or interviews on morning TV filling up your inbox. You were called to the courthouse to go over some documentation that the court needed to provide a final report on the case, arriving late on a Saturday night. You shudder as you get out of the taxi, the chill of Paris air sparing no part of your body. You wrap your jacket around yourself and sit on the sidewalk, taking a deep breath as you prepare to go into that same courtroom. You put your head in your hands and sit in silence for what feels like forever until a familiar voice breaks the stillness.

“Hey.”

You don’t move a muscle when you hear Vincent’s voice, hoping that somehow if you stayed completely still he’d believe you were a figment of his imagination and he’d leave you alone. Instead, he takes a seat next to you, the corduroy fabric of his trousers very gently grazing your skirt.

“If you’ve come to gloat, I’m truly not in the mood,” your say, your voice muffled by your hands over your mouth. Vincent says nothing but you hear him rustling through his pants and then the familiar click of a lighter, and you bring your face up to see Vincent taking a drag of a cigarette. He breathes out wafts of smoke, and after a beat, extends his hand towards you. You glance down at the cigarette and then back at him, and he is still looking forward at the architecture across from you. Plucking the cigarette from between his fingers you inhale deeply, tilting your head up to blow the smoke into the sky. You both sit in the quiet for a few moments as you smoke about half of the cigarette. He doesn’t seem to mind, or at least doesn’t say anything.

“How do you feel?” he finally asks, and you chuckle as you take another inhale.

“How do you think I feel?” you look to him and he nods, taking the cigarette from you. You try and ignore the tingly feeling in your stomach when his lips touch the same part of the cigarette that yours did, with no hesitation.

“Did you genuinely believe she was guilty?”

The question throws you off guard.

“I don’t know.” you answer honestly, bringing your knees up to rest your hands on top of them.

“I don’t often think anything is too personal in a court of law, but that phone call with Sandra and Samuel felt, invasive?”

“It didn’t seem like you had any qualms when you were questioning about it,” he questions.

“Well of course not. I wanted to win.”

Vincent laughs, a real deep laugh, and you can’t help but crack a small smile at the noise. You realize you hadn’t heard it before, at least not before it preceded an insult hurled your way.

“What do you mean, invasive?”

It’s hard to collect your thoughts on his question, and you are suddenly transported back into that courtroom, listening to that call.

“It was like I felt every molecule of anger, resentment, disappointment. I just felt like I was right there in the middle, taking both of their punches. Like,” you take a beat, trying to formulate your words.

“Like I was their son, with no vision of what was happening but so desperately aware of the anger in the air. And feeling guilty that I caused it, somehow.”

Vincent hums.

“I’m sorry with how often I pried, about you and Sandra,” your voice is quiet, and you pick at the straps of your heels.

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. The feelings I have for her have changed.”

This time you hum, unsure of what to say. For the first time in your years of knowing him, you feel bad about possibly making Vincent uncomfortable. You’re not sure why. You sit in awkward silence for a couple of minutes before you stand up, brushing the stray tufts of cigarette ash that stuck to your skirt.

“Well, I won’t keep you, I have to go turn in evidence of my defeat” you gesture towards the papers in your hands. “And you have to go celebrate, I presume.”

Vincent stands up as well, flicking the cigarette onto the floor and stomping it out with his boot.

“No celebrating for me,” he says with his hands raised. You smile, and he does the same.

“How will you be … coping?” he asks and you roll your eyes.

“Not sure, probably at home with a really cheap bottle of wine.”

His lips purse as he puts his hands into his pockets. “I guess I deserve that.”

You rock slightly on your balls and feet, not sure if you should walk away from him or not. You’re just about to step out of his way when he starts talking.

“I have a nice Pinot Grigio I’ve been waiting to open, if you’d, you know, like to … join,” Vincent’s voice gets quieter as he keeps talking, and you swear you can see a soft pink hue on his cheeks, but perhaps that was the night playing tricks on you.

“I don’t want to impose-”

“You wouldn’t be,” he cuts you off. “I’ll wait for you out here?”

-

Vincent’s house - not apartment - was somehow exactly and nothing like what you would have imagined. It’s a one-story Victorian-style home with a dark exterior, but the inside is painted a warm yellow with tons of books littering the floors and walls and miscellanous trinkets and birthday cards tucked in between. There’s empty pizza boxes and wine bottles on the kitchen floor, and through his tall back window you can see a mini garden in his backyard, with vines of tomatoes and bushels of leafy greens sprawled amongst the grass. It looks very lived in - you can imagine Vincent waltzing around in the morning, reading his big law books with big glasses of wine, like the one you have in your hand right now.

The two of you are currently halfway deep into a bottle, talking about nothing and everything. The case, bad clients you’ve had before, your favorite pastry shops in Paris, the funny face that one of the Magistrates makes every time the Judge looked at him.

“Thank you for the wine monsieur,” you say with a dip of your head and an exaggerated bow.

Vincent shakes his head before taking a sip of wine, and you notice how the soft pink you thought you had noticed before has turned into a deep red from his forehead to his chest. Vincent being tipsy was such an odd thought to you that you couldn’t control your laughter, your hand flying up to cover your mouth as you started to giggle incessantly.

“What? Is there something on my face?” Vincent giggles alongside you, and you shake your head no.

“The serious, smart lawyer is wine-drunk with the person he probably hates the most. I could not have imagined ever being in this situation,” you manage to collect yourself, putting your hand over your chest as you take the final sip in your glass and wave off Vincent as he motions to pour you another one.

“I don’t hate you,” Vincent mutters as he pours himself another glass of wine.

“You’re pretty good at acting like you do.”

He just nods. Suddenly the air in the room has changed, and it feels constricting. Like all of the arguments and venomous insults you’ve thrown at each other has coagulated in this massive living room

“I actually, um, envy you a lot of the time.”

“Envy me?” you can’t help your incredulous tone after his sentence. “You don’t have to say things to pity me, you know,” you laugh, but Vincent’s face is still serious.

“You are just naturally someone people want to spend time with. Even when you annoy me beyond belief, some part of me is always, drawn to you, I suppose. And I envy that. I don’t really know who I am without doing things for others.

You furrow your brows at his sentence. “What do you mean?” you lean over your chair to be a bit closer to him. He plays with the silver ring on his index finger.

“Sometimes I feel like the people I’ve loved, only want me when I can do something for them, you know? I mean, even my own mother, I remember- ” he stops to take a large sip of wine.

“I was almost done with primary school, and my Dad was gone on some inane business trip. I told her I wanted to go to a birthday party downtown, and that I wouldn’t be able to make dinner that night. She got so mad at me that she threw the bottle of wine she’d nearly finished at my head.” He swirls his wine glass around staring into it.

You put your hand on top of his, and he looks up at you, staring into your eyes before clasping his hand arond yours.

“I’m really sorry,” you whisper. He shrugs, and before you can stop yourself, you bring his hand up to your mouth and press a featherlike kiss against his skin. Vincent’s eyes are glassy, and he separates his fingers from yours to place his hand against your face, his thumb gently caressing your jaw.

“Do you have more cigarettes?” you ask, softening into his touch.

“In my bedroom.”

His statement - his ask - reverberates through your head as you both stare at each other, trying to discern what will happen next. Your thoughts are so loud that you’ve afraid that somehow they’ll extend out into the room.

is he saying what i think he is?

And normally, you would say a snarky remark about how he wishes he could get you in his bedroom, and how you’d rather die than see where he sleeps, but the wine has made you slightly woozy and all you can think about is how good he looks with his hair gently sticking to his face and his t-shirt tight around his arms, and what it would feel like to fuck him.

So you say “okay”, and leave your phone on the dining room table.

Vincent opens his bedroom door, moving to let you walk in first before closing the door behind him. He opens his mouth to speak and before you can think your mouth is on his, and he’s shocked for a moment before he kisses you back, your lips melding together. You push your body into his as Vincent wraps his arms around your waist, his hands digging into your skin as he quietly moans into your mouth. Your intertwined bodies make it to the bed and he hovers on top of you, his hard cock pressing against your thigh and you reach down to touch him over his jeans, feeling him shudder against you. You pull away from him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” his voice is a little hoarser than it was before. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” you pull your shirt over your head and tug at the bottom of his and he laughs he does the same, and you admire his shirtless body as he reaches back down to kiss you again, but he’s not as gentle this time. He’s aggressive, dipping his tongue into your mouth and holding your face in his hands.

“So beautiful”, he murmurs, tilting your head so he can suck on your neck and graze his teeth against the bruises spot he left. “So much more beautiful than I imagined”.

Your head falls back on the pillow as you feel his hands reach behind your back and unclip the hooks on your bra, his mouth moving to your breasts and licking your nipples.

“You’ve imagined me?” you pretend to be bashful as your mouth falls into an o-shape, feeling Vincent’s mouth on your chest and his hands on . He moans and you can feel it throughout your whole body as you lean down to shimmy out of your skirt and underwear in one move.

“In every way possible,” he says as he dips a finger down, past your belly button and into your cunt. You’d feel embarrassed at how wet you are already if his hand didn’t feel so good inside of you.

“I’ve thought about what you would taste like, how you would sound when I first fuck you for the first time,” his mouth moves down from your chest, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your abdomen before he’s just above your heat and you sigh, involuntarily jerking your hips up. He puts his free hand around your lower stomach to hold you in place.

“But nothing,” he nips at the spot right in the crease of your hip, licking a long stripe just next to your heat.

“Could’ve come close to how pretty you really are.”

“Christ,” your hands grab fistfuls of Vincent’s sheets as his tongue finally swirls around your clit, pressing just a bit harder as he puts another finger inside of you. You can feel the pressure building in your lower stomach as you and Vincent’s grip on your stomach get firmer as you wriggle under his touch. He groans into your mouth as you start to grind your hips into him, fucking you faster with his fingers as he rolls his hips into the bed.

“Vincent,” you say with a gasp and grip his hair, pulling as you come around his mouth, your head dizzy with the feeling of Vincent’s tongue on you as he stares up at you from between your legs. He pulls his hand out of your cunt and licks his fingers before putting his mouth back on your clit, making you jump at the contact. You hiss as he licks the sensitive area, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you tug so hard on Vincent’s hair that you’re afraid you’re hurting him, but if you are, he doesn’t stop you. He interlocks his fingers across your stomach and holds you into place, groaning into your clit.

“Okayokayokay,” you move your hands from his hair to head to pull him up, your breathing labored as you try to get yourself together. He leans over to kiss you, his lips softly molding against yours as you wrap your arms around his back.

Breathless, you move your hand down to touch Vincent but he quickly stops you.

“It’s- um-”

You look down and notice the wet spot on Vincent’s boxers, and your eyebrows raise to the top of your forehead as you come to the realization that he came while he was eating you out.

“Did you-”

Vincent groans, hiding his face in your neck as you giggle, coming down from your high.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you thread your fingers through his now disheveled hair. “It’s kind of hot if I’m being honest.” Vincent looks at you with a questioning look but you just smile.

“Plus, we have all night to try again.”

-

You wake up in Vincent’s bedroom, with a few strips of sunlight peeking through Vincent’s closed blinds. You haphazardly reach over to his side of the bed to grab his arm, but find it empty, raising your head from the pillow to see that you’re completely alone. Vincent’s clothes that he had taken off during the night and tossed onto the floor were gone. You waited to see if you could hear Vincent in his kitchen, or in the garden, but you were in complete silence.

To be fair, he didn’t say anything last night to insinuate that he wanted a relationship with you, or even liked you. Maybe this was secretly a win for him - he could beat you in a courtroom, and now he got you in your most vulnerable state to declare that you actually felt something other than hatred for him. And maybe that’s all he wanted. You’re not sure why you expected anything differently.

You throw the blankets off of you and find your clothes neatly folded on his desk, and his courteousness manages to upset you even more. You put your clothes on and try to collect yourself, taking a few deep breaths as you walk out of his bedroom and out towards his kitchen. You scan the room for your phone, which you swear you left on the dining room table, only to finally see it on top of a note on the kitchen counter written in messy cursive.

“Went out for cigarettes and coffee.

Bringing back croissants and a capuc- cappuccino.

Will be back in ten.

Go back to bed.

V”

-

taglist: @ghostlytide

graphic credits: @glasvera

[lordprettyflackotara]

breath away || chris sturniolo & colby brock

SMUT. 18+. MINORS DNI. this is fluffy smut ngl to you guys. no actual sex sorry :( to my beloved readers: yes there will be a part two. yes i also have a spin off concept with sam & matt. writers block has been a BIG BITCH you guys. hope everyone’s summer is going well. enjoy!!

the finale is here

Parties were not your scene by any means.

You were new to the Youtube community or the whole ‘content creator’ thing. A career you thoroughly enjoyed, but was not built for the weak. You tended to be more of a recluse than a social butterfly. Tara Yummy was the first creator to attempt to befriend you, her attempt successful. Your collab broke the internet, Tara ecstatic for you. The two of you became quick friends, spending copious amounts of time together.

Your friendship and trust in her is what led you to this party, the blinding purple lights enough to give you a headache. You felt like a lost puppy, awkwardly trailing behind Tara as she introduced you to people. You knew she didn’t mind, but you felt out of place. Your head was spinning, meeting so many people in such a short amount of time. The place was huge, seas of people at every turn. Once Tara had circled back to Jake, you cleared your throat.

“I’m gonna go use the restroom i’ll be back,” You say, halfway telling the truth. You needed a moment to breathe, a moment to think. “Take the elevator down to the fourth floor, that’s the cleanest one,” Tara suggested, the two of you going your separate ways. You squeezed through the obnoxious couples making out, wheezling your way through the crowd. You almost tripped over your heels as you reached the elevator, two familiar faces waiting for it as well.

“Going up?”

Colby Brock. Handsome. Tall. Older. You were sure you had met him before. But where? You didn’t have time to think about it, realizing you needed to answer the question. “Down actually, fourth floor,” You replied, awkwardly standing beside him. The building Tara had booked for this party was insanely tall. You didn’t even want to think about how many floors this building actually had.

“You guys are lucky, i’m stuck going to the twelfth to try to find Nick.”

Chris Sturniolo. One of three triplets. Outgoing. Handsome. Charismatic. Tara would be freaking out for you right now if she saw this was the line up for your elevator ride. “Yeah I think Sam’s on the fourth floor trying to find his ex, i’m trying to find him and stop him,” Colby sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. You weren’t sure what to say, the dinging of the elevator snapping you back to life.

Chris gestured for you to enter first. “After you m’lady,” He said, causing you to shyly smile. You walked in, pressing the four button and leaning against the back wall of the elevator. Your feet were killing you, the heels you borrowed from Tara promising an inability to walk in the morning. Colby strolled in, Chris following behind him. He pressed the button for twelve, the three of you briefly standing in silence. The boys stood on opposite sides of the elevator, all of you facing each other.

“You and Sam just went to the Lizzie Borden house again right?” Chris asked. Colby smiled, his blue eyes addicting to look at. “Yeah, we felt like revisiting it alone. It’s such an interesting story,” He replied. Chris nodded, readjusting his backwards hat.

“Matt’s obsessed with that case, he thinks that-”

You could faintly hear both of the boys talking, your hearing dulling as the elevator slowly began to move. The stained yellow lights were off putting, the space suddenly seeming a lot smaller than it did when you entered. Your eyes flickered to the row of buttons, numbers one through thirty listed on the panels. Jesus fucking Christ. The elevator felt insanely small, the walls feeling like they could close in and squeeze you to death at any moment. You knew this was irrational, a fear you had developed when you were a kid.

You swallowed, your mouth running dry. Your eyes squeezed shut, the unsettling jolt of the elevator coming to a stop ensuing. You waited to hear the familiar ding of the elevator, followed by the sound of the doors opening, but you didn’t. You opened your eyes, the boys conversation long discarded as they stared at the elevator doors. “Is it supposed to do that?” Chris asked. If you weren’t so afraid you would’ve rolled your eyes. Colby approached the row of buttons, pressing the one to open the metal doors.

Nothing happened, the elevator appearing frozen between the ninth and eighth floor. You could see the digital number stuck, your heart beginning to race. Your ears began to ring, your eyes seeing Colby and Chris’s lips move with no words coming out. You leaned back against the metal railing, bracing yourself from falling over. You felt an unsettling dizziness wash over you, your gaze glued to the dirty elevator floor. What had you gotten yourself into? What if you died in here? What if the cord snapped on this old ass box and you all fell to your tragic deaths? What if-

“Hey! Are you okay?”

You blinked a few times, Colby’s large hands grasping your shoulders. He was shaking you, your vision faintly seeing stars as you looked up at him. His and Chris’s faces were full of concern, looking down at you. You nodded, swallowing. “She doesn’t look so good dude,” Chris commented. Colby elbowed him, before returning his attention back to you. “We’re gonna be okay, alright? Chris is gonna call somebody,” Colby said. Chris took the hint, whipping out his cell phone and beginning to make calls.

Colby’s blue orbs studied your face. “What’s wrong?” He asked softly. You were struggling to find the words, your mouth running dry. “Claustrophobic,” You sputtered out. Colby brushed a few stray hairs out of your face, tucking them behind your ear. “It’s gonna be okay,” He reassured, turning to Chris. Chris angrily shoved his phone in his pocket. “I have zero fucking cell service in here,” He sighed. Colby took out his own phone, his touch straying from yours.

Oddly enough you missed his touch, his hands on your shoulders providing comfort. “Chris she’s claustrophobic, I need to try to get help, can you talk to her?” Colby asked. He was aggressively typing away on his phone, trying to achieve one bar of cell service. Chris nodded. The boy before you was maybe your age, maybe a bit younger. You could never tell. “Hi ma,” He greeted. You gave a small wave, before your hand resumed its grip on the railing. Your knuckles were borderline turning white, Chris not failing to notice.

“Hey hey it’s alright, what can I do?” Chris asked, alarmed. You couldn’t find the right words, your eyes flickering around the elevator. It was so small, the walls threatening to close in every extra second you three spent hanging by a cord. You felt two hands softly cup your face, your gaze landing on their owner. Chris stood before you, his hands soft to the touch as his thumb grazed your cheek. “You’re okay,” He whispered. The strangers words were comforting, your breathing beginning to slow back down to a normal rate.

Chris had decent knowledge of anxiety, even if it wasn’t the claustrophobic kind. He knew the in’s and out’s of how to help Matt calm down. But you? You were just a pretty girl he was locked in an elevator with. Sure he knew your name, who didn’t? But your personality? Your ticks? How to calm you down? He didn’t know any of that. All he could truly speculate, was that you seemed to respond well to physical touch. He cleared his throat, the sound of Colby talking into his phone bouncing off of the small walls.

“Can I hold you? Is that alright?”

You nodded, murmuring an agreement. You weren’t sure what to expect, your cheeks beginning to turn bright pink. Chris’s hands strayed from your face, much to your dismay. He gently guided your hand to release the railing, sliding in behind you. Your back was pressed to his chest, his slender arms wrapped around your waist. “If you need to grab something, grab me. Don’t hurt yourself,” Chris mumbled. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his touch comforting. You felt tense for a moment, having a stranger so close to you. You took a few deep breaths, trying to steady yourself as you decided to focus on Colby.

The brunette finally turned around. “I managed to call Sam. They’re looking into the elevator but they don’t know when it’s gonna be fixed,” Colby sighed. You tried to refrain from looking scared, ultimately failing as Colby walked over to you. “Hey it’s okay. What can we do to distract you?” He asked. Noting you were comfortable with Chris touching you he cupped your face, looking down at you with concern. Your mind was swarming with a thousand thoughts, ones of fear, terror, more fear, more terror. But you then remembered why you were there in the first place: Tara fucking Yummy.

And what would Tara fucking Yummy do if she was trapped in an elevator with two insanely hot guys?

“Kiss me,” You whispered. Chris turned his head to look at you, brushing your hair away from your shoulder. Colby’s eyes widened, as if he didn’t believe he heard you correctly.

“What?”

“Kiss me. Please.”

Colby slowly leaned down, his lips almost touching yours. His eyes flickered to yours for reassurance, before flickering back down to your lips. He closed the gap between you, pressing himself against you. Colby Brock tasted sweeter than you expected him to, the faintest taste of oranges crossing your tastebuds. You involuntarily bucked your hips between the two boys, your ass rubbing against Chris’s shaft. He took the hint, peppering kisses from your shoulder to your collarbone. You softly groaned in Colby’s mouth, grabbing handfuls of his shirt.

You briefly pulled away, heat rushing to your cheeks as you met Colby’s gaze. “Oh my God i’m so sorry I don’t know what came over me. I-” You began rambling, unable to stop the words from spilling out. Colby gently grabbed your chin, guiding you to turn your head. Chris’s lips eagerly met yours, his kisses much rougher than Colby’s. You melted into the kiss, Chris’s hips grinding against you from behind. Colby’s hands grabbed your waist, his body against yours. They felt intoxicating, Colby’s lips placing open mouth kisses on your neck.

“Just tell us if you want us to stop,” Colby told you, kissing you up to your ear. He began nibbling on your ear lobe, one of your hands entangling itself in his hair. Chris pulled away from your lips, admiring how swollen they were. “We just wanna make you feel good ma,” Chris purred. His hands slid down to the hem of your short dress, his fingertips barely grazing your skin. You moaned as Colby resumed his assault on your neck, sucking at your sweet spot.

“May I?” Chris asked, his breath hot against your ear. You whimpered as Colby released your neck with a pop, your body quivering with desire. “Fucking please,” You whined. You could feel Chris’s hard cock from behind you, poking you. He slowly pulled up your dress, just enough to where your panties were exposed. Colby admired the view, smirking. “Never thought an angel like you would be wearing something like this,” He teased, stretching the band of your black lacey thong. He released it, the material snapping against your skin.

You felt like you could melt any moment, your body on fire. You were engulfed in the flames the boys had surrounded you with and you loved every second of it. “Can we play with you baby?” Colby asked, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. You nodded eagerly, awaiting them to touch you where you desired. One of Chris’s hands slithered up to your neck from behind, tenderly squeezing your throat before releasing. “Words ma,” He purred, noticing how eagerly your hips buckled with his hand on your throat.

“Please, touch me,” You whimpered. Chris grinned into your neck as he pushed your thong to the side, rubbing slow circles around your clit. “Fucking shit,” You moaned, tilting your head back. Colby smirked at your reaction, running two fingers down your remaining slick. “So wet for us, what a good girl,” He mused, slowly pushing two fingers inside of you. Colby bit his bottom lip as your walls squeezed his digits, your body melting in between the boys like butter. Chris drew faster circles around your clit, helping you adjust.

“Doing such a good job ma,” Chris praised, relishing in the sound of your sinful noises as Colby curled his fingers. Colby couldn’t help but think of you as angelic, your walls milking his fingers and moans sounding like holy water. He began curling his fingers faster, watching as you gripped onto Chris for support. “Fuck, feels so good, Colby, Chris, fuck,” You moaned, gripping onto Chris like your life depended on it. His fingers were abusing your g spot, Chris’s circles only getting faster by the minute.

Colby grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Look at me, look at me as you fall apart on my fingers,” He ordered. He could feel your walls tighten at his words, a smirk creeping across his lips as you forced yourself to maintain eye contact with him. Chris’s hand on your throat came back to life, squeezing your airway. “Dont forget about me ma, you’re so filthy, letting two strangers play with you like this,” Chris said, his hips grinding against your ass as you stood in front of him.

Colby brought his lips to yours, swallowing your moans of the boys names as your legs began to tremble. You could feel the cord inside of you tighten, your body almost to the delightful edge you needed. “Awe did we make your thighs shake? You poor thing,” Chris teased, placing sloppy open mouthed kisses to your neck. You were sure your neck was going to be covered in hickies, ones you were going to have to explain later. But right now? All you could focus on were the thick fingers buried into your cunt and the friction being provided to your clit.

You playfully bit Colby’s bottom lip, releasing it with an involuntary moan. “Fuck i’m so so so close,” You panted, Chris’s grip on your throat tightening. You were seeing stars, the restriction of your airway only bringing you closer to your orgasm. “Go on, don’t be shy. Cum for us,” Colby encouraged, his blue eyes keeping intense eye contact with yours. You squeezed Chris’s wrist, leaning onto him for support. “You heard him. Cum,” Chris agreed. Their permission was all you needed, Colby’s eager lips swallowing your sinful moans as you came around his fingers.

You were seeing stars, euphoria washing over you. Chris was quick to release your throat, helping Colby hold you upright. You leaned your head against Colby’s shoulder, attempting to catch your breath. You were on cloud nine, your body craving more of the two men you were in between. “That was-” You began, the movement of the elevator cutting you off. The three of you jumped, Colby’s fingers quick to exit your cunt. Chris pulled down your dress, the boys quick to attempt to make you look decent.

Disappointment ensued as the three of you disbursed, awkwardly standing on opposite sides of the elevator once again. You took shaky breaths, clearing your throat as the elevator doors finally opened. Relief washed over Sam Golbach’s face as the doors opened, his face immediately lighting up. “Holy shit dude! We were so worried!” He said, going to hug Colby. Nick and Tara weren’t far behind, Tara giving you a big hug. “You need to call me if that shit happens again, I know the owners of this building. I can personally give them hell,” She told you. You nodded, your face flushed pink.

Tara looked at Colby and Chris, noticing your odd expression.

“Hey is she okay?”

“Yeah I think what just happened took her breath away.”

You shot Chris a warning look, before looking at Colby. “I’ll uh, see you guys later?” You asked cautiously. Chris shifted awkwardly, pulling his hoodie down to cover his raging boner. “The nights still young party girl, why don’t you come see us in the red lounge after you find the restroom you were looking for?” Colby suggested. Tara linked her arm with yours, beginning to talk away at a hundred miles per hour. She was leading you to the restroom, the one you were supposed to be hiding in to begin with. You looked over your shoulder, Colby shooting you a playful smile and Chris subtly winking at you.

You pretended to listen to Tara’s story, only one thought on your mind. You had to get to the red lounge. You needed Chris and Colby, no matter what it took. As you dipped into the restroom after Tara, you knew exactly what you needed to do.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Steve very rarely gets sick. He prides himself on it.

But when Eddie spent three days in a row in bed with a fever, puking every time he got up, and coughing everywhere he could reach, Steve had no choice but to stay and take care of him. Which meant he spent three days in direct contact with whatever virus decided to leave Eddie bedridden.

Halfway through his shift at Family Video, he turned to Robin and said he was going to pass out.

She didn’t believe him, laughed it off like he was being dramatic. “You’ve been hanging around Eddie too much lately.”

So when he passed out five seconds later, she panicked. He opened his eyes to her frantically trying to move him onto his side.

“Robs, ‘s not a seizure.”

“Right, but what if you puke?”

“I’m just dehydrated.”

He wasn’t just dehydrated.

He was dehydrated and feverish and exhausted.

He was sick.

Robin called Eddie to come pick him up, rambling nervously over the phone about his symptoms. Steve couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but he knew Eddie was probably laughing at the situation.

“He’ll be here to get you in 10 minutes. Can you please not pass out again because I don’t think I can handle it.”

“Sure, I’ll just tell my brain to hold off until Eddie’s here.”

“Thanks.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he settled on the floor behind the counter. Robin wouldn’t let him stand up again in case he fell and hit his head, which was actually probably a smart move.

When Eddie arrived, he took one look at Steve on the floor and sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.

“I warned you, Stevie! I said ‘you’re gonna get sick, you shouldn’t stay’ and what did you do? Mommed yourself right into the flu.”

Steve didn’t dignify that with an answer, mostly because it would take too much energy to give one. He stood on shaking legs and made his way to the door.

He felt so weak, he barely registered when his knees started to buckle. Strong arms wrapped around him from behind and held him up.

“Jesus, Steve. Were you feeling this bad when you left home?”

Steve shook his head and let out an embarrassing whine. His head was throbbing, a dull ache set in shortly after he got to work, and only got worse after he passed out.

“Can you make it to the van or do you need me to carry you?”

“I can make it, just…help?”

Eddie kept an arm wrapped around Steve’s waist, supporting most of his weight as they walked to his van. He opened the passenger side door and helped Steve get seated and as comfortable as possible.

Steve let out another small whine when he realized he would have to move to buckle himself in.

“What’s wrong?”

Eddie was so nice. Maybe he could buckle him.

“Belt?”

Eddie wordlessly reached for the belt and buckled Steve in, his hair brushing along Steve’s cheek and chest as he pulled away.

Steve repressed another whine, though for a different reason, when Eddie’s hand brushed against his thigh.

His thighs were sensitive, even in jeans. Sue him.

Steve nodded off during the drive to his house, barely aware of Eddie singing along to something on the radio.

When they arrived, Eddie unbuckled Steve’s seatbelt and helped him out of the van. He was saying something to Steve, but his brain wasn’t processing any of it.

He could barely keep his eyes open while Eddie got him upstairs and into bed.

He could feel Eddie’s rough hands gently pulling off his jeans and shirt, but couldn’t offer much help.

Passing out really did a number on him.

“Yeah, I think it did.”

Oh. Steve said that out loud. Interesting.

“You don’t do anything halfway, do you? Get sick and it’s like your brain’s melted out your ears.”

Steve let out a giggle before relaxing against his pillow.

Eddie started to tuck him in, pulling his covers up to his chin and brushing a piece of hair away from his face.

“I’m gonna get you some water. You hungry?”

Steve felt his stomach turn at just the thought of food touching his mouth. He used all of his remaining energy to shake his head.

“Be right back, Stevie.”

**********

When Steve opened his eyes again, it was too dark to even recognize his own bed. It’s been so long since he slept with no light, he felt disoriented and scared that the power had gone out.

Just as he was struggling to sit up, he heard a grumble from the floor followed by a groan.

“It’s okay, Stevie. I’ll get the light.”

Before Steve could process who the voice belonged to, his bedside lamp turned on and covered him in a golden glow.

Eddie.

The room started spinning around him before he could say anything. He closed his eyes to avoid the disorientation, but it only made it worse.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart. I’ve got ya.”

And he did. Eddie’s arms were wrapping around Steve and pulling him against his chest, solidifying his presence in one place despite everything else in the room moving.

Steve melted into Eddie, breathing in the faint leather and smoke smell that never failed to make him feel safe.

“You just have no filter when you’re sick, huh?”

Eddie laughed softly, brushing his lips against the top of Steve’s head.

Steve didn’t give a response, not able to actually produce words when he wants to, apparently.

“You’re burning up. I got some Tylenol for you while you slept. You should take some now and try to rest.”

“Stay?”

Eddie didn’t respond, just moved to grab the water from the table and hand it to Steve. He watched as he took the Tylenol, telling him he did a good job before putting the water back on the table.

Just as Steve settled against Eddie’s chest again, he was moved away by strong hands.

The whimper he let out stopped Eddie in his tracks.

“Are you in pain? Robin said your migraines get so bad sometimes you can’t move. Is that happening?”

Steve shook his head, immediately regretting doing so when the room started spinning again.

“Stay.”

It only took a moment for Eddie to adjust them both so they could lay down together. Steve wasted no time in curling into Eddie’s side, and Eddie’s hand found it’s way to Steve’s hair.

His fingers gently pulled through some of the tangles, smiling to himself when Steve couldn’t hold back a shiver.

“Feel okay?”

“Mhm.”

“Can’t believe you let me get you sick.”

“‘S worth it.”

“You’re ridiculous. Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

Eddie only hesitated a moment before dropping a kiss to Steve’s forehead.

“Promise.”

They hadn’t acknowledged the way Steve had acted when taking care of Eddie. They hadn’t talked about the cuddling and small kisses to his hair or cheek or nose. They hadn’t even been around each other since Eddie was feeling better.

But this felt like a turning point - no more ignoring the way they felt about each other. If Eddie was reading things right, Steve wasn’t just like this because he was sick and slightly delusional.

They’d have a talk when he was better, but for now, Eddie let Steve suction himself to his side and take the comfort he needed.

[blu3-tea]

Gift - G/t - Part 2

Part 1: click here

TW: Pet trope, swearing.

Premise: A world in which genetically engineered tinies or Littlins are viewed as pets. Ellen is gifted one on her grandpas' birthday party, as she had graduated the week before.

Word count: 1,505

Note: more parts are coming!

………………………………

Ellen sulked her way back to the dining room, million of thoughts swirling inside her mind.

She cannot keep a littlin pet person. She was not ready to face the daunting anxiety of living with such a fragile tiny person. How could she move around the apartment without the horrifying thought of crushing the girl under her slipper? Sooner or later, Ellen would get employed. How could she type away at work whilst the girl stayed stuck at some table’s surface unable to get off on her own in the case of an emergency? She made a mental note to search for any solutions online to that problem.

“So, how is it?”

Ellen almost dropped the halfway-filled glass she was staring at blankly. “What? What did you say?”

“Oh, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost!” Her mom teased “I asked how your new pet is. Isn’t she just adorable?”

“Ah, yes. Sure, she is.”

“Did you give her a name already? I have some suggestions. Penny or Daisy. They fit her just right, don’t you think?”

“They sure do…” she twirled nonchalantly the glass, forming a little whirlpool in the middle. She hoped that the girl was doing alright.

“Don’t fret about it too hard.” - she got up - “give me a hand with the dishes will you?”

“Of course.”

They gathered all the plates and cutlery, and began loading the dishwasher together. From the kitchen she could hear the tv playing and abrupt commentary. Ellen should have probably given something to the littlin to pass the time. As she tried to figure out what kind of entertainment someone her size would enjoy, her mom’s rambling about some miniature multiple-story houses she had seen on social media distracted her.

“They have working lights and running water!”

“Mhm.”

Ellen realised that she would need another solution to the expenses involved. She had seen in person the three digit numbers on the price tags of miniature items. Yet, she could not bring herself to keep the hamster cage- it just looks so uncomfortable.

“The moment I saw her I knew that she would be the best choice for you. She’s the perfect tiny model to dress up.” She let out a chuckle.

A voice in her head told her that she did not necessarily have to keep the girl. She could just look after her until she found another pet store or person who would be willing and capable of keeping her. This could be a temporary thing.

“Aunt Jessica!” A shrill voice cried from behind, making both women to whip around alarmed.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“My truck is in your car. I forgot it there. Can you open it? Right now? Please!”

“Yes, of course. Give me a moment.” Jessica rubbed her hands dry. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Play with Mouse. Duh.”

“What mouse?” Ellen’s voice trembled slightly.

“Your pet.”

His answer hit Ellen in the gut like a ton of bricks. Fearing the worst, she bolted out of the kitchen.

Please, please, please be safe.

She rapidly climbed the stairs, two steps at a time, her heart pounding like drums in her chest.

They better not have dropped her.

Ellen practically flew inside the spare bedroom, to her horror left open.

“Put her down. Now.” Ellen growled.

………………………………

Nelly picked and tossed around the spruce shavings that covered her cage’s floor, high enough to collide with the overhead metal. Eventually, a noticeable lump of shavings concentrated somewhere in the middle of the compartment, a testament to her ever life-draining boredom.

“This is going to kill me…” she groaned.

Usually she would have slept through it, but the eagerness of securing her near future let her wide awake. Earning the giantess’ favour was earning a roof over her head and a full belly. Not only that, she would also be earning some well deserved alone free time, which the pet store had robbed her of. As of now, she was still working.

Nelly rested her head against the cage’s wall, facing upwards. She listened intently to the noises of chairs grating and shoes clacking on the floor downstairs.

Oh, if only she was not the size of a mouse she would be on her way to buy real food, visit the park or some other place, and make real friends. She has been a friend to several human children who were not and could never be her friends; people do not keep their friends in cages after all.

Nelly hugged her bent leg closer to herself. That is how things are for every littlin, none of them can ask for anything more than the basics just like her. Yet, in the stillness of the room, she longed for something so frustratingly beyond her reach- literally.

THUD THUD THUD

Footsteps interrupted her train of thought.

Finally! Let’s get this over with.

Supporting herself on the mesh, she got up, straightened her shoulders, pulled curly locks of her hair behind her ears and cleared her throat. She looked as perfect as she could for her owner.

The colossal door creaked open at a snail’s pace. Two short figures stood at the threshold. Two children about the age of 10.

A look of hurt and disappointment crossed her face. All of her hopes of having a quiet few years, were shattered. The possibility of being given away to relatives had not even crossed her mind.

She was not prepared to be prodded and grabbed and pinched by their chubby fingers again. She could already feel ghosts of their digits push against her chest and tug her legs.

The children’s eyes widened in excitement and they approached, already bubbling about her.

“It’s so small! Just like a mouse.”

“It’s shorter than my dolls.”

“It could fit in my truck!” With that the boy run off.

Dread filled her as she knew exactly what he was planning to do. Nelly has had the unpleasant, nausea-inducing experience of riding on top of toy cars before.

I can’t go through this again.

With no hesitation the other one opened the overhead latch and reached a hand to grab Nelly. Her mind raced, a whirlwind of confusion and fear. She darted sideways, heart pounding, eyes wide, desperately trying to slip out of reach.

Greasy fingers as long as her body, encased her in a firm grip, way too firm. The world around her swirled, as she was lifted upwards fast, way too fast, close to her captor’s face, way too close.

The human girl’s mischievous face took up her whole vision. She frantically squirmed with all her might, despite the pain in her left leg, to slip and hide away from that familiar expression she knew led to excruciating ‘play time’.

Another hand approached Nelly’s hair. She jerked her head away from the advancing digits.

“Put her down. Now.” The deep guttural sound that the giant released sent shivers down Nelly’s spine.

The digits withdrew immediately. Her world spun again, as her captor turned around, clutching her close to her chest.

“But I’m not doing anything.”

“Natalie, put her back.”

“I don’t understand. Aren’t you supposed to play with it? Mom said that I could.”

“Well, she’s mine. Isn’t she?” That dried up Nelly’s mouth. Every human, no matter how nervous at first, was the same at the end of the day. “If you want to play with her you have to ask me first.”

“Ok.” Natalie nodded “Can I play with it? Please?”

“No, you cannot.”

“But I said please!” Nelly squeaked as the fingers around her tightened.

“Not today Nat.” Ellen sprawled her palm in front of Natalie “Give her back.”

“Fine.” Natalie spat out and hesitantly dropped her in Ellen’s soft palm. She fell uncomfortably face down and she took in a sharp breath. Another palm draped over her, covering her completely from view.

The “platform” bounced slightly up and down with each step, turning the insides of her stomach around, as if it were a washing machine.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. I didn’t think this would happen. I’m really sorry.” The giantess said, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’re going home now, ok? I’ll leave you in my car and I’ll be back with my things right after, yeah? I promise I’ll be super quick. Sorry.”

What the hell is going on.

Nelly curled around herself, her body trembling with confusion and frustration. The hands around her seemed to close in, their radiating warmth suffocating her. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision, and a sob escaped her lips. She thought she could lie and manipulate to turn things in her favour for once. Hopelessness, just like the very first time, gripped its claws in her chest.

………………………………

Thank you for reading!

Tags list: @i-am-beckyu , @whumpinthepot , @heroofthe13thday

Part 3: click here

[da-proti-toku-grem]

17 Jance mayhaps (if you already did it I'm sorry, I love ur style and reading your prompts!!)

Thank you so much 🥰. I think I've officially lost the battle with my “I'm keeping these short” thoughts because this is almost 1.8k oops 😅.

As always, ao3 link at the bottom if you prefer to read it there <3

(Rating: Mature)

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss

17. … to distract.

“Please, Nacko,” Jan begged from his place on the couch.

Knowing that they had an interview the next morning, Nace had offered Jan to stay at his house. After all, it was no secret that the guitarist was by no means a morning person and, being the one who lived closest to where the interview would take place, it seemed only reasonable to offer him a place to sleep without the need to drive from Vrhnika to Ljubljana in the early morning.

And maybe – and just maybe – something inside his chest was also tickling under the pretext of seeing Jan's gorgeous face when Nace inevitably woke up before him, his features relaxed and his hair tousled. No one needed to know that, though. He was more than willing to take the secret to his grave. It wasn't like someone like Jan would ever look at him that way, anyways.

Once they arrived at the apartment, Nace offered Jan a glass of wine. The bassist himself didn't drink anymore, but he liked to always have something to offer to his guests – in this case, a bottle of red wine.

And that's how they had gotten to this situation, Jan sitting cross-legged on the couch, an empty glass on the small table in front of him and looking up in the direction of Nace, who was standing on the other side of the table, with his pajamas already on and holding the bottle in his hand.

“I've already told you, Jan,” he said, a hint of tiredness in his voice. “You know that on any other occasion I wouldn't mind you drinking more, but we have an interview tomorrow and we can't risk you having a raging hangover because you drank the whole bottle of wine by yourself.”

“...Please?” Jan asked again, pouting and looking up at him with those beautiful dark puppy eyes that had no right to be so adorable. That, combined with the fact that his improvised pajamas were his boxer shorts and one of Nace's old t-shirts that was definitely too big on him – the length reaching almost halfway down his thighs and the collar being so wide that it left one of his shoulders exposed, as well as a bit of his chest hair – was definitely not helping Nace keep his thoughts pure.

He thought about how his hands would feel exploring the skin under the t-shirt or pulling on those gorgeous black locks, how he'd look up at him with his big brown eyes just like that while Nace fucked his mouth, taking it all like the good boy he knew he could be; how he’d love to kiss and bite and mark that exposed skin on his shoulder and neck until everyone knew who he belonged to, how he'd beg even prettier for Nace to touch him, to make him feel good; how he'd look all sweaty and ruined with his head thrown back, moaning Nace's name at the peak of his pleasure as he pounded into that sweet spot inside him over and over and-

Nace really needed to stop his train of thoughts right there before this ended in a terribly embarrassing situation.

“I'm sorry, okay?” He smiled at him apologetically, setting the bottle down on the table as he took a seat on the other side of the couch, hoping the other didn't notice the slight blush he felt creeping up his cheeks. “I know you probably don't want to go to sleep yet so… anything else you want to-”

The question died on the bassist's lips as he suddenly felt Jan straddle his thighs, resting his hands gently on his chest.

Nace simply remained still, his body a bit tense and his eyes wide open in surprise. He still didn't look at the guitarist's face, a million questions running through his mind when all of a sudden the weight of the younger man in his lap and the burning touch of his hands on his chest clouded his senses.

Eventually, he dared to look up, finding Jan's eyes, those eyes that made Nace's knees go weak and that accompanied him in his most sinful fantasies, looking back at him with that smirk he always had plastered on his face when he had an idea. He knew exactly what he was doing and Nace had fallen right into his trap.

“Hello there, Mr. Jordan,” Jan said, his deep voice reverberating in Nace's brain, as his hands went up to cup his cheeks.

He didn't respond, his own hands moving to Jan's thighs, over his t-shirt, while his eyes were flicking from the other's eyes to his lips and then up again and oh how much he'd like to send it all to hell and close the distance between them and-

Before he knew it, Jan's lips were on his.

Nace didn't move his hands, the uncertainty of not knowing how far Jan was willing to take this surpassing the urge to touch every single part of the other's body; but he started to reciprocate the kiss, taking everything Jan had to give him and trying to burn it into his memory, almost as if he was afraid that it was all a dream product of his treacherous imagination and he might wake up at any moment.

Their lips moved slowly against each other, his mouth opening in a silent invitation that Jan didn't hesitate to take, tongues dancing together in a rhythm known only to them.

Everything was so sultry, so sensual, so… Jan. It was intoxicating. And Nace didn't think he would ever get enough of this.

All too soon, the guitarist broke the kiss, pulling away completely and taking his place back on the couch. Nace immediately missed the warmth of his body pressing against his own.

“W-what was that for?” he asked after a few seconds, trying to sound nonchalant despite the deep blush he felt covering his face.

“Nothing,” Jan shrugged. “Can't I just kiss my really hot friend?”

At that, Nace looked up, meeting that mischievous grin before his gaze finally fell on the bottle that had somehow ended up in Jan's hands. Little shit.

“Oh hell no, come here,” he tugged at his arm and in one swift motion took the bottle from him, setting it safely on the table, and took him back into his lap, making him let out a surprised gasp.

“Well, I guess this will do too,” Jan smirked, moving his arms up to wrap them around Nace's neck, tangling his hands in the soft curls at the nape of his neck and drawing him into another kiss.

Nace didn't hold back this time, all the blood he had been trying to suppress from traveling south now rushed to his cock as his hands began to caress the body of the man on top of him.

The touch of his cold hands against the warm skin of his thighs sent a shiver down Jan's spine. Nace's hands traveled up his thighs, slowly slipping under his shirt until they reached his waist, grabbing it and moving his body so they could start grinding against each other.

Deep groans escaped their mouths the moment both of their already half-hard dicks brushed against each other, making them break the kiss, their foreheads pressed against one another as they breathed heavily into each other's mouths.

Without halting his movements, Nace leaned close to his ear and whispered: “Did you just want to distract me so you could get another glass or are you just a horny little slut, baby?”, catching the lobe between his teeth to emphasize his words before starting a trail of open-mouthed kisses and little nibbles along his jaw and neck.

The sound the younger man let out and the way Jan's hips jerked forward of their own accord, beginning to grind down more desperately, told Nace everything he needed to know.

It was still fun to tease him, though.

“I need words, honey. Or do you want me to stop?” he said teasingly. As if you'd be able to stop now that you finally have what you've been dreaming about for so long, the rational part of his brain told him.

“Please don’t stop.” Jan whined. “F-fuck, God knows how long I've been waiting for this.”

That sound, that plea, the meaning those words entailed all sent an electric jolt straight to Nace's cock. He sounded so beautifully desperate and– God. Jan Peteh was going to be the death of him.

“Oh yeah? Do I make you hard, baby?” he punctuated his words with a particularly hard thrust of his hips.

“So damn much, you have no idea. Fuck, have you seen yourself?”

Jan buried his face in Nace's neck, exploring his skin with his lips and teeth, careful not to leave marks in a place that would be visible during the interview and paying special attention to discover the bassist's most sensitive spots. Nace tilted his head to the side to grant him more access.

Neither of them could stop the soft little noises escaping their mouths, getting increasingly louder as Nace's hands started to roam all over the younger's back. They came to a stop at his ass, cupping Jan's cheeks over his boxers and pulling him even closer.

The increased pressure on his crotch caused the guitarist to pull away from Nace's neck, throwing his head back and exposing his throat as a sinful moan escaped his lips. It was probably the most erotic thing Nace had ever seen in his entire life.

However, as heavenly as the dry humping felt, Nace wanted – needed – more. He needed to feel skin on skin with the man that had been occupying his every thought ever since he officially joined the band.

He slowly licked a strip up his deliciously exposed throat, a smug smile spreading across his face at the shudder that ran through Jan's body.

“Shall we take this to the bedroom, kitten?” he asked, his deep voice accompanied with a little squeeze on his ass making Jan blush furiously.

Instead of answering, Jan smashed their lips together in a hungry, passionate kiss.

Nace took that as a yes, placing his hands under Jan's thighs and lifting them both off the couch to start the short walk to his room, grinning into the kiss when he felt Jan's dick twitch at the casual demonstration of strength as he wrapped his legs around his waist.

As he closed the bedroom door and threw a very flushed and now fully hard Jan unceremoniously on his bed, Nace made a mental note to treat him to all the red wine he wished for the days to come.

masterlist | ao3

[admirxation]

Broken Locks | Part 5 {FINALE}

𓆩♡𓆪┆other parts: part one | part two | part three | part four

𓆩♡𓆪┆pairing: las plagas! yandere! re4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

𓆩♡𓆪┆summary: Chris and Jill have finally found the reader, but the only problem now is to convince her that she and her baby will be safe, and how to deal with Leon.

𓆩♡𓆪┆word count: 2.6k

𓆩♡𓆪┆disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! i do not condone everything i write, my writing doesn’t reflect all my morals. if any of the following warnings trigger or make you feel uncomfortable, scroll away; you are in charge of what content you’re consuming. this is 18+ only, minors are strongly advised not to interact.

𓆩♡𓆪┆warnings: nsfw 18+ mdni. female anatomy and she/her pronouns used for reader. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Noncon and dubcon, kidnapping, manipulation, mental illness, trauma, gun violence, blood and death.

Chapter five: It needed to happen.

The journey was long, Chris and Jill took no stops no matter how many hours they were on the road, their determination was strong. There was silence — now and again — but when they did have a conversation it was the anxiety and worries that Jill was expressing, Chris trying to make her feel better and reassuring her that you were alive and that today was the day you would be bought back.

Jill didn’t vocalise this, but what she was most worried about wasn’t the parasite, of course, that was one of her priorities but the number one thing that kept circling around her mind was the thought of you being in love with Leon; she knew your deep affections toward him, and now knowledgeable of his to you, but she didn’t want you to fall for him, to surrender yourself to Stockholm syndrome and mistake his abuse for “love”.

But unknowingly, you had already gone through the motions of hating him, accepting him, and falling in love with him — against your will.

It wasn’t long until the destination was reached, of course, they didn’t want to stop right in front of the house so they parked close to a cluster of cars that stopped before the beginning of a forest. The map was pointing to get inside the forest, so they had no choice but to make their way and be ready for anything that was going to happen; when it came to the halfway point a pathway became clearer with it being filled with tiny stones and a neat curvature to what Jill and Chris knew was where you prison was located. They decided to move away from it, to walk where the trees could cover them.

“You had to wear the blue vest didn’t you?” Chris whispered, penetrating through the sounds of breathing and breaking twigs under his boots.

“Ignore my lack of camouflage, let’s just get her,” Jill said, exasperated with the whole situation, just wanting to grab your arm and put you somewhere safe.

“Get down,” Chris grabbed Jill’s arm, so hard that bits of her flesh were poking out in the gaps between his fingers’ grasp, Jill didn’t hesitate and didn’t want to ask any questions, so both of them had their stomachs and chests lay along the dirt, having their bodies be covered by the surrounding trees, but allowing a small space of vision to see what was happening.

“It’s Leon,” Jill whispered as she squinted her eyes and focused on who was driving the black car, “We better get a move on,” without any time wasted they both scrapped themselves off the ground, running but frequently being alert to see or hear if Leon was going to make a U-turn and come back.

Jill couldn’t help but have that picture of Leon be engraved in her memories, it was only brief but she saw how terrifying he looked with the dark veins over his pale skin, looking like he had been in survival mode for far too long; but that was the case, Leon wasn’t “living” he was merely surviving and trying his best to keep his heart pumping while the parasite controlled and took him over — what was once known of Leon S. Kennedy was now a fragment of the past, a relic only to be unlocked by a core memory.

The roof was the first thing they saw, within the gaps of the trees and leaves it was easier to see everything when their running quickened and got closer; they stopped again to check their surroundings, wanting to make sure there weren’t any traps or cameras Leon had — it was obvious he was going to be very protective, after all the efforts to get you imprisoned.

When the goal was near, both of them saw you stop by the door, tears in your eyes but also fear; Jill and Chris couldn’t make out why you were teary but you knew — you thought Leon had permanently left you there and would never come back, to leave you and your baby with no one to take care of you. The rational part of your brain was relieved and kept shouting at your body to just take the steps and get out of that house as soon as possible; but you couldn’t, it felt like a higher being or natural force kept you grounded in your current standing, forcing you to remain a prisoner and Leon’s little toy to always own and control.

Both of them slowly approached you, making you jump a little when you heard the tiny stones under their feet be crushed and moved about; you looked up and your best friend was there, with an unknown man.

“Jill? Is that you?” you couldn’t quite believe it at first, for too long you had only been accompanied by Leon and your own thoughts but this was now a person you knew and deeply cared for; your whole body tingled in joy and the voice inside told you to just run up to her and have her take you away from it all — but Leon managed to manipulate you enough to stop listening to that voice of rationality.

“Yes, it’s me… I’m sorry it took me long but I’m here to save you now,” Jill was slow with her movements, not knowing what Leon had “taught” you to do in case of a rescue, “The man by my side is Chris Redfield, a friend… We are both here to save you, no more harm will be done to you… Please walk toward me Y/N.”

Jill was gentle with her speech and body language, you felt relaxed and safe, not the false safety you felt with Leon but a true refuge; you couldn’t quite place it but just with a first glance you could trust Chris, he just seemed trustworthy to you, maybe it was his aura or his close friendship with Jill but that was how you felt.

“I-I want to…” your voice was shallow.

“So come to me then,” Jill was desperate.

“What if Leon comes back… He’ll be mad at me.”

“Y/N, Leon doesn’t control you anymore, if you come with me now, you will never experience that anger,” her hand reached out, slowly inching even more closer until she was face to face with you, just inches away and able to see every physical emotion you expressed on your face.

“But… It isn’t fair to leave the father of my child.”

Jill couldn’t believe it, she paused for a moment, she stuttered as she tried to get some words out, any words, but that was improving impossible with the shock of the news; she kept thinking about if she had come sooner this would have never happened, but also what was going to happen as the baby of the infected man lived inside you, using you as a source — another host for the parasite.

“Jill… That parasite is just going to grow inside her,” Chris then looked at you, reluctantly pulling his gun towards you, “I’m sorry Jill… But this is for the greater good.”

You couldn’t move, you were frozen, having your life flash before your eyes, your heart beat quickening. “Is this the end for me?” You thought, your vision getting blurry as the tears were nesting in the brim of your eyes; for a final moment of peace you closed your eyes, not wanting to see as your light would fade.

BANG.

Your body was frozen in time, your fists were clenched, your teeth grinding, just waiting for it to happen… But it didn’t.

“Don’t you dare, you’re not killing her, we don’t know her condition,” you heard Jill’s voice. You wondered why you were hearing people speak, you thought you were experiencing something of an afterlife, or the beginning of the journey to it, but no, you were still alive. You opened your eyes and saw that Chris was pushed to the ground, looking at Jill with red fury in his eyes, his gun now far away from him. That trust of a stranger was now proved to be consequential, you were hoping you could trust Jill.

“Y/N, please listen to me,” she was grabbing your arms, looking into your teary eyes, “I know you’re scared, but we’re not going to hurt you, he was just shocked, I will make sure you won’t be hurt… Please believe me, come with me, don’t look back… I promise you and that baby will be safe, you can trust me.”

And you did.

You put your hand into hers, hesitantly taking a step onto the wooden porch, down to the grass of the forest as Jill guided you and Chris behind; you were scared that Chris was behind after nearly killing you, but you were with your best friend and you knew she wouldn’t let anything happen to you. You kept looking around your atmosphere, you hadn’t been out this far in his area, all you remembered was the incident at the apartment and then waking up to that dreaded room.

It didn’t take long for you to be in the car, ready to start your journey; you were inside the vehicle and took a deep breath in, you expected it to give you some relaxation but that was further from the truth, with the reality that happened. You paused, not wanting to look behind you, but knowing exactly what was happening.

“Where do you think you’re taking her?”

It was Leon.

Jill and Chris stayed outside the locked car, their guns pointing to him, not breaking any eye contact.

“She doesn’t want to be with you, Leon, you can’t take care of her,” Chris started; he didn’t want to shoot his friend but he knew he would have to with all the evidence he had collected along the way in the finding of your location and his “condition”.

“I have taken care of her, she’s had everything she wants,” Leon smirked.

“You took her freedom… You didn’t take care of her,” Jill took a deep breath, “I don’t want to make it harder, take a step back or I’ll shoot you right here!”

Leon couldn’t help but let out an arrogant chuckle.

“You know I always finish my mission Kennedy, and my mission is to protect Y/N and to make sure she never sees you again,” Jill said.

“Fine,” he stepped back, “On one condition.”

“We’re not negotiating Kennedy, you either back off or your dead!” Chris had venom lingering in his words as he shouted at Leon.

“I just want to ease my mind… I know Y/N doesn’t want to be separated from me, for the months you morons took to find us she clinged to me like a puppy, so bring her here and let her choose… If she chooses you, I go, if me then… Never disturb us.”

“Like we’re going to entertain that —”

“No, fine,” Jill opened the door looking into your eyes, helping you come out of the car, “It’s fine Chris, we will give him what he wants.”

Leon’s eyes widened with excitement, looking at you hungrily, arrogantly believing he had already won the whole game.

Chris couldn’t help but wonder what the hell Jill was thinking, she knew you were traumatised and troubled, you had no place to figure out that Leon wasn’t the one you needed or wanted; he just wished on every lucky star that the right future would unravel in front of him.

“Darling,” Leon started, “Come on, I know I’ve had my moments but you know I care about you… I gave you everything… I gave the privilege of being the mother of my child… Come on, I won’t be mad, they manipulated you.”

“Course we did,” Chris said sarcastically under his breath.

“Shut your mouth Redfield! You don’t know anything that happened those months we’ve been together, I’ve given her a home, given her all the presents any woman would dream to have… The only crime I did was miss the mundane courting and gave her the relationship she wanted.”

You stood there, your mentality being troubled, every part of your brain voiced its opinion; you felt your eyes getting heavier and a force making your walk toward Leon.

“Y/N no!,” Jill went to grab you.

“Ah, ah, ah… Not the rules of the game Jill Valentine,” he looked at her with sinister eyes.

“Y/N please… You don’t want to be with someone like that!” you paused in your steps which made Leon clench his fists and look dead into your eyes to try and convince you with fear to continue your walk, “He will kill you one day —”

“You don’t know what you’re —”

“He will… Those dark veins are a parasite from Spain, he went there on a mission to save the President’s daughter, We have every single file that we can show you after all this… If you choose to stay with him, you only killing yourself… And your baby.”

Chris slowly put his hand in his jacket pocket, holding up the journal that Leon had hidden and pleaded for help: “Remember this Leon… This is what you wrote and how we found you, you pleaded not to be the person you’ve now become, go on read it, and the real Leon will come,” he threw the journal towards him and Leon caught it, not taking any notice as he flicked through the papers.

Until he saw it.

The page that pleaded to be killed, and how much he loved you, not the “love” the parasite conditioned you to feel, but a true love that could have been felt if a confession occurred sooner and he had never gone to Spain.

And there — right in front of you all — those dark veins were fading, his blue eyes emerging with innocence, he wasn’t cured but this was the real Leon who was fighting to get his last words out.

“I’m… I’m sorry Y/N, I love you and I would have never hurt you if… if —”

“I know Leon, I know who you really are but… I don’t think the real you can survive now,” tears started to form.

“I know… That’s why I need you to kill me, right now,” his knees dropped to the ground, his hands dropping and getting grazed from the concrete, squeezing his eyes shut as he struggled to stop the parasite from taking control again, “Please, I can’t take it anymore it’s too much!”

You couldn’t do it, you stayed there with Chris and holding onto Jill’s arm, they looked at you and Jill handed you her gun, giving you the forward to finish and make what needed to happen; Leon couldn’t suffer like this anymore, and a cure was destroyed all the way in Spain, there was no hope.

“I’m sorry Leon, I wish it had happened differently,” your finger was on the trigger.

“I know… We would have been happier… I love you.”

“I love you too,” you closed your eyes, your finger pulling closer to you.

Then it happened.

The drop of a dead body hit the ground, blood pooling on the ground.

Leon was now dead.

Your whole body was shaking, not being able to hold the gun anymore as it dropped to your feet, looking at Leon’s limp body on top of the pool of blood; it needed to happen, but that fact wouldn’t make you feel any better.

It was time to leave and you sobbed, whaling as the remnant of who Leon truly was and his last words lingering in your mind, those words that would be remembered all your life.

Chris was driving to where you would be living for a while, your hand on your belly, and the other in Jill’s hand as she pressed the side of her body into yours for comfort; she whipped away your tears and couldn’t imagine the conflict and emotional turmoil you were experiencing.

Tears puddled on your top as they rolled down your cheeks, you caressed your stomach and thought about the baby that was now forming inside you, the only piece of Leon that would live.

No idea what was to happen next.

©︎ admirxation. please do not copy or steal my works.

my links: masterlist | ao3 profile | kofi

a/n: omg finally it is finished, i rlly hope you enjoy this and maybe read more of my work. i will now be working on more one shots and taking a break from multiple part series as i’m mentally exhausted from writing long stories (ik play the smallest violin for me but that’s how i feel), BUT i MIGHT make a sequel to this if anyone wants, have a lovely day/evening <3

[xjustakay]

✺ (1/21) ✺ @jegulus-microfic prompt: tough — 1803 words (cw: blood/injury, assassin + spy au; calling your not-boyfriend when you get shot & other extreme sports - pt.1, pt.2)

Regulus, for all the time he’s spent handling things on his own, not allowing himself to ask for help, tending to himself in cases that require it, unfortunately still knows his limits. And while the searing pain of the bleeding wound in his shoulder at present may not be the first time he’s taken a bullet, this isn’t the sort of tough circumstance that he can handle on his own.

It’s a call he doesn’t want to make, one he shouldn’t be able to make, yet he lets something other than typical instinct take the wheel. Can’t let himself think too much about the fact multiple protocols are being broken right now while he dials a number he shouldn’t even have with the shaking fingers of his free hand. He breathes carefully, in deep through his nose, out slowly through his mouth, as the dial tone drones.

It’s only halfway through the second ring when the call is picked up.

“Regulus?” James immediately sounds concerned. He’s never the one receiving a call on this line, only ever making the secret calls.

“You can’t—” Deep breath in, slow breath out. “—use my name like that.”

“What do you want me to do, literally call you the Wraith?” A pause where neither of them say anything before, “Okay, I’m not doing that.”

Regulus thunks his head into the brick wall behind him, other palm digging into the wound he’s keeping pressure on. “I can’t argue with you right now I—”

“Ooh, there really is a first time for everything.”

“I know you’re still tracking my location—”

“Going to lecture me for going against protocol again, are you? I really wish you’d use these calls for pleasure more than business.”

“James.” Regulus winces when the strain of his voice teeters on a whine. God he’s in so much fucking pain, his vision’s starting to go dark and fuzzy around the edges every couple blinks. “There is a bullet in my shoulder, I’m not fucking playing your stupid games right now.”

“What?” The octave of James’ voice jumps; Regulus can hear the rapid shuffling of movement on the other line afterward. “Jesus Christ, why wouldn’t you have opened with that?”

“You never shut your mouth long enough,” Regulus mutters between grit teeth.

“‘I’ve been shot, come get me,’ that’s literally all you had to say. But you wanted to gripe at me about your name—”

“On second thought, just let me bleed out.” Regulus sinks down against the wall until he’s sitting on the dusty cement of the alleyway he’s tucked into.

“I’m on my way now. Keep talking to me while I drive,” James instructs.

“Don’t want to do that.” Yet the phone stays at his ear, call ongoing. Regulus pinches his eyes shut, adjusts the pressure of his blood-slick hand against his shoulder, and hisses sharply. “Fuck, I hate getting shot.”

“Does anyone like getting shot?” James retorts. A car door slams shut behind him. The rumble of a turned over engine. “Have you been shot before?”

“Yes.”

“Okay so, see, you’ll be fine.”

“Tell me that after you’ve dug the bullet out of me.”

“Me? Should we not go to a hospital?”

“I’m dead, James. You can’t take a dead man to the hospital.”

“Shit, I always forget about that. But I don’t have any—”

“You’ll take me back to my place. I have everything.”

A long pause, only the distant hum of a speeding vehicle between them. Regulus blinks his eyes open, clearing the blur from them slowly.

“James?”

“Sorry, got caught up on the thought of taking you back to your place,” James says.

Regulus huffs a weak laugh, head shaking back and forth where it slumps forward heavily. “I’m glad the fact that I’m dying isn’t enough to deter you from still being insufferable.”

“Have an image to maintain, what can I say?” James quips; Regulus can hear the amusement subtly present in his voice. It’s faded to make room for something more weighted seconds later, though, when he says, “And you’re not dying. I’m coming to get you.”

“Lesser of two evils, I suppose,” Regulus sighs unsteadily.

“There you go,” James chuckles lightly.

Either he wasn’t far from him in the first place or he’d said a big fuck you to all traffic laws, because James is there to retrieve him in record time. Of course, no matter that, the bleeding has still continued. Regulus’ chest is soaked, blood up his forearm where his hand’s kept pressure. He’s dazed and dizzy when James skids to a halt in front of him and drops to his knees.

Warm hands cradle his jaw to lift his hanging head. Regulus can see his lips moving, but it’s a dull rumble instead of words that he hears. His unfocused eyes lock onto James’ mouth and he knows this must be it, this is where he dies, because he stares at James’ mouth and thinks I should’ve let you kiss me, just once.

“We’ve got time, love, come on.” The clarity of James’ voice is enough to startle him back to reality, sound coming back through the tunnel of his hearing.

Regulus’ glassy eyes go wide. “Tell me I didn’t say that out loud.”

“Would that make you feel better?” James replies, somehow not missing a beat even as he works carefully to get Regulus to his feet.

It’s an excruciating endeavor; James takes over keeping pressure on the bullet wound with one hand while his other arm bands around Regulus’ waist, hauls him to his car. The passenger seat is going to be ruined, forever stained with his blood, and Regulus thinks it’s almost poetic somehow. Something for someone to remember him by this time. 

Funny that it would be James of all people.

Despite attempts to keep him talking and awake, he slips in and out of consciousness. Still manages to give James the information he needs to, because they get to the studio apartment building he temporarily resides in between long blinks.

Then he’s on his couch, shaking and fucking cold, too painfully conscious for his liking. Barking out harsh instructions to James for where to find what he needs. Regulus grits his teeth, can’t fully bank the wounded noise that rips from his throat when he squirms and peels off his shirt.

All that flirting, all that interest in him that he’s not meant to have, and James actually seems to not be distracted the moment Regulus has removed clothing. Perhaps he really is good at his part of the job.

Worse than being dragged to the car is the process of removing the bullet from Regulus’ shoulder. Somewhere in the middle, he realizes his swearing has gone from English to French. He might have told James he’s going to hang him by his ankles and beat him like a part piñata, not that James is aware that’s what he’s said. But finally, finally, the fucking thing is pulled out, carefully pinched between crimson-painted tweezers.

James is gentler about cleaning the wound, fingers careful not to touch anywhere they shouldn’t, rubbing the alcohol in delicate dabs to try to make it easier to take. It doesn’t, Regulus nearly breaks the skin on the side of his hand, biting into it, but it’s… 

It’s different. Being handled carefully. Treated like a person and not just a weapon. As he’s most used to.

A gauze bandage is laid and taped down, James’ thumbs tinged red but so soft as they trail around the edge of the square to make sure it’s secure. There’s a couple traitorous tears clinging to Regulus’ eyelashes when he blinks slowly up at him. James’ focus flickers over his face, down his laid out body, then back up again.

“See, you’re alright,” He murmurs.

“We have very different definitions of that word,” Regulus grumbles.

James exhales a shaking laugh; nervous all of a sudden in an uncharacteristic way. He looks Regulus over again, hazel eyes darting from him to the scattered bloodied towels and the bullet on the coffee table. Back again to Regulus’ face, this time with a furrow in his brow over his glasses.

“Did you think I was going to die?” Regulus asks quietly, before he can stop himself.

“To be completely honest, I’m not sure I was thinking at all for the past twenty minutes,” James admits. He wipes his hand on his jeans —they’re ruined anyway— and brushes black curls from being stuck to Regulus’ sweaty forehead.

Regulus swallows thickly, eyes traveling the length of James’ forearm where his hand lingers at his cheek. “Well, not thinking is pretty usual for you, isn’t it?”

James’ lips twitch upward, his head shaking slowly. “Back to our usually scheduled programming then, eh?”

“Tough break for you.” Regulus pauses to wince when he shifts on the couch cushions.

“Truly. Save a man’s life and don’t even get a proper thank you,” James toys. His fingers trace the line of Regulus’ jaw, thumb stretching to tug at the corner of his lips. “Never a dull moment with you.”

“You were never with me,” Regulus points out in a whisper.

“Right, because you’re a ghost.”

“Exactly.”

“Does Albus even know you were hurt yet?”

“No.”

“Then he’ll never know I was here, either.” 

James tilts dangerously closer to the couch’s edge. and Regulus feels dizzied impossibly further when he can smell something other than the irony scent of blood or the sharp tang of rubbing alcohol. He can smell James this close, earthy and pleasant, can see the golden flecks in his eyes that make them brighter. The thumb at the corner of his mouth drags beneath his bottom lip and Regulus breathes in shakily. The hurried thrum of his heart throbs in his chest, his shoulder, his head.

Too much, not enough. Such a fine line.

“You should go,” Regulus whispers finally.

James doesn’t move away, only blinks at him. “Did you mean it?”

Regulus doesn’t have to ask what he means. Can read between the lines enough to know. The way hazel eyes search his expression but land on his mouth. The weight of a large hand that continues to gently hold his face. I should have let you kiss me, just once, an echo in their prolonged quiet.

“You can’t,” Regulus tells him.

Even though it’s as good as shooting him down, James has the audacity to look triumphant as he finally eases back, finally stops touching him. Regulus pointedly ignores the needling voice in the back of his mind that tells him he already misses the touch.

“Alright, love, whatever you say,” James replies. It feels oddly like a promise, one Regulus can’t possibly allow himself to get attached to when James tells him the same thing he did in that alleyway. “We’ve got time.”

[rashomonss]

A HUMANS WRATH

Part XI

previous part

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a/n: so this is totally unrelated to the story and obey me entirely but if any of you are bsd enjoyers did y’all read chapter 107?? y’all almost didn’t get a new chapter of this story bc of that damn chapter. it made me want to jump off the nearest 50ft building. I wanted to die after reading that fr, so bc asagri made me cry we’re getting double angst for this chapter. anyway I’m done with my rant now enjoy!

oh and p.s. I’m putting which perspective you’re reading as since some found it confusing last chapter. the original is og MC, and the wrathful human is wrath! MC just in case it’s confusing!

warnings: slightly longer chapter, lesson 16 spoilers, descriptions of dying, choking, mentions of blood, abuse of pacts (slightly)

a success for one side

The perspective of the original

“Lucifer was there really no other way we could have done that?” Levi asked, struggling to get up off the ground. His whole body ached and blood dripped from his mouth pooling onto the planetarium ground in heavy amounts.

“Levi close yer mouth, you're gonna lose more blood if ya keep it open” Mammon said, making his way over to his younger brother.

“Yeah there could have been a different way of doing this, we’re not all masochists, like you Lucifer” Satan spat. Blood then fell from his nose onto his shirt and he cursed in response.

“In my defense I never agreed to this” Asmo yelled. “My whole body is covered in bruises and blood Lucifer! I have a photoshoot on Monday!”

“Belphie’s out cold” Beel said, moving closer to his twin ignoring the blood falling from his face.

“That’s no surprise, Mc really did a number on him. I wouldn't be surprised if he was out for a few hours because of it.” Satan sighed.

“I’ll take him to your room, Beel.” Lucifer said, walking over to pick up the youngest.

“Lucifer ya look like you're gonna fall over” Mammon said watching the oldest slowly walk over to their younger brother.

“I’m fine,” He stated. “For now we should focus on cleaning ourselves up and heading after Mc”

“I doubt Mc wants to see us right now…” Levi sighed.

“Levi, close your mouth” Mammon yelled as blood began to fall on him.

“Ahh!” Levi screamed.

Mammon sighed and helped Levi and the rest of his brothers get up after Lucifer left with Belphie. If he’s being honest he doesn’t remember much of what happened due to blacking out halfway through your wrath episode. After you were done he and his brothers each woke up laying on the floor with pools of blood surrounding them.

He honestly didn’t like Lucifer’s plan of taunting you into a pact, but sacrifices had to be made if they wanted you to stay here.

You needed to stay here.

More often then he and his brothers would like to admit they really did miss their Mc. However they did love and enjoy your company just as much. Their only wish was that their Mc was just like you.

Interacting and having fun with you was always bittersweet in a sense since it reminded them of a time before the incident, a happier time before everything went downhill.

If only you could have forgiven them.

It didn’t matter how much they did miss their own Mc, because they were going to keep you here in their place. You reminded them of the personality they were used to, it was as if this other version of you currently with them had completely forgotten about the incident and moved on with their life.

Sure you had a breakdown or two about your feelings but they sincerely apologized about what happened and you forgave them, causing them to finally be able to move on as well.

They all believed everything was going great, after all you never complained or spoke about anything being wrong with them so they were blind to the truth. You went along with everything and anything they did which made them desire your attention and affection more. These demons were so touch starved for you to the point of it becoming a problem.

However they weren’t going to lie, seeing you that upset really did hurt them. Most of them disagreed with Lucifer’s first plan to make a pact with you, and the second plan made the brothers split in half. The third and last plan was the one they currently just carried out.

It was because Lucifer had the bright idea to upset you so much that you’d finally be willing to make a pact with him for your enjoyment. Belphie also making a pact with you was a bonus, after all the youngest finally got what he wanted, even if it did cost him.

As Mammon finally finished cleaning up Levi and a few more of his brothers he couldn’t help but wonder where you were heading off too. You mentioned you had something to do after you dealt with them, he just couldn’t remember what it was…

After leaving the House of Lamentation you stormed in the direction of the Demon Lord's Castle, with the intent of speaking to the prince and his butler. Nothing but pure rage filled your thoughts as you clenched your bloody fists. You were going to demand them to send you back to your timeline no matter what.

As you reached the door to the castle you prepared to knock, however before you even got the chance the door opened revealing a smiling Barbatos on the other side.

“Good evening Mc, what brings you here? If I’m not mistaken I don’t remember arranging for you to come over.”

“I need to speak with Diavolo.” You simply stated, right now you were not in the mood to make small talk with the butler.

“Ah well we should get you cleaned up first and foremost you appear to be bleeding” Barbatos said reaching for your hand.

Reluctantly you let him take it and examine the condition of your bloodied hands and arms. “Don’t worry about it, it's not my blood anyway.” You said pulling away.

Barbatos’ eyes widened just the slightest as he gave you a surprised look before trying to speak again, only to get cut off by the prince himself.

“Mc are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” Diavolo asked, slightly frantically as he made his way over to you pushing his butler aside in the process.

“Like I said previously I’m fine. I’m not the one you should be asking that question too anyway”

Diavolo looked confused then spoke. “What do you mean? Did you happen to get into a fight with some demons? Where are the brothers..?”

“At the House of Lamentation. Listen I didn’t come here to talk about them I came here to ask for help Dia”

“Of course Mc, but first I need to ask, what’s wrong? Are you in any danger of some sorts, if you are I assure you Barbatos and I can take care of it”

You sighed before speaking. How were you to go about telling the demon prince himself that you were from a different timeline? Your Barbatos told you not to mention that detail at all costs because it could somehow affect the future, however you didn’t know how much longer you could stay in a place like this. This timeline was beginning to bring out parts of yourself you tried so hard to keep hidden, who knows what else it could cause you to do if you stayed here any longer…

“I am not your Mc.” You stated.

Diavolo and Barbatos shared a confused glance at each other before you continued.

“I’m from a different timeline where different events have occurred, but somehow I got switched with your Mc from this timeline. I need your help to get back before I cause anymore damage here then I already have.”

It was silent for a few seconds, and the two who were standing in front of you stared at you with blank faces. Seconds soon turned into minutes and you began to get worried since neither of them showed any signs of responding.

Anxious now you prepared to defend your words until Diavolo smiled and walked towards you, with Barbatos soon following behind.

“Oh Mc, don’t worry I believe you, after all I could tell right away that you weren’t from here!” Diavolo laughed.

“Is that so…?” You said awkwardly.

“Of course! You’re much nicer and more understanding than our Mc. Your personality sticks out like a sore thumb in comparison. And it’s a bit suspicious when I get glares and eye rolls one day and a hug and nickname the next. No human I’ve met changes personalities that fast.”

“Ah I see…so then I take it you’ll help me get back?”

“Oh I think you misunderstand, I never said that.” Diavolo smiled.

“What?” You replied, taking a small step back.

“See, with you here the exchange program is producing wonderful results! Better than I expected actually. Well that and everyone here seems to enjoy your presence, including me. So you wouldn’t want to leave us so soon now, would you?” Diavolo said, invading your personal space. The demon prince was speaking with such a friendly tone it was as if you were having tea with him and joking around.

“I have to go home, I need to go home. Please believe me you all are wonderful but this isn’t where I belong. I feel suffocated here, and to be frank I don’t feel the same way I feel about my demons when I’m with you all.”

Diavolo frowned and sighed. “It’s okay, you’ll feel the same in due time, after all we’re all very alike right?”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you glared back at him. “No I won’t. I refuse to stay here because you don’t have a good relationship with your Mc. You need to figure out what the fuck you did wrong and fix it.”

“Don’t drag me here as a replacement to fix all your problems. Because if you do that then you are just like them. You have no concern for our feelings whatsoever.” You spat.

Barbatos then returned your glare and made his way towards you. “I understand you’re upset but I would appreciate it if you didn’t speak to the young master in such a manner. Don’t forget your place Mc.”

“That’s enough Barbatos.” Diavolo said, putting his hand up.

“If Mc won’t comply then we’ll just take them by force.”

“No you won-“

“Please don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be Mc.” Diavolo said, and that was the last thing you heard before blacking out.

_____

The perspective of a wrathful human

You were on top of Belphegor on the floor as he weakly tried to pry your hands from his throat. The demon in front of you was hanging onto what little conscience he had left as he watched your face morph into a smile.

“How does it feel to have your throat crushed by someone you so dearly placed your trust in?”

Belphegor let out a choked noise in response.

“Does it hurt? Finding it hard to breathe? I’m sure it must be very unpleasant” you said, then proceeded to lean down applying more pressure onto his throat.

Belphegor began to bleed from his mouth as you laughed. You kept spitting out nonsense about killing him as he tried to get you off, so in the process you proceeded to get his blood all over your arms.

This scene in general didn’t look too pleasant from afar, so you can believe the brothers utter shock when they busted through the planetarium doors frantic, at the sound of choking and laughing.

At first they feared the worst and thought it to be you choking and being killed again, however nothing could have prepared them upon seeing you bloodied and on top of the youngest brother.

Belphie looked utterly horrible. His complexion was paler than usual and the corners of his mouth began to turn purple and blue accompanied by red blood falling from the side.

When he heard his brothers enter the room his head instantly turned to face them and he unconsciously reached out for them.

After a second of silence due to trying to process the situation Lucifer and Beel were soon darting towards your direction faster than you had ever seen them. In seconds flat they were ripping you off of the youngest who was still out if it.

“Mc what in the Devildom is wrong with you?” Lucifer yelled, grabbing tightly onto one of your arms. He tried his best not to hurt you, but seeing his brother being strangled by you really set him off.

“Mc stop it now” Beel said, slightly raising his voice as he grabbed your other arm. He didn’t want to see you two fight, it broke his heart. The two people he cared about the most were going at it again, he couldn’t lose Belphie, but he didn’t want to let his temper get the best of him and end up hurting you too.

“Get off of me you damn demons” you screamed as they held you up.

“Mc calm down.” Lucifer said, grabbing your arm tighter than before.

“Shut up! I’m going to kill him, he deserves it”

“Mc stop!” Asmo yelled from afar.

“No, you don’t know what it's like, any of you!”

“What in the Devildom are you going on about Mc?” Lucifer said, at this point he was soon reaching a breaking point with you and this tantrum.

“You don’t know what it feels like to be killed do you?”

“To have your throat crushed. Or to feel as if your lungs are on fire from the lack of oxygen in your system. After that is the horrible headache and throbbing pain that consumes your head and your thinking. In a state of panic like that you then feel your limbs become limp as you try and free yourself. However due to the lack of strength you can’t do anything except deal with what fate has in store for you.”

“Dying is absolutely terrifying”

“However what makes everything even worse is the fact that afterwards I have to live in the same house with the same demon who put me through all of that and pretend everything is just fine. When in fact everything is just worse”

Lucifer and Beel’s grip on you had losend the slightest as they watched you squirm. Upon hearing your words they swallowed hard, trying to come up with some type of response, but before any of them could continue you began to speak again.

“If I kill him it will all be over.”

“What will killing Belphie accomplish, Mc.” Beel asked, then tightened his grip on your arm.

“Everything! All the nightmares will finally go away, all the panic attacks and breakdowns will stop. And maybe, just maybe I can have a normal conversation with other demons without my body being terrified for my life. Maybe I can be touched by a demon and not have my skin feel as if it will burn itself. Everything will be better once he’s gone” you screamed, trying your best to get free from the two brothers' hold.

The brothers stared at you in silence as they took in the severity of your words. Had you really suffered this much without them knowing? Had their Mc gone through this as well…? How long before their Mc got over it?

Did they ever get over it? How did their Mc feel about the whole situation, they never got to talk about it after all.

How many nights did they wake up in a cold sweat with tears streaming down their face, or how many nights did they stay up because they couldn’t sleep due to the nightmares?

You went through all this trauma by yourself without any of them being there to comfort you, no wonder you were upset.

However while the brothers were all thinking deeply about your words you were on an adrenaline high with no signs of coming down soon.

“Let go of me and stay out of the way. All six if you” you shouted.

The tone was that of a command, and no later than a second you were free and heading back to the youngest as fast as you could.

Lucifer cursed himself for letting his guard down, their whole purpose was to make sure you didn’t use the pacts but that plan failed.

As you jumped back onto Belphegor you punched him in the face causing blood to spill out the other side of his mouth.

“Mc stop please, don’t hurt Belphie” Beel yelled, trying his best to break free from the pact.

It was no use because his words fell on deaf ears. You were too busy beating the shit out of the demon you were on top of.

Belphie accepted what you were doing with an occasional grunt here and there as you continued to punch his face. He did feel bad, he felt horrible honestly, but if this made you feel better then he was willing to let you get all your anger out. After all he deserved it, is what he believed.

As the youngest brothers face continued to get bloodied, some of his brothers looked away while others tried their best to speak to you, Beel was the only one who was struggling to break free so that he could save Belphegor.

“Mc…” you faintly heard from the demon in front of you.

“What do you want? Don’t tell me you’re giving up already, I’m not done with you yet.”

“Please hear me out really quick, i promise it’ll be fast” he spoke dryly.

You gave him another punch before stopping for a brief moment. “Well get on with it”

Belphegor cleared his throat and tried to sit up the best he could to look you in the eyes. Sighing he then spoke.

“I understand it’s very selfish of me to tell you something like this, but I really want you to hear me out.”

You raised your eyebrows and then he continued.

“Mc I’m so sorry. Truly I really am, I was wrong about humans, I was wrong about everything. After Lilith’s death I was filled with so much anger towards humans. However I realize now that I shouldn’t have taken it out on you because you were only trying to help.”

“I never apologized to you after because I was too scared of what you would say. I was too scared you’d never forgive me so I swept it under the rug and tried to pretend it never happened. I’m just a damn coward. Only now did I realize my brothers and I didn’t ask how you felt. We just went on with life leaving you to deal with all the trauma.”

“I apologize because you should have never had to go through an event as traumatic as dying. I didn’t realize all those things you dealt with were because of me so I want you to know I’ll try my best to fix them now, if you’ll let me. If not then I accept whatever punishment you have in mind. “

“I just want you to know from the bottom of my heart I really am truly sorry. I love you so much Mc and if you forgive me then great, however I don’t expect you to. It’s selfish of me to ask you to make that decision, so I promise to deal with whatever you want to do, if it’ll make you happy”

You felt tears fall from your eyes onto the floor making it a darker color than it previously was. However you couldn’t figure out why you were crying. How long has it been since you actually cried like this?

You hit Belphie again as tears continued to fall, but this time your hits were much lighter and softer so they didn’t actually hurt the seventh born.

“Mc, I-“

“Shut up!”

You screamed. You didn’t want to hear him right now, you didn’t want to face the fact that an apology such as that one actually was sincere and filled with emotion, unlike the halfhearted apologies your demons gave you.

You now had to come to terms with the fact that you had finally gotten an apology from the heart like you had wanted. To you it didn't matter if they were your demons or not, all that matters was that Belphegor had finally apologized.

Belphie opened his arms and smiled, waiting patiently for a hug. Your eyes went wide as you stared at him for a moment, and after what felt like forever you slowly inched closer to him,

Hesitantly you leaned forward slowly into the hug, and once you hit his chest he engulfed you with his arms. You freaked out for a second but he reassured you that he was happy you chose to hug him.

“Mc thank you for trusting me like this.” Belphie said.

You held your head low and sighed before speaking.

“Just because I let you touch me doesn’t mean everything is magically better, you demons are so naive.”

Next part

a/n: so how are we finding about this chapter? there are a few things I do want to ask if you did notice, and a couple questions I have for y’all, you can think about these or just answer in the comments! i just want to understand what y’all think is all!

- first off, what do you think og MC did to the brothers to leave them that beat up?

- can you find the lesson 16 dialogue in the second part of this chapter?

- did you notice how wrath! MC was just happy with heartfelt apology? It didn’t matter if it was from their demons or the ones in the og timeline, unlike the og MC who didn’t quite feel filled with the other brothers apology.

- and lastly would you personally, forgive Belphie after an apology like that?

thanks for reading! <3

[thewritersaddictions]

(R) Drabble: Aaron Hotchner- Hotch

Aaron had just returned from another week's long trip away for a case. He looked worn out and tired, far more than usual. He gently kissed the crown on my head and scooped the back of my neck into his plan as his lips brushed against mine teasingly.

"Aaron, are you hungry?" I ask as he pulls away for something out of his back pocket. Bit his bottom lip, he thinks quietly. "I didn't have anything before we boarded the plane, but don't worry, I'll make something lat…" Aaron's own body rejects his thoughts. A rather famished growl tore through Aarons's sentence.

"How about we don't wait. I'll order pizza, and you shower." I offer. He sighs heavily but can't deny you're right. He does hate it when you're right because, let's be honest, most of the time, you are.

Aaron toes off his loafers, stuffing them into the shoes rake at the door. "What do you want on your pizza, love?" I ask as I pull up the website on my phone. Aaron shakes his head briefly like he's trying to get his thoughts together. "Just um… normal pizza…" A long groan later and halfway down the hall, he turns and looks back.

"Just cheese on my side, darlin'." He proclaims, finally making his way into the bedroom. I giggle at Arron's somewhat quirky attitude.

I quickly ordered the pizza and even had an extra salad on the side for Aaron since I knew he'd probably only get about one or two slices in before he declared he was full from just that alone. By the end of the order, the website claims it will be under half an hour.

The water is gushing through the pipes, and Aaron is taking his time. Letting the past week's trauma roll off his shoulders with the warm water that hits his skin. I daydream for longer than I think.

I daydream of his strong arms wrapping around my waist as he picks me up. His gentle, rough kisses that he'd lay on every surface of my skin. His large hand spread across any part of me.

I daydream so long that it's only the sound of the irritating doorbell as it rings across the apartment floor. I shake my head off my dirty thoughts and get up. Slipping my slippers onto my fuzzy-covered socks.

The doorbell rings again, and I groan as I open the door to see a young man no older than Spencer standing at the door. A pizza bag in one hand and a plastic bag in another. "Hi, a large pizza and a side salad for you, miss." It's not a question, just the young pizza delivery going through the motions. "Yep, that would be me," I say with a dopey smile.

Just knowing that Aaron is back home brings a sense of calm over my bones, and with that, I wait for the young man to give me my food. He scribbles something down on the back of my receipt before handing me the bag and pizza together.

With that wink, he's gone swaggering down the hallway like a kid who's just gotten candy from the broken machine. I turn, kicking the door shut before bringing the food to the island. Before I scream out that 'pizza is here,' Arron comes from behind the fridge door.

"Hey there, handsome," I say as I round the corner, caring not for the pizza, just wanting a more proper kiss from my lover. Except Arron isn't looking at me, he's looking at the damn crumpled-up paper receipt.

"What did he write on the back?" Aaron asks as he reaches across the island to grab the paper. "Oh, I don't know, just know that I didn't have to pay now that I'm thinking about it," I say with a slight shrug before grabbing the plates from the cabinet.

"My treat for such a sweet-lookin' woman in front of me, give me a call. Here's my phone number. xxx-xxx-xxxx," Aaron reads out loud, my brows furrow, "Who wrote that?" He rolls his eyes, "You can't be serious, right?" Aaron asks, genuinely confused about how I can't see how bad this sounds. "Oh come on babe, that young man, young boy, isn't my type." Aaron's face doesn't change, still wary and worried.

"I've only got eyes for you, Aaron; let's go eat, so I go lay down with the man I missed most in the world this past week." It's nearly an hour and a half into the current movie we're watching when the silence of the bedroom air is interrupted, "Why would that kid even think that's okay… just going around giving women his phone number." I have to hold in my laughter, "Aaron… It's starting to sound like you might be a little jealous." I tease as I smack his arm lightly.

His eyes go wide, a stuttering mess, before he catches his words and hurries a high-pitched unbelievable, "I'm not jea…no no you… I'm not jealous." He stutters over himself. I smile brightly and grab Aaron's robust and chiseled chin with my hand, pulling his attention away from the screen and to me. "Good because I love you way too much to go for a guy that flirts while on the job." I kiss his nose gently before dropping my hand and returning my attention to the movie.

Completed On: 09/09/23

Posted on: 09/10/23

CM Tags

[bobgasm]

kingpin ⦾ five

pairing: robert “bob” floyd x ofc!emery young word count: 2476 warnings: self-doubt, grown up conversations about boundaries,

summary: in which she has strong reservations that she’s doing the right thing

author’s note: remember to join the taglist if you want to be tagged when i post the hangman oneshot, gun for hire!

four | kingpin | six

Emery had almost forgotten the interview on Friday, at least, she desperately tried to forget it. She’s been tense all weekend, replaying every single moment of the interaction with Mr Floyd. He seemed truthful about why the previous accountant had left, although he hadn’t offered any further explanation. Emery had sensed it was deliberate – sticking to as much of the truth as he could in case he accidentally revealed something he didn’t want her to know. 

She’d felt tense during the interview, but the feeling of dread had slowly started creeping up on her. She’d been truthful about moving to LA for work and also needing a place to live, but she feared that she’d revealed too much. She feared he’d been able to hear desperation in her voice, see it in her eyes. The question about what benefits he could offer her had pretty much confirmed her suspicions, which was why she’d made such a hasty exit.

Either he was going to offer her the job or not, she simply had to wait and see.

She was woken up early Monday morning by her phone ringing. She groaned and reached for the device on her nightstand, opening one eye to see who was calling. The number was unknown and she was in half a mind to send the call to voicemail. Then she remembered she’d applied for almost fifty jobs, so she cleared her throat before answering. 

“Hi, this is Emery,” she greeted, hoping like hell she didn’t sound like she’d just woken up. 

“Good morning, Emery, this is Bob Floyd from Floyd Construction Limited,” Mr Floyd, Bob, replied. 

She removed her phone from her ear so she could check the time. It was a little after eight, which meant most businesses were already up and operating. She couldn’t fault him for his early call. 

“Good morning, Mr Floyd,” she replied, silently cursing her luck. Of all the résumé’s she’d sent out, he was the first one getting back to her. “I’m surprised to hear from you so soon.”

“Pleasantly surprised, I hope?” He asked. 

Emery forced a small laugh. “Of course,” she lied, rubbing sleep from the corners of her eyes. 

“Good,” he said. Emery could practically see the smirk on his face. “I’d like to formally extend an offer of employment. I understand that you’re required to give a two week notice to your current employers, but I’m hoping that if you agree to come and work for us, that you’d be willing to work from home until you’re due to start. We’ve been left in the lurch a bit by our previous accountant’s sudden retirement, and unfortunately, my knowledge of Wiler is very limited. It’s taken me a week to figure out how to pay wages and bills.”

“I understand, Mr Floyd,” she told him, taking a breath before continuing, “I’ll need some time to think about it and read over the paperwork, but I’m willing to be flexible and accommodate this change until my notice period ends.”

“That’s excellent news.” Emery could hear the smile in his voice and she hated that she knew what it looked like. “And please, call me Bob. I’ll send through the paperwork for you to read. Please take your time.”

“But not really, right?” She couldn’t help but ask. 

“If, for whatever reason you decline our offer, I’ll need to make arrangements to find someone else. Obviously, that’s my problem to worry about, not yours, so I’ll say it again. Take your time. I’d rather you be 100% on board than halfway out the door.”

Emery swallowed thickly, sensing hostility in his voice. “I understand, Mr Floyd,” she said preemptively. “Thank you for this opportunity. I’ll reach out at my nearest convenience.”

“Have a great day, Ms Young.”

Bob Floyd ended the call before waiting for her response. Emery groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. She waited a minute before checking her emails, finding a new one from Bob himself. The email body thanked her for her time and again implored her to think about her decision. If she agreed to the offer and the contents of the contract, to please sign it and return it at her nearest convenience. 

She scoffed at his choice of words, her own words, that he’d thrown back at her. There were also three attachments; one was a letter of offer, one was a contract, and one was a job description. She clicked on the job description first, sitting up in bed and resting against the back of the couch to properly read through.

It was pretty much as expected. She’d handle all monetary transactions for the Floyd’s construction company, as well as their strip club and casino. It outlined her responsibilities for each individual business, as well as a section about payroll. Wages were to be paid fortnightly from the designated accounts for each business. 

Monthly reports were to be run and any unexplainable discrepancies should be brought to the CEO’s attention. It was pretty straightforward, and the system Bob had mentioned they used in her interview was able to handle all of that and more. 

She clicked next on the letter of offer, which again was pretty straightforward. She’d have her own office to work from, with set hours Monday to Friday. Her official role was Chief Financial Officer, which had been described in the job description she’d finished reading. 

Next was the contract. It outlined her salary, which was more than generous, any leave entitlements, who she reported to, regular performance reviews and any obligations the role had. 

She took the time to read each section thoroughly until she reached the section about benefits. There were multiple paragraphs for healthcare, dental and vehicle use. The part she was almost surprised with, however, was the added benefit of an apartment being offered. It detailed that her living expenses would be covered by the business pending acceptance of the offer, should she require the assistance. 

Emery knew it had been added in there purely to sweeten the offer and sway her into signing that much quicker. She’d mentioned she was planning on moving to Los Angeles in her interview, which she’d hoped hadn’t shown her desperation for work. Instead, this benefit showed her Bob’s own desperation. If they were willing to provide accommodation, they needed someone to fill the hole of their previous accountant immediately. 

She sighed, knowing she’d have to call Natasha and talk to her about it. Obviously, she wouldn’t sign if Nat wasn’t willing to live in an apartment that was paid for by Emery’s potential new employers. The whole plan was for them to make the move together, so it was a conversation they needed to have. If Emery got a wriggle on, she’d be able to stop in at the gym where Nat worked before she had to make her way to her own job.

Emery was quick to get changed into her cleaning clothes; a simple black polo with the company logo and workout leggings. She brushed her teeth and combed her hair, tying it up into a neat ponytail before washing her face. She pulled on a pair of simple trainers before grabbing her phone, keys and vacuum, making sure to lock up behind her as she walked downstairs to her car. 

When she arrived at the gym, she made quick work of finding Nat who was almost finished with her client. Emery didn’t mind waiting since she knew the chance of Nat being in the middle of a session was likely, and she still had time before she had to be at her first house of the day.

Almost twenty minutes passed before Nat was finished and able to see what Emery was doing. It was Monday, they didn’t have anything planned that she knew of, and it was rare for her to set foot inside the gym outside of her spin class timetable.

“Hey, you’re up early,” Nat observed. “Everything okay?”

“I really need to talk to you,” Emery confessed. “Do you have a minute?”

“I have ten,” Nat replied with a smile. “Come on, we can use the office.” 

Emery got up and followed Nat into the back office behind the reception desk. She waited until the door was closed before answering Nat’s first question, was everything okay?

“I’ve received a job offer,” Emery told her. “Don’t celebrate yet, this is the job I had my reservations about applying for.”

“The one you interviewed for on Thursday, right?” Nat asked. Emery nodded. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know, I have a bad feeling about it,” she replied. “Like why their previous accountant retired so urgently. Why they’re desperate enough to hire someone as soon as possible, and even offering a fucking apartment if I sign right away.”

“What?” Nat asked with a shake of her head. “Back up a few paces. So, their accountant retired, what, effective immediately?”

“At least that’s what I got told,” Emery said. “It’s kind of weird, right? That a company wouldn’t know one of their employees was planning on retiring so that they can try to find a replacement before they left?”

“I mean, it is weird, but maybe the person had some kind of illness? Maybe they woke up one day and said, ‘you know what? I’m out.’”

Emery nodded though she didn’t buy it. “I said I was in the process of looking for an apartment so I could move out there, since that’s where most of the jobs were. I tried not to sound desperate for work or anything, I even told the guy that I’d have to hand in a notice. Then I get the offer and in the contract one of the benefits they’re offering me is an apartment and my living costs covered if I can work part time while I work out my notice.”

“So, they’re desperate,” Nat concluded with a nod. “That’s not necessarily such a bad thing. It means there’s room to negotiate.”

“I don’t want to take the job,” Emery blurted out. She took a deep breath before meeting Nat’s gaze. “Something feels off about this whole company. On that note, the job was advertised for their construction company, but they also own a strip club and a casino!”

“I think you’ve read too many steamy mob boss romance novels,” Nat replied with a laugh. “This could be a great job, Em, but only if you give it a try. If it still doesn’t feel right, then you can resign. How long do you have to think about it?”

“As long as I need.”

“Think about it some more,” Nat urged. “It could be that they really are stuck and desperate to get someone started right away. You can always turn down the apartment if it’s too much. We can find something ourselves.”

Emery waited until the end of Tuesday to get back to Bob. She spent hours thinking about the offer and the benefits, trying to weigh the pros and cons of both. Her decision wasn’t an easy one to make, but Natasha had made some sense. She’d opted not to tell her about the man at the diner and what she’d overheard, so she chose to keep it from swaying her decision. She knew that if she hadn’t heard anything that night at the diner, her decision would’ve been made the second Bob had called to offer her the position.

“Ms Young,” Bob greeted.

“You saved my number?” Emery asked, confused by the prompt answer and that he seemed to know exactly who was calling.

“Wanted to make sure I didn’t accidentally miss your call,” he replied smoothly. Emery heard his chair creak slightly and knew he must’ve meant back in it. “I only hope you’re calling with an answer for me?”

“I am,” she said. “I’d be honoured to take up your offer.”

“That’s excellent news!” He sounded relieved. “You’ve really saved my ass, here.”

Emery allowed herself to laugh at his honesty. “I’m thrilled to be given the opportunity to with with you, but I do have to ask about the apartment benefit.”

Bob hummed. “I thought you might,” he said. 

“I’d like to respectfully decline the offer. My sister and I are hoping to make the move to Los Angeles together. I’d rather travel into the city each day until we can find a place of our own,” she told him. “It’s a very generous offer though, so thank you for extending it.”

“Ms Young,” he started but she cut him off.

“If you’re making me call you Bob, then I’m making you call me Emery.”

Bob chuckled. “Alright, Emery.” She liked the way her name rolled off his tongue. “You have every right to decline it, but I’d feel bad making you travel hours each day just for work until you found something. Is there any way we can both get what we want?”

“I wasn’t raised to accept handouts,” she confessed. “They always come with strings attached. I read the contract three times trying to find some kind of fine print with the terms and conditions. Obviously, I couldn’t find any, but I’d feel like I constantly owed you something.”

Her confession left him speechless for a moment. She let him take a second to mull over her words while she tried to figure out why she’d told him the truth. Blind trust wasn’t an easy thing for her to come by – trust had to be earned. She hoped he saw it that way. 

“I have connections with a couple of great realtors here,” Bob mentioned. “If you were more comfortable with it, they could help you and your sister find a place. The only part I’ll play in it is making the phone call to them on your behalf.”

Emery breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, that would be fine with me. Thank you for understanding.”

“Of course, Emery. I don’t want to step on any toes here, so thank you for telling me I was crossing a line.”

“I don’t think you were crossing a line,” she found herself assuring him. “I mentioned moving for better job opportunities and you saw it as a way to help us both get what we want. In this case, the solution was a conversation about how this could work in our favour.”

“I appreciate the reassurance,” he said with a laugh. “When are you available to come in for an induction?”

“I have some time free tomorrow afternoon,” she told him. “I could meet you around half two?”

“Perfect,” he said. “I’ll see you then. And thank you again, I look forward to working with you.”

“You too,” Emery said in lieu of a proper farewell. When the call ended she blew out a deep breath, hoping that she hadn’t just made a huge mistake. 

[cryptidafter]

I'm not done with Sweet Home 2 yet so I'm going to finish it and give everything more time to marinate but, as of right now, I am not as impressed as I was the first season.

No real spoilers but putting my thoughts under a cut just in case!

There was an authenticity and a realness to all the characters in season one. They weren't one-dimensional or reduced down to a single trait. Sure, there were some standard horror tropes but I think the overarching narrative of 'grief bonding people together' was earnest enough to balance things out. Each character, even the ones without much screen time, still seemed like real people you would encounter in daily life who were acting the way you'd expect them to act in such a confusing and terrifying situation. Not everyone is a hero. Not everyone is willing to sacrifice others for their own survival. There's range.

Season two feels strangely...empty. The characters, even the ones we know, aren't as grounded or as sharp. Our main cast from last season are already well-developed but they're underutilized. And, look, I get it. You need to add new people to the roster. However, the new players we're introduced to don't carry the same presence as the group from last season. They're a lot more hollow, less fleshed out. A lot of them do fall into those standard archetypes without any real variation. There's the two soldiers who fight amongst themselves because they have different ideas of how things should be run. The 'good guy' soldier who doesn't want to hurt people. A mysterious girl with strange powers. Again, maybe my thoughts will change once I finish these final episodes but it feels way more formulaic this season. Which, again, I'm not asking for a complete genre overhaul but that doesn't mean I'm fine with paint by numbers.

I don't feel as connected with the characters this season which lessens the emotional impact of scenes that should be more intense. I should care that this central character is going to be hurt or killed yet I haven't been given a reason to.

I'm not even going to get into how much I hated the first two episodes. No, not because they got rid of characters I enjoyed but because it was done so cheaply. It really seemed like an 'okay we have to use for these guys anymore so goodbye!'. Every death in the first season had weight, including the characters I didn't like. It all came back to shared grief and the way connection is forged through suffering. It was about people and how they navigate through tragedy. All the good, the bad, and the in-between. This season seems like they're trying to capture that same feeling but with far less success. The more they broaden the scope of what's going on, the more muddled the story becomes. They haven't managed to have as much impact in five episodes that the first season accomplished in two.

I swear I am doing my best to remain optimistic but I'm over halfway done and I am thoroughly disappointed. Season 3 is slated to be out in summer of next year and, depending on how this season wraps, I honestly don't know if I'll be continuing it.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

They Both Just Gotta Be Dicks - a Malevolent fic

WARNING: Intermezzo spoilers

Not much surprises Kayne anymore.

A melting Arthur manages.

AO3

-------------------

This is try number six hundred and forty-eight. Or maybe forty-nine? Sure, forty-eight, and who cares, because I am absolutely sure it does not matter at all.

Who would even bother counting? What would be the point?

There isn’t a point, and that is the fucking point.

Yeah, yeah, you two, get your morning started; share the coffee, drop the sugar (seen this eighteen thousand fucking times and how’s that for counting), and here comes the mail courier! 

This part always goes fun. Sometimes Parker dies right away; sometimes there’s a Battle For Supremacy! in which proto-John wins every time and then Parker dies. Sometimes Arthur gets killed in the process, and proto-John gets a maximum of sixty-eight seconds (I did count that) of life outside the Dark World before oopsie-whoopsie can’t kill your host and he goes screaming back. Sometimes—

A man comes out of the shadows (did I see that right?) wearing an absolutely filthy anachronistic hoodie and jeans for a guy twice his size, fucking cold-cocks the mail courier over the head, dumps his bag (yes, I’m just standing here staring, and who wouldn’t), finds proto-John’s book (The fuck! Proto-John’s book!), and then steps back into the shadows and is gone.

Well, I…

I can’t help laughing, screaming it, because what the actual hell was that? I’ve done this five million and eighty-nine times and I have never seen that before!

The door opens, and the detective besties are fussing over the mail courier, but they no longer matter because the book is gone. Arthur’s just not as effective without his little friend.

Silly weird filthy criminal. Did you really think you could slip through shadows and I couldn’t follow?

#

So he’s pretty good with portals! Nice! Took us all the way to the woods outside Innsmouth (fucking nasty place), and breathing like he’s fucking dying, he goes loping through the woods, unconcerned about shoggoths or any other dreadful thing, clutching that book like it’s everything he’s ever wanted, tripping over his boots, which are also too fucking big, and I just gotta know.

I gotta know… and I don’t! Do you know how rare that is?

He’s done something to himself, this gasping-shambling-winner-of a human, and I can’t see his thoughts. Ooh, ooh, ooh, I’m excited enough not to just explode him and take the fucking book back.

He stops. Drops to his knees. Holds the book out. Is clearly about to open the fucker.

Nope, sorry, proto-John spoken for. “Yyyyyyallo.”

He doesn’t jump. Goes real still. “I knew you’d be here,” says Arthur Lester who sounds like somebody put him through a meat grinder and then stuffed him into sausage casing and then smoked him halfway and then popped him in a microwave without poking holes so he blew up in there and then scraped him out and squished him back together in the shape of a man.

Gotta admit, I didn’t see all this coming! “That’s a neat trick,” I say, walking around to the front. “How’d you know?”

That sure is Arthur Lester looking up at me, though he’s missing teeth, and you could just slice meat on those cheekbones. “Because that’s how lucky I am.”

Oh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy. “You must be lucky, Artie, because I don’t know you! How about that? Looks like somebody sure put you through the wringer, though!” Closer, kneeling down, making eye-contact.

His eyes are that funky color of repeated and unaddressed subconjunctival hemorrhage. He’s just breathing like a bull, clutching that book, looking like he wants to bite me.

“You can see!” I tsk. “That just isn’t fair, is it? We should fix that.”

And he says, “I know where your fucking black stone is, you fucking monster,” and just like that, it stops being funny.

I may not know him (conundrum!) but he does know me, and as the smile slides off my face, he starts to shake, so he doesknow me well enough to know he’s in trouble.

“Do you?” I say, high and light and kind of tight. “Do you? Do you? Because that’s important information, Artie, that I would like to have right now! You wouldn’t go claiming something like that if it wasn’t true, would you? Where is it? On you? Did you swallow it, Artie? Am I gonna have to go digging for gold?”

And he says something else he shouldn’t know at all! “It’s on Earth one-two-four-nine aspect B8, you filthy dickhole.”

Yeah, sooooo… this just got weird? “How’d you know that, Artie?” I say, calm, soft, soothing. “That’s not a designation you ought to know.”

“Because you told me, or part of you. The one you fucking killed,” he snarls, spitting, and his hood slips back.

Oh, that ain’t right. Most of his hair is gone. He looks kinda cancerous, definitely grody, really not socially reassuring. I can’t read his mind, but I can peek at other things, and boy-howdy. “Hey, you’re gonna die, Artie!” I say with great cheer.

“I know.” He clutches the book. “It’s okay now.”

“No, I don’t really think it is, Artie, in fact, I’m getting the idea you don’t really understand the stakes here—”

“I know you promised him to me if I got your fucking stone!” Arthur just screams at me, and there’s blood with bile in it flying out of his throat   and that just tastes deeee-lightful. “I got it! I had it! You were supposed to give him back!”

Oh. I tap my chin.

Behind us, a couple of roaming shoggoths spot us, feel me, and run yipping away into the woods. Yeah, yeah.

“I get it,” I say. “You were dealing with another me. Well, good news! I killed them all.”

“I know!” He screams it, and his voice cracks, and he is sobbing all over the book and himself and there’s blood and snot everywhere. 

“You’re so juicy,” I tell him.

“You killed him before he could do it,” Arthur says in that tiny voice he gets when he’s all they won and I can’t and all that weakling bullshit. 

“So… you actually got the black stone?” I say. “Without John.”

“No. With him.” Such a brittle tone! But at least that detail is consistent. “Then we weren’t going to give it to him. He was going to wake the Dreamer.”

Pfft. Well, I know which one of me that was, and good riddance. “That old chestnut?”

“We weren’t going to do it, and he took John, and… and I…”

“Were you gonna trade, Artie?” I all but sing at him. “Trade John for waking the Dreamer and ending everything including John?”

“No,” he says, spraying more blood. “We were going to trick him. But then you ki… you… you showed up and you… you…”

“I killed him!” I remember that one. Suicidal version of me? No, thanks. “I ch-ch-chopped him to bits, and then I stewed the bits, and then I ground him into meat and I ate the whole thing!” And I laugh.

He doesn’t laugh. Artie never does have a good sense of humor.

“Just let me have this,” he suddenly says. “You don’t know what I’ve done to get him. Let me have him, and I’ll tell you where the fucking stone is.”

“Or I could just torture you for it,” I say with a shrug.

“Go the fuck ahead. There’s nothing you could use anymore, and if you do, you won’t know the trick we did. You’ll lose. Even if you get your stone, you’ll lose, because it won’t be the whole fucking thing.”

I laugh again because eh? “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I open this book. I take John into myself. You get what you need.”

“Or I just take the book, and take what I need, and we’re done!”

His laugh is just crazy, grating, crackling delicious, and I lock it away in my head for future use. “You can’t.”

That’s fucking insulting, so I reach to pluck out his defiant little eyeballs.

I…

I missed?

I stare at my hand, outstretched, and at him. “Huh?” I say, as one does.

“You can’t,” he says. “The trade. I get John.”

“Not your John. Not even a John yet,” I point out.

“He will be. I’ll tell him who he is. It’ll be fine. It’s going to be fine.” He’s rocking back and forth now. “All of it will be fine.”

Wow. “You’re a special kind of crazy, ain’tcha?” I try again. I… miss again? I have no idea how that’s happening. I could just cook his cells and do it that way, but I’m so curious! “Okay, this is pretty neat, and all,” I say. “But that book is due elsewhere right now? I mean, we’re already off schedule, and also, my guy, you’ve missed an obvious out. I can just take you with me and make you show me the stone.”

That laugh, Artie, wow! “No, you can’t,” he says all wetly. “Because if I cross another world-boundary, or even step through time at any pace other than normal, I will fucking die.”

I whip out some pince-nez (like you do) and pop them on to try to see him clearly.

Still can’t see his thoughts. Can see a whole lot else. He was not lying. “Oh, Artie, what’d you do to yourself?” I say, already laughing, because this guy is worn so fucking thin that I think rain would tear him apart.

“I hunted,” he says. “I found a way. And I found my way here.”

“You know, most humans who get into magic of this kind do not generally suffer organ jello-ification? Seriously, what’d you do?”

“I only needed to get here,” he says, and his voice is soft, and he strokes the book cover, and wow, Artie, wow.

“Buddy. Pal. You’re that frail, you can’t take him inside you.”

“I know.”

“I mean he’s gonna kill you. At once. Not even on purpose.”

“I know.”

“You’re gonna pop like a cheap condom.”

“I know.” (He would.) “And if you let me, you’ll get what you need.”

“How in fuck will that get me what I—” And all at once, I get it. My laugh is almost as crazy as his. “What’d you do, Artie?”

“I put it here,” he says, pointing to the most egregious bald-spot, the most cancer-looking area. “Yes. I did. You can’t touch me… and you need this piece. If you don’t get it, your stone won’t work for whatever the fuck you’re trying to use it for.”

And it’s so daring and so wild and so stupid? Not like I can’t kill just him and find it in the corpse? “Grammatically heinous, my boy!” I say, affecting a Brigadier General for a moment. “Seriously, though, you shoved part of my stone into your skull?” 

“I do this. I tell you where. You let me have this.”

“This… proto-John.”

“He’s in there.” He curls over the book. “And I’ll make sure he knows… he knows everything.”

“He’ll die with you.”

“With.”

Oh, Artie, Artie, Artie. “You know that doesn’t work? He wouldn’t be tied to you after death.”

“I know. I made sure he would,” he  snarls like some snarly thing, and that’s when I decide to let him do it.

He’s tried so hard, and he’s got information I want, and just look at him! Obsessed! Gross! Melting! How in fuck will proto-John even respond to this? Oh, I missed you so much that I fucking killed us both and bound us somehow in the Dark World? Yeah, that’ll go over great.

He’s still trying to sell me. 

“Let me. You’ll get what you want.”

Oh, fuck, this is gonna be a ride. “He’s not gonna thank you.”

“I don’t care.”

“You know what? You’ve surprised me, Artie. That’s worth a cup of coffee. Go ahead. Steal your John, then trap him after death. I’ll take the li’l stone-bit when you’re gone, and all will be right with the world.”

And he tells me where it is. What year, exactly. What landmass. Even what region. He can’t get closer than that, but that’s okay. That’s okay.

It’s one of many places those three idiots found. I would’ve gotten there eventually, I tell myself, but let’s be real here: Artie just saved me a whole bunch of pointless Arthur-wasting. I know where to send the good ones now. You know. The ones that don’t get flushed.

He’s not even aware I’m here anymore, I think. Cradling that damn book. Does he even remember he had a daughter? I fucking’ swear, this guy… “Hope Faroe likes your new add-on.”

He doesn’t answer me. Wow, Artie. Wow.

He opens the book.

I’ve seen this a thousand times. That blast of power, that wildness of desperate fire, that light reaching for him like a drowning man for a swimming one and pulling them both under.

He chokes. His eyes go from bloodshot blue to bloodshot gold. “John,” he sobs.

Then he pops like a ripe cherry. Good spread, too! Those bone-bits ain’t never coming out of those trees.

Honestly surprised he lasted that long, given the mess he was. How in fuck did he even get that way? It must have taken years. “Oh, oh, I’ve got chills. Years of looking for John? Of ensuring you’d go to the Dark World together? Ahahaha! Ridiculous! Only you, Artie, only you… oh, yeah, you’re dead, you can’t hear me.” I rummage around in the mess.

Know what’s annoying? I can’t see the sliver.

Fuck.

#

It takes me a month to gather all the goo (thanks a ton, Artie), trick someone into touching the gray stone, and then getting them to tell me where the sliver is, and then I can finally fucking touch it.

Sort of.

Gather it, we’ll say.

Fuck. It’s not that small. Things would definitely not have gone right if this were missing. I don’t even know how I’m going to repair the damned thing, but at least I have the sliver.

Thanks. A lot. Artie.

At least I know where to go.

Gotta go find me a new Arthur. This one is no longer interesting. Without a John—proto or not—it won’t fucking work, as I’ve learned through trial and tribulation, though not my own.

I could just kill this now-pointless-Arthur, but eh… I don’t care anymore. His lucky day.

Before I go alternate-Artie-hunting, though, I just have to go take a peek into the land of the dead.

Well, well, well… whaddaya know. It worked. They’re together.

And shouting at each other. Wow, that is some conflict! Figures that even when dead, even after all Arthur did to pull this off, they both just gotta be dicks.

Music to my ears.

[thatblackravenclaw]

Oh baby

Masterlist

wolfstar x fem!reader

word count: 943

warning(s): pregnancy, fluff, peter is actually a good guy but barely mentioned.

“Do you ever wonder who he’ll look like?” I ask Sirius.

“Oh, Me. No doubt.” He responds while caressing my stomach.

“Yeah, right.” Remus says from the kitchen.

He walks out and sits on the other side of me.

“He’s obviously going to look like me.” Remus continues.

I roll my eyes at the statement. They’re going to be very upset men when the baby comes out looking like me. He’ll probably have Sirius attitude though.

Something that I will always wonder is who’s sperm got me pregnant. Weird thought, I know, but I can’t help it. Like, who’s sperm was fastest? I bet I could make them argue about it.

“Hey, guys?”

“What’s up babe?” Remus asks.

“Who’s sperm do you think got me pregnant?”

There’s a pregnant (no pun intended) pause.

“Well, it was obviously mine.”

“OBVIOUSLY??!!” Sirius blurts out.

“Yeah? We both know that my swimmers are better than yours.”

And then the argument ensues for the next five minutes. I admit it was very funny at first, but now I’m hungry.

“Who would love to be my favorite husband and get me food?”

“I thought you had no favorites?” Remus states with a smile pulling in the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t, but whoever gets Orion food will be my first official favorite.”

Only a second passes before both of them apparate. About ten seconds later Sirius is back in the room.

“What is it you said you wanted, my love?” He says with an over the top grin.

“I didn’t, but since you actually came back.. I want bangers and mash with exactly 3 bangers from that one in the hole place in London, Butterbeer from The Three Broomsticks, and Ginger Newts from Madam Puddifoot’s.”

He winks at me before apparating again.

I feel a kick as I sing Orion’s favorite song. I can’t help but smile as I continue singing while laying my hand on my stomach to feel him. A few seconds later I feel another kick, but on the other side of my stomach. That can’t be right. Maybe I’m just buggin.

Another kick stops my train of thought. That’s it. I grab the house phone while also grabbing my coat. As soon as my coat is halfway on, I dial Lily’s number.

“Uhm, hi?” Lily says as she picks up the phone.

“Hey babe! What you up to?

“Oh, just was in the bed with James..”

“Baby making?” I ask with a smirk.

“Maybe.” She responds, stretching out the last syllable.

“Aw I’m sorry. Would you hate me so if I asked you guys to wait one more day?”

“A little. Depends on why.”

“I’m kinda, sorta, maybe about to give birth and my husbands aren’t here.

In no time her and James are outside with their car. I sit in the back seat and apologize profusely. I’m surprised we don’t get in a wreck with how fast Lily was driving.

James helps me out of the car once we’re outside of the hospital.

“So.. any chance you guys will name the baby after me if you have a girl?” I poke at James.

“You’re already the godmother.” He says as we walk inside.

“And?”

We walk up to the counter before he can answer. Can’t believe he’s trying to get out of naming their daughter after me.

“Hello! Y/n Lupin-Black. I talked to Doctor Pettigrew on the phone.”

“Right! Just sit in the wheelchair and someone will assist you in a sec.”

It takes but a few moments before I’m being wheeled off to the room.

I sit for about five minutes before I see a head poke through the door.

“How’s my favorite patient?” She asks as she sits on the stool next to the bed.

“This baby isn’t due for another week, Laura.” I respond, clearly irritated.

“So fantastic? Great! We’re just gonna do a quick ultrasound.”

She puts the gel on my stomach and picks up the transducer.

I sigh before speaking.

“How’s Peter?”

“He’s fine. In the break room right now in case you do end up popping tonight.”

“Ha ha.” I express dryly.

As she moves the transducer around my stomach I see her face scrunch up in confusion.

“What? What’s wrong?” I ask. I feel my heart drop to my stomach. It can’t be anything too bad, right? If there was something wrong with the baby.

“Well, pretty lady. It seems like you’re either having twins or an alien with four feet.”

I don’t get enough time to react before I hear rapid footsteps come into the room. Sirius is holding a brown bag while holding Remus’ hand. They look at me and I can’t help the biggest smile from spreading across my face.

“We’re having twins.” I say to them.

“YOU’RE HAVING TWINS??” I hear from the hall.

In comes James and Lily.

“One of them better have my middle name.” James says.

“Just because you have to endure the middle name Fleamont doesn’t mean one of our sons should have to.” Remus says with a laugh.

“I resent that.” James pouts.

“Besides. As much as I appreciate you guys driving me here, I already have their names picked out.”

After 31 hours of labor, I finally get to meet my perfect boys, Orion Reggie Lupin-Black and John Apollo Lupin-Black.

“I must ask.. Why Apollo?” James says as he hold John.

“First moon landing, moon, Remus.”

They all pause and just look at me.

“I’m naming the next one.” He says.

“The next one?? You must be having it. Now, give me my baby since you decided to be mean.”

[emmashouldbewriting]

Emma, I want to ask you a question I've had for a long time, since I started reading books for fun, really.

Why do some authors take so long to release the next book in a series? Whether it's the same story or interconnected characters? Why not take advantage of the fact that readers liked the first book - when it becomes a best seller for example - and release the next book almost immediately. In some cases we have to wait months or years to read the next book. Aren't authors afraid that the reader will get bored and forget about the series or get tired of waiting for the next book? I read an average of 10-15 books a week and I've often forgotten that another book in X series is coming out because they take so long! unless I really liked the book and almost stalked the author or saw it on a blog/page that reviews books and has a list of what books are coming out 😅 but still.

There is a book of a series of interconnected characters that I have been waiting to be released since last year. I think they've changed the date 3 times and it's frustrating. So why some authors do that? 😭😭😭😭

Note: And I want to clarify that I am talking about books that the author has said are ready or almost ready, that they announce at the end of the first book etc., I know that writing a good book takes time.

The biggest thing is how the book is published. (also this is LONG lmao, sorry)

Traditional publishing means authors have little to no control over release dates, and if an author has more than one contract, they have to balance non-compete clauses. If the publisher says they're delaying the release, it can cause a whole host of issues that trickle down, even to self-publishing if the author is what we call "hybrid." (ie, both self-publishes and traditional publishes.)

Sometimes the series might even get picked up by a traditional publisher halfway through which delays the publication of the next book - I had this happen after I hit the NYT. I self-published the second book in the series, signed the contract, and then had to wait 9 months for the next book and it absolutely killed the series momentum. This kind of thing is happening a lot right now where some publishers are picking up print rights and the author is choosing to delay the ebook release so they come out on the same day (this also applies to audio, some people like all 3 formats to release on the same day.)

For self-publishing, obviously we have a lot more control. But outside of our control, there's any number of things that can cause a delay and in my experience, that's usually editing or formatting. I've seen soooo many people have to push a release because they didn't get their files back or people scrambling to find a last-minute editor or formatter because they were let down.

Otherwise, sometimes, it really is just life getting in the way. Outside of illness/emergency/etc, most authors can't and don't make a living from their books. They're expensive to produce yourself, so they could be pushing it for a financial reason. Formatting is at minimum $100, cover design is usually a minimum of $100, and depending on how many rounds of editing you stump up for, you could be looking at $500+ easily. Plus PR--it's an easy $1k to publish a book, without considering other general expenses we have like websites, newsletter services, etc.

Also, people just lie. There's a very real chance the book isn't ready, and they don't want to admit it and let people down. It's a really hard thing to do when you know people are desperate for a book and you might not be inspired to write it. And if it's not your main income stream, you don't have to write it, you know?

As for being afraid... yeah. I'm always afraid people will forget me between books, especially ones in a series. I'm worried my aristoverse readers will forget me when I'm writing Fox Point, and that when I inevitably go back to the aristoverse midway through the Fox Point books, that those readers will forget me. But then on the other hand, I'm also a reader, and I know that excitement of finally getting my hands on a book I've been waiting for, and I don't forget them while I wait :)

A really easy way to not miss anything is to follow the author on Amazon. I should really say sign up for their newsletter yada yada, but I don't do that, so yeah. Amazon will email you every time they release a new book even if they aren't always timely about it. If you can get Bookbub where you are, they're MUCH better about sending emails to followers lol

[sometimesraven]

Ian's Running Slow

Whumptober No. 12: “I haven't slept in days but who's counting?” Insomnia | “I’m up, I’m up.”

Fandom: Quantum Leap (2022) POV Character: Ian Wright Whumpee: Ian Wright

Ian needs to find Ben. Sleep is secondary.

AO3 Link

Eighty-seven percent. Thirteen percent. Twenty-nine percent. Every roll gave them a different number. Every answer gave them another question. Every new algorithm only had Ian tugging at their hair in frustration.

They tried again. 

Run: Find Ben. If: Janis equipment AND full team. Output: ...... ...... ..... Ninety-six percent.

Good. That was good, right? It had to be good. Unless their code was wrong. They should rewrite the code, just in case they missed a fault that was giving a false positive. That would be fine, right? Would only take a few hours. They glanced at the gap in their curtains, shrugging off the peeking light of morning and reaching for their coffee mug. Empty. Damn. Running a hand through their hair, they pushed themself upright to grab another.

"You're kidding." Ian froze halfway out of the bedroom door, realising with a stifled cuss that they'd entirely forgotten Jenn was here, sound asleep on the bed behind their setup. "This is like... night three."

Ian's fingers tapped anxiously on their mug as they turned around, knowing that without sleep there was no way they were succesfully masking the schoolkid guilt on their face. "It's fine. I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

"No, you-.." Jenn yawned and stretched, pushing herself upright to eye them with the judging gaze that somehow managed to still pierce right through them despite the groggy, half-unfocused haze in her eyes. "You gotta stop this. You can't live on coffee and algorithms, Ian. You need sleep."

"I'll sleep! I just need-.. I have to figure this out, Jenn. I-if I can just figure out how to get Ziggy reconnected with Ben then I'll be able to-"

"For the love of-.." Jenn shook her head, shoving to her feet just to pad over and point at Ian's screen. "This is not finding Ben. You think I didn't notice after day two you started asking it over and over if we'll find Ben? Looks to me like you're using all this as an excuse to avoid sitting down with your thoughts for five seconds. Trust me, I know what that looks like."

"I'm. Fine," Ian reiterated, trying to brush off the way their vision swam a little with the quick change of focus from the bed to the desk. Sure, their hands were a little tingly and the fog in their head was thicker than the one time they mixed pink gin with ketamine as a teenager, but with just a couple more hours they could fix everything. "I just need a little more time."

"In a couple more hours you'll be hallucinating, Ian." Jenn stared them down with more clarity this time, lifting a brow pointedly when the mug they were holding almost slipped out of their hand. "You can't do anything like this. The more you fuck yourself up trying to look for him, the longer Ben's going to be stuck out there."

"You don't-.. You dont understand." Ian laughed, the tiny huff of air making them dizzy. "You don't understand, Jenn. This is my fault. I have to get him back. I have to-.."

Were they hyperventilating? Jenn was across the room before they realised they were falling, catching them awkwardly and dragging them over to sit on the edge of the bed, cradling them gently like a sick child. "Ben knew the risks. He knew what he was getting into. This was always a possibility, Ian."

"Future me's code-.."

"Worked to do exactly what it was supposed to. There was never any guarantee Ben would leap back. And hey-- with the Quantum Leap program shut down there's also no guarantee the apocalypse future will happen." Jenn gently kissed the top of their head, their skin clammy and their hair unwashed. "You saved the world, Ian. It'll help everyone a whole lot more if you believe just for a second that you're capable of that."

Ian blinked, then sharply forced themself out of the daze of sleep trying to take them. "I'm awake! I'm up-.. Just-.. Ben-.. what if-.."

Another blink, and when they opened their eyes again they were laying down, undressed and covered with bedsheets. Their computer was shut down, and there was water by their bedside. Maybe just a little nap wouldn't hurt.