#I’m like an old man with his hands behind his back pondering how I’m going to get my two sims to woohoo like it’s a fucking cold case

[prettypearlypisces]

trying to write romance as someone who’s borderline aro is taking my will by the fucking neck and wringing it out like a goddamn wet t-shirt

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Dirty Bliss - An Alfie Solomons/Reader One Shot Story.

Here we are then, everyone. The first winning submission from my new Tell me your Fantasy feature is here, this from @liliac-dreamer​, their fantasy as follows - 

Now, we all know the mad baker gives massive public-place-sex vibes, BUT! To me he mostly gives off possessive/territorial vibes, so... Is there any way you can mix these two things together? (maybe one of the people he's dealing with tries to get too close and he NEEDS to show you're already spoken for? Maybe he let's them overhear something? 😉 )

I hope this lives up to your little fantasy, darling! :)

Words - 1,666

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

You can always feel when Alfie is on edge. It isn’t just the fact that his muscles stiffen like lead, or that his jaw clenches and he begins grinding his teeth. His entire being seems to seethe with palpable annoyance, just like he is now, sitting next to you within the private box at the Royal Opera House, tension coursing through him. There’s a very specific reason why, too, why he cannot enjoy Aida, one of his favourite operas.  

Albert Ross is that reason.  

The business associate, a fellow figurehead within the organised crime world, has never made a secret of his desire for you, no matter how perilous such might be, to openly covet another dangerous man’s wife. Especially when that man is Alfie Solomons.  

“He’s fuckin’ undressing you with his bleedin’ eyes,” he hisses in your ear, the sound of back teeth grinding in fury audible as his eyes dart between the stage and Albert.

Resting a calming hand to his thigh, you stroke, hoping to settle him. “He’s only looking, love,” you remind him. “I’m not about to go dive on him, you know that. And he’d be even more of a stupid prick than we know he already is if he tried anything with me.”

Alfie rumbles a quiet laugh, his hand covering yours. “Ain’t that the truth, treacle.”

It seems this notion is entirely negatable, though, you discover after excusing yourself to go and powder your nose, wanting to ensure that your visage is indeed perfect. The toilets up there for the private box guests are a single room with one lavatory, able to be locked from the main entrance door rather than housing multiple sectioned cubicles, but since you are only there to quickly check your face, you do not bother clicking said lock.  

About ten seconds after placing your compact back into your small, beaded clutch, you wish that you had.

“Evening, you lovely little filly.”

Turning to Albert, you lift your chin, not wanting the small flare of nerves you felt within grow to show upon your face. “Mr Ross.” Straightening, you push your chest forward, willing yourself to radiate confidence and nonchalance over his intrusion. “This is a ladies’ only bathroom. I shall have to ask you to leave.”

Albert sucks a breath over his teeth, making a show of pondering your words. “I know, Mrs Solomons. It is, however, the only place I could get you alone, to reveal to you my intentions.”  

“I care not for them, excuse me.” Stepping forward, you swerve around him, the man catching your arm in a firm grip.  

“Not so fast.”

Snatching your arm back, he hangs onto you. “Get your fucking hand off me!”

“No,” he tells you firmly, closing the space between you, his eyes radiating entertainment at your biting reaction to his advances. “Won’t be doing that, not until I’ve had a piece of you, you pretty little thing.”  

“Now, now, old son,” you hear Alfie speak, pushing open the door. Horror fills Albert’s eyes immediately. You aren’t the only one who wishes they’d locked it behind them on entry to the facilities, something Alfie does after stepping in. “You heard the lady. Get your fucking hand off her.”

His words are delivered quietly, but with all the frost of an arctic chill, Albert releasing you from his grip immediately, his mouth floundering. “Alfie, mate. It isn’t what it looks like.”

His eyes widen as he stands at your side, his chest barrelling. “Oh, do forgive me for not having my glasses on, because what it looked like, yeah. Is you putting your dirty fucking hands on my wife. And what it sounded like, right, was you telling her you wouldn’t remove ‘em until you got a piece of her!” Turning to you, he amps up the slight theatrics of his retort. “Apparently, I need an ear trumpet as well as a new pair of specs, my darlin’.”  

“Alfie, please, I...”  

“No!” he bellows, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a gun. “You’ve said quite enough for tonight, sunshine. Now, what you’re gonna do next, yeah, is fucking stand there against them sinks, and watch me get a piece of what you wanted.” His face falls, Alfie chuckling. “Oh yeah, that’s right, Albert. Ain’t nobody who teaches a fuckin’ lesson like me.”  

The blaze of arousal you feel melts down your spine, puddling between your legs, turning to kiss Alfie’s neck, his soft beard tickling against your nose. “Yeah, take your dress off, love. I want him to get a full view of that’s mine and mine alone.” He reaches with his free hand to assist, lowering the zip while you smirk at Albert, arousal radiating from your every pore.  

To fuck in front of someone else has always been somewhat of a turn on for you, but to do it before a man who has presented himself as an adversary, while your husband keeps him there at gunpoint, well. It is not your typical Friday night, that’s for certain. Once your gown is removed, you take it to hang upon a brass peg mounted onto the tiles, Alfie moving to close the wooden lid upon the toilet, seating himself, arm still raised, his pistol pointed at Albert.  

Crouching before him, your smile widens, Alfie’s eyes flitting to yours for a second, grinning. “This is gonna be a good time, treacle. A right memorable trip to the opera.” Unzipping his trousers, you pull his rapidly thickening cock free, taking him into your mouth, your lips gliding down the thick, vein ridged shaft. “Oh yeah, sweetheart,” he encourages, his free hand coming to rest gently on your shoulder. “That’s it, my darlin’, fuck!”  

You can only imagine the look upon Albert’s face at being forced to watch, hearing Alfie chuckling softly with amusement between his gruff grunts, your mouth working him, leaving little trails of red from your lipstick all over his flushed cock, precum wetting your tongue as you moan around the thick of him. You work him so well, you can feel his thighs tremble, his cock twitching a little in your throat, Alfie reaching to gently grasp your jaw.  

“More of that later, my love,” he speaks, winking at you. “Don’t wanna spend myself before Albert here gets to watch the main act.” Standing up, he pushes your hip in indication he wants you to turn, facing Albert, his face set in a mixture of arousal and chagrin, while you take Alfie’s cock and guide him to your glistening apex, sinking down with a soft sigh.  

“Mmmm, there’s no better cock in the world than yours,” you hum, turning to kiss him, all smouldering embers as you begin to bounce upon him.  

“Yeah, look at that, Albert,” Alfie moans, his arm tightening around you, hand then reaching to grasp your breasts in turn. “Look how beautiful she looks split around a great, big cock. And you were hoping it’d be yours. Nah, son. Not tonight, and not with my missus.”

The sight of someone watching has thrill meeting fire, the heat misting, biting pleasure warming your veins as you chuckle, Albert’s face reddening more.  

“I think he likes it,” you purr in tease, turning to run your tongue up Alfie’s cheek, your husband beginning to move beneath you, doing an excellent job of bouncing you upon his long, girthy cock.

“And who wouldn’t like watching a woman as fuckin’ sublime as you getting fucked, eh, my sweetheart? He’s just sour that it ain’t him doing the fucking though, ain’t you, Al?” The man remains quiet, looking at the floor. “Oi! Chin up and answer me, you cunt!”

“Yes, Alfie. I am.”

“Yeah,” Alfie chuckles, panting as he kisses your shoulder, “bit of truth never hurt no one, did it? Except maybe you and your pride. As it should.” He continues to laugh, his tongue touring your throat, gun still primed as you circle your hips on him, your walls fluttering as the sound of your sex fills the room, the wet squelch of him cutting into you deeply, your flesh smacking together. “God, fucking ‘ell, my love. You bloody don’t half know how to ride a cock. Yeah, fuck, that’s it.”  

His encouragement spurs you on, your eyes never leaving Albert’s, watching the humiliation dance in his irises, your mouth dropping open as you feel Alfie’s fingers reach to begin rubbing your clit, his lips peppering kisses against your spine.

“Mmm, fuck, darlin’,” he pants. “Let’s get you comin’ hard all over my cock, yeah?”

The tempest of fervid heat begins to wind within you, coiling hard, the pleasure rolling and coursing as you pant, his fingers rubbing at your bud tightly, the press firm as he strokes your slick, his teeth sharp at your shoulder.  

“Fuck!” you cry, breathless as it catches you, wailing ferally as he tips you into the glittering abyss of your release, Alfie staccato beneath you as his cock twitches and then fills you with thick ribbons of cum, everything that was frenzied beginning to slow, catching your breath.  

“Well, Albert,” he begins, panting hard. “I hope that taught you a thing or two over just what the fuck I will and won’t tolerate. Now, if I ever see you in my neck of the woods again, the belly of the Thames will get what my dogs don’t finish from that festering bag of bones. You fuckin’ understand, yeah?”

“Yeah.”  

“Good. Now, get the fuck out.” Albert tears a path from the room, and you get up quickly to go and re-lock the door, save anyone else coming in and witnessing your near nudity, snickering into your evening glove covered hand.  

“I think I enjoyed that,” you laugh, Alfie pulling himself back into his trousers as he stands.

“I know you did, you mucky mare,” he chuckles with affection. “Had you wailing louder than the bird out there on the stage, didn’t I?”  

Yes. He most certainly did.  

[nanamimizz]

tags: fem read, sfw, no warnings, religion mentioned @prettyboykatsuki for the idea!

synopsis: your love is god - what else would he pray to ?

It is known that Kunigami Rensuke hates interviews - when the game is over and the reporters rush to the sidelines, it’s almost comical how the 6ft man runs as far away as he can from the onslaught of microphones and cameras. Usually, he can usually throw his teammates under the rug and let those who enjoy the spotlight soak it up as he drinks his fill. If you were to ask Kunigami why he hates interviews he couldn’t give you a reason. He just doesn’t like them when his job is to play and represent his country on the international level not to answer questions that slowly but surely become invasive gossip. It isn’t what he was broken and remade to do but it seems today he can’t sneak off like he usually can - his teammates clabber onto him, tugging him back to the rounds of reports which look at him with eager eyes.

With one last glare to his team that only grinned from behind him, his eyes turned to meet the reporter in front of him - a nice-looking woman with dyed blonde hair and wide eyes.

“S-so Kunigami, you were great out there today! However, your fans have noticed that you have a rather unusual pre-game ritual - are you religious?” The question makes him do a double take and then blank. What on earth is she talking about? His hair had grown out again, it shadows his eyes and he assumed it makes his blank stare look like a glowering glare as the reporter swallows and explains herself.

“You see, um many fans have noticed that before you head to the field or when you are lined up you bring a necklace to your face and kiss it - this is more commonly found in catholic players and we are wondering if you are that sort of player?” Kunigami tilts his head, pondering over her words as his hand comes up to feel the object across his neck that is tucked under his jersey. He knows what she means, it must look like that from the outside and he can’t help but laugh under his breath about what it is he is truly doing.

“No, I’m not religious. What I am kissing is this,” he paused to untuck the object around his neck - a locket on a thick chain that he hopes he can trade out for something thinner down the line. A smooth silver locket, it doesn’t have much ornate engraving outside of the kanji for love on it. The idea of him kissing a cross makes him laugh - why would he be praying to something he does not know the validity of its existence, when he can believe in you instead.

His hands look huge in comparison to the dainty thing and he opens it with such care it’s baffling to see it from a man like him. The locket opens and inside are pictures of you from your third anniversary, you look beautiful like the sun. As Kunigami gazes at the picture of you he doesn’t recognize the fact that many others are on his face - his teammates shiver in both awe and in fear. Never before had they seen such a gentle expression on his face and it both left in awe yet frightened them.

“It's my girl, I wear it every game for luck. It’s worked so far.” Is all he says before he excuses him from the reports and begins his way to the locker rooms. He wants to shower and change, wants to go on his phone and hear about your day. The adrenaline has worn off and his bones ache.Swatting away his teammates that buzz around him like flies, clambering away asking question after question about you - When did you meet? How old are you? How long have you been together? All of it is an annoyance he lets drip down his back like water off a duck’s wing as he settles through his routine.

It isn’t until he gets to his phone does he smile the same way - soft and gentle at your text message. It reads - “help me pick which photo to put in the locket so we match.” Pictures from over the years; your graduation dinner, pictures from your friend’s wedding and his pictures from your third anniversary. He picks the latter and grins when you call him sweet.

Yeah, only for you and the love you share.

[gabessquishytum]

Hob is over 600 hundred years old, he’s got a ton of trauma that he never knew how to deal with until he learns about something in the early 2000’s…. Age regression. Hob didn’t have a childhood in the traditional sense so the idea of going to back to a childlike mind set fascinated him, but now he can’t exactly control when it happens. Whenever he gets stressed out his mind instantly goes to it, which had caused some problems especially after his stranger, Dream came back into his life. Hob had to pretend, hide his stuffed ducky and paci whenever Dream came over. He had to control his mind if anything vaguely distressing came up. This of course became an even BIGGER problem once him and Dream got together, they started sleeping in the same bed (well Hob slept anyway) and his ducky hadn’t seen the light in many weeks. Everything was going great until Dream asks a question. “Hob dear…are you pregnant?” Dream asks one day laying his head in Hob’s lap as the bigger man was reading a book. All this got was a book dropped on his face. “Oh dream I’m so sorry are you alright? You just um startled me with the question,” Dream of course was fine no mere mortal book could pose any threat to him, although under the cover of darkness he would admit his nose hurt a little.

“I am perfectly fine, Hob Gadling. But you have not answered my question.”

“Dream…I don’t know how to tell you this but I don’t exactly have the parts to get pregnant.”

“hmm,” Dream pondered, “how strange” he said laying back in Hob’s lap.

“wait wait wait hang on..why you’d think i was pregnant?”

“you dream of nurseries, baby bottles, stuffed animals…I don’t mean to look into your dreams but when we were in such close proximity it just happened I’m very sorry for invading your privacy,”

“was it a duck?” “Pardon?”

“the stuffed animal was it a duck?” Dream only nods in response.

it takes Hob a few more weeks to actually tell Dream what that meant. His Dreams had become more frequent and Dream was learning things but he wasn’t sure how to apply them. This was of course until Hob was mid panic attack and Dream somehow knew the duck was in the closet. “Hob…hob look at me,”

he looks up from his position on the floor barely able to breathe.

“I found a friend who really wants to talk to you,” Dream pulls out the duck from behind him and Hob immediately snatches it, seeming to calm down immensely. Dream didn’t ask questions that night, only comforted Hob, that however does not stop him from asking questions later. “You are not with child,”

Hob chuckles stirring his soup. “I know that love,”

“You are the child,”

Hob drops his spoon, he wants to run he wants his ducky, but he has to stay strong and deny everything.

“I am 600 years old I’m less of a child than your average person,”

Dream walks over to him and cradles Hob’s face in his hand.

“Hob…darling.”

He can’t look at Dream, he can’t.

“I’m not going to judge you, I merely wish to help you,”

Hob sighs and tells Dream everything. it’s a slow process after that, Hob formally introduces Dream to Ducky and shows him the pacifier after that, those being his only two items, Dream intended to change that. And after a few weeks a…dynamic began to emerge. And a year and a half later this is where our story unfolds.

Hob had a bad day, dream can sense it a dark cloud had entered the New Inn and it was quickly coming up the stairs, Dream wasn’t quite sure if Hob needed his other moniker today he would wait until the other man told him. Hob taught a lesson on the 1600’s because of his class schedule he technically taught it three times, he hated his unit on the 1600’s but someone had to do it. He was dropping fast he had to get upstairs, everyone knew not to speak to Mr. Gadling when he got in a bad mood because he usually didn’t talk back and looked like he didn’t understand what you were saying.

When he gets up there, the doors unlocked. Dream knows, little Hob has such trouble with locks. He opens the door and there stands Dream with a look of such openness and sympathy Hob knows he definitely knows. “D-d-da daddy,” Hob manages to choke out crying. Oh he definitely needed Dream’s other D moniker today. Dream swoops Hob into a hug, after so much time he was a professional at this. He holds Hob’s face in his hands. “Tell me what you need little one,”

“h-hungry”

Dream knew, he had known Hob was doing lectures on the 1600’s he would feel his hunger more acutely. He had prepared for this. He holds him close, petting his hair. “oh my poor baby is hungry, that just won’t do, why don’t we get dressed for a night in, and Daddy will get your bottle off the stove, how’s that little one?” Hob only nods, letting Dream hold his hand and lead him to the bedroom. Getting dress for a night in meant Hob’s little pajamas made of the softest and most comfortable Dreamstuff of course. Soon Dream heard the ding of the stove as he was settling Hob in bed. “Now my darling boy, you stay right here while Daddy goes and gets your bottle,” Hob looks hesitantly off to the side. “What’s wrong, hob?” “D-ducky,”

that’s what Dream had forgot! He summoned Ducky from his corner in the closet and handed him to Hob.

“Ducky!” Hob was delighted and held on to his bird companion close

Dream chuckled and went to fetch Hob his bottle. When he returned it seemed as if Hob was animatedly telling Ducky about his day, it was mostly baby babble that Dream didn’t understand, but Ducky could, Ducky always understood. Dream quietly knocked on the door so as to not startle Hob.

“Hobbit, Daddy’s got your bottle,” 

Hob looked up and squealed in delight at Dream’s presence or at the presence of food, Dream wasn’t sure, it didn’t matter anyhow all that mattered was that Hob was happy.

Dream came up to Hob’s side of the bed.

“Dweam!” 

“Yes Hob Dream is here,”

He goes to hand Hob the bottle but strangely Hob only looks at it. 

“Oh, is someone really little? Can Daddy hop into bed with you?”

Hob nods and Dream slides into next to him. 

“Do you want me to feed you?”

Hob nodded eagerly, he must have been very young to be almost nonverbal.

Dream maneuvered the both of them until Hob was in Dream’s lap. 

He held the bottle up and Hob drank down almost greedily.

“Slow down little one you don’t want to upset your tummy, my, my, someone was hungry, wasn’t he?” 

Dream fed Hob and rocked him back and forth as he cuddled Ducky.

“You’re my good, brave little boy. You did so well today. Now it’s time for daddy to take care of you,” 

Once Hob had finished his bottle Dream fed him some sugar coated strawberries to get some solid food in him. 

“Full”

“Oh good boy, thank you for telling Daddy.”

Dream put away the strawberries and rubbed Hob’s little tummy.

Sometimes when Hob was little Dream would park him in front of the tv, this was usually on the weekends when Hob regressed more to decompress than anything else. Little Hob was obsessed with cartoons, he’d sit for hours unmoving fascinated by the moving pictures, Dream started diapering him after one too many accidents. But Hob didn’t need that right now. Right now he needed his Daddy. 

“Alright baby boy, do you want daddy to tell you a story?”

After that he had fallen asleep in Dream’s arms. 

Although there are pit falls when this happens…

—————————

The next morning…. 

Dream was in the kitchen preparing some tea waiting for Hob to wake up, he never woke up regressed so this was bound to be entertaining. 

“Aw fuck I did it again, we’re really in it now, Ducky,” he could hear Hob mutter from the bedroom.

“Dream,” he called from the bedroom.

“Yes darling?”

“I uh… wet…my ……protection,”

Dream chuckled, he always did.

“Do you need Daddy’s help?” Dream teased. 

“What! No no I got it I’ll just do it myself, I’m a grown man thank you very much,”

Dream chuckled and headed for the bedroom, he never in fact did it himself.

-🦎

So I have little to no experience with writing age regression BUT I'm absolutely fascinated and delighted by the concept! And let me tell you, age regression + Hob made me absolutely melt. I feel like I could really get into what an amazing way this would be for him to cope with immortality (because while it is a gift, it causes significant strain on him) but mostly I just want to appreciate how cute this is!!! Hob and Ducky melted my heart, he's such a sweet boy and I'm so glad Dream will be taking good care of him from now on!! The whole thing about him being extra hungry when he's little just made my whole chest clench up - give that baby his bottle!!!!!

Also love fully grown Hob at the end and how they're teasing each other, loving each other, accepting each other. No real embarrassment, because Hob knows that he's loved and cared for! Plus him still talking to Ducky absolutely cracked me up.

I would definitely love to see more of this kind of thing in the dreamling-sphere! Thank you so much for sharing this adorable little ficlet.

[anitalianfrie]

36 and rosquez 💕

things you said but didn’t mean - rosquez

Marc kicks a small rock in front of him. He looks at it, rolling and jumping on the uneven surface of the asphalt, until it stops, ten or so meters ahead.  

It’s late, really late, and he shouldn’t be out. He knows it. A split second, a moment of distraction tomorrow, and it will be over. The bike doesn’t forgive. The gravel doesn’t forgive. The asphalt doesn’t forgive. But something inside him, something he knows but refuses to name, keeps turning and trembling, kicking against his sternum. Refusing to let him sleep. So, he put on a hoodie and went out, leaving the quiet sound of Alex snoring behind.  

There’s some sort of quietness in the paddock, when it’s this late. Some sort of anticipation, but also... some sort of stillness, as if everybody got frozen in time. As if the whole paddock was asleep, waiting for the kiss of a prince to wake up once again. 

Marc puts his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie and keeps walking. It’s weird how, even if it’s summer, here it’s cold. It’s something his brain still can’t comprehend, after all those years of travelling, when in his mind August will forever be tied with humid, sticky hotness and sweat, every hour of the day and of the night. 

He ends up in front of the Yamaha trucks. It’s stupid, but it feels like intruding. There was once, not so long ago, when it wouldn’t have. When something being Valentino’s meant just something he could have had too, somewhere where he was welcome. But now- Valentino hasn’t told him out loud, but it just feels like that.  

He stops, dead in his tracks, pondering whether to change path, to return to his own motorhome, when something in the darkness flickers.  

A light. The red of a cigarette. An exhale. 

Valentino. 

He doesn’t think Valentino has seen him. He could still go away. He could still leave. But he already knows he won’t. He never has and never will, when Valentino is concerned, when just being meters away makes him burn, makes his hands spasm with desire, makes him want to get even closer. Inside. 

“Smoking is bad for you, you know.” 

Valentino chuckles. It’s a conversation they’ve already had many times, and it has never stood for anything more than a game. Their game. Something that ends up with Marc tasting the nicotine in Vale’s mouth, the only one who gets to have that part of him, and Valentino’s hands hot and careless on Marc’s skin. 

Valentino brings the cigarette back to his lips. 

“Eh. I’m already old, it can’t do more damage that what time has already done.” 

He flicks the ashes away with small taps of his long fingers, and opens his other arm wide. Like an invite. 

Maybe, if Marc was a stronger man, he would have left.  

He isn’t. 

He tucks himself in the space between Vale’s arm and his side, pushing his face against Vale’s chest. Valentino smells of laundry, and sweat, and motor oil, and nicotine. Marc inhales, deep, nose tucked into the folds of Vale’s hoodie. 

Valentino keeps smoking. 

“So.” he says, after a bit, “what is such a young beautiful boy doing out at this hour of the night? Don’t you know it’s dangerous?” 

Marc doesn’t know what to reply. He settles for humming back, instead of letting words, any word, out of his mouth. 

A moment of silence. 

“I was thinking about the race. About-” about you. About how you’re angry with me, when I win. Marc hopes Valentino will get it, will be able to hear the words he didn’t say hidden in between the ones he did. The words he can’t say, hidden in between those he can. He usually does. 

Valentino laughs, and blows the smoke in Marc’s face. One of his hands, the one that isn’t holding the cigarette, has ended up under his hoodie, under his t-shirt, cold against the hot skin of his side. 

“You worry too much, bimbo.” he says, dragging another breath from the cigarette. 

“It will be okay.” we will be okay, it’s what Marc hears. 

Valentino’s hand sneaks under his sweats, under his briefs, painting hot circles against his hipbone with his thumb, and then lower. Closer. Marc can feel his insides trembling. 

“Wanna come inside?” he asks, and Marc finds himself nodding even before his brain has registered the words. Yes. Always.  

Valentino throws the cigarette on the ground, unfinished, and puts it out with the heel of his shoe.  

Inside, Valentino grabs him by the waist, cold hands digging deep into his skin, and kisses him hot and hard against the door. 

Marc can taste the nicotine on the tip of his tongue. 

send me a pairing and one of these and i’ll write a mini fic

[baddiewiththebook]

‘Little’ Hopper - Part 2

-> You meet Eddie at the police station your father works at. His reputation makes you worry. Soon, however, you find yourself in an entangled web of love and lust. Now, all you have to do is convince your father that Eddie isn't a bad guy.

-> Eddie Munson x Hopper!Reader (she/her)

-> secret romance, slow burn, smut [+18]

-> warnings: explicit content (no minors)

< next part >

-> <-

Nerves shock your body like the speed bumps in the road. Gripping your steering wheel tight, you’re ready as the smoothly paved road turns to dust and gravel. Rocks slap against the tires and the metal of your car. Hopefully there isn’t enough dust that you’ll have to scrub your car clean, before you go home. Rule one: never leave evidence behind.

There should be a step before rule one. You ponder the thought inching closer to the last trailer in the park. Like, rule zero could be don’t commit a crime. Your chest tightens. But, you’re not committing any crime. Not really. You’re going to help a friend pass a class. Not really that either. Okay, so you’re breaking rule negative one which would be sneaking off while your dad’s at work to meet up with the guy one of his officers arrested yesterday. Wow. That could really use an acronym. You love acronyms.

Talking to yourself kept you from meeting the eyes following you, as you drive less than ten miles per hour in the trailer park. You’re still crippled with guilt. Breaking your dad’s rules isn’t like you. Maybe it was. Oh, you only take a beer from the fridge every once in a while.

An older woman in a yellow sun hat has her eyes on you. She stares at the fresh paint on the wagon you’re towing, and the wheels with caps that she can see your reflection in.

As you draw near, you can pick out lights shining from Max Mayfield’s trailer. She and her mother share the barely livable, after a nasty divorce left her mother broke. You know all of this because she’s close with your sister El. Adopted and about as strange as an alien, El is still overall your adorable little sister with big dreams.

There it is.

A big old sofa sits on a porch decorated in cigarette buds. An ashtray is thrown from its home atop the arm rest to the dirty ground beneath. Burn marks in the cushions. Weather taking hold of the fabric. Was this couch ever inside?

Eddie’s dingy old van is locked out front. Parked sideways to warn off loiterers. You’re parking next to his van anyway, while leaving plenty of room in case he has something smart to spit at you about his precious van. You hear the stories in the halls about how Eddie doesn’t love anyone or anything except his van, and his guitar.

But, you don’t let the rumors deter you. Why? Above all else, his home is just that. A home.

Your feet crunch under the fall leaves. Shutting your car door, you check the lock twice to make sure that it is in fact locked.

A brown sedan zips through the park. Your heart skips. Hot steam billows from the back as the driver slams the breaks. A horn blasts through the neighborhood that deafens anyone near by. You tug at your ear. One more blow to the horn, and Eddie's trailer door slam open with a bang.

Wrinkles in time. An old man grumbles under a thick mustache about timeliness. He checks the watch he’s got strapped to his wrist. A dingy lunch pale swings left and right in his fist. In a split second, food goes flying onto the porch!

“Damn!” He grouches. “Already late! I’m too old for this shit!”

Letting out a groan as he bends at the waist, you rush up the stairs to help him. The metal tin unhooked itself, and has sent his lunch skittering across the front porch. Your hands dart around for each piece of the puzzle as quick as you can.

“Let me,” you restrain judgement. There's a thick sludge he packs in a sandwich sack rather than a thermos. It’s coffee. Bitter beans soak the bag through with their smell.

"Thank you, darling," he's got a sweet, almost southern, charm about him.

Giving the man your name, you tell him then that you're not a stranger. You're here to see Eddie, and you hope you have the right address.

“Oh!” He chuckles. “Eddie didn’t tell me he had a girl tutor.”

Both of you are aware of the implication, so they don't have to be spoken out loud. Still, the redness across your face is caught by the older man and he snorts,

“I’m Wayne,” he outstretches hand. “Eddie’s uncle.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Another honk from the driver of the sedan, and the front passanger side door squeaks while it rolls down. Someone a few years younger than Wayne sits in the drivers seat. One of his hands is on the wheel, and the other is blocking the sun from his eyes. He squints at you and at Wayne.

"You coming old timer?!" His snaggle tooth catches the sun.

"You'll be my age soon!"

The man in the car howls with laughter. You can only assume this isn't the first time they've had this conversation. No doubt the man driving is Wayne's coworker.

"I should go," Wayne directs to you. "They don't pay me to stand around."

Wayne mutters something about not being paid enough to work either. But, he tries not to let you hear that because that’s not really your problem.

“Eddie’s inside,” he tells you. “I’ll be seeing you around. I hope.”

‘I hope’ floats in the air. What a nice old man. You want to ask Eddie why he hasn’t told his uncle that you’ll be coming to the trailer. But, that’s not really what Wayne had in mind. You’re a girl.

Puttering on the steps by yourself, you're left to your own thoughts. Worried or not, you're here. Should you knock before entering? Wayne's left the door ajar. By accident?

You knock thrice gently, before letting yourself into the trailer. Step by step, you’re now surrounded by him. Everywhere you look, the apartment is a shrine to Eddie Munson.

You don’t mean to be nosey, but there was so much stuff stacked on top of coffee tables and side stables. It’s a display. Naturally, your eyes follow a pattern across surface after surface. An ashtray that matches the one outside has the last smoked cigarette still simmering down sat on top of a side table with the leg taped back on. There’s a tv showing nothing, but static. Pictures on the walls cover Eddie’s life story. As a baby, Eddie had the fattest cheeks. A wide grin fills his face with joyous hopeful eyes. His uncle with a wide and a proud grin on his face, held the baby close to him while the baby yanked on his hair.

Some of Eddie’s old accomplishments litter the wall. There was an ‘Independent Reader’ award from elementary school, followed by ‘Most Improved’ in a subject that was smudged off because someone spilt coffee across the page. They must have framed it after that.

  “Hey.”

All the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Goosebumps trail your skin. You spin around.

Eddie looms in the shadows like a statue out of place in his own hall of fame. But, stripped of his leather and jeans, so does his confidence fall to the ground. He's a bit silly in plaid pajama bottoms. There shouldn't be a hole in the knee of the fabric, but there is. You wonder if the scar just under his knee cap has anything to do with the hole, but you swallow your question to spin with the dancing in your chest.

The sharp and edgy man that carries himself with an untouchable attitude through the halls of Hawkins High School is nothing more than an average man. Not that Eddie is average. You've never seen an average man with the head of hair he's got clinging to his bare shoulders.

Eddie twists the tank top away from his chest. A blazing heat bubbles inside of him aching to escape. Normally, something as materialistic and simplistic as clothes go unnoticed by him. But, the way your skin peaks from the blouse you're wearing has Eddie challenged in a new way.

Eddie's not good with women. Especially, really pretty women. Acting suave is in his nature because there's usually an audience to go with it. He's only bouncing off of what everyone else has to say.

But, you're giving him the same bewildered look he's probably got slapped on his face.

  “Hi,” your voice hits his ear like a soft melody. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spy on anything.”

Eddie didn't know you would come today. After all the cheerleaders that have blown him off for a drug deal, he can't imagine a woman would come to his trailer. The trailer should have scared you off. Why hadn't it?

  “See anything good?” Eddie takes a step closer to see what you've left off with. He hums, and points to the dark stain splattered onto his award. "That's chocolate milk. I thought the award would better serve as a napkin. Wayne nearly had my head."

The heat from his body radiates onto you even through the jacket you've worn. You’ve nearly forgotten what you came here for.

“What was it for?”

Eddie touches his chin with his pointer finger. A click comes from between his lips. Staring closely at the ruined parchment that his uncle insists on keeping, he can make out an ugly little inky stamp.

“That’s Mrs. Johnson’s four leaf clover,” he recalls out loud to you. “She always gave us little stamps to tell us we’re doing a great job. So, I’d say it’s the Advanced Reader award. But, that’s not super impressive. I was eight.”

“That’s awesome, Eddie,” you chime. “You read a lot?”

Stumbling across the words that twist his tongue into an unforgiving knot, you’re already halfway down the hall before Eddie can catch up to you. You’re frozen by another portrait of Eddie and his uncle Wayne. When they say kids age you, Wayne is a prime example. But, beyond the grays sticking from the top of his head and down to the bottom of his chin, every photograph Wayne is chipper than before. Eddie’s his boy.

There are no images of Eddie with his parents, so you’re better off not asking. Still, did he have siblings? Did he get his hair from his mother? Or, is his uncle the only one with the same nose as Eddie?

“Yes,” Eddie says louder than he means too, “I still read.”

“What do you read?” You’re playing with the charm on your necklace. El has the same one.

“Erm,” he slides past you with his back against the wall. “I’ll show you.”

Letting the door swing open at the end of the hall, you’re met with the dreaded boy bedroom. Stacks of junk pile across the four drawer dresser that has a long sleeve shirt dangling by the arm. An attempt to clean by him is kicking and shoving stuff he could have put away months ago.

Eddie’s made sure to put away any nude magazines. He’ll swear up and down that he’s not a perverted sex addict. In fact, he can count the number of times he’s had sex on one hand.

“It’s around here somewhere,” he curses to himself about the mess. “Maid’s out for the week.”

“It’s lived in,” you might as well have called him messy.

“Here,” Eddie’s got a few chapter books in hand. “They’re nothing special.”

Nothing special. One of the smaller texts has to have been read a million times over and over. Every page is yellowing. Wrinkling over time. Those are your favorite books.

“Can I borrow one of them?” You’ve asked. “I’ve never read this one before.”

“It’s kind of nerdy,” he warns.

“I like nerdy,” your stare ignites his flame.

Eddie snorts. “Yeah- yeah, alright.”

“I should have it back to you in a week,” you flip the book open to count pages. “Maybe less.”

“You’re a fast reader!”

“I love books,” you beam. “You’re free to come up with your own characters, and your own settings in your mind. You’re in your own little world.”

“Unlike television.”

“Exactly.”

There’s a pregnant pause between he and you where you’ve both stopped to stare achingly between each other. Keeping a polite smile toying on your plush lips, Eddie holds himself away from bridging the gap and touching yours to his to see if they’re as sweet as he’s imagining. Cherry gloss coats your lips. Or, maybe that would be the perfume you soaked in.

  “Erm-,”

Your que to break away from the twang of urges below your belt, before anything sinister happens.

You propose. “What are you planning on writing about for your paper?”

“Huh?” Eddie’s forgotten all about why you’re really here, and that you’re not going to fulfill his imagination. “Oh, right. I’m just going to rewrite the one she gave me from when I was freshman- a real freshman.”

It’s no secret that Eddie’s had to repeat his senior year enough times. He’s tired of the cliques, the fads and the teachers that have given up on him years ago. But, what sprung on him is an opportunity. You’re soaring above the rest of the people in that dammed school. Hell, he caught a glimpse of your valedictorian announcement to your friends at school.

When he landed in cuffs yesterday, and may he just say he was innocent the whole time, the opportunity presented itself to him. There’s no way he’ll pass up being taught by the smartest chick Hawkins has ever seen. Besides that snooty Nancy Wheeler, of course.

The plan was to learn from you, and if you smoke he’ll offer you a bit of overpriced weed for a sweet discount. He didn’t account for your existence to strike him so poetically.

“Is it alright if I sit?”

“Oh, uh - yeah,” Eddie tries not to think about the stains hidden beneath his tawny comforter, or that he could have at least bothered to wash his sheets.

Instead, Eddie sits with you. There’s enough space not to let the electricity shock either of you. But, as you’re taking the paper he’s pulled from the depths of his backpack, you draw near.

You begin by asking, “What did you want to be?”

Eddie's heart thunders. Taking a beat, he bounds to the corner of his room where a massive guitar sits in display. Prick points at four corners. Splashes of red. Was it custom? This thing must have cost a fortune!

Being the one part of his bedroom without mess, you're in awe that an instrument can carry so much value to a person.

Eddie springs about, "The greatest guitar player this planet has ever seen!”

A select few people knew about Corroded Coffin. It just so happened that you passed by one of the band members talking about a gig that was happening for the band last Friday. As much as you were curious, you knew that you could never slide past your dad that late in the evening. He hardly lets you out to go to sleepovers at your friend's house anyway.

"Corroded Coffin, right?" You awe.

Eddie melts. "You've heard of us?"

"I overheard one of your friend's talking about the band," you explain to him. "I wanted to come to your concert last Friday, but my dad's a little strict."

"You've got an interest in the dark side?" Eddie flicks the string of his guitar.

The truth is that his band plays for a crowd of drunks that demand to hear Iron Maiden one too many times. They're going to make a name for themselves, and one day they'll get out of this town. Eddie's already got a folder for his original songs, but he hasn't been bold enough to play any of them at their gigs. Right now they dedicate their time to practice covers of some of their favorite songs. The songs aren't as popular around Hawkins. 'Suppose that's why everyone thinks he's some sort of freak.

It takes everything in Eddie not to crawl on his hands and knees to you. You're nose is touching your brows, while reading the paper he wrote years ago. Eyes darting line from line. Your lashes fan like a butterfly.

Eddie didn't know how lovely you could be. The narc of Hawkins - some called you. You're not as prissy as some people claimed. But, as much as he wants to pull a joint from his stash, he doesn't need you to run to daddy and tell on him. Eddie's not so sure you would now.

"You've got a great idea," you break through the silence. Thumbing across a line in one of the earlier paragraphs, "Erm- this isn't a word. But, I'm sure we could find a synonym."

"Synonym?" Eddie's plopping down next to you.

You define for him. "A word that has the same meaning as this one."

"Oh," he still looks puzzled.

"Come crawling faster, obey your master," you quote the famous Metallica line in their song Master of Puppets. "It's catchy, right? Imagine if the band chose the word quickly. Come crawling quickly, obey your master. That doesn't sound right. Right? By finding a synonym to the word, the lyrics now rhyme. And, the song sounds-"

You've lost your train of thought. Eddie's got an incredulous stare boring into your soul. Have you completely lost him?

Without warning, Eddie's lips attack your own. Rough. Wet. Hot. Blazing fire reaches to the depths of your soul. Yet, your frozen. Unsure if you want to push him away, Eddie's hand reaches around to hold you in place by your head. Then, you melt. Your desire for his heat burns like a match has been lit across your skin. But, God, you never want this to end.

The paper slips away from your grasp. Letting it float to the ground, you fist his t-shirt. Lifting the fabric up over his head, you part for a split moment.

"You know Metallica?" Eddie questions.

You point out the Metallica poster on the wall, "I just thought-"

There's no time to fumble up an answer about how you listen to a lot of different music because Eddie's mouth is once again on yours. Testing the waters his lips leave yours to press heavy set kisses along the side of your neck. Breathing to the heavens, you strain your neck to see the ceiling covered in posters. Peaking out behind the Playmate of the Month is a moldy soaked patch of the wall. Your eyes flutter shut when Eddie's breath hits your collar bone.

"Is this okay?" His hands rest under your breast.

Your fingers find his hair pulling him to attention. Leaning forward to him, you press a kiss to his lips. Softer. Slower. Catching a moan between kisses, Eddie's hands slide up the thick fabric of your shirt. You're sure he can feel your heart pound the way it drums against your ears.

"Eddie," you whisper against his earlobe. "I need you to touch me."

Laying on your back across his bed, Eddie crawls down your body to where your belly peaks out from underneath your shirt. He kisses you there. Your skin is soft like satin.

Undoing the button to your jeans, Eddie can't wait to taste what's hidden beneath the wrapper. Your cotton panties with a little white bow wrapped up like a present just for him. He's got you melting into his sheets, and he hasn't even touched you yet.

Goosebumps trickle against your skin. His hands snake their way around the exposed flesh of your thighs, as your jeans have been thrown and forgotten. The fat of your thighs makes his cock harden in his jeans. He bites at your skin sending shock through your veins. Arching your back, Eddie finds this to be the perfect time to rip you free from your shirt. Taking hold of the snaps in the back of your bra, he's freeing your chest.

You gasp. "Please."

Eddie draws lines around your breast with his tongue with his gaze never leaving yours. Hot fire boils you. You crave him. Desperate for him, you beg once again and now Eddie's laughing. He's got you under him. His lips wrap around your nipple licking the hardened nub. Not forgetting about the other, he travels to the other to make the sensation even.

"You're perfect," he tells you with confidence. "Who's got you all sensitive, hm?"

Blissfully, your eyes roll back as he continues putting pressure along the nerves of your body. Your chin quivers.

"Eddie," you mutter.

"Hm?"

A sudden burst of confidence, and you sit up like a rocket. Clawing at the hem of his shirt, Eddie takes his shirt clean off. While he's occupied, you've made his knees buckle. Your hands reach out for his growing erection outside of the pajama pants. The thin material leaves little too hide. Your mouth waters.

Pulling his pants and his underwear to his thighs, you're fluttering at the thought of him being inside you soon.

"Princess," he nicknames.

You copy just as he does. Eyes on him. Your tongue darts out to touch the tip of his cock. Groaning, Eddie finds himself at your mercy. You've taken hold of the reins. Dragging your wet tongue along the aching shaft, you taste the salt from his slit.

Eddie must have died and gone to heaven. There's no way this perfect little princess is sucking him off in his bed. You're singing to him with the noises dripping from your mouth. Soft melodies hit his eardrum.

To be clear, the plan was not to sleep with you. Using your brain for homework help, yes. But, this? Eddie couldn't bring himself to imagine how sexy you are going down on him.

Sucking him down your throat, tears crowd the corners of your eye. Eddie wipes them with his thumb. His other hand fists your hair tangling it into a thousand knots. You're slobbering, and Eddie shakes.

"Lay back, baby," he doesn't want to finish with you yet.

While you adjust, Eddie's already made purchase with your hot heat in his face. He hasn't yet gotten to taste the sweet juices you've got hidden behind those cotton panties. When he does take them off, he nearly faints at the sight. Your pink pussy is slick and wet for him.

"I need you," you say breathlessly.

Eddie's mouth breathes wordlessly against your clit. You cry. Those noises you're making are so very sweet. Taking a finger, he wets against his tongue, before he dares touch that bundle of nerves awaiting for him.

You jump back, and he chuckles.

"You're so sensitive."

Words fail you, as soon as Eddie's tongue slides across your clit. Desire screams at every nerve ending. You're a puddle underneath him. Thoughts faint from your memory. Pleasure consumes you.

Eddie swallows your clit. Moaning at the glory between your legs. He's got to be inside of you. Taking his time, he slides one finger inside of you. Pumping the digit back and forth, you beg for more. And so, one becomes two.

"Don't stop," your words roll out of your mouth barely audible. "Eddie!"

Your pussy tightens against his fingers. Fighting you from clamping your legs shut, his other hand grasps your fleshy thigh. His fingertips whiten, and he pumps his other hand faster. Your back arches back as you bridge the peak of pleasure.

Slobbering on your cunt, Eddie doesn't let go until your shaking beneath him.

"You good?" He's sitting up with his erection in his hand.

Nodding your head, you have no words anymore.

"Reach over there," he points to the nightstand.

Your trembling hand has Eddie smirking proudly. Putty in his hands. Pulling the condom out from his nightstand, you're sure he's got something in there he shouldn't, but you can't be bothered.

Eddie tears the packet open, and rolls the condom over his pulsing cock. He's got to be inside you. Now.

"Eddie!"

Stretching you open wide for him, he's got you by the thighs again. You've caught his wrists with your hands. Scrunching and hissing at the burn, he's pushing his cock deep within you.

Gummy walls surround his cock. It's a miracle he hasn't shot his load yet.

"You're tight, baby," he coos. "Don't worry, I'll stretch you out."

"Shit," you curse, as he rolls his hips into you.

"God, I love the sounds you make," he's begging now. "Squeeze your legs around me. Good girl."

Your sent over the edge once more. The way he coaxes you to get there, you're in disbelief you've never done this with him before. He already knows the ins and the outs of your pleasure. The way your hips tilt, he's got a grip on them now.

Pumping his cock faster inside of you, he's groaning sinfully - deliciously.

"Cum for me, big boy," you dare.

Eddie's neck snaps up awakening the beast deep in his gut. He pistons his cock deep inside of your belly. You're feeling the ache build inside. Yelling loud enough the neighbors might call the cops, you're begging for more. There's not enough. There's never enough. You're greedy for him.

"Eddie!"

Name slipping from your lips, Eddie's trembling now. Grunting like a wild animal, his hot spirts of cum drench the inside of the condom.

"Holy, shit," he breathes. "You okay?"

You nod weakly. "Mhm."

Taking his softening cock out of you, he smirks at you laying limp in his bed.

"Should we do that paper now?"

You weakly swing your arm his way.

Eddie snickers, "I'm kidding."

-> <-

In another hour, you're waking up because the heat coming from Eddie's arm draped across from you is ruining your nap time. Hot air blows onto your neck while he snores into your ear.

"Eddie," you whisper.

Eddie grunts in his sleep, so you press your finger into his sweaty arm pit and wiggle your finger around a bit. This gets Eddie's eyes to pop open like saucers and he squirms away from you.

"I should get going," you tell him.

Eddie rubs his eyes. "What time is it?"

"It's like seven thirty," you read from his alarm clock. "It's already dark, and my dad will be home in a few hours."

"We have a few hours," he tries to get comfortable again.

You push him. "No, Eddie. I need to go. El can't keep a secret from dad, and my curfew is at eight on school nights."

Eddie lays on top of your chest, "but, we didn't even start on the paper."

"Okay," you run your finger across his curls. "Now, you sound desperate."

"Don't go," he hums into your chest.

There wasn't really a discussion before you fell asleep about what this was. Was there another chance on the horizon? Certainly, by the way he's slowly turning into the little spoon, you think maybe there's something there.

But, this is bad. This will end terribly knowing who your father is.

Still, as you lay with him, the gentler Eddie that you're growing quite fond of is someone you could introduce to your dad. Right?

"Tonight has been really fun, Eddie," you tell him.

"Don't start," he doesn't like the prospects of what she's about to say.

"Eddie," you tap his nose.

At attention now, he rests his chin on your belly stuck between your legs. You're beginning to not want to leave, now.

"I'll call you?" You suggest.

Before pressing his head back into your belly, he agrees with the nod of his head.

"One more round before you go?" He's half joking.

"Eddie!"

[sweetanidreams]

Lost With You | Leon x Reader (Part I)

Image Source

Rating: Mature (probably, eventually NSFW - this part is just language, I think?)

You were only doing this to begin with because you respected Professor Magnolia a great deal and because she was an old friend of your dad’s. It had been ages since you’d been back to Galar, so the region was already strange enough to acclimate to. But this… this was pushing it.

****************************************************

After having met the professor at her lab in Wedgehurst for “tea and a chat,” you were regaled with her findings around the Dynamax phenomenon and given a condensed, but impassioned recap of the most recent events surrounding Leon, the former chairman Rose and the newly crowned champion. You’d been traveling with your team for so long that most of this was lost to you — outside of a few rumblings here and there because of the widely televised Champion Cup. You knew of the former champion’s reputation as being undefeated, up until recently, of course, but never paid much mind. Titles and fame didn’t hold much weight for you. What really mattered were the bonds you built with your Pokémon and putting your all into your training; mind, body and soul.

You were still processing Professor Magnolia’s disclosures, absently sipping on your wonderfully fragrant pecha lavender tea, when her sage green eyes focused on you from behind her inverted triangular glasses. “So, my dear, the reason I’ve asked you here today is that I’d like you to do some field research for me,” the ivory-haired woman stated, producing from her lab coat a thick white wristband with blue and red trim, and a shiny black plate embedded front and center. “With your skills as a trainer and knowledge of Pokémon from so many regions, I couldn’t imagine anyone better to study the effects of Dynamaxing on Pokémon firsthand,” she continued. You stilled, fingers tracing the sides of your teacup as you searched your mind for the words to respond. Finally taking a soft inhale, you spoke. “I- Are you sure, professor? I don’t even entirely know how all this Dynamaxing business works.”

You could see the subtlest smile at the corners of the professor’s lips as she affirmed her certainty, a hand reaching out to grasp your wrist and squeeze it. “I’m positive. Your and your Pokémon’s lack of exposure to it is largely beneficial in this case, it allows us to establish a ground zero.”

“Besides, I would never be callous enough to send you out on your own to the Wild Area. I’ve arranged an escort for you— who…” she trailed off, checking her wristwatch, “should’ve been here some time ago.” Before you even had the moment to properly ponder the implications of the request or who on earth you were suddenly going to be sent out on this mission with, your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the lab door opening and shutting, followed by heavy, hurried footsteps that seemed to be headed towards the two of you.

"Sorry, professor! I could've sworn I was on my way here, but I somehow ended up in Hammerlocke," a breathy voice called out, the hint of a chuckle beneath it. Just a moment after, you see someone rounding the corner and the first thing you notice is a head of wild, violet hair, just barely tucked beneath a black snapback hat. Professor Magnolia propped herself up on her cane and rose from her seat, her expression flat and unsurprised. In resignation, she sighs, "Well, I suppose I should be worried were you to not have gotten lost." You instinctively follow suit and stand, feeling the older woman's hand behind your arm, nudging you towards the new arrival. "This is Leon, and while I know this likely isn't the most promising of first impressions," the researcher sent a serious look in the man's direction, before looking back to you, "I feel much more at peace with him accompanying you to the Wild Area." All the chairman could offer in response was a nervous grin, his hand rising to rub at the back of his neck. Somehow it felt like this wasn't a rare occurrence.

****************************************************

Your futile attempts at protesting completely and utterly failed. So here you were, sitting on the train from Wedgehurst to the Wild Area next to this man you didn't know anything about other than his having been the longest reigning champion. There had been an awkward silence between the two of you since Professor Magnolia saw you off at that station, but you were pretty sure you heard Leon begin to speak a couple times and maybe deciding against it. If it were up to you, you wouldn't mind it staying that way because you had always traveled on your own anyway. The silence gave you time to reflect and plan out your next move.

After clearing his throat as quietly as possible, you hear your appointed escort's voice over the hum of the train moving along the tracks. "I heard from the professor you've got a pretty incredible shiny Ninetales as your companion?" Your brow quirks as you shift to face Leon and pause, halting your initial sarcastic inclinations in lieu of a more neutral one. "I do," you respond with with a nod, "Ninetales has been with me since I was a kid and it was a Vulpix." A smile playing on the former champion's features, he leaned in slightly. "Sounds like you two have a pretty strong connection. Makes me think of me and Charizard; we've been through a lot," Leon remarks. You weren't really sure how to react to the sudden depth in his reflections, so you opted for the safe route and went for an "Mm. I get that."

By the time the two of you had made it to the Meetup Spot outside of the Wild Area, Leon had become entirely too comfortable and had begun spouting off about his time as champion, the legacy of the Battle Tower and, in such grandiose terms, the future of Galar. Outside of a 'gentle' reminder (lest he get sidetracked) that you had to make it to the Lake of Outrage soon, you endured his long-winded explanations, much to your own surprise. He assured you that he'd taken this route a million times before. You were skeptical, but ended up going against your better instincts and letting him take the lead with the rationale that this was his home region. Along the way, you had been charged by a handful of wild Pokémon, but between your Ninetales and Dragonite, and his Charizard and Aegislash, you were able to get the situations in hand rather quickly. You quickly shoveled down the roaming thought that Leon might've actually been a shockingly skilled trainer - which, yes, obviously he had to have been to some extent, all things considered but... you'd been around enough to know that sometimes one's standing isn't always deserved. You had to see it with your own eyes.

****************************************************

It eventually became evident that you had been walking for ages and it didn't seem like you were getting anywhere close to your destination, so you stop dead in your tracks. Leon notices and stops his ongoing dialogue to ask if "everything's okay." You look directly at him, your deep brown hues making contact with his amber ones, the restraint in your voice palpable as you finally speak, ".... There's absolutely no way we've been going in the right direction, Leon. According to my Rotomphone, we should've gotten there hours ago." The much taller man tilts his head, framing his chin with the joint of his thumb and index finger as he moves beside you, gaze roving over the digital map projected on your device. "Huh," he muses before shifting his weight back into his heels, hands falling to his hips. "Yeah, you're right... we're definitely on the opposite side of the Wild Area," Leon laughed loudly, the painfully nonchalant manner of his reaction shooting needles all down your spine.

"Okay, that's it. You have got to be kidding me." Your hands balled into fists at your sides, you square your shoulders and glare up at Leon, your anger practically coming off of you in waves. "It's one thing that Professor Magnolia has me out here testing out this whole Dynamaxing thing, but with you??," you groaned, all of the day's pent up frustration suddenly seeping through the cracks. Leon, clearly caught off guard by this, raised his hands in front of him and tried to interject. "H-hey, it's oka---" "No, it's a joke. You and all this fanfare and promotions and "champion this and that," like what the hell. Do you even actually care about Pokémon or is this all just for show?"

That struck a nerve. Leon at this point is towering over you, the casual expression he wore replaced by a sudden sense of seriousness, a wrinkle working its way between his brows. "How can you say that? I was the undefeated champion for god knows how long - you think that comes from not caring?," the Galarian shot back, his tone noticeably deeper than it was before. You could feel the shift in his aura and although you couldn't pretend to know all of his sides, this felt... different. You weren't going to back down though, that wasn't an option. The next words left your mouth before you even knew they were coming, you could feel the preemptive regret but your voice held firm. "Again with the 'undefeated.' You never questioned whether Rose shifted the odds in your favor? Convenient how that streak was broken once he was go--"

The wind was swiftly knocked out of you as you found yourself backed up against a tree, one of Leon's large hands gripping you by the jawline and his other one pressed beside you, caging you in. His eyes glowed a dangerous gold, his visage dark. He all but closed the gap between your bodies as he came within inches of your face, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up," he growled, a certain warning tone presenting itself in his words. You winced at the sudden onslaught of sensations - between the roughness of the bark against your back, the heat emanating from the proximity and the rough grasp preventing you from moving your head, it took you a minute to process what exactly just happened. "You have no idea what it was like all of those years, devoting myself to making this place all that I knew it could be," Leon continued, his gaze lowering as he spoke, "just to find out the man who sponsored you, who made it possible to get to where you were -- that it was all a sham. All a bloody part of a madman's crazed ambitions."

Taking a deep, recentering breath, you wrapped your hand around the one Leon had against the side your face, making sure you had his attention. "Sounds like you've been carrying a lot of pain over this all on your own. It must have been lonely," you acknowledged, allowing your voice to soften just a touch. Leon's eyes met yours again, a hint of surprise painted over the once burning amber. If it weren't for this sudden show of vulnerability, you were probably just moments away from taking a knee to the man's groin, but - you understood there were some scars that ran deep. "And look, I don't really know you and shouldn't have said what I did but... you can't let that shit taint all that you worked for, and what it meant to you. You inspired people. None of what happened takes that away." Feeling the former champion's grip loosen, you draw it away from your face and place your other hand on his chest, almost as if to brace him. "I just wish you weren't so loud about it," you sighed, briefly closing your eyes in that moment to avoid seeing whatever Leon's expression might've been right then. This was exactly the type of messy situation you didn't want to get caught up in, it's just too much baggage.

Sliding his hand from your grasp, you felt him bring it back to your face again, this time, much more tenderly. Leon's free arm snaked around your waist and pulled you against him, sending your lips crashing into one other's and causing your breath to hitch sharply in the back of your throat. The kiss was needy, filled with raw emotion. Your body betrayed you, giving way to a slight shudder before leaning deeper into his touch. Maybe it was just the adrenaline rush, but you could've sworn his pulse was racing against your skin. Pulling back, Leon runs his thumb across your cheek, whispering almost inaudibly. "Thank you."

****************************************************

(to be continued)

A/N: Oops, this was originally intended to be a oneshot ngl. It ended up so much longer lol.

[bangtaninborderland]

JHS: Twisted Feelings

Summary: After working at an award show for 2 years everything had become normal, idols were no longer exciting to see, performances became dull and every day blended together, that was until an unexpected man asked for your help.

Genre: idol!jhope x fem!reader, angst, fluff, strangers to lovers, ongoing series

Warning: none for this chapter!

A/N: I i in no way own bts and this is purely a story of fiction! Please as always share your thoughts and leave a like if you enjoy! Thank you for reading my work and I hope you all have a beautiful day! I will take stabled and request/questions for this couple! If you'd like to be tagged as new chapters come out please let me know!

Ch.02 <. Series Masterlist > Ch.04

Stepping back into your parents house allowed you to fall back into the comfort you had longed for throughout the past few weeks.

“Eomma?” “Appa?” You call out, as you slide your shoes off.

You hear a door open “Through here.” the sweet sound of your parents voices guide you through the house until you find them both preparing food in the kitchen.

You braced yourself for the way your mothers arms squeeze around you. “Why has it been so long?” She asks, her voice melancholy.

“Work.” You respond dejectedly. The sadness of the reality seeping further into your mind.

“I have something for you!” You watch in bewilderment as your Eomma rushes off, her short frame gone from the room faster than you had entered.

A sound alarms to of your dads location’s, he furrows his brows, clearly lost deep in his own thoughts as he peels his way through the mountain of carrots he had assembled. You decide to join him, slipping behind him to grab another vegetable peeler from the utensil drawer.

“You don’t have to help.” He grunts, a weak laugh forcibly passed to lighten the air.

You sigh, taking a carrot. You wasn’t overly shocked at the way he had responded to you coming home, it had been a while but in all honesty it wasn’t your fault. Work was demanding wether you liked it or not.

Your mouth owns and closes as you ponder what to say, unsure if anything would be enough to get him back to his usual self. “I should have co-“

“I’m not mad at you.” He replies immediately, interjecting whatever apology you was going to give.

“I missed you. Your Eomma misses you, we know you’re out there living your life but you don’t call as much anymore. You don’t visit as much anymore, we just worry.” He drops the shaved vegetable into the bowl of water. His head shaking.

“Oh Appa I missed you too, work really did get hectic. It’s actually why I come home, I need advice.” You nudge his shoulder, earning yourself both a sharp gaze and a heavy laugh.

“I’ll make some coffee go sit down, I didn’t want you to come home to peel vegetables.” He instructs you, removing the peeler from your hand.

You smile at him, following his clear directions. In times like these it really hit you just how lucky you was, although they pushed you hard they only ever wanted what’s best for you. Regardless wether they think it’s good themselves. They trusted you to make your own choices and that’s more than you could have asked for.

You jump as your mother placed a box on the table next to you, too far in thought to have heard her coming. “What’s got you jumping like a fish out of water?” She chimes, teeth poking out of a teasing grin.

“You sneaking up on me.” You giggle as she pinches your cheek.

“I’ll be louder next time then” She huffs rolling her eyes. “Now this came a few days ago. Your old school said they had found boxes of your books and asked if we wanted them.”

Your dad looks at you almost apologetically. “I told her that you’d probably be embarrassed.”

“Oh shush you go and finish making us a coffee.” Your mothers glare left no room for questioning. You laugh at the way your dad obeys her, tuning around almost instantaneously. “You’d think she was my Eomma.” He rolls his eyes to you.

“Open it.” She nudges the box closer to you.

There had to have been at least 10 notebooks, you could recognise the coverings, each one different for a reason. The grey leather book sparked your memories, this was one you had thought you’d lost and eventually accepted it was gone. Your innermost thoughts scrawled across the pages from cover to cover, reminding you of who you were, who you had hoped to be.

“Wow” you sigh in bewilderment. “I never thought I’d see any of this again.”

“Just as luck had it they said they had cleared out the old building and found these in an old locker, you really should be more careful.” Your mother worries aimlessly but even so you nodded at her, accepting of any advice she provided.

As he sets down the three steaming cups, your dad reminds you of your earlier confession. “So what’s going on.”

You didn’t know the best way to talk to them about it, was you honest and tell them that one of the most influential individuals in South Korea - in the world - was asking you to work for him or should you play it down, allow them to at least think rationally. “We will be dead by the time you tell us.” Your mother jokes, giving you no time to come up with a side story leaving you with only the truth.

“My contract ends soon, we had a rarity and it led to me meeting with some idols that wanted to make sure I had translated their speech in the way they wanted. It was a pleasant meeting and eventually he came back and asked that I teach him English and possibly translate for their group.” You divulge the details, blanking any names.

“And this individual is?”

And there it was.

“Jung Hoseok, JHope of BTS?” You whispered the words, afraid they would seem like a lie.

“Oh my.” Your fathers eyebrows raised, almost high enough you was sure he wouldn’t be able to relax his face again. “That’s.. quite amazing…”

“I could always renew my contract at the company but if I accepted the job I would have more time to write. I just don’t know if I’m qualified enough to actually teach anyone English or to translate, this could mean I’d have to travel, work different hours, move further away. It wouldn’t be right to be leaving when I barely have enough time to see you both as it is.” The truth of the situation is harsh, their frowns unable to hide their disappointment.

You watch tentatively at them, their eyes talking to one another having a conversation only they couldn’t understand. “You have to take it.”

“But what about you? I can’t just move, I’ll have even less time with you.” You protest, maybe more than you should have.

“Are you scared of accepting this job?”

You stare blankly at him, his eyes scouring your face for an answer. “I don’t want to fail at something so big” you admit earnestly. Your own fears getting the best of you.

“Wether you take this job or not you’ll always be in a position where things may not go the way you want them to, that doesn’t mean you’ve failed but that life has had a different path for you than the one you have taken. This is an opportunity you will regret turning down.”

One thing you always loved about your parents was their inane ability to be honest, regardless of the circumstances. They never sugarcoated anything which as a child could lead to your feelings being hurt but now it was just a trait that you admired.

“I-“ You swallow and clear your throat. “I guess I’ll take it, I can’t run from it and the awards company is starting to feel too repetitive. The pay is better so I could send more money home too and maybe you and appa could take a holiday.” You explain to your mother, who surprisingly was sitting with a smile of pride.

Your father, on the other hand, stands up. Triumphantly throwing his hands in the air and attempting a cheer that was definitely unnecessary but still special. “That’s my girl.”

Your mother shakes her head, clearly embarrassed by your dad. “Aish- no wonder why the girl doesn’t come home you’re embarrassing her.” You can’t help but laugh at the way they bicker, it was as if they were teenagers, flirting in the playground.

You stayed with them for the remainder of the evening, you had helped cook dinner and then sat watching a movie however as usual you had fell into a habit of watching your parents, the way they laugh with one another, the love they share stronger than any you had witnessed but someday hoped to experience.

You had always considered yourself lucky, Unlike your friends parents yours had never intervened within your love life, never pushing you to think about marriage or interrogate you on when they would have grandchildren and even though they had always let you make your own decisions regarding that you had always envied the way they loved each other, hoping one day you too could be in love with someone so deeply.

The rest of the day passed by much faster than you would have liked and before you knew it you was back home, sleep overcoming you.

If it wasn’t for the blinding sunlight you swear you could have slept for the entire day, however you had a job offer to accept so with a groan you dragged yourself out of the warmth of your sheets grabbing your phone and the contract you had been given.

Your call was answered much faster than you would have expected.

“Hello?” His voice didn’t sound the same.

For a moment you contemplated hanging up, changing your mind, but your parents words had been written into your mind.

“Hello, is this Kim Jaesang? I’m calling about the job. We had a meeting yesterday.” You explain, your voice quavering.

“This isn’t Jaesang-ssi but you can definitely talk to me about the job.” Your jaw nearly fell to the floor as you recognised the man on the other end of the line.

Your voice comes out louder than you intend, purely because of the surpise. “HOSOEK-SSI?!”

He chuckled lightly. “The one and only, so you calling does that mean you’re taking the job?”

“I guess that’s the plan.” You sigh, skimming the contract once again. “I thought this was your managers number?”

“Mine was listed too, you must have called the wrong one.” His voice was melodic, you could see why they were so successful. “I could have a car pick you up, Jaesang-nim would just do it anyway.”

“Oh-“ was this really the best choice?

“Is something wrong?” His pitch rises as he questions you.

You brush his concern off. Settling with a simple response. “Well I wasn’t really planning on coming to any meetings I just wanted to talk about some things.”

“I promise we will roll out the red carpet. It would be good for you to meet everyone.” He was right, if you was going to accept you should probably meet the people you’d be working for.

“If I accept I do not want any red carpet at all.” You protest immediately, your voice leaving no room for negotiation. “What time will the car be here?”

“Okay okay.” He agrees through a series of laughs. “If you send me your address it will be around 30 minuets, is that enough time for you to be ready?”

“Sure. It’s not like I’m an idol.” You murmur, hoping he would get the joke, you quickly send him your address. Double checking just to make sure it was correct. “I sent it.”

“I got it And by the way we don’t all take hours to get ready some of us are naturally beautiful.” You rolled your eyes, thankful there was a phone between you.

“So much confidence.”

“See you soon.” The call ends abruptly but you don’t waste time in questioning it.

You was normally fast at getting dressed, there was never really enough time in the day to roll yourself up the way others did, besides you could work just as well without makeup as you could with it. You scour your wardrobe for something appropriate, you could wear a dress outfit but you was only going there to have a discussion. If you was going to take a job it would be because you were yourself, not some half assed version.

You grabbed a pair of cargo pants and the Nike Dunks you had regrettably splurged on after your last pay-check. You paired them with a green shirt that stood out more than it probably should. Your had had always fell into place, allowing you to save enough time to finish your coffee and apply some moisturiser and suncream.

You preferred looking natural but you wasn’t a heathen. Skin protection was important.

You grab your tote bag and carefully place the contract inside. Making sure nothing could damage it. Being yourself was one thing but turning up unprepared and an unorganised mess was another.

Your phone rings and you curse yourself as you hit your leg on the table in your attempt to answer it.

“Hello?” You sounded out of breath, rushing from one room to another was not the best of ideas.

“Outside.” The call was short. Ending the same way it had earlier.

You groan out loud, allowing a last look in the mirror before leaving your apartment. You knew later tonight you’d regret not leaving it cleaner but that was future yous issue. Present you had a job to manage.

It wasn’t hard to spot the car intended for you, especially when the window rolled down allowing you to see just who would be the one to drive you.

“Is this even allowed?” You ask, securing your seat belt.

Hoseok watches you, even if you pay it no attention it was always easy to know when someone was staring.

“Do I look bad or something?” You questing, looking up at him, brushing your hair back to allow you to see him clearer.

He shakes his head, turning his attention back to the car. “Of course not. All ready?”

“Sure.” You murmur, accepting your fate.

You watched the way he reversed out of the car park, he was a skilled driver. “I was on the way to work, don’t think I was creeping around or something.” He looks at you, only for a second, but long enough for you to feel the same comfort you had when Jaesang had left you both alone in your last meeting.

“It’s okay, I’m used to people just waiting outside of my apartment to drive me to work.” You quirk back.

His face looks horrified, before he realises you wasn’t serious. “Don’t do that!”

You can’t help but giggle at the way he was so scared. “Oh this is going to be fun.”

“I’ll fire you if you do that again.” He dramatically waves his hand at you.

“Wow I didn’t know you was my boss, I guess I’ll just get out and walk home now because there’s no way I won’t do that again.” You pretend to go to take your seatbelt off, earning a gasp from Hoseok.

He narrows his eyes at you. “You wouldn’t, this is a moving vehicle.”

“Oh I bet this job I would.” You copy his expression.

You manage to stare at each other for a second before both of your expressions soften, his eyes holding a sparkle you hadn’t seen before.

After a few moments the laughter calms down. “No but seriously you won’t get into trouble for picking me up right? I could have just taken a taxi.”

“It’s okay, me and the members take each other all the time.”

“I’m not a member.” You explain, confused.

“Well when you take the job you will be.” He was right, you would be staff but even so that’s still most likely not allowed. “I wanted you to have this job.” He pauses to take a breath. “I asked them to offer it to you, I think I could learn a lot from you and I’ve always wanted to be able to communicate with ARMY more.”

“You really care about them don’t you?” You ask, your fingers fidgeting with the rings you had decided to throw on last minute.

There’s no hesitation in his voice. “ARMY made us who we are, I owe them everything.”

“I promise I’ll try my best okay? I don’t know what kind of a teacher I’ll be but I’ll definitely try to be one that can help you.” You was earnest.

“I’m sure you’ll do great. You studied English didn’t you?” He asks, his fingers dancing across the wheel.

You nod. “Yeah, my parents thought it would be a great addition to my extensive skill set.”

“They were right.” He smiles at you, baring his white teeth.

“What about your other members?” You couldn’t lie, it had been on your mind. They were a big factor in this.

He cocks his head sideways, watching the lights change. “I talked to them about you, they read the information I did and agreed that you seem nice enough to translate for us. They wanted to meet you.”

“Wow, I wonder how many women would literally slaughter me to have this chance.” You voice your thoughts, one that he too knew to be true.

“Unfortunately any slaughtering will have to wait for your next “to work trip” because we are here.” You watch as he pulls into a parking lot, into a particular space. One reserved for JHope of BTS.

You could see similar ones for the other members, Jungkooks had a bike that attracted your attention, you had always wanted to ride one but never had the courage. Although you wasn’t too discreet as he noticed the way you had looked at it. “Scary isn’t it?”

You agree with him. “Still cool though.”

“Yeah, he is going to love you.” He laughs holding the door open to you.

As you step in it’s much bigger than you would have though, it’s true what people say about the outside looking smaller than the inside. “This is huge, how don’t you get lost?” You whisper, the security guard and receptionist both silent, making your voice seem ten times louder than it was.

He presses a finger to his lips, as if he is sharing his darkest secret with you. “Don’t tell anyone but I still do. One time I got scared so I went on live and took army to the bathroom with me.”

“You didn’t!” You couldn’t hide your shock, no way.

“The members teased me for weeks, in my defence it was late and dark.” He held his hands up.

“Hoseok-ssi! Sorry to keep you waiting, can I just have your access card?” The receptionist gives you a look that doesn’t seem too forgiving but you ignore it.

He hands over the key card, not giving her much of a response. It takes her a few moments to type In whatever details she needs, however you’d notice that every few seconds her gaze would turn soft for Hosoek and then harsh again for you.

“All done.” She smiles, brushing her hair from her shoulder.

Could she be any more obvious.

“Sorry about her.” He whispers, tapping his card against the keypad. “They are all like that.”

He smiled at you, once again signalling for you to walk ahead. “Does it bother you?” You ask him as you wait by the next door, unable to enter it yourself.

“It did for a while, it happened suddenly, one day people were looking at me like I was a nobody and now people left and right will do anything to try and get my attention. It’s as if they don’t see me, just what I have done.” He hands you one of the visitor badges sitting around the foyer.

You slip it around your neck, making sure it’s secured as to not fall. “I’m sorry you have to experience that. I guess I never thought of it all in that way.”

It was weird seeing things from his perspective, you had never much taken an interest in the way an idol would live, only dealing with them within the boundaries of your work. Or previous work.

“Don’t be sorry, I get to help people. That enough for me. Let’s go meet everyone?” He points towards the group of people waiting on the other side of the door.

Six men, all of which taller than you. You recognise Namjoon and he does you, sending you a quick wave and a dimpled smile.

“I guess.” You smile, once again watching as he opens the door.

The faces turn to you, their own conversations die down as their attention shifts. “This is the woman I was telling you about.”

You introduce yourself, bowing to them as they do you, you try to smile not wanting to be too reserved.

They all followed suit, using their own names instead of stage names. “I’m Jimin,”

One of the shorter of the men steps forward, offering you his hand which you shake lightly, “That is Taehyung, Jungkook, Yoongi Hyung, and that is SeokJin Hyung.” He points each member out, all to whom offer their introductions in their own way.

You watch as Jungkook steps forward, “it’s nice to meet you.” The shy smile of the maknae you had seen previously on screen no longer there. His tattoos were uncovered, the white shirt sleeve providing them with no protection.

“It’s nice to meet you too. I see your bike outside!” You blurt out as you remember the black Harley.

His face brightens up even more so as you mention it. “You ride?!” He asks excitedly, practically jumping with joy.

“I wish I could I’ve always been too afraid but I still think they are so cool!” You nod enthusiastically.

“If you ever want to ride I’d be happy to teach you!” He practically shouts the invite into your ear but you accept it, thankful that you had received such a welcome reception.

“I’d love that. Just let me build my courage first.” You laugh, flashing him a small thumbs up. You turn to face the older man who had began silently watching the conversation between yourself and the maknae.

“I’m Yoongi.” He is much more quiet, introverted than the others.

You wonder how they have been together so long, each of them seeming to different to get along in the way they would need too. You could see Hoseok, Jungkook and Jimin talking in the corner, the way Taehyung was dancing let you know they were discussing work, Namjoon had gone to find their main manager Sejin, whilst Yoongi and Jin had stayed by to accompany you.

“So you’re going to be a translator for us?” Jin asks, breaking off the chocolate breadsticks he had pulled from inside his pocket.

You rub your palms together, a little overwhelmed. “Well that’s the plan, along with teaching Hoseok-Ssi English.”

“I can understand it but not talk it well.” Yoongi steps closer to you, a furrow in his brows. “My accent makes it hard”

“Try.” You suggest.

He shuffles from one foot to another nervously. Jin pauses his snacking, clearly interested.

“I like basketball, I am a rapper,” his voice is no more than a mumble, his English sounding much softer than that of his Korean.

You clap cheerfully, as if he had just won an award. “You sounded great. Just a little practice and you’ll be able to translate yourself.”

“I better not then, it would be a shame if I took your job.” He shakes his head, his cheeks a lighter shade of pink.

“Yah! Have some decorum!” Jin fusses, huffing as he turns away.

You can’t help but laugh alongside yoongi who too had began smiling from the older man’s joke. “Is he always like this?”

“He is but he is my only Hyung so I tolerate him.” He purses his lips together, nodding in content.

You don’t have a chance to have a one to one talk with anyone else as Namjoon returns, following by Sejin. You bowed to him politely, greeting Namjoon briefly before he and the other members left for rehearsal.

“So you’re here to accept the job?” Sejin points to the contract you had pulled from your bag.

“Yes I am.”

“Let’s go to my office and have a talk.”

You silently agreed. Following him as he weaved through the building, going down numerous corridors, his key bleeping through every one. You was almost sure you would never figure out how to get out of the building. Maybe you should just ask if you could live here instead.

You laugh quietly at your own inner thoughts as he leads you into a large room, a desk separating your seat and his. It was much like one you would see in a principal’s office. A plush red rug underneath the cream couch in the corner, filing cabinets across the right wall. Shelves holding pictures, awards and other memorabilia on the shelf behind him.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” He leads forward, selecting a black pen and clicking it twice before placing it gently on the desk next to him.

“Let’s.” You nod, flipping over the first page of the contract.

[kneelmylucille]

On Your Knees - Chapter 2

Abstract: “Sweetheart,” Negan’s raspy voice growls above you, as he places the bat in your face once again, carnage dripping and hanging from the barbed wire. He opens his mouth with a shit-eating grin as if to speak, but as you look up and meet his eyes just as before, he falls deafeningly silent.

Characters: Negan x Female Reader

Warnings: violence and gore, eventual smut, nsfw, 18+

Words: 1,971

Awaking with a strained gasp, you heave your eyes open to find yourself in the same place you had been for what felt like days. Upon arriving at the Sanctuary, you had been thrown into the equivalent of a cell. It was pitch dark other than the sliver of light that peeked under the door, taunting you. Your every muscle aches from only having the cold concrete to rest your head on, and your stomach lets out a low rumble. You had refused to eat anything that they had given you, distrusting the gesture.

Though, the physical ailments pale in comparison to the mental. Your mind had not stopped turning since the moment you were taken from your group. You couldn’t help but fear that Daryl had met the same end as Abraham, after his lashing out at Negan. Hell, they could all be dead for all you know, and Negan could be saving you for last.

You were still in the same blood-drenched clothes from that night, a fact which you had chosen not to dwell on, as it would send you spiraling even farther down into the deep dark depths than you already were.

You had given a lot of thought to how you would die, even before the world had ended. Whether it would be something sudden and simple like a car wreck, something drawn out such as sickness, or if you would die of old age surrounded by those you love. Dying in the place of someone you loved had always seemed like a good way to go.

Yet of all of the countless possibilities which you had pondered over the years, you had never suspected that you would die somewhere such as here, quite literally backed into a corner, after watching your companion die kneeling and not having moved a finger to try and stop it.

The sound of heavy footsteps drawing near brings your attention back to the true weight of the situation at hand. You straighten your form, back pressed firmly against the far side of the cell, as you see the shadow of feet fall outside of the door. The door swings open, and you hide your searing eyes from the sunlight which pours in, your eyes having become accustomed to the dark cell.

“Hi there.”

You squint up to see a mustached man, whom you immediately and particularly do not trust the sight of, as his lips are stretched out into a wide-toothed and not-so-charismatic grin.

“It’s your lucky day. On your feet.”

Not wishing to stay in this cell any longer, despite any possible outcomes of leaving, you rise slowly to your feet, your injured knees screaming in disagreement.

The man takes off with long strides down the hall, implying that you should follow closely, and you hesitantly comply. What had he meant by ‘it’s your lucky day’? While he could have meant the words sincerely, after seeing what the Saviors were capable of, a chill runs up your spine as you wonder what other meanings could have been hidden behind the hope-inspiring words.

We could take him right now, he wouldn’t see it coming, the devil on your shoulder sneers, as it slowly wields a knife from behind its back.

But you have no true weapons at hand, and your malnourished body aches with the simplicity of each step as you continue to follow blindly. Even if you were able to overpower the larger man, you had no idea how to navigate your way out of the Sanctuary, nor who else you may run into on your journey.

We should follow him. He did say it is our lucky day after all, maybe he’ll give us some water, the angel on your adjacent shoulder states through chapped and peeling lips.

“I’m Simon. You’ll be seeing a lot of me around here,” the man in front of you bellows, giving an almost knowing look over his shoulder. For a moment, you worry that he had been listening in on your silent debate.

So, they don’t plan to kill me, at least not right away, you deduce. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be seeing much of anyone around anywhere.

Simon stops abruptly outside of one of the many doors within the Sanctuary. You hold your breath, preparing yourself for what or who may meet you on the other side. Yet, as he opens the door in a very ‘be my guest’ manner, you find an empty bedroom on the other side.

“Welcome home!”

Not bothering to spare another glance in Simon’s direction, you carefully pass over the threshold, examining the unfamiliar surroundings. The room is warmed by the burnt orange glow of the now setting sun, pouring in through the large circular window to your right. A full-sized bed sits pushed back against the far-left wall, on top of which looks to be a small stack of neatly folded clothes. A bookshelf rests alongside the bed, stocked sparingly. To your surprise, there also seems to be a full kitchen, but the sink is what pulls you in. Rushing over, you turn on the faucet and unabashedly stick your head in, gulping down the cold water which gushes out. The angel on your shoulder sings gleefully as her wilted face blossoms back to life. The devil rolls its eyes in defeat.

“Ahem,” Simon clears his throat, and you turn to him slowly and wide-eyed before smiling shyly and turning off the faucet behind you. “Make yourself at home. Showers are just down the hall. Expect company soon,” he smiles that same repugnant smile as before, his eyes never following his mouth’s lead, “Much to discuss.”

With that, he disappears back into the gloomy hallway, shutting the door behind him, once again leaving you alone with your thoughts.

~ ~ ~

Some time had passed since Simon had made his unnerving exit, and you now found yourself laying wordlessly on the freshly cleaned linens of the bed, gazing up at the unpigmented ceiling. Dried blood clung to your skin, as you had not yet taken advantage of the shower, nor the new clothes which were laid out for you. You did not want to get too comfortable in this setting, especially when you were still unaware as to what was to be discussed when ‘company’ arrived. You had, however, found the fridge stocked top to bottom with fresh produce, which you had ravenously gorged yourself on in order to silence the growing frustration of your then empty stomach.

Images of that night begin to flash through your imagination. Your stomach twists as you recall the squelch of Negan’s bat coming down onto Abraham’s ravaged form, a sound which was still so clear to you that you would swear you could still hear it. Your stomach drops as you think of where Daryl is now, was he wondering the same about you? You raise your hands to your eye-line and study the cuts, placed there by the gravel which you had gripped onto. Replacing your hands to your side, you allow your eyes to flutter shut and take a deep breath, relaxing into the mattress.

A slow, rhythmic knocking at the door brings you to your feet in an instant.

You float towards the door, having lost all sensation in your legs, placing your hand lightly on the doorknob. Although he had made your skin crawl in disapproval, you crossed your fingers and toes that it would be Simon who stood on the other side.

Though, as you unhurriedly pull the door open, your heart skips a beat as you’re met with the looming figure of Negan.

He is adorned in the same outfit as that night, minus the red scarf, and holds his bat leisurely over his right shoulder with a gloved hand.

You apprehensively look up to meet his fixed gaze, and find him smirking in acknowledgment at your shock.

“Well, hello there.”

You remain in a dazed silence, unsure of how to greet the man before you.

His gaze turns vaguely stern as his eyes shift to the room behind you, and you quickly step aside to let him in.

He wrinkles his nose and smiles, as if there were some inside joke which you had missed, and strides into the room, shutting the door behind him.

Throwing his arms proudly into the air with a waving gesture around the room, he turns facing you, and leans back on his heels, “Nice, ain’t it?”

Not wishing to illicit any rash decisions on his part, you nod firmly, “Yes.”

Scanning his eyes over the room, they land on the mess of leftover and gnawed fruits and vegetables left out on the counter. Somehow, his smile grows even wider, as he points passively at the massacre, “I see you’ve fucking made yourself at home already.”

Your face turns a deep shade of red as you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, wondering for a moment if the food was not yours to take, “Yes, Simon insisted that I do so.” You give an involuntary look of disgust at the remembrance of the weasel-like man.

Negan’s brow gives the ghost of a furrow, as he takes note of your reaction. His eyes move down over your body, taking in your rough appearance, focusing a moment longer on your scabbed knees, both on full display through your decrepit jeans. You squirm under his gaze, not sure how much longer you can withstand the growing tension of this encounter.

Finally snapping, you ask the question which had been plaguing your thoughts, “What do you want with me?”

Negan smiles, tongue poking the inside of his cheek, “Isn’t that obvious, sweetheart?”

As he’s met with a mute silence on your end, he takes a step forward, lowering his bat pointedly in your direction, “I want you to work for me.”

You take a brisk step backward, eyeing the bat anxiously, before analyzing his face for intention.

He throws up his hands in mock surrender and lowers the bat to his side, “Now, don’t you worry your pretty little fuckin’ head about Lucille here, she’s just along for the ride.”

You blink in confusion for a moment, wondering if he saw someone in the room whom you couldn’t, before realizing that the ‘Lucille’ in question is his bat. Internally, you let out a long, drawn-out sigh, if you hadn’t already known that he’s a psychopath, this would have tipped you off to that fact.

“You want me to work for you?” You ask as if not believing his response.

He gives a dark chuckle before taking another step toward you, eyebrows raised, “Yes,” he drags out, “Is that too much to fucking ask?” He once again gestures to the room around you, “I’ve, generously might I fuckin’ add, fed you, clothed you,” He points lazily to the clothes which are still folded on the bed and takes another long stride toward you, so close now that you have to crane your neck to maintain eye contact, “Given you a bed to rest that pretty little head on.” He smirks for a moment, eyes flashing down and up your face.

“Hell,” he booms, “You’ve even got A/C!”

You glance around the room before returning your gaze to his own, struck into silence for a moment by his close proximity, “Why me?”

He looks between your eyes for a moment and smiles that wolfish smile, which is quickly becoming far too familiar for your own liking, before taking a long step past you toward the door.

“Dwight will show you around the place in the morning,” he drawls as he struts out the door and disappears without any further explanation.

You realize, then, that you can hear the hum of cicadas in the distance, dancing in through the ever-so-slightly ajar window.

[callsigndragon]

Hold my hand | two

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Jenn Seresin (OFC) / Jake Seresin x Rowan "Red Queen" Jenkins (OFC)

Wordcount: 2.8k

Warnings: mentions of break up, mission stuff, 'basic fighter maneuvers' class, mentions of pregnancy, abortion, and two men being simps.

Masterlist

If you want to get tagged, comment down below!

Bradley can’t believe his luck. Not only does he have to deal with Hangman’s ass, but his ex-girlfriend is also part of the mission. And he wants to be mistaken, but he swears that the motorbike he saw in the parking lot is Maverick’s. 

Super secret mission and Maverick in the same place? The chances of him being involved in this are higher than he wants to admit. 

“Well, it seems like things haven't changed a lot. Hangman is still a dick, you are still in love with Jenn…” 

Bradley looks at Nat, rolling his eyes. “I don’t love Jenn.” 

Nat takes a sip from her beer and before leaving to talk with Jenn, she says. “Sure, and I have a secret child with Hangman.” 

He watches her walk away, noticing two pairs of eyes looking at him. Bradley makes eye contact with the object of his affection, the girl with the hazel eyes that he can still see when he falls asleep. He remembers how he used to spend hours studying those eyes, memorizing every color from green to brown, even the small golden drops near her pupil. 

“Valkyrie.” Rooster nods in her direction, wishing that he could walk closer and talk to her. But he didn’t have that right anymore. 

“Bradshaw.” 

That’s more than he expected, actually. The music gets louder. Whatever song Hangman has chosen is as obnoxious as he is. There’s a way of fixing this.

“Hey, check it out. More patches.” Fanboy says, looking at the new wave of pilots entering the bar. “The hell kinda mission is this?” 

Rowan looks around the room, pondering the answer to Mickey’s question. “That’s not the question you should be asking. Everybody here is the best there is. Who the hell are they gonna get to teach us?” 

“I think I know.” Jenn says, looking at the man who had been talking with Penny. He is the one paying for this round of beers they're having. “Have you ever heard of Maverick?” 

“Maverick Mitchell? The only man to shoot down three enemy aircraft in the last forty years?” Rowan asks, knowing that the man is not only an eminence, but a legend. 

“Yep. That one.” 

“And how can you know that he’s gonna teach us?” Fanboy takes a pool cue and moves closer to Bob. 

“Because he’s sitting at the bar.” 

All the aviators turn around, searching for the man that Valkyrie has been talking about. To their surprise, the man is looking at them, a silent confirmation that the old timer is going to be teaching them. 

Fanboy clears his throat and leaves the beer behind. “Well, what a way to make a great first impression.” 

“He knows that we’re the best,” Payback reminds his wizzo, patting him on the back. “Let’s have fun before the mission starts.” 

“Cheers to that.” Javy says, raising his beer. 

The music of the jukebox suddenly stops, and someone starts playing on the piano. Jenn doesn’t need to look to know who it is. She only knows two men so obsessed with that song. And one of them is the one playing it right now. 

Phoenix motions Fanboy, Bob, Payback, and Red to join them, leaving behind the Seresins and Javy. Jake groans, watching as Bradshaw gathers all the attention. Even Red’s.

“Always wanting to be the center of the party.” Jake sits next to Javy, watching as his sister doesn’t tear her eyes away from Bradshaw. “Jenn.” 

She doesn’t answer. 

“Jenn?” He insists, but still no answer. “Oh my god, not again.” 

Javy looks at his friend, sighing. “Val, he broke your heart once. Don’t give him the chance to do it again.” 

“I won’t.” She replies quickly, darting his eyes between the man talking to Penny and the man playing the piano. “I’m just thinking how long is it gonna take before Rooster snaps.”

“Why would he do that?” 

Jenn turns to look at Javy, wondering if she should answer or not. But she doesn’t really care about keeping Bradley’s secrets anymore. “Maverick is Rooster’s godfather. He flew with his old man.” 

Jake stands from his seat, ready to throw a myriad of questions when Penny rings the bell, and the crow starts chanting. 

“Overboard, overboard.” 

Javy and Jake look at each other. “Come on, let’s have some fun before things get serious.” 

Jenn watches how her small family, accompanied by Payback, carries Maverick to the door. They are going to regret that so much tomorrow. 

Next morning, they all stand on deck, saying hi to everyone. Jake watches Red from a distance, very interested in the pilot. She seems like the kind of girl who is friends with everyone and sees the good in people. And yet, she’s the best aviator of her generation. How those two personalities can coexist in the same body is something that Hangman doesn’t comprehend. But he’s willing to find out. 

“If you keep staring like that, you’re gonna burn a hole in the back of her head.” Jenn jokes, sitting next to his brother. “I never thought I’d see you fall for someone like that.” 

“I haven’t fallen for anyone, idiot.” Jake sighs, twirling a toothpick between his fingers. “Besides, you know that we’re not made to have those kinds of relationships.” 

Jenn lets her head fall forward, groaning at his words. “Don’t start with that again, please.” 

“Look, I’m just saying that none of us has ever had a proper relationship.” 

“Because we push everyone away, man. We’re not cursed or whatever you want to think.” She says, opening the F-18 manual in front of her. 

“You didn’t push away Rooster.” Jake mutters, knowing that he’s walking on thin ice. 

The brunette turns her head, throwing a warning look at her brother. “Careful, Jacob.” 

A few rows away, Rowan, sitting behind Phoenix and Bob, leans closer to the female. “Hey, Nat. Can I ask you a question?” 

“Yeah, sure!” She says, turning her chair around to look at Rowan. “What is it?” 

“Is Hangman that bad, or are you all exaggerating?” 

Phoenix looks at Bob, who just shrugs because he doesn’t know the male Seresin as much, and then turns to look at Red again. “Don’t tell me that you’re interested in him.”

Rowan looks at the siblings, engrossed in their conversation. “He’s hot.” 

“He’s an idiot.” 

Rowan chuckles, shaking her head. “Is he really an idiot? I think he just says what we all think but don’t say out loud.” 

"Well, that might be true, but do you know why we call him Hangman?” 

“Attention on deck!” 

The conversation dies as everyone snaps to attention. Cyclone and Warlock approach them, but it is the latter who steps into the podium and addresses all of them, explaining who he is, how he welcomes all of them to this special training detachment, and then goes on and on reminding them who they are the best. The elite. 

“That was yesterday. You’ve all spent your careers flying close air support for troops on the ground, with little to no air-to-air threat.” Warlock explains, watching as the smiles drop around the room. Jenn and Jake look at each other, smiling at the idea of having a little bit more action than usual. Rooster, however, looks like he’s regretting coming here. 

Warlock describes a new fifth generation aircraft owned by the enemy that has put an end to the technological advance that the US Navy had for years. 

“Success, now more than ever, comes down to the man or woman in the box.” 

Jake looks at Phoenix, winking at her and earning a middle finger from the female. Rowan, who sees the exchange, smiles a bit. Jake won’t ever admit it, but his heart might have just skipped a beat. 

“This mission,” Warlock continues, “requires four F-18 Echo solo pilots, and two Foxtrot dual seat teams. Half of you will make the cut, and half will remain in reserve.” 

“You can bet your ass that we will be on the final cut.” Jake mumbles to his sister, who only nods. 

“One of you will be named Mission Leader.” Rooster and Hangman share a glance. Fight’s on. 

Warlock moves on, now talking about the instructor and the experience he has. “His exploits are legendary, and he is considered to be one of the finest pilots this program has ever produced. What he has to teach you may very well mean the difference between life and death. I give you Captain Pete Mitchell, call sign: Maverick.” 

The captain walks to the podium, F-18 manual in hand. Hangman squirms a bit in his seat, now thinking that acting like that towards his instructor maybe wasn’t as good an idea as he thought. 

“Good morning,” Maverick says to all of them, looking a bit longer in Rooster’s direction. “The F-18 NATOPS. It contains everything there is to know about your aircraft. What’s the load limit of the F–18?”

Jake answers immediately, always eager to seek out approval from his superiors. “7.5Gs. Section Four, Chapter Five.” 

Maverick nods, already thinking of the next question. “Max airspeed?” 

“Mach 1.8. Section Two, Chapter One.” Phoenix replies this time, not wanting to be less than Hangman. 

While Maverick keeps asking questions, Hondo stands next to Cyclone. “Sir. Bernie Coleman. They call me Hondo. I work with Maverick but, please, don’t hold it against me.” Hondo smiles, but Cyclone doesn’t. “I’ll stand somewhere else.” 

As he slinks away, Maverick points to Javy. “Lift limit?” 

“34 Alpha.” He answers. 

Now, Maverick points to Fanboy. “Maximum roll rate.” 

“Two hundred and twenty five degrees per second.” Mickey answers, very proud of himself. 

Now he points to Jenn, doubting for a second when he recognizes who she is. He shakes it off and asks her. “Maximum afterburner.” 

“42,000 pounds of thrust.” Jenn responds, quickly moving her eyes away from the instructor.

It’s awkward to answer these questions when the man asking them used to be at Bradley’s childhood home every Sunday when Goose and Carole invited Jenn over for dinner. She remembers how Bradley explained to her that he wasn’t on good terms with Maverick and his mom, as they both planned to pull his application for the Naval Academy. But Goose insists on having weekly dinners until ‘Bradley realizes that staying mad after all these years is not only a waste of time but also useless’. 

She wonders if Bradley has finally forgiven them. 

“Max rate of climb, everyone.” 

“Forty-five thousand feet per minute.” 

Maverick grabs the manual, looking at it for a second. “So you know the book. Inside and out. Along with the so-called limits of your aircraft.” 

All the aviators confirm that they do know it, not expecting their instructor to drop the book in the trash. “So does your enemy.” 

Jenn and Jake smile at the same time. At last, some action. “This is gonna be good.” 

Jake nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t know who’s gonna be leader, but I can’t tell you now that Chicken Little doesn’t stand a chance.” 

“What the enemy doesn’t know,” the captain insists, gathering the attention of everyone. “is you. Your limits. I intend to find them. Test them. Push beyond… Flying faster than the speed of sound with one split second to make a life or death decision requires a level of trust, feel, and instinct that doesn’t exist in any manual.” 

And he says this, looking directly at Rooster. Something that goes unnoticed by almost every pilot on deck. 

Except for Jenn. 

Hours later, when Maverick initiates his ‘basic fighter maneuvers’ class, Jenn approaches the captain once Rooster, Fanboy, and Payback finish their turn. 

“Sir, there’s not enough Foxtrot teams for all of us.” 

Maverick looks at her. “It’s good to see you again, Jenn. I’m sorry that things didn’t work out with Rooster.” 

“Yeah… he kept saying things about my brother. Family is important for me, and he knew that.”

“I thought you two broke up because he-”

She clears her throat, looking around to make sure nobody can hear them. “I will prefer to keep things professional, sir.” 

Maverick nods, lookign at the floor for a second before answering her initial question. “Very well. You’ll fly with Red. I’m sure you two will make a good team.” 

Red, huh? It’s a good occasion to know more about her possible future sister-in-law. 

“Hey, Jenn.” Rowan says, looking at her once, that the two have arrived at the practice area. 

“Yes?” 

“How do two siblings end up working in the same squad?” She inquires, turning inside the box to look at the other pilot. 

“Well, I guess we worked together so well that they never separated us.” Jenn chuckles for a second and sighs. “But if you ask my brother, he will tell you that we’re just really good pilots, and they can’t go on without their best duo.” 

Red snorts, thinking for a few seconds if she wants to know more about Jake Seresin or not. “I don’t think he’s a bad guy.” 

“He’s not. He's a bit rough around the edges, and his mouth is bigger than his head, but he’s a good guy.” 

“You really love him, don’t you?” Red questions, but more than asking, she states it. It's easy to feel the connection the two siblings have. 

Jenn chooses her words carefully. She wants Red to know that her brother is a good person, even though everyone thinks otherwise. “I’m alive because of him.” 

“That sounds ominous.” 

“You’re gonna have to get me a drink if you want me to tell you the full story.” Jenn replies, looking around, trying to find the captain. 

“Deal. Where the heck is Maverick?” 

Jenn inverts her plane, observing the valley below them. She catches sight of him, he’s flying really low. “He’s down there.” 

“Let’s turn and burn, Val.” Red says, inverting her plane and diving to go after Maverick. 

“Congratulations, girls. You’re the first ones to find me.” Maverick says, trying to escape Red. 

“Someone had to prove that we are, actually, the best of the best.” Rowan teases, knowing that all the other pilots are listening to the conversation through the radio in the officer’s lounge. 

Jenn can practically see her brother rolling his eyes after that comment. 

After a fierce dogfight, Rowan and Jenn, both flying like their asses depend on it, place themselves behind Maverick’s plane. “What do you say, Val? Can we do this?” 

“Please, my queen. Do the honors.” 

Red chuckles and smiles when Maverick’s plane is in her gunsights. “That’s a kill.”

When Maverick hears the tone, he nods. “Copy kill. Seems like I have to do some pushups.” 

“You don’t have to, sir.” Red offers, feeling bad about her instructor. 

“Nah, a bet’s a bet. Two hundred pushups. And I’ll be counting.” Jenn smirks, pirouetting around while celebrating the victory. 

Back in the officer’s lounge, two men seem to be a bit more happy about this win than the other aviators in the room. 

“Rooster, please.” Phoenix groans, throwing an empty water bottle at his head. 

Rooster almost jumps from his seat. “Hey! What was that for?” 

Phoenix leans closer to him, whispering in his ear so that Jake can’t hear them. “You can’t keep fantasizing about a girl that will never return your feelings.”

“You don’t know that.” He retorts, clenching his jaw. Fuck, he doesn’t need anyone to remind him how fucked up he is. Denial is all that’s left for him. 

“Dude, you yelled at her in front of everyone because she got an abortion without telling you!” 

Rooster gets up from the chair, looking down at Natasha. “That was my baby, too.” 

“It wasn’t a baby. It was a 5 week old fetus.” 

“She never told me. Only found out because someone saw her walking out of the clinic.” Rooster complains, raising his voice.

“She didn’t need to tell you shit, Rooster. It was her body. Jenn didn’t want to have a baby. She wasn’t ready. She doesn’t need to ask for permission.” 

Rooster bites the inside of his cheek. He knows she’s right. He knows. But… he can’t stop imagining how their lives would have changed with a baby around. They would probably be married by now. Or maybe not. It’s difficult to know. “I wanted to have a family with her.” 

Natasha lets out a groan of pure exasperation. “Jenn didn’t want to start a family back then. It’s not that hard to understand, for fuck’s sake! You got her pregnant, she aborted. You yelled at her at base, in front of the fucking commander, Rooster. It was supposed to be a secret, but everyone at base knew that Bradley Bradshaw knocked up Jenn Seresin!” 

“You got my sister pregnant?” 

Rooster and Phoenix turn to look at Jake, whose hands are closing into fists. 

Seems like not everybody knew.

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

Taglist:

@shrimping-for-all

@purplevortexx

@emorychase

@xoxabs88xox

@books-are-escapes

@jynxmirage

@averyhotchner

@hosekiv

@endofdays56

[rosesrflo]

❛❛ LONDON BRIDGE IS FALLING DOWN, MY FAIR LADY.

Pairings; Sherlock Holmes (MTP) x fem!reader Genre; fluff to angst

Prompt; ❛❛Light my cigarette?❞ Warnings; suicide, arson

Desc; IN WHICH Sherlock finds a new mystery to solve, you, or in other words - the woman that offered him matches. Soon he would realise the meaning behind your actions.

Click.

Clack.

Sherlock paid no mind to whoever was standing next to him, he hadn’t a care for anyone in that moment. The only thing he decided he needed was a smoke and a solution to who ‘the lord of crime’ was. Alas, the latter wasn’t available, and with the way he was patting down his blazer for a box of matches - it seemed like he couldn’t even have that.

He let out a huff of anger at his luck, this piqued your attention and you looked at the man next to you with confusion, you were quick to realise the situation when you noticed the unlit cigarette between his fingers. A small smile crept onto your lips, “Excuse me for intruding but, it looks to me that you need to light that.”

Sherlock was quick to side-eye you at the observation, “Obviously.”

You hummed and took a drag of your own cig, you watched as smoke blew into the cold air. It twisted and turned like a map of some sorts, reminding you of the complicated plans your older brothers had dedicated their time to. “Luckily for you, I still have-

With one swift movement, you pulled out your trusty, old matchbox. “-this!”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in amusement, it wasn’t often he found women smoking and one with strange humor like your’s. He unconsciously observed your posture and outfit, “Thanks, but i’m wondering why a noble lady such as yourself are smoking.”

You paused for a second and blinked at his statement before answering, “You could tell? Well, you must have the occupation of a detective then.” Your eyes expertly scanned over him like he had just done, and for a second, Sherlock could’ve sworn he had done this all before.

It reminded him of a certain maths professor.

“Say, have you ever heard of William James Moriarty?” The question made you ponder on how much he really knew, you gently ran your fingers over your family’s crest that was delicately patched onto your gloves. “Heard of him? Liam’s my brother.”

A spark seemingly lit up in his eyes and you could’ve sworn he flashed a boyish grin at you, “Back to my question, do you also happen to dabble in violin?” Sherlock was excited to say the least, to test the idea of someone other than William rivaling his skills.

And the rest was history.

“They’ll love you! Not as much as me but, still, stop worrying about it” Sherlock lent against the wall of an alley way near 221b with crossed arms, he didn’t understand why you were so flustered about finally meeting his housemate and landlady.

After your first meeting by the bridge, you both started to frequently visit the spot, hoping to catch a glimpse of each other and that you did. It wasn’t very surprising for others when you started subtly eyeing each other, holding hands, sharing kisses and mysteries.

However, it was the most unbelievable thing for Sherlock to have fallen for your stupidly irresistible charm, to have let his walls down for ‘some’ woman. And you for his, but you would never tell each other that.

“I’m not worrying!-Let’s just go.” You were 100% worrying and you were very much sure you were going to mess up in front of his friends, or embarrass yourself, and-

The detective sighed at your stubbornness, he cupped your face with his hands, “You are, you’re doing that thing where you start fidgeting with your gloves.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead and lead you out of the alley.

“Alright..I’ll try.” “That’s my girl.”

Well, what else could you say? Sherlock was right, they absolutely adored you.

You clasped your hands tightly against each other as you watched your elder siblings and the others discuss the upcoming series of events.

“The final act will be arriving soon.” William slyly smiled at each and everyone of his subordinates, finally, his piercing gaze landed onto you and it felt like you were staring into a live mirror; it didn’t reach his eyes. The room fell silent at the mention of the last stage, knowing exactly what William was going to perform.

An unspoken agreement passed through when you exchanged looks with the people you had learnt to call family, once a time ago, everyone in the room had sold their lives to William, they were able to atone for their sinful actions.

And yet, he was still willing to carry the burden himself.

You wanted to desperately protest against his choice, but you knew that look in his eyes, no matter how much you would have wanted to beg - no amount could stop him. William was set on this and so you stayed silent; silently watching behind the scenes, silently watching your subordinates file out, silently watching-

After all, you were the overseer.

“A penny for your thoughts?” William curiously asked you, successfully snapping you out of your mind. “Will’ this..isn’t fair!”

The words spilt from your mouth before you could stop them, his lips pulled up and his expression was soft. How could he? The lord of crime, whom had committed so many murders not be able to tell his own kin a few words.

“Maybe so, but it has to be done - the blood on my hands have stained me red and the guilt of my actions have long caught up to me, (y/n), I want to die.”

That was not the answer you wanted to hear, his words struck a cord inside you and it snapped, “You-stupid, you’re worse than Sherlock, you don’t have to die! Don’t you understand? I can take your place, i’m nothing, my role isn’t important-“

William narrowed his eyes and cut you off, his face not changing, “But you have importance to me, for all of us, live - (n/n).”

And with that, the discussion was over.

But he must’ve been a fool to believe you wouldn’t back down without a fight.

The city was going up in flames.

Bright embers reached for the sky, people’s screams of fear and terror tore through the air. The ledge you curtly sat on was the one that William would..perform atop, as the overseer; your job was to see to that everything went to plan, a job you didn’t want to betray but here you were.

A bittersweet look graced your face when you saw the dancing fire’s show come to an end, people of all sorts were at last working together. A pleasing outcome after all the planning.

You chuckled dryly when you spotted William’s figure beneath the tower, even more when you saw how determined your lover was to catch up to him and save him from his doom.

Shakily standing up and stretching your muscles, you curtsied without a single wobble. People were beginning to gather.

Now, now the real show had started.

“Hey! There’s someone up there!” “Isn’t that, Lady Moriarty?”

The crowd gasped and gossiped at you, and for once in your entire life, you were glad you took ballet lessons. Your steps slowed down once you got nearer to the edge, a small part of you wished that someone would stop you.

“They’ve seen me now, the overseer.” You whispered to yourself. It was now or never.

“(y/n) James Moriarty, you get down from there right now!” A shout carried through the wind and for a second, time itself stopped. You didn’t need to look to identify the two people that were both scrambling to get to you.

Your dress flew around your ankles, giving the people of London an impression of an angel. But the truth was, you were far from it, “And for my next act-“

In one sweep of the wind you fell off backwards.

“I’m gonna kill myself.”

Sherlock had one chance, one chance to save the woman he loved.

He reached out and your fingers grazed his.

All that was found of you was a single matchbox floating upon the water.

[thebackseatofjimsblazer]

Pairing: Hopper x F!Reader

Rating: E — MINORS!DNI

CW & WC: 3.6k — more alcohol but y’all ain’t drunk. SMUT! Oral (f and m receiving) unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms. You call hopper an old man to tease him and it works in your favor lmao. Dirty talk but like i think its kinda cute tbh. Oh yeah, and aftercare!

Summary: Jim takes to you back to his place and shows you what being with a MAN is like.

Part 1

The car ride to Jim’s trailer was short and silent. The only thoughts that monopolized your brain were how Jim’s arms felt when he helped you into his truck and how they looked when he drove. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at him from your spot, allowing yourself to drink up the way his thigh flexed when he switched between the brake and the throttle. Minuscule movements on his part seemed more intoxicating than your rum and coke from earlier. When Jim had opened the door to his trailer for you to enter before him, you remembered how you were supposed to give Robin a ring.

“Can I use your landline to call my roommate? I don’t want her to worry about me,” You look at Jim, awaiting a response. He simply nods to the phone on a wall close to the kitchen area. Giving a smile to him, you walk over and punch in the numbers.

“Hey Rob, I’m safe and at a guy’s house. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” You say in a hushed tone, not wanting Jim to hear the last part. You couldn’t spot him from where you were standing, he had disappeared into the back of the trailer where you presumed his room was at. Robin lets out a breathy chuckle before responding. 

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

With that, you put the phone back on the receiver and turned to take in your surroundings. It wasn’t much of a shower; wood paneling on the walls and plain furniture filled the dining area and the living room from what you saw. It smelled of old, burnt coffee and cigarettes. For one reason or another, it made sense for Jim. Speaking of, you could hear his footsteps coming out from the room he was in. 

“So,” he claps his hands before continuing, “What d’ya say I pour us another drink and we get back to our conversation?” He sauntered his way into the kitchen, rubbing his hands together. Smiling and nodding in approval, you sit at the table as he grabs some glasses.

Some time goes on and the conversation becomes lively, the both of you laughing until gasping as you recall a past experience to him.

“I seriously thought he would get better or- or at least try to get to know my body better after the first couple of times,” You shook your head, trying to calm your laughter before continuing your rant, “But he never did! Never once did he ask me what got me off. Just shit like ‘Ah yeah, you like that baby?’. I should have ripped the bandaid off a long time ago.” You said, mocking Jason’s voice as Jim laughed. 

“So what do you like?” He finally asks, getting to the point of actually picking up where you two had left off. Your breath caught in your throat; Jim’s gaze honed in on your eyes. You pondered for a few seconds about where to start.

“I think I just want someone who isn’t afraid to be romantic… caring and soft at points but definitely strong and passionate,” You look down at your glass and bite your lip, thinking about how strong Jim’s hands had looked when he was protecting you from Jason. “I know I want a partner that is patient with learning my body. At least enough to know I won’t cum from less than ten minutes of jack hammering and hip spasms,” you finish off with a chuckle and a roll of your eyes. You look back to Jim and see that he’s still looking into your eyes, except now he had something darker behind his. 

“Would you be willing to let me try?” He asks, but before you could answer, he’s interrupting you, “And before you answer, just give it a thought. I want to explore every part of your beautiful body, explore every dip and curve you have even if you never want to do it again… even if it's just for tonight. Hell, if you don’t want to do it at all, I’ll drive you home right now with no hesitation and no animosity towards you. I know I’m older, but Goddammit, I want this and I really think you want this too,” 

He reaches out and grabs your hand from the table, “If I read into it wrong, then tell me. But I have a feeling that you liked it when I pushed Jason away from you… and I know you liked our little conversation when we were leaving the bar,” he smirked at the memory. You weren’t aware of this, but Jim loved the way your skin erupted in goosebumps when he had stepped in closer to your proximity outside the bar. He wanted to do that to you again tonight. 

Your brain frizzled and frazzled at his words; your mind immediately running to how his strong body could cage you in his bed. Heat rushed from your neck to the tips of your ears. You nod your head, “You’re pretty spot on.”

“I know, I am sweetheart… but this is all up to you,” his thumb ran circles over the top of your hand. It felt encouraging and comforting, letting you relax fully. 

“Well then, if its all up to me, I’d really,” You say, getting up from your seat to walk over to the side of the table that Jim was sitting at. Leaning down so that your lips brushed the shell of his ear, you continued in a whisper, “like for you to have me.” 

Jim quickly stood up from his seat, the legs of the chair making a screeching sound against the floor. Looking down at you, Jim finally let go of your hand to slip them around your face. 

“If I do anything, and I mean anything, that you don’t like… I want you to speak up. Too slow? Tell me. Not slow enough? Tell me. You got it, doll?” He asks, punctuating his final question by slightly shaking your head. You nod, lost at how domineering he felt in the moment. You always knew that people could be dominant, but never knew that they could feel soft at the same time. 

Jim lent down slowly and took your lips in his hesitantly, waiting for you to respond more to his touches before he gave more to you. Within seconds, one of your hands met the top of one of his and your other was gripping his shirt. Humming into his kiss, you began to kiss back with passion. He tasted like whiskey and his mustache scratched at your upper lip, but you soon found it to be more enjoyable than you had anticipated. 

“Your mustache,” you moaned against his lips, gripping his shirt harder.

Jim withdrew from you momentarily with a worried look on his face, “You hate it, don’t you?” He asks solemnly. “I can go sha-“

“No! I love it,” you say, pulling him back to kiss him with fervor. Jim grabs you by your hips and pushes you so that you were pinned between him and his kitchen counters. His lips found a new area to explore, trailing from your jaw down to your neck, making you whimper lightly into his ear.

Placing open mouthed up your neck to your ear, he whispered, “If you like how it feels now, just wait until it's between your thighs.”

A new wave of heat rushed to your core at the prospect of Jim’s face between your legs, making a sopping mess of your sweet cunt. His strong calloused hands had begun to pull you away from the kitchen counter and began to herd you to the direction of his room, yet his expert lips never stopped littering your neck with kisses. Pushing you until the back of your legs hit the edge of his bed, Jim physically directed you to sit. 

“Let me see you, baby,” he said as he used his strong hands to pry your legs apart. A gruff moan escaped his chest when he saw your pastel purple panties, almost becoming drunk from just looking at you. He leant down and began kissing you over your panties, rolling his eyes at your scent. “Absolutely heavenly…” 

You moan his name, letting your head roll back as he kisses your clothed clit. You could feel the edges of his mustache tickle your thighs as you began to buck onto his mouth. “Please Jim, I- ah- I need your mouth.” You grip the bed sheets with all of your strength, growing impatient with Jim. You’ve never wanted someone so bad in your life. Slowly, without any words, Jim began to pull your panties down your legs. Your glistening cunt was on display for him as he ran a finger up from your hole to your clit, dragging your wetness up with it. 

“Has anyone eaten you out before?” He asks, looking up at you from his seat on the floor. You nod your head quickly, wanting him to get on with it. “And were they any good?” You then shake your head no, being truthful with him. Using two fingers to collect your wetness, he asks you another question, “What did they do that wasn’t good?”

“They weren’t,” you go to answer him, but you couldn’t help but let out a moan when he ran his two fingers over your clit with ample pressure. Your eyebrows knit together in pleasure as he slowly, but firmly, swiped his fingers side to side on your nub. 

“Come on, doll. How am I supposed to know what makes you feel good if you can’t answer my question?” He teases, slowing down his movements so that you can refocus. You watch as he brings his fingers from your pussy to his mouth, licking up your juices.

You let out a huff before finishing your answer, “They weren’t into it.” You bite your lip as you wait for Jim to respond.

“That’s what distinguishes boys and men, darling. Because if I’m going to be honest with you,” he says, giving your cunt a testing lick, “I’m going to absolutely devour you.” And with that, Jim lent his head down all the way until his whole mouth was able to surround your pussy. His tongue darted between your lips to push into your hole, then dragged up to your clit. 

Immediately, your body fell back and your hands found purchase in Jim’s hair. Shocks of pleasure shoot through your legs, threatening to clamp themselves around his head. Each lap his tongue makes around your clit draws a moan from your lips, “Fuck, Jim- ah- you feel so good.”

You quickly sit up to protest when you feel him remove his mouth, but he cuts in before you can. “Get up and take off that dress. I want you bare.” Jim also stands with you and begins to remove his own clothes. Once both of your clothes are thrown to different corners, he grabs you by the hips and directs you to kneel in the middle of the bed.

Your patience begins to wear thin again, not understanding what it is Jim is trying to accomplish now. “Jim, at least tell me what’s happening.”

“I’m going to crawl up the bed so that you’re sitting on my face,” He says as he does exactly what he said he would. When his face is directly under you, he says, “it’s up to you if you wanna help me out, but I’m not done with this sweet pussy.” His lips were back on your clit like before, continuing the perfect pattern and rhythm he had set earlier. It’s then that you fully realize that Jim’s hard cock was out and waiting for you. 

Using every ounce of focus you could muster, you lent your body down so that his cock was level with your face. Jim had to move his hands from your ass to your thighs to counter the shift in your balance, but not once did he break away from your heat. You quickly began to lose focus, only thinking of how strong his large hands felt on your legs and his skilled tongue darting between your button and slick hole. Pleasure was filling your whole body and loud moans left your lips as you quickly began to feel your climax approach. 

“Oh shit, please don’t stop-“ you pant, breaths fanning over his reddened tip. Jim grunts in response, speeding up his efforts. And stop, this man didn’t. Long forgotten, his cock bobbed against his underbelly from the strong breaths he was taking. Almost in an instant, the band in you began to snap when his head began to shake from side to side; tongue staying on your clit as he ate you out ravenously. With one final breath before slumping over his body, you let out a scream, “Oh, fuck!”

You could feel the way he chuckled from underneath you; his cock bouncing a bit from the action to tap against your cheek from how you were slumped over. 

“Doll, how you feelin’? Can you roll off for me?” He asked, lovingly spreading his hands over both of your ass cheeks, massaging as he went. You? Well you were trying to get over that orgasm; muscles spamming in your legs like a car after driving on a really hot day. You hummed and grunted, lazily asking him in a way to just give you a minute. This caused another chuckle to leave his chest, but his breath was quickly caught in his throat when you decided it was time to put his cock in yours.

Without warning, you grabbed him by his thick base and swallowed him down until you were about half way to his tuft of hair, not letting him adjust to the new feeling. With each new bob, each new swipe of your tongue across his slit that produced a drop of pre just for you, you felt his hands tighten and then relax against the globes of your ass. His moans filled the room, along with the obscene and filthy sounds of your mouth on him.

“Darlin’…” he moans out before he continues his warning, “you keep workin’ me like that and this is going to be over before either one of us wants.” You move your head to look over your shoulder at him, slowing your hand down to languid jerks to keep him satisfied. 

“Awe, c’mon old man,” you joke, giving Jim a playful smirk. His eyes roll and a grutal moan reverberates off the walls when you squeeze your hand at the base and move it all the way to his red and leaking tip. “Don’t tell me you’re almost done. My cunt hasn’t been stretched by your thick, mature cock.” You giggle when you see his face turn beet red, knowing that your dirty words back at the bar struck something in him now. 

Before you knew it, Jim had pulled you off of him and held you down into the bed; one of his strong hands pinning yours above your head and the other resting against his headboard. 

“First of all, babe,” he began, pushing your legs wide with his own. “I may be an old man, but I know you’re not going to complain.” His hand that was on the headboard came doing, brushing against your perked nipples and down to your clit. A gasp forced its way out when he swirled his strong and confident fingers against it. “Second of all, I was waiting for the moment that mouth of yours was gonna act up. You’re lucky I didn’t use it for something better,” he grits. His hand leaves your mound and moves to his length, stroking it before lining it up with your slit. “And lastly…” 

There was a pause in his tone, but he didn’t continue talking. Instead, he slowly pushed himself all the way in until his hips were flush to yours. 

And a stretch he was indeed.

You had never felt anything like him before. The underside of his length felt smooth and seemed to just want to glide right in. However the top side had a thick vein and his tip was more bulbous cause it to find that spongy little button inside you rather quickly. Sitting fully inside you, it felt like you had no room to breathe; Jim was breathtaking. 

What you hadn’t realized in your cock-daze was that Jim felt the exact same way. The way your wet, warm pussy clenched around him made his brain fuzzy and his chest tighten. He didn’t want you to know — at least not yet — that feeling your pulse in your pussy was making him closer to his peak than he had anticipated, so he used the hand that wasn't holding yours to swipe at your clit.

“How’s that feel, darlin’?” He asks, face scrunching to concentrate on giving rather than how you felt. 

“Please, Jim,” you beg, hips gyrating to create some type of friction. “Please make me cum again. I need you to cum in me.”

Hearing that made Jim feel like the rest of the air in his lungs had beaten out of him. Huffing, he let go of your hands and caged you onto the bed. Your hands move and snake their way around his neck, gripping onto his shoulders. His breath, let out in hearty pants, warmed your ears.

“Babydoll, you can’t say things like that to me if you want me to last,” he said, holding your whole body down as he began to slowly pull himself out. “You ready?”

You give him a hum, gripping tighter onto his shoulders. You were as ready as you were ever going to be; pussy juices slowly trickling down onto the sheets below you and matting down the hairs on his heavy balls. 

He started out with slow and thorough thrusts before he began driving himself into you. Animalistic groans were hushed when he latched his mouth to your neck, sucking on the open expanse and leaving a red mark behind. 

“You’re so—“ Jim was at a loss for words when it came to how you made his cock feel. Sitting back on his haunches, he grabbed your legs and brought your knees to your chest. “God, your pussy is just heavenly.” He grunted, head flying back as his eyes shut. One of your hands reaches up to scratch up his chest while the other one snakes down to play with your clit. You were close and eager to get there with him. 

“Jim, I wanna cum,” you moan, doing your best to give intentional circles at your clit. But it just wasn’t doing it. You needed him. “Help me cum, please.” You begged, eyebrows scrunched together to lay it on thick for him. The way you begged for him made his mind swirl. His hand swats yours away and quickly replaces it, giving you what you needed to fall over the edge of your orgasm.

“Let it out darlin’… come on,” he encouraged, speeding up his thrusts to chase his own undoing. The loud wet squelching of your dripping cunt, along with the feeling of you pulsing around his cock, was what made Jim come undone. With a loud moan and a shuddering breathing pattern, Jim fell back down against your body and held you there as he unloaded himself into you. Knowing that he was cumming, you intentionally clenched around him to milk him some more. This caused a whine — a fucking whine — to leave his throat.

Jim soon rolled over to lay next to you, pulling you into his chest. There was sweat all over both of your skins, beginning to feel sticky as the both of you slowly caught your breath. After a beat, Jim got up and went into the bathroom. You heard him rummaging around in there for a few minutes before he reamurged and slowly made his way over to you again. 

“Woah, Jim,” you began with a chuckle. “I didn’t know that this whole thing would include cuddles and a warm washcloth.” You were joking… kind of. This was around the time that goodbyes would be said and either one of you would be on your merry way. But not with Jim. You tried to reach out to grab the cloth from him, but he pulled it away from your grasp and motioned for you to lay back down. 

“Cuddles, a warm washcloth that I use to clean you up, and even breakfast in the morning if you want.” He offers, smiling at you before he leans down and kisses your forehead. He threw the washcloth into his laundry hamper that sat in the corner near his door after he wiped away at your sensitive hole. 

“And breakfast?” You ask, reaching out to grab him. You pulled him close to you, your arms wrapping around his neck again as he hovered over your body. Resting his face in the crook of your neck, he leaves open mouth smooches as he hums in agreement. “Can we have bacon and french toast?” You ask, giggling as he rolled the two of you over so that you were now laying on top of him. 

“Anything you want darlin’,” he says, holding you tighter against his frame and searching your eyes. “Anything you want.” He finalizes his words with a quick kiss to your forehead and a quick pull of the string of his lamp next to his bed. 

Jim’s strong arms hold you until you fall asleep that night. And they hold you until you fall asleep the next night, and the next, and the next. Who would have thought that Jason Carver would be the reason you found Jim Hopper. But you thank the heavens above and below that you were led to him.

[pasdasin]

Entanglement ch 2

levi x reader

summary: walking home is crazy 😭

cw: cussing, violence, bad grammar, didn't proofread

a/n: i forgot to mention that I aged down Levi to 26 so the story made more sense 💀

previous -- next

read under the cut

The walk home after your shift felt more heavy than usual. Someone was targeting you and the man you thought was dead. How naive to believe that Levi could truly die. The more you pondered his existence, the possibility of his life, the cruelty he bestowed upon you, the rage in your heart grew. How dare he forget all about you, about the life he left behind. Levi Ackerman was a cruel man but the man you had once loved. The man you had mourned for years. The only one for you. You clenched your fists as you approached your house, the house you had shared with your closest friends. Looking up at your window you noticed movement inside. Your eyes widened and panic filled your bones. You carefully creeped up the stairs as you slid the knife you kept on your garter into your hand. You listened to the commotion inside, they all seemed distracted now was your moment. 

Without hesitation you kicked the door and grabbed the nearest person, holding the knife dangerously close to their jugular. 

“I don’t care who you are if you make one more move I will slit this person’s throat and kill all of you,” You growled out, pushing the knife further into them. 

“Yeah guys please don’t move,” your captive said quickly, fear lacing their voice. Time seemed at a stand still until you heard him exit your once shared room. Levi?

Losing your focus for a second, the person in your grasp quickly overpowered you and pinned you to the ground. You gasped for air and looked up to see that your eyes didn’t deceive you. In front of you stood Levi Ackerman, the man who left you for dead.

----

A couple days before

Levi stood in front of his squad trying to find the right words to say. How could he explain what was going on without him giving up all of his personal life. Levi had always valued his privacy. The idea of oversharing made him feel sick to his stomach. He finally looked up to meet the gazes of his squad and cleared his throat.

“Someone is targeting the Survey Corps, and more specifically the people I care about,” he paused, biting his tongue. The whole speech felt so gut wretching to make. “I received a box in the mail with a now confirmed human heart inside it and a note. In short terms we are all in danger. I have already been ordered by Erwin to fall back and hide out while we figure out a new plan. We will be staying in my… old home. We leave in a few hours. Only pack the necessities.” Levi dismissed the group of teens before turning to look out the window. Guilt was eating him alive. How could he return home after all that he worked for on the surface. After everything he had to leave behind. 

As the squad started their journey to the underground entrance, they all grew excited to see where Levi had lived. Jean had assumed it must be a place near nobility, Sasha hoped the food would be so good that she could die happy. But when they entered the capital, instead of seeing the beautiful homes of the nobles, the squad approached the entrance to the underground. 

“Listen closely brats,don’t interact with anyone first, if you are in trouble and I’m not there, fight to kill. I told you before we are fighting humans now. Don’t drop your guard for a second.” Levi looked at everyone before starting the descent into the underground city. 

The familiar atmosphere of his childhood seemed forgein to him now. The walk to his house, however, felt like second nature. It had only been a little less that seven years since he ran these streets and since his life changed forever. What must’ve felt like forever to the rest of his squad, felt like a second to him. Looking up at his old home, he felt cemented into the ground. The thought of you being alive made his heart skipped a beat. Subconsciously he walked towards the door and turned the handle to find it unlocked. 

Holding his breath, he opened the door and felt everything rush back to him. The rest of his team filled the room and started to settle down while he just stood. Everything was exactly the same as the day he left, expect for a few new pictures that hung on the walls. On one of the shelves stood only four pictures, a result from some weird device they had stolen from some mega rich pig. Pictures of his friends stared him down and in that moment he felt helpless. 

“Um Captain?” Levi broke out of his trance and looked to Armin. “Where should we settle our stuff?” 

“Let me check the house first before we get comfortable, we don’t want to be caught here.” Levi the walked towards the back rooms of the house. With newfound privacy, Levi felt tears threaten to fall down his cheeks as he ventured into the bedrooms. The way they managed to find a three bedroom and afford it was beyond him. The two rooms that once belonged to his closest companions only had cots and a rack for clothes, the master bedroom actually had a bed, a nicer one than he remembered and looked lived in. He entered the room and saw the only confirmation he needed to see that the letter was true. The necklace he had stolen from some noble’s wife sat on the bedside table. The necklace he gave to you. 

He was pulled out of this thoughts when a commotion happened in the living room. Levi quickly rushed to see what happened only to see you go down and meet his gaze. 

“y/n…” 

[bananarose]

FFXIV Write - #8 "Shed"

Today I decided to write a little peek into the process of Lavandin choosing his name. There's more to it that I'll write eventually, but here's a little taste. This also gives a look into his relationship with Hien!

Spoilers - Stormblood TW - None

Masterlist

To shed something that has been so closely entwined with one’s identity for many years is a terrifying feat. Sune knew that, he knew that if he were to start with this deceivingly simple change that he wouldn’t be able to go back to who he was before. But… He thought to himself, I’m not that person anymore… Am I? That cowering weak little thing… I left him behind some time ago. Didn’t I? 

He looked up at the stars above him, gently threading his hands through the lush grass below him, leaning back into the warm embrace of the man sat behind him, arms held firm around his waist. The man said nothing, making a soft contented sound as he leaned forward to place his chin on Sune’s shoulder. 

He and Hien had met when Sune still felt like Sune. It was shortly after he had stumbled his way into Reunion for the first time, witless and reeling from the journey it took in order to finally drag his exhausted body across the Azim Steppe. Cirina had taken him in, so to speak, and taught him the ways of the Steppe. Sune had not yet settled into his new existence here when he ran into Hien, deep in thought, sat upon one of the cliffy outcrops scattered across the landscape of the Steppe. They sat quietly together, barely speaking that first encounter, just enjoying one another’s silent company. As time passed, they made a habit of sitting together in the grass. They’d talk about anything and nothing; Sune loved when Hien would share stories of his homeland, Doma.

Sune enjoyed life on the Steppe, life with the new friends he found among the Mol. With Hien. The change in him was gradual, but he could feel it. No longer trapped by the expectations of his forest home - the freedom agreed with him. Sune wanted to flex this newfound freedom, he wanted to continue to grow into this new version of himself… He didn’t want to be Sune anymore. The name fit him like an old piece of clothing; long ago worn out, too small and fraying at the edges. Suffocating. 

“I’m thinking of changing my name.” he spoke suddenly, breaking their quiet reverie. Hien hummed in acknowledgement, the low sound of it rumbled pleasantly through his chest. “Sune just doesn’t-” the name felt odd in his mouth, already so foreign to him. “- it doesn’t fit me anymore. It isn’t me anymore… Does th-that make sense?” He twisted in Hien’s arms to look at him.

“Hm, I believe it does. Do you know what you’d like to change it to?” Sune got quiet, pondering the question. He had of course played around with some words, some sounds, trying to find something that fit him. 

“Perhaps… Lavandin?” the words drifted from his mouth like leaves shed from trees, like naught but a quiet thought upon a gentle breeze. As though he was afraid of saying it outloud. Though once he had said it, said this new name out loud, a smile slowly crept across his face.

Hien hummed, “Lavandin…” Hien didn’t test how the sound felt in his mouth - no, he spoke the name reverently. As a prayer dropping from parted lips.

“It’s nice to meet you Lavandin”

divider credit - @cafekitsune

[rinnelovebot]

Hi! May I have 19 with Ibara for the kiss prompts? Thank you!

A/N: phew I need a moment.

*ೃ༄ Ibara Saegusa + 19: “If we’re caught kissing, we’re most likely dead—but let’s risk it.”

Sometimes, it was painfully difficult to keep your relationship with Ibara under wraps.

As coworkers, it was extremely frowned upon for you and Ibara to be romantically involved—most likely even banned as a whole. For this reason, the two of you agreed to never show any signs of affection or bias in public—especially kissing.

But it was just so hard.

It felt like your boyfriend was purposefully trying to tempt you sometimes. He always looked so handsome while he was working, and you were completely convinced that his smile was gorgeous enough to take out a group of old ladies. But alas, there was nothing to be done.

Today was no different. The two of you conducted business as usual: meeting with your associates, attending to idol duties, and the like. You’d both be off in an hour, and you’d be sure to give him all the affection you’d both been deprived off once you got home.

“Excuse me,” you heard a voice call to you, a hand being placed on your shoulder as you politely conversed with one of your higher-ups. Your head instinctively whipped around, being met with your boyfriend looking at you with a blank expression. “Could I borrow a moment of your time? I’d like to go over those files from earlier.”

You looked at him quizzically, as if to say ‘what are you doing?’.

“…Of course, Saegusa.” You answered, excusing yourself from your prior conversation, your higher-up smiling politely at you before nodding and walking away.

You silently followed after Ibara, pondering what he could actually be wanting from you. Though, you had a feeling that you knew exactly what he wanted.

He led you to an empty meeting room, locking the door behind him before sighing heavily, turning back around to smile at you adoringly.

“Apologies. I couldn’t wait another hour.” Ibara cupped your cheeks, smoothing out a few stray hairs on your head. You pouted, placing your hands on his hips and rubbing small circles into the fabric of his blazer.

“Ibara… If someone sees us coming out of here together, they could get some weird ideas, y’know.” You answered, trying to keep your voice as low as possible without whispering. The magenta haired man smiled at you, his hands finding solace on your shoulders.

“I’m aware,” He placed a kiss onto your forehead, following it up with a second one on your cheek. “You needn’t worry for now. No one should be passing this hallway for another half hour.”

He wasn’t usually this needy—perhaps he had been jealous watching you talk to your higher-up…? No, that couldn’t have been it. Ibara had never really been the jealous type.

You nodded hesitantly, your boyfriends lips meeting your own in a gentle, loving kiss for only a moment before he pulled away.

No one would have believed you if you told them just how lovingly Ibara looked at you—a tender smile on his face as his eyes gazed directly into yours, a small sigh of content leaving his lips.

“If we’re caught kissing, we’d most likely be dead.” He chuckled, pecking at your lips once again. “But for you, I’d be willing to risk it.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that.

“You’re so corny, Ibara.”

“Am I now?”

The two of you shared in a small, hushed laugh, his lips meeting yours for a longer, more tender kiss.

In a few minutes, you and your boyfriend would have to walk out of the room like nothing had happened. But for now, you’d relish in the feeling of his lips upon your own.

[wowbright]

Fic: Enough

Klaine Valentine’s Challenge 2023: “You're the Best Thing” by The Style Council (Day 5 prompt)

Words: ~2,825 words

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: Kurt wants to know why Blaine arranged dinner with the lesbians.

I’m back with more vignettes from my Mormon!Klaine universe for Klaine Valentines 2023! This vignette takes place right after yesterday’s One Body. Mutual pining, and Kurt thinks Blaine is straight. Kinda angsty but also a little comfort maybe?

My Mormon!Klaine Masterpost.

Notes: Jana and Liesl are Jan the jeweler and Liz her partner from 4.22 “All or Nothing.”

--------

“Thank you for coming over,” Liesl said as they stood at the front doorway getting ready to leave. She reached out and put a hand on each of the elders, giving their forearms a little squeeze. The touch was technically against the rules, but so was the rest of the evening. Kurt wasn’t going to say anything. “I'm sure you're supposed to spend your time with people who are more likely to convert, but it really was a delight. I haven't talked about religion like that since I was probably your age, staying up until three in the morning with my friends and pondering the big questions in life. You two remind me of my younger self, in some ways. Yes, I know that makes no sense coming from an old German, Catholic lesbian. But please. Stay in touch. I want to see where your lives lead you.”

Jana crooked her hand around Kurt’s upper arm and leaned toward his ear. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I came on too strong. I'm terribly stubborn. Liesel can tell you. It's a fault as much as it is a blessing.”

Kurt turned toward her. The warmth of her smile lit up the evening. She was a paradox that way. She poked and prodded at long-covered wounds, awakening pain that Kurt had become adept at ignoring. But there was a goodness to her, a kindness, that shone through. She understood his injuries and wanted to mend them. But just as a doctor couldn't cure every patient, her understanding couldn't heal him. “Don't worry about it,” he said. “I’m just as stubborn.”

“I know,” she smiled wistfully and then, to his utter surprise and in a very unGerman fashion, hugged him.

She didn't feel like his mother. His mother had always been bigger than him. She didn't feel like his mother's mother, either. But her embrace felt familiar in a way he couldn't explain. Maybe Blaine was right. Maybe somewhere deep inside, we really could remember the friends we had made in the pre-existence.

*

Blaine was out of words. He'd used so many of them over dinner, and held so many back, and he was still holding words back now, because Liesl and Jana, who had been so easy to talk to, were behind them. And Kurt, who was usually the easiest to talk to but tonight felt impossible to talk to, was next to him.

Blaine was angry. He was hurt. Because he’s straight and it doesn’t personally affect him.

It wasn't true. It wasn't true at all. Kurt just kept assuming he was straight. And part of that was Blaine’s fault. But it wasn't all Blaine’s fault. Blaine had never said anything about falling in love with girls, or thinking they were sexy, or even wanting to marry one. Had he assumed he would? Yes. But he’d never claimed to want it.

And it should be obvious. How could it not be patently obvious? Kurt was everything to Blaine. His love meant more than anything. The church, his parents, his granddad, his bishop, the apostles and prophets—their opinions and judgments no longer mattered. Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall join with his beloved: and they shall be one flesh.

That's what Blaine wanted. To be one with Kurt.

Blaine said it and said it, but Kurt never heard. I love you at the end of their morning prayers. I love you when they went to bed at night. I love you at random moments, when Kurt filled him with delight. I love you when Kurt cried. I love you more than you know. I love you more than anything. I love you. I love you. I love you.

There had been a moment at dinner, when Jana and Liesl had been talking about being young and in love—when you’ve met the right person, you know—and Kurt’s eyes met his, and for a moment, Blaine could've sworn Kurt knew how he felt, and felt the same way.

But then the moment was gone, and Blaine wasn't sure anymore.

Blaine might have the air of a Disney Prince. But that didn't mean Kurt was in love with him. It didn't mean Blaine was worth abandoning dreams of the Celestial Kingdom over.

“You're awfully quiet,” Kurt said when they were several blocks away from Liesl and Jana's house, having gone right past the bus stop in silent agreement that tonight was a night for walking.

“You are, too,” Blaine said.

Kurt didn't answer. He looked ahead. The sun was setting behind them. In front of them, the clouds were a steely gray.

*

Are you running toward life in service to the church, or are you running away from life outside?

Jana’s words kept repeating in Kurt’s head. Why had he come on this mission? His dad didn't expect it of him. His bishop had recommended it, of course; but after Finn died, he'd said they could delay it. He could stay in Lima and help out his parents for a little longer. There was no hurry. It could happen in God’s time.

But there had been a hurry for Kurt. He’d needed out of Lima. He’d needed to stop being so sad. And how could he stop being sad when everything reminded him of his family's loss? He didn't want to drive past McKinley High and see that accursed practice field out of the corner of his eye. He didn't want to run into his friends from the glee club, because they either talked about Finn or they didn't talk about Finn, and when they didn't talk about Finn, his memory loomed even more than when they did. He didn't want to walk past Finn's bedroom. He didn't want to go through Finn's stuff.

And he had planned for a mission, anyway. Ever since he'd been a little kid, he had dreamed about becoming a missionary. About spreading the gospel and Jesus’s love.

Also, it was expected of him. Heavenly Father expected him to go on a mission. It was necessary for Kurt’s refinement. Kurt had held no illusions that it would make him not gay. But he’d hoped it would make him holier. Maybe sacrificing two years of his life—never wearing anything interesting or dancing alone in his bedroom to loud showtunes or spending hours going through fashion magazines and redesigning the clothes he found in their pages—maybe that would teach him to sacrifice in other ways. If he could learn to live without the things that made life sparkle, then maybe he could learn to live without the hope of ever falling in love. He could adjust to what the Plan of Salvation offered him. He could stay celibate for a lifetime, earning himself a a wife and family and worlds without end in the afterlife. Or maybe he would develop the strength to marry Mercedes, if she converted, or someone like her—someone who understood him and made him laugh, someone he respected and loved. It wouldn't be like falling, but it would be good enough. Their children would make up for what their marriage lacked. Each day would be a struggle, but there would be rewards along the way.

Are you running toward life in service to the church, or are you running away from life outside?

It was easy for Jana to say. She had a life outside her convent. She had someone who loved her. Someone she could make a life with.

Kurt didn't. It felt that way, so often, with Blaine. But it wasn't real. When Kurt’s mission was over, he would go home, and Blaine would—well, maybe Blaine wouldn't forget him, but Blaine would love his next companion just as much. Blaine would keep on loving his companions and being patient with them and being kind to them, a perfect practice for loving the wife he would eventually be sealed to.

And sure. Maybe Kurt could find someone else. Someone gay who thought Kurt was smart and funny and kind and noble. Someone who found him attractive, who wanted to do more than just hold hands and hug in a brotherly fashion.

But Kurt didn’t want ‘someone.’ He wanted Blaine.

Kurt couldn't leave the church behind for a person who might exist, somewhere, maybe. He could leave it for Blaine. In a heartbeat, he would leave it for Blaine. Unlike what apparently existed in Catholicism, there was no room in Mormonism for that kind of love. You couldn't stay in the church as an unrepentant sinner. You had to make a choice between the language of your birth and the language of your heart.

But without Blaine? The church was the only language left that Kurt spoke fluently.

Are you running toward life in service to the church, or are you running away from life outside?

*

Kurt broke the silence again a kilometer or two into their walk, as they crossed the Danube. The usually green waters looked gray in the dwindling light. “You knew they were lesbians when they invited us,” he said.

It wasn’t a question, so Blaine didn’t answer. He sensed this was the beginning of a fight, and he wanted to delay the inevitable.

“You knew there wouldn't be any men in the house, but you accepted their invitation instead of sending the sisters over in our place.” Kurt’s voice was steady and deceptively curious, like that detective from the syndicated 1970s show who always pretended not to know anything even when he'd already cracked the case.

“They didn't invite the sisters,” Blaine said. “They invited us.”

“But why did you accept? You know we're not supposed to be alone with women. And given how moved you were by their love story, I hardly think you wanted to proselytize them. You do realize if they want to get baptized, they’d have to break up and stop living together, don't you?”

“You know why I accepted their invitation, Kurt.” They were in a park now, trees and grass all around them, the fluttering of the Danube echoing over their steps. The sun was gone. No one else was around.

“Because you were wrong, Blaine," Kurt continued as if Blaine had said nothing at all. "There is no same-sex marriage in the church. You can nitpick the language of the covenants all you want, but you know what they mean.”

Blaine gritted his teeth. “I was not wrong. It’s your business if that's the way you want to hear it, but that doesn’t make you right. Have you ever stopped to think that God inspired the phrasing used in the temple? Because the temple is scripture. The things the apostles say, the things the prophets say—unless they’re in Doctrine and Covenants, they’re not. And the Family Proclamation isn’t scripture, either. There’s truth in there—spouses should love each other, parents should love their children—but it’s not the truth. So if God doesn’t condemn same-sex marriage in the temple, maybe it means something.”

Kurt growled. He actually growled. “I can’t. I can’t with you.”

“Kurt. I’m not trying to make you angry. These are the things I truly believe, in my heart.”

“Are they? Are they really? Or are you trying to make me feel better because you can’t stand the fact that anyone around you might have been dealt a crappy hand when you got a terrific one? Because you don’t want the guilt of your own happiness?”

“Kurt. Don’t.”

Kurt turned to face Blaine. “No. It’s worse than that, isn’t it? It’s not for you. You do it for me. Because you care about me.” He said it like an insult, like it was a crime. Like love was an offense that needed to be punished.

“Yes, Kurt,” Blaine answered calmly. At least, his voice was calm. Inside, he was anything but. He was a deer hounded by wolves. He was an army of bees preparing to defend its hive. He was a mother bird whose eggs had slipped from the nest. “Because I care about you.”

Kurt’s skin was gray in the moonlight, but his teeth were white. “I don't want you to care!” He jabbed an index finger in Blaine's chest. “It's not your job, Blaine. Stop caring.”

“I can’t, Kurt.” Blaine felt tears pressing against his eye sockets, his forehead. It wasn't the time to say it, but he didn't know what else to say. “I can't, Kurt, because I love you. I do, and I can’t—”

“Love is overrated!” Kurt spun on his heels and began walking again, too fast for Blaine to keep up without jogging.

“Kurt, Kurt—” Blaine didn't know what to say. He wanted to finish his sentence, the one Kurt had interrupted, the one that was supposed to end and I can't stand this anymore, I can't stand the idea of you being alone for the rest of your life because I want to be in it, because I want to spend it loving you, in every way you want, kissing you and holding you and building a life together and making love to you and so many things, so many things I never imagined I would ever feel about anyone, if only you’ll have me. But Kurt was moving so fast, and he was so angry, and Kurt’s anger always made it harder for Blaine to say what he meant, made Blaine’s tongue tie up in knots that he didn't know how to undo.

“Love is overrated!” Kurt repeated, and then, in an exasperated stream, “They were nice ladies. There was nothing wrong with them. But you can't fix me with them, Blaine. You can't fix my life.”

Blaine put his hand on Kurt’s arm. It was a dangerous move, but Kurt had to slow down. Blaine wasn't wearing running shoes.

To Blaine’s surprise, Kurt didn't shake his hand away. He did, however, emit a very snappy, “What?”

Slow down, Kurt, Blaine meant to say. But what came out of his mouth was, “Love one another. You said it yourself, Kurt. It's the most important thing. Love one another.”

Kurt stopped in his tracks. His breathing changed. “But it's not enough, Blaine! Can't you see it's not enough?” The words started out sharply. But they weakened at the end, as if the wind had just been knocked out of Kurt. He covered his face with one hand and turned away from Blaine. He sniffled.

“Why isn't it enough?” Blaine asked.

“Because, because—” Kurt sobbed. “Because sometimes I feel like Heavenly Father doesn't care about love at all. That the Plan of Salvation is about something else. And I just can't figure out what, what it's for. And I want love to be enough, I do. But then there's all these other things, and these rules, and I get so scared, and I want to see Finn after I die, and what if we aren't in the same level of heaven, the church is supposed to bring families together, but I worry all the time that I’ll never see him again, and the gospel is supposed to be simple but it drives me up the wall, Blaine. I can never be good enough, there is no grace, there is no room for people like Liesl and Jana to live their lives and come to church when they want to and not get excommunicated for goodness sake. And maybe that's a good thing, because maybe if I get excommunicated I'll end up in the Telestial Kingdom and I will see Finn again, except then I won't see my dad or my mom and, and— I just want to love, Blaine. I want to love and be loved and be with the people I love. Is that so wrong?”

Kurt had been talking nonstop, barely a breath between phrases, gesticulating wildly with every utterance, as if he needed the help of his hands to pull the words out of his body and fling them to the stars. But now he went still. He went still, and looked at Blaine, and his voice softened. “Is that so wrong?” he repeated.

“No, Kurt. It’s right. It will always be right.”

Kurt collapsed into Blaine, his arms around Blaine’s shoulders and his face pressed into his neck, burning hot like the sun and sopping wet like the Danube. “I’m sorry, Blaine. You did nothing wrong. I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Blaine said. He wrapped an arm around Kurt’s back—propping him up, trying to give him strength he needed. He raised the other arm and curled his hand around Kurt’s head, holding him close, praying that his love could be enough, at least for this moment. “I know, Kurt.” He buried his nose into Kurt’s hair and kissed him—not because he thought Kurt would feel it, or that if he felt it, he would understand what it meant. But because Blaine had to. “I want it to be enough, too.”