#I’m never drawing his suit like this again it was torture

[casuallyimagining]

Family. Duty. Self. || myg

Less of Them - One: Family. Duty. Self.

NSFW. minors dni Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader Genre: arranged marriage au, established relationship, star-crossed lovers, angst, smut, fluff Word Count: 9,968

Summary: As the daughter of one of the oldest families in the kingdom, when the king decides that it's you he wishes to marry, you're forced to make a decision and fulfill your duty, leaving behind everything you've ever known--and the only man you've ever loved.

Warnings: weaponry (swords), language; nsfw: awkward first-time, hand-job, fingering, unprotected sex

Notes: Thanks to @oddinary4bts for really coming in clutch and helping with the smut and to both her and @daechwitatamic for encouraging me to make it more sad.

The book mc is reading at the beginning is Wurthering Heights.

"I do know there are all kinds of barriers to love. I do believe the world needs less of them." - Lang Leav

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The snow began to drive thickly. I seized the handle to essay another trial; when a young man without coat, and shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind.

The clank of metal against metal grates against your ears and jolts you out of your book. It’s a nice day, and you had some free time; you thought that maybe it would be nice to read outside for a change. But now, you aren’t sure that was the greatest idea you’d ever had.

…shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind. He hailed me to follow him, and, after marching through a wash-house, and a paved area containing a coal-shed, pump, and pigeon-cot, we at length arrived in the huge, warm, cheerful apartment where I was formerly received. It glowed delightfully-

The soft thump of a dulled blade hitting the softness of a body and an exasperated curse again draws you away.

“Again,” a gruff voice commands, and there’s the clink of metal clashing briefly.

Another voice groans. “This is pointless.”

“Your father told me to teach you how to fight,” the first voice says. “Again.”

You roll your eyes. They’d been at this for a week now. You were starting to believe that maybe it was pointless.

It glowed delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire, compounded of coal, peat, and wood; and near the table, laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to observe the “missis,” an individual whose existence I had never previously-

Metal against metal once again, and then the clatter of a sword falling into the dirt. A frustrated sigh.

I bowed and waited, thinking she would bid me-

A soft thud, then, “Shit.”

I bowed and waited, thinking-

The shriek of metal on metal, then the clatter of a sword hitting the dirt. “Shit!”

I bowed and-

“Take a break,” the gruff voice says, and the second voice grumbles something in response. “Don’t go far. We have more work to do.”

You try to go back to your book, you really do. But then a body plops down under the tree beside you. Ever so gently, the book is taken from your hands. He keeps a finger in the pages to mark where you’d left off, but he turns the book to inspect the cover and the spine. He hums. It’s his book.

“You shouldn’t torture him like that,” you chide once he’s returned the book to your hands. “You know he isn’t suited for it.”

“Your father wants him trained.”

“You and I both know Namjoon has no business on a battlefield.”

At that, he laughs. “His form is really terrible.”

“Even I’m better than he is.”

“Is that right?”

“Oh come on, Yoon.” You roll your eyes and nudge him slightly. You both know you’re right. His father had trained you beside Yoongi, and while you hadn’t been as quick to the blade as the young knight, you could defend yourself well enough.

He stands, plucks the book from your hand once again, and leans in so that his face is mere centimeters from your own. “Come, then, my lady. Prove yourself.”

You roll your eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly.” 

He closes the gap, lips connecting to yours ever so briefly. Even though the kiss is short, it sets your veins alight all the same.

“Fine,” you say when he pulls back. “To battle, then, Min Yoongi.”

He smirks, and you steal a kiss when he helps you stand. For a moment, he has the audacity to look offended, but you push him out of the way.

“Come on,” you say. “You wanted to spar. Let’s get it over with.”

“We’ll see how smug you are when you’ve been defeated.”

You shrug and follow him to the training yard. It’s only a few feet from the tree you had been reading under, but your back had been to it, and you’d been unable to see Namjoon before he left. Now, though, you can see that your younger brother had gone in a huff, his practice sword tossed carelessly to the side. You pick it up. It’s a bastard sword, longer than you’d like and a little on the heavy side, but it’ll do. You roll your wrist, testing the balance as you wait for Yoongi to ready himself.

As he turns to face you, you widen your stance. You know you look ridiculous, legs and arms wide, positioned better to climb a tree than for sword fighting. It has its intended effect, though, because Yoongi erupts into a fit of near-silent giggles, shoulders shaking and eyes crinkled at the corners.

“What are you doing?” he asks gleefully.

“Are we not fighting?” you question, deepening your voice to match Namjoon’s lower timbre. “Is this not how you do it?”

He almost drops his sword, he laughs so hard. “Okay, fine,” he says, body still shaking from giggles. “You can go back to your book.”

You smile. That hadn’t really been your goal, but you aren’t one to turn down an opportunity. You hand him the practice sword as you pass and open your mouth to leave him with one last quip about trying to be patient with Namjoon, but he catches your waist as soon as he can and pulls you flush against him. Immediately, your hands come up to rest on his chest, playing with the loose collar of his cream colored shirt.

“Can I help you, sir?” you ask coyly, tugging a little at the fabric over his collarbone.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, lips mere centimeters from your ear. “Can you?”

He kisses you then, properly this time, firm hands on the small of your back, holding you against his body. He’s warm and soft and solid, and you can smell a hint of the cologne you’d bought him for his last birthday. His kiss is slow, almost lazy, but there’s a greed in it, like he could keep at this forever if you’d let him.

You’re tempted to let him.

You slide your hand up his chest to tangle in the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck. You give a gentle tug, and he lets out a low whine.

“Don’t tease, my lady,” he mumbles darkly, pulling away just far enough to kiss up your jaw. “I’m afraid you’ll start something you aren’t prepared to finish.”

You never get the chance to respond. Namjoon calls your name, his voice floating down from the walkway that overlooks the courtyard. Immediately, Yoongi jumps away from you. Your relationship is no secret, but he’s always been shy, and you’ve long grown used to his fleeing any time anyone sneaks up on you.

Namjoon calls for you again, this time, his voice is closer, and when you turn, you can see he’s running down the stairs. He pauses momentarily, catching his breath for just a second before blurting out, “Father is looking for you. He’s received some official-looking letter and asked me to come fetch you.”

You hum and nod. “Alright. Tell him I’ll be along soon.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’d better come now.”

Your eyes drift to Yoongi, who stands now just off to the side. His cheeks and ears are tinged ever so slightly pink, and he busies himself with inspecting one of the practice blades. He must feel you looking at him, because his dark eyes connect with yours. You shoot him a look that you hope conveys an apology. He nods toward the keep silently before picking up the discarded sword and wandering off in the direction of the armory.

“Lead the way,” you tell your brother, gesturing in the direction he’d come from.

You follow him out of the yard, up the stairs onto the walkway and into the keep. Evening is starting to fall, and the attendants already have the sconces lit in the halls to stave off the darkness. You pass some of them as you go, and they nod respectfully–more to you than to Namjoon, but he’s younger and has never really cared about being deferred to in the way that you are. 

He leads you to your father’s study, and when you enter, you’re shocked at how full it is. You’ve always loved this room, filled to the brim with the finely crafted furniture made by the people of the forest town. Blackwood trees are known to have a delicate, earthy aroma long after they’ve been felled, so the study has always smelled as warm and inviting as it felt. Now, though, with the number of eyes that dart in your direction when the door opens, you’re uncomfortable.

The five of them sit at the heavy, ebony round table in the center of the room. Your father sits with his back to the window, his fingers steepled and his brow furrowed, papers strewn about in front of him. To his left sits your step-mother, a rare good day for her. She looks grim, but you get the sense that the pain she’s feeling may not be just her own. Namjoon takes a seat to her right. To your father’s left sits Jaesung, your father’s advisor and head of the armory for as long as you can remember. The look on his face is neutral, but you can see an anger behind his eyes. In nearly 30 years, you’ve never seen Jaesung angry. Beside him sits Seokjin, your elder step-brother, a fidgeting ball of nerves. 

“Come,” your father says gently, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”

You can feel a chill as you pass them all. Your step-mother, paralyzed by an unknown pain. Jaesung, poised for a war you don’t yet understand. And Seokjin, who refuses to look at you, even as you sit down beside him. 

It all makes you nervous.

Your father stands, the chair pushing out behind him as he leans forward, passing you the papers in front of him. It’s a letter, the wax seal on the envelope indicating it was sent from the Ironhold.

A letter from the king, you muse. What could he possibly want?

It’s no secret that there’s little love between your family–the Lins of Castle Blackwood–and the Chois in the Crownlands. The Chois have sat on the throne of Cotaria for hundreds of years, and the seat of the Crownlands for hundreds of years before that, and their customs have been around for just as long. They don’t like how your father rules the Westerlands, but there isn’t much they can do about it. The Lin family is far older and has had far longer to build ties, and you contribute more to the Crown’s stores than the Chois would care to admit. 

Your gaze falls to the letter in your hands, reading but not comprehending what it says. You fixate on certain words. Duty. King. Auspicious. Marriage. But no matter how many times you read it, no matter how long you stare at the neatly printed words in front of you, they don’t make sense.

The room is quiet. Too quiet. You don’t like how long it’s been since someone’s said something, don’t like how they watch you. Your mouth is dry, and it feels like you’ve tried to swallow a rock.

“This is real?” you manage, swallowing hard. When did your hands start shaking?

“I’m afraid so,” your father responds. His voice is soft, measured.

“And?”

“We did not ask for this.”

“And yet here we are.”

He sighs. “And yet here we are.”

You close your fist around the paper, crumpling it. Beside you, Seokjin jumps, startled. For the briefest of moments, you close your eyes.

Marriage to the king. A man you’d met once three years ago at his father’s funeral. He’d been miserable then, a spoiled brat too accustomed to getting his own way. You’d dreaded the funeral, dreaded being forced to interact with the young king, dreaded having to be pleasant to him. But you’d plastered on a smile and endured the funeral and feast. And now he wanted to take you away from your home, your family.

Your Yoongi.

You shake your head, forcing your thoughts back to your father’s study. You can’t think of him right now. “This,” you lift your fist, the letter still clutched tightly within. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“There’s always a choice,” Namjoon blurts, immediately shrinking back into his chair. 

Your father hums. “You can decline. Your brother is right.”

“Jaesung?” The man’s eyes snap to yours, and you’re struck by how similar they are to his son’s–dark, cat-like, ever-observant. “If I say no…?”

He takes a moment, his head bobbing back and forth as he weighs the options. “Chances of retaliation are high, yes.”

“We would weather it,” your father says. “Our family has endured far worse.”

“And if they strip us of our titles? Take away our home?” You toss the letter into the center of the table. “Either way, we lose.”

“So just tell him to fuck off,” Namjoon says. Your step-mother frowns, and immediately, he wilts under her gaze. “Sorry, mother. But you understand what I mean. If both options are bad, pick the best worst choice.”

You glance up, above your father, above the window behind him. The family crest hangs there, centered on the wall. A sea of blue with green chevron, golden thistle in the foreground. The Lin family words are engraved into the bottom: Loyalty does not yield. 

Loyalty. It’s been ingrained in you since birth. To family, duty, self. All three in tandem. Now, though, they’re pitted against each other. Your family against your own desires. Your desires against your duty. An impossible choice.

You make eye contact with your father across the table. He nods almost imperceptibly and sighs.

“The steward arrives tomorrow?” you ask softly.

Jaesung nods. “Letter said they would arrive the day after it did.”

“Okay.”

There’s precious little to discuss after that. Jaesung is the first to go, the war in his eyes more fierce than when you’d entered. He doesn’t look at you as he goes. Your stepmother leaves shortly after, walking around the table to you. Her hands find your shoulders, skin cold against yours. She gives a gentle squeeze and kisses the top of your head.

When she’s gone and the door is closed behind her, Namjoon erupts. “You realize how ridiculous this is, right?” he asks. It’s directed toward your father. “They would never dream of doing this to any of the other old families.” 

Seokjin sighs. “They couldn’t.” His voice is soft, but holds all the authority of older brother.

Ever insightful, your step-brother is right. The Lin family is the only one of the old families that allows for a female heir, and even then, your father had only married Seokjin and Namjoon’s mother after his first wife–your mother–had died. You’d been here first. In your father’s mind, you were the clear heir. It helps that Seokjin, older than you by one year, has never shown much interest in leading, and between you and Namjoon, you have always been more eager to learn everything. But because all of the other heirs of the old families are male, they will never be put in this position.

You stand. Your head hurts, and so does your heart. You don’t look at your father as you leave the study, too afraid of what you might see.

You’d intended to go to your chambers, but when you get to the staircase, instead of going up, you go down. Yoongi’s chamber is at the end of this wing of the castle, closest to the outer wall and the library tower. Over the years, you’ve probably spent just as much time there as you have in your own chambers. But this is the first time you’ve felt nervous standing at his door.

You knock. You almost never knock, but it feels weird barging in right now, when you’re standing on the precipice of a future so far in the opposite direction of what you’d been imagining. The door opens, and there he is, leaning casually against the heavy, blackwood door. You must be some sort of sight, because almost immediately, he frowns, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows.

“Jagi?” he asks, concern evident in his voice.

It’s all it takes. You surge forward, hands coming up to cup his face gently. It’s easy to fall into him, easy to lose yourself in his kiss. He lets you push him back into his room, shutting and locking the door behind you in one easy motion. 

He laughs a little as you kiss up his jaw. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You don’t answer. Right now, you just want to lose yourself in him. The room is not large, and you’re able to push him toward the bed in only a few steps. He pauses when his legs hit the edge of the goose feather mattress. Gently, you push and he falls backward, his hands on your waist pulling you down with him.

You hover over him for a moment, just holding his gaze, losing yourself in the dark eyes you’ve come to love so much. You wonder if he’s able to read the distress in your eyes–maybe he is, because he pulls you down in a kiss that leaves your mind spinning, as his hands tighten on your waist ever so slightly.

His tongue hesitantly darts out to meet your lips, and surprised, you pull away to meet his gaze again. His cheeks are slightly flushed pink, and his lips glisten prettily in the light of the sconce on the wall. 

You survey his features carefully, feeling your own cheeks turning red as you realize that you don’t want to stop. Not tonight. You want to be able to feel him at least once before you have to go. You bend down again to capture his lips in a languid kiss, welcoming his tongue against your own the moment he does it again.

You gently move your hands up his frame, burying them in his soft hair as he wraps his arms around you to pull you flush against him. You have half a thought that you’ll crush him, but you can’t bring yourself to care as his tongue awkwardly swipes at yours again, earning a breathy sound from you that you’ve never made before.

It startles both you and him, and you pull away from the kiss once more, meeting his gaze.

“What was that?” he asks, the flush on his cheeks having deepened from the prolonged kiss.

You find you can’t look at his eyes anymore, your own gaze sliding away. You laugh awkwardly. “I don’t know.”

He kisses your jaw to gain your attention again, but your eyes stubbornly stay away. That is, until he says, “It was cute.”

Your gaze shoots back to his. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me again,” he asks, and there’s something new in his tone. A desire you’ve never really seen, or maybe it’s just manifesting differently this time around.

Maybe he can feel the sense of urgency in the moment. But he doesn’t question you, just welcomes your lips against his the moment you kiss him again, unable to resist the pull of his gravity.

His hands move down your back, and hesitantly, he grazes his fingers over the curve of your ass, barely even touching. You feel electrified, like lightning is coursing through your bloodstream, and you bite on his bottom lip.

He grunts. He grunts and you know that there is no way you’ll stop now. Not when you sit back on his lap, hands resting on his chest to hold you up. Even through his linen shirt, you feel his heart beating wildly, echoing your own. 

And right where you’re perched, you feel the hint of his arousal, matching the arousal that’s slowly warming up your core.

You’ve touched each other before. It was awkward, neither of you really knew what you were doing, and you’d stopped, too afraid to get caught, too afraid of the consequences. 

Tonight though? You want to feel his skin on yours, want his warm breath to mingle with your own while you lay with him. So you grab his tunic, pushing it up until it reveals a small sliver of pale skin on his lower stomach. You look at it, admire it as if it’s art, and then you meet Yoongi’s gaze again.

“Can you take this off?” you ask, fingers shaking even though your voice holds firm.

He nods, sitting up so that he can remove the shirt. It brings him close to your face, and you can’t resist but kiss him again, molding your lips to his like it was always meant to be.

But not anymore. 

You push the thought away, wanting to focus on Yoongi, on this moment with him. You want to commit it to memory, to remember every plane of his body as he finally, slowly takes his shirt off, revealing more of his sculpted frame.

Being a knight has its advantages. And they show in the powerful build of Yoongi’s body, even though he’s a little more on the lean side. You gently rest on your hands on his chest, before gently caressing down, reveling in the feel of his warm skin under your fingers and palms.

He watches you, lips slightly parted, until your fingers graze the hem of his pants. But then he stops you, grabbing your hands in his.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs when your eyes meet his. “You really want to do this?”

You nod, breathing out a soft, “Yes.” You nod again, though your cheeks burn. “Yes, I want it. All of it.”

He gulps, eyes darting to your lips before going back to your gaze. “Can I take your corset off?”

The question sends your heart into overdrive, yet you agree, guiding his hands to the knot at the top of the corset. You notice his fingers shaking as he slowly starts untying it, much like your own fingers are trembling, and you let out a small chuckle.

It’s unexpected, and a little awkward, yet it feels right in this moment with him. He laughs lightly as he struggles, a sound that makes you feel like you could soar in the sky beside the ravens and falcons of the Blackwood. 

Maybe, if you could fly, you’d never have to go to the Ironhold.

Again, you push the thought away to focus on Yoongi’s fingers as they struggle with the laces. He curses under his breath, which makes you chuckle again.

“Let me help,” you tell him, and he begrudgingly lets you take the lead, the tip of his ears red.

You’re much more efficient, and soon enough, you’re able to undo the lacing and take off the stupid garmetn, leaving you in just your linen tunic. Yoongi runs his hands up your sides, dragging the fabric of your shirt up, and your breath hitches in your throat when he slides his hands under the fabric.

His fingers leave a trail of goosebumps on your skin, and he brings his hands up until he’s able to grab your breasts, squeezing lightly. He grunts softly again, and you feel something twitch under your lap.

“Yoongi,” you breathe out.

He doesn’t look at you, just keeps staring at the spot where his hands cover your breasts, hidden beneath your shirt. You take that as a cue to pull the fabric off, and you throw it to the side, to meet his own shirt where it fell to the floor.

Yoongi stares at your chest, eyes slightly widened, cheeks flushed, and his breathing is quicker than usual, as if he’s been sparring for a while. It makes you feel powerful to know that you’re the one with this effect on him, and you smile down at him when he finally meets your gaze again.

“You really are so beautiful,” he says again, as if in awe. 

You blush at the compliment, leaning down so that you can kiss him again. To your surprise, his hands leave your breasts to rest flat on your back, and you almost screech when he spins you around, until he’s lying on top of you. 

As he’s hovering over you, Yoongi stares down at you, chest moving fast from his quick inhales and exhales. 

“Sorry, my lady,” he apologizes at the look on your face.

You chuckle shyly. “Wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

He pecks your cheek, smiling against your skin. “I like taking you by surprise. Doesn’t happen often.”

You melt for him. Like the last snow under the spring sun, you melt for him. Your hand grip his biceps as he looks down at your perked nipples, and you feel like molten ore as he then traces his lips along your neck, down down down until he reaches the top of your breast.

He kisses there, once, before going lower, flicking your nipple with his tongue. When your hands wrap around his shoulders, he does it again, a little harder.

“Yoongi…”

His lips close around your nipple, and he sucks hard. You squirm at the foreign sensation, and Yoongi quickly meets your gaze, apologies written in his gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you immediately reassure him. “It just feels… strange.”

He nods once, and then looks at your nipple, now shimmering with his saliva. “Do you want me to do it again?”

You grab his face, pulling him up to kiss you instead. He doesn’t resist, and he sighs against your mouth as you run your hands through his hair. 

Yoongi is gentle. He always has been, but tonight he’s even more so, taking his time to take off your pants once you part from the kiss. He realizes that you’re still wearing your boots when your pants are around your calves, and he curses under his breath as he unties them and slides them off, while you laugh awkwardly, hiding your face behind your hands.

When he finally manages to take all of your clothes off, you look at him from behind your fingers, admiring how his eyes darken as he looks down at your pussy. You instinctively want to hide, to close your thighs together, and he quickly says, “Don’t… it’s…” he clears his throat. “You’re so pretty.”

Your hands fall away from your face, and you hold his gaze longingly, hoping that tonight will never end. That somewhere along the line, you’ll be able to stop time, so that you can dwell in an eternity of lying here with him.

But fantasies like that are works of fiction, and you can’t alter time. So when he stands to take off his own clothes, you quickly sit on the edge of the bed, helping him with his belt even though your hands feel clumsier than they usually are. Maybe because of the nerves wracking through you–it’s hard to tell, and you frankly don’t care.

Because this is Yoongi. Your Yoongi. You want this to be with him, a memory to treasure forever once you’re gone.

A few seconds later, Yoongi is out of his clothes too, and you think your heart stops in your chest at the sight of him.

You’ve never seen him fully naked like this. You’ve touched him, hands sliding in his pants to wrap around his length while you kissed. But you’ve never seen him, standing proud and tall and leaking precum just inches from your face.

It’s sinful, and you look up to meet his gaze as you hesitantly wrap your fingers around his cock, pumping quickly.

He winces, grabbing your wrist to stop you. “Not so fast,” he tells you gently.

You slow down, biting your lower lip, and then your eyes fall down the pretty expanse of his body until you’re watching what you’re doing so that you can do it properly.

Or at least, what you assume is proper.

Yoongi grunts softly as you jerk him off, hips thrusting forward instinctively once in a while. Something wet is pooling between your legs, and all you can do is look at him, at the tip leaking with precum. He’s rock hard under your fingers, rigid veins and velvety soft skin, and it makes your heart race in your chest with every swift motion of your wrist.

“Stop,” Yoongi lets out, sounding out of breath. “Or I… I won’t be able to do more.”

You let go of him, hand sheepishly falling in your lap. Yoongi sits next to you, and he gently pulls you closer. This kiss is softer, slowly, born of the love between you and him.

He pushes you down until you’re lying on the bed again and climbs on top of you. You spread your legs for him, wrapping them around his waist, which leads to the head of his cock rubbing against your entrance.

You let out a soft moan that has him pull away. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

You laugh. “No, you’ve barely touched me yet.”

He seems conflicted for a while, brows furrowing. “Should I touch you first?”

“I don’t… know,” you admit.

You both exchange a look, and Yoongi quirks an eyebrow before finally deciding for the two of you, kneeling between your legs. His eyes drop to your pussy once more, and he hesitantly brings a hand to the apex of your thighs. You stiffen, waiting for his touch, and the moment one of his fingers slides between your folds, a volcano erupts inside of you.

He slowly pushes in, stopping at the first knuckle to gauge your reaction. When you don’t give any sign of discomfort, he finishes pushing in, until most of his finger is swallowed by you.

“It’s so tight,” he says, but there’s barely any lust behind it. Just curiosity, which makes you laugh. He chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you. And then he starts moving his finger again. “How does it feel?”

“Strange,” you admit. “Good?”

Though you say it like a question, he nods. And he keeps at it for a while, slowly fingering you. The sensation is new but not unpleasant, the slow drag of his finger against your walls, the slight arch of it as he pushes in and out. It makes you want more, and you blindly grope for his cock, though your hand falls short and lands on his thigh instead.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“I think I want you.”

He stops moving his finger, before pulling it out to return to his previous position. Suddenly bold, Yoongi holds the base of his cock so that he can rub it on your pussy, and his lips parted as he looks down at you.

You moan softly, and he watches you for a moment, never pushing in. Once again, he asks, “You’re sure?”

You nod. “Please.”

It doesn’t take him more to push in, slowly. It hurts, and your face contorts in pain, which makes him stop between your legs.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, about to pull out.

“No, it’s…” You wrap your legs so tight around him that he can’t move. “They say it’s supposed to hurt. At first.”

“Oh?”

You shrug. You’d heard the handmaids gossiping, and after a while, you’d just accepted it as fact.

He nods once, before gently caressing your thighs. “Let me know if it’s too much.”

“I promise,” you whisper.

And though it really does hurt, you don’t stop him as he finishes pushing all the way in, stilling when he’s fully sheathed within you. There, he stops, leaning down so that he can kiss you again, his tongue dancing languidly with yours. You hold him close, bask in the feel of the weight of him on you as his hand finds your hip, his thumb caressing circles into your skin.

It takes a moment, but the pain slowly lessens until it turns into a numb sensation that you can almost entirely ignore. You nod. “I’m ready.”

He moves from your mouth to your neck, and he says against your skin, “I don’t know what to do.”

You hold him tighter. “Just move. I want to feel you.”

He nods, and then he pulls almost all the way out, before pushing in again. It still hurts, but when he does it again the pain is less, and by the tenth time you barely feel it anymore. 

You kiss his shoulder, and Yoongi sighs, his lips ghosting on the side of your neck before he decides to suck on it, and the sensation makes you moan again, your arms tightening around you.

“Jagi…”

“Yoongi,” you breathe out like an echo.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to last long,” he admits. “You feel… like silk.”

You nod. “It’s okay.” You kiss his shoulder again, before adding, “Do you think you can go faster?”

He stops moving for a time, meeting your gaze. His dark eyes are filled with intensity, with lust, passion and love for you. He kisses you gently, thumb brushing against your cheek, and then he increases his rhythm. 

Your words seem to unleash him, because the second you let out a small moan again, Yoongi starts going even faster, and the sound of skin against skin fills the room. Even though it feels strange, you let him do it, keep holding him close, and soon enough, pleasure starts to vibrate in you, ignited by every deep thrust.

It’s a little rough, a little clumsy, but Yoongi’s pace doesn’t falter. He grunts in your ear, and you instinctively dig your nails in the skin of his back.

That’s when he loses it. He stills deep inside of you, moaning softly, and you feel his cock twitch as he releases. You hold him through his high, gently caressing his back even though he’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat–you don’t care about it. It’s him, and you think you love all of him. 

You breathe in and out, slowly, as he’s still deep inside of you. When he turns his head towards you, you kiss him deeply, trying to pour all the love in your heart into the act, trying to let him know that forever and always, he’s the one that you’ll love.

Eventually, the kiss ends, the need for breath overcomes it, and Yoongi lies next to you. When he pulls out of you, you feel his warm seed dripping out, and you blush at the feeling, at the dirtiness of it, though you don’t think there’s anything purer than what just happened between you and him. So you put your head on his chest, molding yourself into his side, content just to lay with him.

It’s quiet, your mingled breathing and the sound of his heart under your ear the only noises in the room. You try to concentrate on everything, to commit it to memory. The warmth of his body, the gentleness of his touch, the stillness of everything. It’s electric, the way his fingers slowly ghost up and down your bare arm. He presses the gentlest of kisses to the crown of your head, and you have to force yourself to stay here, in this moment.

You aren’t sure what prompts it, but his arm tightens around you. “What’s wrong?” he hums, tilting his head so that he can better see your face. “Are you okay?”

Until this moment, you’d been doing well, keeping yourself together as your world shatters around you. But the concern in Yoongi’s voice, it breaks you. You don’t respond to him, merely bury your face in the bare skin of his shoulder and try to stitch yourself back together somehow.

For the two years you’d been together, when you pictured your future, it was this–it was him. You’d loved Yoongi for as long as you’d known what love was. Probably longer. He’d been your best friend, your staunchest rival, your biggest supporter. You’d spent more nights than you’d care to admit sitting on one of the castle balconies and complaining to him about your brothers, and you’d listened as he’d lamented the rigidity of his father. Losing him, being forced to walk away, it feels a little like you’re losing a part of yourself. The part that feels safe, the part that feels loved, the part that could take on anything so long as he’s there with you.

He holds you close as you fall apart, the only thing keeping you from entirely shattering. He’s basically silent, and you can’t help but think that he must be so confused, which only serves to crush you more.

“I’m sorry,” you manage finally, wiping your tears.

“What’s wrong, jagi?” Yoongi asks softly. “You’re worrying me.”

You sigh. “I have been given an impossible choice.”

He hums sympathetically. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.” 

His confidence almost spirals you back off the edge you’ve barely clawed yourself away from. But instead of breaking again, you reach up to cup his face. In the silence, you study him, trying to memorize all of him–soft, round cheeks; button nose; dark, feline eyes. He’s handsome in a gentle sort of way. Skilled in swordplay, with a mind to match.

“Not this time, I don’t think.” Where to start? Because you should start. You owe him that, at least, after appearing at his door, bedding him, and then dissolving into tears almost immediately after. “That letter father got earlier? It came from the Ironhold. As it happens, our darling king is looking to find himself a wife.”

He blanches, a frown immediately replacing the concern on his face. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

For the briefest of moments, he deflates, his head sinking deep into his silk and feather pillow. But then his arms snake firmly around you and he pulls you impossibly closer. He kisses the top of your head before nuzzling into your hair. You feel him breathe in deeply and hold it for a moment before he slowly exhales.

“I wish there was a way to get out of this,” you mumble into his chest. “But even your father said-”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I love you,” you say desperately. You know he knows, but you need to say it. 

“We’ll get through it,” he says again. “Somehow.”

You don’t sleep. You’re pretty sure that Yoongi doesn’t either. You can’t bring yourself to miss a minute, so you lay there, skin on skin, listening to his breathing and watching the moon out the window. The night is slow, but not nearly slow enough, and eventually, the sky begins to lighten.

“I should go pack,” you mumble softly, snuggling into him more.

His arm tightens around you as he hums. “Want help?”

“You don’t have to.”

“No,” he agrees. “But I’m not ready to let you go just yet. And if that means I have to help you pack, then I help you pack.”

You sigh, resting your chin on his chest so that you can look at him. “I don’t even know how much I’m allowed to bring.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He sounds so confident, but looking at him, you can tell it’s a front. His eyes have lost the sparkle they normally have, and the smile he’s wearing doesn’t go beyond his lips.

You stall for a few more moments, but force yourself to get up. He helps you find your clothes and you dress quickly before sneaking out into the hall. It’s still early, almost no one should be up yet, but you have to pass both Seokjin and Namjoon’s rooms to get to your own, and Namjoon is known for keeping strange hours.

Thankfully, this is not the first time you’ve made this journey, and you know just how to move to avoid making noise. You manage to unlatch the door to your chambers with only the slightest of sounds, and you and Yoongi sneak in. He helps you light the wall sconces and a few candles, and as your room lights up, you sigh.

You suppose you should pack on the lighter side. The king’s letter hadn’t said… anything, really, about what awaits you in the Ironhold, but you suspect that whatever you bring won’t be good enough. 

Yoongi helps you fill a trunk with clothes. Or rather, he handles everything, barely letting you do any of it. He folds each garment carefully, like it’s made of glass, choosing his favorite garments like a sommelier chooses wine. You can’t read his expression, can’t tell what he’s thinking, but there’s a cloud over his eyes, and you know he’s lost in thought. 

You leave him to it, figure that maybe this is something he needs to do, and busy yourself with gathering other things you want to take. A few books. A figurine of a duck your father had bought for you for your birthday as a child. Your favorite blanket. A drawing that one of the artists in town had done of your family–your father, your step-mother, Seokjin, Namjoon, and you. There’s one of you and Yoongi, too, that you tuck into one of your more boring books.

You aren’t quite sure when it happens, but you look up, and suddenly, it’s light out. A knock at your door pulls you out of the trance of going through your belongings. Yoongi’s closer, and he reaches out to open it before you can even say anything.

It’s Seokjin.

He stands there, looking a little sheepish, clutching a burlap bag. You aren’t sure if he’s nervous because Yoongi opened the door, or if he’s nervous just being there in general. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “Do you–am I interrupting something?”

You exchange a quick look with Yoongi, and he shakes his head. “I’ll be back soon, yeah?” he says to you. And when you nod, he leaves you and Seokjin alone.

For a few brief moments, it’s quiet. Seokjin wanders silently and mindlessly around your room, looking at your desk, a shelf, your bedside table. But then he sighs, and a pained look crosses his face.

“What have we done to get here?” His voice is quiet, tentative, like he doesn’t want to talk too loudly.

You shrug helplessly. “I wish I knew.”

“There’s one good thing to come of it, I suppose.” He sighs once again, and this time, it’s dramatic. “Now you’ll finally have a reason to be a royal pain in the ass.”

In any other situation, you may have laughed. The two of you aren’t strangers by any means, but you’ve always been closer with Namjoon. Seokjin has always been far more interested in the artisans in the forest town than what goes on in the castle. You wouldn’t begrudge him anything, but you also annoy the everloving hell out of each other. 

True siblings, your father had once proudly declared. You hadn’t always been quite as confident as he was, but the fact that Seokjin is here now… well, maybe you’re closer than you’d thought.

“I uh…” he starts awkwardly, sweeping his bangs out of his eyes before rubbing his neck. “Got you something to take with you.” He lifts up the bag, gesturing with it slightly before handing it to you.

Confused, you take it. The handle of the bag is rough, the burlap tightly woven for strength even though the contents aren’t particularly heavy. Looking in the bag, you pull out a box that’s about the width and length of a book. It’s made of blackwood, the inky black surface polished into glass. There’s a seam that splits it in half, and two golden hinges on the left side. The front of the box is engraved, a gilded thistle stands resolute against the darkness. You slide open the latch on the side and open it. The box is empty, but there’s enough room to store things.

“It’s very pretty,” you tell him, closing the box gently and slipping the latch back into place.

Gently, Seokjin takes the box out of your hands, and with both thumbs, pushes the leaves on either side of the thistle stem. There’s a quiet sound of sliding wood, and when he opens the box again, a panel inside has been moved, and suddenly, there’s more room. He closes the lid, presses the flower of the thistle, and the sliding happens again.

He pushes the box back into your hands, his eyes not leaving yours. You have questions, but the intensity of his gaze says enough.

“How?” you ask finally. You doubt he just had this lying around.

He shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I asked Haejeon to put a rush on it.”

You nod. Haejeon is one of the artisans in the forest town outside the castle walls. He makes games and trinkets. Your father has hired him many times to carve and build small ornaments out of blackwood, and he’s old enough to be your uncle, but when you were kids, he’d given Seokjin a puzzle box to play with, and ever since, your step-brother has been practically stuck to the man’s hip. Over the years, as Seokjin has gotten more and more interested in the creators and builders and artists, Haejeon has taken him under his wing in a way, offering guidance and friendship outside of the castle. 

“Thank him for me. Tell him it’s beautiful.” You hope to God you won’t have reason to use the secret compartment.

A noise outside the door draws your attention, and for a brief moment, Seokjin stares at the dark wood. But then he nods. “Probably Yoongi,” he says lightly. But when he smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll let you kids get back to it.”

But when he opens the door, it’s Namjoon that’s standing there. He’s still in his nightshirt, and a pair of warm, woolen pants hang a little crooked on his muscular legs.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be up,” he says from the doorway, looking completely past Seokjin. You motion for him to enter, but he shakes his head. “I don’t want to stay long, I’m sure you still have plenty to do.”

“Namjoon,” you scold, barely any bite in your tone. Easily, he gives in, taking a few tentative steps into the room.

“I brought you this.” He holds out a book in your direction.

It’s bound in plain leather, and is neither particularly large nor particularly small. The pages are old and yellowed. The front cover is entirely non-descript, the only real identifying feature to the outside simply the word ‘Lin’ stamped on the spine.

You open it, and immediately you recognize it as one of the handful of tomes from Castle Blackwood’s library that details your family history. Its handwritten pages go back thousands of years, back to when Seinal Lin first settled the Westerlands.

“I thought that maybe you’d want it. To tell them about us.”

He doesn’t have to say who he means. If this turns out the way most royal weddings do, you aren’t sure when you’ll see your family again. These people who have been your life and your heart for over two decades will more than likely be strangers to any children you may have. This history that Namjoon has given you is more than just a book. It’s a reminder of who you are. It’s a lifeline.

Suddenly, you feel like you’re breaking apart again, but you fight it off, pulling Namjoon into a tight hug. He makes a noise of surprise but after a second, his arms tighten around you. You stand there for a moment, unwilling to pull away, and soon, you feel another body press against your side. Seokjin’s arms wrap around you both, and now you couldn’t pull away, even if you wanted to. 

As quick as it came, the moment passes.

“We should let you get back to it,” Namjoon says softly, a hand still on your arm.

They both nod solemnly, and then, just like that, you’re alone.

The silence is unbearable, the soft crackling of the wall sconces deafening as you’re left alone with your thoughts. Thanks to Yoongi’s earlier efforts, your things are packed, so there isn’t much left to do. You pull out your desk chair and sit, picking up your quill and twirling it between your thumb and forefinger. Thoughts swirl in your mind, and you pick up a piece of parchment.

Once you start writing, you can’t stop, and the words flow out of you as quick as you can write them down. You’re mid-word when there’s a knock at your door, and you hurry to finish and sand the ink.

“Come in,” you call, blowing across the page to get rid of the sand and excess ink.

You have the parchment folded by the time the door opens. Your suspicions are confirmed when a dark head of hair pokes in. Yoongi. He enters slowly, almost silently, and sits on the edge of your bed, watching curiously as you hold a dark green wax stick, melting it with the flame of a candle. You press your seal into the warm wax, removing it quickly before it can stick. The thistle stamp glistens in the candlelight, the wax still soft. You leave it to dry and turn your attention to Yoongi.

His gaze follows your every move, dark eyes soft with fondness. You pretend not to see the redness and puffiness that accompanies it. Silently, he reaches out, catching your hand in his own to tug you toward him. His arms hook around your legs, keeping you close.

“Father asked me to tell you they’re close,” he says softly, a pained look crossing his face briefly. “Word was sent from the first guard post.”

You hum and nod, running your hands through his hair. He’s changed his clothes, but his hair’s still a little tousled from your earlier romp. There’s still some time–the first guard post is at the bottom of the mountain, where the forest is still a thin stand of trees–but suddenly, your heart is in your throat. It hadn’t felt real, not really, but now… You push his hair back off his forehead once again and swallow thickly in an attempt to hold yourself together.

“I love you.” It just kind of bubbles to the surface, quiet but necessary. 

He squeezes the back of your thigh, a soft, “I love you more,” on his lips. After another moment, he releases you. “You should change,” he says quietly, standing.

He’s almost to the door when you stop him. “Stay.” You aren’t sure why you say it, but he freezes in place. “Please,” you add. And, after a brief moment of consideration, he nods.

You dress quickly, pulling on a pair of trousers and a new tunic, barely checking to make sure they match. Yoongi helps you with your corset, his deft fingers having no trouble with the laces this time round. When he’s done, you pull him close, wrap your arms around him tightly.

You are determined to not let go of him until you have to.

“Hey,” he says softly, leaning back away from you ever so slightly. Your hands stay around his waist, but he brings his hands between you to tug at the ring on his littlest finger. Carefully, he pulls your hand away and places the ring in your palm, closing your fingers around it.

“What-?”

“Take this,” he says, squeezing your fist.

You inspect the ring. It’s funny, you’ve seen it before–you’ve played with his hands countless times, looked at it while it was on his finger–but it’s like this is the first time you’re actually seeing it. It’s silver, the flat face of it etched with a shield, a sword standing at attention in its center. On either side of the ring’s face, thistle flowers bloom along the band. 

“Yoongi,” you protest. You don’t want to take his signet ring. It’s the crest of the Min family, the ring serves as a seal to press into wax. He needs it.

He insists. “Keep it. Don’t wear it if you don’t want to, but I want you to have it. To remember.”

“As if I could forget.”

Yoongi smiles at that, a soft, somber smile that curves his lips but doesn’t meet his eyes. 

The quiet that settles is interrupted rather rudely by the door opening. A head of dark hair and Yoongi’s sharp eyes peer in at you. It’s Jaesung.

“Lord John asked me to fetch you both,” he says, and you can sense the anger barely concealed in his voice. “They’ll be here soon.”

Yoongi nods, but you can feel him let out a sigh. 

“Shall I grab your trunk?” Jaesung asks, gesturing to the now full case behind you. It’s probably heavy, but you nod anyway. You’ve seen him lift heavier before, and you trust him to know his limits. You pick up Seokjin’s box and press the leaves, slipping Yoongi’s ring into the compartment before shutting it back up and stashing the whole thing in your trunk.

Yoongi trails behind you, his fingers grasped loosely in your own as you slowly and begrudgingly make your way through the castle. The wall sconces have been extinguished and the shutters have been thrown open, bathing the stone hallways in morning light. Instead of taking the back stairs you did last night–the ones which go past Namjoon’s and Seokjin’s chambers down to Yoongi’s–you follow the plush carpet down the hall to the grand stairs. They curve around the main hall, criss-crossing from front to back.

You pause at the first landing, just above the grand entrance. Yoongi stops almost immediately, his head falling to one side in confusion.

“Take this,” you say softly, handing him the letter from earlier. 

“But-”

“Take it,” you insist, pressing it into his chest. “Don’t read it now. Give it a day or two. Please.”

Your eyes meet his, and silently, you plead with him. For a moment, he stands firm, his grip on your wrist tight. But then he relents, shoulders sagging, and nods. “Fine,” he says, taking the letter from your grasp and stuffing it into his pocket.

The heavy blackwood main doors of the castle are at least double your height, and they stand wide-open now. Your father and step-mother are in the courtyard, you can see them out by the centuries-old blackwood tree that stands sentinel in front of the castle. You’d spent many days of your childhood climbing its thick boughs, throwing seeds down to pelt Namjoon as he sat in the shade and read. Usually, the courtyard is bustling with people–from the castle, from the forest town, visitors–but now, aside from your father and step-mother, it’s completely empty.

“Stop pacing, love,” your step-mother says. She sits in a chair just to the left of the sentinel tree. She must not be feeling as well today. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I fear it’s too late for that, Sara, my dear” your father mumbles. And when he looks up, he sees you and Yoongi approaching. “Ah.” He outstretches an arm, beckoning you forward.

When you’re close enough, your step-mother grabs your free hand, enveloping it in her own. Her hands are cold, and there’s no real strength to her grip. Yoongi stands close behind you, his chest practically touching your back as you hold the gaze of your step-mother. 

“Brave girl,” she says softly. 

“The towers sent word ahead of time. The envoy is in a hurry to get back to the Ironhold,” your father tells you. He’s stopped his pacing and now stands beside your step-mother’s chair. “We wanted to have time to say goodbye.”

You frown. Already, the king is not making a good impression on you. Between the sudden letter and the incoming envoy that feels more like an abduction than a transport, you’re certain that this is the worst decision you’ve ever made in your life. And yet, as you look back and forth between your father and step-mother, as you hold Yoongi’s hand, you know it’s probably also–unfortunately–the right one. 

Your father comes forward, his big hands cupping your cheeks. “You are smart,” he tells you, voice low. “You are strong. You are kind. Give ‘em hell.” He kisses your forehead and lets you go, turning almost immediately and walking toward the castle entrance to watch the road. You don’t miss the glisten in his eyes.

Your step-mother pats your hand. “I don’t think he will ever let this go. The Ironhold may say they’re doing this for the good of our two families, but…” She sighs. “I fear they’ve made an enemy out of the west.” She meets your gaze again, honeyed dark eyes big and sad. “Don’t let them dull you.” 

Carefully, she reaches up and unpins a brooch from the front of her dress. It’s beautiful–you’ve admired it since you were a kid. A mother-of-pearl thistle blossom inset into an oval of ebony blackwood. She stands, a little unsteadily at first, and you reach out to help her gain her balance. Without looking up, she pins the brooch to your tunic, right over your heart.

You hear the hoofbeats before you see the envoy, the clattering of a carriage and several horses enough to draw anyone’s attention. Jaesung arrives just in time; he and Namjoon place your trunk just under the tree beside your step-mother’s chair. Like a spectre, Seokjin appears to your left. They all huddle closer when the first horse appears at the gates.

It’s not really that large of a traveling party–two men on horseback, a carriage with its driver, and a supply wagon–but the sight of it has your stomach churning all the same. You’re glad you didn’t take time for breakfast, or you might actually be sick. Yoongi presses closer, your entwined hands hidden behind your back.

One of the riders dismounts–you assume the steward–and approaches your father. They shake hands, and you can see the man’s gaze flick to you as they talk. Yoongi squeezes your hand. After a moment, they come closer. Your father’s face is grave, almost ashen, as he gestures for you.

The whole exchange is silent. You dare not look at Yoongi, too afraid that if you do, you’ll falter or worse. But as you step forward, he refuses to let go of your hand. Only until you’re physically too far away does he loosen his grip, and as soon as his fingers are out of your grasp, you miss him. 

Your trunk gets moved to the carriage. The steward shakes your father’s hand again. Namjoon hugs you. Seokjin kisses your forehead. You’re passed around your father and step-mother and Jaesung. You refuse to look at Yoongi. And then it’s over. And you have nothing left to do but get in the carriage.   

The inside of the carriage looks lavish, with soft velvet covering the bench and luxurious curtains covering the windows. But when you actually get in, the bench is hard, and the fabric over the windows leaves the carriage dark and confining. It’s impossible to see out, but you do your best, pulling the fabric away from the window and shoving your face against the wood of  the wall. 

They stand there, everyone you hold close, clumped together. The carriage jolts forward, and even though they can’t see you, you wave. Yoongi is the only one that lifts his hand, and you hold his gaze until the carriage enters the forest town and you can no longer see him. 

Your heart hurts, and somewhere, deep inside your soul, you feel something breaking.

prev. | masterlist | next

your support means a whole lot, especially now when I'm low on energy and time. grad school is hell, but I wanted to post this to give us both some joy. please let me know your thoughts. I hope to finish this sometime this century, so please look forward to the next two parts!

[supercoolhotgirl]

rice purity (pt 2) - lip gallagher

hey sexy people. here is a fun little surprise. thanks to abbi and izzie for motivating me.

NOTES: smut, lip x reader, fingering, teasing, piv sex, woo wooooo!!!!

———————————————————————

“can i kiss you?”

he was looking into my eyes with such intensity i thought i might burst into flames. i’m not entirely sure how i got the words out. “yes,”

it came out more of a whisper than a real word, but it was all he needed. his hand already on my cheek, i watched him smile inches from my face and then close his eyes. i followed suit, tilting my head ever so slightly to the right.

his lips pressed against mine slowly, and i could feel his breath on my tongue. i sifted my hands through his hair, tugging softly as he pulled back. “was that okay?”

i laughed.

“what? what’s so funny?” he looked genuinely concerned.

“feel my fucking heartbeat, lip,” i took his hand and put it against my bare chest, right above my heart. he watched me move his hand, a blush rising in his cheeks.

“jesus,” he said, his eyes meeting mine again. “if that’s all from one kiss…” he trailed off, a glint in his eye as a mischievous smile played on his face.

“shut up and kiss me again, gallagher.” i said, leaning back into him. this kiss was bigger, messier. more passionate. he was testing the bounds i supposed, seeing how far he could go until i told him to stop. he kept kissing me, his hand never moving from my chest.

he pulled back slightly as i went in, drawing me to him without actually kissing me. torture. i opened my eyes to see him and his shit faced grin. he went back in, this time pulling me by the legs towards him so i was even closer to his body.

the kisses were turning intense, feverish even. his tongue was playing tricks on my lips, moving in ways jack dawson certainly couldn’t. i was panting, and i felt him pull away as i caught my breath. he moved in towards me, grazing my neck with his tongue.

i shivered in his lap, and he laughed into my skin. “a little jumpy, are we?”

the gravel in his voice made my heart skip. he began kissing my neck, sucking and licking and nipping right below my ear. “fuck, lip…” i groaned, my nails slipping over his neck and jaw, anywhere i could reach him.

“mm what’s that?” he asked. “you want another hickey to match the first?”

i nod ungraciously, unable to form words. my breathing sharp and raspy, i let him kiss everywhere he could possibly touch on my neck, then slowly lick from my chin up the side of my jaw to my ear.

i opened my eyes in shock as he gave me a little nip on my earlobe. i could feel his smile. i pushed him away from my neck and stared at him.

“okay?” he said.

“very,” i told him, grinning.

“why’d you stop me?”

“i need to make sure your heart’s going as fast as mine.”

i put my hand over his heart, and sure enough, it was racing.

“you know, i don’t think you can feel it well enough,” lip said, returning my smile.

“whatever shall i do?” i teased.

he leaned in to my ear. “i think you know.”

i exhaled at his words, then slowly gripped the hem of his t-shirt and began to pull. i got it over his head and threw it unceremoniously to a corner of the room, ravishing his torso with my eyes.

he grabbed my chin lightly and tilted it up towards his face. “eyes up here,” he said, mocking offense.

“not today,” i said, before slipping off the couch and onto the ground before him. i raised myself on my knees and looked up at him.

he sat up like a shot. “no way in hell i’m letting you go down on me before i’ve gone down on you.”

i pretended his words didn’t strike something animal in me. “bold of you to assume that’s what i was about to do, lip.”

he widened his eyes and leaned back into the couch. “carry on, then,” he said.

i sat up straighter and put my hands on his hips. i looked into his eyes and began to lick a line from below his belly button all the way to his neck, not breaking eye contact once. i continued, feeling his body tense every time i hit a sensitive spot on his abdomen.

when i got to his neck, i licked up his chin and into his mouth, feeling him lean into me and pull me up to him. he yanked me onto his lap, my knees straddling him as he panted.

he pulled me in tighter, kissing my neck and pulling back. “god i can’t be close enough to you,” another kiss. “i want to be everywhere inside of you.” i made a noise that was somewhere between a moan and a laugh and started to grind on him. his obvious hardon was not giving me anywhere near enough friction through his jeans and mine.

lip suddenly got off the couch and yanked his pants down, kicking them to the side of the room.

i stared stared up at him, mouth slightly open. “what the fuck are you waiting for?” he asked, gesturing for me to get up. “take your fucking pants off!!”

“jesus,” i said, scrambling to get off the couch. “didn’t know you were so needy.”

“really? you didn’t?”

he sat back down on the couch and lifted me by the thighs to straddle him again. “you didn’t know i’ve wanted you for years?” i ground against him, his words conjuring memories. “didn’t know i’ve touched myself thinking about you almost every night?”

“fuck, lip…” i moaned, putting my hands around his neck as he guided my hips against him.

“you didn’t know how much i’ve wanted to fuck you on this couch every time we’ve hung out in here?”

now i was really grinding, his dick perfectly hitting my clit through our underwear. my mouth slightly open, i leaned closer into his face, letting him take over.

“how much i’ve wanted to make you cum? watch you cum?”

i moaned at his words, my stomach burning. “then shut up and make me,” i said, hoping he really would.

“mm mm,” he said. i could feel him shake his head and kiss me quickly. he lifted my bra over my head and leaned in, licking my nipple lightly as i pleaded for him to do more. he obliged, sucking and giving me a little bite, enough for me to jump in his lap.

then everything stopped, his hands stilling my hips.

“what the fuck?” i said. “i was about to cum.”

“aw. poor poor girl,” lip pouted. he rolled his eyes. “i’m gonna make you cum. calm down.”

“doubtful,” i teased.

“sorry? what was that??” he feigned, putting a hand behind his ear.

“oh, i just said go right ahead. i have full confidence.”

“turn around,” lip said, making me get up and turn, then sit back down on his lap, my back facing him. i put my arms around him, leaned back, and kissed his jaw. he placed a soft finger below my belly button, trailing it up to my ribcage. i thought he’d finally start touching me when he shook his head again. “go get the mirror.”

he was pointing to the old full length mirror i’d had for years. it had polaroids of us tacked on the sides, but besides the dust on the edges it was still in pretty good condition.

i groaned and got up again, taking the mirror and asking him with my eyes where he wanted it. he pointed to the space directly in front of him, and i realized.

“you are one sick fuck, you know that?” i said, sitting back down on his lap.

“why, because i want you to watch yourself cum?”

“yes. that is exactly why.”

he rubs his palms gently across my thighs, laying his head on my shoulder. “don’t pretend you’re not turned on by the idea,” he whispered in my ear. “that it doesn’t make you soaked.”

i shivered. “can you touch me already?”

he shrugged, bringing a finger around and down to my underwear. “i suppose.”

i rolled my eyes but let my head fall back against his chest as he pressed his index against my clit through my underwear. “lip,” i begged. “don’t be a fucking tease.”

he pressed harder, rubbing in circles through the layer. i let out a breathy sigh, but it wasn’t enough. i raised my arm to his neck. “more,” i asked, gripping his face.

“like,” he said, pausing as his hand crept inside my underwear and he slid a finger through the slick. “this?”

i nodded breathlessly, waiting for him to finish what he’d started. he moved two fingers slightly inside of me, collecting everything he’d given me.

“knew you’d be so fucking wet for me.”

“you’re awfully cocky for someone who hasn’t even made me cum yet.” i said with a gasp as he finally touched my clit.

“wanna say that again?” he drew slow circles on me, pressing slightly to make it even better.

“just like that,” i whined, squeezing my eyes shut.

“nuh uh. open your eyes,” lip scolded, stopping his hand until i opened my eyes. “look at yourself. fucking gorgeous, letting me play with your pretty pussy.”

i moaned, reaching back to tangle my hands in lip’s hair. he leaned into my neck, sucking and biting and kissing everywhere he could reach. i tugged on his hair and he let out a soft moan. “you like that, gallagher?”

i did it again, taking notice of the sounds eliciting from his mouth against my neck. his finger faltered on my clit and he grabbed my hands from his hair. “don’t. cant focus when you do that.”

i let out a breathless laugh, then a gasp when he added another finger against my center. “so fucking good, lip.”

“this how you do it when you’re alone? you touch yourself and think about all the things i could do to you?” i nodded, breathless. “tell me what you think about.”

i let out a shaky gasp, his fingers slowing down and lightly grazing my clit, making me shiver.

“think about you. just like this, fingering me on your couch,” i start, watching him smile deviously in the mirror. “always imagine they’re your fingers making me feel good.”

“yeah i bet you fuckin do,” lip growled, speeding up against my clit once again.

“fuck!” i moaned, the pressure of his fingers perfectly making my center light up. “lip, i’m so fucking close.” i whimpered, arching my back to get away from his fingers.

he pushed my hips down with his free hand, pressing a bit harder on my clit and rubbing in perfect circles. “then take it. don’t try to run from it, gorgeous.”

i nodded against his back, watching him play with my clit in the mirror, loving the look of pure hunger on his face. “just let it go. cum on my fingers, baby.”

just like that, i snap, my eyes squeezing shut as i contract around air, lip still pressing against my clit and sending me into waves of pleasure. i shake against his back as he whispers in my ear.

“keep going. so pretty, baby. so good for me, cumming on my fingers.”

i try to recenter myself but lip keeps pressing lightly on my clit, making me jump. “lip—i can’t— can’t take anymore.”

“that’s too bad. because i’m not nearly done with you. haven’t even gotten inside you and you’re already fucked out.”

i let my head lean against his chest as he runs his fingers through my cum, collecting it on his hand. he brings it up to my chest, smearing it on my nipples and pinching them lightly.

lip fully picks me up and turns me around on his lap, and i jerk every time my clit brushes his boxers. “so sensitive.” he teases with a grin. he keeps eye contact with me as he leans against my chest and licks my nipple, sucking off all the cum he’d put there. he pulls back with a nip, groaning. “taste so fucking sweet. cant get enough.”

i smile bashfully as he goes back in, letting out a moan as i involuntarily rut my hips against his, pressuring my already sensitive clit.

lip inches his hand down to my waist, softly tracing my skin as i away against him.

“think you can give me another one?”

i nod. “wanna be good for you.”

he looks surprised. “is this a new kink i’ve never known about?”

i shove his face away playfully. “it’s new to me, too.” i confess.

“what, you don’t moan into your pillow that you wanna be my good girl?”

i feel heat rising in my cheeks.

“forgot to tell you. remember two weeks ago when you texted me to come over? i guess you forgot. cause when i got there, you were fucking yourself on your pillow.”

my eyes widened, becoming embarrassed that lip had seen me in that state, rutting desperately against my pillow and probably crying out for him.

“you made me so fucking hard. all i wanted was to go in there and fuck you like you deserved.”

i peered at him with wide eyes. “what was i saying?” i almost didn’t want to know.

“something about how much you wanted me to fuck you. how you wanted to be a good girl, the best girl for me.”

oh fuck. “it’s true.” i whispered.

“well then here’s what’s going to happen,” lip says softly, giving me a kiss to my collarbone. “you’re gonna ride my fingers until you cum. tell me just how you like it. show me. i just wanna make my good girl feel good.”

i swallow. “i’ve never…” i start, unable to finish.

“never what?”

“never gone inside. i don’t really know what i like.”

he grinned. “i guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”

i bit my lip.

his fingers found my entrance, lightly teasing me as he looked into my eyes. “i’m good. please just do it,” i said, thirsty.

he grinned, sliding one finger into me slowly. i groaned at the sensation, simply an intrusion at that point. i felt the rest of his hand against my clit, providing some relief.

“you move whenever you want to.” lip told me.

i nodded, then started to grind. as soon as i started moving, discomfort turned to pleasure. lip’s finger perfectly filling me up and hitting spots i couldn’t reach myself, his hand pressing against my clit deliciously.

“fuck…” i moaned, moving slowly against him.

“that feel good, princess?”

i nodded, too deep in pleasure to articulate real words.

i sped up, rutting against him as he hit every spot inside of me perfectly.

“just like that. fuck my fingers like you fuck your pillow, baby. be so good for me.”

i kept going, speeding up and lifting myself slightly up and then back down onto his finger. but it wasn’t enough.

“want— want another one.”

“dirty girl. one isn’t enough for you?”

i shook my head.

“whatever you want, gorgeous.”

i groaned as lip slid his finger out and slowly put two back in, filling me even further to the brim.

“fuck..!” i groaned, unable to compute with the fullness. “want—want you to fuck me after this.” i said.

he laughed as i rutted desperately against his fingers. “we’ll see.”

i sped up my motions, absolutely needing the friction everywhere. lip groaned at my swaying, reaching to my chest and licking at my nipple. that just about pushed me over the edge.

“lip— oh my fucking god—“

he hummed against my nipple, the vibrations sending shock through my body until i came again, squeezing my eyes tight and seeing white as waves of pleasure washed over me.

i leaned my head against his chest as i came, jerking slightly as my whole body tensed up.

“so perfect for me. so fucking perfect.”

i panted as i leaned back, lip’s fingers still filling me deliciously. he moved them slightly and i jumped a bit.

“too much,” i whined.

“too much? i haven’t even started.” lip said mischievously. “lift up?”

i did, watching lip pull his fingers out of my cunt and up to his lips. he stared into my eyes and licked them absolutely clean, never breaking eye contact. it made my body heat up even more.

i guess two orgasms made me confident. i leaned against his chest and whispered into his ear. “i want you. want your cock. cant stop thinking about how good it’ll feel.”

i could feel his heartbeat quicken as i kissed his ear and neck, leaving a hickey to rival mine. he started to grind against me, pulling my hips down to match his movements.

his boner immediately brushed against my clit, leaving me moaning against his neck. “cant— cant do more of this. i need you.”

“what, you don’t want another one just like this?”

i shook my head and pouted.

“you know what i think?” lip started, leaning in to kiss my neck. “i think you’re already cockdrunk and i haven’t even fucked you yet.” another kiss. “we’ll have to work on that, won’t we?”

i nodded as he kept working on my neck, teasing and teasing and teasing.

“think you’re ready?” lip asked, serious concern on his face. “because i could happily keep doing this, watching you cum over and over…”

i nodded. “yeah. i’m ready. and i want it to be you.” i made a motion to get up and move to the bed, but lip pressed my hips down onto his.

“absolutely not. i’m gonna fucking ruin you on this couch so it’s burned into your memory. so every time you come over, it’ll just be me and my fingers and my tongue how good i made you feel.”

i shivered.

he made a move to flip me over, but i stopped him. “wanna ride you.”

his eyes went wide. “you’re sure?”

i nodded, slipping off of his lap to slide his boxers off his legs. his dick sprung out, long and incredibly hard. i moved back up and kissed the tip before letting him out on a condom.

“how gentlemanly.” i said, sitting back down on his lap. i felt him tense as my bare cunt touched him, the wetness surely making it difficult for him to stay still.

i slowly slid myself onto him, being sure not to go too fast for my own good. he just kept looking into my eyes and nodding slowly, making sure i was okay. he was bottomed out when i spoke.

“can i move? i’m so fucking wet it hurts.”

he nodded frantically. “please. fuck, yes. you feel so fucking good.”

i wrapped my arms around his neck and started to grind, immediately letting out a moan in sync with his. his chest rose and fell rapidly, his hands both around my waist to help me move.

i went faster, cherishing the sounds that were coming from between us.

“you hear that? so fucking wet. so perfect.” lip groaned, moving my hips in time.

i tilted my head back and sped up, my clit rubbing against his skin and tightening the coil in my stomach.

lip started to lift me full up and slide me back down, letting both of us feel it to the fullest extent. i couldn’t keep quiet, letting out moans that i’d never even heard from myself before.

lip’s sounds were heaven, every time he groaned i found myself closer and closer to the edge.

“you fit me so perfectly, baby. like a fucking glove.”

“lip—“

“i know. i can feel it. it’s okay. come for me, right on my cock. i wanna feel you all over me.”

i slammed down on his hips once more before sending my body into shock, my eyes immediately shutting and body tightening as my orgasm broke loose, haywiring every nerve in my body.

that didn’t stop lip. in fact, i think it spurred him on. he kept thrusting into me as i came, whispering out obscenities as i squeezed around him.

“fuck, baby. so good for me.” he said as he slowed down, letting me come down a bit.

“one more. you can take it. i know you can. my tough girl.”

he picked me up and laid me across the arm of the couch, then positioned himself to slide right back in. i moaned out at the new position, feeling so incredibly full. i felt obscene, full to the brim and completely dizzy.

“you like this? feel so fucking dirty, taking it from the back?”

i nodded, and lip started thrusting slowly. he pulled up my body by my chest and held me close to him, his front to my back. i reached back to comb through his hair, and that did it. he was keeping one hand on my hips, and the other reached around to circle my clit. without warning, another orgasm hit me full in the face and made my body collapse.

i squeezed against lip’s cock and felt him twitch. “fuck. gonna come, gorgeous” he moaned breathlessly.

i barely got out the words through my haze. “please.”

just like that i felt him cum, deeply and fully inside of me. he let out an absolutely obscene groan, one from my dreams, and continued to slowly thrust against me to ride it out. at this point i was completely limp against his body, the only thing keeping me up being his one arm wrapped around my chest.

he was panting as he pulled out of me and helped me down onto my back. i reached out for him, my arms outstretched. he laid down behind me and wrapped his arms around me, pulling a blanket over the both of us.

“fuck.” i said softly.

“so it was better than jack dawson?”

i laughed. “than his one kiss? yes.”

it was silent for a lovely moment.

“hey, i know you’re not exactly an expert at this,” lip started before i rolled my eyes. “but you’re actually supposed to pee after sex.”

“jesus, lip. you just made me cum four times and now you’re coaching me on my health?”

“yes. yep. that is exactly what i’m doing.”

“god. i’ll get up in a minute.”

he stroked my hair as we layed in silence.

“i don’t think i’ll be able to walk tomorrow.” i sighed.

“obvious solution is stay the night. then you won’t even have to walk tomorrow.”

i sighed. “i suppose.”

“hey. how many things can you cross off the list now?”

“oh god. i totally forgot. is that really how this started?”

“mm mm.” lip shook his head. “this started way before today. and you know it. all those goddamn glances, the comments, the little touches. i’ve wanted this for so long.”

i turned over and curled up into his chest.

“me too.”

[sspookyspoonss]

I watched the fnaf film today (Britain moment) and omg I loved it.

Spoiler free review:

The plot is not revolutionary, it’s what you’d expect. Fun rather than scary. Definitely a film for fans (and one they will love, I have never heard a cinema react more than with this film nor have I had such a blast watching one).

Now for spoilers. I just need to collect my thoughts somewhere so this may be a complete mess but I don’t care, I’m just so happy.

Characters:

Mike and Abbey: They had a good dynamic. I was a bit concerned with how annoying Abbey was at the start but she ended up really adorable. The initial bratty behaviour really helps build our relationship with Mike. I also like how she just acts like a kid, she gets excited when she sees cool animatronic animals and reacts as you would expect when she thinks her aunt is gonna take her away. I really liked her which surprised me honestly.

Congratulations to Mike Schmidt for having common sense and communication skills. This man actually accepts what’s going on and rolls with it and this is definitely to the films benefit seeing as we know what’s up with the animatronics. Also, instead of going ‘oh no my sister is drawing stuff I see in my dreams guess I’ll look concerned about it’ he actually sits her down and talks it out which I really appreciated. I genuinely felt awful for Mike, the guy clearly has it rough and still is struggling due to his brothers murder. The scene where he sees what he could have had was genuinely touching and made me really feel for the guy. I think he was a solid protagonist.

Vanessa was cool, a fun character but not explored too extensively. She’s Williams daughter and knows exactly what’s going on at Freddy’s (possessions, bodies in suits and all) and has kept quiet due to William’s abuse. This is stated right at the end of the film and her having some history with Freddy’s is hinted at throughout. My non-fnaf friends missed that William’s abuse is why she never did anything because it was only stated in like at a push two lines and never shown in a flashback. This was a bit of a shame as it would’ve characterised her and William more and added to the sympathy we felt for her because she is still hiding that 5 kids bodies are in the animatronics while on the police force. Other than that I loved her childlike excitement when with Abbey and building the fort but also that she clearly had some deeper trauma related to Freddy’s.

William Afton: That Spring Bonnie entrance HOLY SHIT. The Silver Eyes! Genuinely the best shot in the film, it was creepy and so cool from a fan perspective, the cinema was hyped. From the get go when he’s in Steve Raglan mode and is describing Freddy’s, Matthew Lillard is nailing it. You immediately get that this is a sick man who is getting so much glee out of describing this place and knowing he’s getting another victim out of this whole thing. When he appears again at the end and taunts Vanessa it is again amazing characterisation, really sells that this guy is just an awful abusive plank. The way he shouts and kicks Mike, while a tad goofy because animal costume, was another great character moment, the sick joy he’s clearly getting from torturing Mike is evident from the line delivery. We also get a glimpse of why he does it, degrading the animatronics as they surround him and taunting them that he made them like that to hold on to the feeling of power he gets from his murders. Like I said before, I would’ve liked some content of him and Vanessa when she was younger to flesh that dynamic out more, but overall I loved the portrayal. It is all that I thought William Afton would be, a cruel egomaniac with no remorse and a God complex. The moments we got of him were highlights.

Golden Freddy/vengeful spirit kid: Another great character lifted from the games. From what we know of Cassidy, boy does he live up to vengeful. Very cold and downright manipulative towards Mike in the nightmare scenes where they interact directly. The bit at the end where he stands staring a William dying in the suit was just fantastic and a great nod to UCN.

The aunt: She does her job, you hate her and makes you root for Mike but beyond that nothing noteworthy.

Moments in the film:

Cold Open: It was very exciting. Great to see the animatronics in action. The acknowledgement of the 2nd and 3rd games vent mechanics where also cool. Probably the most downright scary it gets.

Opening credits: An amazingly animated scene which explained the backstory and paid homage to the 8-bit mini games of the series. We also got our purple guy actually purpling. It was very cool to finally see the actual luring in some form in official media. A lovely mini tribute to a core aspect of the games.

The Foxy runs: Yes they did it 3 times. Lazy? Maybe. But did it have me giggling like a schoolgirl each time? Absolutely. The humming ripped from the game made me smile like a child on Christmas the first time I heard it. The second run was fantastically shot. Seeing him at the end of the hall and cutting to a close up shot/jumpscare was great, up there with one of the best moments for me personally.

The break in: WAS THAT THE BITE OF ‘87?!? Freddy bit that woman fully in half and it was incredible, probably the scariest the film gets. There is only so scary you can really make the animatronics outside of the game setting so it wasn’t especially scary outside the previously mentioned bite. I was just smiling the whole time while these people were getting murdered because I have waited for 7 years to see this stuff happen on the big screen. Is the cupcake (which is used multiple times) goofy? Yes. But boy does it do some damage (that poor man’s face) and is a fun Nightmare Chica bedroom jumpscare nod.

Seeing the endo’s: Just wow, it looked so good.

They build a fort: The animatronics just join forces with the main character about half way though and build a fucking den in the middle of the Pizzeria. It was very funny and plain good fun. Bonnie fell over which was very dumb but in the charming way. It’s nice to see the film acknowledge that these are children haunting the suits, of course they’re gonna want to do dumb kiddish stuff like this given the chance. Not what I was expecting at all but Freddy Fazbear held a chair so my life is now somehow complete.

The weird ghost attack: Jeez Mike goes through it from those ghost kids. I’m glad they did it that rather than having him get beaten up by robot suits. But boy does he get it rough, properly gets beaten up.

Golden Freddy in Mike’s house: Pretty cool. Again vengeful spirit does a lot of the lifting on the scary part but God is Golden Freddy’s design cool. Genuinely one of my favourite renditions of the character design wise. It’s unfortunate we never got to see him slumped over.

The explanation to why the ghost are attacking: This wasn’t explained great. Basically, William is somehow manipulating the kids since they don’t remember anything however we only I get an ‘I don’t know how he does it but he does’ from Vanessa which isn’t very satisfying. That said I’m not sure how else the film could’ve explained it. The whole ‘show them what really happened’ hardly made any sense apart from the ‘kids learn through pictures’ stuff given at the beginning.

Saving Abbey: Not scary, but the animatronics are cool and the Freddy snapping over in Mike’s direction was awesome. However, overall the final act wasn’t the strongest aside from the few minutes William showed up.

The Springlocks: It. Happened. Was it overly gory? No. No screaming in agony either. But it was so cool to see it happen. I know others will probably be disappointed with it but I honestly felt it was completed by the later scene where William is still dying in the suit and reaching out for Cassidy to help him. Basically it wasn’t as extreme as what everyone hoped for (basically that amazing fan audio that I don’t know where comes from) but it was still great to see. I also liked how the animatronics dragged him off while he writhed, though the writhing was subtle due to how bulky the suit was.

‘I always come back’: This got cheers and was good to hear. My initial reaction was that it felt forced because he says it as he puts the suit head back on as he dies but my non-FNaF friend had a different perspective which made me kind of like it. He thought it was him saying ‘I’ve always been come back and have been using you to hurt others and you didn’t realise,’ as a final taunt in line with his previous ones. It made me think about it more and I think I get the intention now. I think he was declaring that the ‘yellow rabbit’ that killed them will reappear to hurt them again because even if they kill him, he knows he will come back because he will possess the suit like the children have. In putting the suit on he’s just making sure he can haunt and hurt them longer. So yeah, with some deeper thought, I quite like this moment, it makes the agony of he’s in in the following scene with Cassidy more karmic, he might still be able to come back now but GOD is he suffering for it.

The credits: WE WON. They played The Living Tombstone! First two notes and the cinema erupted, I’ve never heard anything like it when watching a film, not even with Avengers: Endgame way back when, you could tell everyone was elated. The waves of nostalgia! I was smiling and dancing in my chair and my non-FNaF friends will probably never let me live it down. I cannot describe how good it felt to hear that song, felt like my childhood was completed.

References:

These are the ones I noticed on a first viewing-

Right off the bat the book with ‘Dream Theory’ plastered on the front made me chuckle and immediately made me know that I was gonna have a blast watching this.

Chica’s Magic Rainbow as a ice cream shop(?) logo was a fun little nod to fnaf world that I’m glad was put in.

The ‘It’s Me’ in the mirror.

The Foxy kid screamed and had black inky tears out of his eyes which is a double whammy reference for the ghost children designs in games and also remnant (a concept which goes unmentioned).

Rouge blurry Bonnie plush in a shot was fun.

Fnaf 1 poster in the office.

The infamous box in parts and service.

Bad Chica Halloween costume mask.

Abbey hiding in the Ballpit being an ‘Into the Pit’ book reference.

Balloon boy of all characters unironically having the most startling jumpscares in the entire film.

The Springlock suit that they tried putting Abbey in was Baby, her design from the books, more precisely the design off of the 3rd ‘Fazbear Frights’ book which made me slightly giddy. It looked REALLY cool as a suit regardless of if it was a reference.

The ‘Save Them’ at the end of the credits: Holy hell my jaw hit the floor, such a fun treat for staying right the way through them.

Cameos:

CoryxKenshin: We already knew about the first one but he appears mid credits and gets Balloon Boy-ed which was very funny.

MatPat: The cinema went mad, properly shouting with excitement. Apparently he had a ‘that’s just a theory’ reference in the line he said but everyone was cheering too loud so I couldn’t hear it. It made me very happy he was there considering he’d played it like he wasn’t asked.

The fnaf YouTubers on the wall: Don’t think you got a good look at it so you wouldn’t know if you hadn’t already heard it was a thing.

To conclude:

Overall it was a film I really enjoyed, just a blast to watch that, while flawed in places, made me smile, laugh and excited point like an idiot at the screen. Films are allowed to be dumb fun and this is one of them, especially for a fnaf fan. I love this film and I don’t care what anyone says because it is 2 hours of my childhood.

[mrsjavierp]

Where You Belong?

Chapter 7 - Torture

Javier Peña x latin!f!reader

Summary: Running away from life as you always knew to start a new position as Head Chief on a DEA Office, far away, on Colombia. There, you'll face violence, as you never thought you could. There, you'll meet Javier Peña, your stubborn agent...

Warnings (to the whole fic): +18!, angst, smut, cheating, last relationships, drug dealing - Narcos Universe (not so accurate), bad spanish, english is my second language, use of Y/N and Y/LN. No physical description of the reader, only your clothes (sometimes). The POVs are shifting between reader (first person and Narrator - 3rd person)

(If I forgot anything, tell me, pls!)

Word Count: 2,6k

A/N: I'd love to know about you're thinking about it so far! Your opinion is really important! Tks <3 Btw, I'm tagging @pedrostories! Babe, let's show'em why we're so much in love for that man!

Obs: Oops, I did a "past x present situation" again, so, anytime you see something written like this, is past. If not, it's just Javi's memory about the night he won't (and can't) forget... And neither can you, reader <3 Let's be honest, how would we forget a night like that?

***

Narrator's POV:

Javier went to see how Steve was doing, after Connie left.

The apartment was a mess, with empty bottles all over.

If ever Steve were sober, it was before his girls went back to Miami.

He was so depressed... Made Javier think about his family as well, but in a different way: if it was him and Lorraine, would he try to do some or anything?

Steve sniffed and cleared his throat, handing Javier a beer, bringing him back from his thoughts.

"Have you, uh... Had anything to eat in the last 24 hours?" - he asked.

"About Y/LN..." - Steve ignored Javier. - "Do you think she's gonna send me back? Did she say anything?"

"To be honest, I think if she was going to send you back, she'd have done it already. We know she doesn't put up any shit."

Steve sputted.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Do you think I am out?"

"I don't know." - Javier answered.

"Well, I ain't ready to go home yet, Javi. I'll tell ya that." - Steve threw the top from his bottle away. - "Damn it! She's fucking..."

Javier got up, he needed to do some or anything.

"Take a shower. Sober up." - he suggested to the friend. - "I'll get back to you."

Steve sighted, sitting back down.

**

"Thanks for talking to Y/LN again, man." - Steve thanked, while Javier was driving to their new office. - "I mean that... You saved my ass."

"One more fuck-up, Murphy..."

"Oh, I know." - he responded.

"Is it gonna happen again?" - Javi asked, worried.

"I don't know. I really don't." - Murphy seemed lost in thoughts.

"Let's hope for the sake of our careers that is the first and the last one."

Shortly after they arrive, you show up by helicopter, wearing a black tight suit, heels and sunglasses. Javier was already shivering.

Making an effort to change his focus, he said to Steve:

"Get ready to get your balls snippet." - and they both smirked.

*

Steve and you sat down at your office, his expression was awful: sad, bitter, hangover.

“So Connie left… You’re upset, knocked a few back to numb the pain and then decided to take it out on some Wall Street pendejo”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Isolated incident?”

“Yeah.”

“You still don’t trust me? That’s fine. But if I’m gonna have your back, I need to know that I can trust you. Otherwise, I have no problem sending you back to Connie in Miami… Am I making myself clear or do you need a drawing?”

“Loud and clear, Jefe.” - He sighed. 

“Dismissed, Murphy. Go to work.”

He got up and left your office.

He was just a ghost… A resemblance to what he was, when Connie was here. God, you felt sorry for him.

*

Hours later, you sat down at the bar, close to your office, after all those hours, alone.

You just wanted peace.

So much happened and you also got quite some happening.

Steve and his bullshit, Escobar on the run, Crosby up on your ass...

"A Dry Martini, por favor. Seco." (A Dry Martini, please. Extra dry.) - you order.

"¿Señorita, dry martini? ¿Seco? ¿Estás enferma?" (Miss, dry martini? Extra dry? Are you sick?)

"No, amigo... Soló necesito olvidar algunas cosas." (No, my friend… Just need to forget a few things.)

He knew your drink was a neat scotch, he never saw you drinking any other thing.

You hated how the gin burned while going down your throat. You could almost remember when Javier fucked your throat at the same time you used your vibrator because he wanted to see how you've done by yourself... He convinced you to pick it up at your place because he needed to ruin you, as you did to him...

"Díos mio... I don't wanna remember anymore, please, make it stop..." - you whispered like a secret prayer, closing your eyes.

*

About 2 hours later, taking off his tie, Javier walked into the same bar.

He sighed, so frustrated, so hurt, so pissed off.

Lorraine just had put the cherry on top: she wanted to leave Laredo to Dallas or Austin, because... He didn't even understand why. She asked for more money, his visit for a few days... The only good thing on that call was his baby boy, Lucas, who your so called wife insisted on calling Luke. Sometimes, he felt a little prejudice from her against his latin origin.

And she demanded again! Javier was trying to delay it, but she was coming on strong at him.

The worst part is… He didn’t care about Lorraine. Not that he ever did in the first place, but… 

In reality, he was just sad... 

Sad that he spent an intimate long night fucking you and... Nothing.

You just disappeared. Left him hanging.

Javier didn't even get to listen to you masturbating anymore.

He asked for a scotch, neat.

Just like he purred to you that night…

Sometime that night, you sat down on the armchair by his bedroom window, lit up your cigar, while he served you a glass of whiskey. You wore nothing but your red panties...

Javier kneeled down, again, for you.

There you were, smelling like your cigars, whiskey, sex... And Javier.

His hands worshiped your figure, opening you for him, again.

"Javier, I'm a little occupied..." - you said to him, almost purring.

"I don't care. I need to touch you. Go ahead with whatever you drink or smoke. It's sexy as fuck."

He loved that your scent was just like his. Make him feel like you belong to him, only him. 

“When I'm done with you, you're gonna smell just like me… Like my come, my perfume, my spit, my sweat… You ruined me, cariño. I'm just returning the favor.”

“Javi…”

“You know where you belong, don't you?” - his index and middle fingers entered you again. You moaned. - “You belong with me, cariño. I'm not letting you go.”

“Oh fuck…” - you moan. - “You also smell just like me, Javi…” - his eyes widened, surprised. - “You also smell just like my french perfume, my spit on your dick, my sweat on your skin… My come all over you…” 

You were so distracted you didn't even notice when he walked in and sat across from you.

When he spotted you, Javier went up to you.

"Martini, Y/N? Gotta say, did not see this coming."

"Bite me, Peña." - you responded through your teeth.

"I wish I could, cariño, but you won't let me get near you. I miss you. Don't tell me that you don't remember or you didn't like it." - his mouth came closer to your ear and murmured: - "You came so many times in my mouth that shirt I wore still smells like your cum, even after I washed 3 times already... Wanna know where it is?"

You sighted slowly, catching your breath, eyes closed.

"My bed, cariño. Right where you left your red panties, where you belong. Where you should be." - he continued to whisper in your ear.

"Peña..."

"No, not Peña. Call me Javi, babyboy, obedient soldier, anything but as if we were working… We both know that’s not under your obligations."

You looked at him, in pain.

"I-I-I can't. We gotta be a part, Peña."

He hit the bar with his fist.

"Bullshit! You may be an award winning actress, but you can't pretend any of that. I remember it all too well... I remember you telling me that was a fucking dream and you didn't wanna wake up! I remember you melting under my touch..."

You laughed.

"Peña, I quit smoking and drinking whiskey because of you."

"Why?"

"Because it tastes just like you." - aside from the scotch, he smoked cigarettes, not cigars. Your eyes are almost in tears.

He looked at you with those puppy brown eyes.

"Cariño... You don't have to..."

"Yes, Peña. I do... You don't get it, do you?"

"Actually, no, I don't. Enlighten me, then." - Javier responded, rude. He couldn't bear to be hurt one more time. He wanted to be yours and you to be his, only his.

"It was a mistake, Peña. You're overthinking what happened... I... We..." - you didn't know how to say or justify. You were lying and you were such a lousy liar... Javier could see right through you.

"Don't! Don't you dare to continue to say anything like that!" - it was his time to respond through his teeth. - "You don't get to do that! I won't accept these lies! You're not fooling me nor anyone… Days ago you were moaning and coming all over me... Now you want to take it back? News flash, you can't! You can’t change the past, you can’t change the fact that we fucked worse than rabbits, cariño. I told ya, I’m greedy as fuck." - his voice went from pissed to almost cooing at you.

You were feeling awful. Guilty. You shouldn't want Javier so badly, but you wanted.

"Peña, I'm your boss. We've got a job to do. I can't get involved with you, it was a mistake!"

Javier's heart was pounding. You couldn't do that to him.

You tried to get up, but your liquor betrayed you, almost throwing you on the ground, but Javi picked you up before you got hurt.

"Vamos, cariño. I'll take you home, vecina." - he said.

You only cuddled with him, holding up all you could.

*

Javier helped you get inside, paying attention to what you needed: You needed to eat, to take a shower and lay down, unfortunately, too drunk to do it alone.

First, Javier prepared a bath for you, a warm one.

"Peña, I just dumped you... You don't get to see me naked again." - you said to him, while you were sitting on the closed toilet and he took off your shoes.

He laughed. You were a cute drunk.

"Don't call me Peña. I already told you. Right now, I'm not calling you by 'jefe' or 'Y/LN' either. You're cariño, hermosa or even babygirl."

You began to take off your clothes, while he took off his jacket and folded his sleeves.

"I like cariño, Javi..." - you almost purred. - "I shouldn't. But I do..."

"Good. Cariño will be, Hermosa."

He helped you finish undressing and getting in the tub.

"Oh, it's gooood. Thank you, Javi..."

He remained outside it, just taking care of you, not letting you lay down too much or sleep.

When you finished, he covered you with a towel, leaving you alone for a few minutes to look for some medicine, as hangover prevention, and some food.

A little like him, your fridge only had whiskey, water and a leftover pizza.

You two were more alike than any of you wanted or expected.

He used the oven to heat it, at the same time you put a red and lacy nightgown.

"Oh, fuck, cariño... Had to be this one?" - he asked you, trying not to sound so horny.

"It was this one or none. Pick your poison, Javi."

He sighed. What a fucking brat you were, even drunk as a skunk.

"Sit, please. There you go, eat it. Where do you keep your painkillers?"

"My bedroom..."

"Finish your dinner, cariño. I'm going to give you some, we've got work to do tomorrow, you need to bring your A-game."

"Peña, I always do. Don't mess with me."

He snorted. Feisty one you are, as usual. He liked that about you.

You finished your slice and he took you into bed, made you take your medicine. He didn't lay down, he just sat next to you, observing.

"He never took care of me like that, you know?" - you revealed, almost sleeping.

"Who, cariño?"

"Ben..."

"Who's Ben anyway?" - Javier asked, pretending not to be curious, but you were too drunk to notice anything in his voice.

"My ex fiance... A cabrón... Malparido." - you cursed.

"Remind me, cariño, why?"

"You know... All the cheating, all the lying..." - you yawn. - "I'm tired, Javi..."

"Sleep, cariño. Buenas noches, hermosa... I'll bring breakfast tomorrow morning, before we go to the office."

But you slept before he even finished his sentence.

Javier left you safe and sound, at your apartment.

However, he never felt worse.

He wanted to be with you, more than sex. More than he ever wanted to be with any woman. 

The problem is...

He's also a cheating bastard. He also fucked half of Medellin and Bogota.

He doesn't deserve you and he knows it.

Javier doesn't care.

He's not going to give up on you: on the contrary, he's going to solve all that he can before you ever find out...

But how? How is he going to keep Lorraine away? How will he manage his boy's custody?

Too many questions, no answers.

“One problem at the time…” - Javier told himself, crossing the hall and entering his apartment.

He looked around: all in order, but you were missing. He wanted to do it right…

Javier laid on his sofa… But it smelled like both of you. He got up and sat at the table in the kitchen, Lorraine’s letters organized in a box. 

Pandora's box, as he joked sometimes to himself.

“Fuck…” - he cursed. - “How am I going to pull it off?”

* 

Next morning, he knocked on the door, anxious.

The seconds before you opened it felt like hours. He was bringing you breakfast from Mrs. Hernandez's café: arepas with cheese and eggs, mantecada, marquesa and, of course, black colombian coffee.

You open, holding back a smile, wearing a black dress and boots.

"What are you doing here? Something happened?" - you sound surprised.

Javi smiled, coming in as you let.

"Yes, cariño, I told you I would bring breakfast... I don't get the surprise. Wait, you don't remember? You were that drunk?"

"Oh, fuck! I forgot... Sorry, by the way."- you said as Javi entered your home.

He pulled you into his embrace, after putting the food at the table, and held you close, smelling your hair. - "I miss you so much, cariño... Don't push me away, please." - he begged.

You took a deep breath, Javier's scent was so good, so masculine and strong... You miss him too, but how can you manage it all?

You look deep in those puppy eyes.

Fuck, you hate that effect on you.

"Can we talk about it later? I'm very thankful that you brought food and took care of me last night... But things are not that simple. I don't quite remember, I was really drunk. But I do remember that I said I dumped you."

He laughed, stroke your hair.

"Not exactly... But you did reveal a few things, including that you quit smoking and drinking whiskey because of me."

You turn your face away. You felt a stupid girl, alcohol in and truth out. Your own mind betrayed you.

"Oh, fuck. Peña, I... Really, let's eat. After work we can talk, okay?"

He agreed and you both set the table. It was all delicious, he brought everything you like.

"Was Ben at least thoughtful during your hangovers?" - he asked, casually, with a smirk on his lips.

"Peña, what the fuck? How dare you? That's none of your business!" - you screamed towards him.

How and what does Javier know about my ex? - you thought.

"Cariño, you're the one who brought him up last night. I was just curious..."

"Peña, you have no right! Leave my home! Right the fuck NOW!"

"Y/N, what the fuck?! What the hell happened to you from last night to this morning?"

"I got sober, my senses got back to the right place. And you know what? I was only delaying what I was going to say. We're not getting together again. That night was a huge mistake!"

"Your car is in the garage, by the way. Keys in the ignition. See you later, jefe." - he picked up his coffee that was on the travel mug and left your apartment, not looking back.

Next

[run-clever-boy]

Your Scars are Beautiful - Tenth Doctor

10 x Insecure!fem!reader

Warnings: Mention of abuse, Cursing, all fluff, mentions of blood.

Word Count: 1.3k

The tenth doctor just rescued y/n from a gang that took her on an alien planet. As he is tending to her injuries, y/n shys away to hide herself.

He burst through the TARDIS doors, holding you in his arms. You cling onto him, scared that if you let go you might end up back where you were just minutes ago before he came to your aid. He carries you past the console and into the never ending hallways. A door swings open and you take your head away from his chest just long enough to see the medical equipment inside. He leans down and sets you down carefully on the bed, like a vase he’s scared will shatter.

“Y/n? Y/n? Can you hear me” He said softly as he crouched down next to where you laid.

“Yes, I-I can” You mutter between sobs.

He reaches his hand behind your head and into your hair and pulls you into him.

“Shhhh, it’s ok. You’re with me, you are ok now” He said into your hair “I won’t let anything happen to you”

Your breathing slows and the sobs become less frequent as you stay close to him. You feels bad you are staining his suit coat with tears but you are too weak to do much else. He places a light kiss on your forehead and gets up to get bandages and gauze. You look down, not realizing how hurt you were until now.

He comes back with his bandages and reaches out to touch the large gash on your cheek. You wince in pain and he draws his hand back quickly, muttering apologies. He takes a cotton pad and delicately cleans the gash and removes all the dried up blood. He puts a TARDIS blue bandage on it, of course.

“Where else are you hurt?” He asks, looking into your eyes through his rimmed glasses, looking deeply concerned.

You can feel a sharp pain in your lower stomach from where your captors had stabbed you. Your hand goes to the spot without thinking and the doctor looks at the spots and grabs gauze.

He reaches to lift your shirt and you jump to catch his hand.

“I’m fine, doctor. It’s not that bad I’ll be okay” You mutter through pain. You clearly aren’t okay, but you don’t want the doctor to see you weak. Even worse, you don’t want him to see you weak and think it was his fault.

“You are not, we both know that” he says firmly. He reaches for your shirt and the fabric brushes against the wound in your stomach.

“F-fuck!” You strain to say as pain overwhelms your senses. The doctor has never seen you in pain like this before.

As relieved as he was when he found you, he couldn’t bear to see what they had done to you. They had beaten you, mistreated you, and tortured you just to get to him. All he could think while you were sitting there was how you would’ve been so much safer away from him. Then again, he would never travel without you. You meant too much.

“Please y/n, I’m just trying to help” He pleaded, removing his spectacles to wipe his eyes before scanning your body again.

“I said I’m fine” You said between gritted teeth, wincing in pain as you began to sit up.

“No, you’re not, lie down”

“Doct-“ you begin

“No but’s,” He insists, putting a hand on your chest to push you back on the bed.

You stare at the ceiling, tears forming in your eyes. You figure it’s better if you lift up your clothes rather than him, to make things easier.

You take a deep breath and lift the shirt to show him your wound, turning your face away from his as tears fall down your cheeks. You hate him seeing you like this. The man you have fallen for, seeing you so vulnerable. It feels as if someone cut open your chest, handed him your heart, and said ‘would you mind fixing that for me? Thanks! Put it back when you’re done’.

He noticed how tense you got. He saw everything, of course he did. His heart tore when he saw you hide your tears in your pillow. He wanted to help you, tell you just how beautiful you are and how everything would be ok. As you trusted him in your most vulnerable moment all he could muster up and say was “Nasty wound, I have just the thing.” He got up to get some liquids out of a medicine cabinet. ‘I have just the thing? Really? So comforting doctor, way to go’ he thought.

He dropped an ointment on your wound that surprisingly gave you no pain. You watched as the wound began to slightly heal itself and the doctor wrapped your waist in gauze.

“Doctor?”

“Yes y/n?” He looks in your eyes after finishing dressing your wounds.

“Thank you. For everything” You mutter very softly as you turn to conceal tears once again.

“Hey, hey” He stops, putting his hand under your chin and pulling you to look at him. “You are the bravest person I have ever met y/n y/l/n. You are also the most beautiful, but that’s another conversation.” You chuckle lightly through tears and blush. “I’m so sorry about everything that happened. I should’ve been there. I will never not be there again. I promise. Even better…” He grabs your hand and brings it to him and locks your pinkies together. “I pinky promise! Got that?” You smile brightly and nod. “Good!”

He gets up and puts away all the supplies he used to dress your wounds. He then sits down on the edge of the bed he put you in.

“You are going to need a while to catch up. No adventures for a few days” He says firmly waving his finger at you like a mom grounding her children.

“Yes sir!” You mock salute to him and you both laugh. You look lovingly into his eyes and his smile brightens up everything around you two.

“Doctor?”

“yes?” He questions.

“Earlier, when you were talking. Did you call me beautiful?” You ask. It was a question you had been dying to ask since he said it.

He blushed wildly and starts stuttering to himself. He scratches the back of his neck and is clearly thinking through his response. He sighs.

“I called you the most beautiful woman in the world, though I should’ve said the universe.” He leans closer to you so your noses almost touch. “I’d do it again. I’ll say it as many times as I need to. You are so, incredibly, wonderfully, amazingly, beautiful.”

There is visible shock on your face. You usually expect a joking answer from the time lord, but his seriousness took you aback. Here it was, the man you fell in love with, telling you that you are the most beautiful woman in the universe.

“Then what’s stopping you?” You say, with an odd but sudden surge of courage.

“Stopping me from what?” He asks, cocking his head slightly.

“Well most men only dream about kissing the most beautiful woman in the universe. Are time lords just too good for that?” You say, clearly with a flirtatious tone.

“I’m never too good for you. It’s the other way around, dear.” He practically whispers.

In the long awaited moment, the tensions snaps. He reaches into your hear, cupping your cheek and presses his lips to yours. His soft lips just melting together with yours, like that was where they were always meant to be.

While you may not actually be the prettiest being in the universe, you were to the doctor. If the doctor thinks so, I don’t think anyone else matters. Just y/n and the doctor. Together in the TARDIS. Falling in love with every look. Just as it always has been, and always will be.

A.N. Couldn’t leave it alone, they just had to have a connection moment! <3 Please review and request any fics wanted!

Now on AO3

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 14

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: Semper Ad Meliora

Notes: /

Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +190K

Chapter:  14/ It’s a secret.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You were the first one awake and went down to the inn to stretch your legs.

The Innkeeper greeted you warmly, as did the barmaid. You took your chance and asked if there was perhaps a spare aketon left behind by a patron. The Innkeeper had indeed a spare and kindly gave it to you free of charge, you hoped it would fit the Monk.

It was nice to see some friendly faces, the inn’s environment felt quite welcoming.

Some people were there to eat their breakfasts, others used ale to start their day.

You looked around the place to pick a suitable target, you searched the patrons for signs of wealth, it wasn’t in you to steal from the poor.

The door of the Inn opened and in walked a wealthy looking young fella.

A gold chain around his neck, two golden rings on his fingers and garments the nobility would wear. A lord by the looks of it.

The lord ordered only a tankard of ale and paid for it without saying much else.

Lancelot and Squirrel came down the stairs and walked over to you.

The Monk saw that your attention was fixed on the man. “What is it?”

You did not let your target out of your sight. “I’m going to get us some coin.”

He sighed. “Something tells me that you will not earn this in a honest manner.”

You handed him the aketon. “You worry about your clothing, I’ll handle this.”

You did not give the Monk a chance to get the idea out of your head and went over to the lord.

The lord was drinking his ale alone, but not for long, you went to stand right next to him.

“Hello.” You offered your most charming smile.

His eyes traveled over you slowly, then snapped up to your face.

“Good day, milady.” He greeted you back with a shy smile.

He was wearing a long overcoat and long tunic under it, you had seen him take the coin out of the pocket of the overcoat.

You turned your body towards his. “Has anyone ever told you how well that your attire suits you?”

The compliment surprised him and he brushed a hand over his overcoat, “You believe so?”

You boldly touched his chest. “I do. How firm…”

He cleared his throat nervously and took a sip of his ale before putting the tankard down on a table. He was distracted enough by the looks of it.

Then you did your usual trick and walked around him like a feline searching for attention, close enough to quickly let your fingers slip into his pocket and catch some coins between them, you closed your hand to hide them.

Slowly the young lord turned and put his attention on you fully, having felt the light brush of your hand along his waist.

“Forgive me, I am being too bold.” You apologized and tried to step away, but the man’s interest was awakened.

The Monk was watching the interaction like a hawk.

When the stranger put his hand on you, he was ready to step in.

The man held on to your arm lightly. “Not at all, milady. I enjoy your appearance as well.”

In your vest with holes in it? And two visible old blood stains on the hem of your shirt?

They would say anything to try and melt a woman’s heart if it got them what they wanted.

Squirrel knew what his part in this act was and came over running to your side. “Mother! Should we not return to father before he thinks we have gotten lost?”

Not a single one of these men you had played this trick on had ever pursued you further when they saw you had a child.

And this lord was no different, he let go off your arm right away, stunned by it all.

You gave an apologetic smile and took Squirrel by the hand, walking past the Monk to nod towards the door of the inn. You slipped the coins in the satchel at your side.

The Monk followed right behind you and when you were outside, he took hold of Squirrel’s shoulder, telling the boy, “Go and mount Goliath. Now.”

Squirrel did as told and hurried towards the stables.

Then the Monk caught you by the elbow and steered you towards them too, “Did you steal from that man?”

“I did. We need to survive and he clearly has enough.” You answered.

He walked faster, pulling you along. “We need to leave, before he realizes you have robbed him.”

With that, you agreed.

Even Squirrel knew it was unwise to linger around the inn for longer, it was why he had listened to Lancelot.

You thanked the stable boy for looking after the horses well and quickly got on your horse.

The Monk was the first out of that stable and you followed Goliath’s canter.

Once the inn was out of sight, you calmed the horse’s pace and rode beside them.

“How much did you get?” Squirrel look over at you.

You dug your hand into your satchel and fished out some of the coins to show him.

Four golden ones, the other’s in the satchel felt smaller and were most likely silver ones.

“You two have done this before.” The Monk stated.

You and Squirrel grinned wickedly. “The moment the men see that a child is with me, they stop pursuing.”

“Why?” He asked.

You thought he was joking, he was not. “I am afraid it is not uncommon for men to lose their interest in a woman if they see she has a child. I think they fear the responsibility it would bring them.”

A frown settled on his face and you realized that this act would not have worked on someone like him, the presence of a child did not scare him off.

Squirrel was chirpy, “But we do get coins easily from them.”

“Exactly.” You were proud of the scheme you had thought of together.

Squirrel proceeded to tell the Monk some stories of times when that scheme had almost failed and you had to improvise together.

After taking a short break from riding to drink some water and eat something, you continued on your journey.

The boy wanted to get something off of his heart and told the Monk, “Before you saved me from that ugly paladin, when I tried to save the Green Knight, he made me a knight of the Fey.”

You put your attention on Squirrel, as did the Monk.

Squirrel turned around for a second to look at him, “Do you think he’s alive?”

The Monk was quite for a moment, then truthfully replied, “I am not sure. All I know is that he was taken to Uther’s camp.”

It saddened the boy. “I hope he survived…”

This child was mourning a friend and could possibly be mourning another if the Green Knight had not survived.

The apology for the Monk’s part in this came forth, “I am sorry, Percival.”

Squirrel looked down at his hands. “I’ll forgive you, as long as you don’t go back to the paladins.”

It was a fair agreement.

You were looking over at him expectantly and waiting for what he would say to that.

The Monk said it to Squirrel and looked at you, “I will not.”

There was still fear in you that he would turn his back on the Fey again, that he would return to the Church and ask for forgiveness, maybe it was your own struggle to trust others that made you see the worst in others before seeing the best.

Then Squirrelsought an answer to the question many would have, “Why did you kill Fey?”

The Monk grew uncomfortable, the boy was brave enough to ask things that could have painful answers.

He answered with what he was raised to believe in, “Death is not the end. Cleansing would save their souls.”

Squirrel was worried what that included. “Are you… going to cleanse us too?”

He firmly told the boy, “No.”

Death is not the end…

You had an idea where that came from, “Death is not the end, that is something the Hidden have been known to say. Is that were you heard it too?”

The Monk cast his eyes to yours. “Death is not the end-”

You found yourself saying, “Save them…”

The slight widening of his eyes said it all, the Hidden had not just called upon you, but upon him as well.

You were starting to understand how they had turned him against his own people. Father Carden made a child believe that the Hidden agreed on the cleansing, that death was not the end, cleansing them was saving them.

The Hidden’s words had been twisted until it fitted the narrative of the priest.

You quietly told him what you believed had happened, “What you heard from the Hidden was used to turn you against them by the Church. You really believed you were saving us…”

The Monk looked away, like shame came over him.

Squirrel sensed the turmoil in him and carefully asked, “How long were you with them?”

He was rather quiet when replying, as if he feared to be judged, “I was younger than you, around the age of six, when I was chosen by Father and began my training. My memories of life before the clergy are vague, but I remember how I became the Grey Monk.”

“How?” Squirrel asked.

He fidgeted with the reins. “After four years, in the midst of my training, Father took me along to a cleansing. The Fey there saw me, saw my cross bearing clothes, and attacked me. I no longer belonged with them, I belonged to the Church. Father offered me a chance to save myself from the influence of evil.”

So that dammed priest had made a Fey child believe that the Fey were dangerous.

You tried to understand his point of view and reasoned with him, “The Fey attacked you because they believed you to be the enemy, not because evil gods took control of them. They were just scared.”

As he must have been too after that.

The Monk was trying to find the truth between the lies, at least he seemed to think it all through now.

You could not begin to imagine what other tactics they had used to mould him into the Weeping Monk. “They twisted your mind until it fitted their purpose. A frightened child is easy to manipulate.”

“Oi!” Squirrel piped up.

You saved yourself out of that one. “A child. Not a knight.”

The boy was pleased with that.

The Monk did not reject the possibility that it was true. “I was not permitted to question the faith.”

It came as no surprise. “At least you are willing to hear our voice now. Maybe death is not the end, but I prefer to live life to the fullest before I skip to the next one.”

You shared a look with the Monk, who seemed appreciative of how calm you had managed to stay while speaking of this. Seeing him outside the inn last night in the gushing rain to mourn Father Carden’s death, had made you less vigilant towards him. There was good in him, under all that struggle with his identity, and only he could make the decision if he would embrace that or not.

Returning to the Fey or returning to the Church was his choice to make. And if he were to keep his promise on earning your forgiveness…

It was either the Fey or the faith, and for now he had chosen the Fey, albeit just two of them.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

When evening came, the Monk picked out a spot in the forest to set up camp for the night.

By now, it was evident that the three of you could work together when there was clear communication.

You were getting the package of linen from your horse’s saddle, feeling the wounds on your back protest against it.

The Monk handed Squirrel a piece of cheese and asked the boy to cut some slices off and put the rest of it back into Goliath’s saddle, he then came over to your side to help you with the stack of linen.

“Does your back hurt?” He asked while putting the stack on the ground and untying the rope from it.

“It burns, but I’ll live.” You admitted.

There was a worried expression on his face,“It will take some days before the pain lessens.”

He handed you some of the linen and then went to retrieve something from Goliath’s saddle bag, he returned with a loaf of bread.

You frowned at the sight of it, “Where did you get that?”

“From a table at the inn.” He confessed.

You blurted out, “You stole it?!?”

The Monk failed to fight off a grin. “While you were occupied with robbing that man. Some bread will go well with the cheese.”

You stared for a second, then smiled. “I should not be proud, but I am. Well done.”

That small smile made him feel a bit better.

He was doing something right.

He let you take the bread from his hands.

You gestured to the nearly forgotten aketon that was draped over Goliath. “I’ll help Squirrel make us a meal. You can try on that aketon if you want?”

The Monk gave a nod and took the aketon from the saddle. “Brown…”

You stopped walking towards Squirrel, having heard the comment. “Just try it on, anything’s better than walking around with that cross all the time. People notice.”

That was true.

He took off his cloak and draped it over Goliath, who stood unbothered by it all.

Squirrel was but all too excited to test the sharpness of the knife he had been given as he cut the slices of the cheese, and then the bread you handed to him.

Together you made the modest meal of cheese on bread.

“If we had a fire, we could get these nice and crispy.” You said.

Squirrel looked up over your shoulder, “Can you make a fire again?”

You turned to see the Monk wearing the aketon, he was looking a bit timid and uncertain about the change of garments.

“It looks great.” You told him, because it did look good.

The Monk appreciated it and gave a slight nod to you, then answered Squirrel, “I can. We’ll need some branches and dry grass to-”

The boy was already up and searching the ground to collect the items.

You got closer to the Monk and adjusted one of the leather buckles that wasn’t sitting correctly, “Is it comfortable?”

The friendly gesture took him off-guard. “I… yes.”

You went over to help Squirrel collect what was needed. “Good. Now let’s get to that fire. I’m starving.”

A little while later, Lancelot had made a modest fire and helped the two of you by putting the bread, with cheese, on thin branches and held it over the fire.

The scent of the cheese melting over the bread filled the air.

He handed the one he had started with to Squirrel who eagerly plucked the crispy bread off of it and almost burned his fingers before putting it in his lap to cool off.

You were imitating the Monk’s idea and patiently waited for your meal to have the right level of crisp, and watched Squirrel try to eat from the hot meal, he was pulling some pieces of the bread and putting them in his mouth.

“You remind me of someone.” You admitted to the boy.

Squirrel was curious, “Really? Who?”

It was rare for you to talk about your family with others. “My cousin.”

The Monk had heard, you had never mentioned to him that you had a cousin.

“Why?” Squirrel asked.

You grinned. “You can be quite adorable too.”

Squirrel scrunched his nose but could not hide the reddening of his face.

You weren’t going to mention it to the boy or tease him about it.

The Monk touched Squirrel’s arm to draw his attention. “I believe you are sitting too close to the fire, your face is getting red.”

The irritated child brushed the Monk’s hand from his arm. “I’m not!”

You scolded the cheeky Monk for it. “Leave him be.”

He in return smirked at you and the boy, but he stopped and ate his meal in silence.

After eating, you saw that the Monk had the discarded surcoat in his hands and was looking at the cross embroidered on it.

He approached the fire and fed the surcoat to it, watching it burn.

You shared a look with Squirrel but kept quiet about it.

An hour passed and darkness had spread it’s wings over the land. Lancelot had chosen a tree to sleep against for himself.

Squirrel was yawning but still walking around and giving the horses some attention.

You could see that the Monk’s eyes were distant again. He was mourning his father figure and burying the agony it brought him.

Part of you wanted to keep a distance, but part of you hated to see the suffering of others.

You were Dawn Folk, it was in your nature to help others.

You collected some linen sheets for yourself and shared a look with Squirrel, who looked back and forth between you and the Monk, you nodded.

With arms full of linen to use for the night, you went over to the tree the Monk had picked out for himself and put your linen sheets down against it too.

He was already sitting against a side of the tree and was about to get up from the grass, you put a hand on his shoulder to halt him.

“Mind if we sit here too?” You asked.

The question might have rattled him a bit, it took two counts before he answered. “I do not.”

Squirrel went to sit at his left side, you took place at his right.

You were already covering yourself with the sheet when you asked, “Am I breaking a rule by sitting next to you?”

There was a short pause before he answered, “No.”

But he was, by not getting up and preventing it.

The scriptures were strict regarding those of the clergy in the presence of women.

You sank back against the tree, nesting yourself under the sheet. “Just to warn you. If I see washed women’s clothing out to dry tomorrow, I intend to borrow some.”

Squirrel chimed in, “Because of the blood on yours?”

The child had not seen the back of your shirt, but the hem of it still showed the proof of the lashing. “Yes.”

The boy fired another question, “Are you going to steal a dress?”

Lancelot knew that these questions could continue for a long time and found himself listening in.

You were not even considering it. “Never.”

The next question came quick, “Why not?”

You rolled your eyes, knowing Squirrel could not see. “Dresses don’t suit me. Besides, it’s hard to fight in a dress. Too much fabric getting in the way.”

Squirrel seemed to agree on it.

The Monk suddenly said, “Careful. Do not cut your fingers.”

You leaned to the side to look past him and saw Squirrel playing with the knife.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have sharpened it so much.” You told the Monk.

He dared to say it, “You’re the one who wanted to give him a knife.”

You glared in the Monk’s direction, then told Squirrel, “Squirrel, put away the knife before you lose your fingers. Try to sleep, alright?”

“Fine.” The grumpy boy mumbled.

You had thought that Squirrel had listened.

Then Lancelot said, “Listen to y/n, Percival.”

Another “Fine.” was the answer he got, and this time the boy listened.

No one said a word for quite a while, and it wasn’t long before you heard Squirrel’s quiet snoring.

You were looking off to the side, trying to let the calmth of the forest calm you too. You sensed that the Monk had shifted his body a little but paid no attention to it.

Not until the Hidden’s faint melodic whispers were in your ears. Strange. You had not heard them sound like this before.

You turned your head and caught him quickly turning his head to look in front of him instead.

Almost had you caught him inhaling your scent. He did not understand why his heart’s pace increased because of it, or why the voices that haunted him were coercing him to do so.

“Did you just smell me?” You whispered a bit uncertain.

You weren’t sure, but you had a feeling that he had done it just now.

“I uhm…,” He paused and then sounded quite embarrassed about it. “I am sorry.”

You blamed it on the lack of change in your attire. “My clothes smell, don’t they? I should have searched in the inn for something else to wear.”

He did not say a word, and you considered getting up and sitting further away.

With his heightened sense of smell, it would be normal if he picked up on certain things quicker than others would.

You pushed back your self-consciousness and asked, “Do you want me to sit somewhere else?”

His answer was a fast and firm, “No.”

“You sure?” You asked.

He was brushing his hands over one another. “I am. Your scent does not bother me.”

It took you a moment to feel confident enough to lean back against the tree again.

And when he was looking at the trees, you discreetly smelled your clothing just to check. You shook the feeling off before insecurity could grow, none of you had been given the chance or time to take a long bath with everything that was going on.

You pulled your sheet up to your chin and turned to your side, away from him, to sleep.

Unlike you, Percival was not afraid to sleep facing his direction. The child had an amount of trust towards him that he wasn’t sure he was worthy off.

Lancelot was the only one still awake, both because he was not used to sleeping close to others, and because he felt responsible to make sure the two of you could sleep safely.

As you and Squirrel slept, the Monk kept watch for as long as his eyes could remain open and focused.

An hour passed, his eyes grew heavy and the quiet breathing surrounding him made sleep all the more alluring.

Then you turned over in your sleep, your hand was put on the bark of the tree to rest, where it slipped off and landed on his arm instead.

It brought him back from the sleepy state he had been in, from reflex he placed his hand over yours. He looked over at you and found you still very much asleep as you reached out for something to hold while you slept.

He lifted his hand from yours again, letting yours stay where it was.

For someone so vigilant, you sure looked a lot less intimidating while asleep.

The next thing he felt was Percival’s foot hitting his leg, the boy had turned over in his sleep as well and far less gentle and careful.

Lancelot did not even realize right away that he was smiling, he leaned back against the tree more and closed his eyes.

This did not feel wrong, it felt like something he had been missing.

A gentle touch, a spark of kindness. A reminder that there was still light and hope in the darkness. And that light came from where he had least expected it.

When he finally was on the brink of falling asleep, he heard something moving through the forest.

The howling that followed was what fully awakened him.

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[arrthurpendragon]

Wrote a one-shot-ish type thing that may eventually become cannon for Entreat Me Not to Leave

After mustering my best withering glare and directing it in Dougal’s direction.  Not that the insufferable Highlander noticed, he had already begun captivating the murmuring crowd once more with his tale.  Although, I hadn’t escaped the notice of all the Scots of Castle Leoch.  Murtagh, while saying nothing, shook his head at me warning me not to follow.  But I ignored him. 

With a look I hope displayed my indignation, I clutched at my skirts before bending down to pick up the shirt Jamie  had tossed to the floor before chasing after the tortured Highlander into the night.

It wasn’t hard to find Jamie pacing between two trees.  His posture alone warned that he should be left alone. I knew he was angry and that stubborn pride of his hated when people pitied him.  But he wasn’t going to get any pity from me and I silently prayed that his temper didn’t make him forget that.

If he noticed me as I drew nearer, he didn’t make it known to me.  Instead he continued to pace, or rather stomp, between the trees and mutter under his breath.  While I’m sure Murtagh thought I was risking my life by chasing after Jamie in this state, I wasn’t completely insane. So, still clutching his torn shirt, I sat down on the grass several yards away and simply watched him. 

Jamie had every right to be angry and I didn’t intend to stop him in his justified pursuit.  I just wanted to be there.  If by some chance he needed me.  Thus far in our relationship, it had been I would needed him and I just wanted him to know that if we were truly going to make this work, he could depend on me.

After about another half dozen laps between trees, Jamie stopped for a moment and looked at me. The moonlight highlighted his handsome features and I felt my heartbeat begin to quicken.  It had never been like this with Stephen and I wondered if my heartbeat would always betray my desire for him, even in the years to come.

“I dinna ask for your company,” Jamie retorted in a clipped tone.

I nodded in understanding and then tucked a stray tendril of hair behind my ear.

“I dinna require ye,” he rephrased.  “I dinna require anyone. I’m fine.”

I motioned between the trees.  “By all means, carry on as you were.”

He opened his mouth to argue with me, but I held up a lone finger for him to allow me to continue.  His eyes narrowed at me, but he pursed his lips to let me speak.  

I quickly nodded my head in thanks before continuing. “In my experience, when I ask to be alone, I might mean it initially but tend to let stubbornness and pride get in the way when what I really want is someone to simply be there, even if they have nothing to say.  The true weight of being alone rarely brings comfort especially when what we crave is to know that we aren’t alone in our burdens or joys.”

He stared at me, blinking slowly, as he digested my words.  

“Deal with your anger however suits you best.  Just know that I find it justified and that whether you require me or not, I’m here for you, Jamie. Silently or not.  And no amount of your stubborn barking is going to change that.”

He swallowed hard.  I could tell he was struggling with my words.  While everything I had told him since we met had been true . . . or mostly true, I could tell that he didn’t trust easily.  I knew that he trusted me to an extent, but I could also tell he had built stone walls around his heart to protect himself.

I shivered against the wind that had begun to pick up.  I looked up at him trying to control my shivers.  I debated using his torn shirt as a makeshift shawl, but I didn’t want to draw attention to the item and make him start his process of dealing with his anger all over again.

His face softened slightly as he sighed. “Lass, your shivering.”

“I can handle a little wind,” I responded as I rubbed my hands up and down my arms.  I licked my lips before adding in a hushed tone, “Especially for you.”

I assumed he heard my addition because he sighed in frustration before beginning to walk toward me.  “If yer no going to leave, I’ll no be able to think with yer teeth rattlin’.”  

I arched my brow at him as he approached.  But I said nothing.  I simply watched him as he settled down on the grass behind me and pulled me against him, wrapping his arms tightly around me.  I snuggled back against him, immediately feeling the warmth that radiated off him.  

He rested his chin on my shoulder and whispered in my ear.“Dinna mistake me, Ruthie. I dinna wanna talk . . .”

I nodded my head, acknowledging his demand without further explanation.  I needed him to know that I trusted him and his judgment.  But mostly, I needed him to know that no matter what - I would be there for him.

[towelpng]

Haiii this is my oc (Rene Petit / Daughter of God) origin storyyyy :)

All events, characters, and places are made the fuck up <3

CWS: weapons, physical abuse, torture, blood/gore (?), tragedy, the occult, christian extremism (basically not christian at all, just christian themes), death, suicide, all around very un-fun topics

please let me know if i left any out !!

As a secondary disclaimer, this may be a not very fun read!!

oki enjoy!!

—

Daughter of God

The meeting hall is an imposing building, too such a degree that I feel it necessary to check the signage in the tinted window. Sure enough, it reads simply “Life After Occultism”. I found the advertisement on a local page. A whole group about cult trauma? Sign me the fuck up.

I open the door, which obviously would have preferred I didn’t, given the grinding shriek its hinges released. It closes just as loudly, and the pristine white tile carries the sound down the hallway and back in what has to be my least favorite echo I’ve ever encountered. Unsurprisingly, the building is almost sterile. It did used to be a psychiatric institution, so I would expect no less in its glory days; but having been rented out sparingly for the last 30 or so years, I’d expected some level of dilapidation.

More laminated paper signs point arrows down the hallway, to an open set of double doors, not dissimilar to a high school gymnasium’s. As I approach, it’s already clear that the meeting started somewhat early. Several people are sat in chairs around the room, but most of the chairs are empty. Tables line the far back wall, dressed up in what appears to be birthday table cloths, held down by bins full of snacks and coolers of drinks.

“Hello,” I speak anxiously, finally catching the attention of the people in the chairs. “This, this is the… ex-cult thing?” I struggle to find the words among unfamiliar faces. A man in a brown suit nods affirmatively, a kind smile putting my nerves at rest, if only a little.

“Yes, it is. We start in,” He looks at his watch. “Oh!” He chirps. “Right now! If you’d like to take a seat…” He gestures widely, but gently, to the array of chairs. I thank him, and sit in a chair none too close to anyone else. A brief, awkward quiet falls over the group of what I have only just counted to be 8 people. 9 maybe, I’m not very reliable in terms of counting people. “Well, I, I suppose we start with you, miss.” He smiles warmly. “If that’s alright.” I nod nervously, and carefully and slowly remove an aged notebook from my bag.

“I have notes,” I chuckle nervously, and several others in the session return it with a sympathetic laugh. “Um, when I was growing up, my mom was in a cult, until I was 11, and she committed suicide. My dad was already dead by then, and my grandparents disowned her, so I basically got all of her stuff. Among that stuff was this notebook,” I drummed my fingers on it lightly, drawing the attention to the printed cover. “She liked faeries I guess. Before everything. Kind of hurts to look at.”

I hesitate a little here. I don’t talk about her often, and when I do, she’s a concept. Not a person. It feels strange to address her that way. I look up nervously, and make eye contact with the man in the brown suit again, then the blonde woman beside him. They share a similar complexion, and I wonder briefly if they’re related. She nods gently to me, affectionately.

“Um. The, the journal, has, a lot of weird stuff in it. It kind of goes off the deep end as soon as I’m born. Before that, it’s mostly just, teenager stuff I guess? Where teens will kinda revisit old journals every couple years.” I open it cautiously, and my stomach turns. Seeing her handwriting is almost sickening. A person, my mother, wrote these words with her hands. I get lost for a moment in the idea. I wonder if it was that dumb Dolphin pen that she was obsessed with, that never really worked, even when she replaced the ink cartridge.

“I could read it, if you like..?” The blonde woman offers gently, sympathy in her big brown eyes. “Only if you’re comfortable, I mean…” She trails off, looking away, then back to me. I grapple with the idea for a second, but give it to her, albeit holding on maybe a moment too long. She takes it gently, and doesn’t try to pull it away when I pause. She smiles at me again, and sits back slightly, holding the book up to read it.

“May 29th, 2003. It feels weird to hold this book now. My mom bought this when I was only 5, and now I’m writing in it on a desk attached to a hospital bed while my daughter sleeps just beside me! Rene Louise Holden, born May 28th, 2003 at 9:28PM, 8 pounds and 2 ounces. She’s the littlest thing I think I’ve ever seen! Her little feet are only as big as my pinkie! I was in labor for what had to be ages, I haven’t actually asked yet. For now, I think I’ll go back to sleep. It’s only 9am, and everyone’s saying to sleep when Rene does. So goodnight, Journal! I will see you soon!!”

The session livens up a little, with smiles and coos; none more genuine than the woman holding my mother’s journal in her aged, tan hands. This changes quickly.

“November 30th, 2003. I… I killed my baby today. I dropped her on the tile stairs. Her head hit right on the corner of one, and it collapsed in. I didn’t think that much blood could fit in a thing so little. It was everywhere. I could have identified her brain.” The woman paused a moment. “..I, I called an ambulance, and I opened the door for them. I knew she was dead, there was no use in trying to save her. But when we approached the stairs, there she sat at the bottom. She wasn’t happy about the strangers, but she looked just fine. The strangers weren’t happy about me. I’ll remember the judgement in their eyes as much as I’ll remember the blood in hers. It will kill me. They told me she’s fine, and checked her vital signs, but advised I take her to an urgent care soon. Soon. They said soon. I dropped my baby head first onto tile stairs, I slipped in her blood trying to reach my phone, and they said ‘Soon’. Like she scraped her knee. Journal, I worry about my mind. I don’t know if I’m cut out for motherhood. I feel like I haven’t been sleeping very well.” She turns the page with more urgency this time.

“February 3, 2005. It happened again. I was drinking, I know I shouldn’t. Rene was in the pool with us, in a pink flamingo pool float. We ran inside for only a minute, just to grab another drink. I thought someone stayed with her. It should have been me. She was upside-down when we came back out. And she was blue when we put her on the pavement.

“A miracle. That’s what they called it. They hardly touched her. They moved as though they would do CPR, but they never did. She just became pink again, and took a big breath. This time, they did take her to the hospital. No water in her lungs. No signs of hypoxia. Nothing. A miracle.”

She turns the page, and gently slides a news clipping from the paperclip.

“Uh… Oh.” She nods slightly, finding the relevance of the clipping, I guess. “Tragedy Strikes in Dosangels, Florida.

“This Monday, December 5th, local handyman David Holden fell from the roof of his home while putting up Christmas lights with his two year old daughter. His daughter had been strapped to his back, when he fell 26 feet on top of her, into their unused concrete swimming pool, which contained only 7 inches of water at its deepest. Miraculously, the infant survived the fall, but is in critical condition.”

She slips the paper back into its place under the paper clip.

“December 17th, 2005. The mortician says Dave was using again when he got on the roof. While Rene was in the hospital, Father Jaimes from the chapel visited us. I told him everything. He says Rene must be made for something great, and God will protect her. I told him I think Rene is cursed, and he didn’t make me feel evil for it in the slightest. He told me about Job, and how he was tormented by God to prove his devotion. He says I’m like Job, and must persevere. I feel like all I do anymore is persevere. I don’t know how to keep going. Dave is gone, and I won’t even be able to make rent. This was his house. His parents house. I cant afford it. I hope God does have a plan for us. Because I am lost.”

“November 7th, 2007. Jeremiah is moving in with us. His parents cut him off, and this is the first year he won’t even have Dave to help him. He and Dave were always close. He’s back on meth again, but he’s trying to get clean. He promised to get clean, and he goes to the detox place tomorrow. I could use the company.”

She turns the page, and is visibly disheartened as she pulls the news snippet from the paper clip.

“Miracle Baby Critically Wounded For A Second Time

“In 2005, she was crushed by her addict father when he fell off of the roof. This year, 4 year old Rene was shot by her uncle, Jeremiah Holden, who then shot himself. The murder suicide is…”

She turns the paper over, then turns it back over, and places it back under the paper clip. The mood in the room has soured considerably by now, but that’s what I’m here for, I guess.

“January 29th, 2008. Sepsis. Hospitalized.”

“January 14th, 2009. Father Jaimes has baptized Rene, after so many turns of her nearly going to Hell. My poor daughter, and her horrible mother. I will be baptized tomorrow, and God will save me too. I hope he can forgive me for my years of hubris and sacrilege, and my years of neglect to my daughter, my Rene. He let the holy water fill her lungs, and she breathed her first godly breath soon after. She looks to be glowing, she is a visage, the mother Mary surely felt as I do. Her eyes are blue, and reflect heaven unto us. May peace be with me, may she giveth as she taketh away, my Rene.”

“January 10th, 2010. Today was a day of great sacrifice and glory. God truly was with us, and with Rene. Lambs blood cleansed her holy skin, white as wool, and she breathed God’s child as He breathed Her. She first refused, and Satan had us in his grasp when She coughed and spit blood, but She was submerged and made whole nonetheless. My daughter, daughter of God and mine, His daughter and ours, my Rene.”

“May 27th, 2010. Today, before Rene becomes yet another year older, we try again tonight to send Her to sleep. In three days time, She will awake, and we will be saved. Her living blood will feed us, all of us, and Her internals will be laid bare to be judged. Our God, Her father, will guide us to ascension, and will save our miserable, undeserving souls. As Christ rose, so too will She, my Rene.”

“May 31st, 2010. God has abandoned us. All of us fell ill, with nothing to show a doctor nor a priest. We drained Her body wholly, from head to toe, of blood; and each organ was set separately of Her. She died only after we had removed Her heart, surely a sign. We drank the blood, as the disciples of Jesus once did, and it tasted of honey and vanilla. But we fell ill, and surely must have been poisoned. But doctors nor Father Jaimes found anything to be wrong. Her blood was taken from us, though She was not. Upon our return, She sat playing with the nativity dolls. She ordered them, mother Mary first, and baby Jesus Christ last. I wonder what this means for us. Rene, my Rene, please guide me.”

“December 5th, 2010. Father Jaimes laid bare to us his sins. He is a liar and a thief of the title ‘Father’, but I do not think of him this way. Anointed with holy blood collected from Rene’s own neck, Father Dresko beheaded Father Jaimes, and he was cremated promptly. May he follow us in our bodies, and be forgiven at Heaven’s gate. My Rene, show us how to proceed.”

“December 5th, 2014–“ The woman yelps and drops the book on her lap, the news clipping still in her hand. “Th..There’s blood, on.. On the page..”

“I can take it if—“

“No!” She cried sharply, then sighed shakily. “This is, it’s important. Right? It’s important…” She takes the notebook back in her hands, reading more quickly now.

“December 5th, 2014. My Rene, my God. Be with me in my final moments. My heart aches for you, for the trials you will face. I will see you at Heaven’s gate, and take you into my arms. You will be safe. But you must first save. Until we meet again, my Rene.”

The woman’s press-on nails scratch across the paper as she frantically places the news clipping where it belongs, giving the book back to me. The silence that fills the room is palpable, and it threatens to fill my lungs.

“Are you Rene..?” An older man asks me gently, his pale hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah, um. I just, didn’t actually die. I got lucky a lot, in a lot of situations I shouldn’t have been in.”

“Can I ask,” The man in the brown suit hesitates. “Can I ask where you went? After your mother..”

“Father Dresko adopted me. I wasn’t with him for really long, probably half a year, and he spent a week torturing me, held me hostage, and got shot by a police officer.”

“How could someone… I’m sorry, it isn’t my place. But.. How could someone do something like that, and not kill you…? If that was the intention, I mean.”

“He sucks at killing people, evidently.”

“Where did you go, after him?” The blonde woman rubs her arms in an effort to comfort herself.

“Karine Grienwilo. She was a saint, if anyone ever was. The type of woman who calls an anxious cashier ‘baby’ and fixes everything. Then I fucked everything up by going back. I made friends, Cameron Diniero tried to drown me and went to jail; Melina Fresno, Brady Harmin, and Jade Cabernaki threw me out of a car and almost under someone else’s car on the interstate and went to jail; Peter Ande and Jude Paton poisoned the church, Peter killed himself and Jude went to jail; and Sonia Wes committed suicide. Father Julio planned the poisoning and made it out easy, killed Jayla Barnes’ baby and she took the blame for it, then killed Karine in front of me.”

“Why would he do something like that?”

“To piss me off enough to get me to kill him. He thought it was the only way he’d go to heaven.”

A tense silence filled the room, but it felt more so that it was filled with unasked questions.

“Did you ever die?” A brunette woman asked. I hardly noticed her.

“Once. I got in a car accident. Semi slid on ice and cause a pile-up. I was the only one who lived.”

“How?” She asked tentatively, pulling at her sleeve.

“Luck, I guess.”

The man in the brown suit chuckled awkwardly.

“If anything, I’d call that a miracle.” I stared at him, and hoped he caught the message that the joke was in poor taste. He didn’t seem to. All at once, the fire alarms went off. As the group scattered, looking for the source of the fire, I stared out a narrow window in the emergency exit. Fire was already lapping at it. But just beyond it, the Sheriff’s van.

I waited until the only sound echoing in the tile and wood-paneled halls was the crackling and roaring of fire, and prepared for the worst walk of my life. The room I was in was full of smoke, but the openness of it ensured that only the walls and roof had caught.

I wake up in the car, taking a deep breath, and coughing. The cough is agonizing, and rips at my throat with all the ease of a sanding belt. Sheriff Petit sighed in relief, and I heard his head thump back on the headrest.

“Scared the hell out of me, rainy.”

“Sorry,” I croaked, but he cut me off with shushes, as he gave me an open bottle of water. I couldn’t help but gasp when the cold plastic touched my hands, searing pain shredding my palms.

“Right, shit,” He cursed under his breath, holding the bottle to my lips and pouring the water into my mouth. It was almost alien, I felt like my mouth was filled with sand, and it burned going down my throat. “How long does it take to clear up?”

“Um,” I sigh, my throat already beginning to heal. “It’s starting now, but it’ll take a few hours.”

We sit in silence, and I finally start to tune in enough to realize he’s driving.

“Hey Don?”

“Yeah, Ren?”

“How the fuck did you just give me water if you’re driving?” He laughed, loud and hearty.

“I stopped the car for a damn second,” He chuckled. “There’s a pedal for it—“

“Alright alright I get it.” My vision started coming back as my face healed, feeling less scaly by the second. I looked over at him, and could tell he’d been crying. “What’s up?”

He took a long moment to respond. I looked out the windshield, at the snowy landscape around us.

“I’m gonna miss you, rainy.”

“Cmon, I’ll visit! You’re basically my dad at this point. ..Like, my father figure, I’m not comparing you to—“

“I gotcha.” He paused again, but it was comfortable. Sad, sure, but comfortable. “It’s hard for me to just, drop you off someplace.”

“I’ll never get away from them if I stay here. They’ll always just bring someone new in.”

“I know. I just… I wish things were easier, I suppose.”

“Me too.”

The car slowed to a stop at a secluded, but obviously still functional, bus stop. We sat there for a while. There wasn’t much else to say.

“You’ll visit?”

“I swear to visit at least once a year.” He chuckles quietly, and pulls me uncomfortably over the console to hug me tightly. I squeeze him back as tight as I’m able.

“You better. I love you rainy. Stay safe out there.”

“I love you too, dad.” Before he got the chance to change his mind, I got out of the car and went to the bus stop, waving gently to him. He mouthed something that I could only guess was confirming I had my bus pass, and I held it up so he could see it. He nodded, and pulled off.

He was due to head to Texas.

And I’m due to get the fuck out of here.

[hettiesworld]

Name of fic: Sacrifice

Pairing: Mike McLusky x OMC (Jacob)

Plot summary: Jacob Stevens used to work for Milo Sunter and was known as the Winter Soldier. When Mike finds him on a farm to help him capture Milo. When he agrees to it, he finds Iris who he used to guard her when she was working. Throughout this stressful situation, Jacob develops feelings for Mike. What will happen when Milo meets Jacob again?

Faceclaim for Jacob: Pedro Pascal

Word count: 4.5k 

Warnings: Strong language, sexual content, smut, potential spoilers for Mayor of Kingstown season 2, trigger warnings for just about everything…

Author’s note: The title of this fic is inspired by the song Sacrifice by The Weeknd. I just watched the first 2 episodes and they are SO good! Can’t wait for the rest of them. I feel like Mike is at least bisexual and his relationship with Iris is NOT going to turn out romantic at all. Mike and Evelyn however? They will do. Anyways I had Mike get with a male OC, so I hope you will enjoy this fic!

Kingstown was a small town, but with a high crime rate. Everybody wanted to get out, but had a hard time doing that. Was it because they were scared?

That’s what Jacob thought.

He was currently on the outskirts of Kingstown, where he was on a farm. He loved horseback riding, so whenever he had the chance, he would escape the town and do what he loved. Even though, drawing and painting was also what he loved, it was his job. 

And he needed to escape that too.

He was putting away his favourite horse, Buttercup –which is what he called it– until he heard the sound of a car pulling up on the muddy path. He didn’t recognise the model of the car or the number plate on it either.

“What the-?” He mumbled to himself as he closed the stable door behind him.

His dark brown eyes stared at the guy, who was getting out of the drivers seat. The man was wearing a navy-coloured suit with dark sunglasses. He had dark brown hair that was quite short. Jacob didn’t see the colour of his eyes.

“Can I help you?” He called out to the man as he slowly walked over to him.

“Yes… are you Jacob Stevens?” The man replied.

“Perhaps. Who’s asking?”

The person then took off his sunglasses and put them in his pocket.

His eyes were grey, he just realised.

“The name’s Mike McLusky. I help keep the peace in this town.” The guy – who he now knew was named Mike – said to him, putting his hands in his pockets.  “I heard you used to work with Milo Sunter?”

“Yeah… what is it to you?” He muttered.

Mike sighed as he put his hands in his trouser pockets.

“Look. There is chaos inside and outside of the prison. Of course I don’t blame the gangs for what is happening-” Mike started to explain.

Jacob raised an eyebrow at him.

“Okay that’s false, but I do need your help.” Mike finished his explanation.

“If it’s to do with Milo, count me out. I’m not dealing with that fuckin’ bastard.” Jacob exhaled. Milo was a dick, he would say to himself every single day of working with him. It felt like he was working for him and not working with him.

“I know about your father, Brody. He’s currently in the male prison at the moment-” Jacob interrupted him.

“-not for much longer if the guards decide to torture everyone in there for fuck all.”

Mike hesitated his words as he looked at his surroundings, licking his lips. Jacob’s eyes following the movement of Mike’s tongue. He was proudly gay, even though when he was younger, his father hated him revealing his sexuality. He would always say to his son, 

“You are never going to live in this town, with people thinking that you are gay. Bad people are going to attack you, physically, emotionally and mentally! You. Are. Going. To. Die. Here.” 

But now that he had grown up, he didn’t really care what everyone was thinking about him. He had the right skills, as an ex-assassin, to handle anyone that gets in his way. And was this Mike guy making him fall in love with him?

He wasn’t sure yet.

“Okay, fuck. Look, I’ll cut you a deal.” Mike sighed.

“What deal?” Jacob crossed his arms as he looked at him.

“I’ll get the guards to stop all this shit. I have this plan in my head involving the leaders. That way I can protect your father in prison. In exchange, you can help me with Milo.” Mike explained.

All that Jacob could do was laugh. He shook his head as he noticed Mike raising his eyebrows at him.

“You really think I give a shit about my father after everything he has done to my life?” Jacob retorted, gesturing with his hands. He then took a flask out of his jacket pocket and twisting the lid off of it, sipping it. Inside of the flask was whiskey.

It was his guilty alcoholic drink. It was only 12 in the afternoon so he was technically allowed to drink.

“He was a disgrace of a father. I don’t care if he fucking gets murdered in that shithole.”

“What was he in for exactly?” Mike asked him.

Jacob chuckled silently. It was ironic how and why his father was in prison.

“You won’t believe it…” He smirked to himself.

“Try me.”

“...sexual assault of a minor. And the minor was a 13 year old boy.”

Jacob saw Mike’s eyes open wide as he exhaled with the information that Jacob just gave him. 

“Shit. Wow.” Is all that Mike could say as he licked his lips again. Jacob’s eyes was again following the movement of Mike’s tongue yet again. He couldn’t help it. “Is there… anything else I can do then?” Mike asked him.

Jacob hesitated for a moment.

If Mike’s idea was to put Milo away for good, maybe he could help him. All Jacob saw was Mike sighing and walking away. This was the only opportunity to take revenge on the second man who ruined his life.

“Wait!” He called out to Mike. He then saw Mike turn back around and just stand in his new spot.

“What?” Mike replied, sighing.

“I’ll help you, okay?” 

Mike just chuckled and shook his head. “Okay then.” He then walked back towards Jacob and took out a business card. His assistant probably made them to gain more customers. Mike exhaled quickly as Jacob just stared at him.

“My… business card. So you know where my office is.” Mike cleared his throat.

“Mh-hm.” Jacob hummed as he took the card out of Mike’s left hand. “Got it.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Jacob arrived at Mike’s new office on his motorbike. He put it on standby as he stopped the engine and climbed off of the vehicle. He then walked through the front door and his eyes were on the woman behind a desk. She had black hair and unmistakably round eyes.

“Hi? Are you here for an appointment with Mike?” She asked him.

Jacob exhaled, putting his hands on his hips.

“Uh– I don’t really have an appointment with him…” Jacob was about to explain until Mike came out of his office.

“Rebecca, it’s fine. He’s helping me with the Milo situation.” Mike acknowledged, nodding at Jacob.

“Uh, okay that’s fine. Well Mike, you’re done for the day.” Rebecca said to him.

Mike just nodded.

“Don’t worry, I’ll lock up the office when I’m done.” Mike reassured her. “Go. I’ll take care of this okay?”

Rebecca just nodded as she gathered up her things and headed for the door. That left Mike and Jacob alone in the waiting room. Jacob then watched as Mike wandered to his office and he couldn’t stop staring at his ass as Mike walked away.

He had to admit that Mike did have a great ass.

Jacob eventually got out of his daydream and slowly followed Mike to his office. Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he then saw the very woman he was not expecting to see.

“Iris? What the fuck are you doing here?” Jacob exclaimed.

Iris’s eyes widen as she got up from Mike’s sofa and stood there, frozen as hell. She couldn’t believe who was in the same room as her.

“Jacob?” Is all that she could say.

Mike was standing on the other side of the office, confused as to the situation that was happening in front of him.

“How do you know each other?” Mike asked the both of them.

“Milo.” Both Iris and Jacob said together; Iris in her Southern accent and Jacob in his Spanish accent.

Mike sighed. “Of course it’s Milo.” 

“How-how have you been?” Jacob asked Iris.

“I should ask you the same thing.” Iris retorted. “How have you escaped him?” She asked him.

“I haven’t. He still thinks I’m with that Joseph bastard and protecting you. But of course, what he doesn’t know, is that I haven’t seen you since you went to New York.” He said to Iris.

Iris just nodded.

“You were her… bodyguard?” Mike asked Jacob.

“I guess you can say that.” He shrugged.

Mike went over to the coffee jug and poured himself a cup of coffee. He then sipped it and went over to his desk, sitting at it.

“Okay then. Iris, I would suggest going somewhere safe. Me and Jacob will handle this. I have a plan.” He would say, but of course Iris would defend herself.

“I don’t need protection Mike. Don’t take me to Witness Protection again!” Iris said to Mike.

��Iris… you remember my brother Jonathan?” Jacob would chime into the ‘argument’ as he saw Mike sigh, putting his head in his hands.

“Hmm… yeah I do. Why?”

“If you want, you can go visit him. Milo doesn’t know him, I’m assuming Mike took the tracker out of you, right?” Jacob asked her, to which Iris nodded.

Mike’s head perked up from his hands, quite interested in Iris and Jacob’s conversation.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother-”

“Iris. Milo is a dickhead, you know that. You will be safe with Jonathan, okay? And don’t get any ideas of escaping.” Jacob told her.

“...okay.” Iris mumbled under her breath.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

After Jacob sent Iris to his brother’s Jonathan’s house, which was on the outskirts of Kingstown, Jacob and Mike were standing nearby Mike’s car and Jacob’s motorbike. They were both parked in the car park, just outside of Mike’s office.

“So what should we do first?” Jacob asked him.

“Well, I gotta go and see Bunny and tell him the plan.” Mike said to Jacob.

“Bunny? You mean the leader of the Crips? What is your idea exactly?” Jacob crossed his arms and leaned against his motorbike, his helmet on the handlebars.

“I’m putting every single gang leader in the Kingstown prison. The chaos outside the place is influenced by the chaos inside of the place. They need to regroup and pick new leaders.” 

“Are you fucking insane? What the hell are you trying to do here? What if they all get killed in there?” Jacob shouted at him.

“Do you have a better idea?” Mike retorted.

Jacob sighed as he put his hands on his hips, shaking his head.

“I guess not, but-”

“Okay good. It’s getting late. We should… stay in the same place tonight so we can talk about how we’re going to do this in the morning.” Mike suggested. “If you keep your motorbike here, you can carpool with me to Bunny’s place and then to the cabin.”

“Are you sure it’s safe here?” Jacob said.

“Yeah don’t worry.”

Jacob just nodded as he walked up to Mike’s car. They both jumped into his car; Jacob in the front passenger seat and Mike in the drivers seat, and they both drove to Bunny’s new territory.

They both got out of the car and they walked toward the abandoned dry cleaners. Mike then knocked on the garage door and one of Bunny’s gang members let them both through, much to Mike’s surprise.

They got up to the rooftop and saw Bunny sitting on the edge of the balanced roof.

“Bunny.” Mike called out to him. The guy got up and nodded at Mike. He then saw Jacob and was surprised at seeing him. He hasn’t seen him since he asked Jacob for a self-portrait of himself.

“Mike. Jacob.” Bunny faltered on his words.

“Hey Bunny. Haven’t seen you for a while.”

Bunny went over to Jacob and pulling him into a handshake, then giving him a hug.

“You too. So Mike, what are you doing here man?” Bunny asked Mike.

“I have an idea. It’s a bold move, but it’s the only idea that might work.” Mike explained to Bunny.

Bunny crossed his arms as Mike explained to him the idea that he said to Jacob. Jacob just stood there as Mike finished explaining his idea and then Bunny getting a bit agitated at it.

“Mike. What are you trying to fucking do to me, man?” Bunny snapped at him, nearly pressing a finger against Mike’s chest.

“I’m giving Kingstown a chance Bunny! There is people getting killed every single minute and I don’t want this to happen any more!” Mike shouted back at Bunny.

“And you think putting me in a fucking prison is going to do anything?”

 “If there are new leaders inside of the prison, there’s gonna be peace outside. The prisoners won’t be killed every single day by the guards. And I won’t stand by that. Do you have any other idea other than that?” Mike asked him, still a bit taken aback from Bunny’s reaction.

Jacob decided to intervene and placed both hands on Mike’s shoulders. “Mike, just calm down. Let him take this idea into his head for a moment.”

Mike just sighed, slowly calming down and sighing.

“Bunny. I was against this idea as well. I don’t want you to get killed in there. But Mike might be right. This is might be the only chance of bringing peace here in this shitty little town.” Jacob calmly explained to Bunny.

Bunny considered Jacob’s words and sighed slowly.

“Fine. But if I’m in the shit, you’re done for.” Bunny pointed at Mike as Mike walked away, opening the rooftop door and making his way downstairs.

“Yeah, yeah…” Mike trailed off as he walked off. “I’ll send you details okay?”

“Fuck you Mike!” 

Jacob just nodded as he followed Mike.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Once back in the car, Mike’s hands were on the steering wheel. Jacob was looking out of the window at the beautiful scenery outside. Of course, just like the farm, Mike’s cabin was on the outskirts of the town. 

So before they came up to the steep hill, Mike sent some messages to Bunny and the police department about the idea he had.

“Why are you texting them back now? Why don’t you wait until you get to your cabin?” Jacob asked him.

“You’ll see.”

Mike just smirked at Jacob as the car went up the hill. Mike pointed at his phone, nodding at it. Jacob’s brown eyes as he looked over at Mike’s phone.

“Keep an eye on the signal.” Mike simply said.

Just then, the signal went from full bars to none. There was no signal whatsoever.

Jacob began to chuckle under his breath. “No signal huh?”

“Nope. Won’t get any messages until we go over the hill again, back into Kingstown. So we can get some peace and quiet.”

“Finally some fucking peace and quiet from the chaos in this town…” Jacob mumbled.

“Agreed.” Mike finally chuckled softly as he turned the corner to the dirt path, leading to his cabin. “Definitely fucking agree with you there.”

As they arrived at the cabin, they had a few moments to settle down. Mike asked Jacob to go out and get some firewood. Jacob did just that and came back to see Mike, smoking on the deck outside of his cabin. He was still in his suit and was leaning against a wooden pillar. He also had a glass of something liquid in his other hand.

Jacob was wearing a lumberjack top –which was red, green, white and black colours in a tartan pattern – with tight denim jeans, thick winter boots and gloves that he wore to chop down wood. His sleeves were rolled up as he was carrying at least 4-5 big logs in his arms. Once he got to Mike, he placed the logs down on the ground and sighed, wiping his head from the sweat.

He noticed Mike was staring at him and he thought to himself, ‘Was he checking me out or…?’  Nah. Why would this handsome 50-something year old man fall for a 32 year old man who used to be a silent but deadly assassin for Milo Sunter and now is a freelance artist, who is willing to forget about that experience?

“Jacob. Can I ask something?” Mike said as he sat down on the nearby chair.

“Yeah sure.”

“What were you doing when you were working for him?” Mike asked him, Jacob knowing he was on about Milo.

He just sighed as he dropped down to sit next to Mike, on the deck.

“I was an assassin. Killing people for him. The silent but deadly type. I specialised in firearms and hand-to-hand combat. I was also known as the Winter Soldier, cause of my amazing talent of fighting.” Jacob began to explain. “My main duty was protect Iris. But once she went to New York, I decided to not to follow her. I stayed here, not letting Milo know where I was, hiding out in the farm you met me in.”

“Did he put a tracker in you?” Mike asked him.

“No. He trusted me enough not to do that. So he didn’t have no idea that I was still in Kingstown… wish I could leave this place, but- I feel like I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

“I feel like I’m trapped here…” Jacob trailed off before looking up at Mike. “What about you? Are you stuck here?” 

Mike just shook his head.

“I guess so? I was going to do a cooking class in Wyoming until all hell broke loose. My mother isn’t very proud of me. I had to take over my brother’s job after he got shot by one of Milo’s thugs.”

“I heard. I’m sorry for your loss. Milo shouldn’t have done that.” Jacob said sadly, looking down at his hands, that were fidgeting with each other.

“It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault.”

Jacob then also shook his head.

“No, no. Mitch shouldn’t have been killed by that fucking bastard. If I was there, I would’ve killed that guy who killed your brother. I would’ve been in that prison for life for that, but I wouldn’t have cared-” Jacob explained to Mike.

“-and I wouldn’t have let you.”

Jacob was surprised at Mike’s words. “What?”

“I wouldn’t have let you. Don’t think Mitch would’ve let you either.” Mike admitted to him. “I was… upset that he got shot, but this would’ve happen either way.”

Jacob just nodded.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

A few moments later, they were both in the cabin. Mike was sitting on the bed whilst Jacob was in the bathroom, standing in the shower. Mike took off his suit jacket, tie and white tight Oxford shirt, leaving a loose white tee. He also took off his shoes as well.

Mike then got up and leaned against the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom, of course he wasn’t looking at Jacob’s naked form.

“You okay?” Jacob heard Mike’s deep voice as he scrubbed himself with a loofah and some mint body wash.

“Yeah. It’s been a while since I’ve had a shower. I normally have baths back at my place.” Jacob acknowledged.

Mike just hummed. “Do you want any tea?” He asked him.

“Sure.”

Mike nodded, even though Jacob couldn’t see it, and went into the kitchen to make some cinnamon tea for the both of them. Afterwards, he grabbed both cups and paused as soon as he got to the bathroom. He then cleared his throat to try and get Jacob’s attention.

“I got your tea. You decent?” Mike asked him.

“It’s fine Mike. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, right?” Jacob chuckled softly. “You can come in.”

Jacob watched as Mike slowly walked into the bathroom and placed down Jacob’s cup of tea on a nearby counter. He kept his own cup in his own hands as he sipped it gently before placing it down next to Jacob’s. 

Mike realised that he could see all of Jacob’s naked body and visibly gulped at the thought of what he could do with that body.

“Thanks.” Jacob slightly smiled at Mike. “Is that… cinnamon?”

“Mh-hm. You like cinnamon?”

“I love it.”

Mike smiled at Jacob before sitting on the toilet seat, which was directly opposite the shower. 

“Am I sleeping on the couch or..?” Jacob finally said after a moment.

“If you want. We’re both grown men. We can share the same bed without it getting awkward.” Mike responded.

Jacob just stared at him, slightly smirking and tried to splash Mike with the water.

Mike didn’t get splashed with any water but chuckled at the failed attempt. 

“You don’t want to start that darling, seriously.” He beamed at Jacob. “I just suggested that, that’s all.”

Jacob slightly blushed at the nickname that Mike had given him, especially in his American accent. “And I asked if I should sleep on the couch cause I don’t think I can contain myself in that king-sized bed of yours.”

The light-haired man noticed the dark-haired man staring at him. Was it lust in those blue-grey eyes? Jacob didn’t know, but he did watch Mike get up from his seat and walk over to him. He then went in the shower, standing underneath the shower head, getting his hair, shirt and trousers wet.

“Of course… unless you want to make it awkward- that was a bad pickup line, I’m sorry.” Mike laughed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He wasn’t really expecting Jacob to laugh as well. 

Mike then felt a hand on his face. His face was slightly bruised after the last conflict he had. Apparently, it was still kinda there. He slowly opened his eyes and saw Jacob’s hand on his left cheek. His thumb was caressing the place where his bruise was.

“That was awkward, but… you tried your best I guess.” Jacob chuckled. “Where’s this bruise from?” He then asked him softly as his Spanish accent was as clear as day.

“You heard about the riot in the prison that happened recently, right?” Mike told him.

“Of course.”

“I guess it was from that. Or… I don’t know. Don’t know where it’s from, to be honest.” Mike shrugged his shoulders. “It just stayed there.”

Jacob slightly smiled as he kept caressing his bruised cheek as his brown eyes stared into Mike’s blue-grey ones. 

“I don’t know how you’re gonna react with what I’m going to do here, but hopefully you’re not gonna punch me or anything like that.”

Mike raised his eyebrow confusingly as he looked at Jacob.

Jacob took a deep breath before deciding to move closer towards Mike, placing his other hand on his other cheek. It looked like Mike wasn’t moving away anytime soon, so Jacob then went for it. His lips brushed Mike’s; softly, delicately, like butterfly wings, just long enough that he could inhale Mike’s breath. 

It felt like Mike enjoyed it. He had kissed men before, or he kissed women like this before.

Of course Jacob wasn’t expecting Mike’s lips mashing against his, as if he was trying to flatten and destroy it. Jacob hungrily pushed back, his mouth open. The bristles of Jacob’s goatee scratched against Mike’s soft cheeks. Mike gripped his head firmly, as if to keep him from escaping. He worked Jacob’s mouth against his, their tongues battling back and forth like wrestlers, each trying to pin the other.

They both pulled away, breathing heavily as they looked at each other.

“I-I didn’t know that you were…” Jacob hesitantly said to Mike.

“Well, you never ask, did you?” Mike smirked at him.

“I guess so.” 

Jacob chuckled. He felt Mike’s hands still on his face. He blushed as he also felt his thumb on his bottom lip, stroking it softly.

“Does this mean-?” Jacob murmured to himself.

Mike only hesitated a second before taking off his trousers and boxers. He didn’t even bother to take off his short-sleeved t-shirt. He then went closer to Jacob, feeling his erection and pressing their lips together.

Jacob found the hem of Mike’s shirt and clumsily pulled off his shirt, and somehow it came off. 

Mike’s skin was extra sensitive everywhere; he felt everything. The smooth texture of the warm water against his back. The pressure of Jacob’s hand on his knee as he pushed his legs open, Jacob’s breath on his neck before he kissed him there, tonguing and sucking gently.

Mike moaned and pushed Jacob against the shower wall, trying to brush their cocks together. “Fuck sweetheart...” He muttered under his breath. “You should know who’s the dominant one in this relationship.” Mike told him.

That made Jacob froze for a moment. 

Relationship? Mike thought they were in a relationship with each other?

He wouldn’t expect Mike to turn things around and flip Jacob onto his front. Mike took Jacob’s wrists and pinned them above his head. “Keep them there darling, okay?” He whispered in Jacob’s ear as he placed the tip against Jacob’s hole. When it breached him, Jacob let out a gasp of pain.

“Jacob, sweetheart, you okay?” Mike asked him.

“Mhm. It’s okay. Keep going.” He shuddered.

Mike began slowly pushing himself inside. His hand gripped Jacob’s hips as his cock went deeper. Sensing Jacob’s tension, he began to remove himself just as gently.

“Don’t worry darling, I just want you to enjoy this.”

“Maybe I do, but I don’t mind you being dominant.”

Mike smirked as he slowly rocked in and out of him. He heard Jacob’s moans turning into screams of pleasure, causing him to speed up. He felt Mike’s balls hit his ass with every deep thrust he delivered. He then began to kiss Jacob’s neck, putting his dominant left hand on Jacob’s wrists.

“Mike!” Jacob called out.

“That’s not my name sweetheart. What’s my name?” Mike said to him.

“S-sir…”

“That’s better sweetheart. There it is!”

Mike heard Jacob shakily gasp behind him. He continued thrusting, making sure to hit that one spot. Jacob’s skin prickled as his head began fuzzing out. He felt a hand wrap itself around his dick. The arm around his throat tightened until Jacob was gasping.

“Sir,” The arm around his throat moved to push him all the way down his dick as both hands gripped his hips. Mike’s rough thrusts became more erratic.

“Sweetheart!”

Jacob felt the warmth of Mike’s cum spill inside him.

“Fuck…” Jacob sighed as he felt Mike’s dick leave him. He heard his breathing as he turned around to look at Mike. “I was- not expecting that so soon.”

“You liked it though, right?” Mike smirked.

Jacob just laughed. “I guess you can say that. But my legs are killing me…”

“From the sex or from standing up in the shower the whole time?”

Jacob didn’t answer that question as he got out of the shower, slapping Mike’s ass on the way. All he said was “yeah” to him, making Mike smile to himself and chuckling softly as he turned off the shower and got out, closing the glass door behind him. 

He looked over at Jacob, who was in his bedroom, putting one of Mike’s shirts on. It was quite tight, but it didn’t cover Jacob’s dick. Mike’s own dick twitched at the sight of him in his shirt, basically naked.

“Fuck sweetheart, you’re doing things to me you cannot believe.” Mike mumbled, to which Jacob actually heard and smirked a little.

Jacob then sat on the bed, leaning back slightly on his hands. His legs were wide open and he smiled at Mike. “What are you waiting for? I don’t mind doing a round two, Mr McLusky.” 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

@navybrat817 @yavanna80 @cavillanche @pegasusdragontiger @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

[kinkshame-the-courier]

Wow Benny, who let you have two couriers?

Scotty (left) is @sunsetredlemonade ‘s courier

Chaye (right) is my courier

(Chaye uses they/them pronouns)

[purple-babygirl]

request if open; daddy!bucky had a bad day and little!reader is just trying to comfort him but he accidently lashes out and yells at her/pushes her and immediately feels guilty but she regresses even more into her little space and is scared of him, you can kinda play around w this and figure out how it ends! xx

Pairing: Mafia!Daddy!Bucky Barnes x f!little!reader

Word Count: 3,423 (you know you love me)

Warnings: ddlg dynamics, yelling, harsh treatment, crying, angst turned fluff?

A/N: thank you so much for sending this in, nonnie. i took your request and ran with it to angst land. Hope you enjoy xx💜

~~~~~

signature needed

“Dada,”

She could see Bucky’s frown, the lines on his forehead wrinkling his handsome face up. She knew it meant he was upset and she never wanted Daddy to be upset. She knew he never left her upset.

Bucky’s been looking like that since he walked through the mansion door that morning, barely acknowledging her when she greeted him. He almost forgot to give her her welcome-home kiss even.

“Not now, angel,” Bucky murmured, proceeding to flip through the papers covering his desk, huffing and puffing every now and then at the mess he was stuck trying to fix.

“Wanna show you somethin’,” she whispered, biting back a smile.

“Later, angel. I’m busy right now.”

He regretted telling her to come in. He should’ve known she’d be nothing but a distraction.

“Dada, jus’ take one look,” she bounced on her feet before slipping a neat sheet of paper on top of Bucky’s desk, momentarily blocking his view of the contracts he was angrily staring at. Now that made Bucky mad.

“I said I was busy!” Bucky shouted as his head snapped to her, his hand slamming down on the paper without even seeing it, blindly crumpling it and throwing it on the floor at her feet. She flinched at the sudden outburst, taking a step back.

“Dada,” tears filled her eyes as she looked at her discarded paper. Bucky just broke her heart.

“Why don’t you ever listen!” Bucky grabbed her arm tighter than usual, pulling her back to him, “How many times do I need to repeat the words for you to understand! I said not now, didn’t I?!” He let go of her arm with more force than he’d intended, making her stumble a little.

She was terrified now. Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked at Bucky with wide eyes. He has never lashed out on her like that, not even when she was big. She was scared. As her breath picked up, she wished she’d never left her playroom.

“Get out and don’t step into this office again until I tell you you can, you hear me?” Bucky growled, oblivious to the signs of regression and horror showing on her face.

Her quick nods set off no alarms in his head as he watched her run out of his office.

Bucky felt bad about taking his anger out on her the second she fled the room. He flopped back down with a huff, flipping through the contracts again and again with no focus. He threw them down carelessly, running his fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots in frustration.

Cracking his hurting neck, Bucky regretted raising his voice at her. He couldn’t see the words on the contracts; her teary eyes flashing through his mind every time he tried reading.

Why did he have to yell? He could’ve just looked at her paper. She was likely trying to show him a drawing. Why couldn’t he just go with it? He’s sworn he’d never let anybody hurt his angel and then he goes and does this?

Bucky was ashamed. What kind of Daddy was he if he treated his little like that? It was no excuse that he was still getting used to being a Daddy. Bucky knew that wasn’t how a man should treat his girl.

He bowed forward, picking up the balled paper by his desk. He carefully straightened it, deciding to fix his angel’s damaged drawing and make it up to her.

Only it wasn’t a drawing; the paper was a handwritten Daddy-Angel contract. It even had colourful flowers, bees and butterflies decorating the paper and everything.

She was probably trying to play office with him; probably just wanted Bucky to pretend he was signing her paper too.

A sad smile spread across Bucky’s lips as he read the paper. The contract stated that

- Dada will smile

- Dada will not be angry no more

- Dada will let me sit on his lap (will be quiet pp)

- Dada will play with me after work

Dada: ……………..

The paper ended with a free space for Bucky to sign in case of agreement to the ‘terms’.

There were a lot of moments where Bucky wished he could turn back time, but not being able to do so in this very moment seemed to torture him the most. He was an asshole.

She just wanted him to calm down. She respected that he was working and she wasn’t trying to interrupt, she merely wanted him to smile. She even pinky promised to sit quietly in his lap.

Bucky has messed up and it was for nothing because the damage to his work has already been done. He shouted at her like she was responsible when she was just trying to help him feel better.

Bucky got his pen out of his pocket, signing the empty place by his name, remorsefully sighing at his utter stupidity.

~

“Angel,” Bucky called, knocking on the door before opening it.

She wasn’t in her playroom, but Bucky could see her round table full of similar papers to the one he had folded in his pocket.

She’s made at least 6 of these ‘contracts’, some of them were written in different colours or had spelling mistakes.

She’d obviously worked hard until she settled on the paper to give him and he ended up throwing it on the floor.

Bucky’s hand rubbed his face, frustrated at himself and his lack of control. An asshole was what he was. An asshole.

“Angel, where are you, baby?” Bucky sighed, opening the bedroom door to see her sitting, hugging her knees on the large bed.

She looked too tiny bundled up like that and her muffled sniffles punched at Bucky’s heart.

“Angel.”

She only lifted her head up when she felt the bed dip under Bucky’s weight and panic flashed over her delicate features.

“Baby, don’t cry,” Bucky said, his hand instinctively moving to wipe her tears only to have her flinch back, squeezing her eyes shut as if she was awaiting a blow.

Bucky’s heart stopped beating for a second when he realized what had just happened.

She was scared of him. His angel had flinched away from his touch. A huge lump formed in Bucky’s throat as she opened her eyes again, “angel?”

“Please don’ hurt me. Won’ come to the office. Won’ leave the room.” She shook her head and sobbed, scurrying back on the bed and away from Bucky.

This pained Bucky more than any punishment he thought he deserved. The look on her face was enough for him to want the walls to open up and swallow him.

“Angel, I would never hurt you. You know that.” Bucky whispered, sniffing back the tears about to spill down his bearded cheeks.

He needed to hear her say she did. He needed to know she knew Bucky could never hurt her.

She looked from Bucky to her left arm where his metal hand had grabbed her earlier. His fingers had left a mark around her arm. The skin was still pulsing as if his hold on her never loosened.

It was too late and it didn’t matter what he said because he’d already hurt her and the evidence was on her body.

Bucky’s mouth opened and closed as he swallowed again. He didn’t know what to say. He was supposed to be the one protecting her, not the one hurting her. How could he do such a thing to his angel?

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, shaking his head regretfully before trying to get closer to her.

Her instant reaction was to crawl back further and Bucky’s heart sank to his stomach. He felt his soul leaving his body when he looked her in the eyes and saw fear.

A tear betrayed him, falling down, gliding by his lips. Bucky wiped it away quickly, sniffing and clearing his throat.

“I signed your contract, angel.” Bucky got the paper out of his pocket, opening it and putting it on the bed for her to see.

Her eyes looked down and more tears left them at the sight of her once fine work now ruined.

“I’m so sorry, angel. Daddy was bad, baby. I’m sorry,” Bucky pleaded, his fingers reaching out for hers.

She pulled her hand away quickly, hiding it behind her back and Bucky knew he had really messed up. It was no use trying.

She was scared of him. His touch frightened her and was no longer a symbol of comfort to her.

He took his hand away, straightening his back and getting off the bed.

“I-I’ll see you at lunch then.” Bucky sniffed again.

“And angel?” he called from the door, getting her attention.

“Thank you for caring for daddy. I love you.” Bucky has never heard his voice as weak as he did in that moment and he felt even worse when she didn’t say it back.

~

When the table was set and Bucky came out of his office to find her chair empty, another lump was quick to form in his throat.

He wasn’t even hungry. He had no appetite to eat; he just wanted to see her but didn’t have the guts to peek into their bedroom again.

“Angel?” Bucky was ready to knock on the bedroom door but it was already open.

He carefully pushed it and took a look inside to find the bed empty. He tried not to freak out as he knocked the en suite bathroom door and got no answer. When he opened it, she wasn’t there either.

Bucky could hear his own blood pumping in his ears because she was no where to be found in her playroom as well.

She left. She left him and she had every right to. How could he lose her? How could he lose the one good thing in his life?

Tears distorted Bucky’s vision as his hand clutched the side of the door. His heart clenched at the thought of never seeing her again, never hearing her sweet voice call for him again; never getting to smell her on his pillow again.

The sound of her feet padding on the floor behind him pulled Bucky out of his head and he thought he’d imagined it for a second. He turned around and she froze when his eyes fell on her.

She shifted on her feet, hiding one behind the other and internally hoping Bucky wouldn’t notice she was roaming around with bare feet when he’d specifically asked her not to before.

That was the last of Bucky’s concerns at the moment though. He was just relieved she didn’t leave him even if he deserved it.

“Where were you, angel?” the tenderness of Bucky’s tone let her know he wasn’t mad at her for walking around shoeless.

“Couldn’ fin’ PinePine,” she replied softly, referring to the white feline, “’s lunch time.” Her eyes remained fixed on her feet as she avoided Bucky’s.

He was secretly thankful for that, not wanting her to see him in tears twice in the same day.

She was so pure; so caring and loving to everyone around. Bucky found himself slightly jealous of his own cat for a second there.

“Where did you find, PinePine?” He asked calmly, just wanting to hear her speak to him.

“Downstairs,” she answered shortly, leaving Bucky disappointed.

“Let’s go then. The table’s set.” Bucky smiled, hesitantly offering her his hand.

She stood unmoving for a few seconds, eyes still casted down, before she decided to hold onto Bucky’s pointer.

He sighed, knowing she was still scared but didn’t want to reject him. She was so sweet on him even when he least deserved it.

~

When lunch was over, Bucky let her know she could come to the office whenever she wanted, although he doubted she would. She gave a small nod before running back to the other room as Bucky shouted an “I’ll get back to work then.” behind her.

He didn’t actually get back to work. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t think of anything but the way she pulled away from his touch every single time he tried to come near her, or the way she forced herself to hold one of his fingers as they walked less than 10 steps together to the dining room. She'd even begged him not to hurt her earlier.

How did he let himself fuck up so bad? When did they get there? What was he going to do now? How does one get forgiven after being this awful?

A lamp lit above the mafia boss’ head and he grabbed a clean sheet of paper before he could lose the idea.

Bucky was going to write his angel a contract. A pardon contract.

His Daddy-Angel 2.0 contract stated that:

- Angel will forgive Daddy

- Angel will not be sad with Daddy no more

- Angel will sit on Daddy’s lap (even if she doesn’t wanna be quiet)

- Angel will play with Daddy after work if she still wants to

Angel: …………….

Bucky sighed as he tried to draw anything other than sloppy hearts in the empty places around the words to decorate the paper but he was terrible at this. He was desperately in need of his angel’s forgiveness though so he scratched his beard and kept working.

Bucky needed to know she wasn’t actually scared of him; not her. Anyone but her. He wouldn’t be able to take it. He wouldn’t be able to ever tolerate himself if she didn’t forgive him.

Bucky’s tongue was hanging outside the side of his mouth as he drew another birdie on the bottom of the contract. It didn’t really look like a bird, unless of course that bird was struck by lightning a hundred times before, but Bucky thought it would do. After all, he was no artist. He didn’t draw. He didn’t deal with colours; he dealt with weapons. His hands were rough for a reason. But he would do anything for his angel. Anything to win her over again.

A knock on his door cut off his focus and Bucky groaned.

“Come in.”

He felt sorry for whoever had the bad luck of interrupting him during his contract-making, ready to yell at someone.

Bucky looked up from his desk when he didn’t hear anyone speaking, and his face has never softened so fast.

It was his girl who’d come into the office. She had her folded contract in her hand and her eyes were looking kind of puffy from crying.

Bucky just stared at her in remorse, pushing his chair back a bit as he watched her walk closer to his seat.

He wanted to tell her he was sorry. He was so sorry. He’s never been sorrier in his life. He wanted nothing more than to take every word and every harsh touch back.

She stood there for a second, waiting to see if Bucky was going to kick her out this time too. When he didn’t, she rounded the desk and stopped by Bucky’s chair.

Bucky remained speechless, not wanting to scare her away again. She came to him. She came on her own. Unless she came to throw the contract in his face and break up with him, that should be a good sign.

Her tongue peeked outside, wetting her lips nervously before she stretched an arm out, ever so carefully nearing it to Bucky’s thigh. Her gaze was glued to Bucky’s face, gauging his reaction. When Bucky’s frown didn’t show up she let her palm touch Bucky’s leg.

Bucky didn’t understand what she was doing but he wouldn’t dream of questioning her. He was just glad she was okay with touching him again at all after what he’d done, even if she was doing it so cautiously it broke his heart to a thousand pieces.

With her stare trained on Bucky, she stepped forward, slotting herself in the small space between Bucky’s chair and his desk, facing him. Her hands moved to grab on Bucky’s strong shoulders, still watching his face. She swallowed before effortlessly climbing on, cozily curling herself on his lap.

Bucky’s heart swelled as he felt her nose nuzzle his shirt. His own emotions overwhelmed him and tears gathered in his eyes.

“Angel?” his voice was barely a whisper as he looked down to her, careful not to startle her.

She looked up at him worriedly, thinking he didn’t want her where she was.

Her eyes showed fear for a short second before she unfolded the scrunched paper in her hand, a finger pointing to the third term.

“Dada signed,” she said, her eyes so innocent and Bucky couldn’t contain himself anymore.

“Oh, angel,” Bucky’s tears uncontrollably rolled down, wetting his beard.

He held her so close, she could hear his heartbeats drumming in his chest.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” Bucky cried, wetly kissing her forehead over and over.

“I’m sorry, my angel. Forgive me,” he repeated, leaning down to kiss her bruised shoulder before lifting both hands to his lips and kissing them, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“Dada,” her smaller hands cupped Bucky’s cheeks as sadness covered her features.

She’s never seen Bucky like that. Not even at his father’s funeral did he sob like that.

She didn’t know it but to Bucky, the thought of losing her hurt more than the actual loss of a family member who never gave two shits about him.

She was Bucky’s everything. His love, his partner, his companion, his baby angel. She was the one who stole his heart and took good care of it. Bucky would give up anything and everything in life and choose her to forever keep, protect and love.

Her short thumbs wiped under Bucky’s eyes, pushing his tears away. She turned to straddle him and wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her cheek on his shoulder.

The smell of her hair calmed Bucky’s heart down as he turned his face to kiss her head, hands settling on her back, “I will never hurt you, angel. Please tell me you know that, my love.”

Bucky’s hoarse voice had her pulling away from the hug. She sat back and looked her man in the eyes, her thumb brushing his chin, “I know,” she whispered and Bucky could see it in her eyes. She did. She believed him. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

She stroked Bucky’s cheeks as he sniffled, smiling gratefully at her reply. And his whole world lit up again when she smiled back, timidly pecking the corner of his pink lips.

Oh she was a real angel. No one’s ever been this kind to Bucky before, only her. Bucky kissed her hand one more time, quietly thanking her for forgiving him.

“I made you a contract too,” Bucky told her with a chuckle, pointing to the desk behind her as he wiped his face with the back of his hand.

Her mouth opened in a silent gasp, her smile reaching her wide eyes. She turned around in Bucky’s lap, planting her knees on the chair between Bucky’s open legs and stood on them to take a look.

She took her time reading the words and then she was off Bucky’s lap and bolting out of the room.

The man was about to lose it again, thinking she’d remembered his cruelty towards her and changed her mind when she came running back inside the office.

She climbed back on the chair between Bucky’s thighs, her glitter pen in hand.

Bucky sighed in relief, his lips spreading with an adoring smile as he watched her write her name letter by letter in glittery ink where her signature was needed. Bucky held her waist, kissing her back as he admired how focused she was.

She closed the cap on the pen, placing it on the desk before picking up the contract to show Bucky.

“Angel signed,” she beamed, plopping herself against Bucky’s chest and clinging to him, earning a hearty chuckle from him.

“I love you so much, angel. More than anything in the world.” Bucky gently held her face by the chin, giving her lips a short kiss.

“I love you too, dada.” She smiled, blushing as she hid her face in his chest again.

Bucky wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him and closing his eyes, just enjoying the feel of her body against his once more, silently promising his angel to never hurt her ever again.

~~

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[amistytown]

The Brothers Comfort MC During a Panic Attack

This is my first attempt at writing down my headcanons for the brothers, so I apologize if anything is out of character. I meant it to be short and sweet, but it grew out of my control after a while. I’m a perfectionist and wanted to rewrite everything. I made minor edits and am posting it anyway or it’ll sit in my drafts forever; I admit I put the most effort into Lucifer’s, forgive me. Also sorry for the repetitiveness and any typos you may find. I decided to write how the brothers would comfort MC during a panic attack, especially as someone who suffers from anxiety and panic attacks themselves. Honestly, I wrote this as a way to comfort myself since I’ve been dealing with terrible anxiety lately. Of course, everyone experiences anxiety differently, so I can only speak from my own experiences. I didn’t go into detail when it comes to the symptoms themselves because it’s from the point of view of the brothers and only so many are visible to the eye. Trigger warning for depictions of anxiety and panic attacks. Thank you for reading!

LUCIFER

Lucifer is troubled. Following lunch, you disappeared, currently absent from class. This is unlike you, his worry intensifying every minute you’re out of his sight. Yet he maintains his composure, resigning himself to scouring the academy grounds. Time passes at a torturous pace, his thoughts beginning to take a turn for the worst. He contemplates whether to involve his brothers and Lord Diavolo himself at this rate, however the sound of his D.D.D diverts his attention. A wave of relief washes over him at the sight of your name lighting up his screen, chased by frustration at you, your silence, and himself for losing track of you so easily; he couldn’t bear living if anything happened to you under his watch. He expects this behavior from his brothers, not you. Though his heart sinks, the Avatar of Pride uncharacteristically overcome with guilt while he reads your message. Of course, you are not his brothers. He should not have doubted you.

Your texts are apprehensive, a weighty pause between them as you hesitate to lay bare the darkest depths of your soul. He approaches you cautiously, to avoid upsetting you further. Your words alone convey the sheer panic taking possession of you, the last of your strength used to press send. Outside he discovers you, huddled miserably in an isolated corner of the building, swathed in shadow. The desire to shelter you from the world burns within him, but your eyes widen fearfully in his presence, wounding his pride. Immediately, you apologize. Sorry you’re missing class, that you left without telling anyone, and upset him—especially when you’re aware of his busy schedule. You’re sorry for not having the courage to pull yourself together, succumbing to your anxiety, your shame palpable. The hand clutching your D.D.D is trembling, your chest heaving as you struggle to breathe. He aches for you, each tear shed hurting more than the last, your pain managing to touch the very core of his being and set him alight.

If anyone is sorry, it’s him, pride be damned. Kneeling in front of you, he assures you an apology isn’t necessary—your wellbeing of great importance to him. He wants you to rely on him, grateful you confided in him despite your doubts. Hopefully, he can eventually put your mind at ease. His voice low, soothing, he continues to console you, making sure you’re aware he’s not upset, and your feelings are valid. Although he’s not familiar with the inner workings of anxiety itself, he’s willing to listen, learning how to support you to the best of his ability—starting today, providing you’re comfortable accepting his offer. Initially, he prioritized your safety for the sake of the exchange program and Lord Diavolo’s wish to unite the three realms, now it’s merely out of adoration for you, his beloved. Once you’re ready, he’ll let you know you’re not alone. He’s never too busy on your behalf. 

Offering you his hand, a smile graces his features as you accept. Slowly, he helps you to your feet, steadying you against him. He notes the way you relax at his touch, shoulders sagging and head coming to rest on his chest. Only you exist in this moment, his gaze not leaving you, not even for a second. Standing in silence until your breathing settles and you regain your balance, he sees you through the height of your attack before escorting you back to the House of Lamentation. He’ll personally excuse you from the remainder of your classes, understanding you need a quiet place to recover. Classical music plays softly in the background of his room, and he’s content to have you in his embrace, drawing you onto his lap after you finish the tea he brewed to calm your nerves. Lucifer pays you special attention, massaging your tired body and kissing you tenderly, his breath fanning across your lips as he reminds you how special you truly are—brave, compassionate, and incredibly loved.

MAMMON

Mammon mourns his loss, wondering how he let them gain the upper hand; admittedly, a foolish mistake on his part. He dreads breaking the news to Lucifer, and the resentment that shows on his brothers’ faces once he confesses does little to ease his mind. Still, he worries about your reaction most of all, knowing his stupidity has put you in a precarious position. In that moment he believes their words—only a greedy scumbag like himself dares to place his human’s happiness on the line. Although certain of his win at the time, he should consider how his actions affect you more often; otherwise, how can he claim he’s the Great Mammon? His confidence is his downfall in the end. Now you’ll suffer along with him. Yet you feign optimism, attempting to soothe everything over despite your innocence. His guilt only grows, a heavy weight on his shoulders. One he deserves.

Three days of waiting on and performing for large crowds at The Fall proves hectic for everyone. He can tell you’re struggling beneath the façade of a composed and hospitable server, going above and beyond to ensure the patrons leave satisfied. Furthermore, you lend him and his brothers a hand, coming to their rescue; it should be him making it as easy on you as possible. His concern for you runs deep, no matter how hard he tries to maintain his usual air of indifference, but you have the nerve to reassure him—it’s meant to be the opposite, dammit. Each night he goes out of his way to check on you, frustrated that you continue to dance around the subject. He can see the exhaustion on your face, hear the slight tremor in your voice, the toll his stupid decision is taking on you, and it stung. You comfort him, even when he’s undeserving, so why won’t you allow him to hold you and kiss the pain away? Not that he’s asked. You should realize by now you can rely on him, right?

Watching you suffer in silence tortures him. He can’t deny it regardless of his best effort to make light of the situation. You barely eat or spend time outside your room, saying you’re tired, which isn’t a lie—working is exhausting, no doubt about it—but he understands you well enough to notice the subtle signs of your anxiety, your smile unable to trick him into believing otherwise. Perhaps you find him as insufferable as his brothers do, or worse, and don’t want to see his face after what he’s done. That doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door, hoping he can offer some form of comfort. However, you keep up appearances, supporting the seven of them during the longest weekend of their lives. You work hard too, his chest swelling with pride as he watches you care for his brothers and customers alike. How can you like an idiot like him? You’re selfless and loving, looking past his flaws to see what lay beneath his sin. His human. His angel. He wants—no needs—you to be okay.

The last day comes and goes in a blur. Finally, he can toss these ridiculous clothes and rabbit ears in the trash and never perform that dance again. Better yet, you’re free of his burden, though the guilt remains. He can’t relax until he’s positive you’re okay, knowing he’s genuinely sorry. Standing outside your room, he tries to muster up the courage to open his heart to you—apologies not his strong suit—when he hears you crying. They’re small, muffled sobs that manage to shake him to his core, blood running cold. Yeah, he should knock, but he can’t control himself, throwing the door open without hesitation and rushing to your side. The sight of your tears is almost too much to bear, and he draws you into his embrace, face heating up at his own moment of vulnerability, but this is about you, not him. He can be strong for you too, telling you everything’s going to be okay, that the Great Mammon is here to help.

After his stupidity, you tell him you were afraid to bother him? He can hardly suppress the shock at your confession, the sadness in your eyes breaking his heart. You wanted to make sure it went smoothly for his sake? You suffer through Hell alone because you chose to put his feelings first? Crazy. Though he thanks you, not completely ashamed to admit he’s touched. However, he tells you that you don’t have to put aside your feelings for his benefit; he prefers to be by your side then know you’re having a rough time on your own. He is your first. Taking the initiative, he asks what he can do to make it up to you, no matter how big or small the request is because he’ll do it in a heartbeat. You opt to stay in his arms, burying your face into his chest, and he wipes away your remaining tears, being as gentle as he possibly can. He can feel how tense your body is, your skin unnaturally warm, and it takes a while until you stop shaking. It’s moments like these he’ll tell you how much you mean to him—that he loves you, okay—and he wants you to come to him for everything. He’ll hold you, taking your hand in his, and kiss you with all the adoration in the world because you’re incredibly important to him. Mammon can attest to that.

LEVIATHAN

Leviathan invites you to his room to play video games, a daily routine the two of you have comfortably fallen into. He loves gaming with you, though on occasion you opt to watch instead, thoroughly enthralled by whatever is on the screen. Miraculously, you enjoy listening to him ramble—whether it’s about the game he’s playing, anime he’s watching, or TSL among other things—genuinely showing interest in his passions; he’s incapable of expressing how truly grateful he is for your company. His heart nearly bursts whenever you compliment him on his gaming prowess, encourage him during a particularly intense battle, or merely tell him how you enjoy hanging out. How in the Devildom did a gross otaku like him get so incredibly lucky? He can hardly believe you love him of all demons. The thought alone sounds crazy lmao. 

Unable to contain his excitement, he awaits your arrival that night, ensuring everything is perfect when he hears a knock on the door. However, his smile fades the moment he lays eyes on you, mind beginning to race as he wonders why you look miserable, your gaze trained on your hands. Before he can speak, you apologize, dissolving into tears while you return the game he let you borrow. You’re stuttering, completely winded, and he can barely hear you confess to accidentally corrupting his data in your panic. In fact, he loses track of the number of times you choke out a sorry. He treasures his games, his collection extensive, but he cherishes you most of all. The loss is a minor annoyance, nothing that lessens the feelings he harbors for you. Although difficult, he overcomes his insecurities to show you it’s okay—you’re loved.

Not only are you sad, but you’re also terrified, a part of him wanting to destroy the game itself if it means you never have to experience the pain that torments you now. Regarding you carefully, afraid to make matters worse, he reassures you that he’s not upset—far from it, honestly—and that he cares about you more than any game. No stranger to your panic attacks, he reaches out to take your hand in his, hoping you find comfort in what he has to offer. And when you finally glance up, hope shining in your tear-filled eyes, he can’t help but wrap you in his arms. A warmth spreads across his face, heart pounding in his ears, but he knows you need him, allowing his body to relax around yours.

Holding you against him, he tells you everything’s all right, stuttering out how he loves you and, most importantly, wants to you to feel better. Your arms circle around his waist, causing his heart to jump into his throat, but he only pulls you closer. You’re his Henry, and what friend is he if you can’t rely on him? Leviathan is understanding, wanting you to come to him for support at your most vulnerable. Now he puts his knowledge to the test, easing you into his room with continuous words of affirmation. You always know how to console him at his lowest, and he hopes he can return the favor. If anyone deserves to feel loved it’s you, who brought joy into his otherwise bleak world, and he’ll sit with you every day and night if you need him to. 

SATAN

Satan knows he shouldn’t be awake, though he finds it difficult to satiate his curiosity as he peruses the books lining his shelves. He barely registers the sound of his D.D.D, reluctant to put the book aside to see who’s messaging him at this ungodly hour; Asmodeus most likely. His tune changes after he sees your name lighting up his screen, his annoyance replaced with worry. He knows you struggle, especially at night, but he can tell you’re hesitant to reach out. Nevertheless, you gradually begin to confide in him, his patience limitless if you’re concerned, and he feels a sense of relief that you choose to trust him at your most vulnerable instead of suffering on your own. Pouring over every book he can locate on anxiety, he studies it religiously, engraining each page into his memory. Not by giving unsolicited advice—he doesn’t want to make that mistake twice—but by comforting you the best he can, even if it simply means to stay by your side, waiting for the panic to pass.

A second later, he appears at your door, gaze softening as your eyes meet. In the darkness of your room, he can tell how exhausted you are. You apologize for bothering him, particularly this late, but he dismisses you with a shake of his head and a reassuring smile, sitting beside you on the bed. It saddens him that you feel the need to, but he’s familiar enough with anxiety by now that he understands how much of a manipulative monster it truly is; if only he can destroy it with his own two hands, strangling the life out of it so it no longer taints that innocent soul of yours. To watch you struggle fills him with a rage that he forces deep within himself, fully aware anger isn’t the answer no matter how great his desire to protect you is. So, he cups your face in his hands, your skin warm beneath his fingers as he strokes your flushed cheeks and presses your foreheads together. 

Focus on him, he tells you, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his voice while he whispers words of love and encouragement. He never tires of letting you know how beautiful and strong you are, that he’s always here for you and loves you—all of you. You unravel in his arms, opening your heart up to him, and he listens intently, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips the moment you look uncertain. You’re not a burden he promises, hoping one day you’ll believe it yourself, but he’ll remind you every chance he gets; forever if he must. It’s worth it in the end, when you relax against him and smile, kissing him in return. Slowly, the anxiety leaves your body, Satan thankful that the waves of panic have receded enough to let you rest your weary mind. He remains next to you, pulling you down to lay your head on his chest and closing your hand in his, entwining your fingers. He’s content here with you, watching you fall asleep and chasing away the nightmares.

ASMODEUS

Asmodeus loves shopping, but he loves shopping with you most of all. The day is bright with you by his side, and he can’t help but buy you clothes and matching accessories to bring out your inherent charm. Your potential is endless, and he gushes over how gorgeous you are, unable to contain his excitement when your cheeks turn a beautiful shade of pink in return. He can hardly control himself around you, gaze fixated on your every movement and heart racing each time you flash him one of the sweetest smiles he’s ever seen; your very soul seeming to shine through and blind him. Nothing prepares him for the love he feels for you, but he considers it a welcome surprise, his desire to grow closer to you intensifying day after day. You captivate him, the Avatar of Lust of all demons. What an exciting turn of events!

Of course, he attracts attention wherever he goes, posing for pictures with adoring fans and basking in the compliments constantly thrown his way; nothing new, but he enjoys it, nonetheless. Who can resist the allure of his very presence? However, anger wells within him at the sight of you being shoved to the side, falling to the ground and lost to the crowd that has gathered. Their words of flattery fall on deaf ears as he rushes to you, throwing a heated glance at the lowly demon who dares to touch his darling human. He desires nothing more than to punish them for such an injustice, but the fear in your eyes tells him otherwise. By the time he scoops you up into his arms you’re trembling from head to toe, and he can feel your heart pounding against him. A part of him places the blame on himself, an unfamiliar feeling, but he chooses to ignore it for now, focusing on getting you home in your worsening state.

In the peace and quiet of his room, he sits you on the bed, wrapping you in his arms as he affectionately runs his fingers through your hair. He can tell you’re upset—in an absolute state of panic by the looks of it—and all he can do is hold you through it, quietly asking what you need and willing to answer your every beck and call if it means that adorable smile graces your features once more. For a moment he considers seeking out Lucifer, worried something has gone terribly wrong, but thankfully you find your voice, mumbling into his chest about anxiety and panic attacks, that you’ll be fine—eventually—and are sorry for ruining your date. He doesn’t understand completely, though he knows you need him, promising to stay by your side for as long as you want. Kissing your cheek, he assures you there’s no need to apologize to him, your safety more important than anything else; the demon who laid his hands on you won’t go without punishment either.

Admitting a bath helps calm you down, he prepares one for you, steam rising from the surface and the heady scent of roses filling the air. Together you slip into the water, enveloped by its warmth, and he hums in contentment as you lean into him, his arms coming to rest around your waist. He watches you carefully, making sure you’re able to relax and preparing himself in case you call on him; he’ll do anything for you if it brings you the happiness you deserve. Your eyes flutter close, Asmodeus showering you with delicate kisses, comforted by the fact your breathing has levelled out and you appear a lot calmer than before. The day didn’t go as planned, and he hopes to make it up to you, vowing that no one else will hurt you on his watch. He loves himself. He loves his brothers. But loves you most of all.

BEELZEBUB

Beelzebub notices you haven’t touched your dinner and is beyond happy the moment you offer your plate to him. Yet he can’t bring himself to enjoy the food in front of him while you excuse yourself from the table, eyes downcast and voice quiet, the usual smile gone from your face and leaving behind an emptiness that rivals his own hunger. His mouth waters at the thought of seconds, but his concern for you grows, and he decides to follow you without question, disregarding the ravenous growl of his stomach. He catches you in the hallway, calling out your name. You turn to him, his brow furrowing in unease at the sight of your tears and the slight tremble of your lip. It hurts him to see you in obvious distress, and he earnestly offers his support.

The only sound is that of your sobbing. He desperately wishes to hold you tightly and rid you of your pain. However, he falters, studying you. Your gaze is trained on the floor, shoulders stiff with tension, and the color drains from your cheeks. When you speak, he’s surprised by how helpless you sound and the fact you’re trying to reassure him, putting his needs above your own although you’re struggling to hold yourself together. Fear flickers across your features at the echo of the brothers’ voices travelling up the stairs, and he mumbles out an apology as he carefully lifts you into his arms, cradling you to his chest. 

Before the others can round the corner, he hurries down the hall and slips into your room, determined to protect his vulnerable human. He notices you relax against him, your fingers curling into his shirt, and he can’t help but want to keep you close, relieved after you lean in closer to wrap your arms around his neck. Stroking your hair, he allows you to cry, his patience and love for you endless. Eventually, you mutter an embarrassed sorry, thanking him profusely, but he’s merely relieved you’re beginning to feel a bit better, reassuring you that you can always depend on him. 

Listening to you intently, he never breaks eye contact. You open up to him about your anxiety, his stomach twisting as you describe what you call a panic attack and how it wrecks you both mentally and physically. Beelzebub knows he has a lot to learn, but he expresses interest in understanding anxiety and, most importantly, how he can help you, so you don’t suffer alone. For the rest of the night, he keeps you company and eases you through the remainder of your attack, giving you plenty of hugs and rubbing your back in soothing circles until you no longer shake, and your heartbeat returns to its usual pace.

BELPHEGOR

Belphegor enjoys the time you spend together, especially when the two of you are alone. He asks you to accompany him in the attic, and it’s not long before he curls around you, falling into a peaceful sleep as he listens to the steady beat of your heart. However, when he awakes it’s to the sound of your soft cries in the dark, which fill him with a fear he can’t seem to shake. Without hesitation he’s at your side, sitting up to softly place a hand on your shoulder and ask you what’s wrong. The sadness in your eyes as you glance up at him, tears staining your cheeks, tugs at his heartstrings. He can’t bear to see you upset.

Once he realizes you’re having a panic attack, he’s attentive to your needs, cradling you in his arms as you cry into his chest. You confided in him about your struggles with anxiety after you fell to pieces in front of him months ago. A part of him understands, the loss of Lilith haunting him throughout the years and instilling a similar feeling of unease within him, especially when his nightmares seem to blur the line between reality and the painful memories of his past. You always came to his rescue and now it’s his turn to comfort you in your time of need. Sleep can wait.

With you in his embrace, he brings you down to relax against the pillows, pulling the blanket around your shivering form. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he gently brushes the remaining tears from your face, whispering words of love and reassurance. He listens to you when you’re comfortable to talk, the slight tremble of your voice causing him to draw you closer and press a kiss to your forehead. Belphegor tells you he’s here for you—forever—and although he’s still learning about anxiety and finding the best ways to comfort you during an attack, he wants you to depend on him no matter what. Even if that means you wake him up in the middle of the night. He won’t rest until he knows you’re okay, and you’re peacefully sleeping in his arms.

[guillotoinette]

My Little Clown

Being the Joker's girl isn't easy. If anything, it's a curse. To constantly be up at night thinking about the future, me and The Joker's. Gotham's dark knight has the two of us in his palm, It's only a matter of time until The Joker gets caught. God knows what torture they have awaiting him.

The thought of his suffering made me feel sick. His poor, hurt soul. Whatever did they do to you?

...

Despite the horrible things he'd done, I can't leave him. I can't. I never will. Why do I love you this much? A murderous lunatic, making me feel loved. Like I'm the happiest, luckiest girl in the world. Jack is the only person that makes me feel like this, like I'm somebody, and not just some puppet. The sheer thought of his bruised hand on my cheek, his scarred lips brushing against mine.. It makes me feel like I'm in heaven. I can't seem to come down. It's like he drugged me, pricked me with a love poisoned arrow.

But he doesn't want to admit it.

At least, not yet.

You're a dangerous drug, but oh god you're addicting. So addicting.

I lay in my bed, feeling like I'm in the sky as I think of more scenarios with Joker. The fluffy bed makes me feel more ecstatic.

"When are you coming home?"

I took a glance at the clock hanging on the wall.

12:15

Just as I was about to turn off the lamp on the bedside table, I hear the door creak open, and my head quickly turns to my right.

My eyes met his, a small grin can be seen blending in with that blood red lipstick. Oh how it tastes so intoxicating.

I stood up the bed, running towards his arms that are open wide for me to jump into.

I feel my chest rub against his leather suit, feeling his slow beating heart. His dark eyes stares into my soul, and I couldn't help but look back at them. Those two dull marbles, they don't scare me anymore. Not like it used to. In fact, just looking into them is enough to make me feel at home. They're comforting.

I stood on top of my toes to give him a kiss, but before I can even reach him, I feel his lips on mine. They're soft, and warm. They made me melt completely, losing my balance and catching myself by wrapping my arms around Joker's neck.

"Aww.. Looks like someone missed me."

What he just said made me red. Goosebumps scattered across my skin as his gloved hand caresses my cheek ever so slowly. I couldn't help but smile back at him, my face resting on his palm.

He lets go, leaving a small squint in my eyes. He takes off his coat and throws it on the ground.

"Today was, ah.. Tiring. Boring, even."

Then, his gloves. He walks over to a desk and places them there, and I couldn't help but notice his hands. They were bruised.

I opened my mouth finding words to say to him, but his deep voice interrupts.

"Those mobs were no fun at all.."

His left hand rolls up the sleeves on his right arm while he walks slowly over to the bed. He falls comfortably on the edge, patting both of his thighs as a gesture for me to sit on him.

I obey, sitting myself on his lap. I can feel his hot breath on my bare nape, sending shivers down my spine. He gently wraps his left arm on my waist, pulling me even closer to him while his right hand meets my hair, playing with random black strands. He's so childish.

"So, sweet cheeks.. What have you been up to?Hmm?" He sounded so gentle. It's unusual, yet it's so reassuring.

"Jack.." These words escape my lips. I turn around to face him, forcing him to back up and make space for me to sit on.

I place both my hands on his shoulder, looking directly in his eye. Nobody has ever dared to stare at the Joker, but I can tell. I can tell that he loves it when my brown eyes look into his.

"I.. Wanted to ask you something."

Oh God. What the hell am I saying?

"Jack.. What exactly do you feel.. About m-"

He silences me by pushing his lips on me, this time, it was harder. More passionate. His embrace made me fall on him, now making me on top of him as he lays down on the bed, his stringy hair messy against the white pillow below him. I pull away giving him the chance to answer my question.

"I thought I've made it obvious enough. I love you, (Y/N)."

His once dark eyes now twinkled with the stars out the window. He smiles. A genuine, pacifying smile spreads across his cheek.

"You are my purpose."

Before I even knew it, a tear sheds from my watering eyes. I'm crying. I'm crying over what the world calls a monster, what I called a monster. The rogue they so feared and loathed turns out to be my savior from the salvation this society had to offer me. For all my life. He's all I ever yearned for.

My destiny. My Joker. My Jack.

I felt myself becoming more weak, eventually collapsing on to his chest as I continue to sob.

He softly brushes my back, giving me a light kiss on the forehead.

...

It felt like 15 minutes until I finally caught up to my breath. Jack's gentle strokes really helped me calm myself down.

I stand up the bed, with him doing the same.

"Shh now, dollface.. I'm here.. Everything's ok." He whispers, leaning towards me and kissing my shaking lips. He bit and tug my bottom lip, causing a soft gasp to leave my mouth. The sensation made me lust for him uncontrollably as his tongue draws circles on mine, faint whines escaping my lips.

"You don't have to worry about anything. Tonight, you're all mine. And I'll be sure to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk." He groaned, his voice now a bit lighter than before.

"You're such a kidder." I teased.

"You think I'm joking?" He glares at me, and he couldn't help but smirk.

"Well, they don't call you The Joker for nothin'."

He laughs, and I laugh with him. It's such a feeling to share chuckles with him, especially when it's just the two of us.

"As I was saying.."

In a flash, he pins me down the bed, both of my hands trapped in his. He kisses my neck and I can't help but moan at how sweetly he did it. But it didn't last for long, the sugary kiss was now salted with a bite. I felt him suck the spot where his lips used to be. It's painful, but god, it's oh-so gratifying.

I want more. I want more of him.

He stops and pulls away to have a good look at the mess he made. My neck was burning with purple and red.

"Now that is, uh.." He licks his lips. What a sight for sore eyes.

"A mark. A mark to label you.. Mine."

His hand meets the ribbon of my dress, undoing it until it was nothing but rags on the floor. He reaches to his pocket to grab a knife, the point pressing on my underwear ripping my bra and panties off, now exposing my naked body. He gazes were flaming, and I can feel him examine every part of me.

It's embarrassing, I'll admit, but I know how much The Joker loves to draw little smily faces on my skin with his soft fingertips, so by now I have no reason to feel like this. He's remembered every bit of me, and the both of us know it.

"My little clown."

His hand was now on my breasts, fondling them tenderly. His thumb draws circles on my tits and I let out a moan in his ear, making sure it ringed in his eardrums, memorizing the tune I made for him. My fingers dug on his back as he made his way down my torso, over to my hips, and eventually toying with my folds. His fingers are so warm it was sure to leave me melting over his touch again.

"Ah..? You're already this wet..? We're just starting, you little slut."

He continued to rub against my flaps, and he didn't hesitate to slide a finger inside. I gasped, I certainly wasn't ready for that.

He's extra stern tonight. He knows I like it that way.

His finger slowly pushed in and out, a moan slipping out of my throat. When Jack saw how I looked like absolutely gratified by his touch, he picked up the pace, now going as fas as light. He pushed another finger inside, then another. I'm getting ripped and I hate how much I love it. I grasp onto his shoulders, fingers digging into his wrinkly shirt, moaning in pure bliss.

"God, you're- ah.. Sooo tight. Soo wet tight for me."

"J-Jack! I'm gonna cum!"

"Oh no you're not. Not yet."

And when I was just about to, he stops. He pulls out his fingers, licking my liquids off like a thirsty cat.

He shoves his thumb, rubbing it inside my inner cheeks. And I'm not gonna lie when I say I love the taste of my fluids mixed with his spit. I squint my eyes, sucking and biting on him.

Jack stands up, giving me some time to sit up the bed and catch up on my breath. I look at him, catching sight of his hard erection, tightening and visible through his pants.

He unzips his violet bottoms and carelessly throwing them in the corner. I kneel down in front of him, pulling down his boxers to reveal his long, veiny cock leaking with pre-cum.

"Now, open wiiidee"

I obey, and before I can even start to suck the tip, he shoves all of it inside my mouth all the way to my throat, thrusting it rapidly as I desperately try not to gag. Eventually getting the hang of it, I swirl my tongue around, earning a loud moan from him.

"Fuck. You feel so good. You're doing so good, dollface." He groans. I look at up him to see him leaning his head back while he fucks my mouth, his eyes closed and his lips slightly open to let out quiet moans and groans. He opens his eyes to catch me sightseeing at his view, I look away to focus on my job, but then I glance back to him as my ears were met with his charming laughs.

"You're so cute, (Y/N)."

I blushed and smiled back at him.

My chest, thighs, and the floor was all covered in saliva and juices.

A few thrusts later and he picks up the speed, becoming more hasty and shaky. I can tell he's close.

He groans finally, his deep nasally voice spoke

"I'm gonna cum, (Y/N), and you're gonna take it all in like a good. little. doll."

I nod.

"Fuck!"

Then, he releases it in my throat. I swallow it all, not a drop dripping out of my lips. He puts a knuckle on my chin, pulling my head up to make eye contact with him, now kneeling in front of me.

"Where, uh.. Where'd ya learn how to suck dick like that, hmm?" He whispers, and I let out a giggle.

"Did I do good?"

He kisses me, our tongues colliding and he pulls out with a spit still on his mouth.

"You did amazing, doll. But now.."

He lifts me up the floor and throws me onto the bed once again. He rests his knees in front of me, hoisting my legs up and wrapping them around his neck.

"Now.. You're getting your reward, as deserved."

He rubs his tip on my swollen clit, exchanging heavy breaths with each other. My eyes are on him, not leaving it once. He leans in front to be closer to me, and I quickly pull him in, kissing him on the lips.

"Hey. Better stay in your place, sweets. Otherwise tonight's 'session' is gonna be longer than expected."He mutters.

"But daddy-"

He stops stroking.

"What- uh.. What'd you just call me?"

Now I'm hitting his weak spots. He loves being called that nickname, like I love being called his good little girl. He loves dominating me as much as I love being commanded by him.

"Daddy, plea-"

"Oh you're fucking getting it."

He strokes one last time before pushing his cock inside me. He's so big. I can remember the pain I felt when we first had sex, he stretched me out so much and I bled all over white sheets. But it was all worth it. Once he hit my sweet spots, I was in heaven.

I let out a moan, leaving him to do the same. He slides in and out, making lewd sounds that echoed around the room, blending with our whines and whimpers.

"Oh Jack yes! Fuck me! Please! Fuck me harder, daddy!"

"Awe, is my little doll enjoying herself?"

"Oh yes, yes I am!!"

"Let's see just how long you're going to last me, you pathetic little whore."

He turns me around and I feel a hard smack on my ass, leaving me wailing. He continues to thrust, slapping my cheeks the same time our hips collide when he bangs me mercilessly.

I feel his chest on my back and his breath at the back of my shoulder. He bites down on my shoulder blade, his yellow teeth deepening in my skin and sucking it. I cry and whimper to no avail, as he continues to mark my shoulder bone with purple and red.

He pulls back, blood dripping from his teeth and swallowing it. Jack continues to fuck me from behind while looking at me, close-up.

"You look so beautiful, even when you're getting your brains fucked out." He cackles in glee.

"You enjoy being messed up by my cock that much, don't cha?"

"Very much!"

"Then cum for me. Cum for me, you pitiable fucking nymph! Cum for daddy." He groans, his voice so deep that I can feel the air vibrate. He pulls on my hair while he places his left hand on my loin.

Those words were enough to make me do what he wanted, cumming in pure euphoria and those stupid butterflies fluttering inside my stomach. He turns me to him and I arch my back, giving Jack full access to my hips, grabbing them and pulling me closer to his pelvis, fucking me even faster than before.

I had just came, so my clit was really sensitive, and that, Jack knew very well. He puts his thumb on the spot, rubbing it bluntly.

The rhapsody I felt was slowly fading, but Jack had no plans on stopping.

"Jack- Jack it hurts-"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry my angel. It's almost over, alright? Keep your eyes on me."

And I do so. I put my hands on his cheeks to softly caress it, causing his eyes to flutter and sparkle. I smiled at the sight, almost forgetting the discomfort between my legs.

"Mhmm.. Fuck..!" Jack curses.

I felt the hot spurts of cum he planted inside me as his cock twitches uncontrollably. He pulls out, some semen left dripping on the bedsheets and on my stomach.

He lays down beside me and I put a hand on his chest. I scooch closer to him but he already pulls me in for our last kiss tonight.

"You.. You were- ah.. You were okay."

I let out a small chuckle on how bad and ridiculously he tried to deny what he felt.

"I love you, Jack."

I turn around and he spoons me in his big arms. I squirm around and purposefully rub my ass on his crotch.

...

His dick is still hard.

[theringers]

counting crimes - pierre gasly

illicit affairs, part three

summary: “wandering eyes and comfortable lies, you seem to sleep just fine” counting crimes / nessa barrett

a/n: i’m thinking there’s only gonna be two more parts but that may change, we’ll see. enjoy this and let me know what u think! feedback is always appreciated xoxo

also this gif today killed me

warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, semi public sex shocker!, lil angst, cocky pierre

Your eyes widen as you try to comprehend what to do. Someone was at the door and Pierre was still inside of you, in shock. “Hey, y/n? Are you in there?” Max’s voice could be heard through the door. He tried to push the door in but the deadbolt stopped him.

You glared at Pierre, cleared your throat and placed a finger on his lips. “Yes, give me a few seconds.” You panicked and pulled your dress up, trying not to make too much noise.

Where the fuck was Pierre supposed to go? You should have just kept quiet. Your eyes focused on the window and you pointed towards it, quietly shoving him out.

He squeezed himself through the window and stepped down onto the grass. After quietly shutting the window, you looked in the mirror and readjusted your dress. Your hair needed some readjusting as well, so you quickly brushed through it.

You unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door to see your husband. “Hey,” he smiled at you, genuinely happy to see you.

“Hi, Max.” Your voice was shaking but you smiled to try to play it off. You usually had a good amount of time to psych yourself up before you went back to Max but you could still feel how Pierre had fucked you.

You were awful. He placed his hands on your hips and kissed your cheek. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You’re kind of hot.” He placed the back of his hand to your forehead.

“Yeah, it was really hot in there but I feel better now.” Hopefully he would buy that story.

“Well, if you’re feeling better now, I have an idea.” His hands rested on your hips again and pulled you into his body. “We have a few minutes to kill. What do you say we have a little bit of fun in here? It is our anniversary after all.” His lips found your neck and placed soft, gentle kisses on the skin. “You look so beautiful tonight, baby.” You were feeling sexually frustrated after being interrupted but he was right. It was your anniversary, so what the hell.

You leaned your neck to the side, inviting him in. “I love this dress, but it needs to come off.” He looked you in the eyes and smiled, reaching around for the zipper. He bent his knees and slowly pulled your dress to your ankles. His hands rested around your calves and move upwards while his lips trailed kisses on the soft skin of your thighs.

His finger pushed aside your panties and he slid a finger between your folds. “Jesus baby, you’re so wet.” He smiled and looked up at you. You moaned and rolled your eyes into the back of your head to avoid making eye contact with him. His tongue found its way between your legs, licking lightly before fucking your pussy with his tongue. You let out a moan while your body jerked toward his face uncontrollably. You needed him to finish you off so badly.

His fingernails ran lightly over the skin on your abdomen down to your thighs. “Oh, Max” you moaned.

Your hand quickly covered your mouth, remembering that even though he wasn’t out there possibly listening there were other people who shouldn’t hear you right now either.

He pulled his suit pants down and took himself in his hand, smiling at you. “I love you,” he said before entering you. He pressed against your body and thrusted up into you while looking in your eyes.

“I love you too, baby.” You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a moan.

Sometimes you forgot what it was like to have sex without the looming threat of someone finding out. Instead of worrying about someone catching you cheating, you were able to focus on the sensation and the intimacy but even now, something was missing.

Max left the bathroom before you, allowing you more time to clean up and look normal. You didn’t want to draw any more attention. “Hey guys, sorry I wasn’t feeling to well.” You said, grabbing your napkin off the table and taking your old seat. Max looked flushed for obvious reasons and couldn’t hide his smile.

You turned to your left and smiled at Pierre and Anna. “Did I miss anything?” Pierre’s gaze was glued to the stage ahead and he refused to look at you. His jaw was clenched and you could feel the steam coming out of his ears. You made eye contact with Anna and cocked your head in confusion. Why was he acting this way? Maybe Anna thinks it’s something she did wrong.

“Nothing important, for us at least,” she said, fixing single pieces of her hair.

Max’s hand gripped your inner thigh and he looked over to you and smiled. You returned the smile but immediately looked in Pierre’s direction to see him still refusing to look at you, his fist balled at his side.

Hotels in random cities at 2 am are lonely. The sound of Max’s snores kept you awake longer than expected. Your mind was wandering to places you wish it wouldn’t and you couldn’t get silence long enough to dream. The air conditioner in the room was set to the coolest temperature - hotel air always hitting different. Your mouth was dry, making you uncomfortable and adding to another thing making you unable to sleep.

You pulled the covers aside in frustration and grabbed a pair of shorts to put on under Max’s oversized Red Bull Racing shirt. You looked around for the room key and slid it off the table as soon as you spotted it.

As you stood in the elevator, you looked down and noticed your bare feet. It was 2 am so you were hoping there was no one important in the lobby. You just wanted a sip of cold water to help put you to sleep.

The night before races always made you nervous. You never knew what was going to happen so you had a constant pit in your stomach over your husband’s safety. That stress only increased when you began sleeping with another driver. Someone else’s safety to worry about.

You smiled at the older couple that greeted you when the elevator door opened. You crossed your arms and tip toed to the mini bar, grabbing the largest bottle of water they carried. After giving the gentleman your room number, you ran towards the closing elevator doors only to be met with familiar blue eyes. His hair was messy and his skin was glowing from sweat.

“Don’t mind me,” he said, stepping to one side. Even though he clearly just worked out you could still smell the strong scent of his cologne. “How have you been, y/n?”

“I’ve been okay. Your summer break looked fun,” you took a quick sip of your water and smiled at him.

“As did yours.” The silence was uncomfortable. You two were always laughing and talking nonstop. It was what you loved about him.

You focused on the pounding of your heart and your eyes wandered, trying to pass the uncomfortable time.

You suddenly lost your balance as the elevator shook, the lights flickered off, and the cables stopped. Turning your head towards Pierre, you began to get worried.

“Did this just break?” He asked, pressing the floor buttons and hoping the lights would come back on.

“Just our luck.” You laughed at yourselves. Why did the universe hate you? You plopped down onto the ground and twiddled your thumbs, realizing that you left your phone in the hotel room. “Do you have your phone?” You asked Pierre.

He lifted his wrist to show his apple watch. “I just went on a run. I never bring it with me on a run.” Of course he didn’t.

You groaned and banged your head on the wall behind you.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me.” He laughed, pleased with himself. He slid down to join you on the floor, the summer heat starting to creep into the elevator.

After not speaking for the entire summer break, this unconventional meeting was quite uncomfortable. You watched on Instagram as him and his wife vacationed in Bali, looking happy as ever. Granted, he did the same with you but he would never admit it. He had too much pride.

“Why didn’t you ever reach out?” You asked him, bluntly.

He looked at you making you feel dumb. “Why do you think I didn’t? I spent four weeks straight with Anna. Would you want me calling you up while you were on holiday with Max?”

“I don’t know,” you stumbled over your words. “I just would have liked to talk to you.”

“I told you before, I can’t keep doing this.” He said, exhausted at the back and forth you two had done.

“Yet, you do. You tease me and torture me and then say you need to be devoted to her. It’s not fair to me.” You let out a deep breath, exhausted over feeling this way.

“You want to talk about fair? You had sex with Max right after me. Less than five minutes after I was inside of you, he was too.”

You looked at him confused.

“I thought you were just going to talk to him for a few moments and then send him off.” Oh no. “I was waiting for you to open the window and let me back in.” He ran his hands over his face.

“Pierre, I’m so-”

“Don’t, y/n.”

He heard you and Max. You felt remorse for doing it, putting Pierre through that. But at the same time, you didn’t. Pierre is sleeping with his friend’s wife. He has no place to be jealous or mad. He comes second.

“How much did you hear?”

“I left when I heard him talk about how wet you were. He thought it was because of him but he had no idea that it was all for me.” Pierre scooted closer to you and put his hand on your thigh.  “He has no idea how wet you get for me.” He moved in closer to your ear. “How good I make you feel.”

Your head spun at his words. When he made you cum, you forgot about everything in the entire world except for him.

“I’m really sorry, Pierre. That was shitty of me.” You rested your hand on his chest. “Let me make it up to you.” Your hand moved to his thigh and grazed over his thin mesh gym shorts.

You pulled his shorts off and took him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head. He pulled your loose hair into his hand as a makeshift ponytail. He let soft groans escape his lips, being mindful of the setting. He would look down to see you taking him fully and have to look away or else he would finish quicker than he would like. Each time his eyes trailed down, his hips thrusted uncontrollably and a grunt would leave his lips.

“That’s it baby,” he said, in a low tone but almost whining. “God, your mouth feels so good. It was made to take my cock.” He continued to fill your mouth and throat, making you gag and tighten around him.

He pulled your head up by your hair and looked at you. “Come sit on my face.” He looked at your outfit, examining how he could take it off in the easiest way possible. He slipped off your comfortable sweat shorts, leaving you in just your Red Bull tee.

He laid down on the ground and hoisted your legs up and around his chest, getting the perfect view of your ass.

You stroked his cock and started to grind your hips against his chest. He took you in his hands immediately, not up for teasing, and pulled you onto his face. You rocked your hips over his face at a slow, light pace while still focusing on taking him in your mouth.

His tongue flicked your clit while his thumbs massaged your ass, pressing down hard and most definitely leaving bruises.

You moaned at the feeling of your legs beginning to tingle. He loved to 69 with you because every time you got an ounce of pleasure, your moans vibrated around his cock. You would tighten your throat and gag, sending him down a spiral. You both knew how to make each other feel incredible.

His facial hair tickled your inner thighs and left light scratches on the skin. As you ground your hips into his mouth, the sensation got rougher but the pleasure just increased.

He used his ab muscles to thrust into your throat, looking for his release. You tightened your grip around the base of his cock and suctioned even harder with your mouth as he let go.

Your legs went fully numb as the tension began to build in your stomach. You reached your peak, hearing Pierre’s tongue lap at your juices.

You rolled off of his body, looking for your shorts. The guilt was already beginning to set in and you couldn’t escape it now. You were stuck.

Pierre wiped his mouth with his hand and you noticed his whole face was wet. He was still smiling.

“I just hope Anna and Max aren’t standing there waiting for us when these doors decide to open.”

“Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake?” You laughed, brushing your fingers through your now knotty hair.

Pierre pulled his shorts back on and looked at you. “Now be honest with me, who eats your pussy better? Me or him?”

“You can’t ask me that.”

“I can and I did.”

“Well, I’m not going to give you an answer.”

He laughed at you, not the reaction you were expecting. “Don’t worry, I already have the answer. I heard the sounds you make when he’s between your legs. It’s nothing compared to the sounds you just made for me.” He winked at you, knowing exactly where you stand with him.

next part

[workofheart]

36+40 with Levi 👁

I love ur writing btw that bodyguard one was WOOOOOOO

this is honestly a fav thank u so much for the request, went kind of ham bc i love this idea. sorry if it hurts ur heart <3

one more | levi + “we’re not just friends and you fucking know it” + “if you’re going to act like a brat then i’m going to treat you like a brat”

warnings: angst/implied nsfw, aggressive levi, “hate to love you” kind of fucking, 18+ minors dni

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“i have feelings for you. and i think you have them for me, too.”

levi is not a man of many words - that much is obvious. he keeps it short and to the point, not one for meaningless chatter or even thinking out loud, preferring to save his input for when it matters most. 

rare is such a thing due to him being rendered speechless by another person, not able to speak even if he wanted. he’s never been struck so voiceless in his life, dumbfounded and heart sinking at your admission.

his silence is deafening. coming here so late at night, you thought you had all the aces in your palm. you were so sure, but his lack of reciprocation to what you were just so confident tells you all you need to know.

he can’t stand to look you in the eyes, averting them to the papers strewn across his desk. “...it’s not that simple,” is all he can manage.

feeling embarrassed, you swallow thickly. “then what is it?”

“we’re comrades,” he offers, but damage control doesn’t look good on him. you wonder why he’s even trying. “i’d even call you my friend.”

you let out a wounded laugh at that, crossing your arms over your chest.. “come on, levi, are you kidding?”

there you go again, as if you can hear the thoughts racing through his mind before he can think them himself. of course he feels it, probably more than you, if he’s completely honest. but he can’t do it to himself again. he’s not sure if he can love someone like he wants to love you and come out alive on the other end.

“listen-”

“we’re not just friends and you fucking know it” you mutter, turning away from him. you can’t even look him in the eyes, from the humility, from the chance that maybe you’ve been wrong this whole time, from the chance you’re truly just in denial. have you just been misreading it all these years?

patience thinning, he stands from his chair to look at you properly, on your level now. “okay, and so what? you know how things are. you know how this life gets.” his lips are pursed, unwavering, sour.

a bitter expression takes root on your face. he hates it. 

“i’d rather love and lose than be a coward and never love at all.”

levi’s eyes narrow, a harrowing clench to his jaw ensues. it’s a shock to hear it coming from you. in fact, he’s astonished. he’s never seen your seething denunciations first hand, though he’s heard so much in passing, and such abrasiveness from you feels like a brutal strike to the jaw. your acrid words sting his pride, spear through his facade like you knew it would. 

he could tolerate attitude: he couldn’t tolerate being called a coward.

his voice drops. “don’t talk to me like that.”

“someone has to say it. the stoic act isn’t doing anything for you.”

he scoffs, incredulous. “you’re acting like a child.”

“you’re the one denying your feelings because you’re scared of getting hurt,” you argue, volume rising, “that’s childish if i’ve ever seen it.” you voice bounces off the walls of the room, and you can’t even be bothered to care about people hearing you when you’re so beat down.

you don’t even see it coming. with a swift movement, levi is storming toward you, has his hands wrapping around your upper arms, pushing you back against the door you stand in front of. you barely get the chance to look into his eyes before he has his lips on yours, firm and rough and unrelenting and...

and so, so inviting. once the initial shock fades, you can’t help but kiss him back, trying to match his pace, trying to find something to do with your hands when they’re still pinned back. but as soon as he feels you reciprocate, he’s pulling away.

eyes widening, you shake your head at him. “what do you think you’re doing?” you ask, chest heaving as you try to collect your breath. 

“if you’re going to act like a brat, then i’m going to treat you like one.”

his grip on your arms slides down to your wrists and then he’s dragging you across the room, pushing you inside his separate bedroom before you can even process what’s happening.

“you want me to tell you how i feel? fine.” he grumbles, pushing you down onto the bed and shrugging off his suit jacket. “you’re the only person around here who sees through me.”

he clamors out of his shoes and belt, discards his gear straps to the side. you’re frozen to your spot, unsure whether to undress, to walk away, or to wait for levi’s order. it’s almost laughable, how he has you collapsing so easily in a matter of moments.

“you look at me like you know what i’m thinking.”

he’s down to his trousers, shirt tosses carelessly over the footboard, before he’s crawling on top of you, movements calculated and intimidating as he pushes you back further and further like an animal toying with its prey. panting, he hovers over you, drinking up the hazy fear in your eyes.

 “you make me so fucking frustrated.” 

he grips your jaw in his hand, harshly locking his lips with yours, his rugged hold giving you nowhere to go.

levi presses another rough kiss to your mouth, swallowing the lewd sound you can’t hold back and pulls away, huffing as he forces you to look at him. “you make me feel like my life is fucking falling apart. and you’re right, that scares the shit out of me.”

he’s in a pit of turmoil, stuck between his desires and the thought of consequences, but his rash judgment pushes it all out. he’ll worry about regret later. it’s not like doesn’t already have an abundance of that hanging over him at every given moment - what’s one more?

“tell me you want me,” he grunts, stilling his movements. he needs you to say it, needs to hear you so he knows it’s real.

your arms reach up to tangle around his neck. “i want you,” you cry between his lips, hands tugging at his hair with greed, trying to pull him closer. it’s not just confirmation, it’s a plea.

warmth spreads through his body yet he feels himself shiver at the way you cling to him. it doesn’t take long to get you out of your clothes. he wants it off, off, off, and you’re not one to deny him. he bites at your neck, nips at the shell of your ear, whispers cruel teases there right where only you can hear him. each new expanse of skin you uncover for him is a new way to torture you, make you feel how much he wants you now, knowing he won’t let himself have you later in a way more than this.

his eyes are glued to you as he slips inside, staring down at the mess he’s made of you. purple lovebites blossom across your flushed, heaving chest. your cunt is dripping, aching for something only he can give you. you’re hot and needy and lewd, just for him, just how he made you, and you had the nerve to call him a coward. 

your mouth falls open at the feeling of his cock dragging sweet against your walls, squeezing him in the best way possible. it draws a low groan from him; he can’t tear his gaze away from how you tremble, dying for the moment to last, the pure pleasure he’s giving you rewarding him with how absolutely beautiful you look like this.

leaning forward, he drops his forearms to the sheets so he has you caged, chest pressing to yours. by now his skin is glossy, struggling to keep himself together with the moans you let out for him.

reaching down your figure, his calloused fingers find your clit to rub tight, hard circles that have you shaking. he picks his head up just to see your reaction, the way your eyes squeeze together, the way your back arches beneath him, the way you say his name like a prayer when you cum.

levi can bring you to your climax as many times as he wants. he’s more than able, more than willing. your body bends to his commands at a single touch. but the both of you know that’s not really what you’re here for.

he grits his teeth as he chases his own high, savoring the feel of your hands in his hair and how you clutch to his every movement, letting the confession spill off the tip of his tongue.

“fuck, i love you,” he pants into your neck, his heavy breaths puffing against your dampening skin. he feels the start crash over him in more ways than one with tears brimming on his lash line. not letting up, his strokes are smooth and fast and deep, as if he’s trying to make up for lost time, as if he’s trying to coax every filthy sound of reassurance he can out of you in the only way he knows how. “you know i do, shit, and you still make me say it.”

levi is not a man of many words, but god if he won’t give them to you when you ask.

[mostly-hannibal-memes]

Hannibal Fic Recommendation List - Season 3

Season 3 fics

Back to Overview

Riot by TheStag An unusual crime is committed during a prison riot at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. When Will is brought in to solve it he’s unfortunately drawn once more into the sphere of Hannibal Lecter. Words: 9,975 Chapters: 3/3 Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

we rise in the dying by euphrasie “Sexual assault was just something that happened to the victims I studied. It was never personal,” Will said, walking over to his makeshift evidence board. He touched the thin red string and followed the length of it; from his decision to stop off on the way home, to the sad box of a room he had woken up in, covered in the marks of men he couldn’t remember. “Sometimes I think maybe it didn’t happen, maybe I’m making this shit up.” --- It was a week before Hannibal’s trial when Will awoke from an attack he couldn't remember. Words: 63,374 Chapters: 9/9 Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con

Biting Your Tail by strangestorys Will makes good use of those breathing holes to get his revenge on Hannibal after the Dragon's attack on Molly. Alternate ending for episode 3.11. “Are you enjoying this?” Hannibal could just grunt and nod in answer, overwhelmed with the small amount of contact Will was giving him and pushing forward into Will’s warm hand. “I can’t hear you, Hannibal. I said, Are you enjoying this?” Words: 1,444 Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

come around again (only want to say goodbye) by hito, Yaegaki, captainsilent, dodificus Hannibal is locked up in the Baltimore Asylum for the Criminally Insane. Supposedly he's in maximum security but he pretty much just breaks out and leaves any time it suits him.And it suits him to break out whenever he thinks Will needs him. I mean, they forgot Will's birthday! Come on, wouldn't you? Fill for the meme. Words: 8114 Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Bound by Reneehart Hannibal shifts against his bindings, something like a growl vibrating in his chest. But it’s never realized, and Will’s grin widens. “You must be so desperate for it,” he muses, pausing a moment before he adds, “for me.”And then he pulls away, dropping to his knees before he can second-guess himself- the thrill of Hannibal’s torture too much to deny. He grasps Hannibal’s thighs, holding him at his bound hips. The dolly creaks, Hannibal trying to push away from the contraption but unable to so much as gaze down at Will, held at the angle of the brakes. Or, Hannibal will only agree to help if Will says 'please.' So Will shows him how good he can beg. Words: 1,244 Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

reflection by murdertrout Will sneaks out of bed with Molly and jerks off thinking about Hannibal. Words: 897 Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Mature Warnings: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

The Sweater by frogo When Will has a bad day - be it stressful, emotionally taxing, or haunted by specters of his past - he drags out a red sweater he keeps locked up in the guest bedroom’s closet. It’s well cared for, well-worn, and not his. The fact that it is technically illegal for him to possess an artifact from the FBI’s evidence stores means nothing to him, because the sweater is his in every way that matters. Words: 4051 Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

In the Mood for Love by extremelyperturbed Chilton survives, has his name cleared, and he and Will bond while recovering in the hospital over their shared love of sarcasm and desire to see Hannibal behind bars. They know Hannibal is a possessive narcissist who hates being upstaged, so they decide the best way to draw him out is to pretend very publicly that they're dating, The rest of the prompt is at the link Words: 1491 Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply