#Multi-Purpose Flash

[jrry2hone]

https://www.futureelectronics.com/p/semiconductors--memory--flash--norflash--nor/sst39sf040-70-4c-nhe-microchip-6467633

What is flash memory, flash memory chip, Flash Memory, Multi-Purpose Flash

SST39SF Series 4 Mbit 512 K x 8 5 V Multi-Purpose Flash - PLCC-32

[kunareads]

brat | track one

360

producer!suguru x popstar!reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 2k

content: smut, fluff, smau / exhibitionism (concealed in a public setting), fingering, drug/alcohol use, ambiguous relationship status / a little scene-setting before we get into it next chapter :)

INTERACT HERE FOR TAGLIST 18+ please <3

Variety — YEAR OF THE BRAT: SUGURU GETO AND YN HAVE THE INDUSTRY IN A HEADLOCK (AND THEY’RE LAUGHING ABOUT IT)

Vulture — INSIDE THE CULT OF YN AND GETO: WHY EVERYONE’S COPYING THE CHAOS

The Cut — THE ART OF BEING WATCHED: THE ROLLOUT THAT TOOK OVER YOUR TIMELINE

[ seven days, 14 hours to drop ]

you’re chewing gum when you walk in.

the meeting room is glass-walled, over-lit, aggressively air-conditioned. it smells like money and emails. a brand director is mid-slide, gesturing at a screen filled with words like reach and multi-platform ecosystem. someone else chimes in about vertical integration.

suguru trails two steps behind you with half a croissant in his hand, headphones slung around his neck. he doesn’t say a word—just drops into the chair beside yours and opens his laptop as if the room isn’t full of people.

you don’t take your sunglasses off. their fault for lighting the place like an interrogation chamber.

“the aim is cultural virality,” someone says. “we’re thinking cross-brand utility meets niche rebellion.”

you blink slowly. blow a bubble. pop it.

“is there a slide where you tell us what the fuck that means?”

suguru doesn’t look up, but he does smirk beside you—the silent, crooked kind he gives you when he thinks you’re being mean on purpose. (you are.)

a younger exec tries to pivot. “no, like—we just want to elevate your image without diluting the—”

“please don’t say authenticity.” you cross your legs. “i’ll have to light myself on fire.”

[ six days, 12 hours to drop ]

@/cultyn (instagram post) 📸 : your silhouette behind a sheer curtain with silver tinsel, suguru’s tattooed hand pulling the curtain aside. 💬 : countdown in bio. don’t be late ⏳

@/cultgeto (instagram post) 📸 : same as yours. 💬 : it begins 🔄 360 video friday

[ four days, 22 hours to drop ]

you feel it before you name it—that warm, sparkling edge of visibility. the music’s perfect. the lights are forgiving. everyone’s looking, seeing exactly what you want them to.

but the only eyes that matter are fixed on you from a corner—suguru, legs spread and an arm slung over the back of the couch like the section belongs to him. (it does.)

he waits.

you let it build. air-kiss people you barely remember. twirl a girl’s hair between your fingers, whispering something that makes her giggle. lean into camera flashes, catching light in your earrings, your clothes, your teeth.

and when you’re satisfied, you cross the floor, hips swinging like a threat, and slot yourself between his knees. he leans back and gives you that look—somewhere between dare and devotion.

“having fun?” he asks, amused.

you straddle his thigh without answering. your skirt rides higher, his eyes drop lower. instead of stopping you, he grabs his jacket from the seat and drapes it over your bare shoulders—possession dressed as modesty.

“so fucking spoiled,” he mutters, more observation than complaint. like he’s proud. like he made you this way on purpose.

you roll your hips once. then again, slower, dirtier. a palm settles on your ass to guide you, not stop you. his show now, not yours. every grind hits harder as you fall into the rhythm he sets.

he takes your drink, downs it in one swallow, sets the glass aside. you watch his throat work before that same hand trails condensation up your thigh and under your skirt.

you’re slick through your panties.

“you’re such a fucking handful,” he says with a smirk, planting kisses from your cheek to your jaw. his voice is hot in your ear, close enough to catch between beats. “you know that?”

you tilt your head, feigning innocence. “wanted you to touch me.”

his smirk deepens when you slide your knees wider on the seat for him. he shifts your panties aside and sinks two fingers in.

your mouth drops open as he sets a pace. you arch into him automatically, grinding harder, already after something without permission. his palm presses over your clit with every thrust. it’s sloppy—shallow breath, parted lips, heavy eyelids.

you try to keep the rhythm, to stay composed, but his fingers work in time with the music, eyes pinned to your face. he kisses you when he catches it—the split second where it stops being teasing and starts being need.

“breathe.”

your hips stutter, the warning landing between your lungs and your legs.

“you’re gonna cum too fast.”

you nod, or shake your head—you don’t know. you ignore him like you always do, desperate now, chasing it like you’re not surrounded by strangers. if anyone’s watching, suguru’s already made sure they can’t see anyway.

“you wanna be fucked on this couch in front of everyone?” he asks, voice dropping to something fond and a little mean. “or are you gonna behave?”

you don’t answer. can’t. your forehead drops to his shoulder, breath hitching as his cologne fills your senses. you’re right on the edge—

“i know, baby.” he murmurs it like a spell, dragging his thumb up your clit. “i know. make a mess if you need to.”

you cum on his hand like it was his idea. like you didn’t start the whole thing in the first place.

he keeps you there, fingers still inside, letting you come apart in pieces on top of him. your hips twitch and you whimper into his throat, melting against him. he lets you ride it out. lets your slick flood over his fingers and down his hand, then pulls out slowly. tucks your panties back into place too carefully for what just happened.

then he brings one finger to his mouth, licking it clean. he offers the other to you, and you take it like you always do—lips parted, tongue out, wrapping around him slow in the way you know drives him insane. you suck, humming low in your throat like a thank you.

you start to lift your head, suddenly aware of where you are and the fact that the song’s changed twice, but a hand finds the back of your neck, grounding you as he kisses your temple.

“not yet,” he murmurs. “you’re okay.”

so you exhale and let yourself sink into him fully. your cheek pressed to his chest, his arm snug around your waist, jacket still warm over your shoulders. the music keeps playing and the lights keep shifting, but for a few more seconds, you stay where you are.

[ four hours to drop ]

you’re twenty-five minutes late and only partially dressed when you go live.

you rarely do interviews separately. don’t take meetings separately either, unless you’re trying to scare someone. livestreams are the same—it’s him or nothing.

suguru stands behind you, black shirt half-buttoned with the sleeves rolled up. he’s halfway through lacing your corset, rings flashing as he works the ribbon like he’s tying a gift.

“i told you to start getting ready two hours ago,” he mutters, eyes on his hands.

“you did,” you agree with a nod, squinting at the phone propped against the hotel mirror. the chat scrolls too fast to follow, but you catch a few:

SUGURU HANDS WATCHERS STAND UP he’s doing it wrong but like… sexy?? she’s so calm i would be screaming and crying and biting

“chat says you’re doing it wrong.”

“chat can’t get you out of a corset with one hand,” he deadpans, not even looking up.

you seal the joint in your hands with a slow press of your tongue, dragging it across the paper like you know he’s watching. (he is. he always is.)

he finishes with a final tug, knotting the ribbon tight and smoothing the laces like he’s proud of himself. his fingers trail down your spine in a lazy line as he kisses your bare shoulder once, soft and thoughtless.

the lighter clicks. you inhale, exhale. watch him in the mirror as he disappears from the frame to rifle through the jewelry you’d dumped onto the counter earlier.

he returns with earrings, necklaces, and bangles in hand.

“stay still.”

his fingers are cool where they skim your neck. he hooks the earrings in slow, fastens your necklace, slips each bracelet on one by one and brings your hand to his lips when he’s done.

you pass him the joint.

“we were supposed to be there thirty minutes ago and it’s thirty minutes away,” he says, exhaling smoke.

“mm,” you reply, dabbing on lip gloss. “better hurry up and pick my shoes then.”

i’ve never wanted to be a joint so bad in my whole life HE PICKS HER JEWELRY?????? is this foreplay or a grwm

[ 30 minutes to drop ]

the diesel party is still going by the time you leave. your heels click loudly against the sidewalk. suguru’s hand rests low at your back, half-steering. he smells like weed and your favorite cologne.

someone with a press badge calls your name—matte lipstick, eyes wide like she can’t believe you’re real. she catches you just before the car with a mic, a cameraman, and a hopeful smile.

“just a second—can we get a quick word? you both look—” she hesitates, trying to find the right language. “—unreal.”

suguru stops halfway behind you, not moving his hand from your waist.

“so,” she starts, practically vibrating. “what made you two want to show up together for tonight’s diesel launch?”

“we love a party,” you reply, smiling.

she laughs like it’s charming. follows up with something about your sound, the visuals you’ve been putting out recently. you let suguru answer that one—you’re busy watching the lights bounce off the gloss you left on his cheekbone.

“okay, last one. you probably get this all the time, but—are you two… together?”

suguru grins. “we’re the same person.”

you don’t miss a beat. “worse.”

the interviewer laughs, flustered and delighted. “right. okay. thank you—”

but you’re already sliding into the backseat.

the car door shuts and the world cuts out. no bass, no flashing lights. just dark leather and air conditioning and exhaustion behind your eyes.

you exhale once, sharp, and start leaning forward to unbuckle your shoes.

suguru stops you. “let me.” like it’s obvious.

he pulls your feet into his lap one at a time, slipping the heels off like you’re breakable. his thumb circles your ankle, slow and grounding. your breathing evens out.

outside, cameras flash against the windows, but the tint’s too dark for them to get anything real.

it echoes in your head. are you two together?

“you didn’t say no,” you say softly, eyes closed.

he keeps rubbing. “you didn’t either.”

when you look at him, he’s smiling at you, eyes soft like he’s listening for something unspoken.

you settle deeper into the seat, one hand resting over his.

neither of you has said it.

but he always shows up. always looks at you like you’re the only person in the world speaking his language.

and you do the same.

you’re each other’s. just not in a way you can put in writing.

[ three minutes post-drop ]

the 360 video drops at midnight. it’s trending by 12:03.

the internet does what it always does.

@/bratchive: every brand strategist watching this with tears in their eyes

@/getogirl: brat / tamer dynamic so loud you can hear the leash drag

@/forynonly: legacy is UNDEBATEDDDDD icon behavior

you don’t check your phone, but you feel it—the shift, the buzz, the spin of it all. the world catching up to something you’ve already lived through.

[surielstea]

Don’t you like me?

Based on this request.

Pairing: Eris x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader has been secretly in love with Eris since she was little, so what happens when she’s to be married off to another in a weeks time and he’s yet to make a move?

Warnings: Smut | Minors DNI | 18+ only | p in v | heavy breeding kink | multi-orgasm | cream pie | dirty talk | use of pet names (bunny, baby) | outdated beliefs | typical autumn court views

A/N: HEAVY smut. Like this is fr the filthiest thing I’ve ever published so hope all you freaks enjoy…

5.9k words

I walked into the dining hall dressed in a stunning gown made from a forest green material that was beyond soft. The bodice was snug and hugged me in all the right places, while the skirt cascaded down in a waterfall of silk, a high slit cutting through the side to show a flash of my leg. I looked like pure perfection.

"Eris," I call to the male who was standing by the window, peering down at the fields, watching over the land like some kind of higher power.

"Hm?" He utters but doesn't cast a glance my way, forming a gaping cavity in my chest.

"Do you like my dress?" I ask, he still doesn't look at me. His arms are crossed over his chest and I can see the tips of his fingers blazing like he's forcing himself to refrain from moving. "The shopkeeper said it looked pretty on me," I smile. "He said it was so perfect that he just had to give me a discount," I add and his ears perk up, head whipping to me. "He?" The protective male asks and a small smile forms on my lips. "At least he had the decency to look at me when I speak to him." I shrug and he bristles, eyes flicking up and down, taking in my dress, my bare leg peering through the slit, the golden earrings he got me for my birthday hanging from my lobes, hair pulled back and out of my face how I knew he liked.

"Are you doing this on purpose?" He takes a step closer and I clasp my hands behind my back, staring up at him innocently. "I'm not sure what you mean, General." I flutter my lashes and a muscle along his jaw feathers.

"Bunny," He grits out and I only continue to stare up at him with curious eyes, the kind I knew made him stumble over his words. "My lord?" I ask with a wondering tone. He swallows thickly and then stones his features. "Are you ready for the ball?" He asks and I hold back from rolling my eyes and instead nod. "Are you?" I ask and he only replies with a sigh, his arm hooking through mine. "Let's get this over with." He muttered, then winnowed us into a crowded ballroom.

I've been trying to get Eris' attention since we were young, but he's always cast me off as a younger sister type, I refused to accept that, so I pushed his buttons. I was the daughter of Beron's most trusted advisor, this ball was put together in order to find me a suitor, every one of these men is here for my hand, I was hoping Eris did something before we got here, hoping he'd say something, anything. But he didn't. So we stood in the center of the ballroom and stared ahead of us at Beron who sat on his throne, my father at his side.

The both of them gave me foxlike grins and I gulped down the anxiety lodged in my throat, hand tightening around Eris' as we approached the dais.

"My lord," I curtsy to the high lord while Eris bows. "Rise girl, today is your day." He hums in a grating voice I've grown to hate. I flick my eyes back up to the eldest Vanserra and do as he says, Eris as well. "I cannot thank you enough for putting on this event for me, I'm beyond grateful," I say to him in a light tone, a polite grin on my face. My father hasn't so much as spared me a glance so I don't look at him either.

"Yes well, you've been of age for some time now haven't you?" He shifts in his throne as if his legs could spread any wider. "I have, my lord." I bow my head. "I have no doubt you'll be able to find an eligible suitor tonight, you look absolutely ravishing." He grins and that expression has never made me more nauseous. Eris' hand tightens on mine and I realize he's still holding it. "I've handpicked all of the males attending tonight, do me a favor, and don't let that work go to waste." He instructs and I nod, his eyes then fall between Eris and I, where our hands are linked. Eris reacts before I can even notice, his hand slipping from mine. My breath hitched for a moment and I turned to look up at him with slightly creased brows. His expression remains stoic as he continues to stare ahead, not daring to meet my gaze.

"Go on," Beron waves us away. I curtsy once more before spinning on my heel, expecting Eris to follow after me but he stayed behind, joining his father's other side on the dais. It was hard to watch so I didn’t look any longer and direction my line of sight to the sea of men waiting for my attention.

I ball my hands into fists before shaking them out as I stare at all the males with beckoning eyes, wanting to be picked for the first dance.

Traditionally I'd dance with the high lord, but the older male didn't seem to have an interest in upholding said tradition, so it was my pick. How generous.

My eyes snag on a head of strawberry-blonde hair in the back. Langdon, a fair-skinned male with piercing green eyes and a gangly figure, I've known him since I was a girl— had a crush on him since his family came into nobility. He was kind, or rather, as kind as they got in the Autumn Court. He wasn't looking my way, this was my ball and he still wasn't looking my way. Why is it that I always wanted men who hold no interest in me?

I look behind me to spot Eris already staring, his fingers anxiously twisting the golden ring around his pinky finger. One of his tells, that one specifically informed me that he was nervous. Over what? I had no idea, but some buried part of me wanted to place my hands over his and tell him there was nothing to worry about.

I shove the feeling down and turn back to the crowd of males who seemed to now stand a whole yard closer.

I was only thankful Beron didn't choose for me, or worse, my father.

Fortunately, Langdon was looking at me now. Our gazes catch and I give the slightest dip of my head. The males who understood they hadn't been picked dispersed, leaving Langdon and I parallel to each other.

The music begins and I remain where I stand, waiting for the male to approach me instead. Once he gets to my side he offers his hand and I take it with little hesitation, the chorus of the song starts and our waltz begins.

I've been trained my entire life for this, my father has made sure I was educated on every custom and tradition of how Autumn Court females must behave, should I step a toe out of line he'd be there to reprimand me, whether that meant physically or mentally.

I knew every dance like the back of my hand, memorized how each dress was hemmed, could do each house chore with my eyes closed, and recite exactly where my place was to anyone who asked— it's been beaten into me so many times it'd be a parody to forget. I belong beside my husband, raising his children. That was it. That's all I've been told I'm any good for.

"I won't ask for your hand," Langdon hums mid-step and I look up to him with curious eyes. I'd be lying if a pang of hurt didn't run through my chest. "And why not?" I ask, my dress swirling around me as he twirls me around. "I won't tie you down, I refuse." He shakes his head and my heart aches. "So you'll let someone else then?" I suggest and he swallows, clearly not thinking of the others. "It's not like that," He sighs. "You wouldn't be happy with me." He explains with guilt simmering in his eyes. "So you'll subject me to being unhappy with another just because of your own selfishness?" I presume and his brows raise a fraction. "No," He shakes his head. "I'll subject you to make your own decision because you're in love with another," He claims and my breathing halts for a moment.

I go quiet, silently taking myself through the steps I've been doing since I was a child. "I'm not sure what you mean." I finally manage to get out. "Oh c’mon, it's obvious to every male here except him." The blonde scoffs and I refrain from rolling my eyes, he is preaching to the choir.

"Even if you're right," The music stops and so do we. I stare up at him with an unwavering amount of elegance. "I can't have him," I whisper and he squares his features. "I won't tie you down." He repeats, believing he's doing me a favor by pulling himself from the equation. "I understand." I nod, even if I don't want to, then I curtsy one last time towards the male and take another's hand.

I went through at least ten more tedious males after that and nearly twenty tiresome waltzes before I was allowed a break. I loved to dance, sure, but not like this. Not in a ballroom full of predators. I miss when it was just Eris and me when he'd meet me here at midnight and we'd sway, following no choreography but rather flowing to the music, improvising to whatever song played. I could still feel the way his warm arms wrapped around me, how he cradled me to his chest while we talked softly about anything and everything. That was the Eris I knew, that was the Eris I loved. Not this mask made for the public, the one his father forced him to be.

I was startled from my daze by a hand coming to my forearm. I jump slightly and turn to the figure at my side. "Apologies for disturbing you, my lady," A brunette male I wish I could recall the name of stood before me. He was the sixth male I danced with, we waltzed three times if I remember correctly.

"No worries," I shake my head with a polite smile. "I've spoken to your father," He swallows nervously and I glance to the dais where Beron and my father were but Eris no longer was.

"He's consented to my asking for your hand," The male explains and my head snaps back to him, brows slightly raised. The brunette wasn't unattractive by any means, in fact, he was quite handsome, but he's not who I want him to be— guilt forms in my stomach at the thought. Langdon had been right.

A hand comes down onto my shoulder before I can think of a reply, but I don't startle this time. Because I could recognize that scent of warm cinnamon and campfire embers from anywhere, along with the feel of his large, calloused hand, the touch was beyond familiarity.

"Sorry to interrupt," A baritone voice purrs and my eyes light up. "But I need to borrow her for a moment," His hand slides down my arm protectively and I have to hold back from scoffing, he had the nerve to ignore me all night but as soon as another male shows interest, he comes over to claim me.

"Of course my lord," The brunette bows his head respectfully. "Go on then," He shoos and I whirl around to face the heir as the other male skitters away. "Are you serious?" I cross my arms over my chest, staring up at the redhead who had a smirk plastered onto his features. "That's the first proposal I've gotten all night!" I say with a hush and his smirk only widens. "Oh I know, you have no idea how hard it is to fend them off." He grumbled like it was a weight on his shoulders. My eyes widen as I stare at him in shock. "Are you kidding— What's the point of this event if you're scaring off every interested suitor?" I crease my brows, hands dropping to my hips.

Eris' head whips to the dais where both of our fathers are intently watching us. "C'mon," The heir grabs me by my wrist. "We need somewhere private." He decides, pulling me through the length of the ballroom, my protests are halfhearted, not minding the idea of getting away from this place. He pulled us into a sectioned-off alcove that was secluded enough for him to winnow us elsewhere.

My feet landed on dark wooden tiles, stood in the master bedroom of Eris' apartment on the outskirts of Autumn that not even Beron knew about.

"Why are you fending them off?" I question, narrowing my eyes at him skeptically. He shrugs with a stoic expression, looking towards the unlit fireplace at our right. "The people my father picked," He starts. "None of them can be good." He explains and I grit my teeth. "He picked Langdon." I excuse and Eris nearly growls at the name. "Langdon is a prick and he doesn't deserve you," Eris states like it's a fact. "He's nice to me," I mutter softly. "The bare minimum isn't something you should settle for." His brows straighten and something evil churns in the pit of my stomach. "Well, it's not like I have many options." I square my features, glaring up at him and maintaining my ground.

He hasn’t done anything up until now and as soon as I show any fraction of interest in someone else he comes to swoop me away? It was unfair. He doesn't reply, his fists clench at his sides but they quickly loosen when he sees the line of tears in my waterline threatening to spill. "You think I want to marry any of these males? It's not my choice, it's never been my choice." My hands come up to his chest, gripping the cleanly pressed shirt. "You've always had a choice," His hands come to my wrists. I nearly laugh. "Are you serious? Who are you to tell me about choices? You have no idea what it's like to be a fucking doll Eris, I'm a broodmare who's only used for my body and when that's not good enough anymore, I'm nothing." My words come out in a rasp, my fingers clenching his shirt and wrinkling it.

"Don't stand there and tell me I have a choice when you've done nothing to stop me from getting sold off to the highest bidder." My tears are now falling but I don't care, I have too little energy to wipe them away— so he does, his warm hands I wish I didn't find comfort in come to my cheeks and his thumbs brush away the salty tears with the most delicacy I've ever seen him display. "If you won't do anything now I strongly doubt you'll do anything when I'm someone else's," I murmur and his eyes fall into something of terror.

"I'm sorry." He confesses and my heart sputters, I've only ever heard Eris Vanserra apologize for two things in his lifetime, and this was one of them. "You’re right. I should've done more." He confesses. "I tried," He mutters. "I offered to sleep with you— they'd mark you as impure and banish you from the forest house, you could've run away." He explains. "But that's not enough, I should've done more." His hands remain on my cheeks. "Don't you get it?" My hands splay flat on his abdomen. "I don't want more, I just wanted you," I confess and his breathing halts. I think I've truly done myself in, but there was no use holding it any longer. I'll be married off by the end of the week and probably won't see Eris again until our separate children are having playdates. None of this mattered.

"What?" He croaks out and I swallow. "I wanted you," I repeated and I swore his eyes flashed with relief. His hands remain on my face, fingertips slightly warming as he dissects his thoughts. "I thought I made it obvious," I say. "But you never did anyth—" My words are cut off as his lips crash into mine with a foreign passion.

His hands pull me closer and my breathing stops as I realize what's happening. He's kissing me. I move to kiss him back, hands snaking up from his chest and to his shoulders where I wrap around the back of his neck and pull him closer, his chest pressing into mine as he backs me up towards the wall until I'm flat against it.

He doesn't back away for a moment like he needs the heat of my lips or he'll freeze without it. His brows crease as he kisses me with intent, not wanting this moment to end in case it gets torn away from him.

"Eris," I pant out as I back away. "I thought you hated me," I admit and his eyes soften. "Hate you?" His hands hold tighter to my jaw. "No bunny, never." His head shakes and he pulls me in again, placing a soft yet lasting kiss on my lips. "Wait," I back away and he immediately halts. "What are you saying?" I try to piece everything together but it's no use.

"I want you." He confesses and my stomach does backflips. "Want me?" I rasp out in pure disbelief. "Need you." He corrects and my heart lurches into my throat, his lips reconnect with mine, and this time his tongue swipes along my bottom lip, hands coming to the bottoms of my thighs as he hoists me up and presses my back to the wall, legs coming back to wrap tightly around his hips as his tongue explores every undiscovered crook and crevice like he needed to memorize me before I disappeared.

"Eris we can't," I whisper into his lips and he shakes his head. "I won't let them have you." He defends and my heart crumbles into two. "This is going to ruin me," I admit, tears still streaming from my eyes. "We'll figure it out." He promises and a lump forms in my throat. He backs away to look at my teary expression, brows creasing as he stares at my disgruntled gaze. "I'll be banished from this court," I murmur. As much as I hated the people here, this is my home. I didn't want to just up and leave. "Noble blood or not I'll be marked a whore, it's out of wedlock." I sighed and a soft smile graced his features as he began to pepper kisses along the side of my face, kissing my salty tears away. "I suppose we'll have to get married then." He hums and I place my hand on his jaw pushing him back. "I'll have Beron off his throne soon, the night court's Spymaster and I have already devised a plan. It'll work." He reassures, running his hand through my hair.

"I'll marry you right now, we can go out and find a priestess and I'll have you as my High Lady." He promised and my brows crease as he describes something too good to be true. "Or we can do all that in the morning," He whispers. "Because it's awfully hard to not need you while you're in this dress." He hums and I smile, my tears gone, all kissed away. "I won't let them have you." He repeats, stressing his words, and I believe him, so I nod.

His lips surge back onto mine and I push away the thoughts of the repercussions and let myself enjoy every moment of this.

His hands grip the underside of my thighs and he pushes me harder against the wall, pressing his chest to mine and kissing me with the purpose I craved. I tighten my hold around the back of his neck and wrap my legs around him, my dress in the way— I need him closer, so much closer.

"Eris, please," I whine and he nods, understanding what I want. He pushes off the wall and carries me to his bed, laying me down on my back, I arch up and his hands pull at the strings of my corset. So many layers, too many between us. I work at the buttons of his shirt, slowly revealing his toned, muscular chest.

The way he kissed me was hungry like he's been constraining himself for far too long. He gets my corset undone and I finally feel like I can breathe. Clothes are thrown into every corner of the room as he rips my skirts off and I move to the ties of his pants. Once we're clad in nothing but skin he mounts over me, his heavy, hard cock pressing against my abdomen. It was hot and quick and had everything I needed.

His hand cups over my heat, calloused fingers diving into my folds, adding friction I didn't know I needed. "Eris," I whine and he grunts at the way my name rolls off his tongue, the desperation in my voice making his cock leak pre-cum. "Fuck, you sound so perfect moaning my name." He sighs out, two of his long fingers finding my entrance, and before I can reply they plunge deep inside of me. I bite down on my bottom lip, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes due to the foreign stretch. His fingers were long, and thick, and felt so fucking good.

I yelped as his calloused thumb came down onto my clit, tracing tight circles around it. I hissed at the pain, how he stretched me out, preparing me for his cock. “I’m sorry bunny, I’ll make love to you next time I promise,” He whispers into the shell of my ear and I whimper, the intense feeling consuming me as he curls his fingers, flicking them against my sensitive walls. “Next time?” I ask my words barely a rasp. “That’s right,” He kisses my cheek, getting rid of a tear there. “But right now I need to fuck you, I’ve wanted this for so fuckin’ long I can’t hold back,” He grunts, his voice laced with pure lust. “You understand don’t you bunny?” He says, kissing down my jaw to my neck where he nipped at the sensitive skin, all I can do is nod, praying he doesn’t stop.

His fingers brush over a sensitive, spongy spot and I gasp, my back involuntarily arching at the feeling. “Right there, Eris, my god—” My breath hitched as he toyed with the area. My legs jolted and I was so close, I had never orgasmed off someone’s hand alone before yet here the heir was, finger fucking me right into my high.

“That’s it, baby, need you nice and wet for me,” He hums, sucking marks onto my neck. I whine and my cunt pulsated with an impending release. My nails dig into his large bicep, brows creasing as I teeter on that euphoric high. I clench tighter around his fingers and he does something wicked with his thumb against my clit, pushing me over into my orgasm. Waves of pleasure slam into me as I finally release and reach that climax, and when I do, it’s Eris’ name on my lips.

“That’s it, you did so well,” He praises, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I finally came down from my high and his fingers slowed, pulling them from my entrance, lathered in my slick. “Think you’re ready for me?” He asks, lathering his cock with my arousal left on his hand. Words fail me. I couldn’t even look at it without feeling overwhelmed, I was sure he’d split me in half.

“We can go slow,” He promised but gods I didn’t want slow, I wanted to make him feel good.

I shook my head and he arched his brow. “No?” He tilts his head. “I don’t w’na go slow, Eris,” I murmur and he leans closer, pressing a kiss to my jaw. “Oh yeah? Tell me what you want then bunny,” He prompts, nudging me with his nose to go on— but his cock was pressed against my heat and it was hot, so fucking hot I felt like I was on fire. “Want— wanna make you feel good,” I mumble and a foxlike grin spreads across his face. His forearm comes down beside my head, propping himself above me, his face mere inches from mine. “Do you now?” The male asks. “And how are you g’na make me feel good?” He questions and I swallow thickly. “Uhm,” I utter, suddenly very shy under his gaze. “Don’t be nervous, I’m not gonna judge I promise,” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Well— it’s just, usually on wedding nights in the autumn court the male feels compulsive to, breed, the female,” I swallow thickly and I swear his amber eyes flash golden for a moment.

“Is that what you want bunny? Want me to breed you?” He says and I flush hot. “Never mind, forget it,” I bring my hands up to my face, covering my red cheeks. “Oh baby it’s too late,” He grabs my wrists in one of his hands, lifting them above my head and pinning them there commandingly. I whimper in reply. “Your safe word is firelight okay?” He says as he kisses down my neck and all I can do is nod. “Good, now turn around for me,” He lets go of my wrists and I do as he says, flipping over onto my stomach, hiking my knees up, and arching my back as much as I could, giving him perfect entrance. He grinned at my obedience, patience waning as he admired how good I was being for him.

The unlit hearth from earlier was now roaring with flames, even though I told Eris to do whatever he wanted with me he was still holding back, redirecting his power elsewhere.

“C’mon Eris, don’t be mean,” I whine as he leans over me, pressing a gentle kiss to my shoulder blade. “Poor bunny, so needy,” He whispers beside my ear and I grip the sheets in my fists at the demeaning tone of his voice. “Please,” I murmur. “Please what? Say it, baby,” His hands come to my hips, his thumbs kneading the plushness of my ass. “Breed me,” I utter, barely even a whisper but it was enough to make whatever was restraining his break, and he snapped.

His heavy cock slaps against my folds, dragging himself through them, lathering himself in my arousal for easier entrance though I’m certain I was wet enough already.

He aligns his fat tip with my core and without any further warning, he drives into me, pushing the head of his impressive cock deep inside of me. I nearly screamed at the sensation, biting at my lower lip hard enough to cause blood. “Eris,” I mewl, my nails clawing at the sheets. One of his hands reaches over me and intertwines with the back of my palm, his other hand finding purchase at my breast, gripping it harshly, his calloused, large hands kneading it pleasantly.

“Fuck, you’re so gods’ damned tight,” He curses, his forehead resting against the back of my shoulder as he continues to push himself inside of me, and fuck was he so big, I could feel my walls hugging him, could feel every ridge and vein along him as he molded into me. Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes at how good it hurt, he had me filled to the brim and there was still more of him.

I throw my head back in exasperation, a moan escaping from the base of my throat. “All of you, want more,” I confess and I feel him smile against the skin of my shoulder blade, before he angles his hips back, pulling out to his fat tip, laying one last kiss to my back then slamming in, hitting home. He groaned at the feeling, tears streamed down my face, falling onto the pillow beneath me as I grip his hand tighter, he reciprocates it but his thrusts don’t slow, no, he’s pounding into me and I loved every second of it.

“Eris— Ah,” My breath hitched. “I can’t, s’too much,” I hiss but he doesn’t stop, his hips drive deeper and I pulse around him. His base slammed into mine, tight balls smacking into my folds as he hammered me from behind. I gasp as his slit brushes over my cervix. Oxygen leaves me and I fist the sheets, screaming his name once I find my voice. “You feel that bunny? Feel me stretching you on my cock?” He hums beside my ear and I struggle to even think about anything but his cock.

He can’t help but continue to knock the area over and over again, it made him feral, and the way I squirmed beneath him had his cock twitching.

Gods he was so close to my womb, so close he could practically release directly into it. “I’m gonna fill you up so fuckin’ full, baby,” He grits out, his hold on my breast tightening. “Please,” I beg, needing him to release me inside. “I’m so close I can’t, I can’t take it—” I cry, tears free flowing as his thrusts grow faster, harder. “That’s too bad my sweet girl,” He purred. “Cause you’re g’na take me until you’re full of my cum, isn’t that right bunny?” He nips at the lobe of my ear and I nod with a pitiful whimper, feeling myself drip onto his cock, he was fucking me stupid.

The sound of his fat cock injecting into me over and over again mixed with the way his tight balls slapped against my folds left my pussy drooling on him. “You just love to milk my cock hm?” He said. “You take me so well, can’t wait to get you so full,” He grunts out and I grow hot, the knot in my stomach tightening.

“Eris I have to, I need to,” I pant out, sweat lining my forehead at how good he was slamming into me, pressing against my cervix every time and rubbing against that sweet, spongy spot. “Not yet,” He orders, and I whine in protest, brows furrowing as I fight off my orgasm and focus on pleasing him, squeezing around his cock, slowly beginning to lift away from him, then push myself back down onto him.

“Oh gods, yes, fuck yourself on my cock,” He groaned in pure ecstasy. I go faster, feeling his cock twitch as he watches the way my ass shakes, his cock disappearing inside my slit as I bounce on him. “Such a good bunny, just want me to come inside you so bad huh?” He taunts and I nod helplessly, mewls lifting from my lips as he grips my breast, my other bouncing due to my gyrations. “Ah, wait, baby,” His voice gets caught in his throat and I smile wildly at the sound. “You sure? About me cumming inside?” He grits out through closed teeth and I nod.

“Fuck yes, Eris. Give me your kids please,” I whimper and it makes him fucking feral. He somehow goes faster, reaching a primal state with an urge to breed, to make me mine in every way he can. “Your belly’s g’na get so round,” He mutters into the shell of my ear and I pant in reply, unable to form coherent words. “Fuck, can’t wait for your tits to start leaking,” He curses and a moan tears through the base of my throat. “I can’t— I’m gonna—” I can’t even finish my sentence before I’m convulsing around him and I reach my climax. He’s quick to follow, he kisses my cervix once more then shoots his release straight into my womb, panting heavily with a groan to match my whine, he paints my walls white and his seed was so fucking hot, like he just set me aflame from the inside out.

“Fuck,” He grunts out, forehead resting on my shoulder. It was a miracle I was still holding myself up, my arms were on the verge of buckling and if he wasn’t cradling my waist I probably would’ve crumbled the moment I found release.

Slowly, he slips out of me, his seed dripping down my thighs as he does so. A whimper slips past my quivering lips as his cock brushes through my folds one last time, then he slowly guides me down onto the bed, heavy breathing filling the room as the fire in the hearth dwindles.

“You did so fucking good for me baby,” He praises, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips that I return with all the energy I can muster, which wasn’t a whole lot. He smiles at this, brushing a strand of hair away from my tear-stained cheeks. “Awe, m’sorry I went so rough bunny, I promise I’ll make it up to you,” He reassured and I shook my head. “No, s’okay, felt good,” I sigh contentedly. “Yeah?” He tilts his head and I nod with a gentle smile. “My gods you’re perfect for me,” He bends down and presses his lips to mine, more passionate this time, conveying all his love in that action. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” He murmurs against my lips and I nod, not worrying about what awaits in that ballroom, too preoccupied with enjoying the moment with my soon-to-be husband.

After the sheets were changed and I was dressed in a silky nightgown I was finally able to lay my head on a pillow. It was a mystery how I didn’t fall asleep standing up. Eris slid beneath the covers beside me, grabbing my waist and pulling me closer to him with a small grin.

“Tonight turned out a lot better than I thought,” He joked and I giggled, looking up at him with tired eyes. I look down at his chest, tracing random shapes on his bicep as my smile slowly morphs into a frown. “Hey, what’s wrong baby?” His big hand comes to my jaw, rubbing along my cheek and tilting my head up to him. “Nothing,” I shake my head, burrowing into his warmth. “Talk to me,” He urges, waiting for my response. “Why didn’t you ever show interest before tonight?” I ask softly, glancing up at his eyes that were staring down at me with so much adoration it was almost overwhelming.

“This just feels so surreal, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. It feels wrong to have it,” I explain further and his gaze softens. “You deserve my love and so much more my sweet,” He presses a hard kiss to the crown of my head. “And I couldn’t show any interest 'cause I didn’t want my father taking you away from me,” He confesses and I swallow thickly, my hand intertwining with his. “He won’t take me,” I promise, even if I didn’t know for certain. “No, he won’t, I know that now,” He reassures, pecking my cheek lovingly and I blush.

“My pretty fiancée,” He grins boyishly and I mirror it, finally being with the male I’ve been in love with for decades, I had him in my arms and I wasn’t going to let him go no matter what force tried to take him from me. I’m his as he is mine, and that’s all I could ask for.

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glitterypirateduck @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @fauxdette @going-through-shit @glam-targaryen @cauldronboilme27 @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogerbarnesxx @azriels-shadowsinger @stinkinstuffie @sandramalikstyles-blog @sassyangel16 @lilah-asteria @starsinyourseyes @inloveallthetime @melsunshine @nighttimemoonlover @ireallywannasleep127

Comment a “💙” to be added to the general taglist!

Comment a “🖤” to be added to the Azriel taglist!

[songoftrillium]

Likes don’t increase visibility to others! Please reblog this to spread the word! 

I think Werewolf is an inherently queer medium

This is all part of a longer term project

Read our intro comic here

Coming soon:

Book 1: Cliath

In 1992, White Wolf Publishing released the first edition of Werewolf: the Apocalypse to the public. Throughout the 1990s, it rapidly grew to become one of the most played role-playing games of all time, and this persisted well into the noughties when the series concluded with the Revised (3rd) edition.

Its a game that speaks to the core fears many of us hold about the uncertainty of the future. Of corporations harming the world to meet their profit margins, of everyday people whose homes and lives are destroyed by disasters caused by those corporations or by storms that wouldn't have been so severe even a decade before. Of politicians who sell agencies to those who pay them the most to make the most vulnerable groups in society even more vulnerable. Of people who don't even have that. It looks you all in the eyes and asks you to be enraged. It asks you to care while handing you the tools to do something about it. Then, you get to work. You don't just blow up the factories; you empower the little guy, heal communities, and confront the stagnant society that you've become a part of, and you have to be responsible custodians of the greater world around you while not trying to be consumed by the very darkness you fight against. It was as intense as it was touching, heartbreaking, and entertaining. At times its just as absurd (and nuanced) as real life.

It was revolutionary at the time for the space it held at the tabletop. Werewolf was the first tabletop roleplaying game ever made that defaulted to using feminine pronouns in all Player and Storyteller interactions, as well as the default pronouns of the Garou in its first three editions. For its many flaws, it saw itself as the first tabletop roleplaying game that held any space for Indigenous groups. It made activism a core theme of the game itself, and would conclude its books with a list of related real-world demonstrations where the players can get involved in protecting the world around them, just like the werewolves they represent at the tabletop.

The Garou have intricate and multi-layered cultures from their written language to their oral histories, the way they dress, and the ways they manifest across editions were presented with very little overlap when it comes to the multiple facets across their society, leading to a rich history and complex societies for Storytellers to weave chronicles together for their troupes.

Dark Surrealism Awaits

The World of Darkness is implied to exist just beneath a facade that all others take for granted as simply being a world gone wrong. Can you feel it? In a world of burning forests, flash floods, social inequality and seemingly worse things emerging day after day — a world where everything feels wrong and nothing in the world feels right — you are not alone.

The universe is itself a living organism, thrashing like a panicked animal at the biting darkness, and we, the Gaians, are those who join the fight to protect it. You are one of Gaia’s chosen warriors, about to experience your First Change, and become swept into a world of ancient warriors and sacred purpose.

We monsters ask nothing of you—other than to join us.

Book 1: Cliath includes • Over 400 fully annotated pages with cross-referencing and book citations for Storytellers to delve into the deeper lore of WtA • Cross-edition compatible character creation rules for Fifth edition and legacy games • Comprehensive information on the histories, societies, and politics of over 20 Tribes • Laws, Tenets, traditions and rites for 3 new factions • Downtime and Questing mechanics • Detailed breed information and roleplay tips on how to play a wolf • Full sept breakdowns including roles and duties • Over 600 level 1-3 Gifts in a whole new presentation • 7 New Patrons • New Renown system and detailed ranking info • Comprehensive character creation rules • Dozens of story seeds to get your players started • A localized Pacific Northwest setting with Sept, legends, and over 20 new NPCs • Citable information on first changes and rites of passage

Read our latest project update here

[kingkaisen]

彡 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄 𝐒.

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Your coworker keeps kicking his soccer ball too close to your car.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY — brief sex talk, fem reader.

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1K

♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this is a soccer player! connie fic for @cinnamon-girl-writes & @crazychaoticizzy’s full throttle event! Thank you for inviting me to participate!

“If you hit my car again with your soccer ball, I’ll hit you with my car, got it?”

Your aggravating coworker, Connie Springer, flashed a goofy smile at your serious threat. Gently, he took the worn-down soccer ball out of your hands.

“It won’t happen again, promise,” he lied.

You sighed — a frustrated, overworked school teacher sort of sigh, though you never imagined your biggest source of frustration would come from the full-time soccer player and part-time P.E. teacher — or perhaps, the substitute teacher, you didn’t care enough to learn which.

It was the first week of school, and thus far, your days started with a cup of coffee and a classroom full of sleepy high schoolers slouching in their desks, jotting down whatever important knowledge you had to share about analyzing The Great Gatsby.

Those days would end with the sun setting in the sky, its beautiful golden rays shining down on the parking lot across from the big, green soccer field.

Then, like clockwork, a flying soccer ball, having been kicked hard enough to launch it into the air, away from the soccer field, and into the parking lot would land somewhere uncomfortably close to you or your car.

The first day, it bounced on the pavement behind you. You laughed nervously as the culprit, Connie, tossed his hand up and said, “My bad.”

On the second day, it rolled nearest your front right tire. You gave Connie a concerned, frustrated look.

The third day, which was today, that damned soccer ball whipped by you, gracing the skin of your cheek, and smacked your windshield hard enough for you to expect some sort of crack to have been left behind.

The soccer player jogged up to you this time, brows furrowed from the afternoon sunlight beaming down on him.

“Damn, did I damage your car?” He slowed to a stop, wiping off his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm. “My bad.”

“My bad? That’s all you have to say? My bad?” Snatching the soccer ball off of your car hood, you held it out to him. “You hit my car, almost hit me in the head-”

“Almost doesn’t count.”

You took a deep breath, but even three solid years of teaching experience couldn’t give you the patience needed to deal with this situation.

And, that was when the threat came; “If you hit my car again with your soccer ball, I’ll hit you with my car, got it?”

After Connie falsely promised that such a thing wouldn’t happen again, you folded your arms across your chest, and said, “You’re supposed to be a professional soccer player, aren’t you? How do you manage to always kick your soccer ball into the parking lot?”

“‘Cause I’m kicking it here on purpose.”

He spoke as if stating an obvious fact — as if it was common sense.

“Really? You think coming close to damaging someone’s car is funny? I bet you won’t be smiling so hard when I send you the bill for repairs.”

“Your car looks fine to me,” he paused. “I mean, you might wanna run it through a car wash a couple of times, but that’s not really my fault. You know what multi-purpose cleaner-”

“Okay, I’ve had enough of this conversation, I’m leaving now,” you interrupted the man sharply, but despite your annoyed tone, he was still grinning as you spoke. “And for the record, if there’s any dirt on my car, it’s because a filthy soccer ball keeps landing on top of it every day.”

“Or because you own a black car. They’re a pain in the ass to keep clean, especially during spring.”

You didn’t reply. Instead, you turned away from him, pulling out your car keys as you prepared to hop into the driver's seat and take off.

However, Connie suddenly held the soccer ball in one hand and grabbed ahold of your wrist with the other.

“Wait, wait, wait, I’m sorry,” he said. “Let me make it up to you.”

It was impossible to deny your curiosity. Along with that, whatever he had in mind was bound to be better than nothing.

“How?” You questioned, staring up into his hazel eyes. He hadn’t yet let go of your wrist.

And those eyes of his looked you up and down as he took in the sight of the pretty English teacher he so desperately wanted to know.

“How about I wash your car for you?”

“Wash my car? Seriously?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Yeah,” his eyes darted down to your lips, and he watched as they pulled back into a cocky smile.

“Sounds good to me,” your eyes scanned him this time around, taking notice of both his tan muscles and the droplets of sweat coating them. “If you do a good job, I might decide to show up to one of your games someday.”

“I think I know a better way you can repay me,” Connie said.

No payment was required, of course, as he was doing this to make up for nearly hitting you with his soccer ball several times, but even so, he wanted to use this opportunity wisely.

“And how’s that?” You asked, though, truly, the answer was quite obvious. After all, Springer couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“You’ll see.” Connie released your wrist.

Suddenly, he reached around you and pulled your phone out of your back pocket. The sudden movement brought you closer to him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of his athletic body.

“Put my number in your phone and text me your address. I’ll be there tomorrow night,” he said, handing your phone to you before he proceeded to give you his number.

“How are you going to clean my car at night?”

Connie leaned in, his lips close to your ear as his breath patted against your skin, and he whispered, “Well if I’m gonna fuck you across the hood of your car tomorrow, I gotta clean it eventually, right?”

He started to walk away, a subtle smile pulling at his lips upon realizing he left you in a slight state of surprise.

“I gotta go, I have a game to get ready for, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Connie left the parking lot, leaving you with a new wave of emotions drastically different than the ones you felt when he entered.

As you opened your car door and slid into the driver’s seat, you couldn’t help but simply imagine what the soccer player had planned for tomorrow.

🏷️: @priv-rose @keriaonmarz @notgoodforlife @2n1ghts @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @iwanttohitmyself @ellaumbrella1 @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @crazychaoticizzy @averysmolbear @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Yooo. Amazing Gambit writing. 💕 Sooooo I was thinking. I’m feral for the new movie Gambit, especially that VOICE, and can’t stop thinking on this.

Soft non-mutant reader who doesn’t deal with violence and blood very well, like sick or panicky because they were so protected growing up, while Remy is trying to protect them during a fight (could be anywhere). Like, bad time bad place thing. But the reader wants to help, by throwing a shoe when they were about to hurt Remy. Chaos ensures when they turn toward the reader.

So as I was writing this, I was thinking "EXCUSE ME THIS IS A GREAT STORY CONCEPT,". Also, Am I able to use this prompt to possibly, maybe add to my 'I need to write this into a multi chap story' Gambit x reader file? But I hope you enjoy :)

The air crackled with tension as the fight erupted around you. It was supposed to be a simple errand, just a quick stop in a small town that had seemed peaceful enough to get a few hours sleep in. But then, as if fate had a cruel sense of humor, things went south, and it went south fast. The sudden ambush, the flash of weapons, and Remy pushing you behind him—everything happened too quickly to process.

You had never been good with violence. The sight of blood made your stomach churn, and the sound of gunfire was enough to send your heart racing in sheer panic. But Remy was so much more different that you, complete polar opposites. He moved through the chaos with a deadly grace, cards charged and ready, every motion calculated and precise. It was like watching a storm unfold, fierce and unstoppable.

You tried to stay out of the way, pressed against a wall, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. But then you saw it—one of the attackers sneaking up behind Remy, a blade glinting in the dim light. You didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, just acted on pure instinct.

You looked around, hands still pressed against the red brick wall, trying to find something, anything, that would help. You let out a small huff, reaching down and grabbing the closest thing within reach—your dark coloured shoe—and flung it with all your might. It sailed through the air, smacking into the man’s head with a dull thud. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him stumble, giving Remy just enough time to turn and disarm him with a swift, brutal strike.

But then the man's eyes snapped towards you, fury burning in them as he realized where the attack had come from. You froze, heart hammering in your chest, as he took a menacing step toward you. "Shit," You whispered to yourself.

Remy, still engaged with another opponent, glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of the man advancing on you. "What exactly did you think that would achieve?!" he shouted over the noise, his Cajun accent thick with frustration.

You blinked, caught between terror and a strange sort of defiance. "I don't really think about things before doing them, you know?" you shot back, voice trembling but determined. "It's how I ended up here with you to begin with, remember?"

The irony of your words wasn’t lost on you. You’d never been the type to seek out trouble, to dive headfirst into danger. In fact you, thrived staying away from it. Spending most days either inside or at your job. But meeting Remy had changed everything. He was chaos wrapped in charm, a magnet for the kind of trouble you had always been shielded from. And yet, somehow, you’d found yourself dragged into his world, into the madness that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

It had all started so innocently. You’d met him by chance, a twist of fate that had brought the two of you together. He was on the run, tangled up in something that you didn’t fully understand but couldn’t walk away from. Before you knew it, you were caught up in his orbit, swept along by his easy smile and the thrill of something you’d never felt before—excitement, danger, a sense of purpose.

And now, here you were, in the middle of a fight you had no business being in, your shoe—of all things—your only weapon. The absurdity of it might have made you laugh if you weren’t so scared.

The man lunged toward you, but before he could reach you, Remy was there, faster than you could have imagined. He moved like lightning, his bo staff connecting with the man’s side in a sickening crunch that made you wince. The man crumpled to the ground, and Remy turned to you, his eyes flashing with a mix of relief and exasperation.

"When I said stay behind me, ," he stated, his tone showing his annoyance at you, "It wasn't an optional request chère'".

You nodded, swallowing hard as you clung to the remnants of your composure. This wasn’t your world—this world of violence and bloodshed—but it was his, and as long as you were with him, you’d have to find a way to survive it.

Remy’s order to stay behind him was clear, but the chaos around you made it hard to follow. Every sound seemed amplified—the clash of metal, the shouts of your enemies, the pounding of your own heart in your ears. You stumbled back, trying to keep your distance, but the room felt like it was closing in on you, suffocating you with every breath.

Remy was a blur of motion, a dangerous dance of power and precision. You marveled at how he seemed to anticipate every move, every attack, as if the world around him was moving in slow motion. But despite his skill, you could see the strain in his eyes, the worry that flickered every time he glanced back at you.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You knew that much. But there wasn’t time to think about the ‘what ifs’ or the ‘should haves.’ Right now, the only thing that mattered was getting out of this alive.

Another assailant broke away from the fight, making a beeline for you. You instinctively took a step back, your hands trembling as you searched for something—anything—you could use to defend yourself. But there was nothing. No more shoes to throw, no weapons within reach. Just you and the growing dread in your chest.

Before you could react, the man was on you, his hand grabbing your arm with a painful grip. You let out a small cry, the fear surging up, threatening to overwhelm you. His grip tightened, and you could see the cold, calculating look in his eyes—a predator sizing up his prey.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it was over. Remy was there, moving like a shadow. He wrenched the man away from you, his eyes blazing with a fury you had never seen before. "I said stay behind me!" he snapped, his accent thick and his voice laced with an edge of desperation.

You didn’t have time to respond before Remy shoved you back, his attention already turning to the next threat. The man who had grabbed you was on the ground, groaning in pain, but Remy didn’t linger. He was already moving, his staff whirling as he took down the next attacker with a brutal efficiency.

You pressed yourself against the wall, your heart still racing, your body trembling with the adrenaline coursing through you. This was too much. The sights, the sounds, the raw violence of it all—it was overwhelming, like you were drowning in a sea of chaos with no way to escape.

But then you saw it—a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye. One of the attackers, a woman with a cruel sneer and a gun raised, aimed directly at Remy. Your breath caught in your throat, your blood running cold as you realized what was about to happen.

There was no time to think, no time to hesitate. Without a weapon, without a plan, you did the only thing you could think of. You threw yourself at her, arms flailing, a wild, desperate attempt to stop her before she could pull the trigger.

The impact surprised her, but it surprised you even more. The two of you tumbled to the ground, her gun skidding across the floor. She cursed, scrambling to get up, but you were already on her, holding her down with a strength you didn’t know you had.

For a moment, everything was a blur. You didn’t think, didn’t feel—just acted, driven by pure instinct and the overwhelming need to protect Remy. But you weren’t a fighter, and it didn’t take long for her to get the upper hand. She rolled you off her, slamming you against the floor with a force that knocked the breath out of you.

Pain radiated through your body, sharp and overwhelming, but you didn’t let go. You couldn’t. You had to hold on, had to keep fighting, because if you didn’t, if you let her win, she would kill Remy. And that thought was more terrifying than anything else.

But you were no match for her. She was stronger, more experienced, and it wasn’t long before she overpowered you. Her hand closed around your throat, squeezing, cutting off your air. You struggled, panic rising as your vision started to blur, dark spots dancing at the edges.

And then, just when you thought it was over, the pressure was gone. You sucked in a desperate breath, gasping for air, as you saw Remy standing over you, the woman unconscious at his feet. He knelt beside you, his face a mask of concern and something else—something raw and unspoken.

“Chère,” he whispered, his voice tight as he reached out to help you up. “You alright?”

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure if it was true. Your body hurt, your mind was spinning, and you felt like you might be sick. But you were alive, and so was he. That was all that mattered.

He pulled you to your feet, steadying you as you wobbled, your legs weak beneath you. “I told you t’stay back,” he muttered, though there was no anger in his voice now, only worry.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice hoarse and trembling. “I just… I had to do something. I couldn’t just stand there and watch.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, you saw the walls he usually kept up start to crumble. “I know,” he said quietly, his hand still on your arm, grounding you. “But you gotta trust me t’protect you, alright? This ain’t your fight.”

You nodded again, tears stinging your eyes as the reality of the situation finally started to sink in. You weren’t made for this—for the violence, the blood, the fear. You were out of your depth, dragged into a world you didn’t understand and couldn’t handle. But you couldn’t leave him, either. Not when he needed you.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, feeling the weight of your own inadequacy pressing down on you. “I’m not… I’m not like you, Remy. I can’t do this.”

He shook his head, pulling you into a tight embrace, holding you close against him. “You don’t gotta be like me, chère,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “You just gotta be you. And that’s enough.”

You clung to him, burying your face in his chest as the tears finally started to fall. The fight was over, the danger passed, but the fear and the adrenaline still pulsed through you, leaving you shaky and exhausted.

Remy held you, his presence warm and comforting, a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions. For a long moment, neither of you moved, just stayed there, holding on to each other in the aftermath of the chaos.

Finally, he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hands gently cupping your face. “We’re gonna get outta here, alright?” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “An’ I’m gonna make sure you’re safe. Always.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you wiped at your eyes, trying to pull yourself together. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice still shaky but stronger than before. “Okay.”

He smiled, a small, reassuring smile that made your heart ache with a strange mix of relief and something else—something warm and tender that you didn’t quite know how to name.

“Good,” he said simply, “Let’s get moving.”

You followed him, your hand in his, allowing him to pull you into the street, feeling the weight of everything that had just happened. The fight, the fear, the realization that you were in over your head—it all hung heavy in the air. But there was also something else, something that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could handle this after all.

[kaiserposting]

Michael Kaiser, Alexis Ness — Dick Measuring

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader/Alexis Ness WORD COUNT: 0.8k TYPE: Humor, Drabble WARNING(S): This is literall y just one giant dick joke help NOTE: If you wanna see the rest of the horrible not-polycule series it's at the bottom of the masterlist

While scrolling through your phone at a ferocious speed with a manic grin, you turn to Ness and announce, “Look, over 500 thousand tweets mentioning my name. The viewers are all up on my cock now.”

He glances at you in disdain, which is hard to pull off with his cutesy face. Somehow he manages it though each time you two converse. In a judgemental tone, he asks, “Are you seriously name searching yourself?” Sure, he knows Kaiser does it too, but you’re not Kaiser so that shit doesn’t fly.

“Yeah. Check it out, someone made a compilation of me owning Kaiser. With filters.” You flash the screen at them both to show it off.

Kaiser spares it a dismissive glance, mind lost somewhere else.

“Give me that,” says Ness. Then he grabs the device out of your grasp and squints at the screen, memorizing the username.

“Don’t tell me you’ll mass report their account for that?”

“I won’t,” he lies, smiling at you before giving you back your phone as if he didn’t snatch it away in the first place.

“You’re doing full splits on it. Like, you could be, like, a gymnast.”

“W-Well, so what?! There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“So they’re all up on your cock huh?” Kaiser asks. The smug expression he’s making right now, you get the inkling he’s about to say something terrible. And he delivers as per your expectation: “I bet mine’s bigger.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow at that, this judgmental expression on your face.

Ness nods, still seeming pleasant. “It probably is.”

“Bragging on another man’s dick size is crazy.”

“It’s not crazy! I’m speaking realistically.”

“Well,” says Kaiser, annoyed at having to wrestle with Ness for your attention all the time when Ness is supposed to be helping him score you, “there’s only one way to find out. We should both get naked and check.”

Your stare switches from unimpressed to blank. Vacant of any signs of life. Even Ness scrunches his eyebrows and appears slightly aghast at the suggestion, which is how you know it’s egregious for sure. Wow, this has to be his most desperate attempt at flirting to date. What’s making it worse is the fact that he’s not even reacting to your collective puzzlement with the whole thing.

Once you regain enough sense to respond, you say, “Thanks, but no thanks. You know I’m not interested in the small things in life, Kaiser.”

This also snaps Ness out of his trance as he is now offended, though he graciously spares you of any further embarrassing commentary, settling for glaring.

“Wanna compare just to make sure?”

Your lips quirk up. “Here’s my list of things I’ll never let near my nether regions: police officers, male photographers, multi level marketers, politicians, Michael Kaiser.”

“Aww, why? You’re no fun,” Kaiser coos at you mockingly.

“I bet you have the funniest penis ever.”

“No, he doesn’t!” Ness interjects while Kaiser merely tilts his head to the side, awaiting elaboration on this statement.

“Like you were probably uncircumcised when you were little and then you grew up and got a circumcision for aesthetic purposes or something else hilarious like that,” you say.

“What?” He crosses his arms and scoffs at the notion. “Ok now I’m convinced you’re just stupid. What a hauntingly dimwitted concept to come up with.” Then he smirks at you again, straightening his back and raising his eyebrows. “But, again, if you wanna make sure that there’s nothing wrong with it, the offer still stands.”

“Listen here. If you say anything along these lines to me ever again, something’s gonna happen.”

“Oh really?” Kaiser gets all up in your face. He remains amused. “And what’s going to happen?”

“I’ll send you to where Shinzo Abe is.”

He blinks at you for a second while Ness is mumbling incomprehensible threats in the background. Then he smiles at you before leaning back to a more socially appropriate distance. “Alright, I admit, I appreciate this one out of all your little retorts.”

“I think you love any words I waste on you. Attention whore. Anyway, I’ll go work out in one of the training rooms with the cameras for fanservice, so I’m leaving.” You pass by Kaiser and stop in front of Ness, puckering your lips in an exaggerated manner, blowing him a kiss. “Bye bye, Ness.”

He blushes and crosses his arms while pouting, pretending he totally didn’t enjoy that as you walk off. Kaiser gives him a scornful look.

Ness remembers the whole conversation which ensued. “I’m sure it’s big and nice,” he reassures rather clinically, the way one would share an interesting fact. It doesn't occur to him what an odd remark he’s making.

“Thanks. You always know the right things to say.” Kaiser pats Ness gently on the head like the dog slash servant he is, perhaps to encourage the behavior through positive reinforcement. He basks in the feeling, warm, and almost forgets about the context of this action. But because Ness can’t have anything good ever, after a while Kaiser adds, “I wish someone I was actually into would talk to me like you do too though.”

___

Yea I haven't slept in 5 days again how can yo utell

[owlespresso]

bedtime stories III. jing yuan. tags: not beta read lmao, jing yuan babies u

You do not love Jing Yuan, and that’s what makes him easy to come home to. To love, to want, is to place your beating heart in the hands of another—is to risk the deadly creep of mara, gingko gold and bitter.

Jing Yuan is easy to come home to because there is no fanfare. In the palest hours of the morning, when the moon hangs low in the sky, you rest your working shoes next to his boots in the foyer. Sometimes, it takes hours to come across him.

The estate is large, and he spends much of his time in the gardens, or in his study, or asleep in bed. You creep in quietly, always, slow and silent as winter’s first snows. Footsteps mouse soft and body obscured by looming shadow.

You avoid the master bathroom. The one on the bottom floor is just as cavernous, a luxurious space complete with a fancy shower, two sinks and a tub easily large enough to fit four. Your toiletries ans soaps make their home in the tall, multi-tiered shelf in the corner. On any other day, you would scrub yourself of the day’s grime before luxuriating in the tub, letting its oatmilk infused waters melt away your anxieties. It’s a part of your routine that you’ve come to look forward to the most, away from the doting hands and knowing smiles of your part-time paramour.

You open the door, and freeze in place, blinking at the hulking form of one Jing Yuan, clad in a cozy, grey robe. You look at him, and he looks at you, lips curling into a delicate smile. His eyes crinkle with it, genuinely delighted to see you. Something in your gut squirms.

“Ah. Welcome back,” he says, toweling off his face. “You look like you’ve had a long night.”

Your skin prickles with discomfort at the nonchalance he reads you with, as he stands in a space you have come to know as your own—which is silly, you know, because it is his house, and his hospitality you so freely encroach upon.

It’s stupid. It’s paranoia, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s done this on purpose—

“It was fine,” you reply, just a little curt. You snatch a fluffy towel from t he nearby rack and wet it. “Still no leads. We’re no closer than we were last week to finding the guy.”

“Mm.” Jing Yuan nods, contemplative. “It comes as no surprise. The individual in question likely traveled as far from the Luofu as they could—and Galaxy Rangers are notoriously difficult to track.” he g;ances down at you, at the cloth clutched in your hard grip. “Allow me?”

“What?” you blink. He plucks the poor piece of fabric from your cramping hands. You’re too surprised to stop him. The day has stolen from you your usual reflexes, long hours spent sifting through the dive bars and dim taverns Galazy Rangers ave been known to frequent whilst aboard. You’ve batted your eyelashes and pulled scraps of information off the wagging tongues of their susceptible patrons. It had all been useless, in the end. Just drunkards eager to brag about better days and past, undoubtedly exaggerated achievements. You stand there as he pumps a dollop of your face wash onto the towel.

The oversized sleeve of his robe dips down to his elbow, exposing the toned muscle of his pale forearm. You behold it for a flash, and then the towel is warm on your cheeks. Jing Yuan hums while he does it, touch tender yet firm. The soap suds against your skin. He’s careful around your eyes, and it takes you an embarrassingly long time to notice they have indeed closed, lulled shut but his gentility. 

“How about I run you a bath?” Jing Yuan murmurs as he rinses you, taking great care to not scrape your tender skin. He blots, rather than drags. One, massive hand comes to cradle your jaw—a move that on any other night would have sent you reeling.

“I’m just gonna take a shower,” you mumble as he dries you off, plush fabric wicking away the remaining moisture.

“I’m alright,” he sighs, striding around you—you presume to exit, but then his fingers and playing up your sides, jolting you from the warm stupor. “At least allow me to help you out of this, then.” His breath brushes the shell of your ear. His fingers toy with the zipper at the back of your dress, a classy black number that’s been hidden away in the depths of your closet until now.

“Sure. Be my guest,” you shrug, as if you wouldn’t have asked him regardless.

He’s delicate, in the way he undoes it. The cool zipper glides slowly over your spine. His other hand slips its straps off your shoulders, rumbling in approval when you shimmy out of them yourself. The sound is deep, almost inaudible, felt more than heard. It’s in your best interest to suppress your shivers, promptly busying yourself with kicking off your stockings. The moment of odd tension dissipates and the dress comes off, slid down to your knees.

You expect him to just drop it. He doesn’t. Perplexed, you glance over your shoulder and find the general knelt on the bathroom tile behind you. He looks up at you with a coquettish glint in his eyes while you are jarred by the consideration he shows to even your possessions. It awakens something ugly in you, something wet and shriveled and bleating. The feeling washes over you like a douse of cold rain.

“Well?” Jing Yuan raises a brow, curl of his lips just a bit mischievous. Silently, face aflame, you step out of your dress. He folds it over his arm and smiles at you, so exposed and undone, and does he even know that? “Come to me when you’re finished.” He says, honey sweet, like he’s soothing you. “I’ll get us some snacks, okay? Take as much time as you’d like.”

He doesn’t ask which ones, because he already knows your favorites. You stand beneath the spray and convince yourself that the general is just being exceptionally kind, that it’s only natural for him to keep you close and healthy while you investigate at his behest. After you capture the Galaxy Ranger who so foolishly infiltrated last month’s IPC-sponsored banquet, this will all come to a sudden, unceremonious end.

You wash off the day’s grime, the sweat and the smell of smoke and cheap booze from your earthly form. The weariness, as much as you wish it would follow suit, still clings.

The towels Jing Yuan keeps stowed in the small bathroom closet are massive on you, and downy soft. Each tender brush of the fabric against your naked skin makes you feel swaddled. You trudge the familiar path to his bedchambers. His home is nice, but Jing Yuan is here even less than you are. He indulges in only a few, choice things—his bed being one of them. When you enter, he is sat on a cluster of furniture surrounding a cypress coffee table, bowls of fresh fruit and tempting sweets laid across it in a few, modest portions. Enough for the dinner you admittedly skipped.

“You didn’t have to,” you say flatly.

“How could I not, when we so rarely dine together? Come,” your general orders, and so you take a seat next to him. You’re wedged between his hulking form and a plush cushion, a blanket thrown over the sofa’s back. It’s prettily patterned with stripes and repeating triangles—not from the Luofu, you think, but are promptly wrenched from that train of thought as a piece of sliced peach is pressed against your lips. You blink. Jing Yuan beams when you tentatively open, taking the piece onto your waiting tongue.

“Good?” he asks while you chew. You nod, and he seems oddly contented, wearing an expression you have only seen him wear after he emerges victorious in an especially close game of star chess. You can’t figure out why, but you nod and swallow anyways.

Now that you are bathed and off your aching feet and away from prying agzes, you can feel your appetite returning, clawing at your stomach with a vengeance. That’sthe only reason why you accept a second piece from his calloused fingers, and then a third.

“You didn’t eat dinner today, did you?” Jing Yuan inquires once the fruit is all gone. He licks the remaining juice off his fingers, sharp canines flashing with each broad sweep of his tongue. “Perhaps I should start packing you lunch every day? Yanqing tells me my cooking is much improved since I started.” he teases, and you’re struck by the visual of you, walking inside the Seat of Divine Foresight, with a brightly colored lunch box in hand like a child being sent off to school. Your mortification at the very idea must show on your face, because he laughs at you. “What’s with that expression? Do you truly have such little faith in me?”

“No!” you splutter, and look away, at the dim lamp on is nightstand. “I can take care of myself. I wouldn’t presume to take up so much of the general’s time.” you say, voice curling with the barest hint of sarcasm. 

“I am a general, but I am also a man like any other,” Jing Yuan hums. He wrangles you with a strong arm, draws you into his side. Cradled so close, you can smell him—ffresh from a recent bath, clad in only the softest of robes. And warm, warm above and below and everywhere. “And any man is obligated to care for what is most precious to him.” He murmurs. His voice vibrates through his chest. Warm as a hearth, steady as the sun-warmed earth.

You’re a little too dazed to make sense of it all, right now. But he has implied something severe, something you ignore because you are not strong enough to face, yet. Wind erodes stone and the tides weather the shore—but lightning splinters trees and sparks fires. You pretend not to hear the bolt as it lands, drawn from his soft lips.

He shoves a cracker up to your mouth. You eat from his hands with no hesitance, because you really are so tired. Tired enough to barely listen to the soft timbre of his voice as he describes his day—one-sided quarrels with the master diviner, a ceremony in Aurum Alley to celebrate its recent rebirth, the sparrows which frolic in his garden. You’ve seen them, fluttering from branch-to-branch, little things which land on his shoulders and chirp in welcome and receive soft kisses on their little heads for their trouble.

The general is kind to all creatures, you think, half-asleep. He moves around you, porcelain clinking quietly as he gathers the empty bowls and cleaned plates.

It’s not good to sleep so soon after a meal, but you’re helpless to the siren song of sweet sleep. You’re halfway submerged when you are gathered close to his broad chest and abruptly moved. Like you’re a mere babe, swaddled in the arms of your mother. Your head knocks into his shoulder, body feebly wriggling as you register the sudden lack of ground beneath you.

“It’s alright,” Jing Yuan holds you fast. “I’ve got you.”

His reassurances soothe you still. Jing Yuan ferries you across his bedroom. The sheets are already pulled back, cool and buttery against your skin as he settles you down. You stay there, where he’s left you, writhing against the bedding just to enjoy the feeling, the warmth. The scent of him pervades the entire room. But here, it is inescapable. You shove yourself further up the mount of pillows, pleased to find them just as cool against your skin.

The mattress dips next to you. He slips into his nest like a seal taking to water, yanking up the blankets to your shoulders. Your eyes have shut. The ease with which you let your guard down with him demands careful inspection. But that can wait until tomorrow.

For now, the general pulls you close, drags you to him with an effortless tug. He envelops you shamelessly. Every second hoarded close feels like a nap in the sun.

[sunsetlobster]

To Satiate a Hunger part 1

Authors: Myself and @sovietstrange45

Summary: Finding an appropriate stop on the brink of starvation, A Night lord War band ransacks Ghilana for every morsel of food and fuel they have. In the process, Ladomir an ex-terror squad member stumbles upon one thing they've been sorely needing.

Warnings: Self harm, horror themes, blood, implied violence, forced proximity, Ladomir has a blood kink, the writing structure is a raw cut from what was originally written so apologies for any weirdness there ><

Word Count: 2.1k

← Previous chapter | Next Chapter →

--

Screams. Screams were the first noise that had become readily noticeable. Screams took varieties of forms, joy, shock, anger, pleasure, and fear. Some were distinctly clear from others, whereas the lines between few became muddled. Fear was unmistakeable. The natural primal terror of a human was something that could not be replicated, only induced. Yet, once one knew how to induce it, you could never fail to produce results.

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

Streets ran red with rivers of blood, a sanguine disaster as mortals scampered across roads, tumbling over each other, slipping from the biological oil spills. No rhyme nor reason, not a semblance of strategy within any of them. Only that primal urge to run, that diminished any logical chance at survival. The battle against the cacophony of terror, was met with the screech of chain blades. Punctuated occasionally by the throating thump of rocket propelled shells hitting home in fleshy targets, that had no hope of dulling the resulting explosions. As for those that had been, for all intents in purposes by complete and utter luck, not been chosen for death. They, were hauled to the behemoth lumbering over their sky like a dying god, raining down its unmerciful wrath, whilst giving its death rattles. Spouting fire with every cough from its prow batteries. Amidst this rapture of death, a door was viciously kicked from its hinges. Slamming into its opposite wall with the force and symphony of a crashing vehicle. Light pouring in from the bleeding horizon casting its harsh orange glow and silhouetting the figure in his self-made opening. Shadowed, and with a head that was bat winged in nature, with blood red eyes that burned like miniature suns, without any clear target to scorch in its rays.

The clear scent of bread, pies and all manner of baked goods was almost nauseating to a fiend who'd endured such hunger. Yet the one who presumably made this was nowhere to be found and there were no inklings of his brothers’ marks on any of the small store's interior. Nor its door that led to the back. It was a simple homely place, wooden trims and a chalk board with written pricing and meals, bread of all kinds lined the back cabinet and sandwiches laid behind the counter, the thin shield of glass being the only thing sheltering them from the beast who skulked about in search of the owner.

The figure made no noise, only the wrenching growl of his joints signalled his movement. Changing from a hunched figure, to startling tall and still figure, clad in thick plate Armor. Like a lightning flash, near white, blue suddenly filled the room. His armour flashing with the crackled of lightning that seemed to shift along the surface of his form. It lasted long enough to take in the most... pressing things, about his appearance. He seemed like one of the angels of death, the Emperor's angels. Clad in midnight blue and trimmed with a gold that held no luster or wealth. His helmet was the gnarled visage of a multi fanged skull with no lower jaw and burning red eyes. Bat winged, with blood red that ended halfway, and became a chipped and fragment ending to its form of different colours, on both sides. On his left it was a dull and dark green, and on the other it was a vibrant yellow. His left shoulder held the sculpture of a skull. Perhaps rather, the mangled and defiled idea of a skull. It's lower jaw touching on the lower rim, and extending all the way to the upper trim, before it finally rounded out into what somehow managed to be a distressed and sorrowed skeletal gaze. His chest piece had once held the imperial aquila, but the eagle had been carved and shaved away until it resembled a skull of its own, the wings left as a bastardization of the carrion Emperor's heraldry. Then, the light was gone, it's flickering haven vanishing within a moment, and replaced by the thudding of his boots. Steps that equalled a tank thudding across the shop's floor, all the way forward to the counter. Dropping the blood dripping, corroded chain glaive in his gauntleted hand, he suddenly shoved a fist through the display case, sending shards of glass flying, and the sound of its destruction resonating throughout the room.

Sneh flinched at the smash from the other room, but she dared not move, dared not breath even. She was only a middling woman and everyone she'd ever known now had just about been murdered or taken. The baker had no chance at going toe to toe with what laid out there waiting to snap her between its jaws. And yet she still clung to the massive sharp, serrated bread knife. It was the length of her entire forearm and her last line of defence as she sat hidden amid the flour sacks. Her deep red gown making her regret her choice in clothing that morning. If worse came to worse though, she could end it, quickly, without much suffering and it'd be her decision not that of a monster’s.

Then, the figure ripped his helmet from his form. Slamming it atop of the counter, he grasped one of the baked goods between his fingers. Nose twitching as the smells, true and infiltered by an old vox grill, hit his gene enhanced senses. With a grunt he scarfed the delicacy down. Practically one gulp, and it had disappeared. The beast even took the time to scarf down a few more like a feral beast, burdened by the need for sustenance. Something akin to a groan leaving his throat with each bite he took, leaving behind a sugars and powers on his lips with each parcel devoured. With a hiss, he licked his lips and rubbed the back of his gauntlet across his mouth, eyes the consistent blackness of absolute nothingness, flying to the door behind the counter. A wicked grin, splitting his lips once more as he approached. Taking a decidedly different approach, he softened his step, and gently grasped the doors handle, and gave it a soft shove. As to let it creak it's way open, and bleed light into the next room like blood from an artery.

Sneh listened, holding her breath as it approached, and she readied her weapon on herself. A violent fearful glare in her usually soft eyes. The teeth of the blade gently rested on her throat ready at any moment to sink in on her flesh and wrench forth the very thing that'd save her from worse pain. She'd heard only whispers of their kind, angels warped into demons by any matter of force. Creatures that now stalked the night and tormented the dreams of those unlucky enough to hear of them. Biting her tongue to remain focused, Sneh dared not watch with her naked eye but rather the mirrored reflection from the pans lining the sink.

The worst part was the silence of it all. How even the low growl of armour joints that shifted with his movements, sounded nondifferent than the low hum of any machinery or electronics one would find anywhere. Lowering himself low, to a crouch, he was still just as large and nearly as tall as a normal man. Then lowering himself to a stalking crawl, he looked like a great beast still. The smell of far, quite literal fear, and bakery goods mixing within his senses in a uniquely delightful combination, that Ladomir lamented he just might never experience again. So, he would savour this like a delicacy. The blue crackle of light flickered up again as he crawled, blending with the bleeding sun to blind the room of any obvious source, and only flickering to near death once again after he had stalked to the other side of the room, peering just around a cabinet's corner at the woman, with eyes and hair black as death's embrace, and skin as pale as a corpse lips.

She returned it, a show of no fear or at least the face of one who was more than willing to fight against the fear that tried to fester in her stomach. The blade kissed and gently tore into her throat with a hiss, the small stream of crimson rolling down her neck as she faintly winced at the minor pain. It was shallow, just enough to show she damn well meant it without saying as much as a word to it that which lurked in the dark.

The head bobbed, shocked, jittered like the wracking pains of a seizure. All in this utterly silent, staring contest. Then, he slipped back behind the cupboard, and a sound slowly filtered its way throughout the room. Like a low whine, until it grew louder, and it became clear that he had been laughing. Small chuckles that quacked his form, to near mad laughter that followed the beast's once more hidden form. Blue lightning crackling away once more, disappearing more quickly this time, near the door along with his laughter. Until the door slammed shut, the laughter stopped, all light was snuffed from the room, and even the growl of servo joints seemed gone entirely.

She didn’t waste time; he had the knife to her throat and was ready to cut once more. She goes out on her own terms not that of a beast who hid the dark. And yet her hand softly trembled, she chose a terrible blade for this. But she has no choice, it was this or a mind-numbing amount of suffering and she certainly didn’t want you consider the latter. So, pressing the teeth harsher to her jugular she took a lone shaken breath and went to strike the blade down over herself.

Just then, out of a seemingly improbable time to cover such a distance, the great terror was just behind her. The thud of his armour as he stomped into the floor the only indication before he grasps her by the wrist, yanking the hand back from her own throat before she could do any more harm. With none of the urgency he's just display, he slowly stepped around to the mortal woman's front, staring down at her with perfect dark vision. Lighting flared and crackled around his midnight armour in a silent vortex. Illuminating them both and finally revealing the creature who had been stalking her. His hair was long, pushed back over his head in a surprisingly graceful styling of hair, two streaks of grey dashing from the edge of his temples and all the way to the base of his neck with the rest, breaking up the raven black ocean. His irises were blindingly white, the only colour in his eyes. His nose was thin, pointed like a crow's beak. Dark stubble lining his squared jaw, and thin lips split by scars that ran to the edge of his jaw, another going all the way to his neck and disappearing under his body glove. "I admire your attempt." He remarked, voice booming with an odd accent that did not seem suited for any form of gothic.

A lone tear rolled down her cheek, it was enough of a chastise within itself over her cowardice. Now became of her moment of thought she’d be lain to the worst pain man could conjure now, wouldn’t she? After all the devil was always described to have a handsome face.

It seemed to move him none. He was everything that described the Emperor's angels, perverted into its most twisted and malformed version. "Tell me, did you bake the delicacies in this shop?" He spoke again, bringing her wrist closer to his face, and dragging his tongue across the knife. Lapping the blood, and uncaring for the way it split his tongue. For just as quickly as he bled, he clotted, and when it clotted, it began to seal. As if, it had never happened. The only emotion shown, being the soft hum, he let out, and the twitch of his nose.

Sneh nodded, not opening her mouth lest she have her neck snapped as he so brazenly lapped at her only way out as though it too should’ve been displayed under the now smashed counter. And yet even in the dark with little light to show, she never left his face, a burning resolve deep in those eyes.

He bore into them, unflinching, never blinking once. Silence filling in the fluttering and flickering of lightning on his armour. Perhaps he was searching for something there, deep within her soul. Perhaps, it meant absolutely nothing at all. Then he let out a laugh, something akin to elation lacing the noise. Booming from him like a drum as he grinned madly. "Forfallian dal sur shissis lalil na sha dareel!" The demon managed in between his joy, a tongue that might as well have been alien within comparison to Gothic. "Rejoice. Today, you fly far away from here, little bird."

[sprunkimortality]

GARNOLD

Why do you have/wear your suit?

[You've coincidentally caught Garnold as he just slid his helmet on. The Sprunki perks up at your presence, turning towards you.]

Garnold: "What? This nifty ol' thing?"

[He taps the side of his helmet, his facial display flashing a proud grin.]

Garnold: "Cause I made it, and I can wear it as much as I want! Oh, you got NO idea how handy it can be, man! It's multi-purpose!"

Clukr: "So far, it has been...satisfactory."

Garnold: "We're all fine and dandy! Just gotta do our morning routine, and then we'll see our kids!"

Garnold: "Oh, he cried LOTS!"

Clukr: "GARNOLD."

Garnold: "Hey, no shame, hun! Remember folks; men can cry!"

Clukr: "Yes I know that but did you have to disclose-"

Garnold: "In fact, I cried harder!"

Clukr: "Oh my sprinkles, Garnold-..."

Garnold: "I did it like this! BWWUUAAAAAAAHHHGGGHHH!!!"

Clukr: "Sigh...that is...an annoyingly accurate recreation."

[callsign-mayhem]

i'm with the band (part 2)

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female!Reader & Bradley Bradshaw x Female!Reader (final pairing to be revealed at the end...) Word count: 5.1k CW: Use of Y/N; reader wears Dr Martens, but that's the only specific detail.

You discover that your best friend Bob can play the drums, and since you have some musical gifts of your own, you decide to start a navy band. It's supposed to be a bit of harmless fun, but what happens when lines get blurred between you and Bob, feelings come to the surface, and a certain Rooster gets jealous?

This is a multi-part fic.

Find part one here! Part three

The Hard Deck was bustling like it always was on a Saturday night. Bradley was the last of the daggers to arrive, so he headed straight to the bar to get caught up. When he was eventually next in line to be served, he was more than a little surprised to see Maverick behind the bar.

‘What’re you doing, Mav?’ He asked.

Maverick handed two pints of beer to a young aviator, flashed him a million-dollar smile and then turned on Bradley. ‘Helping Penny,’ he replied. ‘One of her girls called in sick.’

Bradley’s lips quirked. ‘Does this mean I get free beers all night?’

Penny suddenly appeared beside him, a tray of empty glasses in hand. 

‘No, Rooster, it doesn’t. And if Pete wants to keep his balls attached to his body, he’ll agree with me.’

‘Remind me never to get on your bad side.’ Bradley grumbled.

‘There’s a beer in the tap for you, anyway,’ Maverick explained. ‘From Y/CS.’

‘What?’

‘Three beers, actually. She paid for them when she got here, something about getting you back for the sex on the beach.’ Maverick grinned, seemingly pleased that he’d successfully embarrassed his son for all intents and purposes. ‘Hope you used protection.’ 

‘Oh god, Mav. Stop. That’s not what she meant.’

‘I know what she meant,’ he said, pouring Bradley’s beer. ‘She’s drunk already. Phoenix too.’ 

Bradley’s stomach somersaulted. He’d seen you drunk a handful of times, and he was obsessed with the way it made you more confident. 

‘Yeah, that’s my fault.’ 

‘Keep an eye on them, alright?’

‘Always do.’ Bradley saluted him and headed towards your space in the corner. 

Somebody had the good sense to push three high tables together. Much to Bradley’s annoyance, Bob and Mickey had already taken the seats on either side of you. Nat was sitting opposite you like she had at the restaurant, so she saw Bradley before you did. 

‘ROOSTER’S HERE!’ She yelled.

You spun around so fast that you almost slid off your stool. Before Bradley could steady you, Bob was already there with his hand on your arm. 

‘ROOOOOOOOOOO!’ You cried. ‘Did Mav tell you about your drinks?’ 

You weren’t drunk to the point of heavy eyes and slurred speech, but you were the furthest from sober next to Nat. The last empty seat was right at the edge of the tables, next to Jake. Bradley didn’t feel like chatting to him all night, so he picked the stool up and put it at the head of the table by you and Natasha. 

‘Yes, he did. You shouldn’t have, doll.’ 

You practically swooned at the pet name, a reaction Bradley filed away for later. He wondered how else he could make you swoon. 

‘What did I miss?’ He asked, settling himself on his stool.

‘Me and Y/CS duetting Limp Bizkit in Bob’s truck,’ Nat informed him. ‘It was something to behold, really.’ 

‘Penny should start doing karaoke nights,’ you said. ‘Imagine the fun we’d have.’

‘Nobody would want to do karaoke with you, Y/N.’ Bob said. He had two Corona Extra bottles in front of him and a full one in hand. Bradley supposed that you weren’t the only one who needed a bit of Dutch courage tonight. ‘You’d smoke every single one of us with that voice of yours.’ 

You blushed deeply. Mickey and Natasha shared a knowing look, all but confirming Bradley’s suspicions. 

‘He’s not wrong,’ Bradley chimed in. ‘We should get behind the piano later.’

So maybe he was swinging his dick around. Either way, the way your eyes widened at his suggestion was worth feeling like a dick for a couple of seconds.

‘Really?’ 

‘Yeah, it’s been a minute.’ 

‘I’d love that, Roo.’

Nat jumped down from her stool. ‘Let’s get another drink, Y/N. I think Penny wants to talk to us about that thing.’

‘She does? What thing?’

‘The thing,’ Mickey interjected. ‘You know, the surprise for Mav.’

One second, two, three. Then realisation suddenly dawned on you, and you disappeared with

Mickey and Natasha, out of Bradley’s grasp yet again. 

What he wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall during that conversation. 

Natasha led you through the swarm of people around the bar and out to the decking. Part of it was undercover, which is where you stood to keep out of the rain. Clusters of people were huddled underneath the shelter, smoking cigarettes and sharing drinks. Mickey had followed you out, which you found highly amusing. 

‘You’re not one of the girls.’ You toyed, poking him in the chest. 

‘I am tonight. I know what’s going on, and I wanna be involved.’

Nat rolled her eyes so hard they disappeared into the back of her head. ‘You’re such a child, Fanboy.’

‘Oh, let him stay. Maybe it’d help to get a guy’s perspective. He texted me at the restaurant to tell me Rooster was looking at my tits.’

Natasha scowled. ‘Don’t let me hear you say tits, Fanboy. It doesn’t suit you.’

You and Mickey both howled with laughter. ‘That’s exactly what I said!’ 

‘We’re getting off track here,’ Phoenix said, flapping her hands. ‘Pay attention.’

Mickey nodded, face grave. ‘Attention on deck.’ 

‘First of all,’ she started, ignoring his pun. ‘Bradley was looking at your tits. Let’s get that out of the way. Second of all, Bob was also looking at them.’

‘Well, he was trying not to, which made it obvious that that’s where he wanted to look.’ Mickey corrected. 

‘Right.’ Nat agreed.

Heat pooled in the bottom of your tummy. ‘What am I supposed to do with this information?’

  ‘You gotta make a decision.’

‘What if I don’t want to be with anyone right now?’

‘Don’t you?’

It sounded even more stupid out loud. Of course, you wanted to be with someone, but how were you supposed to pick out of the two most incredible guys in the whole world?

‘Why do I have to make a decision now?’

‘Cause they aren’t gonna wait around forever.’ Natasha told you. 

‘Bob might.’ Mickey said, earning him a smack around the back of the head. ‘What the fuck was that for?’

‘Bob has just as much chance of finding someone else as Bradley,’ Natasha chided. ‘Don’t talk down about him.’

‘Right, sorry.’ 

‘Me and Bob are starting a band,’ you blurted out. ‘We’ve been getting close lately, practising and stuff. A few navy guys are coming to his place next week to audition.’ 

‘Oh boy,’ Mickey grinned. ‘You’re starting a navy band and didn’t ask Rooster to join?’

‘His name didn’t even come up,’ you admitted. ‘I doubt he’d wanna be part of it anyway. He’ll probably say it’s lame.’

Nat tucked a loose curl behind your ear. ‘If you think that, you don’t know him at all. He lives and breathes music, and he won’t think it’s lame if you and Bob are there.’

‘If she’s there, you mean.’

Nat raised her hand, and Mickey flinched. ‘I swear to God, your honorary girl membership isn’t gonna mean shit if you say one more word.’

‘Damn.’

‘We should go back inside.’ You said. 

‘Tomorrow, we’re gonna talk about this. Once we’ve dropped Bob off at his truck. You’re not gonna keep getting out of it.’ 

‘Breakfast? What breakfast? Can I come?’ 

‘Fanboy, for fuck’s sake.’ 

Bob was arguing with you over the songs in the jukebox again. A fuzzy feeling had overtaken his body, filling the empty spaces with warmth and giving him confidence he’d never known until now. Sure, he’d been drunk before—well, drunk by his definition—but this was something else entirely. He’d come to the conclusion that even though he was enjoying himself immensely, it wasn’t something he wanted to feel on the regular. He didn’t understand how people did this every weekend. 

‘If you had to pick one song in this jukebox to listen to for the rest of time, what would you pick?’ You asked, leaning against the machine.

Bob scanned the song titles that were becoming so familiar to him that he’d probably be able to recite them in his sleep soon enough. 

‘That’s an impossible question.’ 

You smiled lazily. ‘Come on, Bobby.’

‘You’re expecting me to pick one when there’s The Clash, Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen and AC/DC in this jukebox.’ 

‘And Billy Idol. You can’t forget Billy.’ 

‘Exactly my point.’ 

You leaned over to reread the song’s titles. Bob admired the way your hair slipped over your shoulder, brushing the hand he was using to steady himself against the jukebox. You were closer to him now than at the restaurant earlier, and he wished he could bottle your scent and carry it around with him all day. He was obsessed with your perfect, glossed lips and the idea of kissing them. 

His small crush on you wasn’t small right now, and being intoxicated made it harder for him to stop himself from doing something about it. You reached out and pressed the number for Dancing In The Dark before taking his hand in yours—a small feat, maybe, but not to him. Your hand was soft and warm, and he wanted to feel it on his face again, like in his truck. 

‘Where are we going?’ He questioned. 

‘To dance.’ 

‘I can’t dance, Y/N. You know that.’ 

‘Everyone can dance when they’re drunk,’ you reassured him. ‘Just don’t overthink it.’

It was easier said than done, but with your hand in his, his newfound confidence grew three sizes until it was almost too big for his body. You two were something straight out of a movie just then, dancing in a small space you’d found in the middle of the bar, singing along to the lyrics at the same time. 

He respectfully rested a hand on your waist, and you put the hand that wasn’t holding his other one on his shoulder, so you were like ballroom dancers. You sure looked the part, being too overdressed for The Hard Deck; the only thing missing was an actual ability to dance, but you were both too happy to care. Little did you know that Natasha was filming the whole thing on her phone and taking pictures now and then. 

When the song ended, you both waited to see what would play next, but nothing did. Instead, Bob was brought harshly back to reality, to the sounds of glasses clinking and loud chatter. That’s when it dawned on him that the jukebox had been unplugged. Once people realised what was happening, they moved to the piano on the other side of the bar from where you and Bob had been dancing. He hadn’t even noticed Bradley leaving the table to unplug the jukebox or take his seat at the piano because he’d been too wrapped up in your energy, your touch, and the sound of your voice. 

He wasn’t happy to have been interrupted by Rooster yet again, but the idea of hearing you sing properly—not just under your breath while dancing—was highly alluring. 

‘I think it’s piano time.’ You grinned. 

Still holding tightly onto his hand, you weaved your way through the massive crowd to the rest of the daggers, all of whom were at the front, waiting for their friends’ performance. When Bradley saw you, his face broke out into a toothy grin. He’d donned his aviators as per usual, and he watched you walk over to him over top of them like it was just you in the room. 

Bob couldn’t exactly blame him. Most of the time, you were the only person in the room for him, too. 

When Bradley patted the spot on the bench, you hurried yourself, clearly excited to perform. The alcohol was probably helping, as he’d yet to convince you to get behind the instrument sober. 

Bob moved to stand between Natasha and Reuben. 

‘Been having fun?’ Nat quipped. 

‘I was.’

‘Is that a little jealousy I hear in your tone, Floyd?’ 

Reuben nudged him playfully. ‘Come on, man. Phoenix didn’t raise you to sit on the sidelines. If you like Y/CS, don’t just sit around and watch someone else sweep her off her feet.’ 

Keys tinkled as Bradley got reacquainted with the piano. He looked to you earnestly, silently asking if you were ready. In response, you nodded and offered him an anxious but excited smile. 

Bob recognised the song immediately. 

Bradley sang the first verse, and you sang the second. Where his was husky and deliciously rough around the edges, yours was full and velvety. 

Slow down, you crazy child You're so ambitious for a juvenile But then, if you're so smart, tell me Why are you still so afraid?

Where's the fire, what's the hurry about? You better cool it off before you burn it out You got so much to do, and only So many hours in a day

When the chorus came around, both you and Bradley sang together. Paired with his expert piano playing, it was the most beautiful cacophony. Your voices welded together like precious metals, and the result was priceless. 

But you know that when the truth is told That you can get what you want Or you can just get old You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through  When will you realise, Vienna waits for you?

You were bouncing off one another. When Bradley sang louder, you sang louder. When Bradley’s voice deepened, it made yours sound more angelic. When you held a particularly long and high note towards the end of the song, Bradley stopped singing altogether to give you and your voice a very deserving moment in the spotlight. Everyone around the piano was singing along, even Bob. He was helpless to stop the urge. Bradley’s stage presence was infectious, even when you weren’t performing with him, but there was something about you singing Billy Joel that made it virtually impossible not to join in. It wasn’t just the song or the fact that you were singing it, but the apparent joy that performing brought you and Bradley. Someone would have to be deaf and blind not to notice it. 

Bob was half considering asking Bradley to join the band. He was talented, and Bob could see that he’d be an asset, what with how much you loved singing with him. 

But that was also the problem, wasn’t it? 

He hadn’t even wanted to be in the band, but now he was protective of the whole idea. He didn’t want band practice to become another place where he competed for your attention and affection. 

Bradley managed an expert transition from Vienna straight into his usual crowd-pleaser, Great Balls of Fire. Bob had no idea how he’d managed it, but he had, and the crowd roared with delight. Mickey and Javy—who had somehow overtaken you and Nat and currently held the position of the drunkest daggers—were jumping around like maniacs. Bob, Nat, Jake and Reuben were laughing amongst themselves, totally distracted by their shenanigans. 

As a result, Bob missed the smouldering look that you and Bradley shared, the way you reached up and stole his aviators with a wink, all while never missing a word of the song. He was singing at you, and you were singing at him. Now, not only were you the only ones in The Hard Deck, but you were also the only ones left on planet Earth. 

It was gone 1 AM when the cab pulled up in front of your home. Stars twinkled in the night sky—looking much like your dress—and your front garden was bathed in moonlight. It had been a night for the ages, but as brilliant of a time you’d had, you were looking forward to taking off your boots and putting your pyjamas on. 

Natasha seemed to share your sentiment—she’d taken her shoes off in the cab and walked up your front path in her socks, trainers swinging absentmindedly from her hand. You were glad she was spending the night because you felt you needed an entire debrief after the evening’s events. 

Bob’s presence was perhaps more exciting than the prospect of gossiping and making breakfast with Nat. He was drunker than you’d ever seen him, humming to himself as he led you to your front door. He held your arm to keep you steady, and the contact felt out of this world. 

‘Bobbyyyy—’ you slurred. ‘Please, can you get my house key out of my bag? I don’t think I have any base brain functions.’

He laughed, taking your bag off your shoulder to find your house key. ‘I knew I should’ve stopped Seresin when he started ordering shots.’

‘Nah. That might have been the best idea he’s ever had.’

‘I think we’re gonna have to agree to disagree on this one.’

You and Bob were standing on your porch with the front door open. He gestured to Natasha, who was doubled over next to your rosebushes. 

‘Example A.’ He smirked.

You facepalmed. ‘Not the fucking roses, Nix!’ 

She heaved once, twice, then promptly threw up. You started down the steps, but Bob reached out and grabbed your arm again. 

‘You can’t even stand up straight,’ he said. ‘Go inside, I’ll get her.’ 

‘Yes, sir.’ 

You stumbled through to the kitchen, turning lights on as you went. The air in your house still smelled like the autumn candle you’d been burning earlier and clean laundry. At heart, you were a homebody. Nothing was more satisfying than returning to a clean, organised space, cooking a meal and watching a movie tucked under blankets after a long day. It was rare for you to enjoy a night out like this, to be the one begging everyone to stay for one more drink. The atmosphere had been charged tonight, especially at The Hard Deck. When you’d performed ‘Vienna’ with Bradley, it had been like touching a live wire. The current still reverberated through your body, and your body ached from unused energy. 

In the time it took Bob to get Natasha inside, you poured three glasses of water, added some ice, and nearly tripped over your own feet. She looked a bit worse for wear, but it was nothing that some aspirin and long rest wouldn’t fix. 

‘I think you two should get upstairs to bed.’ Bob said sternly.

‘Okay, dad.’ Nat sniggered. ‘You gonna tuck us in?’

‘Well, I just held your hair back while you threw up, so we’ve already crossed a line.’

‘Girls do that for each other all the time,’ you said. ‘It’s normal.’

‘But I’m not a girl.’

Nat wagged an accusing finger at him. ‘You know what, if Fanboy was here, he’d have appreciated that. He loves being one of the girls.’

‘So true,’ you murmured in agreement. ‘Bob, you’re being ungrateful.’

‘For what?’

‘Your hon-honourary girl membership.’ You said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

‘Alright, let’s go. Get your waters.’ 

Both of you did as you were told but weren’t happy about it. You headed towards the staircase, Bob following close behind. He turned lights off as he went, ever thoughtful. 

Upstairs, Nat collapsed face-first onto your bed. You rummaged through your chest of drawers for three sets of pyjamas while Bob switched your lamps on and closed your blinds. 

‘Bobby, are you okay with one of my oversized band tees?’ You asked.

When he didn’t answer, you spun around. He was perched on the edge of your bed, the photo frame you kept on your side in his hand. He was cradling it like it was worth a million dollars, eyes misty and far away. It was a photograph of you and him on the carrier after the special detachment mission when everyone had gone out to meet Maverick and Rooster. There seemed always to be people taking pictures in moments like those, and when you’d seen this one, you had to frame it. You and Bob were standing facing one another, faces bright with triumph and relief. He cradled your tear-streaked face in his hands, and you were both laughing in disbelief that you were together again. 

‘You keep this next to your bed?’ He whispered. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you said: ‘Of course I do.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’re my best friend, and I like it being the first thing I see when I wake up in the mornings.’ 

Bob set the photo down gently. He seemed to be having a hard time breathing. ‘One of your T-shirts will be fine, thanks.’ 

Natasha sat up, rubbing her head. ‘You guys are so cute,’ she said. ‘Do you want me to sleep in the guest room?’ 

Your eyes flew to Bob. He was playing with his hands, clearly still stuck on the photograph. 

‘No, Nix. You should sleep in here with me in case you choke on your vomit.’ You threw a pair of Spongebob pyjamas at her. ‘Go put those on.’ 

‘Both of you are so bossy.’ She grumbled. ‘You’re perfect for each other.’

She padded across your bedroom floor and out into the hallway. Once you heard the bathroom door close, you sat next to Bob on the edge of the bed.

‘It’s a Radiohead t-shirt.’ You informed him. ‘I don’t think any of my pyjama pants will be long enough for you.’ 

He took the shirt and set it on your pillow, ignoring the unsaid words that hung in the air like rain clouds. It was all you could do to sit still when Bob took his glasses off and ran his fingers through his sandy hair. 

‘Thank you for letting me stay,’ he said quietly. ‘And for the shirt.’

You looked at him earnestly, waiting for him to meet your eye. ‘Thank you for existing.’

His leg bounced nervously. When you laid a hand atop his thigh to stop it, his eyes darted to and from your face so fast you almost missed it. There was no way you were letting him shy away from this time. 

‘Bobby, look at me.’ You pleaded.

He did as you asked with some difficulty, and you were met with a hesitant gaze. 

You touched the middle of his head with your index finger. ‘What’s going on in there?’

He leaned against your hand, smiling bashfully like a child. ‘It’s a secret.’ 

‘We don’t keep secrets.’

It seemed like he was going to spill his guts for a moment, but then he stood up. He grabbed your t-shirt, pausing above you.

‘Get some sleep, Y/N. I’ll see you in the morning.’

And with that, he took himself off to the guest room, leaving your heart racing and your head spinning. When Natasha returned, you were still staring at the doorframe, desperately trying to figure out what had just happened. It seemed like Bob was upset with you. 

‘What happened?’

‘I think Bob’s angry with me.’ 

‘Why?’

You picked up the picture frame and handed it to her. ‘He was looking at this, and I tried to talk to him—see if I could see what was going on in his head—and he couldn’t even look at me. He told me to go to sleep.’

Nat’s brows knitted together in confusion. ‘I don’t think he’s upset with you.’

‘He is.’

‘No, he’s not. Hear me out: he’s in love with you, and most of the time, you guys act like more than best friends. Short of sleeping together, you’re basically already a couple. Then, tonight, you have that moment with Bradley—’

‘It-’

Nat held a hand up. ‘Don’t deny it, we all saw it. There’s chemistry there.’ She insisted. ‘Bob’s probably super confused because he can see it too, and then he comes here and sees this. The poor guy probably doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going.’ 

Your heart withered in your chest at the realisation. ‘He’s in love with me.’

‘Yes, Y/N, and you need to do something about it. If you think you might feel the same way, you need to stop fucking around with Rooster and give it a shot with Bob. Or, you need to let Bob down gently because otherwise, someone is gonna get seriously hurt.’ 

God, how you wished it were that simple. You took the clips from your hair and kicked off your boots while Natasha took her makeup off at your vanity. All seriousness put aside, it did feel a lot like the kinds of sleepovers you had with your friends in high school. 

‘Nix, can you unzip my dress?’

‘Damn, now you’re trying it on with me too?’

You laughed. ‘You make me sound like a whore.’

‘I mean, if the shoe fits…’

You grabbed one of your throw pillows and launched it at her. She squealed with laughter, jumping up to grab her own pillow. After dealing a few revenge blows, she unzipped your dress for you. 

Breathless from laughter, you said: ‘Hangman would have a field day if he saw us.’

‘When he asks how our sleepover was on Monday morning, we should tell him we had a pillow fight in lingerie.’ Natasha grinned devilishly. 

‘He won’t be able to focus on his manoeuvres.’

‘Good, then I’ll beat him all day.’ 

Natasha crawled into your bed and propped herself up on your throw pillows. You went through the motions of your night routine, taking off your makeup and changing into pyjamas. It was gone 2 AM by the time you got into bed. You had lots to think about. Natasha was right about somebody getting hurt if you didn’t do something soon. She’d told you everything you needed to hear except what you were supposed to do about it. 

Why couldn’t there be a blueprint, a map that showed you which path to follow and where you’d end up? 

As you drifted off to sleep, you thought about band auditions with Bob on Tuesday afternoon and the expression on his face when he’d seen the picture on your bedside. But this wasn’t all you thought about. You couldn’t help but reminisce about your performance with Bradley and the pure, unadulterated joy you felt while singing with him at the piano. 

Rain pelted against the roof of Bob’s garage. The weather had been awful the last couple of days, the build-up to the storm that had been forecasted for San Diego. Bob loved being cosied up inside when it was storming and falling asleep to the comforting sound of rain. What he didn’t love was the fact that it kept the dagger squad grounded and bored at work. Sure, there were other things to get on with, but he preferred being airborne. 

It had been a tedious week thus far. The only thing getting him through it had been the prospect of band auditions this evening. Considering he didn’t even want to start a band to begin with, he was in his element now. You and Bob were sitting on the sofa in his garage, leaning forward in your seats as you listened to Elliot Green play bass with expert precision. Elliot was one of the air and space operations guys, and he’d seen the poster you’d made on his way to work one morning. Bob wasn’t sure anyone would notice your posters, even though you’d spent ages creating them. 

He’d never been happier to have been wrong about something because Elliot was a natural on the bass. He was precisely the kind of person you needed for the band, and Bob could tell from the glint in your eye that you felt the same.

When he was finished, you both gave him a hearty applause. Elliot was tall and lean, with sandy blonde hair slightly longer than Bob’s and glasses. At work, he wore the same glasses as Bob, but he had a different pair for out of hours. These were round with tortoiseshell rims, and Bob couldn’t help but think Elliot was an artsier version of him. 

‘Well,’ you said dreamily. ‘I don’t think Bob and I need to discuss anything.’

‘No, we don’t.’

‘The spot is yours if you want it.’ You beamed.

Elliot’s blinked behind his glasses, taken aback. ‘Isn’t there anyone else trying out?’

‘Not for bass,’ Bob explained. ‘We've got someone else coming over in the next hour, but he’s trying out for guitar.’

‘You wanna stay?’ You offered. ‘Since you’re part of the band now, it might be a good idea.’

‘Yeah, sure.’ He smiled. ‘Thanks, guys. I’m excited.’

Not even half an hour later, Fletcher Adams showed up with the sexiest-looking guitar Bob had ever seen. It was a matte black Strat, and it suited him perfectly, what with his slicked-back raven hair, grey eyes, and sharp jawline. He introduced himself as Fletcher, but you and Bob knew him as something else. 

Fletcher Adams. Callsign: Phantom. 

He was part of another squadron, and although Bob didn’t know him well, Phantom’s reputation preceded him. If Bob weren’t part of a better squadron than Fletcher, he’d have found him intimidating. 

‘Thanks for having me, guys.’ Fletcher said. ‘I’ve been fixing to join a band for a while now, but there’s not much happening in the San Diego music scene.’ 

Somehow, Bob found that hard to believe. As you grabbed a cherry coke from the mini fridge, Fletcher eyed you like you were something to eat. If he’d wanted a bandmate with a massive crush on his best friend, he’d have called Bradley up.

‘Let’s see what you’ve got.’ Bob said, gesturing towards the guitar. 

Fletcher made a ballsy choice for his audition song: Master of Puppets by Metallica. Part of Bob had hoped that Fletcher was shit at guitar, but he was anything but. It was as if his instrument was an extension of his body, the strings extensions of his fingers. If that wasn’t enough, he played the most challenging part of the song with his eyes closed in bliss. 

It appeared the band was complete. 

Before wrapping things up for the night, you all made plans for the same time and place on Friday night to start putting some songs together. You also pooled all your equipment and made a short list of things you were missing. Everyone contributed, and you and Bob arranged a trip into the city over the weekend to get the last few bits you needed.

The whole thing had come together remarkably quickly, perhaps too quickly for Bob’s liking. At work, he was trained to keep his cool in stressful situations. It was different then, when he could use his nervous energy for problem-solving and quick thinking. He wasn’t unused to feeling like a fish out of water, but this was the furthest from the pond he’d ever been. Bob liked to keep his head below the parapet where it was less likely to get cut off. He stayed off the radar and made as little noise as possible, but starting a band was the exact opposite of that. 

And falling in love with you was the noisiest thing he’d ever done.

A/N: Part two is finally here! This fic isn't doing as well as I thought it would, but I'm still going to finish it because I'm enjoying writing it. I guess my uni professor was right in saying that the projects you're super attached to are the worst received. I have such big plans for the next parts, and it's kind of writing itself at this point. I have no idea whether the reader ends up with Bob or Bradley, so I'll be just as surprised as you guys!

Taglist: @dearsnow

[thehypnone]

Hypnone I need to know what you think about horny easy mountain and pretends to be annoyed swiss movie theater handjobs. Maybe mount has a hard time being quiet but at least the movie’s loud.

i think a lot. heavily related to this ficlet

He knew he shouldn’t have agreed. He knew that Swiss’ intentions couldn’t have been innocent—they never are.

Alas, here he is.

In a movie theater amongst tons of people and a handful of ghouls and a hand down his pants.

It was the scent of Dewdrop’s arousal that made something similar spark in Mountain’s core. The fire ghoul is sitting with Rain one row above Mountain and Swiss and they’re having their own fun watching the movie.

Mountain, on the other hand, is being tortured.

Swiss’ warm hand glides up and down his trapped cock without any real pressure. He’s petting it and the earth ghoul wants to scream and beg and cry, he needs more.

But all he can do is grip the armrests on either side with white knuckled grip and whine through clenched teeth as he fights the urge to buck his hips up.

When there’s a louder moment in the movie, Mountain tries his luck and leans in close to Swiss’ ear. The multi ghoul doesn’t look like he cares in the slightest, relaxed and with his head straight towards the screen—watching them flashing on it.

“Swiss, darling, please–” Mountain whimpers.

His mate only sighs with exasperation, “Seriously?”

But he does tighten the circle of his hand and focuses on the head of Mountain’s cock for a moment before returning to his slow—but more purposeful now—strokes. The earth ghoul lets out a hurt noise at the slightly improved stimulation as well as the fact how…unbothered and annoyed Swiss seems.

If only Mountain had enough brains in him to look over and notice the straining tent in the multi ghoul’s pants.

Still, Swiss is a wonderful actor when he wants to be and he knows Mountain loves the embarrassment of being barely acknowledged as he’s being jerked off amongst tons of strangers. He won’t need a long time to come.

Two songs at the very best, Swiss has estimated early on, and he wasn’t mistaken. After all these years they’ve been together he knows his mate better than he knows himself and thanks to that he knows exactly when to move his hand to cup Mountain’s balls and fondle them gently and when to return to the head of his dick and polish it with the pre he’s steadily leaking.

“Oh, shush already,” Swiss whisper-shouts into his ear as he moans, but his ministrations at the same time send the earth ghoul’s brain very mixed signals. He mewls low in his throat through a bitten bottom lip and thanks Lucifer the movie is loud.

Swiss knows exactly what he’s doing, he knows Mountain can never keep quiet when he works him over with a warm hand. In public.

Above them, Rain is being exceptionally loud, though. Neither Swiss nor Mountain can really focus enough to pick out what it is that makes him sound so wrecked and without an ounce of composure, but it’s not like they care that much, anyway. They’ll find out later.

What matters is that Rain’s whorish moan ringing out in the auditorium drowns out Mountain’s own as Swiss brings his mate’s face to hide in his neck and makes him cum.

[stardustlin]

oooo okay omg imagine lyla knows miguel likes you. he won’t admit it but he does. and she purposely downloads this ‘love meter software. and whenever miguel talks to you at hq, the meter goes like “warning: you have reached maximum love limit, love overflowing” and red lights start flashing and everybody starts panicking 😭😭😭

OMG this reminds of “operation: true love” on webtoon 🤭🤭!!

lyla is known to be silly and eccentric at times always knowing how to rile miguel up or use things she knows about him against him just for the fun of it. we know that lyla likes to take pictures of miguel with filters + recording him at his most embarrassing moments.

lyla is smart, obviously an AI, who you would think wouldn’t have a personality or feeling emotions but she does. she has a mind of her own. miguel had confided in her that he had a crush on you. “oh my god! no way miguel~ who knew you were capable of such feelings!” she said snickering while she had secretly recorded their conversation maybe to one day show you proof that miguel had also liked you back. lyla is the confidant of the both of you. she knows you like him but miguel doesn’t know that you like him back. so she had devised this plan in hopes miguel and you got the memo.

she had installed a software called “love meter” secretly behind miguel’s back. one day she wanted to do a test run on the software as you were present, chatting up with miguel in the control room. miles, gwen,pavitr, hobie, and margo were messing around in the background while letting you and miguel talk.

“warning: you have reached maximum love limit, love overflowing” it appeared on all the screens of the control room, which indicated miguel’s heart beat was rising by just being near you. the little love meter was at 100. the alarm then resounded throughout the HQ, as red flashing lights flickered throughout the entire multi-sectioned building.

everyone’s heads quickly turned towards miguel and you. miguel was about to speak but was soon got off by the gang’s comments and laughter. you couldn’t help but stare at miguel feeling your cheeks heat up feeling a tad bit shy. you were genuinely shocked by the turn of evidentes.

“i knew he had a crush on y/n!” gwen laughed while pointing a finger at miguel. hobie would definitely chime in as well, “who knew the big boss man is whipped for you,” directing his voice at you. miles and margo, laughed, literally everyone did while pav went up to miguel and you saying he had sensed the romantic tension from a mile away.

“LYLA! what did you do!?” miguel said embarrassed while he was BEET RED. he was really flustered. he was caught red handed and he wasn’t sure if you were about to reject him on the spot or not.

“sorry pal! i didn’t know it would do that…” lyla nervously giggled while she glanced at you then at miguel. you couldn’t help but laugh at the whole situation because of the way the other spider people came bustling in the control room thinking it was a problem. of course, it wasn’t it was just very hilarious to you that you found out that miguel has a crush on you TOO.

“guys-um, it isn’t an emergency—just go back to whatever you were doing.” he said as he stumbled over his words and told everyone to leave. he wasn’t necessarily mad but he was more so embarrassed. everyone was dismissed even your favorite teenagers had all

left but they respected your privacy. miguel would shake his head as he ran his hands through his hair directly his attention to you but not being able to hold eye contact. quickly, lyla vanished into thin air but she could still hear everything.

“i’m sorry about what lyla did.” he came close to you as he placed an apologetic hand on your shoulder with a gentle touch. you could tell he was blushing. you could tell he was into you in the way his eyes would casually go to you lips then to your eyes. he did it a couple times.

“it’s fine miguel,” you inches closer to him closing the distance between the two of you, “i wanted to tell you that i also like you too!” you giggled while you made it your effort to maintain eye contact with him. you were a very shy person but you weren’t one to stumble on your words. miguel was dumbfounded but at the same time very relief that you liked him back too.

“you like me too??” he gently stroked your cheek, “you like someone like me?” you heart aches a bit whenever he would put himself down like that as if he felt he was incapable of being loved. you gently placed a hand on top of the hand he was caressing your cheek with as you leaned into his touch.

“miguel, of course. you’re capable of being cared for, thought of, and loved.” you embraced him as you wrapped your arms around his waist. he was stunned a bit not knowing what to do since he hasn’t hugged someone in such a long time. but slowly and carefully he wrapped his arms around your upper shoulders as he placed his chin on top of your head. with one hand he carded your hair lovingly, “i promise to be the best man i can be for you, if you allow me to.”

“yes of course.” everyone in the HQ was so happy for you and they were also happy that miguel’s behavior improved drastically for the better, all thanks to you.

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. “ r/am I the asshole !? ” : 

﹙ multi monsters x gn reader. ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . multi characters x gn reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ talisen: grim reaper ˖ naga ˖ poet character ˖ shalika: cultivator ˖ writer character ˖ rasui: fire elemental ˖ mercenary leader character ˖ alessio: rockstar ˖ inhuman ˖ punk character﹚

your lover takes to reddit to ask if they've been an asshole in relation to you recently . . .

﹙ cws ﹚: sexual content on xiyang | wc : 0.9k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: will y'all get tired of these? they're so fun

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

﹙ Talisen 781. ﹚. . . extreme bickering with my frienemy !? 🍒 : " You read that correct, friend. I ( 25M ) bicker quite a lot when my boyfriend's boyfriend ( 32M ) is over ( we are poly, though I have no intent to get with the egghead that wanders this apartment like a pest, I simply share my beloveds with him ).

AITA for wanting the man to halt his words and shut the pair of black painted blabbering lips together? He is such a menace, yet both my partners ( 24 ) and ( your age ) are growing tired of the recent bicker sessions. Sure, I admit, some have gone south. I am no saint. Yet the man insists itching away at me because he knows it gets through my skin.

My dearly beloveds have many times told me to simply leave it be and stop enabling him. Yet it is much easier said than done. If I do not respond, he grows loud and agitating on purpose, if I do respond, I might end up driving myself into the ground.

Perhaps I am a bit of an ass in this situation? I feel conflicted, many I have stared in the face as they tried to get below my skin and all I have managed to ignore. But him? Oh, I spiral into the deepest of rage the second he flashes me one of those idiotic grins. "

﹙ Shalika 9948e. ﹚. . . telling off a god !? 🍓 :

" Oh, I'm really in it now. . . To preface, I am a cultivator and I have some direct connections to higher beings of divinity. But, recently, I might have found myself in the bottomless pit all over again. . . I ( 26F ) recently had a bit of a tiff with one of my employers, and the divine did not seem too fond of that.

My boyfriend told me that it wasn't even a tiff and I simply told the god I was already scheduled with loads of work for the week— but . . . I feel as though that is not at all how it was taken in the zenithian court? See I got assigned 10 different missions this week, 3 by the art god, 4 by one of the martial officials and 3 more missions assigned by the wind god.

Then in trudges one of the wisdom gods, telling me they have a mission for me. I politely decline but they were not very happy with that. So I told them, politely, I have a lot of workload on me, but know of other cultivators who would happily take the job!

I have to take it still. . . My boyfriend says I should take it up with some of the high court, but it isn't something I haven't done before. I am in no place to complain, they're all so busy. I might as well take the jobs, right? "

﹙ Rasui 9948e. ﹚. . .No kisses in fiery form !? 🍒 :

" This was introduced to me by my employee. I have no idea how to use any of this, but I was told to simply text. So that I will.

Very well, I ( a 500 year old fire elemental man ) have been having a few 'heat ups' these past few months. This is caused by the different times of the months, where my flames rise to larger extends, specifically when the surroundings become dry due to heat.

Now, to me, that is optimal, to my partner? not as much. For you see, my partner is inhuman, but not the kind that is resistant or immune to fire. So naturally, I as a fire elemental do not wish to kiss them. Even if they've taken potions, I could by accident sear a part of them.

I am also quite a passionate lover, so the contact between lips will also make me go up in flames, which is something I have to learn how to control to avoid my lover's lips be singed! Alas. All I can do is tell them I cannot kiss them because they will get burnt, but it is not what they want to hear.

Am I the asshole for this? For wanting to protect my partner? I don't want to hurt them, I want them to have their lips and waist intact for when I can kiss and hold them.

﹙ Alessio 1311. ﹚. . . throwing my ex into a pit of explosives !? 🍓 : " Okay to preface, my ex didn't die. ( unfortunately ). But mi cariño ain't happy at all about this one. Just hear me out okay? I ( 52M ) recently bumped into my old ex, and I'd like everyone to know, she's the one that started all of this. She had a contingency plan for me and everything. And for what? Because I'm a fucking kinetic? C'mon.

Anyways, we started fighting ( she made the first move ) and I of course, partake seriously in my self defence. And the wagon close to me that she was importing was the one carrying explosives in it. Yeah yeah, it wasn't a pit, don't come for me. But for dramatics sake.

She went for a direct aim at me with her gun and so of course I blast on her and evade the shot the pistol made in the moment of the blast. She got up again and reached for her little backup device to call her friends but I told her not to interrupt the tango since she wanted to dance so bad in the first place.

Just as I throw her into the wagon full of explosives, my partner walks in on me. Having seen stuff was going on down town. And suddenly I'm being dragged away form the situation. And they're worried about my safety? I fall in love every day. But I don't think I deserved the slap across the face that I did!

We didn't get caught of course and all but god. When I get my hands on you Rishen — "

﹙ taglist. ﹚: | get tagged for specific posts

﹙ tip jar. ﹚: like our work? consider suporting us 𖹭 

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Just Dew walking around at night, thinking.

Dew is much fonder of the Ministry's grounds than people assume. Especially at night, when everything is washed in silver light, the calm and quiet delectable after a day of the usual bustle.

Not that Dew doesn't bask in the soothing routine of daytime either ; there is something so comforting, so domestic about the familiar sound of cheery conversations and hurried footsteps, the rustling of fabric following giggling Siblings, the sight of golden light splashing grand corridors, illuminating stained glass windows, projecting colorful shapes on passing faces, the distant sound of music being played somewhere bouncing off the walls, muted singing rythming the hours.

Yes, Dew loves the Ministry during the day, but night holds a special place in his heart. The time of darkness, only disturbed by the occasional midnight mass, is one in which the fire ghoul finds unmeasurable solace.

He slips out more often than not at this hour where the moon is queen of the sky, finally able to borrow the sun's shine for a few hours. It's peaceful, grounding in a way Dew needs more than he originally thought.

The gardens welcome him like old friends, branches extended like beconing arms. Dew brushes careful fingers along the velvety petals of well-cared for flowers he couldn't name, but admires all the same. Their scent is heavy in the dark, as if to make up for the way moolight tampers the vibrance of their colors. Dew pauses in front of a fountain, the water dripping from a woman's tipped glass weaving a soft melody for no one but the nocturnal creatures.

Dew supposes he is one of those.

Sometimes, in summer, whichever earth ghoul takes care of the garden under the blistering sun will stop there, sit on the stone ledge and splash water on their face, the back of their neck. The memory of droplets clinging to Mountain's lashes as he does so flashes in Dew's mind. The fire ghoul dips a few fingers under the shivering surface, unbothered by the cold.

He moves on, passes under an arch to access the vegetal maze. A wonderful place in itself, high hedges almost masking the sky, wild flowers allowed to curl within it, bright splotches of color amongst the fairly uniform green. One could easily get lost in here, the intricate paths as confusing as can be, but Dew has trudged through it far too many times not to know where to go. Bats fly past him, and Dew makes a note to take Swiss with him next time. Not only would he love it, the mystery and dark corners to explore appealing to him, but the multi ghoul might also be able to snatch a great picture of the flying creatures, and that would be a nice little gift for Phantom's ever growing bat-related stuff collection.

Cumulus walked Dew through the maze in between the two legs of their first tour together. She had linked their arms together, talked and talked and talked while they tried to find their way. It had been a lovely evening, all giggles and shared stories. Dew holds the memory close to his heart as he reaches the well in the middle of the maze.

Sheltered from the wind that starts to wistle high above, Dew dugs a coin out of his pocket. His wish is always the same. Saftey. For his pack, more than for himself. The coin makes a soft splashing sound when it reaches the bottom of the well.

Finding his way out is easy. Dew emerges from the hedges' benevolent protection, hair going wild now that it's fully exposed to the night breeze's playful fingers.

Primo's rose garden is just as beautiful as it was when the man was alive. Various kind of rose bushes clearly tended to with the uttermost care, a legacy more subtle than songs played time and time again. Even as he takes time to admire the sight, Dew is here for a purpose. He's looking for-

There they are. Standing tall in their ceremonial robes, imposing and regal but not too frightening. Primo's eyes are crinckled in the corners, repressed smile softening the lines of his face, Secondo, for all his severe expression, has his hand welcomingly outstretched, and Terzo, lips faintly curved up in a barely-hidden grin.

Hidden warmth, forever captured in stone.

As always, there are offering layed at their feet. Dew straightens a potted plant that tipped over. Siblings and ghouls alike came to pay their respect, as they so often do. Dew himself brought what he always brings : candles, ones he carefully crafted, mixing scents and colors he knows the Papas would have liked. One for each, protected in glass jars to make sure they'll burn as long as possible. Dew kneels at each of the former Papa's feet, lighting the candles while muttering quiet prayers for their peacful rest, mixed with thanks and apologies.

His heart squeezes painfuly when he notices that someone weaved a guitar string around Terzo's ring finger. Dew decides he'll go check on Omega soon, for it has been too long since he last did.

The lake is the fire ghoul's next stop. Chain or Mist might be there despite the late hour, but they won't surface even if they are, seeking the same solitude as Dew. The waters are calm, dark and decievingly invitating. Dew knows they are frigid at this time of the night, something that wouldn't have bothered him in his water days. Midnight swims were a common occurence then, racing Mist and cackling loudly. Standing on the dock, Dew let the vague melancholy clutch his heart. It's more of a gentle hold than an iron grip now, a part of him he will remember fondly as he moves on.

A shiny rock catches his eye, so Dew picks it up for Rain, who will know how to appreciate it.

His feet take him to the chappel afterward. There are dents in the outside walls, many occurences of ghouls climbing it to access the rooftop leaving marks. It has a very nice view, Dew recalls, which Aurora had been delighted to be shown. Both the sky and grounds visible in their full glory. Dew crosses the constantly open threshold, looking up at the high ceilings, the chandelier Sunshine once swung from with manical laughter, to poor Copia's horror. Dew huffs upon recalling that, the sound too loud in the empty space.

The rosay tucked under his shirt presses against his skin, gentle reminder. The rosary Ifrit carved at his bedside, waiting in anguish to see if Dew would pull through, if he would survive the elemental transition against all odds.

Hands skimming along the pews, Dew walks through rows of vacant seats, humming a song under his breath, delighted by the way it gently bounces off the walls.

The walk back toward the ghouls' wing makes Dew pass the old tree under which lovers so often whisper promises, tying ribbons to the low branches. They sway with the wind with all the grace of materialized hope and dreams. Dew spots the windchime Cirrus found half burried in the woods, restored and hanged here. Its sounds follows Dew until he reaches the back door Aether and him slipped through so many times, high out of their minds, giggling and trying to be quiet - to no avail, as a disgruntled Alpha would inform them the morning after.

Dew isn't really surprised, when he finally crawl back to bed, to find Rain and Swiss curled there already. They barely stirr as the fire ghoul wedges himself in between them, simply arranging their limbs to accomodate his presence.

Sleep comes easy to Dew.

[charlottesbookclub]

time after time – chapter seven (part two) (armitage hux x reader)

time after time masterlist

Summary: The trip to Ilum with you goes even better than Hux could possibly have anticipated

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader; set pre-TFA; slight embarrassment for reader; as always, let me know if I've missed anything!

Words: 4339

Author’s Note: yay part two!! as with the other multi-part chapters, this is a direct continuation of the scene in part one, it was just long to post on tumblr so I decided to break it into two parts ☺️ also, if I had a nickel for every time I wrote a hux x reader story that involved a trip to Ilum, I'd have two nickels – that's not a lot of money, but it is weird that it happened twice lmaoooo 😆 anyway, this was such a fun chapter to write and I really hope you enjoy this second part!! 🥰

The ship’s landing was perfect, of course, and completely without incident. Immediately the coms channels were inundated with information, and you only had the time to flash one more private smile at Hux before you both disembarked in a flurry of activity. Officers met you on the tarmac, ready for Hux to conduct his inspection. A sharp wind cut across the landing area, carrying curtains of blowing snow with it. In the periphery of his vision, Hux saw you shiver slightly, though you tried to hide your involuntary response to the cold. He glared out at the barren snowdrifts of the planet, wishing he could somehow quell the bitter wind under his withering gaze for daring to cause you discomfort. Luckily it was just a short walk to the first building on the tour. 

The bare-bones facilities were still lightly staffed, although plans for the planet were steadily coming into focus. It wouldn’t be long before a larger restructuring of personnel would be needed to fill out the ranks present on the base. The officers in charge of the facility led the way through decaying Imperial infrastructure that was slowly but steadily being replaced and enhanced by First Order technicians. They pointed out the areas of greatest improvement and highlighted problem sections that required more workers or resources to bring up to regulation. Hux was conscious of your presence just a pace behind him as the tour wound though the interconnected buildings. He feared you might be bored by the minutiae of a project about which you knew almost nothing, but every time he dared to glance at you, you were dutifully taking notes on your datapad. If he happened to time his little check-ins at a moment when the other officers were occupied with demonstrating something and not looking his way, you would reward him with the tiniest of smiles before resuming an air of unimpeachable professionalism. Hux started timing his glances more carefully.

At long last, the officers concluded their tour and Hux asked a few more probing questions before salutes were exchanged and they disappeared back into the bowels of the base. In such a sparsely staffed facility, Hux found that he was alone with you, standing just inside the entrance to the main building. 

“What did you think of the facilities, Captain?” He couldn’t risk falling into familiarity here, not when someone could pass through the space at any time. Although it made him feel a bit foolish, he really hoped that you had liked it.

“I thought it was a fascinating and compelling example of the First Order’s ability to improve upon Imperial designs,” you responded, also not daring to break the codes of strict professionalism. If it had been a different place and time, Hux would have asked you to kiss him right then and there. You understood his vision for this base, for the First Order’s larger goals – of course you understood. 

“I took fairly extensive notes,” you continued, “which I would be happy to send on to you for future reference. Since I lack the clearance for knowing the purpose of the base, I’m not certain how targeted my remarks are to the facility’s functionality in that regard, but they may still be of some use to you.” In Hux’s mind, he pressed you gently up against the nearest wall, his gloved fingers caressing your cheek, his mouth on your neck, your jaw, your lips—

He forced himself to stop. He needed to remain in control. This feeling was strange for him, but not entirely unwelcome. He had never wanted anyone like this before. 

“Thank you, Captain. I’m sure your notes will be beyond useful to me.” Hux could see the barely repressed smile that flickered to life just beneath the professional mask you wore. You rocked forward slightly on your feet.

“What’s next on our schedule today, General?”

“Actually, our work here is done, Captain. It seems I planned more time than necessary to complete the inspection.” 

“Before we return to the Finalizer, may I make a small – and perhaps silly – request?”

“Of course – anything.”

“Might we get some fresh air?” Your eyes flicked to the closed entrance, the minute shifts in your posture that you were trying to repress telling Hux that you were nervous about asking. He didn’t completely understand the request – there were fully functioning air circulators in the base – but he was also loath to deny any request of yours or to have you think that you should be nervous to make one. He’d acquiesce to almost anything if it were you asking. 

“Certainly – lead the way, Captain.” He swept out his arm to indicate that you were free to do as you had asked. With just the faintest hint of an unhidden smile and a little bounce to your steps, you strode out of the entrance and into the cold air of the planet, Hux following just behind.

The sky was pale grey and spitting a few snowflakes onto the surface as the two of you exited the building. Hux came up alongside you as you followed the edge of the tarmac where huge piles of snow had been hefted by the clearing crews. Your breath made little puffs in the cold air. Everything became quieter the further you and Hux walked from the main facility. The snow was thicker on the ground there, crunching under two sets of boots. Hux was beginning to see the appeal of this little trip away from the base. 

He tried not to be conscious of the way your gloved hand swung slightly just inches from his own. He flexed his fingers inside the black leather, imagining the way your hand would feel clasped in his, despite his attempts to resist such a thought. The tiny space taunted him with the knowledge that all he needed to do was reach across and touch you. The idea of such a gesture was all-consuming, yet also beyond Hux’s current abilities to execute. Thankfully, you stopped at the very edge of the flattened area and raised your hand to shield your eyes from the bright white glow that persisted even under the cloudy sky. Hux’s equal measures of relief and devastation that his chance to hold your hand had passed were at war inside of him as he followed your gaze out across the frozen landscape.

He found that the two of you were standing where the artificial flattening of the land ended, a shallow valley scooping itself out just beyond his feet. In the far distance were craggy peaks and tall stands of dark green trees caked in snow. He turned slightly to look behind, finding the base to be hidden behind clouds of gathering fog and bursts of blowing snow. What a miserable planet. 

“Thank you for indulging me in this little walk,” you said then, instantly recapturing Hux’s full attention. “After my time in the field, I find it’s been slightly difficult to adjust to being inside for such extended periods of time.”

“Of course, Captain,” he responded. Anything for you. Those last words didn’t make it out of his lips.

You made to turn and leave, but you must have stepped amiss, because before Hux could even process what was happening, the bank of snow on which you were standing gave way, sending you tumbling down the slope of the valley with an exclamation of surprise.

“Captain!” Hux called after you, panic rising as his voice echoed in the snowy landscape. Blood pounding in his ears, he could barely think. He tried to peer over the edge, to see if he could spot your dark uniform amongst the seemingly endless drifts. But the structural integrity of snow was not something he was used to calculating, and he felt his boots slide and shift in the piles of cold, white crystals. Extending his arms in one last attempt to maintain his balance, he steadied himself for just a moment before one foot slid out from beneath him, sending him falling after you. 

For a long moment of breathless chaos, all he could see was blurry white and grey on all sides as he rolled down the hill, unable to find purchase in the loose snow to slow his descent. He was finally deposited unceremoniously on his back; his physical motion stopped, but the sky still spun above him as he struggled to regain his bearings. As the world began to still, his first coherent thought was of you. Where had you landed? Were you okay? Fighting through the lingering dizziness, he was about to force himself to his feet to go in search of you when he heard something. 

He had only made it as far as propping himself up slightly when he heard your laughter just feet from him. He did a double-take, confirming for himself that it wasn’t a sound of pain or distress, but no – you were laughing. Of course you were, he thought with a rush of affection that he didn’t even attempt to fight. He let himself collapse back to the ground for a moment, a small chuckle of his own escaping his lips. He pushed up onto his elbows again then, swiveling his head to try and ascertain your actual location. He found you lying nearly parallel to him, only feet away, moving your arms through the snow in fascination and apparent delight as the drifts compressed into semicircles around your body. You caught him watching you and instantly clapped a gloved hand over your mouth, but even that couldn’t contain your mirth as giggles continued to dance from your lips in curling spirals of condensation. Your happiness was infectious, causing effervescent bubbles of laughter to rise in Hux’s own chest despite the foreignness of the sensation.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked, pleasantly surprised that his tone came off as lightly teasing. Was he doing this right for once?

“Immensely,” you responded, “in fact, this is probably the most that anyone in the First Order has ever enjoyed themselves on a date.” The word caught Hux’s attention instantly, and he saw you immediately realize your mistake, eyes going wide. “Oh, kriff!” you swore, covering your face with your hands. 

Hux moved closer to you, propping himself up on one elbow. He was caught between the wonderful revelation that you considered this time with him a date and the sickening knowledge that however he handled the next few moments would either open his life to the possibility of you or be enough to shut him out from that opportunity, perhaps forever. Hoping against hope that he could maintain the affectionately joking tone that was so unfamiliar on his tongue, he spoke:

“Lieutenant and Captain Mitaka didn’t frame it as just a meeting for you, did they?” You peeked at him from between your fingers upon hearing his words.

“Ugh, no…” you groaned, clearly tormenting yourself over the slip. “General, I am so sorry – I didn’t mean—” 

Hux shook his head and raised his hand, halting your sentence there; he couldn’t bear to hear you apologize for something that had brought him so much happiness. You had begun to sit up as you spoke, but his small motion had stopped your progress halfway. You waited for him to speak, eyes widened with both expectation and worry.

“Lieutenant Mitaka called it a ‘date’ for me too,” he confessed. A flood of relief raced over your features.

“Really?” He could hear the disbelief in your voice.

“Really,” he promised, trying to reassure you as much as he could. “I just… well, I didn’t want to accept that term.” He huffed out a sigh with the admission, a little breath cloud appearing and dissolving in the air before him.

“Why not?” You were sitting up fully now, completely focused on Hux, the question tinged with worry. “Did you not want that… with me? I know you didn’t know me – it makes complete sense if you didn’t want to call it that. There’s a concept of ‘blind dates’ where you don’t know the other person before – it’s more common elsewhere in the galaxy but I think… not so much in the First Order.” Your words all came out in a rush, and Hux could hear the hundreds of thoughts you were trying to condense into words, gracefully giving him a plausible excuse. He waited until you had finished to respond with a question of his own:

“Captain, do I seem like the kind of person who goes on dates? Of any kind? At all? Ever?” Hux tried to keep his words light with teasing, but he knew you could feel the weight of truth behind them. Although it was excruciating – and having detrimental effects on his ability to breathe normally – he let you take him in as you pondered his question. When your eyes found his again, he was thrilled to see a sparkle of amusement back in them. By some miracle he had managed not to send this delicate conversation up in flames. Your lips worked as though you were trying to hold back laughter.

“No further questions at this time, General,” you responded diplomatically, but Hux could sense you were barely containing yourself, “I should hate to say something impertinent.” 

A moment of latent, sparking energy hung between the two of you in the cold air, but watching you try to repress your mirth was only doing more to increase the light, bubbly feeling in Hux’s own chest until both of you burst into gasping bouts of laughter. The sensation was so strange for him – he couldn’t remember the last time he had properly laughed. It was more than possible that he never had – not like this. 

“So, do you think you’re the type of person who goes on dates now?” you asked as your giggles subsided.

“I’m on one now, aren’t I?” Hux almost couldn’t bear the tightening squeeze of hope in his chest.

“Are you?”

“I should very much like to be, if the other concerned party finds it pleasing.”

“The other concerned party finds it very pleasing.” Your smile was incandescent and Hux was falling again, tumbling headfirst even as he never left his place on the snowy ground. He stood shakily, trying desperately to hide his unsteadiness from you. He extended his hand, and you took it happily, allowing him to help pull you from the snow. With a shuddering breath he hoped you didn’t see, he decided not to release his grip. Instead, he felt you slide your fingers in between the spaces of his own, entwining your hands together. It was not particularly easy to scramble back up the hill when each of you had only one free hand, but now that he finally felt your palm against his, glowing with warmth even through two gloves, he was not about to let go. It seemed that you felt similarly, as you made no move to disentangle your fingers from his.

Finally at the top, Hux glanced over to see that you were shivering slightly, the snow that had stuck to your uniform was melting through it, leaving you wet and cold and at the mercy of the biting wind. Acting purely on instinct, he shrugged off his greatcoat in one fluid movement and draped it around your shoulders.

“Oh!” Your exclamation was one of quiet surprise as Hux settled the coat over your dampened uniform. “Thank you, Armitage.” Your eyes were so warm and your words so sincere that all Hux could manage in response was a little nod. 

The two of you walked back to the ship side by side. Hux’s hand burned with the desire to feel yours in it once more, but he knew that anyone could see now, so he resisted the urge. You returned to the cockpit to ready the ship for takeoff while Hux confirmed the departure with the flight coordinator who came around to make a visual inspection of the exterior of the ship before authorizing takeoff. When the squad of stormtroopers was accounted for in the back, Hux joined you in the cockpit.

The hum of well-ordered machinery was a welcome sound in comparison to the howling wind outside. And you were the most welcome sight in the world. He sank into the seat beside you once more, a slight thrill shooting through him when he noticed you were still wearing his greatcoat. You tossed him a smile as you continued to make flight preparations. After receiving clearance from the controllers, you maneuvered the ship upwards and out of Ilum’s atmosphere despite the buffeting of the frigid winds on the craft. Finally clear of the planet, you made a few adjustments on the control panel and set the flight path back to the Finalizer. Hux couldn’t help but notice a slight deflation in your mood as you did so.

“You don’t want to go back.” He had been doing so well, but now he wanted to kick himself. He was trying to frame a sympathetic question, but instead it came out as a statement that assumed too much. You were gracious enough to answer nonetheless.

“Not really, no,” you confirmed, looking at him warily, like he might take your response badly.

“I can understand that.” Compassion wasn’t something that made a frequent appearance in Hux’s life, but he attempted to infuse his voice with as much of it as possible, trying to let you know that he appreciated your honesty even if it saddened him to know you were unhappy. “Would it help if we established another… date? For the future?” Hux lingered on the word ‘date,’ hoping it might bring back lighter thoughts. It seemed to work – you graced him with a teasing smile. Kriff, he almost couldn’t believe he had asked it, the words flowing from his mouth before he could give himself the chance to fear that you might say no.

“Well, since we’ve established that you are someone who goes on dates now, I think it would be nice to set something up. In fact, I would like that.” Your gaze was all softness, and Hux wanted nothing more than to collapse under it. You would like to go on another date with him. He was ecstatic.

“Consider it done, then.” He pulled out his datapad and scrolled through his packed schedule. A little scowl curled onto his lips as he flicked through cycle after cycle with no openings. He’d simply have to bump something else, but what? Then a free block appeared, but it was so far out. He checked it against your schedule, and, finding no conflicts, booked the time slot. He looked up to find you watching him.

“If there’s nothing that works, I completely understand…” Hux could tell you were trying to be as accommodating as possible, but he heard the undercurrent of disappointment in your voice.

“No, no – I’ve found something. It’s quite some time out, though. I hope that will still be amenable to you?”

“Of course! Yes, that’s perfect – thank you.” Your sunbeam smile emerged again, and Hux basked in its warmth. You then turned back to the controls momentarily, lapsing into a companionable silence. How would Hux survive until them? He needed to take advantage of his time with you now, trying to soak as much of you in as possible before he returned to the monotonous realities of his daily routine.

“Captain?” He asked. You hummed in acknowledgement, indicating that he should continue his question. “How did you get into field work in the first place?” Hux knew that most officers preferred assignments on Star Destroyers; they tended to be less demanding than field work. You shrugged lightly.

“They ran affinity tests in our final year at the academy. I think my cohort was one of the first to take them, so you probably missed them by a couple of years. They matched our skills and interests to potential assignments. I guess my results screamed ‘field work.’” You let out a small laugh before your voice turned a little wistful, “I suppose it was accurate though, since I did really enjoy my work.”

“And you were successful at it, if the endorsements from your commanding officers are anything to go by,” Hux added.

“General!” The mock-chastisement in your voice was completely undone by your laughter. “So you did look me up!” 

“Only a little,��� Hux admitted, finding a smile creeping into his voice. Once again, he felt he was actually doing well at this. He had made you smile – made you laugh even. He didn’t always understand what he had done correctly, but he felt a rush of pride fill his chest nonetheless.

“And you?” you asked then.

“Me?” Hux was immediately confused, not sure what you were asking.

“How did you get on your path? You ran the stormtrooper program, right?” Oh. It was an innocent enough question, and only fair that you should be able to ask him back – he just wished the answer was as easy. There were no affinity tests for him. He cleared his throat and looked out into the vast field of stars beyond the ship.

“It was mostly because of my father, actually,” he responded as levelly as he could.

“Oh – I didn’t know there was another Hux. That’s what you get for spending years in the field away from all the bureaucracy I guess.” There was a light but hesitant joking to your voice, as though you could tell that Hux’s mood had darkened and were trying to coax him out of it. He appreciated your efforts and made his best attempt to shake off the memories of his father.

“No, you wouldn’t have known of him, I don’t think. He died several years ago.” Hux’s voice was flat, but he couldn’t force any inflection into it – not on this subject.

“Oh. Armitage, I’m so sorry.” There was such genuine concern in your voice, but he couldn’t allow you to waste your sympathy for him.

“Thank you, but you don’t need to be,” he snorted. “It was no great loss to me.” 

“Oh.” Your voice was so quiet then that Hux couldn’t help but turn back to you. Your eyes were clearly searching his, trying to untangle the meaning of his words. Whatever you found in his face made your expression soften with infinite compassion. “Then I’m sorry for whatever happened that caused that to be the case.”

Hux sucked in a steadying breath. He couldn’t tell if you were somehow able to read him better than anyone he had ever met, or if this was simply what it felt like when he allowed himself to be even the slightest bit open with someone. Maybe both things were true. He suddenly wanted to tell you a million things, but there wasn’t one of them that wouldn’t have burdened you with more sorrow and pain that wasn’t yours to carry.

“Thank you,” was all that he said in the end, trying to put as much weight behind the expression of gratitude as he felt. You reached one hand out to him across the consol that separated the seats, a movement he watched in disbelief. Barely breathing, he placed his hand in yours. He knew you could feel it shaking, but you made no comment other than to give his hand a gentle squeeze in your own. Hux’s eyes fluttered closed as his breath stuttered in scattered gasps from his lungs. Your hand was so warm and comforting that he never wanted to let it go, even if it felt like it was causing his heart to keep skipping beats. He wasn’t sure how long you two had sat there together, watching the stars swirl by, when your headset buzzed.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized quietly as you slipped your hand away. Hux missed the contact instantly, but he understood – you had a ship to fly. You spoke with brisk efficiency to the controller on the other end, briefly covering the mouthpiece to inform him that the ship was nearing the Finalizer and would be docking soon before returning to your conversation on the headset. Had it been that long? He could have stayed with you in that cockpit for years and barely noticed.

Soon, the huge, Resurgent-class Star Destroyer loomed over your heads as other craft came whizzing by into the bustling hangers. Carefully following whatever instructions the controller was giving you, you guided the ship expertly into the docking bay and landed without so much as a bump. Unclipping your restraints, you appeared to suddenly realize you were still wearing Hux’s greatcoat. Slipping it off your shoulders, you handed it back to him.

“Thank you for this, by the way,” you said as you passed the heavy fabric back into Hux’s arms, “it was so warm.”

“My pleasure,” Hux responded, desperately wanting to tell you to keep it, but knowing how that would look to the other officers. Instead, he stood as well, shrugging it back on. Kriff. It smelled like you. You offered him one last beaming smile before you both descended from the ship into the busy hangar.

To Hux’s displeasure, two members of his personal staff – Lieutenants Sladden and Hondrill – were already awaiting his arrival. That dashed any hopes he might have had of spending a few more fleeting moments with you. Seeming to make this same appraisal, you offered Hux a departing salute.

“Thank you for allowing me to accompany you today, General. I found the inspection of the base to be very informative. As I promised, I will forward my notes to you.”

“That would be very much appreciated, Captain. I highly value your insight.”With that, you made a quick about-face and departed the hangar. Hux tried not to watch you go, and consoled himself with the fact that his greatcoat still smelled faintly of you. Then he stepped forward toward his lieutenants and resigned himself to the inevitable tediousness of his daily routine without you.