#also i coloured this half in the dark while the electricity was out so....

[freensrcha]

— episode 5

TO MY STAR 2: OUR UNTOLD STORIES (dir. Hwang Daseul)

[grippingbeskar]

unearthed

chapter five - married

warnings: canon typical violence, swearing, mentions of death (?) um idk i think that’s it???

a/n: gah. one of my fav chapters so far hehehehe ALSO PSA YALL— i’m trying to tag some of you in the taglist but your names aren’t popping up, i think this has to do with your settings?? i’m not taking anyone off i’ll retry to tag you ever chapter, but just so ya know!! if there’s like a line through it or it’s white instead of highlighted just have a look, or if i need to be following you just msg me and i will :)

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Just walk up there.

It’s nothing.

Nothing you haven’t done before.

You’ve been in front of thousands— millions of people before. You’ve been in arenas of people screaming and applauding, crowds swarming you as soon as you step out the door. This, being in a moderate sized room where half the eyes on you are stuffed in a helmet, should be easy. Child’s play.

It was nothing.

So why the hell are you feeling so terrified?

You were practically shaking— staring up at the set of stairs in front of you, leading to the Armourer who stood next to the original Forge. The one where every Mandalorian in the golden age would have been brought into the creed. And now, you were going to march up there and add your name to the list. You felt like an imposter, out of place in a flowing dress while you were surrounded by hard plates of armour and dark colours.

The only reason you moved was Bo-Katan behind you, a soft hand on the back of your arm nudging you in the right direction. You were grateful for her kind eyes as she nodded you up to the podium, and then your feet remembered they were attached to your body.

You met Din’s blackened stare, and started to move.

Your dress was loud. A brush of the light yellow fabric along the smooth granite ground sounded deafening. Like an alarm going off, alerting every watchful eye of the Mandalorian ancestors to your betraying presence.

Stars— you were starting to think like them, too.

It was hard not to get caught up in it all. The darkened room, soft whispers through helmets, and as you took the last step up, he was there. Your breath caught in your throat.

He looked the same as always. Of course he did, but it knocked the wind out of you all the same. Once he was in your sight, you didn’t look away. You couldn’t. His presence didn’t allow it. The Armourer said something, and the only reason you acknowledged her was because he did.

“This is The Way.” He says, the words sticking to you like glue when he practically purrs them out like that. This was the way it was now. You— a fake Mandalorian, unable to stand without everyone around you holding you up.

Swallowing hard, you felt Bo-Katan move away, but you were too busy watching Din take three steps to your side. His arm wrapped around yours, sneaking it’s way under the bare skin of your wrist, cold gloves skittering electricity up your arm.

And… oh.

It was like everything just stopped.

You could feel the press of his fingers, light but meaningful, like most of his small touches of you. He was careful not to wander the expanse of exposed skin, which he easily could, even in front of all these people. People who you’d… you’d actually almost forgotten everyone was there.

You stared up at him as if it was your first time seeing a night sky— entranced and all encompassed by the inky black and shining silver, and all the whispering voices faded away until it was just his rough breathing and his gloved hand on your feverish skin.

He didn’t look at you, just at where your own hand was placed, holding for dear life on one of the many plates of his armour. He led you with him over to the half sphere that sat in the middle of the stage. You peered in, seeing the eternal flame fluttering a reliable blue, with the water from the mines floating calmly behind it.

You grab him tighter— either out of reflex or wanting, but he leans into it. Lets you use him to stand, to stay strong in the face of the Armourer. You hope he’s strong enough to keep you standing on his own, because now he’s here, you aren’t sure how you stood without him.

Din was speechless.

He was known as a man of well chosen words to most, so his silence wasn’t unexpected. He was grateful he’d built that reputation, because even if he had to, he wouldn’t of found words that described why he felt frozen at the top of the stairs.

When he’d see you walk in, he felt like time had… stopped. It was stupid of him. He was meant to be in control. He was a King. Standing in front of his people; leading. But… stars, you were the only thing in 20 years that had made him freeze.

You walked so easily, like you were made to be there. It was like that first day, watching you walk through the city like the ground was made to bear your weight. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t tear his eyes away from your slow, swift steps or the way you gracefully floated across the hard floors. Neither could anyone else. Outside his direct view of you, he could see his people watching. Some eyes were evaluating; the hard faces and helmets looking you up and down like they were scanning the battlefield— precisely and with no mercy.

Others watched like he did. In awe. Some eyes were soft, some whispers drifted their compliments towards her, even though they wouldn’t be heard. That’s how he knew they were genuine. They fell on deaf ears, but they were supposed to.

When you crossed the stage to him, the only thing that snapped his attention away was the loud voice of the Armourer in his ear, telling him to move towards you.

He could tell you were nervous when he got closer— for once, your eyes betrayed you easily. He thought that he was the one that’s hard to read, considering you couldn’t see his face, but you had schooled yours to a point of contention. He knew if you could see him— really see him, you’d read right through him.

But your eyes now, even though they held his, were unsure. He was supposed to just stand next to you, walk with you to where you would touch where the mines water meets the flame, and then you’d be one of them.

But he couldn’t help himself. Your dress, draping over your skin like liquid sunshine, made something angry and foreign to him burn in his chest. He wanted to feel what it was to be that close to someone— someone, he had to tell himself. Anyone. Not just you. It was a lie, but it was one he’s going to have to believe himself.

He was jealous of your dress, gently grazing the skin of your hips, gliding against the softness of your thighs. You were covered, but he knew what was under there. What was in reaching distance for him. Instead, he settled for your arm. As soon as Bo-Katan released you, he took his chance, and for the first time in a while, he followed what his rapid beating heart was telling him to do.

When he reached for you, you answered in earnest. Your hands were nearly clawing at him, holding on to the thickest parts of his armour and pulling him close to you. He let you find purchase on his body— the line of yours tucking tightly into him, and he found himself hoping you held him harder. Dug your nails in so hard that he felt the lines being marked on his skin. He wanted you to need to lean on him— to need him like he found himself needing you up here.

You clung tightly through the whole ordeal, Din not being able to remember much about it other than how warm you were against him, and how close your skin was to his. Just a few inches of armour, feeling so heavy on his body, and he would be able to feel you. He hates that he thinks about that— a million eyes on him, and all he can think about is how soft you would be under the rough calloused palm of his hand.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s thought of feeling that. Let alone… longed for it.

The longer you held him, the more Din thought it wasn’t real. Maybe you were trying to sell it. As far as the rest of his people knew, you were supposed to be in love. You needed to be seen united and together, leaning on each other. This was just business to you— he knew that. It was to him, too.

It had to be.

The alternative… it was better to be buried than brought to light. Din wouldn’t handle that disappointment well.

The entire thing was a blur from the minute he touched you.

You remember the physical parts. Where he took you to the edge of the Forge, rested your hands on the edge of it. It was cold. Colder than he was, although he’d been pressed up against you so long his armour was as warm to the touch as your skin was. You wondered if he was that cold under that suit.

When you managed to shake that thought away, you remember him guiding your hand towards the flame. It was too hot, and you wanted to pull away for a second. You flinched, but Din kept you on the right path, guiding your hand and covering your reaction, and it ended up looking like a part of the carefully planned show.

The fire nearly licked the inside of your wrist— the water a sharp cold contrast. The Armourer spoke words, and you repeated them, but even they fade; pale in the shadow of the memory of how Din stood above you.

For the first time, he looked every bit the King you’d been told he was. He stood tall, watching as you knelt in front of him, never moving a fucking inch. Then, he reached out, gloved hand intertwining with yours as he led you down and out of the room, disappearing before you could speak again.

He didn’t have to do that.

He does everythin with purpose… and that little touch? That tiny extension of a person under all this? That was… well, it was enough to make you stumble out of the hall like an idiot.

It was mind numbing. How his fingers easily melted into the small gaps between yours, how eager he seemed to take your hand, how quickly he latched onto you and swept you out of the room, like he knew what you needed.

As you shuffled your way down and outside, you wanted to scold yourself. If anything, this was the part of the day you had to have a clear head about. You were left alone for this— it was just you, a short, isolated walkway, and a greenhouse in the middle of nowhere.

You’d asked about it. Why they had something like that out here— in an environment that seemed to harbour life well enough, despite the rumours of the toxic and cursed lands.

“It’s a symbol.” Din had replied, although when you’d asked him he’d just been The Mandalorian, the title feeling a little too official now.

“Of what?” He guided you with a hesitant hand, around the corner where the greenhouse came into view. It was small— modest, for the size of the population now. You could see the twisting vines and array of colours, though, and it was bursting with life.

“Of hope.” Din replied, and you chest tightened. “The Mandalorians that were left, after the Purge, they had nothing. Food reserves were scattered— the people were scattered. When a few banded together, this is was what came of it. It reminded them they were stronger together. Many think this was the place our true rebirth was born.”

The door was closed, but you could still see the colours bursting through it. You tried to look for him through the misted glass, but he was no where to be found. Your heart was racing— you had no idea what to truely expect in here. Would he say anything? Nothing? Would he whip out holochess to pass the time?

What made you the most afraid as you pushed the door open and stepped inside, would be that he was going to do exactly what that man said he would. That he’d share with you something you weren’t sure you wanted him to— something that would make you feel even less deserving than you already did.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see. It just felt too… too big of a thing to take from him. Despite the small conversations, you’d begun to respect the silent presence of him. And after today, you couldn’t deny the effect he had on you. You didn’t want to take anything from him, not when he’d been so giving to you.

The air felt fresher in here, passing through you in easy breaths, like there was a calming effect inside the four walls. It was bigger than it seemed, or maybe the winding vines and tall bushes that hid you in every corner made it feel more like a maze.

You let your eyes wander, a mirage of purples and blues bursting in between the brightest of green leaves. It seemed to overtake the greenhouse— it was clear there was very little maintenance on the inside, like they’d prefer to just let it run wild. It added to the atmosphere. It was almost a little… romantic.

You swallowed the burning in your throat, and shut your eyes tightly.

“Hello?” You called out, and mentally slapped yourself. It felt stupid. He was in here.

Probably.

Oh, stars.

If he was the one that left you at the altar you think you’d just crawl into a hole and die—

“Around here.” The sound of his voice sends relief rushing through your veins. You followed the sound of it, the two words enough to set you on the right path. As you rounded the corner, you could see him nearly shining, and your chest didn’t feel as tight.

He was there. Looking exactly the same, but somehow completely different in the light of the greenhouse, compared to the dark hue of the Forge room.

The darkness suited him. He was more intimidating that way— a King head to toe. But here, he was more human to you. As far as you knew, he was human, but either way, he was more approachable. Simpler. Here, he was just a man in a pretty suit.

It was very, very pretty in this light.

“I have something to show you.” He says as soon as he sees you. He spits it out like it was a loaded gun in his hand, and the sight of you was enough to make him pull the trigger.

You don’t nod, or shake your head. You just freeze. Staring at him, he turns around, and there’s no words to mince for the feeling you get in your stomach. Fear, maybe, and a little bit of simmering curiosity. You don’t want to see him out of obligation, but for a fleeting second— just for a moment, you know what you want. That you’re curious. You want to see, and you let your eyes flutter—

“AH!” You hear it before you see it.

Two giant ears stick out the sides of the helmet, and then two clawed hands hand below them. When he turns around, you notice how Dins hands hold it gently. Whatever the hell it is.

Or rather, whoever.

All thoughts of the faceless man in front of you flood out for the first time in weeks. When two giant bug eyes whip around and stare at you, ears flapping with the movement, it’s impossible to have any thoughts other than—

“What… what is that?” You say before you stop yourself. “Fuck. Sorry— I didn’t mean that. I just—“

“It’s okay. He’s my—“ The little green thing wiggles around in his arms and then promptly drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. “Foundling.”

“Oh. Oh!” You watch it stumble around, like it was formed out of proportion. The fast way it’s legs move seem out of alignment with its body, his head tipping forward, almost directing the rest of him, commanding it to follow.

With jagged movements, he ends up at your feet, where he promptly elevates upward, then plops back down again.

“Can he talk?” You say softly, not wanting to scare the little thing as you bend to his level. You look up to Din, who’s already watching you, and see him shake his head. “Well, that’s okay. I talk enough for the both of us.”

A metallic laugh echos from behind the small creature, and he babbles almost in response to it. The sound is infectious, making you grin as he waddles around, his ears tilting him to either side.

You reach out a hand, slowly, and instead of taking it he flies into you, resting in the crook of your arm. This angle gives you a better look, tiny hairs spiralling on his green head, a toothy smile and nearly wrinkled face. You’ve never seen anything like it before.

“He usually doesn’t take well to strangers.” Din says after a while, your body now curled half up on the floor to accomodate the tiny creature. “He likes you.”

“I can be very charming when I want to be.” You squint when you finally look up to him again, soft orange light pouring through the misted windows behind him. “He’s the little thing you were talking about, right? The found…”

“Foundling.”

“Right.” You stare down at it, watching its huge eyes blink at you, and the thing smiles. “Where the hell did you get him? I’ve never even seen… I’ve never seen anything like him.”

“He was a bounty.” You look up at Din, and clearly he can tell you’re horrified. “I didn’t know who, or what he was.”

You watch the little creature, who trusts you far too quickly for something that was clearly hunted by the likes of a Mandalorian. He yawns, speaking in little, incoherent mumbles before his eyes blink slower.

“Who would want to hurt a little guy like this?” His tiny hand wraps around one of your fingers, and you’re pretty sure you’re heart bursts.

“They’re dead.” His words are sharp and sure. It sends a cool shiver down your spine, but it’s definitely not fear.

You look back up at him, standing, and taking a step closer. Din holds your eyes for a moment, like he’s waiting for something.

You know he’s lethal. You aren’t surprised to hear he’s killed— he was a bounty hunter, and is a King. Neither of those titles are won by clean hands, not to mention the Darksaber at his side. If someone crossed him, or tried to take one of the few things he seemed to care about, you anything but surprised to hear they ended up dead.

“He’s sleeping.” You say to break the silence, and your voice drags Dins eyes away from your own.

“Here.” He reaches out, moving so close to you that you can feel the heat of his body. His real body— through the soft parts of him not covered by armour.

He scoops the sleeping form from you, and turns around, and it’s then that you notice the only other thing in the room. A hovering shape that opens on command, only to shut and float behind him once Din places his foundling in there. He’s so gentle with him. A man who just admitted to slaughtering what you can only assumed is dozens of people who got in his way, he’s surprisingly soft when he wants to be.

“Thank you. For letting me meet him.” You say, unsure of what to do next. Your hands go behind your back, eyes tracing the long vines wrapped around the frames of the greenhouse.

“I can never get him to sleep, but when I want him to stay awake, he passes out.” He stands in front of you, and even hidden under ten pounds of armour, he looks as awkward as ever. Your face splits into a grin, laughter softly shattering the careful barrier between you. “I wanted you to meet him. He’s… very important to me.”

“He’s very cute, too.”

“Grogu. That’s his name.” You try it out a few times, letting it familiarise itself in your accent.

“I like it. Nearly as much as Din Djarin. It has a nice ring to it.” You hum, and lean back against one of several wooden tables. It’s full of overgrown plants, some stretching onto the floor and splaying out under your feet.

Your hands dig into the wooden plank behind you, and the easy breathing from before is basically cut off the second he looks up at you again. It goes a little quiet, the whistle of soft wind floating over the top of the thin roof. You can’t stand the waiting around.

“Listen, you don’t… I don’t know exactly what you were planning; but I’ll say whatever you need me to when we leave here. The last thing I want to do is start this partnership off on the wrong foot.” He doesn’t say anything, conveniently finding the floor very interesting all of a sudden. “They told me about what you are meant to… do. And I don’t want you to— no, you don’t have to— can you say something so I can stop talking, please?”

Your heart was racing and you wanted to swallow your tongue if it would get you to stop throwing words around because yeah, maybe you did want him to take off that giant helmet because at the very least you’d be able to see if he was scowling or rolling his eyes or—

Laughing.

He was laughing at you.

Only a little, and you could only tell by the slight rise of his shoulders before he corrects himself and straigtens, but you catch it.

“Are you laughing at me.” You tilt your head, gaping slightly at him.

“No.”

“Asshole.” Rolling your eyes, you take a deep breath. An easier breath.

“It’s okay. We— no one’s coming.” You sigh and nod your head. “You did good today.”

“Seriously?” Now you’re the one who laughs. “I nearly froze the second I got up there! If you weren’t up there I would have fallen on my ass. It was like all those helmets were staring into my soul.”

“It’s an old tradition, but they were happy to see it revived. The Forge is special to my people. You being there— they were glad for it.”

“And this?” You ask tentatively, curiosity nipping at your heels and urging you off the wall a little closer to him. “Is this all an old tradition, too?”

He readjusts with your new closeness, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he angles towards you, the crib his little baby was in only just visible behind his looming frame. He shrinks you with the long span of his shoulders, and you try not to let your eyes float lower.

“In the Old Ways, Mandalore observed very… reserved marriages.” He shifts again, nearly brushing you, and your heart beats audibly loud. “In most cases, a marriage was simply a well cooked meal and a question with an answer.”

“They just asked to be married. That was it?” He nods.

“Someone would present a gift, or a meal, some who were more intimate than others might try to make it special. But in most cases, nothing would change. They would just be. As they were before, but forever linked by the knowledge they shared. We would never know if anyone was married if they didn’t write it down, or share it with members of their clan. It wasn’t something that was shared in small groups, and no outsiders could ever tell the difference.”

“I’m guessing they weren’t fans of PDA back then, either.” He shrugs, the movement brushing your arm. “So, how’d they get to this whole thing, then?”

“As the Old Way shifted with time, so did their customs. Partners became more common, and they felt there was something missing from their relationship. Something that set them apart from the other members of their clan.” You go to answer, and bite your own tongue again before you can. “Physical touch. Intimacy. Simple touches, a kiss—“

“Partners didn’t kiss in the Old Way?”

“They never removed their helmets. Not to anyone.”

“So how did they…” He stares at you. He was really going to make you finish. “Or they didn’t…?”

“They did. At least, at some point, in some way probably. But mostly, The Way uses foundlings as a foundation for our people. Most Mandalorians’ don’t have any blood relatives in their clans, and if they did, they might not even know.” You make a small ‘huh’ sound. “But when the times shifted, it developed into the marriage system we have now, at least in the Old Way. The newer Mandalorians take on a more universal form of marriage, but the Old Way is still changed. A Mandalorian is to never remove their helmet in front of another living thing.”

“Yeah. I know that part.” You smile and gesture to him, and he stares back. He doesn’t move, his focus deadly and on you.

“When you become a partner of that Mandalorian, you are no longer another being. You become… one being. We remove our helmets, and all differences between us are bared. The things that keep us safe are torn away, and we rebuild to something new. Something connected— forever bound. You never take off your helmet in front of another living thing— but we are no longer seperate. They are a part of you until you take your last breath, and long past it.” You are spellbound. Mesmerised by his words— it’s the only way to describe it. He spoke so passionately about this, and it was hard not to feel the same. It was clear he took this very seriously, and although there was a bad taste in your mouth that you were taking this moment away from him, you couldn’t help but notice his word choice.

We are no longer seperate.

“You don’t have to show me.” You say softly, and he takes another step. He nods. “Ever. I wouldn’t take that from you.”

“This is The Way.” His hands hang by his sides.

“It’s not my way.” The slightest tilt of his head clues that you have his attention. “In my way of life, I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. And this— this is important to you. It should be something you share with someone special. Someone you care for.”

He says nothing, but his hands twitch just slightly, and for a second you think he’s going to go through with it.

“The only time I want you to take your helmet off, is when you want to. You’ve… you’ve been kind to me. Respectful of my wishes, and I want to do the same.”

“I’ve done nothing.”

“And it’s enough.” It was true. He had done nothing to make you feel out of place, or uncomfortable. He’d pushed none of your boundaries, and he’d offered to help secure a lead to search for your parents killers. This… it was the least you could do. “Besides. I’m traditional. If we’re going to do the whole ‘Way’ thing, we can do it the way those old dudes did. Helmet stays on. That’s the Way.”

“This.” He corrects.

“What?”

“This is The Way.”

“Stars. Okay, I’m going to whack you in the head with this olive branch I’m extending if you’re going to correct my grammar.” You raise your eyebrows, crossing your arms in front of you. “So… we’re good with this?”

He nods, and then says your name. His voice now is not wavering. It was full again, a brassy baritone surrounding the small space between you. “I had one more thing to say,”

You nod, and look down to your feet. He’d moved so close his beskar boots were nearly touching your toes. You didn’t move away.

“This is not how I saw myself getting married.”

“Great start.”

“I’m not— I’m saying it’s not what I imagined for myself. I’m not sure if I ever thought I would…” You nod. Wordlessly understanding. “When I agreed to this, I was still unsure. But, I I want you to know I have no doubts, now. Seeing you, hearing what my people think of you… your planet, your family— I will be what you need. I swear it on Mandalore herself. As long as it serves us, we will rule together, as equals.”

“Equals.” You blink at him, enthralled. It’s hard not to be. When someone as stoic as him speaks so passionately about you… it has an effect. Apparently, more of an effect than you were prepared for, because you find yourself having to think about the promises you made him yourself.

That this was just business. Just a professional contract.

“I want to rule with you. I won’t repeat my planets mistakes. I know an ally when I see one. A decent person. A good heart.” He faces you straight on, and it was the second time in the span of a few weeks you’d thought about how easy it would be for him to kiss you. If he was anyone else, you might have done it by now. “I want to do this with you by my side. And I want to be by yours.”

You didn’t have words. For a Queen that had an affinity for charm, to weave a web of intricate patterns of conversation and pull information out of the coolest of characters, Din Djarin left you utterly speechless. You couldn’t stop your hand as it reached for him.

He looked down instantly, watching the bare skin of your hand graze over the pauldron of his armour. The contrast did something to him. You know it. He locked onto it like a trained missile, tracking the light trace of your gentle fingers until they stopped just before his elbow. You shudder a breath, and whisper to him that you want that too.

His hand moves next, a calculated move that holds the wrist of your free arm. The shift means he has to step forward, bringing himself to press against you. Your eyelashes flutter, nearly brushing beskar, as he slowly tilts your arm up and intertwines your fingers. The melt of your hand in his rests between both your heaving chests, and he tries to speak. Whispers your name so lowly you wouldn’t hear it unless it was as deadly quiet as it is.

He raises your interlocked hands up higher, and there’s only one place they would be going. Only one destination that he’s chosen. When your knuckles bump lightly on the sharp edge of his helmet, you bite down your tongue. The cool beskar disappears as he moves your hands just a bit lower and dip them under… and he’s soft there. A soft, giving material hidden under the hardest metal known to the discovered universe, and then he pushes you up.

The whole thing probably takes less than a few seconds, but time nearly slows to a stop with his hands in yours. He was going to show you what equals meant. He was going to show you him. Your chest was tight, body locked in a way that only the parts he was touching were lose and mouldable. You want to… you want to see him. This is something you want, because he wants it.

Your own fingers stretch out, and the helmet moves half an inch upwards.

There’s a sliver of skin. A tanned, cut jaw that you catch, and you shuffle closer, entranced. It’s selfish and dangerous but you want to be closer, want to rip the helmet off him like a kid at christmas, impatient and shaking.

Just as you indulged your most selfish desire in the slightest, leaned forward so you could press the thin wave of your dress closer, an earth-shattering boom came from outside, and the sandy ash of the desert painted the entire world bright orange. You were thrown to the side, glass breaking under your weight as you went flying into the misted glass of the greenhouse. You heard him shout your name; something strong, something to cling to as your head slumped toward the concrete floors.

The last thing you saw was his gloved hands reaching for you before everything went black.

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[fishyfishyfishtimes]

hi it's mermay and i'm thinking about sirens. i'm gunna do some looking of my own (at seadragons, probably) but can you think of any fish that look like their tails/features would make a cool mermaid?

Hello! I've actually answered a similar question before, here is my answer to that one:

But since your question is a little different, I'll feature some unique fish species you could find inspiration from!

The rockmover wrasse! Here is an adult, the juvenile is a little wilder:

Crazy patterns! Should go to good use :)

Eels! Just any type of eel, really. They come in such varied shapes and sizes, and have various abilities too! If you're the type of person who likes to give merpeople the features of the fish they're based on, just imagine a moray eel merperson with two jaws! Or a ribbon eel merson whose tail sways like a ribbon while swimming. I'd suggest looking into eels!

Electric eels too! Despite the name, they aren't actually eels at all, so I'm mentioning their genus separately here. Long fish that sense things with electricity and can generate it, even being able to cause prey animals to stop or start swimming with careful shocks... need I say more?

Here's one that could have many ways to be interpreted as a merson. Stargazers! They're ambush predators that hide in the sand, only having their eyes and mouth showing. I'd like to see how those would be interpreted as merpeople.

Mudskippers! The semiaquatic fish that live most of their lives on land.

Another one that walks, frogfish! Many species not only have a lure, but also walk along the bottom of the seafloor. How's that for an interesting merson challenge?

I don't think I've ever seen a merson who looks like a billfish, as in like a swordfish, sailfish or a marlin. The particular fish here is a sailfish!

I don't see some reef fish often, either. How about a moorish idol?

Perhaps the similarly-shaped butterflyfish?

Oh hey, maybe mandarinfish! That's one colourful guy :)

Deep sea fish are always a treat, too. They look very otherworldly compared to the fish we see often in everyday life! My personal favourite is the barreleye, but any friend from the deep is a friend indeed. The stoplight loosejaw who has a private red flashlight, the cookiecutter shark who sneakily bites chunks off bigger animals, bristlemouths with their large jaws and tiny teeth... I recommend looking into fish that have photophores, aka light-producing organs! They're fish that glow in the dark!!! Extremely cool and mysterious...

Lanternfish are a good example of this, I think. They're thought to be the most abundant group of vertebrates, they're deep sea-living, they have photophores, they migrate vertically in humongous schools that literally look like false bottoms to sonar.

Deep sea anglerfish are a classic, old but gold. Seldom used in merfolk! I've tried tackling anglerfish merfolk myself before, I'll feature my concept sketches below for possible inspiration... though they contain artistic nudity, so I'll only feature them under the cut.

And there you have it! I got kinda carried away, I'm sure no one minds. Have a fun Mermay! I'm gonna draw some art for it myself, but in the meantime, have this fish ramble :)

Once again, artistic nudity under the cut. Just some cartoon tits. Completely nonrealistic nonoffensive unreal cartoon bazookas, just wanna put them away from a direct line of sight because my blog isn't for art most of the time.

Her first initial concept on the left and some additional ones on the right. Anglerfish of all kinds use lures to trick prey, so I wanted to mix the lure aspect with mermaids to create a siren that lures in sailors with her human half and eats them with her fish half. The human half has working eyes, vocal chords and lungs to first spot sailors, then call and sing to them, but besides that all the other organs are in the fish half. No doubt similar merple exist, but this was my take on it! It's a lot of fun to be creative, I recommend just going with the flow and doing what feels the most natural or coolest. You've got this!

[marinerainbow]

//You: How would you design them? ^^

Me: ferally jumping even though designin drawing can be very complicated I'm glad you asked!!!! So I think they would each walk on all fours but also would be able to stand straight up on two feet if required. Mannerisms vary from scarily reptillian/amphibian to scarily human.

Smartass: Very lean, sleek and thin dragon with reddish pink, magenta colouring. Looks like bright, flashy species of agamidae like the Chinese water dragon. Has a lighter underbelly like an axolotl. Small but sharp horns. Files his claws to make them sharper during combat. Golden eyes and sharp golden fangs that both glint and intimidate. He's a viscious beast whose favourite method of execution is his claws. Small wings that fold back and almost look out of place on the rest of his lean body. Long, pink forked tongue. Breathes hot orange fire with pink flames. Can crawl across the floor very quickly, his smaller size helps him to be faster in an ambush attack. He loves his treasure and his jewellery and will often wear a ruby ring on one of his claws and a diamond encrusted medallion around his neck. Even if it gets heavy sometimes it gives him a sense of pride and status.

Greasy: A taller, slinkier dragon with a pot belly with black and emerald green scales. Resembles a serpent such as a boa more than a lizard but with larger, leathery wings and longer cone-shaped horns. Has the limbs of an anole, the curve of a skink and the tail of an iguana. Also likes to keep him black talons sharpened (and primed for grabbing.) Brown-amber eyes that bear into their subject. Manouvers around with complete ease until he's met with too small a crevice for his back half. Also sometimes wears jewellery but mostly sticks to chains he stole from prisoners he's eaten. More likely to douse himself in scents like wildflowers and mud but always ends up smelling strongly of brazier coals. Also has a pink forked tongue but it's darker and wetter. Breathes extremely hot orange flames. Has very sharp, yellowish fangs. Jealous of dragons with venom.

Wheezy: Much taller, thinner dragon with a dusky blue sheen. Constantly covered in burn and singe marks. Resembles more of a crocadillian with his jaw always tightly shut as if he has a secret to keep. Long, bovine horns. Has the largest wingspan out of all of them which reach an impressive length in the sky, even if they have a few holes in them from battles. Ash covered talons worn down from years of being lit to smoke like a pipe. He has large spines across his back like an iguana. Bright blue eyes that strike like steel into an opponent. He also can breathe fire so hot it's the same colour as them. His flames are not what they used to be as now that he's older he breathes more smoke than fire but that only makes him more dangerous considering what smoke inhalation can do to a body. His is the only tongue that's black. Wherever he goes the room smells strongly of smoke.

Psycho: Somewhat on the lankier side but the spikes on his head add extra height. He has a crocodillian look about him as well but with a longer snout like a gharial, the head of a horned lizard and a whiptail. Wings are a greyish colour and can be wrapped around him while he sleeps similar to how a human would wear a straightjacket. His colouring is a mix of brown, yellow, black and white down his back in distinct patterns. Very razor sharp claws. Light pink, snake-like tongue in the shape of a trident. Horns are curlier like a ram and and his teeth are long and pearly white. Kaledoscopic eyes can be seen in the darkness and their mere sight strikes fear into the villagers he's terrified. He can crawl up walls like a gecko and scamper around the floor with lightening fast speed. What makes him especially frightening is his yellow electric breath and venomous fangs.

Stupid: Big and bulky dragon with a round stomach and a lot of fat. Brownish colouring on his scales with a light yellow body. Facially looks like a frog or toad but has a maw like an alligator. He takes slow, lumbering steps so prefers to scavenge instead of hunt since everything he sneaks up on can hear him coming. His wings are almost too small for his large body and he flutters more than flies. Eyes are set far apart on his head. Tiny horns on either side of his head. Blunt claws with are down to stubs. Bulbous eyes with yellow scelra. A large red tongue that often lolls out of his mouth. He can't breath fire too well at least does so only in short bursts, like striking a match. Has a short, thick tail but is quite clumsy with it. His teeth are duller than the rest but still useful for chomping down on meat. His legs and body resemble a fat bearded dragon but with the slow gait of a tortoise.

@slashingdisneypasta when you can, LOOK AT THIS TOP TIER DESIGNS FOR THE DRAGON BOYS!!!!!

Oh my godddddd Kit-Ink!!! How did you get such an awesome galaxy brain for design??? I love every part of this!! The detail with Psycho's tail! Greasy being snake like and jealous of dragons with venom (and Psycho having the very thing he's envious of). Smartass with his jewelry. Wheezy with his fire/smoke and how aged/torn up he looks. How big and clumsy and fat Stupid is!!!! I love all of it!!!!!!

God I wish I could draw all these!!! 😭😭😭😭 I would pay so much money to see these guys drawn and/or animated! Especially if they were designed by you!! ^^

[koishua]

UNFORGIVEN ALBUM REVIEW

i have so much to say about these tracks y'all the wait was worth it it always is when it's with them!! UNFORGIVEN as a title track slaps i can't overstate how amazing this turned out thank you nile rodgers this is incredible i adore the beats though i wish that for the "unforgiven girls" part, the vocals were stronger in volume and impression bc it's SUCH a hype section i can already imagine ceremonies starting with that exact part!! the melody just evokes that feeling if you know what i mean?? and yunjin's grungy voice compliments this song and its message so so well. also kkura's deep voice?? she is an icon she has always been the moment but oml zuha's wings and her lines are SO good i won't even start talking about chaewon bc y'all know how i feel about her gosh she never ever disappoints. now for manchae oml she has come so far from fearless and she's getting better and better each comeback and she's starting to solidify her presence on stage im so excited for five years down the line how she's going to turn out!! the choreo snippet from knowing bros had already surprised me so much i love love love their choreos and this one has to be one of my top threes?? anyways not to get too deep into this so im going to just keep it like this and move on. overall 9.5/10

NO-RETURN (INTO THE UNKNOWN) — the bass!! they have a signature feel-good sound to their tracks similar to this you just want to get up and jump or dance around with a smile on your face. the saxophone is that a saxophone in the chorus that took me off guard in the best way really. the brass is so cnncncbc!! chaewon and yunjin carry the vocal heavy parts and they do it amazingly like they may not be the strongest vocalists ever but they're strong in their own ways that fit le sserafim's sound so well!! overall 9/10

EVE, PSYCHE & THE BLUEBEARD'S WIFE — i know a club song when i hear one despite not ever being in one 😔😔 the beat im salivating this is my three am hallucinating dancing in the dark in my own room type of song i swear to you the verses after the first chorus has me in a chokehold. the things i would do to get to listen to this in a concert setting and ascend with the bridge and then the drum pads that come in right after like stfu. overall 9/10

FEARNOT (BETWEEN YOU, ME, AND THE LAMPPOST) — i just started writing a small fic based on this song and its vibes!! this makes me feel all sorts of things and the lyrics are straight out of a heartwarming story. this is one of my most favourite songs from this album. it's so atmospheric with the electric guitar building up to the chorus and the drum beats that kick in and their vocals. the melody is beautiful and i just can't get over the vibes. i cried while i first listened to this half an hour ago actually ;-; i don't have any single thing to complain about in this song. "i go where you go" line being given to chaewon was an amazing decision because her voice is so pure and it felt like i was pulled into another world for the brief moment she sung with the background going silent :') i think this will be one of my most listened to songs on spotify this year. overall 10/10

FLASH FORWARD — this is exactly my vibe i listen to these kinds of songs everyday all day it's just so vibey and you can strut playfully to this song down the street and sway and jam all you want and it feels like flowers of all bright colours are blooming all around you as you go!! it's like it brightens up the world around each step you take :< it's just feel-good. overall 9/10

FIRE IN THE BELLY — when i say hot damn i want to shake my hips and call my latina friends and have them listen to this. the chorus makes something in my chest feel so full with life!! reminds me of my childhood especially the olé olé olé in the background chants ugh im a little tired from all of the jumping and screeching i did within the last hour so my brain is slowing down just know that it's overall a 9/10 for me for this too

CONCLUSION i love them they occupy a large spot in my heart i can't ever dislike any song they release and i know it seems like im giving way too many compliments but i can't help it idc if it's subjective they just make good ass music ‼️

[unchataparis]

A Review of Évolution

So, all of Season 5 has finally be released! Hooray. This is LAURENT’s review of Miraculous Season 5, starting with its long-awaited first episode Évolution. This is a rewatch.

The new opening theme sounds a lot darker and cooler than the previous songs. The electric guitar adds edge, and the reverb echoes a tone of finality. It’s a nice touch that Chat Noir and Ladybug are holding hands towards the end. Compared to Season 4’s opening, with Ladybug holding the new Miraculous Box alone – Chat Noir’s compartment couldn’t even been seen on it – Season 5’s opening support the tagline "Les Aventures de Ladybug et Chat Noir" a lot better.

And we’re starting right off where we picked up.

Maybe it’s because I’m watching it on DisneyPlus, but the animation is crisp. Blessings to whichever studio is animating this.

Personal point of malcontent, but it’s always very notable that Parisian citizens doesn’t seem to address Chat Noir with the same veneration that Ladybug receives. Mostly because he’s only seen as her partner, while she’s the fix-all, Cure-all main hero.

Chat Noir just shattered a Turtle Miraculous Protection with zero effort. Okay. Either that is done for sake of theatrics, or Monarch hasn't quite figure out how to moderate the strength of a Protection yet.

Ladybug disperses Monarch’s butterflies with her Yo-yo. Calls back to their debut.

Gabriel monologues again. Sass shows his position as de facto Kwami leader. It’s always disconcerting to see the Kwami so meek. They shouldn’t act like that should they?

If one looks properly into the crowd cheering for Ladybug and Chat Noir, one will see they’re the same eight character models duplicated.

Good on to Gabriel for jumping immediately onto the plan that makes the most sense, he did what anyone seeking the Yin and Yang Miraculous would’ve done in that situation. Don't waste time, literally go back in time to steal them immediately. Previous Miraculous seasons has a habit of avoiding the most obvious solution to prolong the story, so hopefully, the straight-forwardness of this plan spell a new route for Miraculous’ writing.

Also, lmao, Monarch dropping out of a Voyage and literally crawling to another one. If I were Ladybug and Chat Noir (the present ones), I would’ve been standing and staring in total confusion too. It reminds me of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, the whole time-travelling scheme. Seeing your future and past selves, knowing they're there but unable to interact with them. Good on the writers for adding this little cameo of their future selves, explains the time-travelling narrative immediately. Makes the audience excited. Clearly, this Season is starting off strong and big. Plus, sneak peek of Bunny Noir.

And Bunnix appears! I don’t think she appeared much at all in Season 4. Again, a great way to let the audience know this season is going to be big.

Side-note: I never really liked Bunnix’s outfit. When I first saw Adult Alix in Season 3, I was very impressed. The tattoos, the hair, the piercing, it’s a style of trendy and modern fashion Miraculous usually lacks, as all their characters are perpetually dressed in Y2K. I was anticipating something similarly impressive when Bunnix transformed, but – it just looks like a suit for a Rabbit Hero rather than Alix as the Rabbit Hero. Have y’all heard that theory that Aurore should be the Rabbit? Blue colour scheme, two pigtails which could be fashioned into rabbit ears, literally constantly carrying an umbrella? But apart from Marc, I doubt we’ll ever see anyone outside of Madame Bustier’s class as an auxiliary hero.

I quite like Monarch’s new outfit. The stained glass lapel design, the dark half-mask that reveals snowy-white hair – very chilling, very villain-like. The tainted purple eyes and near-translucent pupils grant him an aura of madness, which makes him look very intimidating. It’s more fashionable than his previous suits.

Monarch runs like a badly rigged 3D model.

This man is way too gleeful.

Woah!! Reminds me of Avengers Endgame, Monarch stepping back into the Lady Wifi episode. The animators had to go back in their archives and find all the models for that episode and re-animate the scene. Cool!

This man grew creepier.

Their little cat-and-mouse game should've broken the universe. Death, time, and, dimensions are three staples you do not mess with in any media. Let those who passed pass, let regrets remain regrets, and stop trying to crawl out of where you belong.

Oh, they look cool here.

I feel like no one can use the word 'Master' nowadays without feeling like a complete fool. From the amount of times Monarch called himself 'master', either he’s used to being called a genius in an atelier, a maestro, or he’s on a total power-trip.

Five Miraculous at once? This man is going to get himself killed.

This man looks so camp. This outfit would sell on a red carpet. Love how any weapon Monarch manifests are purple. Shame that all the weapons are literally copies of what their previous Holders weld. The in-universe reason could be that Monarch hasn’t properly bonded with the Kwami in order to imbue his weapons with his personal taste. But we all know the animators just didn’t have the resources for fancier gadgets.

Shame. For a show centred on fashion, Zag should really allow the animators to go a little nuts with personalised suits and weapons. That’s the whole point of different holders, isn’t it? Each member of Madame Bustier’s class has individual aesthetics, that could play really well into their Miraculous designs.

Ladybug giving Chat Noir the Rabbit Miraculous. That’s surprising. An earlier version of Ladybug wouldn’t have trusted him.

Rabbit Noir’s suit looks awesome! It’s literally just his Chat Noir suit with added blue highlights, but he looks very neon, very snazzy. His hair is uncovered, for once, and the bell is white! I like how the Rabbit Watch is hooked onto his belt. Quite rakish.

Monarch is literally on his last legs seven minutes into the first episode. This man is either going to ambiguously perish, or end up in a coma by the end of the season.

Lmao, they’re straight up bullying him at this point.

And we’re back to the moment we saw earlier.

Oh my goodness, he looks so handsome.

Note that Rabbit Noir's umbrella is completely black with a cyan end. Little personalisation.

If they had attacked him at this moment, the show would’ve been over. But Ladybug and Chat Noir has too much battlefield honour to bludgeon a fallen opponent, even one as annoying as Monarch. Honestly, if I was there, I would’ve been seriously considering the relevance of calling an ambulance. You do not want someone's death on your hands, especially when you can do something about it/has a duty to do something about it. Why isn’t there a Miraculous that could heal? Probably because that'll solve the Émilie issue real soon, and there'll be no need to chase after Ladybug and Chat Noir. Of course, it’s not needed in-universe as nothing really grievous happen to the heroes, but in all team-based media, there’s always the leader and the second-in-command and the wild card, and the either gruff or sensitive healer. I suppose Ladybug is the healer, since she has the Miraculous Cure. The Bee Holder could probably also heal, bees has been a symbol of doctoring since classic Hellenic times.

lmao at Chat Noir poking Monarch with his Bâton. Great reaction.

The once-use-only power rule was very cute in the earlier seasons, especially as it’s used as a puzzle stimulator for young audiences. Adds an element of danger and urgency when the beeping timer starts. But I feel that Miraculous is at the point where the main heroes should be overcoming this basic burden.

I hope Ladybug gets a suit upgrade in this season, I hope both of them do, they’ve long deserved it, especially Chat Noir. Look at how cool they look standing together here. The black on Ladybug’s suit makes her look older, more professional. I get the nostalgia of the OG suit, but part of growing up is saying goodbye to treasured memorabilia. Ladybug should permanently keep her Lucky Charm suit. But I suppose the OG suit is easier to cosplay.

Kwami requiring human food for nourishment always rang wrong to me since Season 1. Back then, it was a very distant concept, just some sweet garnish that contributes to the child-centric ideals of the show, but as the seasons go on, it feels more and more impossible and unrealistic for the Kwami to be reliant on food to maintain their powers. The embodiment of creation perishing because she isn’t regularly fed macarons just doesn’t sound right.

Re: they look so cool.

Oh, her lashes are so long here. Marinette is super pretty. I know there’s accusations of her being whitewashed, but 1) she is white. She’s both white and Asian, and 2) the first time I saw Miraculous, I genuinely thought the writers did their research, because Marinette is the peak of Douyin beauty standards. Little Chinese girls would wow over Marinette.

I do not like Fu. I mentioned in my fics before, but not on this Tumblr. He’s a very weak person and ineffective leader.

"You’ll get it back in a second", literally.

Alix wants to study engineering! That’s surprising. I don’t think she has ever shown any penchant for science before. She always struck me as the kind of person who would do competitive skating, or live as a street artist.

Also, this painting! Napoléon crowing Joséphine!! Fits within the theme of Monarch, a self-important man attaining and maintaining absolute power, granting all luxuries to his loved spouse. I really appreciate all the French symbols and culture and art that has shown up throughout Miraculous.

Huh, so the reason why Bunnix is always hopping around time instead of staying with the Miraculous Team is to keep the Rabbit Miraculous, the 'most dangerous' one, out of Papillon/Monarch’s hands. As Bunnix is still keeping up with the hopping even as Papillon’s reign ended, then the Butterfly predecessor villain must also be gunning for the Rabbit Miraculous in the same way.

Poor Alix. One isn’t supposed to consider the mechanics of stuff such as this in cartoons, but they did acknowledge it in the show. Alix is sacrificing a lot, taking on a huge burden, to keep Paris safe. That’s the mark of a hero.

Félix didn’t wear one, but the Dog Miraculous has a penchant for putting its holders in berets. I suppose it’s easier to give them the dog ears without looking like a duplicate of the Cat and Fox Miraculous.

The Balle isn’t attached to her collar, it’s literally glued onto her suit???

Chat Noir’s, Bunny Noir’s, hand looks really good here. I always liked his claws, no other carnivorous mammal, or even the Dragon, has them. Tigresse Pourpre has claws, but they’re attached to her gauntlet, not her actual fingers as Chat Noir’s appears to be.

Nathalie is literally all that’s keeping the Agreste Household together. Is Gabriel even doing his job anymore?

Going back in time to save Émilie before she uses the damaged Peafowl Miraculous seems like a good idea, but surely that’ll spark another timeline with entirely new consequences, wouldn’t it? That’s how these science-fiction storylines usually go. But you're not supposed to think about that, that's way too complicated.

Nathalie coming up with solid plans. Instead of chasing a solution, why not just fix the problem so that it doesn’t exist?

Émilie is super, super pretty. I can see what Adrien takes from her. She looks like a Sakamoto Shin-ichi character.

Defeated by your own hubris. It’ll literally take only a second to drop the memory drive.

This looks pretty snazzy. The dual stacked layers on the mask looks much better than the halved pattern from the Dog alone.

At least one Miraculous is kept safe from Monarch, and it’s potentially the most dangerous one. Other Miraculous has a lot of attack power, think the Dragon or the Ox, but not a lot of ability to mess around with reality or space or timelines. Would give Monarch the crux of the advantage, basically. Other Miraculous Ladybug and Chat Noir will need to watch out for are the Snake and the Goat.

The future does not belong to those that live in the past. The future belong to those who lives in the present and cautiously plans for the future.

Both Ladybug and Chat Noir de-transformed off-screen.

Trivial detail: but I never liked Chat Noir’s ears. They look childish, and they also appear to be clipped onto nothing. His longer hair has to hide his human ears because otherwise, it’ll look strange. Dual listening appendages.

Nathalie confirming that the Miraculous War has much more to do with saving Émilie now, Gabriel has become obsessed with defeating his adversaries. Falling into a glue trap of his own making. I’m actually surprised that Nathalie said Gabriel’s obsession is with both Ladybug and Chat Noir. Usually, it’s just Ladybug.

Miss Lila! She appears once in the episode. This still makes her look so much like an ordinary girl. I hope Lila also get a new outfit this season. She won’t keep it permanently, but like how Chloé occasionally get novelty outfits.

This was a great first episode! It resolves so many issues – such as taking the outlier Rabbit Miraculous from Gabriel's hands – and introduced a major plot overturn, Gabriel's loyal henchwoman finally leaving his side. Sprinkle in a little fan-service, Rabbit Noir who is also integral to the narrative, and a flash of an appearance from the soon-to-come 'main' Miraculous villain.

A+.

[lamuradex]

Short Story: Repellent

Here is my Halloween Short Story offering. I hope its creepy enough for you.

Trick or Treat, everyone!

Short Story: Repellent

Wordcount: 7871 (Kind of a long one)

George was not having a good week. Between debts and his absentee dad dying, he wasn't really sure what to do with himself. But then he learned he'd inherited a house. A perfect getaway.

Colony Manor, in the middle of the woods.

Repellent

George drove up the road, veering up the narrow path through the woods. It had been… a rough couple of weeks. Various debts, a few loan sharks, and an angry ex-girlfriend had all decided to pile in on his life all at once, all asking for money or a pound of flesh. And, just when it couldn’t get much worse, his dad had died.

Now, George wasn’t exactly close to the old man. An old beekeeper, he’d always been more fond of the bugs than his own son. Mum had been the affectionate one, and that one-sided marriage hadn’t lasted into George’s teen years. Even so, his death had been a bit of a shock.

It had also been a bit of an out for George’s troubles.

George had been contacted by his dad’s attorney, or the executor of his estate, or something. All he remembered was the man was called Mr Harold Ives and he had some interesting news. While Dad was dead, he’d apparently owned an old house in the country, in turn inherited from some other long lost relative. And now it belonged to George.

Mr Ives had been very helpful, and even helped arrange the moving company to move him out there. And what better way to escape his debtors. The house, named Colony Manor, was miles outside the city, more than half an hour’s drive. It was perfect, at least until things had calmed down.

George looked up the road, but still couldn’t believe his eyes. Colony Manor had to be at least five floors, built out of old dark wood, and with windows and balconies all over the building. There was a wall surrounding the grounds, which was about two stories by itself, and the grounds had to be at least an entire acre wide. It wasn’t just a manor, it was a mansion!

George pulled up, got out of his car, and craned his neck to look up at the house. His new house, his mind delightedly reminded him. He produced a key from his pocket, a big brass one, and opened the gates. He’d have to park his car inside later, because right now he had to have a look around. He approached the front door, and produced a small door key from the same ring as the brass one. He turned it, but the door was already unlocked. He pushed it open.

“Hello?” he beckoned.

“Ah, Mr Honeydew,” a voice greeted back.

“Um… It’s just George,” he replied, spying the man coming down the stairs.

He was a tall man with a sallow complexion, grey hair, and a grey suit. It was one of those suits with a different coloured material up the back, which always reminded George of a beetle’s shell.

“Mr Ives?” George guessed.

“Correct. And you are George Honeydew. My condolences concerning your father,” he said sweetly.

“Yeah. Thanks,” George dismissed. “So, is everything in place after the move?”

“It is, but I must say, you didn’t have much to move.”

“Well…” George agreed. He’d have likely been able to fit everything from his old flat in the back of a car. “I do see this place is fully furnished though?”

“Oh yes, all under your name,” Ives smiled. “Now, I see you’ve got the keys. I had the movers gas up the generator, seeing as we’re a bit far for electrical cables out here. I also had them stock the furnace, it’s one of those old coal ones, you understand. I believe the previous tenants mostly relied on the various fireplaces, but I leave that up to you.”

“And, do you know why my father never mentioned this place?” George asked.

“I’ll admit it was a bit of an oversight with the paperwork,” Ives said unhappily. “He only inherited it a few years before he died, and something must have gotten lost in the shuffle. I’m not sure he ever knew he owned it.”

“Huh…” George looked up at the impressive house, reevaluating a lot of things. “So, what about entertainment?”

“What?” Ives was already heading for the door. “Oh, right,” he realised. “There isn’t any internet, but I’ve organised someone to come within the week. In the meantime, there is a TV which gets good signal, a fully stocked library if you’re a bookworm, and a couple of games rooms including some pool tables. It’s all yours to discover.”

“It really is…” George kept staring at the furnishings. “And if I really get bored, I can always go on a nature walk.” He gestured vaguely to the woods outside.

Ives turned a sharp smile on him. “Oh, I wouldn’t. Mosquitoes are terrible this time of year, and that’s not even talking about the bears. But there’s plenty of room for guests here, so that’s always an option. Now, I must be off. But please, if you have any questions, don’t be afraid to call. You have my number.” As Ives reached the door, he pulled a large cigar from a pocket and lit it. Even from the first puff it stank, but George tried to restrain his disgust. He waved Mr Ives off, and then settled into his new, wonderful house.

And Ives had been right. There were two games rooms, a TV room, three fully furnished bathrooms, six bedrooms, two with on-suites, a library as large as some ordinary houses, a portrait gallery, and a fully stocked kitchen. The furnace and generator were in an old janitorial room on the ground floor, and while there was a basement, the door was warped and nothing George could do could budge it. He put that on the list of things to ask Ives about next time they spoke.

For the rest of the day, George spent his time exploring the house, cooking some food, and then spent the evening in front of the TV. As he went to bed, he picked one of the upper floor bedrooms, enjoying the view over the woods below. The moon was out, the trees were lit with the cold light, and everything was silent.

Then he stopped. A shape caught his eye. Dark and indistinct, but poking out of the trees. A person, maybe? At the tree line nearest his garden wall? All the way out here? George rubbed his eyes, and the shape was gone.

He suddenly remembered he never brought his car in. He’d also forgotten to lock the gates, not used to remembering those yet. He stared a while longer, but there wasn’t any more movement. Finally, as his eyes grew tired, he gave up and went to bed, keeping a fireplace poker nearby just in case.

* * *

The next morning came, and fortunately nothing seemed out of place. George checked his car, and it was untouched, so he brought it inside the gates. He took a walk around the grounds, finding a few greenhouses and an ornamental garden, but no signs of anything disturbed. There was a long forgotten compost bin, which stank to high heaven and was swarmed with flies, but it was nothing he couldn’t deal with in the future… or more likely hire someone else to deal with once his money troubles were over.

Maybe he could rent out rooms in the house? The thought was unappealing, but he had some friends back home who might want a place to stay. Or at least some friends. Not many who weren’t involved in his money troubles… and trying to sell a place in the middle of nowhere with no internet would be a hard sell. It did have a phone, and a phone line, but he wasn’t entirely sure how it was hooked up. Maybe it was a satellite phone or something?

George finished his search and headed back inside. He wandered back upstairs to look out his window, staring down at the trees below. Below, and behind, and in front, and to the sides. There were trees in every direction besides the main road, which was still quite overshadowed. He looked down to where he thought he’d seen movement during the night, but there was nothing. Some ways into the woods however, he thought he could just see a plume of smoke…

DING DONG!

George struggled not to yelp, holding his hand to his chest to keep his heart in his ribs. It was just the door. Hurrying down as quickly as he could, he found Mr Ives waiting. Already inside.

“Sorry for letting myself in,” he greeted, “I’ve still got a key, and thought it better than waiting out in that cold. I also thought that if you had guests, then you wouldn’t really notice another body around.” He smiled up at George.

“No, just me,” George decided to breeze past the intrusion. “I don’t really have anyone to invite here.”

“Really?” Ives sounded genuinely surprised.

“Nope. I’ll have to keep this old house warm all by myself, for the time being.”

“That’s a pity. Old houses like this are built to be swarming with people,” he said sadly. “Oh well.”

“And, why are you here, Mr Ives?” George asked.

Ives took a second to recall. “Oh? Oh! Yes. I was just coming to check and make sure everything is going well. It’s a little out of the way, but I just had to check in. Company policy.”

“I see.”

“So, is everything alright?”

“Well…” George thought a moment. “A couple of things. First, that compost pile out back is disgusting.”

“I had noticed that,” Ives recognised. “I can give you a number for a very good gardener.”

George considered his finances. “Leave the number with me, I’ll get round to it.”

Ives pulled out a notepad and scribbled it down. “Anything else?”

“I can’t get the basement door open.”

“Oh, that.” Ives waved a hand. “It used to be for the heating and everything before it was moved upstairs. Nothing’s down there anymore.”

“Alright…” George accepted. “One last thing then. Are there people living around here?”

“What do you mean?”

“In the woods? Squatters, or homeless people, or anything like that?”

Ives quirked an eyebrow. “I suppose it’s possible. I haven’t seen anyone myself, but I can’t rule it out. Still, they’re likely harmless. And if not, the police are a phone call away. Besides, you can always lock your front gates, and I believe I saw a shotgun upstairs in the third bedroom.”

“That’s… comforting,” George lied.

“If that’s all, then I shall be off. I have a busy day ahead.” Ives headed for the door, pulling out another cigar. George followed him outside.

“Wait, where’s your car?” George realised. There was no sign of one.

“I left it down the road,” Ives said passively, puffing clouds from his cigar. “I didn’t know if your gates were open, and I don’t like parking in front of them. I don’t like to be in the way.”

George peered down the road, and could just about see a vehicle. A shiny little thing coloured a lot like Ives’ suit.

“Alright then. I’ll call you if there’s any problems,” George bid.

“Please do, and consider the idea of getting some guests up here. Places like this can get awful lonely.”

Ives left and George headed back inside. He returned to his window, and could just see Ives heading to his car. The plume of smoke was gone, if it had ever been there, and the woods looked as quiet as ever, besides the light haze of bugs flying over the treetops.

The rest of the day rolled past, with George spending it mostly by his TV, and a short amount in the library. Every so often he’d stop at a window and look out, checking for movement. There’d be the occasional shifting form between the trees, but from this distance they could just as easily have been branches moving. As evening marched in, and while he was getting snacks for his next TV show, he heard a buzzing not unlike an engine. He stopped by the window again.

Something was off. Amber light spilled over the land in front of him, but that wasn’t unusual. The trees looked normal, the road looked normal. It was his garden that looked off. A nagging difference. He’d only had it a short time, but he was already beginning to memorise it.

One of the greenhouse doors was open.

George had checked each of them when he checked the garden, only finding sweet smelling flowers with automated sprinkler systems which had somehow survived all this time. He suspected Ives had done it. But checking each one, he’d locked them afterwards. And now the door was swinging on its hinges. Again, part of him suspected Ives, checking up on the plants. But… what was that?

In the amber light, he couldn’t be sure… Was that something moving around inside?

He hurried from the window, headed for the third bedroom, got the wrong one the first two times, found the shotgun, and hurried downstairs. He stopped at a window on the way down and…

…The greenhouse was empty. The evening light had faded, and in moonlight he could see through the glass. It was certainly empty.

He replayed the moment, but began to question what he had really seen. Maybe it was just the sprinkler system. The shadow hadn’t looked human. It had been more�� wriggly than that. Maybe it was just the pipes.

With one last wary glance at the night, he gave up on his shows and headed to bed, the shotgun at his side the whole night.

* * *

The next day began quietly. He rose with the sun, and went down to have breakfast. But thoughts nagged at him. The house felt quieter than usual, which should be impossible. The heating was low, the furnace not great, and Ives had left only a small amount of coal. He’d have to go into town sooner or later, but preferably later. First, he had to settle his most nagging thought.

Grabbing his shotgun, he headed out into the garden. There was the greenhouse, its door swinging on its hinges. The padlock lay broken on the ground, and the glass of the door was cracked.

“Shit…” George muttered.

This wasn’t an accident. Someone had broken in. The flowers were destroyed, dirt everywhere. No boot prints or other markings, but who knew why they’d broken in. He couldn’t be sure there weren’t poppies or something in there. He half recalled poppies were involved in making heroin.

Clutching his gun, he moved back inside and found the phone.

“Hello, 911. How may we direct your call?”

“Police please.”

“Please hold.”

…

“Hello, this is Officer Hooper. How can I help you?”

“I think someone broke into my property last night. Could you send someone over to investigate?”

“Alright, sir. Can I have your address?”

“I live out at Colony Manor. It’s out in the woods, by-”

“Hold on, sir. Did you say Colony Manor? I’m not even sure that’s in our jurisdiction.”

“Well, this is where my phone dialled out to.”

“Hmmm…” the officer considered. “Hold on a moment, sir.” The policeman set down the phone, but didn’t put it on hold. George could still hear him as he called over a colleague.

“What’s the problem, Hooper?”

“Some rich knob up at Colony Manner. That’s like an hour outside the city.”

“Just go look, Hooper. Take someone with you.”

“Right, boss.”

The officer picked up the phone again. “We’re on our way, sir.” Then he hung up.

George sat and waited. Fifteen minutes later, he couldn’t just wait. The house was old and creaky, but every creak sounded like someone could be upstairs. It was a big enough house. There could be someone here and he might not even know it.

With that terrifying idea in his head, he grabbed the shotgun and started to search.

Room after room, he checked thoroughly, moving as quietly as he could to not alert the intruders. Room after room, he checked to see if anything had moved. But he honestly couldn’t recall where everything had been before. By the end, only the TV room and the kitchen could be confirmed as untouched.

After 45 minutes, fear had given way to irritation. The police were taking their time, and the search was fruitless. He’d started at the top and worked his way down, but found nothing. Now he was back by the phone in the entrance hall, right beside the stuck basement door. As a matter of curiosity, he gave the door a pull. It wouldn’t budge.

There was something though. He couldn’t see through the gaps, but a little air was getting through. Musty, stale, and grim air. Air with a hint of… something sweet? Sickly, saccharine air. Like the flowers outside, or maybe the smell of rot.

With a wince, he picked up the phone again.

“Hello? Mr Ives? It’s George.”

“Ah, Mr Honeydew. What can I do for you?” the bright voice of Ives answered.

“There’s a funny smell coming from the basement, and I still can’t get down there. You wouldn’t happen to know how to fix that.”

“How to fix it…” Ives thought aloud. “Well, it’s a little awkward if I’m honest.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what you’re smelling is likely… mould.”

“Excuse me?”

“There was a slight mould problem, or so I’m told. It’s partially why everything was moved upstairs. Have your guests been complaining?”

“Still no guests, and no. I think I’m going to have to get someone to look into this,” George sighed. Part of him wanted to complain, but another reminded him he’d technically gotten this house for free. As he considered his options, there was a knock at the door. “Thanks anyway, Mr Ives.”

“Anytime, George. Anytime.”

George hung up and let the police in. They didn’t seem best pleased, but they heard him out. They investigated the greenhouse and agreed it had been broken into. But, aside from that, they couldn’t find any evidence. With George confirming there was no one else in the house, and with a quick sweep of the garden, they left, not even giving a customary “Call us if you see anything else.”

George spent the rest of the day in his usual routines, and occasionally checking the windows. Tomorrow he would head into town. He was running low on food anyway.

* * *

A buzzing noise woke him up. Like a car engine, or more like a bike. It was nighttime, with him having fallen asleep watching a TV show. The TV had automatically turned off so the house was quiet… No. Almost quiet.

George went to the window and stared out into the dark. Clouds dappled the moon, but there was still some light. Amongst the shadows, shapes moved. Something along the road.

There were figures running towards the house.

George panicked. His heart was gripped with ice as the distant figures grew closer and closer. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like they were armed, swinging their arms wildly.

He ran to his shotgun and carried it downstairs. He stopped near the front door. He could hear yelling, like a charging battle cry. They were just outside the garden.

George remembered he hadn’t locked the gate again.

Retreating from the door, he readied his shotgun. The first figure hit the door, smashing a shoulder against the wood. He had locked it, luckily. But the figure kept bashing, screaming, roaring. This man, judging by the voice, was coming in sooner or later.

George had an idea. If he was getting attacked, he’d take the advantage.

Sneaking up to the door, he unlocked it with his key. He waited for the man to ram the door again, nearly buckling the wood, and readied his hand on the handle.

The man charged again and George opened the door.

The man stumbled through, toppled onto his front, and rolled across the floor. He rose like something rabid, frantic, his eyes wide and crazed.

“Whatthehell!” he snarled, advancing on George. “Whatareyoudoinginhereyoulittle-”

BANG!

George hadn’t meant to, but his finger had shaken on the trigger. The man had stepped a little too close and the finger flexed. Suddenly there was a hole in the man’s chest where some shirt buttons had previously been.

George looked outside, but there was no one else. There had just been one man. Seeing what he’d done, he called the police.

* * *

It took the police two hours to arrive. Two hours with a corpse in his lobby. He’d taken a cursory look, as much as he could handle with the gore, and guessed he was some kind of wild survivalist. Less a homeless lunatic, more likely a man out of his mind on some drugs.

When the police arrived, they assessed the scene, heard George’s story, and even traced down the road to where the man had first been spotted. Even so, they did not seem happy. Middle of the night, a man killed, and getting the call from the same owner of the really posh house. Simply put, they took against him. Even so, his story was sound. They could see the damage to the door, the tracks outside, and the timeline fit with when they got the call. With that, they took the body and headed back to the station.

A coroner who was with them did stop before they left.

“One more thing, sir,” he asked, clearly doing his best Columbo. “There were certain injuries on the body that your story didn’t cover.”

“What do you mean?” George asked.

“Bite marks. Some insect bites, but some bigger ones too. You wouldn’t happen to have dogs or anything, would you, sir?”

“No. I don’t have any pets,” George answered.

“I see, sir. We’ll be in touch if we have more questions.”

George watched them leave, and a thought surfaced in his unpleasantly stressed mind.

What if that man had been running from something else when he shot him?

George awoke late the next day, sleep deprived and stressed. There was blood on his carpet where the man had died, as if he needed some reminder it wasn’t a dream. It was enough of a reminder that he didn’t want to stay in the house today. With a tired step, he headed out, going to get in the car and-

Where was his car?

He stared at the empty space where his car should be. There were grooves in the soil where the tires had been, but no car. Had the police impounded it last night? No, he recalled seeing it as the police left. But now it was gone.

He went to the phone, called the police again, but could tell from their tone that they weren’t sending anyone. Not quickly anyway. His car had been stolen, and they would keep an eye out for it. That meant it was gone.

George walked back to the gates, weighing up if he could walk into the city. It seemed a flat no was the answer. Maybe he could call a cab? No. The fare would be insane. Maybe he could call Ives? No. He had already asked the man for enough.

He would just have to get by… somehow. Maybe he’d call Ives tomorrow instead.

As he turned to head back into the house, he eyed the tire marks again. Then he paused. Tire marks, but no tire tracks. Just stationary marks. If the car was gone, then somehow, it hadn’t been driven away. It had just… flown off.

George didn’t know what to make of it.

* * *

It was only an hour before George broke and called Mr Ives again. Not because of the want for a lift however. Over the course of the hour, he’d repeatedly heard that same buzzing noise again, like a motor or an engine. Each time he ran to a window, expecting to see his stolen car driving down the road, but each time there was nothing.

It was as he was headed to the phone that he heard it again. It was coming from below. From the basement.

“Hello, Mr Ives?”

“Ah, George, good to hear from you. How have you been?”

“Not great. But what I wanted to ask about was the basement again. I can hear strange noises down there. It’s like a motorised buzzing, like an engine or something?”

“Oh, that,” Ives fielded casually. “That’s just the remnant of the old heating system. Not all of it could be removed, so it does occasionally make a bit of noise. Sorry if it’s bothering you and your friends.”

“Still alone up here, Ives. Well, mostly. There was some kind of survivalist at my door last night.”

“How dreadful. Are you alright?”

“I am, at least,” George said grimly. “I don’t want to talk about it though. I did want to ask, could you come and give me a lift into town. My car appears to have gone missing.”

“That’s… odd. But unfortunately, I can’t. I’m swamped with paperwork, and will be for the next few days. Sorry, George. You’re on your own.”

And he hung up.

George spent the next hour fielding what he’d heard. He heard the pipes buzzing, and it began to ache in his brain. He stationed himself on an upper floor, but it hardly stopped the noise. He found himself staring out the windows to ignore it, and failing. As he stared however, he stared where he thought he’d seen the smoke the other day.

If the man he killed was a survivalist, then that must have been there camp.

He thought it time to check on the neighbours, if it would get him out of the house.

* * *

It was twenty minutes’ walk to get there, and then another ten to navigate through the trees in the guessed direction. He’d seen a plume of smoke, he was sure of it, and so the camp would have to be approximately there.

And, as he rounded a large oak, he did find the camp… mostly.

It wasn’t quite the scene he’d expected. A survivalist camp, he’d been expecting a few tin pots, some bags, and a couple of tents maybe. But there was a caravan, four tents, benches, and a rather professional looking campfire, one with a proper rock border. There was also a fence surrounding the area, and a sign with a rental lot number on it.

“A campsite?” George muttered to himself. He’d been camping once or twice with the scouts as a boy. He hadn’t enjoyed it. This was clearly a commercial one.

His first thought was, he’d shot an innocent man. This was swiftly countered by the memory of the man manically trying to barge down the door.

Second thought, where was everyone else? Abandoned equipment, too much for one man, and the caravan left behind. And why hadn’t Ives mentioned it? Surely he had to know.

George decided he needed answers, but since he was alone, they would have to come from him. He inspected the area, drawing on every detective instinct he had from watching crime dramas.

To start, he inspected the car. It was covered in leaves, bird crap, and another six inches of leaves around the tires. It hadn’t moved in a few days. It also hadn’t left and come back. The leaves in front of it weren’t embedded in the tire tracks, just sitting neatly on top.

Seeing the tire tracks, he looked for how it had gotten in. There was a narrow, but passable road between the trees. And footprints. It hadn’t rained, and the earth was hard and cold. There were three sets of tracks, all heading off towards the road. They almost bounced off the side of the car, as if they’d tried to get in but given up.

A dark pit of dread settled in George’s gut. They’d tried to run. From what?

Thinking back, he thought he’d seen two others that night, running with the dead man. But when only one arrived at his door, he thought he’d imagined it.

Trailing back, he followed the tracks. They led out to the road, where they were lost to the tarmac, but that wasn’t a surprise. Instead he followed them back. They bounced off the car, and then converged, the trio having been scattered across the camp when… whatever happened actually happened.

He followed one trail. Two actually, as apparently a pair had been hanging out by a bench. The third had been by the fire. There was an abandoned bucket beside it.

“Last thing he did was put out the fire,” George assessed. The trail then led back to a chair, now tipped over. Sitting by the fire, someone got up and put it out… then started running for their lives?

It still didn’t make sense. George looked about, trying to put the pieces together, inspecting the ground. He stopped and stared.

There was a fourth set of tracks, and perhaps a fifth? The fifth, so called because it didn’t match the others, led into the clearing, towards the fire, and then just… stopped. The shoe-prints were thin and fancy. There was also a glass jar beside the end of the path, something sticky visible around its open rim. George could smell the sweetness of it without bending down.

Unable to make that fit any mental picture, he turned his attention to the fourth. He grouped this one with the others, wearing hiking boots and trailing back to a chair. But this one didn’t run to the car. It ran to the caravan, and didn’t look like it left again.

“Hello? Anyone in there?” George called loudly. The blinds were down, and he realised he’d been pretty quiet since he arrived. Someone could just be inside. “Hello?” he walked up and knocked on the door.

Something inside buzzed.

“Is anyone in there?”

No response. Just more of that buzzing and a strange clicking.

Taking his chances, he reached out and opened the door. The lights were off, but he could just spy a switch beside the door. He poked his head in, doing his best to look neighbourly, and with one hand switched on the light.

There was something in the caravan. There was a lot of something in the caravan.

There were bugs. Beetles, at a guess. Little, shiny, green and bronze beetles, each the size of a mouse, with pincer jaws and spiny little legs. And there were hundreds of them.

George backed away, trying not to make too much noise. His skin itched looking at the swarming mass. He’d seen a nature documentary once which featured a section on army ants in the jungle, where when they slept, they all bunched up into a living wall under some log. The documentary had called it a bivouac. A swarming, scuttling, writhing mass of ants, as much a fortress as a swarm, that come morning would swarm out across the forest floor and kill and dismantle everything in its path.

And anything that wanted to live would be smart to get out of its way.

George backed out of the caravan, keeping his eyes on the dormant swarm. As he stepped down, the caravan rocked, just slightly. The bivouac pulsed, buzzing angrily.

As it shifted, something moved. An arm poked out. A skeletal arm. The remains were buried somewhere inside the writhing mass. George leapt from the caravan and ran.

Like someone had poked… well, an ant’s nest, he began to spy the little beetles everywhere. Little green and bronze shapes, scuttling in the dirt and under leaves. Most were the size of mice, though some were as large as rats. Many of them opened their shells, revealed wings, and flitted about. A couple dozen were swarming over the broken jar.

George hurried back to the road, swinging his shotgun, ready to fire if any of the little things came after him.

As he left the treeline, he finally began to relax. Not by much though. He’d never heard of another species swarming and grouping together like that, and those beetles were huge. The words of the coroner flashed through his mind, asking if he had dogs.

“Bite marks,” he muttered. He shook his head. Sure, the bugs were big, but not that big.

The skeletal hand flashed through his mind.

He shuddered, hurrying up the road. Meat eating beetles. The police had to already know though, right? They investigated the man’s death… unless they just went back to the city.

Against his will, he imagined getting swarmed by those things. Tiny biting mouths, no escape, the little things pouring into a caravan…

He walked faster, to the point he almost fell down a cliff. The road up to Colony Manor was winding, with a few sheer ledges off the side, and he’d almost walked straight off one. He stopped, regained his balance, and set off…

Something red glowed at the bottom of the cliff. Between some rocks was a little red light. A break light.

It was George’s car.

George stared a moment in disbelief. Looking about, he found a way down, half clambering down the cliff. He could see from above there was no hope of retrieving it, not without a crane, but he’d left a few possessions in there, including his wallet. He mantled down the rocks and stopped at his car door.

The windows were broken, the axles shattered, and one wheel was missing. A write off. Still, he reached in through a broken window, managed to open the glovebox, and pulled out his wallet, a few other documents, and then reached in to retrieve his keys from…

They weren’t in the ignition. Of course they weren’t. They were still in his home.

Then how had it gotten here?

The detective part of him sparked to life again. No keys, the electronics looked fine so it wasn’t hotwired, and no screwdriver or anything in the ignition. The thieves could have pushed it down the hill, but the parking break was still on.

George paused. The parking break was on. How did they move it at all?

Unless something big picked it up and carried it, he joked to himself.

Strangely, he didn’t find that particularly funny. The idea itched in his brain. The car had come down the cliff, sure, but then… It was sideways. It wasn’t a long cliff either. If you’d have rolled it off, even at an angle, it would have gone straight or wound up on its roof.

As he thought, thinking down dead-end after dead-end, he breathed to calm down. A sweet smell met his nose. The same as the jar at the camp and… the smell from his basement.

Feeling distinctly ill at ease, George clambered up the cliff, and scurried back to his house.

* * *

The house was cold when he got back. Lights were off, the evening was coming in, and a chill lay over the house. But it could wait. George weighed his options. Call the police and have them ignore him again? Call Mr Ives and… have him do something. Just run and try and get back to the city by himself?

None of the options appealed. The image of the hand in the caravan rattled in his head, and even now he questioned if that was what he’d really seen. It could have been anything. Maybe an odd fork, or some equipment or… or…

It could have been a human hand.

George pressed his face into his hands, panicked and not sure what to do. He blew out a long breath, only to watch it crystallise on the air in front of him. God damn, it was cold!

Rubbing his hands together, he hurried to inspect the boiler. It was downstairs at the back of the house, just above and behind the basement. As Ives had described, there was an old furnace and a generator, the generator fuelled by petrol. The furnace was fuelled by coal and had gone dark.

George approached a coal scuttle and reached in with a provided trowel, heaping a few scoops into the maw of the furnace. He inspected the workings and found a few buttons which should, in theory, ignite it. He pushed buttons, pulled a lever, and then began inspecting the pipework. Finally, with one last crank, the furnace sputtered to life and began to emanate warmth.

…and then it groaned, croaked, and died, going dark again.

George looked closer. There were pipes which carried warm air throughout the house. There was one that was clearly a chimney. Then there was a last one which seemed to feed in oxygen, the pipe clearly leading somewhere outside. George tracked it into the floor, where it disappeared below, into the basement.

George fumed. He was stressed, and cold, and increasingly angry. Why had he come here? Why had he come to live at this blasted house?

Blasted…

The idea formed, and George left the room, heading back into the hall. He retrieved the shotgun, and throwing caution to the wind, aimed it squarely at the hinges to the basement door.

Two blasts followed, then he was out of ammo. But the door was in splinters and the rest could be pulled loose with ease.

The saccharine scent of mould washed into the lobby. Sickeningly so, it stuck in the nostrils and caught in the throat. Nausea rose in George’s gut, but he held it back. Finding a torch, he headed down the stairs into the basement.

George shone the torch. There were no electric lights down here, just little candle holders on the wall. The stairs were stone, as were the walls. The stairs descended a whole floor, then turned and opened into an enclosed, pitch-black room, which had a single pipe running along its ceiling, the furniture and equipment having been removed long ago.

George inspected the pipe. Something was dripping from it. A viscous, amber liquid. He would have guessed honey, bees having built their nest in the pipe, but a drop on his fingers smelt foul. He wiped it frantically on his trousers as his fingers began to sting.

He turned the torch around, trying to work out what to do about the pipe. It sat meshed into the clean stone ceiling, so it would be difficult to remove or…

Clean stone. The words lingered in George’s mind. Ives had said there was mould.

He turned the flashlight, looking for any signs. Black speckled marks, green growths, mushrooms. There was nothing. There was just the pipe, one long forgotten cupboard and…

Something in the middle of the floor. He’d initially taken it for a rug, but it wasn’t. As his torch settled on it, he saw it was actually a hole.

As he approached, he could tell it was the source of the smell. It was so sweet to be almost rancid, burning at his eyes like an onion. He shone down his torch. He then flinched backwards, yelping in terror.

It was an insect. A massive one. Six legs, green and bronze, and almost four feet long, it sat down in the pit. Still. Impossibly still. George dared to walk closer, and could see a split running up the thing’s back. A moult? Something that size?

George shook his head. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t believe it.

But he dared look again. There was more. Underneath it were clusters of lumps, like little groups of pimples. The word “clutches” crept inevitably to mind. Eggs.

The mental image of the eggs hatching put George’s stomach in his throat. The way the carapace above was cracked and broken, it reminded him of a lobster on a plate. A meal for the little ones?

Morbid curiosity was all that held him, when finally his eyes caught something else. One side of the pit was hollow. A cave, or a tunnel, which led out. Out under the mansion. Out into the woods.

George had a terrible idea he knew which direction that tunnel was headed. Finally, his stomach and mind won out, and he ran upstairs to be sick in the sink.

He had to get out of here.

He went to the phone and dialled Mr Ives. No answer. It was a landline, he was likely away somewhere, and it was late in the day. Still, George decided to give it one last go. He fished out some paperwork from a bag and found his father’s attorney’s number.

“Hello?” a tired voice greeted. “Please be quick, I was just headed home.”

“Sorry to bother you, Mr…” George read the name from the papers. “Mrs Quentin. My name’s George Honeydew?”

“Oh? Oh! You’re Barry’s son,” Mrs Quentin recognised. “How can I help you?”

“Yeah, it’s this house he gave me. I think I need to sell it. Like, immediately. I don’t know if legally I have to live here for an amount of time first, but-”

“I’m sorry, what are you talking about?” Mrs Quentin asked. “What’s this about a house?”

George felt his gut twist. “The house my dad left me. Colony Manor?”

He could hear Mrs Quentin tapping her fingernails. “Mr Honeydew, your father didn’t leave you any property. I should know, I helped execute his will and complete a full assessment of his assets. As I recall, he gave you and your mother very little.”

George’s gut twisted more. “I was told he didn’t know he had it. A man named Harold Ives said he’d inherited it, but that he had likely forgotten. Inherited it from some distant relative?” he clarified. It sounded absurd coming out of his mouth.

There was a pregnant pause. “Mr Honeydew, how much do you know about your father’s background?” she asked carefully.

“Um…” George searched his memory. “Not too much, honestly. He left my mother when I was eleven.”

“Right,” Mrs Quentin understood. “Well, I’ve never heard of this ‘Harold Ives’, but I can assure you that there wasn’t a spare property under your father’s name, inherited from a distant relative. He didn’t have any family save from you. He was an orphan, raised in the foster system.”

The twisting in George’s gut reached up to his heart.

“I don’t know who you spoke to, Mr Honeydew, but you really should-”

The line went dead.

George stared at the phone. He tried to hit the buttons for a dial tone, but got nothing. There was a sound, buzzing like an engine, maybe a car pulling up. His heart went cold and his courage failed him. He ran upstairs to retrieve a fire poker or anything else for a weapon. He made it to his bedroom and closed the door, picking up the poker, and stopping at his bed.

The buzzing was everywhere. Outside, above, below. It even felt like it was coming from inside his own head. It enshrouded him. He went to the window to look, and could tell there was a direction to the sound. It was coming from behind the house. Out in the woods.

A dark part of his brain guessed it was the direction of the tunnel.

He looked out, and despite it being night-time, it was like there was a heat haze over the trees. A shifting, changing, glinting mass. Glinting not like diamonds, but more like plastic or laminate. And the buzzing only grew louder.

With a slam, something smashed against the window. George fell back and looked up. He tried not to scream.

It was a giant beetle. Easily the size of his car, it scuttled heavily over the pane, its barbed feet scratching at the glass. Its shell was green, but its mandibles and underside were a dark bronze. And the mandibles were enormous and jagged, with a dozen tiny grasping limbs at the centre in place of teeth. The creature couldn’t turn its head, but an eye like a black marble swivelled in its socket. Its shell opened, and like a plane taking off, it buzzed away into the night… or more appropriately into the swarm. The gathering heat haze.

The dozens of other monstrous bugs which were now flying towards the house.

Survival instincts took over, and George sprinted from the room. Just in time, as he heard glass smash behind him. He sprinted downstairs, heading for the door. He’d run. He had to get out. He had to make it back to the city.

He sprinted for the front door, only for it to swing open as he approached.

Mr Ives was standing there. George stopped.

“You know, it is a shame you didn’t invite anyone up here,” Ives smiled, smoking a stinking cigar. “A feast was expected, but I guess a snack will have to do,” he grinned. From behind his back, he produced a jar filled with a viscous amber liquid. “My sincerest apologies, Mr Honeydew,” he said insincerely, still smiling, before throwing the jar into the lobby.

The jar shattered, the sweet stink filling the room. The bugs followed. They ignored Ives in his smoke cloud, and a half dozen surged into the lobby. One ate the jar whole, glass and all, while the others spied fresh meat and began scuttling towards George.

George sprinted back, running to the only room ahead, the kitchen. As he passed the basement door, he heard buzzing coming from below, mandibles coming up the stairs. He threw himself into the kitchen, and in a panic threw everything he could in front of the doors. The table, the chairs, the fridge.

Chitinous shells pounded at the door, buckling the wood, but not breaking it. There were windows, but the bugs didn’t seem concerned by them. Not the big ones anyway. He couldn’t see out for the smaller beetles, clouding over the windows.

As he looked about, the lights went out as the power failed. He heard the bugs scuttling through the house looking for food, wood creaking, legs breaking banisters.

And George bundled into a corner, not sure what to do, as the insects battered against the door.

* * *

Three days passed, and George was starving. He’d run out of food on day one, but the swarm showed no signs of abating. Little ones swarmed his windows, morning, noon, and night. The bigger ones would batter at his door if he ever made a noise above a whisper.

But he had a plan.

The last thing the camper had done was douse the fire. Ives always smoked those sickening cigars. Smoke. Smoke drove them away. He just needed smoke.

All he had was a dining table, a tablecloth, a broken fridge, and anything else in the kitchen. The power was out, so no electricity to start a fire, but he could find some flammable cleaning chemicals. All he needed was a spark. And there were matches for the gas hob.

Wrapping the tablecloth around the end of a table leg, he held it ready, a torch doused in chemicals. It would never last. It would never hold until he reached the city. But there wasn’t a choice. He had to go.

As he struck the match, a thought occurred.

If the bugs couldn’t get to him, where would they go?

The city wasn’t so far away.

[anonymousfiction211]

Handcuffed together

Summary: Loki and you hate each other, but are both part of the Avengers. They are fed up with you two fighitng all the time and hancuff you together, so you can learn to tolerate each other.  Word count: 3.132 words Warnings: Smut, dubious consent (it is consentual, but not specificly said), angry Loki, degrading  A/N: Based on a idea from @the-best-phineas. Hope you like it! If anyone has an idea, or suggestion just let me know :)

Click here for chapter 2 Click here for chapter 3

With a loud click the handcuff around your wrist closed. You immediately tried to unlock the cuff, but it wouldn’t give. “Like that would work” Loki commented. You gave him a glare but turned your attention back to Tony. “Seriously, this is not necessary. Give us another chance” you begged him. “Look, we are all sick of the two of you constant fighting, it is effecting the team and the missions we’re on. And all that magic-crap makes everything worse. So, until the two of you can tolerate each other you’re cuffed together. And you’re both not allowed on missions before you finish this one” You sighed heavily but knew that arguing more was futile.

“I must say, you’re taking this better than I thought you would” Tony said to Loki. “Escaping handcuffs isn’t that difficult, Stark” Loki replied. Tony secured the cuff on Loki’s wrist. He then walked hastily to the door. “Oh, one more thing. These handcuffs are designed so you can’t use your powers” Tony said and quickly exit the room. Loki immediately tried to escape his cuff with magic, but nothing was happening. You tried as well, but got the same result, nothing. You met his eyes, which were full of anger. “I thought escaping from handcuffs wasn’t that difficult” you said sarcastically. Loki didn’t break eye contact. The anger was radiating off him, you swore you could physically feel it. He didn’t say anything but turned around and walked away. When you didn’t move he yanked at his side of the cuffs and you were forced to take a few steps in his direction. “What the… LOKI..” you started angrily, but he didn’t react. He kept walking while ignoring you. Right now, you had no other choice than to follow him, trying to keep up.

He pushed his bedroom door open with so much force, you thought it would break. He walked towards his bookcase and was taking out different books, flipping through them. You had enough and yanked at the handcuffs, making the book in his hand fall on the ground. “STOP. WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING” you yelled at him. He gave you his angriest look, the one he said he reserved specially for you, because he never met anyone who was as stupid and annoying as you were. And that included his oaf of a brother. “I am finding a way to free myself from you” he spat. “So, just stand there and try not to get in the way” he turned his attention back to the bookcase. “You can’t just walk away and drag me along” you grumbled. “Apparently I can” he said with a sly small on his face. You yanked at the cuffs again, making Loki drop his book again. He turned to face you, grabbed your throat with the cuffed hand and pushed you hard against the wall behind you. Your scream was cut off by his other hand covering your mouth. He wasn’t chocking you, but the tightness off his grip wasn’t comfortable enough for you to relax. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, which was weird. It shouldn’t.

He pulled his hand away from your mouth after standing there for what felt like eternity. “Look, I’m much stronger than you are. So, I’m going to find a way to free myself. The only thing you have to do is staying out of my way” he growled. He let go of your throat, but still stood extremely close to you. “Yeah, this whole act doesn’t scare me” your voice hoarser than you would have liked. Loki chuckled “Look, when you had your powers you had some sort of defense, even tough it was weak. Without your powers.. you don’t stand a chance against me” You slapped him hard across his face. His face turned sideways, but his cheek didn’t show any red mark. He slowly turned his head to face you, giving you a wicked smile that sends chills trough your body. He didn’t say anything, just stared at you. But both of you knew, you had just proofed his point.

The rest of the morning you two sat on his bed. Loki was busy reading different books and he sometimes grumbled in annoyance. You were playing a game on your phone, trying to ignore him. Loki snaped his book shut and threw it across the room. You looked up from your phone “I assume the search is not going well then?” you couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at his frustration. “Just shut up, it’s not like you are any useful” he replied. He sighed and laid down on his bed. His put his cuffed hand on his chest, which meant that your hand also touched his chest. When he felt your hand, he puts his hand down beside him, pretending it didn’t happen. “We could pretend to like each other for this afternoon, and we surely will be free before dinner” you said. Loki didn’t reply. He sighed heavily “Fine” he muttered. He got up from the bed, which mean that you had to crawl to his side to get up as well. When it took to long he grabbed your arm and pulled you to your feet in front of him. Not anticipating this move, you stumbled and fell into his chest. His free hand immediately grabbed you by your hip to steady you. A weird feeling was spreading from your hip through your body, you couldn’t quite place it. When he dropped his hand you still felt his touch. “Shall we?” he said. You nodded and followed him towards the living room. But there was no one there. Loki walked towards the kitchen, with you close behind him. There was a note on the kitchen table.

Loki and (Y/N), The team had to leave for a mission. We will be back in two days. Don’t kill each other. - Natasha

Loki crumbled up the piece of paper and threw it through the kitchen. “Great, just great. Two day stuck with you” he said angrily. “Lucky me, two days in the presence of a god” you replied with as much sarcasm as you could. Loki gave you an angry glare, which you ignored. He stormed out of the kitchen, yet again dragging you along. After a few steps you yanked at the cuffs and halted in your track. “Look, we both want nothing more than the be free of each other. But we’re at least stuck with each other for two day, so how about some rules?” you started. Loki didn’t say anything but nodded.

“First, discussing where we are going, no more dragging me along and doing whatever you want” you started.

“No talking unless absolutely necessary” Loki replied.

“No more threats, or throat grabbing”

“No more punching”

“How about no touching of any form?” you said.

“Fine by me. Also, no more singing. You are really bad at it”

“No more insulting me!!” you half yelled

“Don’t make insulting you so easy then!”

There was a long silence. “We sleep in my room” Loki said. “IF you behave this day, I MIGHT consider letting you sleep in the bed” you rolled your eyes at that comment. “I accept that we sleep in your room, but only IF I sleep in the bed too. Otherwise, we sleep in my room” you said. He smirked “If you weren’t so insufferable I might even enjoy this little negotiation” You couldn’t help but smile at his comment “same for me” you replied.

The rest of the afternoon went by rather peacefully. Loki was reading books and you were watching a series on tv. There was one awkward moment when you had to use the toilet, but you had to admit that Loki did his best to give you all the privacy you needed. So, you did the same when he had to go. Your stomach started to rumble, you were getting hungry. “Shall we order food?” you asked Loki. After a very long discussion you both finally agreed on Chinese food. In hindsight it wasn’t the best idea to eat Chinese food when you only have one hand. During dinner, your hands sometimes touched each other, by accident. But every time you felt his hand against yours spark like electricity shot through your body. You suddenly forgot how to breathe and didn’t know where this was coming from. You were hoping Loki didn’t notice and try to ignore the feeling.

After dinner things basically stayed the same. You put on a movie and halfway through Loki decided to watch it too. But none of you said a word to each other. After the movie you were getting tired. “Can we go to bed?” you asked. Loki nodded and the two of you walked to his bedroom. That was when things got a little awkward. You both turned your back towards each other when the other undressed. Loki had pulled down his pants and his shirt, which was now hanging on the chain of the cuffs. You were currently undressing yourself, getting rid of your own pants and pulling your T-shirt over your head, hanging it next to Loki’s on the chain. You currently were in a bra and thong, mentally slapping yourself for not thinking this through this morning. Worst off all was that it was in dark green, which was a colour you wore often before Loki joined the team. When Loki turned around you saw his eyes roam your body, suddenly you felt extremely exposed. You noticed that Loki was more muscular than you thought, if he were any other man on the planet you would have thought his body was attractive. You cleared your throat, snapping Loki’s eyes to meet yours. If you didn’t know any better you thought you saw a slight blush on his cheeks.

He walked towards his doors and turned down the light. His room was completely dark, and you couldn’t see a thing anymore. You heard Loki walk and felt your hand pulled towards his direction. You were hesitant to move, not wanting to trip or bump into something. “Why are you not moving?” Loki asked annoyed. “I- I can’t see a thing” you replied. Loki walked closer to you, his free arm grabbed your shoulder, and he took your cuffed hand with his. You flinched from the sudden touch, not expecting it. “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you” he said. “I know, you just startled me” you replied. He guided you towards his bed and let you get in first. “Thanks” you whispered. “Just go to sleep” he replied. But sleep did not come easily. It was difficult to find a comfortable position, because of the handcuffs. But somehow you managed.

The light shining through the curtains woke you up. Loki was still fast asleep, he looked peaceful. He was laying on his side, facing you with his free hand underneath his head. His cuffed hand was on top of yours. You slowly moved your hand from underneath his. His eyes snapped open, and he looked at you. You were both silent. He cleared his throat “Breakfast?” he asked, you nodded. You both decided it was a good idea to make pancakes. However, cooking with handcuffs on was more difficult than anticipated. Especially since Loki wasn’t much of a cook. You got frustrated and told him to just get out of your way. You finally had the batter how you wanted and picked up the bowl to bring it near the stove. Loki, wanting to get out of your way, choose the wrong direction making the two of you bump into each other. You lost your grip on the bowl and it fell on the ground.

“Seriously?!” you asked angrily. “It’s not my fault you don’t watch where you’re going” Loki replied equally angry. “Why are you incapable of just admitting you’re not perfect and say sorry?”

“Why do you always look to me when someone has to take blame for your actions?” he spat back.

“You are the most insufferable person I’ve ever met!”

“God” Loki corrected.

“What?”

“I’m not a person, I’m a God!”

“Some God you are, you can’t free yourself, you can’t even make your own pancakes” you replied sarcastically.

“I suggest you chose your next words very carefully” he warned you.

You being you, decided to ignore the warning. “You might think yourself a God, but you are the only one who does” you said, knowing it would get some sort of reaction out of him. Loki used to cuffs to spin you around, your back against his chest. His cuffed arm was around your throat and his free hand around your stomach, holding you in place. “If you don’t shut up know, I make you” he whispered in your ear with a dangerous tone in his voice. Your whole body felt on fire, yet again. Before you knew that you did it, you pressed your ass against his groin. “Oh, you like this don’t you?” he purred in your ear. “Shut up and let me go” you said, trying to squirm out his grip. “No, you want this” he said.

“I don’t” you replied.

“That’s a lie”

“Like you would know. You may have the title God of Lies, but like we established... you’re no God” you laughed.

“I don’t need to be the God of Lies to know. You heart rate is up, your pupils yesterday dilated when you saw me shirtless, and your voice is higher. And the best thing is, your needy body betrays you” he laughed back.

You had enough. You kicked the back of your foot against his shin, but Loki didn’t even flinch. “Bad choice, kitten” he said. Without warning his teeth sunk into your neck. Instead of making your scream it made you moan louder than you would have liked. His hand on your stomach travelled downwards, going straight for your core. He cupped your heat with his hand and one of his fingers strokes between your folds. Revealing that you indeed were turned on, and already extremely wet. “Hmm.. such a needy slut you are” he hummed. You wanted to protest, you should protest, but alle words had escaped you. Your breathe was ragged and you knew you what was going to happen.

Loki spun you around, pushing your upper body on the kitchen counter. He held his cuffed hand in your hair, forcing your hand behind your back and your head down. You tried to squirm away, but Loki wouldn’t budge. “We both know you can’t escape and we both know you don’t want to. So now I’m going to fuck you, maybe you think twice next time you talk to me like that” he growled. His free hand hovered over the buttons of your pants and in one smooth motion he opened them. He pulled your pants down, caressing your butt. Goosebumps were starting to form, and you felt yourself grow wetter from his touch. Loki had freed his erection through his zipper, still wearing his pants. He stroked his shaft up and down your slid. Slightly dipping through your folds, coating himself in your wetness.

Without warning he thrusted inside of you, making you cry out in pleasure. He started thrusting in and almost out of you in a very quick pace. His cock filled you up completely, even reaching your g-spot when he was fully inside of you. You started to rock your hips, meeting his pace. “That’s it, good girl” he praised you. It made you blush and clench your walls around his cock. He left darkly at your reaction. You felt your orgasm starting to build up inside of you. Loki’s animalistic way of fucking you was becoming too much. Right before you reached your high you moaned out loud “Oh my God” Loki stilted deep inside of you. “What did you say, darling?” he mused. “I- .. just keep going” you replied, hoping he would let you come undone. He leaned his upper body over yours, his lips right by your ear. “Just repeat it, if you want to come of course” he purred. You didn’t respond and thought about giving up your climax. Loki slowly moved pulled out and back inside of you. He knew you were close and was using that against you at the moment. “What’s wrong, kitten? Usually you’re so talkative” he chuckled. He was keeping his slow pace, keeping you on the edge but not pushing you over it.

You groaned in frustration. “Fine, I said oh my God” you said annoyed. Loki picked his pace up slightly, but nowhere near how fast you needed him. “So, you do admit that I’m a God?” even tough you couldn’t see his face, you just knew he had his signature smirk on his face. “Yes” you said to gritted teeth. Loki just laughed “Now, was that so difficult?” before you could answer he was thrusting at a fast pace. To your surprise Loki himself was starting to moan slightly, muttering things under his breath about how tight you were and how good you feel around his cock. It didn’t take long before you reached your climax. When you reached your high you couldn’t help but cry out “Oh my God Loki” adding fuel to his thrusts. He came right after you.

He collapsed on top of you, leaving feather light kisses on your neck. He pulled out of you and handed you a kitchen towel to clean yourself up. You pulled up your underwear and pants, not being able to look Loki in his eyes. You grabbed another bowl and started on a new pancake batter. Loki stood right behind you, hands on either side of you. He was nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck. “If I knew this would shut you up, I would’ve done it much sooner” he mused. “That was a one-time thing, don’t get any ideas. I still hate you” you replied. “Oh no, new rule. Every time you anger me, I’m going to fuck you like the slut you are” You knew it shouldn’t, but you felt yourself get excited again. “It’s only for a day and a half, so I just won’t make you angry” you replied dryly. Loki laughed “Kitten, even if we’re free from these cuffs I am still going to fuck you. You laid with a God and now you’re mine” You scoffed “That’s not how it works” Loki pulled you closer against his chest and cupped your breast with his free hand. He chuckled when you gasped and closed your eyes. “It is. By the time, the team is back, you will worship me like you should”

Click here for chapter 2

[mycorrhizastar]

Get used to seeing these two!

Sol and Nyx are a pair of demon hunting lesbians who I thought up back in 2020. Their story is what will be replacing Star Trip as my next long form project once Star Trip ends this year. Although rather than a webcomic, their tale will be a series of illustrated novels.

(Image descriptions under the cut)

Image 1: A digital drawing of two women. The one of the left (Sol) is tall with warm brown skin and curly golden hair tied back into a ponytail and pitch black eyes. She is wearing a big winter jacket with a fur hood, a cowl around her neck, a cream and green tunic, slacks, boots, and gloves. She is holding a large sword, almost as tall as she is, in her right hand. The sword is pointed downwards, resting with its point in the ground. It has a red cloth wrapped around its hilt. The woman on the right (Nyx) is shorter than Sol and has dark brown skin, black hair, And bright yellow eyes with purplish blue highlights. She is dressed in a dark grey cape with a hood, which is pinned together at the front, a long grey tunic, which is cinched around the waist with a cord of rope, long johns, which she wears under her tunic, a pair of boots, and finger-less gloves. She also has a side bag slung across her chest. Her left hand is extended and lightning/electricity the same colour as her eyes circle it.

Image 2: A page full of black and white sketches of Sol (taller woman with light curly long hair) and Nyx (shorter woman with short dark hair). Top left to right: Sol holding Nyx as if she is an angry cat and Nyx depicted as such with little cat ears on her head pointing backwards and a furiously swishing cat tail. Both Sol and Nyx standing in profile facing the left with Nyx nestled under Sol’s right arm, which is wrapped around the back of Nyx’s shoulders protectively while held in Sol’s right hand is a long sword. Nyx in an aggressive stance and a furious look on her face as lightning crackles from her hands, her right hand with the palm open held away from her body and her left in a fist at her side.Bottom right to left: A half body sketch of Sol facing 3/4 to the right with a grin on her face as she glances to the left, her right hand raised to chin in the ASL sign for “Lesbian.” A bust sketch of Nyx in profile facing towards the right and two small bolts of lightning emanate from her head. A small bust sketch of both Sol (smiling) and Nyx (frowning).

Image 3: More black and white sketches of Sol and Nyx. From left to right. Nyx crouched on the ground with her arms wrapped around her knees as she glances to her left. At the upper middle of the page, a bust drawing of Nyx looking disdainfully down at the viewer as she says “tch!” Bottom middle another drawing of Nyx, this time half body, she is looking up at the viewer with her arms crossed and a disdainful sneer while small sparks of symbolic lightning emit from her head. Far right, a half body drawing of both Sol and Nyx where Sol has patted Nyx on the head to calm her down, which Nyx does so with a small grumpy frown and a blush on her cheeks.

Image 4: Yet another page full of black and white sketches that could be read as a comic from left to right depicting Sol and Nyx fighting demons. Far left image depicts a sketch of Nyx in that one meme of Marge Simpson with her left fist raised and her eyes narrowed in contemplation, the word balloon pointing to Nyx reads “It seems I am filled with RAGE.” Centre image is of Nyx on the back of a large demon, the two of them facing the right in profile. Nyx has her hands held against the demon’s head as she zaps it with lightning magic and the demon opens its mouth as if crying out in pain.Top right image is a small sketch of Nyx spitting on the remains of the demon she just killed. The demon’s disintegrating body is reduced to just part of their frowning face.Bottom right is small sketch of Sol facing towards the left but looking over her shoulder to the right at what Nyx is up to. There is a concerned look on her face as she says “Hmmm…” and cleaves the head off a frowning demon using her long sword.

Image 5: A coloured digital drawing of Sol and Nyx. Nyx is standing facing the viewer with a frown on her face, orange lightning arcing menacingly between her hands. Sol stands behind her, her large sword held behind her head by her right hand. Sol looks down at the viewer with a smile on her face.

Image 6: A comic in the vein of a Buzzfeed Unsolved skit. Panel 1: a crop of just Sol and Nyx’s heads, Sol has her left hand raised next to her mouth and  yells “Fuck you, demon!” while next to her Nyx shouts “SOL!!” At her in shock. Panel 2: A wide shot of the two women standing on a bridge, facing the viewer, Sol looks ready to fight while Nyx looks anxious. Behind them, partially obscured by the mists, is a large horned demon, shadowy in colour with glowing orange eyes and mouth. Neither woman is aware of the demon. Sol says “If you want me off this bridge you’re gonna have to kill me!” Nyx says “Have you lost your mind??”

Image 7: A black and white sketch of Sol and Nyx depicting another Buzzfeed Unsolved meme/skit. They are sitting next to each other at a desk. Sol is leaning back a bit with an unconcerned look on her face. Both her hands are raised with her elbows resting on the desk and she is pointing both index fingers up. Next to Sol, Nyx looks irritated and is pointing at her with an accusing finger.

Sol: I’ve connected the two dots.

Nyx: You didn’t connect shit.

Sol: I’ve connected them.

[inkykeiji]

i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back

character: dabi | todoroki touya

notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao  uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use

words: 7.1k

part 2.1 | part 2.2

synopsis:

“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

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Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.

She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.

You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.

It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.

It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.

You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.

But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?

You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.

He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.

Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.

The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.

It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.

The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.

He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.

He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.

✰          ✰          ✰          

To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.

This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.

You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.

Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.

You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.

Touya must have a lot of things imported.

You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.

After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…

You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.

You don’t ask—no one ever does.

You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.

You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.

The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.

You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”

You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.

Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”

“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.

So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.

“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”

It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.

And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.

It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.

And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.

Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.

Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.

Who are you to deny him that, really?

✰          ✰          ✰          

The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.

He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.

You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.

You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.

Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.

Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.

His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.

“You had niichan worried,”

You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”

Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. “Oh, we’re—”

“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”

Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.

Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.

“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.

He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I…I did?”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”

“Wh-What?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.

“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.

But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.

“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.

“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”

“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”

“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.

“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.

“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”

His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.

Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.

A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.

Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.

It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.

“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”

The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.

A nightmare.

You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.

You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…

Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.

That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.

Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.

He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

“Princess? What is it?”

You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.

“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”

You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.

But he plays along.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”

Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.

“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.

Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.

“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.

You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.

These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.

Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.

His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.

Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.

It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.

“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”

You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.

“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”

You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”

He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.

“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”

Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.

“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”  

He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.

Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.

And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?

“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”

Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”

And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?

Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.

“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.

Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”

He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”

Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.

Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”

Of course. Of courses you do.

Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.

“But you gotta get it wet first,”

You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.

He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.

They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.

He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.

Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.

“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.

You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.

But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.

He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.

“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.

He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.

And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?

Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.

By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.

“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.

As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.

He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.

But eventually, he returns.

The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…

He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.

And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.

With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.

“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.

“So what if I am?”

“What did you take?”

“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”

Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.

“Can I try some?” you ask instead.

All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”

Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.

He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.

“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”

“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.

You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.

“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”

You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.

“Wh-What?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”

Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.

Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.

“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.

“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”

You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.

Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.

A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.

The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.

You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.

His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.

“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.

He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.

Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.

Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.

You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”

He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.

But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.

And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.

“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.

He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”

[otonymous]

Fever Dreams (MLQC Gavin - NSFW)

Description: Gavin lets you in on the contents of his wet dreams… Warnings: NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: mentions of IV lines, hospitals, minor injuries, brief mentions of trauma, Eli’s sense of impending doom, vaginal intercourse, profanity, masturbation Word Count: ~3K words (~15 mins of sweet, sweet hospital lovemaking 🤣) Author’s Notes: Close your eyes.  Imagine that Gavin is by your side — muscles flexed and lips so close they practically brush against the shell of your ear when he whispers the following:

“I hope you enjoy this fic, which was based on and inspired by Gavin’s Whispers/Biting The Ear (咬耳) ASMR from the CN server, beautifully translated by the incredibly talented and gracious @cheri-translates​.” 🤣

In all seriousness, I’m extending a massive THANK YOU to the sweet @cheri-translates​ for providing me with the awesome goods that literally left me breathless!  This fic would not have been possible without you! 💕 With that being said, hope you all enjoy it and happy reading! 🥰

👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼

It was easy to forget at times; that Gavin was made of flesh and bone like everyone else.

That lionhearted though he was, the man wasn’t invincible, no matter what he would have you believe: hiding winces behind smiles and brushing off bruises blooming blue like they were nothing at all.

It was little wonder then that when the phone rang that night, it was Eli’s voice on the other line.  And as you stood before the bathroom mirror, wrapped in nothing but a towel and watching the colour drain from your face, the stilted manner of his speech made it increasingly clear he was unused to delivering bad news.

“I’m gonna kill him when I see him,” Gavin swears under his breath, the hand with the IV drip attached pulling into a tight fist by his side.

Now you understood why.

“They’re making a fuss over nothing, keeping me in hospital for observation.  It’s just a few scratches.”

Amber eyes train in your direction, the earnestness in their tender depths melting the edge of the anger you felt at always being the last to know anytime your lover got hurt.  And when he tries to smile despite the bulky bandage plastered on his left cheek, your resistance falters.

“ ‘They’re making a fuss over nothing.’  I bet you’d say that even if you were missing a limb, Gavin Bai.”  

Suddenly exhausted by the anxiety that made you rush to the Special Task Force hospital upon receiving Eli’s call, you slump into the chair at his bedside, still annoyed but relived to find that he was well enough to laugh at your sarcasm.

“Hmm, I must be in a lot of trouble if you’re calling me by name like that.”  

Smirk spreading on that handsome face, his eyes take on a mischievous twinkle that makes him altogether impossible to resist.  You couldn’t help but think of that rough and tumble high school senior who threw furtive glances in your direction every time he walked past in the halls, lip cut and face bruised.  

“Come.  It’s too late to go home now and you can’t sleep on the chair like that.  Join me on the bed.”

Voice breaking through your reverie, Gavin holds out the hand that wasn’t hooked to the drip — large, strong and inviting.  You hesitate, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you look towards the door.  

“I-I really shouldn’t.  We’re in a hospital and there won’t be enough room for the two of us.  You, especially, need a good night’s sleep, being injured—”

Three dull pats sound in quick succession to interrupt you.  Turning your head, you see Gavin scooting to one side of the bed, hand beckoning towards the newly vacated space.  “The beds here are larger than the ones in your average hospital.  STF perk, I guess.  But if you insist on refusing then…I guess I’ll just have to accompany you in sleeping sitting up—”

Relenting with a click of the tongue, you snatch the pillow from his grasp just as he begins propping it up behind his back, sliding it beneath his head as you gingerly crawl in next to him.

“That’s my girl.”

Gavin’s whisper is electric in your ear, low and seductive in a way that made you question the innocence of his motives, wondering if he was already aware of the sensations his body pressed to the side of yours was eliciting.  His lips curve in a smile on your forehead, breath dancing hot across skin.  And when he reaches for you, the sight mesmerizes: long, tapered fingers smoothing slow along the strands of your hair.

“Eli must’ve called while you were still in the shower.  You didn’t even have time to dry your hair, did you?  Look at how wet it is.”

And though you were on the verge of telling him that it wasn’t only your hair that was wet, you thought better of it.  There was a heaviness in his tone, weighed down by the concern that inevitably arose every time Gavin thought you weren’t taking care of yourself: encouraging you with bites of the BBQ pork rice he brought in takeout containers whenever you skipped meals during late nights at the office, draping his jacket over your shoulders when you shook from the cold — having decided on form over function in a lightweight but pretty new dress worn especially to impress on date nights.

“Don’t worry, it’s almost dry anyway.”

“Hmm.”  Faint displeasure taints his acknowledgment, but you close your eyes to the furrow in his brows, unable to focus on anything other than the touch of his fingers on your skin — calloused tips tracing the line of your jaw to traipse over the chin until finally coming to rest on your lower lip.  He is so close you can feel the tail end of your exhalation being drawn into Gavin’s next breath when he says:

“I know I really scared you this time.  I’m sorry.  I was careless, but it won’t happen again.  Please don’t be mad, okay?”

Eyes opening to the sight of his, you study the specks of gold embossed in amber, beautifully familiar.  See your reflection in the dark pupils holding your face in loving regard.  Felt your heart chill at the thought of Gavin one day not returning home.  And when the sting of tears arrives to redden the tip of your nose, you turn away, unwilling to add to his burdens with your own.

“All I ask…is that you be open with me.  I know you want to protect me, Gavin.  You don’t want me to worry.  But it’s much worse to have to guess about whether or not you’re lying just to be kind.  I’m a grown woman and your partner, so please don’t handle me with kid gloves.  Let me take care of you too, sometimes.”

Staring at the patterns on the curtain drawn around the bed, you listen for the rhythm of his breath — slow and even in the ensuing silence and punctuated only by the intermittent beeps of machinery, the weight of your concerns slowly sinking in before he finally relents.

“Okay.  I won’t keep anything from you anymore.  I promise.  So please…could you let me just…”  

A hand wraps around your waist, grip firm yet gentle as he pulls you close beneath the thin sheet.  You feel his mouth on the nape of your neck, Gavin’s kisses falling hot and insistent between muffled words.

“…hold you, like this?”

Nodding, you bite your lip, barely suppressing a moan to feel his fingers crawl beneath your shirt; warming themselves on the soft skin of your belly, tracing circles about the navel.

“Seven days.  It’s been…hmm…seven days since I’ve last held you.  It’s too long.”

The last statement is breathed into the curve of your neck and shoulder, your boyfriend inhaling deeply as he buries his face into the space, the embrace around you tightening as if touch alone could communicate all the longing he wasn’t quite able to put into words.

“It was a difficult mission.  I couldn’t sleep.  And anytime I did, I would dream of you.  Always of you.  Want to know what we did?”

Cotton-mouthed, you resort to nodding again.

“Then be a good girl and turn around first.  I want…need to see you…that’s good.  In my dreams, we’d be together, just like this.  I’d have you in my arms, so close I could feel every inch of your body…how hot it is…just like now.  No, don’t move away.  I like it. I’ve got a fever, but I’m also feeling chilled.  I want your heat.”

Those amber eyes are dark now, half-lidded and veiled with lust — proof that Gavin’s increasingly shallow breathing was not an exaggeration.  It was a look you recognized; the expression his handsome face wore the moment he saw you again after a mission had kept him away for too long.  It typically resulted in entire weekends spent in bed, limbs entwined as Gavin made love to you over and over again.

Until you were boneless and spent.  

Until your lover was satisfied that he was thoroughly reacquainted with every curve of your body.

You reach for him: trembling fingers tracing the line of his brow, thumb circling the apple of his cheek.  Gavin closes his eyes, exhalation shaky as he nuzzles into your palm to lay a kiss on that, too.

“Your touch feels cool on my skin.”

“Oh!  I’m sorry—”

“No.  Don’t be.”  Fingers curling about the wrist that pulled back, Gavin gently guides your hand towards his forehead.  “It’s nice.  I like it.  But…my back is warm too.  Do you think you could help me lower the temperature there?”

Swallowing, you start to inch your hands towards the open back of his hospital gown.  Gavin softly groans to feel your fingers running along the ridge of his shoulder blades, caressing defined muscles and faded scars you had committed to memory long ago.

“Is this all right?”

Now his turn to nod, Gavin’s head drops back, accentuating the bob of his prominent Adam’s apple in that strong, thick neck.

“I’m...ah…also feeling hot here.”

Large palms fall over the back of your hands, guiding them over his rib cage until they find themselves on the hard muscles of Gavin’s abdomen.  Thighs pressing together beneath your skirt, you trace that defined V-line — touch featherlight in a way that draws out a shudder, goosebumps blooming across the expanse of Gavin’s skin.

Suddenly, you freeze to hear footsteps approaching in the hallway beyond the door.  And just when you start to pull away, Gavin stops you with a whisper:

“Don’t worry.  The nurse has already been in to check on me tonight.  They won’t be back again, unless…unless they see that my heart rate has become unusually high.”

He winks.

“Besides, if they find you here, I’ll just say that, um…I’m afraid of sleeping by myself in the dark.”

That smirk again.  You wonder at what point your boyfriend had become so cheeky, knowing just the right things to say to get his way.

“Could you help me?  I’m burning up…right here.”

Lower and lower, he guides your hands, leaving them to their own devices when they reach the waistband of his boxers.  Barely breathing, you watch as the expression on his face transforms from anticipation to euphoria the moment you slip past the elastic, fingers circling his hardened length with a loose grip.

“Officer, you weren’t lying!”

Gaze already heavy with want, the chuckle Gavin lets out in response has never sounded so sexy.  “It’s because I’m running a fever.  Or perhaps…it’s because I’m thinking of you.  Do you think we should…make it even hotter?”

You wet your lips, feeling Gavin twitch in your hand at the sight; feel the vein pulsing on the underside of that thick shaft as he continues to swell in size.  Firming up your grip, you begin to stroke in earnest, trying to maintain your rhythm despite the distraction of your own throbbing pussy, despite the way you grew increasingly wet to envision him sliding into your depths, satin panties clinging to the lines of your folds.

Smoothing your thumb over the liquid arousal beading at the tip of his cock, you draw wide, slick circles over velvet skin — paying especial attention to the ridge just below the swollen head because you loved how Gavin sounded when caught in the throes of ecstasy.  It pleased you to pleasure him — the man who never thought twice about putting you before himself.

Always so strong, always fearless, you loved to watch him fall apart.  Over you.  Beneath you.  In you.  Held in the palm of your hand or folded to your embrace.  You could feel the tension leaving his body — worn out and battered — each time he returned to your side from a mission, the trauma of all the things he couldn’t talk about seeping from every pore as you sought to show him love with the swing of your hips, the kisses you showered upon his sweat-soaked face.  With the normalcy only the simplicity of a home-cooked meal could restore.  “I love you,” he’d smile and say, amber eyes blinking once, twice…as if Gavin couldn’t quite believe you were real.  “I really do.”

“This is the first time someone has stayed with me in the hospital, let alone shared my hospital bed.” Gavin’s voice is low, thick with emotion in between shuddering gasps elicited by each tug along his length.  “Who would’ve thought that...even at a time like this…I’d be lucky enough not to be alone.”

“I’d never let you be lonely,” you say with a sudden vehemence that surprises even you.  “Never again.”

He smiles, gentle eyes glistening when his large hand approaches to cup your face.  Gavin touches you as if holding something of infinite importance, “Angel” falling from his lips in a soft utterance.

“I don’t think I can sleep tonight.  I don’t want to.  What about you?  Will you…stay up with me?…Help my fever break—”

You kiss him deeply, swallowing his words even as your tongue pushes past teeth to meet Gavin’s in reunion.  You had missed him; missed the way he tasted, the hint of mint that lingered in the breath you shared, as if your very lives were as entwined as your bodies in embrace.

To lose him was to lose yourself.  

And so, you give yourself over to the man who gave so much and asked for so little in return.

“Then I won’t sleep either.  I want to stay with you.”

Throwing one last glance at the door, you rise to your knees, skirt bunching at the waist as you straddle his hips.  Eyes wide, Gavin starts to move before you stop him, saying “Let me” as you push him back onto the bed before the IV line could pull taut.

You loved how Gavin looked at you, the artless way he wore his heart on his sleeve — showing in the pink of his cheeks, the blush creeping all the way to the tips of pierced ears.  It was a side of him only you were privy to; unguarded and unfiltered.  He watched you now, those amber eyes lit with a dark hunger to follow the motions of your hands: one pulling dampened panties aside as the other spreads glistening lips, guiding his cock along the length of your slit before you ease yourself onto his hard heat.  

Unable to stop the moan that escapes, you slide…lower and lower…until the flesh of your buttocks meets the muscular plane of his pelvis.  But the sensation continues — electricity spreading towards the very pit of the stomach to curl your spine, chest opening to receive all of his love.

Breathing barely controlled, Gavin bites hard on his lip in a bid to stay quiet, unwilling to attract the attention of curious staff.  “God, you feel so good.  I just…just want to move.”

“No, let me…let me be the one to take care of you this time.  Please.”

For the second time that night, Gavin relents, yielding to your exquisite torture even as he fought to leash the animal impulse that spurred him to rip free of the machinery and fuck you until the bed collapsed.  Hands clenching tight around the bedsheet, his knuckles grow white, as if the flimsy fabric were a lifeline keeping him from being swept away each time you lifted and lowered yourself onto him.

For everything about you drove him mad, from the tight, grinding circles you drew with your hips whenever he was fully sheathed, to the clenching embrace of your arousal-slicked walls that held him like no other, as if the entirety of you were created with him in mind.  Or, at least, it was a fantasy he harboured; to think that fate had a hand in ordaining you his sole queen, and him, forever your humble servant.

“Ahh, Gavin!…I…you’re so deep, I’m com—”

You don’t get to finish before your mind blanks.  All you could focus on was the sudden grip of Gavin’s hands on your hips and the shift of your weight forwards when his knees draw up, giving your lover the proper leverage to pound hard and fast into you from below until your arousal pools to drench those six-pack abs.

It nearly overwhelms you; the orgasm that makes you collapse onto Gavin’s chest, the contractions that hit like tidal waves moving through your body.  They spur him on, continuing to fuck you so hard the bed shook, each and every thrust hitting just the right, swollen spot to keep you elevated on that high.  And when you whisper

“I love you”

before your tongue extends to suck the lobe of his ear into your mouth, the tension building in the taut muscles of that perfect body breaks.  

You hear your name leave his lips in a deep moan, feel him leave a part of himself in the secret space between your legs.  Taste the salt of his sweat on kisses laid upon the pulse of his neck.  Waited for his racing heart to slow before telling yours it was okay to do the same.

And when his arms wrap tightly around your body, “I love you, too” returned with palpable affection, you let yourself fall into slumber…knowing that even in dreams, Gavin would meet you there.

👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼

Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

[writer-ish]

the little things

pairing: mason x detective (grace bennett) word count: 3K words | rating: T (language)

summary: An exhausted and overworked Detective gets a sweet surprise. For Week 2, Day 6 of @wayhavensummer: Farmer's Market.

special note: After maybe a month or so of writing nothing (aside from 100-200 words here and there that, had they not been on a computer, I would have immediately crumpled them up and thrown them into a wastebasket), I sat down today and wrote this entire thing in a few hours. It is raw, unedited, and probably more reflective of my own personal state of mind than I'd like. That said, I am yeeting it into the tumblr void and then going out for the night - so uh, enjoy? be kind? and thank you for reading. ♥️

“Let’s go to the thing.”

Detective Grace Bennett looked up from her computer screen, her gaze blurry and unfocused, as she tried to parse together the words she’d just heard coming from the doorway to her office.

“The… thing?” she mumbled distractedly, digging the heels of her hands into her eye sockets in an attempt to violently will them to work properly. What time is it—? It must still be midnight or close to it—

Blinking rapidly, she watched as the numbers on the bottom of her computer screen came into a sort of unsettled, electric focus.

6:02 AM.

Fuck.

She had been working on her reports for seven fucking hours. All the way through the night. Once again, forgoing sleep in an attempt to pretend she had a grasp on all the things that she was responsible for - Detective of Wayhaven, Agency liaison, good friend, good daughter, good—

She looked up, remembering once more that she was no longer alone at the station.

Mason stood in the doorway, languidly leaning against its frame, arms crossed. To the casual observer, his posture was relaxed, his expression nondescript.

But Grace knew him well enough now to recognize the sharp keenness in his eyes. The way they took in every detail of her appearance, from the haphazardly tossed-up hair, to the rumpled blouse, to what she could only presume were lines of haggard exhaustion running through her features.

He could likely smell the day-old ice cold coffee by her side. The half-eaten ham sandwich crumpled beside it.

Again, his expression hardly belied a recognition of any of that. Instead, he appeared to simply be a person waiting patiently to hear the answer to a question he’d asked.

But somehow - she didn’t know how, and yet - Grace knew better.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh, pushing away from her desk. “What did you say again?”

“It’s Friday,” was his reply.

She inwardly groaned. Grace was not in the mood for riddles, and the enigmatic, indifferent phrasing of his response caused a surge of exhaustion-induced annoyance to flow through her body. Dropping her head into her hands, she took a deep breath.

Perhaps he took pity on her. Perhaps he realized that his typical reticent abruptness was not going to go over well this morning.

Whatever it was, Grace suddenly felt a hand on the back of her down-turned head. A light pat, then strong fingertips moving through the locks until they hit her scalp, kneading gently on contact.

She let out a soft groan, her shoulders wilting further, elbows almost giving out, as the painful yet pleasurable push of his fingers worked her sore and tired head and nape.

“The market thing,” he said softly after a moment, a moment in which she was certain she had become a barely-sentient pile of mush on top of her keyboard. “That they do in the square. It’s Friday. You like to go. I was going to take you.”

It took a moment for his words to penetrate the pleasure haze encompassing her weary brain, but when they did, she felt her body still.

He was offering to go to the Farmer’s Market with her?

It was true, she did enjoy going. Before the infiltration of Unit Bravo into their lives, her and Tina used to go together every week in the summer to peruse the wares and fresh produce of the local farmers—most coming from just outside the small city limits of Wayhaven, but others from even further away. There was always something delicious and fresh to purchase or some trinket that would catch their eye. Grace had lost count of the number of handmade soaps she’d impulsively bought, only to shove them under her bathroom sink and never use them.

But then, after the arrival of Unit Bravo, after Grace’s promotion, when things got busier - when things got more dangerous - she would find herself able to go less and less. If she did manage to make it out, she’d usually end up taking Nate with her for protection. It was the type of thing he enjoyed, too; just the concept of it, as well as the simple pleasure of a new experience. Plus, Mason had always refused to be caught dead anywhere near such a cacophonic plethora of different people, bright colours, and various smells.

So the fact that he was offering to take her today, now, was an incredibly unexpected development.

“Are you sure?” she asked, barely even trying to keep the disbelief out of her voice. She looked up at him, standing so closely to her, his hand still warm and comforting on the back of her neck. “You know it’s—the same, as it’s always been. Right?”

He snorted. “Yeah, I know. And yeah, I’m sure.”

“Alright, well—” She was about to acquiesce, self consciously taking her hair out of its messy bun and running her fingers through it in an ineffectual attempt to make it look presentable, but then she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the computer screen and groaned. Suddenly she felt a need to backtrack on her initial agreement.

“Honestly? I look wrecked, I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours, and I doubt I’d be very good company right now. Also, you hate the Farmer’s Market. Why torture us both?”

Even as the words left her mouth, she knew she was making excuses for his sake more than her own. The fact was, she’d gotten a surge of adrenaline at the idea of going now, on a quiet, cool summer morning, when things would just be opening up and most of the town was still sleeping—to get a nice hot coffee and a pastry. To pick up some strawberries and peaches. To look for a new candle or maybe another handmade tsotchke that she didn’t need to add to her already colourful and cheerfully cluttered space. And, most of all, to spend the time with Mason.

But still. She looked like shit and she knew he hated the thought of going - Why did he offer, then? her traitorous thoughts couldn’t help but wonder - so what was the point?

As though he could read her roiling thoughts - the fact that she wanted to go and the reasons why she thought they shouldn’t - he affected a frustrated sigh and leaned over her, bracing one hand on her desk and running the other from her neck down to her back.

“Get up, Detective.” With the one arm around her back, he hoisted her out of her seat. She found herself stumbling into the warm comfort of his chest, her cheek resting against the soft material of his black t-shirt.

Her hands grasped at the back of it as she steadied herself and she looked up at him, even closer now, chest to chest, their arms around each other. He leaned forward and her breath hitched slightly, but his lips only met the tip of her nose before he pulled back and held her at arm’s length.

“Change,” he commanded, pointedly looking at her wrinkled shirt and coffee-stained trousers, “and then meet me outside the station. You have three minutes.”

Still reeling from the playful kiss, she touched her nose lightly and watched him saunter out.

It took her a moment to snap back to reality and remember what she was supposed to be doing. “Right, clothes.”

In two-and-a-half minutes, she had stripped down, shoved her old clothes in her bag, and changed into the spare outfit she kept in the office: a winning combo of bicycle shorts and a light-grey oversized shirt with the words WAYHAVEN PD on it in large block letters. She’d ditched the heels, slipped on her spare runners, and did a quick rinse and spit into her old coffee cup with the mouthwash she kept in her desk “for emergencies” only, managing to meet Mason outside with thirty seconds to spare.

She caught him flick his cigarette to the ground before straightening up as she approached.

As she always did when she had the opportunity, she found herself admiring the view he provided - tall, broad-shouldered and sinewy, like a Hellenic sculpture come to life. His hair tumbled in dark waves towards his shoulders - he needed a cut, she thought to herself - his mouth naturally sullen, even when it was pulled to the side in a smirk, like it was in that moment. Hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, half-tucked into his standard black boots, which he still wore despite the heat that was already beginning to infiltrate the crisp morning air.

He looked like a goddamn supermodel, while she looked like she was taking her two-point-five children to soccer practice. She tugged self-consciously at her shorts.

“This is all I had—” she began apologetically as soon as she got close to him, but her words were cut off by his lips on hers.

All thoughts of self-consciousness vanished as she wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. She felt her feet leave the ground as he held her closer to him, his mouth tasting faintly of cigarettes and entirely of Mason, a combination that always managed to make her feel lightheaded. She couldn’t help the tiny moan that escaped from deep in her throat and he tightened his grip on her further, stroking her tongue with his, leaving her pulse racing in more places than one.

After a moment he set her down and pulled away, keeping one arm loosely wrapped around her shoulders.

“Better go now before we don’t go at all,” he said gruffly, leading her to her car.

By the time they got to the Farmer’s Market, the majority of the stands had opened, farmers and local merchants laying out their produce and wares.

All feelings of tiredness that had begun to seep into Grace’s consciousness on the drive over - Mason had generously offered to drive “this heap of crap”, as he’d put it, seeing how she was probably in no state to operate heavy machinery - vanished as they parked and approached the town square.

She looked up and watched as Mason appeared to brace himself, jaw tight, nostrils flaring.

“Hey.” He looked down at the sound of her voice, the feel of her hand resting gently on his chest. “Are you sure about this?”

She watched as his body appeared to physically drain of tension, his hitched-up shoulders gentling slowly downwards, his jaw unclenching, fists unfurling. His eyes closed briefly and he placed his hand over the one that still lay over his heart.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” His smirk came back to his lips slowly. “Let’s buy you some fruit.”

She laughed at the intentional absurdity of his remark, feeling something akin to joy bubble up in her chest. She knew better than to chalk it up to anything but sleep deprivation-induced delirium, but whatever it was, it was a high she was planning to ride for as long as she could before the inevitable crash.

They wandered through the colourful stalls, Mason waiting patiently as Grace felt for the good peaches, smelled the baskets of strawberries, picked through for the perfect cherries. He dutifully held the baskets and burlap bags she handed to him, shooing away her concerns about the smells or the feel of the scratchy material on his skin.

It was still early for Wayhaven and they were practically the only two there, aside from the people at their stands and Haley, as always, ready with her carafe of coffee and some fresh-baked pastries for selling.

Grace gratefully filled her cup with a smile, before noticing that Haley was gesturing her forward. Leaning in, she gave her friend a quizzical look.

“You guys are good now?” she whispered, nodding over Grace’s shoulder.

Grace turned in the direction Haley had gestured, her eyes catching on Mason. He was looking intently at a collection of wind chimes a few stalls down, his hands full of the fruits and goodies she’d acquired, a long baguette sticking out of one of the bags.

Her heart swelled at the sight of him, in that sharp, needful way it always did, a pleasure-pain that reminded her of the way he’d stroked her hair earlier. So necessary, so vital, so scary, so new: all these things that she held to be true about her feelings towards him. The knowledge that she needed him, perhaps—no, certainly more than he needed her, and the fear that it was all-too fleeting. Nothing more than just a memory, already half cooked.

“Yeah,” she said softly, feeling her mouth turn upwards into a smile she knew didn’t quite reach her eyes. “He’s—we’re good.”

Haley nodded, pleased, before offering Grace a cherry danish that she refused to accept payment for. Grace took another bracing sip of hot coffee and turned back to Mason, only to find he’d disappeared.

She meandered a bit through the remaining stalls, debated the necessity of yet another vanilla sandalwood candle or birthstone necklace, and glanced up more than occasionally to see if she could spot where he’d gone or if he was going to return.

Right at the point where she was starting to worry, the weariness of her wakeful hours suddenly threatening to catch up to her in the kind of hysteria that only exhaustion could create, he appeared.

He still carried her two baskets of fruit and a large burlap reusable shopping bag with that telltale baguette and a few other things she couldn’t even remember now, but in his arms was—

In his arms, he was holding—

Okay, she was crying.

Goddamn lack of sleep, she was actually fucking crying in the middle of the Farmer’s Market.

As soon as he got close enough to see her tears, he came to a dead stop and threw his hands up in the air, weighted down as they were.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” His tone was a mix of fond exasperation and abject disbelief at the sight of Grace, coffee in hand, forgotten danish dripping cherry filling onto the ground, blubbering like a baby in the midst of all the produce and plants.

But she couldn’t help it, damn it, because he’d gotten her flowers.

Her grouchy, hundred-year-old, vampire non-boyfriend, who hated Farmer’s Markets and crowds and flowers themselves, had gone off on his own and come back with a bouquet of sunflowers, delphiniums, lilacs, and daisies and Detective Grace Bennett—

Could.

Not.

Handle.

It.

She pressed her lips together tightly, just for another sob to escape.

“Jesus Christ, Gracie.” He gently put down everything he was holding to approach her, likely exhibiting extra caution because of how incredibly unhinged she must have appeared in that moment, before bracing his hands on her shoulders. “What the hell is the matter?”

“Honestly—” Her calm, mostly unwavering tone probably leant her an even more psychotic air, as she could feel the tears continue to streak down her cheeks. “—I’m just really tired, but also I really, really love those flowers.” She hiccuped. “So much.”

His face cleared of its worry and instead he shook his head, affectionate exasperation back in his expression. “You’re nuts, you know that?” He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. She leaned into him, partly from weariness and partly because she couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

He squeezed her tightly for a moment and then, bending over, he picked up her bags and the flowers as she scrubbed her face with her hands. He made to hand her the bouquet wrapped in plastic and newspaper, but when she reached for it, he suddenly pulled it back with a tsk-ing noise.

“No more crying, got it?” He pointed the flowers at her along with his warning.

She laughed, even as she felt the telltale tingle start in her nose once more.

“Yes, no more crying. I promise,” she added, making an X over her chest with her pointer finger. “Gimme.”

He passed her the bouquet, a soft smile on his lips as he watched her bury her face in the colourful blooms and take a big inhale.

“Magical,” she sighed happily, before looking up him. She could feel her eyes fill again and his own eyes narrowed, but she just smiled and shook her head. “Thank you.”

His expression softened and he gave her a nod. “Let’s go. Get you to bed.”

She made a teasing noise, a heckling gesture that acknowledged his innuendo, but he just snorted and shook his head.

“You, sweetheart, are sleeping for the next twelve hours. I don’t care how much you beg.”

“But you love it when I beg,” she whispered, resting her chin on his shoulder, then giggled as he looked at her in surprise.

“Are you drunk?” he asked incredulously and she couldn’t help but dissolve into giggles again.

“Just delirious, I think,” she said, wiping more tears - these ones from mirth, rather than an overwhelming feeling of adoration over a thoughtful gesture from a sort-of boyfriend - from her eyes. “But yeah. We should go.”

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, transferring her Farmer’s Market treasures to his other hand and wrapping his free arm around her shoulders so he could guide her out of the town square.

She looked up at him, this big, grouchy vampire man, so reticent to talk about his feelings and yet so quick to show her how much he cared in a million little ways: his nose subtly wrinkling from the smell of the flowers that he’d gotten for her, his tight hold on her purchases, his arm protectively around her shoulders, shielding her from the growing crowd and guiding her back to her car.

The way he kept looking down at her, eyes scanning her face for further outbursts.

The fact that he’d brought her here in the first place, simply because he knew it was something she liked.

Was she going to be okay?

“Oh yeah,” she said, laughing at his groan upon seeing tears well up in her eyes again. She shook her head to try and get her emotions in check, before standing up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. He shot her a disgruntled look that just made her laugh even harder.

A summer morning. The sights and sounds of the Wayhaven Farmer’s Market. Mason’s arm around her. All the tiredness, the endless work, the stress - it all just disappeared in that moment and Grace could only think of one word to describe how she felt.

“I’m perfect.”

- ☀️🍓💐 -

[rosyfingereddawnn]

i’ll follow the sun

pairing: jimmy page x reader

warnings: fluff fluff and more fluff. did i mention fluff?

words: 1.3k

summary: in an attempt to escape his rockstar life for a while, jimmy whisks you away to the countryside. waking up next to him might just be the best part of your little vacation.

author’s note: okay Hi everyone i’m so sorry i’m very inspired. a little note that heart of gold and that’s the way are still on, and i love you all. this was Literally based on a dream i had, so. enjoy :)) oh also hi @dazedstevie i was your anon hehe

masterlist

Sunlight ripples across the sea of canary yellow that decorates the quaint room, and its rays burn against your eyelids as they flutter open. You had always thought it was too bright of a colour for the room; too lively. He had insisted, though, and ultimately, you gave in.

The shrill song of a twittering bird rings through the still summer air, and the light casts murky shadows across your bare shoulder, as memories of the night before flit through your mind. His hands on you, grazing every inch of your skin that he could reach. His rose-petal lips chapped, yet soft as they met yours in a blaze of fiery passion. You were his, and he was yours. You felt complete, with him next to you.

Blinking away the sleep that threatens to close your eyes once more, a familiar scent reaches your nose; light notes of shampoo and cigarette smoke dancing in harmony. Distracted, you jolt when an arm slides over your hip, cradling you in its soft embrace. Despite the warmth that permeates the room, that sends beads of sweat down your back, goosebumps litter the arm thrown carelessly across your waist. The fine, dark hair that decorates it shines in the morning light. Shifting ever-so-slightly, you are greeted by a long mop of midnight curls tickling your face. They spill across the snow-white pillows like a river of inky darkness; the perfect contrast.

Your hand cards through his hair as you reveal the relaxed face of your beloved. Eyelids shutter beautiful emerald green, and you trail the tip of your finger down his cheek. He stirs, burrowing closer to you even in sleep, and you smile. The mysterious Jimmy Page would rather be caught dead, than be seen like this in public. He has a “reputation to uphold”, as he’s told you time and time again.

Behind closed doors, though, you were privy to a different side of the guitar god. He was chivalrous and sweet, always keeping an eye on your happiness and needs. At times, it seemed as though he knew you better than you knew yourself, and was always there.

“It’s because of our signs, dear. Written in the stars,” he’s always said, the smirk on his lips doing nothing to determine whether he was joking or not. Frankly, you weren’t sure how much you believed in astrology, and always enjoyed teasing him about the subject. You do know, however, that you would follow him anywhere, do anything for him, as he would for you.

Jimmy was also, to your initial surprise, rather domestic. He lived for rainy days in, when you would bake together, among other things. Somehow, those kinds of days always seemed to end with flour blanching both of your faces, a forgotten record mingling with the sounds of explosive laughter. He lived for quiet mornings with you, much like this one.

Though he was gone rather often, you trusted him to come back to you. To love you, and only you. You knew about the groupies, and really, you couldn't blame him for indulging in hidden vices. After many, many discussions, you had agreed that whatever happened on tour, stayed on tour. What happened under the cover of anonymity you had at home, was what mattered the most. You were made for each other, it seemed, and not even divine intervention could break the two of you apart. Hell, if there’s a way you’d prefer to go, it would be holding his hand.

A soft murmur snaps you out of your thoughts, as Jimmy’s eyes flicker open. Finally, those depths of mossy green, glassy with sleep, are uncovered, as you meet his gaze. A small smile blooms on his tired face, and fingertips trickle across the uncovered skin of your hip.

“G’morning, lovely,” he slurs slightly, cheeks flushed pink as he smiles at you, completely unguarded. You fall deeper in love with him every time you wake up like this, something you hadn't thought possible. “Everythin’ alright?”

His accent, rather posh compared to your own, seemed to get stronger in the early morning. A content hum rumbles in your throat, an answer to his question, and you reach up to press your lips to his jaw. Face to face, you revel in the way his legs tangle with yours as though it was muscle memory that brought them together. The way his fingers brush across your forehead, waltzing gracefully upon your cheek, stroking your hair.

“I should get up. Lots to do in the studio, and the boys should be—”

“Stay,” you speak into the slight space between you, and you wish you could freeze time, then. You wish you could pause and rewind this moment over and over, to see the way his smile blossoms on perfect lips.

“A few minutes won’t hurt, I suppose,” Jimmy settles back into the cocoon of warmth you've created, grinning down at you with sparkling eyes full of fondness. “If I’m late, I’m tellin’ them it was your fault.”

“A risk I’m willing to take.” Your hand slips out from under the covers to grasp at the guitarist’s fingers, pressing them to your lips. A featherlight kiss falls upon the crown of your head, and you move to rest your head on Jimmy’s shoulder. Distantly, you can hear the timbre of his voice, crackly with disuse, though most of all, you feel the rumbling of his chest as he speaks. It mingles with the beating of his heart, strong and comforting. You stroke patterns across his palm, the pads of his calloused fingers, the back of his hand and an indulgent smile lights up your face.

This is right where you’re supposed to be, you think.

“Right,” Jimmy disentangles himself from your grasp, reluctance clear in the frown on his angelic features. Your soft whine echoes in the silence between you, and he chuckles, bringing your hand up to rest upon his cheek. “I’ve got to go, Y/N. Breakfast should be on the table, by the time you get up. Lord knows I spoil you too much.”

The wink that he sends you makes you giggle, and you know he’s just joking. Still, it sends butterflies aflutter in your stomach, and you reach out to grasp at his arm.

“Jimmy.”

“Yes, darling?”

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

You’re greeted with an indulgent smile, and before you know it, he’s leaning down, just inches away from you. His iridescent eyes shift down to gloss over your lips, and he closes the distance, his hand flying to rest gently upon a sleep-warmed cheek. You smile into the kiss, giddy at the electric touch of his mouth on yours. Too soon for your liking, he pulls away, though not before your hand trails across the pale skin of his hip. You bite your bottom lip, looking up at him, as he turns to find a suitable shirt.

Soon enough, Jimmy is fully dressed, slipping out the door after pressing one final kiss to the palm of your outstretched hand. Sated, lonely, and still wrapped up in his slowly-fading warmth, you stretch, a satisfied groan leaving your lips. Climbing out of the bed, the checkered, golden duvet falling away, you glance out the window of the cottage. The scene is something out of a priceless painting: the babbling brook flows clear, almost crystalline, standing out against the vibrant green grass that sways in the early morning wind. Pulling on a soft, cotton t-shirt, no doubt Jimmy’s, while lace covers your bottom half, you trail after him.

The smile that rests on your face is lighter than the summer sun that had filtered across the two of you just moments earlier.

————

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @earthfire-75 @thatiloveyouso @jonesyjonesyjonesy @jimmypages @kyunisixx @sophiazeppelinchick @reincarnated70sbaby @grxtsch (let me know if you want to be added!)

[julemmaes]

Honey - part one

Elide Lochan x Lorcan Salvaterre roommates au

A/N: today I found a list of prompts that I just l o v e d and I decided to write an Elorcan short story cause I really really love them and I just don’t write them enough, so please enjoy this fluff turned mild angst and then again fluff I guess.

masterlist

Word count: 3,073

Elide would have loved to sleep. To be able to put on the soft plaid pyjamas that Lysandra had given her for her birthday only a few days before and slip under the warm covers - the General Psychology paper sitting in front of her as that black dash at the end of the sentence flashed was her only enemy at that moment.

She huffed, closing her eyes for a moment, enjoying the soft music coming out of the computer. She didn't know the song, because the playlist she was listening to had been sent to her by Lorcan and she hadn't had time to scroll through the song titles to memorize the ones she liked best. She couldn't even hear the words, just the soothing melody, but she could guess that it was a love song.

After all, every playlist Lorcan made for her to study with consisted mainly of sappy, romantic songs. Quite the opposite from what Lorcan himself represented, with his trademark grumpy, pissed-off attitude.

She giggled wearily, sliding even lower into the pillows as she thought about what their friends would say if they found out that her roommate looked for chill, love songs in his spare time just to help her out.

Elide never had too much time on her hands, always busy between university and the two jobs she worked to support herself, and when she could actually relax she never thought about finding new music, it was far too much work and tiring. But Lorcan wasn't studying and the shifts at the toy shop or the animal shelter were very often lonely and quiet, so he had time to listen to music for hours on end without anyone interrupting him. Only later, when he would have free time and nothing to do but play video games with Aelin and Rowan, would he get on the computer and create yet another playlist with the songs he thought she would like the most.

She was about to fall asleep when she heard Lorcan's scream and several alarms going off all over the neighborhood.

"No, fuck!"

She snapped her eyes open as she sat up and was surprised to find the room shrouded in darkness, the only source of light coming from her computer. She frowned, reaching for the switch and trying to turn the light on and off. Nothing.

She closed her eyes again, banging her head against the headboard.

This was the third blackout in a week. She couldn't take any more. And she could only hope that the alarms would all be turned off within the hour, because the last time, the building next door had taken over three hours to turn off the last one, causing everyone to lose hours of sleep in the middle of the night. She was just waiting for the dogs' barking to start as well.

Her plan to go to sleep early dissolved like candyfloss in water.

"Lorcan? Everything okay?" she said loud enough for the boy to hear. When no answer came she shook her head, huffing.

Elide looked for the phone among the blankets so she could turn on the torch, but she couldn't find it anywhere. She placed the computer on the floor, getting out of bed and paying attention to where she put her feet, "Where the fuck did I leave it?" she muttered to herself, moving the stuff she had on her desk over to the chair. It wasn't even there. She looked down at the bed again and then touched the pockets of the jeans she'd promised herself she wouldn't take off until she was done studying - nada.

She was about to leave the room when the door jerked open, "Ellie?" the computer screen was pointing too low for it to give enough light for Lorcan to see her, "Are you asleep?"

"Nop," she said from across the room, "I can't find my phone."

Lorcan sighed, "Mine's dead."

"Shit." she cursed, she wasn't a fan of the dark, "Do you remember where we put the candles last time?" she asked walking tentatively towards the doorway.

Suddenly, the music stopped and the computer made the worst sound it could have made at that moment, shutting down for good. She didn't worry about the paper that she had to finish, she knew it would be there once she turned it back on.

"I can't believe it," Lorcan muttered. They were plunged into darkness. "Can you make it over here without killing yourself?"

Elide was trying not to panic. She knew there was nothing in the dark, but that stupid childish fear had never really left her and her heart was beating wildly in her chest. It wasn't anything crippling, but it certainly wasn't a pleasant feeling.

She nodded, realizing then that Lorcan couldn't see her, "Yeah, wait."

"Take my hand."

Elide walked with her arms outstretched forward, moving them to avoid hitting the wardrobe or dresser she kept near the door, but her strategy didn't seem to work as she slammed her side into the latter and knocked half the stuff on it to the floor.

She grunted in pain, bringing both hands to the sore spot, "For fuck's sake."

She heard Lorcan chuckle, "What did you hit?"

"I think the dresser," she whined, then raised her head, as if she could see him, "Where are you?"

He snorted, "I'll try to get there. Stay right where you are."

"Where do you want me to go." Elide frowned, speaking so softly that even she struggled to hear herself over all those alarms. Another chuckle was soon broken by a growl of pain, followed by a series of very colourful swear words that made the girl burst out laughing.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," continued Lorcan, who, by the sound of the various thumps, was probably hopping on one foot, "I think I stepped on one of your stupid earrings."

"Oh, god," Elide wheezed, more out of exasperation than anything else, "pray you didn't break it because I might kill you."

"It's already taken care of that. We'd only be even if I broke it," he said, cursing as he put his foot back on the ground, "Just stand there and I'll try to pick everything up."

Elide couldn't keep the smile off her lips, "I'll help you."

They hadn't realised how close they actually were, because the second she lowered herself to kneel on the ground, her head slammed into something very hard. She grunted in pain again, bringing her hands to her forehead, but burst out laughing soon after. The situation was getting ridiculous.

"Christ, Elide, are you alright? Please tell me that wasn't your head." asked Lorcan immediately, stretching his hands forward.

Elide didn't know what he had wanted to do, probably make sure her head was still in one piece, but what his hands touched certainly wasn't her head. The laughter died in her throat with a broken sound and before Lorcan realised he was palming her, several moments passed. When he too seemed to come to realisation, he let out a squeak and immediately moved his hands away.

Lorcan squeaked.

"Did you just touch my tits?" asked Elide in a whisper. At the sound Lorcan made, Elide's entire body was covered in shivers.

He cleared his throat, "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay." she grinned. Elide managed to sympathize with the darkness in that moment, almost thanking it for hiding what was sure to be the reddest face Lorcan would ever see.

"Are you okay?" he asked her again, "Sorry I didn't mean to knee you in the forehead."

"I think I might have a concussion," she said, deciding to fuck with him.

"Ha ha," he huffed, "very funny."

Elide imagined him frowning more and more, then sighed, "Okay come on, let's go find these damn candles." she pulled herself upright, one hand on her head and the other on her hip, then muttered, "And tomorrow we're going to go buy a supply of electric torches."

She heard him chuckle, "Can you follow me or do I have to hold your hand?"

Without a second thought, she reached out a hand towards where she thought his would be. Only her fingers didn't meet bare skin, but the fabric of Lorcan's sweatpants, who with a surprised yelp took a few steps backwards, "What's that? Are you trying to even the score?" he said amused.

"Please tell me it was anything but your-" the words died in her mouth. She would have rather died and groaned, bringing her hands to her face when he burst out laughing.

"If you wanted to touch all you had to do was ask, babe," he teased.

"Fuck, knock it off," she said throwing a hand forward, at a safe height, and hitting him in the chest with her fist.

He grunted, but grabbed her wrist, finally intertwining his fingers with hers, "Was that so hard?"

She said nothing, but dug her nails into his flesh and that was enough.

She dragged her feet on the floor so she wouldn't risk sticking earrings or anything else in the soles of her feet and when they were finally in the hallway, she didn't worry about where to walk because she was simply following Lorcan. The warmth of his hand clasped in hers was reassuring her greatly.

"How long do you think this will last?" she asked once they reached the kitchen.

"I honestly have no idea," he said. Elide heard the light switch being turned on and then a faint, "Ah, yeah." coming from him.

She giggled, then brought her hand to her mouth as she yawned, "I just wish I could sleep."

"Rough day?" asked Lorcan, opening the hand that was gripping hers. It took her a while to realize that he was silently asking her to let him go. She felt herself flush again for not realizing it right away, and with deep chagrin she pulled her fingers away one by one, immediately missing him.

She nodded, flinching when one of the alarms changed pace, becoming louder and more insistent. She sighed, knowing they were doomed to at least another hour like that, "Classes this morning were boring as hell, but they were important so I spent six hours on books and there was no one at the café this afternoon, which means not getting too tired and not running after every order, but it also means-"

"-no tips. Yes, I know," Lorcan finished for her. She could feel him opening drawers and rummaging through items looking for anything candle-shaped.

"Your day?" she asked, yawning once more.

She heard Lorcan halt, "God, you're exhausted." she didn't answer, so he continued, "Nothing much. They came to adopt one of the newcomers this afternoon though, and I'm pretty positive that family is perfect for that pup."

Elide could hear the smile in his voice.

Lorcan might have seemed like a mean person on the surface, callous. And indeed he was a bit of a jerk if you weren't one of the people he 'put up with', as he always said, but anyone who really knew him could confirm that he was one of the most loyal and trustworthy people ever.

The fact that he worked at an animal shelter and cared about the families to whom the puppies were entrusted or at a toy shop where Elide had often seen him help multiple parents choose the perfect gift were just two of the examples that could be given to prove such a point.

"Good," she murmured.

"Ro's going to kill me," he complained, "We were playing against a bunch of kids online and now they're going to think I quit because we suck."

Elide grinned, "But you guys do suck."

The shuffling sound stopped again, "Say that again. I dare you."

She chuckled, moving a chair and sitting down. She yawned for the third time and furrowed her brow. She didn't like yawning.

"Ellie, what the fuck," Lorcan huffed in disbelief, "help me instead of just sitting there."

She groaned, "You kneed me and I'm dead tired, I have every right to do nothing," she justified herself, "Besides, the light will be back on in a few minutes. Chill out."

"Chill out." he mimicked her voice. Then he cheered, making her gasp, "Found it!"

"Good luck finding the lighter." she whispered, crossing her arms over the table and resting her head on them.

He whistled, "How nice we are tonight," then he closed the drawers slamming them shut one by one and Elide wanted to punch him again for all the noise, "But it doesn't touch me, because it's in my pocket." and then a flame lit up the room just enough for Elide to see his face.

She scowled, "Why do you have a lighter in your pocket?"

The victorious, sly expression Lorcan had had fell away so quickly that for a second Elide thought something had happened or he'd been burned.

She was almost afraid to ask, "Have you started smoking again?"

"No." he answered too quickly.

Elide stood up, throwing her arms in the air, "Lorcan!" she opened her eyes wide, "You quit over three months ago."

He grimaced, "Not really." he spoke so softly she almost didn't hear him.

Her frown deepened, "What do you mean, 'not really'? You're such a dick," she mumbled, shaking her head.

In the meantime he had lit more candles and was arranging them on the kitchen counter, but when he spoke he looked at Elide and she saw that he was holding back from insulting her in turn. "I'm not a dick, I simply didn't tell you that I had resumed..." he trailed off, then huffed, "two weeks after I quit."

Elide opened her mouth wide, "Two we-" then exploded, "Lorcan, it's bad for you.  B-a-d." she spelled, drawing the letters in the air with her finger, "Do you understand that if you keep smoking your lungs will turn so black they'll look like ash?"

Lorcan clenched his jaw, "I know, thanks for reminding me."

Elide crossed her arms over her chest, speaking in a strained tone, "Why did you start again? Why didn't you tell me?"

He turned his back to her at that, with the excuse of arranging the candles around the kitchen better, but Elide knew it was because he didn't want to look at her face. He didn't answer.

"Where are they?"

"What?"

"The cigarettes. The packet? Where is it?" she demanded to know, walking up to him.

Lorcan turned, taking a step back when he realised she was less than a metre away from him. He frowned, "I'm not telling you."

Elide's eyes went wide, "Why?"

"Because you'd snap them all," he said in an obvious tone.

She nodded vehemently, "Yes, exactly!"

Then he sighed, "Can we just let it go?"

"Sure, if you want to let it go that you're going to die of cancer and that you've been lying to me the whole time, we can let it go," she said, biting her bottom lip and shaking her head. Then she huffed out a laugh, "You're unbelievable."

"Ellie, listen, I'm not smoking as much as I used to, we're talking about one to two cigarettes a day at most," he tried to reassure her, running a hand through his hair. She could hear it in his tone of voice that he felt guilty and embarrassed, whether it was because he had lied to her or because she had found out she couldn't tell.

With a little more light brightening up the room, Elide realised only then that he was shirtless.

Fuck, she thought. Lorcan with his shirt off was a feast for the eyes.

She quickly shifted her gaze to the floor as the light returned in a flash and she was forced to close her over-sensitive eyes. They heard the tv turn on again and the melody of the video game fill the silence.

"Thank fuck." Lorcan muttered as almost all the alarms went off. Now only the few that had to be turned off manually and the dogs continued their assault on their ears.

When Elide opened her eyes again, she cursed. There was blood on the tiles. She leaned forward, looking down at the crotch of her jeans to make sure it wasn't hers, even though she knew she wasn't on her period. "Lorcan?" she asked hesitantly, then turned her head towards him, not moving her gaze from the floor, "I think you're bleeding."

"What? Oh fuck." he chuckled. Elide looked up at him at that point and saw him leaning on the table with one hand and placing the ankle of his right foot on his left knee. He looked up at her, "Your earring stabbed me."

A laugh bubbled out of her, "I'm sorry."

Lorcan looked into her eyes and his shone, "Don't worry, I'll clean it up."

"I'll help if you want." she offered, then yawned and cursed in the middle of it.

He snorted, one corner of his mouth curled up, "Nah, go to bed. I'll take care of it."

Then she let go a whine, "Oh my god my room is going to look like a crime scene if you managed to get blood in here too."

Lorcan smiled tightly, "I'll take care of that too."

Elide nodded, admiring her friend's bare torso and arms one last time.

If Lorcan noticed, he didn't show it, and Elide was grateful for that moment of discretion, they'd had enough of awkward moments for that evening.

Warning him that she was going to bed, she went into the bathroom, undressing very slowly and slipping into her soft pyjamas. When she returned to her room, she noticed a wet spot on the floor and smiled, realising that he had started cleaning from her bedroom. She shouted a simple "goodnight" to him and without waiting for an answer slipped under the covers, ready for a deep and well-deserved night's sleep.

Just a second before she could fall asleep, the door opened slightly and she heard what could only be Lorcan place something on her bedside table. She couldn't open her eyes or bring herself to talk in that moment to ask him what the hell he was doing, but when she woke up the next morning, two packets of cigarettes and the lighter he'd used the night before sat there.

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[aiekerman]

Medicine - Levi Ackerman

Levi x Reader - fluff

AN: I am not usually a Valentine’s person but here we are. Levi can really get anything out of me. Also, I realise my fic titles seem a little random but I’m titling them after songs that make the vibe in my head - not necessarily based off, just vibes you know. So yeah this is Medicine by The 1975.

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: It’s Valentine’s day and you’re in work at a café all day. But Levi is there to at least provide some eye candy.

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‘He’s so pretty I might pass out,’ Hitch leant over the counter, her chin in her hand as she unabashedly stares across the café at the man sipping at his tea.

His posture is perfect, balancing a book in one hand while his other holds the top of the tea cup delicately to his mouth.  He blends into the café atmosphere like he was there upon its creation. The shop is earth toned, plants hanging all over and soft lighting that cast shadows across his bone structure.

He looked pulled straight out of an indie movie.

The air around him was mysterious yet all consuming, You spent the entire shift stealing glances at him every time he was in. Which was most days. However, Sunday’s took the cake, you assumed he didn’t work on Sundays whatever his job was, as he took the luxury of bringing a book in and spending hours planted at the same table. Working through a multitude of tea as he sat in perfect view to act as eye candy for the baristas for the day.

You steal a last glance at him, while restocking the pastry baskets, internally agreeing with Hitch but turning to her and speaking, ‘Is he worth getting yelled at for not doing anything when a manager sees you?’

Hitch gives her an eye roll before standing up as a customer approaches the counter.

In your own head, you silently think that, yes, he absolutely was worth getting yelled at.

Across the café floor, Levi glances from over the top of his cup when he feels a pair of eyes darting in his direction once again. He took a self indulgent moment to look over you as you gently placed the warm croissants in one of the wicker baskets. From your well-loved sneakers that he presumed to be pair reserved for work, up to your head of hair that bounced and swayed along with your steps.

He was a man who found the joy in life through small moments. His first sip of tea in the morning. Running his hand through his hair once it was freshly washed. Spending his Sunday in the café that was an extra few blocks from his apartment so he could steal glances at the beautiful barista. He could never bring himself to properly talk to you though, that would make it the exact opposite of a small moment.

        *           *           *          *            *         *          *           *          *

You enjoyed Valentine’s day. Your day had started with a card arriving from your parents and your friend back home sending a text message thanking her for flowers that you had booked to be delivered.

When you reached the café for the usual Sunday shift you were met by heart shaped bunting criss-crossing around the whole ceiling.

You settled in behind the counter. It was still early, an orange tint hanging on the edges of the sky. And Sunday mornings were quieter than most, people taking their time to get out of bed. You imagined especially on Valentine’s day, couples would spend the early hours wrapped up in their ‘i love you’s and gift giving. Many opting for breakfast in bed rather than a café trip. You sighed at the dreamy thought.

You were single, and happily so. But you were allowed to indulge in the scenario of a coffee and pancakes being brought to you while you awoke slowly.

Were the pancakes accompanied by steel grey eyes and an undercut from time to time? You could neither confirm nor deny.

Still stuck in your daydreams, you hadn’t noticed that exact pair of grey eyes entering the café and approaching the counter.

He took a moment to look you over while it seemed your head was somewhere else. Your hair sat neater than usual, extra makeup seemed to have been applied; your cheeks more rosy than usual. A pink sweater draped around your figure and Levi swore he could smell the fresh laundry scent wafting from it.

His heart deflated slightly. You probably had a Valentine’s date. He scoffed at himself in his own head. Of course you did, one look at you screamed that you were bound to have people flooding your phone. He chose to ignore any time he noticed a customer flirting with you, but it definitely happened.

You leap when Levi lets off a small cough to catch your attention. Your face immediately blaring with heat as you search for words in your head. You often found herself flustered when it came to serving the stoic faced man.

‘Hi.’

‘Hey’

‘What, uh, what can I get you?’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes. Yes! I’m fine thank you for asking. Ignore my last question by the way I know- uh, I know it’s tea.’

You cut yourself off from rambling. Giving a small nod and beginning to tap on the register screen in front of you, putting through his usual pot of black tea.

You stare at the screen with an unnecessary intensity, trying to focus on the words and wipe the image of Levi delivering your breakfast from her mind. An irrational fear that maybe he was secretly a mind reader brewed in the back of your head. It would explain his constant blank slate of a face, he was constantly processing other’s thoughts.

What was actually running through Levi’s head was how pretty you looked in the glow of the morning sun, your face tinted pink in nervousness.

He only slightly fought off a small smile when you beamed up at him with your sweet voice, ‘I’ll bring it over once it’s ready.’

Levi spent the rest of the morning watching you dart around with drinks and dishes. You did most Sunday mornings solo, smiling at usual customers, rhyming off your catalogue of memorised drinks. Levi felt like a dark cloud hanging over the café, dressed in dark colours in the corner and avoiding conversation. While you were a bright ball of sunshine that seemed to honestly just want to make others smile.

The thought of actually talking to you had his tea cup trembling in his hand.

And so he buried his head deeper into his book, settling for hearing your sweet laugh float around the shop.

You sighed, what was originally a five hour shift extended to ten after Hitch called you begging to cover her half of the day, a last minute Valentine date cropping up or something. And who were you to deny the girl some romance?

Your eyes drifted around the shop, it was now three thirty pm, only an hour and half until it was time to shut. The day had mostly been couples wandering through to pick up a takeaway drink in the midst of a romantic stroll. It was hard to resist a wistful look after them as they huddled together in the February chill.

You shook your head from the thought and continued to restock the muffins, even though it would be unlikely that all would be sold before closing came around.

Standing up your head automatically took a turn in Levi’s direction, this was usually the time he would be due a tea top-up. And on cue he set down his empty cup and glanced up at you.

Two pairs of eyes met and you struggled to fight off the heat rising up your neck under his intense stare. His mouth drops open slightly, barely noticeable from the distance between them.

But you notice, the half inch that his shoulders tense up. The miniscule shake of his book. Your throat is suddenly dry, but manages to croak out, ‘more?’

‘Yes, please,’ the words come almost as a sigh. You hold the electric gaze for another second, before scurrying behind the counter, busying your mind with making up the pot of tea.

You drop it to him wordlessly. Keeping your head down, adrenaline still pumping through you from the previous moment.

The last hour and a half of service passes by easily. You avoid any of your usual indulgent looks at the man in the corner of the café, while you begin closing up.

Levi knows he has to go, he’s closed over his book already, one hand on his jacket that’s been draped over his chair all day.

But he can’t just go. His assumption from the morning has proven wrong - at least so far. You don't seem to have a Valentine’s date. And after your...whatever that was, he’s not about to just leave without so much as a hello.

You stood on the small step ladder, fingers nimbly unpinning the heart shaped decorations when his voice pulled you from your thoughts.

‘Um, thanks for your service today.’ Levi cringes. He swears he sounds like a robot.

‘Oh,’ Kasia stares down at him from atop the ladder, ‘thank you.’

Levi swallows. It’s a start.

‘You don’t usually work this late. On a Sunday.’

‘One of the other girls asked if I could cover her. She got a last minute Valentine date.’

You’ve descended the steps now, standing only a metre away from him. You look him over,

His hands are stuffed deep in his pockets, book tucked tightly under his arm. His usual sleek black hair is slightly messed. You didn’t know but he’d spent the last ten minutes tugging at as he tried to find the right conversation starter.

‘You don’t- uh, you don’t have a date?’

You shake your head softly, a small smile beginning to form across your lips.

‘What about you? Don’t you have a girlfriend you should’ve been with all day?’

‘Do you think if I had a girlfriend I’d be here all day every Sunday?’ He lets out a laugh that could be mistaken for a cough.

‘Oh. I just thought…’

‘Thought what?’

‘I don’t know actually. You’re just, uh…’ you stutter, the phrase you’re just so pretty, balancing on the edge of your tongue. ‘What?’ Levi cringes again, his voice coming out harsher than intended, but he freezes up at the quiet words that escape your mouth.

‘Just really pretty.’

They’re barely a whisper, he thinks he could almost be making it up. His subconscious is dreaming up what he wants to hear. But upon looking up at your face, there’s a fear evident in your eyes. As if the words hadn’t meant to escape.

You next words have more energy behind, ‘I am so sorry. That was so inappropriate.’

‘It’s fine, really. You’re, um, also really pretty.’

You swear if your face could get any hotter it’d melt the chocolate in the cookies. Voice immediately fades away again, ‘thank you.’

‘So is it uhh, just you closing up?’

‘Yeah. Just me.’

‘Do you mind if I wait for you? To walk you home? It’ll be too dark to walk alone by the time you’re finished.’

This time you can’t fight the smile as it consumes your whole face, ‘I’d like that.’

His hand reaches out suddenly and a thumb swipes against your cheek.

His eyes go wide upon realising what he did, ‘you had some chocolate. On your cheek.’

You try to respond. But all you can feel is the tingling left over from his touch. And how you wanna feel it again.