#and everyone’s eyes drift over to you because you’re so fucking divine

[qupidology]

thigh riding koko at bonten meetings

[vampykween]

heaven is here

18+ mdni! vampire!price x f!reader | vampire!au masterlist

the first time you let price touch you, you begin to really understand how people develop stockholm syndrome because good fucking lord does he treat you right.

when your captor had come with breakfast this morning, there was a devious glint in his eyes as he stuffed you full with pastries and fruits.

“‘ve got another treat you for pet,” he purrs. the sound of his smooth amber voice reverberates through you and lights you up inside.

“a treat? what kind of treat?” you’re scanning the surroundings near him, but aren’t able to get a glimpse of anything unusual. price doesn’t answer your question, instead responds by pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. you let out a soft gasp and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, licking into you fervently. when he finally pulls away the a trail of slick spit lingering between your plump lips. his thumb drags through the wetness,prods at your bottom lip, you open obediently for him. he thrusts his thick digits into your mouth, hitting your throat effectively making you slobber around his fingers.

“such a good girl, my pretty pet. i won’t spoil your treat, but next time it’ll be my cock fucking deep into your throat.” you let out a loud groan far too pleased with the idea of the creature using the tight, wetness of your throat to satisfy himself.

the vampire uses his other hand to push you flat onto your back and with his spit slick fingers; he trails down the expanse of your body, pressing soft kisses as he works his way towards the softness of your belly.

the feeling of his beard scratches at you and as soon as you allow yourself to focus on it further, you’re gasping aloud as he licks over your clothed cunt.

“i know i said i had a treat for you, but this is also a treat for me. from the moment i saw you, i knew i wouldn’t rest until i’d had a taste of you,” price purrs as he hooks his fingers into the delicate lace of your panties, dragging down your legs.

“wait- wait, sir i’ve never…you know," you wave your hand in an attempt to get him to catch your drift.

“never what?” he quirks his eyebrows at you, until he understands what you mean. “oh poor little thing, no one’s ever eaten your pretty little pussy before?”

before you have a chance to even respond you feel price drag his forefinger through your slick folds exposing you to him completely. you feel on display like this, your most intimate parts spread open for him like you’re a gilded book propped up for everyone to admire. your lover presses a chaste kiss to your clit and soon follows it with slow, languid licks until your writhing against his face. your hand releases it’s death grip on your blanket and finds it’s way into the tresses of price’s dark hair.

“oh- oh my god, sir. it feels so…”

the rest of your words die in your throat as he takes your praise as a sign to up the ante. he begins to lick into your cunt reverently, like he’s worshipping the most divine goddess. the ferocity in which he was lapping at your cunt and the vibrations of his groaning shooting through you solidified his early statement. you’ve never felt so wanted before, your ex had used sex as his own personal release; the moment he was finished then so were you. but now you’re lying in a grandiose bed, tangled in sheets with a thread count higher than you knew even existed, and had a blood thirsty creature burying his face in your cunt.

just when you think the pleasure can’t get any better you feel the thickness of price’s fingers prodding at your entrance. he swipes them through your dripping arousal until your grips on his hair tightens in a silent command of fuck me already please.

he clicks his tongue and looks up at you. “use your words pet. what do you want hmm?”

good lord you were going to die. you were sure of it. the sight of the bearded man was even more alluring as your slick glistened on his face in the morning light, and the devilish smirk he was giving you wasn’t helping any either. you swallow thickly and gather the courage to beg for what you wanted. no needed.

“please…please sir, i need you to fuck me.”

“so good bunny. your wish is my command.”

your lover shows you no mercy and fills you with three of his thick digits and the stretch burns momentarily but you can’t help but love it. he sets a fast and brutal pace, clearly eager to bring you to the edge and it works perfectly. you cry out as he tongues your clit relentlessly as his fingers slide in and out of you deliciously. your entire body grows hot as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. your chest is heaving from the breaths sawing in and out of your lungs as you try to recover from the intense pleasure you’ve just experienced.

the vampire crawls up your body and cups your face in one of his hands. “did you enjoy your treat pet?” you nod your head deliriously and you’re sure you look absolutely debauched. “hmm good. i certainly did. in fact, why don’t you have a taste too.” it wasn’t a question, you knew that and when he brings his cum soaked fingers towards your lips you open obediently and suck them into your mouth. the taste is tangy and heady, but you moan anyway because you were a good pet, grateful for anything sir gave you.

price’s head moves away from you until he’s met with the expanse of your neck and sucks at it fiercely. you think he’s simply marking you up, until you feel the sharp prick of the tip of his fangs. you gasp noisily and your hand flies to press his head farther in your neck. much to your dismay he doesn’t bite further and simply pulls away from you.

“not yet, pet. i want my cock buried deep inside you when i drink from you.”

oh. you blush sheepishly at his words. it’s not that he’s never drank from you before, him and ghost have plenty of times, but you sense that the sensation must be different when it’s sensual and not for nourishment.

“i would really like that sir,” you whisper in the quiet of the room. the vampire offers no verbal response, but rather tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and scoops you up bridal style. when you give him an incredulous look and denman he put you back down, he tuts at you and says he has to clean his bunny up.

[marginalmadness]

Summer Nights: 2/4

Pairing: Rabbit!Hybrid Jungkook x Y/N

Rating: Mature (later explicit)

Genre: Hybrid!Fantasy, Romance, Fluff

Synopsis: A freak weather anomaly leads to a chance encounter with a rabbit-hybrid, and your kind nature results in you gaining a small, fluffy lodger, who questions your taste in television shows. It’s won’t be for long…will it?

Warnings/Tags: This chapter involves Jungkook going into heat.

Author’s Note: If I called @johobi​ patient before, I fucked up the tenses to bad in this chapter, it took her HOURS to fix. But she approved of the chapter which I’m happy about because this is the one I was most worried about. Jungkook Goes into heat in this chapter, and I hope nobody wants to kill me when they finish it.  Chapter 3 is only a week away! <3

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Tags: @kookiebunny97​ @mintyrae​ @skswriting​ 

Word Count: 5.6K

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The events depicted here are entirely of my own imagining, and have no basis on actual people or events.

I hope everyone is enjoying BE, and Life Goes On.

Summer Nights: Chapter Two

The next morning is the first day of your new-new normal. You wake to the sound of music coming from the living room. You pull yourself to your feet, shuffling from your bed to find the sourc

The next morning is the first day of your new-new normal. You wake to the sound of music coming from the living room. You pull yourself to your feet, shuffling from your bed to find the source of the enchanting sound. To your shock and delight, you find Jungkook hopping around the kitchen happily, ears and hair bouncing as he sings along to the radio and prepares pancakes. His voice is divine. You stand there enraptured, caught under his spell. He drops the spatula in fright when he turns to find you leaning against the wall, watching him silently.

 “Please continue,” you urge him. But he shakes his head, blushing and hiding behind his ears. “Your voice is so pretty. Please?” you coax, stepping towards him. Jungkook considers you from behind his ears for a second. Then, tentatively, he picks up the spatula and resumes his song while he washes it clean.

 From that day onwards, he wakes you each morning the same way, voice drifting through the bedroom door he leaves slightly ajar. There’s always a stack of warm, fluffy pancakes waiting for you in the kitchen, and beside it a bowl of yogurt-drizzled fruit. As soon as you’re seated, Jungkook extends a freshly brewed cup of breakfast tea to you. You eat together in the early morning light, the radio playing in the background. And while you get ready for work, Jungkook cleaned up the dishes from breakfast. 

 Domestic heaven. 

At the end of your work day, you come home and thank God he’s still there. Sometimes he’s typing away on your laptop. Jungkook signed up as a freelance transcriber as a way to make money while staying with you. It was something to do while you were at work, too, restless soul that he is.  Sometimes, though, you come home to find him flopped on his side in a patch of sun, having a nap as a bunny. 

You cook dinner together now. Well, when you say together, you mean you take his direction, since Jungkook is a much better cook than you. He uses some of his free time to look up recipes he thinks you’ll like. 

It’s ridiculously heartwarming. 

After dinner, as is your routine, you split the washing up and curl up together to watch some Netflix. On the days you do all the washing up, Jungkook doesn’t fight you for control of the TV. 

You still tease him over the first and only time you watched a horror movie. The first jump-scare forced him into rabbit form and he leapt into your lap in fright. Jungkook spent the entire movie there, shivering. And the rest of the night he spent pressed against your side in a tight, furry ball. Of course, the next day he insisted he wasn’t that scared, he just didn’t want to bother you by transforming back and forth.

He did a similar thing when you were watching a sappy romantic movie, but you don’t tease him about that. The second you noticed him sniffling at the lovers’ separation, he turned into a rabbit and hopped off his chair and over to you. You expected him to come cuddle, but he scrambled onto the back of the sofa and situated himself by your head instead. Every time there was a particularly romantic moment, he would nudge you with his nose and tickle you with his whiskers. And when he was feeling particularly bold, he’d grip your shoulder with his front claws and rub his chin over your cheek and neck. It tickled so much it made you squirm. 

After extricating yourself from his clutches, a quick search on the internet told you that rabbits do this to mark their territory. You have trouble looking him in the eye the rest of that day. You know he’s attracted to you; have done since that first night. But he’s been ever so respectful. For some reason, the thought of him marking you as his makes your skin flush and burn.

Shopping for groceries is an experience, too. Jungkook skips around the store, picking multiple things up, asking you if you like them before throwing them in the shopping cart. It doesn’t matter whether you need them or not, just if you like it. That’s good enough for Bun. He’s so happy and energetic, his smile wide and eyes sparkling until you bend over into a freezer to pick up some ice cream. When you turn back, Jungkook is clinging to the cart, his eyes wide and entire body stock-still. All but his foot as it wildly pounds the ground.

“You okay, Bun?” you ask with a tilt of your head. His mouth drops open into a shape as round as his eyes. Mimicking you, Jungkook tilts his head before blinking and shaking it. And then he coughs, practically vibrates, before muttering something about cereal and running off in the opposite direction of the cereal. 

Ever since that peculiar day, Jungkook has insisted on going grocery shopping alone. Something about getting out of the house and becoming more independent. But he blushes and averts his eyes as he says it, foot tapping wildly until he kicks over a plant pot. He cleans up the mess without another word, chewing on one of its stricken leaves and purposefully avoiding your eyes for the rest of the day.

Your weekends become different too. Before Bun arrived, you’d spent them relaxing after your work week, alone and in peace. Now you have a tiny, demanding rabbit that follows you around your apartment, tripping you up. And now you also have a fully grown, demanding man. A roommate - for lack of a better word - with which to do things. Now you have Saturday walks in the park and Sunday brunches. Imagine that.

 Jungkook is incredibly physical. Forever moving, rarely still, bouncing from foot to foot, wiggling when excited. When you praise him, he claps and dances. The day you get a promotion at work, he hugs you so tightly, lifting you up and spinning you in the air because he’s simply that happy. He binkies about in excitement just as much as he did in bunny form, long hair and floppy ears bouncing wildly as his eyes crinkle in happiness, sending things flying in his excitement. You’ve already replaced one particular lamp three times.

But then Jungkook starts marking his territory in human form, too.

You’re chopping something for dinner on some nondescript day when Jungkook approaches you from behind, hands sliding gently over your hips. You could shake him off easily if you wanted to. But you find yourself not wanting to. His chin rests on your shoulder as though he’s just watching you work, but then the subtle rub starts. Across your shoulder and into the crook of your neck, until an involuntary shudder runs down your spine. It snaps Jungkook back to his senses and he pulls away.

—-

The day everything changed was the day from hell. Work had been awful, just one fuck up after another. None of which were even your fault, but all of which you were expected to fix.

You come home to a tidy apartment, subtle scented candles burning and soft music playing. Jungkook is in the kitchen cooking, and you’re sure the ingredients you can smell are ones he’s shopped for today.

“Welcome home.” He smiles over his shoulder at you. “Dinner is almost done if you want to get washed up.” He turns back to stir the pan on the stove. When you walked through the front door you were on the verge of tears. Now your eyes are misting up for the complete opposite reason.

You drag your sorry ass over to him and practically collapse against his wide, strong back, wrapping your arms around his tiny waist like he often does you.

“Thank you,” you practically sob into his shirt, screwing your eyes closed in an effort to not actually cry. You try to keep the emotion out of your voice but Jungkook knows you well enough to sense you’re upset by something. He immediately switches off the stove burners and turns to wrap his arms tightly around you, holding you without a second thought.

 “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks, voice full of concern. Large, strong hands brush the hair back from your face.

 “I just had a really shit day, and you just—” You turn, arms flailing, motioning to the clean apartment and dinner on the stove. Jungkook nods in understanding. “—you made it all better.” His eyes go round as he blinks at you in shock, before melting into something warm. He tucks your hair behind your ears and tilts your head as he moves in, as though he were going to kiss you. Your eyes flutter closed as his nose brushes yours, but his lips never touch yours. “What’s this?” you ask in a whisper, blinking your eyes open to find him smiling at you softly.

 “A rabbit thing,” he says simply, resting his forehead against yours with a soft grunt of air. It doesn’t quite reach a growl. You know it's a rabbit thing; you researched. But you didn’t expect it in human form.

 “Okay.” You don’t push, don’t demand an explanation for a deeper meaning, just accept the affection from him. You lean in and brush your nose against his in return, causing him to gasp and grunt again, hand moving from your face to your waist. It lingers there for a few seconds before Jungkook gently, physically, pushes you away, his large eyes looking bigger than usual. His pupils are blown out, almost entirely black. Breath comes from his parted lips in short pants and huffs.

 “You should get cleaned up while I finish dinner,” he says softly, stepping backwards. There’s an arm’s length of space between you now. You nod at him, hands finding his, giving him a squeeze as you back out of the kitchen. You don’t let go until the space between you is too far for your fingertips to touch. His eyes don’t leave you until you’re completely out of sight.

 You close the door quietly, leaning your forehead against it and taking slow, deep, grounding breaths, trying to calm the racing of your heart. What was that? Sure, it isn’t the first time he’s done it; he did it on the night he transformed and kissed you. Somehow, though, it felt as intimate as him kissing you again. Is it wrong to feel this way towards Jungkook? He’s your Bun, your charge; you’re his caretaker. Are you taking advantage of him? Is he only acting like this because he’s thankful to you for taking care of him?

 You push off and away from the door, feeling heavy. It’s almost like there’s a rope connecting you to Jungkook and forever pulling you towards him. You change out of your work clothes into something more comfortable. If that more comfortable thing happens to be something just a little clingy in certain, flattering places, and it makes you feel pretty, then you tell yourself you need the ego boost after the day you had. It has absolutely nothing to do with wanting to look good for Jungkook. You head to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your hair into something more relaxed before returning to the kitchen. And Jungkook.

 “Nope!” Jungkook yells, stopping you before you can even enter the kitchen, two strong hands taking you by the shoulders, turning you around and practically marching you towards the living room. You pout over your shoulder at him, but he’s just grinning and laughing at your pouty face. You slump onto the sofa and he leans over the back of it, hovering over you, his eyes crinkling as he laughs musically. Ever so carefully he takes you by the jaw, rubbing his chin over your head, tilting you to the side so he can whisper in your ear.

 “Sit and relax, I’ll bring you dinner.” His voice is light and full of joy.

 You sit and pout, grabbing the remote to put some music on. At the exact moment you drop it back to the table, a bowl of food is placed in front of you. You blink up at a grinning Jungkook as he retreats eagerly to the kitchen, presumably for drinks. His enthusiasm is infectious. You pick up the bowl of pasta, twirling your fork in the creamy sauce and noodles, and take a big bite. It’s delicious. Delicious enough to have you moaning with pleasure and sliding back against the couch.

 “Kookie, this is amazing!” you groan, licking the sauce from your lips.

 Jungkook stares at you, eyes wide, focused on your tongue as it slides along your lips. You hadn’t even realised he’d come back from the kitchen. He places a glass of wine on the table in front of you, ducking his head and hiding behind his ears as he shuffles to his spot on the sofa, bowl in hand. You watch him slyly out of the corner of your eye. His face is so red, so glowing you can almost feel the heat radiating from it. “I made it,” he says, still staring intently at his food. “I found a recipe online I thought you would like.”

 “From scratch?” you ask, amazed. He nods, biting his lip and refusing to look at you. You reach across the space between you and thread your fingers into his soft, wavy locks, rubbing the spot just behind one of his floppy ears. “Bun this is amazing, it tastes amazing!” His head lifts up, eyes so big they sparkle in the low light. “You’re amazing,” you whisper in a soft voice. Jungkook ducks his head again, hiding once more behind his long ears and curly hair. He eats his food slowly, more picking at it than anything. You, on the other hand, tuck in enthusiastically, all manners and grace gone, letting him see and hear your enjoyment of the food. You know how much it pleases him when you unabashedly enjoy his cooking. When you ask for seconds, handing him your empty bowl, Jungkook binkies across the room to the kitchen, bouncing on his heels as he piles a second serving of noodles and sauce into your bowl.

 He hands it back to you soon after and sits beside you on the sofa, knees curling under himself. Reclining on the back cushions, he observes you as you eat, arms crossed and eyes sparkling. When you’re half way through your second serving and can’t eat a bite more, he whisks away the dishes and returns quickly to your side. 

 Jungkook flops over and places his head in your lap. “Will you…” He bites his lip, turning to bury his face in your sweater, his cheeks burning crimson again.

 “What? What do you want, Kookie?” you ask, carding your fingers through his hair and rubbing a thumb over the gentle fur of his ear. It twitches repeatedly.

 “Just this. Will you play with my hair? Stroke my ears?” he asks in a small voice. It’s unusually meek for him in his human form.

 “Of course I will, Bun. Anything you want.” You smile, running your fingers through his hair, nails trailing down his scalp. His leg kicks out, narrowly missing the coffee table. You hand him the remote. “Pick something to watch.”

Jungkook shuffles, turning to face the TV. With his head still in your lap, he curls up into a ball, enjoying your ministrations. You continue to pet him, running your fingers through his hair and stroking his ears, twirling locks of hair around your finger before releasing the resulting curl. You lounge there together, the stress of the day bleeding away from you thanks to a stomach full of good food and your hand tangled in the hair of—Jungkook—whatever he was to you right now.

You don’t know exactly when you fall asleep, but you wake to strong arms holding you, carrying you to your room. Jungkook places you delicately on your bed and you fling yourself backwards, curling up to drift off again. But before long you’re being shaken gently awake and sat back up. Soft, cotton pajamas are pushed into your hands.

“You need to get changed,” a soft, deep voice says firmly in your ear. A warm body presses against your back.

You pout, eyes resolutely closed, but begin taking off your sweater. Large hands help you when you get tangled on your arms. It’s even more of a struggle to unhook your bra. You flail for a while before dropping your arms and slumping back against Jungkook with a tired, pathetic whine. If you were properly awake you might have noticed how his breath hissed through his teeth, or how his nose rubbed your temple. 

With more force than is probably necessary, Jungkook grips you by the shoulder and props you forward. Then, with just one finger, he pulls your bra band away from your back, taking all care not to touch you at all. By some black magic he manages to unhook it, sliding the straps down and off your arms before discarding it on the floor. Not once does he look over your shoulder. He pulls the camisole of your pajama set over your head, guiding your arms through the straps before you wake enough to take over and pull both arms through.

“Now the shorts,” he grunts, low and gruff. It’s unusual enough that you pout at him over your shoulder.

“Bossy bunny,” you mumble, standing and kicking off the comfy leggings you had on. Somewhere in the back of your head you register a soft ‘”shit’” that you’re too tired to acknowledge. You pull on your shorts and sit back down, immediately flopping to your pillow. You feel your body being turned, tucked beneath the sheet pulled over you. Sleep comes easily to you after that.

—-

You wake up while it’s still dark outside. Jungkook’s chest is hot against your back, his knees curled and tucked behind yours. A muscled arm hangs heavily over your waist, keeping you close to him. You lift it as carefully as possible and slide out of bed, tip-toeing stealthily across the soft carpet and out of the room. You head to the kitchen and grab a glass in the dark, in search of a drink for your parched throat.

You drink your fill and shuffle back to bed, bringing a glass with you just in case. Although you slip into your room as stealthily as you’d left it, Jungkook is awake when you return. He sits with his arms wrapped around his knees, bottom lip snagged beneath his prominent front teeth.

“Kookie?” you ask softly in the darkness, making your way back to your side of the bed. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I just—I reached for you and you were gone,” he says, watching you place your glass of water down and climb back into bed. “I was waiting for you to come back.”

“Silly rabbit,” you coo. Jungkook rolls towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tangling a powerful, muscular leg with yours. You settle back, stroking his head and mulling over his unusual clinginess as sleep comes to claim you. 

But then you feel a pressure against your thigh, and you’re suddenly very awake. 

Jungkook undulates his hips to a subtle rhythm. “Wha-” you begin, turning to look at him. But he buries his nose beneath your jaw, his breath coming out in soft,  heavy huffs in time with his movements. He grinds against your hip with a desperation. You swallow audibly, forcing yourself to ask as your face burns. “Jungkook, what are you doing?”

“Sorry,” he whines. “I can’t help it, I just—” He throws his thigh over your hips, shifting until he’s hovering over you, weight on his knees and forearms. His hips drop to roll against your stomach, a thick bulge straining the thin material of the pajama bottoms you had bought him. Jungkook ruts against your sweat-covered skin as you stare up at him, eyes wide, frozen in shock. Heat floods through you, stirring your insides until you’re panting. He is, too. His mouth hangs open as he huffs in time with his thrusts, lips grazing your jaw until they reach your mouth. He caresses it softly with his own, barely a whisper of a touch. Once. Twice. Just like that first night he turned. The third time, he kisses you. Your eyes flutter closed and you kiss him back. Nothing more than a delicate tilt of your head and a careful brushing of your lips against his. This is wrong, a voice in the back of your head whispers. This man is practically a stranger.

Only he’s not.

He’s shared your bed as a human for the past two weeks, and ten weeks before that as a rabbit.

You’ve spent evenings curled up together, watching shows you both enjoy. You know his moods, as he knows yours. Your hand feels as comfortable tangled in his hair as it does amongst his fur, and you can read his eyes in both forms exactly the same.

He’s your Jungkook. Your Kookie. 

Your Bun.

He exhales heavily, his tongue lapping at your lips for more. Warm breath fans your face and you practically tremble with anticipation. Jungkook tears himself away to run his hands down the curves of your body, and as you look up at him, your mouth dries at the sight of his godly form. The ever-present glow of the city creates a subtle neon halo behind him, heightening his otherworldly, divine presence.

“I-I—“ As suddenly as he came onto you, Jungkook scrambles backwards off the bed, falling ungracefully to the floor. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry!” he yells, eyes watery and wide with terror. He rushes out of the room so quickly he doesn’t even stand up straight. Just heads straight for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. You follow too late, reaching your bedroom doorway just in time to hear the bathroom lock snap into place.

You drop to your knees outside the bathroom door, knocking on it gently. “Jungkookie, what’s wrong? Please, come out,” you call.

“I can’t,” comes a whine from the other side of the door. It almost sounds like a sob. “I have to stay here. Can I have a blanket please?” The voice is strained and tight; unsure. It’s not like the warm, bright voice you’ve come to know at all.

“Okay,” you agree. “I’ll get that for you. I’ll be right back.” When you return with the requested blanket, you let Kookie know with a small knock on the door. He cracks it open just enough for you to push the bedding through. In doing so, you catch a glimpse of his eyes. They’re wide and a little teary, his pupils huge. His face and upper chest is worryingly flushed. Jungkook notices you scrutinising his appearance and slams the door shut before you can comment. You hover on the other side of the door, not wanting to leave him. “I’m not upset with you, Bun. I understand if you want some space. Good night.”

You shuffle your way back to bed, curling up under the duvet for the first time in weeks. Because despite the heat and humidity of summer, it feels far, far too cold.

—-

The fullness of your bladder wakes you, demanding you seek relief immediately. You can tell by the noise outside that it’s late morning, and you hope Jungkook is already awake. You roll out of bed and shuffle over to the bathroom, trying the handle and finding it still locked.

With a reluctant sigh, you knock. “Jungkookie? Bun, I need to pee. Can you let me in please?” A few moments later there’s shuffling behind the door and the soft click of a lock opening. A sunken-eyed Jungkook stands on the other side, eyes averted. The duvet you gave him wraps him like a shroud. It hangs over his head, hiding his ears, his hands clutching it tightly at his chest. He stares pointedly at his feet as he shuffles past you, and if it weren’t for your desperate need to pee you’d stop and talk to him. But that’s a conversation that can wait until you’ve made breakfast.

You finish in the bathroom as fast as possible and make your way to the kitchen, noticing how he sits curled up on the chair in the corner of your living room.

You pull out all the things you need to make pancakes and crank up the volume on an upbeat playlist; mostly songs Jungkook likes listening to in the mornings. “Jungkook, could you help me please?” you ask sweetly. “The strawberries and bananas need slicing.”

He perks up at that, ears twitching before his eyes dart over to you. He loves bananas, almost obsessively loves them. I knew that would work, you smile to yourself. Jungkook fiddles with the waistband of his pajamas and you try to forget the outline of his hardness straining against them. Try to forget how your skin flushed when he rocked it against you. You focus back on the batter, giving it an extra hard stir, making sure there’s no lumps in it. That’s the reason for you beating it so vigorously. No other reason.

You sigh, pinching yourself before switching on the burner on the stove.

Jungkook begins chopping fruit. Yes. You smile to yourself, watching him out of the corner of your eye as you work on two stacks of pancakes. The tension in the air between you two eases, and soon you’re both dancing to a song that Jungkook listens to often; its easy choreography something you developed together. The song changes into something new, something you’ve never heard before, but you sway your hips nevertheless as you ladle batter into the hot frying pan. Jungkook bounces from foot-to-foot, endlessly energetic as he works his way through half a bunch of bananas and the entire bowl of strawberries. He’s piling the chopped fruit up on plates when you push between him and the counter with a small, murmured excuse me. The step he takes back to allow you access isn’t quite big enough. Even then you don’t notice; so used to squeezing around one another in the modestly-sized kitchen as you are.

 Jungkook, however, notices.

Your ass slides firmly against him and he grips your hips almost painfully hard, pressing you into the counter.

“Ow! Jungkook, what are you—” Your question becomes a squeal of surprise when he buries his nose behind your ear and grinds his rapidly hardening cock into the cleft of your ass. Only two, flimsy layers of clothing separate you. 

“I need you so bad,” he growls as he rubs his nose through your hair, the underside of his chin skimming the column of your neck. You arch back into him, throwing your head back to expose more of your neck to him. You’re usually a lot more reserved with men—a lot—but something about Jungkook makes you want to be wild. Maybe it’s the way you feel so safe with him. His body is a solid presence against your back, his thrusting desperate and needy. Gone is the sweet, delicate Bun you’ve come to care about. He’s been replaced with someone who grips you, growls at you, and yet you still feel safe in his arms.

It’s Jungkook. He’d never hurt you.

You groan, something between a whine and a whimper being ripped from the back of your throat as he rubs himself against you. Then, suddenly - unwelcomely - cold air hits your back. 

Jungkook has torn himself from you for a second time. 

You turn but he’s not behind you. Spinning in place, you see a fluffy tail vanishing around a cabinet and a pair of light grey pajamas left in its wake. You follow fast enough to watch him hightail it out of the kitchen and across the living room, straight under the chair in the corner. He never sits in it as a human, preferring to sit next to you on the sofa, but it’s his favourite place to hide as a bunny.

You crouch, peeking under the chair, trying to coax him out.

“I’m sorry, Jungkookie. Come out and talk to me, please?” you beg to the huddled mass of fur under the chair. He stays where he is, shifting in a way you know means he’s settling in for the long haul. You stand up, running to turn off the stove before dashing to your bedroom and throwing on some clothes. After grabbing your bag, you check under the chair again. Jungkook is still there. “I’ll be right back, okay?” you tell him, before rushing out the door.

You all but run out of your apartment building, dodging people on the street as you head to the florist a block and a half away to get a custom bouquet made. It’s ugly as hell, but it’s not supposed to be for looking at. All of the flowers are suitable for rabbits to eat, and you get triple the ones you know Jungkook is particularly fond of.

You rush back to your apartment on a sliver of energy, taking extra care to preserve your gift, but the whole journey takes you less than twenty minutes. You discard your shoes and bag by the door and head straight for the chair, placing your peace offering on the floor before it.

“I have a gift for you,” you say, pulling a white hibiscus from the bouquet and presenting it to him. “Please come out and talk to me, Bun.” You watch as Jungkook hops forward, unable to resist the pull of his favourite flower. You untie the haphazard collection of flowers and lay them out on the decorative wrapping paper for him. It does the trick and draws him out from under the chair. You hold your hand out to him carefully, letting him come to you on his own terms. Jungkook devours a rosebud and hops forward, bumping your hand with his nose. You sigh, tension you didn’t know was building melting from your shoulders.

Somewhat placated, you head back to the kitchen. The pancakes are now cold but nothing that can’t be reheated. You store his breakfast in the fridge and slip a couple bits of banana onto the paper with the flowers. Jungkook leaps at them, devouring them with relish before following you into the kitchen and circling your chair as you eat your pancakes. He reaches up, nudging your foot to get your attention. And by attention, he wants more bananas.

Once you’re all done with breakfast, you move to the living room. There are several episodes of a TV show you and Jungkook have been watching together that you need to catch up on, and that’s your usual plan for the weekend. Jungkook, however, has other plans. He jumps into your lap, purposefully knocking the remote out of your hand. You tangle your fingers through his fur and feel him shudder under your touch.

“Do you want to tell me what's wrong now?” you ask softly, thumb rubbing soothing circles between his eyes. Beneath your hand, Jungkook transforms. He curls in on himself, doing his best to obscure his nudity, and buries his head in your stomach. You run a hand down his back and find his skin is clammy and feverish. “Oh my god, are you sick? Bun, you’re burning up!” you exclaim, panic injected into your tone.

“I’m going into heat. It’s why I keep—why I keep—” His voice is high-pitched and strained again.

“Why you keep rubbing against me?” you finish for him, raking your nails through his long locks. His ears and tail twitch and Jungkook whines. Nodding, he curls in on himself tighter. “You need a partner,” you say matter-of-factly, but he shakes his head in disagreement.

“No. I don’t need a partner...” he says simply, the implication left hanging. You move his ear carefully, brushing his hair from his face and cupping it with one hand. Your thumb strokes his cheekbone until his tightly-clenched eyes open.

 “Then, tell me what you want,” you whisper. His eyes narrow like he’s assessing you. Assessing the full implication of your words and trying to decide how to answer you.

 “Normally I’d mate with someone in a nest—” Jungkook starts before he’s racked by shudders. He buries his face in your stomach again and whines.

 “My bed,” you offer. “You can build a nest there if you need to.”

He shoots upward at your words, watching your face carefully. “But—” His eyes are wide, mouth agape as he draws the logical conclusion but not daring to hope. “--where will you sleep?” He asks as though he is scared of the answer.

 You carefully brush his hair back from his face, thumbing over a floppy ear. “I c-can—“ you stutter, before taking a deep breath. “I’ll figure something out.” You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his. Your lips are so close like this, close enough to brush against each other as you speak. It’s not quite a kiss, but your intention is clear. “If you need anything—if you want anything...” You trail off. 

 Jungkook wastes no time. He sits up and crawls into your lap, his bare, muscular thighs straddling yours as he kisses you deeply. His hands, no longer rough, cup your face delicately as though he can’t believe he’s been gifted something so precious. Even as his naked hips roll against your stomach.

 “Iwantyouwantyouwantyou. Need you,” he chants between kisses.

 And in an act of madness - or perhaps sanity - you give yourself to him completely.

Next Chapter

[dreamsclock]

In blissful ignorance of Q's lore stream, I present thee a line said as a joke but fitting Dream if he got out the prison before Quackity got in the prison

,,I remember when I once stood here as a man. But now? Now I'm a God!"

you’re so free from the burden of knowing c!quackity is going completely off the deep end,,, you’re so lucky,,,, /lh,,, this works perfectly for an idea i meant to write a long long time ago + got sidetracked on, so tysm for reminding me about it !! cut for length !!

warnings: unhealthy coping mechanisms, mental illness, violence.

Letting Dream out of prison has been their worst idea yet.

None of them had been happy about it to begin with, but after the Egg had started attacking, they’d needed as many people on their side fighting with them as they possibly could. So, whisking Dream out of prison and leaving him to find his footing in the outside world again, they’d started to prepare to fight who Tommy had dubbed the Evil Egg Gang (EGG for short, which, in everyone else’s eyes, had been a pointless nickname, but Tommy liked it, so they let him use it).

The Egg is gone, now. The peace of the server has been tenuously restored. Dream seems to be doing everything he can to break it.

Tommy sprints towards the Community House, lungs burning, eyes aching. The sun is only just rising over the hills of the SMP - it’s too fucking early for trouble, in his opinion, far too fucking early, but after receiving frantic message after frantic message from about a dozen people on his communicator, he’d reluctantly staggered out of bed to be here.

Trouble doesn’t care who it wakes, after all, and trouble has always been personified in the form of a smiling, cracked mask.

Dream is ranting when he gets there - as per usual, Tommy thinks grouchily - an air of unhinged madness surrounding his pacing up and down. The Community House is in shambles, again, the people around Dream are armed and ready to fight, again, Tommy feels the usual fear of Dream creeping up his throat, again, and God, they really are just playing an old disk on repeat, aren’t they?

He thinks of Cat and Mellohi, safe in his Enderchest, and a tug of satisfaction leaves him momentarily fearless. They’ll never go back to the Disk Wars. They’re over. And he’ll never be at Dream’s mercy again.

“...Bombs,” Dream is saying, swinging round to face them all, “I’ve planted them, all around the SMP, deep enough underground that by the time you get there, it’ll be too late. And this?” He laughs, wild, pulling out a button and sticking it on a shard of the Community House still standing. Tommy’s heart sinks. There’s Wilbur written into Dream’s every move. “This is the button that will trigger the explosions.”

There’s a frenzy of murmurs drifting around the early morning dawn, horrified and furious. They outnumber Dream, thirty to one. But if Dream sets off that button...

Tommy finds himself stepping forwards, sword in hand. Dream jerks back on instinct, raising his axe in warning. “Dream,” Tommy says lowly, “don’t do this. We are so close to peace, man. We’re not fucking about to let you go back to your old ways.”

“Old ways?” Dream scoffs. “Tommy, I sided with you because I had to, because I needed the Egg gone to reclaim my power over the server. Now it’s gone? My... My path is clear. I can take control of everyone again.”

“We’re not going to let you do that,” Sapnap snaps, fire crackling in his words, “I told you I’d kill you if you pushed too far, Dream. Don’t make me follow through on that. Please.”

Dream ignores him, turning to face the button, resting his hand next to it with a giggle that comes from nowhere. He sounds hysterical - he sounds scared, Tommy realises slowly, and he doesn’t like how it sounds in Dream’s voice. “I remember when I stood here once as a man,” he murmurs, tracing the button with one finger, “that was the first time I blew it up. But now? Now I’m a god. It’s- Think of this as divine punishment from me. That’s all this is.”

“We’re not going to let you blow everything up again!” Tommy explodes, but he knows how to pull Dream’s attention away now, knows how to win this. With a nervous breath, he steps forwards, ignoring all of his instincts begging him not to. “Look, look, we both know what you really want.”

“What do I really want?” 

“A story.” A disk appears from his inventory: another Cat, a fake one, one he carries on him at all times just in case he needs to. Dream goes very, very still. “You need a story, Dream. So what if I write another fucking chapter for you? What if we-”

“You wouldn’t,” Dream replies, an odd quality to his voice, “I don’t think-”

“No, no, Dream, I would!” Putting the disk away again, Tommy glares up at the other, hands behind his back, texting Sam as quickly and as indiscreetly as he dares to.

You whisper to Sam: get ready

“I would, Dream, because at the end of the day, I care about my friends, and I don’t want them to lose everything- fucking everything, man, you’re about to destroy everything they own! Everything they’ve ever cared for! Of course I’d fucking trade the disk, haven’t I done it before?”

Dream steps forwards. There’s something resigned about his move. 

“Then give me the disk,” he says, tight, “and I won’t blow everything up.”

Tommy lets out a shaky breath, pulling the disk out again and offering it over to Dream. Before he takes it, Dream shoots him a look that has his blood running cold - a look that says I know exactly what you’re doing, a look that says you’re not as clever as you think you are.

But he takes it. The moment he does, Tommy shouts “now!” and chaos erupts.

Sam and Sapnap both slam into Dream, leaving the man stumbling to the ground instantly, trapped on his back by both men pinning him there with their swords - he’s much weaker than he used to be because of the prison, and with the way Dream’s head connects with the ground, the way he almost instantly goes limp, Tommy knows he’s been knocked unconscious. It doesn’t stop others coming up to restrain him, while Puffy pulls the button from the Community House and stores it safely in her inventory. Tommy pulls the disk back, backs away with Tubbo to a safer point, and watches.

Watches the others come to the decision to throw Dream back in prison. Watches them drag him away without a fuss back to the place he’d been so desperate to leave. Watches them go, and that’s when Tommy realises that Dream’s armour is iron and badly damaged, not just from this confrontation. So are his weapons: his axe is diamond, and, from the looks of it, about to shatter at any point. 

This hadn’t been an attempt to destroy the SMP, Tommy thinks, something horrified dawning in his chest, this had been self destruction, and they’d all bought right into it. 

Even that night, Tommy lies awake thinking about it, unable to take his mind away from the stubborn resignation in Dream’s steps and the bemused confirmation from Tubbo that there had been no explosives under the SMP. 

You whisper to Dream: why?

It takes a moment before he gets a message back.

Dream whispers to you: it’s easier in here

And Tommy stares up at the dark ceiling of his room, and wonders when Dream had become so small.

[misterewrites]

Mystery at the Salt-Irons

Hey everyone! E here with a new chapter! kept you waiting huh? Haha sorry it's been a busy few weeks. Nothing serious but I had to keep starting and stopping this chapter so it threw me off but it's here, it's ready and I hope you enjoy it!

I have some special guests in this story, some ocs made by my friends because you know what I can so I will and honestly, they were really great oc ideas guys. so keep an eye out for @hains-mae and Biz_fantasist  OC(I don’t know if she has a tumblr but it’s late so I’ll edit it later) 

That's it for me! I hope you are all stay safe, keep your loved ones safe, wash your hands, wear your masks, push to give everyone the vaccine cuz this is getting ridiculous. I hope you have a great week, thank you for reading. I deeply appreciate and feel free to share it with your friends, give me feedback. Reblog and comments all that fun stuff! Thanks and I'll see you soon!

Here’s the chapter over at Ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/85394095

Here’s the story from the beginning if you’re curious what this is about

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/75486005

and here’s a list of all my work both original and the various fandoms I write for

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/works

Summary:  Finnrick is called to solve a mysterious case as per his job as the city's only Private Investigator wizard but as he sinks deeper into the case, the more it seems that something is happening behind the scenes. Of course with an old friend in town and dark magic surrounding the case, Finnrick is as busy as ever. Ain't no rest for the wicked.

-----

The Salt-Iron Flats weren’t anything special on the surface: An unassuming apartment complex on the north side of Newton Haven, the only thing most people remembered about the place was how the price tag hurt their souls.

Of course, unlike the general housing market, the Salt-Irons (affectionately referred to by the locals) actually had a very reasonable reason for fetching such a high rate: The salt and cold iron baked into every single brick that formed the building.

If you weren’t in the magical know, you’d think it utterly insane that you’d be forced to pay such a large amount of cash because some weirdo decided to make a new age artistic statement with bricks. Of course, if you are aware of the greater community at large, you’d knew you were paying the insanely large sum because someone decided to make the Salt-Irons the single most protective location in the city.

Most mortals have forgotten their history, their lore and collective knowledge passed down throughout the generations: Why their ancestors used to place lines of salt in front of the door and windows, why the elders always suggested to the braver, recklessly youthful family members to carry iron whenever they ventured through the wild.

Outer beings were repelled by salt and iron. No one really had an idea why fae, angels and demons weren’t fond of salt or iron and there's been plenty of arguing about the subject but all in all the fact remained they did not do well when faced with either.

That was the main reason Finnrick didn’t find himself in the north side of town often.

Well that and the zealous Gate Keepers. Those guys were freaks but between them and the Salt-Irons being the only supernatural community up here, Finn never got a case from the area.

Until today.

The Salt-Irons were great at protecting you from any outside threats that wished you ill will: It didn’t protect you from anything you decided to bring in with you.

It was five in the morning when Finnrick got the call. The M.R.R.D representative didn’t have much to offer beyond the address and floor but he thanked her all the same.

Finnrick yawned tiredly, stretching the tension out of his neck while he sipped his coffee. He let out a sigh of relief as the sun slowly rose into the sky.

The Salt-Irons was a twelve story tall building painted a ghastly pale green that made Finnrick sick just looking at it.

“People are paying how much to live in that shade? I’d ask for discount if I were them.” Finnrick laughing to himself, making his way into the apartment complex.

Luckily the interior was much nicer than the outside: Everything was well kept and cleaned. Not a single speck of dust in sight and the wooden stairs didn’t creak when Finnrick placed his foot on them.

Which was good given Finnrick needed to go up seven flights of stairs.

Finnrick wheezed a little, wiping the sweat from his brow when he reached the seventh floor. He glanced down the hall one way then the other as he began to search for room 707 which basic deductive reasoning suggested should be around the corner.

Finnrick crushed the empty foam cup and tucked it into his coat pocket as he made his way to 707. It was a simple wooden door and immaculately spotless just like the rest of the place. He rose his hand and gently rapped on the door.

No response.

He frowned, checking if he was still alone in the empty hallway and rose his hand towards the door frame.

His eyes glowed with a blue energy as he whispered softly “Revelis”

The door gleamed with a bluish hue for a moment before fading away without a trace.

No protective spells laced over the frame so the only thing Finn had to worry about now if it was locked.

He tried the knob, unsurprised when it swung open silently.

“It’s not breaking and entering if someone’s expecting you” Finnrick justified to himself as he pushed the door in.

He nearly staggered backwards: The air tasted thick and foul like something had been left rotting inside. His skin prickled with anxiety, a chill running down his spine with each step he took further in.

Finnrick took deep, calming breathes while doing his best to ignore the bitter taste that seem to cling the air within.

He noticed the trail of footsteps, perfectly preserved in what appeared to be black dust leading deeper into the living room.

“Hey da! You here?” Finnrick called out, carefully stepping closer “You and ma still married?”

There was a deep grunt of acknowledgment before a voice responded “Sorry son, we’re divorced now. She got custody of you.”

“Well fuck. I guess I’m going to be eating kale and poorly cooked spinach for the rest of my life.”

Garrus Valka was not in fact Finnrick’s father, adoptive or otherwise. He was actually one of the highest ranked officers of the Magical Rapid Response Department: An elf clocking in at 200 years old with richly tanned skin. His bluish gray hair was slicked back in his preferred style. Garrus’s had his back turned to the detective but Finn knew his sliverish gray eyes were deep in concentration as he took down notes about the surroundings. His beautifully inhuman features were marred with a scar on the right side of his face: burnt skin on his cheek, healed by time and various surgeries. An old war wound though Finn never got the full story.

He was dressed in typical M.R.R.D fashion: Dark blue windbreaker, jeans and a blue shirt with the words “Powered by coffee and spite” splashed across the front. His Winchester rifle was slung across his back, ready for any action that may befall the elf.

“Drift.” Garrus greeted teasingly while offering a hand.

Finnrick gave it a playful shake “Da. So is mom here or she trying to smite pigeons again?”

“THEY TRIED TO STEAL MY HOTDOG!” Garrus’s partner Eden screamed from another room “I SHALL BRING MY GOD’S WRATH UPON THEM!”

“You know when they mean justice.” Finnrick called out “I don’t think they mean against winged rats.”

Eden chuckled darkly “You know not their sins.”

“Okay.” Finnrick nodded despite the fact she couldn’t see him “If you say so. What happened Da? Aside powerful necromancy.”

“Powerful necromancy” Garrus replied cheekily “and missing persons.”

Finnrick rose an eyebrow “Persons? More than one?”

“Two: A father and son. Richard Charles and his son Richard Jr. Recluses it seems. Neighbors hardly saw them. Mostly kept to themselves.”

Finnrick pursed his lips thoughtfully “Any magical abilities?”

“They’re not on records if that’s what you mean.” Garrus answered “Never signed up in the academy, not registered with The Council. If they were practitioners they didn’t tell anyone.”

“So what was the spell? I just smell the remnants of spookiness.”

“Hadn’t noticed the rest of the room huh?”

Finnrick frowned before finally getting a good look at the rest of the room: Every inch of the apartment was blanketed with the same black dust that he found in the entrance way. Inches and inches of the substance and that wasn’t the strangest part.

Everything was bent at different and odd angles: chair with crooked legs, the wall clock warped and twisted, the fridge leaning like someone folded it in half. Floorboard reached for the sky and walls split inward.

There was a common misconception about magic. Most people thought spell casters, especially wizards, could command reality to their wills. That magic was capable of impossible feats and it was as simple as snapping your fingers.

The truth was all magic, ranging from divinity to free range nature, was performed on a micro scale. Practitioners did not alter reality but rather shortcut it. Throwing fireballs was as simple as rapidly heating the air until it combusted. Turning invisible was less about vanishing completely as it was bending the light around you to not be seen. Magic was rooted in reality and imagination. If you had the magical strength to perform the magic, the magic often followed your lead.

Of course there were spells that required much more than magical hand and willpower. Powerful magic, like summoning outer beings or raising an army of zombies, required both time and materials. Magic was like any other energy: you needed enough of it to perform what you wanted. The human body could only generate so much magic without dying and resting was necessary to replace any expended in the use of spells. Materials were guidelines for the spell. Feathers for anything with flight, ash for fireballs etc etc.

The other thing needed was to gather energy and store it for the spell’s use. There were different ways to achieve this: Wands, talismans, potions were basically magic soups. The most efficient way to gather energy was the wizards preferred way: Circles.

Finnrick eyed the room closely this time, murmuring under his breath about angles and trajectory. Garrus paid him no mind, well familiar with the private investigators methods.

“If this went like that” he gestured to the wall clock “and that went here.”

Finnrick glanced about, carefully walking about as if worried he was going to step on a landmine.

“Here.” Finnrick found himself staring at a spot in the middle of the room “Ventus.”

He gestured with a hand and light breeze filled the room. It brushed away some of the dust covering floor, revealing the outline of a half melted metal ring.

“What is it?” Garrus turned curiously

“Spell circle. The source of the explosion. I’m willing to bet it’s custom made. Copper, steel. Maybe some bits of tin couldn’t stand the surge.”

“No iron or sliver?”

Finnrick shook his head “That’s for containing or repelling monsters. Necromancy is more about drawing in the evil entities. Or sucking out life.”

Garrus sighed tiredly “Don’t touch?”

“Only if you want to live to see retirement. Might have some pent up magic ready to blow outwards.”

“Understood. I’ll call in our guys. I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

Finn nodded gratefully while pulling out a vial and motioning to the elf “Mind if I do?”

“Be my guest, you might find something we’d miss.”

Finnrick smiled gratefully before scooping up some of the dust and sealing it within the vial.

“Take care Garrus, stop fighting birds Ma!”

“Flying rats!”

-----

The cafe was lively despite being early but that was no surprise given it was Mother’s. Mother’s was the single best food establishment in all Newton Haven and if anyone disagreed, they were allowed to have their opinions.

They were also allowed to be wrong.

Finnrick paused in the doorway, breathing in the scent of well cooked eggs and sweet lemonade. The pop and sizzle of heated grease brought a sense of comfort to the hard working private investigator.

“Finny Drift!” Maddie Copperstone called from behind the counter “How’s my favorite customer holding up?”

Maddie was 40 years young with tastefully curled dark brown hair. Human, little on the short side but fierce. She wore a simple red blouse and jeans, both stained with flour that the apron around her waist did not prevent.

Finnrick bounced over cheerfully, reaching over the counter to give the matron the biggest hug he could muster “I’m good Maddie. Working a case.”

Maddie’s brown eyes searched his face carefully “You always working Finny. You resting as much?”

“Scout’s honor.”

Maddie let out a disbelieving chuckle “You weren’t ever a Scout.”

“Honorary scout after I stopped that bear from eating them.”

“Thought it was a giant raccoon.”

“Yes but people don’t take giant raccoon seriously. He here?”

Maddie clicked her tongue disappointingly but motioned to the booth at the far end of the establishment “Rest.”

Finnrick rose his hand in surrender “After.”

“Never you mean!” Maddie shouted after him.

Amos Frye hadn’t changed much since last he was roaming around Finnrick’s neck of the woods: Handsome with soft gray eyes that reminded Finn of gathering storm clouds. His long black hair was tied in a messy bun held up by a golden pin, a braided strand hung loosely near his face. His beard was much shorter than what Finnrick remembered though he noted the unkempt split ends indicated that Amos hadn’t trimmed it in a few weeks. His iconic dark red sleeveless jerkin and black jean combination would look ridiculous on a lesser man but had allowed the monster hunter to show off his muscular frame. His brown skin was a bit more pale than usual so no doubt Amos had been operating at night lately.

“Finnrick, you cheeky bastard! I am so glad you came!” Amos beamed happily, his various bangles and bracelets clinking together in equally joyous celebration as the two shook hands.

“Amos! Happy to see you.” Finn beamed brightly as he slid into the booth across his old friend “Why though? Family trouble?”

Amos’s joyfully gleam turned dark for a moment.

“No. Have you…?”

Finnrick shook his head quickly “Not a word. Sorry, I hadn’t meant to…”

Amos waved the apology away “No worries cuz. I understand why you’d think that. Coming across the pond isn’t a spur of the moment thing and Os has always been the black sheep of the family. I suppose no news is good news.”

“Right.” Finnrick cleared his throat awkwardly “So what’s the trouble? I doubt you’d call me up for a nip and chat.”

“Rightly so.” Amos confirmed, reaching into the bag at his side and pulling out a folder “Hunting business as usual cuz.”

That made sense: Amos was the latest of a long family whose specialized business was monster hunting. The Fryes had been striking at things that went bump in the night for centuries ever since the first Frye defended the folk of some underground society.

Amos was an average wizard if Finnrick was being generous. That was not a slight against his old friend, it was a matter of fact: Amos spent most of his time honing the physical aspects of his profession which was obvious given the size of his arms. Any spells he knew were purely for defensive or preventive measures so he often communicated with Finnrick for higher quality and complex spellwork.

Finnrick took the folder from Amos and began pouring over its contents.

Most were quickly scrawled notes Amos had noticed about his quarry: Long sliver hairs, canine in nature. Large paw prints found in the areas it had been sighted, far too big to any natural wolf. Wulfvur and werewolf were hastily written and as quickly crossed out. A pattern of hanging out in wild areas, often forests and swamps.

There were pictures too: flashes of sliver, blurs of fangs and muzzles darting in and out of camera frame. It was always a distance away, sprinting deeper into the wildness. It was hard to tell from the photos but Finn guessed it might’ve been 10 feet tall at the very least.

“Why we hunting wolves now?” Finnrick asked curiously.

Amos flagged down the waitress “Contract given to my pa. It was hanging around the marsh lands of the jolly old isles. Someone wanted it gone.”

Something wasn’t clicking with Finn “and you followed it here? From England?”

“Nah cuz” Amos gave a cheeky grin “I tackled it through a portal and found I illegally crossed into America.”

“Ah.” Finnrick nodded in understanding “Fae.”

“Fae?” Amos frowned thoughtfully “I thought that too but I never heard of any snarling wolfie breaking into homes and snatching out wee younglings in them old folktales.”

“Fae are weird.” Finnrick shrugged “Their whole shtick is not making any sense. I had to expel a cat the size of a bus once. Double decker tall.”

Amos whistled in appreciation as he scratched his bread “So fae. Slippy fellow as you can tell. Whatcha recommend?”

“What’s the contract?”

“Banishment. It’s looking like wolfie ended up in the wrong part of town.”

“I think you mean next town over. Fixed a pattern yet?”

“Not yet but I wasn’t looking for one.” Amos admitted “Thought I was tracking some mutant. Fae changes a lot. Magical circles?”

“Easiest way to catch it.” Finnrick agreed “Sliver for sure. Iron would hurt it and based on your files, it hasn’t done anything than thin the local wildlife population. No need to anger mister big bad wolf.”

“Good call. I got some talent to handle a few circles but tracking is not really my speed.”

“I’m on a case but if you swing by the M.R.R.D, maybe they’ll loan you a wizard.”

Amos let out a disappointed sigh “I need to take care this sometime this year Finny. Bloody bureaucracy probably set me back a month at least.”

“There’s always Jaime but she’s pretty busy at work.”

“Jaime huh?” Amos smiled mischievously “I haven’t talked to your sister in a long time.”

“I will curse you.” Finnrick playfully threatened “And not no simple hex either. I’ll make you bald.”

Amos gasped dramatically, clutching at his hair protectively “You wouldn’t dare mate.”

“Shinier than the sun.”

“Okay, okay” Amos conceded “I’m kidding. She’s with Casey anyway. Good couple. Cute couple. He still hopelessly selfless and she still trying to fast track her way to power?”

“Yep.”

“You gonna fix that?”

Finnrick shook his head “It’s their lives. Their choices.”

“Idiots.” Amos chuckled “the lot of them.”

“All you need is love?”

“Spoken true the gospel of my land.”

-----

A few hours later with a brainstorm session completed and a promise to help out the next day, Finnrick left Amos to his work and continued with his own.

It was noon now and as the sun rose high in the sky, Finnrick found himself at the Grimyard.

The Grimyard was the premiere spot for all things magical in Newton Haven: Rows and rows of shops specifically catering to the magic community. The streets were paved with century old cobblestone and the buildings here were various hues of faded brick and mortar. It was easy to get lost in the Grimyard if it was your first time as the Grimyard did not spread out, it stacked downward. Layers upon layers of the Grimyard were actually underground to allow those with issues against the sun to sell their goods and services at all times of the day. Don’t let the dark fool you, anyone with worthy talent or product was here in the Grimyard.

Normally Finnrick would wander around a bit, checking out the various businesses and protective wards around the mile long patch of land but he was on the clock and the sooner he began to figure out what was going on, the sooner he could stop it.

Luckily for him, his destination was right here on the top floor of the marketplace. Specifically furthest back corner.

Knightly Ore was ran by the Knight family. Originally they only sold rare metals and ores which were necessary components for some of the more complicated magicks. At some point the owners expanded into selling more alchemical materials and eventually brewing potions, salves and such for a fee.

Despite decent business, it was the most rundown building in this part of the Grimyard: Broken window shudders with the paint faded down to the original shade when the business first opened decades ago. The humble black door was crooked and creaked whenever it moved

Finnrick knew the owners fairly well but here wasn’t here for them. He was here to see their son.

He pushed past the building, ducking into the alley that led to the lot directly behind the shop.

“Halt!” A voice called out “Who seeks the Brewmaster of the Grimyard?”

“It is I, Finnrick the detective. I got money and I need work done”

The Brewmaster was Theodore Knight, an incredibly talented alchemist who didn’t have the same opportunities Finnrick did: He was pretty tall for his age (14 or 15, Finnrick lost track once or twice) but clearly a teenager given his short lavender hair had a few strands dyed red. His eyes were an unnatural pale blue, paler than the blue of the sky. He wore the usual attire Finn often found him in: A sleeveless dark blue hoodie with a fist sized red gem clasped in front just under his neck and a lighter shade blue t-shirt. He wore black finger-less gloves gripping his brown messenger bag slung around his shoulder. A matching brown pouch hung around the waist of his gray cargo shorts and his brown boots were kept clean despite his place of business was in an alley behind his parents shop.

Theo jumped out from a hidden shadowy corner of the lot “Finn, whatcha got for me now?”

Finnrick reached into his pocket, showing the eager teen the vial that held blacken dust within.

“That’s it?” Theo scoffed, rolling his eyes “I was expecting something…...cooler.”

He took the vial and raised it to the sun. Theo gave it a rough shake and watched it carefully for any properties the strange substance would display.

Theo frowned, clearly unsatisfied by what he saw “You brought me ash? Plain ash? It’s your money but even I think it’s a waste.”

“It’s ash?”

Theo shot the detective a look that screamed how obvious it should’ve been “Yes, ash. Thicker than what I’ve seen but ash all the same.”

Finnrick bit his cheek thoughtfully.

“Look Finn, you know my rates. I dunno what you want me to do but standard fees apply.”

“I’ll paying double.”

The Brewmaster’s eyes narrowed suspiciously “Double for ash? What’s so special about it?”

“Oh nothing." Finnrick pretended to look disinterested “Aside it was taken directly from a crime scene: Necromancy and cast via a half melted spell circle.”

It took Theo a minute to allow the implications of what Finnrick said to sink in. His eyes shifted from suspicion to wild excitement.

“Really?!” Theo clutched the vial like it was his first born child “Necromancy really doesn’t like many alchemy processes. It’s not going to be easy for me.”

“I know right?” Finnrick grinned impishly “It’s almost like I’m going to have to pay double for it.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to….” Theo pouted unhappily “Ha freaking ha. Okay smart guy, pay up.”

Finnrick handed over 50 gold. Theo took it eagerly, his eyes lightening up with glee.

Theo paused for a moment, his face turning oddly serious for a teenager.

“It might take me awhile depending on what you want.”

“I want to know what’s in it. Necromancy requires specific ingredients. After that it’ll be easier to track the seller.”

“And the buyer!” Theo blurted out excitedly “Smart.”

Finnrick ruffled his hair playfully “I wish I thought of it. You keep this up and you’re going to run me out of business.”

“I’ll text you when I have something.”

“Pleasure as always Theo.”

“It’s Brewmaster.”

-----

It was 2 in the afternoon when Finnrick made his way back to the Salt-Iron. He stood outside the complex, tossing the remains of his pizza into his waiting maw and crumpling the can of soda he was drinking before tucking into his coat pocket.

“What’s this?” Finnrick asked, utterly confused by the crushed foam cup he pulled from within “Oh right my coffee. I’ve been really at today.”

Finnrick wiped his hands clean and made his way inside the Salt-Iron once more, mulling over the details of the case as he ascended up the stairway.

Blacken ash cast by a spell circle. Both father and son missing with no indication where they went too. Recluses and rarely seen. Necromancy within a threshold.

It was hard to tell how deeply the father and son were involved in spell. Someone who had access to the apartment was behind it no doubt. Spell circles were the most consistent way to cast magic but they took time to build, set and channel energy. You didn’t build a spell circle without knowing exactly what you plan to do with it.

The nature of the magic was also a mystery: Dark magic had various applications and not a single one was good. Finnrick hadn’t much experience with that branch of magic but there was nothing logical about the aftereffects: Ash spread throughout the apartment, clinging to everything like a second skin. There was no signs of an outward blast given that nothing bent in the same direction. Everything in that room decided to twist in whatever wayit felt like. If the spell was supposed to draw in something then chair legs and wall tiles would’ve been pulled directly towards the circle.

“Curiouser and curiouser Alice” Finnrick spoke to no one in particular.

He was on the fifth floor when he noticed something odd.

Finnrick raised an eyebrow as the skies outside the window darken, black and stormy.

A thunderstorm it seems.

Finnrick peered out the window, glancing upwards to see what was going on.

Dark clouds swirled directly overhead. Rain began to lightly drizzle as the skies boomed. Thunder and a moment later lightning trailing across the gathering storm.

A thunderstorm that formed directly above this building.

Without warning.

“Well that’s not ominous.”

Finnrick made the mistake of leaning closer to the window, peering around to see if he could see where exactly the storm was coming from when it happened.

“Watch out below!”

Finnrick noticed three things in that moment: First, was of course, someone shouting to watch out below. Second was the distant sound of claws scratching something wooden, the walls perhaps. Lastly was the thudding of something falling down quickly and towards him.

Finnrick rose his hand, pivoting on his heels in time to see something crash into him.

It wasn’t much of a contest: Both Finnrick and whatever slammed into him broke through the fifth story window and went sprawling into a freefall.

[tales-unique]

FAITH, LOST VI

The softness got me like 😩 I hope you enjoy it! ♥

@maddi-bug & @chelseareferenced & @actual-trash-goblin

Chapter 6

Heisenberg is gone for longer than usual. It's to be expected, given how swift and intense the explosion was, only this time you're aware of just how much you miss him when he's not there. It’s cathartic, no longer having your feelings hidden in the deepest parts of yourself. Upon reflection, you realize that you enjoy the power struggle between the two of you and that there is no shame in it. Pleasure, you had come to learn, wouldn’t compromise your dignity or pride in yourself, and wasn’t something to be demonized or resented. Weightless from this revelation, your mind drifts to the last words he spoke before leaving you; we aren’t done here . Fire blooms in your stomach, dripping lower until you’re squirming where you sit cross-legged on Heisenberg's bed. Your skin still tingles from where he held you in his rough grasp, white noise erupting all over your body. It’s clear just what the phrase implies , but at the same time you have no exact idea what to expect when he returns and that’s part of what makes this all so thrilling . Though even with all the positive feelings that come with this, you can’t help but still feel conflicted. You find yourself lost in the moment, sent adrift in a vast ocean with no lifeline.

Now, it wasn’t as though you hadn’t had sex before, because you had. It was only once, in the hayloft of the village stables with a young man named Nicolai that you were fond of. He worked in the fields and you often saw him on your way to Church, where he’d smile and wink at you. He’d happened upon you when you’d lingered near the edge of the fields one day after morning Mass, bashfully accepting when he proposed that you go somewhere quieter together. You remember that his kisses were soft, but he was a little pushy, and once he was done that was it. No real connection, no real passion, just motion until you were both done, and even then you weren’t completely sure if you were done. Then a week later he was dead, mauled to death in that very same hayloft by a Lycan, along with a girl from your congregation named Irina. You can only imagine the reason why she was there with him that day. It sat, bitter like poison, within you for some time after their deaths, knowing that this hadn’t been the special thing you had been led to believe; this divine virtue that needed to be protected until you were lawfully wed, where all would finally make sense. Then you met Lord Karl Heisenberg and everything was suddenly turned on its head. Since you had come to the Factor you had been exposed to a more sexually charged and free environment, with Heisenberg's flirtatious teasing a regular occurrence, as well as his sarcasm and moods, culminating in the spark that set all this motion when he had you pinned to the desk in his office. You were given no room to avoid it, no chance to hide behind demureness and virtue, and because of that you were able to grow . You now embraced what this freedom could give you and it was all because of his pushing. At first it didn’t sit well with you, it squirmed and fought, but the disquieting sensation dissipated easily and you were left with an insatiable hunger for all things you had been denied, scandalous or otherwise. Biting your lip, a devious little thought fills your head; you needed to thank him when he came back.

When Heisenberg does come back to you it's already well into the night, and in anticipation of his return he finds that you’re not in your room when he looks, instead, amusingly, you’re actually in his . Sound asleep, you’re curled up on his bed with the sheets clutched in your dainty fingers up to your face. He watches from the doorway the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest as you breathe and the way your long lashes kiss your cheeks. You’ve clearly been busy while he was gone, having ordered the disheveled work desk to semi-neatness so he can at least still find his things. Straightened papers, pens put in the holder, lined his tools up for easy access. It’s something he doesn’t outwardly thank you for, but  has most certainly come to value. You don’t overstep, you merely aid, and it’s in these quiet moments of downtime that he realizes how much he appreciates the little things you do for him. Yes, it began with your faith and devotion to Mother Miranda and her decree for you to serve him, but he isn’t naive enough to believe that’s all there is to it. Not now, anyway. You don’t have to be caring towards him in your servitude, in your own little ways, like becoming annoyed with him when he tells you he hasn’t eaten all day or hasn't drunk enough water while working. Soft, kind-hearted things; things he isn’t used to. Trying to be as quiet as he can, Heisenberg walks over to where you lay, settling on the edge of the bed by your side. You squirm in your sleep as his weight dips the mattress but you don’t wake up, merely curling up tighter with a soft sigh. He watches your sleeping form with pinched brows, the uncomfortable intensity of yearning twisting knots within him. A hesitant hand comes to brush your cheek with his thumb, cupping it gently. Such tender affections were not something the Lord was known for, or used to receiving from others, given the magnitude of sins he had performed at the behest of his hatred for Miranda, her manipulations and betrayals, and his insatiable need to be free of the confinement he was forced into. Ulterior motives were second nature in his world, the lesson that kindness and affection were a means to an end instilled in him from an early age. Yet the compulsion, new and alarming, to give in to your motiveless warmth had wormed its way deep inside, threatening to shatter him from within. Not that he wasn’t trying to fight it, he was . Like a wild mustang refusing to yield to anyone, he twisted and pulled and snapped at the feeling, it’s tendrils repelled as much as he could, but he was slowly weakening to its constant attacks. It just wouldn’t leave him be . The realization was harsh and unforgiving that you are well on your way to becoming someone that would, in time, serve to weaken him, grinding down his walls just as the sea wears away the rocks on its shores until they resemble nothing of their former selves. The thought irks him and in a childish display of spitefulness he pulls his hand back from your face, lips curling into a snarl. His fingers burst with static, punishing him for prematurely cutting the contact, and he tries to smother the sensation by tightening his hand into a fist. It doesn’t help. He can still feel it and he hates that he misses it, like some love-sick pup! It ties his stomach in knots and sets his blood aflame. He’s hyper aware of you laying behind him, overwhelmed when you turn over and your knees press against his back. Lulled by your gentle, slumbering breaths, a calming serenade, Heisenberg’s hand slowly unfurls to rest on his leg. Though he’s still very much on edge. The dizzying free-fall into such conflicting emotions sends him nauseous, reeling from the sudden severity of it. You were just a weak, pathetic human , for fucks sake! You had no right to come barging into his life and start wrecking shit up with your pretty smiles and warm eyes! All those selfless moments he tries so desperately to poke holes in, only to find that they’re as sound as a concrete wall. It has him doubting, however minutely, the thought that everyone was out to get

him and that scared him. Quickly standing, he decides even being in the same room as you is too much. Everything is suddenly stifling, the heat cloying and making his throat burn. He doesn’t even check to see if he’s disturbed you as he exits the room, head throbbing mercilessly. There’s nowhere left in the factory that’s safe from your influence; the rooms smell of you, the hallways echo with your voice, his things marked by your touch — you’re everywhere , encasing him. And he doesn’t help that fact when he finds himself standing in the middle of your room. His keen senses are overwhelmed by the space, your space, but it isn’t so disarming this time. No, now he’s growing to like it against his better judgement. You’ll ruin him and he’s slowly coming around to the idea of letting you do it, too. It makes him sick, that thought, but it doesn’t really matter as he sits down on the couch where you sleep, fingers smoothing over the sheets you’ve neatly folded over it. There’s a twisted sense of irony in how he finds comfort in being surrounded by your things, as little as they are, when trying so desperately trying to get away from you. It doesn’t make sense, but since when did anything in his fucked up life? "Fuck," he moaned, the word drawn-out in his frustration as he laid his head back to stare up at the ceiling.

"Heisenberg?" The Lord tilts his head to look at where you stand in the doorway, your tender question alerting him to your presence. You're a picture of post-slumber beauty; hair dishevelled and fluffed up on one side from where you had been laying, eyes hazy with sleep, your top languidly slipping down one shoulder, creased from your rest. Your brow is pinched as you regard him, gently padding over to where he sits. "Sleeping Beauty finally wakes up, huh?" He chuckles, casually slinging his arm over the back of the couch. “Did you enjoy sleeping in my bed?” He teases with a smirk. “You were gone too long,” you retorted, fixing him with a tired glare, pulling your legs up as you settle down beside him, “and you don’t let me down into the lower levels with you, do you?” “I know, but this was serious,” Heisenberg sighed, his free hand coming to pinch the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut in frustration, “one of the fucking conveyor lines decided to go ka-pow !” He punctuates his statement with a mimic of the explosion, both hands involved before dropping down limply. “It was jammed. I got it under control but the fallout was, well, messy ,” he explained, taking off his glasses and putting them aside on the couch arm, along with his tossed coat and gloves. You frown at the way he drags his hands down his face, sighing deeply. He’s exhausted and there’s nothing you can really do that you haven’t already tried. “At least it’s fixed now, yes?” You ask softly as you turn to sit cross-legged, facing him. You have a look of worry creasing your features and Heisenberg is quick to hide the rising emotion with his usual swagger. “Of course it is, why do you think I’ve been gone so long?” He scoffs, shaking his head. His leg begins to jiggle under the weight of your wary gaze, knowing that he’s not fooling you in the slightest. You’ve seen enough of him, the vulnerability he has, to know an act of bravado when he’s conjuring it. It’s unsettling to know that you have a means of undermining his power over you now, that you can call his bluff with somewhat decent accuracy, and he fully expects you to embrace that power. So when you gingerly move to nestle into his side, back resting against him with your head leaning against his arm where it lays slung across the back of the couch he’s pleasantly surprised. He should know better, you’ve always been soft . Even when you’re being fierce towards him and you blaze like a thousand suns it comes from a place of tenderness and care, something he doesn’t think he’ll ever truly understand about you. “I missed you.” It’s barely a whisper and even his keen hearing is strained to pick it up. There are a million sarcastic and teasing responses that he could choose from to say, and very much would have, if not for the fact that you’re right there , disarming him with a distant, non-threatening kind of affection that has him weak. It’s easier, he assumes, for you to not look at him when you tell him your truth and he’s grateful. Those big doe eyes, filled with gentle fondness, that you have when you’re being this way might just send him into overdrive at this point and he hasn’t yet come up with a game plan on how to deal with it. “Yeah?” It’s a simple response, but there’s a slight break to his voice that betrays the tempest of emotions swirling within. The air is charged with anticipation, a prickling static that is so close to erupting, all because you’ve got him going fucking soft . “Mhm,” you hum, pressing your feet into the cushions to distract yourself. Your face is ablaze with colour, your skin burning. To be so open, so raw , in such an intimate setting as this was completely foreign to you, and it didn’t help that the one you were experiencing it with was Lord Karl Heisenberg . A silence, pregnant with the onset of a coming storm, rolls over you both and you sit, listening to the sound of each other's breathing. Your heart is hammering in your chest, the hummingbird threatening to break free. White noise suddenly erupts across your body when you feel him shift, ever so slightly,

and his arm comes across your front to pull you closer. The movement is awkward, marred by a lack of experience with this kind of action, and you too have to move in order to be comfortable. It takes a moment or two but soon you both find a happy medium.You rest your cheek against his arm, nose lovingly brushing against one of the many raised, white scars that littered his skin. If only he could be so bold in this way. His body stiffens instinctively when you continue with your ministrations, resisting the urge to pull back, to push you away. His scars were a source of contention for him, among many other things, some known to you and some not, given how he had come to have them. But you didn’t seem to mind. That he now knew for sure from the way you lavished them with gentle attention, carefully tracing the lines with your dainty fingers. You even dare to press a gentle kiss to one that curls into his wrist, feeling the way his pulse jumps wildly under your lips. “I didn’t realise you had so many,” you murmur, looking over his arm with interest. He’s never spoken outright about them, but they were hard to miss. There was nary a patch of skin, seen or unseen, that didn’t have one of some kind, or so you presumed. You had no doubts in your mind that he would keep their origins from you and you wouldn’t presume to have leave to ask, but in this moment anything could be possible. Stranger things had already happened, after all. However, when he remains quiet you frown, pressing a lingering kiss to the spot, a silent apology for having been so prying. His pulse jumps again and suddenly you're pulled in closer, tighter. You gasp at the sudden shift, feeling him lean in, nosing your hair, taking in it’s scent. “You’re pretty brave tonight, huh?” He rumbled low into your ear, making you stiffen. He wanted to touch you, only this time it was different from before. It was driven by an unfamiliar desire to give intimacy as he had been given, to gain back the power you had taken. Or so he told himself. You were his, Mother Miranda had said as much when she gave you to him, but now he wanted to be yours , too. “I—” You swallow your nerves, turning so that you could look up at him with wide eyes, “—did I go too far?” It was hard to know when you had crossed a line until you were already well beyond it, incurring his wrath, so you were understandably wary, and it irked him to know that he was the source of your constant insecurity. He really was a shitty person, like you had said before. “Not at all,” he stated, lips quirking in a smile at the way your gaze softened, a bashful smile crossing your face. This thing, whatever it was that you had, was a delicate, fragile little bloom that he was striving to keep, to protect . In his mind he knew there may not ever be another chance for something like this for someone like him and so he was determined not to lose it. Not to his siblings, not to that bitch Miranda, not to anything or anyone . This time the silence is more comfortable for the both of you, his fingers drumming a nonsensical tune on your arm as you rest against him — the last vestige of his anxiousness and nerves. You don’t hold it against him, instead allowing it to lull you into a peaceful doze. Your weight, like an anchor to his wayward ship, is pleasant and he finds that quietness can indeed be peaceful. With you at his side he’s grounded, electrified but contained. It’s surreal, but he’s addicted to the odd sensations your affection gives him. It’s nothing like the sexually charged tension of before but in some ways it’s even better . He doesn’t ever want it to end, you and him, in this still, secret moment, and that worries him to no end.

[seoracle]

DRIVERS LICENSE; i

Pairing: Bang Chan x Idol! Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Fake Dating! AU, Angst, Lovers to Enemies(?), Occasional Pining, Comedy, S for potential smut(??)

Summary: Y/N has become an overnight sensation with ‘Drivers License’, Breaking records left and right...But what if the press gets wind of the ill-matched lovers and their company decide it’s the perfect attention ploy?

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Swearing (a lot near the end), Drinking mention

A/N: this was meant to be a drabble... now it’s becoming a series...i’m sorry

“...and the winner of Inkigayo today is...Y/N with ‘Drivers License, Congratulations!”

You step towards the center of the stage and take the trophy and bouquet from a rookie idol, who flashes a bright smile at you, but you can see the envy in his eyes. You once had that same hunger and ambition that he seems to reek of, it’s a reminder of how far you’ve come.

Taking the mic, you begin to sing a more sultry and edgier vibe than usual, which seems to gather more screams from fans than usual. You remember what Seulgi taught you and gaze at the camera lens with a subtle pout, trying to capture the angst of the song in your gaze.

It feels ridiculous, feigning emotions you no longer feel, singing a song you begged the company not to put out in a corset fitted shirt that’ll leave your ribs sore and reddened. It’s pathetic and cliche, you quite literally sold your soul (well, heart) for fame. 

“Yeah, you said forever, now I drive alone past your street…”

Everyone behind you waves at the camera, signalling the show is ending. You leave last, taking several confetti bits for your scrapbook, which is the only thing keeping you from remembering this is all real. 

Backstage, Iris and San are waiting in your dressing room, they greet you with proud grins and slaps on the back. 

“Well, if it isn’t miss twelve...no, thirteen wins in two weeks.” San praises, enveloping you in a hug.

“Could be thirteen by tomorrow~” Hums Iris in a sing-song tone.

A groan leaves your lips, while slumping into an uncomfortable chair. You tune out their excited plans for your makeup and hair tomorrow, San says something about an end of year Award show.

All you want is to go home to your empty dormitory and sleep.

When you finally arrive to the ‘comfort’ of your ‘studio apartment’ (box room), it isn’t long before you strip down to your pyjamas and aggressively rub off the layers of makeup that seem to cling to every pore and fine line of your face. The cold air from the fan soothes the aching of your body from your strict workout routine. You stay awake until 4am, reading comments from netizens and replying to fans on your fancafe, it  was hard not to become obsessed with checking what people thought; whether they loved or loathed you.

[+184 -93] Y/N is talented, but they look devoid of emotion since last week...maybe singing a song so personal isn’t a good idea….what if the person it’s about hears it…..

User FYL**8 was right, it had become draining trying to convey emotions you’d long let go of. Your debut song was fresh and fun, it didn’t garner much attention but at least you hadn’t had to fake emotions and relive your first heartbreak.

Although the memories of the breakup didn’t hurt as much, the happiest ones were the most painful. The feeling of ignorance, thinking he meant forever and believing him completely...it was all so distant yet felt a fingertip away.

That night you slept with a heavy heart, remembering what it felt like when he’d hold you close and right and kiss you on the head to soothe your worries. Why did it have to end? Why like that? You try to drift into a nice sleep after another exhausting day but to no avail, thoughts of him are flooding every thought. Has he heard it? There was no way he hadn’t, he loved to check out every ranking song for inspiration or for another artist to add to his monthly playlist. 

Would he get angry? Sad? Laugh at your pathetic feelings? He was right in the end, when it came down to it you only shared your feelings when it was too late.

Stupid Christopher fucking Bang.

It wasn’t often you’d refer to him as Chan, you had met him when he only saw it as another name for himself that he hardly used. Back when his hair had been fluffed up curls that he couldn’t contain and his light freckles weren’t covered by BB Cream. When he didn’t belong to the world and only loved you.

After months of forcing yourself not to, you hastily search “Stray kids Bang Chan + Y/N”, Then “Stray Kids Y/N” and finally “Skz Y/N”. The results are minimal and far inbetween, mostly tweets from fans wishing for a collab and oddly enough one person making edited photos of you and them, which are so convincing you have to remind yourself you hadn’t met them.

Thoughts drift to his friends, the ones who didn’t know Chris was even seeing someone and had been for over a year. They tried to sugarcoat it, say they forgot, it’s hard to keep track when you’re training and all that. 

The sinking feeling you felt when Minho asked how long you’d been together, guessing a month at most. When you did reply, ears burning with embarrassment he coughed and muttered “Oh.’, That had stung.

Everything had seemed so perfect, until you opened your eyes and saw it for what it was.

You don’t end up sleeping much, two hours at most, Then it’s time to get ready and head to the Broadcast Studio for today’s event. All you know is it’s a show about giving advice, the reviews aren’t great but you aren’t allowed to turn anything down because fame is a double-edged sword that you can barely grasp as is.

Iris and San are already waiting for you when you get there, within minutes makeup is being patted into your skin and your outfit is laid out on the chair next to you.

“Sleep more, Y/N-ah, I had to use a double coverage concealer to hide your dark circles.” Iris said in a fretful tone.

“I try, it’s hard being famous.” You reply jokingly, flipping your hair the best you can. Iris smacks your hand away and frantically finds her hairspray.

Within twenty minutes you’re dressed and not one hair is out of place, San pulls you aside with an uncharacteristically stern face. 

“The company have specific goals for sending you here, they want you to delve into a story of heartbreak to comfort today’s victim, while keeping anonymity and remaining as vague as you can.” 

Of course, even a show about helping others is fictional.

You nod solemnly and prepare to go on air, sitting on a cushion next to a popular comedian who doesn’t bother to even look at you. A well-known Streamer is on your other side and you begin polite small talk, which seems to irritate the host.

“We’re on in 3,2….1!” A sharp click follows the director’s queue and the host bursts right into the introduction.

After you’re introduced it’s easy to tune out, you couldn’t give a shit about that stuck-up comedian and the actress to their right. Instead you think of how the fuck you’re supposed to conjure up an emotional performance with little to no time to prepare.

‘My ex-boyfriend hid me for almost two years’ no, not even worthy of a cheap gossip magazine. ‘I thought my boyfriend loved me, turns out he loved his career more’ Maybe...but you sound too needy. 

“Today’s guest is Lee Chaeun of Suwon! Tell us your story, please.” 

You turn to look at the guest who walks onto the set and sits at the head of the pillow mats. She’s clearly a young girl, her baby face is covered by face-framing layers of shiny black hair and her eyes are already glassy.

“Last year, I began dating my crush after years of admiring him from afar...Everything seemed so perfect until last week….He dumped me by text message saying he needed space and now he’s with someone new..” Chaeun bursts into tears and the host fakes a sympathetic face and passes her a box of tissues.

“Ah, you’re young...you don’t know anything yet. This is a normal phase for teenagers, men realise themselves and break girls down so they become beautiful women. It’s just a case of a little girl not wanting to grow up!” Chimes in the Comedian, who talks about his falsities as if they’re facts.

The audience erupts into laughter and the heartbroken teenager lowers her head in embarrassment. Which only makes you more enraged, Who told that guy he was funny?

“Chaeun has every right to be upset!” You exclaim, cutting through the laugher like a hot knife. “When a relationship ends when everything seems alright for one person, it's cruel. Being blindsided isn’t a joke. It hurts and she deserves closure, and to move on someday to a better person..What happened to her shouldn’t happen to anyone!”  You barely register a gentle hand on top of yours, far too surprised by the fact there are tears dripping down your face. Crying wasn’t an option, so you pull yourself together and apologise to Chaeun and the host you cannot stand.

“Y/N, You seemed personally moved by Chaeun’s story, have you experienced a painful breakup?” The host asks curiously.

“You could say that,” You begin with a wry smile. “I was with someone who lived a double life, they were completely different when they were with other people...Things ended when I was still planning for future dates...it made me realise how fake they were.”

The guests all nod and you squeeze Chaeun’s hand, she smiles at you seeming relieved that she isn’t the only one who has felt this kind of pain. 

Everything goes smoothly after that, other guests chime in and the actress that seemed snobby is openly discussing her ex vomiting all over her Valentinos. You can’t help but wonder if the company really suggested this, or if it was divine intervention (Choi San, your manager). 

You don’t feel so alone anymore, everyone is guaranteed several things, two being love and heartbreak of some kind. 

“Thanks to singer Y/N and actress Sojung, Chaeun was able to feel a little better...Thank you for joining us on ‘Help No Counsellor!’, Join us next week when…’

“Choi San, you sneaky bastard.”

He tries to act surprised but a shit-eating grin soon overtakes his acting, Iris shakes her head and zips her makeup bag closed. It isn’t long until you’re all at The Min’s enjoying red bean bread and warm tea.  “What does inept even mean? I’m assuming it’s a good thing because Wooyoung kissed me after saying it.” San mentions, his lips curving upwards at the fond memory.

“I’d have to agree with Woo, it fits you perfectly.” You reply, circling around his question while Iris tries not to choke on her food.

Fits of laughter die down when you spot a familiar face, Lee Mijoo. 

Her blonde hair flows down her back in loose curls and her soft eyes seem to enchant everyone, admittedly even you for a short time.Behind her is a slightly taller figure dressed in all black and your stomach drops.They don’t seem to notice your presence, so you decide to use this valuable time to hide behind a menu. 

San and Iris try to play along best they can, but it is quite distressing that all of this has happened so suddenly, with no prior warning. But he did bring you here, a lot. So it’s amusing to see his date ideas haven't changed. 

As he’s walking past you he pauses, and you want to shrivel into a hole and die, He’s clearly recognised you but can’t be 100% sure due to The Min’s menu covering your entire face. 

“Y/N?” 

Shit. You cannot hide from this.

Slowly taking the menu away and placing it down on the table you smile at him, maybe a little too forced but it’s the best you can do. His hair is blonde now, his curls are long gone but his smile is as genuine as ever. 

Stupid Christopher Bang and his stupid ‘I-totally-didn’t-break-your-heart’ attitude.

“Chan, nice to see you. Still obsessed with their double shots?” You humoured, he seemed grateful for that.

“Oh, absolutely...and I see you’re still not saving any bean bread for anyone else.” 

You laugh, it’s a bittersweet one at best but nevertheless it’s a laugh.

'Well it’s great to see you again, I’d love to exchange numbers if that’s alright?” 

Without thinking you nod and oblige him, much to your friend’s disappointment which is evident by their glares. Mijoo exchanges smiles with everyone, who could hate her? She was funny, kind hearted and beautiful in every aspect. 

When they finally leave to their outside seats you breathe a sigh of relief and sink into the chair.Iris strokes your hair and San grabs more snacks to go, the walk home isn’t peaceful. It’s awkward and silent, which only makes your head spin more. When you drop off Iris you know a lecture is coming, San hates doing it but you know he tells you what you need to hear, even if it hurts.

“Look, I’m happy you were able to brush off all the hurt today but earlier on you were crying about….this. Don’t give him the power to hurt you twice.”

“You’re right, thanks Sannie.” You reply, taking his arm and smiling at the warmth of his (Wooyoung’s) fuzzy coat. 

Once San leaves and you get inside, it’s a matter of minutes before you hop in the shower and get rid of all the hairspray and mascara that’s been making you itch all day. The warm water soothes away your nerves and the impending frostbite from being outside in the cold for far too long. 

Once you feel clean and somewhat scalded you step out onto warm fluffy towels (cheap warm fluffy towels with holes in them) and get situated for bed.

Just as you exit the bathroom your phone rings and you answer immediately, it’s probably Iris wanting you to play a new Among Us mod with her. 

“Iris?”

“Uh, no, Chris.” 

“Oh.” is your initial reply, why would he call you at midnight?

“Where you asleep? I’m sorry I’ll call back another ti-”

“No!” You interject, much too eagerly. “No...it’s fine. I’m not even in bed yet.”

“Oh” He sounds relieved, much the opposite of you.

“I just wanted to congratulate you...The song, it’s great. What’s it like actually singing one you wrote?”

“Great,” You admit with a smile he can't see, “It feels...genuine. I Couldn't stand the thought of giving the song away.”

“I can see why.” He replies in an unreadable tone.

“Did it make you uncomfortable? Me singing...about-”

“No, why would it?” He cuts in, he sounds slightly agitated.

“Look, Chan, I’m sorry. I should’ve texted you, well I did but you changed your number. But it’s my story too, okay? I needed to heal somehow.”

Minutes pass with no answer, as if he’s trying to think of exactly what to say without getting more irritated or to spare your feelings.

“When did I become Chan?” His voice comes out wavering,and it hurts you.

“That’s what everyone calls you now, you’re not just Chris the trainee anymore.” You reply in a gentle way, trying to ease the building tension.

“But to you, when did I stop being Chris?”

“Probably when you broke my heart,” You deadpan, before adding a ‘kidding’ and bullshit reason.

“You weren’t kidding, but you broke mine too. Don’t make me the bad guy.”

This had taken you aback, you had been in a perfectly happy relationship for almost two years and then he changed his mind, said he wasn’t happy and it wasn’t your fault. When the fuck did you break his heart?

“When exactly did that happen?” You query, “Before or after Mijoo?”

Chan lets out a dry laugh, “Don’t talk about what you don’t understand.”

“Well what does it matter? You never told me shit anyways.” You snapped.

“That’s because you wouldn’t fucking listen. Maybe to you it was all sunshine and roses but I was struggling, I changed and outgrew us. I didn’t want to but you were stuck in dreamland where we’d debut at the same time and live happily ever after. I realised it wasn’t going to happen and set you free so you wouldn’t be embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” You bark,”Fucking embarrassed of what exaclty? I left that shithole you call your company by choice and worked my way up. I’m not embarrassed, but you should be. You’re a fucking sellout Christopher Bang.”

Before he can reply you end the call and throw your phone at the wall, it would’ve broken only for the forty dollar case the store assistant convinced you to buy. You burst into tears just like you had that night when it all came crashing down. He must’ve loved seeing you in pain, because he keeps doing it even now.

That night, you wish for everything to go back to a time before him and the heartbreak that followed.

It’s early on a Friday when you’re called into a board meeting with the CEO, Director and San, who looks like someone stepped on his clay masterpiece. You still haven’t been told anything and as the minutes pass by you wonder if they found out about you getting drunk at Club Suran several weeks back. What if someone saw San there too? What if–

Suddenly the doors open and in walks JYP’s CEO, followed by several others and finally Chris. He looks as confused as you, but you quickly look away before he spots you. Last night was still fresh in your mind and you didn’t need anymore reminders or conversations with him.

“Dispatch has sent us several photos of you two together, spanning several years.” Your CEO announces, an Executive pulling the photos up on the screen behind her. “Including one from yesterday.”

“That was a coincidence, we broke up a long time ago.” You admit, she seems satisfied with your answer and nods, which makes you remember that damned dating ban you have.

“Usually, we’d shoot down these rumours immediately...but this could be quite beneficial to both Stray Kids and Y/N.” JYP’s CEO adds, “Stock prices have shown a rise for both of your albums, and real time searches are at an all time high.” 

“I have a girlfriend.” Chan states, arms folded. “So that’s out of the question if you’re implying we fake a relationship.”

“Look Bang Chan,” Begins one of the Advisors, “It’s all for show, we’ll plan every detail and your girlfriend will keep her mouth shut if she knows what's good for her. Frankly, our sales aren't what they used to be and you need this, if you want complete musical and artistic control.”

Chan takes a while to think, you know this is all he’s wanted. Control over everything he and the boys put out there, with no censorship or edits by anyone else. Your CEO assures you you’ll also benefit from the agreement, including your debt fully cleared and money in your bank account as soon as you sign on the dotted line.

“How long does this last?” You ask, pen in hand.

“Twelve months, then you’re free again.” 

Chan looks to you for conformation and you ignore him, signing it and standing up to leave. You only stop to sign more formalities and then you and San head back to your local coffee shop. 

“Well, you sure have a funny way of moving on.”

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Vampire!Hux x Stackhouse!Female Reader

A/N: So this is something I’ve been working on for a long time. It’s a Star Wars, True Blood mash up and I mean mash up. Like I smushed the two together, rubbing them between my hands making fanfiction breadcrumbs. We have Vampire!Hux 🤓 Shapeshifter!Poe and Werewolf!Kylo further down the line. Reader is the sister of Jason but trust me she’s not as annoying as Sookie (I couldn’t think of anyone to replace Jason because he’s the bomb so reader had to be a Stackhouse!) Bill doesn’t exist, because he too was annoying. I am posting this first chapter in celebration of @clydesducktape milestone celebration! Congrats Thia! I hope this is enjoyed.

Warnings: Not much for now, maybe some stalkerish behaviour from Hux. Mention of drinking, telepathic abilities. It will be a Darkfic and NSFW 18+

Word count: 4078

He’ll never forget the first time he saw you, the way your lips curved into a smile, how your eyes danced in the dim light of the club, the shape of your body, the sway of your hips as you walked and the fall of your hair with every movement of your head. He swore he could hear the strands as they settled softly. No, he’ll never forget the first time he saw you or the way your scent drifted over to him, carried on the rush of air when the club door opened. It was divine, he had to use all his self control not to rush over and steal you from your group of friends and have you in the office. His pupils dilated in a rush, if his heart beat it would be pounding in his chest, instead he heard yours; loud and clear, a steady beat in his ears drowning out all other sound. His nose flared sucking in as much of you as possible. Your blood sang to him, making you a beacon amongst the crowd; you smelled like sunshine, fresh flowers and grass, so earthy and light….you smelled like daylight. And he had to have you.

You shivered slightly looking at the gaudy neon sign on the side of the squat brick building. The night sky had begun to finally darken overhead and your excitement rose making you feel fidgety as you hopped from one foot to the other. You were surrounded by a group of friends who were all chatting excitedly about visiting the new vamp bar in Shreveport. You were intrigued, you’d never met a vampire before and now they were out of the coffin everyone wanted to meet one.

“You cold?” Shaking your head you looked up into the deep brown eyes of your friend Poe.

“I’m ok, just wish they’d let us in, you know?” He grimaced slightly.

“Not sure I’d wish for that.” You looped your arm through his and pulled him close, enjoying his warmth, Poe was always so hot, he was like your own personal radiator.

“Come on, we’re just here to scope out the competition, I’m sure these vamps have got nothing on us. I mean,” you gestured at the sign. “Look at it.” Poe smiled and dipped his head slightly causing his curls to cascade over his brow.

“Yeah maybe.” You shook his arm in an effort to get him to loosen up.

“What’s up? You were all for this earlier?” You asked, a hint of concern in your voice. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and gave his stubble a quick scratch and he wrinkled his nose.

“Ah, you know me, I aim to keep everyone happy.” You rolled your eyes, he was too much of a softy, a real push over.

“You don’t have to keep us happy! I can always report back if you don’t want to come in?” His eyes widened slightly and you could see the clench in his jaw as he pressed his teeth together.

“You’re not going in without me,” he rumbled. Your eyebrow rose at the gruff commanding tone in his voice, one you hadn’t heard before in all the years you’d known him.

“Yes boss!” Just then the door opened and a cheer rose up from the crowd outside. Jannah turned to beam at you as the line shuffled forward and you smiled back. You noticed Poe’s arm tense against yours and gave him a reassuring squeeze, his sense of unease was coming across to you the longer you had contact with him. Your barriers were lowering, whispers edged your mind and you tried harder to block them out. People streamed into the loud club, a tall blonde woman stood by the door watching everyone with a bored expression on her face until you reached the door. Her arm stretched out to stop you both entering, her eyes were bright as she scanned you both.

“ID,” she drawled, holding out a perfectly manicured hand, her fangs flashed when she spoke and you let out a giggle.

“Oh! You’re my first vampire!” You gushed as you dug out your ID. She pursed her lips and looked down at the card, cocking an immaculate eyebrow. “I haven’t been ID’d in such a long time! It’s so nice to meet you.” She sighed slightly and handed back the card.

“I can’t tell human ages anymore. You bloodbags all look the same to me.” Her blue eyes slid over to Poe when she spoke, a hint of smirk playing on her lips. “Go on in,” she drawled.

“Thank you!” Smiling broadly you dragged Poe in after your friends, it was dark all blacks and reds but you just assumed that was the commercial vampire aesthetic. The bar spread along the right hand side, the bartenders performing inhuman tricks and serving at superhuman speed. The middle of the club was made up of space to dance, punctuated by tables to stand around, a couple of poles flanked a stage and you couldn’t draw your eyes away from the scantily clad woman climbing up and down them with ease. Your gaze finally settled on the stage, a vampire, you assumed, was reclining in a deep red leather and gold chair. He had a shock of red hair that flopped over his brow giving him a soft appearance. His pale skin almost glowed from the spotlight that shone on him, his long fingers rested delicately on his lips while he surveyed the area before him, his bright eyes settled on you and it felt like all the hairs on your body rose at once making you shiver again. He lounged comfortably like a ruler regarding his kingdom in a dark suit, with a white shirt and a suit jacket in only what you could describe was a throne the longer you stared.

“If you’re not comfortable we can go,” said Poe and he moved to block the vampire from your view.

“Are you kidding? This is great!” You exclaimed. “Nothing like your bar though Poe, I’m sure these guys have got nothing on us, I bet they don’t even serve food,” you said leaning into him and whispering in his ear. He chuckled and placed a hand on your back.

“No, I don’t think food is a vampire’s, thing.” Your eyes widened and you covered your mouth with a hand to stifle a giggle.

“I didn’t think that through, did I? Anyway, let's get a drink.” The music wasn’t too loud and you were able to hold a conversation with your group of friends, Poe hovered closely by your shoulder as protective as always. He had his reservations about the vamps coming out to mainstream, he didn’t think they should have but you just thought it was exciting and brave of them to do so. You sipped your drink gazing around the club and tapping your foot to the music, until you found yourself looking at the stage again. The vampire’s eyes were trained on you with an intensity you’d never experienced before making your breath hitch in your throat.

It’s said that vamps have heightened hearing and you wondered if he could hear the increase in your heart beat, the rush of each pound as your blood coursed through your veins. You played with your bottom lip out of habit and he leaned forward in his chair, his blazing gaze never leaving you. Your lips parted and dragged in a sharp breath, your skin began to tingle, your heart fluttering erratically. It was so hot in here all of a sudden and you shifted under his intense attention trying to release some of the tension that had gathered in your body. Your eyes flickered as he stood up suddenly, your body seemed to cease functioning more and more the closer he got, your group of friends trailing off their sentences in awe. He drew level with you, his gaze still trained on you like you were his prey and he was stalking you. Not even Poe’s protective hand on your waist could break the spell you were falling under and everything dropped away the closer the vamp got. You reached out instinctively only to find his mind was empty, blank, silent and you felt your interest grow, the heat under your skin reached a fever pitch and you vaguely remembered to breathe. Your head swivelled to track his movement as he walked past you, finally pulling his bright gaze away from yours at the last moment and the noise of the club returned in a rush.

“Ok,” said Jannah. “What was that?” You frowned and shrugged.

“I can’t hear him,” you looked around, letting your barriers drop slightly. “I can’t hear any of them.” Poe frowned.

“You mean your….” you nodded, a relieved smile breaking over your face at the thought that if you were surrounded by vampires you wouldn’t have to exhaust yourself all the time by blocking out their thoughts. This was something you needed to explore.

The temperatures had soared today, after all the rain it was a relief to finally have some sun. You reclined in the chair baring as much skin as you could without being indecent, you couldn't explain it but the sunlight seemed to rejuvenate you, it warmed your entire body from the top of your scalp to the very tips of your toes, the heat curling around you, basking your skin in its vibrant heat. If you could lay here for the rest of your life you would, being outside, in the sun was the only real pleasure you got these days and you wouldn't give it up for anyone. The sound of large tyres broke your calm but you were used to it, you could sense his annoyance as he got out of the truck and you slowly placed your barriers back up, your brother's mind was one place you didn’t want to be. He called your name curtly and you sighed lightly.

“What’s this I hear you went to that fucking vamp bar in Shreveport?” He demanded loudly, making you sit up in annoyance.

“Would you keep your voice down? I don’t want Gran to hear!” You hissed. He looked around quickly before crouching down next to you, his short blonde hair seemed golden in the light, his eyes tracking over your body making you stick your tongue out at him. “You think I’d be sitting out here like this if I had vampire marks all over me?” You asked haughtily and he frowned.

“Stay out of my head!”

“I’m not in your head, moron. I know you.” He hummed in irritation and you settled back into your chair. “Is that all you came to say? To try and police me by making comments on what I do with my free time?” He said your name in defeat as he settled down in the short grass.

“You’re my baby sister, I just want you to be safe.” You looked over at him through the lenses of your sunglasses.

“I was safe, Jason. I promise, Poe came with me, and Jannah, Finn and Kaydel.”

“See, I wasn’t fucking told that. Why wasn’t I invited?” He whined.

“No, you just assumed I’d be stupid enough to go by myself, you weren’t invited because we went to scope out the competition.”

“Jason!” You both looked over at your Gran standing on the porch. “Get out of the sun kids, you’ll burn to a crisp. Come and have some lemonade.”

“You got any food Gran?” Your brother asked hopefully as he dusted himself off.

“I always got food for my growing boy, come on.” You slowly sat up, you didn’t want to go in just yet but you also knew your Gran would hound you until you had a drink and something to eat at least. You grabbed the dress that was hanging on the back of the chair and slipped it over your bikini before making your way indoors. You had a light lunch with Jason and your Gran before making your way upstairs to get ready for work. The water from the shower was cool on your sun heated skin, you took your time making sure you were fresh and all the dust from the dry ground had been washed off. You dried your hair and you pulled on your uniform for the bar thinking about how busy your shift was going to be tonight.

“I’m off to work Gran!” You said loudly as you grabbed your bag off the banister at the bottom of the stairs, dusk had fallen outside and your shift started really soon.

“Bye sweetheart! Say hi to Poe for me. I really wish you’d bring him here for dinner one night.” You leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek while rolling your eyes.

“Bye Gran,” you glossed over her comment with a knowing tone to your voice. “Don’t wait up for me.” You locked the door behind you and stepped down the porch steps to head to your car, your feet faltering before you came to a stop. Someone was standing in your driveway, blocking your route to the car.

“Excuse me? Can I help you?”

“I don’t know. Can you?” His voice was clipped with a heavy British accent, he had a large black overcoat on and his hands were clasped behind his back.

“Well I don’t know you’re just standing there,” you replied with annoyance. He turned slightly and the light from the porch fell on his face, you recognised him immediately as the red haired vamp from the bar. “How did you know where I live?”

“Phasma looked at your ID.” Right.

“Surely she can’t just hand out my information like that?” You could feel panic rising in your chest and you looked up at the house worried for your Gran’s safety.

“Don’t worry,” you shrieked loudly and backed up a few steps because he was suddenly before you looking down at you, curiosity marking his high cheek boned face. “I can’t get in without an invitation.” He stated, his red hair falling across his brow.

“So that’s true then!” You gasped, your hand clutching your top as your heart raced. He didn’t move, his light green eyes suggestively making their way down your body. “Stop looking at me like that,” you snapped.

“Why?” He didn’t sound like he was teasing, he was genuinely asking.

“Because it’s making me uncomfortable and you’re making me late for work.” You walked round him in a wide circle but he just followed your movements with peaked interest.

“He makes you wear that to work? Isn’t it a bit revealing?” He asked. You scoffed, shoving your key into your car door.

“Unlike what the women were wearing last night at your place,” you murmured to yourself.

“You noticed then.” You screamed again, he was so close, his voice bleeding smoothly into your ear as he leaned over your shoulder. You recoiled when he sniffed your hair, his eyes fluttering closed slightly. “What are you?” He whispered.

“I’m a waitress, who’s late for work. Now if you’ll excuse me…” you wrenched the car door open feeling relieved when he made no moves to stop you, the wheels kicking up gravel and dust as you pulled hastily away.

“You’re late!”

“I’m sorry Poe!” You threw an apologetic smile his way, rushing past the bar.

“Took your time,” said Jess as she winked at you. You stuffed your bag in your locker and hastily tied your apron before heading out into the diner. It was busy which for the business was great, but for your mind it wasn’t. It didn’t take long for your concentration to slip, you began rattling off orders before the customers had even opened their mouths making them eye you nervously. You plastered a big smile on your face and each time you did it felt like you were losing a piece of yourself. It was so tiring, blocking this many people’s thoughts from entering your mind all at once. Your break finally came around and you disappeared out the back door leaning heavily against the building.

“You taking a moment babe?” Asked Finn lightly as he stepped through the back door.

I knew Poe shouldn’t have taken her last night. She’s too pure for that vamp club.

“Yeah Finn, just having a breather, so loud in there tonight,” you said pointing with your thumb over your shoulder.

It’s not loud for me, you’re the one with crazy weirdness going on… Finn smiled and it was moments like this where you hated being a telepath. You hated not being able to completely block out your friends thoughts because it changed the way you looked at them in that moment. Other people’s thoughts aren’t meant to be heard. He threw some rubbish in the bin slamming the lid back down.

“I’ll see you back in there biatch,” he waggled his eyebrows, dragging a slight giggle from you before he disappeared back inside. You scuffed the dirt with your trainer wishing you didn’t have to go back in and face the stares and unheard comments of everyone around you. It was lonely being different, maybe that’s why you admired the vamps so much but then there were a lot more of them and everyone could see they were vampires. You told people you were telepathic and they recoiled like you had a deadly disease, because sucking blood was much better, you thought with a loud sigh.

Thankfully most of the diner had emptied by the time you went back in, you rolled your shoulders to try and ease the tension in your neck. Poe popped his head out of the office when you were refilling the salt pots and softly called your name with a jerk of his head.

“You looked tired.” He commented while closing the door.

“Yeah, I’m sorry I was late, the vamp from the bar turned up at my house,” you finished with a laugh turning to your cubby. “Not sure what he wanted, he didn’t even tell me his name. He seems a bit stuck up if you ask me….” Poe said your name with a hint of panic, his hands gripping you tightly as he spun you round.

“What do you mean the fanger was at your house? Which one?”

“Don’t call them fangers, and it was the red haired one never gave me his name.” He gripped you even tighter and you frowned. “Poe, you’re beginning to pinch…” he released you to run a hand through his messy dark curls.

“Damn! I knew we shouldn’t have gone! You, definitely not.” He muttered angrily and began to pace in front of you.

“Poe calm down, what’s the matter?” You asked, watching him walk up and down, you tried to get a read on him but Poe had always been one of those people who’s thoughts seemed to be fuzzy, out of focus almost. More images and feelings rather than words themselves.

“This is bad, what did he say to you?” You crossed your arms wondering why Poe suddenly made you feel like you’d done something wrong.

“I don’t know, we chatted.” Poe huffed, his hand rubbing over his face, he looked as drained and tired as you felt.

“That’s Hux, and if he’s shown an interest in you this is bad,” he explained.

“Well he can’t get in my house and he can’t bother me during the day so I think I’ll be just fine. I can look after myself.” You snapped, turning back to your cubby and grabbing your stuff. You hated how everyone thought you were some poor helpless girl that needed looking after and right now you could feel that rolling off Poe in waves. “I take it, can I go?” He nodded miserably and moved to the side letting you pass him, you caught the image of his truck just at the edges of your mind. “No, I don’t need a ride home!” You shouted as you left his office.

You sighed heavily and rested your head on the back of your seat, you weren’t sure why today had been far more exhausting than usual, maybe the unexpected visit from a vampire of all people had put you on the back foot. You turned the car on and headed home, when you pulled into the driveway you cast all your senses around but you couldn’t hear or see anything. Not that you would.

“Ok, he’s not here, just get out of the car.” You muttered, psyching yourself up to make the journey to your front door. You grabbed your bag and made it to the porch when a voice rang out behind you.

“What are you?” You turned slowly to see him standing at the bottom of the stairs, you saw he had a smart suit on under his overcoat, his hands still clasped behind his back, his head cocked to the side.

“Why don’t you go home?” You insisted. He had a confident air about him as he began to slowly climb the steps towards you, a smirk splitting his face. Again you couldn’t get a read on him, nothing in his mind, no words, emotions, images and you found yourself relaxing in someone else’s presence for the first time ever. He stopped a few paces from you when he reached the top step, his piercing eyes looking over you like he’d never seen you before.

“I could go home, but something draws me here.” He turned and faced the garden meaning you got a good look at his profile. Not being able to know what he was thinking or feeling you found out, put you at a disadvantage and even though it was relaxing you weren’t sure you liked it. He took a few steps along the porch, turning his back to you to look up at the sky.

“Well if that’s all you’re gonna say I’ll be heading to bed,” you told him.

“Humans….” he murmured. “Such basic creatures.”

“And you’re not?” You asked boldly, stepping forward. “From what I heard all you do is sleep during the day and drink blood.” He regarded you over his shoulder, the breeze sweeping in and ruffling his flame red hair slightly. You blinked and he moved, appearing before you like he’d teleported. You stumbled backwards and he followed you step for step, his eyes boring deep into yours until he had backed you up against the wall. “What do you want from me?!” you asked in a rush. He bent forward slightly so his nose just ghosted over your hair and you could hear him breathing deeply. He straightened, flexing his shoulders in a fluid movement, his pupils blown wide almost making his eyes appear black, his mouth opened and you jumped as the fangs seemed to erupt out of nowhere.

“You smell like sunshine…..” he groaned and placed a hand on the wall next to you, leaning into your space. Your heart rate rocketed, you scrunched up your face and turned away from him thinking this was it, this was the moment you were going to die. He was going to drain you and leave you here for your Gran to find in the morning. You felt his fingers on your chin and you gasped at how cold they were, leeching the very heat from your skin. Your eyes flew open to gaze into his, you felt like a rabbit caught in a pair of bright, intense headlights, although now he was only millimetres from your face you could see his eyes were a rich green grey colour and they were mesmerising.

“Your eyes…” you murmured without thinking and he stilled. He could have been a statue, his chest didn’t even rise and fall as if he didn’t need to breathe. The silence hung between you like a living thing, loud in the motionless of you both. You flinched when his fangs retracted, but he didn’t remove his hand from the wall or his fingers from your chin for a few more beats. Your hair ruffled in the wake of his sudden movement and you looked up and down the porch, finding yourself so very alone.

“What the hell….” you muttered, giving yourself a mental shake. Whatever this was, whatever was happening you didn’t want to be a part of it.

[fanimesenseiwrites]

Lucifer Sick

This is vaguely inspired by a daily chat where Lucifer actually gets sick, which is why there's a line about Hoshiko being able to see everyone's texts. This story features my genderfluid MC, Hoshiko Higure, and soft!Lucifer.

Hoshiko walked up to Lucifer's room with a covered silver tray in their hands.

Beelzebub was sitting outside his room with his arms crossed. He looked up at Hoshiko when he smelled the aroma emanating from the tray. "Do you have...  food?"

Hoshiko smiled at him. "Yes, and some of it is for you."

"You truly are an angel."

Hoshiko laughed and took the cover off the tray as they crouched down. "The big bowl of soup and the plate with two grilled cheeses on it is yours."

"Thank you," he told them as he took those items from the tray carefully. He immediately took a bite of grilled cheese. He stared at the sandwich briefly before looking at Hoshiko. "This is really good."

Hoshiko grinned. "I hope Lucifer thinks so too."

Beelzebub nodded and stood up to open the door for them. "Just be quiet."

"Of course." Hoshiko stood up and walked into the room.

Beelzebub closed the door behind them. 

Lucifer turned from where he lay in bed to look at the door when he heard it open and close. "Hoshiko? What are you doing?" He asked as he sat up and leaned against the headboard.

"I knew you were sick, so I made soup and I came to take care of you." Hoshiko walked over to the bed and set the tray down on the side table.

"How did you know...?"

"Call it intuition," they told him, content to keep the fact that they could see everyone's texts a secret.

He eyed them suspiciously, but didn't argue, not in the mood to do so.

Hoshiko sat next to him and felt his forehead.

"Your hands are like ice," Lucifer told them.

"No, you're burning up," Hoshiko corrected him. They grabbed a wash cloth from a bowl of ice water they had brought and wrung it out before placing it on Lucifer's forehead.

"That feels... divine."

Hoshiko smiled slightly. "I'm glad I can help. Do you feel like eating?"

"I actually feel rather nauseous."

"When's the last time you ate?"

He appeared to think about it. "Dinner last night... I don't think I even finished it."

"Have you considered that you're nauseous because you're hungry?"

He looked at Hoshiko like they had just said the dumbest thing he'd ever heard.

"I'm being serious. It happens to me all the time. Will you try to eat something at least?" They pleaded.

He looked over at the tray full of food. "You seem like you spent a lot of time cooking... I'll try it."

"Don't try it because I cooked, try it because you want to feel better."

He chuckled. "Alright." He reached over and took the grilled cheese from the tray. "What is this exactly?"

"A grilled cheese sandwich. A perfect pairing for chicken noodle, or tomato, soup. But if you don't think you can stomach the sandwich that's okay. Don't force it on my account."

He nodded and took a bite of the sandwich. "Hmm... I think think that's too heavy for me right now. It's good though, I hate for it to go to waste..."

"I can give it to Beel. He's standing watch right outside."

He nodded. "Do that. I can't imagine he'd turn down food."

Hoshiko chuckled and took the sandwich from Lucifer. They walked out and offered the sandwich to Beelzebub. "Lucifer can't finish this, do-"

Beelzebub took it from Hoshiko and started eating it before they could even finish their sentence.

Hoshiko laughed. "If you're still hungry there's more soup in the kitchen."

"But..." he looked behind them and into Lucifer's room.

"I won't leave him alone. No one will mess with him while I'm in here, I promise." They crossed their chest with their finger.

He nodded. "Thank you." He stood up and went downstairs, taking his empty bowl with him.

Hoshiko went back into the room and closed the door behind them.

Lucifer was eating the soup.

Hoshiko smiled and walked over and sat next to him. "Do you like it?"

"I do, it's strangely soothing."

"I'm glad. If there's anything I can do for you, let me know."

"This is more than enough."

"So you say, but I want you to feel better as quickly as possible so please tell me if you need anything," Hoshiko insisted.

He just nodded.

When he had finished as much as the soup as he could stomach, Hoshiko took the bowl from him and placed it on the tray.

"Thank you," he told them as he relaxed back into his pillows.

"Of course." Hoshiko took the wash cloth and soaked it in the bowl of cold water again before wringing it out and replacing it on Lucifer's forehead.

Then, the door opened.

Both Hoshiko and Lucifer looked to the door.

Mammon was standing there; he stopped in the doorway when he saw Hoshiko in there. "What are-?"

"Why are you here?" Hoshiko cut him off, their tone icy.

Mammon froze; he was suddenly terrified. "I was just-"

"Gonna fuck with your big brother while he's ill?"

His eyes widened at their prescience. "N- no, I just..."

"I don't want to hear it. Leave," Hoshiko commanded.

He walked out stiffly, without a word.

"And close the door behind you!"

He came back to close the door but left again after that.

Hoshiko sighed and all at once the tension fell from their face and shoulders.

"... I wish he listened to me like that," Lucifer sighed.

Hoshiko looked at him and chuckled. "It's the pact."

"Even still..." he placed his hand over Hoshiko's.

They looked down at their hands then back up at him.

"You're an angel," he declared.

Hoshiko blushed and chuckled nervously. "Beel told me the same thing."

"Then it must be true."

Hoshiko looked back down at their hands, unable to look Lucifer in the eyes anymore. "I mean, it is isn't it? I'm descended from Lilith after all..."

"Right, Lilith..." he sniffled.

When Hoshiko looked at him again there were tears in his eyes.

"Oh my gosh no don't cry!" Hoshiko started to panic. They grabbed a cloth napkin from the tray and went to blot his tears away. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up!"

He grabbed their hand. "It's alright. The knowledge brings me joy."

Hoshiko nodded solemnly.

"May I make a request?" He asked as he placed Hoshiko's hand against his cheek.

Hoshiko blushed again. "Of course, I told you to ask me for anything."

"Lay here and rest with me."

Hoshiko felt their ears get hot. "Oh, I don't think..."

"Please. I'm sure you've scared off anyone else from coming in here."

Hoshiko chuckled nervously. "Right." They slipped off their shoes and laid next to him.

He slid further down to lay comfortably with his head on Hoshiko's chest.

Hoshiko rest one arm over his arm and used the other hand to play with his hair. "Rest and feel rejuvenated, sweet prince," they spoke with all the solemnity of an ancient spell.

He snorted and closed his eyes. "Sweet prince?" He questioned the pet name.

"Shhh..." was their only reply as they started to rub his back as well.

"Mhm..." he barely responded. It wasn't long before he had drifted off to sleep.

Hoshiko continued to play with his hair and rub his back until they fell asleep themself.

[iamnightduchess]

Hi Queen ❤

I love your headcanons so much and I don’t know if you’ve ever done one of these, but I’d really like to imagine what it would be like if Mikasa and Reiner fell in love after the end of the manga, what this discovery would be like and how they would deal with this!

(Forgive me for my lousy english hahaha)

Hello dear, thank you for the Ask! 💖 It really helps me to envision a more ideal post-ending universe because the potential ending right now does not look promising that both of them will somehow survive (together) because I am foreseeing one of them voluntarily dies to save another person. I hope i'm wrong! 😢 I've only done a tiny snippet of ReiKasa in this Post-Rumbling HC AU. But, here's what I envision how it could possibly be IF they survive & they happen:

Reiner x Mikasa (ReiKasa) Post-Rumbling AU (Gen) Headcanon #16

Before we delve into Post-Rumbling period, it's interesting to observe the tiny moments where the seeds of trust and possibly, love between these two former enemies turned allies might have possibly begun sprouting.

The Rumbling

We've seen the way Reiner had implied on the plane in ch.133, how Eren might want to be stopped by someone. Reiner was using himself as a pretext; an example. If HE was the one with the FT & somehow finding himself unable to control it, he'd want to be stopped by someone he knows is capable of doing so (someone more powerful & stronger than he is) When he said that sentence, he was gazing at Mikasa.

There are 2 implications here, i) He is indirectly admitting in front of everyone that Mikasa is his weakness, like a failsafe. The one he knows who can take him down if he's the one with this enormous power & he's losing control, ii) Because to him, ever since they were younger, Eren is her family & a sensitive subject to her. Him voicing out his opinion and indirectly hinting that Eren is beyond the path of no return will hurt Mikasa's feelings & emotional state.

During the Paths Intermission, the moment Eren basically told the alliance to go fuck themselves, that he will keep moving forward for his freedom, while the alliance members are free to fight him if that is what they want; Reiner was horrified to know that Eren basically confirmed his deduction & how much pain and devastation Mikasa would be in upon receiving the awful truth from Eren himself. Even after pleading to Eren to let her share the burden of his sins, which as direct as it could have been to "I don't want to be so far from you. I want to be with you through both light & darkness inside of you. Please come back to us." Mikasa still believed that the previous Eren that she knew is still there somewhere, which is no longer the case.

The shock-induced tears in Mikasa's eyes - seeing her in pain, hurts Reiner too. He'd knew how heartbroken she would be.

In Ch.135, when everyone was on the verge of dying as they're losing the battle with the raised forms of past titan shifters, Mikasa reached her breaking point & Reiner felt helpless, because he was at his last limit & Mikasa was planning to make herself the primary target just to buy the rest a little bit more time.

There's this woman who's fighting towards an expected death in front of him - any man would be an idiot for not seeing how foolish yet selfless and brave this last female warrior of Paradis was. She's always been a fearless woman who has their backs and protects their fronts. He has never stopped respecting this woman. This might have been the starting point for that seed to have sprouted inside Reiner.

If Annie's timely rescue never came and they truly met their end there, the only regret Reiner has was he couldn't do anything else but watch this woman's final moments without being able to do anything to support her before his own ensuing end.

When Levi, Jean and Connie all collectively & firmly agrees that killing Eren is the only thing that stands between the world's survival, Reiner was silent the whole time. He believed he has no right to say anything, but he saw the vulnerable look on her face the moment Jean reiterated their ultimatum: "We need to kill Eren."

Reiner did what he does best: he took charge. When Reiner told her, "You go help Armin." He was indirectly telling her, "You do what you can. I will shoulder your burden with Jean. Let me be the strength for you to do what needs to be done." This was Reiner's way of telling her, he will carry her burden for her and shelter her from an unbearable pain. Just like how she told Eren much earlier in Paths. Reiner's indirectly telling Mikasa that she's important to him too.

This was the moment that the seed had sprouted within her heart. She realized that Reiner's communicating to her in the way only she would understand. How much she feels for Eren, Reiner feels for her in the same way because you can't give a reason why you care for or love someone. You just do. It just happened without signs. Annie, however, was able to catch that short but impactful interchange between them.

Post-Rumbling

They barely survive the last stand against Eren's final form but they did with Ymir's divine intervention in Humanity's New Dawn.

Reiner sustains extremely heavy injuries on his physical body. Mikasa is emotionally & psychologically affected by Eren's true death.

The remaining humanity struggles to rebuild from the ashes of destruction. It was beyond devastation. The world is almost completely annihilated but hope is a powerful energy. Hope persists.

Reiner sees her grieving - like a pair of wheels suspended in motion - trapped while the rest of the world moves around her. She refuses to eat, she barely sleeps but when she does, she would toss and turn around restlessly. Annie tells him in passing that when Mikasa sleeps, her body contorts and freezes simultaneously like she's in a lot of pain.

Seeing her drifting through the days like a soulless vessel pains him a lot. No one could humanly survived what she had to go through without serious ramifications towards her emotional and psychological state. Mikasa becomes withdrawn and sullen.

Yet, he retains his distance like he always does & watch silently from the sides as Annie, Armin & Jean tried to reach out to her to no avail. Reiner himself is haunted by his failed attempt to hold the Founder's original form down that, in a way, had forced Mikasa to do what needs to be done. He feels responsible that he couldn't prevent her from having to go through those painful yet pivotal moments of securing humanity's survival. The day the alliance managed to save the world, well, the world that she built for Eren inside her heart was destroyed in return.

One day, she mysteriously disappears without trace. A panicking Armin searches on his own but Annie tells Reiner that Mikasa's missing, nowhere to be found. Reiner and Armin later found her at the crater where Eren's last resting place had been. The exact same location where she had to slay him with her own two blades.

Mikasa says that she just feels lost and empty. Like there's a huge dark void inside her body that she can't escape from. She just sits there amongst the dust and debris, staring blankly at a makeshift, unmarked grave. She confides that she's terrified of falling asleep because she sees Eren's face in her nightmares.

Armin wants to console her but Annie holds him back as she notices Reiner already making his way forward and settles himself next to her. Armin understands what Annie was trying to do.

Reiner only tells Mikasa, "You don't have to do this alone...Lean on us." He offers his hand, despite knowing she wouldn't even touch him. "When you feel that you can no longer breathe, I'll breathe for you. If you feel like you're drifting, I will hold you."

It takes her a while but she accepts his hand and he holds it tight in his. Reassuring her that he is here to stay for as long as she needs him to be.

Little either of them know that it would possibly be forever.

It is Annie who helps to bridge these two together with Armin's help.

Ever since the day they talked, Mikasa slowly finds herself regaining an ounce of strength. Reiner talks a lot to her and offers his silent company as they go for walks together so she does not feel alone.

Reiner makes sure that he'll check in with Mikasa from time to time when he's not supporting the remaining forces with rebuilding, too frequent not to be noticed by everyone close to them in the survivor's settlement. However, none of them questions him about it. It is an understood, unspoken notion that Reiner cares a lot about Mikasa, and her for him eventhough she's being subtle about it. Armin could see Mikasa's eyes lit up whenever Reiner is nearby.

Mikasa shares a living space with Annie and Pieck. When her night terrors get too much that Mikasa thrashes around, screaming in pain despite being in a deep sleep, the two former shifters know that they couldn't possibly restrain the Ackerman girl physically on their own. They called for Armin, Jean and Reiner for help. When Armin and Jean hesitate to hold her down, it is Reiner who holds her tight even when Mikasa's unconsciously trying to struggle against him. They could see Reiner's face holding back his own physical pain from fighting against the immense resistance coming from her. But he'd never released his hold until she eventually wakes up and calms down. He stayed with her until the break of dawn.

After that night, however, Reiner seems to be pulling himself away from Mikasa as he couldn't get over his guilt and his helplessnesss as he also didn't want Mikasa to think that he's trying to take advantage of her vulnerability. The problem is, when he avoids Mikasa, she reverts back to the darkness she's slowly overcoming with Reiner's help and he's becoming miserable himself.

This frustrates Armin, Annie, Jean, Levi and even Pieck because it was fairly obvious to everyone but the two people in question that both Reiner and Mikasa are self-sabotaging and self-punishing themselves from pursuing something more than friendship despite their beating hearts calling out for each other.

Mikasa feels she's betraying her memories of Eren and she's afraid of moving on lest she would forget about him. Reiner feels he has no right to offer Mikasa anything more than friendship because she deserves someone better than him.

Mother's Intuition

Reiner's mother, Karina, finds herself naturally drawn to this young woman who seems to have her son's attention, even when he's trying very hard not to be obvious about it. She catches Reiner staring (longingly, she dare say) at the female warrior of Paradis from afar.

Apart from Mr. Leonhardt's daughter, she too, helps to bring her son and Mikasa closer. Karina has witnessed this woman's bravery and have heard from both Gabi and Reiner of her selflessness when she had saved both her son and her niece's lives. Through Reiner's story, Karina sympathizes with the pain this young woman is going through.

Reiner tells her that he feels helpless that he isn't able to help Mikasa and that she hasn't been eating well. Therefore, Karina brings her homemade meal and visits the young woman, wanting to get to know her better. Mikasa doesn't want to be impolite and relents to having the sudden company.

However, the moment Karina holds her hands to offer her comfort, Mikasa breaks down. She had lost 3 mothers/maternal figures in her life: her own, Carla & Hange. For some odd reason, she feels grateful to have an opportunity to be held by a mother again, even if it wasn't her own.

Karina finds herself growing fond of this young woman and deep inside believes that Mikasa and her son are meant for each other.

It is Karina who advises Reiner to fight for his own happiness and her mother's intuition tells her that his feelings isn't as one-sided as he thinks. Karina urges her son to tell Mikasa how he really feels and after all the years of fighting wars for Marley, Reiner needs to fight one last war: the one within his own heart and to win the heart of the one woman who had conquered his.

However, the relief entourage that arrives from Hizuru, led by Kiyomi Azumabito prevents him from telling Mikasa how he truly feels. He knows that she is destined to become the new empress of Hizuru and that her future would be brighter without him being in her way.

Mikasa tells him of her decision to ascend the imperial throne and Reiner feigns happiness for her decision, reassuring her that she will make a great empress and that she would have a better future there. Mikasa takes Reiner's words as him indirectly telling her to move on with her life without him in it.

Reluctantly, Mikasa leaves for Hizuru. Karina is upset that her son is still sacrificing himself & his own feelings even after being relieved of his Titan powers and its curse.

Karina tells him, "You've lived your life for me and for our family, Reiner. Now it's time for you to live for yourself."

Reiner thinks he's lost the only chance he still has left as Mikasa is already en route to the East Sea country. It is Armin who tells him that the Azumabito's ship is still docked at the nearest harbor because Armin has suspicions that Reiner will change his mind.

When Reiner, Armin, Jean and Annie reach the harbor, the sun is almost setting and Reiner finally revives his dwindling courage to tell her how he truly feels about her and he would like to remain by her side if she'd allow it.

Kiyomi forewarns Reiner that if he is serious about her kin, then he would have to sacrifice his newly-found freedom from being a soldier and titan shifter to become prince consort to their new imperial monarch.

Reiner only says, "I am as good as dead without Mikasa and my freedom means nothing if I'm spending the rest of my life without her."

In the sunset of the New World built from ashes, the two young loves finally seize the courage to pledge their hearts to one another with a kiss; the first of the many in their life together, which is only beginning.

*Continues in Pt. II

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

Thank you once again for the beautiful Ask! I truly enjoyed working on this ❤ Also, please don't ever feel that you need to apologize to another ESL speaker/writer for the language. We're always learning 💖 Take care! xoxo

[plaidbooks]

Hi! Could you please do one where Sonny and the reader are undercover together? The reader and Sonny both have feelings for each other, but refuse to admit it. They have to kiss or be intimate during the undercover op and it leads to tension when they return to work. Maybe one of them are casually dating and things get ugly before they get better, but ends with them both confessing their feelings? Thanks!!

Heated Confessions

A/N: Heya anon! This was a lot of fun to write! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! (Also, poor Charles)

Tags: mentions of trafficking, mentions of fuck buddies, the overuse of the work fuck

Words: 2449

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @reading--mermaid @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba

Sonny was sitting on an ottoman, drink in hand, watching the party unfold. The camera in his glasses was capturing everything, and Sonny made sure to look at every john’s face long enough to get positive IDs for when the bust was made. You straightened your dress in the kitchen—if the small amount of material covering you could be called that—pulling it up a little so that your boobs weren’t completely falling out, before you made your way through the throng, weaving in and out of the hands that reached for you, men inviting you to sit on their laps or join them in a back room. But you continued on your way to Sonny; you had some information that you had to pass onto him.

You stood in front of him, a seductive smile on your face as he glanced up your body until he made it to your face. “This seat taken?” you purred. You didn’t wait for him to answer, straddling his legs easily, sinking down into his lap and wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. Your short dress hitched up, and you were sure everyone behind you could see your ass. Sonny played his part well, one hand cupping your ass and the other trailing up your back, pulling you closer to him. You ignored your fluttering heart—not only was Sonny your partner, but you had a huge crush on him, and it was hard to not be turned on by your own actions. Running your lips over his jaw, you moved your mouth to his ear, speaking hopefully loud enough that the mic under his collar could hear you, too.

“There’s a locked door in back, two armed guards standing on either side. Both have automatics; I’m sure Clemson is in there,” you informed him.

Sonny’s mouth moved to your neck, and a small whimper left your mouth before you could stop it. From the outside, he was just another john feeling up an escort. “Any civilians around?”

“No; the guards are turning them away. The closest entrance is the back door, from the garden.” You rolled your hips against Sonny’s and his breathing hitched.

“Take me, baby,” Sonny growled, and you got off his lap, taking his hand and leading him towards the back of the house. Your heart was thundering through you, and you tried to keep a seductive look on your face, like it was natural for you to be leading a man somewhere more private. Like if you weren’t about to bust this trafficking ring. Like if you were about to fuck your attractive partner.

You stopped in the hallway outside the room leading to the guarded door. Taking a deep breath, you made eye contact with Sonny, giving him a small smile. “Make it look good,” you said sternly. Sonny’s cheeks were pink, but he nodded. You both shifted uncomfortably, and then Sonny was kissing you roughly, his mouth first on your lips, then sliding off to the side, kissing the side of your mouth. He walked you backwards into the room, both of your hands all over each other.

“Hey! Get out of here!” one of the men shouted. Arms still wrapped around your body, Sonny looked up at the guards, panting slightly, his glasses slightly askew. Your mind was a whirlwind, trying to remember what was going on, but all you could think of was Sonny’s body pushed up against yours, the feeling of his mouth all over you still fresh.

“Sorry lads, is this room not available?” Sonny asked, smirking. He moved his eyes to you, indicating to the men what he wanted.

“No; try a room upstairs,” the man growled at the two of you. He gripped his gun tighter, and Sonny straightened.

“Yeah, okay, calm down, man. Let’s go honey,” he cooed at you, taking your hand and pulling you back out of the room. Once alone in the hallway, Sonny said, “you’re right; Clemson is definitely in there…you guys see that?” he added into his mic.

“Among other things,” Fin’s voice came over the earpiece and Sonny’s cheeks reddened. He suddenly found a spot on the floor very interesting. “You and [Y/N] stay clear; ESU’s getting into position.”

“Yeah, okay. Here, Sonny,” you said, moving up to him. You untucked half his shirt, unstraightening his tie, and mussing up his hair. You reached up to your own mouth, smearing your lipstick more than his mouth already had. You ruffled your hair slightly, then turned to leave the hallway, Sonny following you, a satisfied smile on his lips.

Soon after you both rejoined the party, doors slammed open, ESU storming the house. You and Sonny surrendered, not wanting to have your covers blown in case you needed to use them again. Olivia and Fin came in, arresting you both, shoving you into their squad car, and driving you to the precinct. The ride back was awkward, and you couldn’t look at Olivia or Fin, let alone Sonny. And with your hands cuffed behind your back, you couldn’t readjust your dress as it climbed higher and higher up your thigh.

All the other partygoers were mercifully being sent to a different precinct, so you and Sonny were allowed to go change once back in the safety of SVU. The first thing you did was go to the bathroom and scrub the makeup off your face, splashing cold water in your face and trying, trying to forget the feeling of Sonny all over you. You’d been attracted to him since you met him—hell, he’d appeared in some of your late-night fantasies more than a handful of times. But he was your partner; it couldn’t happen. And when your battery-operated boyfriend could no longer keep the ache away, you met a guy at a bar. What you and Charles had was casual; he wasn’t your boyfriend, and you weren’t exclusive...at least, he wasn’t, which was fine. You were more just fuck buddies. But even that was starting to get boring, and Sonny started entering your mind more and more. You knew tonight wouldn’t help with that; quite the opposite, in fact.

Coming out of the locker room in NYPD sweats and tshirt, you ran your fingers through your hair as you made your way to Olivia’s office. Sonny was already there, wearing the same clothes from the bust but definitely freshened up. You both gave your statements, then headed to your desks to collect your things so that you could go home for the night, maybe take care of that dull ache that had appeared between your thighs since the moment you had straddled Sonny’s lap.

“So, uh, how’s Charles?” Sonny asked, clipping his badge back onto his waistband. You whipped your head to look at him, but he refused to make eye contact, choosing to stare at his desk instead.

You had told him about Charles only once before; honestly, you were shocked he even remembered the man. “Uh, he’s fine. Taking me out to sushi tomorrow,” you replied awkwardly. As much as you and Charles weren’t dating, he liked to take you out every now and again.

“That sounds…nice.” He shifted on his feet. “So, you two getting more serious?”

“Does that bother you, Carisi?” you asked impatiently. You didn’t know why he cared, nor why you were getting so defensive about some guy you were fucking every week or so.

Sonny raised his hands in defense. “Hey, it was just a question. Sorry if you don’t wanna talk about your fuck buddy.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you judging me? I’m a fucking adult, Dom. Sorry your repressed Catholic self doesn’t allow you to get some. But I don’t need your divine guidance in my life.” You finished grabbing your things, storming towards the exit.

“Excuse me?” Sonny asked in disbelief. He followed you to the elevator, stepping into the small space with you, standing right in your face. “Look, we’re partners, [Y/N]. I worry about you, okay? Sleeping around with some guy isn’t the safest—”

You scoffed. “I do not need a lecture from you, choir boy. I’m a big girl; I can take care of myself. And who I’m fucking is none of your concern!”

The elevator dinged and you stepped out, Sonny right on your heels. “[Y/N], listen to me, dammit,” he said. Even with as fast you were walking to your car, his long legs kept up with you easily. He leaned on your door, not allowing you to open it.

“Fuck off, Dom. I’m done talking about this. Maybe I’ll call Charles, have him come over and—”

“Would you shut up for two seconds?” Sonny yelled, his voice echoing in the parking garage. His outburst surprised you and you froze, hand still on the handle to your car. He ran his free hand through his hair, sighing deeply before he looked into your eyes. “Look, I don’t want you with Charles because…I like you, okay? And after that UC….” He trailed off, his eyes drifting down.

You stood there dumbfounded. You remembered his mouth on your lips, your neck, his hands all over you. But then you remembered his words at his desk, and with the adrenaline still rushing through you, you yelled, “really? You’re gonna pull that shit right now, Dom?” You shook your head. “Move out of my way.”

Sonny nodded, more to himself than to you, before he withdrew his hand from your door. You climbed in behind the wheel, slamming the door behind you and speeding out of the parking lot before he had a chance to see the tears on your face.

 *************************

You had the next day off work, which you were eternally grateful for. You texted Charles, telling him that you couldn’t make it to sushi, that you were busy all day. And then you sat on your couch, drinking wine and crying. Sonny had finally, finally admitted his feelings for you, and you screamed at him. What the fuck was wrong with you? Sometimes, you thought that you were a self-sabotager; always fucking up when you had the chance of getting what you wanted, of being happy. And how the fuck were you going to look Sonny in the eye when you saw him again?

You had moved onto your second bottle of wine when you heard a soft knock on your door. Ignoring it, you poured a glass full, taking a sip; you didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Besides, it was probably your annoying neighbor coming to complain about his broken AC, or his dishwasher making a weird noise, or some other thing going wrong in his apartment that you really didn’t care about.

But the knocking just grew louder until you heard Sonny’s voice call out, “[Y/N] open up! I know you’re in there, dammit! We need to talk!”

Placing your glass on the kitchen counter, you stormed over to your front door, the anger that flooded you sobering you up, and you unlocked it, throwing it open. “Can you not alert the whole building to my work issues, please?” you hissed, grabbing his arm and dragging him into your apartment.

“Sorry, but I didn’t think you were gonna answer,” Sonny said sheepishly. You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off. “Look, I don’t want to fight with you, okay? That’s not why I’m here. But we need to work through this, work through…us.”

“Us?” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “What us? Until yesterday, I didn’t think there was an us! Why the hell do you think I went and found someone like Charles?”

“…what?” Sonny asked, his eyes boring into yours, his brow furrowed.

Maybe it was the alcohol running through you, muddling your thoughts. Or maybe it was that once that confession was out in the open, you couldn’t stop yourself. Self-sabotager indeed. “I’ve been in love with you for months, Sonny! So much so that it hurt! But I knew I couldn’t have you, so I found someone else to fuck because I couldn’t fuck you! And now you finally tell me you like me? Now of all times?” You were panting by the time you had finished yelling at him.

Sonny looked crestfallen, hurt in his eyes. “I-I’m sorry—”

“—I don’t want to hear it, Dom, I really don’t—”

“—but why are you mad at me?” he finished as if you didn’t interrupt him. You glared at him, but found you had nothing to say. Why were you mad at him? Sonny cleared his throat. “You and I…we’re supposed to be partners. And I said it yesterday, but I’ll say it again; I like you, maybe even love you, I can’t tell yet, not really. But with your reaction, maybe I should ask Liv to reassign me to Rollins or Fin—”

“Wait,” you said, cutting him off. After your outburst, your anger had left you, leaving you feeling empty, exposed…vulnerable. And when Sonny said the word ‘love,’ it struck a chord deep within you. He watched your face expectantly, probably waiting for you to yell at him more, and you inwardly winced. “I’m sorry, Sonny. I’ve been…a royal bitch to you, and for no good reason. I…I don’t want you to be reassigned; I love being your partner, working with you. Being close to you. If nothing happens between us, I at least don’t want to lose you.”

Sonny gave you a hard look before breaking out into a grin. “We both confess our feelings to each other, and we’re still preparing for nothing to happen, nothing to change, huh?”

It was your turn to smile sheepishly at him, rubbing the back of your neck. “I guess…unless…you want something to happen?”

“What about Charles?”

You rolled your eyes. “Who gives a fuck about Charles?”

Sonny chuckled. He stepped up to you, ducking his head but stopping halfway, letting you stand on your tip toes, closing the distance between you. Sonny’s lips were soft against yours, much different than the undercover make-out session you did yesterday. This was soft, slow, passionate, and you could feel the love and affection Sonny felt for you as an arm wrapped around your shoulders, bringing you closer.

He finally broke the kiss, leaning back to smile down at you. “You know, if we disclose to Liv, she’ll probably still reassign us,” he muttered softly, kissing your nose.

You nodded. “I’d be okay with that, as long as I still get you outside of work.”

“Yeah, doll, you get me,” Sonny said, bringing you in for another kiss.

[wrightaboutthat]

Unnecessary Yearning ~A Narumitsu One-Shot~

Summary: "You should have heard him talking about you after the Steel Samurai case! He kept saying 'Wright...Wright...Wright' over and over!"

Stricken with new feelings, Edgeworth attempts to carry on with his work and make do. Only, visions of a certain attorney lead to methods turning a little less than professional.

Written from Miles' POV.

Tags: Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Longing, Arousal, It's what the kids call, Denial, Mr 'I'm saddled with unnecessary feelings' Edgeworth lol like YEAH OKAY SIR, How's that going for you, Canon Compliant, Yearning

Additional Notes: Hello everyone! This is my first work in the Ace Attorney fandom. Glad to be tipping my toes into the universe, and super excited to finally be writing the boys. Thank you so much for reading! <3

You can also read the work on AO3 here [x]

It’s going to be a long night. My brain feels utterly thick and heavy from all which weighs down on me: evidence to sift through, cases to win, and losses to be recuperated. The latter two earn a stiffening of my figure, bits of bitter venom surging through my veins to match. I try not to mull over them too much however, what with all the deeper implications they carry. No; far too complex and far too unnecessary.

I instead focus on the present, focus on the current matters that await within my office. My silver gaze momentarily scans the various files atop my desk, before drifting over to my stewing tea. I straighten a bit, attempting to hone in on the delightful fumes, the tantalizing call of work to be done..

...But still, does my mind feel oddly muddied. Unsurprisingly, a scowl furrows my face as a result. 

Walking to grab the warm tea, I momentarily turn my attention towards the world beyond my window. The lights of the city below glimmer and flash as activity bustles on. The last bits of setting sunlight cast dramatic colors upon the horizon. Unfortunately though, as I continue to stare, something else tantalizingly flashes within the reflective sheen. Or someone else, rather.

Him. Him.

Ahh. The man who rose from the ashes of my past. The man who viciously inserted himself back into my life. The man who dared to make me question my own reality. So he’s to blame. He’s the culprit. He’s the reason behind the present strangeness. He was indeed the trigger behind previous emotional oddities, so it only makes sense that he’s tormenting me now.

...Or does it?

My frown grows- particularly when the swirling imagery doesn’t fade away. In fact, it grows all the more detailed, all the more vivid. It’s like my brain genuinely teases me for a few fleeting moments, letting me see him and all that he is. That sickeningly corny grin on his face. The way he sheepishly runs his fingers through his hair. The image of him behind me, slamming us into the very surface providing such visions...

I startle something terrible, backing away with a bubbling mixture of revulsion. How unexpected and heinous. How dare he. How dare he affect me so. How dare he insert himself into my workplace where he’s not welcome. 

And how ludicrous that I let him.

I clench my jaw and walk back to my desk, fingers knotted through my hair. There’s work to be done. There are matters to attend to. There are things that call for my attention. And none of them should deal with him.

But they do. Dammit, of course they do; with my subconscious stumbling from their presence, they scream the loudest of all. They dare to surge to the forefront. Because while case papers are visibly scattered before me, while knowledge swims within, he’s there in front. Flashing before my trembling vision, waltzing to the tip of my subconscious, and settling in the worst possible manner between the apex of my thighs.

No...

This cannot be happening. There’s no possible way this can be happening. I try to think of something else, anything else. All the work that needs to be done. That vile security guard from our case prior. But I can almost hear him chuckle at my lackadaisical efforts. And thus, does my strangely bewitched body mewl in delight, persuading me to hopelessly swell further.

I fume and begin to walk around the room, hoping to shake it off. Perhaps laps will serve me better. Perhaps getting my blood flowing will pull it from more problematic locations. But alas, I see him, I hear him, I feel him. I begin to bulge something terrible against my pants, the tight fabric no longer comfortable. It’s painful even, especially with all my movement, chaffing and rubbing atrociously.

But I don’t want to give in. I don’t want to fall into such vile acts. I don’t want him to hold such power over me.

And yet...

It’s like he materializes behind me, his hands gently yet firmly grasping my hips. He stills my furious stride, before I can practically feel his breath against my ear.

“You’re a mess, you know that?”

I grit my teeth. I want to argue. I want to deny it. But when I feel his hands starting to guide mine, when I’m lead to the fly of my pants, I really have no objections to his point. I can feel his grin against my neck then, and I can’t help myself; I shudder despite the rampant denial.

I still try and stop. I still try and hesitate. But the more I wait, the more painful it gets. The more I stall, the more vivid the visions become. A confusing and overwhelming mixture of emotion bubbles up then. I’m furious, but desperate. Appalled, yet curious. I consider things just a second more...

And then I’m deliciously coaxed; with my back facing the window, with my body towering over my desk, I unzip myself and allow the product of his doing to spring free.

The typical groan of relief departs my throat, but it’s hushed, captured as I bite my lip. A second later, my brow furrows something fierce, continuing to dance between enjoyment and revulsion.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” I can picture him saying, leading to a furious blush and stronger swell. Would he say such a thing? I cannot be certain, yet all rings clear within my subconscious. So much so that I growl at him.

“Shut up, Wright...”

“Yeah yeah. Now shhh,” he murmurs back through reveries, “Just enjoy yourself, Miles.”

Miles.

My name, so rarely uttered, growled off his lecherous tongue...

My eyes roll, and I grasp myself then. I wrap my fingers around the taut, soft skin. I firmly grab the stiffness was as he likely would. And it takes every bit of my power to not release a growling groan into the quietness of my office.

My office.

My eyes, slick with both a furious and midnight sheen, fly back open at the notion. I stare at myself in horror, stare at how utterly erect I am. All because of him. All because of him. 

I grit my teeth; how long will this dreaded back and forth go on? And which side will come out on top? Naturally, I careen for the reasonable, for the chaste maturity. But unfortunately, and unbelievably, my mind is no match for my body. My mind is no match for his spell. Because just as my grip lessens, he manifests behind me once more.

“I worry about you. You work way too hard, Miles,” he subconsciously murmurs in my ear, his vocals deeper and more honeyed than usual.

“Wright...”

“I like you saying my name like that,” he chuckles, and I can almost feel the flick of his tongue against my earlobe, “But I like you putting all your troubles to the side even more. So relax, dammit. Don’t be such a hardass...”

His tease, his care, his sultriness...It’s all too real. It all feels too real. I release another growl of frustration, but feel myself being tugged into the rabbit hole further. I begin to relent, begin to cave, allowing his very image to guide me down and down and down.

And so when I finally begin to move, when I finally begin to pull and tug, it’s entirely his essence.

He works me. He strokes me deeply. He topples my body towards the awaiting mahogany desk. Though I wish to deny it, though I wish to bellow in protest, it feels...utterly incredible, like it never has before. It’s intense, and electrifying, and unbelievably arousing. Once more are my eyes rolled away from view, noises of pleasure circulating around my chest. I have to fight against them, swallow them down, but yet again, does the attorney come out on top. The vision of his fingers, of his work, naturally pulls a centered vocalization from my lips.

“Wright...” I growl, “Wright...Wright...”

I’m rewarded with his voice in my ear once more. “Just like that...Fuck, Miles...”

My stomach clenches; would he even stoop to such naughty vocabulary? Would he even dirty his softer tongue so? Hearing it feels forbidden, yet so very divine. My hips practically buck, riding the reverie and falling deeper.

“Wright...Wright...Wright...”

The passes become harder, faster. His name grows louder, deeper. My mind falls grayer, darker. But of course, similar patterns are followed. Of course, the tug-of-war that is my reality is suddenly yanked in the opposing direction once more.

Because a series of loud raps on my door yanks me far harder than my own hand, startling me something terrible. My head whips up towards the mahogany barrier just in time to hear the reason, the culprit.

“Mr. Edgeworth, sir?”

Magma still burns in my veins. Evidence still twitches betwixt my fingers. His voice still moans in my brain. So very quickly, despite it all, do I bellow back to the damned detective.

“NOT NOW.”

Despite the fire I’m standing in, I can feel the saddened deflation on the other side of the door.

“B-but, sir...”

“PAYCHECK, GUMSHOE,” I snarl, attempting to instill as much threat and as little waver as possible.

He whimpers like a gloomy pup, before finally, thankfully, backing away.

“Y-yes, sir...”

His footsteps depart, but a bit of my fantasy is stolen along with him. It’s like pieces of foggy bliss are yanked out the door and down the hallway, loosening my grip on myself and the situation. Am I safe? Am I free from them?

As if to taunt, I feel myself twitch, and he manifests once more. I feel him again: the heightened movements of his panting chest against me, the ragged groans in my ear, the twinge of his teeth against my neck...

No. Safe from Gumshoe’s interruption perhaps, but still locked deep in the throes of Wright’s intrusion. How utterly strong he is. How much of a hold he has on me...

“Nngg...”

I groan in both frustration and persistent arousal. I want to stop. I want to latch on to the interruption and calm back down. But I can’t. I’m transfixed. He has me.

“Accursed attorney...” I growl through my teeth.

Right on cue, I can see that smug grin of his, sending droves of new warmth barreling down my body. And thus, does the cycle begin again. It only takes a few strokes to fully get back into it, but then I’m unimpeded, unshakeable beneath his spell. The angry, shaky breaths manifest once more, and my hips are coaxed back into movement.

I’m what they would refer to as “pent-up” I suppose, everything zinging to life at the thought of that damn man. His energy, his confidence, his very essence...

My lips curl into a snarl, coupled with the tightening of my hand. Anger and disgust towards the situation does no good; in fact, it only serves to amplify. And as such, I’m thrown into an endless loop, the fiery emotions driving me higher and higher. The more I push away, the more he pulls. The more he pulls, the higher the inferno roars. I’m practically jerking, practically trying to fight against the inevitable. But it’s no use.

I can see myself furiously pounding him into the very desk I’m leant upon. I can picture him folding me over the couch and having his way with my sorry form. I can imagine my angry body knelt before him, marveling in what I’m about to consume...

My entire lower half gives a mighty quake, and I tighten in a plethora of places. I’m going to finish. He’s going to make me finish. My ebony-soaked eyes reel about my surroundings, before flashing with a realization. I need to capture the evidence. I need to halt its sullying path. I need to be utterly inconspicuous about this.

So in perhaps the last allowed second of logical thinking, I snatch a handkerchief off my desk and blanket it over the incrimination. And there I hold as I utterly plummet into flames. My face wretches, my muscles tense, and consequently, comes a most forbidden hiss.

“Phoenix!”

And out it all spills. My anger, my deeper complexities, those wretched feelings...It floods against my fingers and into the handkerchief, my vision flashing white with every sharp burst. My jaw clenches something terrible, the temptation to yell through the release so very tantalizing. But I stay hushed. I manage to keep it contained to shivering grunts and rolling snarls. Instead, my body takes the brunt, my hips jutting with each intense crest. My legs begin to liquify, and my form begins to shake, so with a final spurt, do I collapse forward on my desk with a hand, the wretched evidence in the other.

I heave and gasp through the aftershocks, straining for normalcy to return. I claw my way down from the mountain, trying to get away from the outrageous act. It’s very difficult to do so when I can picture him stroking me into utter completion, whispering lecherous praises and deeper affections into my ear...

I straighten myself and slam my hand on the desk, disgust desperately surging through my veins to block it all out. One look at the soiled handkerchief and my equally dirtied hand amplifies this, my face contorting into a deep scowl.

I was really just enraptured by my urges like some hotheaded grade schooler. I really just turned my place of work into a place of dirtied fun. I really just pleasured myself because of him.

Because of Phoenix Wright.

Damn him. Damn him damn him damn him...

My clean hand comes to capture my face, my fingers harshly grasping my temples. I take a moment to hide away from it all, perhaps in a better attempt to deal with the rampant feelings flowing through. Regret, disgust, anger...But where the icy emotions exist, as do the fiery still, to my dismay. Deeper desire, longing, yearning...

I’m no better off from such an act. The more primitive urges are satiated, yes, but I’m still atrociously in limbo, atrociously in the middle.

I tuck myself back in, clean my hand with tissues, and throw the wretched handkerchief away. I focus on adjusting my attire, on straightening my cravat, on re-composing myself...

...Yet I still find myself unable to do much else than stand with both hands leant against my desk, deep in thought and emotions. I heave a harsh sigh, trying so hard to make sense of it all.

How did this happen? Why did seeing him after all these years lead to this? How could I be so foolish? I doubt we’re really even considered friends, and he’s certainly not...mine.

My eyes widen at the mere thought, before I force further bile to manifest. No. He’s not. And he won’t be. He’s my rival, if anything. Nothing more. Perhaps I was simply carried away by the excitement of our banter, the passion brought to the table. Perhaps my body simply craved an outlet for stress and tension. Yes.

But despite the logic that presents itself, despite the perfectly sound explanation, I still can’t move. I still can’t put it aside and simply get back to work. Nor can I rid my thoughts of that idiotic, passionate, absurd, torturous man.

Dammit indeed.

[prophecy-is-inevitable]

Would you be willing to do a Michael x Plus Size Reader? I feel insecure sometimes, especially thinking of how perfect he looks and I worry I would be too needy for him considering he called Gallant out for his neediness. I also feel like I would call him out for his neediness too since he wants someone who understands him, assuming we knew each other well enough. Can you do something with all this? 👉🏻👈🏻

Ooph. This one is really hard for me since it’s very far out of my comfort zone, but you don’t get better without practice, right? I hope that this has turned out in a way that you like! 100% yelled at Michael when I saw that shit, too. Like, YOU KNOW ALL ABOUT NEEDINESS DON’T YOU MICHAEL LANGDON?! HUH?! Anyway...fully agree. I think it might have been a little hard for him to see his neediness mirrored in someone else and that set him off. He can be the ONLY needy one. Disclaimer: Please don’t drink antifreeze to experience Michael Langdon. Thank you!

The Two Instances of Neediness

He’d promised you safety. Above all else, he had promised that he would keep you safe and make sure you were cared for when he couldn’t be with you. It seemed only half of that promise came through.

For the last year and a half, you’d been diligently waiting for him to retrieve you from Outpost 3. Safety had been provided, as promised. The white stone and dark wood walls were kept warm for the dozen or so people that resided inside the structure. There were enough rooms and beds for everyone to have their own space. A small mercy in the grand scheme of things.

When you finally saw Michael Langdon again, he had certainly changed. The way he carried himself, the exquisiteness of his clothes, the length of his hair… Everything looked and felt different. He looked and felt like everything he was meant to be. Divine yet deadly, comforting yet cruel. He was the sweet taste of antifreeze coating your tongue, euphoric and paralyzing all at once as he snuck into your system and shut you down from the inside out.

You watched him with a wondrous smile as he strode into the library. Your teeth sank gently into your lip in an attempt to keep from crying out his name. Surely he would still remember you. He surveyed the room with a self-satisfied smirk upon seeing the entirety of the Outpost gathered for him. When he spotted you, though, the smirk morphed into a painfully familiar look.

Eighteen months ago, you stood inside of Outpost 3 clad in nothing but your underwear following the mandatory decontamination process all new survivors had to undergo. A redhead with a pinched, strict face stared at you with a sneer, her eyes taking in every extra curve and flaw of your body. You stared right back at her with a smirk, daring her to make a single comment, when you both knew why you were there. Michael’s own people had brought you here on his behalf. Whatever this woman thought of you? It mattered for nothing in comparison to him.

Now, Michael stood at the center of the main library floor below you, gazing at you with the same sneer and furrowed brow that Venable bestowed upon you that first day. Your grey dress was plain and ill-fitting; at least if you’d been able to fashion some sort of belt or tie it could have almost looked appealing. The high bun was ridiculous and hurt your scalp something awful. Every night you let your hair out felt like a thousand bees stinging the follicles. Any alterations to the servant uniform you had been given were strictly forbidden. As was everything else.

You had been given safety, yes, but cared for? No. And now you stood there, eyes brimming with unshed tears, as he scowled hatefully at you and you could feel your heart crumbling piece by piece. Maybe he’d sent you here as a way to get rid of you. Maybe he’d found someone else, someone smarter, stronger, more conventionally beautiful. Perhaps his gaze would have been different if you had been granted the elegant drapery of the Purples. The corsets that cinched their waists and lifted their breasts gave them the perfect hourglass shape of a goddess. Your full figure would have been the very image of voluptuous and desirable then. There was no way you could bear to look at him now.

Days went by without seeing Michael. Between your work around the Outpost, your blatant avoidance of him, and his nonexistent attempts to reconnect, the opportunities were--thankfully--sparse. Conflict raged inside of you. Part of you wanted to confront him, to see what the fuck he thought he was playing at with your life and your feelings. The other part was happy to live in the questionable bliss of ignorance. You didn’t want to hear of whatever new love he’d found that superseded the love he’d claimed to have for you.

While it was easy to avoid his person, it was much, much harder to avoid his name.

“Langdon” was all anyone could talk about. How handsome he was, how skillful he must be in the bedroom. Gallant was certain that Langdon had his gorgeous blue eyes on him, and you’d never hated the hairdresser more. You hoped he choked on his cube. When his grandmother revealed that she had seen him having sex with someone, you resigned yourself to the fact that you had lost Michael for good. If he was interested in lean blond men, he certainly wasn’t interested in you anymore.

Venable assigned you to keep tabs on Gallant while he was strung up awaiting punishment. Once a day, you would throw a bucket of water over him to keep him clean. He still received his daily rations that you had to feed to him yourself since his hands were chained up. All you would have to do was shove the fork a liiiittle bit too far down his throat, and all the disparaging words he’d whispered just loud enough for you to hear behind your back, all of the times he’d tried to make you doubt your worth would all be over. There was only one man that you allowed to sow seeds of doubt in your mind. You froze mid step when that man’s voice drifted under the closed door of Gallant’s “cell”.

“I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on Earth,” his sweet voice dripped with contempt, “and you almost are.” The slow drawl of Michael Langdon’s voice continued inside of the room, bouncing tauntingly around the circular walls. “It’s not because you’re not physically attractive. It’s your neediness.” His tone of voice shifted dramatically from dulcet and slow to cutting and cold. It made you shiver, even as you felt the anger burning inside of your skin. It wasn’t for Gallant. Oh no, he could mock that shallow, conceited man all he wanted. “You’re desperation to be seen and loved. The hole you need filled isn’t in your face or your ass--it’s in your heart.”

No, your anger wasn’t on behalf of Gallant. You couldn’t help feeling he was also talking about you. How you’d often sought reassurance in him, and hoped to feel loved to validate the feelings that you felt for him, too. Above all, you were angry because you knew his words would have cut himself deeper than any other before he’s become this...this creature. Where was the man you knew and loved before the bombs fell?

“You’re pathetic.” Your lips trembled and tears burned in your eyes. The words, while not directed at you, punched the air from your lungs. Is that how he felt about you? Was that why he was avoiding you as if you had radiation sickness? The footsteps and the opening of the door didn’t register through your self-imposed turmoil. Before you knew it, the man that had been on your thoughts stood before you.

“No.” The word left your mouth before you could stop it. Your eyes narrowed at his and you stepped up, toe to toe, with his immaculately polished shoes. “You’re pathetic, Michael Langdon.” For the briefest moment, his glacial eyes melted and looked from your tears to the anger and hurt in your eyes. “You forget that I know you, Michael. Or at least I did once. No one needed love more than you, and now you weaponize that fact against someone else? Is that how you feel about everyone?” You bit into your lip as your entire body shook, the water you carried in your arms sloshing against the sides and mimicking the raging sea of emotions tearing you apart. “Is that how you feel about me?”

The answer never came. His arms remained, as always, clasped behind his back. Wide eyes narrowed dangerously to scan the surrounding halls to see if anyone was there to witness your outburst. His head bowed to yours, forehead to forehead and nose to nose, before he spoke.

“I will be conducting your interview this evening. Ms. Venable is already aware that you will not be attending dinner.”

With that, he turned on his heel and made his way down the hall in perfect, casual strides. You turned and let your back thud against the wall. The stone was cold against your back as you slid, shaking, to the floor

“What the fuck was I thinking?” You muttered to yourself several hours later when it came time to make the journey to Langdon’s office. You dreaded hearing whatever he had to say. Now he would be in the privacy of his own rooms and be able to rage against you however he saw fit.

“Come in.” Michael’s voice beckoned you before you could even lift your hand to knock. You opened the door slowly, heart heavy with dread, and kept your eyes down. Movement from his desk let you know where he was. “Now, now. No need to look so shy.” He approached you slowly, a smirk on his lips, and reached out a hand to cup your chin. “You forget that I know you, too,” he threw your words back at you.

You finally managed to lift your gaze to his and found it resting on your lips. The hardened ice of his gaze dissipated with an inquisitive tilt of his head, and your heart skipped at the familiar gesture. His warm hand on your skin, gently holding your face, brought back so many memories. The next thing you knew, he was stepping back from you and scanning your form from head to toe. The same glare and curl of his lips appeared as the first night he had arrived. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around yourself and attempted to shrink away as much as possible. He exhaled in a heavy, aggravated sigh. So he did think of you that way, too, then.

“She is going to pay for this,” he growled. Your head shot up in confusion. She who? Pay for what? Michael pressed his lips into a thin line of displeasure. “I specifically ordered that your position within the Outpost be among the elite. This is a blatant disregard for my commands. If I had known sooner… Take it off.” Mind still muddled in confusion, you simply blinked up at him. Michael gestured with his elegant, jeweled fingers curling into his upturned palm. “That ridiculous uniform. Take it off. And let down your hair. I can only imagine how uncomfortable that must be for you.”

This had to be some form of trick. You were supposed to have been a purple all along? He’d promised that you would be safe and cared for... No, he was using any trust that you had left in him against you--just like he had toyed with everyone else in the Outpost. The realization made you quickly shake your head. You were not going to expose yourself to him just so he could mock you and hurt you any further. His face fell at your refusal, and his brow furrowed.

“Please. It’s been so long. Knowing you’ve been right here with me the last few days without being able to truly speak to you has been excruciating. Please let me see you.” Oh, how you wanted to believe him. How badly you wanted to think he had missed you and desired you. When you still didn’t move, he came towards you again and forced you to back up against the door. “Perhaps you need a bit of help.”

Michael stooped down and gently captured your ankle in his grasp. He removed your shoe with the effortless tug of his hand to toss it behind him and repeated the process on the other. Next, his hands ran up the sides of your legs. Gentleness was a foreign display from this new Michael, but it was one that your Michael had used often in ascertaining his feelings for you. A soft whimper slipped past your lips from the way he carefully gathered the fabric of your plain dress.

“Look at me, my love.” The command was a gentle one that you couldn’t help but to obey. His eyes mirrored the soft, passionate pleading of his words, and the feeling in the room shifted to something much more in your favor. “How I have missed you.” Several silent tears dripped down your cheeks. It would only be a matter of time before things came crashing down. You could feel it. “Now, take your dress off for me.”

He sat back on his heels and waited, smirking up at you quite happily. Every bit of you screamed no, to remain still, not to become so vulnerable in front of him. Yet, you could still see a part of the man you knew in those glistening blue eyes. A renewed determination filled you, and you removed his hands from your dress to tug it over your head. You tossed the dress into the corner and held your arms out to him in a show of exposure so against your usual nature it was painful. If you were lucky, a pit to hell would open up beneath you and save you from the tragedy. Or perhaps you were already there.

“Is this what you wanted to see? So you could mock me for my appearance, for my neediness to be appreciated and loved for more than what everyone sees? Fuck you, Michael. There was a time that you needed to be loved more than anything. That you wanted to be loved more than anything.” Your legs shook slightly from the willpower it took not to crumple in on yourself.

“Yes.” The words came from Michael as a hiss. Still it seduced you to him like the snake of the Forbidden Tree. His eyes appraised you as he stood, wide and remembering, taking in every curve and dip of your body that made you so scared and so uncertain of anyone’s affection. “This is what I wanted to see. To see you.” Michael’s smirk grew and he placed his hands on your waist. “There are only two occasions in which neediness is not a thing to be mocked, but to be adored.” The hands on your waist pulled you against him. Another whimper blended into a moan at the feel of his warm body against you.

“The first instance is the neediness for me that drips off of you. The second,” he pushed to sigh, “is how badly I need you. To see the image of perfection that I have dreamt of every day for the last 18 months. The warmth that has been absent from the bed beside me for too long.” The gentle pressure of his hands on your sides softly moved upwards over your breasts, along the tops of your shoulders, fingers dancing along your throat, the final destination being your cheeks. Love spread over every inch of your body. His words to you were nothing but the truth. A slight tremble to his lips broke the calm composure of the man the outpost knew as Langdon, Cooperative Agent. In his place stood Michael Langdon, your Michael Langdon, and he very eagerly captured your lips in his.

Everything was conveyed in that one embrace. He still needed you as much as you needed him. It would be your little secret.

[vexing-imogen]

the persistence of 5/?

read from beginning | read on ao3

It’s well past dawn when Vex finally wakes, far later than she usually sleeps. It’s Percy’s doing, she’s sure of it, and she’s grateful for it. The pounding headache from yesterday has lessened to a dull ache and she no longer feels so dreadfully nauseous. She’s alone in the room, but she can hear Percy and Keyleth’s voices drifting up the stairs.

She dresses quickly, favoring a tunic and leggings over any of the fancy dresses in her wardrobe. (And it’s still so hard to believe that any of this is actually hers. Even the simple clothes she’s wearing are nicer than anything she remembers owning since Syngorn.) She moves to the vanity to attempt to wrangle her hair, but she’s distracted by the myriad of letters that are strewn across the surface.

The first one she examines is from someone named Zahra. They’re mildly flirtatious, they call her darling or dearest every other paragraph, and they practically beg her to come visit as soon as possible. She feels the urge to agree, despite having no knowledge of this person.

She moves on to the small stack of letters all from Velora. The most recent one speaks of their father, and how he’s all but given her permission to come stay in Whitestone for the summer. Her penmanship suffers for her excitement, her adolescent cursive almost unreadable in places. Her tone grows more solemn towards the end of the letter, where she admits that Syldor refuses to speak to her about Vax, and would Vex mind terribly telling her some stories about their brother?

Most shocking of all, there are letters from Syldor, too. They’re stiff and awkward, as if he doesn’t know what to say to her beyond the expected pleasantries. He tells her of Velora and Devanna, asks after Percy and Vesper, and occasionally someone called Cassandra. (Percy’s sister? Is she remembering that right?) He even asks after Trinket once. But nowhere in any of his letters does he ask after...

“Vex’ahlia?”

She jumps at the sound of Percy’s voice, her hand flying to her chest, and sees him wince in the mirror.

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You’re fine,” she says, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t hear you come in. Lost in thought, I guess.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

She half turns in her chair, holds up the letter she’d been reading. “I’m on speaking terms with my father?”

“Ah, yes, that.” He hesitates. “It’s...complicated. I don’t particularly like him, and there are some days where I don’t think you do either, but you’re both trying?”

“I see,” she mutters, though she really doesn’t.

He comes up beside her, reaches for her hairbrush. “Would you like some help with that, dear?” he asks, gesturing to the wild mess her hair always is in the mornings.

He’s trying to change the subject, and she lets him. For now. “You know how to braid hair?”

Percy nods, starts to gently brush the tangles out. “Vax taught me,” he explains. “When you and I first started a relationship. He was leaving, and he wanted to make sure I could take care of you.”

She lets him work in silence for a while before she brings it up. “He never mentions Vax.” Their eyes meet in the mirror. “My father. He never asks about him or sends a message along for him. Velora says he refuses to speak of him.”

Percy sighs, his eyes dropping back to her hair. “Like I said, it’s complicated.”

Vex frowns, trying to puzzle it out. “Vax doesn’t speak to our father.”

“No.”

“But I do?” He nods. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

He sighs again. “I know.”

There’s something she’s missing, she can feel it. Some piece of the puzzle that would make all of this make sense, if only she could remember. She growls, and Percy pauses in tying off her braid.

“What’s wrong?”

She almost laughs, because it’s such a pointless question. “I just want this fixed.”

There’s a commotion downstairs that can only be Grog and Scanlan. Percy gives her a tense smile. “Well, here’s your chance.”

They keep eye contact in the mirror for just a minute longer, neither of them willing to voice what they’re both thinking.

What if this doesn’t work?

=============================================================

They find Pike and the others gathered in the parlor. There’s an energy buzzing in the air, anxious anticipation. Vex can barely hear her friends greetings over her heartbeat, sounding like a drum in her ears. Pike is sitting cross-legged on the floor, a pouch of diamond dust open in front of her.

Pike smiles up at her, pats the floor, indicating for her to sit. Once she does, Pike moves up onto her knees and cradles Vex’s face in her hands. “Are you ready?”

She’s not. She’s really not. She’s scared, and she isn’t sure what scares her more; remembering nothing or remembering everything. But she can’t say that. Not here, with everyone watching her, waiting for her to make what should be the easiest decision in the world.

She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and focuses on Pike’s hands, gentle and cool against her skin. “Ready.”

She hears Pike mutter the incantation, feels her palms grow hot as the magical energy flows through them. She can even feel the magic flowing into her mind, probing gently, searching for something to latch onto so it can clear whatever blockage is there and start to heal her. It probes again, a little more insistently, and if magic could have emotions, she’d say it was frustrated.

Pike curses under her breath, and Vex’s heart sinks. Thankfully, Scanlan asks the question so she doesn’t have to.

“Pikey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know!” There’s an edge to her voice, a hint of panic that sends a chill down Vex’s spine. “It’s not working.”

“What do you mean, it’s not working?” Percy demands.

“I don’t know, Percy!” Pike yells, sounding as close to tears as Vex has ever heard her. “The spell should be working, but it’s not, and I don’t know why.”

Vex opens her eyes, fighting back a whimper when she sees her friend’s tear-stained face. “Pike?”

The gnome takes a deep breath, steadies herself, then reaches out for Vex again, her expression determined. “I’m gonna try again, okay?”

Vex nods, sending up a silent prayer to whichever god might be listening. Please let this work. I get it, I know what’s worse, now. I want to remember.

There’s a moment where she thinks it’s working. The magic snags onto something, like a sweater on a loose nail. But just as she thinks it’s about to unravel, the thread snaps.

“Damnit!” Pike rocks back on her heels, composes herself. “I’m gonna try one more time, Vex. We’re so close.”

She doesn’t fight it, lets Pike try the spell again, but she knows deep down it won’t work. And, sure enough, it fails again, the magic scrabbling to find purchase on anything before it finally withdraws from her mind.

“Pike.” Her voice is hollow, defeated. She can barely see through the tears that are falling. “Darling, I don’t think it’s going to work.”

Pike lets out a noise somewhere between a scream and a wail. “I’m sorry, Vex,” she sobs. “I’m so sorry.” She runs from the room, and a few moments later they hear the door slam behind her.

“Should we...” Grog starts.

Scanlan cuts him off. “I’ll go.” He pauses at Vex’s side before he leaves, but he says nothing. He squeezes her shoulder, then follows Pike out of the house.

The only noise in the room for the next several minutes is Percy pacing and Vex’s quiet sobs. Keyleth finally breaks the silence timidly.

“Vex? Do you want me to try?”

She shakes her head, wiping away her tears. Her gaze drifts to the front door. “I think I need some air.”

=============================================================

Pike runs until she’s exhausted, gasping for air, struggling to stay upright. She’s out of the city, that much she knows. In the Parchwood she realizes when she finally falls to her hands and knees. She punches the ground once, twice for good measure, screaming her frustration into the mid-morning air.

A cluster of startled birds draws her attention to the tree in front of her; solid and sturdy, and probably much more satisfying to hit than the dirt. She wishes she had her gauntlets with her, but they’re back in Westruun with her good armor. She pushes herself to her feet and lets out another wordless scream.

She punches the tree once. Twice. Three times. Each one punctuated with a cry of frustration. She feels something pop in her hand on the fourth punch, and then a sickening crunch on the fifth. She doesn’t bother looking at the mess she’s made of her hand, just casts a quick cure wounds and screams to the heavens.

“Why didn’t it work?”

She finds a good sized rock on the ground and chucks it across the clearing, screaming again. It breaks a branch off of a small tree with a satisfying snap.

“It was supposed to work!”

She goes to punch the tree again, but something stops her hand before it can make contact. A small, purple hand, Scanlan’s mage hand to be precise, is providing a cushion between her fist and the tree.

“Pikey...”

She swallows hard, turns to face him with tears streaming down her face, and bruised, bloodied knuckles. She hiccups. “It was supposed to heal her, Scanlan.” Her voice breaks on his name, and she’s sinking to the ground sobbing.

He holds her gently as she falls apart on the forest floor. He’s mostly silent, content to rub her back, stroke her hair, press the occasional kiss to her temple. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs once she’s mostly cried herself out.

She sniffles. “How?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Have you tried asking Sarenrae?”

“No,” she says sullenly. “I kind of just screamed at her.”

He chuckles. “I’m sure she understands.”

She smiles sheepishly. “Enough for me to try a divine intervention, you think?”

“It couldn’t hurt.” He stands, kisses her on the forehead. “I’ll meet you back at Casa de Rolo. I have an idea that I want to run by Percy.”

She watches him go with a small smile, then settles herself in to meditate and pray.

Sarenrae, if you’re there, if you’re still listening. I need your help. Vex needs your help.

The clouds break, and a sunbeam shines directly down on Pike. She hears her goddess’s voice, warm and gentle in her mind.

What can I do for you, my child?

My friend Vex lost a chunk of her memories, and my magic can’t bring them back. I need you to heal her.

I’m afraid I can’t do that, Pike.

What? Why not?

Memories are not part of my domain. I cannot restore your friend’s memories to her, but I know the one who can. If you trust me, I can direct your path.

What do I have to do?

[revengeoftheantichrist]

Seven Devils

Warnings: Fire, Alter sex, Priests gone wild, gore, stabbing 

AO3  <<<Previous

Day 6

You had been in the room when Sister Ruth had to give Claire’s family the news. Her mother’s scream of anguish briefly broke you out of your daze, the pain in her voice made you start crying again. You felt responsible somehow. You still couldn’t understand what tempted your friend to the fruit. You would be leaving on Monday, along with your friend’s corpse. Finally rid of this horrible place, but you could never forget it now, no matter how much you tried. You had tired yourself out from all the crying, choosing to take a nap and hoping that your sleep would be dreamless.

////

You hoped for too much. You woke from another nightmare; this one was the most troubling one you had. Maybe finally talking to someone about it would help. This led you to look for Sister Ruth, hoping she would be willing to lend an ear. You found her with the Mother Superior, who refused to leave the room when you asked to talk to Ruth in private. “You are my responsibility also, anything that can be shared with Sister Ruth must also be shared with me,” she said. You had never felt more violent in your life, but decided to hold it in. Sister Ruth gently took your hand, “Please Y/N, what is it I can help you with? Is there anything you’d like to share?” she asked kindly.

You swallowed before answering. “I’ve been having strange dreams, and they’re troubling me. I’m scared Sister,” you managed to whimper out. The mother superior rolled her eyes. Old Hag.

Sister Ruth brought your attention back to herself, “it’s okay, you can continue.” “I keep on dreaming about the convent being on fire. It is as if the structure was purposely built to be unstable and crumble in on all of us. I can smell the flesh burning. None of us get out of it alive. I feel like somethings going to happen during the feast day tomorrow and I think we all need to get out of here,” you explained. Sister Ruth didn’t say a word, just giving you a blank stare. The Mother superior on the other hand, began to laugh as you ended your story. “Child do not come here with dreams of false prophecies and mock our patron Saint. Clearly the stories you are hearing are giving you the wrong sort of divine inspiration.” You wanted to reply, to tell her she was wrong and that she would regret ignoring you, but Sister Ruth spoke before you could. “Y/N, you’ve been through a lot this week. I know it must be difficult to lose a friend so unexpectedly too. I think your brain is trying to cope with this all by spinning dreams with threads of stories you’ve heard during the week.” You looked at her with more tears in your eyes. You didn’t expect this from her at least. No one believed you and now you would be called crazy by everyone. You didn’t want to die by fire. You, nor your classmates deserved it. You had to warn them yourself. Without a word you ran out of the room, looking for your other friends and trying to find a way out.

////

You burst through the dorm room; all eyes were on you. “Guys I’m not trying to scare you, but we all have to leave right now. There’s going to be a fire here tomorrow and the Sisters are just going to let us all burn!” you shouted, hoping that they would listen and believe you. “What the fuck are you on about,” one of the girls spoke up, “I actually think you’ve gone insane.” “NO no no no I promise I’m telling the truth, I had, I had a dream and were all going to be burned to death and then the priest is going to take over the world” you explained. “What priest? Is this a joke?” “The priest Michael. The one that tried to get me last time!” You weren’t listening to what you were saying. You couldn’t see the crazed look in your eyes, you were heaving from running here, the way you were just so dishevelled. Before you could speak again, some of the staff came through behind you, wrapping their arms around you and dragging you out of the room. You kicked, screamed and even bit but they did not let you go. Eventually you reached a room far from the dorms and were unceremoniously thrown in. The door being locked just as you tried to get up. “LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT! YOU’RE GOING TO REGRET NOT LISTENING! LET ME OUT!” You continued to hit and kick the door, hoping that they would show some mercy. You realised your efforts were fruitless when your knuckles had almost been pulverised from hitting the heavy wooden door.

You decided to look around the room, reluctantly accepting the fact you wouldn’t be let out anytime soon. It seemed so familiar, you knew you had been here before. There wasn’t much in here, just a bed and a dusty set of drawers that hadn’t been opened in centuries. There didn’t even seem to be any electricity running to this room. You found some old candles and set them aside, preparing them for when you would need them. You wondered why there was only one set of belongings. The room was clearly big enough for two. Your eyes drifted to the drawers again. If they didn’t want you prying, they shouldn’t have put you in here.

The drawers were caked in dust, you cringed as you hand touched it. It took you a few pulls to get the drawer open, it had gone stiff from the years of neglect. You were pleasantly surprised to find something in there. A rosary made of precious gems. A decaying bible. Some other old books. And something wrapped tightly in some cloth. The rosary was heavy, and you could tell it was barely used. A strand of hair seemed to be caught on it, just like yours, same colour, same texture. The bible was almost illegible, the ink had smeared and bled. Some of it was singed away. The only section that you could make out was revelations. Only the worlds of destruction and death had survived the years it seemed. The other books were interesting. They had not decayed in the same way the bible had. The parchment was old, and it was all handwritten, but it had stood the test of time. It all seemed to be text on herbal medicine, smiling a little at the notes your mother had written you. The final item was the one that stood out to you the most. Mainly because you had no idea what it was. The item was heavy, the fabric seemed to be some sort of leather. You slowly unwrapped it, letting the fabric fall away from the item. It was an ornate dagger. Beautifully carved out of material you couldn’t quite put you finger on, but you knew whatever it was, it was precious and expensive. The blade was sharp enough to cut through flesh and bone you were sure of it. You decided to spend the night figuring out these books. You had nothing else to do anyway.

////

Sister Y/N had spent days going though her books. Her conclusion? Drastic times call for drastic measures. For some reason, regularly attending prayer and meals helped ease her mind temporarily. It also kept Langdon off her trail. He was busy with one of his ‘personally’ led study classes, the ones she was still barred from. For her this was the perfect time to speak to the Mother Superior. Floor plans in hand, she marched down to her office. //// She sat in silence for a while, waiting for her to finish her tobacco, she didn’t like to be disturbed in that time. She made the gesture for Y/N to speak. “Mother, you may think that I have gone insane, but I’ve been having strange dreams and I feel compelled to tell you and warn you.” She raised her brow, sitting up straight, “Continue.” “I’m sure one of the sisters must have informed you of the dreams that I had about the new structure of the convent, I’ve spent hours meticulously drawing up the plans revealed to me,” she began, pushing the said plans towards her mentor. Mother superior picked them up and began inspecting the details. Sister Y/N began to speak again, “For a long time, I did not know why an entirely new convent was shown to me. Most of our buildings are sound and functional….  But I have had another dream recently.” “And what did that dream tell you Y/N?” “A terrible fire will sweep the convent. It will destroy everything and everyone. I fear the dream may come true,” she explained. Mother Superior seemed to be lost in thought, mulling over the information. “Was there a date? And indication of when?” “The feast of our lady’s ascension.” The woman looked well and truly worried now, an expression that seemed so alien on this relaxed woman. The feast was two days away. Y/Ns voice began to crack, “I came to you to beg you to do something and to hand you these plans… I fear that I will not leave the inferno alive.” Mother superior finally spoke, “I believe you were given these visions for a reason child. God would not just choose anyone, out of this entire convent I would believe you the most.” Despite the differences the women had over the years, Mother Superior was the closest thing Y/N had to mother. If Y/N could save one person in here, it would be her. “That man must not get wind of this, understand? The men in the church seem to be praying for our downfall. Letting him know would foil any plans to get the sisters out, understood?” Mother superior asked. Y/n nodded, choosing her words carefully to not expose her other plan, “I think I could distract him on the evening you all need to leave. God has already decided I will not leave here alive so I will make sure you all get out safe.” Mother Superior did not question it, nodding in response. Both women stood to go to the door, a sombre blanket enveloping the room. The women hesitated a little, before hugging each other tightly. Y/N trying to remember the smell of the tobacco and roses. Both knew that this would be the last time they would see each other, the last time they could embrace one another. Tears stained both of their uniforms, but still not a word was said. A verbal admission of the finality of their meeting would break the women. They eventually broke away from the hug, Mother superior giving Y/Ns cheek one final kiss before letting her out. They both wished they had embraced for just a while longer.

////

The night had come where everything would be set into motion. The first of the sisters began to shuffle out of the convent, but sister Y/N was heading in the opposite direction. She made her way to the small chapel in her night gown, she shivered at the unusually cold summer air. She took something of her mother’s for luck, she was going to need it. She drifted down the increasingly empty hallways like a ghost. Silent but a vision nonetheless, hair and night gown blowing in the breeze. //// She said a final prayer as she opened the door. The incense was strong, and the candles were burning. All preparation for the morning mass that was meant to take place in a few hours. Father Langdon stood at the alter in all his glory. The candlelight gave him a halo-like glow. A light in the darkness. Sister Y/N slowly walked towards him, he watched with curious eyes, truly not expecting this tonight. Y/N looked into his eyes, before kneeling before him. She looked at him like he was her only god. The crazed devotion he longed to see. She reached forward and took his hand, kissing his palm and then his ring, the way one would for a king, holding his hand against her forehead before letting go. He just smiled at her, not saying a word, waiting to see what she would do next. She leaned forward and kissed his shoes, a reminder of the night she washed his feet. Michael groaned at the thought of it. He wished he had made her stay that night, that he had made her kiss his feet, that he had made her watch him stroke himself at the sight of her. Michael liked to play the long game and was willing to wait for her to come to him. Now he could reap his rewards. “Have you come to seek salvation?” he taunted. She only nodded, not finding the words she needed. His ringed fingers stroked her cheeks, wondering what to do with her next. “Do you have a God?” She shook her head ‘no’. He slapped her in response, the sound echoing off the stone. He lightly stroked her tender cheek again, repeating the question, “Do you have a God?” She looked up at him with her teary eyes, nodding ‘yes’ this time, “You. You are my God.” Father Langdon smiled at her answer, it was just the one he was looking for. His thumb moved towards her lips, feeling the softness before forcing entry into her mouth. His unoccupied hand drifted toward his trousers, palming himself before beginning to undo the garment. “Well then, you must learn how to worship your new God then. You don’t want to disappoint me now do you?” She sook her head.

Michael stroked himself in front of her. Y/N trembled at the sinful sight. Michael tapped the tip on her lips, “go on then, show me your devotion.” Y/N hesitated before opening her mouth. She slowly licked him, from the base to the tip. His groan seemed to shake the room, the candles getting just a little bit brighter. She took him into her mouth, going slowly and trying not to choke. The pace was far too slow for Michael, he took a hold of her hair and took over, setting a faster pace, not caring about the choking. The wet sound and the spit spurred him on even further. Y/N eyes were watering her throat already beginning to ache from the assault. She felt him twitch, but he pulled out with a ‘pop’. “Keep your tongue out,” he said between pumps. With one final stroke, he spilled all over her face, relishing in the sight of her covered in his seed. His fingers made a symbol on her forehead, much like one would on Ash Wednesday, but she couldn’t figure out what it was, lost in the daze of what had just happened.

He pulled her up by her shoulders, walking towards the alter, “Come, let me show you the true light,” he whispered. He pushed away the crucifix and the chalice, both cracking upon impact with the stone floor. He sat tall and proud on the alter, Y/N standing in front of him. He undid the front of her dress, holding her wrists in one hand to prevent her from covering herself up. Her nipples pebbled from the exposure to the cold air. Michael hummed in satisfaction. How he had longed to see her bare in front of him. His free hand groped and grabbed all around, not being gentle in the slightest. He was not a gentle man, and he would not be a kind God. His fingers reached between her thighs, she whimpered at the unfamiliar contact. She had only felt her own hands before. Michael grinned at the wetness. “Hmm? Well, would you look at that. A witch parading as a woman of god dripping for me,” he taunted. She tried to look away in embarrassment, but his gaze was far too powerful. She gasped as his fingers finally entered her, far bigger than her own. He stroked himself back up as he continued to thrust inside her. She began to twitch around him, just as her toes began to curl, he pulled out. “Not yet, come here.” He pulled her onto his lap, licking the fingers that were wet with her slick. He gripped Sister Y/Ns hips tightly, slowly impaling her onto his cock. Letting her feel all of him. Her hands gripped his shoulders as she got used to the unfamiliar stretch. Michael had waited too long to be inside her, burying his face in her bosom, drinking in her scent.  “Go on then, show me your devotion, worship me.”

Y/N hesitated a little, and Michael’s patience was wearing thin. He thrust up into her to encourage her to ride him. She took the hint and picked up the pace. Closing her eyes to chase her own pleasure. The room echoed with the sound of skin on skin. Sister Y/N had never been so intimate with anyone before, the connection felt almost holy. She wondered if the incense in the room was clouding her head or if the devil had cast a spell on her. She opened her eyes and looked into his, the room around them seemed to be set ablaze. The candle flames reaching a height she never thought possible. She felt his hand around her neck, squeezing slightly, bringing her pleasure to new heights. He was close, he wouldn’t be able to hold it in. His breathing became laboured, sweat dripping down his forehead. He threw his head back in pleasure, eyes closed and giving in. This is what Sister Y/N had been waiting for. She held her hand out and a blade sprang into her hand. The ornate dagger was heavy. She didn’t hesitate, slicing the man’s throat before he could cum. He let out a gargled gasp, but she paid no mind as she chased her own high, covered in his warm blood that was spraying from the wound. This was the closest she would be to God and she knew it. She removed herself from his corpse, trying not to dwell too much on what she had done. She put her night gown back on and made her way back to the limp corpse on the alter. She took the knife again, bringing it to his chest. It sliced though fabric and flash so easily, making her job so much simpler. When the incision was big enough, she reached into the cavity and pulled out his heart. She heard the cracking of beams and finally realised where she was. The building was burning and about to cave around her. She ran to the door, not looking back as the body behind her was crushed by the burning ceiling. //// She had run to the courtyard; the adrenaline was beginning to wear away now. She was in so much pain from the burns she had from the inferno. She had to push through the weakness, just for a little longer. She had buried her mother’s box underneath the apple tree. She knew no one but her would be able to open it. Letting the heart burn allowed the possibility of reincarnation and rebirth. Keeping it sealed prevented him from ever taking a physical form again. Forced into an eternal limbo. She gently placed the heart into the box. Her fingers were charred and painful. She made sure the box was sealed shut for one final time, muttering a prayer for forgiveness if the God above was still listening. She placed the box back into the hole, quickly burying it and hoping that no one would ever find it. She leaned back against the tree, looking up to the smoke-filled sky. She was not given the privilege of seeing the stars she loved so much. She could feel the heart beating behind her, trying to make its way out of its new prison. The pain had gotten worse now and the fatigue was catching up to her. She closed her eyes for the last time, accepting her fate finally. She no longer needed to run.

Neither God nor the Devil seemed to be done with her yet, hungry crows had begun to eat away at her flesh, going for her eyes first. Some of the sisters returned in the morning, only to find their friends charred corpse beneath the apple tree, where strange blossoms had begun to bloom.

Next>>>

[ficsnroses]

One Night - John Wick x Reader Oneshot

Essentially, John and reader meet for a fuck because he’s drained and its been a while since he’s smashed lol.

Word Count : 4K

Warnings : Smut, 18+ only. 

Summary : Being a devoted single father takes a toll on John Wick, which is why he craves release on a particularly lonely night.

« It tastes so sweet in the moment, an illusion that has wiped away all else. »

.

ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ; ɪᴛ ʜᴀs ᴛᴏ.

To the blare of his alarm, John barely managed his bleary eyes to wake. The air around his bedroom walls is cold, stoical. Sullen, glum morning light channels in, the weight of an empty spot beside him seems to exaggerate.

It had been a vacant, hallow spot for as long as he could remember.

Trudging, his feet hit the cold morning hardwood beneath him, dragging his aching bones to the washroom mirror. He yawns, his eyes have formed bags, he looks exhausted. The laugh lines that once kissed the corners of his eyes are no where to be found. His weary hand rakes through his hair, a glance at his clock lets him know he’d need to be swift.

Lily would wake soon.

When her mother left, all those years ago, John knew a piece of him shattered that day. Being young and in love, a cliché of old times, proved just an illusion to the actuality brimming beneath the surface.

Love wasn’t enough then. It wasn’t what she’d wanted.

She’d left before morning came, leaving John, and the memory of love; a mere deception in the distance.  But what she had left, meant more than the world itself to him.

She left Lily, their daughter. And for him, she was the semblance of hope above all, he so desperately needed.

.

“Sweetheart,” Moving her blanket off her shoulder, John lightly shakes his daughter, his voice calm, soothing. “Wake up, princess.”

She rubs her drowsy eyes, a small yawn emitting her lips as she turns to him. “Daddy, I’m sleepy.” She moans, covering her eyes with the blanket once more. John chuckles quietly, peeling it down again. “If you don’t wake up, you’ll be late.”

She groans quietly, her morning voice making John smile. For a 5 year old, she had quite the wit and intelligence. “Honey if you don’t go to school, you won’t be able to see your friends today.” John coos, gently stroking her beautiful maple hair.

She’d got it from her mum.

Sleepily, Lily sits up, immediately tucking herself into her father’s side. “Daddy, can we start school later? It’s too early and I’m always sleepy in the morning.” John giggles, catching her in a warm embrace as he holds her tiny figure, pressing a kiss to her locks. “I guess I’ll talk to them about it.” He smiles, shaking his head.

“Thanks daddy.” She yawns, on the verge of dozing off again, head tucked into John’s side.

“Alright. Let’s brush our teeth.” John says, standing, waiting for her to follow as he takes her hand.

.

7:49AM.

“Daddy, why does the sun go away?” Lily ponders out loud, muffled through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Because it needs to sleep.” John replies, in a matter of fact tone, polishing his teeth beside her. It was a morning ritual; they always brushed their teeth together.

She furrows her brow, looking at him through the washroom mirror. “Why doesn’t it just sleep in the sky?”

Rinsing his mouth, John pats her head. “So you can go to sleep, silly.”

.

7:55AM.

With his brush equipped hand, John combs through her hair, positioning it just the way she liked, a nice, clean and crisp ponytail finished with her darling yellow bow. She absentmindedly fiddles with her stuffed bear, wondering again.

“Daddy, how big is New York?”

Securing her ponytail into place, making sure to go around exactly three times with the hair tie, John replies, staring intently at the job in front of him. “As big as the sky above it, obviously.”

She nods her head, slow, absorbing his answer. “Oh. Right. You’re smart daddy.” She acknowledges, gaze returning to her stuffed bear.

.

8:10AM.

With her favourite book propped beside her on the kitchen table, Lily swirls the cereal in her pink bowl, watching John move around the kitchen. Her legs swing inattentively, her inquisitive thoughts leaving her lips again.

“Daddy, do fishies sleep with their eyes closed?”

John packs her lunch into her backpack, watching her from the peripherals of his eye. “Hmm, I’ve never asked them. Maybe next time we go to the beach.”

Her eyes light up, glowing to the thought of a day at the beach, with her favourite rainbow coloured floaties. “Can we go right now?”

John rolls his eyes, smiling. Flipping the food in the pan, he replies once again. “Finish your breakfast, sweetheart.”

.

8:30AM.

“Alright, sweetie. Have a great day at school.” John wishes her goodbye, placing a wholesome kiss to her forehead. With his stocky fingers, he perfectly positions the straps of her tiny backpack securely on her shoulders. “I love you.”

“Love you too daddy!” She waves giggling, running off with her friends to the classroom door. John shoves his hands in his jean pockets, turning on the balls of his feet to the walk back towards his beloved Mustang.

He stays reserved, quiet, much to himself. Caught up in providing for, and taking care of Lily, John had forgot to make much of a social life of his own along the way. Much of the life John knew, the few friends he’d made, tied threads with his past.

He didn’t want Lily to be subject to that.

He’d worked far too hard to leave the world of gore; for her.

His ears catch dialogue, the woman around the school yards who’d also come to drop off their children, swooning his way.

“He’s soooo dreamy.” 

“Can you believe he’s a single dad?”

.

The rest of the day drifts by, the lonesome hours while Lily would be away usually allowed John to focus on his own hobbies. Between binding books, and working on his Mustang, John did sometimes wish he had something more.

He’d become accustomed to having Lily, and no one else.

He’d be the best father he could for her, there was no denying it. He’d be everything she needed, and more. He’d shield her from any harm, be there for her when perhaps no one else would.

But who would be there for him?

It was in reveries like this, that John felt the most alone. It was on days like today; as the sun peered down on his sweat beat forehead, the rays gleaming across the horizon he’d see so far. The city filled in the distance, lives blooming in each corner as he polished the rims of his car.

She was a beauty; she was. With her spotless gray paint, perfectly glossed onto the surface. Not a chip in site, the leather seats stitched to perfection, the smell of fresh linen gracing the interior. But she was just a car. She’d listen. But she’d never reply.

He didn’t have anyone to share his sorrows with,

and that had been the sour truth.

.

“Daddy, Chloe said she had that new princess movie I wanted to see at her house. She said we’re gonna watch it tonight.” Lilly babbles, holding onto her father’s hand as they walk back to his car after school.

“Tonight?” John questions, confused.

Chloe sighs, her tiny voice mirroring annoyance. “Daddy did you forget? Today’s our sleepover!”

“Right. Sleepover.” John mumbles, eyes focused on the ground below. Lily and her best friend had occasional sleepovers, they’d always looked forward to them. John however, preferred not to send Lily away from him over night. He liked to make sure she was safe, protected, and near at all times. But he didn’t want her to miss out on the joys of being a child. He never wanted her to fall short of anything, even if that meant once in while he’d have to let her go.

He’d prefer for the girls to stay at his house each sleepover, but sadly, that wasn’t how it works.

“First, we’re going to finish your homework though, alright?” John asserts, opening the car door for her. She nods slowly, frowning. “Okay. I got really hard math work today, addition and subtraction.” She sighs.

“Addition and subtraction?” John gives her a shocked face. “Oh boy, that’s tough stuff! We’ll figure it out though. Together.” John kisses her head, buckling the seat belt over her.

.

8:14PM.

John stands, leaning on the bathroom counter, his dreary eyes glancing down, arms and muscles tense. He sighs a breathy exhale, stiffness overtaking his body. He’d dropped off Lily after working through her homework with her. He’d made sure to pack her bag with everything she needed, hand wrote a special note for her to read before bed, wishing her a goodnight and reminding her of how much he loves her. He’d stowed in her favourite stuffed bear, she had trouble sleeping without it.

John loves his life with Lily, he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

But then why did it feel like there was something always missing? As if no matter how much he tried to convince himself, that this was okay, that he didn’t need more, his deliberations seemed to blur indefinitely. As if he wasn’t even sure he believed himself anymore.

Being a dad, a single dad is tough. It drains him, albeit he won’t let it show.

But sometime, he feels as if he needs something. Needs to feel something. Needs something to remind him, that he is only human.

But then why does he feel guilt?

Temporary relief, relaxation, substances; he’d experienced them all. A drink at the end of a hard day had always been divine, celestial, but he couldn’t depend on that anymore. He has responsibilities, a life to take care of. A mentor, an exemplar to be.

He exhales, a breath falling his lip that he hadn’t knew he’d held.

Everyone needs relief sometimes. Liberation from the hardships of everyday life. Everyone needs someone sometimes. For John, there was only one person who could be that release. It had seemed the stars aligned tonight, he was home alone, and he thought he could use some company.

He needed that company, severely. He thinks he’d go insane without. It had been too far without.

His phone sits still in his grip as he dials the number, fairly familiar, yet distant. He usually didn’t let his mind go to that place, a piece of him always felt as if he was betraying his daughter; seeking fulfillment of his own selfish needs.

The truth was, he’d forgot how to do things for himself.

He forgot how it felt to acknowledge his own needs;

  for connection.

He hears her voice on the other end, silken sweet. “Hello?”

It’s a relief to hear her voice. A reminder that she hasn’t forgotten him, hasn’t decided she wanted nothing to do with him. “Hey, Y/N. How are you?”

“I’m great! How are you? What’s up?” She inquires.

“I’m doing alright. I uh-” His voice falls flat, unsure of how to continue. They’d had this conversation before, a few times. Although it had been a while, he didn’t want to intrude. “I wanted to ask if you were doing anything tonight?”

She understood what he meant, loud and clear. They’d shared this…consensual relationship before, they’d met years ago.

She takes a moment to reply. “No, not tonight.”

.

it tastes so sweet in the moment; an illusion that has wiped away all else.

but it shows no mercy to the agony that follows right after.

They knew each other well; they’d been here before. She found herself in John’s house, positioned in his California king as he watches her, eyes prolonging over her body beneath him. Shifting slow, she sits up slight, enough to pull off her shirt. He sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of her, lace adorned over her swollen breasts, waiting for him to peel off. Pursing forward, she allows him to circle his resilient arms around her, unhooking the piece that shields her modesty from him. The sight of her bare breasts make blood rush down to his member, turned on at how perfectly plump they look.

His touch is pure liberation, but not nearly enough. She needed all of him.

“This is okay, right?” John makes sure, cautious yet in the moonlit room, the filer of the glow allowing them to be seen, but discreet. Nodding, she pulls him down where their lips meet in a fervent kiss. Her hands polish over John’s sturdy back, feeling his bare skin and tensed muscles. She hoped she could help him tonight, she knew well that even he, deserved it.

Leaving open mouthed kisses to the corners of her lips, he moves slow, deliberate and unhurried down, lips grazing over her neck, her collarbone, his hands knead her breasts, feeling her shiver under his touch as they harden. Her fingers tangle his dark mane, gently tugging at the strands with her eyes flush shut. John had always been a giver; despite their arrangement tonight being a sole easement for him. John knows how to satisfy a lady; his experience disallows him to forget to prove it.

His lips move, beard scuffing over her stomach as he trails lower, his stock fingers undressing her bottom half, leaving her completely nude for him to take in. She can smell him, his scent so uniquely him, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t craved it every now and then. Shuddering, her body jolts feeling his large palms explore each inch of her, taking in the canvas in front of him. His tongue leaves wet marks, the sounds already so sultry. Using his fingers to spread her folds, he presses a quick kiss to her clit, allowing two fingers to trudge into her cunt. Stifling moans escape her lips, helping him erect.

“John,” She whimpers, “Please don’t tease me today,” He watches her suck in a sharp breath, her soft moan making each nerve in his body snap at the thought of feeling her soon. “It’s been so, so long…”

Her hands work his pants, freeing his cock as she pulls him out. She rubs the tip against her clit, and they moan in unison. John’s eyes have rolled to the back of his head, feeling her soft, delicate hands on his member. If her hands felt this delicious, her pussy would do wonders. Moving up, she secures her hands on his bare shoulders, urging him to lay down beside her.

“Relax, baby…” She whispers, straddling him with her hands smoothing over his chest. In this moment, she remembers just how dreamy John really is; the way his beard lines perfectly trimmed, his espresso eyes glow in the moonlight, the way his mouth stays slightly a gape watching her, his breathing in and out slow, steady, writhing under her. John is a piece of art, although he doesn’t like to acknowledge it.

His large hand is already on his cock, lazily stroking as he watches her move down, tucking her hair behind her ear. With her hands on his thighs, she finally takes his tip into her warm, wet, heated mouth, sucking gently. John softly moans, his hand coming down to tangle in her hair. Using both his hands to keep her hair out of her face, he lets himself get a good view of her throatily bobbing her head on his throbbing cock. 

She remembers how he likes it; sloppy and wet. He elicits a deep moan, feeling her hands massage his balls. 

Swirling her mouth over his veins, she hallows her cheeks, making it tight as could be for him, her warm, soaking tongue gliding across his cock, her jaw loosening to take more and more. The sounds her sinful lips are making, the suction, the slurps,  could make any man fall weak. Every now and then, she lets out a hum, the vibrations against his cock shoved deep inside her mouth, making him feel so unholy

Making John feel good was almost addicting; watching the way his small breath let out praiseful moans, his tone husky as his lips part, shuddering under her.

He reaches down to rub her slit, spreading her wetness as he prepares her folds for the taking. The anticipation is building; John can barely remember how it feels to be buried deep inside someone. With the stressors and responsibilities caving him down, he’d forgotten to let himself feel anything in a while.

John needed this. He needed release. Quite literally, he needed to cum and he needed it soon. In this moment, she was all he had.

All that could liberate him.

Reaching over to the bedside table, John moves his hand to the very back, buried deep, deep inside where they couldn’t be found by anyone. A box of condoms, long forgotten. He gives himself a few tugs, preparing to take her. Fishing out and opening the sliver lining, he allows it to slip onto his aching cock, pulsating for any relief to come its way. She watches him, biting her lip. 

She’d almost forgotten how big John was, how he’d leave her sore and tender after a steamy session.

With his cock firm in her palm, she moves on him, lining her entrance. Slow, sensual, she sinks down on him, they both sigh in relief, John lets out a groan of pleasure, eyes shut tight with the feel of her heavenly walls tightening around him. She’s warm, wet and tight, blissfully gratifying.

Moving slow at first, she allows them to savour each inch of each other, John’s hands planting on her hips, guiding. He’s practically panting under her, deep voice smooth as butter as he moans her name, letting her know how grateful he is for her in this moment. 

“Fuck, please keep going,” he whispers needily, eyes watching her glide on his cock, hands pressed to his chest. Grabbing his hands, she guides them to her breasts, urging him to cup them hard as she bounces herself up and down on him. Tensing his jaw, his lips part, watching her meet him halfway with her bounces on his cock as he thrusts up into her, his hands holding her ass.

His eyes roll shut and he bites his lip, the sounds of her wetness slicking him fill the room, each time he sinks in and out. His cock glistens with her slickness, she brings her hand over her mouth to cage a loud moan threatening to surface. Whimpering, she bites her arm in complete ecstasy, the feel of John throbbing, completely filling her whole becoming much.

“You okay, darling?” John inquires, satiny voice quiet and deep as his fingers kiss her cheek. She merely nods, eyes clasped shut, soft moans escaping. “Yeah..” She sobs, holding in her yelps.“You just feel so good.”

Moving slow, John shifts her under him in a swift motion, not wanting her to do all the work. Her legs wrap around his waist as they both glance down. At first, he merely glides his cock over her folds, teasing her clit. Slow, watching him slip himself back between her legs, her nails dig into his back, cock stretching her almost painfully. Rocking his hips slow, they focus on just feeling each other whole, the feeling of having someone to spend the night with, the feeling of nothing but all things good.  She clenches around him, sighing in sweet, sweet relief, legs trembling from how well he was already pounding her, seconds in.

“Harder, John.” She winces, feeling his cock hit her end. He’s grunting, exiting her fully each time before slamming back in, hearing her whimpers and yelps so loud at the sensation. His thrusts pick up, erratic and imperative, lips moving along her chest as they leave small marks. Into her neck, he presses a few sloppy kisses to the satin skin, sucking and nipping.

“Does that feel good?” He whispers, holding onto her waist tight, the pads of his fingers threatening to leave bruises.

“So good.” She whimpers, feeling every nerve in her body close to snapping, legs shaking. John sees her grit her teeth, small, breathy moans releasing as she pants. Her breasts move up and down on her chest to his pace, the sounds of his skin slapping hers delectable in the quiet midnight. Wrapping her hands around his shoulders, she pulls him closer to feel his skin against hers. Crashing his lips to hers, John begs for entrance, tasting her. His deep voice, paired with the feel of his girthy cock, each vein, each curve slamming against her; his pumps become urgent, cock throbbing, twitching between her.

Jerking his hips faster, cock grinding her g spot each time, his breath is hot on her lips as he pulls away, their foreheads connect as he continues pumping into her now, his thrusts ridged and rough. For a moment, they stare intently into each others eyes, focusing on the feel of each other, and everything in that moment, the way they fit together so fucking good. Trembling and whimpering, she knows she’s close. His cock moves swift in and out, pounding spots inside her that nearly make her lose her breath. Deeper, harder, the pressure builds in her core, she’s already sore from the pace he’s executing and his massive size.

The bed creeks, hitting the walls although neither of them perceive to care. John grunts, with her hands holding his biceps firm, beads of sweat gleaming his forehead. Sultry and deep, his voice soothes. 

“You feel so good tonight...so tight...” He bites his lip. “So wet.” Closing his eyes again, he sighs as her fingers tangle his dark mane, his face nuzzling her neck, hips still thrashing in and out of her. “So fucking wet.”

“The way you’ve always liked it.” She whimpers, gasping as he hits her perfect nerves each time. “I’m so close John, please don’t stop. Please.” She begs, wailing, squirming under him. His skin slaps hers, hastily, senselessly. He’s pushing as much as himself possible into her, and she can’t help but scream, bringing her arms tighter around him.

John twitches inside her, his throbbing cock jammed deep inside her clenched cunt, the pleasure is becoming too much, he knows he won’t last long. She drips down her thighs each time he pulls out, only to slam back in. 

“Let go for me, Y/N.” John encourages her, his hands coming back to cup her breasts as she lets out an ear-splitting moan into his neck. With a particularly deep, harsh thrust, she comes all over his cock, sending piercing shocks through her mind. Thoughts hazing, the only feeling she feels is the oblivion he’s spilled into her as he grunts, moaning loud with his creamy load spilling deep, deep inside her.

He moans her name, coming down from their highs with his head buried in between her nude breasts. Their skin is flushed, clinging together as they pant, trying to catch their breath. She wraps her arms around him tighter, her hands soothingly stroking his hair, his cock still buried inside her. 

Slow, John moves his head up to look at her, resting his weight on his hands as he disconnects himself from her. “Are you alright, Y/N?” He asks, making sure she was okay. She nods, never breaking eye contact.

It felt good in the moment,

But now, he can’t help but feel guilt. Guilt that he’s used her, guilt that this isn’t what he’s supposed to be doing.

He has responsibilities, things to take care of, and here he was, in the middle of the night, fucking a woman he had immense respect for. Someone he once called a close friend.

Cautiously, he pulls out of her, his cock falling flaccid, coated with her creamy releases. Reaching beside the bed, he wipes himself clean with a few tissues, offering one to her as well. Exhausted, he falls beside her on his bed, both facing the ceiling as she brings the duvet up to cover her breasts. There’s a silence between them, as they collect their thoughts.

They know both their minds are racing a mile a minute; although neither of them dare say a word. She knows John feels guilty, she knows he has a heart of gold.

She’d come to learn that over the years.

Quiet, she speaks into the silent of the room. Her hand moves slow, resting on his forearm as his eyes stay focuses on the roof, chest still rising and falling. “John?” She murmurs, voice soft. He turns his gaze to her, nodding gently.

“I wanted this. And you deserved it.” She comforts. “This, was okay.”

His eyes gloss, expression wounded. Perhaps it had been the way his life had played out that caused him to always feel guilt. Guilt in everything. She knew that; she knew him well.

“John,” She starts, rubbing his arm. “I know people have not been kind to you. You’re doing everything you can, and I admire that.” Biting her lip, she makes a daring move, holding his hand now. “I’m here to listen if you need me.”

He nods, inhaling deep, grateful for her kind words. But perhaps, he’d forgotten how to feel. Perhaps he’d forgotten how to be human. Perhaps he’d been royally fucked. Too far gone for saving.

           but morning will come; it has to.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

If you guys like this, I could potentially revisit them in the future!

Taglist Posted Seperatly (Ask to be added or removed!)