#don’t think it’s close enough to warrant a tag though

[icecappen]

I want it all

[creamhoodie]

Hunted

synopsis: You're walking home late from work one evening and encounter a stranger..

Tags: yandere, smut, kinda dubcon, non canon characterization, afab reader, satoru gojo

You felt it again, that unmistakable feeling of the fine hair rising behind your neck. 

That feeling had been your loyal companion for the last few months, coming on and off. It came just often enough for you to not forget about it, but not enough to warrant true concern. You chalked it up to getting accustomed to this climate, you had recently moved to the area around the same time you first noticed it. Oh how naive you had been.

As you walked home from work after staying late to put in overtime, that feeling was accompanied by the rustling of footsteps. Soon enough the racing of your heart joined in, creating a daming trio. It was nearly midnight and though the office you worked at was only a few blocks away from your small town home, the route was dimly lit. 

Again the rustling permeated the air.

Pausing now, you turned around.. no one. 

It was only when you turned the corner that you peered over your shoulder and saw a tall male figure walking towards you. 

Instinctively, you picked up the pace but his long stride made it difficult to out pace him. 

“Hey are you okay? You seem shaken,” the male called out. His voice was smooth and confident and when he stepped into the light pole’s beam you understood why. 

This man wasn’t like anyone you had seen before. His skin radiant, free of blemishes, and his hair was a snowy white. Most striking were his eyes, a celeste hue that made it seem as though pieces of the sky fell into his lids. 

“You okay?” He asked again, laughing slightly. You figured he was used to the ogling. Who would suspect that someone who looked like they could be on the runway would live in the shadows? 

“I think so.. I was just walking home from work,” you voice said, still timid. 

“Me too, mind if I walk with you?” He asked. 

“Guess not,” you shrugged. 

He fell into a stride next to you, matching your slower pace. 

“So you’re a workaholic,” he teased. 

“I suppose. It’s only temporary, I need the money to pay my rent. I moved here not that long ago,” you said. 

He let out a tsk.

“You don’t have family to hold you over?” He questioned.

“No, I moved for my career.” 

Silence settled as the townhomes came into view. Why were you letting him walk with you? Why were you telling him personal things? It went against every survival instinct you knew. 

“Well this is me, I'm going to head home now,” you said as the two of you entered the neighborhood. 

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said. 

“Oh you don’t have to-“

“I insist,” he said with enough permanence you knew it wasn’t up for debate. Perhaps he had been raised a gentleman and insisted on making sure you got home safe. 

When you were at your door you turned to thank him and saw he was watching you intently. 

“Thank you,” you said a little dismissively, hoping he’d leave now. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, with no sign of leaving. It was then you noticed how empty handed he was, a detail you had missed earlier due to his striking appearance.

“You don’t have any work equipment with you,” you stated suddenly your laptop bag on your shoulder felt much more heavy.

“Left my stuff at the office,” he replied coolly. 

Your heart began to thud.

The thud reminded you of the trio: the hair rising, the rustling, heart racing.

At the current moment they were all present except one.

One had stopped once this stranger had appeared and only silence had ensued in his presence besides his questions.

“I think I’ll be going inside now,” you said, quickly fumbling with the lock. 

As you opened the door and bolted in, his strong hand stopped it from closing. 

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He asked, smiling, his brilliant white canines like daggers. 

You tried to force the door close but his strength allowed him to open it just enough so he could side step inside. 

You backed away and he closed the door behind you, locking it ominously. 

Even more frightening, your laptop bag fell off your shoulder and onto the floor with a thud so loud it rivaled that of your heart.

“Now we can be alone,” he laughed as if it were an inside joke only he knew. 

“Please leave. Please don’t hurt me,” you began to plead.

He raised a brow.

“Hurt you? I’d never hurt you, unless you ask me to,” he teased. 

His demeanor was a combination of playful and menacing. 

Bridging the space between the two of you, his lips came down roughly on yours before you could even process it. 

Moaning into his mouth from the shock, your head spun as he devoured your tongue with his own. He was a good kisser, his lips moving skillfully. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered once the kiss broke apart. 

“What?” you asked. 

By way of response, his lips moved to your neck, and your body betrayed you by responding, a jolt of heat formulating between your thighs. 

“Mine. All mine,” he said between kisses on your neck. 

“I don’t even know your name,” you stammered. 

He laughed against your skin.

“Satoru,” he replied before continuing to lay kisses on your neck with his soft lips. 

“Satoru…” you repeated more to yourself than to him but you felt his lips curl up in a smile. 

“That’s right, it sounds so much nicer coming from you,” he said. 

His lips came down on yours again, more passionate and hungry than before. Your head began to spin when suddenly he broke away.

“Take me to your bedroom,” he demanded. 

“What?” you asked, voice shaky. 

“You don’t like that idea?” he asked. For a moment his face seemed extremely vulnerable but then it was replaced by a stern look. 

“No it’s not that, it’s just- I don’t know you,” you stammered, hoping he wouldn’t grow angry. On the contrary, your words made him playful again. 

“You don’t need to. I know you, I’ve been studying you,” he said, his hands going to rest at your hips now, “I know you’re lonely, so let me take care of you.” 

You couldn’t even feign offense. You were so deeply lonely. Moving here for your career away from everyone you knew was no easy feat. You had the same routine work, home, and occasionally the store for errands. His hands traveled lower resting right on your thighs, one hand gripped the flesh lightly. You let out a whimper at that. 

“That’s a good girl, I can tell you want me. So it looks like I’m just gonna have to take us to your bed myself.” 

The next thing you knew, he lifted you up with extreme ease, throwing you  over his shoulder with your rear end a little too close to his face. 

“Satoru!” you exclaimed. 

He seemed to move through your small home a little too comfortably, a little too familiar. 

Finding your bedroom at the end of the hall, he threw you down on the bed. 

Your face flushed with embarrassment at all your trinkets on shelves and your plushies on the bed, by all accounts you have never had a man over before. 

Satoru only seemed to have eyes for you, however.

He bent down on his knees before you, parting your legs open. He jeered at the sight of your white panties, easily accessible due to your wearing a skirt. 

You gasped and clamped your legs shut again. 

His eyes narrowed at that. 

“Don’t be rude, let me look,” he said. 

A part of you felt violated while another part of you felt excitement. 

“Satoru, this is all so fast,” you said. 

He raised a brow. 

“Actually it is not going fast enough for me. I’ve waited months for this moment,” he replied. 

It had been several times now he made comments of the sort implying he had been watching you, and it shifted things into perspective. 

The hair rising that had been your one and only companion in this stage of your life was due to him. 

“How long have you been watching me?” you asked. 

“Since you first moved in,” he replied simply as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He inched forward until he was hovering over you on the bed, his hands resting along on the mattress. He kissed you again and you fell further into the cot. You hated how your body seemed to love his touch so much, you were so responsive to him. You even felt your panties begin to dampen with arousal. 

When the kiss broke apart, he rubbed the tip of his nose against yours, an act of unwarranted intimacy for two strangers. 

“I want you and I intend to have you. I won’t take no for an answer,” he said directly. His striking eyes were serious.

“Satoru you’re handsome and I’m not saying no but this is just so sudden,” you said trying to hold on to some shred of dignity. 

“I want you and I know you want me, what more is there that needs to happen?” He asked. 

He slipped back into his prior position in front you before speaking again: “If I have to prove how good I can make you feel, I will do so gladly.” 

His hands effortlessly parted your legs again and when you tried to clamp them shut again he held them in place.

“Stop denying yourself pleasure,” he said. He smiled upon seeing the wet stain on your panties, “look at you all eager for me.” 

His voice grew husky and his eyes were lustful. His fingers intruded their way into your underwear, pushing them aside slightly so he had access to your folds. 

Your breathing hitched as you felt him find your clit, the mere touch inducing a pulsing sensation that was impossible to ignore.

“Satoru.. please..” you said but you didn’t know what you were pleading for anymore. 

Was it for him to stop? Was it for him to keep going? 

“Hmm?” He teased as his fingers gently rubbed little circles on your clit. 

Eyes rolling back in pleasure, you felt your resolve to resist him begin to fade away. 

“That’s a good girl. See you don’t know what you want, you have to be shown,” he said. Suddenly he stopped rubbing. Your expression like you just had cold water thrown on you made him laugh. “Don’t worry, I have something better.” 

He removed your heels, tossing them to the floor, soon afterward your underwear followed as he rolled them over your knees and discarded them. Your skirt remained, but it was thrown over your plush thighs, no longer offering coverage.

“Fuck, so this is your pretty little bud,” he whispered as he parted your legs again. 

You were still pulsating, it grew more fierce as he had stopped before you could reach your climax. 

He leaned forward smirking and suddenly you felt his tongue at your folds. He began to slurp at your arousal causing guttural moans to slip out of your mouth and your back to arch slightly. 

Your hands went to his soft hair as you searched for something to anchor you when every part of you felt like it was setting afloat. 

He was ravenous, his mouth greedily tasting every part of you, and he was nearly abusive to your clit with his rough laps. 

“That’s it… that’s a good girl,” he coaxed as he felt your sweet release coming on. He talked you through it, telling you sweet nothings of how good you looked right now and how he had fantasized about this for so long. 

Three. 

Two. 

One. 

And your breasts raised and fell like setting suns as you caught your breath. 

“Now I want you to do something for me too,” he said as he began to unbuckle his pants. 

“Satoru, wait,” you began to protest again. 

“I told you I won’t take no for an answer. I proved myself and made you feel good,” he said. He took his pants off so he was in his boxers, his shirt soon following after. Calloused hands pulled your skirt off. Your blazer and blouse were soon discarded roughly. 

He hovered over you again going to kiss your lips, salvia intermingling with yours so when he pulled away again a translucent string connected the two of you. Leaning back, he pulled down his boxers revealing his big cock, some slight precum on the angry pink tip. 

“Satoru.. I’m not on anything,” you began. 

He had been right, you were so dreadfully lonely it had been a long time since you had been touched like this.

He smiled as if he suspected no different.

“It’s fine. I’d look after you and the baby,” he said. 

You whine at this.

“Please, be serious,” you chastised. 

“Fine, I’ll pull out. I’ll take care of everything but for now,” he paused as he lined himself up with you, he placed his dick on top of your labia rubbing up and down before he continued, “just let yourself enjoy it.” 

Your body was on fire, every nerve seemed to make itself known and you were embarrassed by just how aroused you really were. 

He was so dreadfully attractive, the perfect predator. Even his scent was intoxicating as it wafted into your nostrils from having him so close.

The truth was you were doomed to lose from the moment he set his sights on you. He was the hunter and you had been the naive and ignorant prey. Everything about him was inviting. In truth that’s why you had let him walk with you, why you had told him personal details. In the end you had been responsible for your own demise but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

Now you were going to have sex with your stalker, how fucked up was that? 

“You’re so fucking soaked,” he whispered as you felt him move his cock down and between your folds now. “Ahh.. fuck.. you’re so goddamn tight. How many guys have you let in here? Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t want to get mad.” 

You moaned as you felt yourself stretch to accommodate his impressive and imposing girth. He pushed himself deeper in, using his hands to wrap your legs around his waist so he could go even deeper still, until at last he was bottomed out inside you. 

He seemed delirious now, completely pussy drunk as he began to set a rhythmic pace of fast thrusts. 

“So big,” you whispered, but he heard you all the same, groaning at that. 

“Fuck.. I've wanted this since the moment I saw you.. Had to stop myself from taking you then and there-“ 

Your bed frame had begun to hit the wall with each thrust and you blushed to think of any neighbors who may hear. 

You could feel his pulse beating inside you as if it were your own and the lewd sound of wet skin slapping against skin only aroused you more. 

“Moan my name,” he commanded.

“Satoru..” you moaned. 

He groaned at that and his hands went to grope at your breasts, sensitive nipples spilling over onto his fingers as he continued to thrust into your mercilessly. 

“Such a little minx, you know that? I loved watching you.. following you.. coming into your place at night while you were sleeping.” 

Your eyes widened in fear at that, mortified.

No wonder he had been so familiar with your place. 

“Shh.. did that scare you baby? Don’t worry. I’d just watch you sleep is all. Sometimes I’d stroke myself off when you’d moan in your sleep. Believe me it took everything in me not to ram myself down your throat when you’d do that.. but even I have morals,” he laughed. 

You felt your heart racing in panic now, in fear of the invasion of your privacy but he took the opportunity to fuck you even harder than before. 

“‘Toru.. so rough,” you moaned as your hands went to his muscled back in an effort to stabilize yourself. 

“Fuck- your pussy is gripping me so much tighter. Thought you were scared, but maybe you like the attention.. hm?” 

His strokes became slower now, more deliberate. And for a moment his rough fucking turned into intimate love making as he kissed you, his tongue chasing after yours.

You felt yourself nearly close to your peak, and he felt it too, his lips moving to your neck biting as he returned to his fast speed.

He found your sweet gummy spot and his cock nicked it over and over, practically abusing it to the point of overstimulation that you felt tears of pleasure roll down your cheeks. 

“Satoru… it feels so good,” you moaned. 

“Yeah, I bet it does,” he teased, his own eyes half lied and full of lust.

He himself was enjoying this as well, enjoying how incredibly tight and warm you felt it was like nothing he had ever experienced before and well worth the months of waiting and meticulous studying of you. 

God, how he had enjoyed watching you, had enjoyed following you home from work every night. 

Tonight has been his breaking point, he couldn’t stay away any longer and when you didn’t resist him didn’t tell him to go away and that he could walk home with you.. well you had practically invited him to fuck you, or at least that’s how he saw it. 

“I’m.. I’m so close,” you whimpered underneath him. 

“Shh I know baby me too,” he cooed. 

“Satoru.. remember not inside-“ you tried to remind him, but your face was so flushed, makeup smeared, and voice so breathy, you couldn’t possibly mean that could you? 

Your words didn’t seem to have any effect on him as he continued to thrust into you. 

In truth he was imagining you pregnant, it would be a true testament that you were claimed by him, belonged to him. 

Because as far as he was concerned you did belong to him, he hadn’t invested all this time into you for nothing. 

“Fuck…” he groaned as he felt you gripping him even tighter still. 

Close so close.. 

Then the two of you finished and you screamed out in panic as his hot fluid rushed into you. 

“Shhh… it’s okay, baby,” he coaxed, shutting up your panicked babbles with a tongue filled kiss. You relaxed a little at that, he did have a way of calming you down with his touch, with his out of place intimacy which was far too familiar for what the two of you were to each other. 

He reluctantly pulled out of you and cradled you against his chest, stroking your hair and kissing your forehead. 

In this moment it was easy for you to close your eyes and pretend the two of you were lovers. 

Too bad the truth was much darker.

[sixosix]

BUT THEY ALL LEAD BACK TO YOU | S. HEIZOU

he said, “it’s a shame, then, that it’s against my ideals to commit a crime.” you couldn’t think too hard about what he said because he distracted you quickly with a kiss, even forgetting your name for a moment.

tags implied…Ahem yk, getting together, heizou is pining BAD but so are u (carnally now too ig), sweet sweet fluff

a/n 2700 words, holy shit this was longer than i planned T__T

previous part

"why does this shikanoin heizou want to meet me that badly? how does he even know me?"

kazuha smiles lightly, content with watching you make a mess of your temporary room like a cyclone. “i’m not so certain. heizou has a habit of prying into the lives of people he hears mentioned. i was reminiscing about the day i met you while catching up with him, and he insisted i introduce him before i could talk about anyone else.”

seriously, who does that?

kazuha had mentioned shikanoin heizou before, as with his other close friends. you were listening but not paying attention enough to have him as your surprise not-in-a-romantic-way-date like a pop quiz. it was as though you didn’t have enough time to prepare for heizou’s inevitable “what time and date did i meet kaedehara kazuha and what’s the name of my distant cousin?” but that’s not the case right now, which means what else could doushin shikanoin want from you? a good first impression and a far-from-suspicious job, obviously.

“there’s nothing about me—my hair’s a mess, why didn’t you tell me?— that could possibly warrant a tenryou commission detective’s interest in that way.”

you pick an unruly strand of hair off, then belatedly realize that walking outside would lead to more of them, and there is no point in doing so. you’re deeply stressed.

“clearly he disagrees,” your friend says in return, amused. you do not share his delight, back to pacing across and around your room.

“kazuha,” you groan, “he’s your friend, isn’t he? can’t you just ask what he wants from me? get this over with.” you abhor first introductions. can’t kazuha just tell you if you should ship your ass back to liyue right this instant?

“are you truly this nervous?”

“he’s a detective, kazuha. and no one can know what i do for a living—yelan will kick me out!”

“you don’t have to worry too much. he bears no ill intentions towards you. if he did,” kazuha pauses to meet your eyes intently, turning serious, “i wouldn’t have offered to introduce you to him in the first place.”

you throw your hands in the air, exasperated.

that answers absolutely nothing and only brings more questions. what does he want from you if not your occupation? surely a detective with a renowned reputation such as himself taking an interest in you means that he wants you to spill truths you’ve sworn to lie about.

maybe it’s not too late to ask if beidou wants a trip back home at this very moment.

“y/n,” kazuha says, with a hint of a fond smile, “let fate take the lead for today. you’ll find that it’s nothing like you’re agonizing over.”

your first memory of inazuma city is when kazuha was hauled away by a few people and left you stranded in the crowd, the same one who had seen you tailing kazuha like a lost puppy—the same one who treated your friend as something sort of a celebrity because of his famous block.

in the few days you’ve been wandering around here, you’ve learned that people everywhere, no matter the region, are always too curious. and somehow prepared to bargain for information.

you’re breezing through everyone in hopes they can sense you don’t want to talk with any of them at the moment. the last time you were lenient, new rumors sprung in the air the first few hours you arrived at inazuma, saying that you’re their ticket to meeting kaedahara kazuha himself.

you’d been deeply affronted. you’re not a scammer; even you’re incapable of tying kazuha to one place, much less holding a meet-and-greet for his fans.

“sorry, sorry, hey—wait up! you!” someone calls out from behind, sounding oddly familiar.

irritation spikes.

“i don’t know who kaedehara kazuha is, sorry,” you say, speeding past stalls and apologizing in advance for people who swerve out of your way.

but this person is determined, somehow swift enough to seize your wrist. there was a second where you forgot where you were for a moment and jerked your arm back in favor of a very, very violent self-defense— even so, this person’s grip was surprisingly strong.

he smiles when you meet his eyes. “i was looking for you, actually.”

there is no mistaking it. his face had been hard to tell in dim lighting, but even then, you could make out the soft features and the distinct twin moles illuminated by blue.

you couldn’t confuse him for someone else even if you tried. the moment you stared a little too long when he was being dragged away, you set it upon yourself for today—as if he was never unfamiliar.

“i know you,” you say, “you’re the drunk guy.”

and then it hits you harder than yelan’s kick on a good day.

this is the same guy kazuha said is a tenryou commission detective—their best one, people say, renowned for his commendable skills and intuition. you were expecting someone older, taller, who fit that description, and definitely, someone who didn’t look like…this.

“yes, that’s me,” he grins brightly. “hi.”

seeing him up close on a bright, sunny day was not the best idea. only here can you see the startlingly compelling shade of green on his eyes and the softness of his burgundy hair. only here can you realize that this man is exactly your type.

“hello,” you say pleasantly and hope you aren’t gaping.

shikanoin heizou looks around, taking in the number of people passing by. he looks back at you, and leans in close to whisper, “let’s go somewhere else.”

you follow him into a food stall, with only one person on the far edge eating. you take a seat on the two chairs laid out on the far right with him. this is starting to feel less like an interrogation and more like something you’re not willing to get into at the moment.

heizou leans against the wooden counter, announcing his order. he suggests food for you upon seeing the conflict on your face.

“you’re from liyue, right? you live in liyue?” is the first thing heizou asks, his arm still resting on the counter with his chin on his palm.

he looks enticing in the gold glow of the lanterns on both sides of the stall. you let your eyes stray, pretending you’re entranced by the ramen and not his arms. “i’m not here on any official business. i’m just here because kazuha begged me to accompany him to inazuma.”

“from what i heard, you jumped at the boat the moment kazuha offered inazuma for you.”

your brow twitches, caught. “details, details.”

the distinct scents of different foods sold in other stalls along with this fills your senses. your stomach rumbles, a gentle reminder. an embarrassing one, at that.

heizou smiles, and it’s almost sweet if you weren’t so suspicious. “my treat.”

“...shikanoin-san,” you begin, “is there a reason why you were so adamant about meeting me?”

his gaze drifts then, ears darkening. “do you remember that night we met? i dragged myself to work the next day, head pounding, my desk a mess from stumbling around it the night before. my mind was elsewhere. my peers ushered me when they caught me snea—ahem, doing patrols.”

“did they belittle you once again or something?”

“i’m pleased you still remember that.” your face burns, intently staring at the ramen the stall owner is preparing. “they told me all about how i was blabbing their ears off about someone. someone i insisted must be a youkai with how uncharacteristically enamored i was. they told me i kept asking to get myself drunk again to trace myself back to you—and i almost considered it sober.”

“that’s stupid,” you say, pretending you aren’t flustered by this.

“isn’t it?” he doesn’t look embarrassed at all. “but then i saw kazuha. we caught up, and he told me about this friend who is a stranger in inazuma; my intuition honed in on your name the moment he mentioned it.”

“and what do you know—” heizou glances at you, “—my intuition still hasn’t failed me.”

this could’ve been the moment you realized that shikanoin heizou is a dangerous, dangerous man, but really, it was on that night when he had been an ungraceful mess, letting you pin him against the tree with a gleam in his eye.

finally, food is served, and you don’t have to answer that. you can only hope that heizou won’t hone in your face the same way, and you can excuse the steam of the ramen as the culprit of its heat.

“so,” heizou begins, and you dread how it’s going, “you come here often?”

you hide a laugh. “you shouldn’t be so curious about me, for your own sake.”

“why? are you hiding something?”

he is no threat at all, you realize. you’re almost desperate, because whatever is happening right now is far from your expertise. with a glimpse of honesty: “i have no obligation to give you information about myself or my field of work. if i spill anything, the commission will never hear from you again.”

“is that so?” he looks excited.

shikanoin heizou is strange. so why are you fighting off a smile?

is it also so strange you realize his body is completely facing you? he speaks again, “well, i heard from kaedehara about a case here in inazuma that i would’ve been thrilled solving, and you were the one to bring it to a close before anyone else caught wind of it. before i caught wind of it.”

you remember that. it was practically nothing. the bandits were just unfortunate enough to do their crimes in front of your face, trained and armed for these very moments.

but where is he going with this? “i have committed no crimes myself, detective.”

“that’s not what i said,” heizou grins, resting his chin on the center of his palm. “i just want to say i appreciate you for helping in your own way. even if that meant we had to deal with interrogating dazed, thoroughly beaten-up nobushi. i want you to tell me about what went down in excruciating detail some other time.”

“you’re welcome. are you going to arrest me for interfering?”

he hums. “why do you want me to arrest you so much? want my handcuffs on you that badly?”

you’re glad you’ve already swallowed the noodles before he opened his mouth. “that’s not what i mean and you know it.”

heizou giggles, the bastard. “cute,” he murmurs as he sips on his drink, smiling to himself.

are you the one with alcohol in your system this time? because the tension is suffocating and you want him bad. “you’re too forward, shikanoin-san.”

“heizou,” he corrects. “and what’s the point in beating around the bush? we both know what i want at the end of the day. you think i meet you again and i’ll let you slip from my fingers again?”

it’s hard not to want the same. it’s itching under your fingertips, begging to be closer, to feel his laugh against your skin. “let’s pray kazuha doesn’t find out.”

“what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” or makes things extremely awkward for him.

that night is also the same night you last see shikanoin heizou for a while. you told him about how you were leaving the next day, and getting attached would be a bad idea.

he had been hovering over you when he said, “it’s a shame, then, that it’s against my ideals to commit a crime.” you couldn’t think too hard about what he said because he distracted you quickly with a kiss, even forgetting your name for a moment.

with inazuma added to your to-do list for next year (ASAP!!! written beside it), you and the crux sail back to liyue. you were already starting to miss it, but homesickness washed over soon enough at the sight of the familiar wharf. people wave at you, saying they missed you, asking if you enjoyed your vacation.

“hey, you.”

you don’t have to look to know who it is. “yelan.” you crane your neck. “i haven’t seen you since i got back.”

“there wasn’t much you missed out on; i was dead to the world,” yelan says with a cunning smile, slinging an arm over your shoulder. “how was your trip? had fun? bring home anything good?”

you smile to yourself, “i had fun.”

“oh,” yelan smirks. “i see. what did they call it? summer fling.”

“no, nothing like that.”

she flicks your forehead. “you’re still a lousy liar as ever.”

the days pass, and it’s almost easy to forget you even went to inazuma. everything falls back into place, as routine dictated—if it weren’t for the way you keep thinking about bare sides, olive eyes, and unending playful banter.

although you weren’t slacking off, it was easy to tell that your mind was far away when you walked past couples whispering to themselves, tucked into some dark corner.

“hey, y/n! kazuha is calling for you in the wharf.”

“coming! hold on!”

the crux fleet’s grand ship looms over other boats. curiously, you note that the crew has only begun to disembark. beidou waves at you when she spots you, and you wave back with a wide smile.

she gestures at the side. you follow her gaze.

if you didn’t know who he was, you’d think—with the way he walks around and smiles at curious onlookers as if he knows them personally—that he belongs here. but you do, you do know him, madly so. he’s been in your mind for far too much that you convinced yourself he’s just a fragment of your imagination until he catches sight of you and brightens.

“y/n!” he says, enthusiastically making his way towards you.

“heizou…?” you let him tackle you into a hug, too stunned to do anything else. “wait, heizou!?” you pull away, cupping his cheeks in your palms. “what are you doing here… in—in liyue? who…”

heizou sighs, looking away despite all the confidence he’s bragged about. his face is very, very red. “it’s a long story.”

kazuha appears behind him, startling the both of you bad enough to have you freezing in sync. “he jumped at the boat the moment i offered. it was starting to get disheartening seeing the longing looks.”

he definitely knows something between you two went down.

“thanks again, kazuha, i owe you one!”

“two, heizou.”

“two,” heizou amends. “you’re the best.”

kazuha quirks a brow, amused. “flattery won’t make me lessen it, doushin shikanoin.”

“dammit,” heizou curses, smiling when you laugh.

“i’ll leave you two to it,” kazuha says, and despite all this, he looks genuinely happy. maybe because he’s rubbing on your face that he’s right—this was far from what you were agonizing over.

“ah, so you work for…the ministry of civil affairs.” heizou definitely doesn’t believe this, and he doesn’t even bother trying to hide it on his face. “the youngest, too, i heard on the way here. very good with a sword.”

“don’t underestimate me,” you instinctively say. deep inside, you’re pleased with the way your friends are giving him a good impression of you. “i do more than issue bounties on wanted criminals.”

“i knew that. though most of them don’t need to carry around a weapon as sharp as that.” you try not to react too strongly, but based on the way heizou smiles, you know that he can see straight through you. damn intuition or whatever. “and you don’t have to explain to me, i’m not underestimating you. i’m the youngest in the commission, too, you see?”

“oh…” you do remember him repeatedly mentioning how extraordinary and young he is.

“look at that,” he coos, his arms snaking around your waist, “we have so much in common already. what are you gonna do about it? shikanoin heizou, in the flesh, all for you.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “is that all you think about?”

“you’re all i think about.”

you learn that it’s difficult to keep heizou’s hands away from you.

( “do you like him?”

“huh? who? shikanoin heizou? he’s annoying. the flowers in chinju forest are taller than him.”

kazuha looks thoughtful. “are they?”

“yes. they were taller than me, too, but that’s not the point.”

“and so was the answer to my question,” kazuha says, “you didn’t outright say no.”

your face burns, caught.

kazuha grins. “i’m glad to have someone accompany my every visit to inazuma from now on.” )

a/n thank u for reading!!!!! i feel like i didn't do heizou enough justice </3 but i wasn't expecting the first part to get attention at all so thank u to the people who commented and reblogged <333

[cleo-fox]

As the Clock Strikes Midnight - Part VI

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: In which you briefly turn the tables. Chapter Warnings: Oral (both f and m receiving), teasing, dirty talk, praise kink, fingering, masturbation. Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

You decide that you’re going to approach things differently tonight.

These encounters have been physically satisfying. Even if he hasn’t fucked you properly yet, he has made you come several times. It’s hard to find a fault with that.

But there’s also this: he has seen you naked. He has touched you, tasted you, made you come...and you have yet to do any of the same to him.

And you want to. A lot.

You spend much of the day mulling over the best way to express this. While your arrangement has blurred if not obliterated some of the lines that separate you, it’s not to the point where you feel you can make such a request without devoting some thought to it ahead of time. How do you explain to a prince that you want to touch him in such an intimate way? It’s not as though there’s an established protocol for this…though that would be something, indeed.

“What’re you smiling about?” asks Grete as she passes you a basket of peas that need shelling.

You shake your head and bite the inside of your cheek, hoping your embarrassment doesn’t show. “Nothing,” you say. “It’s just a pleasant day.”

“A pleasant day,” she says, giving the word far too much emphasis to not sound like the innuendo that it is. “Reckon that’s got anything to do with your midnight walks?”

You roll your eyes and shake your head again. “Your imagination is far too fanciful, Grete.”

The conversion ends with a wink and an all too knowing grin from Grete—you’ve worked together long enough that she knows she’s not likely to get anything else out of you...and for that, you’re grateful. The fewer questions you have to answer, the better.

Though you’d never tell her about your dilemma, there’s part of you that wishes you could—Grete was wise in the ways of romance and would probably know exactly what to say and how to say it. Left to your own devices, you are much less certain.

You’re still undecided when you arrive in his chambers later that night—in fact, the thought has you so preoccupied that you’re a little later than you intended.

“You’re late,” he says as soon as the door shuts behind you.

“You said after dark,” you say, raising your eyebrows as he takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom. “Is it not after dark?”

There’s a slight glint in his eyes that makes you think he’s rather amused. “You’re dreadfully impertinent.”

“You wouldn’t keep inviting me back if you didn’t find that quality appealing,” you say with perhaps more confidence than is warranted.

He stops in front of the bed and raises your hand to his lips, brushing a light kiss against your knuckles. “I ought to punish you for your cheek,” he says, raising an eyebrow, “but I rather think you’d enjoy that too much.”

You give him a dry, sardonic look, pretending as though his words haven’t conjured a dull ache between your legs as you imagine what a punishment from him might entail. “Like I said, I think you find that quality more appealing than not.”

He draws you close to him, his hips pressing against yours so you can feel the hard length already straining at his trousers. “Shall I show you how appealing I find you?” he asks, his voice a low, hoarse purr. “Would you like that?”

The slickness between your thighs is the most straightforward answer to his question, but somewhere in that haze of lust, you remember the dilemma that you’d been wrestling with for most of the day...and you realize that your opportunity to voice that desire is slipping away the longer he looks at you like that.

You clear your throat. “Yes, but—”

Words fail you abruptly and completely and you want to kick yourself for being so foolish, for thinking you were capable of saying these things aloud.

“But…?” he says after a moment of silence from you.

“It’s just—” You clear your throat again, like this would somehow also clear your mind. You are not surprised to find that this doesn’t really work. “I—I want…” The words stutter in your throat again and you find yourself wondering if you should have just kept your mouth shut altogether. What right do you have to ask such things of a prince?

There’s a momentary softness in his gaze as he reaches up to trace the curve of your jaw. “What do you want, darling?” he asks and you can’t help but feel a little braver

“I—” You wet your lips. “I—I want to touch you.”

The softness in his gaze yields immediately and completely to a dark lust that makes you ache. “Do you?” he says, his voice dropping low and sounding like sin.

“Yes.”

He contemplates this for a moment, slowly running his thumb along your lower lip. You catch his thumb between your lips, running your tongue over it and sucking gently. He watches you, transfixed, a slight smile curling at his lips and you wonder if you’ve finally succeeded in surprising him.

You release his thumb slowly, suggestively. “Please,” you say.

The hunger in his eyes makes you ache. “I suppose I can allow that,” he says with a slow smile. His large hands cover yours and he guides them to the fastenings of his surcoat.

The surcoat is straightforward and easily slipped from his shoulders, but his tunic is a little more difficult because he’s so much taller than you. After a moment of struggling, he takes pity on you and pulls the garment up and over his head, fabric yielding to bare skin. You find yourself staring at him, lips slightly parted.

Marble statues are what come to mind, but marble seems far too cold to be an accurate comparison, especially not with the way his gaze is smoldering into you. His chest is all muscle and taut flesh, though not in an unappealing or overpowered way.

Hesitantly, you reach out and place your palm flat against his chest, just above his heart. You trail your hand over his chest, your fingers following the gentle curve and dip of his muscles, tracing the lines between his abdominals and the sharp v that curves up both hip bones and disappears beneath the waist of his trousers. You tilt your head up to capture his lips in a kiss and he practically devours you, his tongue delving into your mouth, his hands cradling your head. You get the sense that he’s trying to hold back and barely succeeding and that pleases you immensely.

You pull away from his lips and turn your attention to his neck. You taste and tease all along the column of his throat until you find a place along his collarbone that makes his breath hitch. You pay special attention to this spot, sucking and nipping at it while your hands map the smooth expanse of his chest and back. You feel him shiver when you lightly rake your fingernails up his back, his cock pressing insistently against your belly.

You press lightly on his shoulders and he takes the hint, stepping back to the bed and lying down, his eyes never leaving yours. You kneel next to him on the bed, your hands sliding over his chest and then down to his trousers.

Despite your trembling hands, you manage to undo his trousers, sucking in a deep breath as his cock springs free, large, thick, and flushed. Achingly hard. You barely suppress a shiver as you think about how he’ll feel inside of you.

He lifts his hips so you can pull his trousers off and you do, tossing them to the floor. You pause for a moment, your gaze raking over his form. He still looks relatively composed, all things considered, but his breathing is a little heavier and the lust in his eyes is unmistakable. The sight of him laid out and bare before you is beyond enticing and you allow yourself to look your fill.

Eventually, the desire to kiss and touch him outweighs your other senses. You lie down next to him, turning so that you’re propped up on your side. You gently run your fingertips from his temple to his jaw, cupping your hand against his cheek when he leans into your touch

“You intend to make me beg for you,” he says, his gaze scarcely leaving your lips.

You smile slightly. “Perhaps.” You lean in, brushing your lips gently against his and pulling back the moment he tries to deepen the kiss. “You were awfully cruel to me last night. And the night before.”

“As I recall, you rather enjoyed both outcomes,” he says.

“And you will, too,” you say.

His grin is slow and he reaches for you. “You are wicked.”

You bat his hands away and lower yourself to his neck. “Patience, your highness,” you say as you press your lips against his pulse point.

The title has the intended effect: he lets out a low, frustrated groan.

Your path down his chest is a leisurely one, partly because you’re enjoying it and partly because you want to make him squirm. Your lips and tongue map the warm expanse of his skin, memorizing the taste and feel of him, the sound he makes when you scrape your teeth against the flat of his nipple or suck a mark just beneath his collarbone. Something roughly akin to a whimper escapes his lips when you nibble at his hip bone and you press your pleased smile against his skin before you do it again (and again).

But finally, you reach a point when you can go no lower and so you turn your attention to his cock.

You almost miss the way he sighs when you finally take him in your hand, so distracted are you by the warm, silky heft of him and how the tips of your fingers don’t quite touch when you wrap your hand around him. You stroke him once, your fingers squeezing gently as you feel him surge in your hand, his hips lifting slightly. You rub your thumb on the underside of the tip and he sucks in a deep breath.

You look up at him through lowered lashes and make sure that he’s watching when you let your lips brush lightly against the tip of his cock, just enough to gather the salty bead of moisture on your lips. You look up at him again and slowly and intentionally lick your lips.

He swears and you hold back a smile as you lean in again and brush another feather light kiss against the tip of his cock.

You continue like this for a little while, pressing soft, almost chaste kisses against the tip of his cock, gently squeezing his shaft every so often. He communicates mostly in gasps and groans, his hand eventually going to your hair, trying to encourage you to give him what he wants.

You want to hear him ask for it, though.

He holds out for longer than you expect, but eventually you hear it: “Please."

You look up at him, making your eyes wide and pushing your lips into a slight pout. “Did you want something, your highness?”

He looks rather pleasingly disheveled—there’s a flush to his pale cheeks, a dark hunger in his gaze, and his hair is slightly mussed. “You know what I want,” he says, his voice rough with wanting. “I’m not accustomed to begging.”

His words make you shiver, but you manage to maintain your innocent expression, stroking his cock once for good measure. “You need only ask.”

“Filthy girl,” he says, but you can tell he’s pleased. “Put that wicked tongue to better use.”

You raise an eyebrow and look up at him. After a moment, he relents. “Please.”

You decide that this is sufficient. You lightly brush your lips against him and then slowly take him into your mouth.

The sound he makes as your tongue finally touches his cock is deeply gratifying and you can feel the dull ache between your thighs intensify. You fall into a slow rhythm, swirling your tongue around the tip before pushing your head forward to take more of him, your hand squeezing and stroking what doesn’t fit in your mouth.

You work him up slowly, hollowing your cheeks and sucking until you find the point that makes him groan and tangle his hand into your hair. He tries to encourage you to go faster, gently tugging on your hair as his hips thrust up, muttering absolute filth, but you are relentlessly slow and deliberate. Sometimes you pause and let your tongue work him over a bit, just so you can listen to the desperate, keening sound he makes in the back of his throat. 

You don’t need him to tell you he’s close: it’s obvious from the way his hand grips your hair, how his groans suddenly turn into wordless gasps, how his hips stutter slightly in their rhythm.

The sound he makes when he comes is one you will not soon forget: a low, satisfied groan that makes your aching heat tense in response. His release is sweet and hard won on your tongue and you swallow it down greedily as you lick him clean.

When he’s finally spent, you carefully ease his cock from your mouth, placing a gentle kiss on the tip before you sit up. He’s sprawled on the bed, panting and you feel rather pleased with yourself for reducing him to this state. He reaches for you and you lean over him and allow him to capture your lips in a slow kiss.

His kiss is searching, breath-stealing. His hands cup your cheeks and stroke the column of your throat, making you shiver against him. You think he’s going to pull away, but instead, he rolls you over, pinning you beneath him as he pulls your skirts up and your undergarments off. 

He slips his hand between your thighs and chuckles, the sound seeming to vibrate against your very core. “Oh, you enjoyed that,” he purrs as his fingers slide along your slick folds.

You’re only able to offer a faint whimper in return, your hips thrusting forward as he pointedly avoids your clit, his smile practically vulpine.

“You enjoyed being on your knees and having me at your mercy with those pretty lips and wicked tongue wrapped around my cock.” It’s not exactly phrased as a question, but he still waits for an answer, his forefinger teasing your entrance.

Your first instinct is to lie or to at least make him work for the truth, but that message doesn’t quite make it to your traitorous lips. “Yes,” you breathe out, your hips thrusting forward again

His eyes darken slightly. “Did you want to touch yourself?”

Once again, your lips betray you. “Yes.”

He sinks one, then two of those long and clever fingers into you while his free hand guides your hand between your legs, pressing your fingers against your clit. Under normal circumstances, you might feel a little shy and awkward, but the steady throb of your swollen clit mutes the edges of your embarrassment.

“Show me,” he says and that silky stern authority in his voice is enough to make you tense around his slowly thrusting fingers.

Your lips part slightly as your fingers graze your clit. You knew you were wet, but you didn’t realize the full extent of it. You’re sensitive and you find that you have to rub yourself gently and indirectly through the hood of your clit. Your cunt tenses and Loki curls his long fingers just so.

Oh.

He’s rubbing a particular soft spot inside you that makes you arch against the mattress, a familiar knot tightening in your hips. Combined with your own fingers on your clit and Loki’s hungry gaze and filthy whispers, you know you won’t last long.

“I can feel how close you are,” he murmurs. “Your greedy cunt is gripping my fingers so tightly.” He lowers his voice and scrapes his teeth against your earlobe. “I can’t wait to see how well you take my cock.

You tighten again around his fingers and he notices, his hand picking up the pace to match the frantic movement of your fingers.

“Are you going to come for me, pretty girl?” Loki purrs in your ear. You keen something that sounds vaguely like an affirmative and his fingers curl again, pressing hard on that spot inside of you. Your back arches, like you’re trying to get closer to that blissful height that is so close you can almost taste it and then, quite suddenly, you are there and you are coming undone.

“Oh yes,” Loki breathes as he watches you, gaze rapt as his fingers thrust into you in time with the shuddering aftershocks. “That’s perfect, darling, you’re so good.”

His words and hungry eyes are enough to make you want to come again. And evidently he has the same idea because with no more warning than a heated look and a wicked grin, he slips between your legs, removing his fingers to press his mouth against you in a long and slow kiss, licking you from the still fluttering entrance to your cunt all the way up to your clit. You’re sensitive from your orgasm, but he licks your clit so slowly and gently that it’s not long before you’re tangling your hands in his hair and trying to urge him closer, faster, more. He sucks your clit into his mouth as he slides his fingers back into you and soon enough he’s bracing his free arm against your hips to keep you still as he works you over.

It’s the sight of him naked with his face between your legs that sends you over the edge this time. Your hands slip from his hair to grip the bedclothes beneath you as you cry out, your cunt pulsing in time with his tongue and fingers.

He seems determined to draw every last shudder from you, keeping his mouth between your legs until you sigh with a satisfied whimper. He presses a few gentle kisses against your hip bones and lower belly before resting his head against your stomach. Your hand goes almost automatically to cradle his head, your fingers twining through his hair. You both lie there catching your breaths, lost in the heady afterglow of what you’ve just done. It’s comfortable, a sleepy intimacy that you rather like.

Loki lifts his head after a moment and repositions himself next to you, cupping his hand against your jaw and pulling you into a sweet kiss that tastes like sex and desire. He pulls back after a moment.

“Come back tomorrow after dark,” he says.

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “And what do you intend to do tomorrow?”

A slight smile plays at his lips. “I intend to thoroughly bed you.”

Your eyebrow remains raised. “And how exactly do you define thoroughly bedded?”

His lips curl into a smirk and his gaze drops down to your lips for just a moment before trailing back up to your eyes. “My cock buried in your sweet cunt.” 

You barely manage to hold back a shiver. “No more teasing?”

“Oh, there will be some teasing,” he says, “but it will end with me buried inside of you.”

“Is that a promise?”

He presses a sweet, soft kiss against your lips as the clock strikes midnight. “You have my word.”

Next chapter

[owlespresso]

dogged pursuit. part 5 of ? / part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 summary: you've been appointed as the bodyguard of one doctor veritas ratio after a failed attempt on his life. he's easy to get along with, so long as you learn when to plug your ears and focus on his washboard abs. tags: filth below the tag, reader being a freak, bottom!Ratio, foot stuff(? mild if this tag is warranted), not beta'd

Revelation comes in the form of thin champagne glasses and another man’s lipstick on your cheek.

You don’t like to fool around on the job—you stand at the door of the ballroom while Veritas mills around with the rest of the guests, sloshing down more alcohol than you think is good for him. It’s probably the baseline amount he needs to tolerate all the talking heads floating around him, nameless IPC reps and rich folk with pearls around their necks. The kind of swooning crowd that heaps on nameless praise without knowing anything about him or any of his actual accomplishments. 

They don’t know him like you do, you think, stewing in your envy as people touch him. It’s always fleeting. A pat on the shoulder or a brief nudge from a passerby, but you still don’t like it. You want to be glued to him, stuck on that deep blue suit like a bloodstain. Instead, you’re stuck by the door with your hands shoved into your pockets, gaze scanning the perimeter of the place, barely fending off the encroaching emotion. 

You keep a careful eye on who walks in, who walks out. Your hawk-like gaze sticks tight to each guest, a silent warning. None of them really catch you off guard until a man— a pretty thing done up in pearlescent pinks, taller than you, stumbles on his way out. He nearly collapses into you with a pitiful kind of squeal. You act like any reasonable gentleman should and straighten him out, make sure he’s right and good before sending him on his way. He goes puttering off into the night with a flush on his cheeks, all the way down his throat. 

You don’t realize that some of his lipstick smudged on the apple of your cheek until Veritas finally comes over. It’s been an hour. That’s an acceptable amount of time to stick around. Just enough to be polite. The sky’s gone black, horizon lit by thousands of glistening stars, faroff galaxies.

He said nothing when he approached you, informing you crisply that it was time to return home. You thought nothing of it. These gatherings always frustrated him, congregations of “blithering fools” swarmed to him like flies to honey, blathering in his ear about potential research projects and hare-brained plans that he couldn’t be less interested in. Usually, though, he would tell you about it. He would fill the silence himself while you enthusiastically nodded along, as though you understood any of what he was saying.

But he had been quiet the whole way home. And when you had pressed him—

“You needn’t worry about how I found the event,” he nearly scoffed. “It looks like you had a delightful time yourself.”

One snappy statement lead unto another. Veritas seemed so determined to accuse you of something, but refused to specify. It was hardly the first time you’d been on the business end of his seething ire, but this time—it frustrated you. It made you want to tear your hair out, when you realized he was insinuating you had an intimate moment with a person other than himself. Because who else on this island have you even looked at for more than five seconds? No one! He’s been the sole recipient of your attention this entire time!

It made your vision blow red hot. Your lips curled into a snarl as you surged up on him, jamming your knee between his powerful thighs. His back hit the wall with an audible thump, his eyes blowing wide. 

“What. Are you talking about!? I’ve only been lookin’ at you! This whole time!” you snarled. Your hand fisted tight in his shirt, fabric crumpling beneath your white-knuckled grip as you leaned in real close, close enough to see the sweat on his brow. “So quit being such a damn brat.”

You’re not sure who lunged forward first. It all became lost in teeth and tongue, lips pressed so tight to yours that he could hardly get a breath in. You’re pretty sure it was you, but it was him who yanked you up the stairs. Him who pulled you into his room with all that strong-chorded muscle. Him who has his big hands on your waist, his lips kiss-swollen and his hair mussed up as he pants, face-flushed and fine suit knocked askew.

The ire from before is all but forgotten as you grab at him. Your fingers slide down his front, watching those buttons pop with unrestrained glee. It’s a fancy little number that twink over at the strategic department bought him. They clatter to the hardwood floor, the sound jolting him out of his stupor.

“You—” he begins, winding up to what’s doubtlessly another scolding, but you giggle and yank him close, teeth digging into the side of his neck. His words empty into a startled shout. One of your hands cups his head, threading into those dark locks to yank him down, while the other pulls at the sleeves of his suit. He seems to get the message. He abandons it with shaky hands, panting little breaths. Still, he glares at you, hawk-sharp as he dumps the now defunct garment onto a chair. “You will explain that to Aventurine should he ask why I am not wearing it at our next formal function.”

“Shut up about him,” you drawl against sweat salted skin. Your tongue encircles the blossoming bruise you’ve bitten into him. You feel him swallow beneath your greedy lips, lick the salt from his skin

You wrestle him out of his clothes and onto the bed. He lays out on his back for you. He looks suddenly—surprised to be there. Shirtless and flushed and wide-eyed. All this skin should be nothing new to you, but it feels new, because it’s just for you. His fat tits and thick biceps, the dips and curves of his abdomen, his skinny waist. 

“And do you know how annoying it was? To see all those people clinging onto your coattails? Whisperin’ in your ear? One of ‘em put his hand on your shoulder and I wanted to kill ‘em, Doc.” You confess, looming over him. Undoing his trousers proves to be a little more difficult, ‘cause if you ruin another expensive piece of clothing, he’ll probably get all pissy again. Clumsy hands fumble with his buttons until they’re undone, and then you’re practically clawing them down his legs with his boxers, watching with rabid-bright eyes as his cock pops free. It slaps against his lower tummy. 

“You’re—” Veritas breathes. His voice cuts off into a rattling inhale as your hand curls around the arch of his foot, bringing it with you as you climb atop the mattress, pulling his leg up, up, up. His toes curl, his thigh and calf twitching at the stretch. And his cock—thick and weeping hard, slides to rest atop his resting leg. He’s spread open for you, now. His golden eyes blow wide, a startled sound choked from his throat as he seems to process the reality of the position you’ve put him in. 

His fingers tense and knead at the sheets. His gaze flickers from your face, to the ceiling, to other places in the room. He doesn’t even seem certain of where he is, anymore. Perhaps too startled at how easily this all escalated to form a proper sentence. His skin is flushed deep pink, from his forehead to his chest. Kiss bitten lips swollen as he swallows.

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“That’s not what I meant—seeing me in such a flustered and unwieldy state—you take some perverse pleasure out of it,” he rasps, hands continuing to flex atop the bedding. “Even earlier today, at the luncheon—”

“You think too much,” you sigh, and press your lips to the edge of his heel. And then your tongue. He jumps at that, and you laugh. You squeeze the arch of his foot, shifting your grip to rub your thumb over the met-head pat. “I just want you because you’re sexy, and smart, and it’s so easy to get you going when I pretend to be stupid.”

“You’re not stupid—wait, what do you mean you pretend?”

You ignore him. “Been thinking about your feet in those slutty sandals all day.” you drawl, lips cutting into a wide smirk, showing your teeth. 

He gapes, scandalized and momentarily rendered speechless. “You’re vile.”

An erumpent laugh bursts from deep in your chest. You finally relinquish your grip on his leg. He drops it onto the sheets, blushing like a fresh maiden. You slide down the mattress, knees dipping into the sheets on either side of his waist. His skin is like silk beneath your greedy fingers, chest soft and plump. Something on his chest gleams beneath the silvery moonlight and your brain grinds to a halt.

His nipples—they’re pierced. Silvery little rings embedded within the perking rosy buds.

“Doc, holy shit…” you gape, “Did you have these in all day?” You’re used to seeing his naked chest. At least one pec usually hangs out of whatever gossamer robe he’s thrown on for the day, but you’ve never seen him wear them. Roaming fingers roll beneath one of the little rings, your thumb stroking soft circles around his pebbled nipple. The bud hardens beneath your touch, rising and falling with his every stuttered breath. When you finally muster the strength to wrench your gaze away from his chest, to his face, he looks—flustered. 

“Of course I did,” he says, with a righteous anger he has not, in your opinion, properly earned. “You just weren’t paying attention.”

You suck his nipple into your mouth, and he arches. Broad hands seize your shoulders, but don’t move to pull you off. His fingers hook into the silken fabric of your shirt. His neck is a column of pale marble, exposed as he throws his head back. The metal is cold on your tongue. The tip teases at the ring, curling around it. 

And he’s sensitive. Sensitive in a wiggling, writhing way you hadn’t thought possible of such a stern scholar. The sculpted planes and curves of his body struggle against the sheets, against you as you hold him fast. His hips roll of their own accord, hard cock grinding against your thigh. When you pull off the abused nub, he shivers. He looks smaller when he’s beneath you, trembling like a cornered prey animal, exposed to the hot cattle prod of your gaze.

It stays on him, sharp and searching, as you scoot a little further down his body. Nose trailing down his pec. His skin smells like the nice soaps he uses. Lavender and lemon and ocean salts. He’s a little sweaty, too, slick in your mouth. Your teeth dig into the underside of his breast. The squeal that splits the air is so sudden, and so high, that it freezes you in place, lips pressed against his skin in an ‘O’. 

“Quit—gnawing on me like a—bone!” Veritas fumes, slapping your back. The blow is half hearted at best, a love tap in comparison to the level of strength you know he can muster when he feels like it. All of these petty little denials are for show, because he’s still content to stay and shudder beneath you. You hum into his heated skin, pulling back to drag your tongue over the mark your teeth have carved into that alabaster flesh.

Your lips skate down the perfect curves and rolls of his toned abdomen, refusing to part from his skin for even a moment. His tummy twitches with every touch, your tongue tracing deep v-lines, teasing the space beneath his belly button. 

Between his trembling breaths weave groans and soft sounds of his burgeoning pleasure. His wit has abandoned him, left him mindless in the cradle of your affections. 

“This entire time,” he rasps, and he sounds like he’s on the verge of a revelation. “You were—”

You seal your mouth around his cock, and his out loud thoughts whittle into moans.Those thick thighs perch on your shoulders, heels digging into your back.

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday

tagged by @daffi-990 @ladydorian05 @hoodie-buck @loserdiaz @honestlydarkprincess @lover-of-mine @spotsandsocks 💖💖💖

a bit of Buck's pov from alive shannon bc I just started chapter 3! (still not sure how I feel about the pov-switching mostly bc I don't know if I'll be able to make them feel like different characters idk lol but def not changing it at this point, we're 16k in) but here's a bit of Shannon and Buck's first interaction, and I'm so excited to explore this dynamic aaaahhh a bit longer snippet bc I didn't get to write what I actually wanted to share lol there's not enough time in a day fr haha

prev snippet

___

“He just went to pick up Christopher from a friend’s house, should be back soon.” she says, eyeing him amusedly. “You can come in, Buck.” she chuckles lightly, gesturing at him to come inside. Right. He’s here for dinner, it’s Eddie’s house, he’s at home. He can be normal.

“Right.” he closes the door behind him, kicks off his shoes, and comes in – and stands next to the couch, wringing his hands nervously.

“Sit down, I don’t bite.” she pats the space next to her, lips turned up in amusement. Buck does, feeling his face get red. It’s just awkward, and he- he can’t believe he’s even thinking this, since she’s literally Eddie’s wife and Christopher’s mother, but – this is his safe space, his place, and she’s kinda a stranger, and thinking this makes him feel so guilty. He needs to relax. “I don’t think we officially met, by the way.” she reaches out, extending a hand. “I’m Shannon.” she grins.

“I know.” he chuckles, taking her hand. “I’m Buck. But you know that, too.”

“I do. Christopher won’t stop talking about you.” she laughs airily, face turning back to the screen, straightening her neck with another wince. “I feel like I know you already. And you probably heard all about me?” she glances at him, only eyes moving, and Buck notices some nerves in her expression and voice as well. So he’s not the only one feeling weird about all this.

“A little.” he shrugs. In reality, he knows most, maybe all of it. He’s not sure he wants to start this conversation, though, wherever she was going with this. “How are you feeling?” he adds, as a way of making small talk, but also because he wants to know. She’s been through something traumatic, and he feels awful for her.

“Like I got hit by a car.” she deadpans, a hint of a smirk on her lips, and he can’t help a surprising burst of laughter.

“This is so not funny.” he shakes his head, still chuckling.

“You’re laughing.” she shrugs with one shoulder.

“It’s so overused, though.” he argues, relaxing back against the couch. Okay, so maybe the nerves weren’t that warranted. He’s still a bit guarded, though, but that’s normal with strangers. If she’s going to be around now, for Chris, they’re surely going to be bumping into each other, so he needs to make an effort to be friendly. And, it turns out, it’s not that hard.

“Whatever, you still laughed.” she just grins. “Joking aside, I feel- kinda numb, kinda in pain. Always tired.” she sighs heavily. “And I’m so bored of just sitting here on the couch and doing nothing.”

“I can imagine.” Buck nods. He’d go crazy if he was bedridden, with no one to talk to most of the day, no way to leave the house, barely able to move on his own. He hopes he’d never have to experience that.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gayarthur @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @jesuisici33 @diazblunt @911onabc @eddiediaztho @housewifebuck @thewolvesof1998 @fortheloveofbuddie @gayhoediaz @callaplums @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @hippolotamus @giddyupbuck @wildlife4life @theotherbuckley @eowon @disasterbuckdiaz @forthewolves

[a-gay-little-cat]

(This drawing got way out of hand but. I'm attaching it to the OC interview anyways!!!! Thank you for tagging me @mail-me-a-snail!!!!) OC interview thingy under the read more :]

Name?

“Vito.” Nothing special or out of the ordinary here really. Though he doesn’t like giving people his surname. Scan him for it if you are so nosy.

Nickname?

“The Red Scorpion.” "...." “That’s a joke, it’s V.” His name is short enough to not warrant a nickname really but V is what he likes to use for business related stuff, keep it formal, keep it anonymous. Though I do think Red Scorpion is the name for his bike. And also the symbol he wears on his vest. He just really likes scorpions and any other desert critter.

Gender?

“Male.”

Vito is trans, has been for a good chunk of his life and he couldn’t be happier with it.

Star sign?

“Scorpio, much to my delight. No idea what it means though. Don’t really care for that kind of stuff.” Fun fact I was so close to making the joke of having Vito be born on the day the Arasaka Towers got blown up but then his age wouldn’t have aligned quite right. He’d have to be 53 during the main story but… still a joke in the back of my mind, might adjust it JUST to be funny, maybe not.

Height?

“Last I checked it was 5’8.”

It’s a pretty good height all things considered. He might appear a bit taller though thanks to the bit of heel on his boots as well as his hat he wears most of the time. He has no complaints about his height though.

Orientation?

“Whoever strikes my fancy.”

Vito is bi and doesn’t really have a preference. Just kinda lets himself be taken wherever his heart desires. (Sometimes that can be horrible ex-corpo men who have something really wrong with them. Shoutout to Lucian. What is wrong with him.) Though he usually doesn’t look for more than a fling. Not actively looking to date or find anything long term. (Lucian was kind of an unexpected case.)

Nationality/ethnicity?

“Born and raised in Mexico. Lived there a good while too.”

His parents likely still live there, he wouldn’t really know. Cut ties a long time ago and has kinda moved from city to city looking to follow his ambitions.

Favorite fruit?

“Hm… don’t have fruit a lot these days but peaches have always been my favorite.”

I can only imagine fruit is just kind of rare to come by, if not expensive. Vito’s never had a lot of money to his name all things considered.

Favorite season?

“Fall. It’s just right.”

Listen he may be used to hot climates but all that leather is probably a nightmare during the summer. And no he will not sacrifice his looks.

Favorite flower?

“Flowers? In this year and age?” He doesn’t know shit about flowers. He might like ones that bloom on cacti but… it’s not really his scene.

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?

“You can’t go wrong with a nice tea.” He’ll always pick tea over anything else. Coffee is… okay. But he doesn’t get the appeal. Vito especially likes any sort of red/fruity tea but he’ll give anything a try at least once.

Average hours of sleep?

“4…. 5… depends.”

And that’s on a good day. Especially in the height of everything with the relic he is lucky to get one or two hours of sleep. Pain is one hell of a bitch keeping him up. Very hard to get comfortable at all. But once that’s all over and he’s settled down it’ll probably end up closer to an average of 8 hours, at least.

Dog or cat person?

“Reptiles.” “...” “But if I have to pick? Cats.”

Vito isn’t one to really care for pets. He doesn’t hate them and will pet a dog or a cat if someone he knows owns one but that's about it. Doesn’t really need a pet of his own.

Dream trip?

“Not really looking to travel.”

As a guy who has moved from place to place, Vito doesn’t really… plan for trips. Most of his traveling was out of necessity and not because he was looking for a vacation spot. Somewhere outside of NC could be nice but he just doesn’t really think about it. Busy with other stuff. Also he would want to travel with Lucian and well……. who knows how that would go down.

Favorite fictional character?

“Pardon?”

Vito reads a lot but he’s not like… crazy about the characters or even really involved, it's just to pass time and relax.

Number of blankets you sleep with?

“.....2.”

He gets cold in his sleep and it's a nice weight. One hell of a fight to get out of bed in the morning though.

Random fact?

Vito loves putting together little models of things if possible. Doesn’t always have the time for it but… it’s fun and relaxing :)

Don't really know who to tag but hey whoever wants to do this with their guys feel free to go ahead!

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Come What May, Ch. 1

Summary: While completely improvised, Gabriel’s plan to transfer his memories in the container fly before erasure was rather solid. It came very close to working, too. But ‘close’ was not enough. [SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2] Characters: Gabriel, Beelzebub, Crowley, Aziraphale, Murien, Michael, Uriel, Saraquael Rating: T   All chapters will be tagged as ‘come what may’ on my blog.

A/N: Beelzebub is Concerned and about to make it everyone else's problem.

***

[Back to Prologue]

***

“So, after I’m done writing, I check this box…”

“Yep.”

“... roll the parchment up like this, seal it…”

“Yep.”

“... aaand place it here. Yes?”

“Yes! You’re doing brilliant, Jibreel - and in just three days!”

As the parchment faded in a gleam of light, safely filed away and archived for all eternity, Muriel couldn’t help but clap a little. It was a simple task, but Jibreel looked very happy to have accomplished it, and she was very happy to see him looking very happy. Or to see anyone happy. Or to see anyone, period. So honestly, the clapping felt warranted. 

He grinned back, widely. “Thanks! I think I did good. Felt good.”

“You’ll be up to 37th class in no time at all! Get your own office and all.”

“Oh, I hope not. I like it here,” he replied, and sat back. He looked around and their white surroundings, at the empty surface before him. “... What now?”

“Oh! Now’s the exciting part! We wait for more things to come through that we can sort, record, and add to the archive.”

“That’s great! When are they coming?”

“Ah, we… we don’t know that, actually. Sometimes it’s a lot in a day! And sometimes it’s very little in a year. We’re in a bit of a slump now. The record was fifty years of nothing, back in the fifth century. Never had such a long empty stretch since, though.”

“Oh.” Jibreel frowned a little, looking around again. “So, what do we do now?”

Muriel tried to smile, but it was… a little bit forced. “Now we wait.”

“Right! I can wait. I’m good at waiting, I think.”

“Great!”

A few minutes passed. Muriel was used to long periods of just sitting there in silence, but it seemed… odd to do that, now that she was not alone. She shifted a little before speaking again. “So, um. What did you do before?”

“Before?”

“Before you were assigned to this post. Were you part of the Earth observation team?”

Jibreel narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. “I… don’t think so?”

“Oh. Well, surely you had a duty before?”

“I guess I must have? Everyone does, right?”

“You mean-- you don’t remember?”

“I remember coming here.” A frown. “An elevator, I think? I was standing near an elevator. Then that nice angel… the one earlier…” the frown deepened, and he rubbed his head as though in pain. That was odd, Muriel thought. It wasn’t an angel thing, to be in any pain. 

“Saraqael?” she asked.

“No, another one. I… I can’t recall. She came over and gave me new clothes, then she told me my name and that other one - Saraqael - took me here.”

“And it’s the first thing you remember?”

Jibreel nodded, and Muriel couldn’t help but wonder what that was all about. It was unusual, to say the least. “Oh.”

“That’s… not normal?”

“Ah-- no, no, it’s… I mean, I never heard… but I don’t see a lot of angels, you know! So maybe it’s perfectly normal!” 

The confused frown disappeared, quickly as it had come, and Muriel quickly changed subject. “Oh, I know what we can do! I can help you practice what to say if someone comes in to ask for information! They do that sometimes. Last time was two hundred years ago.”

“Oh?” “Yes! So someone could need us anytime now!”

Another bright smile, and Jibreel stood. “On it! So, what do I do?”

“All right, so you’ll be the one asking, and I’ll reply, so you see how it’s done.”

“Great! What do I ask?”

“Oh, uh… say you need to double check directive C3483, paragraph 53, comma 89.”

“Perfect!”

As Jibreel stood to do as instructed neither of them noticed the fly buzzing quietly above them, one small dark dot in the endless whiteness.

***

“... Well. He does get to have a desk now, I suppose.”

“About half of one, but yes.”

“And he’s settled well?”

“He’s been learning his new duties with no incident. He seems rather content.”

“That’s good to know, Saraqael. I would not have wished him to be displeased with his new role. He has served Heaven well for thousands of years.”

“Of course. None of us would want that.”

A brief silence, and Michael moved her gaze from Saraqael to Uriel, who was staring out one of the windows, rigid and silent. Michael had to wonder whether it was all annoyance over the fact she had been right when she’d pointed out that Gabriel did not have, nor had ever had, a desk. He had indeed tried to make a run for it; Uriel had found him standing in front of the elevator, staring blankly at it, his jacket and shirt already off. 

Where he had tried to go was anybody’s guess. Perhaps he’d simply become scared they would cast him down to Hell after all. But his fear had been for nothing: he would remain in Heaven, where he belonged, getting his chance to start anew. 

“All’s well that ends well,” Michael said in the end. “Now we can focus on the preparation for Armageddon. I will re-establish diplomatic relations so we can agree on a time and--”

“Saraqael,” Uriel spoke, cutting her off like she hadn’t been speaking at all. “We have never attempted a complete memory wipe, let alone on someone as high ranking as a supreme archangel before. Are you certain it has worked as intended?”

A slightly offended scoff. “Of course it has. You saw him, didn’t you? Not a spark of recognition. I know what I’m doing.”

“I did not mean to offend,” Uriel replied, with the tone of someone whose concerns are not yet entirely eased. “I am not familiar with the procedure, and am asking you to confirm it has worked as intended.”

“It did. All his memories as the archangel Gabriel are gone from his mind.”

“From his mind.”

Ah. Michael could now see what it was that concerned Uriel. She frowned, and looked back at Saraqael. “I don’t suppose they could be destroyed from any plane of existence?”

A light scoff. “Nothing which belongs in Heaven can be downright destroyed. Unless we use hellfire, but it’s not an option with memories - not that it worked too well on an angel when you last tried, from what I heard,” Saraqael pointed out, very much aware of how little Michael and Uriel liked being reminded of that particular fiasco. “Destroying an angel’s memories like they have never been is beyond even the abilities of Metatron. God alone may wield such power.”

Michael and Uriel exchanged a quick glance. In the end, it was Uriel to speak. “... No need to bother God with any of this,” she said, as though God had answered to any of their messages in the past six thousand years. 

Saraqael nodded.

“Of course not. Besides, if destroying them is beyond anyone’s scope but God’s, so is retrieving them,” she pointed out. “Even if he knew he had memories to retrieve, which he does not, it would require a miracle whose power by far surpasses Gabriel’s own.”

“... There is no Gabriel, Saraqael.”

“Of course not,” she replied with a nod, and Michael nodded back. 

“Very well. We can consider the matter sorted. Now, as I was saying, if we’re to decide a new date for Armageddon, we should resume diplomatic contact with--”

The phone she’d left on the nearest surface lit up, and began to vibrate. She looked down at the name on the display, and raised an eyebrow. 

Well, she thought. Speak of the literal devil.

***

“Michael.”

“Lord Beelzebub, what a surprise. To what do I owe the displeasu--”

“I’m not speaking with you. Get me the moron in chief.”

“... I don’t believe we have such a title here,” Michael said, her already cold voice turning to frost. “Perhaps if you’d like to specify--”

“I demand to speak with Gabriel.”

“I am afraid that’s not possible.”

Beelzebub ground their teeth so hard that their jaw creaked. The grip on the phone became tight enough to crack the screen. They loathed making the call, but it had been three days since they first received that message upon trying to contact Gabriel, and they could no longer bear it. “Then make it possible, or I’ll give you plenty of excellent reasons to be afraid.”

“There’s no reason to be even more unpleasant than you usually are,” was the reply, without the slightest hint of intimidation. Not that Beelzebub had expected it to work. Michael was considered Heaven’s mightiest warrior for a reason. Her reputation for single-handedly throwing Satan himself down into the abyss was somewhat exaggerated, but not by much. “Whatever it is you wish to discuss with him, it can be discussed with me.”

“No, it cannot.”

“May I ask why not?”

Because you’re hiding something. Because this is all kinds of wrong. Where is he?

They wanted to say all that and more, scream and threaten, demand to know what was going on, but they did not. It would mean showing their hand early and that was something they could not afford. If Michael found out she had an edge on them, they’d never get answers. 

So, in the end, they said something else entirely. “You’re too far below me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Beg all you wish, but I pardon nothing. I only discuss with my equals, or the closest to an equal to be found within your ranks. It’s the supreme archangel, or no one.”

“Then I fear I’ll need to disappoint you,” Michael replied, sounding all too pleased about it. “At the moment, the position is vacant.”

The gnawing worry that had been eating away at Beelzebub’s already rather rotted guts turned to something else, cold and dark and suffocating. Vacant? It couldn’t be vacant. It had never been vacant. It’s never a good sign for a position in Heaven or Hell to become vacant. 

Where is he? What happened to him? What have you done?

The urge to scream returned, bubbling and buzzing up their throat, but they held it back, gnashing their teeth. They had to keep calm. Show Michael a single weakness, and it is over.

“What the Heaven do you mean, vacant? Heaven has never been without its supreme archangel.”

“It is temporary. Until someone else is appointed.”

Did they know? Did they find out? It seemed the most logical explanation, but at the same time Michael was saying nothing. Surely, if she knew - if Heaven knew Gabriel had been fraternizing with them - she’d be rubbing it in their face, wouldn’t she? Gabriel himself, the absolute moron he was, had never been concerned by the possibility. 

“What’s the worst they could do? Throw me down to Hell for you to deal with? Oh, the horror.”

“Oh, not afraid I might make you regret it?”

“Not even if you try your worst.”

“Where is Gabriel?” Beelzebub snapped, unable to hold back. Thankfully they snapped a lot, and the barked order came across as annoyance rather than growing dread. They were not new to dread, running Hell and all, but this was different from any type of dread they’d ever encountered or felt before. It’s the kind of dread of someone who stands to lose something. 

“Gabriel has been called to a different task.”

“What task?”

“It is confidential,” was the response. “Now, what did you intend to discu--”

The call ended abruptly. Throwing a phone at the wall - or in this case, the thick glass screen overseeing Hell - will usually cause that.

The crash caused a couple of demons to wince and turn, and a single snarl from Beelzebub was enough to get them quickly back to work. They stepped away from the glass and began pacing, trying to clear their mind. At the moment, the only clear thing was that they had absolutely no future in the field of diplomatic relations; everything else was a maelstrom of confusion and fear unlike anything they had experienced before.

Gabriel had disappeared, that was a fact. And he had disappeared without a word to them, his phone disconnected, leaving the position of Supreme Archangel vacant. 

Gabriel was missing, and Heaven was hiding the reason why. Called to a different task, Michael had said, but something about her tone had told Beelzebub precisely what they needed to know, and had feared to hear. Gabriel had been removed from office, and yet he had not been cast down to Hell. 

So where was he? He had to be somewhere, it’s not like they could destroy an archangel. They had no means to do such a thing in Heaven, unless… unless…

Hellfire. The hellfire they had given them four years earlier, to deal with their own traitor. The one who had first worked to prevent Armageddon, just as Gabriel had done later.

We never took that fire back. What if they chose the same sentence, for the same crime?

Beelzebub stopped pacing as though struck. They saw it with the mind’s eye, Gabriel screaming in flames they had delivered to Heaven before being reduced to nothing, utterly destroyed. Gone. 

With no warning, the core itself of Hell shook and flames flared higher. Demons yelped in surprise and damned souls cried out in terror, but any sound they made was drowned out by a screeching cry blackest fury, deepest hatred, and utter pain. The glass screen cracked and shattered, and a swarm of flies burst forth, a black mass drowning out the cries of damned and demons alike even as the screeching scream faded in a low, guttural growl. 

They’ll pay for it. I’ll start the war here and now. Rules be damned. Agreements be damned. Warnings be damned. We’ll scorch Heaven and Earth with hellfire and I’ll see them scream and die, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll-- I--

A soft buzzing sound, and a single fly landed on Beelzebub’s hand, which was balled into a tight fist. They looked at it, still growling and shaking, and suddenly they found themself thinking of another fly entirely. The container, their gift to Gabriel. The first gift he’d ever received, he had told them, with that oddly vulnerable expression they had never seen on him before. The first gift, and also the last.

… Or was it?

Beelzebub breathed in and then slowly out, staring at that single fly to keep themself grounded, to focus on the memory of Gabriel as they’d last seen him - whole and well, smiling at them before stepping in the elevator, rather than screaming in a column of hellfire.

Maybe they hadn’t destroyed him. Maybe there was another explanation; if other angels realized he was purposefully blocking Armageddon from taking place, he may very well have become a prisoner. If Beelzebub decided to lay waste on Heaven now, and he was there, he may be destroyed with all the rest. No, they could not act on impulse. They had to think he was still alive, and act accordingly. They had to find out what precisely had happened in Heaven, covertly. Sneakily. 

And they knew one demon with heavenly ties who was very, very good at sneaking around.

***

There are few places and moments in life, Crowley reasoned, when a swarm of flies manifesting out of thin air is convenient. Inside a Bentley which was currently speeding through an intersection while passing a school bus was neither one of those places, nor one of those moments.

“Been a long time, Crowley.”

“Oh, come o--!”

“Bus ahead.”

To his credit, Crowley managed to swerve around the bus in question despite the flies clouding his vision; by the time he shoved the Bentley in the first available empty space at the side of the road, cutting in front of three cars and a truck in the process, the flies had finished coming together and someone else sat in the car with him.

Someone Crowley had kind of hoped never to have to see again. “Lord Beelzebub. What do I owe the-- huh. New face?”

“New face,” was the response, in the tone of someone who’d really rather not waste another second talking about it. “I’m here to give you a new mission.”

Ah. “I’m fairly sure Shax said I’m still persona non grata in Hell.”

“You are. And you have the chance to change it. Actually, you have the chance to become a Duke of Hell.”

Crowley blinked, then slid the sunglasses down his nose for a better look at the Lord of the Flies. Maybe it was the new face, but they seemed animated in a way he had never seen before. They seemed worried, working their jaw and smoothing down their jacket in quick, nervous gestures before looking back at him. That in itself worried him in turn. If something was up causing such concern for Beelzebub of all demons, then everyone else probably would have good reason to be terrified. 

“That’s… flattering, but--”

“A full pardon. A place in the Dark Council. Whatever your nasty little heart desires, you shall have it.”

“Why turn to me--”

“To you, and your pet angel.”

There were several words Crowley may have used to describe Aziraphale, but pet was not about them. As he choked on his own spit, Beelzebub spoke again - louder, quicker, and more urgent. 

“Listen. You and the angel betrayed Hell and Heaven both solely to stop Armageddon. You don’t want to see your efforts go to waste, no? Because there is talk of starting it anew.”

“What-- without the Antichrist?”

“Without the Antichrist. Just plain war, no less devastating. Do you want to stop it or not?”

“I-- is that a trick question?”

“I don’t do trick questions. I want to enlist your help to find the archangel Gabriel, and keep Armageddon from coming to pass.”

As far as Crowley was concerned, Lord Beelzebub couldn’t have put together a more nonsensical string of words if they’d picked them at random from a dictionary and then put them through an online translator from English to Aramaic to Greek and then back to English. 

“... What?”

“You heard me.”

“You wanted to start the Armageddon--”

“My priorities have shifted, but I do believe yours have stayed the same. You want Earth to survive, I want to find Gabriel. Our goals conveniently coincide. What more do you need?”

“I am sorry. Are you actively trying to make as little sense as possible? Because--”

Beelzebub snarled, it was enough for him to fall silent. The Lord of the Flies took a moment to draw in a deep breath before they spoke again, with forced calm. “I will explain everything to you and the angel. Take me to him.”

“No.”

“... I’m going to pretend I have not heard and give you one more chance to--”

“No demon but me is crossing that bookshop’s threshold.”

Some furious buzzing, and Crowley gripped the wheel tighter, waiting for severe pain, but it never came. Instead, Beelzebub just ground their teeth. “I have no interest in harming him.”

“Given the precedents, you’ll forgive me for being cautious,” Crowley replied. He fully expected fury, truth be told, but was once again surprised. Lord Beelzebub seemed to hesitate a moment, and finally nodded.

“... Very well. I forgive nothing, but I understand. Tell him we’ll meet on neutral ground.”

“Riiiiight. Well, I’ll see when he’s free and ask him--”

“Call him now,” Beelzebub cut him off, and looked him in the eye. “If you want your precious Earth to survive, you’ll waste no further time.”

In the end, he didn’t waste any time. Honestly, it didn’t feel like he had that much of a choice.

***

There was something up there. 

Jibreel noticed it while leaning back on the chair, careful not to put his feet up on the desk because Muriel had said he shouldn’t do it. They weren't there now - they’d left saying they wanted to look at something in the archives, and reassuring him he was ready to handle any work that came through - but he wouldn’t do something they didn’t want him to. They had been really nice to him.

But he was bored, just sitting there on his own, so he’d slumped back and looked up - and there it was. A… well, he wasn’t sure. It was something that moved in quick circles above him, small and dark as everything else was white and vast. He frowned a little and, without thinking, held up a hand.

There was no real reason why the thing should come to him, but it did. It floated down to rest on the tip of his fingers, buzzing softly, and Jibreel brought it closer to his face to have a look. It was a… what was the name? A fly, right? Yes, he was almost sure that was it. Funny, that. He didn’t think there were any flies in Heaven. They usually were on Earth, or at least he guessed so. He had never been on Earth, as far as he could recall - which to be fair wasn’t long. But somehow, he knew flies were not supposed to be there. 

Hell, maybe - were there flies in Hell? Yes, somehow Jibreel was fairly sure that there were a lot of flies in Hell, too. He had definitely never been there himself, though.

The fly on his fingers buzzed, but didn’t fly off, and Jibreel found himself smiling at it. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, but of course there was no response other than more soft buzzing. It was kind of cute, seen up close. Jibreel smiled again. “You’re not supposed to be here, you know. But I won’t tell. It will be our secret and all,” he added, feeling rather giddy at the idea of having something as forbidden as a secret. He winked at the fly, which didn’t bother to wink back before taking flight again. But it stayed right above him, and Jibreel was absurdly certain it was not going to leave. 

For some reason, it put an even wider smile on his face. He leaned back on the seat and kept following the fly with his gaze, unblinking and unthinking, until he found himself humming, tapping a foot on the floor. 

“Everyday, it’s-a getting closer…”

***

A good cup of tea, Aziraphale firmly believed, could smooth over just about any type of crisis. Or at least make it feel like less of a crisis. Failing that, hot chocolate would usually succeed. 

However, he recognized that there were few, particularly dire instances in which neither tea nor hot chocolate could help. In such cases, coffee would be needed - possibly with a good dollop of something sweet added to it. 

Only after sitting down next to Crowley at Nina’s coffee shop, the records Maggie had given him under his arm and Crowley as well as the literal Lord of the Flies sitting across them, did he wonder about the wisdom of giving Beelzebub caffeine. But as they never so much as touched the cup, he supposed he would never find out whether it was a mistake. That, and soon enough the theoretical effect of caffeine on hellish royalty was the least of his worries. 

“Heaven and Hell want to push ahead with Armageddon - again - and you and Gabriel wanted to stop it?”

“Yes,” Beelzebub replied, and silenced the question that followed with a gesture. “We changed our mind. The reason why is none of your concern, before you ask, but I do believe our goals align and--”

“And now he’s missing and his seat is vacant?” Aziraphale cut them off, bewildered. That gained him a markedly unimpressed look. 

“... Is there a specific reason why you’re repeating everything I have told you so far?”

“It’s a lot to wrap one’s mind around, I’m sure you can agree?” Crowley spoke, the casual leaning in his seat doing very little to hide how tense it was. “You and Gabriel both tried really hard to make Armageddon happen. When it didn’t, and decided it was our fault, you sort of tried just as hard to destroy us.”

Beelzebub had the good sense to look… if certainly not awkward, at least a little tense themself. Aziraphale set his jaw, not about to say anything to smooth things over now; he had never forgotten the casual order the Lord of the Flies had given to have a bystander demon destroyed in holy water solely to test it, nor the indifference when they had sentenced Crowley to die the same gruesome way. It was nothing he had not expected from Hell, truth be told, but it had been rather upsetting. 

On his end, Crowley had never quite told him the details of the attempt at carrying out the same sentence in Heaven; only that he had been told to step in hellfire and had surprised the archangels present by breathing a little bit of it in their direction, which had been a rather amusing mental image. 

“Well. You were not destroyed, and you don’t wish Earth to be either. It is in everyone’s best interest if we collaborate. And by everyone’s, I mean that of all sitting at this table.”

“Are we supposed to believe that you’ve grown a soft spot for Earth?”

A scoff. “Obviously not. This is not about Earth. It’s what you care about.”

“What is it about for you, then?”

For the first time since that odd meeting had started, Lord Beelzebub seemed to hesitate. They worked their jaw briefly, clearly debating whether or not they should be truthful. It was an odd inner conflict to see play out on a being Aziraphale had always known as a powerful but distant foe, but it did not last long. Beelzebub seemed to come to a decision and leaned forward, elbows on the table. 

“For me, it’s about Gabriel. They did something to him. I am sure they did.”

“Seems likely,” Crowley muttered, not really distraught. “Still don’t get what that’s to y--”

“I want him back,” Beelzebub cut him off. The last word of Crowley’s sentence - you - turned into a choked out ‘uuuh?’ before he fell silent, staring at the Lord of the Flies with his mouth hanging open. It gained him a raised eyebrow. “Close that mouth before flies get in it. That is a threat.”

Crowley closed his mouth so abruptly his teeth clicked together, then hurriedly took a sip from his coffee. As for Aziraphale, he found himself staring with wide eyes as realization dawned on him. Beelzebub had a soft spot all right, but not for Earth. It was for Gabriel.

That was not what he’d expected to hear, although to be fair he was not sure what he’d even thought this could be about. In retrospect, everything in Beelzebub’s behavior seemed to scream a connection to the missing archangel that went well beyond a professional relationship. In the end, he cleared his throat and took a sip from his coffee.

“Not to pry, but I seem to understand yourself and Gabriel have grown, um. Close?”

“In a way neither Heaven nor Hell would approve, hence why I had to turn to you.” A long look, their gaze shifting from his to Crowley and then back, and they cocked their head. “Certainly, I don’t need to explain more. It’s not something unfamiliar to the two of you.”

The coffee Crowley had been sipping was promptly sprayed back inside the mug. Aziraphale nearly spilled in own mug, stammering. 

“I, I mean-- we do go way back, so I suppose-- we have an understanding, but--”

Beelzebub silenced him with a gesture. “I don’t care to hear it. All I care about is finding out where Gabriel is and what was done to him, and taking him back. Help me, and I’ll hold off Armageddon until a more permanent solution to avoid it is found. Do we have a deal?”

A pause, a quick glance between the two of them. 

Do we have a choice?, Aziraphale’s look said.

Not really, Crowley’s replied, and that was that.

***

“Oh, I really shouldn't have even come here…”

No one was there to hear Muriel’s anxious whine, but they slapped both hands over their mouth anyway, just in case. Not that they were doing anything forbidden, per se - they were authorized to search the archive, after all - but it still seemed wrong, to have doubts over the word of an archangel. It wasn’t even real doubts, they just had… questions. 

One big question, really - why did Jibreel remember nothing from his existence before he’d been taken to work with them as a junior recording angel? It had been bothering them more than it probably should, and they had considered asking someone higher up, but… well. Surely they had better things to do than answering a silly question, no? It was probably nothing important, they’d thought. 

They could find out on their own, sate their curiosity and then be back. 

Except that things had taken an unexpected turn, because they had found a folder marked with his name - Jibreel - but it really wasn’t like they had expected. A junior recording angel’s folder is never very full, simply because… well, there is not a lot to record about those working on records, so to speak. It was a fairly uneventful job and it made for an uneventful eternity, overall. Muriel’s own folder had only about two pages to it. 

Jibreel’s folder was nothing like that. It didn’t look thicker than normal, but as they picked it up there was a weight to it that told them it was much, much fuller than their own. Much fuller than any other folder they’d handled, really - there had to be a lot in there.

And, they soon realized, they couldn’t open it. It was classified, and required a much higher clearance - like a throne or a dominion, or something even above that. 

They wouldn’t classify the folder of a simple junior recording angel, would they? Not with such high clearance. There is a lot more to Jibreel than even he knows.

It was a rather baffling development, and more than a little intimidating, really. Muriel didn’t know what it was all about and to be honest, they really wished she hadn’t wondered in the first place. It was much too above them. Surely, if Jibreel did not recall his past, there was a good reason for it. Who were they to question the decisions of archangels?

They would just walk out, go back to their station, and never utter a word of this to anyone - much less to Jibreel. After all, he’d never asked them to look anything up; he’d never asked a thing, and he was happy as a clam.

Muriel saw no reason to open their mouth and risk changing that.

***

[Back to Prologue]

[On to Chapter 2]

[theluckywizard]

7 Snippets; 7 Mutuals

Thank you for the tag @samseabxrn 🥰

Tagging @nirikeehan, @monocytogenes, @delicatefade, @crackinglamb, @melisusthewee, @kiastirling, and @zenstrike I don't actually have 7 WIPs, I have three! So I will pull from those and some published fics!

Kiss Me Moonstruck (WIP, m!Hawke x Trevelyan matchmakingmoms!AU fic, DA2 Era)

(Leandra & Garrett Hawke) “Actually quite the opposite. She seems to reject everyone.” “Well that should make this easy then!” he cries, delighted to be free. In truth, pine as he had for Aveline for so long, Garrett is ill suited to the institution and hasn’t the time for a wife. Least of all some fussy noblewoman who will bury him in unreasonable expectations. And of course she’d make him be fussy right along side her at fussy parties with fussy guests and fussy little canapes. Perhaps the canapes might not be quite so bad. But, no, a fix up could not stick. There was that dream he'd had after all, one he is sure foretells of something deep and squashy and abiding. He holds affection for it like an old, batty friend that continually prods him into abandoning the constraints of reason.

In the Shattering of Things (Cullen x f!Trevelyan, Hawke x f!Trevelyan, DA:I)

(Rose Trevelyan x Vivienne) “Your feelings have always been close to the surface, Rose,” she says. “In spite of the disadvantages it presents, I find it rather endearing.” I snort softly. “Endearing. If only that were useful to me somehow.” “It’s made it easy to determine that I can safely rally behind you,” says Vivienne. “After so long in Orlais straining to determine who to trust, it’s been rather refreshing at your side.” “You’re buttering me up,” I say, amusement turning my lips. “Only a little, darling,” she says. “If for no other reason than to demonstrate that our interests remain aligned.”

A Splinter of Light (WIP, Hawke x f!Trevelyan, Trapped in Future Nightmare!AU, DA:I)

(Rose Trevelyan & Dorian) He was correct, of course. She was a mistake. She still is. The water is cold enough to leave her searching for breath, her nerves screaming about what a danger it was. She can see the outline of the water logged skiff against the unnatural green luminosity of the sky, an alien haze obscuring Satina and its sibling, but it was risky to go to it. If the enemy can see it they could scoop them up. “What’s the plan this time?” asks Dorian through clenched teeth, bobbing low at the surface as he struggles to keep his head above water. His panic is warranted though unhelpful. “Survive,” she spits, equally unhelpful, bitterness skipping across the water at him like a stone.

Kiss Me Moonstruck (WIP, m!Hawke x Trevelyan matchmakingmoms!AU fic, DA2 Era)

(Rose Trevelyan & Garrett Hawke) She stumbles out of the mess of dancers again, this time before him. “I’ve half a mind to make an utter fool of myself with the Nug King,” she says with a rapturous smile, tumbling into his lap and cupping one of his cheeks with a grog-emboldened hand. He reaches up to push a strand of her hair off her freckled forehead, noting the intensity of the Sip-Sip on her breath and then curses his blazing friends. “Maybe three quarters a mind,” she adds. “Lucky for you, I’m sober enough to stop you,” he says, perfectly serious and yet smiling helplessly. “You’ll thank me tomorrow.” “I— don’t think I will,” she says, and closes the gap between them for a kiss. A jolt of panic streaks through him, and then the softness of her lips against his silences it, a quiet thrill slipping in its stead.

In the Shattering of Things (Cullen x f!Trevelyan, Hawke x f!Trevelyan, DA:I)

(Cullen x Rose) “Prepare yourself for something truly pathetic,” I warn him. Cullen smiles as wide as he ever does, his dimples two little knots of joy in his cheeks and he shakes his head. “I would never hold you up to any sort of learned standard,” he insists. “You’re a beginner. And there’s no shame in that. I was a beginner once too.”  “When you were a boy!” “It doesn’t matter. Don’t concern yourself with me . I have nothing but admiration for you,” he says, his bright cheeks a confession on their own.  “For the moment! Give it a half hour!” He’d spent the first part of our time together this morning sharing stories from his early days as a young templar recruit. Comical accounts of miserable hazing he’d experienced at the hands of the older recruits moved into a rather granular lecture on the fundamentals of swordsmanship as we approached the the sparring ring, none of which took root inside me. 

The Boy Who Talked too Much (Alistair x f!Cousland, DA:O)

Alistair is impulsive, but Elissa’s directness calms his wildly short attention span until it’s anxiously fixed upon her, slowing his decision-making to a comparative crawl. In the absence of impulse, he takes a calculated risk, folding together a rationale from her repeated morning visits and their openly flirtatious dynamic that fuels his courage. He reaches a big paw up to her cheek, the flat part of his thumb brushing across her skin gently. Elissa grins, smacking him lightly on the chest. “Do you want to kiss me?” she asks pointedly, challenging what little gumption he’s mustered. He pulls his hand away, reaching for jokes to bury his embarrassment. “Kiss you? No, no. Eugch. Mouths. Awful things aren’t they? Just festering traps full of yesterday’s food. And teeth . Odd, don’t you think?”

In the Shattering of Things (Cullen x f!Trevelyan, Hawke x f!Trevelyan, DA:I)

(Garrett Hawke x Rose Trevelyan)

I bounce on my heels and nibble my chapped lower lip and stare at the deeply weathered boards of Hawke’s door. I knock, fixating on the bleached gray striations and crackled pattern of the ancient wood, anxious without a clear purpose for my visit. He wasn’t at the rest or the training grounds. And I just have to see him. The door opens halfway. Hawke peers around it, his hair untied and unkempt, his brawn buried under a chunky knit Fereldan style jumper in undyed wool, the kind I’ve seen worn by farmers and fishermen. Hiding away his fame and luster under the man he wants to be. “Rose,” he says, genuinely surprised. The shock quickly disappears under a charming grin but not quickly enough. “Here to drop me on the floor again?”

[the-unconquered-queen]

And working off of my previous post, something I’ve kept thinking about for a couple of weeks…

The gang hasn’t even had that hard of a year.

So their friend went missing, potentially presumed dead. For the most part, their devotion ran out after a few weeks. After that, moving on was their goal. And yes, grief can hurt like a bitch, but don’t forget that it’s not like they had known MC for that long. So how is you grieving a friend of a few weeks/months (continuity error in the book) over the period of a year sooo much worse than said friend being captured for that same time?

Yeah, MC was asleep, so in fairness, their trauma mostly wouldn’t stem from the capture itself (which is all the party thinks about when dismissing their experiences), but there’s still accounting for the fallout of the b1 storyline that—unlike the others—they’re only NOW getting to process, the fact that the world passed them by for a year and now they’re trying to catch up, the knowledge that their body was repeatedly violated for a year and they don’t even know the details so their mind can only run with the worst case scenarios, and to top it all off, that they can’t even take a minute to properly let themselves feel because they’re already on another world-saving quest (against their captor, no less) and while they think their friends would be understanding, they don’t actually show anything more than shallow concern and seem to go out of their way to make MC feel even more left out than they already do.

So yeah, how hard did the party have it? Cause honestly, unless they were an LI that MC romanced, they probably didn’t even suffer that much. And I’m not saying platonic bonds are in any way inferior to romantic bonds, but unless you’re also paying for every single social quest for the party, chances are your MC didn’t grow anywhere near as close to the non-romanced party members as they did with their LI(s).

The only party member that seems to have had it tough regardless is Nia, who has more than enough to deal with after literally getting possessed and stabbed + her new transformations. But at least she’s not actively putting MC’s experiences down, even though she’s not particularly concerned either. But anyway, it’s mostly Mal and Imtura actively putting those experiences down; Nia and Tyril have just been passively ignoring them so far (and as a Tyril romancer, I’m satisfied with the way he kept searching for a way to get to MC, which is more than I can say as a Mal romancer). Though Nia immediately comforting Imtura instead of even just considering MC’s perspective after Imtura sided with Mal doesn’t have her totally in the clear either.

So yeah, miss me with

“You don’t [know it was a hard year], though. Not in the same way. You slept through it. 😐”

“The rest of us had to live it. And not all of us lived that well. 😢”

It wasn’t bad enough to warrant how they’re acting toward MC. And I don’t care that this dialogue was just dependent on not having a certain skill; they’re still thinking and (more importantly) showing it, and based on the tags that day, a hell of a lot of people got it, so it wasn’t some obscure screw-up path. So before this gets misconstrued, this isn’t me saying the rest of the party’s had it easy, this is me saying I haven’t seen a good enough reason for them to act like they won gold in the Pain Olympics while MC just slept through the qualifiers.

[captainai-47]

I found your blog recently scrolling down the obey me Lucifer tag and I believe I’ve realized an undeniable truth; I absolutely ADORE your MC.

Though, as I am sort of in an unexpected time crunch for the next few days, I don’t have any time to officially take the time and read your posts about your MC (lore). I’d love to get into it! It is genuinely different and I’m invested, truly.

If it wouldn’t be too much of a bother, would you run me over the basic lore of your MC? I’m genuinely obsessed. She looks so badass 😳

I have so many questions!

Why is she called an “Agent”?

Is she a high ranking one?

Does she have an agency she reports to?

What’s her full situation with Lucifer?

Does her work get in the way of anything?

What’s her personality?

Ah! I have so many questions I can’t even put them all down 😓

I also want to know about her demon form too! (I’m also pretty sure I caught wind of a monster form, too 👀)

Although you probably already know who I am, most likely considering your activity notifs, I’d still like to ask anonymously.

I really hope to see more of your MC ☺️

(Sorry for making such a long ask. Forgive me for any errors…)

Awwww stop! You making me twirling my hair 🤭🤭. I actually really enjoy it when people ask questions about my Oc! It really makes me happy when others think that my silly creations are intriguing enough to warrant attention :)))

As for some of your questions My Oc Masterlist may be able to answer your questions! Lore art is currently under works! But I highly encourage you to ask for more if you have the time ^^❤️ My twitter Acc contains a lot of scenarios and even hc lists that I have not mentioned here so feel free to check (But only for 🔞 individuals. My Twitter acc is more mature content compared here)

Here’s some that I haven’t explained yet:

What’s her full situation with Lucifer? ➡️ Currently? She’s very, madly, downbadly in love with him. SHES SMITTEN despite their rocky start in the S1 OG! Obm.

Does her work get in the way of anything? ➡️ It does. She is actually homeschooled and even has like a special excuse slips in RAD whenever there’s an emergency mission. She regularly goes in and out of the Devildom and into the human realm to do her work.

Personality ➡️ She’s calm and gentle to the one’s she is close with but in terms of her work as an Agent? Very reckless and even egotistical

[dandyshucks]

hiii dandy !! i wanted to ask, what do you think you and guzma would do post-canon after the events of sun & moon ? (i might have asked this before - if i have, i apologize..) (i also wanted to say that its been really cool seeing ur progress on ur plush!! it seems so hard, so you having that skill is rly admirable and i wish u lots of luck w finishing it!!) (@dmclr)

CLARA HI i hope u (and dimitri hehe) are doing well :] !!! wah thank u for the question, u havent asked it before dw !!! 

OKAY SO admittedly I mostly only know the story through reading Guz’s wiki page a few times (teehee) and through osmosis from the general fandom dsgjkl, i want to play the game one day and maybe read the manga, and I’ve watched the anime eps he’s featured in and that’s all i’m watching of that LOL. I haven’t actually experienced much of his story (or su/mo in general) first-hand myself though fdsjkl

answer below the cut because.... the rambler's curse got me LOL

after the events of su/mo, I don’t think he’d actually disband Team Skull because… what is the point of that honestly LOL, so Team Skull stays together in MY version of the world hehe. they’re required to do community service to make up for whatever shenanigans they get up to, but they stop stealing pokemon and move onto just like… graffiti and casual pranks and stuff. they still cause trouble, but it’s mostly mischief now rather than any actual crime. I set them up to work on murals for shop owners around the islands so they can spraypaint and be artistic that way rather than randomly tagging walls and getting into trouble for it fjdskl. they keep their disdain for authority figures and rules because at the end of the day most of them are rowdy teens who feel outcasted from society, and that’s just the way the ball rolls with them (also a certain level of that is healthy and warranted tbh). I work with Plumeria to organize events and outings (outside of community service) for the squad though, which helps give everyone healthier outlets for their energy and focus.

Hala mentors Guz to help put him onto (and keep him on) the right track, and Guz learns to appreciate the islands and their traditions a bit - even if he still doesn’t agree with all of them. Part of that mentorship is also sort of therapy (in a more holistic naturally-occurring way rather than like... clinical therapist sitting with patient), so trauma gets unpacked and healthier ways of handling emotions are learned and implemented. Also fuck the Aether Foundation HFDSJKL I keep Guz far away from Lusamine and make sure she never gets close to him again (idk what Gladion and Lillie get up to, I haven’t thought enough about them yet fsjkl). There’s a lot of healing and self-improvement and learning how to Be A PersonTM for both of us tbh!

Beyond that, it is mostly just regular Alola/island living!! Beach visits, walking around, getting ice cream and popsicles, casual battles with tourists, catching wimpods, all that sort of thing :] Also we visit Sinnoh (my home region) for half the year (i have… a whole schedule worked out for that actually LOL) so there’s that, too.

as for the plushie omg thank u sm WAUGH :D i cannot tell if it’s just because i have a weird hodge-podge skillset but i DO think it is not actually all that difficult !!! you just need a pattern for cutting the felt and then I learned the ladder stitch for hand-sewing, and it’s been very straightforward on how to sew the pieces together!! the hardest part so far has just been the hair because I have a difficult time translating 2D images to 3D reality in that way.

I just really want to encourage ppl to try their hand at new crafts and creative skills because I think it’s really fun and honestly really good for ppls well-being!! i am very passionate about making creativity accessible to people as much as possible!!! maybe i could make a tutorial or smth… the pattern I'm using is free and available on the creator’s website, and it’s genuinely not that difficult esp compared to some other things i’ve tried my hand at in the past LOL I feel like some of my paper mache projects have been more complex than this lil goober!!

THANK YOU AGAIN, AND SORRY ABOUT BECOMING THE RAMBLING RAMBLER LMAO i actually entirely rewrote this once because I wanted to shorten it and it STILL ended up this long 😭

[queen-scribbles]

Tradition

I blame @storyknitter and @greyias for this but didn’t really take much convincing. And bonus, it’s done for Theron Thursday!

---

The sweater was, beyond any doubt, one of the most ridiculous things Briyoni had ever seen. Bright red background, tinsel woven into the green collar and cuffs, the chest emblazoned with a massive kybuck wearing a red drooping hat and heart shaped sunglasses made of sequins.

In short, it was amazing.

She was so caught up in grinning at this marvel of Life Day fashion, her focus on the surroundings slipped until a voice murmured in her ear, “Little off course, aren’t we, Colonel?”

Bry flinched, her elbow starting to jerk back before the familiarity of the voice--and the cologne its owner was wearing--hit her. “One of these days, Jonas, I’m gonna actually break your ribs when you do that, and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

Jonas laughed. “Only in my reflexes completely fail me.” He didn’t move, the heat of him close enough to feel against her back. “As I was saying, aren’t you a little far from where you need to be?”

“Yeah, but enjoying Life Day kitsch is more fun than shopping for food,” she grinned, leaning back against his chest as she held up her find.

He snorted. “Are you seriously gonna buy that?”

“Hell, yeah. For Vica.” Bry shifted  to see his expression on the pause and it was exactly as good as she expected. “Whaddya think, babe, would she wear it, or just thank me politely and stick it in her closet, never to see the light of day?”

“I think you have a better chance of getting her to wear it than anyone else,” Jonas said with a smirk, scanning the other sweater designs. “You realize if you give her that, I’m morally obligated to give Shan this one.” He pulled one free and held it up-- mirrored white tauntaun silhouettes forming “snowflakes” on a dark blue background. “What would you call this? Taun-flakes?”

She shook her head, not even trying to fight her smile. “Not his colors, he won’t wear th-”

“Oh, sure, that’s why,” Jonas snarked.

Bry rolled her eyes at his interruption. “It’s not ugly enough anyway. You gotta commit on somethin’ like this, Jo. Here.” She shoved the kybuck sweater into his hands and started digging through the rack. “Ah, here we go-” She teetered when she started to straighten.

“Careful, gorgeous,” Jonas chuckled, catching her arm. The chuckle turned to a full blown laugh when he saw what she’d found.

The sweater was a darker red than the one for her sister, with black collar, hem, and cuffs. Snow-capped mountains and volcanic steam vents alternated in a pattern around the sleeves and waist, the upper portion of the chest dominated by a wampa with arms raised and a giant white pompom nose. The words ‘Hoth Stuff’ were embroidered over the steam vents to the right and left of the beast.

“Oh. My-” His shoulders shook trying to hold back the full force of warranted laughter. He only partially succeeded. “Briyoni, you know there’s no way in hell he’ll wear that, right? I don’t have that much blackmail material on him.”

“Vic batting her eyes and saying please might work,” Bry drawled.

Jonas snorted a laugh. “The look on his face might be worth the price of admission, though.” Dug for the tag. “...Fifty credits... yeah, that’ll pay off.”

“Found one for you, too, handsome,” Bry teased, rocking the hanger on her fingers. “You both think you’re funny.” She grinned innocently as Jonas looked over the sweater, grey and patterned with gift boxes.

“‘Ugly Life Day Sweater’,” he read off in a drawl before shooting her a flat look. “Cute. But no. I’ll be taking the taun-flakes if I’m getting one and my tastes don’t pass muster for Theron.”

“I told you, babe, it’s not ugly enough. You have to go all in on gifts like this.” She gestured dramatically at their growing collection of sweaters.

“In that case I can’t wait to see what you picked out for yourself.”

Her grin widened. She’d been waiting for him to ask. “First, bold of you to assume anything will look ugly on me-”

“No arguments here.”

“-Second...” She presented the sweater with a flourish. Green and gold patterned with repeating Republic capital ship outlines, jinglers on the cuffs, and faux-ribbon crisscrossing to a bow dead center on the chest.

Jonas shot her an amused look. “Bry. Darling. That’s three sizes too big for you.”

“It’s the only size they have left. All the better to lounge around in”--she winked--”without pants.”

He grinned and wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her close. “In that case, do I get to joke about unwrapping my Life Day present when you wear it?” he murmured in her ear.

Bry let out a giggle-snort. “Once. And not in front of my sister and her husband.”

“Aw, you’re no fun.” The glint in his eye gave lie to the words. “Once per day you wear it.”

“Deal.” The complaint might be a little more believable if they weren’t staring down the barrel of their seventh anniversary. He found her plenty fun and she knew it. “Now, I guess we should go be responsible adults and see how much of our budget is left for food.”

“Guess we should...” He stole a kiss. “If we want to be responsible.”

“More like if we wanna eat this week,” Bry retorted. “Dunno if you noticed, Balkar, but the kitchen’s pretty empty an’ we aren’t heading to Odessen for another four or five days. How do you survive when I’m not here?”

“Moping and takeaway, mostly,” Jonas deadpanned. “And you say that like you were any better when you were based here.”

“Oh, hush, you,” she grumbled around a grin, then linked her hand with his to head for the food sections. The weight of the sweaters they carried triggered an anticipatory giggle.

Can’t wait to see Vica’s face. 

---

Briyoni was up to something. Even with the brief time they’d been reunited, Vica could tell that much, and she didn’t even need to Force to do it. And if the grins they kept exchanging were any sort of clue, her husband was in on it. Which was unsurprising, and had Theron’s suspicions raised as well--higher than Vica’s own.

She should know to trust his instincts by now. But believing the best of people was her fatal flaw, and it extended to even less life or death matters. Like sibling  plots. 

“So, Vic, we have somethin’ for you,” Briyoni said, with the too-bright smile of troublemakers the galaxy over.

“It’s not Life Day yet,” Vica pointed out warily. “And the Alliance party isn’t until tomorrow.”

“All the more reason to give it to you now.” Her sister’s smile had gone more sly, and Vica could practically feel Theron’s eyes narrowing without looking at him.  Bry held up two gift boxes. “Pink’s for you, silver’s for your spy boy.” She shot Theron a grin, which was matched by Jonas as he draped an arm around Bry’s shoulders.

“You shouldn’t have,” Theron deadpanned, handling the box as if it were a bomb when Vica passed it to him.

“Oh, yes, we should.” The words came from Briyoni and Jonas in unison, as if they’d guessed his response and practiced.  "Only the best for the man with my sister’s best interest at heart,” Briyoni’s smile was just a tad sharp and Jonas hid a laugh--badly--in a cough.

Vica settled her gift in her lap, tore the paper just enough to get it open, and couldn’t bite back a reactionary giggle at the sunglass-wearing kybuck that greeted her. “Really, Briyoni?”

Her sister grinned. “Really, Vica. Don’t tell me the Jedi never participate in the long and glorious tradition of ugly sweaters for Life Day.”

Vica opened her mouth, several responses vying for prominence. Starting with Jedi having their own holiday traditions, this was a ridiculous sweater, and ending with a reminder Odessen was temperate and they didn’t need to dress so warmly, but she didn’t get to say any of them because Theron got his box open.

“No,” he said flatly, shooting a dirty look at the matched smirks on the couch opposite. “Absolutely not.”

Briyoni and Jonas both burst into laughter, I told you escaping from him as the two struggled to rein themselves in.

“How bad...?” Vica asked, turning to Theron. He tipped the box so she could see the wampa sweater. She covered her mouth with one hand to hide the smile.  “Oh, my. Mine’s not quite so... detailed.” She pulled the kybuck sweater out of the box to show him. It was surprisingly soft for such a ridiculous garment.

“Cute,” Theron drawled, then glowered at Briyoni and Jonas again. “I’m not wearing this.”

Vica, however, pulled her on as they needled him about his obstinacy. Mostly curious if it was soft as it seemed. But a little because there was a smug note to Briyoni’s sense that doubted her straight-laced sister would wear something so silly and Vica wanted to prove her wrong.

Jonas tossed her an approving grin, then looked back at Theron. “Not even to keep your wife and Commander from sticking out like a sore thumb?”

“You say that like the two of you aren’t planning to wear similar abominations,” Theron retorted dryly.

“Guilty,” Jonas shrugged. “But that shouldn’t get in the way of you showing solidarity.”

Theron’s scowl at his friend deepened, but Vica sensed the moment of wavering before he shook his head. “I have stuff to do. That’s actually helpful.” He pushed to his feet and left the room. 

“I think you could talk him around,” Briyoni said cheerfully, grinning at Vica.  “Gotta say, sis, wasn’t sure you’d actually wear that.”

“It’s comfortable,” Vica said, straight-faced but feeling a smile tug her lips. She brushed her fingers over the sequins. “And it would be rude to refuse a gift.”

“They are fun to unwrap,” Jonas commented blithely, then snickered when Briyoni dug her elbow into his ribs.

Vica didn’t figure out why until the following day.

---

The box with the wampa sweater sat on their bed, studiously ignored by Theron as he slouched on the sofa, datapad in hand. 

Vica smiled at the sight; the box sitting out in the open rather than crammed in a drawer spoke to her suspicion being correct.

“Can you believe them? Giving that as a gift?” Theron asked when he heard her enter, not looking up from whatever report he was reading.

“Knowing my sister and her husband even a little, yes.” Vica keyed the door closed and joined him. “I’m more surprised that you’re surprised, honestly.”

He grunted noncommittally.

Vica twisted a loose bit of hair around her finger. “They think I could talk you into wearing it.”

Now the datapad lowered, and Theron met her gaze with a sheepish half-smile. “In all honesty, there’s good odds you could.” I have trouble telling you no.

“But I won’t.” She laced her fingers between his and squeezed his hand. “Not if it’s something you genuinely don’t want to do.”

He stared at their hands a moment, then raised them to kiss her fingers. “That’s something I’ve always loved about you, y’know.”

“What?”

“You let people make their own choices.” He settled their hands back in his lap. “There’s prob’ly, what, half a dozen ways at least you could make people agree with you, do what you want, but you don’t. You let them make their own calls. Good or bad.”

Vica shrugged. “Freedom is important.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Theron spoke again. “That sweater really is ridiculous....” 

She traced her finger idly around his knuckles and waited.

“...but I guess that’s the point of holiday parties, isn’t it? Being a little ridiculous?”

“It’s up to you,” she said mildly.

“They’re gonna get holos.” He raked his fingers through his hair.

“So we make good memories to go with them.” Vica leaned in to kiss his temple. “If you want.”

She could sense his internal conflict--and which side was winning.

“...Guess I’ll stand out more if I’m not wearing one....” Theron sighed. “I’ll wear the blasted thing.” 

“Yeah?” Vica let the smile she’d been burying spread across her face. It would be good for him to do something fun. And she’d think he was cute regardless.

“Yeah.” He tugged on her hand and Vica obliged by straddling his lap, his arms settling around her waist. “Someone has to distract people from that monstrosity you’re wearing, might as well be me.”

She laughed quietly and ran her fingers through his hair. “Your commander appreciates the heroic sacrifice, Agent Shan.”

Theron arched a brow at the kybuck’s pink sequin sunglasses, then tilted his head back. “Looking at that sweater makes it real hard to take you seriously,” he murmured.

“Then stop looking at my sweater,” Vica returned, one hand cupping the back of his neck.

He laughed a Sure thing, Commander and kissed her just as deep as she’d been hoping.

---

Bry had to admit, the look on Vica’s face upon registering her sweater’s gift-box design in conjunction with Jonas’ comment from the day before was almost worth him breaking the terms of their deal.

“So, going by that smirk, am I forgiven?” Jonas teased. He handed her a cup of punch, then choked on a drink of his own when he caught where she was looking. “Sweet spires of Taris, I don’t believe it.”

She laughed. “I’d think you were uniquely qualified to know the persuasive powers of a Nerai woman.”

“Touché,” he grinned.  “ Help me wrangle them for a group holo?”

“Obviously. We need evidence this happened in case they try to deny it,” she grinned back, and they headed toward Vica and Theron, snagging Vette along the way to do the honors.(Jonas didn’t help matters greeting Theron with “Hey Hoth Stuff” and a shit-eating grin)

It took some cajoling, and a few tries to get right--not that the outtakes weren’t golden. The finished product, however--her and Jonas with arms around each others’ shoulders and Vica smiling brighter than the holo-tree behind them as Theron kissed the top of her head--had Bry thinking maybe this needed to become a new Life Day tradition.

Now she just had to convince her sister.

[yeslieutenant]

A Nurse Visit

A/N: Alright, sorry that it is a day late. I found out a friend passed away a few nights ago, so this is extremely rushed, and frankly, it is definitely not the best thing I have written. I hope you guys still like it. ❤️ sorry that there is no actual smut!

Warnings: Implied smut, swearing, ROLEPLAY!!

Word Count: 645

“Lieutenant Kolchek, I told you I didn’t want your ass back in this medbay for at least a month.” At my scolding tone, the Lieutenant’s ears turn a deep shade of red. He sits on the cheap cot, his fingers gripping the edges, almost with embarrassment.

“With all due respect, ma’am, it wasn’t exactly something I could control. Blame Me- Corporal Merwin,” he stutters, scratching the back of his neck. After all of the times I’ve had to patch this fucker up, I can thankfully see his little nervous ticks.

“Well, what did Corporal Merwin do this time?” I ask dryly, picking up the clipboard on the counter. The chill of the air nips at the exposed skin of my arms, and I rub my empty hand across my arm, feeling the goosebumps under my fingers as my eyes scan the clipboard.

“He, um- he was just talking about- You know what, it’s not a big deal. I’ll get out of your hair,” Lieutenant Kolchek stands, ready to flee from the room when I see his problem. His knuckles are an angry red, and one of them is split, red blood trickling down onto the dirty ground of the Camp Slayer medbay.

“Okay you don’t need to tell me, but at least let me stitch that up please?” I ask, a plea evident in my voice. He glances down to his knuckles, nodding his head before sitting once again. My mind switches onto autopilot as I grab the necessary supplies before taking a seat next to the clearly bashful Lieutenant.

“Thanks.��

“No thanks needed Lieutenant. This is kinda my job. Although I don’t know how punching someone is something you couldn’t control.” His chocolate eyes widen in confusion, mouth opening and closing like a fish for a moment before he finds his voice again.

“How did you-?”

“I’m a nurse, Kolchek. Not an idiot. Though I would love to know what warranted this? And why is he not here?” Jason stops for a moment, almost looking like he’s trying to find the right words as I gently press the skin of the knuckle back together before slathering it with medical grade glue. The wound looks fresh enough that this is preferable to stitches.

“Alright, doll, I didn’t think that far ahead.” Jason’s drawl is punctuated with a chuckle, and I respond with my own laugh.

“You came in here, with the intention of pretending we haven’t been fucking for weeks now, but you didn’t prepare a story?” My laughs are full now, a bright smile across my lips. Lieutenant Kolchek doesn’t grace me with a verbal response, opting instead to press his lips to mine in a heated kiss. It’s clear he’s been out in the sun all day, his shirt smelling of deodorant and faintly sweaty. My fingers slip under his cap, craving the smooth texture of his dark brown locks, the offending hat dropping to the floor as I crawl into his lap.

“I was a bit preoccupied,” he says between kisses, hands dropping to the hem of my shirt, tugging the offending garment over my head. His hands fly to the clasp of my bra, beginning to tug before I suddenly pull back from his lips, eyes wide with concern.

“Tell me you didn’t actually punch Merwin so you could get laid.”

His cheeks turn bright red, embarrassed again.

“No. I… I punched a wall… Harder than I intended, too. I just meant to bruise it a bit…” The room fills with my giggles again, but as Jason huffs out a breath of frustration through his nose, his kiss swollen lips press against mine, silencing my teasing chuckles. He definitely got the last laugh, the only sounds in the medbay being our combination of moans and grunts. Maybe next time I’ll be his sparring trainee. At least I’ll have a story prepped.

*****

Tags: @kawaiiwitch224 @house-of-kolchek @yellowroses-world @buttermykolchek @lorebite @kassiekolchek22

Kinktober Tags: @erzsebetrosztoczy @multi-fandom-imagine @crazymissy22 @pr3ttycunt @theduskie

[kanade-aoyagi-official]

I’m Kanade Aoyagi. … I play the piano.

Toya, please don’t talk to me.

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# NOTES

❥ Kanade and Toya are cousins in this AU! After her father passes out and falls into a coma, she’s taken in by Harumichi. Which was the worst idea ever. My dude can’t help but ruin every child he touches.

❥ She’s… doing significantly less well than in canon, thanks to Harumichi’s A+ parenting. I feel like mentioning that he’s like, kind of worse than in canon because I have daddy issues I’m projecting on him. I needed to maximize the angst, so let’s be a bit canon divergent here~

❥ She’s basically avoiding Toya, so their relationship isn’t really good at the moment. They were really close before, though. Kanade’s glad that he got out of the shitty situation they were both stuck in, and she doesn’t want to endanger him. She still has a savior complex…

��� Definitely agender, but she hasn’t really thought about her gender enough to have a crisis yet. You can crack some eggs if you want to. 👍 Currently using she/her prns.

❥ Anon hate for the little miss here is appreciated! She’s mostly the same as canon Kanade, except even worse. Making her suffer is incredibly easy. 👍

❥ Here’s the info post for this AU ♡ (If you’re on the Discord, then it’s exactly the same thing.)

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# ABOUT ME

❥ Hi! This is actually Moth from @viemarin. :3

❥ I made that account to vote in the Great GF War 2023, initially, but then I figured I could use it for this even angstier version of Kanade! I can even send asks directly from this blog now! Truly, it’s amazing. Marvelous, even.

❥ I use it/its prns. Bug/bugs prns are appreciated too ♡

❥ I’m also behind at least seven other blogs, which you can find here!

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# RULES

❥ Don’t be homophobic, transphobic or any kind of -ic here because I won’t be tolerating it.

❥ Also, don’t use slurs around me. I think they’re gross, and I don’t want to see them.

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# TAGS

kanade speaks ← posts that are ic

// ooc ← posts that are ooc

tw for (something) ← anything that warrants a trigger warning

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## MISC

❥ [text like this] ← indicates actions

❥ (text like this) ← indicates thoughts

❥ text like this ← indicates speech

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❥ Header by dollene!

❥ Profile picture by starryichikas!

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❥ Timezone is GMT! School’s between 8am and 6pm, so I won’t be as active then.

❥ I’m currently on a break, though!

[hoseokmoons]

jeon jeongguk, demisexual, cismale + he/him ― hey look, it’s moon hoseok! he's twenty-four years old, he's lived in shrike heights for three years, and he's currently working at a new chapter. i heard he's pretty isolated, but i think he's so creative at the same time. can he make it out alive?

so this kid is very close to my heart, like more than most of my other muses that i have ever written. i bully him, but he’s my precious boy and i will fight for him, okay? fghjk

this is to keep you guys busy until i finish writing up his bio (i will leave out anything that would warrant a tw from this one for those who just want a more casual overview)

> in this house we only wear black. he looks he’s up to no good - almost exclusively wears black hoodies, so people might think he never changes outfits, but he just always looks the same tbh fghjk. fashion is effort he does not have the energy for. he’s also got a bunch of piercings in his ears and has recently started getting tattoos on his arms. so he looks a little intimidating to most people at first, especially because his general expression is pretty stoic and he can sit still for way too long, so ppl who don’t know him might get uncomfortable around him.

> in reality tho he’s a soft boy who has struggled with depression for at least 10 years. he’s got ASD as well as an avoidant personality disorder, so socializing with strangers is a very rough task for him. he’s on meds to help with his anxiety, but they make him slightly numb as a side effect, hence him being a little expressionless sometimes. > he was adopted at the age of 13, after his father was sent to prison and his mother was unable to take care of him due to her own issues. though he originally grew up in busan in south korea, he was adopted by a family in the states. adapting to this wasn’t any easier or harder than anything else he’s ever had to push himself to do, but losing both his parents in such a short amount of time has been quite traumatic.

> ever since he was young, reading has been his favorite hobby. he would be up all night, secretly finishing the latest book he had found himself invested in. other major interests of his are movies (especially scary ones) and music (primarily rock and metal). fantasy has always been a welcome escape for him and he prefers it over the real world, almost to an unhealthy degree where he will neglect himself or his friends if he gets sucked in too far. > at the age of 4 he suddenly stopped talking and was a full mute for almost 2 years. after that he gradually started speaking again but only to very select people. nowadays he’s a little better at answering people’s questions as long as his anxiety doesn’t make him completely shut down. he still has a stutter when speaking to people he doesn’t fully trust and sometimes accidentally throws korean words into his sentences when he’s nervous rambling and his brain can’t keep up. this also happens when he gets too enthusiastic about things.

> demisexual & panromantic - he’s very closed off and not the biggest fan of intimacy in general. he likes holding hands and hugs, but there needs to be an insane amount of trust to get more out of him. > he’s smart, even though he won’t ever admit it. he’s pretty funny too, once he’s comfortable enough to show that side of himself. the best version you can get is when you’re one on one with him tbh

there’s a pinterest board HERE but please do keep in mind that this has some of the tw stuff in here, they are tagged in the board description, although the last one isn’t super present, it’s kinda referenced/implied so it’s tagged just in case!!

ahem anyway pls mssg me if you want more info or wanna plot stuff xx