#first i obsess over how people bathe now i obsess over how people sleep.. next im gonna wonder what type of vitamins people take </3

[todayisafridaynight]

gonna be thinking about arasawa cuddling + sleepy arakawa for the rest of the day btw. thank you.

arasawa cuddling's very important to me i do not stress this enough you're very much welcome my friend i'm glad to inflict the brain fungus upon ye <3

[littlemissmiller]

Bird in a Cage

Part 3: His Perfect Girl

Pairing: dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

Summary: After your photoshoot, President Snow prepares you a bath and you get ready for dinner. With the help of the bath, some wine, and some special chocolates, you’re feeling for him have seemingly changed…

Warning: 21+ (drinking), smut, choking, oral (f!receiving) , nicknames (baby, good girl), semi-rough sex, use of aphrodisiacs, dark themes, toxic themes, obsession, stalking, possesjsion, kidnapping

A/N: hiiiii! I’m back! i know it’s been a while and i apologize it’s been a rough August/end of July, but I’m back, I’m better than ever (hopefully…) work has been killer (I’m just a lil ole tech at a hospital y’all) and i had some personal life problems…so i hope you enjoy this, i was planning on finishing Summer Highs by the end of August but we shall see. Thanks to all who have continued to support me and this account i appreciate it greatly. Much much love ♥︎

Series Masterlist

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After you finish up the photoshoot, you’re whisked away to your bedroom. As you enter, the aroma of rose petals and chamomile fills the air. It’s hot and steamy and you peak into the bathroom as you walk in. You look around the room and on top of the bed sits a rose gold, silk robe and another letter. Only ce the maid closes the door you pick up the letter and read it.

My dear,

I was able to see the photos from today. You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. Absolutely stunning. You will look just as beautiful at dinner, I’m sure. Freshen up. Your bath is ready.

- C.S.

You sigh and once again remember that he can see you. You take a deep breath, the enchanting scent of the room flooding your senses. He wasn’t wrong. After sleeping on the floor all night, then modeling all day, you did feel sore in places. You take the robe and waltz into the bathroom. The porcelain tub is steaming and the water is littered with rose petals. Next to it, a small table, with a flute of champagne and three chocolates wrapped in gold foil. You test the temperature with your hand. The warmth is so inviting, you can’t resist. He’s even laid out a towel for you at the edge of the bath and had candles lit. It’s romantic in a way.

You strip off your dress, letting it fall to the ground and sink in. You submerge into the hot water and let out a soft sigh. It envelops you like a warm blanket, unwinding your knots, aches, and pains. You feel an immense wave of relaxation wash over you. You pick up the flute of champagne and sip. The bubbles dance on your lip and down your throat. It’s delicious, delicate, and lulls you further into a calm state of mind. The warmth of the tub encompasses you, melts your thoughts away. Maybe you could get used to things here for a bit.

Maybe this isn’t so bad

You think to yourself and your mind drifts off to President Snow of all people. You take another deep breath in and reflect on lunch. You’re torn. For the first time since being here, you feel like you’re noticing how handsome he is in person. You had seen him in pictures and on TV counetless times, always admiring the handsome young blonde. Before the gala, it was fair to say you were attracted to him, how could you not. He was one of the most handsome men in all of Panem and for most people completely unattainable. Yet, being his prisoner had put a slight bad taste in your mouth about him, an eerie feeling you can’t seem to shake.

The bath is helping however, and it’s hard to feel that sense of unease, when the water is so comfortable. You bite your lip, letting out a long sigh. Soon you would be with him, accompanying him at dinner. But now the thought of it doesn’t sound so bad. A nice meal, some wine, it truly sounds inviting. You take another sip of champagne and start to feel the buzz. You haven’t been this pampered in a while, despite your modeling career.

After a few more minutes soaking in the tub, you get out, take the towel, and wrap it around your body. Once you're dried off you put the robe on. When you exit your room you nearly forget he can watch you, but you seem to care as much. You had finished your champagne and was not just tipsy, but drunk off the aromas and warmth of your bath.

When you walk back into the bedroom there is a new outfit on your bed. It’s your dress. The red dress from the night of the gala. It’s an elegant red silk, with an across the shoulder cut and a slit that stops at your upper thigh. A pair of black heels lay at the foot of the bed and you recognize them as the same ones from that night as well. Along with the dress, he has given you a new accessory. A heavy, thick, silver, chain necklace. It’s intimidating, but nonetheless you take it back into the bathroom and change. You take time to also fix up your hair and makeup, despite having little tools to make your hair look nice. Once you feel you look your absolute best, you exit the bathroom and knock on the door. The maid opens it up, smiles and escorts you out of the room, along with the guards. They lead you back to the dining room this morning, where Coriolanus is looking out the window, sipping on a glass of red wine. The maid shuts the door and he turns around. He’s changed since you’ve last seen him. He now stands before you in a pair of dark, blood red slacks, and vest on top of his crisp white button up. He smiles and walks over to you, his black dress shoes creating an echo in the room.

“Hello my dear, you look incredible.”

“Thank you, President Snow.”

“Please, come sit” he gestures to the dining table.

You obey and take a seat.

“How was your bath?”

“Very nice. I haven’t felt that relaxed in a while.”

“Is that so? I would think a women in your career would have that sort of pampering in her schedule red” He remarks

“Not necessarily. That’s all things they expect me to do in my own time and that’s not always easy. Especially when the Capitol is always having a new trend to keep up with.”

“You can tell me twice, our citizens seem to change their mind about what’s popular quite often. It makes planning for the games challenging in some ways.”

“Because they want a good show?”

“Exactly, my smart girl”

Your core can’t help but burn slightly at the nickname and you bite your lower lip without meaning to. He smirks at your actions and pours you a glass of wine. You take it from him and take a sip.

“You like that don’t you. Being called my smart girl…”

“I-I don’t unwelcome it…”

“Good. I’ll keep that in mind. Tell me? Did you enjoy the photoshoot as well?”

“I did. I’ve always enjoyed modeling, despite how taxing the hours can be.”

“I’m glad. You truly did look stunning in those photos. I’ll make sure you see them tomorrow.”

You nod your head and take another sip of wine.

“You smell wonderful by the way. There’s more of that to come. Just so you know.”

“More baths?”

“More everything. Baths, clothes, pampering, and…” he holds out his hand, expecting you to take it. You do, without hesitation this time.

“Being treated like the gorgeous creature you are” he kisses your knuckles

“Can I ask you a question?”

He tilts his head and anticipates your response.

“You said you had something for me. If today went well”

“Ah! I do! I’ll show you after dinner” he kisses your knuckles again, smiling.

There is a brief moment of silence, before two avoxes come out with a charcuterie board and two plates. Coriolanus once again pays them no mind as they serve you, leaving a set of plates as well. You go to thank them, but he squeezes your hand.

“That’s not necessary, my dear” he kisses your hand one last time, before releasing it.

You nod to show you understand, then take some cheese and cured meat from the board.

“So what’s after dinner?”

“I thought a night walk would be nice. Get some fresh air then I’ll be taking you to my chambers.”

“To your bedroom?”

“Mhmm” he nods taking some cheese and crackers “and if you want, you can stay with me in my bed tonight…would you like that?”

“T-to sleep with you.”

He nods and smiles.

“Just sleep?”

“If that’s all you want…”

You nervously sip your wine, to afraid to answer. You look away for a moment then look back. He’s still anticipating your response, a curious look spread across his face.

“What do you want?”

He smiles and reaches for your hand again. You takes it and he squeezed it.

“My dear, I want whatever you want. If you want me to bed you properly, I will…”

“But my wants aside, what do you truly have in mind…”

He pauses for a moment, kisses your knuckles, before releasing your hand, taking another bite of cheese, and swallowing it with his wine. He leans back and eyes your body.

“You truly wish to know…”

You nod vigorously.

“Well a beautiful woman such as yourself deserves to be shown how beautiful you are. And not just with nice clothes and a hot bath.” He smirks

“With what then?” You ask

“Let me ask you, when’s the last time you slept with a man?”

You feel a slow heat creep up your face. How could he be so bold and brash towards you? Then again this is President Snow.

“I-well…it’s been a while.”

“Longer than a year?”

“Less than.”

“Did he make you shake, tremble? Make you forget your own name and replace it with his?”

“N-n-no, President Snow”

“Ever?”

“No. I’ve never had a man do that to me. Usually I…” you start, his inquisitive gaze stopping your thoughts.

“Go on” he encourages

“I usually don’t focus on my own pleasure and neither does the other person”

“Is that so?” He grins

You nod anxiously, tucking a hair behind your ear.

“Would you like that? If a man made sure you felt satisfied?”

You shift in your seat. The heat starts to rise from in between your legs and the handsome young face of the president is now ever more apparent. A gentle smirk lays across his face, as if he’s back to being a school boy who answered the professor’s question right over everyone else. The type of look that puts you right in your place. You bite your lip and glance down for a moment. You shift in your seat again, hiding your emotions behind your wine glass.

“Look at you. You do, don’t you? You’ve never been properly touched by a man. They take from you and never give. I don’t like to take things without giving back. Especially when it comes to my need to please a woman such as yourself.”

“I-I just always felt like that’s how it goes.” You admit

“Maybe for the boys you’ve been with. Most men want to make sure their women are good and satisfied. A man like myself, that’s what I love most. I crave it to a degree.” He explains

“So I take it you’ve satisfied many women in Panem?”

“I’ve been known to. Part of why my staff wants me to find a wife. And I’ll admit, I would like to find someone to have as my own. Have you ever been in love?”

You’re once again taken back by his boldness, sipping your wine before answering.

“Once, a few years ago…” you whisper tentatively.

“And not even he treated you how you deserve?”

“No, that’s why we broke up. Because I felt neglected and he didn’t see a problem.”

You look directly at the handsome blonde, and he peers at you, mouth slightly agape, as if he had been horribly offended. His breath hitches as he downs the last of his wine furiously. He sets the glass down and pours himself another.

“I promise, as long as you’re in my care, I won’t neglect you like that. You’ll never feel like that if you become my First Lady. Ever. Do you understand?”

“Yes, President Snow”

You and him move past the topic and into polite conversation. He asks you about how you got into modeling, what you like about it, what you hate. He seems interested in you and your life, nodding along and continuing to sip his wine. Eventually, dinner is served and it once again looks amazing. It looks like a white sauce pasta at first, but on closer examination there are elements to it you don’t immediately recognize.

“I see you’re making a face. It’s a truffle pasta. You can’t even get this in any restaurant in the capital. That’s how rare they are now. I only have chef make it for specific occasions.”

“And what’s the occasion tonight?”

“You. To our first dinner together.” He raises his glass and smiles.

You nod and tentatively smile back, raising your glass and clinking it against your own. You take a bite and immediately let out a soft moan. It’s so savory and rich. The sauce is so flavorful, and creamy. It has a garlic like taste to it, savory with a hint of umami to it.

“It’s delicious.” You utter

“Glad you think so.”

You both eat and enjoy the meal in front of you, talking little and focusing on the flavors. It truly is one of the best dishes you’ve had and you’re not sure how’ll his chef continue to outdo himself. You take your time to eat, the young president occasionally tossing you a glance and smirking to himself. He’s all too amused by your satisfaction with the meal. He loves how pleased you look and is tempted to now see you pleased in a different light. You notice his reaction, and try not to feel so small. You hate how he watches you and try to focus on your food.

Eventually, you both finish and there is an awkward moment of silence as the avoxes clear away the plates.

“Would you care to join me in the garden?

You nod and he smiles. He stands up, taking his wine glass, and you follow suit. He takes your hand and guides you out of the room. You slowly walk out to the garden, holding his hand the entire way. He continues to look back at you, giving you a devious smile each time. He can’t help but let his eyes trail over your bare legs and chest. He can’t help but imagine how the rest of your beautiful figure looks and he intends to find out soon.

As he leads you away, you look out onto the garden, which is now lit up by various lights on the pavement and in the rose bushes.

“It’s beautiful out here at night too.”

“Isn’t it?” He squeezed your hand.

He guides you down the stairs and surrounds you in the green and white lush of the rose bushes. He leads you around, walking back to where you and him hand lunch.

“I’d like to see more of the garden this evening if possible?” You request sounding innocent, but you keep your goals of escaping in the back of your mind.

“Of course. But I have something for you here.”

He guides you to the spot where you had lunch, the chairs and table gone and replaced by a single, tall standing iron table with a box on it and a small silver tray covered up next to it. You look at it curiously and he momentarily drops your hand and picks up the box.

“Turn around.” He instructs softly

You obey

“Close your eyes and push your hair back.” You nod and follow his instructions once again.

You hear the box open and then the sound of something metal clinging slightly. You have a good idea of what it is now. He approaches you with careful footsteps. Coriolanus stands confidently behind you, clutching the jewelry in his hand. Slowly, your chin is tilted up by his fingers, his hot breath fanning the shell of your ear. He unhooks the chain from around your neck and slides it into his pocket.

“You can keep that one of you want, but I have something far more beautiful.” He whispers

You shutter as he wraps a new necklace around your neck, followed by his hand under your jaw, kissing behind your earlobe.

“Turn around. Open your eyes, beautiful.”

You do as he says. You touch the new necklace and look down at it. It’s a golden rose, and it lays horizontally against your chest. You look at him doe eyed, speechless. Coriolanus grips your chin, forcing your face to look at his. He smirks. Coriolanus wants desperately to kiss you, but he knows now is not the moment. He strokes your face gently, then turns behind and uncovers the platter next to the box. Two chocolate truffles sit on the plate and he takes it, putting it in front of you.

“It’s the finest chocolate I have at the palace. Chef wants you to test out his new recipe. It’s different from the ones you had with your bath.”

He holds the chocolate to you and you part your lips and bite, as he slides the piece into your mouth. He trails his thumb across your bottom lip and to the corner of your mouth. He then licks the excess chocolate from his thumb, his tongue trailing a long, broad stripe.

“Mmm” the blonde moans “you can taste the hints of orange.” He remarks, taking the other piece.

“It is very good.”

“I should tell you this chocolate contains a few interesting ingredients.” He remarks

“Like what?”

“Nothing unusual or man made, just some natural elements. Since chocolate is already…a boost to…” he starts “certain needs…and desires” he says, popping the other truffle into his mouth.

“Will I feel…different”

“Not like a drug no, but you may feel more inclined to want to do something about how you feel.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles.

“You look so pretty out in the moonlight.”

“Thank you Mr. President.”

He smiles at you and you continue to follow him through the garden. He walks you down a path leading to more greenery and bushes. Then the path opens up into a cleared out area with a grand marble fountain. On top of the fountain was a sculpture of a woman, the symbol of Panem. Water flows from the top of her head and back into the fountain

“I’ve always liked this part of the garden. The fountain. What it represents.”

You look at the fountain and walk to it. You look inside and look at images of all the symbols engraved into the base. Coal, lumber, grains, all the resources from the districts. You look at it and realize that the same water flowing out is the same as the water in the base. You slowly put the pieces together of what it means.

“The Flow of Panem. It was built for the last president. In all honesty I want to move it so it’s more front and center.”

“Explain it to me.” You ask, even though you got the idea. You know it will fuel his ego, make him trust you more so hopefully he’ll show you around and then you can really plan an escape.

He smiles and looks at it, tilting his head.

“The base flows into the statue and the statue spits the water back out on the base. The base provides for the statue and the statue gives back.”

You nod and he holds out his hand again and you take it. As he continues to guide you around, you admire how the flowers look under the glow of the lights and moonlight. He finally takes you back inside and at this point you’re holding onto this arm. He loves how you cling to him and by now you’re both feeling the effects of the chocolate. You look up at him and give a soft smile. As you step into the palace he leads you to his bedroom, and a new feeling washes over you.

His bedroom is similar to the rest of the aesthetic of the palace. There is a small area for guests to sit in front of a fireplace. Off to the side, in front of the large window looking out, sits a small desk. You glance around at the many portraits of his family and depictions of younger versions of him. Next to the desk is a spiraling staircase that must lead to his bedroom. In the sitting area, a table stands with another chilled bottle of red wine. Coriolanus invites you to join him by the fire and you do, following him. You lean against the mantel and he gets some more wine, picking up the bottle. He walks towards you, refilling your glass and you thank him. He puts the bottle on the mantle and looks at you with great interest.

“You’re welcome” he whispers, brushing your cheek with his forefinger. “Your skin is so warm here by the fire.”

“So are your fingers” you breathe

You look at him, eyes connected to his own and a small wave of lust washes over you. He trails his touch down to your jaw, holding your chin delicately. He smirks and tilts his head.

“It makes me wonder, where else are you hot?”

He sets his glass next to the bottle and places his other hand on your waist. You set your glass down as well, as his touch begins to light up your body. His thumb brushes your hip and thighs, grazing under the slit of your dress. You gasp at his actions and lightly grip his bicep. He trails his thumb across your bottom lip, then tilts your face to fully look at him. Coriolanus sighs, his blue eyes beckoning for your full attention. You can see how full of need he is. How badly he wants to kiss you, but is waiting for your permission. You flutter your lashes at him slowly, looking at his tempting lips. Your body is begging for you to give in and finally you do. You can’t help it. He’s so handsome, the light from the fire shadowing his features perfectly, causing your head to stir. You kiss him, slowly, carefully.

His breath hitches and he moves his hand to cup your face. He continues to kiss you, moving his mouth with your own slow pace. He doesn’t want to frighten you. In fact, the exact opposite. He finally has you how he wants to and now he’s desperate for more. His lips are so unexpectedly soft and tender, a complete opposite in comparison to his normal demeanor. You continue to kiss him, finding yourself wanting more. Your body continues to betray you as a slow heat creeps up your skin, starting in between your legs.

You pull back with a gasp, almost taken aback but own actions. A greedy smile curls up on his lips. He cups your face and strokes it carefully with his thumb.

“So perfect. Makes me want more of you, my angel”

He leans in to kiss your cheek, then trails it down to your jawline, and then your neck.

“Can I mark you?” He growls

You nod breathlessly and he sucks on your soft flesh. He’s starting to become more and more animalistic with his actions, finding it hard to restrain himself. He pushes your neck further against his mouth and tilts your head back. The heat in between your legs is now becoming sensitive as your core is now throbbing for him. You bet you’ll be soaked by the time he finally takes you. His lips leave another mark on the other side of your neck and he pulls back to admire his work. Satisfied, he traces the marks with his fingertips and looks into your eyes.

“Would you like to continue this in my bed?”

You nod, almost surprised at your reaction. He guides you and picks up his wine glass.

“Take your wine.” He insists

You nod and follow him up the stairs leading to his bedroom. Once up and inside, you briefly look around. It’s clear he likes to keep the aesthetic of the palace consistent and his bedroom reflects that. It’s a relatively plain room. A single king bed, with white sheets, lays against the right side of the room. It has a delicate, hand carved wooden canopy that sits above it, making the bed look cozy and inviting.

He turns to look at you and sips his wine. He once again touches your neck and smirks.

“Finish your glass. It will help the chocolate work better.”

“Why is that?” You ask

“Wine can have a similar effect as those chocolates. They can both help you feel…like you want to give into your needs.”

You take a sip as instructed and look at him straight in his eyes as you do.

“So that’s what the chocolates were then. A boost for…”

“One’s natural desires, yes.” He sips his wine finishing it.

You finish yours as well and he guides you to his bed. You sit and he takes your glass, along with his own, from you, putting them on his nightstand. He returns back to you, sitting next to you. He cups your face again, letting his other hand part your legs slightly.

“I have a feeling you didn’t even need the chocolate though. Hmm?”

“I-I won’t lie, before I came here, I did always admire you.” You admit, despite your need to escape, you once again feel torn, especially now that he’s about to take you fully.

“Yes, tell me more”

“I mean, when I would see you on TV or in the papers, I had thoughts.”

“Mhmm, where I’m doing what I’m doing to you.”

His hands trail more slowly, continuing to part your legs, fingers dancing on your bare thigh.

“Yes, Mr. President”

“Mmm” he hums “have I ever told you how pretty you sound talking to me like that. I love how right it sounds.”

“It’s your title is it not?”

“It is. But you are careful and respectful about using it. You have no idea how different you are. How special. How much it means to hear you say my name like that.”

You watch him as he now gropes your thigh. He turns your chin and kisses you again. He sighs against you, slowly lowering you onto his bed. He doesn’t crawl on top of you however, yet he simply lays by your side, strokes your hair and continues to kiss you. He revels in having you on his bed like this, a sight he’s waited for ever since he first took you to his home. Time and patience had proved him right once again. You spread your legs some more and he moans against your mouth. He pulls back, resting his lips against yours

“Getting needy?”

You nod, and he bites and pulls at your bottom lip causing you to moan.

“Do you like getting eaten out?”

You nod vigorously and he slides his hand under your dress through the slit, grabbing your panties and sliding them down. He chuckles as he goes back to feel your wetness.

“You’re dripping.” He rubs your core slowly, gently “I need to taste you.”

“Please…” you beg

He lets out a low, sinister chuckle as he starts to kiss down your body. Your dress is still on, yet you can still feel the pressure of his lips through the fabric. He finally reaches your thigh, inching down to nestle himself in between them. He drags your dress up past your hips and admires your exposed slit. He looks at you as he rubs it again. You can’t help but moan and clutch the bed sheets. He watches you beginning to writhe under his touch and he truly loves the sight before him. Then he dives in, his tongue giving your core a curious kiss, then a long, broad lick. You shutter and buck your hips. He holds them down, going back in with more conviction. His mouth is so soft and wet against you and you can tell he’s quite experienced in this area. You're not sure how many girls he’s taken home or went to bed with, but he sure knows how to make you feel like the most special woman in the world. Like a man starved, he eats you like it’s his last meal. His mouth envelops your pussy, licking and sucking on your clit with great attention. You can tell he loves it too. Loves to taste women like this. Get all up in it and devour them. Especially you and your perfect pussy. And you taste so divine.

As he continues to lap at you, you continue to struggle against his touch, hips wanting to still buck and legs beginning to shake. You moan over and over and over again. You can’t help but also moan out his name, telling him how good it feels. His hands hook under your thighs as he pushes his face in further to your folds. You’re so sensitive, so needy, dripping and throbbing from your heat. He pokes his tongue through your slit and fucks you with his mouth. Despite his best efforts, your hips buck up over and over again. You squirm at his touch, you’ve never had a man do that to you before. The sensation is incredible and you feel completely lost under the spell of his mouth.

Coriolanus is reveling in your lust. Your whimpers and moans are so sweet rolling past your lips. He wants you to be loud. He wants you to enjoy yourself. He wants to know how much you want him. Let the whole palace hear it too.

“That's it beautiful, let it all out. Let me hear those pretty little noises”

He goes back to your core practically drowning in your wetness and he gives you a few last swipes with his tongue. He kisses your slit then pulls back. He gets greedy, letting his fingers pick up the work from his tongue. He’s so passive, almost experimental, as he plays with your clit. Then, he slides a finger in and then another. You moan and watch him. He sits up on his knees, placing his hands on your pelvis. He curls them up and pushes them in and out of your core. He finds a good rhythm and speeds up. You gasp in pleasure, his fingers working you up so much you feel like you might explode. He speeds up again, changing his hand from a curling motion to a rapid up and down pace. You clench his forearm and flop your head back onto the mattress. He can tell you’re close, your slick, gummy walls wrapping around his fingers like a vice. He watches you, your expression, your pretty face scrunching up. He pulls back just as you know you’re going to finish, he pulls his hand away. You whine at the loss, but your attention is won over by his actions. Coriolanus smirks as he undoes his belt.

“Take that dress off sweet thing.”

You nod and shimmy out of it. He pulls it down and off your body. He gasps at your naked figure, taking in the sight laid across his bed. He sighs, palming himself through his pants as he simultaneously palms your breast with one hand. He pulls his pants down, leaving his boxers on. He rubs himself slowly, gawking at you and admiring how gorgeous you are.

“Look at you, so beautiful like this.”

He leans down and kisses your jawline sloppily. He rocks his hips against your pelvis.

“I really, really want you…” he growls

“Then take me” you moan back, your whiny voice sounding oh so desperate.

He smirks to himself, pulling his boxers down. His cock springs out, hard and ready. He strokes it in his hand, watching you and occasionally glancing down at it.

“Touch yourself.” He commands

You nod, biting your lip and gently rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves in between your legs. You rub slowly and watch him as he pumps his length. A satisfied smile sets in on his lips and he moves his hips closer. He leans down, kisses you and then, slowly pushes in. You moan against his mouth, pull away, and gasp as he bottoms out. He feels so big and full inside you. He slowly moves, grunts falling from his lips as he picks up the pace. Your hand falls away and finds his biceps. His hot breath fans your face as he rocks into you and he eventually captures your lips with his own. Cupping your face and keeping his movements consistent, you feel a slow wave of pleasure beginning to build. He pushes your leg up towards your chest, giving him better access to you. You look down at where he’s entered you and whimper. Watching his cock move in you like this has you drowning in ecstasy. He notices how mesmerized you are and wraps his hand around your neck.

“You’re hypnotized by it aren’t you? Tell me do you want more?”

You nod fervently and he chokes you tighter.

“Let me hear you. Tell me.”

“I need more. Please sir.” You croak

“Good girl.”

He speeds up, his hips getting faster and faster. Coriolanus slams into you, your body moving in sync with his rough rhythm. Your whimpers fill the room and the young president revels in your satisfaction, committing your sweet sounds and noises to memory. He continues to have a tight grip on your throat, almost cutting off your air, but you can still breathe. He stares into your eyes, his lust flooding your soul. He kisses you harshly, lips wasting no time to taste you. He prods his tongue in, swirling it with your own. You can’t help but moan, his hand moving to clench your jaw. He pulls back to look at you again. He looks down in between your legs, then back at you. He snakes his hand down to swirl your clit. He rubs the sensitive bundle of nerves, causing your hips to buck.

“That’s it. Show me how much you enjoy this. Just let go baby. Allow yourself to enjoy this pleasure I’m giving you.”

“Yes sir, thank you Mr. President”

“You’re so welcome my dear.” He kisses you again “My good” he groans “obedient…” he thrusts into you “girl.”

He ruts into you, lips still sealed on your own. Your own hands have settled on his back, holding onto him like a bear gripping a tree. The more he moves, you can feel you’re about to explode. Coriolanus picks up on it too, and gives you several purposeful thrusts to trigger your high. And he does. You clench around his cock, letting out a desperate cry of relief. Your legs shake and quiver, and you a series of cuss words flow from your mouth.

“That’s it.. Let it out. Dirty girl, it feels so good doesn’t it.”

He can feel himself getting close too, riding off the wave of your own climax.

“I’m going to cum too baby.” He warns “It’s ok, don't worry about taking it..”

You whine in protest at first, but then you feel it. His white, hot, cum shooting into you, hitting your cervix. Coriolanus slowly rests his hips, letting all of himself spill into you. He feels so satisfied, loving how fucked out you look as he pulls out. He watches the cum roll past your folds, down your ass and leg. He licks the pad of his thumb and trails it up your legs. He shoves it back at you then holds his thumb to your lips. You part them and he nods. You suck on his thumb and he moans, appreciating the sight in front of him.

“You’re so perfect. So gorgeous. You’ll stay with me tonight .”

You nod. It wasn’t an ask, but rather a command. You lick your bottom lip and then bite it.

“I’ll get you a towel and your nightwear. I’ll be back soon, don’t worry I’ll come hold you so you can fall asleep.” He whispers, kissing your cheek.

He crawls off the bed and heads to his bathroom to get you a towel. You lay back, wanting to cover yourself since you’re suddenly more cold. You spot a throw blanket at the edge of the bed and reach for it. You wrap up in it and wait for him to return. You rest your eyes and fold your hands under your head for support. You feel calm, relaxed, and truly satisfied as well. It’s like he’s put a spell on you, not drugging you per se, but you can feel that after tonight, your feelings about this situation have shifted.

When he returns, he cleans you up, then helps change you into a pink, satin sleepwear set, with a lacy top and bottoms to match.

“So sexy. Here.” he holds them out to you and you also see he’s holding a small silver tray with a pill on it.

“This will keep you from getting pregnant. I’ll get you a water”

He walks off, taking your empty wine glass with him. He comes back shortly, the glass now filled with water. He hands it to you, watching you closely as you swallow the contraceptive. You hand him the glass and he sets it down. You just now notice he’s shirtless and in just a pair of boxers as he crawls into bed. You move under the sheets as he lays the comforter over your body.

“Are you comfortable, too warm, too cold?” He asks

“I’m comfortable…” you murmur, slowly lulling into sleep.

Coriolanus settles in next to you, his hips slightly grinding into your ass as he pulls you closer to him, flush against his chest. He places small delicate kisses behind your ear and sighs into you.

“You realize how perfect you are. How perfect tonight has been?”

“Thank you Mr. President. It has been fantastic.” You agree

He turns your chin, kissing you firmly on the mouth.

“You can call me Coriolanus right now. Say it. Tell me what I want to hear.”

“It was perfect Coriolanus.”

꧁🝮꧂

[lilyrizzy]

First vacation together <3

This is rare fluff & kidfic from me!

"Remind me again why we got rid of Verstappen Air?"

The line for security is an endless weave of people, overtired and shifting from foot to foot with impatience. It makes Daniel long for the days of private charter terminals, of being ushered to the front of any queue with a smile. One of the few things about Formula One he misses anymore.

"Daniel, of course because of the environment," Max says beside him, and then he's off, launching into the same explanations of CO2 emissions and global warming that Daniel has heard all before.

Next to Daniel, he's also bouncing from one foot to the next, though not from irritation. In his arms, Emilia is sleeping, her face smooshed into the side of Max's neck, her mouth slack as she dribbles onto the collar of Max's t-shirt.

It was her birth that started this interest-bordering on obsession- with how to reduce their carbon footprint. Max spending too long watching nature documentaries with gloomy premonitions at the end, reading an endless amount of articles about what a better place the world would be if only people washed their clothes with their bath water.

Daniel wanted to cuddle Max close every time he started up again, to promise him that everything was fine, that nothing was going to hurt her. But part of being a parent, he'd come to realise, was accepting to limit of your control over these things. The best they could do was never be a reason she hurt, and so Daniel changed their light bulbs to LEDs and made sure all the food in their fridge was organic.

And got on hideous 25 hour flights to the Netherlands with an 18-month-old.

"When we were of course racing, it was different, but now we are settled and do not fly so much, we-" Max is still explaining beside him when Daniel leans in to shut him up with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then, taking in the sight of him, he has to lean in and kiss him again.

Dark circles under his eyes, days old stubble on his face, their daughter resting in the dip of his waist, Daniel loves him just as much as he did in their glory days, thousands screaming their names rather than just Emilia wailing their new ones; Daddy, Papa. Maybe he loves him more, though it seeems impossible that the love lodged in his chest hasn't been there always, an electric pulse helping his heart tick in time.

"What was that for?" Max asks about the kisses now, face pinkening in shy happiness. It's still new, the world knowing.

"Because I can," Daniel answers, like always when Max asks this same question. His lips twitch upwards into a grin, and it's everything, getting to watch Max return it.

"Next!"

The moment is interrupted by the bark of the security officers, and they shuffle forwards.

Daniel is responsible for the bags, the pushchair that Emilia refuses to sit in but they brought in case by some miracle she decided to sleep the entire journey. Max has been telling everyone, a few fans stopping them for autographs and old ladies cooing over Emilia alike, that she is so active, like her dad, the pushchair is just for in case, she really walks everywhere. So eager to talk about her with pride dripping from every word that it makes Daniel's heart clench to remember isn't learnt from his own childhood, and is instead made entirely from the sweet nature of him.

By the time it's their turn and he's slipped Max's phone from his back pocket to put into the tray alongside his, folded the blood pushchair and promised he's really sure he doesn't have any liquids over 100ml, when he turns back to Max he's scowling at a security officer, free hand waving angrily.

"Hey," Daniel says, stepping close to place a hand at the bottom of his back, "everything okay?"

"Sir," the officer begins at the same time as Max says 'no', somewhat petulantly, "you cannot hold the little girl as you walk through the scanner. She needs to walk through alone."

"But she is sleeping," Max snaps back, hand covering Emilia's ears as though to stop her from hearing the angry tone of his voice. "Of course we are not hiding anything in her onesie, be serious, we-"

"Babe," Daniel interrupts, eyeing the queue forming behind them, "she's probably going to go right back to sleep on the plane, yeah? Come on, I'll-"

He gestures and the security officer nods him through the metal arch. No beeping, and with the officer seemingly assured Daniel isn't hiding a pistol in his ass, he turns back to face where Max is still stood the other side, chewing his lip.

"Papa, no," she insists, and that Daniel can hear, her forever used to getting her own way. Once set on her feet she begins to grizzle louder. The expression on her face is so 'Max woken before 9 am on a Monday,' that it would make him laugh if he wasn't sure that it would earn him a glare from Max.

"Maxy," Daniel prompts, and he nods.

He wakes Emilia up with a few kisses to her face and gentle words that Daniel can't hear from only 3 feet away.

"Come on, Mils," he calls to her instead, crouching to the floor and holding his arms out, "Daddy's turn for a cuddle."

Her face smooths over a little at the sound of his voice, and he'll never get tired of this. Of being reminded of all the ways they're a family.

It's there in the way she hesitates, looking at Max over her shoulder, not wanting to leave him behind. He nudges her in Daniel's direction with an achingly gentle tap on her shoulder.

"Go on, schatje, I am right behind you."

It's the reassurance she needs to toddle forward, arms outstretched into Daniel's waiting ones. He lifts her up with a theatrical spin that makes her giggle, kissing her dry cheek. Dramatics all for show then.

"Come on trouble, let's go get our stuff," he tells her, shifting her to his hip. Before he can make his way towards where their stuff has been piled on a bench, there's the distinct noise of Max's annoyance from behind him. Turning back, Daniel sees him getting pat down by security, scowling furiously.

"Oh I take it back Mils," Daniel says loud enough for Max to hear, wanting to make him smile the same way he's making their daughter giggle, tickling her sides. "Looks like Papa is the trouble today, huh?"

The flicker of a reluctant smirk on Max's face is worth every trophy between them both.

[vvluvmai]

hi bae what if i requested a. dan heng x gn reader. uh. fluffy drabble teeeheee like slice of lifey w him <33

Omg yes yes, this might be a little short because i ran out of ideas and my brain stopped working :(( (and guys I definitely didn't go into yuzu's askbox first to ask them to request hehe-)

𝑭𝑺𝑴 ✩ 𝑨 𝑺𝑳𝑰𝑪𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑳𝑰𝑭𝑬

warn. Some parts may be inaccurate?, gn reader

sum. How life with Dan heng would be (requested <3)

char. Dan Heng

wc. 823

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ☕︎⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

𐑺 Life with Dan heng would be relaxing at most, with his calm and composed nature, arguments are kept low.

But of course, every couple isn't free from little disagreements, coming up with petty little fights, but calling yours arguments would be a dumb choice, which really are little witty comments, playful ones, being thrown at eachother in a playful manner.

𐑺 Knowing of his blunt nature, if the two of you live in different housings, it's common for him to be at your door, ringing the bell, with a simple, plain, excuse of "I can't sleep", just to be with his lover.

No matter how far you live away, Dan heng always makes it possible to visit you from long distances

𐑺 Sometimes, such excuses are used, he'd wake up from nightmares, sweating profusely, rushing to your door, wearing his shoes, pants and a button down, he'd ring the door in a panic.

Which of course, never fails to wake you up and rush downstairs.

𐑺 He's had his troubles, letting him cry into your shoulder is the best option available, comfort him please, this poor baby has had enough 😭

𐑺 For when the two of you live together and he yet again wakes up from a nightmare, and you aren't in the bed with him?

Instant death, he rummages through the entirety of the house, yelling your name.

You rushed back to him, explaining how you couldn't sleep and decided to catch up on some fresh air, staring at the sky's beautiful tears, which are the stars.

𐑺 omg when you bring him to gaze at the sky together to comfort him?

This man will give his life to you I swear

𐑺 Gifts are uncommon, but it's usual, fancy and expensive gifts are rare, with bouquet of roses he may or may not have stolen from the neighbour's backyard.. are most common.

𐑺 Something tells me that this man knows way too much about what a flower means and what the different types of colour mean 😭

𐑺 On missions, it's always usual for you to send the message first, due to him being so busy, he's not able to text first.

He's a focused man, meaning, he sometimes forgets to text his lover back or first.

𐑺 But worry not! He always comes home with plenty of sweets and gifts to enjoy, the biggest gift being him and his sweet voice whispering sweet nothings and sorrys into your ear <33

𐑺 He loves calm areas, so expect dates to be set at quiet areas, such as flower fields, libraries, etc etc

𐑺 Amazing cook tbh, while he lacks baking experience, his dumplings are to DIE for

You would be walking into the cafeteria knowing your food is the best out of everyone

𐑺 Will and shall make a bubble bath for you when you get home stressed and tired.

𐑺 Don't think he will leave you in the bubble bath all by yourself now <3

This man is obsessed with your hair and how smooth it is, so expect him to play with your hair for endless hours <33

𐑺 Loves to embrace you anywhere and everywhere, but never outside the comfort of your home.

𐑺 Yup, he's not a big pda guy :(

𐑺 But he will hold your hand though <3

Rubbing soothing circles on your palm with his thumb when in a crowd or a long stressful event, sometimes, even kissing your hand when the eyes of the people are on their phones.

But never over that.

𐑺 Please be interested in his hobbies, such as reading, he will literally cry from the effort and appreciation

𐑺 Speaking of the topic reading, if you lose the ability to sleep, he whispers stories, or sometimes read a book you might be interested in.

If you are intrigued but fell asleep, he will continue the story the next night <3

𐑺 Some nights are of freezing temperatures, which you may think result in you being the little spoon but no

This man can't handle the cold, so let him sleep as the little spoon plsplsplsplsplspls

𐑺 After warm baths, he falls asleep as soon as he hits the bed, with you cuddling him.

As you whisper sweet nothings into his ear, just like he does, his mind is kept worry-free, from nightmares and other hazards, his dreams being as loving as you, sometimes, resulting a dream of where the two are married, living the Disney life of happily ever after. A small smile and blush creeping up his face, which you didn't fail to notice.

"What must you be dreaming of now my little prince?" You sighed out in a whisper, causation of to not wake him of his wonderful dream.

You fell asleep as he moved closer to you.

Both figures relishing in eachother's warm embrace, keeping them at comfort. Knowing tomorrow will be the start of another week.

copyright © @https-y2kcom | all works belong to @https-y2kcom, do not steal, plagiarise, copy, post to other social media without the consent of the original author.

[idolatrybarbie]

series masterlist | main masterlist

pairing: francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader, marcus pike & f!reader

word count: 7.8k

rating & summary: mature - 18+ only! | You can finally put a name to the feeling that’s overtaken your gut.

tags: heavy dubious consent - kissing, lies and manipulation, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional abuse, discussion of canon acts of violence, obsessive behaviour, controlling behaviour, misogyny, allusions to stalking. dead dove; do not eat.

notes: the behaviours of marcus pike are based upon the misogynistic and predatory philosophies of pick-up artists (link) and personal experiences with stalking. i would like to emphasize that these are bad people doing bad things. thanks to @wannab-urs for the beta and for being my revisionist history expert.

You drive to the car rental business housed in a hovelling little building next to the runway. The airport itself is huge for such a small place devoid of anything else, though you figure things worked out that way for that very reason. Lubbock Preston Smith treats you just fine, and your short flight to Dallas is distinctly unmemorable. The layover lasts a little over an hour before Southwest Airlines is herding you back onto another airplane.

It’s been a day and a half. You haven’t called Marcus back yet. What are you supposed to tell him?

Hey, I’ve decided that I want to help this criminal because…it’s what I want to do?

Terrible.

You wonder what Frankie’s life would look like, now that you’ve been in it for all of one week, if you weren’t in contact. Probably the same as it has been for the last eight months: quiet. Blow-your-brains-out quiet, solemnity trapping him inside his busted trailer. Seriously, that thing needs a bath.

The moon keeps you up. Truly, you let it. One slide of a curtain and you could fall asleep in half darkness, dead to the world. But you can’t. You don’t want to. Growing back into having that word—want—after years of doing what’s best is about as strange as Francisco is.

Somewhere between twinkling stars, your phone buzzes next to you on the nightstand. It usually stays silent, your alarm the first thing to wake you right before sunrise. When you pick it up, an unknown number is scrawled across the screen. You can’t quite place the area code.

“Hello?” you ask hesitantly.

“Hey.” Frankie.

“How did you get this number?”

“Luck?” he asks. When you don’t say anything, he gives you a real answer. “Aren’t too many of you in this digital copy of the New York City phone book.”

Setting that aside, you say, “It’s late, Frankie.”

“I know that.”

“Why are you calling?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“That’s what television is for,” you say. “Or…porn.”

“Trust me, you’re a last resort,” he says. Then he asks, “Is it weird for you?”

You resign yourself to having this phone call. “Is what weird?”

“Knowing I’m guilty.”

Is it? Surprisingly, no. In the eyes of the law, you’re just about as bad as him. Just about.

“What answer will make you sleep better?” you ask instead.

“I don’t know,” Frankie says. “Honestly, I had no clue what was goin’ on. Will told us to lay low for a while—”

You want him to continue, but you have to stop him. For both of your sakes. “Stop.”

“What?”

“You have to stop. Might not want to incriminate yourself over the phone. It’d be better if you—”

“Stop? Yeah,” Frankie agrees.

“What else can I do?” you ask him.

“Well, if you can’t listen,” he says, “…stay. On the line. Just like this.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

For an hour, you listen to Frankie Morales breathing. You can tell when he slips unconscious, exhaustion winning out. Your heart beats a little faster when you hang up, tempted to re-dial only to hear him pick up. You don’t, of course; doing that would wake him. When you fall asleep, you picture Frankie dreaming. It’s peaceful.

In the morning, you gather your notes on Frankie Morales together. Here is what you know so far:

The government is planning to extradite him and his retired special operations team members and friends, Will and Benny Miller, and Santiago Garcia for their illegal actions in an unsanctioned operation in Colombia. Their travel spanned into the Peruvian Andes, leaving jurisdictional territory a little murky without legal help.

Frankie Morales is single, fourty-two, living (or hiding out) in Lubbock, Texas. He’s lived there for eight months after having his pilot’s license revoked a second time for an apparent relapse using substances. So far, you haven’t noted any signs of addiction or using, but he could be hiding it. God knows his closet is crammed full of skeletons already.

He grew up in Texas, just like you did. He had a little brother (status and whereabouts unknown) and a mother (deceased). He was in the flight academy straight out of basic training, finishing his degree in mechanical engineering at the University of Texas Rio Grande Valley. Frankie’s mother died two months after he got home from a second tour in Iraq.

He’s guilty: of the espionage, the theft, the murder. All of it. The government has photos, surveillance footage, and probably a haul of eyewitness testimonies. The odds are unequivocally stacked against you—against him. Yet for some reason, you still want to try and save him.

This is it. You’ve officially gone insane. You’re going against everything Marcus has ever told you, any reason you’ve ever learned or logic that has managed to worm its way into your head. All on a whim. What? Because he’s nice to you sometimes? Anyone can whip out a pitcher of fucking lemonade!

No, this is something else. A pull, a fascination. The darker parts of you are drawn to him. You are so sick and tired of everyone else saving you. You want to be good because you are good. Not because Marcus tells you so. Not because your mother can finally bear to flash you a smile at annual family dinners these days. Because of something you have done; earned and given to you by yourself.

A text from Marcus interrupts your thoughts.

Are you still alive?

Rolling your eyes, you pick up the phone and call him. It starts to ring. For some reason, you seem to be able to hear both ends: your dialing, and his obnoxious Mick Jagger ringtone. The song is muffled, sketchy pop beats stowed away by the limits of sound travel.

A knock at your front door surprises you. Getting up, you tie your robe at your waist, unlatching the deadbolt before unlocking the door.

“Marcus?”

"Would it kill you to answer your phone?" he asks.

"What are you doing here?"

"You didn't call me back."

"I was getting to it."

"I thought you were dead," Marcus says. "You hang up on me, and you were still at that Francis guy's place..."

"Frankie," you correct him.

"Yeah, him. Whatever." You don’t know why the dismissal in his tone irks you so much.

"I can't talk about this right now."

Marcus huffs out your name, staring out at your kitchen before facing you. Him in his work suit and you in pajamas, you rest on uneven footing. “I told you he’s bad news. Get yourself out of this.”

“Can we reconvene for this lecture later? I have to go to work.”

“I’ll come with.”

“Marcus—” You already know he won't budge.  “Okay. Fine,” you say. “But you have to behave.”

“Me? Always,” he says.

You roll your eyes, shooing him to the couch as you start to get ready.

There are two sides to your identity as a journalist now: what you’ve been sanctioned to do, and everything else that you haven’t. The job you fill at the Post is pretty mindless. You’re a staff writer, barely entry-level enough to get you acknowledged by upper management. You write up quick stories pulled from blind lead wires about how the economy isn’t doing well, or submit story ideas on housing that always get shot down. All of this means it lets you focus way more time on Frankie than you should.

When you're ready, Marcus takes your purse from you, freeing up your arm. He leads you to the street, hailing a cab. When the vehicle rolls up to the curb and sloshes a mix of rainwater and slush onto his shoes, Marcus doesn’t even blink. He opens the door for you, letting you get in first. Chivalrous, gentlemanly. Laying it on a bit thick, but when is he not?

The ride is quiet. You watch slick streets pass by from your window, listening to the cab’s tires rolling through dirty snow and pools of water. When you glance over, Marcus is doing the same. You're dreading the conversation waiting for you, but you can't bring yourself to regret the decision made. Marcus was right about your gut. You believe that Frankie deserves a shot at redemption. Each piece of the puzzle pulls you closer to him. He reminds you of yourself. The road ahead won’t be easy, but with the help of people like you and Marcus, maybe he can rebuild a life after all this—whatever is to come.

You get out of the car first, leading the way inside the statuesque building as you shake off the soggy snow that’s settled over your jacket. Taking the stairs two at a time in your shoes is a struggle.

“Here,” Marcus says. He offers you his hand halfway up to the second floor.

Seven flights of stairs later, you welcome him to the Post’s offices. The floor is barren of another living soul, just as you’d predicted.

Marcus stops short, standing next to the Tetris maze of cubicles. You shake your head, beckoning him around a shadowy corner to your cozy nook of the building.

“An office?” he asks.

“You're surprised?”

“Is it bad if I say yes?”

You put on an exaggerated frown, unable to keep a straight face when he holds his hands up in surrender. “They seem to like me around here.”

“You make that part easy.”

“For now,” you say. Taking a seat in your plush rolling chair, Marcus sits down across from you. “I have a feeling the story ideas I push aren’t exactly winning me any favours.”

“‘Cause you want to write about something real?”

“Exactly,” you say. “I’m sick of business puff pieces and reports on the next Amazon stock shift. I want to write about the people. What’s going on, what they’re going through? I’m working at the fuckin’...diet Financial Times.”

“When what you want is full sugar Wall Street Journal,” Marcus says.

You sigh. “A pipe dream.”

“Not for you.” Fixing him with a hard stare doesn’t stop him. “Look at what you’ve done with only a couple years under your belt. In another five? Ten? You’ll be running this place, babe.”

You let air punch out from your nose, ignoring the pet name. “I don’t know.”

“I do,” Marcus says.

He sounds so confident, unshaken in his sureness. But you don’t live in Marcus’ world. You don’t get the things you want. You work for them. Not that he doesn’t, but of course Pike’s the guy to get a promotion that seemingly falls from the sky.

“Alright, Mr. Agent Man. Enough optimism from you,” you say.

The next hour is all but silent as you open up a spreadsheet, scrolling through digital receipts stored in your work email. You continuously switch between the two browser tabs, reading numbers and typing them in. The expenses of your White House trip trickle into their appropriate boxes as software organizes everything automatically. Marcus sits with you, eyes caught on something through the glass side wall of your office. He gets up and leaves, returning moments later with red licorice vines.

“Want some?” he asks, offering you the bag.

You bite your tongue between your teeth, dialed into your task. “Pass.”

“More for me.”

When your neck starts to hurt from hunching your spine, you sit back, shoulders stretching wide. You don't know if Marcus has been watching you this whole time, or if the movement caught his attention. The intensity of his gaze has your heart jumping to your throat. The moment you take notice, the force in his stare melts away.

"What?" you probe.

"You ditched the case, right?”

"Seriously? Right now?" Marcus doesn't speak, waiting for an answer. "I didn't. We can’t just give up on him.”

"You never listen to me."

“Since when have you been my boss?” you ask.

A beat of silence. “Since when have I not?” Marcus retorts.

You scoff. “You’ve got some nerve.”

“It’s always—Marcus, I don’t know what to do. Marcus, please help me. And it’s fine—”

“Sounds like it isn’t. I thought we were friends,” you say.

“You’re missing the point.”

“Which is?”

“This is my wheelhouse. You don’t want to hear it, but I’ll say it anyway. On this, I know better,” Marcus says. “And honestly? You know it too.” 

You know what I’m talking about.

“That’s low,” you say.

“But it’s true.”

You stand up, walking away from your desk—from him. He follows you out of the office, his dress shoes catching on the carpet tile. Marcus won't let up that easily.

“I want to make it all go away,” you say. “The indictment, the investigation. All of it. And if we can’t do that—”

“We can’t,” Marcus interrupts you.

“Then I want to make sure that Frankie stays here. In America. No extradition.”

"I don't think you know how this works," he says.

"I've worked in this business just as long as you have.”

"As a journalist. You are not a political animal. You are not a monster. You can't rip this apart for yourself. For him."

"And you?" you ask.

"This favour stopped being for me the moment you stepped on his porch," Marcus says. "You are not one of them—you are not a senator, you are not the District Attorney. Most importantly, you are not a lawyer. The girl who gets the congressman of Rhode Island's coffee every morning has more political clout than you do."

"Well I'm glad to see you have so much faith in me," you say.

"This isn't about faith! You think this is about belief? It's about not getting yourself fucked over in the process. You are not the thing that goes bump in the night, or makes a phone call to execute a cell block over in Oklahoma. You play the game. I play the game. Frankie played, too. And then he stopped playing, and he went against their rules which is why we're standing here, discussing whether or not we can save him when that's not for us to decide!"

You've never seen Marcus this angry. You've never seen him this anything. His emotions never really leave gift box range: happy, nicely wrapped, and convenient when you need them.

"You imagine yourself as the immovable object to the unstoppable force. You're not. You're a little girl who has no clue what she's doing."

"And you do?" you spit back. "You did? Didn't we all learn our lesson the first time? Or is your memory so short that you've forgotten sitting at that table with me."

He remembers. That temper of his liquifies, Marcus' eyes soft before he coaches his face into a hard mask once again. "An innocent man doesn't run."

"Bullshit. Innocent men run all the time. It's how they get shot in the back," you say. "Just because you have made up your mind about what he is doesn't mean that I have to."

"You should. It's all laid out there in front of us both."

"You are the one who led me to this case."

"I didn't have all the facts then. Going to San Antonio was rash. I wasn't thinking," he says.

"You were thinking. You were thinking that these men didn't deserve extradition. You were thinking that I owed you a favour, and it was the perfect time to call in. And now what? Now that you know they're not cookie-cutter American patriots, what? This is what they're owed?"

"Yes."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"It's what he deserves. All four of them. It's what's right. What's fair."

"When has anything we've ever done been right or fair? You think what I do here is saving lives? Feeding the public articles about how billionaires fucking the everyman is a good thing?" you demand. "And you? Is sending another crime boss for a cushy plea stint at club fed saving the day? We aren't in the business of right or fair, Marcus. I thought you knew that."

"So what, you and this pilot? You think saving him is gonna right all your wrongs?" There's an edge creeping into his tone. He's hedging too close into the territory of implication.

"I never said stopping that extradition order was the right thing to do," you say.

"It's selfish," Marcus says.

"And so what?" you ask. "We're already here, aren't we?"

The two of you in this room, you're both shiny and candy lacquered to hide the filth on the inside. Sometimes you used to wonder if Marcus was the exception to that rule, but you know better now. Good people don't do what you do. They never make it this far.

Marcus is simply better at hiding it.

He shakes his head. "You're unbelievable."

"Roles reversed, you would do the exact same thing."

"Hell would freeze over first." He spits your name out with an edge that's not an edge, but a tender hint of concern—no, pity. A dichotomy only Marcus Pike could manage. "You're not a fixer. You can't fix this."

"And you're not my keeper. I'm not asking you to save me this time, Marcus. I'm asking for your help."

"What if I say no?"

"You don't want to do that. You don't want to make me do that."

Marcus scoffs, walking towards you. He's in your space in an instant. Instinctively, you step back. He meets you there despite it. Marcus is so close now; you've never seen him like this. You don't want to.

"So you're all big and scary now?" he asks. His whispered breath over your lips makes your skin crawl.

He takes your jaw between two fingers, forcing you to look at him. The touch prods at that empty part of you, dark and deep, exposing you. When Marcus kisses you, a ghost of connection, you let him. It feels wrong; your stomach churns in the two seconds between its start and end. Marcus doesn't kiss you like he wants you—at least, not in the traditional sense. This isn't about love. It's for power.

He lets you go, walking away without another word. You hear the door to the stairwell swing open with a whine. You can only breathe again when it clicks shut.

You stay frozen in time for the next twenty days. Every blink has you reliving that moment. Your dreams are precariously empty. Marcus is gone again.

Hot breath chafes at the back of your neck, a delusion your mind has concocted to justify the fear that pumps through your blood at a constant. You can finally put a name to the feeling that’s overtaken your gut, swaying every thought and decision you make. Marcus has you, but not in any way that’s comforting.

He doesn’t call. Frankie does. A lot. Twice one week grows to twice a day. The worst starts when he grows bolder, leaving messages. He sounds about as scared as you are, more desperate with each voicemail. You start to really worry when he stops calling altogether.

You find a little bit of wiggle room in your vacation days, flying back to Lubbock close to Presidents’ Day. Texas has taken on uncharacteristically moody weather, the sky swampy and grey as rain drowns out any hope for sunshine. You get the same truck to rent, filling it at a Gas n’ Sip on the way out of town.

The backroads flood with rainwater, puddles gathering into small ravines on the scarred asphalt. You splash through them at sixty miles an hour, racing in the rain. After taking your sweet time to get here, a sense of urgency floods you. Scraping together the last minute trip, your mind filled itself with nightmare scenarios. Maybe he’s gone even further off the grid; maybe you’ll never find him again. Or worse, maybe he’s taken up all of that mindblowing quiet literally.

The trailer park is about as flooded as the roads, if not worse. The sea of gravel has been swallowed up by water. All you can see in pretty much every direction is a gathering of murky liquid. The truck is absolutely drenched by the time you park in front of Frankie’s home. His own truck is there too, a weak flicker of hope.

Stepping out of the truck, your shoes are immediately submerged. It soaks through to your socks, but you can’t muster up enough care to notice. Trying to dodge the wind, you rush up the steps of the trailer and pry the screen door open. You knock five times in quick succession, then step back and wait. Air blows violently against the right side of your face. Squeezing your eyes shut only does so much; you’d rather press your face against grimy siding and get out of its path entirely.

When the wooden door behind the busted screen opens, Frankie’s face goes on a journey. Moody to shocked in a millisecond, and shocked to something you can’t quite parse in the next. He’s still in his pajamas.

“Hi,” you say. His eye has recovered, for the most part. The last remnants of a yellow-green bruise smear his skin.

“You’re back,” he returns.

“Can I come inside?”

Frankie seems to think about it, giving you a onceover. You almost think he’ll tell you no. When his eyes land on your sopping wet shoes, he frowns. Leaning forward, he opens the screen door towards you.

Inside, you take your shoes and socks off.

Frankie says, “I guess you got my messages.”

“You stopped calling.”

“You stopped answering.” Touché.

“I got worried,” you say.

The words make Frankie freeze, pausing his ambling through the kitchenette. Facing the broad expanse of his back, you watch his shoulders relax. He turns to you. His jaw ticks before he sighs.

“If you don’t wanna help me, you could just say that. Not hearing from you—”

He worried. Well, you knew that. But this is different. Nothing selfish here, it’s not anxiety over the situation at hand. Just you. Frankie worried about you.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “Things got complicated.”

“In New York?” Frankie asks. “City girl too busy for a poor old country bumpkin, eh?”

It’s a joke, you realize, a laugh hiccuping from your chest. “Something like that.”

Frankie smiles then, mustache hiking his lip up to show you a flash of teeth. “I was just about to make lunch,” he says. An offer.

“Sure,” is all you give him.

You sit at his table once again, flipping through notes stuck together with raindrops. Frankie silently cuts up part of a head of iceberg lettuce right against the peeling surface of his countertop, the thick noise of chopping lulling you into focus. You haven’t looked at any of this in a while; time to play catch up.

A light clatter distracts you. By the time you look up, Frankie’s already standing at the sink, water running. A plated sandwich sits in front of you, lettuce and lunch meat jutting out at each side. Frankie finishes up in the kitchen, wiping his hands off on his jeans as he finds you staring.

“What?”

“You didn’t make one for yourself?” you ask.

“I’m not that hungry,” he says.

Disregarding any manners, you pick up the sandwich—already sliced in half—and take a bite. It’s a little more leafy greens than anything else, but you aren’t one to complain. Frankie sits across from you, waiting.

You say, “I wanted to circle back to what you said on the phone,” with bread still in your mouth.

Frankie shakes his head. “Don’t chew with your mouth open,” he says.

All you do is blink at him, swallowing the bite before you speak again. “You mentioned something about Will Miller a few weeks ago.”

“Right. Will, he told me to get outta dodge for a while. All of us to go dark. I’m living my stupid fuckin’ life, and then a few hours later my sergeant is giving me orders again.” Frankie prods his tongue into the side of his cheek, silent in thought. “I did it. Of course I did it. You get an order, you take it.”

“Even if you’ve been retired from Special Forces for almost a decade?” you ask.

“It’s not an if,” he says. “It’s an always.”

“And why is that? William Miller hasn’t been your army sergeant in—”

“Look, I’ll level with you. I get that you don’t understand. It’s not something I can explain for you to understand,” Frankie says.

You like a challenge. “Try me.”

“The training…it’s like a switch. Once you turn it on, you can’t—The people, your team. They’re family. They’re more than family. Your mother isn’t operating an AR-15 to save your life or dragging you to safety from a frag. I owe that man my life. That’s never going to change. They are the men that will always have you, no matter what. So when he asks you to do something, you do it.” He pulls at the whiskers of his moustache. “There’s no turning that off.”

Hot pants of breath beat down the stretch of your neck, your eyes stuck wide as you try to reign in the flood of sick crawling up your esophagus. Frankie looks confused as the quiet draws on longer than socially appropriate. Clicking your pen once, twice, three times, the beast at your back disappears.

“Could I use your bathroom?”

“Uh, sure,” Frankie says. “First door that way.”

He points further into the mobile home, down what’s barely a hall with two doors on either side. Spotted wood flooring turning to chipped tile as you step inside, the door pulled shut behind you. Your knee knocks against the lip of the sink, oddly low to the ground; you have to hunch to reach the tap. Cool water pours over your hand after a moment of anticipation.

The cold flow relieves some of the burning in your body, splashes of it against your eyelids running to your lips and tongue. Your mind is scattered, heartbeat in your ears. You can only grasp one thought through all the noise. This is what it feels like to be haunted.

Marcus owns you. You aren’t sure when exactly that happened. When you let that happen. So many moons ago, back in Austin? Or that diner, maybe, when he got you back after years of interim silence.

He was right. You are not a monster. He is. The world of politics is an ugly one, full of ugly people. Still, you don’t like to get acquainted with things that go bump in the night. You never noticed there was already something under your bed.

The door opens again with a creak. Frankie slouches in his seat, chin resting against the heel of his hand that’s propped against the table. You watch him, spotting the way he shakes out his shoulders. His arms let the fabric of his t-shirt loose before pulling it taut again. You want to trace your hand along the line of his spine.

Frankie refuses the rest of your sandwich, so you finish it alone. You ask him to recount the whole story, beat by beat: how he got involved, when, what the original plan was. He says that after the recce, they were supposed to hand off their gathered intel to Colombian authorities, but Santiago—Pope, he calls him—had other ideas. They went into Lorea’s estate expecting your average narcos cash stash, and wound up with a mansion spilling American dollars from the drywall.

You can see the anger in his eyes when he talks about the helicopter, the crash. Frankie slips in a mention of some pretty Colombian girl, but she’s gone from his story as quickly as she appears. The helicopter was overweight, sending them into a tailspin over the grassy plains of Peru.

“There were people there—villagers. We, uh… They were scared. A bunch of big Americans drop down from the sky with guns yellin’ English at them.” Frankie takes a long pause, staring at his hand. “I don’t know if Tom shot first, or if I—”

Oh god.

“There were a few of them dead. Pope worked out a deal with their leader. Gave him some money. We took a pack of mules, and we were on our way.” Frankie looks up at you. “I thought I’d never think about it again, I thought… I don’t know what I thought. And then Tom died. It all just went to shit.”

“Your friend died. You killed some people. In the process of all this, you broke some laws. From the sounds of it, that’s been your whole life. So what makes this different?” you ask.

“We didn’t…” he trails off. “There was no flag on our shoulder this time.”

“No.”

“No?”

“That’s not it,” you say. “That’s the reason the government is after you. That’s not why you are the way you are about it.”

A well of anger and loneliness. Self-pity has stained the man known as Francisco Morales.

Frankie bristles. “Maybe it’s just sad, hey? Maybe I wish I’d done better. Been better. Maybe Redfly wouldn’t be dead.”

Redfly. Tom Davis. From what you could unearth of the man all those months ago, you don’t think it would have mattered. He seemed more likely to stick a shotgun in his mouth than Frankie, probably in one of those shit condos he was trying to sell. Better to die in those mountains.

“What happened to the money?” you ask.

Frankie shakes his head again. A silent no.

“You know I could just find it. Make this easy.”

“We gave it to his kids. Two daughters.”

“Offshore accounts?”

Frankie gives you a look: what do you think?

You hold his gaze, half challenge and half fascination. Abruptly, you switch gears. “I’ve got one rule.”

“A rule?” Frankie asks.

"I don't give a shit what you tell the D.A., or your lawyer, whoever. But you don't lie to me. If this is going to work, it's because you're honest. And I'll be honest too."

"Fine," Frankie says. "But I have some terms of my own.”

“Such as?”

“I show you mine, you show me yours.”

“Excuse me?”

“You haven't told me a thing about you and this case," Frankie says.

“There is no me and this case, Frankie. I didn’t do anything illegal here.”

“But you know about it,” he says. “If the government was going to move on me right now, I’d already be in a cell somewhere…which means they haven’t. And yet, here you are.”

You wish he was as stupid as he looks.

“And?”

“How do you know about this case?”

“I know someone at the Justice Department. He brought the case to my attention,” you say.

“Brought it to your attention,” he says flatly.

“Yes, Frankie. He brought it to my attention.”

“Bullshit.”

“Frankie—”

“I think that your friend went looking for something he shouldn’t have. And fuck, did he find it,” he says. “The only thing that doesn’t make sense to me is how you’re the one sitting here, not him.”

“It’s complicated,” you say.

“Don’t lie. You’re bad at it.”

Fuck. Fuck. You’ve painted yourself into a corner here, no way out.

You deflate, tired of keeping up the brave face. “Everyone’s got their marching orders.”

Anything left of that unsure sense of judgement in your chest melts away as Frankie’s face falls. He’s a good little soldier. So are you.

“Marcus Pike…he wanted me to drop this. You. He thinks you deserve jail, that you aren't any better now than the man you were in Colombia. Probably worse. He says it’s the right thing.”

“And what do you think?” Frankie asks.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

You don't want to see him go away for it. The Colombian government will demand to see him rot, but that's never sat right with you. Now the thought makes you sick, gut rolling whenever it crosses your mind. But like it or not, Marcus has gotten into your head. You need something to drown him out.

Frankie takes your empty plate and puts it in the sink. He pulls a bowl out of his cupboards. You grab your phone, tapping at the screen to wake it up. No messages, no missed phone calls.

“I should go,” you mumble, already reaching for your shoes. A warped water line has formed on the canvas upper, like brown and grey watercolour paint. You shove your damp socks in your pocket.

Frankie stops what he’s doing, pouring milk into floating bits of instant oatmeal.

He says, “It’s still raining like hell out there.”

“I’m not made of sugar.” Frankie doesn’t have a pithy comeback for you, simply standing by. “I’ll be back tomorrow—early. So be up this time.”

Frankie nods wordlessly, putting his bowl of brown sludge into the microwave. He stands in the kitchenette, watching it spin and spin behind glass. You head for the door, looking down into your purse in search of the truck’s keys. When you look up again a few steps from the exit, Frankie is there too.

His nose is inches from yours now. Frankie looks at you with something—a feeling you can’t quite grasp. It rolls off him in waves, overwhelming. He’s standing just out of reach. He is always standing just out of your reach.

When you stretch a hand up to his jaw, it feels normal. Natural. Like you were meant to hold him, like he was meant to be held. His stubble is prickly against the skin of your palm.

Frankie leans into your touch, his hand moving to hold your own in place. With your fingers splayed across his cheekbone, you can feel the fine lines around his eyes. Up close you can see the tiniest of sun spots along the column of his throat. The loose collar of his shirt creeps up and back down again with every rise and fall of his chest.

He turns his face, still in your grasp, and presses his lips to the skin of your wrist. Immediately, you yank the limb back to your own body. Like a jolt of sparking electricity, his face flashes through your mind. Marcus and his ugly, docile kiss. The scent of his cologne, eyes so close they could burn through flesh.

The memory of him this close, closer… It holds you in a tight grip, overtaking the present and launching you into the past. Back to the cost of doing business. The price of helping Frankie. But you cannot do this—this with Francisco Morales. Neither of you get that luxury.

You say, “Tomorrow. Nine o’clock.”

Then you watch him expectantly, waiting for Frankie to step aside. The trailer door squeaks open at your pull, whining when it slams shut again. You feel eyes at your back crossing the short distance to the truck. Whether they belong to Frankie or Marcus, you aren’t quite sure.

You eat again at a place called Taqueria Jalisco. The chicharron en salsa feels like an undeserved treat. You eat half of the food, washing it down with two strawberry mojitos.

Your waitress—Carla—comes back around to your table in the middle of a staring contest with the remnants of dinner. You order a Long Island Iced Tea for dessert, smiling politely as she clears your dishes. The alcohol settles a hum in your body. You feel like a live wire, unrestrained in your power to damage and destroy. So far, you seem to be your only target.

The Palm Tree Lodge happily accepts your business again, even giving you the same room as your last stay. Wrapping yourself in bedsheets, you close your eyes. The first thing that appears behind them is Frankie’s face, soft and careful as you held him. You feel a whisper of touch where his lips had been against your skin, rubbing over the spot with your thumb.

You should be scrolling through your phone, dredging your mind for any of your old classmates that went on to law school and owe you a favour. You should be thinking about any lawyer at all, but you aren’t. You can only think of him. Sweet brown eyes staring out from that despairing face. The look that makes you want him.

He is failure, primed and bottled. That makes you want him more.

Focusing, you find a place for his trailer in your mind. You’re standing by the steps, but it isn’t raining here. The sun-mottled sky shines blue and canary yellow as a glass of something cool sweats in your hand. You urge yourself to advance, taking careful steps up to the door. Before you can pull it open, you slip inside all on your own. Frankie sits at the kitchen table with his back to you, shoulders stretched beneath the thin fabric of an undershirt.

You go to him, taking a sip of the drink you’re carrying before you set it down on the table. Candied cranberries wash onto your tongue, fizzing up in your mouth. Hands empty, you rest them over each one of Frankie’s shoulders. He leans into the touch, the whiskers of his moustache brushing against your fingers as he sets a kiss to your skin.

You’re chasing a disaster. You shouldn’t want him. Wanting has only ever brought you bad things. You get the sense that if you told him to, Francisco would do it, no matter the ask. It’s hard to tell if that is a scare or a solace.

You and Frankie are the same in the exact way that you and Marcus are two of a kind. Fair is foul and foul is fair.

It continues to rain, worse today than before. You make good on your promise, knocking on Frankie’s door again at nine o’clock sharp. The door opens two seconds later. Frankie is dressed, just like you’d told him to be; a pink button up that’s been through the wringer, unbuttoned to the middle of his chest as it reveals a white undershirt like the one haunting your imagination. He lets you in without much fanfare, offering you something hot and warm from the brewing pot of coffee.

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Frankie says. “I don’t have any creamer, only sugar. It went bad a few days ago.”

“No worries. I like it black.” You do not, but you’re not about to tell him that.

You and Frankie continue this stilted little dance as he sets down the mug on the table, not even trying to hand it to you lest your fingers touch. He seems to sit a little further out from the table today.

From your bag, you produce a scribbled list of twenty names you could scrape up on the drive here, eyes dividing their time between the paper and the splashy roads ahead.

“What hoop am I jumping through today?” Frankie asks you.

“No circus tricks for you. It’s all on me right now.”

“That’s a relief.”

Typing out the first name to locate them in your contacts, you say, “I’m sure it won’t stop you from being a clown.” You hit dial as a snicker wriggles its way out of him. Let’s hope you can find Chuckles a lawyer.

By the fifth phone call, neither of you are laughing. Pacing across the stretch of floor between the kitchen and the living room, you listen to another one of your peers professionally shoot you down.

“No, Alex. I get it. Thought I’d try anyway, right?” you ask. “Thanks. Yeah, bye.” You hang up, hand sliding from your forehead to your jaw. “Fuck.”

Frankie’s crossing out the names on the list for you, drawing a squiggly line through the name of your old friend from Rice.

“Who’s next?” you ask.

“Aditi Patel. Oregon area code,” he says. Frankie feeds you the numbers as you type them in, both of you waiting on the dial tone. She doesn’t even pick up, sending you straight to voicemail.

This cycle continues for the better part of two hours: another phone call, a rejection or an answering machine, followed by another line on the page.

Hanging up again, you ask Frankie who follows Ryan Treho on the list.

“No one,” he says. “That’s it. That’s all of ‘em.”

“Let me see.”

He hands it to you, gazing up as you look it over. Frankie is right. Every name on this list has been called, every one giving you some variation of no. The hum you thought was Frankie’s ancient-looking fridge ratchets up an octave in your ears, noise crowding around you as you stare at the piece of paper.

You can barely hear Frankie’s question of, “What do we do now?” as the rattle reaches a peak, squealing like static. You’re drawing a complete blank, breath halting as you will yourself to fix this.

Frankie grabbing your hand pulls you out. You’re standing beside his seated form, facing forward while he slouches in his chair at an angle.

“I’ll figure something out. Call some people. Don’t worry about it.”

“A little difficult, don’t you think?” Frankie asks. “What are you going to do?”

Call Marcus.

You don’t want to tell him that, though. You know your eyes are glossy, hot tears threatening to spill at any time as you try to put on a brave face. Cool, calm, and collected; that’s who you are supposed to be. Strong in the face of an adversary. So why do Frankie’s brows knit together, his face coloured in concern?

“I don’t know.”

The chair drags loudly against the floor when he kicks it out, nodding at you to take a seat. You do, folding yourself in half the moment your ass hits the chair as you duck and hide from him. Saltwater streaks down your cheeks, never making it past your lips as you wipe harshly at your skin.

“I’m scared,” you say.

“Everything is gonna be fine,” Frankie says. It feels warped for him to be comforting you.

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I just—”

You can call him. He could help you. You already know he would.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Him.”

Living in this blink-and-you’ll-miss-it nightmare has turned your life inside-out. There’s nowhere to run, no one to go home to. There is no home anymore.

You try to backpedal, mumbling a quick, “I’m being dramatic,” as Frankie takes in your broken face. “It’s fine. I’ll have to call Marcus. Figure out a new game plan.” The very last thing you ever want to do. More likely than not, you’ll have to see him; he’ll want to see you.

“I never told you why I punched out my neighbour’s grandson,” Frankie says.

“You didn’t. What does that matter?”

“Can you just—?” Frankie purses his lips, restarting his story. “He was talking about…you. Calling you names and—it was offensive.”

“So you beat the shit out of him,” you say. “That’s great, Frankie. I can’t pummel the fact that no one wants to represent you.”

“This isn’t about that. I’m saying, if your friend at that fancy Justice Department ever did anything to you…y’know.”

“You’d go to prison for assault on a federal officer,” you say.

“Seems like I’m headed there regardless,” Frankie says. He waits on you for an answer.

“I’m fine. The stress is fucking with my head.” Lie. You know it, and Frankie knows it too, judging by the scowl on his face. “I’ll be okay.”

You grab your things, making for the door.

“What happened to being honest with each other?” Frankie asks.

“This is me being honest. And the truth is, I’m going to be alright. Okay?” He doesn’t anything. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Rushing to the truck, you yank open the door to get out of the rain. Settling yourself, you put the keys in the ignition. You reach to turn them…and then you don’t. Nothing you want is at the other side of this truck’s engine rumbling to life. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to leave. You don’t.

Time passes blindly, the rain and the sky staying the same as water beats against metal. It seems almost everflowing, like it has always rained and it always will. The sound of precipitation lulls you into a dead stare, the upholstering of the steering wheel suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. You don’t notice Frankie at the opposite window until he pulls the passenger side door open, scooting in along the leather bench seat.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Frankie runs a hand through his hair, dotted with wet drops as he smooths it over. This is the closest you two have been physically since yesterday, heat from his thigh radiating against yours. With the crown of your head against the headrest, you watch water through the windshield. 

“I have a wife. And a kid.” The words appear from nowhere.

“Oh.”

Frankie clears his throat. “Well, had. I’m sure they think I drove off to shoot myself, wash away on the beach. We lived in Florida…Miami. Not great for the recovering addict.”

“Okay…”

“I thought I’d tell you because of the whole honesty deal. You know, and not to say—fuck.”

You start to ask him if he’s alright.

“Are you a friend?” he blurts out.

“Uh…” You fix your gaze on the dashboard.

“Sorry. Thought I’d ask.”

“I don’t know what I am. To you or to anyone else.” Dragging your eyes to his face, you meet Frankie’s baby browns. “Do you want me to be that? A friend?”

“I want to turn back time and never have to meet you like this,” Frankie says.

The sky continues to pelt the truck with rain at all sides, heavy drops sounding off against the roof. Reaching up, you smooth out a crease in his forehead with your thumb. Worry ages him.

Your ring and middle finger cradle the ridge of his jaw. “You smoke?”

A curt nod. “They’re back inside.”

Next thing you know, Frankie’s jogging to the trailer as you wait under the short overhang, out of the wet. He comes out with a carton of Camel Lights. You take it from him, along with the butane lighter he offers. There are no chairs on his tiny porch. You opt for sitting right in front of the screen door, spine sliding against the mesh.

Frankie joins you on the ground. It doesn’t really surprise you. Keeping a cigarette pinched between your lips, you hold it between a peace sign and light it with an inhale. Then you put the lighter back in Frankie’s hand. After the first few drags, Frankie takes it from your lips with careful fingers. You watch him smoke, lips wrapping around the stains of your saliva. Instead of handing it back to you, he slips the cigarette back into your mouth.

When he lays on his side, head falling softly into your lap, you don’t even blink. A puff of white smoke leaves your lungs, the slow wind taking it up into the clouds. Frankie’s coarse curls slot easily between your fingers.

I want to turn back time and never have to meet you like this.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

[imspardagus]

House of (Auto)correction

I can’t sleep. The lights went out two hours ago. The man in the bunk above me has been gently snoring for the past hour, a rather soothing sound to be honest, like the waves rolling in and out over a shingle shore, but I still can’t sleep. 

It’s not the bruises, thoughtfully and carefully inflicted on me by some of my fellow in-mates while I was in the shower so as to cause maximum discomfort without attracting attention. I admire their professionalism even as I wince. Never having raised a fist in anger myself, I have always worried that if I ever was moved to violence against another person I could do some real damage quite accidentally. It takes a pro to know how to hurt just enough.

No, what is keeping me awake is the thoughts. Every night since they read the charges it has been the same. My mind keeps returning first to the interview under caution and to whether anything I could have said, or left unsaid, would have made any difference; and then to the trial and whether answering the taunting questions of prosecuting counsel differently might have saved me from the jury’s conviction of my guilt, followed two weeks later by my incarceration for life.

I don’t know. I imagined, in my innocence, that my innocence would be enough, would protect me. That they would see an honest man caught up in a snare and free him. But no, it took them just two hours to return their unanimous verdict: guilty of murder.

***

Okay, I can see now how my sudden profound and, as the police and prosecution took pains to stress, unreciprocated, adoration for Sarah could be made to look obsessive. It only took one chance meeting, as we each tried to order drinks at the Ducking Hell Bar, Walthamstow, and I was lost. I’m not good now with people’s ages but I’d put her in her early twenties. But she was like an angel. Better than an angel. I know it sounds trite but I felt my heart leave my chest and fasten on to her as she asked the barman for a G&T, ice and a slice. Her voice, the laughter in it was like the tinkling of temple bells. And when I introduced myself - “You’re lucky if you can get served in this bar. Name’s Phil by the way.” – a new departure in cool for me, I can tell you – she smiled like I was personally being bathed in love and replied “Hi, I’m Sarah. This your local then?”

That was it. She picked up her drink and went to join her friends.

The rest seemed unstoppable but entirely right at the time. I told the barman her next drink was on me and waited, leaning, nonchalantly I hoped, against the bar for her to come and order. When she reached for her card, the barman nodded in my direction. I couldn’t hear their exchange over the hubbub but she shrugged and raised her glass to me before turning away. That warm, bathing smile again, but this time tinged with a slight but devastatingly attractive edge of puzzlement. I’d never done anything like that before, honest. Never had the guts. But a feeling of homecoming filled me and a voice in my head I had not heard before said, “You’re in there, my son.”

She left after that drink. I thought she could have said something but she was laughing with her mates so I just wrote it off to that. A bit disappointed though, I won’t lie.

And that night I couldn’t get her out of my mind. She was beauty, she was life, she was everything I’d never dared dream of.

She didn’t come in again ‘til the next Friday, around 6, and again she was with two girl friends and they sat giggling and talking non-stop and knocking back drinks for a couple of hours. I don’t think she clocked me watching her but I swear there was nothing else in that whole bar that I wanted to look at. God, she was gorgeous. I knew she was the one just by looking at her. Never been so sure of anything in my whole life.

Then, all of a sudden this tosspot appears at her table, doesn’t sit down or anything, just starts mouthing off at her. He’s obviously giving her a hard time, pointing and shouting in her face and I can see her and her mates are not liking it. Normally, in the proximity of conflict, I look the other way but in my head this is my girl he’s abusing and somehow I’ve got to get involved. I suppose being four pints down may have had something to do with it. I head over to the table and break into the tosspot’s tirade, “All right girls? This gent upsetting you?”

Now, I’m not a great catch, I’ll grant you. I’m not tall, I’m well into my prime and physically I’m hardly what you’d call “in peak condition” but up close he looks a right lanky streak of whiny piss so somehow I manage to sound like I’m not as scared as I’m feeling.

The tosspot immediately turns his fire on me. “Back off, grandpa, this is nothing to do with you. It’s between me and her.”

Again, where the words come from I do not know but I just look at him as sweet as pie and say, “Doesn’t look like the lady shares your reading of the situation, sunshine.”

Back he comes with, “Get your bloody nose out of my bloody business.” But I can see now that there is a measure of panic in his eyes and hear it in his voice. So I stay calm.

“When you’re causing a lady grief, mate, it is everybody’s business.” I sense the approval of the girls at the table, and one of them ventures “Yeah, piss off, Jerry.”

Well to cut a long one short, there’s a bit more back and forth then Jerry, aka Tosspot, utters an incomprehensible snarl of rage, turns on his heel and storms out. Trying to contain my relief, I offer my apologies for the male sex to the table and Sarah says, coyly, “Thanks. Jerry gets things all out of order sometimes. Look would you like to join us. In case he comes back.”

Hoping with all my heart he will not, I of course seize the moment and join them.

A few drinks, and much laughter, later they decide to go so, now or never, I ask Sarah if we could exchange numbers. Just in case, I stress, she might ever need to call on me. The other two giggle and one of them says “Go on Sa(i)r.” And to my surprise she picks up her phone and we swap contacts.

By the time I’d got home I’d had a text from Sarah “Thanx for what you did back there it was really brave”.

***

Looking back now, I can see how perhaps things from there got a bit out of proportion. Like, in my head. It started okay. I text back “Your welcome I cant stand bullies and tossers”. Then I turned in and tried to sleep. But again my heart was with her.

Come the morning I’d had no reply so I thought I’d see if I could push it forward a bit. I text “Morning you okay after last night”. I kept waiting for a reply but the phone stayed silent all day.

I was a bit miffed, tell the truth. But I thought maybe she was busy. That night I sent another text. Still nothing so I thought go for broke, you know how it is. I text “Look cards on the table I really like you and wonder if youd like to meet up for a drink sometime”. A day goes by with me wondering if I’ve made a tit of myself then suddenly up pings a message. From Sarah. “You was really kind to me that night but lifes a bit complicated for me just now”.

Well it wasn’t a “no” was it? But I didn’t want to frighten her off so I just replied “Okay but we could just talk you know I might be able to help”. Trouble is that’s not what I’m feeling, is it? I’m feeling she’s the one and I want her to know that and for her and me to, you know, to get close.

The next day I’m watching my phone all day, checking my notification settings but there’s nothing again. How am I supposed to deal with that? And I can’t get her out of my head. I can’t let it go. The more time passes the more I need her to know. To know what I’m feeling. So I try again “Help me out here since I first saw you Ive been really struggling”. Then, half an hour later I go with “Just give me one chance to tell you how you make me feel okay”. When I still get nothing back I try again “Just one date yes”. 

I don’t think she’s blocked me. I can’t be sure. From the start my texts have been green which means she’s not got an i-phone. I send another. I’m almost pleading now. I try to lighten it with a line from the song, “Just give me a little sign girl”. Nothing. My mind starts racing. Is she in some kind of trouble? Is she just too kind to tell me to piss off? Is she just playing with me? Playing hard to get? Testing me? No, not Sarah. Not my Sarah. She couldn’t be cruel. She’s perfect. Must keep the faith.

Thursday evening, after a few vodka and cokes I pick up my phone and punch in her number. It rings three times before it goes to voicemail. So she hasn’t blocked me. I feel a wave of elation when I hear her voice on the outgoing message. But when it comes to leaving mine I am suddenly tongue-tied and somewhere between a slur and a stammer I manage only to leave my name and an unintendedly fierce “Call me” before cutting the call off. She doesn’t return the call. Maybe her phone is on silent. Maybe she’s stuck somewhere.

So Friday, 5.30, I am seated in the bar, in a concealing corner but with a view over the bar if I’m careful. At 6.10 the door opens and she comes in with the usual friends. The usual table is free and they take it without a break in their chatting. She is as lovely as ever, showering the gathering with her radiance. I feel it from a distance and find myself resenting the company getting the benefit. I just want to be close to her, monopolising her sweet gaze, feeling all that love wash over me. It gets too much to bear so I send her a text. I don’t know whether I mean just to break her attention or to force her to think of me but I know I need to do it.

Her phone is on the table next to her glass. I see it light up and vibrate. I see her look at it then turn it face down and pick up the conversation. So I take it to the next level. I pull up her contact and key the phone option. Again her phone comes alive. She picks it up, looks at the screen then stabs it with her index finger. On my phone the call cuts off.

Because of her position with her back mostly towards me I cannot properly see her expression but the way she puts the phone down on the table warns me off trying it again.

An hour of torture goes by during which I am totally locked in to this remote group that I cannot join, then they get up to leave. I could swear that as she turns to go she clocks me out of the corner of her eye but she blanks me. I try to feel okay about that. She’s with her friends isn’t she. But I make a decision to follow them at a distance. Don’t ask me why. I just can’t let it go.

It’s a cold night but she’s making her little group look like a bubble of warm up ahead. I keep my distance. They get to the bus stop and a bus pulls up. Her friends get on with lots of shrieking goodbyes, hugs and air kisses. This is my chance and I start to move in towards her. But out of nowhere Jerry the Tosser blocks my path.

“Been watching you. What’s the deal with you? You a pervert or something? The girl ain’t interested, get it? Leave her alone,” these last words are practically screamed into my face, “If I see you anywhere near her again I swear you’re a dead man.” 

Over his shoulder I have watched another bus pull into the stop and seen Sarah get on. The bus pulls away. I am shaking. I mumble feebly, “You’re wrong,” and turn away. His voice follows me as I leave. “You what, mate? You’re sick you are. Get back to the nursing home. Go on, piss off. That’s right.”

***

I got back to my bedsit trembling miserably. I slumped down in my chair and cried and cried.  Couldn’t stop. Next thing I knew it was morning and I was stiff and cold and still in last night’s clothes. I picked up my phone and saw a message waiting. It was from Sarah. “Sorry about Jerry last night you didnt deserve that”.

My hands were shaking as I text back “Its okay look can we meet just one time PLEASE”.

After an agonising hour or so my phone pings. “Okay Tonight the Cloudy Pint off Hoe Street 6.30”

I couldn’t think straight all day, couldn’t settle. This was going to change everything. I took special care with my preparations, shaved twice, just in case, deodorant, clean tee shirt, wiped my trainers in the sink to get the worst of the city’s muck off. In the kitchenette, the knife block caught my eye and immediately I thought of Jerry the Tosser. Should I, “just in case”? How many times had I heard the warnings about “carrying”. I knew it would be a mistake.

I got there early grabbed a table and bought two large G&Ts. I’d not been here before. The place was buzzing with office workers in no hurry to go home, but not heaving. I guessed she’d chosen it so we wouldn’t be disturbed.

At 6.30 she came through the door, looking round uncertainly. I stood up and signalled to her. She came over and sat down. The smile was a bit forced and her eyes were down but to me that made her look all the more like one of those madonnas. Not the addled old singer, the ones you get in paintings in churches and places. 

I started to try to tell her how great it was that she’d come and how much it meant to me but she broke in to my chat. “Look, Phil,” (she remembered my name, how cool was that?) “I think you’ve got it all wrong about me. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I was very grateful for what you did that night. And it’s not that you’re not a nice bloke and all but see I really really think you’ve got this wrong in your head. About me. I’m not special. I’m just a check-out girl. You seem to have me down like I’m some kind of goddess or something. You don’t know me. You can’t know me. That’s not me. Not what I want to be. I don’t want to hurt you but …”

This was all going wrong. I had to stop her. I cut in “But I do know you and I think you’re wonderful. You’re so lovely you make my heart dance when I see you. And I know I’m not much but I’m not so bad. You just need time to get to know me then you’ll see…”

It sounds pathetic now I play it back in my head but I meant every word as I said it. I was completely lost in love with her. I had to make her see. But she broke in again, this time with urgency in her voice. “No, you don’t see. This isn’t what I want. It isn’t what I can go with. I don’t feel anything for you.  You seem like an okay guy, a bit needy. But I don’t want you and never could. You’ve got to stop this. You’ve got to give it up.” And then she got up. “Excuse me. I need the Ladies”.

I heard the words but they just didn’t make sense. I couldn’t just give her up. She had to love me. We needed time. She just needed time. Time to see the truth. I was confused, panicking. Desperate. I got out my phone and tapped in a message to her and pressed send. Then I sat. After five minutes there was no sign of her. I started to worry. Someone asked for her chair but I said rather forcefully it was taken.

It is at this point, as I told the police and the court, that my memories become fractured. I know I was by now in a state like blind terror, thinking I had lost my Sarah. After what seemed like another age I’m starting to think something might be wrong so I took myself through the door that led to the loos. The Ladies was the first door. As I approach it a woman came out. I’m pretty sure that happened. She gives me a wary look. I stammer “I’m looking for my girlfriend. She went to the Ladies and hasn’t come back…”. The woman sniffs. “There’s no-one in there, love. I was all on me own.” And heads back Inside. To the bar. I think.

I remember there was a door at the other end of the passage with a sign saying “Courtyard and exit”. I think I remember I went to the door and opened it. I think that on the other side was a badly lit paved and walled area and another door on the far side. I think I recall some commercial wheely bins to my left. I have a sense of someone being out there. Can’t bring it into focus. I honestly can’t remember if I went out into the yard. Then I was back inside and two gaudily dressed girls came down the corridor heading in my direction. I flattened myself against the corridor wall to let them pass then headed quickly back into the bar and knew somehow I had to leave.

As I did I heard the screams. Female screams. And one of the girls crashed back into the bar shouting “Get an ambulance. There’s a girl out back. She’s been stabbed.”

I carried on out. My head couldn’t cope any more. I just needed to get away from it all, all the noise and confusion.

The police came round next day. Apparently I’d been traced from the messages on Sarah’s mobile. She was dead. My angel. My Sarah. Dead. Stabbed through the neck. They’d found a knife at the scene. A kitchen knife, Sabattier, they said. Did I have one? No, I didn’t. They searched the bedsit. Didn’t take long.

At the trial Sarah’s friends and Jerry the Tosser gave evidence about me “pestering” Sarah and I couldn’t deny having been with her that evening just before she died. But what I think did for me in the eyes of the jury, the final nail as it were, was that last text.

You see what I had thought I had typed was “I just want to kiss you then you will always be mine”

But in my haste to send it I hadn’t checked it and autocorrect had changed the text to “I just want to kill you then you will always be mine”.

Iain M Spardagus, December 2023

[charliedawn]

What if the Hannibal Fam had an SO who could sing really well? Like professional singing? Almost any song is something she can sing. She would love to sing to them. Lullabies are something she might ask to do.

Morgan was walking by when he heard someone sing.

He followed the sound and found you.

He stayed outside your room and closed his eyes, bathing in the softness of your voice.

Until he couldn't help himself and started singing with you.

You sang in harmony and when the song was over, you opened the door to find him standing there with a small smile.

"You have a beautiful voice, angel..I hope I'll get to hear it again."

You blushed at the compliment and he walked away, whistling the song you had just sang together.

Morgan—as the business man that he is—would turn your talent into profit.

He would become your manager and help you get your voice out there.

However, he would get exclusive on any of your new songs and even though he knows you're talented, he can't help but fall under your spell every time.

He'll be your number 1 fan.

He walked behind you and sat on a stool, listening and smiling as he saw you dance a little with the music.

When you turned around and saw him sitting there, you smiled but still scolded him playfully.

"Well, aren't you the little creep ? Stalking people now, are we ?"

He smiled at your taunting and chuckled before leaning forward and taking your hand.

"You just walked right past me, I couldn't possibly not be a creep about it."

He then unexpectedly pulled you on his lap and wrapped his arms around you.

"Besides, I like to hear you..Could you sing again for me ? Please ?"

You smiled to yourself as he pressed you a little closer as you started singing and rested his forehead against your shoulder.

Your voice soothes Kevin. He would never admit it, but you light up his day every time he hears you.

Hannibal Sr. used to feel lonely, alone in his cell with only cockroaches to keep him company.

However, the guards then gave him a new cell neighbor: you.

He didn't think much of you at first, you were just a wee thing who had only a few months to spend in prison.

Not really note worthy, until he heard you sing for the first time.

He thought an angel had decided to grace him of their presence, until he realized the only angel that would ever come to visit him in prison him would be the angel of death.

He followed the sound and his eyes then landed on you.

When you stopped singing and your eyes met, you were surprised and immediately cowered under his very piercing gaze—missing the way his lips curled up into a smile.

He memorized your features—carving them into his mind.

He became obsessed on the spot. He almost fell sorry for you poor thing..You didn't even suspect a thing.

He had something to look forward to when he would make his escape at least..assist to your first and maybe only representation.

"Lovely..Simply breath-taking.."

Hannibal Jr. is not one to cry easily, but your songs would be enough to bring tears to his eyes.

If there is something that brings more joy to Hannibal Jr. than his family, it's art.

He always been sensitive to art, anything related to aesthetic and even more importantly, music.

Singing not being one of his many talents, he would be more than happy to hear you.

His favorite thing is when you are both sitting next to each other and he can see your face when you sing, because your expressions are just fascinating to him.

The way your throat moves when you reach higher notes, how your eyes flutter shut when you are so focused the world around you disappears, the way your mouth moves and your hands curl in your dress/pants..He would never get bored of watching you.

Peter would always ask you to sing for him before sleeping, it helps him relax and makes him sleep better.

Your voice having the effect of a dream catcher for him. He can sleep without nightmares bothering him and feels safe next to you.

He would love your voice and ask you to sing for him every time he's got the chance.

"You're amazing. I can't believe you even exist and that one day, I'll wake up and you'll be gone. But then, I open n'y eyes and you're there. Do you even know how happy I feel when I hear you ? I don't want you to ever stop.."

Peter has trust issues, but knowing that you will be there, that you're helping him and singing for him, making sure he sleeps well every night.

It warms his heart and makes him believe that everything is possible.

You bring him hope.

[aidansshittyfanfictions]

Reach out your hand

Pairing - Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category - hurt/comfort

Warnings - mentions of rape/past trauma, shitty writing

Word count - 1384

Episode - Aftermath (2x5)

Summary - You're working on the serial rape case and keep getting flashbacks to when you got raped. You can't sleep and don't want to be alone, so you go to Spencer.

Notes - This is kinda also for me to vent throught stories. I changed it though, just so it fits the story more and I dont have to talk about it exactly. Please don't ask.

I laid in the hotel bed, looking at the ceiling. I can't sleep. And I don't want to look at the case anymore. It reminds me of that day too much. The day I will never forget. I thought it was better now, but this case made me think about it - obsess over it - again.

I felt like I needed to get back to my old habits again. I felt the hands grabbing me again. I felt like I needed to push them away again. Even though I knew they were not there I still brushed my body, as if they actually were. But I couldn't get them off of me.

It made me feel dirty again, but now I know I am not the dirty one, he was. He still is.

I looked at the ceiling, trying to get my head empty. But I couldn't. The memories kept coming back, as if it never ended. I hid my face in my arms. And being like this reminded me of the day again too much. I sat up and curled into a ball. Just now I realized tears were running down my face.

I tried to fight it, but I couldn't anymore. I got up, took my towel and went straight into the bathroom. I was glad there was a bath and not just a shower. I got the water running and sat down on the floor, waiting for the bathtub to fill up.

I don't want to be like this anymore. I wish I never had to be like this. I wish people would just stop doing bad shit. But that's why I'm here.

I listened to the water, hoping it would calm me down. I'm not sure if it did. I had a mixes reaction. Crying more, but feeling like it was going to be okay. After the tub was filled I stopped the water. I got my clothes off, getting reminded of it again. I got inside. I stayed there for maybe an hour, still thinking of everything that happened.

I realized there is only one thing I actually wanted to do. I got out of the tub and back in my clothes and went to Reids room. I stood before the door, getting the courage to knock. I needed to see him, but I didn't want to bother him.

The door next to me opened. It was Elles room, but Elle wasn't the one to come out. It was Reid. He looked shocked to see me. "Oh hey, Y/N, do you need something?"

I didn't know what to say, I was just staring at him.

He looked into my eyes "Have you been crying? Are you okay?"

"I'm not" I replied "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

He opened his door to let me in. I came and sat on one of the chairs that was in the room. He sat in front of me. I was getting the courage to start talking, while Reid just stared at me. He knew he didn't have to say anything yet. That I would start talking.

"This case is kind of messing me up" I started. "I've been having a lot of flashbacks" I told him. This wasn't the first time I've talked about this with someone from the team. I've talked about it with Hotch before we got here, because I felt like he needed to know as my supervisor. He told me that if I wasn't well I could just stay in my room. I couldn't stop working this though. I wanted to protect them.

A tear ran down my face as I thought about how I also thought I could be safe there. I ran my hands through my hair and put them on the table. I decided to tell him. To finally tell someone in detail.

"When I was seventeen I had a boyfriend. He was tall, strong jaw, dark hair, brown eyes, smart, sweet" I looked up at him and realized that my type hasn't hanged. "At least I thought he was sweet. I was head over heels for him" I awkwardly laughed, remembering how stupid in love I was. "One day I was staying at his house for a few days" thinking about it made me shiver, but I needed to talk about it. "The third day he went out with some friends to drink. When he got back, I was already sleeping" I felt like my arms froze and I realized I couldn't talk anymore, but I had to, I had to say it. "I got woken up when he grabbed me by the neck." And I realized I still couldn't do it. I couldn't say the word. Not in this context. "It was the longest two hours of my life."

I looked up at him and he obviously understood. "Y/N, I'm so sorry that happened to you." Reid reached out to me and firmly took my hand.

"Can I stay here tonight?" I asked him. I'm not sure if that is why I came here or not.

He looked shocked for a moment "Of course" he said. "Can I do anything else for you?" he offered.

"No" I declined "this is more than enough." I realized how tired he must be. How tired I actually was. I let go of his hand to wipe my tears. "Can we go sleep?" I asked him.

He got up with his usual anxious behaviour when it came to situations like this. He reached into his bag. "I can lend you a shirt" he handed me a short sleeved gray t-shirt.

I took it and thanked him.

"I would also give you pants, but I think they'd be too big."

I laughed and nodded. "It's good. The shirt is big, it will be okay."

He took his own pyjamas. "I'll change in the bathroom" he said and before I could respond he disappeared.

I put on the shirt after taking off my clothes. I folded it and put it on one of the chairs. I sat on the bed and waited for him. After a moment I heard him "Hey, can I come in?"

"Yeah" I shouted back at him. He came out and sat next to me.

"I can sleep on the floor if you want" he proposed.

"No, it's fine" I said "I think we both can fit." That wasn't it all. "I want to feel protected." I added, realizing moments later.

He smiled at me. "I will do that." He got up and went on the other side of the bed.

I laid down and turned to see him and he did the same. He gave me a reassuring smile. Or maybe he wanted a reassuring smile back.

And I gave it to him. "Can I hold your hand?" I asked him.

He reached his hand to me again and I took it, holding it tightly. I was really tired. I didn't have a filter anymore. "Spencer" I said. This was probably the first time I called him by his first name. "I love you."

He sweetly smiled at me. "I love you too, Y/N." I couldn't remember anything after that. I fell asleep. I just knew I had nothing to be afraid of. That I would be fine.

In the morning I woke up to see Spencer looking at me and smiling. He brushed my hair out of my face. I'm assuming he did that every time the hair got there. Or I hope so. I hoped he liked looking at me.

"Good morning" I whispered. I could get used to this, looking at that beautiful face.

Before he could say anything we got interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Reid, have you seen Y/N?" It was Hotch.

I think he was worried about me and went to look for me. Reid jumped out of the bed to open the door and I followed him. When he opened the door Hotch looked around. When he saw me he looked relieved. "Oh" was all he managed to say.

"She didn't want to be alone" Spencer explained.

"I know" Hotch said. He looked happy that I reached for help. And I think he knew Reid was the only one I trusted enough.

[cerebrumrott]

Obey Me! Shall we Date?

Brothers x MC

Synopsis: Demon Form Head Canons

Lucifer

Is not shy about sharing his demon form in the slightest.

More than happy to show off his wings for you and every compliment and awed look you give him just strokes his pride.

He gets taller in his demon form, not by more than a few inches but its enough to have you craning your neck to look him in the eyes.

His horns are not nearly as sensitive as some of his brothers but he still quite enjoys when you pet them.

Specifically likes it when the base of his horns are scratched, he could just melt into your hands.

His wings are prone to molting when he is stressed and seeing as he is stressed almost all the time. It's fairly common to find black feathers around the house.

When Lucifer later finds out that you had been collecting his discarded feathers in a small vase in your room he can’t help the blush on his cheeks having forgotten the entire reason he went into your room in the first place.

Seeing as you are so entranced by his feathers you might as well help him preen when he is molting.

It is totally cause he wants you to just have a nice collection, not because its a massive boost to his ego to have you doting over him.

Straighten his tie and flatten out his collar. Even if it doesn't need it. These little gestures will leave him flustered and blushing.

Mammon

His horns, due to their peculiar shape, are extremely sensitive. To the point where just blowing on them sends a tremble racing down his spine.

Pressing a finger between the grooves or into the center of the horn's spiral will have him practically howling from the sensation or more accurately leave him a stuttering and flustered mess.

Despite being essentially shirtless in his demon form. Mammon is like a walking heater. Just standing next to him for too long can cause you to break into a sweat.

If you were to ever trace the white lines that cover his torso he would just stop functioning entirely.

He would of course vehemently deny any such claims stating that, he was simply… thinking… about things… shut up.

Mammon is also extremely ticklish and with so much exposed skin from his questionable choice in a shirt. Do with that what you will ;)

His wings are restless, always flickering, fluttering or some variation of the two.

The only time they had ever truly stilled was when Mammon had agreed to let you touch them for the first time. In that moment as you ever so carefully ran your hands over the thin membrane of the wings, they didn't so much as twitch under the touch.

While his wings aren't necessarily sensitive to touch they are slightly delicate, being as they are made from a thin leathery membrane.

Leviathan

He also gets taller in his demon form by a few inches. Though due to his terrible posture you are likely to not notice.

He regularly sheds his antlers each year and grows back new ones.

He used to be extremely self conscious while his antlers regrew due to teasing from his brothers but after hearing how much you liked them they were now a point of pride for him.

I can also totally see an MC who collects his shed antlers like, it's 2 am and Levi texts them like ""Hey normie you want my old antlers I know you asked about them before so...""

Leviathan would get such an ego boost from it though. His face growing reed each time he walks into your room to see his old antlers nestled about the shelves like decor.

His tail also sheds its skin every so often (like a reptile would) another reason as to why he is always showering or taking a bath.

On that same thought, Levi has to take daily soaks in either the shower or tub to keep his skin from drying out or getting irritated. Being in the sun for too long can also irritate his skin.

Uses this as an excuse to not go outside despite there being no sun in the Devildom.

Both his horns and his tail are rather sensitive to touch. Though he loves the idea of you petting them his self consciousness prevents him from ever initiating such a thing.

The markings on the side of his neck are also highly sensitive. Running a hand or dragging your nails over them sends shivers down his spine every time.

Satan

Not only does he get taller but he also physically bulks up in his demon form. Its hardly noticeable under the sweater and boa he wears but on close inspection you can see the defined lines of his muscles straining under the fabric.

Similar to Lucifer, his horns are not all that sensitive. Though the area where they connect to his head are very mush so.

Satan is not shy in the slightest about asking MC to pet his head when he is in a bad mood and needs someone to stop him from doing something potentially stupid.

Satan often subconsciously purrs when he is happy or content.

This habit may have stemmed from his obsession with cats

His tail for the most part is hard and senseless, though the green end is softer and more pliable like cartilage. It is also extremely sensitive to both touch and temperature.

This is why he keeps his tail wrapped around his leg to protect it from being accidentally trampled on or whacked.

Since his tail extends from his lower back rather than the base of his spine the exposed skin surrounding the base of his tail is extremely sensitive and ticklish.

Asmodeus

Asmo of course loves any kind of affection, especially if it is coming from you of all people.

The tips of his horns that are pink in hue are extremely sensitive to touch. He is not shy about asking you to touch him obviously but you would note that he does get extremely flustered when you do so without having to be asked.

Asmo will just melt into your touch if you walk up to him and just randomly cup his face or pet his horns.

When he is especially flustered the pink hue of his horns will even darken

His wings are velvety and soft to the touch. He loves to have kisses pressed to the soft membrane of the wings.

The easiest way to turn him to putty in your hands is to go straight for his wings. They are his weak spot.

It's really little affectionate things that get him going. Adjusting the metal chain of his scorpion brooch, pushing a stray piece of his bangs back into place, even something as simple as picking a piece of lint off of his jacket has him beaming with affection.

I don't see Asmo as getting to experience these little things as often as the more prominent things that come with his sin. So when you go out of your way to make sure he does get to experience these little things he falls hard and fast.

Beelzebub

He physically bulks up when he transforms. If you thought he was shredded normally wait till you see him in demon form.

His horns are extremely sensitive, almost like little antennas. Turns into the biggest puppy when you rubs his horns. Just all smiles and happiness from him.

Sometimes he will even rub your cheeks together so his horns brush against your hair.

He is a bit hesitant when it comes to his wings being touched just because of their nature. It's not that he doesn't trust you it’s just when he gets excited he unconsciously buzzes his wings.

If he were to catch his wing on your hand and rip it he would feel bad for making you think you hurt him. In reality it does not hurt him all that much, akin to like a paper cut or bad scratch.

Beel is really just a big push over for you, scratch him behind the horns and he will just become the biggest lap dog.

Belphegor

His horns and tail are not sensitive but that doesn't mean he doesn't want you to pet him.

After he falls asleep to you petting his horns one afternoon he now demands that you do this at least once a week. If you don't he will bother you until you cave to his wishes.

Also loves to have the fluff of his tail brushed / petted, although he would never admit it outright. His brothers already think he is spoiled so how would they react to knowing he has you pampering him each week? Braiding his tail hair and brushing out the tangles while he snoozes.

On the rare occasions he can’t sleep or when he is awakened from a nightmare he will seek you out and ask you to pet him so he can get to sleep. There are many mornings you will wake up and just find Belphie in bed next to you curled around his pillow with his face buried in your shoulder.

He promises to pay you back later though. Totally...

The cow spots on his neck are extremely ticklish, to the point he borderline passes out from wheezing so hard when Beel tickles him there.

Bonus:

Diavolo

He is much, much larger in his demon form than he is when he appears as human. He is normally tall but like this he is borderline massive.

He tends to keep his wings folded into his sides due to their large span. Though is more than happy to show them off to you when prompted.

They are thick and velvety to the touch, the metallic jewelry that covers the tops of them a cold contrast to the warm skin.

He adores any kind of attention from you, more than content to sit and chatter about whatever comes to his mind as you sit beside him or stop him petting his wings.

He bent down once so you could see his horns and as a joke lifted you off the ground while you were holding onto them. He laughed so hard you thought he was going to drop you on your ass.

His horns are not sensitive in the slightest, hence why he has no problems with decorating them with tight metal pieces akin to a piercing on a person.

Diavolo is a super loving guy normally and this holds true to when he is in his demon form. So whenever he gives you a hug you end up smothered in his pecs. Not that your complaining.

Barbatos

Barbatos would never say it aloud but he very much enjoys when you spend time just running your fingers ever so softly over his horns. Their unique shape and varied textures can leave you entertained for what feels like hours but in reality you love the soft expressions you can pull out of the normally stoic butler.

Loves having soft kisses pressed to the joints of his horns.

His tail is his one weak spot as once one learns what certain movements mean. You can always tell how he is feeling.

The unbridled joy you feel well in your heart when his tail begins to curl up upon seeing you letting you know he is feeling the same way has you biting your lip to hold yourself back from running into his arms.

[thesmokingguns]

WAP Headcanon

Word Count:2726

WARNING: DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18. THANK YOU. 

Warning Part Two: There is a lot of sexual content behind the cut. Oral Sex, Sex, Degrading, Exhibitionism, Masturbation, Lots of swearing, 

Summar Request:”i was wondering if you could write a motley crue headcannon of them with a fem s/o that got that WAP lol” I listened to WAP 700 times well writing this. I also made a playlist that you can find HERE

A/N: THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO READS MY WRITING! I appreciate you all so much and just wanted to let you know that I appreciate you all sending me requests and talking to me about fandoms. You all make me so happy and I can’t even put into words how much I appreciate the reblogs, likes, and messages you all send me. Thank you!

Tag List: @ayablackwood @littlemisscare-all @thenobodies-inc​ @agroupiewhore

VINCE

“I could make you bust before I ever meet ya”

-You met Vince well working as a lifeguard the summer before college

-He literally was so obsessed with you that he went to the beach everyday for two weeks until you finally agreed to go out with him.

-Watching you climb up the lifeguard with your little red bath suit cut high so he can stare at your ass bouncing with each step

-He picks you up in his sports car and literally almost falls on his ass when you come out of the house with a sheer white dress and white lingerie on under it.

-Teasing him all night so he feels like he’s going to explode

-Sucking your finger well making eye contact with him

-Reaching out to push his blonde hair away from his face

-Touching him constantly, in innocent ways to build him up

-Complimenting his lips and running your fingers over them and pressing a thumb against his wet lower lip and then licking it and dragging your lower lip down

-The sexual tension is so high Vince thinks he’s going to cum as he drives you home

-Telling him you don’t sleep with men on the first date and not giving him a time for a second date

-”In the food chain, I'm the one that eat ya”

-He sends gifts all the time until you finally agree to go out with him again

-When he picks you up you’re wearing a fur jacket and a pair of high heels.

-”Take me to your house”

-Walking into his house and sliding out of the coat and letting it fall to the floor as you look over your naked shoulder.

-Vince has been with a ton of woman but you’re fucking demanding.

-You spread your legs pulling his blonde hair to your aching pussy pushing him down and watching him eat you like it’s a last meal

-He’s a clean eater, licking and sucking, using only his mouth to suck up your juices and suck your clit

- Keeping your heels on as you lay them over his shoulders laying back on bed

-Kissing your thighs after you cum and licking up your thighs tasting the wetness that leaked over them.

-Putting a condom on using your mouth

-Being on all fours, ass in the air, letting him go deep and hard as he fucks you

-The feeling of your wet pussy leaking over his balls making a slapping sound that is driving him crazy

-Loud and Vocal during sex, telling him how he’s fucking you so good. And Vince is eating it all up. He loves being praised and you’re stroking his ego like your pussy is stroking his cock.

-Switching positions so you can reverse cowgirl

-“If he fuck me and ask, "Whose is it?",When I ride the dick, I'ma spell my name”

-Vince loves watching the way your ass bounces and twirls on the top. He watches the way you pull up, lowering yourself on the tip of his cock and spinning down on his cock like you’re screwing it in tight.

-Skin slapping skin, wet slaps as you ride him, watching your pussy sliding out around his cock

-Telling him you’re going to cum again and Vince moving to fucking you with your legs bent over his shoulder so he can fuck you hard and deep

-Legs shaking, squeezing Vince as you cum around his cock

-Vince would be praising you as you came, so enamored with you and also feeling like he had reached some level of success

-His sweaty forehead pressed into your shoulder as he clings you you emptying inside

-You got what you wanted so you roll out of bed making yourself comfortable as you go take a shower, locking the door so you get your privacy. Completely throwing off this teddy bear of a man who loves cuddling and pillow talk after sex

-Coming out after your shower to a surprised Vince wondering why you were shutting him out after what he thought was great sex

-You tell Vince you’re calling a cab home and he’s surprised but you don’t sleep over guys' houses. But you know what you want, you got it and now it’s time to head home

-Vince is literally left speechless as he watches you put on your coat wondering if he’ll see you again or if he is going to have to keep stalking you at the beach

-“Will I see you again?”

-Shrugging as you get into a cab and giving him a coy smile before shutting the door and leaving.

-Calling him that night and letting him know you’re free tomorrow

MICK

-Everyone jokes that Mick is an old man but dude is seriously Daddy

-Like sugar daddy and gives you daddy dick

- “Pay my tuition just to kiss me”

- Always showering and lavishing you with attention when you meet up

-But whenever you meet up you know he is going to want too hook up in public

-He gets so horny knowing you can get caught and you do little things to make him go crazy

-Like wearing a little collar, that goes to the bondage set he bought, out to brunch with him

-Or when you go out you wear sheer shirts so he can see the outline of your brown nipples

-Sunday Brunch was your weekly meeting with Daddy Mars

-You’re outside, the sun shining on your skin. Sunglasses over your eyes when you feel lips on yours

-Mick is always just looking at you, admiring you.

-You’re wearing this crop top white peasant blouse that ties in the front and a denim skirt

-“I don't cook, I don't clean, But let me tell you how I got this ring”

-You met Mick at a bar one night with your friends. He bought drinks for you all night, and you made him laugh with your witty one liners. He had asked to see you again and that’s how Brunch started. He knew he was older than you but when he met you he had proposed helping you with school fees and you spending Sundays with him.

- Your foot slipped out of the sandal running along the inside of his thigh

-His eyes are dancing, loving how you know what he wants

-As you’re eating the sky is turning dark, warning of a summer rainstorm.

-the sky breaks open after Mick pays and you expect him to take you to the car to have a quickie or go to his house but he’s leading you over to the beach.

-As much as you like to tease him you hadn’t expected for it to rain so your thin shirt is completely translucent against your skin

-“Sit on the wall.”

-He sinks into the sand in front of you, tossing his jacket next to you, rolling up your wet denim skirt. Legs over his legs as he tasted you

-“Make it cream, make me scream,Out in public, make a scene”

-Gripling the concrete wall, he’s in front of you lapping at your clit as his fingers plunge into your wetness. Fingers working you with the same precision he plays a guitar. Curling into your core tapping the g-spot

-Head thrown back, rain water flowing down over you

-“FUCK DADDY!”

-People are driving by wondering what the hell you’re doing out in the rain because they can’t see Mick working better. Your legs are shaking as he holds you in place, fucking your wet pussy with his fingers, toying with your clit witb his tongue.

-“I’m going to cum”

-Mick moved a little, fingers going into overdrive as he spread you further watching as you squirt.

-Kissing your thighs as you try to breathe again after he just dragged out a super strong orgasm from you.

-Wrapping his jacket around you as you go to his car

-He pulls up to your dorms and slips some cash into the jacket pocket.

-“See you next week, baby.”

NIKKI

-“He bought a phone just for pictures, Of this wet-ass pussy (click, click, click)”

-Nikki just bought a new video camera and you’re going to be the star of his film.

-He has you posed, sitting on the floor with knees bent and legs spread naked so he could video you touching yourself

-You’re looking at the camera, not shy as your hand dips lower. You take your fingers in a V splitting your lips to reveal the juicy wetness inside your aching cunt

-Nikki audibly groans seeing the sticky sweetness in a glistening pattern across you

-It’s obvious he wants to touch you but he’s trying to record all of this.

-Holding your lips apart you take a free hand swiping a finger over your wetness and holding it out for Nikki to taste. His mouth  is around your fingers in an eager moan as he licks them clean

-The way he licked your fingers just had you wanting more

-You love performing for Nikki and driving him crazy

-Rubbing your wet fingers over your nipples, soft moans that cause him to curse under his breath

-Using your fingers to rub your clit and tugging your nipples well looking at him

-Nikki takes out his cock, stroking it as he’s watching you.

-You open your mouth, tongue coming out as an invitation

-He’s setting down the camera at an angle, gripping your head as his cock slides into your mouth

-”I don't wanna spit, I wanna gulp,I wanna gag, I wanna choke, I want you to touch that lil' dangly thing, That swing in the back of my throat”

-He’s gripping your hair, compliments like “fuck baby” “so good” “take it all” and deep groans of appreciate coming from him. You’re drooling, tongue lapping to stroke every inch of him as he’s holding himself all the way in your throat. You feel your spit sliding out of your mouth, covering his balls as Wet gurgles of pleasure come from you around his cock

-Nikki tilts your chin up, “Eyes on me.” You look up, eyes watering and mascara leaking down your face from not being able to breath but you put on your big eyes good girl act

-“I’m going to paint your face in my cum, Princess.”

- Pulling out of your mouth and shooting his hot cum across your face, licking your lips to taste him as he grunts out as he cums.

-“Stay like that I want a picture”

-Nikki shuts off the video camera and starts taking Polaroids of you covered in his cum, smiling like the little whore you are

-He’s posing you, and giving you a towel to clean your face as he starts taking pictures of you on your hands and knees ass in the air

-“You’re still so wet for me.”

-You get on your back, Nikki covering you with his body, his lips hovering above yours. Your heart beating with anticipation and you whisper out a “Please” the smug smirk of satisfaction is illuminating his face.

-Nikki slides into you, filling you until you’re stretched almost uncomfortably around him

-Deep strokes making you see fucking stars as he holds your hips, letting you wrap your legs around him, and he fucks you

-”Spit in my mouth, look in my eyes”

-Your mouth is hanging open and you go to lick your bottom lip and he spits in your mouth, taking you off guard at the intimacy and

-You’re looking up, open mouthed and horny shocked that he did that.

-“Treating my princess like a whore. “

- You nod your head to let him know you liked it and you’re okay with it. The way your nipples hardened and you squeezed around him gave him the confirmation you were his little whore.

-Your wetness was coating not only you but Nikki’s thigh as it slipped from your body

-You opened your mouth to tell him you were going to cum but it was shut off by his lips slamming into yours. He knew our tell tale signs. Your arms holding onto him, soft mons coming out as you pushed into him, writhing in your orgasm

-”I’m going to fill you up, Princess.”

-Your head was nodding, his lips easing you with kisses he peppered on your skin, the way his pants met your ears before the groan and you knew he had finished.

-You lay on the floor for a moment well you both get your breath back. And then you head to the shower

-Nikki helps you clean up, his hands gentle on your shoulders.

-”You were so wet today, Princess. I guess you like being in front of the camera”

-Just hearing him says that just gets you started all over again and you want him again

Tommy

-”Big D stand for big demeanor”

-Can not keep his hands off of you

-You sit down and he’s either next to you on the couch of he’s behind you reaching ove of his freakishly long arms over to hold your shoulder

-This man loves you and is always ready to go

-At a show, he’s making eyes at you backstage before the show and you know exactly what he wants from you

-Standing next to a table talking to someone you feel his hands on your back squeezing a hip as he leans in to whisper to you, “Come with me”

-He pulls you into a dressing room and everyone knows exactly what you tw are about to do.

-Tommy is quick to pull up your skirt and he’s dropping to his knees in front of you, tugging your panties to the side and pulling a leg over his shoulder

-He loves eating pussy, this man loves sliding his tongue into your pussy, swirling his tongue around to get your taste on his tongue. His fingers pinch your clut rolling it in tiny circles as his tongue fucks you in little thrusts and than laps hungirly

-”Fucking love the taste of you, babe. You’re so sweet.”

-You feel like you’re going to collapse, your thighs are trembling and you want to cum with him inside you

-”Tommy, fuck me. Stop fooling around.”

-Do not need to tell this man twice. Very good listener.

-”I want you to park that big Mack truck, Right in this little garage”

-Tommy has you bent over the couch before you can even realize what is happening, his cock teasing your entrance, sliding the tip in and pulling out. Inch by inch he goes in and comes out until your legs are shaking, needing all of him inside of you.

-He knows there isn’t a lot of time so he’s slamming into you, his bare cock filling you after his teasing and groaning Y/N in appreciation.

-Your pussy squeezes against him, making the drummer curse in surprise

-He’s wrapping your hand around his hair pulling you so your back is arched and he can really slam into you

-Your ass is slapping against him with each thrust and you’re meeting him

-”Fuck babe, you’re so wet. Your thighs are like a fucking slip and slide”

-Tommy is more vocal during sex than you. He’s always praising your body, telling you how hot he thinks you are, telling you exactly what he likes, making little groans of pleasure when you clamp down on his cock, and just really making the whole thing feel good.

-”Stop squeezing me, I’m not going to be able to pull out if your pussy keeps sucking me in.” He warns you as you bounce back against his cock

-Tommy wants you to cum, you can tell he can’t hold on much longer

-His fingers reach around pressing your clit and after a few touches you let go against him, falling forward with a shudder

-Making you cum just gets this man even more fucking excited. He’s pushing deep into you, getting a sweat appear

-He’s pulling out, jerking his cock in fierce needy motions, shooting his load over your ass in white stringy patterns. Slapping your ass playfully

“Quick, jump out 'fore you let it get inside of me “

-After his boner brain goes away and he can think like a normal person again he’s helping you clean up.

-All about aftercare and making sure that you’re okay

“I said, certified freak, Seven days a week, Wet-ass pussy, make that pull out game weak”

[sluttbuttsstuff]

For the prompts, 49 with doppio? >:3 Idk what it is about him I just look at him and think “oh you’re NEEDY needy, huh?”. Thank you so much, you’re a really good writer! :)

No problem buddy, thanks for the request! >:3

Warnings: not sfw, dubcon/noncon, abduction, dark themes, yandere, etc.

Also, my requests are still open, if anyone else is interested!

Enjoy!

Yandere prompt with Doppio, “You want me to fuck you…? Would that make you happy? Would it make you love me?” afab reader, dub/non con

All you wanted to do now was go home. You had had a long week at work, your parents were nagging you again, and to make things worse you had a headache that would not go away. After an exhausting day that began before the sun was out, and ended after the sun had set, you certainly deserved to do nothing more than go home, eat some junk food in your comfy pjs, listen to a podcast while you took a bath and pampered yourself, and maybe jerk off before bed. Unfortunately, you had a “girls night” tonight.

Your friends (your IRL friends at least) complained that you never went out with them anymore (nevermind that whenever you suggested doing something with them, or wanted to chat or text on the phone they were busy) and had forced you to go clubbing with them to celebrate the three-day weekend ahead. You weren’t much of a drinker, and really weren’t much of a dancer, so you had been given the purses to hold while you waited for them to be ready to go home.

You wrinkled your nose in frustration, glaring into the blurry screen of your phone looking at the late time: this was unfair. You were a hard worker, kind to a fault to those around you, and you deserved better than this. Sitting in a corner of a crowded club, everyone in the place having a great time except for you, tired and alone. At least in your apartment, you chose to be there, and at least no one actively ignored you: places like this just pointed out the flaws you hated about yourself more: you were bad with people, and easy to ignore.

Once one of your “friends” stumbled over to the group’s table, you left them with everyone's purse, mumbling you were going to the bathroom (you didn’t know if she heard you and you didn’t care) and left before anyone could stop you. You stumbled your way to the restroom in heels way too high for you to walk in, trying to clean yourself up and find a quiet place to text your goodbyes so your friends wouldn’t worry about your sudden disappearance. Leaning over the sink counter, you wiped a makeup smear off the corner of your lips, noticing a second too late someone behind you.

“Hey, there’s another sink-” You began to say to the blurred figure way too close to you, before a sudden eruption of pain hit the side of your head, and you were out in a flash…

The next time you regained consciousness was several hours later, but it was still dark when you opened your eyes, trying to remember what happened and where in the world you were. The stale cigarette smell, the unreasonably cold ac, the bedsheets starched so strongly that the sheets felt like plastic- this was definitely a motel. But where, and how long had you been here? As you began to sit up, you heard a surprised, timid voice.

“Oh, thank goodness! You’re awake, I was beginning to worry about you! Hold on, don’t move so suddenly, i’ll help you sit up.

Sure enough, as you started moving, your head lit up with painful throbbing that made last night’s headache seem like nothing in comparison. You grit your teeth and clenched your eyes shut, trying not to groan in pain.

“What the hell happened to me last night?” you grunted through your teeth, rubbing your temple as gentle hands helped slowly sit you up propped against cushions.

“Haha, you had a lot of bad luck last night, running into my boss. He was waiting for...an employee in the restroom and thought you were sent after him. He’s a bit paranoid, and he may have...accidentally clobbered you.” The voice apologized, gentle as he handed you what felt like a glass of water.

You forced yourself to open your eyes; it was still dark, but you could tell it wasn’t because of the time of day but rather a lack of light and closed curtains. You looked at..you looked at the person in front of you. Like whoever had attacked you last night, they had long pink hair, braided and side parted. Their eyes were green and wide, and they looked particularly juvenile with a crop top and freckles. They were on the smaller side, perhaps even shorter than you (hard to tell from while on the bed) and their eyes were crinkled in apprehension, like he was afraid you were going to hurt him.

“Erm, don’t worry though, I talked him out of doing anything too..extreme, after all I'm his right hand man! Besides, you seem like a perfectly nice person, I'd hate to see anything bad happen to you. Sorry, I'm rambling! Umm, do you want something for your headache? You were groaning in your sleep, I'm sure it doesn’t feel so good right now-” He went on and on, pulling out some painkillers to take with your water.

After thanking him, you were about to swallow the pill before pausing, looking at the strange man who’d taken you to a remote hotel after his boss had nearly killed you. Sensing your suspicion, doppio exclaimed, “Oh, don’t worry, they’re safe, name brand painkillers! Um, hold on, lemme just-” And he made a show of popping some of the pills you were holding into his mouth and swallowing, sticking out his tongue and opening his mouth to show you he’d ingested it.

Satisfied, and more importantly in a lot of pain, you took some of the pills yourself, much to the relief of the pink haired man.

“Oh good, thank you for doing that! I was so worried watching you asleep, you’ll feel much better now! By the way, my name’s Doppio, it’s a pleasure to meet you! Oh! And I know your name’s y/n because you had your purse and ID on you! Haha, sorry for going through your purse, I was just hoping to find any info on you that might be, you know, important.” he sat on the bed, scooching closer and closer to you.

You cleared your throat, unsure of what to say, and the watchful eyes of Doppio doing nothing to make you feel better.

“Well, um, thank you, Doppio. I appreciate you, um, saving me? Sorry for any inconvenience, I'll just, um-” You try to get up to leave, only for Doppio to place a hand over your leg.

“Don’t go! What, I mean, what if you hurt yourself? You probably have a concussion, and also you haven’t had breakfast? We could eat together and-” Doppio stammered, grabbing your hand and stroking it with his sweaty, cold fingers.

You had to stop him, before things got out of hand.

“Thank you, Doppio, it really was very sweet of you to take such good care of me, but I-”

“Please! You don’t understand, I mean-” Doppio fumbled with his words, clearly trying to make you stay at all costs.

“Doppio, i can’t stay here forever, i need to go home. My friends are probably worried about me by now.” You tried to press on, you didn’t want to upset the man with a powerful boss, but you felt increasingly claustrophobic with Doppio pawing at you.

“You mean those mean girls who left you with their purses all night? Why would you care about what they-” Doppio covered his mouth with both hands quickly, realizing what he just said.

Your blood ran ice cold; how did he know so much about them? Had he been watching you before the “incident”

Using his moment of weakness, you got up from the bed and tried to reach the door; it was time for you to go home, if not call the cops.

Doppio yelped, Throwing himself in front of the door before you could make your escape.

“Please, don’t be scared y/n! I didn’t mean to upset you, I only meant that I can treat you much better than your friends can. I mean, look at how good I've been for you so far?? I didn’t make you dance with me at the club, even though I really wanted to. I didn’t just have my fun against your will in the bathroom stall like the boss told me to do.I saved you from a concussion, or worse! I got you your own hotel room for the night, and didn’t take advantage of you or touch you while you were asleep! I want our first time to be special, after all! Isn’t that what you want?” Doppio pleaded, eyes wild as he tried to smile, trying to calm you.

You were anything but calm however, this guy was clearly obsessed with you, and had been for longer than just one night. Even if at first he had merely seemed like a pathetic “nice guy” you no longer had any pity or time to give him.

“Doppio, get away from the door and let me leave, now.” you demanded in your best authoritative voice. Doppio whimpered, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go at all, you were supposed to love him!

“You can’t! Boss and I won’t let you!” He cried, covering the door with his body. With no other choice, you slid out of your shoes and charged at him full speed. You managed to give him a good blow on the head, and threw him out of the way of the door. He cried, crumpled on the ground. If not for the fact that he had kidnapped you, you might have felt bad for hurting him like this, but you had to think of yourself at this moment.

As you finally unlock and pull open the door, heading towards freedom, you hear the strangest noise behind you.

“RingRingRingRingRing!” Doppio calls after you, in an unnatural, high pitched tone. You try to ignore it, you literally don’t have time for this, but with strength he had not previously displayed, Doppio grabs one of your arms, twisting it behind your back and up to his ear, holding it like a telephone.

There’s a trickle of blood, and one of his eyes is rolled back in its socket, but he calmly says, “Hello, this is Doppio,” Into your hand, as if he was having a normal conversation on the phone.

You scream out, doubled over by the pain in your arm, Doppio silent as he “listens” to his “Phonecall” oblivious to your suffering. Where did all this power come from? He was acting like an entirely different person, and frankly scaring you. Doppio nodded, pulling your hand closer into his ear and intently listening to nothing but air before “Hanging up and pulling you back into the motel room.

He threw you on the bed ( his arms felt much stronger, and more muscular for some reason) before crawling on top of you and pinning you down. You were too stunned, and frankly too scared, to come up with any means of escape, just weakly struggling to throw him off of you to no avail.

“Doppio, please-” You whispered, eyes blurry with tears.

“I talked to the boss, and he helped me figure out what to do. He wants our relationship to succeed after all!” Doppio exclaimed, additude reverted to how he’d first spoken to you. You were confused, you’d neither seen nor heard anyone in or around the room, who was he talking to and how?

“Boss told me that people like you need some discipline in order to be obedient, or you’ll walk all over me. If I can do that, then I can make you love me, and we’ll be happy together, isn’t that what you want?” Doppio told you, stroking your cheek.

“This is not okay, Doppio!” you yell, thrashing against both arms, “Let me go or i’ll-”

...

Wait a minute, both arms?

Then how was he…?

You look over to one side in shock, only to see a floating metallic and red arm holding you down, one on either side. You screamed, overwhelmed by a stalker and strange supernatural forces you couldn’t understand.

“Oh, you can see King Crimson's arms? Interesting, perhaps because of your near death experience with Boss, you can see stands now? Although, it would be bad if you developed a stand, what to do?...” Doppio pondered to himself, speaking apparent babble.

You cried, trying to wake up from this obvious nightmare with no luck.

“Awww, hey y/n, it’s okay, i’m not gonna hurt you! Not if you be good for me and Boss.” Doppio cooed, kissing your cheeks and forehead. “I talked boss into keeping you with us- you’re always so lonely at home, and never have a good time with others, right? You don’t have to lie anymore, I've been watching you for a while. Nobody else seems to, though, they’re too self-absorbed and stupid to realize how incredible you are!” He continued, oblivious to his words not helping, but hurting you.

“You’re perfect for me and boss, we can take really good care of you. Forget this lousy motel, we have mansions and villas all over Italy that we can take holidays to. We have billions of Lira from work, you’ll never have to lift another finger and we’ll pamper you to death. And best of all? You’ll never have to see your awful friends or family again! Isn’t it awful how they treat you? We can get rid of them, so they can’t hurt you!” He finishes, grinning ear to ear, but his eyes hollow and lifeless, staring unblinkingly into yours.

This guy was sick, there was no other word to it. You might have had issues with your family, and yeah your friends could be assholes sometimes, but you didn’t want them killed! What good would that do you, or anyone for that matter?!

Doppio seemed to read your thoughts, “Look, I know it's a lot to take in at once, but trust me. Boss and I have planned this out for a while now, and we’re always going to do what’s best for us, ok? So don’t worry so much, and please stop struggling? Boss warned me if you got too unruly he’d take over and finish what he started last night.

A wave of nausea slithered through you as you remembered, thinking how close you were to dying. You gave up, lying limp on the bed, praying for this to end.

Doppio smiled again, this one almost seeming genuine, and gave you the softest kiss to your lips. It was childish, almost, and he clearly lacked experience, but he gained more confidence from your lack of struggling. With the mysterious hands holding you (stands? King crimson?) his own hands were free to touch you. He started With your cheeks, your face, your hair, your neck, stroking you with feather-light touches, his fingers tracing each curve, digit and flaw like he was trying to memorize it all.

“Finally… I finally get to touch you like this… I’ve been waiting for so long, y/n. Do you know how long I've wanted to hold you?” He whispered, wrapping his arms around your neck, cradling your cheek to his. You didn’t know, and you didn’t want to, but Doppio told you anyway.

“I’ve been watching, waiting...for so long. Following you home from work, listening into your calls, finding your online accounts. I’ve known since I first saw you that you were the one for me, and now I get to prove it to you. I get to show you all the things I've been meaning to do to you. You’ll never be lonely again, not with me around. We’ll never be lonely~”

He giggled the last part, giddy with excitement, as he slid his fingers down your ribcage, your sides, fiddling with the bottom of your shirt. You wriggled, trying to fight him off again, only to your dismay Doppio giggled even harder at your reactions-perhaps because he knew you could never overpower him.

“Ohhh~ still so shy? Don’t be so uptight, y/n, you need to live a little! I know how much you want this; you complain about it all the time on your personal blog-” You could feel the blush on your cheeks heating up your face, desperate to make him shut up, “ How you want someone to have their way with you, to make you forget everything else in life. You’re desperate for someone to truly cherish and understand you; mentally and physically. You want me to love you? You want me to fuck you…? Would that make you happy? Would it make you love me?” Doppio rambled on and on, ripping your shirt off with strength he hadn’t had before.

You yelped, goosebumps forming on your skin as Doppio cackled, rubbing his face on your stomach, and into your cleavage poking out from your bra.

“Yes, let go for me! Show me every emotion, everything you’ve been holding back from me for so long- i need it, I demand it!” He snarled, splitting your nicest bra in half, and biting down on your neck, hard.

You screamed, legs kicking uselessly as the pain blurred your mind and you were operating purely on instinct. Doppio didn’t seem bothered in the least by it, you could still feel his laughter against your sore neck, as he sucked down on it, trying to bruise and mark you. His hands couldn’t help but find their way to your breasts, toying with them and squeezing them with admittedly little expertise. But he was a quick learner, making note of each little gasp and twitch according to how he touched you, and improving his technique from there. He twisted your nipples a bit roughly, already hard from the chilly air and sensitive to touch- you couldn’t help but moan a little in satisfaction. It had been awhile.

Doppio’s moans echoed yours, as he kissed his way down the crevice of your breasts, and licked each nipple in turn. You squirmed, not in fear or anger but pleasure, angry at yourself for letting this strange man win your body over so easily. Doppio kept his eyes on you at all times, studying your face to see how you felt. He’d had to watch you for so long from so far away, alone in your bedroom, or so you thought… it was time to use the knowledge he’d gained to make your body crazy for him.

You jumped at Doppio’s hands, cupping your groin through your pants, trying not to buck into his hands . It was getting harder and harder to deny him, though, why couldn’t you just-?

Doppio pulled your pants down to your ankles, taking your panties with it. He groaned audibly at the sight- your pussy was so wet and dripping, there was still a trail connected to your underwear.

“No, don’t-” You cried, snapping your legs shut, visibly scared at what was taking place again. Doppio was losing patience, crouching down and prying your legs open,

“Stop fighting me, y/n, you clearly want this!” He cried, eye twitching in annoyance. He managed to open your legs again, and buried his face into your pussy. He moaned, licking up a wet stripe against your labia, warm and puffy and so wet for him- he knew you would be, he knew you loved him.

Tears streaked down the sides of your face, this was so much and so intense. Your thighs clamped down on Doppio’s cheeks and neck, squeezing him as hard as you could. Not hard enough, apparently, as he just started giggling again through a full mouth and busy tongue “Ssho good, y/n, why have you been hiding thissh from mee~?” he moaned, tongue circling your clit. You flung your head back into the pillow, gripping the mysterious hands that held you for any source of strength or comfort.

Watching you whimper so pitifully with his head between your legs, obviously blissed out after being so needy and alone for so long, just did things to doppio. He loved the pained, fucked out expression on your face- you couldn’t even keep your eyes open as he snuck one, two fingers into your aching pussy. You whimpered so cutely, and it was all for him and him alone. Finally~

“Y/n, please, i can only hold back for so long, let me make sure it’s not painful… be good for me, please?” Doppio begged, grinding his hips into the mattress before he could help himself. Begrudgingly, you moved your thighs back just enough for Doppio to push them away, when he got a wonderful idea. King crimson, or what Boss had lent him of his stand to use, sensed his thought, and grabbed both your hands in one arm. Doppio pushed your thighs back and up, effectively bending your knees into your chest and displaying your pussy in such a beautiful way. You cried out, surprised by the sudden movements and embarrassed by how exposed you were, but there was nothing you could do about it. Doppio was just too strong.

The other free hand floated down, spreading your lips apart to give Doppio a nice view before pummeling two of his thick, strong fingers inside of you. You screamed, crying as the fingers curled directly into your sweet spot, massaging with robotic-like precision and speed. The sounds you were making were wet, animalistic, and you were quickly brought close to the brink.

“Perfect, y/n! Just like that, let yourself go! It makes me happy to see a side of yourself you never show anyone else- and you never will to anyone but me! Remember, I'm the one making you feel this good, right y/n? You couldn’t possibly find anything half as wonderful from anyone else but me! Me, got it?!” Doppio exclaimed, his voice cracking and becoming much darker, scarier. For a second, you could swear he looked like a different person entirely, wild, angry and dangerous- but you blinked and Doppio was just as before.

Doppio licked his lips, sweating and anxious, this was good enough to make you love him, right? This was what he had to do to make you happy? Boss’s words from before appeared in his head though, and he remembered how Boss had always been right before. Doppio trusted him, and was determined to win you over. Doppio let go of one of your legs-you seemed adequately distracted and restrained to get away from him- and unzipped his fly. In truth, he would’ve preferred to get all the way naked with you for the first time, so you could see and feel the real him as well, but clearly the two of you were too desperate and impatient for him to get fully naked. This time.

You whimpered at the sound of a zipper, feeling the fingers pull out of you. You heard the crinkle of a wrapped, and the muffled groan as Doppio probably rolled a condom onto himself, but you were too afraid to look. The strong floating hand, still wet with your juices, gripped your cheek and forced you to look at Doppio, staring you down with much more restraint and calm than he had been. Doppio kissed your cheek, then your lip, and pushed his warm cock achingly slowly, gently, into your waiting pussy.

You couldn’t help yourself from moaning, grabbing at the hands that held you, thrusting yourself onto Doppio’s hard and hot cock. He bit his lip, feeling you twitch and squeeze around him; he was trying so hard to be gentle for you, why were you still making things so difficult. He chuckled to himself, and motioned for King Crimson to let you go; finally you were beginning to relax and enjoy yourself, and he wanted to enjoy every bit of it.

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around Doppio, holding him close to you. Your mind was a mess, your body even messier, you didn’t know what to think or do about your abducter/rapist fucking you so tenderly, and you were tired of fighting. So you let him fuck you, slowly and gently and way way emotionally. Doppio wiped away new tears you hadn’t realized were there, shushing you, “It’s okay, my sweet y/n. Just relax and let me do the work. Don’t fight it any more, just let go.” He whispered, pressing kisses into your lips and cheeks far too sweetly.

So you did, you relaxed and sank into the mattress, pulling Doppio down with you. He let go of your thighs, and held you tightly to him as he fucked-no, made love to you. He gradually picked up the pace, huffing and whispering words of admiration to you about your body, or how much he adored you. You took it all limply, the fight having gone out of you and desperate for comfort. The floating arms, which you had forgotten about, reappeared and stimulated your nipples and clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Doppio sped up as well, he knew this would have to end, but he wanted to make it last as long as possible. This was your first time together, after all. He wanted to make it special. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper and closer into you. You could feel the spongy head of his dick rub your inside so sweetly, you were starting to get addicted to the feeling. Doppio buried his head into your neck, mumbling nonsense as he pushed in deeper and deeper, faster and faster, as his restraint gave way to passion.

“Y/n I- I don’t know how much longer I can last, but-” He kissed you, as the stroking of your clit sped up. You groaned loudly, you were so close, “Just a bit longer, please~” You begged, biting your lip. Doppio took a deep breath, steeling himself as he was determined to make you come first. He pounded into you, urging you closer and closer, four sets of hands circling your body and drawing out noises and gasps from you out of your control.

“Almost there, please, almost~!!!” You cried, throwing your head back with a final sigh as you came hard and fast, your core heating up and washing over you as Doppio helped you ride it out with clit rubs. Your walls fluttering around him, the face that you made as you came from him, for him, it was too much and he quickly filled his condom inside of you, moaning even louder than you had as he thrust without abandon into your wonderful, most precious place. He didn’t want to stop, thrusting almost to the point of overstimulation, before he had to stop, and collapsed on top of you. He cooed and kissed his praises and thanks into your shoulder and skin, before he noticed the soft sound of you snoring. Poor thing, he chuckled to himself, you’d really worked yourself up.

He reluctantly pulled out, after indulging in 5 minutes of cuddling your sleeping body and listening to your heartbeat. Doppio cleaned the two of you off, and tucked you into the covers of the motel- now would be a good time to set up moving you into your new home. After all, The whole reason you were in the motel is because the moving company Boss had hired to move your things into the main base would take several hours to complete their job, and Boss didn’t want anyone seeing you or Doppio at home. Doppio ruffled your hair as you slept, pulling out his cellphone to check in with Boss and give him the full update he’d requested.

Tonight was going to be very busy.

[sparkbeast20]

You’re my Treasure (Mammon X MC) Pt13

The Blue Lotus petals (series)

As a fan of Beauty X Beast pairing, Showing your “true self” to Lover or (Monster Love) Tropes. I figure to make a (More Demonic Forms AU/head canon) story for each brothers. Heads up each brother’s Story is long as fuck. So, I’ll be posting them as parts and finishing one brother before moving on to the rest of them.

(spoiler for lesson 1-60)

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5 Pt6 Pt7 Pt8 Pt9 Pt10 Pt11 Pt12

Warning: Swearing, Demonic nature, Suggestive content.

Previously

The two snap out of their feral state by Levi’s scream, they turn towards Levi and shock to what they saw.

“Leviathan!?!, put that book down now!!”

You felt like something is missing next to you. Confuse you try to search it with hand but all you can feel was coins and clothing. You open your eyes to see that Mammon was gone.

You push yourself up and look around to see at no one is in the cavern with you.

“Hello?” slowly got to your feet and wander towards the mouth of the cavern, then you heard a voice call out to you, startling you.

You look up to see Beel looking at you.

“Your awake!” He flew down and immediately engulf you in a bear hug. “We were so happy to find you and Mammon, we didn’t stop looking ever since you two left.”

That feeling again, just came back. The feeling of guilt.

“Sorry to make you all worried”

He chuckles and tells you that breakfast is ready, you nodded and quickly flew out of the cavern and landed near the campfire where everyone is there and greets you.

“Ah…. Good morning, I guess?” once Beel let you go, Asmo was the first one to pounce at you and start rubbing his face to yours as he dramatically starts sobbing. After a moment of fake crying pulled away and cup your face and squishing it. “Look at you, a week of no shower or bath. *Gasp* a week wouldn’t be enough fix you and not to mention all the lost time we have make up since you and Mammon vanish”

You felt your chest tight, just hearing anything about casino and “running away” you feel guilt building up. You want to change the subject.

“I know, I look like I came from a post-apocalyptic game” you were hoping for Levi to jump in, to make one of his game/anime references. But you met was a confuse look from Asmo and Beel. And a dull look from Belphie and doubtfully look from Satan.

“If you look for Levi, he not here. He and Lucifer followed Mammon to who’s knows where” Satan broke the awkward silence.

“Ugh, Mammon is in a bad mood this morning, all though he did lighten up when I mention that you were sleeping…...what have you two been doing for the past week” Asmo grins and playfully bounce his brows up and down. Clearly thinking some private thoughts that Belphie are not to please to hear this early in the morning, he glared at him to stop with the “Asmo speech” but the fifth just wave his hand at him to stop his feeble attempt to scare him.

“Asmo how could I do it with him, when his three times bigger, and that his…... I don’t know a crow monster!”

“You said that his “Three times” bigger. Then that means his- OW!?! Satan the fuck that was for!” Satan smack him at the back of the head to cut that discussion short. He hisses at Satan, who just flash a fake smile at him, you chuckle at the Fourth and Fifth interaction.

“Anyway, why was Mammon in a bad mood?”

“I was just cleaning tail feathers, when squawk at me. I was just trying to help him”

You couldn’t say it out loud but every time you ask Mammon about his brothers, he just stay silent and turn his head away from you, like he didn’t want to hear about them.

Its like before the week you to left, Mammon starts too distant himself from them. As if he was irritated to be in the same room with them.

You felt your hands turning colder, as your heart start to beat fast. The guilt is killing you; all this happen because of you.

“I’m sorry…... this all my fault.” All of them turn and look at with a confuse look on their face. Satan was the first one to asks.

“What do you Mean?”

“……Mammon wasn’t the one who want to go to the casino……. I was”

It was a quiet night at the house, too quiet Mammon wasn’t his cheerful attituded that night even though it was Saturday night he tends to be at the casino by this time but he wasn��t feeling it.

You were at the couch in his room, doing some reading about the demon king and his time ruling for a report you’re doing.

While Mammon is laying at his bed looking at the ceiling with both arms under his head.

“Maybe we can play with Levi, he said that there was devil kart update last week”

“Nah, I’m not in the mood video games right now” he sounds tired and uninterested like all the passion in him is gone.

“Mammon” call to him in low tone and a slight worried, stood up and walk over to the bed and sat next to him. “Are you okay, did Lucifer or the others~”

“No, its….” He tilts his head and landed his sight on you “I think, I’m losing interest in cards”

“What? But you’re the sin of greed how are you losing interest in cards?” he sat up and look at the table by the couch with a stack of playing cards on it

“I don’t know…… it does excite or thrill me like it use to, maybe it has to do of me being in a slump lately. I mean babe, I lose all the rounds last week and all my cash in my pocket…... I think I’m losing my spark”

He lay back down to bed and turn to face away from you, not knowing what to do.

You hate seeing him like this, somehow its Mammon depress like this, just crush your heart. He always lively cheerful, full of himself, cocky and arrogant that why you love him. Even he does stupid and dumb things for cash. He is the light of this house and his brothers they just don’t want to admit it.

Then suddenly you thought of something to help your boyfriend, you lay beside him and start kissing him on the back of his neck.

“Babe, I’m not in the mood for sex”

“Oh……... I’m just doing this to grab your attention” you said it in a playful tone.

He turns you and with a pout “What are you gettin’ at?”

“Well….” You start playing with his hair “I have a couple of friends back in the human world that was in same state as you are right now”

“Yeah…... yer point?”

“Their solution is to change it”

“Okay now, I’m more confuse”

“You been playing poker and other card games normal and/or cheating” he looks at you narrow bows and his pout is even more sour, and you just chuckle and ruffle his hair. “You got used to it, and eventually the game got dull. So, I should come and play with you and make things interesting”

“You don’t like gambling, I’m even surprise that yer dating me”

“You know why I choice you right!” he turns away to hide his blush.

“Get to the point” he’s getting fluster, you try your best not tease him any farther.

“Yeah, I don’t like gambling…… but people change their mind about things and I want you to teach me how” you can see his face change into something to what his usual expression is.

“Yer tell me, that ya want the great Mammon to teach ya how to play and win”

You pulled out a grimm out of your pocket and show it to Mammon “I want more of this to buy something” you said like you’re making a deal with a devil. And his liking it.

“Go on……” he fixes himself in a sitting position with his hand under chin as you continue on to all the things you want to buy and other activities that you can only do with grimms. The longer you go on, the cocky grin on his face grow. He loves this feeling you indulging in his sin, what he saw is a wave of aura that he is the only one can see, surround you and your pact mark glows.

But to you you’re just talking about thing you want to buy; you know Mammon just love listening to you talk about things like this.

After all of that, Mammon jumps off the bed and turn to face you with his chest puff up.

“We’re not sleepin’ tonight, cause baby I’m teach ya all the tricks and cheats of this. By this time tomorrow we’ll be swimmin’ in grimms”

You smiled back at him, happy to bring back his spirit again “Can’t wait”

“After that, we spend all night playing cards until I memorize all cards in the deck. And we spend the nights at casino after casino earn wins and having fun…... until the Basto thing happen”

“So, you let yourself get too greedy and try to cheat for the thrill” Satan said with a stern tone. All you can do is nodded and try not to cry.

“I though changing things up and making them more exciting for him, will help get out of his slump…. But I didn’t want him to get all the blame and blame himself for me getting hurt” you start to sob and let the tears fall as you hold the case which should be off of you by now close to your chest.

Satan sigh and crouch right Infront of you and start talking.

“That was stupid and reckless of you, to act like Mammon, knowing that you’re playing a dangerous with powerful demons for the thrills” you nod as Satan continues “But what’s done is done, once this all over you and I are going to have a long talk” Satan pause for a moment and grab your case arm and looked at it and saw the writing in gold ink.

“But you shouldn’t blame yourself for Mammon hating himself for you getting hurt” he taps the case and it broke apart surprising you as you bend your wrist feeling free from it.

“Because this is what you are to him” he grabs a piece of the case of the floor, he gently grabs your hand and place the case on it revealing the piece is with writing My Treasure with the scribble of a feather next to it.

Your eyes widen and you looked up to met Satan’s eyes, he smiled back at you.

“Mammon loves you, if guns work on demons, he would’ve jump Infront of the bullet for you without a second though. Mammon is dumb but…...” he trails off and wipe the tears of your cheek. “His heart is in the right place”

“Satan’s right” Asmo fixes your hair “We make of Mammon from time to time, because his easy to tease. That’s goes to Levi with his obsession with his hobby, Satan’s with cats” Asmo can feel Satan glaring at him. “Beel with his eating, and Belphie with his laziness” Asmo pause for a moment remembering all the time Mammon and he were clubbing, and how he teases him on winning you, and boasting about in that was the best out of the seven of them to choose to be with. Sure, he was jealous all of them are, but seeing him happy like that and happy being with you. He couldn’t to smile and be proud of Mammon.

“We all care and love him, even these heartless demons won’t say anything” Both Satan and Belphie frown and look away from Asmo, who he and Beel chuckle of their brothers attempt to hide their emotion.

“Thanks…. All of you, I feel so much better”

“I’m glad, now let’s eat”

“Yes” without hesitation Beel start stuffing his face with the food he and Asmo has been cooking

“Make sure you save some for the three, we wouldn’t want to be in their bad side, if they came back hungry and expecting food waiting for them.” Belphie tells the others, and thinking what taking the older brothers too long to get back.

[thunderheadfred]

🦈Kirishima HC’s🦈

Absolutely no one asked for this i just like him a lot

He’s an adult in all of these. 20s-30s at least. Some NSFW because I’m a big perv. Minors do not interact. Shoo.

- - - - -

General:

He is in the dictionary under Himbo, right next to Kronk.

Works part-time as a fitness instructor before making a name for himself as a pro hero. Most of his clients are middle-aged women, because he makes people feel safe. Before long, word gets around and he amasses this like. Loyal army of jacked housewives and older ladies who are his biggest possible fans. They mother-hen him like crazy.

Has a large and complicated extended family. Lots of cousins. You will never learn all their names, don’t even try. I have no idea if his parents have canon occupations but no matter what Horikoshi says, they actually own a mountain onsen. Kirishima went to the city by himself to go to middle/high school, his family is all off in the country somewhere and he gets homesick a lot but never admits it. He’s broke for a long time even after making it as a pro hero, because he sends most of his money back home.

He’s a dog dad. You cannot, WILL not convince me otherwise. Big dogs. Small dogs. Fancy dogs. Ugly dogs. He has a whole pack. He calls them all baby, sweetie, pupper, the worst and most embarrassing baby talk. Tells them about his day. All of his furniture is wrecked. He’s an active member in online dog groups, where he is careful to use a pseudonym and never show his face, but eventually people are going to figure out that Red Riot’s dogs look an awful lot like this one user’s....

He’s in a casual taiko group, always on the o-daiko. Loves participating in festivals and parades. He has never, ever, not once, worn a shirt while drumming. Probably has been gifted at least one antique taiko drum for his hero work, and he keeps it in his house but is too afraid to play it because it’s scary valuable “uhh it’s definitely haunted”

Regularly goes out drinking. Socially and responsibly, like clockwork, always with the same people. He’s a goddamned lightweight, and no one understands why. Will mope if he has to miss a night out at the izakaya.

So he’s clean, but sloppy. House looks like a tornado ripped through it, and nothing he owns matches. Not a single thing. I mentioned the dogs.

Will absolutely use “manly” as a replacement for “awesome,” and will constantly tell you how manly you are. Your actual gender is a non-issue. If you hang out with him for more than five minutes you’re manly as hell now.

He cries a lot? Sometimes it’s for show but he gets genuinely misty-eyed over the dumbest things. Do NOT show him pictures of puppies.

He’s good at braiding hair. His or yours. When his hair isn’t hardened, he likes doing all kinds of wacky stuff with it. He usually keeps it long enough for braids, ponies, buns, quirk-assisted faux-hawks, whatever. Mina has given him many bad ideas. He will definitely steal your hair bands and accessories, if you use them.

His fridge is just like, meat and beer. He will, if forced, consume perhaps one single vegetable. Unfortunately, his B.O. reflects this. God bless him - he showers and bathes daily, because he works out a lot and is just generally hygienic. But don’t ever touch his socks barehanded.

He wears the cheapest, most predictable cologne you can imagine, the kind that comes in an aerosol can and punches a hole in the ozone every time he sprays his pits. It smells stupidly good on him. How. so fucking manly. you kind of hate him for getting away with it.

- - - - -

And now, the 🌶 Spicy Ones 🌶

Does not date or hook up much; wants a serious relationship.

Has a tough time getting dates, weirdly. He’s still secretly insecure, but mostly he’s got rocks for brains and never knows how to flirt. He ends up friendzoning most of the people interested in him, because he is, in fact, a little too chivalrous for his own good and can never make the first move. He’s an emotional open book, but clueless romantically. I recommend being extremely straightforward. Draw him a map if you have to.

Is afraid to kiss you too deeply because of the teeth. Will take a lot of gentle encouragement to get him comfortable, but once he knows you’re safe, he’s going to be kissing you all the time. Like, too much. People are gawking, Kiri, for God’s sake.

He radiates massive doses of husband/dad energy. Will immediately marry the hell out of you. If you are capable of and willing to have his children, you are going to get extremely pregnant. Very quickly. Not necessarily a breeding kink (though why not), he just really wants to start a family with you.

He’s Big. Just huge. Tall and broad, and also... his dick is a summit and you will need to prepare for the climb. He’s had problems in the past because no, not everybody wants ALL THAT inside them. That said, if you can handle it? Woof.

Hard as a rock is No Joke with this man. Can and WILL use his quirk on his dick. If you don’t think that’s the first thing he mastered as a teenager I dont know what to tell you. Ever used a glass dildo? Well buckle up cuz it’s like if a massive glass dildo whispered sweet nothings in your ear and held you close in big strong arms and fucked you till you cried. It’s a sometimes thing. Otherwise you’d simply pass away.

He loves your brains. Your smarts and wit are a huge turn on, and he gets a boner when you use a word he doesn’t know. He also loves fucking your brains completely out, so that you cant use any words at all.

He’s a devout church-going body-worshipper. He’s so jacked that’s it’s constantly intimidating, like, how dare you stand next to this chiseled statue of a man?! but whether you love power-lifting with him or would rather die than exercise, he’s gonna treat you like the prettiest fucking piece of cake on planet earth.

Size kink ahoy; he gets his big grabby mitts on you... and you psychologically lose three feet. Doesn’t matter how tall or small or fat or thin you are, you are getting groped, squeezed, and manhandled. You didn’t even know it was possible to get thrown around like that; always onto something soft.

Not dominant. Not unless you ask very, very nicely. had a brief pushy phase at the peak of his teenage manliness obsession, unconsciously trying to be more like Bakugou, but he quickly realized controlling people wasn’t really him. It certainly isn’t very manly. Doesn’t want any toxic masculinity in his love life, even as roleplay.

That said, he can and will be a soft dom, if that’s what you want. After some practice, he’d get pretty good at it too. But his natural sexual groove is goofy, a bit awkward. Usually finds a non-sexual excuse to touch you at first; prepare to get tickled a lot. If you sit in his lap it’s all over.

If you get dominant with him, even a little, he’s gonna turn to putty in your hands. Go ahead and boss that big dumb puppy around. Nothing turns him on like seeing you get exactly what you want.

You’ll have morning wood pressed up against your ass. Every damn day. He might hump and grope you in his sleep, moaning a little. Usually it just wears off. If you wake him up to fuck, he’ll have no idea what’s going on but will be like “hell yeah i guess this is happening”

Gives oral like a starving man. Has absolutely zero reservations, because he knows his tongue and hands can’t hurt you. Will be as loud and messy as possible. If you get embarrassed or shy about it, he’s going to mumble sweet talk directly into your junk until your teeth fall out.

He’s vocal in bed. Growly. A moaning groaning disaster. He says the sweetest, gentlest things... has the cleanest dirty talk you’ve ever heard, but tenderness filtered through his bourbon-barrel chest comes out all dark and rumbly, especially when he’s close. you feel his “I love you” in your bones

He thinks making his partner cum is the manliest thing he can do. Any orgasm is good, but if you cum untouched on his dick, he’ll be riding that high for days

[namjoonchronicles]

impression | yg

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship

↳ words 5.5k

↳ summary many forgot that when you marry someone, you marry their family too, at least that’s how Asian family is like

↳ warning that side of adulthood, lockdown because of pandemic, self-worth, over-sensitivity, pisces dude, married life conflicts

↳ song ariana grande ‘pov’ 

Just this morning you woke him up with ‘Daechwita’ blasting on his ear drums, dancing and prancing around the home gym in your spandex bra and sweatpants, rapping to every word he wrote, with more swag than ten Yoongis combined. Forehead glistened with sweat, rosy cheeks and more life in you than he ever had. He leaned by the door sill just watching in utter disbelief and renewed admiration to just how much you loved his music. It never gets old. But how the tables have turned, two minutes before midnight.

You’ve locked yourself in the bathroom, him leaning his back on the wall, speaking through the closed door, calling out for you.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through. Fat chance, but at least he tried.

Must be something in his drink last night for him to hear his own song even when he is sleeping, Yoongi thought. But he didn't drink last night? Yoongi pulled the duvet down his head, contorting his entire face and the blaring boom bass music, rippling through the miniature figure standees of famous baseball players he had lined up on the TV cabinet. The music was so loud, the pictures hung on the walls began rattling at each beat drop. Where is this music coming from??

Two seconds in, and the empty spot next to him spoke volumes. All answers were as clear as day.

Yoongi sat up on the bed, duvets pooled around his waist as he yawns loudly and his bed hair flopping on either side leans towards, some baby strands standing in all directions. He scratches his arms, neck and belly as he comes awake. Face puffy, eyes barely open, and cheeks as circle as they could be. He gathered the duvet to the side and pushed himself off to the edge of the bed while shoving his feet into his indoor slippers. He tried to fetch his phone from the bedside table and saw it vibrating on its own from the loud music.

"Better stop her before the neighbours come complaining…"

He waddles about the room lazily, dragging his feet, his arm reaching for the switch panel before he even arrives to have the curtain open and let the sun in. The automated curtain aligned and folded creases perfectly as it gathered itself to each designated side. The bed, the bed will be made up later after he advises his wife not to deafen the whole neighborhood with his albums and he could finally think.

The teal-colored walls that extended along the hallway of the house, decorated with wedding pictures, family pictures, his signed baseball jerseys, picture of his basketball days (the one he jumps for a slam dunk and especially proud of, you know the one), your graduation picture (with him professionally photoshopped in) and some lovely polaroids of your first unofficial date that he insists was official. More on that later. Yoongi walks pass this memory lane with a stern face, shooting glares ahead, marching in the direction of the music, which seems to be coming from the gym. What he saw was a petite figure, all hyped up, sweaty, holding up a water bottle to your lips like a microphone, mouthing his rap like it was your own. You saw him in the mirror reflection but instead of coiling away, shy, you spat his rap to his face with flaming confidence. Yoongi looks down with a shy smile, eyes turning small and polite, skin blushing pink with second hand embarrassment. His face is hot and your sweaty skin, hair plastered to your neck and forehead, in revealing spandex was not helping. Neither is your swag. He clamped his lips with his teeth while you pulled his arm so he would join you. He protested lazily but didn't resist as hard. He throws his head back, whining dejections but you couldn't care less.

"Are you making your own concert here? Plagiarising my songs?"

You heard him and grinned widely at the mirror. He folded his arms and watched you dance seductively and just as the rap got to the 'my tongue sends boys and girls to China' part, the music stops and he is no longer next to you but by the stereo and turning it off.

"Yoongi! I was working out!" "People are gonna come and complain…" "They know who you are…" "They know my name from you…"

Screaming underneath him, that's what he meant. You rolled your eyes at him. He passed you a face towel with a sheepish smile. Wiping your face with it, you watched Yoongi unplug your phone from the sockets. It reveals several missed calls from your mother in law, Yoongi's mom.

"Mom called…" "Really?"

You moved closer to him to see. Yoongi reads the message she sent you outloud and the colors drained down your face.

"What do I cook? What do I do? What does she usually have for lunch? OMG, I don’t know. Do we even have kimchis left? I hadn't restocked…" "She likes fried dumplings and soy garlic chicken stew… it'll be okay. She said she is coming around noon. It's just a little over 8 am… Go take a shower."

You scurried to the bathroom and did as told. Yoongi made the bed while he waited. He turns the cordless vacuum cleaner on but it beeped soullessly because it wasn't charged. He sighed. You always forget to charge them after using them. He opted for a broom and dustpan instead. Yoongi disappears into his home studio, to take the shampoo he had been using and after-shower lotion for you to use. He twisted the knob, knowing you wouldn't lock them when you shower. Knock on the glass door of the shower and told you to use them. You nodded, passing him a look over your shoulder but he was out as quickly as he entered. That cold, cold steely husband.

You stepped out of the shower wrapped in towels with your hair dripping wet, hurrying to the hairdryer to dry your hair. Yoongi walks in with nothing but a towel around his waist. He passes you a chaste kiss on the shoulder first, then your cheeks before he continues to unravel his briefs and showered as well. The water trickles down his face, neck and shoulders, cascading down his speckless back, over the bum of his ass and wetting his happy trails at the same time. He aggressively rubs water over his face, the tips of his hair appear darker as it gets wet. You dressed up in your oversized hoodie, a pair of jeans and red converse, hair tied up in a bun, grabbing your purse for a quick run to the store. If your mother in law is coming, the least you could do is cook an all korean cuisine, prep nicely on the table so she knows that her son was taken care of nicely. Giving her a lasting good impression was your core priority as of now. And Yoongi would have been more than happy to do the grocery for you but this time, just this once, you want to show him that you are dependable too.

If there is anything you learned from korean cuisine is that food is prepared meticulously like you would, a form of art. Everything is placed neatly on a plate, and wrapped tightly. Taste and looks must be perfect. Everything had a sequence. Tradition and culture shapes the good people of Korea to what it is today. And for Daegu native, Yoongi's deep accent and habits become one of the most significant traits that flags a Daegu representative. You are obsessed with getting it right. Although you mostly don't understand the heavy accents he tends to let slip out once in a while, you were expecting to guess the words as it comes. His accents are one of the things that you loved about him. Daegu dialects are strong, and oozing masculinity. They are often direct and unapologetic so it might be heard as harsh. You couldn't tell apart if he is cursing or if he is just plainly just talking about his day when his friends stop by. He caught you a few times, staring blankly at him when he blurted out dialects out of frustrations, and he laughed them off when you accuse him of lying to you about what the words actually mean.

With his mom stopping by, the dialects are going to be thick and you would probably stare blankly most of the time. Communications are limited and Yoongi had to come back and forth to translate some of them.

Korean cooking is not your forte. Let's put that out there, in the open for everyone to see and understand. You are not familiar with it, and although you love some of it, some just don't fit your taste buds. But Yoongi is a full blown Korean. You make adjustments here and there, but it's not like he is always around for you to cook them often. That's why your korean cooking skills deteriorated. Even simple things like choosing which mushrooms to cook with takes 10 minutes longer than it probably should. You went with your heart and took the one you saw first.

Yoongi came out from the baths to see an empty room. Your perfume wafts over his nostril and it tattles about your whereabouts. Just as he was about to investigate, his phone shrieked a calling tone. It was Jungkook. Asking for a chord. He sounds desperate and bored to death. Being a good friend, Yoongi speds to his home studio after clumsily putting on some white tee on top of a grey shorts, halfway through and sending him several chords the little guy could work with, then pulling the rest of the shirt down as it loads. He swore he didn't take long but he found you already changing your clothes and starting to chop things on the chopping board, sloppily. He knows that it was not you to do things sloppily so he offered to help sharpen the knives.

"Soy garlic stew?"

You chewed your lips at him as he asked and nodded. Anxiety was written all over you. Your hands were already so shaky, and that's why you couldn't hold the knife properly, aside from it being blunt. You turned to the sink and began chopping the scallions with another knife Yoongi handed you.

“There are some potatoes I bought in the paper bags, I brought the mushroom I am familiar with, I am not sure if it's the one used in the stew. What time is it already? Is this enough time to even cook the stew? The chicken hasn’t thaw has it? I am not going to have enough time… She is going to know that the dumpling is store bought and I am putting my pride on the line…” you spoke nonstop, didn’t even hear Yoongi if he was saying anything, which you assumed he was quiet, so you became annoyed and, “Why aren’t answering any questions I have??”

Yoongi stood there, with a blank expression, “You wouldn’t even let me talk…”

You answered your own questions, and he was here listening to everything, opening his mouth and closing it before any word could come out because you bulldozed him with words, as he dug out the potatoes you were talking about, as well as the mushrooms.

“I’m sorry, I watched the youtube video on making the stew on the way to the mart and it seems pretty complicated, but doable… I think that the ginger and garlic goes in first,” you paused and sighed, “It’s been awhile since I cooked a proper meal for myself. I don’t know if I had it in me to even do this anymore…”

That’s right. While Yoongi was always away from the last two years, his work trips extended from 3 months to a whole year, and while studying for your master’s degree, you opt for simpler food, just enough for you to get by the day with a filled stomach. Most of your time is dedicated to your studies and laundry. Stopping by Daegu was hardly done, and if anything, you would just send some gifts her way. It is pretty awkward between you and his mother; language barriers, interests, and principles. You didn’t notice when Yoongi was standing behind you, his hand was on top of yours, soothing over your knuckles and he hijacked the scissors from your hands gently.

And he whispered softly atop of your head, “I got this.”

Just like that, he took over kitchen duties and let you handle the simpler stuff like, putting the pot on the stove, fill water in it, skin the potatoes, chopped them into large cubes, unstub the capsicum, peel the skin off of the chicken, peel the garlic and ginger. Yoongi’s instructions are clear and easy to follow. After all the things are chopped and prepared, he hands the ladle to you.

Your eyes widen. And you shook your head. Stepping back. Yoongi clicked his tongue and chuckled through his nose. Coax you. But no, you stepped farther back. He then took your wrist gently and placed the ladle handle in your palm.

“Trust me?” “I trust you, it’s me I don’t trust.”

“I’ll help you every step. Let’s go. Have confidence!” “You’re the multi billionaire, I’m just the struggling degree student with a part time job.”

“You’re Min Yoongi’s wife.” “I find that hard to believe sometimes…”

With another scolding tut of his tongue, you conceded. With a heavy heart.

The chopped chicken pieces are placed in a boiling water pot, and when its reddish flesh turns white and is cooked, it is drained and washed underneath cold running water to remove impurities. You watched quietly as Yoongi cleans them with his capable hands. His veins protrude, extending well over his forearms. The tip of his fingers were pinker than the rest of his hands, and he smoothes over those nooks and crannies the chicken pieces have. As ridiculous as it may sound, you were quite envious of the fact that those chickens have his full attention now. Next, the carrots.

The carotene source is peeled and chopped in large size. Yoongi helped guide your hands over the handle of the knife, because he is pretty particular on how big he wanted those carrots to be.

“Isn’t that too large?” You asked him in a small voice. They are half the size of your thumb. “No, it’s just nice…” he replied in a low voice, his lips just behind your ear, “It has to be in the same size as the potatoes, so it will cook at the same time.”

Your bottom grazed over his front and he learns to just keep you sandwiched in between the counter and him, so it won’t turn to something else. He is just as anxious as you are with his mom coming. Therefore, the percentage of him turning frisky is zero to none. The onions come next. They are chopped in half and then into fours. Yoongi paused and braced himself for tear gas attacks only there was none. He asks where you bought those onions, and you replied, it was grown in your colleagues garden. They were given for free. And he comments,

“They should sell these, we will be their first loyal customer! It doesn’t sting!”

You laughed as you prepared the fruits you bought. It was rock melon and some papayas. You avoided buying tangerine because you know she will bring some from her hometown, knowing how much Yoongi loves them. Daegu’s tangerines are very sweet and plump. There is nothing like it. Yoongi sliced green onions for the stew and extra hot chili peppers because his mom likes them spicy. Then he prepares the mixture for the broth.

“Now watch,” he instructed you, “Soy sauce, rice wine, red chilli pepper powders, minced garlic, two cups of sugar, red pepper paste, sesame oil, pepper. Mix well.”

Yoongi prepared a pot and placed the cleaned chicken pieces in them, added potatoes, carrots and water with the mixture he made just prior. Then, boil. After the chicken is cooked thoroughly, he adds onions. Then the scallions. Then salt to taste. You prepared the oven and Yoongi carried the pot to it to keep it warm until his mom arrived. Dumplings were pan fried. That one was simple. His mom doesn’t like her beverages too sweet, a simple plain water is enough.

When all the food is done, you turn to him at the same time he did. Sweats rolling down his sideburns and his thin white shirt clinging on his skin like he ran a mile. You approached him with a huge smile, swept his hair back to reveal his forehead and dabbed your inner wrist to wipe away his sweat all around his face. He sniggers through his nose. Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, you can’t help but plant a kiss on them. Nuzzling your face on his neck, you draped your arm around his shoulder and mumbled, “Thank you…”

He leans his cheek on your head and kisses one side of your brain, before exclaiming that you both need another shower after cleaning up the kitchen and turning on the air humidifier to chase away the smell of cooking.

“How was the journey?” you chirped. “The weather is scorching hot, the sun is melting me away before I can meet my son,” Yoongi’s mom complained in a thick Daegu accent, and when she stepped in, she gave you a glance and straight away went looking for her precious son. As expected.

“He was just out of the shower, he will come soon, mother,” you said the last word awkwardly, it doesn’t really roll off your tongue as comfortably as it should. She replied to you with a dejected “Hmm.”

You blinked and cast your eyes downwards, then up again to change the topic, “...Let me take you some cold drink… it must have been a torture, to walk around in such hot weather,” you sped to the kitchen and grabbed her a cold water in a tall glass.

“Hello mom…” Yoongi revealed himself from the hallway, gave his mother a hug that you didn’t receive when she walked in. “It wasn’t torture when I’ve come to see my son!” She suddenly changed her words, now she is all bright and cheerful, and you disappeared from her sight completely unless Yoongi looks over to you and includes you in the conversation. That too, wasn’t permanent. Yoongi learned that his older brother’s wife is carrying a baby and Holly had been snuggling to her tummy at every chance she gets. The sight would have been adorable and they were able to take a picture of it so Yoongi’s mom excitedly showed them to Yoongi. They both are sitting on the sofa while you were in the kitchen scooping up cooked rice into bowls of three.

“This sofa is new isn’t it? I didn’t see it the last time I was here,” his mom asked. “Yes, yes… do you like it?” Yoongi said and said you chose them. Then her enthusiasm dissipates. “I like it better without one. Now it’s too westernized,” his mom’s lips turned lopsided, continuing, “Did you know that hanging your legs down will disrupt the blood flow up to your brain? We better sit down on the floor when we eat, too…”

Yoongi prepared a Japanese folded table and pushed aside the coffee table that was there. Everything you’ve prepared on the dining table was moved to the Japanese one. When everything is set, you and Yoongi wait for his mom to start eating before you both do. It’s tradition. Even between man and wife, the older one begins eating first. Yoongi sips the stew and then you begin scooping the stew into your bowl. You were the only one eating mostly with a spoon instead of chopstick since you aren’t too accustomed to it. Yoongi’s mother said in a joking tone that you should start using the training chopstick used by toddlers.

Why are you extra sensitive today? She was just joking, but smiling is so hard right now. Your cheeks feel heavy and your shoulders stiffened. Yoongi carried the rest of the conversation effortlessly. The deep Daegu accent is already shifting your attention towards the fried dumpling instead. It was just a little over 45 minutes since she arrived, why does it feel like days?

“Dumplings, mother?” You chirped, attempted to use the chopstick and successfully landed them in her bowl.

Then she puts them back where they were, and said, “I don’t eat store-bought dumpling, darling,” before resuming to tell Yoongi the story about her neighbour getting into a real estate feud. You hold your breath in your throat and try not to think about it too much. Although you’ve finished your bowl of rice, Yoongi still hasn’t. He was busy nodding away to what his mother was saying. She barely touched the stew. When she turned to her food, you tapped Yoongi’s knee underneath the table and he looked at you wide eyed, darting at the stew. And Yoongi’s lips turned to the shape of an “O”.

“How do you like the stew, mom?” He asked. “It’s okay…” “My wife made it…” Yoongi said with a smug smile.

You smiled, shyly.

“It tastes exactly how Yoongi would cook it. I thought you cooked it, I know how horrible her korean cooking is, Yoongi… You don’t have to lie to me,” his mom passed.

After bidding her farewell at the door, Yoongi accompanied her to his brother’s incoming vehicle that fetches her. His brother made a promise to stop by when the baby arrives and when the Covid cases reduce a bit. You watched from the window from your bedroom and when the car drove off with Yoongi waving goodbye to his mom, your heart thudded differently.

Your eyes stung, and tears impending to fall as it collected around the brims. As you heard the front door beeping open to Yoongi returning, your feet dashed to the bathroom door, pushing it open as your tears rolled down your face like a dam broke.

Sensitive? Too soft? Was I too emotional? Am I not trying hard enough to be enough?

Yoongi walks in, to an eerily silent house. Ridding his shirt by pulling it over his head as he walks down the dimly lit hallway. His heavy footsteps heard across the floorings and you covered your mouth with your hand to not make any sound. He noticed that the bathroom light was on unlike the rest of the room.

“You’re showering alone? Traitor…” he pouted and wriggled the door knob and noticed it was locked from the inside. “I have a stomach ache,” you hoped you sound convincing. Your voice didn’t sound as shaky and you hope he didn’t catch on. “Okay…” he said, after a long pause. You turned the shower on to reduce the sound of you crying, and went back to sitting on the floor by the door, dug the heels of your palm into your eyes socket, and hugged your knees, sniffling.

“Hey…” his voice muffled through the door. “Hmm?” you replied, through a broken smile.

“Are you okay?”

Another dam broke.

Shit, I’ve started crying again. Why can’t I stop crying?! He is going to find out now… Fuck.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through.

“Was it mom? She says something you don’t like? You know how mom is, right? She doesn’t mean any of it…” now it’s Yoongi’s turned to bulldoze you with questions he himself answered.

Unable to take it anymore, you had to speak out, even if it means behind closed doors.

“I know she doesn’t like me as a daughter-in-law…” you spoke in broken voices. “Nonsense…” Yoongi passed, nonchalantly.

“No, will you please just listen to me?!” you raised your voice a bit, “I am not like your brother’s wife who cooks great Korean food, who sends her nice homemade desserts to her likings, and now is bearing a grandchild for her. I can’t cook, and had to rely on you a lot. She came over and she didn’t give me a hug like she did you, and the whole she doesn’t even speak to me unless I speak to her first, and even then, she shuts me down so I couldn’t say another word. I can’t even use a damn chopstick or make homemade dumplings she’ll eat!”

It’s Yoongi’s turn to lean his back on the door and hug his knees, then hang his head low.

“Suddenly the sofa is too westernized. And the glass doors letting in too much sunlight when I renovated it the way she wanted. It seems like everything I do is wrong and I just have no place in the Min’s household no matter how hard I try,” you sniffed, and, “To make matters worse she brought up the girlfriends you had in high school and how they cook her favourite food! Girlfriends! Plural! Here I thought you only had one… Jokes on me, I guess… It’s fine, honestly.”

There's nothing more terrifying than the word ‘fine’ you threw when you’re sad and Yoongi knows it. It signifies so many things. It indicates that you’re done, and you’re ready to let go of it, by shoving it under the rug like many other things your mother in law did to you ever since you met her. Yoongi shot his head up when the door opened and his eyes followed you in silence, a little solemn. You dried your hair, sitting on the makeup chair table, running the cool air Dyson hairdryer over the lengths of your hair. Yoongi crawled on all four and knelt behind you to hug your waist, nuzzling his face on your lower back. Then the tears returned, and kept falling.

Your gaze is stuck on the reflection of you in the mirror. What have we become?

It was one of those moments where no words seemed to suffice. Regrets and guilt becomes almost the same thing. Pointing the blame is the last thing on your mind. Choosing sides is difficult when so much is at stake. You may have unclasped his arm from around your waist, heard his wordless gesture and refused to see his face, but so much of him is in you. The fact you held on for so long was because of that man you love and married. Is this going to happen everytime your mother in law stops by?

Even then, you didn't want him to go against his own mother, nor do you want him to side with her… It was such a confusing situation.

Yoongi needs to return to the studio. He packs a few toiletries and clothes for him to wear while he is there. You helped him pack leftover food so you are not burdened to finish everything alone. The conversation shifts to what matters now. You carry your duty as a wife, his partner. You make sure that he is able to provide for this family and even though your emotions are once again neglected for the time being, you were glad that it actually occupied your mind and heart.

At the door, his manager carried his things and instead of leaving along with his manager, Yoongi told him to go first. You already know what comes next. But you aren't sure if you had it in you. One look in your eyes and Yoongi knows that you will rather die than have that conversation all over again. He ran his finger through your hair, lowered his lips to your forehead and stayed like that for awhile, and you said,

“Take care of yourself,” you spoke to his chest, breathing in his musky cologne for the days ahead without him. He stepped back, thumbed your cheek and pinched your chin, tilting your head back. He glanced at your lips while biting his own then backed away, to leave. As the view of his back got smaller and smaller, he exclaimed, “I’m going.” Not once did he turn behind to have one last look. And it was something Yoongi would do. Doesn’t matter if it's at the airport, or at the backstage, he will never look at you after he leaves you, even when he knows you’re right there standing, and looking at him. He says that, if he saw you standing there waiting for him, he will not be able to fight the urge to run to you. So he never looks back. The one thing that he always does before a work trip, is to kiss your forehead. Dr. Laurel Steinberg says, a forehead kiss indicates strong emotional intimacy.

But Yoongi says that a forehead kiss to him signifies a bond that goes beyond lust and love, it was your soul. It is to say, “I might be too far away to hold you, but my soul is yours.” It sends butterflies and confettis your way when he does it. It always feels warm and you always feel protected with a stamp of Yoongi’s lips on your forehead. It feels like a talisman. That no matter what, Yoongi is here.

Recovery. The emotional turmoil, the rollercoaster. You fill your time organizing the photos Yoongi took. With your final exams finished a week ago, you’re given a month off before you begin your final year. Yoongi now lives in his studio office because the album recording session begins and he is in every process. He is in charge of doubling and finalizing the tracks, directing and whatnot. Yoongi sends you a 1 minute 23 seconds video. Scowling at it, your face softened at the sight of him, recording himself in the studio. Dark circles doubled in size and his cheeks sunken. Poor thing hadn't been eating well did he?

“Hey, sweetie…” his familiar guttural voice resonated with your heart strings, “Sorry I haven’t been able to properly give you a call. It’s too late when I’m free, and I’m asleep when you’re awake. So I figured I’ll just send you a damn video, to hell with it.” You chuckled softly as your visions turned blurry.

“I think I will be addressing the recent issue we tucked away for later day. It’s later. You have never been good at fighting for yourself. It was something I don’t really understand because I’ve seen you fight my fight for me,” he glanced to the side and smiled fondly. You were unclear what situation he was talking about but you kept listening.

“You told me that I shouldn’t side with you because that would mean I am against my mother. Here’s what I truly think…” he breathed in and sighed loudly, “I think I should side with you. I spoke to my mom a few days ago, asked her how she is, and I told her several things I don’t like, like bringing up my past ex girlfriend, or how you can’t use the chopstick yet, or how your korean cooking isn’t great yet… how upset it made you and me. She told me that she was just jealous. I left home when I was 16. Come back when I am 20, married at 25. I will always be her son, I let her know that. But I am now someone’s husband, and I happen to cherish this someone, her heart and her wellbeing is my responsibility. I am not stolen from my mom, I consciously chose this person to be with me, to be her husband and built a home with her. And if she can’t respect that, then she cannot return to our house…”

You had to set the phone down and wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

“I’m done being a referee,” Yoongi continued after a long pause, “You’re gonna cry again, and I won’t be able to pass you tissue or give you a hug, I hope you understand what I’m trying to say. I am proud of you and all the little things you do. Daegu dialect is difficult to understand ha? That’s alright. You’re getting your degree, and you help pack my things even though you’re sad as hell the day I left. I couldn’t… I couldn’t ask for a better wife, and I hardly think I deserve you. Until we meet again, soon. Your husband, Min Yoongi.”

The video cuts to him winking.

Another text from him,

[Yoongi, 1.03AM] Impression is never permanent. I hope you give mother another try…

Wife is typing...

[Wife, 1.04AM] Erm. [Wife, 1.04AM] Sends a pic.

[Wife, 1.05AM] How’s this for a lasting impression?

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copyright © 2020 namjoonchronicles do not repost, and thank you for reading

[makeupinthedrawer]

3 a.m.

when your boyfriend is obsessed with watching guitar solos in the middle of the night but you can’t sleep without him

authors note: i’m super new here so i’m just gonna pick from these super fluffy prompts but if you do stumble upon this and like what u read, send in an ask and i’ll try my best

warnings: nothing i can think of, one suggestive comment but i feel like suggestive is a stretch lol

word count: 520

read more of my work here

“What’re you doing up, love?”

Niall’s head snaps up from his glowing computer, the white light emitting from it bathes his face, making his red rimmed eyes and deepening bags very noticeable even in the darkness of the living room.

“Sorry pet, didn’t mean to leave ya ‘lone, didn’t want to wake ya though,” he speaks lowly as to not disturb Conor who’s sleeping soundly in the other room, like the rest of the city is during the middle of the night.

You rub at your eyes and take a seat next to Niall (who’s already lifted his arm up, his heart soaring in his chest, acting against the tiredness weighing down on him as you take your self-proclaimed rightful place under it and besides him) “Whatca working on now? Couldn’t it wait til the morning?”

He rubs up and down your arm, bringing back the warmth your body lost once you deserted the comforters after you rolled over and didn’t practically burn yourself on the human heater that is your boyfriend. “Jus had this melody, or maybe it’s a riff stuck in my head all day, couldn’t get it outta m’mind. Just wanted to see how it was done, yknow?”

You look up and glare at his computer screen, the image of his all time hero, the one and only Bruce Springsteen staring back at you as he’s paused in the middle of what seems to be a complex guitar solo. You nod against his side and can’t help but let out a yawn. “You should come back to bed baby, the boss will still be there when the sun comes up.” And he lets out his sweet laughter that could probably cheer up even the grumpiest of morning people if they were to hear it at three a.m. as well.

“I know, I know, didn’t think I was going to be up this long, Jesus I’m knackered! It’s already tomorrow innit?”

You both start to decline onto the couch as he speaks, you smile against his chest, the familiarity of this being the position you two find yourselves in every night bringing the drowsiness back over you. “You know it is Ni… it’s so late... er, early?” He lets out a quiet chuckle that shakes your cheek that’s pressed against his heart. “Cmon, yknow I can barely speak until noon, don’t test me at the ass crack of dawn.”

This, again, causes Niall to breath out an airy laugh that this time earns you a kiss to the forehead. “Alright, alright, if it means anything though it’s nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today.” He whispers and you feel his heartbeat speed up momentarily and then relax as you cover the area with kisses.

“Yours too. So sexy when you’ve just woken up”

“Ay you think so?” He asks, lowering his voice and thickening his accent in a way that makes your eyes roll but tummy leap.

“Yes, yes… too bad I’ll never take Springsteen’s place in your heart, meanie” You retaliate sticking your tongue out at him.

“Well he is the boss, babe.”

this is also the first piece i’ve written so please be kind, my heart won’t be able to take anything else😭🥲 but pls i’m so open to constructive criticism, ur the reader, whatever you think could be improved/something small you caught, i’d love to hear it nicely :)!!

[paperstarwriters]

Some things cannot be taught.

When you had lost your memories and you had to start all over again from scratch, Asra was devastated. Physically you were here, alive. Mentally? He had destroyed you. The ideas you had, your thoughts, your personality all swept down the drain. Or so he had thought at first. When he began to reteach how to talk and behave in society, you picked everything up like you remembered it. It only took a little bit of urging, but you soon began to speak at the same level you had when you died. If only the same could be said of your memories. He tried to bring out all of your favorite things, to talk about all the things you had told him when you knew him. It all ended the same way. You sobbing on the floor as your tears painted your eyes red, as if you were dying again.

He'd stopped when it first happened. Given up on trying to get back something that was long gone. He'd be happy with you here as you are, and he'd teach you all he could to at least keep you from dying again.

Only, some things cannot be taught.

"I love you." He had told you when the attempt at reviving your memories had failed. When you were a crying mess from all the pain of trying to remember. When your eyes looked red

"What does that mean?"

Asra choked. His vision went blurry as the tears built up, and he could feel his chest ache. You stared at him with red eyes, terrified of the words that fell from his mouth. Terrified of the memories he tried to force into you. He hurt you and now—

"Master, what does that mean?"

He didn’t even think then. His hand grabbed your face and with a glow, and an utter of words, you had fallen asleep. A restful peaceful, dreamless sleep that he would not receive. The next morning you would not remember this encounter, but he would burn it into his mind, if only to keep it from happening again. _____________________________________________

What if in their amnesia, the apprentice lost all understanding of emotions, and Asra couldn't teach them what they were, so they had to learn it again in a different way, little by little trying to grow close to the people around them and trying to understand what I love you means.

Also, just imagine, when the Arcana crew confesses their feelings we get the Apprentice to say,

"What… What is that…? What is love? I don't understand!"

Yes, this is Violet Evergarden, Yes, I am very much obsessed with the way the character arc works there, and no, I don't think I'm gonna do anything with this so please take it off of my hands. Also, listen to The Ultimate Price by Evan Call, and have fun bathing in your angst.