#imagine putting them in a haunted house

[galaxygazer-lav]

tfw you mash your hyperfixations together

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

haunted houses didn't become mainstream or popular until after 1969 this is so fucking sad

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

A Week (He Will Take You)

~

Danny moved to Gotham for school, while there he noticed that Gotham's ambient ecto was really murky for lack of a better word.

This didn't really affect him too much besides a mild headache every once in a while but that also just might be stress from all his school work so maybe not.

Anyway

This murky ecto seemed to effect the people who lived there or more importantly the ghosts,

They were visible to the human eye like most ghosts back in Amity but instead of looking very much like a ghost they still looked like humans if a bit off putting.

They all seemed to be continuing their normal lives as if still fully alive, with the people around them none the wiser.

Danny noticed this and began approaching them to figure out what was going on.

Apparently the murky ecto in the city had made it so that they were strong enough to still continue a somewhat normal life but not be able to cross over to the GZ.

In other words they were stuck in Gotham

Danny was the Ghost King so he could easily fix this problem, all he needed to do was give them a bit of pure ecto for around a week to fully stabilize them them then he would just open a portal into the GZ and they could cross over with all their things also transferring into the GZ for their new haunt.

Unfortunately this looked rather worrying to an outsider,

Imagine you're used to your neighbor being very outgoing so you and others see them a lot suddenly this man seems to appear in their life out of nowhere an at exactly one week, your neighbor and all their belongings in their home disappear no trace to be found.

You tell people and they begin saying the same story they knew someone and them a man with black hair and blue eyes appeared in their life, then they and all their things disappear in exactly one week.

Of course the police in Gotham do the bare minimum so they're no help.

But it starts to begin a trend, especially online.

"Oh careful or the blue eyed man will make you disappear in a week"

This of course after time catches the bats attention, Gordon had already given them all the information he had.

"Young adult early twenties, dark hair, blue eyes"

That was it.

The bats look into it and from their point of view Danny is a serial killer.

But they can't find the connection between all of his victims, they range from young children and the elderly from different backgrounds absolutely no connection,

Worrying enough he doesn't just make one person disappear he has taken entire families up to over a dozen, without anyone figuring out how he's doing it or why at all.

The disturbing thing also being that he seems to take everything in their home, leaving it like it has always been empty

Like no one had been living in it.

People have tried to take photos of Danny get some kind of evidence of his existence, but when they try to do it, it either comes out completely corrupted or their devise simply shuts down fully.

Danny of course has no clue what is happening he's just happy that he's able to help so many ghosts, and is trying not to fail his exams.

~

Danny leaving the house he just helped: "That went easier than I expected!"

Neighbor peeking from the window: "Shit it's that guy! "

~

Red Hood marching down into the cave: " The fucker took many from my territory without me even realizing it!"

~

Tim: "I'm pretty sure his kill count is nearing the hundreds and he just started like maybe 4 months ago, this is bad."

Barbara: " I think I got a theory, this matches up with the new school year beginning so maybe their not a Gotham native which narrows down my suspect list."

Bruce: "Hn."

Tim: "Yes thank you B for the insightful commentary"

~

Danny trying not to fall asleep while on his way to class: "Strange I keep seeing shadows following me, oh well must be the stress!"

Bats who are pretty sure Danny is the killer: "Has he done anything suspicious yet?"

~

Just an Idea

[dotster001]

What kind of parents are they?

Requested by @stygianoir

A/N: as per usual with these long ones, staff and non NRC will be a separate post that I someday make

CW:raising kids, but gn. No talk of whether birthed or adopted

3k follower masterlist

Riddle Rosehearts

1 kid

Riddle is a learn as you go kind of parent. Breaking the chain is hard. It takes generations. He knows that, so was always hesitant to ever raise kids. But with you he thinks he can speed up the process. He is a little strict, you can't win every battle, but he's much more understanding. And that's the difference between him and his mother. If he makes a mistake, or upsets your child, he takes the time to understand and grow from it.

Trey Clover

3-8 kids

He's a jovial father. He's calm but everyone can see he's just so happy to have this life. He's the kind who will quietly sit with the kids to help them with homework, boop their noses with chocolate frosting, tell the worst dad jokes ever that make them laugh so hard they pee, and tucks them in snuggly so "the monsters can't reach them". A soft man, who when he passes, the kids will always remember dad as someone who had a smile for everyone.

Cater Diamond

0-2 kids

Honestly, Cay Cay is one of the ones who if you wanted to have kids, you'd have to try hard to convince him. But for the sake of these HC's, we'll ignore the 0. In all honestly, he starts out incredibly scared and tense. He's worry he'll break the kids. But he slowly gets over it, and becomes the cool dad. The dilf at pta meetings His holiday cards are always the best, he sets up a haunted house for the neighborhood during Halloween, puts on a light show during the winter, dresses the kids in modern fashion…a lot of parents are so jealous. They wouldn't be so jealous if they knew the literal blood sweat and tears he puts into it all though. You need to tell him to calm down from time to time.

Ace Trappolla

2-5 kids

Hybrid of cool dad, and concerning dad. He'll let the kids do pretty much whatever they want, as long as they don't disrespect you. Sure you and your friends can go snowboarding, but your room better be fucking spotless, or you'll be praying to the seven for your soul. Yeah you're friends can- what the fuck do you just say about Y/N? No more friends. You're grounded. You'll have to try your darndest to get him to watch his language. Spoiler alert, he never will.

Deuce Spade

3 kids

Deuce is the kind of dad where, when people asks if he wants to raise a boy or a girl, he says boy. Not because he doesn't want a girl, he's just scared he'll fuck her up on accident with some of his behavioral tendencies. But in the end…he's a girl dad. He raises three girls, whether by birth or adoption, that's just how his luck turns out. And he's the best goddamn girl dad ever. By kid three, he only wants girls, cause how the fuck do you boy dad? Even as the girls get older, he isn't scared of some of the things that come with women. He always carries pads and pain killers. Anytime they need advice on relationships, and societal problems, they know they can go to dad.

Leona Kingscholar

1 kid

The one is a struggle for him. He doesn't want to have a second born who will go through what he did. So only one kid. That's it. He…to his surprise…turns out to be exactly the way Mufasa raises Simba. Stern when necessary, but totally down to rough house and play. He never even thought he had the energy for a kid…turns out he does. He loves his little rat more than life itself, and will do anything to prep him for life so that he can have the things Leona never did.

Ruggie Bucchi

5-8 kids

Teaches his kids early on to be light fingered. Imagine a bunch of hooligans running through the street, and when they're gone, you realize you're wallet is gone too. That's your kids. But only when you're not looking. He's raised them to understand not to snitch on dad. 😒 Otherwise no one can have fun. Other than that, he's a really soft dad. Playing with the kids, good for hugs, cooking meals that get them all their nutrients, but also provide comfort. The moment he can afford it, Ruggie is becoming your perfect little househusband.

Jack Howl

5 kids

He's the kind of dad that outsiders worry is a little cold and distant. But that's not the case. They just don't know how to read him. He has his own language that his kids perfectly understand. Left eyebrow quirked=what do you think you're doing? Right side of mouth quirked up=I'm so proud of you. Left side quirked down=that's not funny. Etc etc. The kids can always count in dad for snuggles if they are sad or have a bad dream. Even if he doesn't always remember to verbalize it, they always know they are loved.

Azul Ashengrotto

4

He's the one who has every step of his parenting and finances planned, to flawless perfection. And then immediately panics when he realizes you can't plan for everything, children are unpredictable. The first kid that breaks a bone, he's just wanting to go back to his octopus pot. Not to mention if your kids are birthed, he's not prepared for half octomer, half human, kids. He's unprepared, and very scared, but he's a loving dad…even if he seems too tense sometimes.

Jade Leech

1-3

He's the Gomez Adams, raising little Wednesdays. Female and male Wednesdays, but Wednesdays nonetheless. So excited, big smile, happy to be alive with you, and with your kids! Meanwhile the kids are all dark and brooding. It always looks so professional when you all walk up in business attire, Jade smiling, as the kids, also in business attire, have the darkest expressions on their faces. 

Floyd Leech

2-15

Rough housing dad. He raises a bunch of chaotic rascals. They're all sweet kids, but damn some of them have so much energy it scares the neighbor parents. Then they'll look over and see eel merman wrestling three of them and laughing like a mad man. He'll bandage them up, and give them kisses on their boo boos, but he won't calm down. Not that he needs to, they don't want him to calm down. Dad's fun!

Kalim al Asim

8-whenever you say to stop 😁

Party dad! He's a, "we rather you tried it at home than with strangers" kinda guy. By the time he is parenting, he's a little better at self control though, so he's willing to be that buffer, and help kid's stop before their limits. Also, he's the kind that pouts if his kids don't say, "I love you" when he drops them somewhere.

Jamil Viper

1-2

Strict dad. Old habits die hard. Or don't at all. You'll have to be self aware if he's too hard on the kids. The thing is, he has only had his freedom for so long, and his kids. The reason he's like this is because he's scared. His kids have a freedom that previous generations of Vipers never had. He doesn't want them to throw it away. He's terrified one misstep and they'll lose everything. You'll have to calm him down sometimes. But the kids, especially the older they get, will understand that this is how dad protects them. He also gives out expensive gifts if he thinks he's taken things a step too far… the kids love that.

Vil Schoenheit

1

There's no way this man doesn't raise a high achieving, future ex gifted child. So at first, he'll beam with pride as his child produces the best results, grades, magic, appearances, etc. It'll be a bit of a learning curve when the crash hits, and won't understand right away. But once he does, he becomes the biggest advocate for mental health services,and getting kids the care and enrichment they need. He does speeches, runs rallies, becomes the face of any movement that has to do with his kid. 

Rook Hunt

15

Teaches his kids to hunt like wild animals. He's the kind of dad that says, "I'm gonna take the kids out!" And later you find them in the middle of the woods, hiding in the bushes, waiting to jump you in a tickle pile that is inescapable. He's raising wild animals. And yet…somehow…the kids seem normal as they age? At least that's what you see…

Epel Felmier

5-7

Another one who raises hooligans. You have a bunch of freckled, sunburned kids, all who live outdoors and climb trees. But the kids are never alone when they are hooligans. Dad is always in the tree with them.

Idia Shroud

2

Scared shitless. He's a gentle parent, but, God, is he terrified. Everyone knows it. Anytime the kids get sick, or hurt, or sad, he's always worried it's cause he fucked up in some way. But once he calms down, he's always good at calming them down. He's gentle and understanding…once he gets out of his own head.

Malleus Draconia

1-15

He has to raise the future heir. So on the one hand, he has to be strict. But he makes it clear early on, that there's separation from work and home. Aka, sometimes he is father, king of darkness, and sometimes he is dad, server of applesauce. The kids are smart enough to know the difference, and figure out which Malleus they are talking to.

Lilia Vanrouge

3

When you and Lilia discuss raising a family together, you aren't expecting Silver to come to you with stories of how he was left in the middle of the woods for training…and if you don't say anything, you're destined to be raising kids with Lilia Vanrouge, delightful scamp, and general to Malleus Draconia's armies. If you have that conversation, you'll be raising kids with Lilia Vanerouge, delightful scamp, and nothing else. Usually. Make sure if he's giggling, and you can't find the kids anywhere, you know exactly where they are.

Silver

1-2

Quiet dad. A lot like Trey. He's soft and gentle, and the kids can count on him for snuggles, whether he's awake or not. A man of few words, but perfect for a lullaby, deep life advice, and snuggles.

Sebek Zigvolt

3-6

Soccer dad. Angrily yelling at his kids when they are subpar, and angrily yelling at other kids when they come for his kids. Fiercely loyal to the end, and to a fault, he will protect his family at all costs, even if he does grump and groan about it the whole time.

[pyramid-of-starrs]

Just the thought of you writing prompt 15 is a good enough reason to wake up every morning so I humbly present this as a request

San has an Idea

Kinktober request: 15 boyfriend San, bestfriend Woo, threesome

Pairing: Pervy Boyfriend San x Fem reader x Bestfriend Wooyoung

Summary: After being left behind on a group trip, you, Woo and San hangout like normal in Sans room, that is until San makes a suggestion on a group activity.

Word Count: 3.6K

Kink: Threesome

Warning: Threesome, unprotected sex, mfm threesome, mxm interactions, double penetration, ass play (m receiving)

A/N: WooSan is my biases btw

Minors dni

“We should just have a threesome."

That was Sans first words in 10 minutes. Your boyfriend San was sat at his desk while you and both of your best friend Wooyoung was sat on Sans bed just hanging out in his room since the rest of the friend group took a 1 day trip to another haunted house out of town. You both looked up from your phone, the TikTok you were showing Wooyoung still playing on a loop.

"Did you guys hear me? I said we should have a-" San said but was interrupted.

"We- We heard you, where is that coming from though?" Wooyoung said holding up his hand to halt San from saying anymore vulgar words.

"I mean why not? Woo you're bi and have had threesomes before, I'm pretty open sexually, we're all attractive and find each other attractive. I'm sure you wouldn't be opposed to fucking Y/N, it's not like you never seen us fuck before." It felt like San was going on and on with multiple points being made on why his suggestion made perfect sense.

"Hold on dude, rather I've caught you guys having sex or not doesn't really matter, this is something way different. You would honestly be completely fine with me... having sex with Y/N even if you're involved?" Wooyoung questioned.

"My sweet bunny's pretty pussy is a gift to earth, of course I don't mind sharing with my closest friend." San said, Wooyoung shook his head at San then turned to you.

"Y/N, please say something to your boyfriend." That's when Wooyoung noticed you with your knees up in the corner of the bed covering your face with your arms.

"See man you made Y/N embarrassed." Wooyoung yelled at San.

"No, she isn't." San got up from his gaming chair and walked over to the bed to sit next you. You and San were sat at the head of the bed while Wooyoung was at the foot of it, San spread his legs on the bed and patted his lap, you knew what that meant so you crawled into his lap while avoiding eye contact, you both were now facing Wooyoung but you still tried to look down to avoid eye contact.

"You see Woo I know my bunny well, really well. She has no problem voicing what she isn't interested in doing, so when she didn't respond when I asked, I already knew what she wanted." San placed his hands under your knees and lifted them to bend them for you and spread them nice and wide. The loose short shorts you were wearing already left 0 to the imagination but then San pulled them to the side to reveal your already wet pussy to Wooyoung whose face was turning red. San rubbed his fingers between your folds earning soft whimpers from you, you put your head back on his shoulder as he smiled watching you fall apart so easily. "See Woo, her pussy is already dripping at the thought of both of us fucking her, isn't that right baby?" San asked

You nodded your head as your body was heating up.

"Come on Bunny give Wooyoungie a proper response." San looked up at Wooyoung and noticed his eyes were glued to your core.

"Y-yes." you said in a low voice, San removed his hand from your core to remove your shorts. San placed his hands back over your pussy, this time focusing on rubbing your throbbing clit, you kept your mouth shut while you continued to moan, slightly feeling shy from Wooyoungs staring but turned on as well.

"Come on Woo, I know you've been wanting to touch her since I introduced you two, go ahead." San said, Wooyoung was a bit shocked that San noticed his crush on you, he moved a bit closer to the two of you.

"Are you okay with this Y/N? Do you want me to touch you?" Wooyoung asked you, he would never want to do anything you weren't comfortable with. You frantically nodded your head as San applied more pressure to your clitoris, causing you to throw your head back.

Wooyoung was still hesitant but in the back of his mind he always hoped this moment would come. You two always made Wooyoung go into Bi-panic, you and San were a hot couple, The many times he caught you two in the act he found himself not knowing if he wished he was you or San. He decided to not waste any more time and finally got closer, he sat on his knees in front of you and his eyes was glued to your core. He watched San rub circles on your clit and how you would jerk at the sensation. He stuck out his index finger and rubbed your hole to get his fingertip wet before gliding it into your dripping cunt, the feeling of both Woo and San touching you causing you to yell out a string of curse words, you didn't even notice him put his middle finger in as well until he started to pump them both in and out of you. You bit your bottom lip from the stimulation as Woo sped up his pace, your hips starting to move on Sans lap.

"Woo my bunny likes praise, tell her she's doing a good job." San said nonchalantly like he wasn't prepping his girlfriend to be fucked by himself and his best friend. Wooyoung was in somewhat of a trans feeling your gummy wet walls contract around his fingers and watching your hole gush while you moaned.

"You're taking my fingers so well Y/N, does it feel good to have me and San touching you like this?" He asked, your mind was blanking, and you could barely comprehend what was being said to you, your eyes rolled back from the praise, and you felt your climax rushing toward you.

"He asked you a question don't be rude Bunny, give him an answer." San said while lightly ripping your chin and throat.

"Yes, Woo ahh~ it feels so good, please fuck your fingers into me more." San smiled at you falling apart and started to kiss you while speeding up the pace of his fingers on your clit, even with his tongue in your mouth your muffled moans could be heard. Wooyoung felt his dick getting harder watching you two kiss, hearing you moan for San made him want to make you do the same for him, he drove his finger deeper and faster into your cunt, trying to navigate finding your spot. Your body jerked hard and you yelped when he hit it and he knew what he had to do, he leaned forward to hit even deeper into you and lifted the hoodie you had on with nothing underneath, Wooyoung had been slyly eyeing your hard nipples the entire time he was hanging out with you and San so naturally he wasted no time pressing his lips on one of them.

You were going insane, the immense amount of pleasure you were feeling between Woo and San was damn near unbearable. San finally pulled back from the kiss, his fingers going even faster on your clit because he knew you were at your peak from how loud your moans were and how he watched your body shake, Woo could feel your pussy squeezing his fingers so much that you barely had room to move. It only took a few more seconds of this before you erupted, your cum shot out of you like a hose in the summer as you soaked Wooyoung, yourself and some of the bed. Wooyoung continued to pump his fingers into you to help you ride out your high then finally pulled back, San also removed his fingers from your clit and peeked your fucked out face a few times while you heavily breathed and shook.

"Good job bunny, squirting for me and Woo like a good girl, but we aren't done yet." San grabbed the bottom of your hoodie to remove it, leaving you bare in front of them. They laid you flat on the bed, both the men ogling you like you were their last meal, they couldn't keep their hands off you, Wooyoung gently massaging your thighs while San rubbed your shoulders, the attention they were giving you made you whine from the heat that was pooling in your pussy.

San moved down your body to massage your breast and nipples, you felt so sensitive to their touch, he made eye contact with Wooyoung.

"Woo, I think my bunny wants to be stuffed in her pretty pussy, can you do that for her?" San asked, Wooyoung looked up at him.

"A-are you sure San? Do you really want me to fuck her first?" Wooyoung asked, San laughed at him then gripped your cheeks and made you face Wooyoung.

"Look at that needy face Woo, do you want her to beg for your cock?" San looked down at you. "Bunny Woo wants you to beg for him to fuck you." The way San spoke to you made your pussy throb more, truth be told you wanted nothing more but to be fucked wide open by Wooyoung, you always wanted to feel his dick inside of you. The times he caught you two having sex and Wooyoung trying to hide his obvious boners and lustful gaze or even when he would casually talk about his hook ups with various people, you couldn't help but wonder how good he fucked.

"I want it so bad Woo, I want to feel you dick so deep in me, please fuck me." you said even with San squeezing your face, Wooyoung looked at your face and met your gaze, he knew you meant every word you said.

...

Both men stripped down fully except San who still had on his boxers, though Wooyoung was a bit smaller in girth and length he still had a quite impressive member. Wooyoung was slotted between your legs with his arms on each side of your head and your legs pressing closer to your chest. San was watching you two as he stood off the bed, Wooyoung wasn't focused on San, he just wanted to make you feel good which is why San gave him permission to fuck you raw. He leaned forward more to kiss you, unlike San Woo's kisses we much steamier and more passionate, he was slower and sensual, as he kissed your lips, his tongue danced with yours, he slid his dick into your heat, he ate your moans as you felt him glide deeper and deeper into you. He released your lips, and a pop could be heard along with the wet slapping noises your pussy was making. His pace was moderate, he wanted to enjoy the feeling of your cunt.

"Your pussy feels so amazing Y/N." He said looking into your eyes, his blown out pupils looking directly into your before he locked lips with you briefly again, you could absolutely understand why so many people were in love with him after he fucked him, it was like he was snatching your soul.

"How cute, but don't get to cocky Woo." San said, the both of you almost forgetting he was there. San reached into his nightstand while you and Woo continued, Woo's pace was steady, San grabbed lube from the night stand and covered his two fingers in it. Woo was so focused on you he didn't notice San walk behind him begin to tease his hole. A cute moan fell from Wooyoungs lips as you smiled at him, his strokes became sloppy as his hips couldn't keep a consistent pace.

"Trying put the moves on my bunny while I'm letting you fuck her sweet pussy tsk tsk Woo, I guess I have to punish you both for enjoying your selves a bit too much." San said as he continued to play with the rim of Wooyoungs hole, Woo felt sensitive under Sans touch especially with him still inside of you, he just couldn't keep a good pace which started to make you feel like you were being edged, you guessed this is what San meant by punishing both of you. You and Woo moaned out of sync while San laughed at you two acting needy and fucked out. "You can't even fuck straight do you want my fingers that badly Youngie?" such a cute nickname for such a dirty moment, Wooyoungs bangs covered his blushed face as he breathed heavily barely able to contain himself.

"Y-yes, yes San..." He was shy to admit it, but he wanted his best friends fingers to fuck his hole while he fucked you, nothing sounded better.

San had such a devious smile sprawled on his face. "You're so cute Youngie of course I'll give you what you want." San plunged his two lubed finger into Wooyoung, Woo’s body collapsed on top on you causing him to drop his dick deep into you with no warning, both you cried out in pleasure. "Come on Youngie hold it together so you can fuck my bunny properly." San said into Woos ear while he slowly fucked him. Wooyoung tried getting his bearings even with San knuckles deep inside of him, he started to rut against you then gradually picked up his pace, the close proximity made his pelvis brush your clit as well, you moaned into Wooyoungs ear, causing him to moan more. Woo kept a good pace in you, but San would strongly push his fingers into Woo causing him to go deeper into you. Woo hit your spot like San was hitting his, you both let out helpless whimpers and was close to your climax.

"Woo I'm gonna cum." You mumbled out, Wooyoung nodded and pecked your lips a few more times.

"Let's cum together okay Y/N?" you nodded as well and kissed him, he last a few more seconds until San tapped his spot rapidly causing Woo to do the same to you, as you came you felt the feeling of hot cum filling your belly and it just made you want more. San slowly removed his fingers from Wooyoungs ass and Woo pulled out of you and rolled next to you, both of you were in a daze.

San removed his underwear and got a condom from his nightstand to roll down his shaft. You laid still until you felt San flip you on your side and put one of your legs on his shoulder. "Are you ready for me bunny?" San asked

"Sannie pleaseee~ I want to feel you like I felt Woo, I want your cum in me too." You whined, your bratty nature showing, which is why San smacked your ass loudly, causing Woo to look over.

"Bunny, you know the rules, both of us couldn't handle that." Before you could combat further San lined himself up with your cunt and was able to slide right in, he really did want to fuck you raw until his cum covered your walls but realistically he knew it would feel too good and he wouldn't be able to go 2 minutes without fucking you, he barely had a control on how often he fucks you now. He held your thigh while he drilled his cock deep into you, you couldn't control yourself from cursing and moaning, he pounded your cervix so good you started screaming.

"Poor Y/N you're so loud you wouldn't want to bother the neighbors, let me close your mouth for you." Wooyoung said springing into action after he got hard watching how San fucked you. He made his way up to your face sitting on his knees in front of you with his length in hand, you knew what was next and opened your mouth nice and wide for him. Woo gripped the back of your head with one hand and back of your neck with the other then eased your mouth onto his dick. Woo stuffing your mouth and San fucking your abused pussy was something you only saw in dreams, they both worked in tangent using you as a fuck toy for their pleasure and yours.

"Bunny Woo just fucked you and you're still so tight, I love this pussy." San said, his pace already showing that he was nearing his climax.

"Her mouth feels so fucking good too Sannie, you lucky bastard." Wooyoung also was reaching his end as he fucked your throat, your eyes rolled back and you gagged out moans on Woo's dick, you've never felt this much pleasure before and your mind was going blank, all you could think about is the way they were fucking you. Your pussy started to contract around Sans cock while you gagged and drooled on woo.

"I know I'm so lucky to have such a good cockslut to use and share when I want, I can feel her cumming again now." San said, and he wasn't wrong you lasted a few more strokes as you came on Sans Latex covered dick, San continued to fuck you, pushing you into over stimulation while Woo pumped his dick into you a few more times then finished in your throat, tears ran down your face as you swallowed his load. San came into the condom watching you drink Woo's cum, he pulled out and Woo did as well, San pulled you up and kissed you, his tongued explored every inch and corner of your mouth.

"You're so greedy bunny, drinking all of Woo's cum and not sharing." San said, it made Wooyoung blush. "Can you keep going bunny?"

"Yes Sannie, please, I want more, but please no condom this time." San sighed at your request. He removed the rubber from his dick as his cum slid down his shaft, Wooyoung was genuinely impressed by the amount of stamina you two had as he was still gasping from the last load.

"How about me and Youngie both fuck you Bunny, would you like that?" San asked.

"Please yes, I want you both please." San smiled at you cutely begging like a slut.

"Are you sure you can take both of us Y/N?" Wooyoung asked not wanting to push you too far, he obviously didn't understand just how much of a slut you were.

"Yes Woo, please, fill me up." You said eagerly. San didn't waste any more time discussing and laid back on his back, he pulled you on top and you sank down on his length, your eyes rolling back as you gripped his shoulders. Though your cunt was overstimulated you just wanted more and more you bounced on Sans length a few times then you felt Wooyoungs bare chest press against your back, you felt his hard dick on your ass while he kissed your neck a few times. You both slowly leaned toward San until you were pressed against his chest.

"Are you ready Y/N?" Wooyoung asked, you nodded again and Wooyoung slowly pressed his dick into your already occupied hole. The feeling was surreal, once Woo was fully inside, they both waited for your go ahead to move.

"Are you okay bunny?" San asked.

"Yes, please move, I want more." San started to buck his hips and so did Woo, when one pulled back the other moved deeper in, you've never felt so full.

"You're such a good little whore for us Bunny, taking both our cocks like this." San said rubbing your back.

"Do you like how well we’re stuffing your pussy Y/N? You're still so tight, squeezing me and Sannie like you want to milk us dry." Wooyoung said into your ear. You couldn't help the noises that filled the room from both your mouth and your cunt. Tears filled your eyes as you drooled a bit, your mind was empty, gone, completely fucked out.

"Oh no Youngie I think we fucked her dumb, little bunny can't even speak any more." San said laughing at you to taunt your fucked out state, he bucked his hips faster and so did Woo, though San loved fucking you stupid he did know that you were reaching your limit, so he had to finish soon. "Do you want both of our loads to fill your pussy bunny?"

"I bet she does Sannie, I bet she would love having our cum stuffed deep in her needy cunt, let's fill her up." Wooyoung said, both men’s pace became feral as they pounded into your fucked pussy. San brought you back down to earth as he brought you in for a kiss, his mouth now cold from the previous spit still on his lips. Once he finished kissing you Woo was right behind you to also kiss you, once he released you, he leaned up to grip your hips while San grabbed your thighs. They relentlessly fucked into you until you saw stars then felt both their loads filling your abused cunt, you yelled out a rush of curse words as their load seeped into your womb.

...

It took you an hour to finish in the bathroom after San had to literally carry you in so you could pee and shower. Once you were done you returned to Sans room, a new sheet set was put on the bed and San was back on his game while woo scrolled on his phone under the covers. They both looked up at you once you entered the room.

"Are you okay bunny? Want a snack?" San asked.

They just planned to go back to normal like they didn't just fuck your brains out?

"I- ya know what?

Yeah, I do actually." You said not even trying to put logic on those two.

San smiled at you warmly. "Okay, Woo can make us some food and we can go again a few more times!"

Of course this wasn't over.

[libraryofloveletters]

chapter nine: secrets come back to haunt

Sebastian Vettel x Fem!Reader

Warnings: old faces return, seb's world is turned upside down, secrets are revealed, hidden relationship status so to speak, y/n is trying her best here, a bit of bashing, mentions of postpartum depression, a lot of back and forth, a small bit of crude/flirty humour from seb, dragging up the past, sadness - this is a really emo chapter sorry.

Word Count: 3.8k

Author’s Note: again, I'm sorry for disappearing. there's a lot going on lmao, but I'm back (for now) so take this :)

sugar and spice; all things nice masterlist

--

Sundays were reserved for racing, they always have been.

Since Sebastian was 3 years old, all he's known was the race track. He'd spend hours with his family, going round and round on the track until he was forced out of his kart. Even as a grown man, it was the same; fighting for race wins and championship titles, Sebastian Vettel found himself surrounded by mechanics, loud cars and screaming fans.

Sunday mornings were a bit different now.

The scent of oranges and peaches filled the air, the clattering of shopping cart wheels were a change in pace from the ones he was used to. Amelia tugged her father's hand, getting his attention.

"What about this one, papa?" She asked her dad, blonde curls unruly and framing her face. Sebastian looked at what she was showing him, an apple with no bruises or dents, and nods.

"Perfect."

Milly dropped the apple into the bag she was holding, looking for another one as her father watched her.

It was quiet in the store, a few people shopping as well as the workers chatting as they did their jobs. Sebastian's mind drifted to you as he watched Milly pick out apples. Never would he have envisioned his life this way after everything that happened; happy, content.

There was a feeling building in his chest, not one of happiness but as if he was being watched. He lived a normal life now that he's retired but it's not abnormal for him to be noticed. More often than not, the person would say hello and ask for a photo, then they're on their way.

Today, for some reason, Sebastian couldn't shake the feeling.

This was a bad feeling.

Sebastian tries to shake off the thought, thinking it was just his imagination playing tricks on him. But no matter where he went, that feeling stuck with him like a stubborn shadow.

Unable to shake it off, Seb glances over his shoulder and his heart stops, skips a beat, and drops to his stomach all in the matter of a second.

He wasn't certain if he was seeing right or if he was imagining things.

Brown hair cascaded over the woman's shoulders, her eyes scanning what was in front of her for a moment before she looked up - as if she felt him looking at her.

As he lived and breathed, he didn't think he'd ever see her again, let alone at the grocery store on a Sunday morning.

The woman smiles at him, Sebastian turns away and his attention is back on Amelia. "Sweetheart," he calls out to her, the little girl puts the bag with apples into the cart and looks at her dad.

"Hm?"

"We need to go," he grabs her hand and her brows furrow, confused by her father's sudden actions. "What? What's going on papa?" She asks, following her father as he walks towards the exit with her.

The shopping cart abandoned in the middle of the produce section, Milly's little legs moving as quick as they can as she follows her father out of the store.

"Papa," she calls out of him, the man helping her into the car.

"I think I left the oven on," he fibs, the concern on his face was enough to sell it. A small oh left her lips as he shuts the door and gets in himself, the two of them heading back to the house.

Sebastian lets her in, Milly stays by the front door as Sebastian walks to the kitchen. The girl follows behind her father, peeking from the doorway to see that the oven was in fact off.

"It's not on," she tells him, brows furrowed as they were before they left the store. Seb hums, shrugging. "Better safe than sorry, hm?"

She pouts, "can we go back to the store, papa? I wanna get cookies!"

"We're already home, love bug." He walks over to her, scooping her up in his arms. Sebastian twirls her around, her giggles settling his feelings - all the worries melting away. "How about we order something for lunch and then we can go over to y/n's? I'm sure Liv would love to make cookies with you."

She nods, a big grin on her face - granted a tooth or two that were missing. "Yeah!"

Sebastian puts her down, kissing the top of her head before she runs off to the living room, putting the tv on.

It takes Sebastian a minute to gather himself. All of the thoughts running wild and the most horrifying feeling passing through him when he saw her in the store today. A million different things happened at once and he wasn't sure what to do, or how to react, or if he should go up to her or not.

He couldn't think of putting Milly through that situation yet again, it was hard enough when she started growing up and asking for her.

The doorbell rings, and once again Sebastian is paralyzed with fear.

Fear of what's to come, what she could possibly want, what he would tell Milly if the situation were to escalade.

He never moved, the same house they started to build their life in was the same house she walked out of and never looked back. Why would she come back now?

There's a knock this time, small and gentle but loud enough for him to hear.

Walking to the door, he sees not one but two figures on the other side of the frosted panel. One taller and one smaller, he smiles when he realizes who it is.

"Hi Mr. Seb!" Liv smiled at the man, he smiled back at her. "Hi sweetheart, come in." He steps aside from her to come in and all the noise alerts Milly that someone was at the door.

"Hi Liv! Hi y/n!" The blonde girl waves to you, you wave back to her as she and Liv run upstairs to her room to play.

Sebastian pulls you into a hug after you shut the door, his hands slipping under the hem of your shirt - you're here, you're real, you're home.

"Are you okay?" Your question comes out quietly, your own fingers tangled in the unruly curls at the nape of his neck - you should remind him to get a haircut soon.

Sebastian hums, sighing as he lets you go. "I'm okay, just needed a hug." He says, now holding your hand as you two walk to the living room. He sits down, pulling you into his side and the sound of SpongeBob's laughter breaks the silence in the room.

Despite Seb assuring you that he's fine, you still felt as if he was hiding something from you. An arm stretched over the back of the couch, mindlessly twirling his hair.

"Seb?" You called.

"Yes honey?" He turns to look at you, a soft smile on his face.

"What's on your mind? You look.. tense."

"Nothing a good back rub won't fix," he says, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows.

"Sebastian.." You rolled your eyes playfully but your tone was enough to let him know you weren't fond of his change in topic.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes shifty and his chest rising and falling as if he had just finished a race. "I uh.." he starts, taking another deep breath. "I saw Lilly."

Your brows furrow; it takes a moment for you to connect the dots but when you do, your jaw hangs open, looking at your boyfriend. "You saw.. Lilly?"

"Yeah." He says, nonchalantly.

"Where- um.. did she.. where did you see her?"

Seb sinks back into the cushions, looking at you. "She was at the grocery store. Mils and I were shopping and I felt someone staring at me. I turned around and there she was, alive and well."

"Did you talk to her? Did she come over to you guys?"

"No, I grabbed Milly and left before she got a chance too. I don't even know if she really registered that it was me or if she was just looking in my direction."

You nodded, going quiet for a moment. "Do you think.. maybe she'll come looking for you guys? I mean, I know you looked for her after she left but, did she ever try to reach out to you guys?"

"No, never. After she left, she never looked back. I searched for her, hired PIs, called her family, I did everything I could but she was gone. I don't know why she's back, I didn't care to find out."

You understood where he was coming from. You felt the same way about Olivia's father but after all, Sebastian is his own person with his own feelings.

"Maybe she's got her reasons, and like you said, maybe she didn't even register that it was you. Perhaps she's back for something that has nothing to do with you and Milly." You say, squeezing his shoulder softly.

Sebastian nods, leaning into your touch. The two of you sat there in silence for a bit, not bothering to change the cartoons Milly had left on until Sebastian stood, announcing that he was off to take a shower.

You left him in the living room, off to make yourself some tea when he hugs you from behind. His chin on your shoulder, "wanna join me?"

"Join you where? In the shower?"

"Yeah," he whispers, kissing your neck softly.

You roll your eyes, "keep it in your pants, Sebastian. We've got children upstairs."

"It's okay, we can use the bathroom down here, and they won't hear anything over the water."

You laughed, "how sweet of you to come up with a solution. Go shower, I'll see you after." You turn, giving him a kiss before sending him off his way - begrudgingly if you asked him.

As he disappeared up the stairs, you made yourself busy and cleaned up the kitchen a bit. You loved Sebastian but between his affinity for trying new things and his messiness, the kitchen was a disaster zone. Something resembling pancake mix sat almost empty on the counter and there was a stack of plates in the sink, utensils sticking out between them.

If you cleaned up a bit, the four of you could head out for an early dinner with the girls and perhaps catch a movie afterwards.

Hands covered in soapy water when the doorbell rings, you didn't think Sebastian was expecting anyone. Perhaps it was his parents coming for a visit or a neighbour seeking out something. There's a knock, yet a few seconds after the bell rings. Well they're rather impatient, you think.

"Coming!" You shouted, wiping your hands on the hand towel, slinging it over your shoulder as you made your way to the door.

Upon opening the door, you're met with a woman. Slender and tall, brown hair tossed over her shoulders and brown eyes to match. Her face shows an expression of confusion as she tries to look past you into the house.

"Hi, can I help you?" You asked, shifting slightly to block her view of the entryway.

She looks you up and down, before making eye contact with you. "I'm looking for Sebastian."

"Sebastian.." You trailed off, not 100% sure if she meant your Sebastian or just any random man off the street named Sebastian. Well after all, she probably meant your Sebastian as she was at his house.

"Vettel," she says, her brows furrowed and her face seems displeased with your answer. "Sebastian Vettel, does he live here?"

You aren't sure how you're supposed to handle this. What if she was some stalker? You're not gonna tell her yes.

"Can I ask why you're looking for him?" Yet again, you're met with a look of displeasure and annoyance.

"I'm Lilly, his wife."

Your heart drops to your stomach; his wife. It was obvious to the woman standing outside that you knew who she was now, that you knew Sebastian and clearly you weren't aware he was married.

"I- give me a moment." You tell her, shutting the door and heading up the stairs.

You find the bathroom door unlocked and Sebastian turns to see who came in, towel wrapped around his waist. He smiles when he sees you.

"What? Decided you wanted a piece of this after all?" He gestures to himself, making an obscene face while wiggling his eyebrows.

You shook your head, "she's downstairs."

"What? Who's downstairs?"

"Lilly. Lilly's downstairs. She's outside, looking for you. She also said-" You shook your head, sighing. "Never mind."

Sebastian gives you a look, getting dressed as quickly as he can. "What? What did she say?"

"She said she's your wife."

His forehead wrinkled, clearly confused. "We weren't married. Engaged, yes, but she left. I haven't thought about that in years."

There was more to the story, you didn't want to press him, at least not right now. "Okay," you nodded. "What do I tell her?"

"I'll deal with her," he says, stepping past you.

You follow him down the stairs, Sebastian heading towards the front door and you were off to the living room, feeling slightly out of place. He grabs your hand, "where are you going?"

"I don't-" "No, I want you with me." He says, holding your hand as he leads you back to the front door.

He takes a deep breath, opening the door to see Lilly there. You're stood in the doorway, door pulled half way shut behind you and Sebastian steps out onto the porch with Lilly.

"Hi honey," she says to Sebastian, her words laced with sweetness. You swallowed, watching the exchange between the two of them. Sebastian was a few feet away from her, "hello Lilly."

"So formal," she smiles at him, almost teasingly. He doesn't react. "How are you?"

He's straight to the point. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see you, and Milly."

"Amelia," he corrects her, "you don't get to call her that."

"Why not?" She asks, "she's my daughter, Sebastian."

He can't help but scoff, shaking his head at the woman. "You can't call yourself her mother if you haven't been in her life, Lilly. You've been gone 6 years, do I need to remind you of that?"

Lilly's eyes widened, feigning a look of surprise - as if she wasn't expecting Sebastian to say that, as if he'd just let her walk back into their lives.

"What do you need? Money?" He asks her, unsure as to what her actual motive was.

"No," she shook her head, huffing. "I'm here to see my daughter, and you."

"You can't see her."

"Why not?" She fought back, stepping closer to him. Sebastian takes a step back. "I need to see her, Sebastian."

"I'm not letting you see her, Lilly. You walked out of our lives, out of her life and you don't get to walk back in just because you feel like you're ready to be a mother."

Lilly rolled her eyes at the man. "I am her mother."

"Only biologically."

There's a noise from behind you, all three of you turning to see what it was. Milly and Liv were coming down the stairs, looking for you and Seb. You glance at your boyfriend and he nods towards the girls, you take that as you sign to leave them and head inside. The door shut behind you, the silhouettes of the two people on the porch seen through the panel of frosted glass.

"Who's outside?" Liv asks you, the girls look towards you for an answer.

You fib, "just a neighbour, they needed Seb's help with something. How about a snack ?" You ushered them towards the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder to the door before walking away with the girls.

The brown haired woman looked through the panel, seeing you with the two girls. "Is that her? Milly?"

Seb glances to see the blonde girl sharing something with her best friend and he nods.

"So who's the woman? My replacement?" Lilly looks towards him for an answer. Her tone ignited an anger in him but he bites his tongue.

"She's not a replacement, you've been gone for 6 years. I'm allowed to move on with my life. Don't speak about her that way."

Lilly raised her eyebrows, yet again surprised by Sebastian's feistiness. "Is that so?"

"She's my girlfriend, have some respect. She's been in Milly's life long before that, treating her as if she was her own. She's more of a mother to her than you are."

"You have another woman raising my child?"

"You didn't raise her, so frankly I don't think you have a say in that. She's been nothing but good to Milly, she loves her and cares for her. She's a good influence, and never has she ever done anything to make anyone think otherwise."

Lilly asks the question he knew was coming; "Do you love her ?"

It was a simple question, really. He didn't even need to think about the answer. It was instinct.

"Yes, I do."

It goes quiet for a moment, Sebastian can see the hurt on Lilly's face. A part of him feels bad but he also shouldn't feel bad as it's not his fault they're in their situation, is it?

"Why are you really here, Lilly?"

"I told you," she starts, "I want to be a family, Seb. I want you and mil- Amelia," she corrects herself, "back. I want us to be together again. I know I left, but you have to see with me, it was so hard. You were never there, Seb. It was me and Amelia by ourselves, it's so hard caring for a baby, especially one that cried and screamed all night. I was restless and tired, and upset that you weren't there for me, I couldn't do it anymore. I didn't know what else to do."

It breaks Seb's heart to see her like this, after all she is Amelia's mother and once his fiancée, but it's not fair to him or to Amelia either.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, I really am but I did the best I could, you have to understand my side of things too." He sighs. "I had a job, you knew how demanding it was, you knew I'd be away from home a lot. I didn't party, I didn't go on lavish trips with the team, I turned down events and brand ambassadors so I could have as much time as possible at home with you two. I tried, Lilly. You think I didn't want it to work? For us to be a family?"

She looks at him, it felt like it did 6 years ago, the two of them fighting over the things they can't change, the impossible circumstances in which life had dealt them.

"Had you told me you needed a break, that you needed to be alone for a bit, we would have figured it out but you didn't. You left, Lilly. Snuck off in the middle of the night without so much of a warning. I didn't know what else to do. I looked for you, for months, calling you, your family, begging for them to tell you to come home and you never did. I'm sorry but I can't let you walk back in after all of that. It's not only you that went through a rough time, so did we."

"We were engaged," she says, words coming out quietly. "Does that mean nothing to you?"

He looks at her, heart in his hands, the feeling weighing heavy on him. "No," he shakes his head, words just as soft and full of sorrow. "Not anymore."

She lets out a shaky breath, nodding. There's a feeling of despair, perhaps even disappointment lingering. The idea of what could have been, what life would have been like had she stayed, the good and the bad. Who's to know if they'd still be together after all of it if she had stayed or if they'd be on the same path they were on now.

That's the harsh reality of life.

"Tell her I love her," Lilly tells him, stepping off the porch. "I always have."

"I know," he nods, "she knows that too."

And with that, she's off. Much like the first time, yet so different. All the things that should have been said were out in the open and a weight was off of Sebastian.

He stepped back into the house as the girls were headed back upstairs. "What did the neighbour want, papa?" Milly asks her dad, her sweet face looking up at him.

"Nothing really, baby. Just needed my help to move something from the garage into their house."

She nods, she and Liv head back up to her room to play. Sebastian sees you leaning on the counter, arms folded over your chest as you watch him with your daughters. He smiles sweetly at the girls before making his way down the hallway to you.

"Everything okay?" You rub his back softly as the man collapses into you.

"Yeah," he whispers, holding you a little tighter. "Everything is okay."

"Has she left?" You let him go, he moves to stand beside you and mirrors your lean on the counter. "Mhm hm, I don't think she's coming back."

You hum, unsure what the right thing to say is. If you say good, it seems like you want her gone. If you say okay, it seems like you don't care. A hum is simple, an answer in itself.

Sebastian can see the wrinkles on your forehead, his finger pointed as he counts. "One, two, three, four.."

"What are you doing?"

"Counting your wrinkles," he says with a smile. You laugh, swatting his hand away. Sebastian pulls you into his side, an arm slung over your shoulder. "What's on your pretty ol' mind? Penny for your thoughts?"

"My thoughts cost more than a penny, Sebastian."

"Well, lucky for you y/n, money is no objective."

You give him a small smile, shifting to look at him. "Why did you never tell me you were engaged?"

He takes a moment, before shrugging. "It's not that I was hiding it from you but it was a long time ago, it's not something I like to talk about. It just reminds me of a bad time in my life, that's all."

It was a fair enough answer, you don't need to know everything about his life. He didn't know everything about your life.

He nudges your shoulder, "why? Do you have a secret engagement you're hiding from me?"

"Oops, did I forget to tell you?" You play a look of shock, a hand over your mouth. "The prince of Dubai and I are set to get married next weekend.

Sebastian smiles, "you know, I've met the prince of Dubai, he's a really nice guy. I think you'll be very happy in your marriage."

You laugh, swatting his arm. "I'm sure I will be."

---

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[undreaming-fanfiction]

When the Corroded Coffin makes it, Eddie leans into the success completely. He can't really help it, he never thought he'd make it anywhere, wouldn't even have a moderately comfortable life and now he's here, people love him, want him, think he's worth their time. It's intoxicating and he feels like if he slows down for just a second, he'll lose it all.

Steve is supportive, of course he is. It's everything Eddie's ever wanted, success in the world and the most amazing person at home, loving him unconditionally. But Eddie grows more and more frantic about his work, tours, everything. He loves Steve so much, he talks about him in awards ceremonies, in interviews and credits him as his forever muse that he maybe forgets a little that random people who he'll never meet hear more about his love for his boyfriend than Steve himself.

Maybe if he took a moment to think, Eddie would have remembered that Steve was left alone for most of his teenage years, that the love he had was real but distant. That this love always stopped him from asking for more, asking for time spent together, for actions, not words. But he didn't.

After many dinners wrapped in cellophane and tossed in the fridge, postponed dates, hurried goodbye kisses and whispered promises over the phone that never come true, it happens. Steve doesn't blame him, doesn't scream or snap, but Eddie would have preferred if he did. He just calmly tells him that he loves him, will always love Eddie and he can't imagine there being anyone else, but he finally realized that while he's happy for Eddie, he can't live through someone else's dream. He needs, wants more than another empty house and waiting, so much waiting. He kisses Eddie goodbye and whispers, "I'm so happy you managed to break your cycle, Eddie. The crime, poverty...I'm so proud of you. But now I need to break my own."

---

As Steve fully settles in his own apartment almost a year later, heart aching but finally not paralyzed, he turns on the radio and hears a familiar voice, like the sweetest pain. He sings a new song, one that Steve doesn't know.

I painted your room at midnight

So I'd know yesterday was over

I put all your books on the top shelf

Even the one with the four leaf clover

Man, I'm getting older

I took all your pictures off the wall

And wrapped them in a newspaper blanket

I haven't slept in what seems like a century

And now I can barely breathe

Just like a crow chasing the butterfly

Dandelions lost in the summer sky

When you and I were getting high as outer space

I never thought you'd slip away

I guess I was just a little too late

Your words still serenade me

Your lullabies won't let me sleep

I've never heard such a haunting melody

Oh, it's killing me

You know I can barely breathe

Just like a crow chasing the butterfly

Dandelions lost in the summer sky

When you and I were getting high as outer space

I never thought you'd slip away

I guess I was just a little too late

The last soft tones finish and Steve takes a deep breath, shaky and uncertain. He loves his new life, loves what he's doing, studying to save lives, and yet...

It's almost funny. They broke up a year ago, yet Eddie never left him behind. There was no pressure to get back together, no unwanted declarations of love, just...showing. Steve told Eddie that he needed actions, not words, and here he was, for a year, giving Steve the space he needed but always checking in, always making sure Steve was okay.

Eddie's words were his actions and Steve finally understands how to break his own cycle. Being alone doesn't mean he's lonely. Not when Eddie's thoughts never leave him.

Not when he remembers the four leaf clover he scribbled into his textbook.

When he says he always thinks of Steve when seeing dandelions, so bright and comforting, like home.

The nights they spent together, drunk on each other's presence.

And the melody Steve always hummed when he got out of shower.

He reaches for his phone, their careful messages blinking at him, making him wonder how this love can feel so distant yet so real.

I hope your classes are going well, Stevie.

Wayne says hi. He says he'll call you next Tuesday.

I hope you found what you were looking for.

I hope you're happy.

I'm thinking about you, always.

He types something cheesy and ridiculous, but he can't help himself. He just feels loved, seen.

What if I told you that you aren't too late, crow?

His phone dings back almost immediately and he smiles.

[see-arcane]

OJ and JJ: Why Jean Jacket Let the Haywoods—Especially OJ—Get Away with More Than Anyone Else in “Nope”

I’ve seen Nope twice now. While everyone I saw it with enjoyed it, I heard a few cries of foul when it came to OJ and the others’ improbable good luck with all their near misses interacting with our favorite terrifying gulch-haunting UFO. I call foul back and say plot armor had nothing to do with it. Some luck, yeah, otherwise we’d have no protagonists. But that was hardly all.

Spoilers for Nope below

To be clear, I am absolutely not painting this as the same delusional ‘friendship’ Jupe assumed he had with Jean Jacket. Neither he, nor OJ, nor anyone else is a miraculously endowed animal/alien tamer with an automatic ~*~special bond~*~. It’s one of many points Nope goes out of its way to illustrate. You can only train (or disrespect) an animal so far before they lash out, especially predators, and especially island-sized UFOs with the munchies. But, insomuch as there is any ‘safe’ way to coexist in close proximity with something like Jean Jacket, OJ Haywood is shown to have pulled it off with flying colors. And he did so almost entirely unaware to begin with by dint of his character traits.

That and a combination of Jean Jacket’s own instincts are what likely put him and the people around him in the tiiiny pocket of special allowance JJ deigned to give them over the course of the movie.

Let’s roll back to the first scene with the Haywood Ranch and the death of Otis Sr. A death by falling nickel that happened six months before the present-day events of the film. Just before this, father and son were curious about the screaming in the clouds—a fresh snack of hikers about to be squelched—followed by the rain of inedible bits. We can assume this was Jean Jacket’s first time flying in the gulch, and he chose the Haywood Ranch as The Spot for Purging; just like the hills next to the ranch were chosen for his ‘nest’/hiding place/resting spot.

While Jupe was methodically feeding JJ fresh horses and imagining the big guy trusted him, Jean Jacket kept going home to his actual favorite spot right next to OJ and his horses—a man and his big juicy animals out training in broad daylight, day after day, without ever pestering them. No missing horses. No missing OJ. Despite JJ clearly having opportunity and a taste for both species by that point. Why?

The obvious answer is that OJ kept his head down. Literally. Eyes always on his work, under the shade of his hat bill, maybe glancing at the clouds now and then…but always too far away to agitate. For all that time, he was unconsciously respecting Jean Jacket’s rules. Plus, he was in JJ’s purging/nesting territory first; yes, Jean Jacket was calling dibs on the whole gulch, but if the locals already there aren’t bothering him, fine, sure, they can stay.

The place’s importance to Jean Jacket, OJ’s head-down habits, and the amount of time spent coexisting with each other sans trouble all combined to put OJ and the alien into as close to a neighborly setup as could ever be expected. Don’t fuck with me, I don’t fuck with you.

Then things start picking up. Too much activity, too many new skyward glances from OJ, too many hackles raised with the Star Lasso Experience. And yeah, JJ did almost vacuum OJ up—he infringed on their ‘arrangement’ and looked! The nerve! And after JJ let him get away with hiding under a roof the night he stared up at the dust devil that took the fake horse! How ungrateful!

…A move that, in hindsight, plays almost like a Strike 1 offense, paid back by slurping up the actual horse. OJ’s staring at the Star Lasso arena was likely Strike 2. After snapping at OJ and causing the accidental knockout against the ceiling, JJ flies off without him or Lucky.

Off JJ flies to the Haywood Ranch again, full of screaming people and detritus and huffy extraterrestrial chest-pounding. And what does JJ do? He drops a big bloody purge waterfall directly onto the Haywoods’ house—OJ’s territory-within-JJ’s territory—like the giant alien version of an animal hiking its leg and marking all over a lower-tier animal’s spot.

This is a warning. This is my place. I rule here.

Then, as if holding onto the statue for last (hell, that may have been the real Strike 1), he moves his big flying Roomba self over to OJ’s truck—which I’d bet JJ definitely recognizes after six months—and just hovers. Hovers. Hovers.

Making sure OJ is paying attention. Then he hacks the statue out like a bad loogie right into the windshield. Assuming it didn’t kill his ‘neighbor,’ it would be a fine lesson:

You are on thin ice. Do not cross me again.

Come morning, what do we find out? Not only is Jean Jacket smart enough to know the humans will react when he moves enough to let the electricity fizzle back on, he immediately moves back overhead to stare down at OJ. My guess? It was a test.

You know better, neighbor. What do you do when I am here? What very smart thing have you done in all our quiet time side by side?

And thank God, it does dawn on OJ in time. Do Not Look. No Eyes On JJ.

So he ducks his head. And, even though he caught a very obvious peripheral glimpse, Jean Jacket still lets that slide. Jean Jacket lets OJ, his sister, and Angel—probably his family/pack in JJ’s POV—scurry away in their silly rolling box. We can’t even say it was because Jean Jacket was still full; the big guy looks like he has whole miles of gut to chow down with.

No, he lets OJ and company off with a few warnings, because the arrangement renewed. And off he goes to settle in his cloud again.

Cut to the run.

I sincerely believe that if it had been any other person on the horse, any other person goading Jean Jacket along the run, they would not have lasted a minute. No, not even with their head down. We’ve seen by now just how fast JJ can move, how quick he can flip from zero to I-Will-Knock-You-Back-Like-a-Shrieking-Tic-Tac. And nobody can say they didn’t clench up when they, like OJ, realized Jean Jacket was hovering right behind him like the world’s most ominous frisbee. Ditto the part where JJ slurped up the TMZ jerk barely a yard away from him and Lucky.

Thiiis close to sucking him up. But no. The dust devil got Mr. TMZ with the precision of a straw.

Then we get to the run—OJ on horseback, JJ being JJ, going fast…but almost at his version of a canter. A brisk walking pace.

That much might be owed to the fact that, unlike all his other prey, the people/horses have gotten a good look at Jean Jacket, then turned to run. With OJ’s staring hoodie, he’s retreating while still looking at/challenging JJ. That’s new! That implies Jean Jacket’s neighbor has his hackles up even as he moves away!

So Jean Jacket gives a comparatively leisurely chase. Then, just when he gets fed up and goes for the vacuum maneuver—surprise! Flags everywhere! Jean Jacket freaks out as expected, twisting away rather than risk gulping up another bad meal. What the hell, OJ, why didn’t you warn JJ you were a statue this whole time?

And, finally, the climax.

OJ looks at Jean Jacket dead on, still sitting on the flag-strung Lucky. This is when Jean Jacket has completely unfolded into what looks like a full intimidation display. These tiny two-legged things have turned into a big flag-covered, barbed wired headache for Jean Jacket. Perhaps even a threat. It’s down to a fight for the territory in JJ’s perspective. Someone has to go. And OJ, the one he ‘knows’ best, the one that had respected and been respected by Jean Jacket most, like two sullen predators in the same cage mutually agreeing not to bother the other, is the one metaphorically baring his teeth first.

Even as he flexes all his freaky jellyfish anatomy, Jean Jacket hesitates.  

Does he think this is OJ warning him away? Or is he really instigating a fight to the finish? …Is there a chance OJ could win?

Even when, finally, OJ does begin drawing him along, away from Em’s bike, we never see JJ strike out with his appendages or make another dust devil. He’ll match OJ’s staring contest, he’ll creep closer, but he does not lash out.

It’s only when Em revs up and takes off for Jupiter’s Claim that Jean Jacket gambles on pursuing what he (mis)takes for the less worrisome Haywood. Simply because she looked at him and fled? Because JJ wants another warning to spit up for OJ later? No way to know.

All we see is that OJ, by a mix of hair-thin good fortune and animal training experience, managed to live with, counter, and psych out Jean Jacket enough to earn the man-eating megafauna’s tolerance and enough respect that it edged near worry.

tl;dr: No, OJ was not a magical horse/alien whisperer. But he did gain enough of Jean Jacket’s esteem to give him the best odds of survival, cohabitation and manipulation, simply by being himself, being respectful of the ‘rules’ once he knew them, and being cool as hell while everyone else fell apart or got slurped.

[hhonghu]

You don't have to answer this if it makes you uncomfortable.

But imagine yan!trans!scara babytrapping you because he was scared of you leaving him because he wasn't the Kubokimono that you were in love with all those centuries ago. But you were surprisingly happy that Scara was pregnant, and that you wanted to raise the child with him. And you wanted to celebrate by stuffing his cunt with more of your cum, if only you knew that your darling was far from the naive innocent Kubokimono you once knew.

[Thirst]!

yan!trans!scara is so real for this, absolute girlboss!! what's a better way to get you tied down to him for the rest of your life is a baby ofc!! i researched so this should be an afab!trans!scara ? usage of female anatomy ! correct me if im wrong (bc i feel like i wrote this absolutely wrong and ill rewrite it)!

he would be biting his nails, nervousness and paranoia taking over him as he thinks deeply. there's a possibility you'll still leave him. he was no longer the kabukimono you once knew; sweet, kind, curious, and naïve about the world and of course, you. you just can't let him go, he belonged to you! he was everything to you and he still is! the thought was haunting him, he's yours so don't leave!

he's thinking of ways to make you stay forever: sex? a lot of that and mire. money? you're too humble, money doesn't sway you too much. he tugs on his hair in frustration, racking his brain for anything, anything that won't make you leave him ever. then, a thought pops in.

a baby.

you were soft with children, even back in inazuma. despite you having work, you were willing to look after children when parents would come to you for help. you let them do as they please, running around and playing, even calling for you and him to join. and even at times, they would ask to play house. "kabukimono will be our mother, [name] will be his spouse, and we will be your children!" you would chuckle and agree, cooing how you and him would be great parents to them.

and so he had a plan. he'll have you fuck him pregnant. stuff him full of your cum and reach his womb, ensuring that he'll be pregnant with your child. that's it, it's the perfect plan! all he has to do now is put it into action. he prepared everything; he'll clear your schedule for a whole week and have you fuck him on his most fertile day, just to be sure.

and today was the day!

you were informed and relieved of your workload by scara's subordinates and shooed to his quarters, "lord scaramouche says he awaits you in his room." you headed for his room all the while wondering why the sudden vacation. maybe you've been working too hard? you had been busy with fatui work lately so it could be that he did this so he can have you all to himself. cheeky boy. you finally arrived and knocked on his door, "scara, i'm coming in." you twist the knob and head inside, "it's quite nice of you to let me relax for the week, we should—" you freeze, eyes landing on a beautiful sight.

scara was sitting down on the edge of the bed, legs crossed and wearing a pretty purple lingerie that matches his eyes, straps and lace hugging his body beautifully. you stare and eye him all over while scara was absolutely bathing in your attention, smirking. "like what you see, [name]?" he stands up and approaches you, his steps coquettish and cunning, his hips swaying and you watch. he reaches his finger to trace the outline of your jaw to your chin and you still stare, stunned of what he was doing, how he was acting. scara wraps his arms around your neck, his chest coming in contact with yours. "keep staring, i like this.." he mutters, taking in the attention you're giving him. it was working!

you finally snapped out of your daze, your hands coming up to his waist and squeezing it. "well, aren't your surprising?" you smile, "does this come with the vacation too?" he knew what he was doing to you, getting himself all prettied up all for you was one of the things that gets you going. scara nods, lips curling into a smile, "my [name] has been working so hard to stay by my side, surely you deserve a reward, no?" his body sways, tempting you more. "come to bed and let me help you relax."

"guuhh— ohhhh, fuck♡! [name]! hahh—" scara pants, skin slapping heard in the room and his moans getting louder. "that's right, darling. ride me mmmm— harder," scara's eyes were unfocused, his hips slamming his ass up and down on your cock, his cum dripping down his thighs down to your stomach. you reach for his clit, rubbing frantically and his back arches, his pussy clenching as he feels his orgasm coming. "nghhh— you're fucking my pussy hgnhh— fhuck♡! fuck my pussy so good [name] ah, ah, ah♡!", "my hole was made for you to oooohh— fuck♡! all yours, all yours, all yours!", "yesyesyes, 'm gonna cum, you're gonna— ohhhhh, nghhh— i'm gonna fucking cum♡!♡" his hips comes to stop and he squirts with a pop, his juices drenching your cock and stomach. your fingers still kept on rubbing on his puffy clit and watch in fascination as he jerks around from overstimulation. he was starting to feel tired, orgasm after orgasm washing over his body and you still have yet to cum inside him. he can't have that, he won't.

he regains his composure, he'll have your cum in him if that's the last thing he'll ever do and the rest can come after. he slowly realigns himself on your cock, teasing his hole with your tip. "we're not stopping, [name]." you hear him mutter, "you're going to stuff my pussy with your cum until its overflowing, until you can't fit more inside. we won't stop." he slams down on you, mewling as feels your tip touch his cervix. he leans down his body and went in for a kiss, his hips bringing itself up and down on your cock. he moans into your mouth as he kept going faster, his pussy gushing around you. "mmph— that's it, [name]. fuck into my pussy and nhghh— cum in it, don't you dare stop♡!" he screams, lost in pleasure as you wrap your arms around his torso and slowly rise your hips meet his thrusts, his pussy felt so good around you, felt too good even.

you finally cum inside him, groaning as you feel him tighten around and milk you for all your worth. you can hear him sigh happily and nuzzle in your neck, his ass wiggling as he feels your cum spurt inside him. you catch your breath and thought, so much for relaxing. all the while you were recover, scara was smiling to himself. you finally caved in and he'll finally get you to stay for all eternity.

2-3 weeks passed by (and a whole fuck fest), scara was already experiencing symptoms of pregnancy; from morning sickness to backache, he knew he finally got what he wanted and he couldn't be more happy. you were worried about his constant sickness, thinking you've gotten overboard with your sex with him and had him rest and attended to by trusted subordinates and you (reader is dense idk why get the hint!!!). it wasn't until one night, after a long night of fatui work and coming back to check in on him, scara pats the free space beside him. "[name], come lie down, i missed you today." you obliged, taking your coat off and gently lying down next to him. you wrapped your arm his waist and sighed, "how are you feeling, darling? i was told the doctor came in today, what did he say?" your subordinates seemed to have refused to tell you the diagnosis, telling you that scara forbade them and that he was to tell you instead. you prepared for the worst, thinking of every possibility and dreading if you have somehow put him and his body in danger.

"[name], promise me something first?" you gulp, there it is, it's definitely bad. you nod with no hesitation, taking his hand and intertwining it with yours. "anything." scara smiles, "promise me that you won't leave me. stay with me for the rest of eternity." you nod, "of course i will, i love you, darling. you know that you're my eternity, i will never leave you.", "then lend me your ear." you nervously lean your ear to him and he cups his hand, as if to tell you a secret in a whisper.

"i'm pregnant, [name]."

you stay still for a few seconds before your eyes widens, turning your head to fully face him. scara tries to hold his laugh as you search his eyes for any sign that he was joking, but you can't. "d-darling, you can't—" you sound out of breath, your heart beating in your chest. "did i hear that right? are you really pregnant, darling?" your hand comes to his stomach and caress it, taking him by surprise as he nods. a few tears formed in your eyes before it streams down your face and you gently hug him, kissing the top of his head. scara was stunned but he was overjoyed, were you happy? were you crying because he was pregnant with your child? "my darling, i'm so happy to hear that. i finally get to be a parent with you.." he can hear you exhale in content, your body slightly shaking. but then you snap out of your daze, "wait, do you want this too? i.. i—" panic begins to envelope you, what if he didn't want to have the child with you? but scara consoles you and smiles, wiping your tears away. "of course i do, i want to carry your children, [name]. i want us to have a family together so let this be the start of it." you can't stop yourself from sobbing, hugging him once again and he cries a bit with you, happiness overflowing that night.

after you two calmed down, you begin to lightly discuss the future with him. a new house somewhere quiet, baby names, a new room.. scara was feeling euphoric and couldn't help but stare at you with love. "let's rest for the night, we have a whole day ahead of us." scara stops you as you tried to cover you two with a blanket. "[name]..", "yes? do you need something?" he wraps his leg around you, bringing you close and grinding down on you. "why don't.. we celebrate? i promise we'll be careful, just need you in me.. come on. [name]♡."

what in insatiable boy you have.

sorry for the long wait fgassfsdfsd TT;; i got slapped with work out of nowhere, dw tho i'll be replying to thirst in my inbox so don't fret >:) thank you for the food anon!! i'm looking forward for more thirsts hehee

[charliemwrites]

Hello, hello! Per ceilidh's request - a Soap x Reader ficlet from the prompt thingy.

#11 "You tricked me."

I was heavily inspired by that tiktok sound (iykyk)

Rating: M CW/TW: brief/vague torture, threat of SA (doesn't happen), manipulation, dark!Soap

Being a medium in the military isn’t that much different from being a medium anywhere else.

The rules are roughly the same. Don’t talk to ghosts in living company. Don’t join idiotic 2am summoning circles. Try to help the ones you can; try not to lose sleep over the ones you can’t.

Oddly, there aren’t as many ghosts on a base as any given suburban house. Depends on the base, of course, but a reassuring number of former-military souls continue to their final rest. Even if their bodies (or parts of it) don’t make it back, tags and a symbolic burial usually suffice.

The 141’s main base only has a handful. A few you’ve already gotten closure for, sent off into the beyond. The others you’re working on, or already know they’re a lost cause. Most of them are even friendly!

There’s a corporal that haunts the mess and laments mashed potatoes. A captain appears in Price’s office occasionally, his residual energy glaring down at reports and rustling at phantom papers. On the range, you sometimes speak to the ghost of a prostitute murdered by some piece of shite back in ye olde times. She doesn’t talk back – can’t with a crushed windpipe – but she smiles when you have the privacy to acknowledge her.

Your favorite, though, is Johnny. He’s a comparatively new spirit, by your estimate. Lots of energy, still coherent. You can’t tell how he died by looking at him, but that’s not unusual. It could have been internal bleeding, or a stroke despite his youth. He won’t tell you his last name despite all your asking, always just laughs.

“Yer no’ gettin’ rid o’ me tha easily!”

He always lays the Scottish accent on in a thick velvet blanket. You want to wrap yourself up in it.

Yes, the rules for being a medium are the same, even on a military base. The main one: don’t get haunted by feelings.

That was never a concern, never even a thought, until Johnny. Until you caught his eye around Price’s shoulder during your introductory tour. He followed you for hours, interjecting little asides that put your selective hearing to the test. Always orbited just close enough to send chills down your spine and goosebumps up your arm.

You confronted him when you’d finally been dismissed back to your barrack, whirling around as he popped his mohawked head through the door. Despite yourself, you made quick friends with him.

He’s an unusual ghost. Doesn’t seem tied to a particular place or thing on base. Isn’t trapped along the same paths he walked in life. He’s always solid or near solid, doesn’t waver at certain times of day. You’re utterly charmed by his unorthodoxy, by his miraculous non-existence. And by the fact that, while he knows your secret – as all spirits do – he seems more intrigued than solicitous.

It's not that you blame other ghosts – the coherent ones – for wanting help. It’s torturous to toe that line, not alive but not at peace. Stuck and dwindling little by little. You can’t imagine what it feels like, but you can sense from some that it’s frightening, and cold. No, you’re not bothered that they ask for help. Or with the ones that are just angry; they have every reason to be.

Johnny, though… he’s special. You don’t feel so alone with him, even if the room looks like it to an outsider.

“Oh, aye, that’s pure dead brilliant. You know they’re sending you to Russia?”

You flick Johnny a glance. He’s leaning over Price’s shoulder, peering at the briefing docket that’s actively being explained. You don’t mind the extra or early info. Saved your ass a couple times before.

Your lack of response ruffles his feathers though. He stalks through the table to Gaz, flicks his pen right off the surface. You snort softly as he curses under his breath and ducks to retrieve it, trying not to interrupt Price. You make eye contact with Johnny, blink and minutely shake your head. He can see the twitching at the corners of your mouth anyway.

He smirks and wades through solid objects back to you. His presence looms behind your shoulder, an uneasy flicker at the edge of your consciousness. Like this he seems bigger, inhuman beyond ghostliness. Rougher and darker in the corner of your vision. You’ve done a double-take and gotten teased for skittishness enough times by now to quell the urge to check. It’s always just Johnny.

You’re paired with your lieutenant, Ghost. He’ll be watching with his sniper while you’re on infil. Usually, you’re paired with Gaz, but he and Roach will be at the other end of the compound taking out a target.

When the team is dismissed, Ghost only pauses long enough to give you a nod before skulking off. Not unusual for him; you take no offense. Johnny, however, is scowling something fierce after him.

For whatever reason, he’s never been a fan of your LT. The one time you asked, the lights started flickering and Johnny dismissed the question with a sharp “just don’t like him.”

You suspect that it’s because Ghost was your mentor when you joined the 141. The two of you spent the majority of your time together, training you up to run with the rest of the squad. Due to his constant proximity, your ability to respond to Johnny was greatly hindered.

Still is with how observant Ghost is. Have almost blown your cover several times and had to really watch yourself, and your reactions. You think Johnny might resent him for that.

Back in your barrack, though, Johnny happily chatters while you gear up for the mission. Base gossip and bits of intel he shouldn’t know and shouldn’t tell you. It’s standard ritual for you two; he likes to talk, and you’re accustomed to listening. You hum in the right places, storing tidbits away for your own amusement later.

A playful tug to your bitch-strap makes you yelp, then laugh when you catch Johnny’s grin. He does it again, loosening one of the buckles on your thigh. You swat him uselessly, retightening it only for him to pluck at your bootlaces while you’re occupied. He’s got so much energy, for a ghost. So adept at interacting with the physical world.

“Quit it!” you giggle, trying to dodge his darting hands.

“Why should I?” he chuckles. You curse as he gets a finger in your harness and jerks, misaligning it with the rest of your gear.

“I’ll banish you,” you lie, wriggling various straps back into place.

“Oh, sweet girl, it would take a lot more than you’ve got to get rid of me now.”

It’s an odd turn of phrase for him, but it’s the tone that draws your gaze. There’s an unfamiliar, inky darkness in his voice that pools in the pit of your stomach. You frown, open your mouth to ask what he means. But just like that, his electric smile is back, eyebrows arching as he nods to your bedside clock.

“You’re gonna be late.”

“Shit!” You snatch up your backpack and fling it across your shoulders. “I’m gonna kill you, Johnny!”

“Can’t kill something that isn’t alive,” he cackles as you sweep out the door.

You make it the transport just short of reprimand, though that doesn’t stop Ghost from narrowing his eyes as you duck into your seat. Gaz has already started a lively conversation with Roach, and Price is staying back this time.

You miss Johnny already. He may not be trapped in any particular part of the base, but he can’t come with you on missions or leave. The spaces where he’s absent feel colder and quieter. Everything seems just a bit… off. A song missing an instrument, a rainbow lacking one color.

You’re not sure when that started happening, when Johnny became such a vital part of how you perceive the rest of the world. When did longing for him become a chronic illness?

“Focus up!” Ghost barks in your ear.

You blink, shake your head, and take stock bewildered. Gone is the transport and the rest of your team. It’s just you now, hidden behind a generator, presumably about to infiltrate the target.

How?

When you try to recall, you have vague recollections of exiting the transport. Hiking to the compound. Splitting off with a few parting words amongst the lot of you. It feels watery at the edges, more of a vivid dream than a waking memory.

“Yessir.” It jumps instinctively from your tongue while you flex your cold fingers, trying to coax the nerves back to life.

You take a deep breath – lungs aching like you’ve held your breath too long – and continue with the mission. There’s no room for error now, or idle daydreams of noncorporeal men with wicked smiles.

The building is only three stories and you’re not meant to clear it. Just get to the server room, collect the information, and slip away with minimal enemy contact.

Maybe that’s why you don’t realize that something is wrong at first. You’re supposed to be avoiding guards, so you don’t notice the lack of them. Things do go right, sometimes, the intel can be good.

But it’s the quiet the finally prickles at your awareness. You may be more attuned to the dead, but you have a sense for the living as well. Always made you the worst to play hide and seek with. Now, you can feel that this building is vacant, deprived of any souls.

“LT, something is wrong,” you whisper, frozen mid-step.

“What is it?” he asks.

“It’s too quiet.”

To his credit, he doesn’t dismiss you immediately. “How?”

“I think the building is empty. Have you seen anyone?”

“Negative.” A pause as he considers, maybe scans the other windows for signs of occupation. “Sit tight, I’ll update Price.”

There’s barely a heartbeat before you hear distant gunfire. Too much and too soon for the plan. Roach and Gaz weren’t supposed to neutralize the target until you were collecting intel.

“Fuck,” Ghost snarls. “Get out of there!”

You’re already sprinting for the stairwell. Nearly pop your ankles leaping down, boot treads catching on the edge of steps. No one is chasing you, but your team needs help. Gaz is shouting in your ear, the channels reconnected for ease of communication. The situation is devolving quickly and violently.

“Almost there,” you report.

Your foot hits the last landing before the ground floor when the building explodes.

---

It takes three tries to get your vision focused. There’s not much to see once you do. A concrete room tinted by bare yellow halogen. There’s a drain in the floor just in front of you and old blood dried in the corners. It smells like rust, infection, and despair. Your head pounds; your entire body aches. Being tied to a metal chair doesn’t help the post-explosion soreness.

You’ve been stripped down to your fatigues, no boots. There isn’t a door in any of the three walls you can see, so it must be positioned behind you.

Confirmation comes about a minute later. Three sets of boots entering your little box. Only one of them walks into your line of sight; a mean-looking man with face tattoos and a gold tooth. He asks if you speak Russian, and though you do, you spew a string of English profanities and threats at him. The backhand you get in return says he understood you.

The questions start as soon as he switches to English. They want information; they always do. What you had been sent to collect and why. Who Roach and Gaz were sent for and why. You don’t speak a word. Even when the pain starts, and then doesn’t stop. You lose track of time, the head injury floating you on the edge of consciousness within the first thirty minutes.

Hours – days? – later, the man takes a step back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“It’s alright,” he tells you, “I like taking my time, and we have plenty. Your friends think you are dead.”

That, you think through the haze, is probably true. You thought you were dead too.

“Perhaps next time we try something… else,” he muses, running a finger down your neck. “You are not as pretty now, but… prettier than you will be later, da?”

Ice forms in the pit of your stomach and climbs up your spine. It was always on the table, you know that, but facing it is something else.

Whatever expression you’re making seems to satisfy him, because he laughs heartily and finally leaves you alone.

Alone, with the promise of his next visit looming.

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s a dripping sound nearby that you realize, vaguely, is your own blood. Maybe you’ll bleed out before he comes back. You time your breaths with it, using it as a count to get your wild and unsteady heart under control.

Reality washes over you in waves. There is no escape. Your team thinks you’re dead. Eventually, you will break and/or die. You might even become a ghost, join the collective that darkens the edges of this very room, a thing of pain and fear and rage without any coherency or singular will.

You didn’t even give Johnny a proper goodbye.

That somehow hurts the worst. Johnny, hearing second-hand that you’ll never make it back. No one to mourn with him, to offer any comfort. He’ll be alone with grief and then beyond, no one to tell his jokes or stories to.

You miss him more fiercely than you ever have. Part of you is glad he isn’t here. You know him, know he’d be too stubborn to leave you. He’d stay and watch, helpless, as you were tortured and killed. It would tear you apart to do that to him even though it wouldn’t be your own choice.

But… an awful, selfish part of you longs for him. Even just being able to see or hear him would soften the pain and fear. Would make this hell on earth almost bearable. You want to leave this world with Johnny whispering in your ear, maybe even join him when your body finally goes cold.

Given the choice, you would want him here.

You want Johnny. No, you need him. Regret ever leaving him behind, even though he couldn’t come with you. You’d do anything to change that now; anything to be with him again.

Anything?

It’s an unbidden thought, almost intrusive. Doesn’t even feel like yourself asking.

“Anything,” you whisper aloud, just to hear something other than your own despair. “Johnny…”

“You called?”

You jolt, head snapping up so fast it makes you dizzy. The world spins but he’s there, right there, crouching in front of you, arms balanced on his knees.

“Johnny?” you whisper.

Were you closer to the brink than you thought? Is this some sort of final hallucination as you slip into death?

“In the flesh.” He tilts his head, snorts. “Well, in a manner.”

“How…?” you ask, eyes already stinging.

“Told ya, you called. I’d never – hey, now, hey. No need for all that,” he soothes. He wipes the tears from your face. You can feel the warmth in his fingers. “This is a happy occasion.”

You huff in watery amusement, shaking your head. “Did you lose your glasses when you died? I wouldn’t call this celebration-worthy.”

His eyes scan over you, flicker dark. “It will be, don’t you worry.”

You blink, try to focus. Exhaustion and injury and chemical rush are making it difficult, but you know things are off. He shouldn’t be here, least of all because you called. And… something else too. Something in the way he’s holding his shoulders and the twitching around his expression. 

“Johnny, really,” you say, “why are you here?”

“You offered me anything, and I’m here to collect.”

Between one blink and the next, his eyes are black. Pitch black, from corner to corner. You suck in a breath, try to jerk back but there’s nowhere to go.

His grin is sharp enough to cut yourself on.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” he sighs.

He leans in, lips parting. His tongue rolls out, long and split at the tip. Licks a luxurious, burning trail from your chin to your temple. You make a sound borne of confused pleasure and fear, high in the back of your throat.

He shushes you, plants a slow kiss at the corner of your mouth. “My brave little lass, finally offering herself to the demon she’s been courting.”

The word bounces against the walls of your cell and burrows into your brain. Demon, demon, demon.

Johnny is…

“You tricked me,” you sob.

He cocks his head, onyx eyes soft with avarice. “Tricked you? No, angel, I’m saving you.”

His hands pet over the cruel ties around your ankles. The itch of them digging into your skin falls away. Gentle thumbs rub circles over the imprints the left behind. Hope and relief pounds hard in your chest.

“I’m only taking what you so willingly and enthusiastically offered,” he explains in hushed awe. Like you’ve given him such a wonderful gift, the greatest gift. Suppose you have.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he croons. His arms wrap around you, almost like a hug. His fingertips trace down your bruised arms to the cuffs biting your wrists. Those too fall away, and you find yourself reaching for him so quickly, folding into his chest, free of that wretched chair.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, a hand curling into blood and sweat soaked tangles.

“It… it is you, right?” you ask. “You’re my Johnny?”

“Always, angel,” he replies, “it’s always been me. I will always be yours. All you have to do is say yes.”

You tilt your head back, catch the wicked curve of fangs as he speaks. He smells like heat and woodsmoke.

“Yes to what?” you ask.

“To everything,” he answers, deep and rough. “You offered anything, and I want all of you.”

You should say no, you should throw yourself away from him.

There is not an inch of your mind or body that wants to leave the safety of his arms. This is Johnny, your Johnny, hellfire and all.

“And… in return,” you venture, “I get… you?”

“Eternally.”

Then it really doesn’t need much more thought.

“Yes. Please.”

“Good girl.”

[the-s1lly-corner]

AAAAA

TDAC X PUPPET!READER

Hear me out

Reader is like puppet from fnaf, their character being very similar to puppet, them having the same voice and powers? Yknow Puppet flies fast as HELL and etc, Reader most of the time stays in the music box, and just gets out when really wanted or needed, for example: when theres an IHA or when someone needs them for something.

TADC x puppet!reader !

ashamed to admit this but i have not touched fnaf outside of security breach, recently at least. the last time i was fully invested in the fnaf lore was when fnaf 4 had just dropped, so im quite literally relying off of your description like its a life line because i know how insane fnaf lore has gotten think imma answer this request then take another short break since my lower back is starting to get sore from sitting all day; gotta go stretch my legs too

CAINE:

you do have your own room, of course, but you tend to usually stay in your music box; of which you came with when you first entered the digital world... which was a little odd, but hey its not the strangest thing that anyone here has seen! i like to think that sometimes caine comes to your box at night and tries to will you out so he can get to know you more. leave it to the ai to fall for the mysterious circus member who rarely leaves their box... i think sometimes he would hum and sing along to the music your box makes

POMNI:

the first time you rush out of your music box it takes her off guard, almost making her fall off her feet when you dash right by her to do... whatever was required of you at that moment in time. if she were being honest, she didnt think you were a real person, she had always assumed that you were an npc; it wasnt unheard of that caine would have npcs stationed about for in house adventures, or to man the carnival..! though i dont think she would interact much with you, considering you rarely interact with the others; what use would it be to pester you?

JAX:

honestly before realizing you literally live and sleep and mostly exist in the music box, he probably puts stuff on top of your box... accidentally trapping you inside it. well, actually trapping wouldnt be accurate because you ended up brute forcing your way out, literally sending everything that was on top of the box flying; scaring just about everyone in the room. imagine trying to find out whos faster; you or jax.. i mean, have you seen how fast jax bolted when they found out koufmo abstracted?

RAGATHA:

always tries to ask you if you want to join in on the in house adventure, she doesnt want you to feel left out or unwelcome; even though most times you willingly back out of the activity. though, she feels relieved and even smiles when you spring out of your box to join in on the action... at least she knows you havent abstracted... brain stimulation is important, you know!

KINGER:

he finds some comfort in the music, slowly but surely as the days pass he moves his pillow fort closer and closer to your box before eventually hes right next to you. sometimes even naps, leaning against it. though he does immediately scamper off when you suddenly lunge out to race towards whoever is calling for you. at least he can count on you to have his back in moments of danger or fear!

ZOOBLE:

usually stays in their own lane, but for one reason or another they need help during an IHA, and their yelps and incoherent speech was enough to catch your attention. be it gloink or otherwise, you obliterate the problem; effectively haunting zooble for the rest of their life by your actions... but hey, it feels... nice, having someone you can rely on

GANGLE:

character who is soft spoken and shy meets character that rarely leaves their box when its not needed or necessary; how could a relationship, romantic or otherwise, be fostered in conditions such as this? oddly enough, the silence between you two brings you together, the music keeping the silence from becoming overwhelming. i like to think that sometimes gangle leaves you little notes, choosing to write rather than verbally speak... best not to ruin that special quiet the two of you have learned to share

[comfortless]

Hello! This is the Frankenstein anon back with more praise and another prompt that you might like. Again you are amazing and everyone you come out with stuff, I weep for joy! Please continue what you are doing because it is absolute art✨

Okay onto the prompt. So lately tiktok has been putting onto this telenova drama called Hilda Furcão which is pretty much this priest and prostitute fall in love but due to societal pressures, cannot be together. The YEARNING in this show is amazing and I can’t help but think of Priest Konig in this situation. Imagine he falls in love with reader who works at a brothel but because he’s a churchly man, he’s fighting demons in his head (and down yonder) cuz he YEARNS for her but the lord says no🥴

Please keep doing what you’re doing and I’m constantly cheering you on with your work! ❤️

In the Arms of Flowers

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, lots of talk of religion/silly metaphors, fluff, ridiculous attempts at courtship from both, dark (if you squint), implied cyber stalking, violence/murder, minor character death, some angst, sexual violence (not done by König), König becomes horribly obsessed and reader is fine with it, virgin!König-> oral (both receiving) piv smut.

wc: 11k.

There’s a garden in the churchyard, one that’s always been, even before his vows were taken and the cassock was pulled around his shoulders.

It’s the very place that the arching den window in the clergy house faces out towards, and the very place that an angel descends from Heaven to stalk through night after night.

Even when the thunder clamors and rolls to light up the sky above, the pretty thing is there, kneeling amongst the blooming lilies. A listless sort of purity swallows over her, bathes her in the white of petals and the bright illumination of each bolt of lightning above, arcs a halo over her head like a proper mirage.

The whole town knows these doors remain open, but never does she even look toward the church or the home of holy men at all: only the flowers. The lilies and carnations seemed to be her favorite to haunt, weaving through the petals as they sway for her in breezes like whispers from the pouting lips of cherubim.

He’s prayed for this lost soul many times already; clutched the rosary between his fingers and whispered to the Lord to protect her, to heal whatever aches, to bring her wandering feet into the chapel one of these days. But as most lilies, this one’s beauty is gone away by mid-morning.

Tonight, he wills himself to bring her in for prayer and refuge from the coming rain. Its been a long time coming, and regrettably he’s hesitated at every other opportunity. Nothing’s changed, the scene was so commonplace even the others have commented on it prior.

Maybe he hallucinates her holiness; the halo has become made up of fallen petals now as they arch over the crown of her head where she’s found sprawled out amongst them. She raises herself to sit upright, dusts the dirt from her knees and offers a wary glance with each step he takes until his soles halt in soil that would soon be mire.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” the angel breathes out with her eyes darting from his collar down to rest at the expanse of short blades of grass between them. “I don’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

She doesn’t meet the concern in his eyes, and König is no stranger to sin. To the shame and grief that he’s absolved from far worse than her in the stuffy wooden confessional.

“You’re welcome to stay.” A silent prayer rests there in his breath — please stay, though even he wasn’t certain as to why there’s a demand stirring in the pit of his stomach for this woman clad in a dirtied white dress.

She smiles then, gazes right up at him in such a way that immediately sparks something misplaced, something tucked away beneath studying scripture and kneeling before the wooden altar. A sin of the flesh, a heated poker jabbing at both his heart and his loins.

“No, I’m okay,” she assures with a slight dip of her head, already taking steps back to dart away, back to whichever gilded little nest of baubles and starlight she took flight from. “I was just heading home.”

And that’s it. He doesn’t plead for her to come inside, the offer has been laid out already. It’s not his job to force a belief that one doesn’t want, only lend a kindness and a cushioned pew, advice for the lost and a choir for bleating lambs.

He bids her goodbye and walks back to the clergy house, ignoring the strange looks of his peers as they all prepare to bed down after a nightly prayer. It’s rare to smile here, when sacred words are passed from the wrinkled, cracked lips of his seniors. But König does smile, the grin is as bright as the seconds of white lighting up the sky in intervals as he silently thanks God for such a sweet vision amidst such darkness.

The fixation does not falter for the following three nights. She doesn’t return to the churchyard to whisper secrets to the blooms, but the angel weighs on his mind so heavily that König finds himself convinced that she must have been his calling, a soul that he would assuredly save.

His sermons now lack their passion. The parishioners come to him with weighty hearts and misery in their eyes, but bless him all the same, even when he’s distant. Away with the fairies, some would say. He can’t help but wonder when one such service rolls to a closing prayer if whoever conjured such words had also been in the presence of a seraph.

“Do you need prayer?,” one of his fellow priests asks as the flock trickles out, worry clear in the wrinkles laden beneath this eyes and the way his lips draw down before pressing thin. “You don’t seem to be sleeping well.”

And König regrets the words he speaks next, when he describes the woman from the flowers in detail greater than necessary: how her eyes seemed so soft, her smile fragile, and her body language more docile than that of even a lamb. He mentions the dirty dress, the way she seemed to be trying to escape something yet refused the shelter he offered.

The other priest nods and sighs, his eyes squeezing shut in thought, and though König has not feared a scolding since he abandoned home nearly two decades prior, the way the ordinarily calm priest seems so frustrated by this sends a swell of fluttering anxiety beneath his ribcage.

“The woman you describe is a temptress,” his elder explains coldly. His sharp, dark eyes rest on König’s face as though the disparity in their height does not exist at all. “Best to let her be, she does not want our help. Leave it alone.”

“Ja. Verstanden.”

The warning is enough to dull the buzzing in his chest, the mush that’s been made up of his head until he sees her again.

The bakery in town regularly makes donations of pastries and thick loaves of bread for church goingson. It isn’t regular that he’s been asked to pick them up; the eldest of the priests usually does so, some blood relation to the owners that König has never cared enough to ask about. The old man never did well in the summer months, though, far too frail now to bear the heat snaking over his pale skin and leaving burns.

With the mistake of rambling onward about this perturbing fascination still grating at his mind, he doesn’t hesitate to volunteer, to take the old truck and step away from the stained glass and crucifixes for a brief outing. A moment of respite.

There’s a complimentary mug of coffee presented across the expanse of the counter when the cashier greets him with a smile so broad it seems faked.

König’s fingers twitch when he grasps at the handle; the uncertainty was something he had sworn he would outgrow one day with God’s healing, but it never seemed to stray far from him. It rests over the back of his neck like a feeding vampire when he takes his first sip, one that burns his tongue and stings at his eyes when he notices the woman seated at a table in the corner.

It’s her: temptation and fate packaged up in a loose fitting sweater that covers the pulse in her neck and a short skirt.

She holds her phone, not the mug stationed before her, staring down at the thing with the most somber expression he’s ever seen on a lady before. She taps her thumbs at the screen, talking to someone, but there’s a loneliness in her expression apparent like the rust on the old truck parked outside.

Poor little thing.

She glances up when his staring is detected, confusion stripped bare upon her with a pinched brow and a slack jaw. Then, follows realization and she offers the same smile she did that night, some seventy or so hours prior.

“Morning, Father.”

There’s not a fractal within König that wants to make the sweet spirit uncomfortable, but each step he takes towards her table seems to make her shoulders tense. She knows that he knows, sees that sympathetic look in his eye and hates it.

Maybe even hates him for the divinity he wears in the sable cloth pulled over his shoulders.

That doesn’t stop his approach.

König sits across from her with shaking hands and a forced smile like the one the cashier wears, drops his mug onto the table and offers her his hand. Fingers bending to graze the palm as though beckoning a frightened animal when it’s he who feels most afraid.

The angel merely eyes him cautiously for a moment before she takes the cup into both of her hands and gives him a fragile huff, dismissing his attempt to pray for her soul. Again. Yet, the sting he feels is not from a lack of a starved savior complex being satisfied, only… that he has yet to touch her somehow. That sudden thought stifles him in full.

But angels are nothing if not merciful and loving; she picks up on his dejection and speaks again in his place.

“How are the carnations?”

“Hm?”

“The flowers in the garden… the red ones,” she elaborates with a soft laugh, hides it behind the rim of her cup when it’s raised for her to take a sip. Her mouth looks soft, compelling, and he’s staring again. “I like them the most.”

He knows he should stop this, that what’s become of an innocent meeting has left him feeling anything but. There’s a howling chasm in place of the heart of a worthy devotee. She’s nothing like the women who frequent the church — the only other women he sees. Brighter at best and alluring at the worst.

“I thought the lilies were your favorite…” It’s unsuited for a priest and a man so tall and broad to sound so breakable, but his voice only comes in an hurried breath, embarrassed and small.

She shakes her head, tousles her hair in the process. “I like all of them. The ones at your church grow prettiest.”

“I see…”

The woman gives him an expectant look, as if prompting him to speak more, before her phone chimes and the air seems to shift from tentative yet sweet to something vast and cold. She doesn’t seem eager to be interrupted in such a way, either; her expression falls from that subtle playfulness to something akin to a regretful acceptance.

She stands from her seat abruptly and takes a step towards the door. “I have something I need to take care of.”

God gives and takes away.

“I can bring you some,” he offers, winding in the too-small wooden chair to face her. Too late to reel in the flirtatious nature of such an offering, too late to bite his tongue and remember the vows he had taken. The burden upon his heart seems far more pressing than any words from an old book. “Carnations and lilies… some of the others, too.”

The woman almost seems shy when she glances over her shoulder and offers him the most imperceptible nod. “Yeah, sure… I’ll see you around.”

His angel leaves him to rot in thought at that lonely table, in this tiny bakery. He does not think to repent for the way his temperature and pulse spiked in her presence, for the way he takes her empty cup and stuffs it into one of the boxes of baked goods to collect later.

Riding back to the church is dreadful, because she’s already fastened to his heart like a ribbon on a pretty bouquet. He’ll ask the sisters from the cloister to clip flowers for him, tie them up in a lace that will leave her face warmed and lips pouting.

When the people in the church have their fill of sweets and bread, König tells a lie, maybe several.

He claims he doesn’t know why that innocuous porcelain thing is resting where food once had, doesn’t know why the baker would have stuffed that in there too. He takes it to his room and claims that he would return it come morning.

The bed has always felt far too small for him alone, but he pictures her there with him, sat upon his lap when he brings the cup up to his lips with his eyes closed.

It’s cold and hard, difficult to imagine it to be a kiss at all, but he pretends her lips are upon him, eager and willing. It takes only rolling his tongue back to flick over itself, envisioning it being her own, for him to feel his trousers grow too tight. He doesn’t touch himself. He can’t bear the thought of it, not with the cross staring down at him from the far wall.

And finally, regret comes.

Shame, too, because König is aware he’s become a bit of a creep; enchanting himself with second hand kisses whilst his angel takes another man to bed. A man undeserving, but… he could be. He was deserving enough to become a holy man, surely she could see he was worthy of her as well.

The bed is too small even when he curls into himself and pulls the blanket up passed his eyes. Sleep is too skittish to come for him, even when he prays in a whisper to be absolved of his lust.

The dreams are only filled with images of an angel trapped in a rose bush, the thorns sinking into her wings until blood is drawn, but still she smiles. She reaches toward him with shaky limbs, whispers something so dreadfully mournful he knows to his very soul that she is his purpose alone.

It’s what wakes him in a fit, compels him to venture out through the yard with a heart set on seeking guidance. There are moonbeams above and animal calls from the surrounding trees. All of God’s creations are in perfect, dreamy harmony.

Why couldn’t he be the same? Always the outsider in one way or another; always the sore thumb rather than the loving green. Desolation is an art, a skill he’s learned to hide back: clenched teeth to still a wrathful tongue and a layer of muscle to guard that wounded thing in his chest.

There is no better peace than the quiet of the church in the late hour. Moonlight through stained glass and empty, antique seats that would make the worldly whip out their phones to snap pictures in a heartbeat. The doors are always open, for the sinners and the devoted alike, though the confessional is rarely touched when there would be no saint awake set on absolving.

Perhaps that’s why he takes to the booth he needs to make himself smaller to fit into: one shoulder and one foot first, then the next set. He’s never cared for it, left it to the better and smaller. The sound just past the thin partition rattles him. It isn’t the creaking of wood below his feet, but something softer. A weak sniffle. A cry from the other side.

“I’ll leave in a moment,” comes a voice, broken from tears and so horribly sad that the usual script entirely fails him. He recognizes the voice, though a bit warbled now. The voice that would make the choir pause, an angel’s sweet tone.

“Wait… no. You can stay. I’m hiding, too.” A breathy laugh comes forced and misplaced. Priest or not, König has never been the best at consoling anyone, let alone one so far above him.

“I’m not hiding,” she tries to sound braver now. He can imagine her chin tilted forward and that sweet smile trying it’s damndest to paint its way across her face. “But… why are you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Who are you?” The crying seems to have ceased entirely for now. Clearly whatever seemed to ail her could be remedied by her own curiosity. A cute, unorthodox little thing.

“König.” It served well enough as a confirmation name when he could not settle on one of the saints. King of them all, one of the other saved men had said in jest. Ironic, now.

“I like your voice, König,” she murmurs, deliberately testing the pronunciation on her tongue in such an alluring way that a small shiver runs its way down his spine.

“Danke… and you?”

God forgive him, he doesn’t even try. Doesn’t try to bring shame or guilt, read her scripture or pray for her soul. He only listens in silence when she tells him her name, beautiful and charming as he had expected it to be. The woman then tells him of her work, of the motel she ventures to at night… the troubles with money and even vaguely, some of the men she suffers through. This had been a bad night. Strange how a singular hour could have broken someone down to such a desperation to open up, to grasp for what small comfort they could receive.

But she came for him.

She must have hoped to see him.

He thanks his god for that.

— — —

“I bought a phone.”

“I see that.” Her fingers graze over the stems of the flowers, cleanly cut by hands more patient and stable than König’s own.

The angel isn’t looking up at him, not this time. There isn’t even a smile on her face when she cradles the bouquet close to her chest, petting over it where she sits upon the motel bed wearing nothing but some strappy, barely-there lingerie. Pure white with pink lace over the cups of her bra where her breasts swell with each shaky intake of breath.

In this week apart, he’s kept the device hidden in a loose pocket and spent many a night scouring the seediest websites looking for a hint of a body that may belong to her in this very area. Only one seemed to match. The messages exchanged were about hours and pricing, establishing a location, and terms he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t harp on the small details, but finding her messages to be so rigid and dry did surprise him. There were no cute hearts or winking emojis, it all felt horribly transactional.

Priests don’t make a lot of money, it all goes back to the church, but he’s thieved enough from the offering bowls to have a night with her alone. As disheartening as the lack of flirtations seemed, he hoped not to squander whatever opportunity this outing proved to be.

The balaclava covering his face wasn’t purchased with the intention of making her nervous, only… shielding himself from curious stares. The whole town knows his face, his name, the words he speaks so resolutely to his flock. Just as well as they know of who she is, what she does.

Even this knitted shield couldn’t hide himself from her, though. The very moment he entered this drab, modestly decorated room with flowers in hand she had only looked further lost.

“You look very pretty,” he tries as he removes the mask and drops it to the floor, kneels just a hair from where her feet dangle from the bed. “I’m glad that I found you.”

“Thank you.”

The flowers are placed on the side table, petals falling down to the thin carpet below. A cascade of red like blood and white like doves feathers. Purity and a wound in one.

The poor thing looks scorned when she does give him a glance then, but she forces herself into a position that stokes a hellish, unnatural flame within him. Her thighs part as her hands rest on the cups of her bra, pushing the thin fabric down to reveal areola, her soft nipples, sights that he had never seen before.

“You shouldn’t even be here, König,” the lady warns when his gaze sweeps over the innocent flesh laid bare before him. The angel isn’t even wet. Her panties are pristine over her womanhood, and it dawns on him that… she wouldn’t risk what he was even for the generous donation he had given.

“I don’t want to ruin you.”

But she should. Crumble him into salt, cast him away with the wind. Should.

She sees something holy in him too… albeit, not in the way that he would like for her to.

He swallows hard as he rises to his feet and sits next to her. The hands that were so accustomed to being joined in prayer find her breasts now with tentative touches, a curious squeeze, until he wills himself to readjust the fabric and conceal her properly.

“Ja, but… I just wanted to visit you.”

“You don’t need to pay me just to see me.”

The tension in the room finally begins to dissolve. Not by much, but when she sighs something that sounds like amusement, the restless throbbing of his heart does begin to settle.

As much as he would like to take her like some beast in rut, lay some claim to her in bursts of white seed, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Each curve of her body looks as though it would feel like a miracle beneath his palm, under his tongue.

It’s just that nothing is going to happen, not here, not now that he’s brought a prostitute flowers and revealed who he was to her. She sees something pitiful, where he only sees someone to love.

He can’t tell her that he dreams of her, that he views her in the same way he views his god. That would only scare her away, lead her to believe he’s a lunatic rather than a man only just now having his first taste of love.

“Then could I see you every night? So that you don’t have to…” His head dips, because no matter how he tries he knows any word he says is foolish.

This isn’t something she’s doing because it is fun for her; it’s a job just like his own. Flesh or words spoken… did it even matter? And yet, König could feel a malicious, gnawing envy at the thought of a bolder man taking his place tomorrow evening. That man wouldn’t hesitate to peel away her pretty lingerie and fuck her, shove his tongue into her mouth while his cock sat between her legs as if it belonged there.

“König,” she sighs next to him, pityingly.

His jaw tenses as his fingers curl into his palms. The hopelessness of it all crashes down around him as though sung out from the loudest of the choir. He hardly notices when she presses her head against his shoulder, only realizes how close she’s come to him when her hand curls over one of his own.

“You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met.” It’s not a compliment but it feels like one when she laughs like that, airy and soft. “The sweetest one, too.”

He smells her perfume from this close, something scented like fruit or maybe maple, sap-sticky and saccharine. All of her flesh feels warm against the plain t-shirt he wears, a warmth he would give anything to dive into, but not without her explicit command. A powerful seraph in the form of one painfully cute, gentle lady. If anyone could see what he saw now, they too would forsake those holy books and eat from her open palm instead.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, a peculiar bitterness hanging on his tongue.

“How about a walk?”

He pulls the balaclava over his face again when they make their way out into the quiet, darkened street. Hand in hand. It’s not from shame, but a necessity, perhaps, because his pale face has only flowered into a lasting pink since laying eyes upon her on that mattress, sprawled out and waiting. The blush only deepens with every squeeze she blesses him with, every hushed word spoken as she tells him about her favorite places.

She’s dressed in the same white dress they had initially met in, now clean of the dirt from flower beds. Somehow even more radiant at this close, too.

The churchyard and the clergy house are nothing in comparison to the way the rest of the town feels when the moon rises. It’s a world all their own, a place where no one looks at her as if she were a simple harlot, but a queen amongst chipping wood and tarmac. There’s even a skip in her step as she walks ahead of him, her hips swaying beneath her skirt. All because there’s no one here but she and her most loyal and only acolyte.

He wills himself out of her grasp when they cross the threshold into the cemetery. The darkness there is enough to pull him back to earth; thoughts of how easily swayed he’s been linger in the back of his mind. The want doesn’t even begin to reel back its claws, but the guilt does sink its pearly fangs in alongside it.

“I get it. You don’t want to be seen with me,” she says a small step away, drawing her hand up to her chest. It’s the saddest she’s ever looked, and he doesn’t have the words to further explain that he has no god damn idea what he’s doing: here, with her, in the midst of something that feels so normal even though it should not.

“Nein! That’s not—“

“You don’t want to touch me. You barely talk…”

Because the words don’t come easy. Because he’s never felt such an overbearing devotion to anyone, anything apart from what he prays to. How could she… this woman that shared in such loneliness with him not see him for what he was, not see him in the way that he sees her?

“You’re misunderstanding.”

“You just want to… to convert me, is that right?,” she hisses, sounding more shaken up than he had ever hoped to hear.

All hesitation had to be swallowed back.

There was no other option. He could feel her slipping away, a pain he wasn’t prepared to face.

God gives and takes away, but König refuses to let go.

His eyes narrow, his breath halts entirely, and he cups her face in his hands as gently as he can. The distance between them feels like miles as he lowers his head to kiss her through the knit barrier. It’s flighty and petrifying on his side… he feels cold sweat wet his brow when the warmth of her pulls through.

She could hit him, spit her curses like a proper witch, and he would only fall to her feet and kiss her heels. But… she does none of those things. Whatever pain was brewing here is ripped away with the night breeze.

Her hands peel away the balaclava, discard it somewhere into the tall grass where it wouldn’t be found, and she grants him his first, proper kiss.

With only the cracked headstones and cemetery angels watching, what once was tentative becomes a full indulgence. König samples from her mouth as though it weeps honey when the gentle peck graduates to a parting of lips. His hands run down the length of her sides as she grasps at his shirt, they pull her in close until her chest meets his own and two pairs of eyelids flutter.

She feels more heavenly than his imagination could have prepared him for, her tongue hotter and her sounds… the soft sighs and shaky murmurs of approval that fill him with both a maddening love and an urge to burn everything away if only it would keep her safe and near.

The world ceases to be entirely, cast down with Lucifer to the sulfur and smoke. Her lips remain parted when they break apart, a haze over her eyes reflecting the veil clouding his own irises.

Was a kiss really forsaking his vows? Was that really such a painful treachery? No… no it shouldn’t be. The issue remains that he can not see her as just some woman. Something as small as this could consume him entirely.

The night is spent with an abundance of those shared kisses when they return to the motel. Tentative touches, too. He’s never held a woman, not in the way he gets to hold her then. She presses tightly to him, her back to his chest with her hand keeping his own in place over her middle. She’s so soft, swans down plush and smooth as silk ribbon.

There is mint lingering on her breath each time she speaks. No talk of her work, only… she confesses how she had feared him so initially, how she worried that a holy man stepping into her life would only be further condemnation: an angel terrified by a devil that does not exist at all.

He knows he’s lost a part of himself here when he tells her he wishes to meet with her again, that if the church is no longer the place she fancies to walk, he’ll meet her amongst the dead again and again when the old clergymen sleep. Those promises he had reserved solely for God turn on themselves now, when he reveres the idol he shares this bed with.

Though her hips press back against his groin when his fingers crawl up to her sternum, and the desire strikes up within him, his cock remains untouched here. He doesn’t whisper a prayer for forgiveness into her hair when he grows hard, just tucks her in closer and smiles where his head rests atop her own.

It’s the closest to bliss he’s ever felt.

— — —

“You weren’t here for morning prayer.” The voice isn’t accusatory, just observant. The nightly prayers were missed too, though a reprieve is granted by way of those remaining unmentioned.

But the guilt does eat at König when he sees the concern in this man’s eyes, splinters at his very soul until he asks in a fragile voice if he can speak to the old priest in the confessional.

Everything here feels much too small and the booth is more or less the same. The wood closes in around him, bathes him in a blackness that even the glow of candlelight within these walls can not reach. The partition separating them does not help bolster courage, it only leaves him feeling more alone.

The clergyman listens in silence as König confesses that he has become weak. He does not mention the lady of the night, but there’s no need to at all: finding himself so captivated with a woman that he considered breaking every promise to the higher power was bad enough. He does not mention how he’s considered pleasuring himself, touching her too… only that they shared a night together embraced, counts the kisses that were exchanged with each digit of his hands.

There’s a pitying sigh from the other side before the man begins a lengthy prayer that König does join him in. With the “Amen” that follows, he’s told only to rid himself of those thoughts, to bury them with fasting and prayer. No more visits with this temptress, remain on the right path. The very, very simple things he must do to receive God’s forgiveness and favor once more.

“You are not a disappointment,” his elder reminds him with a small pat to his cheek and a smile. It’s more fatherly than the sparse affection he received from his own flesh and blood before coming here.

“Danke… thank you,” he breathes when his eyes bear the burden of tears.

God loves him and so do the sainted men.

But to never see her again would be worse than flagellation.

He chokes down the pain with more water when his stomach roars with hunger, hides the broken heart with smiles and prayer. Holy clothes feel heavier now. The money he stole to spend that night with her is returned to the collection pool in a week's time. The smartphone he had purchased is tossed out with the rest of the garbage in the bins. Even the cup is returned to the bakery after being rinsed in the sink.

Still not a part of him feels absolved from this torturous puppet show.

He thinks of her more than he ponders over his fear of Hell itself. God feels like an old memory as the days pass. He counts them in his daybook, an ‘X’ next to the dates he had gone without seeing her. Ten becomes twenty, and it becomes no less agonizing.

The prayers come easier, at least. He joins with his fellow men, kneels with his hands clasped before him, speaks such heartfelt words now that on more than one occasion he’s shared a healing tear or two with the other clergymen.

God is an old friend, yes, but that title is just a placeholder for the one his prayers are truly for. The little angel of the garden, the woman who has given him nothing at all but stole his heart all the same. Was she not the same as God from that aspect?

After a month, he’s finally given the privilege to stand before the altar and preach to the parishioners again. His sermon is directed by the other clergymen, a subtle admission of his own misdeeds as he guides the flock away from the sins of lust, of worldly pleasures that would steer them away from the right path.

Amidst the men and women crowding the pews sits a new face. She wears a hat, looking uncertain and skittish as a bunny amidst a pack of starved hounds beneath its curved brim. Her coat is tugged tightly around her where her hands grip to keep it closed and snug. No one is out to get her, not here, but there’s a purplish bruise on her neck. A sad stare trails up to meet his gaze when he stammers through the words of scripture.

Then, she smiles and his heart only feels full.

The sermon ends clumsily enough, but she waits for him in the center pew. He ensures the others have cleared out before he takes rigid steps toward her, where he sits a foot or so away on the bench; the feigned friendliness is only a front for the rapid beating of his heart and the way the blush upon his face paints up to his ears.

“I waited to walk with you… like you promised we would,” she says in place of a greeting. There’s no chiding in her tone, just curiosity. Gentle, like she’s speaking to a wounded bird, and perhaps that’s what he’s become: some big, ugly vulture. Holy in its love of everything from the sky to the rot down below.

“I’m sorry. I..,” he laments, grasping for an explanation that does not come.

“No, I understand. It’s alright, König.”

He knows he doesn’t deserve the gift of her redemption with how easily he turned away from her, from the blooming of… something. It was best not to use that word anymore.

“I just didn’t want to wait any longer. I missed you,” she huffs when the silence extends between them, breaks up the tension in the air but not what creeps over her own shoulders.

“Your bruise..” He wants to tell her of his sleepless nights, of how he pictures her in place of any old deity upon a throne in heaven, but settles for where his eyes linger on her neck.

No explanation is provided, but she lets him bring his fingers to it, ghost over where the purple melds to yellow in the shape of thick fingerprints. Add wrath to the ever growing list of his sins, because it’s all he feels amidst the envy and love.

His fingers dig into the plain back trousers when they rest upon his lap again, something foreign buzzes beneath his skin. The thought that any man would be brazen enough to lay hands upon his very own angel.. It’s unbelievable, unforgivable. His thoughts spiral so quickly it’s frightening. Timid things can become vicious, too, when backed into corners.

She manages to keep this growing storm in check when she stands and smooths her skirt, and offers to tidy up the church in an act of ‘repentance’.

The chores are simple and the sisters that linger far past service seem grateful to have her here as she takes up the broom and sweeps away at the dusty floor. They chatter away with her, take her hat and rest their hands over her shoulders when the cleaning winds to an end. His angel closes her eyes in prayer, doesn’t so much as open them to send him a knowing glance when they pray for her to find a good husband, someone who deserves such a lovely, godly woman.

She shares a meal with them while König keeps to himself with scripture in hand, mindlessly roving over the words even when his thoughts drift to the night of their first kiss.

He reasons that it’s only natural when she gives him such a display of acceptance too. It only solidifies what he knows already: this woman is no succubus— she has not crawled from the depths of Hell to drag him back with her, she’s only heavensent. An angel with a broken wing or a gaping wound somewhere… something to care for.

She’s encouraged to return by several fond voices. A few of the women even offer to walk her home, the daylight is dying and it’s dangerous for a lone lady out at night. The angel smiles at him then, sharing in the knowledge that she prefers the dark. Not the wicked things, but the peace and the beauty of the moon.

And she returns when he abstains from her.

She confides in him after each sermon that she does long to see him more often, but she likes the way he speaks of Mary Magdalene and the other women in scripture, pokes fun at the lilt to his voice when he notices her amidst the crowd of others. She says she likes him a lot before they part ways in the evenings, but she doesn’t tempt him with pouts or trailing fingers.

He thanks her for respecting his faith each time - despite being the one who crossed several boundaries initially. Though he keeps his hands to himself now, the looks he gives to her are pleading and soft. If she would pull him into a kiss now, he would let her have all of him. They could run away together, from the church, from her clients…

It’s on one of those cloudy Sundays that he does ask her if she’s stopped. He braves the look she gives him when his question comes as a hushed stutter. The comfort between them no longer feels tentative. It’s just there. Ever-present as the sky above.

“Well, you haven’t,” she whispers in response, propping her elbow up on the back of the pew. It’s as if she believes it could be so simple, but it’s not. Not for either of them.

The spiels of Heaven and Hell won’t reach her, so he doesn’t bother with those. She offers him an invitation with her words and the way she remains so open that it’s difficult not to take.

It’s been months since he touched her last and the love has only seemed to have grown. Strange. Perhaps he is as odd as she’s imagined him to be. There have been weddings in this very church, talks of long years of courtship, and even then what those men must have felt for their brides had to have paled in comparison to this. It had to.

“Tell me how to,” he breathes without any underlying thought. Saints don’t question their gods, they only serve them.

“You’re actually considering it…?”

“I might.”

The silence crowds around the bench while her fingers brush over the pages of a hymnal in repetition and his only inch closer to her clothed knee.

“You could meet me at the cemetery tonight… We could talk more there.”

“At night is probably not the best time.”

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Friends don’t kiss. Friends don’t feel the way he feels now, or how he’s felt for the past few months. Platonic arrangements don’t require repentance. But, he bites his tongue and tilts his head back, lets it roll off the shoulder when his hand draws back to his lap. Another time.

Not where the Heavenly Father could see, if he were even watching any longer.

“… Tomorrow morning would be better.”

“Then I’ll come get you. Don’t you dare try and get out of it,” she chirps with the wildest glint of mirth alight in her eyes.

Stay.

If the church caught fire now and the rafters came to sink into the earth not a part of him would or could even care as long as she were just here. But he watches her go without a word of opposition, watches her nod toward the sisters standing out in the yard and clasp her hands in front of her, smiling to herself as though the world were made for just the two of them.

It stings during nightly prayer, and it burns when he lies in bed to wait for the morning. There are cicadas singing and footsteps on old wooden boards to remind him that he isn’t entirely alone, the scent of tobacco drifting from his window when another plaster saint hides beyond the veil of night to smoke. He doesn’t sleep, his eyes remain fixed upon the ceiling until the darkness of the room drifts to a dull gray with the sun’s slow rise.

And König does not wait for her to fetch him. Morning prayer dissolves into a mournful cry because there is no part of him that can fathom or interpret any of this. A trial should not feel like a blessing when he’s faced with it. God must be playing the stupidest game imaginable to test him with someone so lovable, so charming. Where the church leaves him feeling filthy with remorse, she purifies him with only a curl of her lips and starlight dancing in her eyes.

None of it is fair.

The guilt must be something obligatory, summoned up like puffs of dust from the floorboards. Worshiping idols is a sin, but it’s not the angel that feels like one, it’s the attention he pays to the cloud in his head that does. That’s the one that should go.

He grits through prayer with the other men, doesn’t chime in with unnecessary words of devotion this time. The coffee burns his tongue when he downs the mug and forgoes breakfast. There are dark rings beneath his eyes when he ventured to the washroom to brush his teeth, and there are whispers in the halls that the young priest must be either coming under a possession or God is preparing him for something. Something big and exciting. He ignores those and the stern glances from the little nuns in their robes, huffs something of a joke about a momentary sabbatical when he lumbers out of the walls of the church.

There are no new bruises this time, but König has the memory of the last ones stuck in his skull. A clear image of four small marks on the side of her neck, another on its opposite. Larger, more pronounced. Five marks from a hand that never belonged there. Kerosene and a match are what the thoughts running rampant in his head would look like to an outsider.

She tells him on the thin picnic blanket that she’s got a new client, that he gives her enough to where she doesn’t have to consider any others now. The man has a much stranger set of interests, ones she hadn’t delved into before him, but she’s merciful enough to withhold the details that would lead König to make the crucifixion seem a gentle affair.

She tells him because she wants him to be proud that it’s only one now. That she’s making some sort of progress for him. None of it is fair, and he knows without asking that she feels more akin to the way that he does than any of the holy men.

And still he can’t help but ask, “Do you love him?”

“Of course not,” comes her immediate response, and there’s a near imperceptible glare there, judging by the fire in her eyes. It’s cute… and he feels the world's ugliest fool for daring to ask for reassurance as though this relationship was any sort of normal. If it were even a relationship at all.

Their hands touch, reaching for the same flaky pastry in the basket she brought along and Heaven’s bells ring out in his ears when her gaze sweeps over him. Everything is sugared dough and right again. She offers him her lap in place of a pillow for his head when the clouds grow thick and gray above, feeds him from her own hand and runs her fingers across his face with the other.

“How did you get the sky in your eyes?,” she asks him, makes him blush so easily his heart stutters within his chest. He feels like a boy in her presence, and in a way, to her, maybe he even is just some inexperienced whelp nipping at her heels.

The angel does not judge, she softly rakes her nails behind his ear and neck until he shivers in her hold. His hair is next, a victim to her comfort as she tousles it between her fingers, strokes him like the smallest of kittens when he feels anything but.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he mutters, raising a hand to brush at her cheek. Warm as he expected, yet softer. There’s nothing wicked here, only a woman. A woman who loves him as he loves her.

“Your eyes are pretty… sad. I love them,” comes the sweet reply that reduces him to nothing but scattered feathers and a howling ache.

Did he even exist before now? Before her? This woman has filled him with such purpose, breathed new life into a stagnant soul. The church was a safe place for a man scorned by the rest of the world, but that blanket felt unnecessary now. He wanted to feel her hands move over him like this, smell the petals in her perfume, hear her voice speak to him, all of it. Forever.

“I think that I lose myself when I’m with you.”

“Does that hurt you?”

“Nein… I’m happier like this.” It’s the closest to a confession he can whisper.

And he returns to her, morning after morning König rushes through paying his dues to God and his men to return to her like this.

When the graveyard is silent and the dew still sticks to the blades of grass, her voice sounds sweeter somehow beneath the glow of the rising sun. The birds sing around them and often she pushes wildflowers into his hair, clasps her hands around his neck and teaches him to kiss.

Her tongue moves with grace, his is only a thing of greed. Each chaste peck is met with a hunger from somewhere so foggy and forgotten it never had a home at all, not before now. The angel needn’t show him where to rest his hands, they pry at every part of her: gentle brushes against her cheek and neck, kneading at her shoulders, further, further until he does finally starve off any lingering thought of what is good or evil to explore the curve of her lower back.

Most of the time words come in afterthought, once lips are wet and plush from this gentle devouring, after she steels herself from running her hands any further down than his stomach. He tells her in truth that he prays to her, not for. Not anymore.

The shadows cast from the aspens keep them tucked far away from sight, from God and his people alike. A temple for two without four walls to close them in. The only place on this earth that he’s ever found himself in perfect solace.

“I want to try something,” she breathes just when he’s prepared himself to leave. The tree at his back, knees parted, where she remains sat across from him. There’s nervousness there, not the fretful way she looks after a long night, nor the way she looked to him upon their first meetings. “Do you trust me?”

“Ja… more than anyone,” he reassures in a soft tone of voice, tipping her chin up with the tips of two fingers to further accentuate it. Her beauty and her uncertainty always strike a chord within him, a fire that never dwindles. When her eyes search his own, his breath catches.

He doesn’t say a word when she peels away the robes from the front of his trousers. Her hands linger on at the waistband for a moment, takes enough time to offer the gentlest peck to the side of his neck before continuing. It’s another first, being exposed to a woman like this when she lowers the band and has him shimmy backward to free his cock from his pants. Soft with shame or embarrassment, a concoction of other things he could not name, but the moment she looks up at him with pure delight he feels himself grow stiff.

“Wow… You’ve got a perfect cock,” she assesses with a laugh, finger running up the length of it as it twitches to life under her touch.

Scheisse.

He strokes her cheek with reverence as she bends down before him, watching him carefully through her eyelashes. Her warm breath drifts over his manhood and he’s already horribly aware that this would not last long. Another lesson, like the kisses, maybe. She could mold him any way that she likes and he would be pleased to play the role of her Adam.

The tongue isn’t what he anticipated. She flattens it against the tip, breathes a laugh when a keening whine is pulled from his throat. To see such an ugly, vulgar thing pressed to the beautiful mouth he’s kissed a dozen times now. It feels wrong. There’s no hesitation when her lips wrap around him. And then all of it— everything is just right. Every moment spent in this hazy, loving glow with her is right. If Hell were to come from this, then let it.

He can’t tear his eyes away from her, can’t bring himself to speak when he feels the way his cock hits the back of her throat, feels her swallow around him and make such a pleased noise as she wraps her fingers around the expanse she can not take.

Its pitiful, the way he must look: mouth agape, eyes lidded and heavy… He brings a hand to her hair, and runs his fingers through it as if she isn’t letting him fuck her mouth, but rather in the midst of something far holier, softer. Sacrilegious or divine. If God we’re watching, let him.

She pulls back a little, an obscene, wet sound in answer when her mouth is drawn back enough to merely press a kiss the tip, puffy lips glossy with drool. “Is this okay…? Not too much?”

“You are so pretty… it feels… just keep going.” His voice no longer possesses any feigned confidence, it begs like a wounded thing, chanting, “Bitte. Please…”

His hips tilt up when she parts her lips again, all trepidation be damned. This is something, something he’s aches for and never had the chance to feel. All of the ache, the longing to be diminished, to unite with the angel who fled Heaven for him. The cock pushes at her open mouth, smears thick beads of precum over her cheek, before she takes him in again with a delighted, muffled sound. Her soft mouth, the tongue that thoroughly laps at his shaft and follows her movements to wrap and suck at the head. Otherworldly, and… unfathomably bittersweet.

Her lips suction around him, the movements of her wrist only increasing, and with the second roll of his hips he feels his stomach begin to tense as pure heat rolls its way through him. A gentle coursing becomes a blinding inferno in mere seconds, and regrettably, instinctively, that hand so gently combing through her hair comes to snare it instead and force her down further.

His soft grunts and low pleading morph to something choked and almost agonized. It’s the purest rapture, a pleasure so absolute his eyes prick as he bows lower to cover over her as she swallows his devotion by mouth. The angel pants breathlessly when she pulls away with saliva and semen still stringing them together, cleansed by his thumb tracing over her lips, replaced so swiftly by his own mouth. The kiss is so chaste it feels misplaced here, but she nuzzles against him in this comedown from ecstasy, doesn’t even chastise how he lasted a mere two minutes.

And he vows, vows in the sweetness of her comfort and love that no one else will ever have this again.

— — —

Abstaining from meals during a fast is a struggle in and of itself; abstaining from her is some long-forgotten circle of Hell.

It’s not avoidance, but a necessity.

To think that his first sexual encounter would provoke days of concern, a wistful daydream about a future he never would have thought to have had otherwise. There was a desperate, starving desire to repent when he first arrived home after that, but nothing that a bottle of communion wine and a cold shower could not wash away. Repentance has lost its merit to him.

And after seven days, he’s perfectly aware of what he must do. To absolve them both from things where atonement seems far from a necessity at all. He folds his holy robes and leaves them on the bed in the room too small, set neatly next to his Bible. The rosary was the one thing that König could not bear to part with. The beads, red and shimmery, were chosen and strung together with him in mind. It’s slipped into the pocket of his jeans after the plain, black t-shirt is pulled over his head.

There’s a hammer in his gloved hand, and he doesn’t recall where he found it. Lying with its head rusted in the churchyard, perhaps half buried beneath the soil. Some of the other clergymen are talented at fixing things, but König’s never been very good with that. His first rosary was broken with a careless slip of his fingers, and he’s shattered more porcelain than he could count on accident.

Even communion wine can be a bit too strong, sometimes. Or maybe that’s only when the bottle’s been entirely downed. He’ll blame one of his betters when the stock is counted and one turns up missing, if they bother to come seek him out again at all.

The motel is dead at this hour, so late into the night. The few normal visitors have already been accounted for with watchful eyes, and the angel waits in one of the rooms on the second floor. He imagines the laces on her lingerie, the healing bruises on her throat, and that sweet expression upon her face. Or maybe that one was reserved solely for him. He prayed… no, he hoped so.

After tonight, there would be no more mercies for him. Or perhaps there would be an abundance, blessings from the vultures and the wolves and the maggots he would feed. New gods that were still far lesser than the angel who suffers men in sheets, but only looks to him with love.

And he doesn’t have to wait long, because the demon finds his way here with haste. Does he come here every night looking as proud as he does now? His attire even resonates with death, black with those white details, a costume that seems so fitting for one about to meet the very face he wears.

Killing someone isn’t so easy. Cain murdered his brother with a rock, described in such loose detail that one would think a playful throw led to Abel’s end. But it’s not so, not when the victim is hellbent on living.

The demon is smaller, but strong. He’s been in situations like this before, doesn’t have to spit the words to tell König so. They’re felt with each blow, with the sharp edge of the knife this bastard manages to dig into his side. Just barely, before it’s jerked out of his hand and thrown several paces away. The skittering across the tarmac is enough to chant doom.

There’s blood. More with the first strike of the hammer. It seemed so much easier in thought rather than practice. In his imaginings, the head would split with the first fall like an overripe apple, crumple in and the breath would leave the demon in an instant. Instead, it’s dozens. Blow after blow while the smaller man struggles below him.

A strange catharsis comes over him when his soul grows murky, when his hands are slick and the struggle comes to an abrupt end. The sobering only comes when he’s spent an hour driving down the most forested roads to find a place to dump the body. There’s no tact to it, laying a man to rest in shrubbery and dirt. With a head so collapsed it’s hard to think of this as a man at all. A corpse, something no longer simply human.

König does not pray for him when he rests the hammer in the deceased’s hands. Does not offer it more than a passing thought when he peels away back toward home. The deed is done and he’s free of those horrid burdens tainting his heart, keeping him held back on a short leash to divinity.

Like fate, she’s found out in the garden again after the bloodied shirt and stained gloves are discarded. The wound is patched with what he could find available, a hastily tied strip of gauze covers his side. A week or so at best until the gash would heal into an ugly, jagged scar. It seemed even a bastard devil’s blade couldn't be sharp enough to fell a Goliath when he’s caught by surprise and horny.

He feigns merely emptying the garbage into an outside bin, plays off the sting of the gash with a humble, lumbering gait. She beams up at him through lines of tears running down the sides of her face like small, silver streams beneath the darkened sky above.

He’s not a saint anymore, no… a guardian angel. The archangel Michael with his sword set ablaze and divinity scrawled into every scale of his chest plate. Something holy and glowing, unsullied and beautiful.

Like her.

“You’re crying…”

“Sorry… bad night. Client just ghosted me.”

No. This was good, couldn’t she see that? All the sleepless nights, the prayer and the constant, overwhelming longing. Everything he had suffered for her, and still she only comes to him with the thought of that horrible thing in mind.

“He’s dead.” Maybe it was just the fear of a loss of money. He had enough saved up someplace, and the collection pool would be beneficial enough to pivot them towards a new life. No church. No lonely motel. He had to test it, give her a trial and hope that she did not simply break.

The look that crosses her face is one of confusion… Then comes a strange twist of relief. Her mouth falls slightly agape and her arms squeeze slightly around his middle.

“We just spoke a few hours ago. How…?” Finally, suspicion.

Maybe he’s too drunk on playing God now to care, to realize this isn’t how a good man would have handled things. The only thing that holds any weight, that resonated with him any at all is the thought that he loves her, that he will protect her until his dying breath, pray at her feet and anything else she might ask.

That’s what pulls him to press her down against the bed of the truck, to kiss her with every lesson she’s blessed him with in mind. Tongue and teeth, fire and spit, she accepts all of it. She doesn’t beg him for an answer: she’s seen the worst of men, taken cocks far less deserving. Her hands find his hair as they drift away here, gives the strands a sharp tug to usher him closer, roll her tongue against his own.

The sheer tights she wears beneath her skirt are ripped at the seam between her legs by large hands, panties pushed to the side before she finally presses against the broad chest against her to gain some space. Her breath is shallow, face warmed and hair a mess, still the loveliest thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

“Are you afraid?” He tilts his head to the side, curious, as if there were no reason for her deny him of this now after he had just *killed for her*. After he forsook what once was all he knew all for her. He would do it again without question, with no gain at all, but the sting of rejection was not something he could entirely choke back.

But his angel never runs out of mercies, it seems.

“No… just give me a second.”

She slips her hand down between her parted legs, demonstrates for him just how to prepare a woman. He watches, mesmerized, as she circles the bud above her slit, dips her finger downward to spread wetness along her flesh. Dew over petals. A finger slips inside of her, and all at once is shoved aside.

“Let me,” he pleads, already pressing both hands to her inner thighs, tilting her hips upward as his head sinks between them.

“You don’t have to,” she whispers, but grants him his wish with feverish nods that betray her words, allows him to kiss her sex as he shifts himself into a better position.

There’s nothing to go off of but her sounds, the cries of pleasure when his tongue lolls out to lick at the nub where most of her reactions stem from. He mutters against her about her taste, something so ethereal he could not even begin to place. Her scent envelopes him in full, and he’s never felt closer to anything prior. She allows his clumsy licking, moans louder for him when he can’t stifle his own groaning. The pants are too tight around him, and patience is another virtue he finds that he lacks.

She doesn’t reach some fantastical height of pleasure when he presses a finger into her cunt, but her body seems to fit even that like a glove, squeezing around him as he lazily circles her bud with his tongue. She doesn’t come, but she tugs him by the hair to usher him back into another kiss, hands roving down his abdomen to free his manhood from the barriers of fabric. And finally… finally he’s granted entrance to Heaven.

The first thrust leaves him spiraling, lost into a world of silk and honey. And the angel does not give him any time to recover, she writhes beneath him, shifting her hips to pull him in deeper, muffles each whine and groan from his lips with her tongue hungrily lapping over his own.

He’s thought about having a woman many times, but never imagined it could feel this good. To be so complete, every woe or fear cast aside in the act of mindless pleasure.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands, to keep his eyes shut or gaze down at her and cease this assault on his mouth to tell her that he loves her, that she feels like pure fucking paradise and he’s already on the verge of coming undone. He settles for moving, dragging himself in and out of her in slow movements, turning his face away to bite down on her shoulder when the feeling of her walls cinching him like a vise threatens to spur him into finishing on the spot.

“That’s just… god… you’re good at this,” she gasps when a hand is sunk between their bodies, flicking at her clit as he spears her open. Her hands find his back, raking her fingernails down past his shoulder blades. It’s agonizing, trying to fight back the urge to breed her full, watch his come spill out from her perfect cunt until he finds himself hard again. The very thought makes him gasp, grind himself deeper inside of her as her nails dig into his back.

“Mein… this is… you understand…,” he’s babbling, hardly coherent, and she only seems to accept it. The angel chants her agreement amidst the beginning of her rapture.

She cries out for him when she comes, her sex pulsing around him as she shivers that all restraint is immediately lost. She hugs him so tightly, squirms as she hisses a curse into his ear.

It’s a miracle he’s even lasted this long. He halts his pace for a mere second to prop himself up, gaze down at her in absolute reverence before that fire swallows him whole. It’s unceremonious when he comes: a growl and a wail as he buries he face into her neck and pumps every last drop of his seed into her pussy.

He doesn’t want to pull out, doesn’t want to leave such a complete embrace. The world has already ended for him, a long time ago on the very night they met. There’s no need to drag out their ruin with whatever else occurs when she’s out of his grasp.

She strokes over the marks she’s made, gentle, tickling touches of her fingertips and shy giggles when their eyes meet again.

“I thought I would never get to do this with you,” she admits, quiet when her hands drift to cup his jaw instead. “You’re perfect, you know that…?”

He wants to cry, wants to fuck all of his woes away, kneel before her and beg that she find a place where they can never be apart. Steal her away to some cabin up in the Alps, where flowers grow in thick patches on the hillsides, a wild garden of her very own.

“… You should stay with me,” he huffs into her ear, fingers dimpling the flesh of her hips as he tries desperately to force himself closer to her.

“You can’t mean the church,” she giggles. “So where should we go?”

“We can figure that out in the morning, hm?”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

savanaclaw light novel: the importance of introspection

I’ve previously discussed how TWST benefits from telling us the same story across different mediums. Different mediums provide different benefits over others, and some can “patch up” rougher bits of story or add more detail to them. The game is interactive and serves as a baseline for most new content. The manga is able to have far more freedom of movement and expression due to being visual-heavy. And last, but not least, a light novel, which is mostly text, has the boon of letting us see more of each character’s thoughts and feelings. We can elaborate on what the game already established and understand the characters on a deeper level.

I would say that the light novel’s format will most benefit the OB boys, as they are the ones who will go through the biggest character arcs in the main story. Because the game’s story is told via mostly dialogue and some sound effects, we rarely, if ever, get a clear understanding of what the OB boys are truly thinking and feeling outside of their brief post-OB flashbacks. The same goes for the manga, which has limited pages to tell its story, so it has to keep a certain pace. But a light novel? Well, you can go ham there with an omniscient narrator.

Today, I want to talk about Leona’s expanded post-OB introspection in the second volume of the light novel as an example of this. Then I will combine it with the information we have from the game and see how the light novel complements what already we know of his character thanks to hindsight. (I’ll be referencing this fan translation if you want to read and follow along!)

First thing’s first! From the game, we know that Leona enrolled in Night Raven College one year late (and then got held back a year, which makes sense considering he is 20 in the main story present). He didn't find a use in attending school since he, by royal birth, was able to afford all the best tutors in the world and didn't think NRC had anything left to teach him. In Leona's Birthday Boy vignettes, he further specifies that he decided to enroll at NRC after Cheka was born. As Leona says in his post-OB flashback in-game, Cheka's birth means "the despised second son loses what little claim he had to the throne forever", essentially putting an end to his hopes. This would imply that this specific change in circumstance was the push that made Leona want to physically distance himself from home. Furthermore, it's supported by Leona's other behaviors: he does not take calls or read letters from home if he can help it (implied by Cheka asking why Leona doesn't answer his letters and Cheka calling on Halloween night to catch up with him; Leona lies and quickly hangs up), he makes excuses to avoid going home (as Kifaji states), etc. If we want to extrapolate even more, how is it that Leona, second born prince, initially crossed paths with Ruggie, who was born and raised in the slums (which, I imagine, must be quite some distance away from the royal palace)? This makes me think that even before Leona enrolled at NRC he would leave his housing and roam around, finding alternative places to stay because home just felt too uncomfortable and suffocating for him. There's also the implication that Leona often brooded over his circumstances, as he confesses to thinking about it and going to NRC to get his mind away from the tired cycle--although he also acknowledges that he's running away from "the pain" of having lost the throne.

The distancing would prove itself to be beneficial to his mental health, as Leona cites that his heart started feeling lighter, his restlessness dulled, and his pain numbed. With the throne out of sight, so, too, was it out of mind, and his longing softened. But that same haunting despair returns when another group starts to place expectations on him. This time, it's no longer the palace servants, but his own dorm members. Instead of fear and derision, his new pack looks at him, their "king", with desperateness--and, more importantly, hope. Speaking about the future with sparkling eyes. That, in turn, made Leona hopeful too. He can't let these people who look up to him and rely on him down, so he must do anything to win. That's all he ever wanted: to win, just this once. No matter what, he wants to win.

But when Leona's plans crumble, that crushing sense of despair rears its ugly head. He fails. And he suddenly understands that all his efforts will always amount to nothing, that they will always be meaningless, that there is no future for him. Leona's hopes have been dashed. He has been struck down by the world once again, just as he had started to climb up, fighting tooth and nail, to prove himself. Yet when defeat came, he also claims it doesn't bother him as much as he thought he would--perhaps because he's so accustomed to not winning, because maybe this is the outcome he had expected all along in the deepest recesses of his heart. That familiar disappointment begins to hurt him once more, and Leona wants to forget it all, to retreat to the shadows and to lick his wounds, to be far away from that pain.

One interesting new detail we glean from the light novel is that Leona is terrified by his dorm mates staring at him with hopeful eyes. It's not their expectations he's inherently scared of, but what those expectations can do to him. Leona is scared of himself, of being motivated by others to act, to never give up hope, when he still anticipates being beat down again and again by a world that rejects him and denies him. He even goes so far as to say he would be pathetic if he let his dorm mates' words inspire him and keep his waning hope alive. Ruggie, who had wanted to turn the world upside down together. Jack, who was inspired by his play three years back. All the mobs putting faith in their futures on him, their one and only leader. With so many people looking to him, how can he not be swayed by that positivity that had once been so elusive to him? How could that not ignite what little spark of hope is left in him? And that's exactly what Leona finds so dangerous about it. He's lived almost his entire life being put in his place, hurt every time he tried to demonstrate what he could do, how he could contribute--yet time and time again, here comes life, tempting him to try again, just to inevitably be compared to his brother and kicked down, delivering another blow to his pride and his self-image. Leona truly seems to hate himself for not being able to let go of that small fragment of hope he has left. He wants so badly to give up and not have to worry anymore about something he can never obtain. He's so tired of struggling and suffering for nothing. If he just caved, then he would never be hurt again. He can't be hurt if he doesn't care about anything. Yet no matter how much he wishes or tries, he can't run far enough away to detach himself from those expectations of grandeur, of being something more.

There's been many fan theories about Leona's mental health in circulation well before the release of this light novel, many of which mention self-loathing in spite of how proud and confident he typically presents as. You'd have to read in-between the lines of dialogue from the game to draw these clues out, whereas the light novel lays it more bare to you. It hits very differently reading hateful statements made by the character to himself. Leona calls himself all sorts of things: a fool, pathetic, insignificant, boring. That he isn't strong, that he isn't wise, that he's not loved. (In the in-game flashback, Leona also talks in a self-deprecating way, but to a far lesser extent than in the light novel; we also see that Falena does his best to discourage Leona from this kind of behavior.) That this is who he is, that it's the one thing he's afraid to admit and accept--but he also says he lacks the "strength" to give up. That's why Leona would rather run away than confront that potential truth. The option to embrace complete nihilism just isn't possible for him, because he can't just quash that pesky little thing called hope. This is much more complex than what's explained in the games and demonstrates a maturity and degree of self-reflection from Leona that we've never seen before. What's more, this gives us brand new context with which to view many of his other seemingly mundane actions mentioned in the game. At face value, Leona often acts very callously and doesn't care to help others unless he gets some kind of benefit from it (like agreeing to poof the contracts in book 3 just because he has his own deal he wants to get rid of). We see this time and time again when he instructs others reliant on him or less knowledgeable than he is in various matters where he is well-read and experienced with. For example, he takes note of his club members' strengths and weaknesses and offers tailored advice to help them improve their play. He tells others how to mine magestones of an adequate size in Vargas Camp. Maybe he's just doing these things to make the circumstances easier for himself (so he can put forth less effort to leading them in a game, or so he can nap heartily). But from what we've just learned from the light novel, now I'm suspecting a different secondary motive.

What if... Leona is, in part, encouraging and helping others to hone their own skills to subconsciously compensate for what he doesn't believe he himself is capable of? Because there's still so much hope for his dorm mates, for his underclassmen... (and, let's not forget, it was those in Savanaclaw that first motivated Leona to "try" again for the first time in forever) but he doesn't have that same amount of hope for himself. I get these vibes as late as book 6, when Leona and Jamil have a talk. In their conversation, Leona directs many pointed, blunt words at Jamil--words that could very easily also be thrown back at Leona's face and be applicable to his book 2 self. He accuses Jamil of making excuses so he won't have to actually act, just as Leona has continuously run away from uncomfortable situations to put himself at ease. At one point, I believe Leona event states that Jamil “*isn’t like [me]”, Here, again, it can be argued that we're seeing Leona's self-awareness on display, as well as a willingness to warn others to not follow down the same path he once treaded, to lose all hope in the future. Again, it's done with a double purpose: the other one being to get Jamil out of his way while they're exploring. And (of course) Leona's way of expressing his message is gruff and not very warm, not to Jamil and certainly not to himself. He's become prickly and defensive himself after all of his experiences--but that just adds to the complexity of his character when we synthesize what we know of him from TWST multimedia.

I really wish a lot of what was in the light novel post-Leona OB was also in the game. It would have helped to flesh out Leona's motivations and fears, which book 2 was sorely needing. As he is presented now, he appears shallow and selfish in his goals, and we don't fully understand the emotions spurring him on, a lot of which is genuine self-loathing and the sinking despair that comes with thinking you're not enough and you'll never be enough. That would have been so much more relatable than the in-game Leona having himself a pity party with a great amount of emphasis on the throne--a throne which, in actuality, just symbolizes a desire for recognition, love, and acceptance. It was never about explicitly being king. It was about being seen as his own person and appreciated for it instead of being admonished and compared to his exalted older brother.

Now, as an adult, Leona has become someone who pushes away those who try to give him that which he craves. He sees a lot of people--his own family and his dorm mates, the closest thing he has to friends--as dangers to his own mental wellbeing. He's scared to let them in, so he's built up these emotional, arrogant walls around himself. Think at how often he rejects advice from Falena and refuses Cheka's affection for him. Look at how this behavior extends beyond those who are keeping him from a literal throne and to his classmates. They instill hope in him, hope which scares Leona. The things he has wanted all his life are now poison that chips away at him. Considering all of that together, it makes Leona's story far more tragic than how it was initially shown to us in the game alone. But guess what? That can also become his strength, fuel for his character arc. Leona isn't running anymore. He's actually returning home for winter break in book 4. He's determined to not get held back again. He's committing to an internship in a field (an energy lab) which will immensely help his country (which is rich in natural resources). All of this, coming from a young man who once acted bitter when his older brother suggested that there were many things Leona could do with his intelligence to benefit their homeland. Leona is making slow strides and steady progress toward a future he used to think was unattainable for him. From that darkness, he's rising anew--like the sun upon the savanna.

[vbecker10]

Hi I was jw if you could do a Loki x reader where they have a huge fight and then reader leaves for a mission to only come back injured. Loki is given a note from her apologizing to him and when she wakes up he takes care of her apologizing as well? Super duper fluffy ending?

Hey anon!! I have two asks that have very similar ideas so I'm doing them together. I'm sorry if it took me so long to get to it that you sent it again but I really do love this idea. I changed a little bit of it and kinda combined both asks. Hopefully it was worth the wait 💚

That's Not What I Meant

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Warnings: arguing, angst, injury, lots of fluff

Summary: You and Loki have an argument but before the two of you can resolve it, you are called away on a mission for a few days. You return from the mission injured and still hurt by what Loki said before you left but he is determined to show you how much you truly mean to him.

A/N: I threw in Halloween stuff cause it's October so why not right 🎃 lol... also, as usual this got away from me and is way longer then I intended 🤷‍♀️

"Its October first!" you say as you flip the calendar on your kitchen wall excitedly. "Do you know what that means?" you turn towards Loki.

He looks up from the coffee maker, "I would say its Saturday but I imagine that's not the answer you are looking for."

"Its Halloween!" you answer with a wide smile. He rolls his eyes but you catch a glimpse of him smiling before he turns back to face the counter. You move to stand behind him and put your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his back.

He shakes his head and chuckles softly while he pours the fresh coffee into two mugs. "I was under the impression that Halloween was on the last day of the month, not the first," he says.

You groan, letting go of him so you can lean your back against the counter next to him. You look up at him, crossing your arms and say, "Technically yes but... we can do Halloween stuff all month."

He takes a sip of his coffee, "A whole month seems a bit unnecessary. Surely one day is enough."

"It absolutely is necessary!" you tell him, a bit louder than you expected to.

He raises an eyebrow then waves his hand for you to continue. "Very well. What did you have in mind, darling?" he asks.

"Everything... Some of the parks here do hayrides, corn mazes and apple picking. I've always wanted to go apple picking, maybe Wanda could teach me how she makes those mini apple crumbles," you say and Loki smiles, you know how much he loves any type of dessert he can get his hands on. "There are tons of haunted houses we can visit of course," you add.

"Of course," he nods dramatically in agreement which causes you to laugh.

"Oh and I feel like you would like pumpkin carving," you say and he tilts his head curiously. "Because you know..." you make a stabbing motion, "Knives and such."

"That seems acceptable," he laughs then leans forward to kiss you briefly. "Anything else, love?"

"Can't forget watching horror movies with lots of junk food and cuddles or scaring everyone on the team," you tell him.

"How could I say no to either of those?" he smiles as he puts his coffee mug on the counter and moves closer to you. He slips one arm around you and you lean against his chest, looking up at him. "It'll be hard to pick a favorite activity but I don't think you can beat scaring the others," he says with a mischievous grin.

You hit his chest lightly, "Want to try picking a favorite again?"

He kisses the top of your head, "Pumpkin carving?"

"You're the worst," you giggle as you pull free. "The correct answer is horror movies and cuddles, obviously. Just for that, I'm picking out our costumes for Stark's party."

His mood shifts suddenly as the playful smile leaves his lips. He picks up his coffee mug and takes another sip. "There's no need for you to do that," he says in a serious tone, "I won't be attending the party." With that, he turns and walks out of the kitchen.

"You don't want to go?" you ask as you follow him into the living room.

He sits on one end of the couch and sets his mug on the coffee table. "Y/N, you know I don't go to Stark's parties. I never have and I see no reason to start now," he says without looking at you.

"I thought we could go together," you say with a hopeful smile.

He picks up his book from the side table and open its, "Why would you think that?"

"Because it would be fun?" you ask, feeling more unsure of yourself with every passing moment.

He looks up at you briefly and then back to his book. "I doubt very much it would be," he says.

You stand across from him in silence, hurt by the thought that Loki didn't even want to consider going with you. Loki has never been one to socialize with the team voluntarily but you had been excited about the idea of finally having a date to one of Stark's parties.

"I know we've only been dating a few months but... I guess I just assumed you would want to go with me," you say quietly.

"Don't Midgardians have a saying about assuming things?" he asks as he turns the page of his book.

"Well, yea..." you put your mug on the coffee table. "Can you not read while we're talking?"

"You know I'm perfectly capable of holding a conversation and reading at the same time," he says without looking up, you wrap your arms around yourself and don't respond. He finally looks up and slides his bookmark between the pages before setting it on the table. "Better?" he asks in a sarcastic tone.

"Oh, is it rude of me to want you to pay attention to me when I'm talking?" you ask, unable to hide your growing annoyance.

"There is nothing to talk about. I have told you I'm not going," he says. "You're more then welcome to go to that ridiculous event alone." He sits back and opens his book again.

"Its not ridiculous," you argue back but he doesn't acknowledge you as he turns the page.

"And I don't... I don't want to go alone. I want to go with my boyfriend. What's wrong with that?" you ask.

"Are you really going to just ignore me now?" you ask when he continues to read silently.

"I'm not ignoring you, I'm just done with this conversation," he says as he flips the page.

"That's not how conversations work-" you say, rolling your eye sarcastically.

"I don't want to be with you Y/N," Loki says in a harsh tone as he slams the book closed.

You instantly take a step back as his words hit you. He stands up quickly, dropping his book as moves towards you. "Go, I meant I don't want to go with you," he tries to correct himself but your mind has already latched onto those words.

"You... don't..." you whisper as you stand in front of him in disbelief, shaking your head slowly.

"No, no. That's not what I meant," he repeats. "Y/N, I didn't mean that."

He reaches for your arm and you pull away from him. "But you said it," you say, you feel as if you're heart is physically breaking. "Why would you say that?" you ask, close to tears.

"Y/N, I-" Loki starts to explain but is cut off by the sound of your phone ringing from the other room.

You turn from him and walk back to the kitchen to answer it. Loki follows you and tries to take your hand but you turn from him. You purposefully stare at your feet while on the phone to avoid looking at Loki who is growing increasingly upset and nervous.

When you hang up from your call with Agent Hill you ask, "Can you please leave? I have to be ready to take off for a mission in twenty minutes and I-"

"Y/N, I'm not leaving until we talk," he shakes his head. He attempts to close the distance between the two of you again and this time you don't move away. You keep your eyes fixed on the ground as tears begin to surface. He touches your cheek lightly but you still don't look up.

"That's not what I meant," he says again and you nod slowly, your heart believes him but your mind won't let go of this words so easily. "Please look at me," he pleads but you can’t.

"I have to get ready," you tell him again in a hushed voice.

"Can we talk when you get back?" he asks and you mumble ok in response. He kisses the top of your head lightly and says, "Be safe, Y/N."

(Three days later)

You limp slowly down the long corridor and find yourself standing in front of Loki's door. You can tell he's awake, most likely reading, when you see the light creeping out from under the door even though it's just past one in the morning.

You stand there frozen for a moment. All you want to do is feel his arms wrap around you but every time you picture him, you hear his voice echo. He said he didn't want to be with you and although he quickly took it back you just couldn't shake it. His words had burned themselves into your thoughts and refused to leave.

You try to take a deep breath and feel a searing pain spread through your left side. You look down at the brace on your left knee and rub your left arm, just above where the cast was set. Shaking your head, you turn to drag yourself the rest of the way down the hall to your room to sleep.

You get a few feet away when you hear Loki's door open and you stop but don't turn. "Y/N, welcome back," he says quietly.

You can feel your heartbeat picking up at the sound of his voice and you can't help but smile a bit. "I've missed you, love," he says, you can hear he's stepped out into the hall.

"I missed you too," you tell him as you turn to face him. You watch as his eyes move up and down your body, filling with concern.

"Y/N, are you alright? What happened?" he asks, standing close to you. You shrug and tell him that the mission was ultimately successful but you were thrown during an explosion at the Hydra base. You had broken your arm and sprained your knee, in addition to being covered in bruises. You tell him you're exhausted and just want to lay down.

He reaches out and takes your hand, "I know you're tired darling, but come with me." You look up at him quietly, he gently strokes your cheek. "Let me take care of you," he says in a soothing voice.

You smile sleepily and nod, absolutely nothing could sound better then letting Loki look after you right now. No matter what he said before you left, you were still completely in love with him, although you had never been brave enough to say it. You squeeze his hand lightly and he leads you back to his room.

Once inside, he closes the door quietly and picks you up careful not to hurt your side or leg. You let out a small laugh in surprise as he carries you bridal style into the living room. "I can walk," you tell him but you make no attempt to be put down.

"Not without being in pain it seems," he answers in a caring tone.

You wrap your good arm around his neck a bit tighter and kiss his cheek lightly without thinking. He smiles when he looks down at you but you can see it doesn't quite reach his eyes. His eyes are red and glassy, his normally silky smooth hair appears slightly tangled and you've never seen his clothing wrinkled before.

You look around as he carries you through his apartment. His space is usually meticulously neat but there are books messily piled on the end table and floor. You notice a pillow and blanket from his bed have been moved to the couch and there are several empty mugs on the coffee table. He walks through the living room and into his bedroom where the bed you've shared is made perfectly, expect for the missing pillow. You realize its the pillow from your side of the bed that's been moved to the couch.

As if he is reading your thoughts he says, "I haven't been able to sleep without you."

You close your eyes, hold him tighter and whisper, "I'm sorry, Loki." You knew how hard the last few days had been for you but you are quickly seeing how badly it had affected Loki as well.

He kisses your forehead as he gently opens the bathroom door with his foot. He sets you down on the countertop next to the sink.

"I understand you're tired but... I just need you to know I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean what I said before you left, you know that right? I was frustrated about the party and it just came out wrong. I-" he tells you and you pull him closer to you. You put your good arm around his waist and move your legs to be on either side of him as they dangle over the edge.

You had spent the last three days replaying what Loki said and you can tell he had been too. "I know Loki," you interrupt him. "I know you didn't mean it," you tell him and he breaths a sigh of relief. He strokes your cheek lightly then leans down to kiss you.

When he breaks the kiss, you hide your face against his chest. "Y/N...?" he asks, running his hand up and down your back lightly.

"I'm sorry I pushed you about going to the party. I know you don't enjoy going to them and it wasn't fair that I got upset instead of listening to you," you tell him.

He puts his fingers under your chin and tilts your head so you are looking up at him again. "I will go to the party, I just want to make you happy Y/N," he offers but you shake your head no and he looks confused.

"I don't want to go anymore," you tell him.

"You should go. I know how much fun you thought his last party was," he says.

You smile at him and run your fingers through his hair gently, "I would rather spend time with you, doing something we both like."

He cups your cheek and brings your lips to his. You kiss him back as his hand slides down your back, holding you close to his chest. You giggle when you pull away to breath, "I meant something like going to a museum... but that works too."

He laughs at your response than says, "Well we still have all the things on your Halloween list to get through."

You nod happily as you yawn then groan in pain when your stretching aggravates your sore muscles. His smile fades and he looks concerned again.

"Let's get you more comfortable, darling," he says and you agree.

You rest against Loki with your eyes closed as you listen to the tub full with water. After a few minutes, Loki carefully helps you out of your dirty, bloodied uniform and places you into the warm water. You let out a sigh as your muscles begin to relax from the oils Loki had added. Resting your broken arm on the edge of the tub, you let yourself sink completely under the bubbles.

Loki's kneels behind you and begins to gently unbraid your hair. He runs his long fingers through your hair and then down your neck to your shoulders, massaging all the tension from your muscles. When he finishes, he kisses you softly. "Just rest now, I'll be back in a moment," he says as he gets up.

You nod with a smile, struggling to keep your eyes open. Just as you are about to drift off completely, Loki returns to being you to bed. After drying off, Loki conjures you a soft pair of green shorts and a black tank top to sleep in.

You giggle, half asleep when he picks you up again and carries you into the bedroom. He lays you on the bed and then gets in next to you. At soon as he pulls the covers over the two of you, you curl up against his side.

Loki wraps his arms tightly around you and whispers, "I love you, Y/N."

For a moment, you aren't sure if you dreamed hearing this words or if he actually said he loved you for the first time. You look up at him and when you see his smile, you know you weren't dreaming.

"I love you too, Loki," you confess happily, right before you slip into a sound sleep.

@michelleleewise @ace-of-gay @high-functioning-lokipath @poetic-fiasco @soubi001 @lokisninerealms @lulubelle814 @lovingchoices14 @justasecretwriter @theaudacitytowrite @klaushargreeves420 @coffeeorsomething-irl @lokisgoodgirl @xorpsbane @avoliax @talesofadragon @lokiandbuckysdoll @animnerd @juulle987 @lokiprompts21 @javagirl328 @kats72 @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @mochie85 @princess-asgard @holdmytesseract @lokixryss @peaches1958 @lokidbadguy @highkeysimpingforloki

Let me know if you want to be taken off or added to this list! 💚

[lovelytsunoda]

slumber party // lance stroll

summary: when lances wife gets sick the morning of their daughters sixth birthday party, he offers to step in and play host. but of course, that’s before he finds out that it’s a slumber party, and he’s stuck with an army of six year olds until ten am the next morning.

the party was planned down to every painstaking detail so that it was perfect

right down to the princess decorations they started putting up a day early to the disney cake that chloe was making herself

it was going to be perfect

until y/n wakes up on the morning of with a blistering headache and nausea

she thinks they’re going to have to call off the party. she’s in no condition to handle a group of children

until lance steps in. he’ll call esteban and mick and between the three of them, they should be able to run a party without a hitch, right?

wrong.

they all arrive at the same time, and when the girls go running into the naive living room and start setting sleeping bags up under the skylight, the panic in his eyes is evident

“did your wife not tell you it was a slumber party?”

“no, she did not.” he bites his lip, running his fingers through his hair. “but how hard can it be, right?”

The other mother just laughs before she goes back to her car

horrible decision, really, but he leaves esteban and mick in charge while he runs upstairs to check on y/n (and get more details on the slumber part of the party)

and when he comes back downstairs, the girls are crying and one of them is hiding under the couch

“i left you alone with them for five minutes, esteban! what did you do?”

esteban looks at the floor, and mick rolls his eyes.

“somebody thought it was a good idea to open the afternoon with scary stories.”

“esteban, they’re six!”

“one of the girls told him he looked like the rat from flushed away and he decided the best course of action was to tell her that the house was haunted and micheal meyers would get her in her sleep.”

“this house was built in 2017 and I’m pretty sure nobody died here!”

he puts on an old barbie movie, and the girls calm down enough that they sit on the floor to eat party mix and gummy bears while the boys go over the game plan in the kitchen.

“what did you like doing when you were six?” lance asks desperately “there has to be something!”

“karting.” esteban shrugs.

“i cannot take ten six year olds to the karting track.”

but that gives him a different idea

which is how they end up in the simulator room trying to load Mario kart instead of the fia approved programming

which turns into an all out war between the girls

well

more like the army of six year olds against estie lance and mick

lance definitely lets his daughter win

chloe drops by dressed head to toe like a disney princess and brings the cake

scotty brings pizza

please please please imagine lance giving all these little girls princess manicures

his daughter defo makes him wear a plastic tiara

when the kids finally conk out and go to sleep around nine thirty (and esteban because he’s fucking tired), he goes upstairs to check on his wife while mick starts to clean up

she’s curled up in bed with the dog, buried under blankets

but she could hear the laughter coming up through the floor

“the girls are having a great time, honey.” she says sleepily, pulling him into bed with her “you guys are doing a great job.”

“i know. but please, for the love of god, never leave me in charge of a slumber party again. also, you might need to explain to mike and my dad why a ton of six year olds were using the sim to play mario kart.”

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[privitivium]

quoting your fic 🥰

okay so I was reading your fic and idea popped into my head after reading "while staring into your eyes without moving any of his facial muscles. his creepiness makes you cum rather easily. ahemhrm."

I'm just imagining fucking smth in the house up like using the dishwasher and it overflows so water and soap coats the kitchen floor and the reader is just hiding in the back of the closet, listening for any movements. I'm just imagining him using the reader as a cocksleeve to make up for it after tracking them down 🫡

this has been haunting me in such a good way and i finally got the nerve to actually get my ideas down yayy!! quoting my fic makes me so shy,, got me like teehee ....*kicks feet* sorry for any mistakes :3

domtop motherly yan bf w subbot amab reader

cw, slight panic attack ?! , rough - mean mother., dubcon ish, he's just rough with you by pulling ur arm and stuff,,, overstim

mother had tasked you to the dishwasher.

you knew how to start a dishwasher. you weren't stupid! all you had to do was load the damn thing and put in one of those little fucking soap thingies and close it and press the buttons a few times for the proper cycle when it starts trembling and foaming. w-what the fuck were you supposed to do now?!? you cant open it, trying as you might - but you can .. clean up, yeah?? yeah... yeah you can-! using the plethora of hand towels and occasionally a napkin before hearing the moderately mute steps down the end of rhe hall - h-holy fuck. you werent scared. no, why would you be? this is all a big misunderstanding... so why the fuck are you running away? almost slipping on your ass trying to skirt down the opposite hallway, trying so hard to keep your footfalls silent yet methodical ... hiding yourself in one of the guest rooms closet and having a slight panic attack - hands at your head and curling in on yourself on the spacious constricted roomㅡwhy were you so scared? mother was kind, sweet and loving. there was no reason to be so scared.

trying.. trying so hard to calm yourself down, knowing that mother probably already saw the mess of soapy water and is looking for you... or this.. could be paranoia talking, haha... he's probably cleaning it up, theres no reason to hide - you should go out there and help him, right? haha.. yeah... losing track of time, it must've been fifteen minutes or so of just rocking back and forth while chewing on your bottom lip and occasionally mutliating your fingers... urk-! feeling the vibrations of rather heavy steps down the hallwayㅡgod, they sound so angry. Even if they were just footsteps... whimpering to yourself in your little safe space as your tummy coils uncomfortably with guilt and nauseaㅡhearing doors open down the hallway. shrinking further, as it edges closer - and mother finally opens the door to the guest room you were hiding in... the footfalls near and you see the shadow underneath the doors... and to your surprise they slowly make their way from whence they came. huh. well... how soothing.

it would have been, if not for the fact mother simply tricked you. How smart... how intellectual. How... overused. yanking the doors open and you, following in suit. mothers grip on your bicep making you whimper as he pulls you wordlessly from your little hiding spotㅡnearly pissing your pants if not for the swell of irritating arousal blooming underneath your navelㅡ"augh-! holy shit m-mom, i can explain!" you squirm, grunting in displeasure as he tugs you harshly - silent throughout the ordeal, throwing you on the well-made bed that was never used for guests - before you were pulled back, sheets thrown to the sideㅡ

“a-augh.. mommy.. m-mommy, please..” your voice broken with tears and fright as you writhe on the messy bed; sheets thrown askew by mother's doing… “i'm sorry..!! i'm really, really sorry..!.!!” you squirm underneath his hulking body, he ignores your pleas without care as he was already in the process of yanking your pants down to your knees and hiking your hips up ;; face pressed into the bed, ass up; feeling a bit too nervous but ultimately could not deny your cock of such emotions..., dribbling, weeping in between your legs, unable to move in fear of pissing him off even moreㅡ

"you can't even load the dishwasher right.." he tsks, voice tense as he pulls you back into his thick arms - seated on the bed with you in between his muscular thighs; no warning as he starts unevenly stroking along your messy half-hard cock - jerking in surprise and writhing against him, "leaving me to clean up your mess... not that i have a problem with it, mmh..." talking so carelessly, so stoically while jerking you off at a fast pace so nonchalantly - hand lubed up in your drool, tears, and pre. his free arm slung across your shoulders and legs partially wrapping around you to keep you from squirming as muchㅡemptying load after load onto his hand and yourself until you were dry cumming, jerking your hips and sobbing into him,,, muttering soft pleas of "pl-ease, mo-ommy.. pleaseㅡplease i'll be good, i'm sorry i fucked up."

he was originally going to leave you to stew on the bed in your mess of cum and tears as further punishment.. but he can't help but coo at the way you pathetically call out for him - him, your mother... admiring your soft cock in his huge palm, shrunken after drawing out orgasm after orgasm... ah, he'd have to do laundry too, scolding you for making such a disgusting mess on the bed. he'd make it up to you, however. dipping in-between your legs and kissingㅡtonguing the head of your overtly sensitive cock, just to be mean... before making it up to you for real this time, even if you do quite deserve to be punished harshly..