#nothing straight about them Amen

[korrectkomaeda]

i saw this post and it has ruined me so i drew it, obviously (image also in undercut)

[writella]

Screwed Up and Brilliant

Synopsis: Negan is ready for you. Daryl isn’t; and maybe he’ll never be. Negan makes that clear to you tonight.

Details: Negan Smith x fem!reader, Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (mentioned), Negan is a bad guy but there is nuance— at least I hope I accomplished doing so, angst, guilt, forbidden love, probably super stereotypical, reader at the Sanctuary, moral dilemma reader (but you got to understand, they’re both so fine!!), I feel like I need more cws but I can’t think of them and of course, smut, 18+: consensual, unprotected, vague dacryphilia, soft? dom!Negan, lite daddy kink, fingerings, riding, and basically just Negan blowing your brains out… but not in the walker way— the good way, the way we like. Amen.

A/N: Could you believe I started writing this in October or something? This is my first time writing Negan and I’m scared I may not have gotten it right so definitely feel free to give notes! This is set during season 7/8, I’m picturing Negan at the end of 8 and later seasons but there’s something about him older that gives me heart eyes everywhere, but whatever you prefer makes me happy. Anyway, from my heart, and maybe somewhere a little lower, to yours; with love from writella. ♡

You’re screwed up and brilliant, look like a million-dollar man; so why is my heart broke?

—— LDR, Million Dollar Man

The space was clean; minimal. The kind that let out no secrets of the owner that inhabited its insides. And of course there were the little things that let out some slight details: the ashtray on the nightstand— a smoking habit; a ring, a metal chain, another of black rope— an unsuspected, albeit small, interest in jewelry; the bottom nightstand closed by a lock—mysterious and cautious, though that was to be expected. It was only reasonable he’d have something he wanted hide. But other than that, Negan’s bedroom was quite unreadable; almost purposefully mundane.

There was a fireplace, a window at the corner, and a bed at the center. It had a dark, brass, rusted headboard that leaned against the wall. Two pillows at either side. The sheets were white, and the large blanket was of fur, a tan or medium brown, it was thick and heavy. Probably unnecessary for the approaching spring heat, but it adored the bed end well; matching the other bronze, or brown, wooden and darker aspects of the room. Even the light from the small fire, though you could see clearly, made everything mildly dim— the Sanctuary wasn’t known for its brightness after all.

And truly, nothing in this bedroom, or in this fortress of a place could be described as anything close to bright. Unless you counted the sun outside in the courtyard, or the largest fireplace that blazed in the main hall, or Negan’s piercing, priceless smile— so pristinely white, so wide it almost looked painful to perform. There was an eeriness to it as well. That was at the forefront, and everyone saw it. With the way he maintained their cleanliness, it was something that could look so pure, so put-together on any other; but on him, its power could scare you into worthlessness. It’s the one he used when he told someone what to do even if they hated it; it’s the one he used when killing someone’s best friend.

It’s also the one he used on the first day he ever spoke to you. The first time that truly mattered, really.

It was during Negan’s first supply gathering at Alexandria.

You still remember it well.

Your faces filled with desolation, but chins held high; you were strong— good at hiding the pain, the fear— only straight, pokered eyes and mouths allowed as everyone silently agreed with you. You had told Negan that Maggie was dead.

The Widow, he had coined her. The wife of your good friend that he killed— so generous a man was Glenn, even when he wasn’t trying to be. And she’s your friend too, brave Maggie. That’s the one he wanted, but as far as he knew, she was gone.

Thank God, you thought, Thank God, yes, indeed, until—

Negan’s eyes glazed over your frame for just a moment too long.

You weren’t speaking anymore. You kept it short enough. He should have turned his attention back to Rick but he didn’t.

Where there was sly roguery in Negan’s eyes, anxiety weld in the looks of all others: Rick’s throat tensed and tightened uneasily, sweat trailing down his curls and onto his forehead; Rosita’s jaw clenched with bitterness, brows furrowing under her green khaki cap with anger; and then there was Gabriel: his eyes turned from solemnity and pretend peacefulness to wide bewilderment. The plan you two exchanged had worked: you would tell Negan of Maggie’s passing, as per your idea, and Gabriel would swiftly solidified your lie by saying he was the one who officiated the short funeral. But then, another problem arose; one where he could be nothing else but helpless in aiding you. What was he, or anyone to do? It was easy to help Maggie, she was more than twenty miles away. But you, you were here. Right in front of him.

“Wait a minute…” Negan’s pointer shakes lightly by his temple, his mind turning curiously. “You.” He said, shooting his finger in the direction of your chest.

His smile, mischievous as ever, only grew wider as a moment passed and he made his realization: “You’re the one with that- tight- grip!” He balled his raised hand into a fist as he said it. A slight snicker came after, proud of his entendre. “My men were tryna put Daryl in the trunk and you latched onto his foot like it was your dying- act- which—” you attempt to lessen the startle in your eyes at his upward hitch in tone, “—it most certainly could have been.”

Negan comes closer now, his face nearing your own, “But you know better now, right?”

Obviously, you did not.

Or you would have stayed home, not given him the chance to remember you as he said he would after your nails could no longer claw into Daryl’s ankle. He was thrashing too much and Negan’s men pushed you away; they were too strong together against the two of you. They kicked dirt in your face for it, held a gun to your head until Negan told them to stop. His point was made with your two friends he had killed, no need for another— especially not one who amused him like you had just done.

‘DAYUM. She is surprisingly strong!’ He had yelled, ignoring the weeping faces of you and the group kneeling in a line on the ground; sweat, blood, and tears dripping everywhere. ‘And I do like ‘em loyal…’ He had given you a once over while telling his men, ‘Hands off, gentlemen,’ and before returning his attention back to Rick, he added, ‘I’ll keep my eye on you.’

And he did.

You made an impression.

Now you’ll pay.

Rick should have told you why he wanted you to stay with Judith. He remembered what Negan said too. He remembered what Negan said to everyone. He couldn’t forget. But maybe it didn’t matter. It was only the start of Negan’s day here. Maybe he would have found you anyway.

Rick would feel it was all his fault nonetheless, but all you could think about is how truly, it was your own, and no one’s at all.

The sun allows glints of wickedness to sparkle in the whites of Negan’s teeth as he continues imparts his demand, “From now on, don’t stop me when I’m giving an order, okay?” It’s like you can hear him underlining his words just with his darkened voice. Turning his waist, he extends his hand to everyone as he finishes, “And that goes for all of you.”

You force your face to remain leveled as he meets your eyes again, that cheshire look returning directly toward you. He curls his head to the side, whispering near your profile, “So… you’re his girl, huh?”

Your mouth becomes slightly agape. You don’t even realize it before you can try to close it. He asked the question of aversion, or at least that’s what you assumed it was to Daryl.

You knew it was just his way, that speaking about things like this might have not been his strong suit. Besides, there were more things to worry about almost all the time, but it still hurt to know that when asked, the only complete and honest answer there could be was no.

Your eyes trail down slowly, desperate to avoid his, and Daryl’s face— a few feet away from you— turning to the side, looking at nothing. He could not hear what was being asked, but maybe Rick did, Rosita and Gabriel too. It was unclear, but their eyes prodded with more tension, more worry, Daryl could register that, and even more so, he could not stand Negan’s face that close to yours; he was probably trying to make an advance on you, scare you, or both. He pretends not to care, but ultimately it’s useless. Negan detects your expression and turns to look at Daryl’s; he notices both failing attempts at impassivity.

“Oh,” he muses, voice returning to its normal volume, “or not, my bad…. I guess that does make more sense though.” He speaks louder now, casually, like he’s a close friend consoling you about your boy troubles, “I personally haven’t been able to hold a conversation with the guy either, and I’m just tryna be friends.”

Daryl was right. Negan was weaseling his way in. He snarls because of it.

Only Dwight hears this and sends him a warning glare.

You feel the sweat beading from your hairline to the nape of your neck. The danger felt from Negan’s presence was as thick as the sun’s heat that shone directly on the cemetery grove. It’s hard to look up and especially to look at him directly for that long as if he truly was the fire in the sky, so you look down again.

Negan pats your shoulder sympathetically, his hand then going to hold up your chin, his thumb tracing your jaw softly.

It makes Daryl’s arms twitch and his stance jerks forward, but he’s pushed back, Dwight beating him on the chest. It’s only once but you can hear it, everyone heard it.

It only makes Negan’s grin become more sly because— there it is— a reaction; an answer. It makes what he’s about to do that much more sweet: “Fuck, darlin’. I’m sorry. Idiot,” he tisks. Then more quietly he adds, “I’m not one though.”

This time it’s for sure: Rick caught that, and Rosita too. They give each other an alarming look as Negan continues to trail over your dispirited form, like a wilted flower. His hand lowers back down to your shoulder, then trails to your arm, to the elbow, and then off of you entirely.

Despite the feeling of Lucille under his grasp telling him he shouldn’t, Rick urges himself to speak before Negan says what they all know is coming. “Negan,” he starts, swallowing the slight shake in his voice, “would you like to see the pantry—”

“Did I ask you to speak, Rick?” Negan states, his frame still positioned in front of you. “I’m thinkin’ here… I’m thinkin’… particularly, that you should come with me.”

Daryl makes a sound that you couldn’t hear, for Dwight was already barking a “Shut up,” at him. Only the swat he gives to Daryl’s shoulder is what is once again heard by all.

You almost choke on your gasp, but you hold it in. Only letting out the faintest sound as you ask, “What?”

“You heard me,” he plainly says. “I mean, what do you even do here anyway?”

You almost felt embarrassed to answer.

“No, I’m askin’. Seriously. Does Rick actually utilize you?”

As you begin, your voice is still quiet, “I… I work in the garden, with the produce… I help tutor the kids… I go on runs, gather supplies. I cook. Help with weapons maintenance, I—” you stop, realizing your grocery list of jobs probably sounds pathetic to him, you’re like a chore boy, “— I do a lot. But everyone does.”

“Hm,” Negan responds, playing with his nails nonchalantly. Your thoughts come to fruition with his next words, “So you’re just everyone’s helper?”

He noticed the sad offense emanating from your eyes, so he raised his hands, “And those are important things to do, I mean it. It must mean you know quite a bit from everyone, that’s smart, and there’s no trouble in it. But… I saw you. I think you can do more.”

“How?” You can still only gasp out your words. “I’m not Maggie. And she’s not here.”

“No.” He brings up one finger, “But you’re clever,” you look at him confused as he brings up his middle finger to join the first, “and quick on your feet, that I now know.” A third and fourth finger comes up, “You’re strong, you’re loyal— things I’ve stated before.” Then the fifth he says with a smug smile, “And you’re a looker, I must admit.” He moves his hand to one side of his mouth, pretending to secretly tell you, “But that’s just a plus,” he winks. “And more importantly, it seems to me that just like most people in Prick’s community, you are undervalued and not paid attention to whereas I see potential.” He says it all so simply, he truly believes he’s offering you so much better that he finally ends by saying: “Hm. Yeah. I think you’ll be much better off with me.”

And so, with no true goodbyes said, in a van you went after Negan’s visit was done. A different one from Daryl’s, of course. Taken away from the first home you had in ages.

Before the trunk door closed, Negan gave you parting words: “You see?” He had said, “I told you I’d remember you, didn’t I?”

The words rang in your ears for the entire ride as they still do now, even more or less than two months later as you sit in his room.

Your heartbeat started to rise little by little as time went on and he hadn’t arrived. With the window allowing you to escape into thought, you were left to think about the last couple of days, and specifically, the last time you were in here:

You were sitting with him on his bed. You had asked if you could talk about anything other than the world you two lived in now, and surprisingly, he obliged. It was nice. Sometime later, he had finally opened that locked drawer.

You heard him suck his teeth, what he was getting seemed lost, which allowed you to take a closer peek inside.

There was a picture of a woman. The first wife? The only real one? You couldn’t tell and you wouldn’t ask, it would have been too much. You didn’t even get a good look at the woman anyway— part of her face was covered and he was fast. But he saw your eyes, so you decided to take note of the books you caught a glimpse of, pretending it was the only thing you saw. You try to think of something to say… It did make sense he was a reader, at least even mildly if that was all it was. The way he describes his ideals, his persuasiveness, his diction— it impressed you, even if you disagreed with a lot of it. It was almost ironic that the only cover you saw was of a dictionary, the more valuable ones probably hidden under. “Is that where you get all your big boy words from?” You asked.

“Some of them,” he joked back, composing himself.

It was strange to almost catch him off guard. It was so unlike him to allow it, but what happened next felt even more surprising.

Whatever he got from the drawer was enclosed in his hand. He put the free one on top of the other as he started, “Now… I don’t want you thinking I’m growing soft on you. I just thought you deserve it because—” and then his voice fades. Even Negan, the ever curse-filled wordsmith, was finding it hard to describe in any other way that he was pleased with something as absurd as you not trying to escape anymore. He knew you would probably think that was the only reason for a gift, but then he opted for something that even you couldn’t help but know was equally true, “You don’t seem to proactively hate me anymore. You’re here. I appreciate it, so I wanted to,” he says sincerely. “That’s all.”

Negan opened his hand, resting the piece in your palm— it was a locket; lovely and rusted floral engravings all over it.

You felt sad that you thought it was beautiful, and even worse for knowing the reasons why he was giving it to you. No wonder his voice had faltered.

You remember the soft shock and awe on your face, how you said thank you and how your face felt so hot when you said it, how he asked you to turn, and how you looked at him from behind you after he put the piece on. He was so close and it felt like he was coming closer. You don’t remember if that part was real, but you can see it so clearly that it must have been. Unfortunately, the only thing you remember for certain is that knock at the door that sent Negan away to handle whatever was going on downstairs.

Had you almost let him kiss you? Would you have liked it? Are you the most deplorable person for even thinking that while Daryl was somewhere else locked up at the time?

“I see they delivered my message.”

You return from your daze, your startle leaving as soon as it comes.

It was just him. There Negan finally was.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to just come in. The door was unlocked.”

“I knew the meeting was gonna go longer than expected; thought you might as well make yourself comfortable.” He gestures to you, “which I see you did, and no—“ you were getting up from his bed, “it’s fine.” Negan sets Lucille near the door. He walks over to you, sitting down on the edge of his bed as well. There is a bit of distance between you two.

“You know, I came back the other day,” he informs, “I was actually going to talk to you last night, but then I heard you tried to leave. Again.” His eyebrows furrow, “We still on that?” He asks. “Thought we had a breakthrough the other night.”

“But after Carl—“

“—Carl,” he interjects, “came here all by his badass self, and for that, I did not lay even my pinky fuckin’ finger on him.” His hand goes to his chest, “I even took him home like a gentleman. And after I got here and found out they put you in a cell without supper, I had you back in your bed before midnight yesterday, so I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”

“Seriously?” Your incredulity is hidden under the softness of your voice as you say it, but it’s cracking.

“As a heart attack. It’s your ex-people who don’t listen. At least I was nice this time.”

You sigh heavily, docility officially fading. You shake your head with a slight chuckle, “That’s hard to believe. Especially if you were gone for most of the day. I know what that means. You had whatever the fuck your version of fun is.”

He grits his teeth, holding his words back. You’ve gotten a little too comfortable with the back talk, and you especially shouldn’t be saying anything after the night you had yesterday, but he allows it.

This time.

Of course, he didn’t like you leaving, but he rather that it was Daryl who escaped than you. And based on the bruises: one on the side of your head, one high on your shoulder— he imagines you might have gotten pushed against a wall— and the light ones that littered in a couple of spots on both your arms— he could tell his men must have been rough with you as they brought you back. He didn’t like that; therefore, he lets you quip. Someone would be getting their own bruises for it some time later anyway. He would take your smartass mouth out on them to cover for it.

“Maybe,” he finally says. “Nothing was undeserved though.”

You breathe in, the back and forth was no use. “What happened yesterday?” You asked, losing the sarcasm. Your eyes peered into his for honesty, hoping to skip the sly replies and get to the truth. “Just tell me what happened at home.”

Home. You knew better than to use that word. In fact, you have just stopped using that word. He let out an exasperated laugh, but skipped the lecture. “You want the truth? Or just the SparkNotes?”

You roll your eyes lightly. You probably don’t even notice you did it. Despite the situation being discussed, it makes Negan’s head turn endearingly— your tone of voice, the things you say, the way you react to him… you still don’t realize how fresh you’ve gotten with him, how comfortable. But he sees it.

“Alright. Well, Spencer’s gone.” He reveals offhandedly, replying to your silence.

Your eyes do not widen, you know what gone means. You simply nod and try to not think about how the now-cleaned bat most likely looked before.

“And don’t tell me that you care,” he says, pretending to interject to your continuing silence. “You gotta know he was a small dick nepo-prick, right?”

You bite the inside of your lip, shaking your head slightly. You won’t give in to a cheap joke even if it was pretty accurate, so he beckons you by name, “C’mon, that was funny.”

Still, you give him nothing.

He sighs; taking off his leather; and sits near you on the bed, his hands cupping the ledge. “Thought we were finally over this quiet thing.”

“A lot has happened this week.”

“Like…” he prodes. He would only talk about it if you brought it up.

Your eyes shut tightly before opening again. You didn’t want to say it, but you had to. “You know what. Daryl.”

He states the fact plainly, “Daryl left you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Your voice is fierce now. You can’t believe it. You won’t. “He’s not that kind of person and this isn’t an easy place to get out of— I obviously know that— he wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I know,” he jeers, “but he did and he didn’t bring you with him. Even though you were found trying to find his cell. That’s some real idiotic bullshit right there, isn’t it? From both of you.”

You glared at him hotly, you wouldn’t give it up, but unfortunately you had no rebuttal. Both of you would just continue on with the same argument, the conversation going nowhere. And not because either side knew they were completely right; in truth, neither of you actually knew what happened the other day. But in this regard, you felt there was no other choice: you believed in Daryl fully.

Because he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Right?

You continue shaking your head, trying to find something to say in retaliation as you feel your sureness withering. Separating you two was the smartest tactic. You now have nothing to hold onto. “He wouldn’t,” you repeat pathetically, “I don’t believe you.” Unfortunately it’s not quite enough, so he continues with a rant you know all too well.

“You don’t believe me?” He cups the ends of the bed more tightly, positioning himself closer to you. “When I’m the one who gave you the safest roof? Secure food, clean water, access to all these pretty dresses, which, I know you’ve become accustomed to—” and here it comes— “I saved you!”

Saviors and their “saving,” you sneered at it. What bullshit. “You didn’t save me.”

“But I gave you someone to talk to… Huh?” He taunts, waiting for your response but nothing comes. He uses it to his advantage, “You’re quiet cause you know it’s true.”

But you know something too. He says it before you can.

“Or fuck, maybe I just gave myself someone to talk to.”

You pretend you can’t hear the earnesty in it. “Stop,” you scoff. “Don’t treat me like I’m special. I was the second choice.”

“I think with my dick sometimes. You’re the only choice.”

You start to shake your head, your face is flushed; scared, hot, and a little bit of something else that you refuse to let out. Then the tears come— the room feels so big and you two are so close and there are so many feelings you’re trying to push down. “It doesn’t matter,” you say wearily, “You took me. And you took him. You hurt him, I saw his face.” Your voice begins to tremble, almost in unison with the tears that peak out on your eyelids. “And that outfit you put him in. He didn’t even look me in the eye.”

“Stop,” he warns.

“You didn’t even let me see him.”

“He doesn’t notice you.”

“You don’t know us.”

“I know you.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know you’re not happy… What about the other night?”

You ignore him, shaking your head: “You hurt my friends.”

“What about the other night?” He persists, his voice slowly growing louder. “What about every time I let you sit in on my meetings? What about how you have your own room? What about how I actually talk to you?”

“You let him get hurt—” the tears start to fall, there is a quiver in your voice but you still match his near shout, “And you almost killed Carl—”

“Shut up.”

“And you killed Abraham—”

He warns you by name.

“And Glenn! Maggie’s husband—”

“SHUT. UP.”

“The baby won’t have a father, Negan!”

His voice is low and grim as he demands you to “Stop. Now.” Negan grabs the sides of your neck as he says his next line, it comes out brisk and harsh and heavy like his touch as his hand wraps around your neck. “I knew you lied to me.”

Your voice is hushed, feeling his lightly pressed thumbs on the front of your throat as you speak shakily, “I’ve never lied to you.”

“Maybe not since you’ve been here, but did you hear yourself right now?” He pauses, allowing you a second to let it sink in. “You just fucking proved it.”

Your eyes widen at the realization. The baby, you had said. Fuck.

“See? Told you, you were smart.”

And he did. Brave Maggie. Clever you. That was his reason number one.

“You have to get why.”

His voice remains eerily calm. “I do.”

Another tear falls and his thumb presses its pad under your eye, spreading a tear on your face as the next one comes down.

“Negan…” you say. It’s a mix of a warning and a plea but you can’t tell for what, both fear and fire mix together because of his proximity. His touch and stare was dangerous, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was pleased he caught your slip up, thrilled to see you cry, but there was also something about it— his touch, his eyes— that was equally intoxicating. There was something more tender there as well, something you didn’t want to turn away from, he wasn’t as rough as you thought. Nonetheless, your answer to these conflicting feelings are ones of neglect, you stay your course. “You’re a bad person,” you tell him.

“Please,” he whispers back, “just stop.”

His eyes glaze over your features with an intent look you’ve only seen once before, it was that other night in fact. It’s almost gentle, but maybe it’s just pity, so you don’t let it stop you. “But you are.”

“Stop,” he pleads, then it’s hushed, “just stop…” he says, “just stop.” Then he starts coming closer. “Tell me to stop.”

And you know you should get up.

You should, you should, you should, you know it but— you don’t.

You breathe into it.

His lips latch onto yours; your heads tilt; you lock perfectly.

Everything after happens fast, the instantaneous mess of it all: he waited and waited, and of course he would. He was waiting for you to see it, to feel it. He thought the other night was the breakthrough, but no, it was tonight, it was how you didn’t back away just now.

His hand goes lower on your leg, nearing your knees so he can get under your dress, trailing up your thigh, reaching the inner side that’s pressed up to the other one.

His hand on your neck brings you in closer, traveling up to under your chin and jaw, holding you so tight, but so sweetly. All you felt was surprise. He slips his tongue in, it's deep and intense. He brings a velvet warmth that you’d never expect from him. It was paradoxical; a fiery heaven of a feeling.

He starts rubbing your clit over your panties, kissing his way up to your ear as he does so to ask, “When’s the last time someone’s fucked you?”

Your lips are parted, but you cannot speak, so he continues.

“Daryl never did, did he?” He asks in a muffle, continuing to kiss and kiss. “Who was before him?”

Again, no verbal response, but your breath does hitch at his touches. He continues to draw circles, your wetness now slowly dampening the material, making it easier for his finger to place itself between your folds, so he dips his hand under the band. That and his whispering makes you feel a kind of spark that shoots all the way down to where his fingers are touching. The first press of his thumb without any material in between forces a sudden heat to rise that instantly causes a flush of liquid to slip down your hole, it feels messier than it actually is until his fingers go lower spreading it everywhere. You were much wetter than you thought, and you can’t help how good it feels, how easily you’re responding to it.

Negan calls your name, holding in every cocky reply he wanted to give about how wet you are— he needed an answer to his question first. So he looks you in the face, making sure he has your full attention, “You’re fuckin’ with me, right?” His words are meant more genuinely than his tone implies. “Not at all during any of this?”

You shake your head small and slowly. No.

He laughs pitifully, he doesn’t mean it rudely, but he just can’t help it. A touch-starved baby at the mercy of his fingertips? “Well, god-damn.”

He felt like a rich man.

He begins to kiss your lips again, now pumping his fingers into you. Your walls tighten. It’s only two, but they’re his. It’s new and exciting. His kiss makes you lean into the bed, the force of his head and tongue going deeper into your mouth guiding you to lay flat as his fingers still play.

“I hope you know how fucking soaked you are,” he finally says. “You need it so bad that it feels this damn good with me only touching you like this?” You can’t help the way your body jerks up and he can’t help but be smug about it. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Your eyes grow vicious at his grin, you almost want to hit him, but you can’t. All you can do is suppress your moan into a quiet whine. He’s so magnetic— his touch feels forbidden but so right; his voice so alluring; and his midas touch pulls you deeper and deeper into a trance, you might as well be turning into gold. Other than the involuntary reactions your body makes as his fingers continue going into your hole, now slowly going in and out as his eye gloss over your body in your favorite dress that you wore the most, you’re left paralyzed; subjected to following his lead. Wherever he wanted to go next, you’d let him.

He takes his fingers from inside of you and you look up quickly. You made sure not to whine at the loss of contact but your eyes couldn’t hide your dismay. All he did was smile and quickly lick away the wetness.

“Just takin’ this off,” he tells you as his hands cross over to the ends of his white t-shirt, slipping it off and onto the ground, one of those small rope chains hitting his chin as he does so.

It was only his shirt but you’re struck by him: to see more of his ever present sun-kissed skin felt almost godly. He was pretty lean, not too lanky like his stature, but not too broad either. Light curves of muscles adorned his chest and shoulders and arms. His chest and abdomen were slightly hairy, a tattoo placed on the upper right side and you finally saw the other tattoos placed on his upper arms more clearly. They looked nice on him. He was so handsome. You felt more wetness peeking out from down below. He looked so big above you.

“Like what you see, beautiful?” That typical snark still laced his voice, but there was a genuinity to it as well. He wanted you to like what you saw; to like him.

His words make your face hot, eyes casting off to the side. It was easier to talk to him when you were mad at him, when it was about home, even just small talk about the Sanctuary; this felt… different. Just like the other night.

You had almost already forgotten that his charm worked this way too; in a kinder way— when his eyes are wide, when his smile is soft, when he calls you sweet names without the irreverent, quip-filled pretenses.

It made you have all the words on the tip your tongue: how handsome and sexy you could say he is, how much you liked his tattoos, even all the greys that littered his hair and beard l, or how, if you had to admit it, you liked that dumb shit-eating grin of his, but all you can do is lightly smile, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at your bashfulness. You finally nod. “Yes,” you say, rolling your eyes, “maybe.”

He starts undoing his belt with a laugh of his own, “Oh I know you’re a fuckin liar if you think I’m a maybe.”

As his pants drop to the floor he takes each hand and places them over your shoulders on the bed to ask, “May I take off the lady’s dress?”

Your eyes widened, your open mouth only letting out a sweet, surprised, and whispered, “Huh?”

“What? Didn’t expect me to be a gentleman?”

You try to compose yourself, calm the fire you feel all throughout your body, and pretend you haven’t already given in completely right when he kissed you. “I just didn’t expect it would be all this slow.”

He laughs inwardly, glad to see the personality he came to know come back after all that happened these past two days. “Just give me a moment,” he jokes back. “You think I’m gonna waste seeing the reaction of you watching my cock spring out just so I can shove it in fast? ” He comes closer, his voice lowers now, “Believe it or not, I don’t think you’re just some doll or a fuck-piece.” The groundedness of his voice is something you’ve never heard before. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already stated that I see you. And truly, I think you’re damn gorgeous.”

Your eyes are stars. How can you even react? He thinks you’re gorgeous and you’re taken aback. “Thank you,” is all you can quietly say.

“You’re welcome.” He responds with eyes that have never looked so honest, so soft. You get lost in them and he has to pull you back, returning to his question, “May I?”

You nod, quick and excitedly, “You can take it off, Negan.”

He grabs your hands and stands you up. You look up at his face and his fingers move to the ends of your dress, pulling it over your head.

The tips of his fingers trace your chest and stomach lightly, delicately touching your skin as if it’s porcelain. He grabs your waist and travels up to take off your bra, then pushes down your wet underwear.

Negan’s cock stirs at the sight, you’re so pretty and so ready for him. “And I didn’t even need to see it to know I was right.” Just like he said, you’re gorgeous.

Negan pushes down his boxers. Cock springing up. Big and veiny with a red tip. He was itching to get inside of you.

And there you were, eyes and mouth open wide, scared and excited all at once. You were intimidated but surprisingly not scared if it would fit or not. You would let him do anything to get himself inside of you, even if it hurt.

“There it is,” he says, pleased with your reaction. He comes closer to your ear now, pushing you down by the hips against the bed once more. “And trust me, if you like that, you won’t fucking believe how I’ll feel inside of you. Just wait.”

“I…” He wanted to make you feel good, you’re almost speechless. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” He says, and then he places himself above you, admiring your glistening folds as he spreads your legs. He already lines himself up, he could look at you forever but he is in no desire to wait any longer. He pushes in. It’s a bit fast, a tight fit, it must have hurt you, but he’s too excited, he can’t help it. He lets out a hum and then a groan at the feeling of your walls enclosing him, and he hears you gasp at his size. He starts to pump into you immediately.

His face hovers over yours. His eyes study your features and he realizes he’s never been this close. Of course he hasn’t, he’s never fucked you, made love to you. He’s just now noticing the way your eyelashes curl, what birthmarks adorn your upper body or not, and how many earrings you may have, but most importantly, he’s noticing the way you react to him: the way your eyebrows might scrunch, or what elicits more pants and squirmings, the way your lips tug tightly against each other or open into ovals and circles depending on what he does, how he thrusts, where he touches, how he moves.

It all makes him slowly speed up. He can’t take it anymore. He kisses your neck and jaw— some kisses sweet, then others that are rough and he begins to pump and pump. Faster and faster.

“Oh,” you choke out before moaning, “ah.”

He continues, loving every facial expression you make until he finally speaks. “Alright. I gave you a break— now tell me how it feels?”

All you can do is whine incoherently.

“Excuse me?” He says more sternly. You know what he wants.

“Negan,” you whine again.

He stops. “Yes?” He asks all too knowingly. “Gonna use your words and tell me how it feels?”

You sigh, taking the hand placed on your hip and moving up toward the ends of your stomach, all the way up to your left breast. You let his hand rest there, feeling the heat and your quickened heartbeat radiating from the area. “You… you feel so good.” Your eyes are watery, “Amazing.”

You got him there, and he almost can’t help but start hammering it in, but then he remembers… he doesn’t have to help it. He could do whatever he wanted, so he does. He squeezes your breast, grinning wildly as he gives you one hard thrust. “Damn right,” he tells you, hearing your yelp before pounding fast.

You had always been quiet but he never quite saw you at a loss for words as you are now. Your mouth is completely open, your eyes threatening to roll back further, making sounds he’s sure you’ve never heard from yourself before. Have you even had it this fast? This big? This great? He knows it couldn’t be. And he’s the one who gets to show you. His eyes gloss over you with pride at the thought.

He grabs your chin to get you to look at him, “Who’s fucking you this good?”

You moan. You weren’t used to this. Your eyes roll back completely as he pounds into you with eye contact.

It makes him groan loudly, his jerks into you, letting out his own moan from the sight. “Oh fuck, baby. Don’t play with me.”

You give in, force yourself to speak, you can’t let this end. “You, Negan!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes!” It’s so hard to speak, it comes out so pathetically.

“Who's making you feel like no one else?”

“You, Negan, it’s you!” Your moan turns into a pant, “It’s you, only you.”

He comes closer, his nose touches yours. His movements slow, but they don’t stop. He’s rocking into you now. “Only me?”

You don’t even think, “Who else? It's only you.”

His teeth sparkle, “Only me.”

“Only you, daddy.”

He laughs cockily, “So Daddy’s making you feel this good?”

“Yes, daddy. So good.”

You feel the groan he makes travel right to your clit, making it throb.

He kisses you, the corners of your lips to your cheek and neck and collarbones and back up again.

He restarts his pumping into you but his head remains close to yours. You decide to wrap one of your arms around his neck, pulling his hair, and the other hand travels down his back, holding him close.

Negan breathes you in, his head near the crux of your neck, hearing every little sweet sound you make that he’s never heard before. It all drives him wild, but then his eyes open. A question comes out that surprises you both: “Am I ruining your life right now?” He quietly asks.

“That doesn’t matter,” you say, breathing heavily from his touches, your eyes are still closed.

“I think it does.”

“You make me feel like no one ever has…” The bliss you feel from his current soft strokes and touches making it hard to speak, your voice is so light. “At least I got to experience it.” You open your eyes now, fingers tracing the cross drawn into his arm, “At least I got to see the real you.”

Your eyes say more than your words do. There’s a yearning and a sadness, an answer to what feels right in this moment, but an insight that there are doubts that could creep up later the more that you think about it.

“Just keep going,” you tell him, “I want to see you.”

You want to see him, you do see him. His head connects with yours again, and you moan into each other's mouths as he keeps pumping. Your legs come up to his hips and you’re not afraid to be loud anymore, to tell him how good it feels, how much you like him.

He takes your hands and places them over your head, crossing his fingers with your. It’s so pure, so lovely even when he’s going so hard down below. You hear your breaths heavy and your bodies slapping and the bed shaking.

You think about his skin, and his scratchy beard against yours, and the way you hate how he can make you smile by making the most ridiculous and raunchy jokes, and the way you love his voice, the way you can’t help but to like the way he cares for you.

“Negan,” you say weakly.

“Yes,” he responds intently.

“I’m gonna come,” you tell him. “I think I can.”

“Come for me,” he encourages, moving one of his hands down to rub your clit. “C’mon.”

“I’m gonna come,” you repeat, edging yourself on. Bucking up at his thrusts and his fingers.

“You can do it. Be a good girl. Do it for me.”

You swear the fireplace blazes louder and bigger, lighting up the whole room as you yell out, moaning once more as you orgasm.

Negan finally breaths out after, holding in for so long, and comes after you. His hands place themselves flat on the bed and he pushes in fast, riding out the high.

He scoops you up immediately, holding you in his arms. He doesn’t want to let go.

You two stay there for a moment until you look up. His hand caresses your face, “What is it?”

“I…” you were embarrassed to admit that you weren’t ready for it to all be over yet. “Can I ride you?”

A wiley smile appears on his face. He has to admit, he’s a little shocked you’re ready to go again, but he’d never turn it down. “Well, of course you can, babygirl.”

He flips you over, completely ready, but instantly, you become hesitant, almost overwhelmed. He was the world, not you, yet you were now above him. All the allowance to touch him anywhere you want at your disposal.

He puts his hands under his head, arms flexing. An ever wide smile present as he waits for you to begin. “You asked for it. Don’t get shy on me now.”

Your eyes grow excited again, deciding not to hold back, and you start to rock against him. You place you hands on his chest, feeling him up, touching his biceps, hands going over his tattoos— you could stare at them, at him, for hours. You honestly think you’d lick his whole body if he’d let you. And of course he probably would. To feel big and proud and irresistible while you look like a little desperate freak? You wouldn’t even have to ask him twice. Thinking about it and about how full his cock is making you feel, stretching and reaching all the right places, makes you moan and whine. You bucked your hips wildly, humming and giving him “mmms” because of how yummy it feels. You could do this forever.

“Ah- uh- Negan,” you moan and your stomach caves as you whine again and you hurl forward, continuing to rock but your pace is faltering. It’s becoming too hard and Negan can tell so he takes you by the hips, helping you move. First continuing to let your grind and then pushing you up and down his shaft so you can bounce on him. You push yourself up again, hand on his chest, pushing against it and you bounce along with his help. This was fun. You try to go faster and faster. It felt like being a kid on a playground.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. “Look at who you’re fucking, sweetheart.”

So you do, and moan at the sight of him, “Ohmygod,” you say. “You’re so handsome, Negan.”

He's so proud of you. Enjoying your actions, enjoying your noises. He groans as he sees your breast bounce and it makes you squeeze against him.

“Good girl,” he coos, “finally listening when you’re spoken to, about to make yourself come on daddy’s cock again.”

He starts to rub your clit again and you continue to bounce. It almost hurts because of how overstimulated you’ve become but you don’t tell him to stop. Your hands come to reach the headboard, helping you bounce harder. He tells you again how much of a good girl you are, how he loves that you’re not stopping, then he tells you how dirty and desperate you are for wanting him again after he already made you come. But he’s obsessed. This is all he’s ever wanted since the day he brought you here. His hands trail up from your hips to your waist and breast and back down again. There is nothing more he wants than to fuck you or for you fuck him.

You look down. You both notice your necklace still wrapped around your neck, almost nearing between your breasts, bouncing along with all of you. It reminds you of why you're here, why he gave it to you. It makes you have the realization he had… Was he ruining your life? Were you ruining your own? But how could you be when it all feels this good? It was completely screwed up, but everything felt so magnificently brilliant. His touch is everything, his voice is everything, his body is everything. It makes your hips stutter, it makes you moan, and at last, it makes you come again. You ride your high, going and going and going until you fall into his chest. His hands come to hold you tight thereafter.

Unthinkable bliss is all that is felt for a long moment… then… your head turns to the window. You remember what is out there and what isn’t in here.

A tear falls down your cheek and he realizes what’s happening when it falls onto his shoulder.

It hurts him now. To see you cry. It’s not fun anymore. You feel it, yes. You see what he saw, it’s true. But you aren’t really his wife. You’re nothing that is his at all. You both know that as well.

It takes you a long time to speak, you have to force yourself, but you do. “You have to let me go now.” You say it sternly but there is a sadness to it; a small part of you wants to not mean it even though you completely do, even though you do wish to stay here, to be enveloped by his embrace— you simply cannot forget.

“Mm,” he shakes his head, remaining leveled, “you know too much.”

“I barely know anything,” you say. “And not that anything I do know matters. Knowing the way around the Sanctuary isn’t going to help anyone when I know there is no way we could actually get in…. And what’s more important anyway is that I’m not changing my mind and you’re not either.”

“I’m not.”

“And I can’t. I wouldn’t. And they’re not going to. Never…. And if some of them die…” A whimper almost leaves you but you manage to swallow it, “I have to be by their side, Negan. I can’t only hear about it. I… I can’t see it next to you.”

His lips are pressed firm, his jaw is fixed and tight, almost like he’s grinding down on his teeth. The breath he takes through his nose could be a heavy sigh if he opened his mouth, but he doesn’t. He keeps it all in.

You words and their weight hang in the air for a moment before he finally speaks: “One of my guys that watches the armory doors has a shift that ends at 6:00 am… but at 5:50 I’m going to come up to him and tell him he gets off 10 minutes early that day, that I’ll wait for the next person to come.” He lets his words hang in the air for a moment, your confusion spirals before he keeps going. “It’ll be fucking weird, but he’ll look dumb as shit if he questions me, so he won’t. Then when he’s out of sight, I’ll leave. The next person is coming right at 6. That’s all you get. 10 minutes. A little less really.”

Your eyes round slowly as the stun continues to sink in. He’s… letting you leave.

“You take one gun and one knife. Just one. Don’t make it noticeable. I’m going to check. Then you go out of the back door that’s inside.” He didn’t have to tell you the way. “It should be easy, I know you’ve tried it before.”

You look down, taking in all he says, but then he turns you face to meet his, “If anyone sees you, I’m gonna have to make a show of it when they bring you back. Not what I want. But if I get there before you get out, maybe 5:58, just cause I’m an asshole, just to see you one last time… And if I do, I’m gonna turn you around and you’re stayin’. Fair?”

You nod. It’s small and light. You don’t question any of it, you can’t. “8 minutes.” You respond.

“8 minutes.” His voice is neutral, but underneath there was a tinge of solemnity to it. “8 minutes,” he says under his breath.

“What about now?”

“Now?” He asks. He didn’t think about it. He assumed you would want to go after this, after you got what you wanted. “Well,” he turns to his nightstand, “right now it’s nearing midnight.” He stares at you for a moment, you can’t tell what he’s thinking. This whole moment has felt so quiet, both eerie and gentle. You still weren’t used to the latter from him, even after what just happened. “You can go if you want. Sleep in your bed for one more night, or…” he stops, “You can stay with me, if you’d like.” His sigh is short and whispered but you both hear it, you feel its weight. “It’s your choice.”

You stare at each other for a moment. Your eyes trail all of his face and the arm that is still holding your own, adorned with all the tattoos and skin you had just fallen for. You wanted to study them and hold onto him forever. And his eyes: they said so much— there were so many little inflections, ones that you had finally read, and so many others you’ve yet to decipher. You desired to know him, but you had to go, so all you decided to do was to hold him. For now, you chose to stay, and hoped that your embrace would transfer the fact that the only reason it would be hard to leave is because of him and only him. You would remember this forever.

“8 hours till 8.”

“8 hours till 8, kid.”

You close your eyes tight and nuzzle into his chest, A peace you had never known in the Sanctuary finally subsumed you. You feel free to finally tell him, “Thank you. I miss home.”

Home. There it is again. There was no malice in the way you said it, but there was still a pang from your melancholy words that made his heart throb. You missed home. And as peaceful as you looked, and as safely as you held onto him, your words reaffirmed that home was not here and it was not with him, no matter how you looked, and no matter the fact that you were allowing him to hold you for the night, to call you his. In the end, you were not.

He had to finally accept it.

“8 hours till 8,” are your last words until you finally drift to sleep. This would be your last and most tranquil night here. To you, it felt right, almost harmonious, albeit sad. This is how it was how it was meant to be. You needed it.

But to him, it’s shattering. He doesn’t repeat the phrase back this time. For once he has nothing to say. The fire glow of the night has now withered into darkness.

You won. He lost.

But both your hearts broke.

[atinylittlepain]

Apothecary - Chapter Seven

joel miller x witchy!reader

series masterlist

the town of Jackson comes together for a meeting, and truths are revealed.

wordcount: 4.8K

warnings | 18+ smut, significant angst, dramaaaaa

.............................

The irony isn’t lost on her. What now serves as the Jackson town hall had been a church in its previous life, high-arched windows, wooden pews, pulpit and all. Her mother would show her pictures from history books of Salem, their ancestors, she had told her, faces steeled in cool resignation amidst a contorted hysteria. She thinks of those images now, sitting in the first pew, Joel tucking her into his side, and dozens of eyes skittering up her neck. 

“Alright, let’s go ahead and start the meeting. I think we all know why I called everyone together. There’s been a lot of talk around town and it’s time to put rumors to rest and set the record straight.” Maria’s voice echoes through the hall from where she stands at the front of the room, Tommy right by her side, quieting the low thrum of the crowd. There’s not an empty seat to be had, people relegated to stand in the back, and she doesn’t dare glance over her shoulder out of fear of what she might find, glares and whispers, jaws set in predetermined condemnation. Joel however, can’t stop looking, his head whipping around every few moments before turning back to her with a grunt until she finally gives his knee a squeeze.

“You’re gonna throw your back out if you keep twisting your neck like that.” He sighs, resting his hand over hers.

“That’s gonna be the least of my worries if these people don’t stop fucking staring.” His words come out with a huff, and she offers him what she can of a smile, giving his thigh another squeeze. Though both of their attention is drawn back to the front of the room as the meeting really begins.

“We’d like for this to be an open forum to clear the air and discuss folks’ concern about what’s been going on, so if everyone’s amenable to that, we can open the floor to whoever would like to speak first.” It doesn’t surprise her that as soon as Maria steps to the side, Mason is getting up from his seat next to Matthew and Maura to stand in front of the crowd.

“I’d like to speak on behalf of the Nichols who are too grief-stricken at this moment to talk about such things. But they need and deserve justice for what happened to their baby, and I think it’s high time that witch right there gave us some answers.” She can feel Joel’s muscles tense under her hands, and she muses that if she wasn’t keeping a steady palm on him, he’d already be out of his seat and heading for Mason. Untangling herself from him, she gives Joel what she hopes is a reassuring nod as she stands up, squaring her shoulders as she faces Mason.

“I’m happy to give you answers. But I’m afraid it’s not going to be what you want to hear.” She turns to look at Maura, sitting across the aisle with tears welling in her eyes, Matthew set in a stony glare beside her. 

“Maura, I can’t express how sorry I am for what happened to your baby. And I need you to know that if there was anything I could have done to change things, I would have done it in a heartbeat. But I don’t think anyone could have changed what happened. It was just– it was too early, and I’m sorry.” For a moment, Maura’s features soften as she looks at her, a silent understanding that’s gone as soon as it comes when Matthew opens his mouth.

“Don’t listen to her, Maura. Remember what I told you? Nothing but lies coming out of her mouth.” 

“Why would I lie about something like this? Something as awful as this?” With that, Mason takes a few strides toward her, too close for comfort as his lip curls at her.

“Oh, you know why, little witch.” “Back off.” Too focused on Mason, she failed to notice Joel standing up, now stepping between them to glower at the man just as Maria steps forward as well, looking pointedly between the two men.

“Let’s keep things civil here, shall we?” Mason huffs, nostrils flared, though he does take a few steps back. And then she glances over her shoulder, though she wishes she hadn’t, quickly realizing that this has turned into a bona fide production for the people of Jackson to watch, necks craned to catch the action at the pulpit.

“I can tell you all exactly why she’d– she’d curse us like this. It’s because I wouldn’t give her what she wanted.” Matthew is up out of his seat, turned to, essentially, play to the crowd, his arms gesticulating broadly as he mouths off.

“She tried to put me under her spell. Tried to tempt me and seduce me like she did with all those other poor men, Miller included. But I am faithful, and I resisted her temptations. That’s why she cursed me, that’s why our baby is dead. And it’s why all those other men are dead too.” The crowd breaks into a thrumming murmur as Matthew finishes his speech, and her stomach sinks at the sound of their clear assent, heads nodding along to his words. This is about when the pitchforks come out, right?

“I have heard enough!” A hush falls over the crowd, Joel’s booming voice bouncing off the walls as he turns fully around to look at them.

“Do y’all really hear what this man is saying? This-this nonsense about someone who has helped every single one of you in this goddamn room?” She’s stunned still by his outburst, and everyone else seems to be too, eyes wide as Joel points to someone in the crowd.

“You told me she cured your son’s cough after he had it for years.” She recognizes the woman, who nods at Joel’s words, glancing over to her before responding.

“That’s true– she did. It was– well, it was a huge relief.” 

“She did the same for our little girl when she was sick last year. We thought her cough would never go away, but she helped her, helped us.” Another woman’s voice fills the room, heads turning to listen. 

“And how many of y’all have gone to her looking for help when your kids come home with poison ivy? I know I have.” There’s a wave of murmurs in the crowd, heads nodding at Joel’s words as he points to someone else.

“And you told me that she helped your wife through her entire pregnancy, ain’t that right?” The man nods, just as another woman speaks up.

“She helped me too, with both of my girls– honestly I don’t know how I would’ve done it without her.” 

“Us too, we’ve got her to thank for our boy.” She turns around at the sound of Tommy’s voice, seeing him and Maria both smiling at her where they stand.

Several other people come forward, sharing their own stories of how she had helped them in the past, and she can’t help the tears that start to gather in her lashes at this, a gratitude she has never experienced before. Joel takes her hand in his, glancing at her as people continue to speak, stories of rashes cured and colds stymied, wounds tended and care given. But Matthew isn’t done speaking just yet.

“Don’t listen to this man, he-he’s under her spell! He doesn’t know what he’s talking about!” 

“I’m not under some fucking spell. I know the woman I love, and I know that she wouldn’t harm anyone. And I also know she wouldn’t so much as look your way.” Joel’s words shock her, words she hasn’t heard from him before, but she doesn’t have much time to consider them before Mason is butting in with his own declaration.

“So she’s helped some people. That doesn’t take away from the fact that she’s a licentious slut who’s trying to drive men to adultery!” It’s a stunning slew of words, but before she or Joel can even react, a young woman is shooting up out of her seat and bursting out with a firm exclamation.

“She’s not an adulterer! He is! I’ve been having an affair with Matthew Nichols for months!” A collective gasp washes over the crowd, and she watches the color leave Matthew’s face. The woman waits for a lull in the commotion to continue speaking, eyes darting around the crowd.

“Don’t blame her for any of this. That man is a liar– I’m so sorry, Maura.” With that, the woman lets out a broken sob as she pushes through the crowd, hurrying toward the exit as Matthew calls out a rather meek “Lisa?” In the meantime, Maura has stood up, tears no longer falling as she stares at her husband, shock mingling with ire in her eyes.

“Maura, it’s not– it’s not what it–” Maura cuts off Matthew’s stammering with a palm held up between them, only offering him one word before she turns heel and storms out of the town hall.

“Don’t.” Matthew is quick to rush out on his wife’s heels, calling after her, leaving everyone thoroughly speechless, stunned silence hanging in the air as eyes dart around, searching for answers now that the floor has all but fallen out from under them. 

Joel lets go of her hand, stepping over to a very slack-jawed Mason, nose to nose as he glares at him.

“I suggest you go on home now, son, I think we’re done here.” He doesn’t have to be told twice.

…

By the time she makes it back to Joel’s house, the sun has already pulled hazy and low over the mountains, washing everything in orange fading into purple. 

“How’s she holding up?” She sighs at his question, plopping down next to him on the porch bench and all but melting into his side.

“I think she’ll be ok. She’s gonna stay with a friend of hers until the council works out a new place for her to live, but she seems pretty clear about her decision. Wants nothing to do with that man ever again.” After the town meeting that morning, she had sought Maura out immediately, inviting her to her shop, somewhere quiet for them to talk. And talk they did, for the better part of the day.

“And you and her are good?” 

“I think so, yeah.” There’s so much more she could say. How Maura kept telling her that she knew it wasn’t her fault. How awful she felt for how everything happened. And how they both couldn’t stop thinking about that little baby girl. But with the day she’s had, it’s nothing that can’t wait, leaving it at that for now as Joel pulls her a little closer under his arm. 

“You were something else today, Miller.” His grumble thrums under her palm splayed over his chest, shaking his head as he looks at her.

“I did what needed to be done. Those people needed some fucking sense talked into them. And for the record, I’m still thinking about paying Mason a visit and–” She cuts him off with a kiss, brushing his hair back before letting her palm come to rest along his scruff.

“He’s not worth it, Joel. I don’t think he’s gonna give us any more trouble either. Not after what happened today.” Though he doesn’t seem too satisfied by her response, the second kiss she presses to his lips seems to melt some of his resolve, the crease between his brows easing up as she pulls away to look at him.

“So, the woman you love, huh?” That distracts him, his jaw going a little slack as she grins at him.

“You– you caught that?” She’s quick to stifle her laugh when she sees the clear worry in his eyes, letting her palm fall back to his chest to rub reassuring circles there.

“Yeah, I caught that.”

“I didn’t, uh– I mean– I didn’t mean to–”

“It was kinda nice hearing the man I love talk about me like that.” His brows shoot up his forehead at that, and this time she can’t hold back her laugh at his shocked expression.

“I– you– you mean me, right?” 

“What do you think?” He pulls her into this kiss, swallowing her laugh and then silencing it with the way he licks into her mouth, her mind going hazy with him.

“Innocent eyes present! Please do not scar me for life, thank you very much.” They reluctantly pull away from each other, Joel grumbling as Ellie comes stomping up the porch steps, Stevie hot on her heels.

“I heard you guys did some serious ass-whooping today. Is it true what people are saying about the Nichols?” Joel huffs at her words, and at Stevie who has leapt into her lap between them, front paws digging into his thigh.

“Kid, no one did any ass-whooping, alright? And don’t look so pleased about what happened to the Nichols either, ain’t a laughing matter.” 

“He’s right, Ellie. Things are gonna be ok, but it was a hard day for everyone.” Ellie schools her face into something like solemnity, crossing her arms in front of her and nodding.

“Although… Joel did do some ass-whooping today.” At that, Ellie’s face breaks into a grin, pumping her fist in the air before holding her palm out to Joel for a high five, which he does not reciprocate, quirking his eyebrow at both of them with a shake of his head before getting up with a grumble that he’s going to get started on dinner, Stevie mewling in indignation at the sudden shift off of his legs and onto the bench next to her. With the soft click of the front door behind him, all it takes is Ellie glancing back her way for the both of them to let out a laugh.

It feels like a relief, like something settling back into place.

…

“So much for taking it slow, huh?” Joel glances at her in the bathroom mirror, wiping toothpaste off his mouth before resting his hip against the counter and fully looking at her.

“Think we’re way past slow now, darlin.” She had rather sheepishly asked him if it’d be ok for her to stay the night, not sure if she was still welcome now that everything had blown over. Joel had just looked at her like she was crazy for even asking, pulling her into a tight hug and murmuring something about her never having to leave if she didn’t want to. And she’s not sure if she ever will, not after that rock that came soaring through the front window of her house. She had already had a faint thread of an idea that maybe Maura could take her house after she moved in with Joel, since it seems like whatever this is, it’s going to stick around. He’s going to stick around, and so is she.

“Where’d you go?” His gentle question and his hand on her hip shakes her out of her head, blinking a few times to focus back on him standing in front of her.

“Hmm? Just thinking– it’s nothing important, not right now at least.” He hums at that, shuffling closer and taking her face in his hands, his eyes seemingly searching her expression. 

“You alright?” It’s so genuine, the worry just barely creasing his brow as he looks at her that she’d probably melt under his gaze if not for his hands holding her steady. The sigh that she lets out is one she’s been holding in for a while.

“I think so, yeah. I– what you did today– for me. No one’s ever done something like that— stood up for me like that. And I guess I’m just trying to say thank you, for sticking your neck out for me.” He seems to consider her words for a moment, lips parted and eyes turned down as he strokes his thumb over her cheek. 

“I’d do it again in an instant, darlin. Meant what I said too. I love you. Fuck, I really love you.” With all the other ones, she had heard them tell her that they wanted her, needed her even. But Joel is the first to say these words to her, and she doesn’t think she’d like to hear them from anyone else, ever. She nearly laughs when the thought crosses her mind that, really, she’s under his spell. 

“I love you, Joel. I do, I love you.” Yes, it has to be magic, the way his eyes crinkle up, a smile he wouldn’t give to anyone else, the strength of his palms still so soft along her jaw as he guides her lips to his. And they get to have this, all of this, for as long as they both want it. She hopes for a long time, if not forever. 

It’s a messy affair, lips only parting for quick gasps of breath, eyes barely glancing away as they make a stumbling path for his bed. She can’t help the laugh that bubbles up, breaking their kiss when they fall in a graceless tangle onto the mattress, a quick twist of limbs that has her straddling his hips, palms splayed out on his chest as she looks down at him. For a moment, all she wants is to look at him looking at her, the little tilt of his head, amusement rounding his cheeks as his fingers squeeze and flex where they’re curled around her hips.

“Staring ain’t very polite, darlin.” 

“Neither is being a smartass, baby.” The laugh he lets out is more of a disbelieving huff and she’s quick to swallow it, dipping down and bringing them back together in a kiss that stings sweet, teeth scraping skin as her fingers skitter down the buttons of his shirt. Her mouth follows her hands, meeting every new inch of exposed skin with a drag of kisses, and when he sits up just enough to shrug out of the sleeves of his shirt, she can’t help but nip at the soft swell of his stomach, eliciting a grumble from him.

“What’s that about, huh?” She grins against his skin, palm splaying in the middle of his chest to push him back flat on the mattress, nosing at the trail of hair just below his navel.

“I happen to really like this part of you, that’s all.” The quirk of his brows at her words makes her laugh, simply leaving another smattering of kisses over his belly in response as she works open his belt. 

She learned early on that Joel’s something of a giver, always wanting to be the one in control, the one who decides what and when and how, and it only makes it more satisfying when she gets him like she has him now, giving it all up to her. A quiet “hips up, baby” is all it takes to get his jeans shimmying down his legs, tugging them off before settling back between his legs, her palms resting on the tops of his thighs. 

“You look perturbed.”

“You’ve still got a lot of clothes on, darlin.” He says it with a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, sitting up on his elbows to look at her as she peels her shirt off over her head. But that’s all she’ll give him for now.

“Lay back down, Miller, I wasn’t done with you.” His grumble dies in his throat when she slips her fingers under the waistband of his boxers, nails grazing the soft skin there. That gets him on his back real fast. She supposes she’s teased him enough, tugging his boxers off with little fanfare, his cock resting flushed and hard against his stomach. 

She knows what he likes. He likes her eyes on him when she lets her tongue drag along the underside of his length, and he likes it a touch messy, spit pooling in the corners of her lips when she takes him into her mouth. He likes when her nails graze over his belly, holding him still as she works him over, taking him into her mouth as far as she can before pulling back to lap at his swollen tip. She likes all the little sounds she can coax out of him, harsh breaths turning into clipped grunts that eventually give way to moans thrumming low in his chest as she continues her ministrations. 

“I– Jesus– that mouth of yours– gotta– gotta stop, honey. I can’t– I want you. Want you now.” With that, he sits up, fingers tucked under her chin to coax her up for a devouring kiss before his hands fall to the button of her pants. His mouth doesn’t stray far from her skin, grazing over the tops of her breasts as he works her out of her remaining clothes, a close shuffle that leaves her just as bare as he is, coaxing her thighs to frame his hips. He holds her steady, hands an insistent bruise on her hips as her cunt drags over his length, a heady pull that has her nails digging into his chest. 

“Shit, darlin– you ready for me? Wanna take it like this?” It always makes her brain stutter to a stop, the absolute mouth he has on him, usually such a gentleman, so quiet, suddenly turned sharp and demanding. It’s obvious to her that he doesn’t realize what kind of effect his words have, only earnest anticipation in his eyes as he looks up at her, and it only makes the heat grazing up her spine raise another pitch. He’s all soft murmured encouragement, palms a steady sweep up her thighs, the curve of her ass, fingers firming up on her hips as she guides his cock to her entrance.

Relax for me, darlin, that’s it.

Fuck, that’s good. You’re so good like this. 

Move for me, honey. Just like that, so fucking perfect.

It’s a brilliant mingling of sighs, clipped moans with every pass of her hips, Joel bending his knees and planting his feet into the mattress to meet each bounce with his own thrust. His eyes are a hot drag on her skin, the pull of his gaze trailing every curve before sweeping back up to her face. She’s trailing along the edge of too much, so full of him that each tilt of her hips has her gasping with the way his cock is spreading her open, grazing so deep every time she sinks back down. But when he brings one hand to rest at the crux of her thigh, fingers smearing a sloppy rhythm into her clit, too much washes over her like a wave, spine curling in an arc of pleasure until her chest is pressed close against his, face buried in the juncture of his neck as she mouths a quiet cry into his skin. His hands draw a slow circuit up her spine, keeping her full, but not moving as she crashes down around him.

“I’ve got you, easy, easy, I’ve got you, darlin.” A kiss to her temple coaxes her face out from his neck, hazy smiles shared between barely brushing lips. 

They move like liquid. He stays, warm and throbbing inside her, as he turns them over, his hips slotting between her thighs, forearms framing her face. There’s no use for words. She gives him a nod and a kiss to the corner of his mouth, enough communication for him to slip back into movement, hips a steady and strong roll into hers. He’s beautiful like this, a pink flush creeping up his chest into his cheeks, his brow pulled down in pleasure, eyes a continuous wave from her face down to where she’s taking all of him over and over again. And it’s her turn to coax, to murmur, to press and press and press until he cracks.

Feel so full, baby. Always fill me up so perfect.

So good like this, Joel. Doing so good for me.

I want it, baby. Want it so bad. Let go for me, please.

He comes with a crackled groan, her name leaving his lips on a punched out exhale as he curls over her, spend smearing warm over her stomach. She props herself up on an elbow, her hand on his jaw drawing him down for a kiss shared between harsh breaths. 

“Was that– was that good for you?”

“You’re always good for me, Joel.”

…

Her overalls are back, hanging off the corner of his bathroom door. There’s a stack of her books on his nightstand, thick tomes full of latin names he won’t even attempt to pronounce. And her plants are back too, she and Ellie hauling them over one afternoon, shuffling back and forth between her old house and theirs. A few pieces of her furniture made the move as well. A dark blue armchair that now sits in the living room, what has become Stevie’s designated lounging area. A cabinet that had been a bitch for them to move, huffing and puffing across town, Joel nearly throwing his back out with the effort, though his reward that night had been worth it. And a high-backed bureau now sits in the corner of his bedroom, a spot he finds her sitting at most mornings before they both head out for work, writing meticulous notes about the people she cares for. 

“Gonna see you over lunch today?” He can feel the curl of her smile where his lips rest against her cheek, and she turns around on her stool to steal a proper kiss from him.

“Mmhmm, I’ll be there. I’m guessing I’m gonna have to share with you again, huh?” 

“Well, if you’re offering I ain’t gonna turn you down.” He didn’t get to have her laugh for a while there, and now whenever she does give it to him, it’s like he tries to gather it up in his mind, every crackling smile, every tilt of her head, every peel of relief committed to memory. 

“Fine, but I’m not leaving tomatoes off this time. You’ll just have to eat around them.” 

“I guess I can live with that.” Another smacking kiss before he pulls away to let her stand up.

“You gonna walk me out, Miller?”  

“That’s the least I can do, darlin.” 

No more whispers, no more stares, they move through town easily now, first walking Ellie to school, who tells her and Stevie that she’ll be around the shop this afternoon before offering Joel a clipped “later, old man.” But he doesn’t even have time to be annoyed by it, not when his woman is taking his hand and tugging him along toward her shop.

She still moves a bit tentatively, glancing over her shoulder at him as she unlocks the front door before stepping inside, her shoulders a slight hunch as she moves through the shop. He’s been keeping her company in the mornings before his own shifts, staying out of her way but close enough that he hopes it eases some of her worry. 

“Ellie’s already asking me about Halloween, you know.” His brows raise at her words, watching her rest her elbows on the butcher block across from him.

“Is it– is it an important day for your, uh, your people?” Though he can see the amusement in her eyes at his stumbled-out question, she spares him any teasing, lazily stirring her tea before letting the spoon rest in the mug.

“Mmhmm, though we call it Samhain, not Halloween. I’ll tell you more about it when it gets a little closer.” They’ve figured out a gradual give and take, when to ask and when to answer, when to let things rest and when to reveal a bit more, and Joel can tell she’s making such a calculation in her head right now, offering him an easy smile. But his attention is drawn down to her mug, spoon now languidly stirring all by itself, though she’s quick to catch it, bringing her palm over the rim of the cup, her smile turning sheepish as his eyes widen at her.

“That– how– how am I just seeing that now?” That makes her laugh.

“I may have been trying to hide that particular, uh, quirk. Didn’t want to freak you out too much.” 

“Darlin, at this point, I don’t think you could freak me out if you tried.” 

.............................

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[bloodandthestars]

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒.

priest!au suguru geto x fem!reader

tw/tags: mentions of the Bible, Christianity (it is solely picked for plot nothing more, nothing less), etc :: introduction to JUDAS, kinktober drabble series (mdni)

wc: 1.3k :: masterlist. :: next part.

The Geto family was a devout and honorable one. Generations upon generations did the men of the house dedicate their lives to reach the word of the Heavenly Father. Suguru’s route was no different— crooked, but narrow on the holy path.

He’d become the father of the church months ago, to herd the congregation into a fruitful community. Pressure weighed heavy at his shoulders, but in the end, he knew it was for the best. Wasn’t it?

“And while we are tempted by the devil in more ways than one.” His smooth voice went on. “It’s the persistence, the strength, and the true power of the Lord’s light that keeps us on the divine path.”

Suguru takes a glance to his notes, a finger moving from one page to the next. “As Peter 5:10 states: And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.”

It earns him a few hums in agreement and ‘Amens’ from the crowd. He takes a breath. “So know that the obstacles in your path now, the ones you pray to be vanquished, may be the key to your own glory. For your glory, is His.”

The crowd rumbles in cheers and claps. Suguru gives the room a smile. With a slow glance around the room, he takes in all their excited faces full of hope to hear the Holy word through him. It was these same old faces he had gotten used to seeing in the worn pews of the church. The same ones he’d run around with his best friend as a child when services were over. Everything remained as it was, as it was suppose to be.

So that’s why his breath unconsciously hitched when meeting your gaze.

Your eyes were new. He’s never seen them cry in the name of repentance, never seen them look at him like he was the Messiah himself. Not even now in the mists of a worshiping crowd. Your expression was poise, calm— orbs slender in observation.

You cut the staring short, looking ahead instead. It’s only then when he can hear the clapping back at full volume. Suguru blinks a few times to return, eyes going down to the timeline in his writings. “And with that, we’ll end today’s service with a prayer.”

The congregation bows their heads in unison. He catches how you were much slower in doing so. Keeping his eyes on you cautiously, he speaks a worthy word to his people. “O’ Might One, we thank you for allowing us to celebrate you on this day. Your spirit is poured out onto this place every Sunday morning and we could ask for nothing more...”

With the service finished, church goers socialize amongst one another. Greetings, catchings of last night’s game, news that the youngest born has ridden a bicycle for the first time. Suguru always had an ear to their happenings, not that he had much of a choice. As soon as his dress shoes hit the carpet floor, he’s instantly surrounded by a group of parishioners. As always, they wanted to make their priest happy and see him smile.

A older woman clasps his hand in hers, squeezing it with a pleasant expression. “An excellent sermon, as always Father Geto!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kasaki-”

“Did I tell you about little Callie’s recital?”

He chuckles. “Yes, last week. She had practice then, correct?”

“Oh yes! It was a dress rehearsal, her big debut was this last Saturday. She was so adorable in her purple tutu! And she only picked that because she’s growing out of that pink phase, little thing. Oh! Let me grab my phone-”

A low quality video later, one handshake leaves for another. “Pastor! Did you see the new restaurant down the street that they’re building up?”

“No? I don’t think I have.”

“Oh yeah, I think it’ll be a new fusion place. Never knew that they had stuff like that!” A hearty laugh comes straight from the man’s belly and Suguru’s obliged to laugh as well.

“We’ll have to see if we can get the church together for its opening.”

“I’ll see if I can put a word in.”

“There you go, Pastor!”

And another. “Father, did you ever get the chance to look at my inquiries on raising funds for the elementary school?”

“The box tops, yes?”

“Mhm! When will you get started?”

“We can have something up by Wednesday.”

Another. “Father Geto! I just have to get your opinion on this recipe for the potluck-”

Another. “Give your parents a big hug for me won’t you! It’s been so long since I’ve seen them-”

And another. “And this is little Devon! He’ll be staying with me for the summer and he’s already enjoying the kids church service-”

Hands come and go within his grasp as he speaks with each one of them as they trail out. His father told him it was a way to build trust and community, and who was he to argue with the face of the church?

As he wishes one of the elderly women goodbye, Suguru keeps a watchful eye on her when she goes down the stairs. He turns back, starting a little when he’s met with your presence incoming. His body straightens up and you stand in front of him. “Father Geto?”

“That it is.”

Your hand extends in his direction. “Beautiful service. You have many who think the same.”

His eyes lower to your hand, glancing up to you when he takes it. The larger one warms your grasp. He lets out a soft breath. “I appreciate the flattery.”

You raise a brow at him. “Can’t be flattery, after all, your admirers would disagree too.”

Your words earn another exhale, this time with a faint laugh behind it. His slender eyes keep to yours, can’t finding himself to look away. Curiosity eats at him to ask. “If you don’t mind my asking, but are you new in town?”

“I am.” You answer politely. “My mother grew up here, wanted me to see her roots.”

“I’ll be the one to tell you that her roots were made in quite a small place.”

You chuckle softly. “Oh I’m quite aware. Still, it was one of the things she wanted us to do together before she passed.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

He watches you glance down at each other’s hands. Seeing that they’re still connected, the pastor pulls it away— hoping you wouldn’t notice how quick he did it. His eyes were lowered, so they had no choice but to follow upward. That meant scanning over your body and attire— a turtleneck dress and high boots with stockings. He straightens when his eyes reach your face. “And you are?”

You give him your full name, and he repeats it back to you. “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.” You repeat.

Eventually, you head to the church doors. He follows behind as you were the last to leave. You turn back to give a final glance and him a final goodbye. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Father.”

“Likewise. I hope you to see your return to the church soon.”

“Perhaps.”

Your gazes never leave each other when he goes to shut the doors. The wooden beings echo with their closed status, knocking the air back into his lungs. His brows furrow. Why did he take notice to your clothing?

You dress nice, that’s all. The father shuts his eyes, shaking his head as he goes to tidy the pews.

[robberskisses]

The boy next door pt 1

* cw: matty healy x reader, smut to come.

fic: you move to a new town as a shy catholic girl, but when you meet your new neighbour you know everything is about to change. This part is more of an intro to the story.

note: this is my first fic ever so my apologies if it isn’t the best!! Feel free to comment tips and suggestions for second partttyy

Pulling into the street your eyes open as a beam of sunlight hits your face, almost like your body knew you are rolling into the street you’d from now on call home.

As soon as the car parks your family springs out preparing for the moving van to soon arrive. Fresh, spring air is all around, breathing it in for the first time you scan the house for as much beauty as you can, feeling a sense of delight when you spot the attic has a bedroom with a pretty little French style window. As you admire it knowing it would soon be yours a loud crash sound comes from the home next door; “Whatever, I could never come home again for all I care”, a tallish dark haired boy stormed out of the home, he wore black jeans and a top that you can’t quite make out the text due to his pace. He seemingly just exited a fight, and rushed straight into white van parked outside, whilst letting out a sigh he looked up my way and made a smile I couldn’t tell the intention of, it seemed genuine but also felt like it was telling me stop being nosy and turn around.

You swiftly spin around with a feeling of buzz, hearing your parents already spouting out comments about him, saying they had never seen such behaviour, but truthfully, neither had you. You’d never seen a boy your age act in such a way to his parents, let alone seen many boys your age at all.

You softly run up the dark wooden stairs to the pretty loft room and claimed it as your own as your father follows, carrying up some of the boxes. You feel a sense of peace for a moment as you plan where everything would go, your fondest pictures, If you wanted my bed near the window or up against the wall for privacy, until you started feeling the sadness of what once was. This room felt perfect, but nothing could beat the old memories made in your old one, the people left behind, you wanted to embrace this new life it just seemed so hard when you didn’t want to move on from the old one.

After the furniture was moved in and you begun decorating setting up my sweet little picture frames and layed out all of my bedding and teddies, time has flown by and it’s now sunset, going to admire the pretty skies you swing open the little window doors when you hear a car pull up outside. Your mind immediately wandered to the boy you had seen earlier, hoping he did come home and didn’t mean what he said. You quickly snap out of it, why should you care? You start mumbling out loud all of the reasons he’s probably the worst boy of them all and that you know what’s good for y- ,a loud creek interrupts you. It’s coming from outside, you sneakily peer around where your bed meets the window and took a peek as the cold nights air blew against my cheeks. Stomping in, it was him. Right across from your bedroom was where he had his, seeing him throw himself on his bed, he looks up. You quickly snap your whole body down, praying he doesn’t see you, feeling my cheeks begin to get warm. You hear him get up and walk to his window, slamming it shut and closing the curtain.

What a mess. You just made a total embarrassment of yourself straight away, he must think a creepy little stalkers moved in next door. Grabbing your favourite stuffy, mittens, you tuck myself in, and say my prayers.

“Dear god, please don’t let any other interaction I have go like this, help me make friends and please guide me to happiness like you did in my last life, Amen”

Ringing the same tune it always has, your alarm clock goes off at the same time it always does, 6 am. However you are already up bright and early making sure your makeup is done to perfection and your rollers are taken out as carefully as possible. Frolicking over to your wardrobe you pick out the freshly steamed shirt and little blue skirt, your new uniform, and put them on. Grabbing white frilly knee socks, you were almost ready. You pull your curled locks into a neat ponytail, everything seems perfect. Four sprays of perfume, slipping into your little black heels, and your pink backpack sitting at the end of the bed you are ready.

Creeping downstairs quietly you don’t want to wake the rest of your family, as you leave you pull your steel white bike out of the garage. See, the real reason you are up so early, isn’t because you want to be on time, or as prepared as possible; it’s because you want to avoid leaving at the same time as the boy next door. Another interaction and this time it could be confrontation. Him approaching you shouting in your face about the feeling of being stalked wouldn’t go well with your plans of a good first day. So you thought ahead and were already biking to school at 7:06 am.

Pulling into the bike rack you feel a sense of pride, everything went according to plan. But it quickly comes to your attention attached to the church in-between your all girls school was something you had never ever laid your eyes on. St. Mary’s catholic boys school. One tiny town and it already felt like everywhere you went, he could be. You feel your eyes jittering around the entire area, slowly making your way to the steps. There. You spy him smoking with a group of boys. You are actually more shocked at the sight of fags than you are him and begin to feel yourself stun. Black curls turn your way. That same iffy smile shoots your direction. A girl beside you is just as stunned as you. “Did matty just smile at you? Do you know him or something?”, “Matty?” You confusedly respond. “Matt, Matthew whatever, why did he just smile at you like that?” Another girl adds. “He’s my neighbour, but trust me I don’t know why either” you respond nervously, what did this Matty have that made these girls shoot questions at me like I had just broken the law. The girls look at each other in an excited shock, and welcome you in with them, they begin to introduce themselves and talk about how Matty is on their minds 24/7 and how all the girls love to attend his gigs after school, how they all admire the way he has no care for religion at all, yet will sit in mass without saying a word.

Matty. Huh, someone that seemed so mysterious and so scary, seemed like just another person now you knew all of this. You had read about boys who put on facades and have egos bigger than the sun. That’s what fit Matty, the boy who lives to entertain, but you’d seen the way he really is. Storming around, leaving home without a care. He must love all of the attention, and that very moment you decided you weren’t going to give him anymore.

The class had ended and you skip along the long corridor linking arms with the new girls you had met, “Just wait till you see how moody he is in mass y/n, he’s sooo cool” Lacey says. “ I bet he pulls those faces on purpose to try impress you girls” you reply profusely. They all giggle in unison. “I sure hope so” Meagan says laughing through her teeth. The moment you approach the doors into the church, you all unlink and you notice the girls try smarten themselves up, you do the same until you realise it’s most likely to impress stupid Matty and the stupid boys. You find your seats and feel your eyes meet the same tall figure once again. He slouches into his chair pulling a little lighter out of his pocket flicking it once or twice. The boys around him converse and you see one of them whisper something in his ear in which he nods in response. You pull your head around and get comfy in the chair, looking straight forward instead, you were so above any of that.

As mass comes to an end, so does the school day, you say goodbye to the lovely girls you had just met and make your way to the little rusty bike rack it had all begun at. Struggling to unlock the chain around your tire, a familiar voice darts your way. “Need help with that?” You jump at the words and swiftly look at him. “What, I” you are at a loss for words, everything feels as it has changed so fast, and Matty speaking to you, asking if you needed help felt like the strangest thing you’d ever heard. “I was asking if you needed help, I’ve seen you tugging at that thing for the past five minutes” he says staring right down at you. “What are you watching me for?” You reply, immediately regretting and realising how ironic that was considering your thought process this entire day. “No, just noticed my new neighbour having troubles” he half smiles, “I’m matty by the way”. You pretend like you don’t know that, and that you didn’t hear half of his life story at lunch, “I’m y/n” you say staring back at him. He bends down and quickly unlocks the bike, getting back up with ease. “Thanks, I almost had it that’s why you got it so easy” you lie. “I’m sure you did” he replies followed by a void of silent awkwardness, as you stand gripping to your bike like it’s about to be stolen. “Hey uh biking from our street is a long ride, especially for a young girl like you, I could give you a ride, if you wanted” Matty asks in a kind tone that distracts you from the fact he called you a young girl, what does he mean young girl. “What are you 50? What makes me any younger than you” you dart back, “plus where am I going to put my bike if I get a ride huh”. “Sorry” he lets out with a giggle “your a tough one aren’t you” he smiles with more meaning than he ever has before, pointing at the van you saw yesterday and the fact it has a giant space at the back for your bike. “I guess a ride would be nice, thanks” you say feeling a little bad, he didn’t seem like the scary bad boy you made him out to be last night, or the egotistical maniac you decided he was during the day.

He helps you roll your bike into the van, then opening one of the doors for you to get in. As you comfy up in the passenger seat, you notice so many little CDs around the front of the van. George and Matty mix. Drive like I do stuff. Matty don’t touch mix. You smile lightly as he gets into the driver seat. “What’s all of this?” You ask him quite nervously, hoping it didn’t come off as rude. He starts grabbing the disks and pulling them into his bag, “those are nothing, just stupid stuff”. “Do you like, make music or something?” You pretend to figure out on your own. “Yeah.. I uh am in a band with some friends, we aren’t too good or anything” he laughs “but I think we are getting somewhere”, “that’s cool” you say meaning it, you’d never met someone your age who had so much going on. “We actually are doing a gig, this Friday, you should come” he looks over at you, “if you want to that is”. You want to say yes with all of your might but you know your parents would never let you. “And hey if your lucky I won’t make you bike I can pick you up again” he laughs to himself. “Sure, il think about it”, you respond seeing his smile slightly fade.

Pulling up at your house once again, he quickly gets out of the van, speeding up to open the door for you. “Thank you for the ride I really appreciate it matty” you say with guilt, getting your bike out carefully he looks your way, “anytime love”. Then once again your cheeks are burning and glowing pink, your heart is spiralling, making you feel things you’ve never felt before. Walking off with your bike you realise life has never moved faster, but the worst part of it all was even if part of you wanted something from this, it could never happen, not even if you wanted it really bad. Your parents, your morals, you wished maybe things could be different.

As the day comes to an end you slip into your white cotton pajamas, and take your wooden cross from your dresser to your bedside table, hoping it would mean something. You swing open your little window to admire the pinks and oranges of the sunset, and feel that sweet spring night air blow strands of your hair softly, someone else is approaching their window.

“Hello you” matty says to you smiling like that meaningful one he shot you earlier. “I feel bad for you, you can’t see the beauty of the sunset from your window, it must be all boring on that side of the sky” you say looking up at him. He looks up at you longingly, “I can see something beautiful, don’t you worry”. Your eyes meet his in a quiet, but not awkward moment, you feel your mouth smiling on its own. “So, have you thought about the gig yet, what would I be if I didn’t have the support of my own neighbour” he says in a sarcastic but somewhat nervous tone. “Matty” you look at him, “I really want to its just”, he looks over at you patiently, you breathe “My parents, they just, let’s just say they are most likely the total opposite of yours, truthfully your one of the first boys i’ve ever even talked to my age and it’s just”, Matty cuts you off wanting to talk eagerly, “I get it, I really do, but that’s no way to live is it” you glance sort of puzzled, “ I mean how much are you really getting out of life in there, alone, and respecting everything your parents tell you, that’s sooo 10 years ago” he jokes giggling. “I guess, I’m just a little scared that’s all”

“Alright” he says softly. You half smile, watching him suddenly exit the room. He walks back in carrying a set of silver metal ladders, under his right arm, grabbing something off of the table near him whilst he kicks the door shut. “What, what’s this im” you exclaim, “Get the other end for me?” Matty says in all seriousness. “No way your no way yo-“ you get cut off with the ladders coming your way. He bends his head like a losy puppy dog begging for help. You grab the end of the ladders, “hold on tight for me”, he laughs. Then just like that, the scary dark haired boy you feared only a day ago is crawling across metal stairs to your bedroom, after calling you pretty and spouting out one of the deepest things you’d ever heard. When he teachers your window he makes a quick stop, twinkling a little smile as you two become face to face. “Watch out” he drops into your room, “Shhhhh quiet!” You quickly exclaim, “My parents they” he places his finger over your lips shushing you. “Quiet, I got it” he says before making his way to the end of your bed. He beacons you over using the palm of your hand as you find yourself obeying him and sitting beside him. “This is a cigarette” he whispers, “probably the tamest out of any of the scary, rebelling your parents items” he whispers. You look at him with a scared expression, you had no idea how to smoke, let alone deal with the chance of being caught. “I can help you” he says softly. “Come closer” he says whilst also shimmying towards you. Moving closer you don’t take your eyes off of him, feeling your heart start to spiral again. “Open your mouth when I smoke, then breathe it in when I blow it out, okay?” He speaks wanting to really know if your fine. “Okay” you whisper back, waiting for him. He takes a puff, leaning in to shotgun the smoke to you. You inhale it, carefully, going back and forth from his big brown eyes, to the little beige cross on your bedside table., letting out a little cough.“Look at me, it’s okay”, he reaches over to the table laying the cross down. “The only moment is now” he says turning back to you. “How was that?” He asks. “That was okay” you reassure him and yourself, smiling at the fact you just did that. “Again?” He asks intently. You nod, and he takes another puff. Leaning in once more you breathe in Matty’s smoke, as he looks down. This time you think it’s gotten to you, you find your body leaning in and pressing your lips against his. Everything feels so safe for a moment. He places his warm hand on your cheek as the moment goes on, you slowly pull away, for the first time not regretting something as you feel heat in your cheeks again. He smiles at you, with slanted brows, as if he’s never been this shocked before. “Sorry”, you whisper, “I don’t know why I did that”, “You know there’s nothing to be sorry for” he looks at you honestly. He pulls you in, and you find yourself being tucked in, as he slowly pulls himself beside you. “Matty if they find out you slept here too, I’d be dead” you fear to him. “No one’s going to know, it’s not like gods watching” he quietly giggles to you. Like any sane person you feel a sense of doubt though, whilst Matty seems to be the most caring and kind soul you’ve ever met, you fear he is just using you and this will all end in tears. “You aren’t.. you aren’t just doing this so you can get more are you?” You whisper to him whilst lying face to face. “Hey, you kissed me little lady” he murmurs, “I do fancy you loads though, so don’t worry about me, I’d never try hurting you”

Pulling you a little closer you slowly drift into deep sleep, feeling the world go quiet for a little while.

[gffa]

I’ve been playing GENSHIN IMPACT for over a year now and reading a bit of fic here and there, mostly of the Tartali and Zhongli&Venti variety, but then Sumeru hit and oh hey Alhaitham is an amazing unit in a quickbloom team and then Kaveh hurricaned his way into my heart and oh no suddenly I was in love and absolutely tearing my way through every bit of Haikaveh I could get my hands on because christ there’s no way Hoyoverse isn’t writing them that way on purpose. I mean, I’m already a sucker for Old Married Couple type bickering, but then you give me the undercurrent of how much they genuinely mean to each other? How much Alhaitham is genuinely caring about how self-destructive Kaveh is? How Kaveh just absolutely will not shut up about Alhaitham, even the other characters are like “You talk about him so much that it’s like he’s been here with us all night.”? Yeah, of course I fell in love. So, here, cry about a gacha game having beautifully designed characters with just the right types of personality and funny banter that know how to knock me the fuck out with both delight and genuine feelings about idiots in love. Or just old elemental grandpas who annoy the shit out of each other because they’re both several millennia old and nobody else understands their weird friendship. I’m having a great time and I’m going to make that everyone else’s problem. GENSHIN IMPACT - CHILDE IS 10000% CASUALLY UNHINGED OF COURSE HE WANTS TO NOT JUST FIGHT A GOD, HE WANTS TO FUCK A GOD: ✦ Set in Stone by seredemia, childe/zhongli & childe’s family, 115.4k wip      What do you do when you write about a certain six thousand year old consultant so much in your letters that it somehow convinces your entire family you’re not only dating each other, but that you’re also engaged? In Childe’s case, the answer is plain and simple: he goes along with it, of course. Absolutely nothing can go wrong if he makes a contract with the God of Contracts, vowing that the two of them will pretend to be lovers for the duration of his family’s stay in Liyue. Afterwards, they’ll return as normal and speak no more of this mess. No feelings or complications involved whatsoever. ✦ the wind through the mountain tops by glassdrachma, childe/zhongli & venti, 25.5k      Boredom brings Barbatos of Mondstadt to bother a certain ex-Archon of the Earth. ✦ my faceless self, alone by recursion, childe/zhongli & guizhong, 7.2k      There is one lone glaze lily left, shining brilliant blue in the depths of Dihua Marsh. Zhongli kneels over it as Xiao looks on. “The contract is fulfilled,” he whispers. He takes his mask off with trembling fingers and sets it aside. The blood that stains it seeps into the ground, turning it rust-red. “That which thou seeketh is now bestowed unto thee, for my promise is solid as stone.” (Zhongli, in the before and after.) ✦ more espresso, less depresso by birdsofpassage, childe/zhongli & ningguang & xingqiu & chongyun, coffeeshop au, 5.3k      There’s a quaint little coffee shop that catches Childe’s eye as soon as soon as he arrives into town. The man that works inside is more exhilarating than any drink Childe has ever tasted. ✦ passing afternoon by bearbearer, childe/zhongli, NSFW, 1.3k      Zhongli just came, really. He just broke into his office with a white loose robe hanging from his shoulders, skin exposed like a gift, and two glasses of fine wine in his hands. There was a smile on his lovely red lips, while they moved around cloying words. “Are you amenable for a rest?” And everything was warm as he approached, because how could Zhongli not— He wouldn’t have a rest at all. ✦ the consultant’s kidnapping by glassdrachma, childe/zhongli & hu tao & cloud retainer & xiao & ganyu & keqing & cast, 19.2k      The Traveller isn’t able to stop Cloud Retainer from seeking revenge on Liyue Harbor. Zhongli is, however. Sort of. ✦ if i choose not to see it, it does not exist by inareese, childe/zhongli, 5.1k      Zhongli might as well have just straight up told Childe. He absolutely refuses to think too hard about it. or Tartaglia’s accidental guide to why Zhongli is most definitely a hundred percent not Rex Lapis. There is nothing suspicious to see here. ✦ A New Mission by Kuranoa, childe/zhongli, NSFW, 2.8k      “Sensei, have you ever bedded anyone?” Childe asks, chin resting on his hand while he observes the flawlessly elegant way Zhongli drinks from his teacup. “I have not.” The Archon answers just as frankly, not even batting a lash. “Would you like to?” ✦ Trial And Success by woahiohioh, childe/zhongli, NSFW, read the tags, 6.7k      Or: Childe asks Zhongli if he can tie him up and they both discover they’re into some things they didn’t know about beforehand. ✦ C.P.R. by silverid, childe/zhongli, NSFW, read the tags, 3.3k      It’s something straight out of Childe’s fantasies. “Don’t worry, xiansheng.” he chokes out. “I’ll show you.” Zhongli’s eyes go half-lidded. “Well then. Direct me.” GENSHIN IMPACT - LET ROCK GRANDPA’S FRIENDS BULLY HIM IT’LL BE SO FUNNY: ✦ rex lapis is totally undeniably dead! by arataka, zhongli & hu tao, 1.7k      when zhongli comes into her office and tells her, “rex lapis is dead” paired with the most serious face she’s ever seen him wear, hu tao laughs at him. GENSHIN IMPACT - YOU EVER LOVE SOMEONE SO MUCH YOU WANT TO PUNCH THEM IN THE FACE? YEAH THAT’S HAIKAVEH: ✦ handle with care by smallghosts, alhaitham/kaveh, 2.4k      Kaveh may be a thorn in Alhaitham’s side, but he’s his favorite one. ✦ Slip of the Tongue by LONEMOON, alhaitham/kaveh & cyno, NSFW, 9.6k      Kaveh is inflicted by a curse that makes him only able to tell the truth. For someone who’s fairly honest and wears his heart on his sleeve, this shouldn’t be a big deal, right? Unfortunately, he has some feelings he’d like to keep hidden… ✦ theory and practice by alcyonenight, alhaitham/kaveh, 3.9k      Kaveh falls ill. Alhaitham works through some things. ✦ too many nights by effervescentskies, alhaitham/kaveh, 4.8k      Kaveh keeps coming back home drunk in the middle of the night. Alhaitham is not pleased. ✦ itni khafa nahin by solarclimes, alhaitham/kaveh, 2.4k      Rtawahist scholars have a curious theory about parallel worlds, where the stars of a person’s constellation are weaved in slightly different ways, creating an infinite number of universes where they make different choices, lead different lives. He had told Al-Haitham about it once, who had declared it outlandish and based on pure conjecture, but Kaveh had found the idea interesting. Perhaps, then, there exists a world, where Kaveh’s life isn’t so at odds with him. Where Kaveh can reach out in this moment and pull Al-Haitham into his arms. ✦ inertia by smallghosts, alhaitham/kaveh, 3.6k      A drunken confession is all it takes to set the inertia of their non-relationship into motion. ✦ Opposites Attract by LavastormSW, alhaitham/kaveh, NSFW, 3k      Alhaitham returns home after a long day commentating on and wrapping up the Akademiya Extravaganza, only to find Kaveh waiting for him… ✦ truck, barter, and trade by Seungshi03, alhaitham/kaveh & wanderer & nahida, 13.3k      Or: Al-Haitham is, without a doubt, the most annoying person Kaveh knows. Maybe the world’s second-most annoying person can help Kaveh figure him out. ✦ I’ll keep your brittle heart warm by clouds_hide, alhaitham/kaveh & nilou & traveler, 3.2k      Or: The Inter-Darshan Championship brings out the problems they don’t talk about. They really need to talk. ✦ i’ve been loving you for quite some time, time, time by creativedisaster, alhaitham/haikaveh, NSFW, 4.7k      After spending the week talking about his plans to move out, Kaveh’s not entirely sure he can face dealing with Alhaitham now he’s staying. But the bad thing about living together - he has to go home sometime. - OR - Alhaitham has some truth for Kaveh that he might not be ready for. ✦ knocking is a wonderous invention by dearwormwood, alhaitham/kaveh & cyno/tighnari, 2.8k      Four times Tighnari and Cyno think they walk in on Alhaitham and Kaveh in compromising positions, and one time they actually do. ✦ sunbird by caniculeo, alhaitham/kaveh & cyno & tighnari & nilou & kaveh’s mother & cast, 19.1k      This is how Kaveh grows up—well-loved and loving, with a pencil in his hand and starlight in his eyes. This is how he grows up, until his father leaves for the desert one day, and never comes back. ✦ you put the ‘fun’ into dysfunction by emigmatic, alhaitham/kaveh, NSFW, 3.7k      His dream was not a dream. It was real. “Oh.” “Is that all you have to say? Oh?” Kaveh presses, but he relents after studying his junior for a moment. His eyebrows draw together and a slight frown takes up residence on his face. “You…why do you look so surprised that I want to talk about how we just had sex?” ✦ diesel is desire (you were playing with fire) by clouds_hide, alhaitham/kaveh & cyno, NSFW, 6.7k      Kaveh on his back, his blonde hair splayed across the white sheets, his entire chest flushed from arousal, is the most beautiful sight in the world. Even if Alhaitham lives through a thousand samsaras, he will never forget this. ✦ modus vivendi by katraa, alhaitham/kaveh, NSFW, 3.5k      Kaveh has a sprained wrist, his roommate is insufferable, and said roommate knows how to take someone’s mind off the pain. Or, they finally stop dancing around the subject and bang. ✦ That’s The Way I Loved You by rewmariewrites, alhaitham/kaveh & cyno & tighnari & cast, NSFW, 16.9k      Tighnari rolls his eyes and turns back to Kaveh. “You didn’t answer my question,” Tighnari says, like he thinks Kaveh is an idiot. Kaveh rolls his eyes right back. “No, we’re not dating.” ✦ argumentative, antithetical dream girl by clouds_hide, alhaitham/kaveh & cyno & tighnari, NSFW, 6.8k      Or: Kaveh attempts to have no-strings-attached sex with his roommate. There are so many strings attached, he might as well be a marionette. GENSHIN IMPACT - THAT ONE SCENE OF VENTI BEING AN ANNOYING BASTARD AT XIAO WAS ENOUGH TO CONVERT ME TO SHIPPING THEM: ✦ carried by the wind by underfallingflowerpetals, venti/xiao, 1.7k      Or: Xiao isn’t used to being taken care of, but Venti is nothing if not persistent.

[paintedscales]

Nomin tal Kheeriin

B A S I C S

Name: Nomin tal Kheeriin

Nicknames: Minmin (close friends from the Steppe), Moonlight (rare instances from Estinien)

Age: Twenty and seven summers (Endwalker)

Nameday: 28th Sun of the Fourth Astral Moon (actual DOB); 21st Sun of the Second Umbral Moon (start of her tenth summer Tsaagan Sar; when she freed herself from her binds and gave herself her name)

Race: Xaela Au Ra

Gender: Demigirl

Orientation: Demi/Demi

Profession: Reluctant Adventurer, willing Warrior of Light; Painter

P H Y S I C A L     A S P E C T S

Hair: Long and naturally straight. Often, Nomin's hair is seen as wavy, though due to frequently braiding it, her hair often retains a wave to it. It is a light blue in color, and is kind of oily looking on most days -- this is due to her traveling a lot. However, when she has access to amenities, she takes just as good care of her hair as she does her scales.

Eyes: Teal with aquamarine limbal rings and black sclera.

Skin: Muted ultramarine with inky black scales that bear cerulean striations and markings.

Tattoos/scars: Nomin has no tattoos and has no intention of ever getting any. Scars, on the other hand, she has several of. There are two big ones I don't draw currently just due to not really knowing how to go about it just yet. Regardless, Nomin has two large slashes on her back that have stunted the growth of scales within that region. She has two relatively deep arrow pock scars in her left shoulder and lower left abdomen. The scars I don't draw (yet) are relatively large aetherial burn scars that go from her hands all the way up around her elbows -- maybe a little past it -- from helping tear the Eyes of Nidhogg from Estinien. She has matching scars with Alphinaud in that regard in how I've planned my writing.

F A M I L Y

Parents: Somewhere among the Tumet. Dead? Alive? Who knows. Nomin doesn't really care. And not in a malicious way, she just... They don't occupy her mind. They don't matter to her. Later in Heavensward, she does start to see Edmont akin to a father-like figure.

Siblings: Adoptive. Nomin's siblings are Esenaij and Bayarmaa of the Sagahl. Later in Heavensward, after hearing that Haurchefant considered her like a sister, she warms up to the idea of Artoirel and Emmanellain being brother-like figures to her.

Grandparents: Nomin is sure she has some! But she's really not too interested in delving into her family history when it comes to that of the Tumet.

In-laws and Other: I suppose Alberic is more or less something of a father-in-law. I haven't really written too much, but I'd like to explore more of Nomin's dynamic with him. I think she gets along well enough with him, and is glad that he and Estinien were able to bury the hatchet.

Nomin also has three children with Estinien in some timeline or another. It's separated from the main stuff to kind of adjust it as needed. All their children have two names -- one of Steppe origin, and one of Coerthan/Ishgardian origin. Their first kids were twin girls, Bayarmaa/Cyrielle and Chotan/Fleurette Varlineau. Twelve years later, they have their son, Esenaij/Hamignant Varlineau. They all tend to prefer using their Coerthan/Ishgardian names over their Steppe names.

Pets: Mori - a horse earned from her time in the Jhungid; he is one of Nomin's most stalwart companions, and she cares for him deeply. Gürvel - a frilled lizard that was intent on stealing some of Nomin's vilekin; through a mutual understanding, they became buddies on the Steppe.

S K I L L S

Abilities: Painting; it's a hobby she picked up since she often drew in the dirt when she had nothing in the Tumet. When her adoptive sister, Bayarmaa, had been more than happy to go ahead and help teach her, Nomin was quick to pick up on it. She now paints gorgeous landscapes and sceneries -- she can even paint them from her mind's eye, often able to remember them in vivid detail. She does like having the actual thing in front of her, though.

Archery; Nomin had several teachers that helped with her archery and in giving her tips on how to hone her abilities. She has a keen eye and a steady aim that rivals even some of the best of the Dazkar hunters.

Survival; one doesn't just simply run away from their oppressors and start roaming the Steppe without picking up some things and learning how to thrive off of the land. Thanks also to the teachings of the Sagahl and their way of life, Nomin is very aware of stuff on the Steppe, and is more than willing to learn when she goes to new places so that she can take care of herself using what the land provides.

Hobbies: Painting, reading, gardening. There are also some board games that Nomin likes. She's actually quite fond of shatar and chess, though she feels like she could still never play kharaqiq properly.

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Her ability to get back up again. There are so many things that have knocked her down, or brought her to her knees, but Nomin is just too stubborn to stay there. She freed herself from her binds when she was ten summers, and she is not going to let that moment be in vain.

Most Negative Trait: Shutting people out. Nomin's very kept to herself, and with her past trauma, she just doesn't really want to involve a lot of people too deeply into her life. She keeps people at arm's length for a long time, and preferred it that way for a good portion of her time since escaping the Jhungid. Even if her Echo could help give her some insight on who to trust and who not to trust.

L I K E S

Colors: Pink and gold.

Smells: Plums, fried dough, wood musk (pine, spruce, and cedar more specifically), chocolate.

Textures: Polished wood, sand, porous volcanic rock, Angura fleece.

Drinks: Suutei tsai, chatsarganii shuus, orange juice, hot cocoa.

O T H E R    D E T A I L S

Smokes: Nope...

Drinks: Only sometimes, but she does not really prefer it. Especially since the first time she drank wine, she was drugged.

Drugs: Depends on the drug. Medicinal is fine.

Mount Issuance: Nomin was not given one from a Grand Company, as she did not join one. She didn't like the idea of joining one because it was the 'thing to do.' She has Mori, and she rode him illegally throughout Eorzea regardless. She found it silly that she would need a permit of any kind to actually travel more quickly. However, with three signatures from Kan-E-Senna, Nanamo Ul Namo, and Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn after her varying feats, uh...her illegal riding became legal.

Been Arrested: I mean, can you technically count the necessary trial by combat thing in Ishgard? I feel like that should count, to be honest.

Tagged by: @sundered-souls; thank you! :>

Tagging: @blossomblade, @icehearts, @ahollowgrave, @halikyon, @starrysnowdrop, @sasslett, @ainyan, @sylaurin, @disciple-of-frost, @ubejamjar, @spiral-cut, and anyone else who wants to do it. Sorry if you've been tagged before!

TT u TT /

[missmungoe]

Shanks x Makino & RHP, because I had to after that last SBS.

“An incorrigible flirt? Ben?”

Her bemusement was met with a shrug, and lifting his drink to his lips, “I keep saying we can’t take him anywhere,” Shanks said. “Yasopp suggested putting him on a leash after that last incident.”

“This being the incident with the princess?” Makino asked, picking up another glass to polish, a glance offered to the subject of their conversation, busy reading the paper further down the counter, his grin jutting around his toothpick, a substitute for his usual cigarette, courtesy of the bump protruding under her apron.

Shanks opened his mouth, before he paused, and, “Wait, did we not tell you about the Vice-Admiral?”

Her brows lifted adorably. “A Vice-Admiral?”

They were all looking at his first mate now, but Ben didn’t look up from his newspaper, only said, “She was amenable.”

“She also threatened to arrest us all the next morning,” Shanks said. “We even offered her breakfast! And to drop her off at the nearest navy base if she needed a lift.”

“Can’t imagine why she’d turn that down,” Makino mused, placing the polished glass back on the shelf, before turning towards him, her hands spread on the counter. “But here I thought you were the resident flirt, Captain. Or at least so I’ve been led to believe. Specifically by you.”

“I use my skills responsibly,” Shanks said, with a grin that cheerfully contradicted that statement, and even twelve years since the first time he’d used it here, was delighted to see that her reaction hadn’t changed, seeing the smile that split her cheeks.

The way her eyes danced said enough about what she believed, but, “I imagine there are a lot of barmaids who’d beg to differ,” Makino said, her arms crossed as she leaned over the counter. “Should I be worried?”

Before he could even open his mouth, a voice called out across her bar, “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Makino!”

“Yeah, Boss doesn’t give ‘em the time of day!”

“Doesn’t stop them from trying, but we’ve got your back!!”

Shanks sighed, but their protectiveness of her honour was, while unnecessary, regrettably endearing. “If my fidelity was ever in question,” he mused.

Her delight lifted her cheeks, but her look was gentle, and there was no teasing in her eyes now as Makino said, “I’ve never doubted it.”

A tender beat passed, their gazes holding over the bar top, a gentler desire than he was often subjected to in the ports they stopped, but while he might have thrived off that kind of attention in his youth, nothing could compare to being desired by a heart like that, wholly and completely.

“They’re not wrong, though,” Shanks said, leaning closer, his thumb brushing the soft underside of her wrist, and heard the soft hitch in her breath, his eyes hooding as he pitched his voice lower, “In terms of flirting, there’s only one girl whose skirts I want to get under.”

Despite her efforts at maintaining a straight face, her demure composure faltered, and, “Charmer,” Makino laughed, her eyes averting from his grin, the particular filthy width she usually saw from a very different angle, usually cradled between her thighs.

He was so close their noses were brushing, but flicking her eyes up to his, “You’ll have to try harder than that if you want to get into these skirts,” Makino quipped, and patting his cheek, withdrew before he could pull her back into a kiss.

His rougher laughter chased her, and he was about to make good on the challenge when, “You two do remember that you’re married, right?” Yasopp asked, having appeared by the counter for a refill.

“No excuse to let my skills get rusty,” Shanks said, as Makino took the tankard to tap it. “Now do you mind? I’m trying to seduce my wife here.”

Pushing the refilled tankard over the counter, “If you need help, maybe you should ask your first mate for advice,” Makino said, and before Shanks could choke out a response, had breezed past them both, a demure look cast over her shoulder that made him wonder just who was seducing who.

Yasopp’s grin said he had a good idea of who had the upper hand, but, “She’s got a point,” he said, with a nod to Ben, still reading the paper. “Don’t know what he tells them, but it always does the trick. Was sure that marine was going to have him arrested for trying. Or just shoot him.”

“I wish I knew what it was,” Lucky sighed. “I might try it next time.”

“Maybe it’s nothing specific,” Limejuice said. “He might just have mad game.”

“But a marine?”

Stopping by the counter where his first mate was sitting, picking up a new glass to polish, “You took my advice, then?” Makino asked.

Flicking the corner of the paper down, Ben smiled. “You were right,” he said. “It works every time.”

The conversation in her bar stopped so abruptly, you could have heard a pin drop.

“Um,” Shanks said, after a stunned beat where they all just stared at her, primly polishing her little glass.

“What?”

[profound-imagination]

Loneliest - Eris Vanserra

A/N: Just a short little fic based on Loneliest by Maneskin.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You'll be the saddest part of me

A part of me that will never be mine

It's obvious

The world stopped for Eris Vanserra the day he saw her. Young. Wild. Beautiful. Human. Something pulled taut in his chest as he watched her be thrown in front of her, Amarantha. He knew how this would go. She'd be beaten first. In front of all of them as a form of entertainment. His hands curled at the thought and he knew what this feeling in his chest was. Knew he could do nothing about it. Knew he couldn't get her out. She'd be the saddest part of him.

Eris examined the black ink that had formed in the middle of his chest. A deal he'd made on the third day of her ordeal. He'd found her that morning, practically naked, more bruises and than skin, scrubbing a floor that he knew had been enchanted to just keep being dirty no matter what she did. His chest went tight again and the fire in his veins roared at the thought of anyone but him seeing her in this state of undress. At the thought of anyone lying a hand on her, his mate. A part of him that would never be his. He removed his own cloak and wrapped it around her. "Why?" She'd asked him. "Because no one deserves to go through what you're going through." He'd told her. He'd gone straight to Rhysand after. "Take the pain, don't let her feel it, convince Amarantha to give her to me, I'll do anything." He should've worded his deal better but Rhysand had smirked at him, eyebrow raised as if he knew what Eris had barely admitted to himself and shook his hand.

Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

You're still the oxygen I breathe

I see your face when I close my eyes

It was late, when Rhysand knocked on his door. The girl cowering next to him, her arm twisted behind her back painfully. A growl escaped Eris as he took in the High Lord and the Human girl before him. Rhysand had the audacity to laugh as he shoved her towards Eris, who barely caught her. "I hope she's worth it, Vanserra. You promised me anything." Rhysand slid his hands into his pockets. "For another deal, I can make her more amenable to you Eris." He purred. Another low growl escaped Eris and his eyes set ablaze. Rhysand held his hands up in surrender and sidled away.

She pushed out of Eris' hold as soon as Rhysand had walked away and took three steps away from him. Eris closed the door to his room and leant against it. She was taking him in just as he was taking her in. "You're safe now." He said quietly. She leveled him with a glare. "You're Fae, I'm not safe with any of you." When he didn't say anything she carried on. "What do you want with me?" He took a step towards her and she took a step back. "Nothing." She seemed to ponder his answer so he spoke again. "Would you like a bath? Some clean clothes?" She looked like she desperately wanted to no. "On your own, I promise. I'll be out here and nowhere near you." She nodded once. Eris showed her the bathing chamber and then dug through the clothes he had. A shirt that was going to be too big for her and a pair of breeches that would have the same issue. He hoped the laces on the breeches meant she could pull them tight enough.

She was a vision in his clothes. This little human that had come in and turned his entire world on its axis. He found once she'd had a bath, some food and a couple of glasses of wine she willingly spoke to him. It sent a thrill through his body that she was willingly conversing with him. "What did that other Fae mean when he said you'd promised him anything?" Eris studied her face, took in her freckles and the way her nose scrunched. "I made a deal with him, to keep you safe." She faltered and put her wineglass down. "Why?" He shrugged. "I just…had too." She wrung her hands. "No one's ever kept me safe before." He would keep her safe. Always.

She kept to his rooms in the following weeks. They spent their evenings talking, eating and drinking wine. She was becoming the oxygen he breathed. "Where's home?" He'd asked one night. "A tiny little village just past the wall. But it's not really home, I've never really had a home. What about you?" He'd make her a home he decided as he launched into stories about the Autumn Court.

Eris felt the loneliest he'd ever felt when he watched her close his bedroom door every night and he settled for another night of seeing her face when he closed his eyes and tried to sleep on the sofa. When sleep did take him, he dreamt of her. Of them. Of a life. Of a little redheaded girl, with big teal eyes who followed him everywhere. Who called him Papa and made him attend tea parties. Gywenth, they'd called her.

It's torturous

Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

He'd arranged it all. Lucien was going to get her out. She'd be safe, free. Tamlin would offer her no place in Spring so Lucien was to take her to Sangravah. The night before she left, she'd kissed him. Taken him to bed. Told him she loved him. Through his groans and pants he'd told her he loved her too. She kissed him again when Lucien came for her. He promised to find her when he got out, if he got out.

[damned-punk]

Entrapment (Wire x Reader)

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Content Warning: none ♡

Content Description: gn!reader has feelings for Wire and the crew creates some mischief that forces them to get a little closer

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It was another day and another moment in which Quincy had caught you glancing at Wire for a little longer than what would be considered friendly. It was rather endearing, especially considering that you weren’t as slick as you thought you were. Each time you’d look away, your cheeks would become a little more rosy and you’d smile to yourself just a bit. Frankly, she and Dive had bet on how long it would take for you to approach him but they were growing impatient. Weeks upon weeks of this same dance with no developments had led them to take things into their own hands.

“So (Y/N), watcha lookin’ at?”, Dive questioned, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin.

“Nothing!”, you said all too quickly, causing she and Quincy to giggle, “I don’t like that both of you are laughing. That usually means something completely fucked is about to happen.”

“Something fucked isn’t about to happen, but someone getting fucked might be in the works…”, Quincy walked off with Dive following after her rather ominously.

You knew you’d been caught and you could only hope that they weren’t going to do anything terribly off the rails. Of course you wanted to approach Wire on your own, but you just didn’t know how. He was more of the silent type and kept himself rather reserved in group settings. You greatly cherished the conversations you’d shared with him, he always seemed to enjoy your little talks. It was never anything terribly special, most of time consisting of crew antics or deliberation on what kind of amenities the next island would hold.

Unbeknownst to you, Heat had long since teased Wire in a very similar fashion to how Quincy and Dive had teased you. Heat had caught him staring back just as much (if not more) as you had and found the whole thing to be quite painful. The two of you were just so backward and it made for some rather impossible odds for either of you to approach one another. Even as Dive had pulled your attention away from the tall man, Heat had nudged him with an elbow and gave him a knowing look.

You’d likely die from embarrassment at just how many of your crewmates had figured you out. This was a fact that was actually working in both Quincy and Dive’s favor. They’d constructed a plan that would all too conveniently leave one empty seat beside Wire during dinner and they were going to make sure that you couldn’t just take your food and leave. It was rather devious but Heat had already approved of their antics.

Unknowingly, you went about your day and headed straight into the belly of a beast when you entered the mess hall at the designated time. It was packed, which was not unusual, and your eyes fell on the empty seat that was directly beside Wire. As they expected, you collected your plate and attempted to leave to your cabin but before you could reach the door, Mosh called you over to the fated table. You engaged in conversation with him and began eating as you stood, prompting him to point out the vacancy just across the table.

Wire, like the kind man he was, patted the seat and sealed your fate. You were trapped with no escape. If you left now, you’d only make it seem like you didn’t like him and that was the last thing you wanted. As you rounded the table to claim your spot, you couldn’t help but notice the wide grins of the two culprits from earlier. Both Dive and Quincy were snickering and wiggling their eyebrows at you. This whole this was embarrassing enough, you really didn’t need them making things this obvious.

When you finally got comfortable beside him, you couldn’t focus on your meal. His much larger stature was exacerbated by your current position and when he spoke, you had to crane your neck to meet his face. Warmth radiated off of him and he’d gently nudged you a couple of times by accident. Mosh watched both of your plates like a hawk, he wasn’t going to give either of you an easy out. He was in it for the long haul alongside everyone else.

“Alright, last one up from the table owes me 1000 berries. Good luck, fuckers.”, Mosh shot up from the table, taking everyone beside you and Wire with him.

The whole thing was very obviously planned and the glance you exchanged with Wire was rather comical. He held his signature stoic expression but there was something lingering behind his eyes.

“Don’t do this to me.”, his voice was flat and made you laugh, his vernacular always made things sound much more intense than intended.

“I should be saying the same thing to you.”, you replied rather smoothly which elicited a short laugh from him, pleasing the on-lookers who were eager for this moment.

Several minutes passed and light conversation ensued amongst everyone in the room. The Captain had finally shown himself and appeared to be rather sweaty, he must’ve been pent up in his workshop again. Upon his entry, an epiphany hit Wire.

“I’m going to call him over here and as soon as he sits down, we’re going to get up. Got it?”, Wire whispered in your ear, you nodding in response.

Kidd unknowingly took the bait and sat himself at the now desolate table which provided you with the an escape. Mosh busted out laughing as no matter if Kidd was currently sitting, he’d technically be the last one to get up and no one else would fall for the trick as they were all in on it. Mosh informed him of his predicament but you didn’t waste time waiting on what you knew would be a colorful response, you simply followed Wire out the door and onto the deck.

“We really walked right into that one…”, he trailed off, seemingly debating his next words, “How about I take that 1000 berries and we go get dinner on the next island?”

His words surprised you, the whole set up was so obvious that you didn’t think it would have any chance of working. In reality, Heat had informed Wire of the entire plan directly after he’d been approached by Quincy. He knew Wire better than anyone else and knew he’d much rather be prepared to initiate things with you than to be thrown into it blindly.

“I’d really like that… sounds like a plan.”, You smiled up at him as he patted your back.

“Sounds like a date.”, he smiled back and began walking off when a loud crashing sound reverberated from inside the mess hall.

“(Y/N)!” You heard the Captain yell after you, “GET YOUR ASS BACK IN HERE!”

You knew he was going to blame you for Wire trapping him at the table so you decided to use Wire’s words against him, “Don’t do this to me.”

It was his turn to laugh at your predicament as he continued walking away. As you turned to face your hotheaded Captain, visions of Wire and the next island to come filled your mind.

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[post-uwuifer]

According to all known laws of aviation,there is no way a bee should be able to fly.Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground.The bee, of course, flies anywaybecause bees don't care what humans think is impossible.ANumber2Pencil, Dec 7, 2016#1dinocerosDonatorMessages:7,482Likes Received:29,999Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black.Ooh, black and yellow! Let's shake it up a little.Barry! Breakfast is ready!Ooming!Hang on a second.Hello?- Barry?

to make one decision in life.But, Adam, how could they never have told us that?Why would you question anything? We're bees

No one's listening to me!Wait till you see the sticks I have.I could say anything right now.

Hi my name is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that's how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don't know who she is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie. I'm a vampire but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I'm also a witch, and I go to a magic school called Hogwarts in England where I'm in the seventh year (I'm seventeen). I'm a goth (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black corset with matching lace around it and a black leather miniskirt, pink fishnets and black combat boots. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside Hogwarts. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

"Hey Ebony!" shouted a voice. I looked up. It was… Draco Malfoy!

"What's up Draco?" I asked.

"Nothing." he said shyly.

But then, I heard my friends call me and I had to go away.

I'm gonna get an ant tattoo!Let's open some honey and celebrate!Maybe I'll pierce my thorax. Shave my antennae.Shack up with a grasshopper. Get a gold tooth and call everybody "dawg"!I'm so proud.- We're starting work today!

Today's the day.Oome on! All the good jobs will be gone.Yeah, right.Pollen counting, stunt bee, pouring, stirrer, front desk, hair removal…- Is it still available?

Hang on. Two left!One of them's yours! Oongratulations! Step to the side.- What'd you get?

Picking crud out. Stellar!Wow!Oouple of newbies?Yes, sir! Our first day! We are ready!Make your choice.- You want to goetting the Krelman?

Sure, you're on.I'm sorry, the Krelman just closed out.Wax monkey's always open.The Krelman opened up again.What happened?A bee died. Makes an opening. See? He's dead. Another dead one.Deady. Deadified. Two more dead.Dead from the neck up. Dead from the neck down. That's life!Oh, this is so hard!Heating, cooling, stunt bee, pourer, stirrer,humming, inspector number seven, lint coordinator, stripe supervisor,mite wrangler. Barry, what do you think I should… Barry?Barry!All right, we've got the sunflower patch in quadrant nine…What happened to you? Where are you?- I'm going out.

Out? Out where?- Out there.

Oh, no!I have to, before I go to work for the rest of my life.You're gonna die! You're crazy! Hello?Another call coming in.If anyone's feeling brave, there's a Korean deli on 83rdthat gets their roses today.Hey, guys.- Look at that.

Isn't that the kid we saw yesterday?Hold it, son, flight deck's restricted.It's OK, Lou. We're gonna take him up.Really? Feeling lucky, are you?Sign here, here. Just initial that.- Thank you.

OK.You got a rain advisory today,and as you all know, bees cannot fly in rain.So be careful. As always, watch your brot thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. Behold the handmaid of the Lord: Be it done unto me according to Thy word. They drive crazy.- Do they try and kill you, like on TV?

Some of them. But some of them don't.- How'd you get back?

im back UwUcifer, can i enter my own contest?

ah, stwuck again by wengthy ask anon! Mad wespect, yes yoo may UwU

[neolxzr]

hi!! i love your aro nazuna post sm and i think about it a lot bc i love aroace nazuna sm.. do you maybe have more aroace nazuna hcs/thoughts?

hi hi omg im happy u liked it!!

heres some more random thoughts and hcs :3

the ra*bits juniors tend to come straight to niichan for advice on most things so they've naturally come to him several times with crushes and various love troubles. he's got very little clue as to how they're feeling but is always a good listener and a shoulder to lean on for them

also depending on your fav babits ships he's probably threatened all of their prospective partners with violence at least once (unless you ship them with each other. then he just gets to cheer them on and its very cute and sweet)

sometimes he runs into kaoru in the rythlin office and is like hey remember that one time you tried to hit on me. huh. do you remember that. hes not letting him live it down

in general, he's very good at picking up on other people's feelings and crushes and things and likes to tease people about it. he pokes fun at kuro abt keito regularly

he loves shu, really, he's his dear friend, but he tells him regularly that he is going to stop agreeing to go to brunch with him if he doesn't just tell mika he's pathetically in love with him because it's getting really embarrassing at this point. it takes many, many tries to get him to stop being in denial about it. the eccentrics are shocked he was able to do it at all (and a little hurt (joke) like shu we've been telling you this for years why is nito the only one who can talk sense into you do your other friends mean nothing to you??? cant believe this)

he has similar conversations with mika but mika's never been in denial about it he just won't confess so most of them go like this "mika-chin just tell him" "no" "mika-chin" "no" "MIKA-CHIN" "NNNAH"

he's cute, obviously, and regularly gets hit on while in college, so he has lied on several occasions and said he already has a girlfriend. he asked naru to fake date him at an event once and she had a little bit too much fun with it (and they became closer as friends as a result :3)

ANYWAY hes a good niichan and he loves his friends and his family and his bunny and i also love him amen

[toxifoxx]

ok serious thoughts on the fnaf movie this time. they're a little scattered but i did just see it so i gotta think on it some more before i give like an actually structured review. but immediate thoughts post-viewing:

i had fun with the movie! i thought it was enjoyable. was hoping for at LEAST a little more blood (i really wanted to see william fucking explode into blood for one) but i knew there wasn't gonna be much since its pg13. it wasn't scary like in the slightest except for 1 jumpscare that almost kind of got me but i wish they set up the atmosphere a little bit more.

MAJOR GRIPE. i hate that vanessa is related to william. please stop retconning the afton family scott pretty please. give that man his dead children back. i seriously seriously love the "man goes fucked up sicko mode because of his grief" trope but alas.

i think that the pacing is NOTTTT very good at all. william needed more screen time 100% and there wasn't that great of a build up to the climax. maybe its more impactful to people who didn't already know that steve is william, but i'd wager that they're probably like HUH WHUH??? at that reveal because its not really. set up that much. and yes im biased because i fucking love william ok.

i think matthew lillard did a great job, BUT... we barely got to see him at all! and, especially with the "i always come back line..." i cringed a little bit man. like what are you coming back from? you haven't died yet man. there's nothing to come back from yet tf are you yappin about. it felt like it was really shoved in there honestly. we DESPERATELY needed to see more of him! in fact, most of the characters needed more set up! like ok... mike lost his brother? why should i care. mike is gonna lose his sister? why should i care tho?? these kids died but they dont really seem like they care too much about being dead either so whats the big deal.

AND WHY DIDN'T THE KIDS HAVE BEEF WITH WILLIAM/THE YELLOW RABBIT. THEY CLEARLY WERE SHOWN TO KNOW HE KILLED THEM, BUT THEY DON'T TURN ON HIM UNTIL ABBY PUTS UP HER SHITTY LIL DRAWING? FOR REAL????? WHY? + THEY DONT EVEN GET NAMED AT ALL. THE MOVIE CARES SO LITTLE ABOUT THE KIDS AND YET THEY DONT EVEN ALLOCATE THAT TIME TO AFTON EITHER. THEY FUMBLED BOTH SIDES!

also a lot of stuff just kind of isn't resolved? like the mike vs his aunt thing. is his aunt dead or...? + what was the fucking freddy saw trap thing that doesn't get explained at all. did the police not see that or does william just lug that thing in and out of the building constantly. what's it even for.

im also curious about some things. whats up with that kid who had a midnight motorist shirt. whats up with the other random springlock animatronic that is never named nor do we get a full look at. Where's Henry. are we just straight up ditching henry this time around?

i came into this knowing it wouldn't be lore accurate nor gory because of the rating but ugh. Ughhhh. can we please settle on one fnaf timeline to be canon its been almost 10 years we don't needa be playing like this anymore bro. i want to see the afton family for REAL show me cc getting his fuckin head chomped off or elizabeth getting snatched. give us literally any of the original missing children give us cassidy or something. like even in the silver eyes at least we got henry ffs! it just makes me a little sad knowing that one of the rejected scripts WAS accurate to the game lore.

shout out to my homie @yellowbutterbear for seeing the movie with me and discussing this stuff with me 🔥

6/10 not enough william afton moaning and whimpering AMEN!!!

[saintsir4n]

WHEN IN MEXICO

After they’ve landed, complaints and arguments start up one again.

PAIRINGS: MIKAELSONS X LUMIÉRES

___

“I cannot believe I had to listen to you go on about turbulence for six hours straight,” Kol hadn’t stopped complaining since they arrived in the beautiful country of Mexico. Even now they were in checking into the hotel Klaus picked, he hadn’t forgotten the discussion that Elijah had with Hadeon. “It’s my idea of hell.”

“I’m sure you go through hell whenever you look at your reflection,” Hadeon quipped, not glancing up from his phone.

Marcel snickered from beside him, catching Kol’s attention.

“I don’t know why you’re so amused Marcellus, I caught you rolling you’re eyes throughout the flight.”

“And?” Marcel shrugged, glancing around the lobby floor, before his eyes settled on the original blonde who was playing the doting Aunt whilst holding up the youngest Mikaelson, pointing to various paintings on the wall. “Besides you should’ve packed headphones.”

“Someone broke them,” Kol gritted, folding his arms and glaring at Klaus who talked to the reception, alongside Adrienne. Klaus caught the conversion and sent him a smirk, only furthering his irritation. Just you wait Niklaus. “I had no choice but to be subjected to —“

“Will you be quiet Nikolai, we’re on holiday, cease your complaints, or better yet, go on a walk,” Elijah interrupted, looking up from his phone after engaging in a heartfelt conversation with Clementine. Oh how I wish she was here, “surely that will aid your displeasure.”

“A walk? Sure, that will help aid my displeasure,” Kol mocked his oldest brothers earning a scoff. “And don’t worry brother, you won’t have to here my voice for much longer, I’ll be off to my own suite in a matter of time.”

“Amen,” Rebekah remarked, grinning childishly when he cast her a glare. The baby in her arms started giggling like they could understand their bickering. “Isn’t uncle Kol being silly, oh yes he is,” her baby voice drew a smile from Marcel. “Silly uncle.”

“Are you are aware of how ridiculous you sound?” Despite Kol’s frustration he couldn’t wait to wonder the hotel, hopefully find some action.

“Are you aware I don’t care?”

“Are you still bickering?” Adrienne sauntered over with half a dozen key cards in her hands and Klaus behind her, keeping his hand in her lower back, making it clear to all the onlookers who she was with. “You spent half the the plane ride screaming at each other.”

“And you spent the duration of the flight doing what Adri… riding your —“

“Shut up,” Adrienne’s face flushed at the memory of her and Klaus in the private plane bathroom.

Elijah, Kol and Marcel seemed amused by Hadeon’s remark, whilst Klaus rolled his eyes and took his child from his giggling sisters arms.

“At least put a spell on the room next time,” Marcel added, much to her embarrassment.

Adrienne hastily threw them all their key cards, not wanting to stand around for very much longer. Her face felt like it was turning red and she needed to get to her shared suite. Luckily their bags had been taken up to their rooms so they wasn’t nothing keeping them there.

She took Klaus’ hand and pressed kisses all over her son’s face, extracting squeals from him. The rest of the Mikaelsons and Hadeon rose form their chairs. Kol, Hadeon Elijah’s eyes found the bar and a few admirers, which the latter ignored. Marcel trailed behind Rebekah who seemed to be going towards the the elevator.

“Meet back here in two hours for jet skiing,” Adrienne yelled, not caring for disturbing the calm ambiance of the lobby.

“We know,” Hadeon and Kol replied.

“Two hours!”

a/n:

[apoptoses]

written for vckinkweek: edge play

It’s 8:34 pm when Armand ascends from the bowels of Night Island and seeks out Daniel. It’s a masterpiece of a house, even he has to admit. A modern palazzo with every amenity a mortal could ever crave, and all the newest fittings. Plush carpet floors muffle his footsteps as he takes a sweeping staircase up to the second floor, where he can feel the bright pulse of Daniel’s heart calling to him like a beacon.

Sometimes when he wakes Daniel is still lounging in bed, or in the pool. Or settled in the living room, asleep on the sofa with a glass of half drunk whiskey on the table. Tonight, though, Armand’s unnatural senses place him in the office. Which isn’t entirely unusual. It’s just that usually Daniel is in there during the day, leaving Armand to pluck the memory of what he’s accomplished from his mind.

And so it’s a rare treat to see him like this, seated behind the great oak desk Armand had imported from Europe. Dressed in his suit and pinching the bridge of his nose, Daniel could almost pass for a businessman.

But only almost. No self respecting businessman would be in a white linen suit, or have his shirt unbuttoned to expose the better part of his chest. Probably they wouldn’t have their bare feet kicked up on the desk either, but Armand is hardly going to reprimand him for that. He has entire regiments of actual business professionals working for him. He only has this one Daniel.

Armand leans against the door frame and takes in the way Daniel’s blond chest hair catches the light, the strands of it glowing as golden as the metal wrapped threads that had decorated Armand’s clothing in his youth. His mouth burns at the sight of it. He has the urge to go over, to bury his face in it and drink straight from Daniel’s beating heart.

Daniel pulls a lighter from his breast pocket and settles a cigarette between his lips. The acrid scent of smoke fills the room.

“Look, if you’re here to bitch at me about getting up and going over to the mainland for the opera or a movie or whatever it is I’m sure you’ve got tickets to, you’re gonna have to shelve it, okay?” Daniel says when he notices Armand at the door. “I have another call to make and it really can’t wait.”

Armand gives a dismissive wave. “I had no such intentions. The film will still be playing tomorrow.”

There’s a whole mess of items on the desk. Scattered papers, an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. The glass of whiskey that’s mostly empty now, the single ice cube in the center melted down so small it’s barely visible. Armand stacks some of the papers and puts them aside so that he can perch on the edge of the desk, right beside Daniel’s feet.

The tops of them have gone tan from Daniel spending time outside in the sun. Armand traces over a lighter strip of skin that runs from the space between Daniel’s toes, across the top of his arch. The pale shadow of where his sandals lie, painted on his skin by the daylight.

Armand’s fingers look monstrously white in comparison to Daniel’s living skin. He cocks his head and drags his nail over a lavender vein, and listens to Daniel’s heart race at his touch.

“I’m working,” Daniel warns. “I have to take this call.”

“Yes, you said so already. What does it pertain to?” Armand asks as he traces around the jut of Daniel’s ankle.

And then his fingers drift upwards, toward the hem of Daniel’s pants leg. The fabric is wrinkled from being worn all day, the starch melted away by the humidity of Miami, and so it’s nothing to push his pants leg up and drag his fingers through the fine hair on Daniel’s calf.

He massages at the thick muscle there. Against his will, Daniel lets out a quiet groan and melts into the great leather office chair.

God, I can’t get shit done with him around. I should really kick him out.

“Taxes. The guy who did our forms fucked up, not that I can blame him- our finances are a wreck,” Daniel mutters.

“We have plenty of money-“

“Yeah and that’s the problem, plenty of money with nowhere to trace it back to, no records for half the shit you’ve stolen and sold. And so I’m stuck here well past dinner time untangling this mess.”

Daniel ashes his cigarette and picks up the glass of whiskey, downing the thing in one swallow. When Armand pinches the back of his calf for his pertness he digs his heel into his thigh in a sort of half hearted kick.

Beneath Armand’s fingertips his pulse rushes. Armand wonders if perhaps he can overwhelm him, convince him to give up the call and let him sink his fangs into his sunkissed neck.

“And what’s the worst that could happen, should you do nothing? I can take care of anyone who comes here making demands of you,” Armand says.

Daniel barks out a laugh. “Take care of them? This isn’t the 19th century, you can’t just murder every IRS man who comes knocking. People will notice,” he says. “The best thing you can do is play secretary for me and get me another glass of whiskey, and then have a seat until I’m done here.”

It’s a dismissal if Armand ever heard one. He stands and lets Daniel’s foot go crashing toward the floor.

Fine. If Daniel wants a secretary then that’s what he’ll get.

Armand ignores the way Daniel swears at his sudden movement. He takes the glass of whiskey to the bar cart in the corner and busies himself with making his drink. Not two fingers worth- closer to three, almost four. Daniel’s been drinking more since they arrived at the island but Armand ignores that too, pushes that worry to the back of his mind in favor of focusing on his more immediate desires.

By the time he delivers the drink Daniel is on the phone muttering formalities to a stranger. Apologies for calling at the late hour, gratitude for offering his services last minute. Armand tunes the details out as he tidies up the desk.

He knows how to do this. How to make a show of himself, how to bend over as he empties the ashtray into the garbage can. It’s the same tricks he played five hundred years ago to distract his master; only the accouterments involved have changed.

It had only been a movie Armand was intending on taking Daniel to see and so he’d dressed for the occasion. A soft, slightly worn t-shirt from Daniel’s drawer on top, on the bottom a pair of cut off jeans. Armand is aware of how short they are. He doesn’t need a mirror to know they ride up when he bends over because he has Daniel’s mind for that.

Daniel’s mind, which is now a jumble of thoughts. He’s half focused on what the man is saying about something called a W-2; the other half of his brain fixated on the bone white curve of Armand’s rear end, peeking out from beneath frayed denim.

Where did he get those? Does he have any idea how obscene they look on him?

Yes. Armand is well aware of how obscene they look, because judging by the way Daniel’s heart is hammering beneath his sternum he’s aroused despite Armand barely even touching him yet.

Armand pretends he’s missed the trash can, that he’s dropped a cigarette butt on the carpet. He gets to his knees on the floor and hunts around for a thing that doesn’t exist.

Daniel’s pen clicks on the desk over and over, following the rhythm of his heart. Armand reaches beneath the bar cart and feels around, spreads his knees wider so he can really reach and-

“I’m sorry sir, could you repeat that?” Daniel asks. His throat clicks as he swallows. “No, no, I can hear you just fine. It’s just that my secretary distracted me for a second.”

Armand smirks at the carpet. He gets up and rakes his hair back from where it’s fallen into his face, and watches Daniel’s eyes track the movement of his fingers as he drags them through his own hair.

He fluffs the flowers in their vase. Reaches high to push a book into place on its shelf and, via Daniel’s mind, sees the pale flash of his own stomach exposed by his t-shirt riding up. He straightens the paper in the fax machine and then, out of cleaning tasks to do, turns his attention back to Daniel himself.

Daniel, who’s chewing at his lower lip as he hums little sounds of acknowledgment to the man on the phone. He’s got a notepad out but all he’s managed to do is scribble a line over and over as his gaze lingers on Armand’s thighs.

Armand tugs on the arm of the chair until it spins and Daniel is no longer facing the desk. Before he can say anything, he drops himself straight into Daniel’s lap.

“I’m sorry, could hold for just a moment?” Daniel asks and then puts his hand over the receiver on the phone to muffle his voice. “I said I’m working.”

Armand blinks at him innocently. “Yes, and you also said to take a seat. You neglected to say where.”

Daniel narrows his eyes. For a moment it looks as if he might argue, or try to shove Armand off. Before he can do either Armand reaches right down between his legs and squeezes.

The sound Daniel makes- it’s as if someone has punctured his lung. Between a groan and gasp, choked off so that the man on the phone doesn’t hear it. Armand strokes him through the thin linen fabric and Daniel has to bite the heel of his palm to keep from reacting again.

He’s hard- not completely, not just yet, but Armand can fix that. He doesn’t bother with teasing, with building up to make Daniel beg for it. He just grips his cock firmly through his pants, rubbing his thumb over the tip in little circles until Daniel is squirming in his chair.

“Daniel,” Armand leans into murmur directly into his ear. Goosebumps race over Daniel’s skin at the chill of his breath. “Continue your phone call. Taxes are rather important, I’d hate for our business venture to fail before it truly begins.”

Daniel sucks in a sharp breath when Armand unzips his pants and reaches his cold hand in. “You’re so full of shit.”

“And you have a man waiting for you to return the call. We’re paying him by the hour for his advice, are we not? Which means the more you fuck around the more of my money you’re wasting.”

Armand hardly ever swears. He only does it to get a reaction out of Daniel, and what a reaction it is. His heart leaps up into his throat, his pulse rushing impossibly fast at the swear word leaving his lips. It affects him almost as much as the feeling of Armand’s fingers curled around his cock. Almost as much as the touch of his lips on his neck.

Daniel takes a deep breath in. He closes his eyes and tries to count to ten in his mind. He fails miserably at five when Armand licks over the stubble at the edge of his jaw.

“You’re a pitiful businessman, Daniel. You’re lucky I love you well enough to keep you working for me,” Armand teases, delighted by how easily distracted he is. “Now finish your call before I take the phone from your hand and do it myself. I’ll simply hang up on him.”

Daniel rolls his eyes, and whether it’s meant to be sarcastic or just a reaction to Armand’s thumb swiping across the leaking tip of his cock, Armand doesn’t know. “You wouldn’t be so rude.”

“Try me, lover.”

For a second they sit there and take the measure of each other. Daniel contemplates ending the call himself. It would be easy enough to fake an emergency, to call the man back during normal business hours and yet-

It would be kinda hot, having him jerk me off while I’m on the phone. This guy would never know what’s going on.

“Yes, so long as you keep quiet,” Armand says. “If you can I’ll give you a reward. I’ll let you drink from me for as long as you wish.”

Daniel jumps at the reminder that Armand is in his head. “And if I can’t?”

“Then I get to taste you first.”

Daniel mulls it over. He opens his mouth and then realizes nothing he can say could change the trajectory of this conversation or keep Armand in line and so he thinks better of it. He drops his hand from the phone receiver and turns his attention back to his call.

“I’m so sorry for that,” Daniel says and clears his throat, covering up the groan threatening to escape him when Armand resumes stroking him. “Anyways, as you were saying about our employee forms-“

Armand doesn’t listen to anything he says after that. He lets Daniel’s voice become a low rumble, just a tangle of noises that cause his chest cavity to vibrate pleasantly beneath Armand’s palm. He rests his free hand over his heart, absently toying with his chest hair as he strokes him slow and determined.

Daniel is such an all encompassing experience. He has no idea what being close to him is like, especially not when he’s aroused. It’s not just that his cock is hard and easy for Armand to touch. It’s the way the sweat begins to collect on his skin, smelling of salt and pheromones, something unique to his chemical make up; that only exists in Daniel’s cells.

Armand runs the tip of his nose over his throat and then follows it with his tongue. He gets the scent of him and the taste all at once and this time it’s him that nearly moans and alerts the man on the phone. He bites the sound back, though, and bites his own tongue instead.

A taste of his own blood. Not nearly as good as tasting Daniel’s but enough for now, enough to distract the thirst; to send the urge to bite Daniel into the back of his mind so that he can concentrate on distracting him instead.

Not that it’s difficult. Armand tugs at Daniel’s chest hair and Daniel has to put his hand over his mouth to keep from letting out a shocked gasp. He’s not even looking at anything anymore. His eyes are closed, head pushed back into the deep, plush leather as he mumbles something about assets or income or some other financial term Armand has never had to care about even once in his life. Daniel isn’t even certain he knows what he’s talking about anymore.

He’s unraveling quickly. Which is fine with Armand, who’s been burning with the thirst since he first saw this man in his suit, with his heart shamelessly exposed by his open shirt. It puts them on even ground, makes the challenge more enjoyable.

Enjoyable for Armand, at least. Daniel looks tormented when he lifts his head and catches a glimpse of his face. His expression is drawn tight enough to crack, and it quite nearly does when Armand twists his wrist and lavishes attention on the head of his cock.

He’s gorgeous like this. Like a saint in anguish, with his mouth dropped open and his eyes shut tight. Armand ignores the protest of his zipper and sneaks his other hand down his pants to fondle at his sack. It’s a light touch, Armand makes sure to be gentle, but it still has Daniel digging his heels into the carpet hard enough the chair rolls back from the desk.

‘Slow down,’ Daniel mouths at him silently. Armand furrows his brow, pretends not to understand, and strokes him faster.

It’s no longer like the touch of a mortal. It’s too precise, too methodical for a human hand and that’s the kind of thing that drives Daniel right to the edge. He’s thinking about it, jumbled words like unnatural and monstrous and jesus fuck it’s like being jacked off by a machine-

Lucky for him the man on the other line is busy explaining something- monologuing, really, so all Daniel has to do is make noises of acknowledgment. But he’s barely able to do that. When Armand tightens his cold hand around him his casual ‘uh huh’ becomes something closer to a ‘hngh’ and Armand can’t help but bite back a smirk.

And he’s not unaffected himself. His throat is burning with the thirst as he wracks his memory for something, anything that will break Daniel’s resolve and get him to moan outright. Armand can hardly hear the man on the phone for the sound of Daniel’s heart jack hammering beneath his sternum.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine, whatever you think is best,” Daniel rambles, unsure of what he’s even agreeing to. “You can-“

When Armand slips his other hand back his words cut off. The stitching on the fly of his trousers pops as he gets his hand back, back until his thumb is rubbing up against the hot flesh of his perineum, his fingertip is pressing up against Daniel’s hole and-

Daniel’s pulse jumps. He spreads his thighs wide without thinking and before he can stop himself a low groan escapes his throat.

It’s unmistakable. A sound of pleasure, the trigger Armand had been waiting for. The thirst is so strong he barely takes a second to take in Daniel’s blushing cheeks, his expression wracked with embarrassment, because he’s too busy darting in toward the thick artery that stands out on his neck.

“Fuck, fuck, Armand,” Daniel chokes out when his fangs pierce his flesh.

The blood spills over Armand’s tongue like liquid fire. Sharp and metallic and tasting of something that’s entirely Daniel, the flavor of his hormones and the sweat on his skin; more sumptuous than any of the fruit Armand had tasted in his master’s home. He swallows a great mouthful of him, and groans with relief when Daniel’s heart pulls back and fights against the draw of his mouth.

The phone clatters to the floor. Daniel’s hands fist themselves in his hair just as he spills, hot and wet down the backs of Armand’s fingers and that-

It’s like Armand can taste his orgasm too. The shudders pass through Daniel, into his blood and down Armand’s throat so that he shudders too. Daniel’s hips roll up and out of instinct Armand grinds back down against him.

And he should lift his head. He should stop drinking but Daniel is curled around him, gone limp in the leather chair, and his heart- every time Armand swallows it pounds harder. Daniel is a fighter; even as his body goes slack as a willing victim, his organs war against the pull of Armand’s mouth. It seems to take an age before the drumbeat of Daniel’s pulse matches his. His heart struggles, it sends blood rushing thick over Armand’s tongue and then begins to slow. 

It would be easy to drag him down now. Armand is so caught up in the taste of him that nothing else seems to exist; not the leather chair beneath his knees, nor Daniel’s hands on his back. His fingers had been twisted in his shirt but they’re beginning to go slack as he goes weak with blood loss. All Armand feels is a vague stroking over his shoulder blades and then a distant tap as he drinks another mouthful of this boy down.

“Armand. Armand, I think I’m gonna pass out,” Daniel slurs.

He should stop now. He should really pull away while Daniel is conscious and able to speak but Armand can’t.

One more swallow, another taste, he tells himself- Armand is as addicted to Daniel as Daniel is to his blood, and this boy has no idea. He’d take that last beat from his heart. It would be so delicious, swallowing the last spark of his life but this is Daniel. There’s only one of him. No one else would be such a willing and conscious victim, no other would love the monster in his lap and so Armand lifts his head.

He licks the wound closed but makes a sloppy job of it, addled as he is. A drop of blood mars the white linen suit collar in brilliant red.

“Jesus,” Daniel huffs. He’s pale, his pupils are blown. He looks as though his eyes might roll back at any second, and so Armand cradles his blond head in his hand; fingers warmed now by his lover’s blood. “I guess we won’t be doing any more business with that guy.”

The phone is on the floor, dial tone screeching from the receiver. The man had hung up on them.

As Daniel reaches for the cord he laughs. His fingers are shaking too badly to get ahold of it, and so Armand picks it up for him. He sets the phone on the receiver with a dull click and then turns his attention back to Daniel, dragging his fingers through his feathered hair.

“You know, Daniel, you weren’t wrong,” he murmurs.

Daniel’s eyelids flutter, blond lashes casting shadows on the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Wrong about what?”

“That I was a terrible secretary.” Armand says, words slipping out between the kisses he presses to each of Daniel’s eyelids. The bridge of his nose. His cheeks, which have gone unnaturally pale. “And so I think you should gather what strength you have and put me on that desk to teach me a lesson, don’t you?”

Daniel swallows thickly. Armand hears the click of his throat. He feels the tremble in his fingers as he reaches down, grabs hold of his backside and hauls him up onto the desk.

The desk is wide but Armand still has to wrap his legs around Daniel’s waist to keep from slipping off the edge. His auburn curls spill in a waterfall over the other side of the thing, beveled wood digging into the back of his skull as Daniel leans over him to kiss his neck.

“I guess work can wait after all,” Daniel murmurs, lips tickling Armand’s throat. “You know one day you’re not going to just get your way with me so easily.”

Armand smirks up at the ceiling while Daniel can’t see. “Yes, beloved. Whatever you say.”

[writeforfandoms]

You’re the hand I have to hold

Find my masterlist and series masterlist

Your mysterious contact sends a new dragon and some clues your way.

Everyone thank @brandyllyn​ for pointing out a golden opportunity here.

Warnings: Swearing, more mysteries, people cannot give straight answers in this ‘verse. 

Word count: 1.3k

Jack Daniels x f!reader

The email surprised you in its simplicity, especially considering who it came from. 

If your rancher is amenable, I'd like to board a dragon with him for a few days. I will of course pay for the service. Please let me know at your earliest convenience. 

You read the email three times before you took a screenshot and sent it to Jack. 

His response was fast and simple: What the fuck?

Giving up on trying to figure him out via text, you called instead. 

"Who sent that?" Jack asked, grouchy and grumbly. 

"My source, the one I told you about." You bit your lip. "He wouldn't have asked if it wasn't legitimate." 

"Why should I?" It was little more than a petulant growl, but still made you smile. 

"Well, he is helping us," you pointed out, very reasonably. "He's not actually this awful person. Besides, you'd be doing him a favor, so I bet you could leverage that to get more information."

Jack was silent for a few long moments before he blew out a noisy breath. "You make too much sense, darlin'." Already he sounded less grumpy. 

"So should I tell him yes?" 

"Ask for dates and what he's payin'. I'll decide when I get that info." Jack grumbled a little. "You coming over this weekend?"

"Of course," you agreed. "Nothing could keep me away." 

"Good." His smile was clear in his voice. "I'll talk you later, I gotta get back to it before Ginger murders Tequila."

You laughed. "Go on. I'll see you soon." Grinning, you hung up. It took no time to type out a response to your contact, and then you went back to work. 

The answer came not even twenty minutes later. The timing was this weekend. And the fee was… a lot. It seemed a bit exorbitant to you, but maybe that was intentional. 

Jack okayed it, so you sent along the reply. 

This weekend was certainly going to be interesting. 

Saturday noon found you and Jack outside awaiting the dragon. Someone (a gruff man) had called you earlier to notify you that he was on his way with the dragon. 

"Could be them," Jack murmured, nodding towards the horizon. You could see two specks, slowly growing larger as they approached. 

“Why two?” you asked, shading your eyes as you watched the specks. 

“Prob’ly has his own dragon,” Jack grunted. “Easier for him to ride his own and drop off this dragon here, so he’s got his own way out.” He shrugged when you looked at him. “Only two ways to transport a dragon, darlin’, and freight on these guys is expensive as adults.” 

You chuckled but didn’t ask further. The specks had definitely become dragons, getting closer as you watched. 

It wasn’t long until they landed a safe distance away, although the wind from their landing did blow dirt and leaves around. You made a face as you brushed a leaf from your shoulder, starting towards the two dragons. 

The rider slid down from the dragon on the right, a huge silver dragon with bits of orange hiding among the scales. The rider wore a brown flight suit, zipped all the way up, and a silver helmet, like a motorcycle helmet. The visor was tinted and pulled down still, giving you no glimpse of the man. 

He took a few steps towards you and Jack and then stopped, calmly saying your name. When you blinked and nodded, he pulled a letter from a pocket and held it out to you. 

“From the shipper,” he said, not moving and letting you step forward in your own time to take the envelope. 

“Thank you.” The envelope had only your name on the front, no other information. “Do you want a drink? Does your dragon need anything?” 

The man tilted his head, just a little, and you had the feeling he was watching you, even as Jack came up behind you to place a hand at the small of your back. “Thank you, but no. We’re fine.” 

His dragon snorted, lowering her head to sniff at you. A puff of hot air sent a leaf you had missed flying away from you, and you giggled. Raising one hand slowly, you let her sniff your hand and then shove her snout up against your palm, clearly demanding scratches. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” you crooned, scratching along her jaw. “You are huge, my goodness. And impressive. What’s your name?” You glanced at the rider. 

“Razor Crest.” He sounded surprised. “She doesn’t normally… like people.”

You laughed quietly, stretching up on your toes to scratch her eye ridges. From the side, the other dragon snorted and rumbled, apparently upset at the lack of attention but also smart enough to not get into Razor Crest’s space. “I hear that a lot. And what’s your name?” 

He was silent for a few moments, just watching you and his dragon. “Djarin.”

“Well, Djarin, thank you for this.” You smiled and scratched Razor Crest’s eye ridges one more time before you patted her jaw and stepped back. “Safe flights.”

Djarin nodded to you and pulled himself back up onto his dragon, seemingly effortlessly. Which was an impressive display, you had to admit. You and Jack both backed up, going over to the new dragon to give Razor plenty of space to take off. 

“And who’s this?” Jack asked, holding out his hand for the green dragon to sniff. The dragon was on the smaller side, though clearly an adult. The dragon pranced forward with only a perfunctory sniff, ready to play. 

You opened the letter, reading through it quickly. “This is PJ, apparently.” You slowed your reading, frowning a little. 

This is PJ. He’s five - an adult but still young. His previous owner, Poppy, had to get rid of him to make space, as he has turned out to be too rambunctious for her and her staff. He was raised around humans, and is quite comfortable with people. 

His registration number is 12104083, alternate number 103974812. 

Someone will be by in a few days to take him. I appreciate your cooperation in this matter.

The letter was unsigned, but you didn’t need a signature to know who it was from. But the other information didn’t make sense. You hadn’t expected anything about his former owner, and…

“Sugar?” Jack frowned a little, ducking his head to try to meet your gaze. PJ nudged him, sending him stumbling a step, and he absently patted the dragon’s jaw. “What’s wrong?”

“Dragons don’t have registration numbers,” you mumbled, half to yourself, rereading that sentence. “Or alternate numbers.” 

“What?” 

You held out the letter to him. “Dragons don’t have registration numbers,” you reiterated. “We all know that. So why is he giving me numbers to reference?” 

Jack didn’t respond, busy staring at the paper. His eyes were wide, lips parted just a little. PJ nudged him again, but this time Jack didn’t even reprimand the dragon. Instead he scrambled for his phone, typing in something quickly.

“Jack?” You frowned, watching him. 

“Poppy,” he mumbled. “Oh, clever man. Whoever you are, you do not like the Golden Circle, do you?” He was starting to sound excited now. 

“What are you talking about?” You shifted your weight, glancing between Jack, the letter, and PJ. 

“The Golden Circle is run by a woman named Poppy,” Jack told you quickly. “We’ve known that much for years, but could never get a location on her base. ‘S why she’s still in operation. The numbers here aren’t just numbers. They’re coordinates.” He laughed once, short and sharp, and turned his phone around to show you a spot in the middle of Cambodia. “Your informant just gave us the location of the Golden Circle.”