#so i realised i never made any oc tags on here

[space-ninja-fashion-show]

Wally has not managed to jumpscare me in A While, and my reactions to it popping up now range from "hey fucker!" to "WHAT."

I know playing a viddy game is Very different from living it but i do feel like over time Kohlrabi's reactions morph towards something similar

They do Not trust Wally. They'd prefer it wasn't around at all. But there's only so long that something can seemingly harmlessly haunt your home before you stop seeing it as scary and start seeing it more as a minor inconvenience

[thisreadswhatever]

Anything For The Club: Part Two

series masterlist

[description]: jax teller x female reader, reader x oc characters

[wordcount]: 1.6k+

[summary]: Jax gets back from his run after rushing home to you, and a concerning discovery is made at Diosa.

[series cw]: 18+ minors do not interact! female reader, swearing, sexual harassment/assault (non-canon characters), alcohol use, mix of fluff, smut and angst throughout, p in v sex, teasing, violence, gun use, mentions of blood, murder, blackmail

[authors note]: still no smut yet.. but it's coming, i promise! this however is my favourite part because soft jax makes me feel a type of way. let me know if you want to be tagged in part three :)

You woke up to the feeling of strong hands wrapping around your waist, goose bumps forming at the feel of his cold rings pressing against your skin. You turned to find Jax curled up next to you, still dressed in his jeans and kutte, too preoccupied with getting into bed with you to change. An audible sigh of relief escaped your lips as you came to realise he was home. “You’re here.” 

You melted into the feeling of him beside you, like you could finally breathe again. His safe arms cloaked your body as he wove himself between the sheets and your skin. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” He still made your heart race even after all the years you’d been together, it always felt like that first time you saw him when he came home to you. 

He pulled you in tighter, pressing your back snug against his chest, and you closed your eyes as you revealed in the warmth.

“We decided it would be easier to let Chibs and Juice handle the rest, too much heat for all of us to be involved. I couldn’t wait any longer to see you. I rode back as soon as I could.”

He leaned over and found your lips, crushing his mouth to yours with urgency. His hand cupped at your chin as he drew your face higher into his, stroking your jaw with his thumb as his tongue encased yours. You never wanted it to end. 

“You sure you’re okay?” You didn’t want details, but it concerned you that whatever had happened on the run, he felt like he needed to get out of there. Despite how relieved you were he was home safe, you knew it wasn’t like Jax to bail from club business, no matter how much heat there was.

“I am now.” He laid back on his side as he was engulfing himself around you again, kissing your ear as he stated softly, “Not like you to drink on the job.” He must’ve smelt the lingering alcohol on your breath. He never did miss a thing. 

You had already made the decision to not bother Jax with the events of last night. It was well known that you had to handle drunk clients at Diosa, and it didn’t feel like it was fair to bother Jax with it when he had so much else going on. 

“The girls wanted to take a few shots before I left.” You had tried your best to sound nonchalant, hoping he wouldn’t sense your anxiety. He found your face again and kissed you once more, reassured by your response.

You broke from the intoxication of his lips long enough to look over at the clock on your bedside.

“What time is it?” With your hazy eyes, you could just make out the bright red numbers.

“Shit Jax, I really have to sleep before I get back to Diosa.” 

“Don’t work, stay here with me.” 

Jax pulled you into him, shifting your body so you were facing him in bed. He continued to kiss you, his hands intertwining with your clothes as he attempted to pull your shirt off, struggling with the task due to the dead weight of your half asleep body. He gave up the fight and wrapped one hand through your hair, while the other felt every inch of you. “I missed my girl too much.” He trailed his fingers along your side under the fabric, caressing the skin leading to your breasts. It was so hard to say no to him. 

“If only I wasn’t Vice President of Diosa”, you groaned. 

He slowed his kisses down, a smile cracking from his lips he planted small pecks along your jawline. He laid his forehead against you, and met his nose to yours as he nuzzled the tip gently. “Get some sleep, VP. I’m gonna work on the bike in the garage.” Jax kissed your cheek once more and shuffled out of bed, letting you drift back to sleep peacefully. 

----------

You arrived at Diosa the next day, still slightly hungover from the one too many impromptu shots. As you walked into your office, one of the girls greeted you and handed over the mail. You set the stack of envelopes on your desk, and logged into your laptop, checking your email and upcoming calendar. 

You heard a knock, and looked up to see Nero was standing in the doorframe. “How you feeling?” 

“Like I could use some coffee.” 

“You sure you’re okay? Last night was tough. That guy was a total prick.” 

“I’m fine, Nero, honestly. Let’s just pretend it never happened.”

“You tell Jax?” 

You loved Nero, but his pestering about the situation was grating on you. You just wanted to forget it.

“No need, they won’t be back.” 

Nero nodded and smiled warily as he left down the hall, “I’ll get Mandy to bring you that coffee.” 

“Thanks boss.” 

You slumped back in your chair, sighing. For some reason that guy really had left a churning feeling in your stomach. The guilt was eating at you for keeping it from Jax and lying to reassure Nero that you were fine, despite the fact you felt it was almost an overreaction to feel how you were now. The President had disappeared as quickly as he had arrived, and you never had to see him again. He was just some random creep, but that darkness in his eyes kept haunting your memory.

You tried to distract yourself with work, digging into your email and spreadsheets. Mandy brought your coffee in, asking if you were alright. 

“Not you too. It isn’t the first time a client’s been a dick. I’m good. Thanks for the coffee”, you added with a reassuring smile. 

“Alright alright, just checking. Can we go through the bar stock today? We’re looking pretty light.” 

“Yeah, just give me a few minutes and I’ll be with you.” 

She nodded and started to head out before noticing the pile of mail on your desk. “Do you need any help with that? You got a hefty stack there to get through.” 

You glanced at the piling envelopes again, realising you hadn’t even attempted to look at them yet. “Sure, let’s do that before we start the bar.” 

Mandy started shredding through the pile with your letter opener, as you filed away the invoices and booking confirmations. She was chatting away with you about the new guy she was seeing, and how he was planning a romantic getaway weekend for the two of them in Nevada. That was something you and Jax didn’t really get to do. Despite how happy you were for her, you couldn’t help but feel envious at the idea of her seemingly “normal” dating life.

You looked up at Mandy as she had gone quiet. She was suddenly no longer gushing about her boyfriend, holding a tan envelope up closer to her as she seemed to be reading it intently.

“Weird. This one doesn’t look like it’s for us.” 

She handed it to you. You didn’t recognise the forwarding address, but your blood ran cold as you read the first two lines.

 ‘M L GALINDO, VAGOS CLUBHOUSE’. 

The letter fell through your fingers, your coffee crashed to the floor as you tried to catch it, and the contents spilled across the cream carpet. “Shit!” Mandy yelled as she shot up from her seat, rushing to get some paper towels. You scrambled to the floor, picking up the empty cup and envelope, now covered in coffee. You ignored the liquid, prying open the side of the letter without ripping the entire thing. It was an electric bill, dated from two months ago. 

Mandy rushed in with the paper towels, dropping to her knees to soak up the remnants from the floor. She tossed her head back in frustration as she realised with scrubbing that the stain wasn’t budging. “This is never coming out.” Her attention turned to your eyes, which were still starring at the envelope, “are you alright? What is it?” 

You tried to play off your confusion with a shrug, “just me being a klutz again. The letter must’ve been sent to the wrong address.” 

Mandy had never known you to be a klutz. She looked at you with prying eyes, “isn’t that the name of those guys who were here last night?” She leaned over to look at the letter again in your hands, “‘Vagos’?” 

You put the wet letter in your desk and locked the drawer. 

“I’m sure they accidentally dropped it while they were here. I’ll take it to the mailbox and let them redirect it.” 

You played it off as best you could, considering it was hardly a believable story. As if a group of gang members would just happen to drop an electric bill behind at a escort hub. It was a hard sell, though you truthfully didn’t have any explanation for it either.

Mandy stood up from the floor, holding the now soiled paper towel soaked in cold coffee. You’d never seen her look at you so seriously before, her brows furrowed as she scanned your face for the truth. “Are those guys bothering you? Do we need to get The Club?” 

“Its just some random coincidence. Nothing that we need to bother The Club with.” You headed for the door, trying to change the subject. “Let’s go check out that stock.”

———

part three

find my masterlist here

[mummybear]

My Brother's Best Friend - Chapter One - Unexpected Night

Words: 4079

Warnings: Swearing, Dirty Talk, Attempted Assault (Implied Sexual), Possessive Stiles, Protective Stiles, Grinding, Talk Of Marking, Protective Scott. Think that's it.

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Reader/Sadie McCall, Lydia Martin, Liam Dunbar, Allison Argent, Travis(OC)

Summary: Stiles Stilinski has always been your weakness, but since he was your brother's best friend you'd stayed away. When Stiles comes back to Beacon Hills fresh from his time in the FBI Academy something is very different about the boy you once knew.

A/N So hey guys! I know it's been a while hopefully this is the start of me getting back into my writing! We shall see. I really hope you guys enjoy this, any feedback is encouraged as always, and please let me know if you would like a tag as I update.

Chapter 1 - Unexpected Night

I can’t believe this goddamn party is still going on. I am far too drunk right now, I just want to  sleep. However, as usual, my dumbass brother is too busy making out with his girlfriend. Don’t get me wrong, Allison is amazing, and I’m so happy for them. They had realised that they belonged together not long ago, after years of dating something happened. Scott didn’t explain it further than saying it was a wolf thing, that apparently I wouldn’t understand. 

Mom always tells me never to go home by myself, however, right now I’m seriously considering it. I don’t even know why I came here tonight. It was stupid, they’re all his friends anyway, the great Scott McCall, I’m pretty sure people forget that I even exist. Not that I have any ill feelings towards him, he’s my brother, yes he might be a giant pain in the ass but all he’s ever done is protect me and look out for me.

If I’m honest with myself, I do know why I came here tonight, Stiles is here. He’s finally back from his FBI training, I hadn’t asked Scott too much about the situation, or how long he was back for. In fact I hadn’t even seen him yet. 

Yes it’s one giant cliche. I have the world's biggest crush on my big brother’s best and oldest friend. I think I have since I was ten and Stiles was fourteen, I’ve been following them around for the better part of ten years. Before that I’d avoided them as much as possible. Then one day everything changed, as soon as I started hanging out with Scott and his friends, I finally felt like I fit in. I’m not sure what changed exactly, but whatever it was made it easier for me to become part of their group. Scott’s probably everything a big brother should be, and I know if he knew what I felt for Stiles he’d try and talk to me about it. Probably try and make me see what I’m already afraid of, that Stiles and I wouldn’t work. 

Not really sure why I’m having these thoughts, probably has something to do with the fact that I’m drunk off my ass, in this random ass house. And while it may not be the best time for it, when I’ve been drinking my mind tends to wander. 

After finally traipsing my way upstairs I find a bedroom, one that doesn’t really appear to belong to anyone, at least not permanently. Maybe it’s a spare room? People still have those, right? I close the door softly behind me. I’m unable to find a lock for the door, so I opt to just lay down for a minute or two, just to rest my eyes. I quickly climb up onto the bed and as soon as my head hits the pillow I let out a sigh of relief, finally giving in. I close my eyes, hoping that both the room and my head will stop spinning at some point soon. I can hear some kind of arguing going on behind the door, but I can’t bring myself to open my eyes, it feels like they’re being weighed down, I hadn’t had a drink in such a long time, but I don’t remember it ever hitting me like this before.

Suddenly there’s the sound of the door crashing open, as it bounces hard against the wall, before it slams closed again. I wince, feeling a throbbing in my head suddenly and manage to wrench my eyes open. However, they snap all the way open in fear as soon as I register the big body standing in the corner of the room. I can feel eyes on me as a tense silence settles over the room. Clearly he knows I’m awake, but he’s yet to make a move. 

A sudden sickness overtakes me, when I hear Stiles on the other side of the door, quieter, but still audible, shouting my name, or his nickname for me. Mini or Mini McCall was the go to name for me among most of Scott’s friends. He sounds worried as he calls for me, and my head is so foggy that I can’t concentrate on anything, I can’t even tell if I’m imagining Stiles calling for me, why would he want to find me? He hadn’t so much as texted me since he’d been home, much less tried to see me or speak to me in person. It was strange, almost like he was avoiding me, even Stiles’s dad hadn’t seen him yet.

I clear my throat, testing out if I can speak or not, but the nerves are clear in my every word. “W-Who are you?” I manage to stutter out, my throat a little sore and my voice a bit hoarse. 

“Don’t you worry about it, Doll. Just close your eyes, don’t worry about anything, I'll take real good care of you. Go back to sleep,” there’s a clear threat in that deep voice, one that makes me shudder. 

I quickly sit up, doing my best to ignore the way the entire room blurs and moves once again. As I try to back myself into a corner, trying to make myself as small as possible. I know it’s stupid, but I also know I don’t stand a chance in hell of standing up right now, I’m scared and drunk off my ass, feeling like a fucking idiot for isolating myself in a freaking bedroom of all places, I should’ve just found Scott, or even Lydia.

He smirks at me as starts to walk closer and I can finally see his face. I don’t recognise him, but that isn’t really a shock, he’s definitely older than me, not sure if he’s older than my brother though. A sickness coats my throat just seeing the look on his face, the sick twisted grin. The door hasn’t stopped rattling since he stepped inside, so I keep my gaze fastened to it. 

I’m hoping for a miracle, however unlikely it might be. He closes in on me until I can no longer see the door behind him, because this guy's huge hulking frame is blocking my view of anything but him. On instinct I close my eyes and hold my legs tighter, and I finally let out a scream.

“Stiles!” The scream sounds helpless and terrified as it’s ripped from somewhere deep within me, which makes complete sense, given the current circumstances.

He reaches for me, I can feel his large moist palm as he grips my knee squeezing roughly, trying to pry my legs down or apart, with enough force to leave a bruise. But before he can get too far, the door smashes open against the wall once more, revealing a much more welcome intruder. My heart thuds even harder in my chest, because the guy releases me in surprise and whirls around on my saviour. 

I see him then, Stiles Stilinski in the flesh. And what flesh it is, he’s put on muscle lately. Muscle that could rival even that of my big brother, the true Alpha. But this guy is huge and I can see Stiles gulp from across the room, but his eyes harden as the flick between me and the guy who still has his hand firmly gripping my knee.

“Get your filthy fucking hands off of her!” Stiles shouts, taking another step into the room.

“Nah. Not gonna happen.” The guy states with a slimy grin, as his eyes slide over me, making me wish I was anywhere else.

“I said get the fuck away from her. What the hell is wrong with you?!” Stiles growls, stepping closer to this giant of a man. But I can only watch from where I sit, still paralysed with fear.

“Get over yourself, Stilinski, we were just gonna have a little fun. Stop being so hard up, go find your own pussy. This one's mine tonight, maybe I’ll let you have a go tomorrow. After I’ve used her up, such a pretty little body, bet she’s gonna feel real fuckin’ good.”

The words almost make me throw up, but my tongue feels swollen and I can speak. My eyes lock with Stiles for the first time in years as a tear slides down my cheek. 

“I’ll make you fucking eat those words, Travis. The only thing you’re about to feel is my fist,” Stiles snarls, “take your fucking hands off of her.”

“Whose makin’ me? Your pansy ass?” Travis laughs, removing his hands and taking a few steps closer to Travis.

Suddenly those deep brown eyes draw me in like never before and my heart stills in my chest. This is the first time I’ve seen him in a few months. The FBI program has kept him so busy lately that we haven’t seen much of him. But still, I could swear there’s something a little different about him, other than his size, but there’s definitely something different about his eyes, something that I can’t quite place.

I can’t tear my gaze away, instead they fall to his lips and I shift uncomfortably where I sit, suddenly a growl tears through the room. My eyes widen and I look to the doorway behind Stiles, expecting to see my brother, but he isn’t there. I swallow thickly as my eyes automatically snap back to Stiles, and I see it, the flaring of his nostrils, the way his eyes are focused entirely on me, then I realise the sound could only have come from him. But he doesn’t share the same wolf affliction that my brother has, at least, not that I know of. How much has changed since I last saw him! 

Stiles steps closer, body tense and unflinching. All traces of fear have disappeared from his face. Now he just looks furious, more so than anyone I’ve ever seen before. 

“Mate.” Stiles snarls, shoving the guy as soon as he’s close enough, and to my utter shock and surprise the guy slams back into the wall with a crash, leaving behind an imprint of his giant body as he slides down the wall with a groan. Everything happens so fast, I don’t have time to analyse what the hell Stiles meant when he’d growled that one word. But I can’t help but shudder with excitement at the way my body responded.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps hammering up the stairs, and before I know it Scott has Stiles pinned against him, as Liam all but wrestles the other guy from the room. 

“Stiles, you need to calm down, breathe buddy. ” Scott instructs calmly, his deep red Alpha eyes flaring to life, like they would when he’s trying to calm the other members of his pack. Something flits across my brother’s face as he relaxes his grip a little. Whatever it is, seems to register with Stiles that other than my brother we’re alone in the room and safe once again.

His body goes completely lax and Scott releases the tight band he’d been holding around his best friend. I can’t help but stare as Stiles staggers towards me. Safe to say I’ve sobered up in the last five minutes.

“Can one of you tell me what the hell just happened here?” Scott asks carefully, but I can’t take my eyes off of Stiles.

“Just give us a minute, Scott. I, um, I think I should talk to Stiles.” 

I hear my brother huff out a breath before he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

“I’ll be back in ten if you’re not downstairs before then, we’re going home.” He calls through the door. Then the door opens again and Scott smiles at us both, “oh and thanks for having my sister's back, buddy.”

Stiles turns towards the doorway with a slight smile as his eyes lock on his Alpha, “Always, Scotty, you know that. We won’t be long.”

I finally let myself relax a little when the door closes. Stiles crawls on the bed and sits in front of me. He rests his hand over the reddened skin on my knee, and lets out another quieter growl. “I’m gonna fucking kill him. He won’t ever touch anyone ever again.” 

“Hey, I’m okay,” I whisper, resting my hand on top of his, “you saved me.” 

He runs a shaking hand through his thick hair and his eyes lock with mine once more.

“I should’ve been here. I’m supposed to protect you, I’m so fucking sorry, Mini. If that sick fuck had touched you…” He sounds so defeated and my heart squeezes at his words.

“You got here in time, you’ve always had my back. This time wasn’t any different, except maybe that,” you giggle slightly, as you nod toward the dent in the wall.

He shifts closer to me and drops his forehead against mine, letting out a contented sigh. I let my eyes slip closed for a second. For once I give myself the freedom to enjoy the closeness, I open my eyes again and those gorgeous chocolate brown eyes are focused on mine. I lick my lips and feel the shuddered breath that escapes his lips. 

Ever so gently he reaches out and his thumb brushes my bottom lip. 

“You’re so fucking beatiful. Please tell me you feel this, Mini, because you smell so damn good, I don’t know If I’m strong enough to stay away.” 

I swallow thickly as his nose nudges mine gently, my entire body practically vibrating with need. 

“Y-Yeah, I feel it,” I reply quietly, scared that if I talk too loud this dream will end, I don’t dare to tell him just how long I’ve felt these things though.

“Then we should probably talk. Because I need to tell you some things before this goes any further,” he replies, voice hoarse and strained, like it’s painful for him to speak these words. But then he goes to pull away and all my instincts go into overdrive, and I finally give in to what I want, I clamp onto him and don’t let go.

Nor do I fight the need to keep him close to me. Right where he belongs. My fingers push into his thick hair and I gently tug him back towards me, just those last few millimetres. Until his lips brush mine ever so briefly. He doesn’t even try to fight me, and I can feel the shudder that runs through his entire body when I push him back and straddle his lap, wrapping my legs around his waist. I think there’s some kind of trick of the lights because I could swear there’s this purple glow in his eyes for a few seconds before they settle back on brown. But I push the thought  away for now, and press myself a little closer. So that every part of our bodies is connected.

“Tell me later, please Stiles, I need this.” I hope I don’t sound as desperate as I feel, Stiles doesn’t move, but I hear how hard he swallows, almost like a gulp as he lets his eyes slip closed. Following his lead I let my own eyes close when his hand cups my cheek, the other hand slips somewhere much less innocent. When he cups my ass his long fingers curl and he squeezes slightly, letting out a groan of pleasure when I grind down against the obvious hardness pressing against me.

Suddenly his lips are on mine, insistent and urgent, and it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Our lips are in perfect sync, and a shudder rolls through me when his tongue nudges my lips, seeking permission that I happily and easily grant. I’m rocking my hips in a steady rhythm now, and the kiss grows deeper, his fingers dig harder into my skin as he urges me to keep moving. 

Holding me as close as he physically can against his body, Stiles sits up, turning us so that my back hits the mattress and he’s hovering above me. He breaks our kiss and I gasp for breath as he drags his lips across my cheek and down into the crease of my neck. He groans as he inhales deeply, “smell so good. My mate. Just wanna mark you up, make you mine the right way.” His voice vibrates against my skin and I shiver as he laps at the soft skin of my neck.

Confusion sweeps through my lust-addled brain at his wording. 

“What do you mean?” I ask breathlessly, more confused about his words than I’d care to admit.

Pulling back to meet my eyes he smiles, and ducks his head looking a little more like the Stiles I remember. I cup his cheek gently, urging him to look at me again.

“This is why I said we should talk. I can’t do what I need to. Not without you knowing what you’re letting yourself in for. I’m not the same man I was the last time I saw you, something happened, I just…I don’t know how to begin to explain this.”

It hurts me that he sounds so defeated already, almost like he’s worried about what he has to tell me.

“Don’t you know by now, nothing you tell me will change how I see you,” I tell him honestly, pulling him closer so his body is pressed against mine, and he finally lets some of his weight rest on me.

“I wanna believe you, but I’m scared. This is huge, and I can’t let anyone down, but especially you, I can’t lose you. Especially not now I know what you are to me, not now I’m so close.” 

Before I can ask what he means there’s a hesitant knock on the door, before it slowly creaks open. Liam stands there, watching us sheepishly for a few seconds before Stiles growls at him, I can’t help but frown as I look up at my protector. But then I see it again, the purple in his eyes. 

The gasp falls from my lips unintentionally and as soon as it does Stiles snaps his gaze towards me. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, his fingers tightening their hold on me and I can only stare up at him. 

“Liam, get the fuck out. Now!” Stiles snarls.

“But, Scott said…” 

Stiles is off the bed before I can react, when I do finally open my eyes I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Stiles has Liam pinned to the wall by his throat. And Liam is trying to get free, but he’s stuck fast. I can’t help but wonder, how the hell is that possible! 

Mouth agape I watch as my brother’s Beta looks over at me, “little help here, mini. Calm your man down, please.” 

My man? I inwardly ask myself, we’ve fooled around for all of 5 minutes and suddenly he’s mine. While I can’t fight the pleasure at hearing those words, I also can’t help but fight the confusion, maybe he wants me to calm Stiles down so he doesn’t have to hurt him. 

“What do you want me to do?” I ask nervously, looking between the two of them.

Stiles gives a final squeeze before dropping Liam and racing to me, covering me with his body. 

“Don’t you dare fucking look at her!” Stiles snarls, his arms shaking as he holds himself above me. “Tell Scott we’re coming and leave now!” Stiles warns in a low commanding voice that sends shivers racing across my body as he carefully tugs my skirt back into place. 

I can’t deny the pulse between my thighs, even as I clamp them shut, and the whimper that falls from my lips causes Stiles to stiffen. Before he’s off the bed, practically throwing Liam further down the hallway when he doesn’t move by himself, slamming the door behind him. Before he turns back to me. 

“God, please tell me you know what you just said,” Stiles rasps as he pulls me up off the bed and hauls me against his hard body.

“I don’t… what do you mean?” I ask, frowning in confusion, as I try to search his eyes for an answer. I hadn’t said anything… had I?

Stiles whimpers like those words cause him some kind of pain. He shakes his head, running his fingers through the thick mass of hair before tugging at it harshly. I want to comfort him but I don’t know how. Hell I don’t have a clue what the fuck is happening right now.

“We can’t do this. Not right now.” His words sound harsh and bitter, no matter how softly he speaks them.

I stumble away from him, confusion and hurt lancing through me like an actual weapon. I know there’s a reason for this, but it doesn’t hurt any less, doesn’t feel any less like rejection either. Tears fill my eyes, it’s irrational and I don’t feel even remotely in control of my emotions right now, but I can’t stop it, maybe i’m still drunk. Though it doesn’t feel like that’s it. Stiles steps towards me again and I step back, “no, no. Please, Sadie, I want to. But not until you know everything! I swear to you, whatever you’re thinking, we can talk about it. Please, Mini, just trust me.” 

Hearing my real name on his lips is so strange, but I can’t deny that I really like hearing him say it.

I feel myself giving in, because as much as it hurts to have him turn me down, he's still one of the best people in my life. And despite myself, I’ve been in love with this pain in the ass longer than I can even remember, he’s yet to let me down in a real way. Letting out a sigh, I know it’s best to give him the chance to explain.

“Fine. Then let’s talk.” 

He swallows thickly, as I watch him carefully. Pretty sure I’m not going to like the next thing that comes out of his mouth. He looks nervous and twitchy.

He winces before he even speaks, “I’m sorry. But not here, let’s go home, there’s too many ears here. I swear I’ll tell you everything as soon as we’re safe,” he all but begs, holding out his hand for me.

Pushing away any and all doubts, I take his hand. Watching as he visibly relaxes and pulls me closer to him.

“Thank you, I promise, I’ll make this up to you,” he whispers before pressing a kiss to my inner wrist. Yet another shiver ripples through my body at the contact that I can’t control. 

He keeps me tucked into his side as we leave the room, careful to touch as few people as possible while we walk. When we finally make it outside, Scott’s waiting with the rest of the pack. Stiles looks reluctant to get in the car, judging by the way Liam forces his body closer to the opposite door Stiles’ look had been less than friendly. 

He slips inside and I can’t help but squeak in surprise as he hauls me inside with him, not into my own seat but so that my back is tightly pressed against his front, and his arms band protectively around my waist. 

“Dude. Come on! Not in my car, she’s still my little sister. Damn,” Scott groans, locking eyes with Stiles in the rear view mirror.

Stiles seems to consider his words before he reluctantly relents, moving to the middle seat before he gently eases me into the seat as far away from Liam as humanly possible. Keeping a hand firmly planted on my thigh, huffing like a petulant child, I can’t help but giggle. It’s almost like he can’t stop himself from touching me. His long fingers tightly curl around my leg, almost like he’s afraid someone will take me from him if he lets go. Taking a deep breath I tentatively slip my fingers between the gaps in his, gently squeezing them, hoping to offer even a little comfort, those big brown eyes jump to mine and he visibly relaxes into the seat.

I look up and catch my brother’s eyes. I can’t work out the look on his face, for the first time since we were kids, I can’t tell what he’s thinking and for some reason that only makes me even more anxious.

Tags: @julzdec @lettersofwrittencollective @mogaruke @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @lilulo-12fanfiction @charmed-asylum @defenderrosetyler @foxyjwls007 @mylovelydame21 @akshi8278 @stylesismyhubs @peachyyybabyy @fantasy-myth1 @coffeebooksandfandom @magssteenkamp @screamxqueenx94 @brien-odylan @riseandshinelittleblossom @ceceliaking-18 @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @missindecision @chewie-redbird

[oh-saints]

sunshine becomes you (final)

Being a footballer means Martin possibly has every resources in his whim, and that includes obliterating the blurred lines between him and Eve.

Grumpy!Martin Ødegaard x Sunshine!OC

Word count: 3.7k

tw: 18+ for graphic sexual contents included inside (aka a sprinkle of smut); unprotected sex

Note: i know i've made you guys as frustrated as Martin in the gif above so i'm putting you out of misery (#spoiler) and i hope you guys forgive me lolol but as usual, i happen to write this around dawn so ofc not beta-read yet. oh, and i'm changing the term solstrålen into solskinn (including in the prev parts) bcs it turned out google search failed me, thanks @multifamdomfan12 for correcting me! <3

Tags: my lovely loves @julianalvarez9 @formula1tina @okayline @mehrmonga @mrswhitethornbelikov @notleclerc @laurensficrecs @soccerwag9 <3<3

sunshine becomes you masterlist here

“I expect to see you again soon, dear Eve,” was the last words Martin’s mother muttered before she and the rest of the family boarded the car Martin had chartered to get them to the nearest tarmac.

With the glint on her eyes, Martin knew her mother meant what she said and he, frankly enough, didn’t think he’d be ready to face the day he had to break the news to her mother that Eve and him were no longer happening. Her mother seemed so delighted with Eve, utterly wishing deep down that Eve was already a part of their family by some sort of extension called marriage.

Doors were closed behind Eve, and suddenly Martin’s house was too humongous for the two of them. Instead of appreciating the big space, Eve hated the way the hollow silence that followed after. It was suffocating, to say the least, and Eve wanted to run away as soon as possible.

Martin noticed the uncomfortable shift Eve played between her right and left legs, indicating she was in an awkward situation, and Martin already hated the fact he needed to have a legit justification to have her in his arms without any fight.

To have her in his arms like they still had someone else to impress, but without having to put up the act.

But who was he to wish upon the stars when the object of all his desires repelled him the way mosquitoes repelled the hazardous substance men made to annihilate them?

Who was he to wish something too futile to happen?

“Let me get the car keys—”

“No need, Martin,” Eve wrapped her arms around herself as she looked around the living room in search for her totebag. “I can go home by myself.”

“Out of the question, Angel—”

“You should drop the pet name now,” Eve’s stern tone stopped Martin on his track. To say he was surprised was an understatement, and he wished he’d never seen the exasperated look in her eyes, for it was laced variously with emotions he’d rather not name. “No one’s around. No need to put up an act.”

“But…” At Eve’s outburst, Martin didn’t realise his arms fell helplessly on his sides. “That’s your name.”

“You know as well as I do that’s not what I’m talking about.”

For several, intense moments, neither of them did anything but to hold each other’s stare.

“Fine, Eve. Have it your way,” Martin finally conceded to the pressure because if there was one thing he couldn’t do well was holding grudges. Put Eve as the subject and Martin would be fucked twice over. “But you should let me explain something in return.”

An eye for an eye, Eve realised was what Martin’s modus operandi, so she nodded. Anything to get this agony done and over with, anything to free her of him. Her body and soul couldn’t take anymore of Martin she somehow fell in love with in the midst of this whole charade, knowing that version of Martin never existed in the first place.

“What is it?” She said as she looked up slowly to meet the oceanic blue eyes she had grown accustomed to, but she never expected those magical orbs to be right in front of her in a flash of a moment like a lightning struck.

Before she could register on anything, Eve felt the plush cushion of his lips closing down on hers, sealing her voice box from the world with a surge of desperation lingering in the upper and lower parts of his lips, and she was scared of what he asked of her behind the kiss.

She was afraid of what he asked of her, as he goaded her parted lips for a further access to the mouth he’d always loved for saying all the right and wrong things that made Eve as she was now. The smart, the funny, the witty Eve.

She was terrified of what he asked of her, as she lost herself in the mortifying pleasure of having him traced the inside of her cavern with his tongue while tracing the curves outside with his hands, and before she knew it herself, he’d pinned her into the nearest wall, his hands holding hers up in a lock on top of her head.

She was frightened that, despite her fastened hands, she felt liberated this time around—and maybe Martin had liberated them both with the kiss—because everything felt so right in this moment.

Because while she was now familiar with his lips on hers now, Martin had never poured his body and soul and everything of his existence into a kiss. This was new, and this was raw, and Eve was so overwhelmed by the sensation because only now did she realise this was Martin—all of him, bared to her, desperate to cling on whatever’s left of her that he’d come to love.

This was real.

“Ask me something I never do.”

Eve gasped as she felt the pad of Martin’s thumb wiped away a streak of tear running down her face. She really should tell Martin it was out of happiness now. “Martin—”

“Ask, Angel.”

Another trail of waterworks escaped Eve as Martin’s eyes stared down at her intently, yet somehow so… forlorn. She never wished any of this to happen to either of them, least Martin of all people—the one who’d brought back her dignity the night of Christmas Gala. “What’s something you never do, Martin?”

“I never pretend when I’m around you,” Martin whispered the words against the pair of lips he’d come to love so much, for both the taste and the sensation that came with it, and Eve could feel the desperation lingered in the small space of air between them; of not being able to kiss her, not before she understood his points of elaboration, not before she had all her questions answered. “I’ve always kissed you the way I want to, having audience or not. I don’t care if anyone else sees us or it’s only between us just like right now.”

“But you’re pretending to be my boyfriend at the—”

“You think I was pretending but I never say anything about me pretending from the beginning, Angel,” His eyes reflected immense anguish, yet his words resonated with truth and determination, and Eve’s head was spinning beyond belief. “So I never have. Everything I do whenever I’m with you is within my purest intention and everything I say to you is my outmost honesty.”

It took Eve a full 5 seconds to digest everything, thanks to Martin’s intoxicating scent that was able to short-circuit her brain. “So the gala wasn’t a sham.”

“It never was for me, at least.”

“But it’s your idea to do that.”

“It’s my one and only crazy idea so I can get closer to you,” Martin rested his forehead on hers gently, in hope she could see what he was trying to convey; that he was tired of this charade as much as she was, especially when they were fooling themselves by denying everything that could’ve been between them. “It’s the only way I know how.”

“You used my desperation to—”

“Yes, but I don’t regret a thing,” Now Martin was truly wearing his heart on his sleeve. Eve never said about not giving a fight to him, and he’d expected that. “I don’t regret anything I do with you, and I’m sure I never will. Call me selfish but I was desperate, too, at that time so you can see me.”

Still, it hurt Martin the same every time Eve’s head moved back inches more than the distance he’d managed to claimed before. “But if you never pretend around me, you must’ve absolutely despised to see me every day.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You never reply whenever I say good morning.”

“So ask, Angel,” Martin’s hands headed south and back to cradle her face like she was a fine china—and for him, it felt that way, for how precious she was to him—and his thumb caressed out the crumpled lines between her eyebrows ever so softly. “Ask me why I never reply your good morning.”

“What?”

“Ask me why I never reply your good morning, Angel,” The Norway’s youngest captain repeated, and Eve was relieved when he reached up to her forehead to place a featherlight kiss on the same spot where her crease of confusion appeared, for she couldn’t stand another second of Martin looking down on her as if his world would end the moment she said anything that implied no to him. “No matter how much I want to give in.”

“Why?” She didn’t want to have to end with her asking the one thing she’d been dying to know but the way Martin’s lips tickled her skin and the way he inhaled the scent lingering from the shampoo she donned earlier… she’d choose this over breaking the fragile bubble they were in. “Did you hate them?”

“I abhorred them, Angel,” And there he was—Martin was back gazing down at her, and gone was the gentle but miserable captain that was hanging his sanity on a thread. He’d returned with force under his arsenal yet this time, Eve wasn’t intimidated like the last time she’d encountered this side of Martin. “I hate them because it reminds me that you treat me like everyone else,”

And Eve couldn’t hold back her stupefied gasp.

“I thought I made it obvious on my first day that I’m so… enamoured by you,” It was tragic to Eve that Martin was spewing every of these meaningful words about reality he’d been living with a smile that was anything but, and it took away her joy from the fact that this was real and she wasn’t hallucinating that she thought this was real. That she wasn’t the only one who wanted this to be real. “But you certainly think I’m just being friendly to you when in reality, it’s not it, and I hate it so much,”

And Eve vowed, as well as shooting upon the stars, that she didn’t have to see that bitter, artificial smile ever again.

She didn’t waste another breath to pull Martin down to her, capturing his lips in a deep kiss—so deep she had to close her eyes in contentment, and a sigh escaped her lips. The huffed air was Martin’s sign to ask for entrance, and she granted him the entire access to her body and soul the way he’d bared his earlier, and the clash of tongue was a rather welcomed reaction, along with the messy movements of their hands finding each other’s available exposed skin.

“Please tell me I didn’t mess up my chances with you yet,” While one hand was resting on the nape of Eve’s neck, the other one was tucking away the strands of her hair to the back of her ear. His eyes were roaming from the hair, to her eyes, to her lips, and Martin had to close the gap between them once more because he couldn’t help himself. “I’m so afraid I’ll fuck up and I lose you again before I know it.”

“Just don’t put me through such thing again.”

Eve didn’t have to open her eyes to know Martin was hiding his smile behind the smouldering look he granted her—a slight movement of his lips against the rim of hers was all it took for her—before he closed the gap between them with nips on the corners of her lips, the cupid bow, her nose, and finally landed perfectly back on the middle of her lips, claiming the gate of his existence once more like he never left her bereft.

And to be graced by the silent proclaim was Eve’s honour, for she had never felt an abundance of emotion from deep within of one’s self unlike any other from Martin. Should anyone catch them in their current position, it would be palpable for anyone to see that Eve was close to liquefying herself into a shape only Martin could mould of her, in only ways Martin could forge. Her lips were beyond repairable from the nibbles left on the trail every time the blonde man changed his course to devour her to the very last taste, her garments were beyond salvaging from the harsh movements that reminded her of the captain’s passion on the pitch and yet she welcomed the crude touches full of desperation on her skin.

She was exposed for anyone nearby to see, being the most daring she’d ever been in presence of someone else and her mirror at home, yet she felt so secluded and secured in Martin’s arms, for his body engulfed hers in ways she knew he wouldn’t compromise her dignity—to anyone, even to him.

Her head was busy configuring as to how Martin could orchestrate everything she was feeling like it was second skin to him but she should’ve known better. The moment she lost herself into his touches and was only brought to Earth when his hands grazed her bosom and only teasingly passed by the core of her heat, just to settle one of her leg on his waist, that Martin Ødegaard was truly living up his moniker of the maestro.

No one could’ve played her frustrations down to being close to a string left like he could, no one would’ve played the sanity she was hanging by a thread the way Martin did, and managed to get away with it unscathed of wrath. Yet, Eve was nothing but a puddle of mess under his subtle dominant.

“Martin, please…”

Her moans, masked by broken gasps, were enough for Martin to take her away from the poor plastered wall. Not because he didn’t want to take her against the wall—partly because he wanted only the best for her, partly because there was another time for that—but because he knew if they’d become undone right here, right there, he wouldn’t have the energy to hold them together. He knew they’d be sensational together, conjoined in the hips and lower in an earth-shatteringly manner, and he wouldn’t last as long as he’d like, despite being an athlete.

And he knew, as he lied her against the white faux material of the rug he’d immaculately placed in front of the fire place in this wintry weather, with the faint yellow glow casted on her face and her refined, soft silks of hair strands behind her, that his decision was proven better than he thought it would be.

Eve had never looked so ethereal, and he couldn’t believe this goddess-like being was now captured under him, helpless against the arms locking her sides—his angel, his fallen angel.

“Hello there, my angel,” Martin peered down at her, nuzzling his nose against hers, and Martin Ødegaard was unequivocally enraptured by the bedazzling smile she granted him at the gentle gesture, and he hadn’t even begun the ministration of what he had in mind. “You fit perfectly in my arms,”

And he was truly a goner by the way she was giggling—how much he’d been missing that gleeful sound without the constraint of a mere fake couple play between them—as he settled his nose deeper to the crook of her neck, sniffing Eve’s signature parfum she liked to spray along the length of her neck, while his fingers ran down the outer sides of her arms. The ticklish feeling was what probably enticed the melodious sound of her carefree laugh, her true carefree laugh, not the one he was used to hearing paraded around the London Colney for mere courtesy.

But Martin was something else altogether when Eve let out unrestricted whines as his nose and lips pursued the track downwards, from the neck to the open space of her chest, against the space between her ample breast, on the small space under the mound, across her ribcage. So uncalled for, especially for the effects those sinful sounds imposed on his cock. So dirty, so disgusting, yet he yearned for more.

Thus, explaining his bold move further down south.

Just as he was peppering kisses against the inner parts of her thighs, Eve arched in the ways that could put half-moon to shame, with her agape mouth and breathless pants as her hands were practically flailing to find the most stable ground to help herself, only to end up with plucking the faux material with one hand and another one gripping his shirt for life.

She sat up at the sudden realisation Martin was yet discarded from his clothes, and he stopped his deliverance at her movement. “What’s wrong?”

Eve didn’t say anything verbally but her hands lifting up the colour that complimented his skin very well said it all. Martin halted her rushing hands effectively, like he did hers when they were pushed up against the wall a bazillion years ago. “Oh no, my love. Tonight’s about you.”

Eve couldn’t hide the shivers that ran down all over the body at both the newfound nickname—and she loved being called by nicknames Martin found suitable for her—and the intonation he used to cover his obvious intention.

Martin sat back up on his knees, and the sight of him shedding his shirt was certainly something that would haunt her for days and days after today, especially when he had to be away for his job. Realising Eve was ogling at him, Martin laughed unreservedly for the first time since the both of them scrapped off the last bits of their shitty acting withstanding.

“Oh, shut up, Martin,” and the man could certainly get used to being pulled down by the woman who’d never vanished from the back of his mind, no matter how hard he tried to erase her. She kissed the way she looked; sun-blazingly hot with passion and fierceness like she wouldn’t see the light of the day tomorrow, and he could feel the last restrain of himself melted away as her hands travelled down his chest, his ribs, his well-built abdomen.

“I like this,” Eve traced down the sixpack line stretched across his midriff, her movement so gentle yet it constricted the muscle tighter than the workout machines at the gym. “Don’t show it off to anyone else.”

“Say you’re mine and it’s all yours to see, Angel,” Eve looked up to the man towering her, covering her against the moon wanting to peek at the moment they’d been dying to have, and Martin almost came undone at how innocent she looked, face held in his hands, in contrast to how devious her fingers were at. “It’s always been you.”

Eve didn’t need further reassurance to pull him down to her, crashing their lips together in ways that reminded her of waves crashing against the solid rock on the edge of the ocean. His lips were showering her with cold water against the warmth of hers, and hers were pouring him calmness against the sun. Yin and yang found each other, at last, and they both moaned at the sensation the both of them had been liberated at best from whatever holding them down.

They were floating on the rough waters, so high in each other’s frustrated and desperate kisses to find solace in each other’s undone, but nothing could compare to the moment the lovers were fully, entirely intertwined with each other. Eve felt so full of Martin, and she wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

Martin had to control his breath, just as what his trainers told him to do on the pitch ironically enough, as he felt Eve welcoming him with the warmest hug he could ever receive from someone, both inside and out. He couldn’t help himself but pull her closer to him, flushed against him, every air making their way in between them was something he considered a disturbance.

“Oh, Martin,” Her breathing was ragged, so did Martin’s, and it pushed Martin to drive her closer to the edge. “You feel so good against me.”

At her words, he went the deepest he could plunge himself into the sweetest hellhole that was Eve, and her body went tighter, inside and out he could see veins almost bulging out against her temple. She was halfway there; he could see it in her gaze, in what he could make out of her extremely flushed cheeks. Who was he to grant delayed gratification to her?

“Say you’re mine, mitt solskinn,” One touch against the swollen, pretty clit of hers, and she slowly peaking her highs. She was so beautiful, chasing her release under his touch as he pounded himself into her relentlessly for his own end, despite the dirty, slick mess she was making against his hands. She panted his name like a prayer, and it delighted him to no end that he was the only one who could provoke such a sensuous siren. “No more denying between us, Angel.”

“I’m yours, Martin Ødegaard,” and he felt that down to the bones as he’d reached his high at her words, like the passcode to his own ending, and as the morning came lazily upon them, he’d never felt as whole as that moment. Although he’d had Eve in his arms countless times before, because he now knew that despite the stormy weather outside, he’d always have his sunshine shining brightly in his arms, beaming radiantly as she whispered, good morning, baby.

Martin didn’t have anything else to respond her but to give her the same blinding smile—the biggest he could muster, anyway, which was still pale in comparison to the force in his arms, settling well like a little spoon she was.

“You really lost against me.”

The once-wonderkid could only laugh at her comment. You could count on Eve for her smart mouth. “Well, if this is what losing feels like, I really don’t mind at all.”

“That’s it?” Eve had to pull her head back from the tight cocoon they were sharing, and she absolutely wouldn’t complain to wake up to those clear blue Nordic eyes every day. “Where does your whole athlete competitiveness go?”

“You feel like my biggest victory anyway.”

Because sunshine has become Eve.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊THE END＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

and that concludes my first ever (mini) series! wow, i didn't think this was possible in any way so thank you, to each and every single one of you, who's spared your time to read the entire series and even left comments on the posts. i hope i didn't disappoint you midway or in anyway. bcs really, if i could hug you guys rn, i would so i'm just gonna send loves to you guys ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ and see you on the next one!

[mylostloversbookmarks]

Hold on to me, 'Cause I'm a little unsteady

Characters - Joel Miller x Reader, Tommy Miller, OC.

Summary - After the fight with Joel, you are met with a familiar face at the bar. That familiar face tell's you something that Joel has never spoken about. You don't know how to process or move past it.

Word Count - 4.8K

Warnings/Tags - 18+ only Minors dni. Typical canon language, Swearing, Heavy on the Angst (again I'm so sorry), Alcohol consumption, character death, Mentions of panic attacks and anxiety, Grieving!Joel, I think that's all?

A/N - Set Pre-Outbreak! This is a follow on from 'Do You Want Me Or Do You Not?' Another huge thank you to @pedgeitopascal for beta reading and being the best hype woman going! ILYSM <3

Feedback is always appreciated!

Read Chpt 1 here ~ Do You Want Me Or Do You Not?

Divider credit to @saradika

You turn your head slightly to look over your shoulder at the lean man standing behind you. You didn't need to check who it was because you already knew, but it felt impolite not to acknowledge him. You sigh heavily and nod to the empty barstool beside you, then turn to face the bartender, who was quickly wiping down the bar.

Picking up your glass, you throw the remainder of your drink back in one large mouthful, swallowing hard and savouring the way the liquid burned your throat and spread heat radiating through your chest like little tendrils of fire.

"Hey, could I get another and a beer for him, please?" You asked the bartender, who had made her way down to your corner.

"Sure, honey," she said, her voice low and breathy. You raised your eyebrows, then chuckled under your breath as you followed her gaze and realised that she was staring dreamily at your new drinking partner.

"Seriously, Tommy, can you go anywhere without trying to take someone home with you?" You rolled your eyes and poked your elbow into his ribs with a halfhearted attempt at a smile.

"I didn't even do anything; she started it!" He laughed and winked at the admittedly beautiful woman behind the bar.

She giggled, and you could see the start of a blush creeping into her cheeks as she quickly turned her back to get started on your drink order.

"I'm telling you it's the power of the stache." He chuckled as he twirled the corners of the dark hair on his upper lip, wiggling his eyebrows up and down like a cartoon character.

You know that he is trying to lighten the mood and cheer you up a bit. You have a feeling this meeting isn't random and that he's already heard about your fight with his brother.

"Oh yeah, that's definitely it," you agree sarcastically, laughing despite yourself.

"So is this a chance encounter or have you been speaking to Joel?" You ask without meeting his eyes. Something in you hopes that he has spoken to Joel, not only so you can gauge what kind of mood he is now in but also to make sure he is okay.

"Okay, you got me," he sighs, holding his hands up in surrender.

"He called me about a half hour ago; he's worried about you. He said you guys had a fight. He tried to call you, but your phone was in the house, and you'd been gone for a few hours, so he was worried. Sarah's in bed, so he asked if I could look for you and make sure you were okay, and here I am." He gave you a small smile, brimming with sympathy.

Over the years, Tommy had become one of your closest friends, even though he was Joel's brother. He was your closest confidant. You know you can tell him anything and it will never go any further.

"Well, you found me! I'm guessing it didn't take you too long," you huffed.

"Y/N, what happened? Joel didn't tell me anything; he just said it was bad, and he sounded like a wreck. I don't mean to pry, but you two never fight like this." He leaned forward on his stool, mirroring your posture as he rested his elbows on the bar top.

Knowing you couldn't get out of answering him, you took a deep breath and blew it out through your mouth. You raised your head and met his eyes for the first time since he sat beside you, and you instantly wished you hadn't. Swallowing hard against the lump that was quickly making a reappearance in your throat.

Saved by the bartender as she set another double on the grubby coaster in front of you, she placed a small napkin with what you assumed was the bar's logo printed on one of the corners, but on further inspection, it was her phone number. You smiled into your glass as you took another sip of your drink.

"By the way, my name is Valentina," she said to the man beside you, sharing a small smile with you, and just as she was about to tell you your total, you beat her to it.

"Don't worry, he's buying," you said, laughing for the first time all night.

"Yeah, I suppose I deserve that," he says, rolling his eyes at you.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he chuckles and hands Valentina a twenty, telling her to keep the change. She nods, looking at the napkin, and then back to Tommy, who carefully picks it up and folds it into his flannel's breast pocket.

Giving her another wink, he turns to you questioningly. "Well? What happened?" Raising an eyebrow and lifting his beer to his lips. Knowing full well that if you go through the events of the evening again, you will end up in tears.  So you decide to keep it simple.

"He came home in a mood and lost his temper. He asked me what I was even doing with him—with Sarah. Why don't I go find another guy to "play house with"?" You use the first two fingers of both hands to make air quotes around the last sentence.

You could hear Tommy's audible intake of breath over the hum of chatter as the final words left your mouth. He's just staring at you, wide-eyed, with his mouth open in surprise. He knows his brother can be an asshole at times, but he never thought he would speak to you like that.

"Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction," you sigh, taking another deep sip of your drink, swirling the glass in your hand, and admiring how the ice forms beautiful patterns on the surface.

"Jesus, Y/N, I'm really sorry. That's fucked up. I can't believe he said that to you," Tommy says in disbelief.

His hand runs back and forth over his top lip and leaves it there. He was racking his brain for the right thing to say. You smile up at him, appreciating the position he is in. Joel is not only his brother but also his best friend, and it must be difficult for him to listen to his brother's relationship problems from anyone other than Joel himself.

"Listen Tommy. I appreciate you checking in on me, and I must say I'm impressed you found me so quickly, but I'm not going to make you sit here on a Friday night and listen to your brother's girlfriend gossip about him. Go have fun with Valentina; I'm sure her shift ends soon. You deserve to have a good time after the shifts you've put in this week." You try your hardest to make the smile convincing, but he can see it doesn't meet your eyes, and he knows you're hurting.

"Well, first of all, you're not just my brother's girlfriend. You also happen to be my best friend, and as tempting as Valentina is, I think I'm going to stick around. You can have another drink, and then I'll take you home." Tommy states, leaving you no room to argue.

You can feel tears pricking at the back of your eyes as he mentions taking you home. What if Joel doesn't want you to come back? What if you can't move past this?

Tommy can see you spiralling and pulls you into his chest as your eyes brim over and the tears start again. You let him comfort you because you don't know what else to do and you feel helpless as your life seems to be crumbling around you.

"Shhh, sweetheart, it's going to be alright. Joel doesn't always express his emotions well, but on anniversaries, he tends to either bottle them up or spill them over; I guess today he just let them out." Tommy soothes you, rubbing small circles on your shoulder with his thumb.

You sniffle and pull back from his chest, trying to get a hold of your own emotions, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. What he is saying doesn't make any sense.

"What do you mean? Our anniversary isn't until November?" You take a deep breath, waiting for him to explain.

"No, Darlin, not your anniversary. It's her anniversary," he said quietly, gently removing his arm from your shoulder and looking at the chipped bar top in front of him, lost in his own memories.

"Tommy I know I've had a drink, but I'm not following. What are you talking about?" Your brows furrow. Why is everyone being so cryptic today?

"The anniversary of Jessica's death, Y/N," he says in a low, strained voice.

You could tell that he was fighting to keep his emotions in check. You just stared back at him. Your eyes searched his face for more information but found nothing.

You haven't heard Joel or Tommy talk about someone named Jessica before. Racking your brain to bring a memory to the forefront of your mind that did not exist You don't know who he is talking about.

"What?" Your voice was inaudible. It was just a breath. If Tommy hadn't been searching your face, he would have missed it entirely.

"Joel's wife…Sarah's mom?" He looked you in the eyes with genuine concern. He was wondering how much you had to drink. Even though there was only one glass in front of you when he arrived.

"Sarah's…Joels…w-what?" you stutter out.

You were both having the same thought at that moment. You began to wonder if the alcohol was starting to take effect; your brain felt fuzzy, speeding at 100mph to try and make sense of what Tommy was telling you.

"Y/N, are you alright?" "Let me get you some water," he said, standing from his stool and waving Valentina over to ask for a glass of water.

She filled it straight from the tap and handed it to him. You sat with your head in your hands, trying to take deep breaths to keep your stomach from flipping.

Tommy kneels in front of you and presses his hand against your knee, pleading with you to drink. You take a few large gulps and tell him that you need to get some air.

You turn on your heel and push through the crowd of people.

In your moping, you hadn't taken notice of your surroundings or how busy the bar had gotten. You finally make it to the doors and fling them open with more force than you mean to. Immediately, you start inhaling lungfuls of the humid night air, but it is not enough.

Your chest is rapidly rising and falling, as if an elephant is standing over you with its foot on your chest. You can't get enough oxygen. You need to calm down.

Slowly you slide down the wall, leaning against the old, shabby brick, until you reach the floor, trying to calm your rapid breathing by pushing your head between your knees.

"Y/N?!…Y/N?!" You hear Tommy's equally panicked voice emerging from the bar.

You don't have it in yourself to speak just yet, so you raise a shaky hand into the air and wave him over. Holding up one finger as your breathing begins to return to normal.

"Y/N I'm so sorry, are you alright? I didn't know; I thought you knew." He rushed out, words failing him.

"Joel had a wife, and she…died?" You choke out.

You had no idea when you looked up at Tommy that his heart was breaking all over again. Memories of his brother, broken and hollow. A shell of who he used to be. It took a long time for Joel to be where he is today.

How could you not know? How could Joel have kept this from you after all these years? He never spoke about Sarah's mother, you just assumed that the relationship hadn't worked out and he had custody of his daughter.

"Yes, Darlin, he did. C'mon, let's get you off the ground; we can talk in the truck," he whispered, leaning over to wrap an arm around your shoulders to offer you support.

He knew you weren't drunk, but you still needed him to brace you. The numbness in your legs returned as you concentrated on moving one in front of the other.

Tommy opened the cab of the truck silently, helping you in and closing the door after you. He circled the front of the cab and paused for a few moments before climbing in himself. He let out a deep breath that whooshed through the cab of the truck.

"Are you alright?" he asked in a small voice. Knowing immediately that it was a stupid question.

You didn't know how to answer him; you just stare blankly out the windscreen of the truck. Tears were burning your eyes and staining where they had fallen onto your grey t-shirt. You only realised you were shivering as Tommy wrapped his jacket around your shoulders.

"What happened, Tommy? When did it happen? Why didn't I…why wouldn't he?" You cried into your hands.

"I just left him there; he is in pain, and I just left him alone." As the realisation set in, a new wave of heart-wrenching sobs broke from your chest.

Joel Miller had lost his wife, and you left him when he needed you the most because of some stupid argument.

"Sweetheart, you didn't know. You couldn't have known. Do not blame yourself for this. It's not your fault, and it's not anyone else's fault." His voice trembled as he soothed you. Tears escaped the corners of his eyes.

"Tommy, I need to see him. I need to speak to Joel." You felt numb as you fastened your seatbelt and went back to staring out the windscreen. You didn't speak for the rest of the journey home, and neither did he.

You were both lost in your own minds. You're trying to process everything, and Tommy is lost in memories that feel like they belong to another life entirely. Before you knew it, Tommy was pulling into the driveway of the house you shared with Joel and Sarah.

Even though it was well past midnight, the porch light remained on. You knew Joel was waiting for you, and you desperately wanted to run into the house and throw your arms around him.

To bury your head in the crook of his neck and tell him everything is going to be okay and that you are sorry, that you shouldn't have left, and that you will never leave again.

Your feet wouldn't move. You stared at Tommy as he jumped down from the step of the truck. Your eyes widened in fear as you realised what was waiting on the other side of the front door.

You don't know where to begin. How do you look the person you love most in this world in the face and tell him that you know about the secret they have been keeping for so many years? You don't want to hurt him by bringing up painful memories, but he has to know.

"Tommy, I don't know what to do," you mumble, your voice raw from the tears welling up in your eyes.

"I know; I'm here. It's okay; you will get through this. I'll come in, and we can all talk." He moves quickly to your side and moves you forward with him.

When you place your foot on the first step of the porch, the front door swings open, and you find yourself in Joel's arms. You can't help but watch as your arms wrap around his neck, hands fisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. You sob openly into his chest, barely able to catch your breath.

"I'm so sorry, Joel. I'm so sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry." You feel his strong arms wrap around your body like an iron cage.

Joel moves his hands to cradle either side of your face. He looks into your eyes, and he knows. He looks at his brother and by the look of guilt and confusion in his eyes, He knows you now know the painful secret he couldn't bring himself to tell you.

It feels like the world has been lifted off his shoulders. He crushes you to his chest and buries his face in your hair. You have no idea how long you stood there holding each other.

The buzz of fireflies in the air around you and the hot summer night causes your skin to stick to his where it is exposed at his neck and his arms. Joel kisses your temple and takes your face in his strong hands, tracing a calloused finger across your cheekbone.

"C'mon, let's get you inside; Tommy will be passed out on the couch at this rate," he husked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Sure enough, when the two of you made your way into the living room, Tommy was sprawled out on the sofa, his feet, still in his work boots, resting on the arm. His eyes closed by jaw not yet slack. You assumed he was trying to give you both a moment of privacy. Joel walked over and hit the toe of his boot with a smack.

"Get up, you can sleep later, but we need to talk, and I need you." He murmurs to the man slumped over the couch.

Joel hasn't let go of your hand since he embraced you on the porch. As if he's afraid you'll vanish if he lets go. He walks you into the kitchen, the mess from earlier gone, and motions for you to sit, pulling out one of the dining room chairs.

Tommy is sitting in the armchair in the living room, unlacing his work boots. He toes them off and comes to meet you both at the table. Joel opens the top cupboard of the kitchen cabinet and produces a bottle of Jameson's and three glasses.

Placing them on the table, he shares a look with his brother. You were almost sure that he was thanking him for tonight. For giving him the opportunity to be completely honest with you. Something he's long wanted to do but couldn't put into words.

"I have to go get something, Y/N baby, can you pour us a glass, I'll only be a minute," Joel asks as he strokes his fingers through your hair; you can't help but lean into his affection after the earlier hostility.

You look up at him as his touch lingers; your eyes are puffy and your skin is blotchy from all the crying, and it's like a spear to his already damaged heart.

He hates upsetting you, and he feels like a bastard for the words he threw at you mere hours ago. With one final kiss to your forehead, satisfied that you are not going anywhere, he lets go of your hand and heads for the stairs.

You let out a breath that you felt like you had been holding for a lifetime. Tommy follows suit and scratches the back of his neck, you want him to know how grateful you are for him telling you about Jessica, and take the opportunity now when Joel is upstairs.

"Thank you for telling me. I know you didn't do it on purpose; you thought I already knew, but I am glad I know now. I don't think Joel would have ever been able to bring it up himself, even if he wanted to. " You smile fondly at the man sitting across from you. You really did get lucky in the best friend department.

"I'm just sorry that's how you found out. It should have been different, and I'm sorry." Tommy spoke sincerely, taking hold of your hand that was resting on the table and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Alright, alright, can you stop making moves on my girl Miller?" Joel teased as he made his way back into the kitchen, clapping his hand on his brother's shoulder and giving it a squeeze as he passed.

Trying to lighten the mood before getting ready for what was to come He was holding a box in his large hands, dwarfing it, though it looked to be a bit bigger than a shoe box. Tommy gives him a knowing look and a nod of encouragement as Joel set it down in front of you and opened the lid.

He pulled out his chair and sat between you and Tommy. He hands you the first picture he pulls from the box. Staring back at you from the photo is a woman with a mane of shoulder-length curls, the colour of obsidian.

She has bright eyes that reminded you of Sarah's and a beaming smile that seemed to radiate happiness. As you examined the photograph, a smile formed on your lips.

"This is Jessica," Joel said quietly, his voice thick with unshed tears. You looked up to meet his gaze and could see his eyes misting.

"She is so beautiful, Joel," you said, your voice cracking as you reached your hand up to stroke his cheek, his facial hair soft against the pad of your thumb. He reflexively leaned into your touch and sighed heavily.

"It was 14 years ago today that she was driving home from the airport after a trip to visit her parents. Sarah was only a few months old, so Jess didn't want her to go on the aeroplane, so I stayed home with her. I wanted to pick her up from the airport when she got back, but she insisted on taking a cab to avoid disturbing Sarah's night routine. And on the way back home, the cab she was in was hit by another driver who was texting. She never made it home." He lets the tears flow freely now, with you holding his hand and stroking your fingers back and forth to soothe him.

Tommy is on his other side, hand resting on his shoulder. Joel takes a deep, jagged breath and lets it go, finishing off the rest of his glass and pouring another. Topping yours and Tommy's as he does so.

"Joel, I am so sorry. I know nothing I say will make it hurt any less, but I am." Tears pool in your eyes at the thought that the life you have been living for the last four years is the one she never got to, and it breaks your heart all over again.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry. It was too painful for me to talk about it with anyone. On her anniversary, Tommy usually just takes me out to a bar and drinks with me; we don't talk about what happened. I don't think I would have ever been able to if it wasn't for tonight." The words are tumbling out of his mouth, and you notice towards the end that he is just thinking out loud.

Joel is realising for the first time himself that he would truly never have spoken of her again. The woman he still loves to his very core, the mother of his only child. How could he let his pain cloud her memory all these years?

He didn't know where to begin broaching the topic with you; he wanted you to know everything about him, and yet he felt a constant anxiety that would make his heart feel like it had stopped when he thought about telling you the truth.

He knew that he made it seem like Jessica had left him and Sarah when she was only a few months old—not that he ever explicitly said those words, but he didn't give any explanation, and in his defence, you had never asked for one.

"Sarah knows what happened; she was so young that she has no memory of her mom, and she would look through this sometimes." He placed his hand on the lid of the open box, his fingers etching small swirls in the dust that had collected there over time.

"But she would never ask much about her; I think she knows that it hurts me to talk about her. I feel like I have denied her the chance to know who her mother was, and I don't think I can ever forgive myself for that." He let out a weary sigh, exhaustion evident on his face.

"Well, you don't need to worry about that big brother. Sarah talks to me about Jess. She knows who her mom was, and she understands why there aren't any photos of her around the house and why you don't talk about her. You don't need to feel guilty for grieving, Joel," Tommy said. Speaking in a tone that you have not heard from him before, it was as if the brothers' roles were reversed for a moment.

"Thanks, baby brother. You know, I think it's time that changed, though. I want there to be pictures of her around the place. I want to remember the good memories. I want to remember her instead of burying my head in the sand. Is that okay with you, Y/N? This is your home too, and I don't want to make you uncomfortable." He looks at you sincerely. A light in his eye that you have never seen before.

"Of course it is Joel. I would like that very much; Jessica is still part of this family, of our family, and I would be honoured to have her pictures around the house," you agreed eagerly.

He smiled at you; it was a warm smile that met his eyes, shining with hope, relief, and pure love. It made your heart feel like it would burst out of your chest. How could it be possible to love someone as much as you loved this man?

This family is your family, and you will do everything you can to make sure Jessica remains a part of it. You know that Joel will never be fully healed from the loss of his wife. That isn't how grief works, but you will be there by his side to help him through the dark days and to rejoice with him on the good ones.

"Okay, I think that's enough whisky for one night, boys," you say as you shove the cork back into the bottle with a thunk. Standing from the table, you stretch; your bones are tired and sore from being tensed all night.

"Time for bed; we have to get up early tomorrow!" you state matter-of-factly, looking down at the two men who shared a confused glance at each other before looking up at where you stood by the corner of the table.

"Uh, Y/N tomorrow is Saturday. Saturday's mean lie-ins?" Tommy's voice goes up an octave at the end of his sentence, turning it into a question.

Joel looked at his brother nodding in agreement, before backing him up with a pointed finger and a "Yeah, what he said!" You laughed at them both and shook your head.

"No, not this Saturday. We are going to get up. Go for a family breakfast, and then we need to go pick out some new picture frames." You finished with a nod of your head, leaving no room for argument.

"You heard the lady; it's time to hit the sack," Joel chuckled.

God, it was good to hear him laugh after all that had happened today. He places his big hand on Tommy's shoulder and gives it another firm squeeze as he stands from the table, pulling his chair back with his other hand. You walk around the dining table and press a quick peck to Tommy's cheek, wishing him goodnight.

"You better be buying breakfast!" He mumbled under his breath, making you and Joel laugh as you made your way through the living room to the stairs.

As you pass Sarah's room, you crack the door open to check on her, seeing her sleeping peacefully, her mop of dark curls spread across her pillow, and her soft snores making their way to your ears and squeezing at your heart.

Once you reach your bedroom, you start to undress, not bothering with your pyjamas tonight. Your bones ached, and you could hear the bed calling to you.

You know Joel is thinking the same thing as he lets his clothes fall in a heap on the floor at the foot of the bed. He crawls into bed beside you. He pulls your back into his chest and rubs his thumb up and down your ribs. The two of you lay there for a while, no words needing to be spoken, just enjoying the closeness after a very emotional day.

"Thank you," he murmurs into your ear, his voice low and gravely; it makes the baby hairs on the back of your neck stand up and goosebumps spread across your skin.

"What for?" you ask confused.

"For being such a beautiful, caring human. For being so understanding when I have been lying to you all these years, and for allowing her to be part of our lives. I know today has been really hard, but I promise, baby, it will get better from here on out. I will be better," he whispers into your ear, the words full of sincerity.

You turn to face him, bringing your hand up to stroke his face. You can see how drained he is by the way his eyelids are closing as you softly scratch your fingers through the hair on his cheek. You lean in and place a lingering kiss on his lips.

"I'm not mad at you for lying to me Joel, I understand why you couldn't tell me about Jessica. I need you to know that. I'm just glad you don't have to shoulder this on your own now" you nuzzle your nose against his. He nods in acknowledgement and runs the back of his fingers across your cheek.

"And how can you be better when you're already the best?" You whisper softly against his mouth.

"I love you more than you will ever know, Y/N." he breathes. Pressing a sweet whisky-scented kiss against your lips as he drifts to sleep.

[rebelwrites]

Winner Takes It All || Eleven On The Path To Right Wrongs

Charles Leclerc x Valentina Hendrix (OC)

Winner Takes It All Masterlist

Summary: Charles finally grows so balls, Valentina is worried about her future but Charles feels like he is finally on the path to right all the wrongs.

Warnings: I don’t think there is any apart from being emotional

As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️

Charles POV

I was left standing in the kitchen alone, I had no idea on how this would have gone tonight but it felt so good to get the truth out in the open, it was like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders however I still had one thing to do before I was finally free from the devil.

Pulling my phone out of my jeans pocket I quickly found Becky’s name before I could call, her face popped up on my screen signalling she was calling me. Rolling my eyes as I answered the call I quickly realised she had face timed me.

“I’ve just been to your apartment and you weren't there.” she pouted. “I also went over to your mums but she said she hadn’t seen you.”

“That's because I’m not in Monaco.” I shrugged, propping the phone up on the counter as I grabbed the coffee pot, tasking myself with brewing everyone a drink, I mean it was the least I could do. “And I won’t be home for a couple of days.”

“Charles, where are you?” Becky said, squinting to see who had just walked into the kitchen behind me.

Quickly glancing over my shoulder I saw Louisa walk in with a worried look on her face. “Everything okay?” she asked softly, the effects of the alcohol long forgotten.

“They will be soon, Maman.” I nodded, as I replaced the filter in the coffee machine. “I’m making coffee. Can you see who wants one please.”

It was like she could sense I was asking to be alone for a moment, she caught a glimpse of the face time that was happening and nodded at me.

Turning back to Becky I noticed her face had a tint of red to it, no doubt from the anger that was bubbling away inside her.

“Please tell me that isn’t the Hendrix house you are in?” she scoffed, folding her arms across her chest.

“So what if it is?” I shrugged, not bothering to try and pander to her any longer. “I needed to come over here before flying out for testing, not that it matters to you.”

I could see the frustration forming in her expression and it was only a matter of time before things exploded.

“We were meant to go on a date tonight?” she screeched, it was a sound that made my ears bleed.

“Yeah well that obviously isn’t happening is it.” I laughed, I knew I was being cold but I had taken enough of her bullshit over the last four years and I wasn’t going to stand for it any longer. “Say what you want, I really don’t care.” I said with no emotion in my voice, this girl meant absolutely nothing to me, not like Valentina did. “I’m no longer going to sit here and take you shit, this isn’t how I wanted to live my life. I have had enough of you trying to control my life. This is over Becky, I never wanted to be with you anyway and I don’t know why I even let you try and blackmail me losing the one thing that means the most to me.”

The scream that came through the phone was ear piercing, I knew that this wouldn;t be over, she wasn’t the type of girl to just drop things. She would try her hardest to make mine and Vali’s life a living hell but I would do anything to protect Valentina from Becky’s wrath even though I knew she would be able to handle anything that came her way.

“You will regret dumping me, Leclerc.” she screamed, tugging on her fake blond hair. “I will make your life hell and Valentia best watch her back because I am coming for the bitch.”

“How's the nose healing?” I laughed, walking out of sight of the camera to grab the coffee grounds.

“Fuck you.” she spat, I swear she was practically foaming at the mouth from anger. Nothing more was said and the call ended.

Running my hand over my face I found myself leaning against the kitchen counter letting out a breath of relief but the only problem was Valentina, I had no idea what Becky was going to do next.

After a few moments, Pierre walked into the kitchen. Silently he pulled me into a tight hug, he didn’t need to say anything, his actions said everything.

He was the first to pull away from the hug, a sad smile appearing on his face.

“So what happens now?” he asked, leaning against the counter next to me.

“I don’t know.” I sighed, running my hands over my face for the millionth time today. “But what I do know is that I am going to be fighting for Vali every single day even if she doesn’t want it. I will be there in her corner.”

Pierre nodded, placing his hand on my shoulder.

“Elle ne le montrera pas, mais elle a plus que jamais besoin de toi en ce moment. Surtout maintenant qu'elle va courir avec nous, on a déjà perdu Jules alors ne sois pas un con et ne fous pas tout en l'air. She won't show it, but she needs you more than ever right now. Especially now that she's going to be running with us, we've already lost Jules so don't be a dick and fuck it up.” he nodded, helping me to finish off the coffee’s.

“I don’t plan on fucking this up.” I said, looking over my shoulder as I grabbed the milk from the fridge. “I have already lost her once, I’m not going to let it happen again.”

Once the coffee was ready I left Pierre to take the drinks into the living room whilst I took Vali’s and Josh’s upstairs, with each step I climbed my heart started racing.

As I approached her bedroom door I stilled, I didn’t mean to evesdrop but I felt like I couldn’t just barge in at this point so I stood there holding the two mugs of coffee just listening.

“This is going to ruin everything.” Vali sniffled, causing my heart to ache, all I wanted to do was hold her tight and promise her things will be okay.

“Let me tell you a little secret.” Josh said softly, I could see why Vali liked him so much and got on well with him. He reminded me of Jules, especially with his caring nature. “We already knew about that night and your record. We approached Pierre about it and he told us everything we needed to know.”

“And that didn’t bother you?”

“Not at all Valentina, you were young and everyone at that age is easily led.” Josh said, followed by a brief silence. “We also know that even though your record was sealed and was taken off your record you convinced the judge to do community service which shows that your actions weren’t your choice. We all make mistakes but this is how we learn and grow as people. We will come clean to the press on the first weekend, squash any rumours before they even start.”

Smiling to myself, I knew she was going to be in good hands with Josh and the Alpha Tauri team. Adjusting my grip on the mugs I tapped my knuckles on the door waiting until Vali opened her bedroom door.

“J'ai fait du café. I made coffee.” I hummed, as she let me into her room. Nodding at Josh as I passed him the mug.

“I will be downstairs if you need me V.” He whispered, squeezing her shoulder as he exited the room.

Once again we were left in silence as I perched on the edge of her bed. I didn’t know what to say, I was scared I was going to say the wrong thing causing an argument to happen.

“Things aren’t just going to fall back to how they were before, you know.” Vali said, clutching her mug as she sat at the end of the bed, tucking her feet under her thighs. “I can’t just pretend that the last four years never happened, because they did.”

“I’m not asking you to.” I said quietly, turning to face her. “I know I have caused a lot of heartache for you but I do want to try and put the past behind us and try to move on from this.” I paused for a moment, taking a sip of the coffee before speaking again. “I broke up with Becky after you left the kitchen.”

I expected a sarcastic comment from Vali but none ever came. Looking up from my mug I saw tears streaming down her cheeks causing me to place my mug on the bed side table, before carefully taking her mug from her and placing it with mine. I didn’t ask if I could hug her, instead I scooted over to her pulling her into my arms.

What did surprise me what the lack of fight coming from her, instead she snuggled closer into me until she was eventually settled between my legs, hiding her face in my chest.

“You weren’t there, Charlie.” she cried, my heart screamed as she called me Charlie, something that I had missed. Only Vali called me Charlie. “When I needed you the most you weren’t there.”

“I know, babygirl, I know.” I whispered, nuzzling my face into her hair. “I am so sorry, I should have been there. I made a promise to you that I broke and I will never forgive myself.”

The two of us sat tangled up in each other for a while, I didn’t care about how long had passed or that the coffee was getting cold, all that mattered was I was on the path of righting my wrongs and picking up the pieces of Valentina’s heart along the way.

It felt so right to have Valentina back in my arms even if she wasn’t my girl anymore, resting my chin on the top of her head. I gently rocked her back and forth trying to soothe her tears and calm her breathing. I had no idea if this still worked for her but I was going to try anyway.

After a while I felt her breathing shallow out and the whimpers had stopped, pressing a kiss to the top of her head I quickly realised that she had fallen asleep in my arms. My heart melted at the fact she still felt safe in my arms to doze off to sleep. I wasn’t going to mention this to her but if she brought it up I would. Carefully I lifted her off the bed, adjusting my grip so I didn’t drop her whilst I pulled back the duvet. Softly I placed her back down on the bed pulling the covers over her. She looked so peaceful sleeping even with the smudges of mascara and eyeliner around her eyes. Pressing another kiss to her forehead I picked up the two mugs from the bedside table, taking one last glance at my sleeping angel as I turned off the lights and gently closing the door behind me.

Letting out a shaky breath I made my way downstairs to join the rest of the family.

The moment I walked into the kitchen, I instantly made my way to the sink, pouring both half drunken cups of coffee down the drain.

“Pass me your mug son, I will make you a fresh one.” Enrico smiled, looking over his shoulder at me as he filled the coffee machine with grounds.

“Thanks Papa.” I smiled, passing him the mug.

The smile on his face grew wider at what I called him. “È passato molto tempo dall'ultima volta che mi hai chiamato papà, figliolo. It's been a long time since you called me Dad, son.” he hummed as he busied himself making the coffees.

“It has.” I whispered, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“Is Vali okay?” he asked, as Pierre and Josh walked into the kitchen.

“As okay as she can be I guess,” I sighed, resting my chin on my fists. “She fell asleep in my arms, I don’t even think she meant to but for the first time in the last four years the world felt right again.”

“Just give her time.” Enrico said softly, placing a fresh cup of coffee in front of me.

“I will spend the rest of my life trying to right my wrongs.” I said quietly, scared if I spoke any louder everything that happened tonight wouldn’t be real. “Non mi arrenderò mai con lei. I will never give up on her.”

@chibsytelford @dragon-of-winterfell @ohthemisssery @a-distantdreamer @sgkophie @stillbreathin @angywritesstuff @miamedyu @enchantedbytomandhenry @scribbuluswrites @dangerouspursepeachbear @micks-afterglow @livo67 @buendiabebeta @pleasedontfollowinlost @ferrarifwendvale @hungryhungarian @theplobnrgone @charlesleclercje @sunf1owerrq @queenslife @panicforspec @inesramoss30 @justme2042 @liv67 @sessgjarg @derpinathebrave @idkiwantchocolatee @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @alynoa @clcspeonies @pleasantducktimetravel @organasith @inchidentwithmax @raaaaabzzz @teamspideyman @marvelousmendess

[the-new-ghost-in-this-hotel]

i'm doing a 30 days otp challenge and here are the first 10 days with short stories To it

day 1: realising they're in love

both Kevin and johnny never fell in love before

so the realisation of their crush for each other was adorable and kind of funny for the others

day 2: first kiss

after going To 5 dates together, they finally made the move of Kissing each other

johnny 's stomach was filled with so many butterflies

day 3: moving in together

they don't move away from the hotel but if they did

it would be a beach house near the sea

day 4: meeting the parents

Kevin is actually amadeus's adopted son

so To say that johnny was freaking out would be sugarcoating it

luckily amadeus is pretty chill

day 5: first "i love you"

johnny didn't even réalise what he said

he had a bad day and Kevin was there To comfort him

To Kevin, it sounded like an answer To his prayers

day 6: raising a kid/pet

these two have a tendency To adopt any ghost child they fall upon due To Kevin's massive paternal instincts and johnny's paternal instincts and stubborness of giving kids a better childhood than his

(the kid in their arm is taneva, @teeny-tiny-mousey 's oc)

day 7: lost somewhere

due To Kevin's job as an animator and children book's author, he's always invited To cons and book fairs and johnny tags along as emotional support

too bad these cons and fairs are huge and Maps aren't the best

day 8: fancy ball/party

they don't attend these types of parties that much due To Kevin's introverted nature but when they do

they take all the stage

day 9: reading their partners letters

sometimes Kevin has To travel solo and he always sends love letters To johnny

johnny treasures these letters like it's pure gold

day 10: lazy mornings

Kevin is not a morning person due To his habit of pulling all nighters

but also he loves spending more time To cuddle his johnny

part 2 coming soon

johnny deepend: Nintendo

kevin spookart: me

[gumi-writes]

biting the hand that feeds (m)

source: touchstarved

wc: ~10k (yikes!) (no one talk to me about how i wrote this in five days)

summary: ais gets put in his place.

contains: aisxoc, but in a 'in love with your carnage' kind of way / implied aisxvere and (not really) verexoc at the end, separately / unnamed oc, but they are a full character / femdom, but with a femme they/them / asshole warning. ais is an asshole / here is an intersection of sex and violence with an emphasis on violence / (it's ok ais really asks for it) / (he always asks for it) / more tags beneath the cut)

author’s note: comes out of my cave covered in blood, sweat, tears. dw guys, i'm fine. i still blame @laymes-art for this. (also credit to @/cafekitsune for the divider/banner!)

The first time Ais saw them, they were covered in gore. In splatters of garish scarlet in the pure whites of their uniform, that alone had made for a fascinating view, but what had stuck—what had seared itself in immortalisation, a brand so constantly vivid it had become a craving—was the sight of them… beating the shit out of a Soulless with their fists. And beating, and beating, and beating.

It was half-dead by the time Ais stumbled upon the free show, and he stayed as it went from half to full. And beyond the sheer power in lurid, near perverse view…

Was an eerie calm.

The same on their face now.

(cont.) contains: uh. a LOT of violence. i'm serious / ais being a whore. what's new tho / also how is ais both a brat and service top pick a lane or i will call the police / in actual kink tags: d/s, (somewhat extreme) marking, degradation, faceslapping, masochism + painplay, breathplay, knifeplay, bloodplay, humiliation but like once because ais isn't capable of being humiliated, also cunnilingus, the most normal one / if any of these tags make you uncomfortable, please don't read ahead! take care of yourselves. i love you <3

‘So you’ve returned.’

The voice, while amused, slices forth with a coldness akin to a blade, pressed flat and most cruelly to the exposed warmth of human skin. A knife’s edge to a racing pulse, an ornate dagger kissing a heart’s string on the most beautifully, most disconcertingly vulnerable jugular. It feels remarkably like being on the verge of falling, and perhaps that is why Ais feels so at peace.

What a riot of a thought. What an absolute side-splitting hilarity of a thought, one to surely bring tears to the eyes of a common man. A monster finding peace in anything but a quiet battlefield of their own making, bloodied hands, and an even bloodier heart. A monster finding peace in anything other than violence. How tittering.

They never look at Ais, at first. A slight form, and while Ais surely would overwhelm it—both in wired broadness and in defined muscle, were he to step close—he never dared. Not even when he dared to bare his bark, a show of teeth and fang but little else—it had to be them to close the distance. It had to be them.

‘Well,’ Ais licks his lips, weighing his response with a care that was incongruent with his brash appearance. A body made for carnage did not seem as if it underlied higher thought beyond its next opponent, but whatever he said would surely set the tone for the rest of this meeting, and that was something he had to decide—and quickly. ‘You still have my key.’

This makes them laugh. It’s restrained, nothing considered truly carefree, but it is in itself a divulgence. Claws brandished, but only in momentary, tantalising flash, so quick that it’s all Ais can do but to crave the inhumanity it promises. ‘Ah. So, the big, tough scary monster is bound by simple lock and key. I did not expect you to have such restraint, you realise. Perhaps I am even a little disappointed about it. Tell me, did Vere have a laugh at your expense? At least he is bound by sorcery. You don’t have nearly the same excuse.’

It’s a low blow. Almost the lowest, and the serene smile they give Ais when they finally turn around tells him they know this in absolute full. It reminds Ais of the Seaspring—in particular, the instances in which it is untouched, free of ripples and revealing nothing of its true nature, depths that seemed just as likely to be endless as it was to pull you in. Maybe that was why Ais kept… coming back. A dog returning to its chains. So tethered to its tetherings.

Ais did know more about them than would have been pragmatically wise to disclose—for starters, in his mutual dealings with them, they still wore the official Senobium uniform. More specifically, the garb denoting a member of their religious sector, and here, even though the two of them were in a private room in the Amaryllis District, it was still regarded as a pretty fucking audacious move. (Ais did admire the balls behind such an act. Just a little.)

Not to mention, he knew what they looked like. Ais did not have the privilege of learning their name, but their face was one carved into him, marking him nearly as deeply as Ocudeus did. That was another odd thing about this entire… arrangement. Ocudeus was always strangely quiet during Ais’ sessions with them, and he still wasn’t quite sure whether it was a choice made on his friend’s part or an enforcement made on theirs. In fact, that had been the initial excuse as to why he sought them out as often as he did.

Now, the pretence was so thin as to be a nuisance more than anything else.  

(An irritable tail flicks, as does a furred ear. The distaste, a particular contemptuous curl of the lower lip, would cow any with a weaker heart, but Ais was not one of them, and Vere’s brand of distaste was something he’d become intimately accustomed to.

‘You reek of that twisted sister, Ais. Them and… you let them cage you? Tsk.’

‘The same way you’re collared too, right?’ Ais’ barb is punctuated with a grin. One Vere scowls at.

And when Vere does respond, it’s with a haughty sniff. ‘At least I am not getting off on it.’)

‘Are you forgetting who gave it to me in the first place?’ Something in his eyes, near aglow in the dim lighting, flashes. A fight. Ais did so enjoy testing his luck, and here, and now, that was no exception. They did like that about him. ‘Sister?’

Their response isn’t an immediate one. A breathless moment hangs in the air, and when their only initial answer is a mere head tilt, prying, questioning, something seemingly beneath Ais—rather tightrope-like in nature—pulls taut. He had never been one for the stealthy backstab when a full frontal served him just as well, but what Ais never really bothered to factor was the recklessness of it all. 

(Or maybe, or more specifically, it wasn’t quite that he didn’t. Maybe it was the main thing he factored, because the forceful hand after a risk taken most brazenly was always the part he craved the most.)

‘I see you’re in the mood to be tongue-in-cheek.’ Their lean against the edge of a table is deceptively casual, particularly since Ais knows that what’s lined in neat rows behind them on the flat surface is instruments they could use against him. Could, because sometimes they didn’t—at least not outside of leaving Ais guessing.

‘Indulge my curiosity for me.’ And they, in turn, leave Ais curious for a few tantalising seconds as they temporarily turn around once more to grab something that gleams in the light. A pretty stiletto, one they twirl most deftly between their gloved fingers, making it dance between the digits. Their fingers, always gloved. Ais wondered if they’d ever let him bear a strike from their bare bands. ‘Do you think if I cut off your tongue, another would grow back in place?’

Something inside Ais stutters. It’s a cruel question, but not in the way one would think, because the way it’s been asked—not quite in jest, and yet, so lightly, as if they were discussing the weather and not Ais’ rhetorical dismemberment—has a not insignificant part of him almost wishing for it. Would it break their air of ataraxia? Would he see another one of their faces beyond collected calm? Would they finally—

Ais wants it shattered. Their composure. Regardless of consequence, he was so certain he could take it. He’d only seen what lay beneath in small instances, and he still got the impression that the tendrils of darkness escaping through the gaps had been allowed to escape. An actual temper, one of true fire and fury, had been denied to him—and how fascinating that it was a denial at all.

And... they’re not even looking at him. They’re still toying with the weapon. ‘It would be a shame if it didn’t, though. A smart mouth without a working tongue is no fun at all.’

‘You’d miss it.’

The quietest of huffs—it’s a scoff, barely there. Ais only picks up on it because he craves the slip of the mask so badly. ‘A bold claim, little one.’

‘You’ve never gagged me before, sister.’

This makes them look at him, brow arched in amusement. ‘And you think that enough proof? Then let me dispel it. Know that I would do infinitely more to prove you wrong than to prove you right. If muzzling you will prove I have no attachment, I will.’

‘So do it.’ Ever forward, Ais doesn’t bother to keep out the challenging quality to his voice. ‘What’s been stopping you? Scared to get close to the big bad monster?’

They laugh—again. This time, Ais knows he’s hit a nerve, because it sounds less like one out of pure entertainment and more like a sharp bark, one that’s been wrenched out of them. A step in the direction towards ferality, and yet, nowhere near enough for any kind of satisfaction, the kind that stuck. The kind that was actually… gratifying.

‘Scared?’ When they grin, it shows off their surprisingly sharp canines, incongruous to the rest of their appearance. It’s a lovely grin—if only for how they make Ais think of how it must feel to have them sunk deep into his skin.

In one deft move, they raise the skirt of their uniform to slide the knife into a leather sheath strapped to their thigh. Ais watches the movement, rapt, before glittering red averts and returns to the eye contact from before. True to the way they never told him their name, they hadn’t bared anything to him either—nothing below the neck, at least.

Even the leg that had been unveiled from the skirt movement was still covered in opaque material, as void black as the entirety of their outfit—so against the objective of titillation that it worked as one anyway.

‘Of what, pray tell?’ They take a step towards him, and Ais has to hide how that coil something in his gut—the lurch of a weighted finally. ‘What it is that you have that would make me scared of you?’ Another. ‘Are you going to hurt me, Ais?’

The question, at face value, is at odds with the play, at odds with the figures within it. It is, but their amber gaze has hardened into indomitable steel, and the utter and complete lack of anything resembling fear instils a cold and absolutely spellbinding chill down Ais’ spine. This is a threat.

‘Break me? Break me, and then put me back together just to break me again? Do you truly believe yourself capable of anything like that at all?’

Ais’ heart is racing. He’s able to look at them, but it’s about the only thing he can do, words caught halfway between his throat and his mouth. The question is somehow not about him, even if it is for him.

They’re closer, now. Actually close. Close enough that Ais can smell their scent—an odd mix of rusted iron and something bordering on sickly sweet. It’s strangely intoxicating, though whether that was because it was theirs alone or because of how distinct it was—perhaps some combination of both—was something he’d yet to determine. Still yet, even though he had long since had it memorised.

If he lost his sight, temporarily or otherwise, he could absolutely tell it was them by it alone.

‘Well?’ They circle around him, behind him, and Ais feels the burden of the stare, eyes boring holes into his back. ‘What do you think has been stopping me?’

A gentle hand rests itself on his shoulder. It’s the softest of touches, but the power promised within it makes Ais tremble—almost. Almost, and the absolute moment there’s any pressure—the absolute slightest—Ais drops to his knees as if he’d been manhandled there.

It disappears, then. Their touch. The instant it’s gone, Ais finds it far easier to breathe. He wonders—not for the first time—if that had been a will forced upon him, through supernatural means or otherwise, or if their will alone was enough to get him to heel. Ais wonders, but his voice at least returns to him.

‘You have.’

Whatever height advantage he had is gone. It had disappeared when they’d made him kneel, and he has a passing memory of something they’d said to him once. The difference between man and monster was man’s ability to worship something higher than themselves.

‘Me?’

‘I never said you were scared of me, sister. Just of getting close.’

‘Mm.’ A lilting hum, but it’s a warning. One Ais does not heed. ‘I do so hate it when you delve into semantics.’

‘I know you do.’

One second passes. It’s long enough for Ais to anticipate and dread the retaliation in equal measure, but not anything beyond that, at least not in anything preparatory before—

Fingers lace and twist themselves into black locks, surprisingly silky. It’s the warmth of a pat on the head, a gentle gesture, a loving gesture…

…but then there’s an upward yank, hard enough to pull him off his haunches and drive a low hiss through his teeth. They let him go soon after, but it’s not a kind release, given that it’s one that shoves him forward.  

When Ais comes to, he finds his breathing harder, having instinctively stabilised himself on his hands and knees, scalp stinging with residual pain.

The show of strength is not lost on him. He finds himself lost in it, if anything, even as he rights himself back into his previously demanded position, mind buzzing with the hoard of implications they’d just levelled upon him.

For starters—or, more accurately, most ever presently—was how they’re strong enough to lift him. By his hair.  

And Ais wasn’t really the type to particularly favour one body type over another, but there was something about theirs…

Within a body slender enough to be considered waifishly wraithlike, hid a power so potent, so mesmerizing, so capable of the cruellest carnage—that it was an impossible task to obscure completely. And for Ais, who could sniff it out better than most, it had never been obscured at all. It hadn’t, but that still wasn’t quite where the draw was, even if it was a large factor.

No, the draw, the true, absolute magnetism of what looked to be your average spectre of a Senobium nun, a pretty little thing of a doll bound in metaphorical chain—was the sheer contrast between what their form looked capable of and what their body could do. A contrast that could only be described as… compelling.

In the specific way an iron fist is. Or the spill of blood, a well run so deep as to never be dry. Blow for blow, blood for blood. Ais’ blood—for the promise of catharsis. Not just any catharsis, either—but the only kind that could be found in the presence of something primordial. He’d found that in them. Or he found the assurance of such a thing within them. Ais did, and he only wanted more.

‘My mistake,’ they say, and though they’d forgone the faux innocence in tone, instead opting for one almost amusingly flat, it’s still present in their word choice. ‘My hand slipped. How careless of me.’

This time, it’s Ais that has to laugh. Incredulity is audible in the undeniably husky laughter, but there’s something else. Something darker, bordering on awed in the same way it was awful. Ais is pretty sure he’s in love, at least in the here and now, and in the here and now, that’s all that mattered.  

By the time he speaks, they’ve moved back to the front of him. Their expression is placid, entirely dismissive of what had just happened. ‘If that was on accident, I hate to find out what it’s like when you mean it.’  

Leather cups his chin, tenderness akin to a raw wound. ‘Then you won’t.’

Ais snorts. ‘We both know you—’ his head is driven skyward. It cuts off the rest of his sentence in a throaty grunt, and though he simply takes it, his eyes dart to seek out theirs, eagerness a visible, palpable glimmer in entranced crimson. When Ais speaks again, there’s a grin with bared teeth—far more manic than usual. ‘We both know you don’t mean that.’

Like this, with his neck arched to a degree that was at the gorgeous cusp of actually painful, he has no choice but to look up at them, especially when they draw close enough they’re a whisper away from touch. Ais could reach for it with an ease that was so trivial so as to be possible without thought, but his hands remain dutifully in his lap. A mere man had no place touching a god.

The first time Ais saw them, they were covered in gore. In splatters of garish scarlet in the pure whites of their uniform, that alone had made for a fascinating view, but what had stuck—what had seared itself in immortalisation, a brand so constantly vivid it had become a craving—was the sight of them… beating the shit out of a Soulless with their fists. And beating, and beating, and beating.

It was half-dead by the time Ais stumbled upon the free show, and he stayed as it went from half to full. And beyond the sheer power in lurid, near perverse view…

Was an eerie calm.

The same on their face now.

‘What makes you so sure?’ The question is a dangerous one. Ais has to swallow thickly before answering, because a willingness too unsightly would only make them deny him more. Something he also kind of wanted, but dreaded in the same vein.

‘Because we’re the same, sister—’

A solid strike. Ais can only cry out the way he does specifically—somewhere between a grunt and a gasp, leathered palm leaving bright pink on the skin of his cheek. They’ve slapped him hard enough to dislodge Ais from their hold, and when he recovers, he does dutifully return to it. For the next blow.

‘Try again.’

‘I’m sorry, my god.’ The apology is one interlaced with a shit-eating grin. ‘Hit me again.’

They do. Ais laughs breathlessly, letting himself remain bent over a little longer this time before returning to form.

But he waits too long to speak.

‘Answer the question, whore. You don’t think I could deny you so completely as to leave you utterly deprived and wanting? You don’t think I could stop and leave you begging for more with no chance of recourse? I could do it, you know. You would spend the rest of your days aching for my blessings.’

‘So do it, then.’ A challenge. They did not like to be challenged. ‘Leave me high and dry, my god. I dare you.’

Their gaze narrows, and Ais has his response. Ripples on the clear surface, now visible. 

When they dole out their next blow, it’s a miss on purpose. The strike does hit true, but their hand catches his nose enough that the next time Ais is on the floor, he can taste his own nosebleed. His shoulders are shaking with mirth, the darker sort that could only be found in being indulged in a way you’ve always dreamed of.

His recovery is marked in a low whistle. It’s an infuriatingly blithe noise, one that has genuine ire bleed into amber, and Ais’ heart races at the sight of it—the monster he has dearly been wanting to see. A cruel hand from an even crueler being.   

‘Looks like I touched a nerve. Are you sure you should be letting someone like me affect you like this? Isn’t it beneath you?’

Blood drips from his cheek the next time he’s downed. 

Ais spends a moment in confusion—they’d clipped him with something sharp, but when he glances at their gloves, there’s nothing there that looks like a perfect fit. A clawed mark, but from where? 

They do have to grab a hold of his chin again, given Ais’ stupor means he’s not thinking about his position, and when they do, they roughly jerk his face to one side, looking at the wake of their violence. A stillness settles as they seemingly just… watch and wait, wait and watch, and though Ais would showcase some kind of protest—likely in additional provocation, because he was an asshole—something feels off enough he uses the intermission to figure out what.

From where there should be the sensation of flesh knitting together, there simply… isn’t.

There’s a tug of an effort, an active attempt felt, but something was stopping his regeneration from working the way it usually did. Something that surely had to do with… them. 

What an exciting thought. What an absolute spine-tingling thrill of a thought, the kind that came with the vindication of an assertion asserting itself. The knowledge that what you had sought out with an ever-present lustful hunger not only existed but was more than expected. More than you could have imagined. 

‘Get a good look?’ 

The hand that had been holding his chin immediately snakes to grab his hair in a solid grip, unyielding. Ais makes a noise at the back of his throat, but it’s only the precursor, because they’re moving closer, and his only warning is the way they’re using his locks as leverage to force him to bare his neck. 

Another pause. They’re hesitating, but Ais doesn’t have the patience for it. 

‘Don’t hold out on me,’ he says, voice that same aggravating singsong. Ais doesn’t bother to hide the smirk, one side of his mouth curled upwards, a smugness that could only exist at the knowledge of knowing that getting what you want was an inevitability. 

And, with the strength and speed of a backstab sliding home—

—they bite him. 

It hurts. Ais knew it would, but it hurts more than he expected, and their teeth—the sharp canines Ais had spent so long yearning to feel the sinking in of—feel bigger than he knows they are. The hurt is dual in definition, as well—they’d never released him from his cage, and steeled chastity sits, an immovable wall where he is far more man than monster. 

Once again, they scrutinise their handiwork.

Alongside the wetness of Ais’ vitae, directly on top of the jade green inked onto, into him is a persistent, insistent sting that radiates from the vampiric puncture marks left in his skin.

There’s no tug. The perforations don’t even try to sew shut, and Ais processes this with a rapidly mounting breathing. What had they done? What had they done? A swirling, pulsating daydream overtakes Ais for the moment—the sight and sound of touch of him bleeding out in droves and droves of redredredredred a staggeringly blissful one.

But it had to be by their hand. But it had to be by their teeth.

Ais’ head is grabbed and pulled into looking at them again. He blinks a little dumbly at their own unwavering stare, still in a mild hazy daze, but when they speak, he does listen. ‘This won’t heal the way you normally do.’

Were he lucid and not swimming in his own endorphins, he would surely have recognised the… attentiveness. It wasn’t outright concern—what a joke—but a dutifulness that came with being a good dominant. But he’s not all there yet, and so he doesn’t, and so all Ais does do is nod an affirmative. One he spends staring at their teeth and the remnants of him that had been left behind, crimson stained ivory.

‘This is not said in jest. I mean it.’

Their response, as well as the way they do anticipate a response… gives Ais enough time to return. ‘I’m sorry, did I say you didn’t mean it?’

Wrong answer.

Or perhaps the right one.

He only gets an instant of a contemptuous scowl, ones he swallows with no small amount of hedonistic delight—but then they yank him to them by his necklace, fisted tight in their hold. For the second time in a minimal number of heartbeats last, they surprise him.

The kiss is not a gentle one. There is no tenderness here, nor any warmth within the blistering heat, but it is still of note, or, more illustratively, one noteworthy enough that Ais would be dangerously close to actually getting off if they hadn’t made absolutely sure that that couldn’t happen.

This is the first time they’ve kissed him. This is the first time they’ve kissed him, and it is one that tastes of rusted iron. How fitting. How fitting, and for all his smart mouth and even sharper tongue, Ais does kiss them back with unwavering reverence. He doesn’t match their violence in order to return it—that wasn’t the point, that never was the point—but he doesn’t shy away from it either.

They bite. His tongue, his lower lip, even his teeth, at least when they clash on occasion. It’s not romantic, but the intimacy and vulnerability are there, even if it’s not the gentle kind. No, this kind is far different, far more debasedly debaucheric, the same category of twisted which also housed Ais tasting his own blood. Tasting his own blood and being fixated and utterly consumed by the thought of it.

As if they’d read his mind—and at this point, Ais would believe truly anything about them, pointed fang does pierce through the soft flesh of wet muscle. When a new wave of gore springs forth, fresh as a newborn corpse, and when they immediately slide their own tongue against his, purposefully pressing into the incredibly recent wound—

—Ais moans.

A barely there second of a reprieve, and they’re suddenly much more there. Ais finds himself pushed onto his back, and while he does rearrange his legs so he’s not left in a half kneel, he doesn’t do much else to change the telegraphed action, merely accepting of the heavy way he thuds flat onto his back.

Barely, in the tiny slivers of clarity that remained, Ais notices they hadn’t used whatever had stopped his neck wound from healing, and it is too close to a disappointment when he feels the tiny hole in his tongue eventually seal itself into a completed heal. This all had lasted enough for that to happen, and when they part from him some time later, they sit right back up on his torso, straddling it with a surprising body heat.

Ever so ghostlike, Ais perhaps expected them to radiate none at all, but he feels it encircling him the same way they’re settled on his abs.

The pupils swimming in sunset are blown, and Ais finds a very real danger in drowning within it. That being said, the moment they make eye contact with him, they swipe their mouth with the back of their hand, a gesture that would have meant more if they hadn’t just spent the last while making out with him. Something he never had asked them to do, but he wasn’t going to fight back against whatever they wanted to do it to him. They could kiss him; they could kill him—he did not care at that point. Just that it was being done to him.

If anything, the sight amused him. A gesture signalling disgust, but in pretence so paper thin it may as well not exist.

‘I agree. Kissing and mounting a whore seems below you, doesn’t it—?’

Fury and wrath, terribly, terrifically beautiful wrath, burns a blaze in their eyes in an addicting inferno, and there’s a low growl, in sotto but undeniably there, rumbling in their chest like brontide before a raging storm.

Ais has to stifle some of the glee, particularly when there’s a sudden burst of movement. With magnetised, practiced fluidity, they reach for the stiletto from before, and in a rupture of lost temper, a gloved hand fisted so tight around the hilt enough to make it shake, they stab—

He doesn’t bother dodging, only instinctively blinking at the muted kthuk of pierced impact.

It’s a glancing blow. Not so glancing that it doesn’t connect at all, but there’s little gratification to show for it. Just a thin brushstroke of blood on Ais’ cheek that beads and barely trickles, all little and light before it closes up. A nothingness after all that had transpired.

Even so, the act itself does still count as something—as a show of skill, as a show of power. In one simple act, they showed both a wealth of complete control, irresistibly fettered and bound. Ais wanted to tug at it, to pull and pull and pull until something snapped.

‘Should’ve used whatever you used earlier if you wanted it to last.’

The comment is one that makes them purse their lips into a thin line. The way they’re looking at him isn’t in a way he comprehends completely, but there’s recognisable anger, so the sight still excites him. ‘What an entertainingly pathetic attempt. You just want me to mark you and use you like a common fucktoy.’

Breathless laughter, once again, the kind that still dissolves into a smirk. The sound of an auditory expletive from them does leave him a little tingly.  ‘Last I checked, you have to actually fuck me for me to be a fucktoy.’

‘No. I really don’t.’ Their voice is a deceptive calm, but Ais recognises it for what it actually is—rage frozen over but not lessened in magnitude. ‘Are you telling me if I hadn’t had the foresight to cage you, you wouldn’t end up making a filthy mess of yourself if I were to continue to use you as a punching bag?’

What a tragedy that his smirk does not disappear and instead gets even bigger. Humiliation was not a tactic that worked on him and this was known fact between the two of them. ‘Hot.’

They give him an utterly disgusted look.

‘You would do it if I pissed you off enough,’ Ais continues, words an infuriating lilt. ‘For someone who acts so high and mighty, you’ve wounded me a mighty amount tonight… my god.’ His conceitedness is the particular kind—Ais’ usual, of course, but one mixing with the knowledge that while they could deprive him of punishment, they’d also be depriving themselves of the catharsis as well.

And… the knowledge that the two of them shared the decadent self-indulgence of lusting for blood. A sin that was ill-fitting for the two of them—a monster for his own and a supposed woman of the cloth for others. Ill-fitting, but maybe that’s why it tasted as intoxicatingly sweet as it did, like the juice of a ripe fruit from the fabled heavens themselves.

‘You deserve it.’ They state, simply.

‘Oh, I’m not saying I don’t. I’m just saying it’s okay to admit that you’re enjoying yourself.’

Ais earns himself another heated glower. He gets it for a very full few seconds before they reach for the blade by his head, and to his perverse delight, they do exactly what he wants them to.

Because while the movement had been instinct, if he hadn’t had the muscle memory to move in time, Ais’ neck would have surely been sliced open, if not at least cut shallowly. Which, on the ever so delicate—easily pierced, easily carved—skin of his neck, would have counted as deep.

They’re forcing his neck in a near painful arch, once again. The edge of a honed stiletto is a harsh buffer to prevent him from budging, even if the kiss of honed sharpness is a tantalising one.

But he wasn’t going to budge, not unless they made him.

‘Consider yourself fortunate that I did not bite your tongue off earlier.’

‘And if I don’t?’

Their tongue clicks in exasperation. ‘‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.’  They say, it makes Ais wonder if they really had considered it. Is whatever welling up willing him relief? Or was it a letdown?

Before Ais can decide, they continue. Strangely, ire has left them—their body is far less taut with it. ‘You look considerably less infuriating like this, you know. Maybe I should just keep you at my mercy like this at all times. It certainly makes you more bearable.’

‘I think you and I both know—’

‘I have a proposition for you.’ A curt dismissal slices through the rest of his words, and though he is silenced, he’s not unsmiling about it. ‘Consider it a gift. You want to be marked by me so badly? Fine. Sure. I’ll fuck you up, Ais. I will. But first, you need to guess something for me.’ A smile. A serene smile, once more. One of seemingly untouchable tranquil waters.

Ais wonders where they found it, given the anger of recent past. The fact that he didn’t know what changed cowed him in the same way it thrilled him.

‘What do you think I used against you? I’ll be kind and say you don’t have to give me an exact answer. But it must be a satisfactorily close one.’

His answer is immediate. Ais does pay very close attention to the things that interest him, after all. A good study, when he wanted to be. If he wanted to be at all. ‘Your glove. Whatever’s underneath.’

Amber averting to one side, they don’t answer him immediately, as if weighing something. He realises they haven’t found him wanting when they raise their free hand to his mouth, and Ais only needs a second to comprehend the unvoiced instruction before he carefully takes the tip of one finger between his teeth to dutifully provide them the leverage to pull the glove off.

In all aspects except one… they had… perfectly ordinary hands.

They were long and slender, the kind some would probably think as pretty, particularly with the ways their nails were neatly kept. It fit in with the rest of their doll-like qualities, but other than that, they weren’t notable.

Ordinary, except… their knuckles were covered in blood. Smeared in it, even. It wasn’t a lot, but it was an amount, and while they had swung at him, the way it had neatly sat atop their skin with no evidence of busted knuckles made no sense. Or, at least, not with the current pieces on hand.

It only takes a little longer, but the moment realisation is visible, he gets their fingers unceremoniously shoved into his mouth. They are spiteful enough to make him gag a bit, but he merely rolls his eyes when it’s over, crimson meeting theirs in something amused and accusatory. Sadist.

‘Bite down, Ais.’ The command is a clear one, but it does puzzle him. ‘Hard enough to break the skin. Go on.’

He can’t exactly voice anything, so muzzled as he is with their fingers in his mouth, nor even move, not with the body atop him and the knife still a firm deterrence against his neck. Ais cannot, but he can arch an eyebrow. After all, he’d avoided their digits with his teeth for a reason, and this seemed antithetical to it.  

‘Don’t make me make you,’ they continue, and while those words would usually incite his rebellious spirit, the one that just wanted the retaliation in return, the cadence is not one he’s heard before. At least not from them. Odd in the way it makes his teeth itch and his skin crawl. Almost musical, as if the notes underlying it was a siren song. A threat. A deliverance. And Ais did so like both in equal measure.

They don’t even flinch when it happens. When Ais obeys. It’s a little scary—their gaze had been unwavering, but the second his canines pierce skin, their eyes border on the luminescent. There’s a warning in the almost glow, and Ais so wondered what it meant—

‘I’ve decided I’ll mark you on the inside out.’

Ais chokes.

Blood floods his mouth, what else would have, what else could it have been—

Blood floods, but—

But there’s too much—

But it tastes wrong—

But it feels strange—

But—

—what the fuck were they?

There shouldn’t be that much blood, and though he could have spat it out, stiletto be damned, he swallows. He swallows it all. He swallows, and though the initial hit had left its relentless impact, enough a tear had escaped and left a wet trail on his right temple, it’s far easier to bear once Ais gets into the rhythm of it.

‘Oh, so you are drinking it.’

His thoughts haze out into something pleasantly fuzzy, though he does dully think about how their blood is weird. The taste is off—the usual iron was there, was a major component, but there’s also something undeniably sweet present as well. It made him wonder about their true nature, and whether, despite their lack of visible monstrous features, they were one in secret.

‘Ais,’ they start, and the use of his name in a scene catches his attention, clears the fog not completely, but enough. ‘You see me, right?’

Though confusion knits his brow at the kind of obvious question, he nods.

‘You can only see me and nothing else?’

Another.

‘Promise? Promise me you can’t see anything else.’

And another.

It’s obvious this means something to them. It’s obvious, but Ais has little time to consider what, because the fingers suddenly leave his mouth an empty hole, and though he can see where he’s left his mark, for all that had been pouring out and into his mouth, there’s no visible bleed anymore. There isn’t, and they’d barely seemed concerned about what had just transpired, instead tossing the weapon carelessly aside with muffled thud to free up a hand to pull their glove back on.

Ais would have asked them what the fuck was up with that, but then he catches sight of amber, and it is gleaming. Their irises sparkle with something almost joyful and jubilant, surely a positive except… Well. It was them. Ais had only seen two of their faces and the spectrum in between—anything from controlled calm to icy anger. Nothing like this. Nothing like…

Happiness.

Before he can work out what that means, they interrupt him.

In more newness, their hands reach behind them and unbuckle and pull off one his belts. They do, and it’s done in a single move so seamless Ais only blinks at them in an answer unsaid, surprised out of a pithy response.

Still, with their intent an obvious one, Ais is already lifting his head up from the ground so that they can lay the strip of leather flat beneath his neck. There’s a clink of the belt’s buckle as the end of it is slid through, and Ais’ attention is captured wholeheartedly as he watches them. Watches, as the loop is pulled tight in one solid wrench—not enough to actually cut off his breathing, but enough it dug into his throat just the slightest.

What a shame it was not their hands.  

‘I hope you know how to use that thing,’ is Ais’ smartass comment. He doesn’t actually care.

They only smile at him. Their eyes have not lost the brightness from before, but there’s another weight to it when they’re looking at him. A velvet headiness, and if Ais didn’t know any better—

‘I do know how to use you, but I appreciate the concern.’

Amusement curls his lip.  So they did have a sense of humour.

However, it does not last. It doesn’t, at least not for this specific reason, because as soon as the matter of his belt being weaponised was resolved, they reach beneath their skirt and though Ais has a moment with curiosity, the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing is—

Then darkness falls across his vision, fabric falling in an obscuring curtain.  

With their knees on each side of his head, it’s not exactly a subtle request, and though they are in entirely upward kneel, nowhere near sitting down…

…he can smell them.

It’s a heady shock of a realisation to come to. Ais has hardly been shy about the effect these sessions always had on him—constant catharsis, the kind of deliverance doled from divinity themselves, was always going to be a cup that was liable to spill over.

And for Ais, hedonistic sensualist to his core, it was always doomed to do so. Undoubtedly so, but while that had inevitable enough to never been of concern, he’d never quite expected… a mutuality.

Was Ais certain that he was meeting their desires in some way? Sure. Sure, in that annoying, self-assured, of-course-it’s-fucking-Ais way of his. But perhaps he should have considered this eventuality as well, given how they shared this catharsis with him, in mirror image, carnal. In entwined depravity, eternal.

‘Nice to know even you have needs—hghrk!’

A ruthless yank had been enough to the rest of that sentence out.

‘You seriously need to learn when to shut up.’

There’s little ceremony before they lower themselves on his face, mere heartbeats after they relinquish their warning in specific stranglehold. There is, but he’s never been the type to stand on it, nor is he even thinking about how abrupt this switch in tone was, at least not beyond the initial surprise, and perhaps it’s because it’s not abrupt at all.

Instead, he’s far more focused with being greedy. With his vision temporarily hindered, Ais makes use of what’s left to him.

He drinks in their scent. A deep inhale, the musk of sex and something sweet, something cloying. Ais drinks them in with a dedication of a worshipper at their deity’s holy altar, though it’s one so heavily intertwined with the hunger of a man that could never be completely satiated that his brand of worship was sacrilege in equal measure.

Ais’ first taste is just an agonisingly full preview of one. He gets a moment—a lurid, obscene split of a second—where his tongue presses against heated slick and flesh, throbbing. It lasts only before they jolt away from him, depriving him immediately.

They’re soaked.

Which would be cute, given all the facts—they’d obviously not expected him to be so willing, enough to be at that much of a ready, whorishly open mouthed, but he’s too occupied with the loss to really focus on that aspect.

When Ais pulls them back by the thighs, his only moment of being remotely forceful, there’s a bit of a stumble, and he barely hears the reprimand before it blends into a sound that stutters before it’s cut off completely. Barely, but he does feel a leathered hold cinch tight around his neck, enough to make him choke, enough to make him groan into his reclaimed mouthful of pussy.

Still, at least they don’t deny him this time, nor do they make any further attempts to rebuke him for his grab—a kindness, all things considered, but Ais is too busy on the task at hand, mouth and tongue to think about it too deeply.

A busyness that’s audible, because Ais wasn’t exactly quiet.

In the silence of the bedroom set as a stage to their encounter, the noises of Ais having his fill is a perversely indecent one. In lewd slurping, wet lip smacking, and—when he feels fingers lace through his hair into a harsh hold—a muffled moan.

Especially loud, particularly when he can tell they’re trying to be quiet. And to be fair, he doesn’t hear them. Nor does he feel them move, and in fact, the thighs on the side of his head are rigid with the effort to remain still.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because Ais makes them move.

Taking advantage of his current grip as leverage, making use of the allowance he’d been given, Ais grinds them against his face.

Of course, there’s admonishment—he suddenly finds it hard to breathe, and nail-like pinpricks dig into his scalp, but all it does it makes him eager for more.

He always is, but the feeling is more present now than ever, especially because it’s one tied to a specific pain. Because while he isn’t physically capable of getting hard—they’ve made sure of that—he knows he would be enough for it to be another hurt. Not that the steel biting into his dick isn’t already one all the same, but still.

‘Tell…’ their voice is taut and wound to bursting. It gives Ais a certain trembling gratification to know he is the reason for it. ‘Tell me how that—’ a swear, spliced into a silencing lip bite—they’re trying so hard not to cry out, ‘—made you go… harder. You’re just so… full… of… surprises. Every time I wondhh— wonder… There’s no way you can get more depraved. You—mmrgh—’

One hand had let go of their thigh, having slid beneath fabric. A single finger had sought out its mark, finding it far too easily with an obscene squelch, slipping inside with a dripping ease that spoke of no resistance.

The liquid heat wrapped around his finger in a squeezing, squirming vice seeps even past the mild obstruction of his ring, reaching the top of his palm. It’s a mess he encourages even further, making the thickness within them go from one digit to two—a thickness, because Ais did have very big hands.

‘I just can’t… can’t believe… you would seek me out…! Just to be abused by me—’ Ais nods. ‘How much— how much of a… filthy, desperate whore do you have—ghk!’     

By now, their clit had become a semi-permanent fixture in his mouth. With every insistent lash of his tongue, in intermittent sucking about as relentless as the ceaseless, unyielding thrusting into their pussy—each in, each out, punctuated with a scandalisingly salacious shlick, shlick, shlick—Ais draws them ever closer, and his devotion to seeing them through it has the fervent ardour of a fanatic zealot meeting their god.

Nothing existed beyond this moment. Nothing existed beyond making sure they were going to come. They were going to get off, and Ais would make it happen—once, but then perhaps again, and again, and again.

And again.

And… they keep talking, too.

‘—so shame… shameless of you… I bet— I bet if I were to— mm…! Mark you so that…’ they gasp, but there is some kind of attempt to hide it in a low hiss, ‘everyone would know— everyone would know you’re a useless whore, one who’s—’ More nods. Yes, yes, yes. ‘—only good for… for eating pussy and nnnh—!’

Ais adds a third finger.

‘—nothing else… you would…! You would be so… into… it—!’

So do it.

‘Now you actually… actually… want me to do it.’ There’s laughter, but it’s gravelly, and when it intermingles into what sound so close to a moan—Ais swiftly finds himself pleasantly throttled of air. ‘So… you’ll stop.’ A tighter grip. Tighter.  ‘You’ll stop so I—so I can mark you properly. You’ll struggle if you don’t—’ but he won’t. Ais never struggles.

Unsurprisingly (or perhaps surprisingly to them), he does still everything. The chokehold is an encouragement, but it’s not the major one, and when he feels the grip on his hair leaving and that same hand sliding beneath the deep V of his shirt, he can breathe again. There’s a glide of leather against his bare chest, then a point of cruelty in a spike, razor sharp, but when there’s a pause that lasts for too long—a last minute falter—

He tongues them.

Their cunt clenches, a sudden vice around his fingers. A contraction meant to milk what wasn’t there, but then there’s a shaky, exasperated huff of air—one of frustration and surrender, both at once—and they…

…they pierce skin.

This time, it’s his turn to hiss. Five times, he’s pierced. One for each letter.

 As deprived of stimulation as he is, though he did not personally care, his body took the gruelling pain of being carved, curved and curled and coiled it—everything, everything, until the pain became a twisted pleasure. One that still hurt, but it was addicting. In the way Ais didn’t want it to stop, not until the end. Not until he bled, sacred scripture etched in skin and to completion.

It’s seeping. His wounds weep, and Ais is not exactly quiet about it either, though nor is he loud. He’s neither, but never once does he want it to stop before they do. Nor does he want it in anything not made to last.

They know of course. They always do. His regeneration isn’t coming to his aid, just like it didn’t for the bite on the side of his neck, mark afresh. Ais would smile if he weren’t gritting his teeth. He would grin, even, but he wanted it that much.

And they’re efficient about it. Whatever can be scored in one stroke, is. Whatever can’t, is done in the least amount needed. It’s not gentle, but it is the gentlest it can be—it wasn’t the suffering itself that mattered, but the hand that dealt it.

By the time they’ve grabbed his hair again, Ais has already gotten back to it. Never a believer of wasted time, especially when it came to eating pussy, he gets back to it. Dutiful in worship, or depraved in it. Perhaps both, when it came to him.

The rhythm he’d slipped into with lurid ease earlier is one he finds again with the same utter lack of difficulty. Even with his injuries blurring their individual needling—a sting and a spark that pricks, stabs, all at once—into what is a cutting whole, he is dismissive of it.

Which only seemed to amuse them further. In small, sharp exhales that sounds both like a mixture dark mirth and an involuntary reaction to the fact that he’d just slid his tongue against their clit, the noises are telling ones. ‘You’re fucking unbelievable. I was… I was just joking—’ they cut themselves off with a breathless chuckle. ‘I was seriously—ghh…! J…Just joking… when I said— mmm… said you wanted to be marked and used like… a common fucktoy—’

He doesn’t believe them. Or wouldn’t, if Ais had, in fact, the lucidity to spare to actually comprehend what they said. Instead, he only hears the parts most important to him. Ais hears it and agrees.

But… they surely couldn’t fault him for paying less attention. They were close, after all, and Ais was tunnel visioning. He’d already experienced so much of them (their calm and their anger; their joy and their lust; their violence and their sex), but it was only right for Ais, being who and what he was, to crave more. Always, always more.

By now, they’d abandoned their hopeless mission to stay still, and instead recaptured some of that lost valour by holding his head in place by strands of inky black, grinding against the flat of his tongue.

Ais is being used. There’s no other way to put it. He’s being used, but it’s his open mouth, just like it’s his fingers buried in their wet heat, crooked and pressing rather incessantly against a bundle of nerves. Ais is being used, but he’s facilitating it, just like he facilitates anything they do to him.

‘Take it,’ they chant, then chant it some more. Their powerful hips make for a harsh pace, to be expected as someone with as much stamina and control as they had. It does, but Ais is an equal match in both similar and contrasting ways. He’d always been, so that was probably why he was so good getting under their skin.

It’s when the tremble in their thighs and the pitch of their voice raises; it’s when they seem to struggle between denial and continued stimulation; it’s when Ais is pretty sure they’re about to come—that he can’t help but hold them in place so that they don’t run from this.

Even when there’s a threat pulling tight around his neck. Ais is expectant, anticipatory. Hungry, even, because it tugs even closer, digs even deeper, and Ais is suddenly hit with the fear and excitement and exhilaration that if they don’t make it there fast enough, he might—

Though his world for tonight had long since centred on them and what they could do to him, it’s now that it shrinks further still. Ais knows little else but the language of sex, the musk and feel and taste and sound of it, the catharsis of pleasure and sensation and having them pushed and pulled to peaking.

He’s getting light-headed. Ais doesn’t have all that long, but even with his breath stolen from him, he works hard. What they in the business might call a good boy, except he’s fucked up enough to get off on it.

And they—

—they get there first.

Air rushes into his lungs. Ais gasps for it, but his grip on them never wavers. Neither does his touch, either, and with whatever he had on hand to use against and for them (his mouth, his tongue, his fingers, his self), he does. In a wet squeeze that coils tighter and tighter until there’s no room to fingerfuck, in a surprisingly controlled keen that he barely hears, in a dam that bursts and breaks into an oblivion—

And Ais has his fill. Of course he does. He swallows anything he’s able, their taste sliding down his throat while the rest coat his already coated face with a visibly lewd sheen. He has his fill and then some, because even after they’ve come, he doesn’t necessarily stop, and he can hear them come to that realisation in a gasp that fades into a shaky scoff.

‘Wh… What’s wrong with— with you…’ But they’re not pushing him off just yet, so he just… continues, even as they make a comment—as best they can, this close to their first, they must still be sensitive—about how at this rate, they could do anything to Ais and he’d still be ready with a willing mouth. And they aren't wrong.

They let him get a few more orgasms out of them. They do, but it’s just after the third—and Ais could have surely gone for a fourth and fifth—when they stop him with a forceful shove, his head thudding against the ground. 

‘Enough.’ They clear their throat into something resembling normalcy, and then the weight of them disappears quickly enough that Ais is forced to squint at the sudden change in light. He sits up, licks his lips, then his fingers clean from where they’d just been inside them. Ever the hedonist. Ever the whore.

Ais is caught. Not that he was trying to hide it in the first place. He meets their gaze with his own, glittering as his own fingers leave his mouth with a wet pop. They had to know. The second they brought actual sex into this, opened that door that Ais himself would not have opened on his own—well. Ais wouldn’t be forgetting this anytime soon.

‘I should have cut your tongue out when I had the chance.’ To their credit, they look near immaculate, somehow. The only visible evidence was in a split lip that wasn’t there before, because their skirt covered up pretty much everything. It was Ais that bore the brunt of the encounter—in blood and sweat and cum. Ais was used entirely, and yet still is somehow smug about it. How infuriating.

‘I wouldn’t be nearly as good at eating pussy without my tongue, but if that’s what you really want—’

‘I don’t think what I want in that regard matters. It’s never happening again.’

‘Never?’ Ais grins. ‘Then why did it happen at all?’

A warm washcloth is his answer. They’re a little indelicate in cleaning his face, but he only laughs—rough aftercare was hardly much of a comparison to anything else that had happened tonight. His face, neck and cheek still sung in protest, but he’s heedless of his own self-ruin. As Ais always is. Thinks of how much more he could get from them, even.

It’s when they pull out a first aid kit, a mild frown knitting their features, that he shakes his head. The frown only grows, and when they speak, they sound incredulous. ‘What do you mean, no? You’re truly going to walk about like that?’

‘You gave them to me,’ he says, simply. ‘My choice what I want to do with them, isn’t it?’

‘You are so weird.’

‘Seems like that’s just what you need.’ He takes another look at them. Notes the lines of their form, less taut, less tight. ‘You seem more relaxed, sister. Maybe all you really needed was good head.’ And he just so happened to be capable of giving incredible head.   

‘If I told you that’s all I needed, would you leave me alone?’

‘You would be lying if you said that. So no. I wouldn’t.’

A sigh. ‘Your arrogance will come back to bite you.’

‘As long as it’s by your teeth.’

The words make them glance at his neck, though at this angle, his hair is obscuring the bulk of it. They must’ve surely wanted to have said something, but when they open their mouth, their words are curt, professional. ‘I’ve left the key in the bathroom. Clean up in there before you head out.’

With a languid stretch, rather catlike in nature, he stands.   

By now, the bathroom at these private establishments was a familiar sight. He does do as they say, but when the tedious part is over, Ais finds himself staring at the mirror. Four lines of red on his cheek, a wicked double puncture on his neck, and most presently, most vividly:

carved onto his chest.

Ais smirks, amused. The lines of bleeding red running from each letter have dried, but the letters themselves still look viscerally fresh, and it is in the garish brand that Ais is assured, once again, that they needed this as much as he did. Escalation in this particular way only to cut things off now was a denial, and for both their sakes, he wouldn’t allow that to happen.

They needed him just like he needed them. And so long as that remained true, and so long as that remained fact and not fiction, he would seek them out. Just as he has been doing, and just as he will continue to do.

Even if they lied about the key being in the bathroom.

Still, when he makes it back to the bedroom, he’s not surprised to see them absent. Without fanfare nor farewell. They never were one for sticking around once they did their duties in checking to see if Ais was… all there. (He never needed it. Not really.)

The lie had also turned about to be a mislead. Because there, on top of the sheets of a double bed that seemed entirely unnecessary to their encounters—was a silver key.

How sweet. So they did care enough to keep their word.

And how very Aislike that he already knew what to say to them about it for the next time they met. Sooner rather than later.

He’d make sure of it.

BONUS:

‘Tell me something, Ais.’

 It seemed Vere’s disgust was doomed to be a common occurrence when it came to Ais’ particular encounters in the Amaryllis district, but Ais only smirks at the tone, already amused.

Some days had already passed since he saw them last, and while most of the superficial damage that had been caused was gone, there were a couple of graphic exceptions—ones that did not need Vere’s perceptiveness to pick up on. (Vere was unique in that he was one of the few that dared to ask Ais about them, however.) 

Honestly, it was kind of gross. Vere definitely thought as much. After all, Ais hadn’t done much to treat them outside of cleaning off the excess blood, so his wounds simply sat there and festered. But that they could at all was so very… exciting.

‘Did you happen to have a run in with a particularly degrading and monstrously vicious cat?’

The smirk only grows wider. ‘You could say that.’

Vere clicks his tongue, disapproving. ‘I always knew Sabri was twisted,’ he starts, and Ais’ ears perk at the name. He doesn’t interrupt Vere, but the information is filed away with no small amount of glee—something to be used the next time they met. They were going to be so angry. ‘Maybe I should consider myself unfortunate they only propositioned me once. If they tried the same on me…’

‘Really?’ Ais arches an amused brow. Given their interesting… history, it was hard to imagine Sabri—what a novelty knowing a name was—doing something like that, enough it was unintentional comedy in unlikeliness. ‘Them?’

‘Yes. They told me they were going to give me their virginity, then did and left straight after.’ Here, Vere sniffs rather haughtily, and Ais has to laugh a bit at the miffed look on his face. ‘No build up. No chase. I asked them what they’d do if I said no, and they just shrugged and told me they’d find someone else. What kind of response is that? Did they learn seduction tactics from a brick wall?’

‘They can’t have been a bad lay, though.’

‘No,’ Vere answers, though it is punctuated by a very endearing scowl. ‘They weren’t. But their horrible bedside manner leaves much to be desired. I think it would have been far less offensive if the sex was bad. But it was everything around it that was.’

And, as Vere details just what “everything around it” happened to be, while Ais did dutifully listen, he also thought about just how mad he’d make them if he called them by their name. A thought that fills him with an untold amount of excitement.

A new weapon to spark their ire, have it ignite into glorious, glorious fury. One he so looked forward to seeing again. And again. And again.

And… again.

for getting this far, have this fun little tidbit: the conception of this fic: here. take care, and if you give me your thoughts, you will make my day. &lt;3

[prozac-shaped-urn]

💌 (pretend i am asking this from my side blog)

*snap* *clap* *finger guns* sooo

i did a small dive into the passion side blog because i know what we have in common, but i wanted to look a little closer and find things that maybe surprised me or made me have to stop and think, and i wanted to give those some thought before i responded. i'm the kind of person who likes to take my time when i'm asked about what i learned during a new experience / what i like about someone / things along those lines. i even take my time with answering that question about my bestie and we've known each other for two whole decades.

anyway.

i won't go too in depth on mental health mainly to respect your privacy, but also i don't feel like tagging this post with a million trigger warnings, SO THERE. what i will say is that we fight a similar battle. no two manifestations of mental illnesses are the same, but from what i know of my own diagnoses and what i gather from your experience, we're very alike in the specific demon we battle with literally every second we breathe. you're still here. you're still fucking here. whether we wanna be here half the time is a different story for you and me both. but you're still kicking ass and taking names, and that makes you extraordinarily brave and strong. moving on before i start crying.

i will confess i haven't read the OC thing you posted but i will get to it and when i do get ready for feedback akin to this response. brain hasn't been braining for a month and i'm not pushing myself to turn the lights back on before i'm good and damn ready.

YOUR ART??!!?!?! HELLO?!!!????? HOLY FUCKING JESUS BRO!!!!!!!!!!! it baffles me how people can see shit in their head and then make it a thing on the page. visual artists never fail to make me shake my head with wonder. i bow at your exquisitely talented fangirl feet.

your thoughts on gender surprised me. (in a good way!) i haven't given my own gender any kind of in-depth thought, but now i kinda want to. i also don't feel like a girl, and i don't feel like a boy, nor do i feel like a woman or a man, or really any specific binary or non-binary affiliation. i'm just ~whatever~ i'm just ME dude idfk. i've always been this way and i don't really think about it that much. i like the fact that you took the time to examine that aspect of yourself. whether or not you have firm answers for the prying minds of strangers is irrelevant. it's your fucking gender, do with it whatever you want.

"nothing prepares you for the grief that hits when you realise there are things you can no longer do or have access to. that in order to prevent your slow decline you might have to give up your previous joys and watch enviously from the sidelines" is such a raw and painful insight. holy hell dude.

thank you all for coming with me on this little joy ride. i hope it made sense.

[bigmack2go]

Yes my name is spelled with a j at the end. I know i have many typos but that is not one if them. Its pronounced the same way (almost. but most people just pronounce it like mack)

Its hungarian.

Its rly important to me because 1 im from hungary and 2 bc the letters have meanings!

Edit:

On that note! I just realised i never made an intro post so i guess here u go!

Short version

I am mackj

17

Hungarian/german

I speak german and english (Hungarian amd a little Swedish)

Multi fandom

Newsies (main atm)

Pjo (always loved it but new to the fandom)

Marauders

Dsmp

Atwow

Three???

Starlight express

(Oractically any musical)

Descendants

SOC

TMR

Currently going to fashion school and hope to become a designer or actor one day…

They/them/any pronouns/ask for pronouns

(I just prefer they/them most of the time)

dyscalculia fucked my career

Adhd asf and weirdly gatekeep-y about it.

shizophrenia

Christian

I love turles w my life

Writer, musician, dancer, ACTOR

(But i can’t do long choreos bc i have a limb since i was eight and my leg will start hurting and i have a criculation disfunction)

The reason that i talk funny isn’t that english isnt my first language but simply because i want to, okay. Fuck u.

PLEASE!...

...use my headcannon!

...use my OC's

... post or talk about my book

...make headcannons for my book

... make OC's for my book

...come up with faceclaims for my characters

... ask me stuff

... ask about fashion school

... request shit

... ask about my disabilities

...ask about my stutter

… ask about my Tic‘s

WITH CREDITS AND/OR IF U ASK U CAN DEFINITELY ...

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... ask if i do commisions: i used to but fashionschool said nono. what is freetime? never heard or it. requsts? yess. Absolutely. Because i dont have to promise shit with that, dont need times etc

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DO ,IN FACT, INTERACT IF UR HOMOPH0b!c; I NEED A FIGHT!!!MY FINGERS R TINGELING Be ready to have a regulated debate tho!

Aka on this blog EVERYONE is welcome, even himophobes but only if they wanna fight

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[nimbus-bugs]

Nim Sketch Dump

as promised, here's a big sketch dump of my sona/oc nim! this isn't gonna be a popular post and I don't care 👍

I didn't originally intend to post these so I've referenced some art works heavily but I've written the name of the artist and I'll type it out too! if any of the artists see my references and is uncomfortable with it please let me know and I'll remove it from this post :D

dump under the cut!

the first ideas for his "modern design" (he's been around and recycled for a loooong time). the pose in the top right hand corner is taken from @/hiraethminds! they are a very cool artist and inspire me a lot. though the grey-ish tones as the major colour goes away I still really like the centipede tattoo, centipedes are rad as fuck and you can't tell me otherwise

I started to play with the idea of a goat design for him here! which is strange because like. that's not even his main design or motif or anything, I just really liked the idea I guess LMAO also Aurelai belongs to my mate of the same name! she's not on tumblr (yet) but you should still like her because she's cool and awesome

a treat for my qsmp enjoyers!! an unfinished short comic I sketched on the day tallulah lost her first life. the other characters in this are my old ocs, don't even worry about them

I straight up just have the image that inspired me in this one. its by @/sss-eriema and it was a gift from GOD. I was trying to sort out the colours and wanted to incorporate both orange (my favourite colour) and green (my close second favourite colour) but wasn't having much luck. eriema's artwork showed me that it can work in a more muted way and it was very very helpful!!

maid dress. sorry. also slimecicle

I started to get the colours down in the bottom right corner!! I really like this sketch page honestly. some bonus self portrait sketches because I wanted to try and put some more of my own features into his design as my sona! also in the notes I was debating between the two eye shapes and I'm still thinking about it. I think the bottom ones fit his personality more and are way more expressive but I just like the Vibe of the top ones

a lot of little drawings with varying styles! also more slimecicle. I am adhding so hard for him right now, it's concerning.

t. this one is the reason for the blood tw in the tags. I just really like drawing blood. as a treat. don't come for me this is my self-indulgent safe space leT ME BE EDGY </3 also the writing is a little hard to read so I've put it in the alt! and more qsmp doodles!

I'm starting to ditch the goat design but this one is my last hurrah. basically settled on the general colour scheme now! and more qsmp stuff. its literally gripped my brain I can't escape it, even in my personal work

then I realised. nimbus-BUGS. bugs! what if bug? this was a really fun study for using more creature features that I wasn't used to! loving the mandibles tbh

my most recent sketch as of posting! I might update this later, but this sketch page is probably the most gratuitously referenced, the expressions in the bottom left and top right were basically ripped from @/microwavablesquid so if you like those please check them out! the basic design structure of the full body was referenced from @/aresonist, retroactively I realised a lot of my design choices. uh. they also made LMAOOO so if my design in General tickles your brain, follow them!

as for his lore and basic information for what he actually Is, uhhh. ??? I don't know HAHAHA he's a little guy! he's creature! is he human? probably not but no one could say for sure! is he bugs? is he 1000 bugs in a trenchcoat? sometimes he's goat I guess??? I can never decide on a design and I think that aids his cryptid-like habits. he shows up sometimes, vibes and can't die in a way that matters! he has a running motif of my fake-God-thing, the centipede ouroboros, so I was like "what if he was a harbinger of the ouroboros, what then." and I like to imagine he has video game logic where when he dies, he basically respawns. also weirdly it's worked out in a way where he has lots of biblical motifs, like my name is literally nimbus, like the halo, and he's a messenger of a god like some fucked up blorbo angel. also lily of the valley is my favourite flower and I like drawing him with it, it also has lots of symbolism in the bible?? wild.

I sincerely doubt it but if you guys have any questions about nim or want to draw him or anything I would Die. I would just keel over. you'd take me out.

thank you so much if you got to the end of this btw!! this was a lot. seriously though, it means the world if even one person would like to see my little guy <3 have a great day and take care of yourself!

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

To the Shadows that Cry Witch /// Chapter 18

And I'm back!! I'm so happy to return to writing this fic for you guys, and for the long time I've been away, I've made sure to make this next chapter extra long for you all - at almost 6k words! (Which is a feat for me lol) So good news aside, I am unfortunately not going to be posting weekly anymore, as I have just started uni, and I already have a lot of studying to do. But I can promise that I will be posting chpaters as frequent as I can, I'll just be limiting myself to make time for my academic side of life. Anyways, Enjoy! <3

Summary: Magic was real, but it came at a price. So when two girls end up in the one place they never thought they could reach, strange things began to happen. Good or bad? That's up to them to find out.

Tags: Kili x oc/reader - Fili x oc (POV to be written soon) - Thorin's company × ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Bagginshield

Word Count: 5960

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, claustrophia, accidental drowning, swearing.

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

PLEASE START FROM THE BEGINNING IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY OK LOVE U

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Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 17 // Chapter 18 // Chapter 19 >

Part 2: Chapter 18 -

Into the thick of it.

Selenotropism (Definition): Growth in response to moonlight. (Noun / Origin: Classical Greek / Se·lee·no·trop·isum)

The Old Forest, Outer Hobbiton, The Shire – T.A. 25th October 2939 of the Third Age (1339 in Shire-reckoning)

I had strayed from the path a while back, grass replacing the smooth stones that marked the paths circling Hobbiton. Only the dying light of my small lantern accompanied me, I foolishly realised, as I had not planned ahead for this spur-of-the-moment outing – thinking I could rely on the shine of the moon, but I forgot that it was a new phase, so all that was ahead of me was the gaping darkness, as it tempted me deeper into the towering trees of the Old Forest.

By now, any glow from the lights left outside each hobbit hole had vanished behind the silhouettes of thick trunks and bushes that surrounded me. The only luck I had to return before Bilbo’s curfew was if I stumbled upon a road that led me back, and, I managed to guess the correct direction that wouldn’t lead me into the wilderness. Just because I had a map of Middle Earth on my favourite mug back home, didn’t mean I had memorised it. Which, at this point, was my biggest downfall.

I inhaled deeply through my nose, taking in the sharp, fresh air that came with a clear late evening, like a cold glass of water, that was blissful on your throat at 2am. Approaching one of the taller trees, I plopped myself down against its trunk and stretched my legs out. Many thoughts passed over my mind, memories from Earth, things I owned that would never be found here, but what stuck, was thoughts of my family; Where they were; if time continued on, and, if the two of us reported missing. How they would cope with the news. That was the one thing I dreaded – considering how sensitive my family was. I wondered about Bella, my dog. Knowing her singular braincell, it’ll take her a few years to realise I’m gone. I smiled at the thought of my dogs face as she pounced around the fields in search of rabbits, her thin ginger tail whipping back and forth. Her warm brown eyes staring intently at me from in between the long grass, the iris’ flickering with green.

Wait – green?

Bella’s eyes weren’t green.

I blinked rapidly, returning my senses to my surroundings. Pressing the bases of my palms against my eyelids, I blinked them open, and realised that the green eyes weren’t leaving – they were in fact, in front of me.

I grabbed my lantern and held it up, stretching my arm out to allow the dying flame illuminate the bushes that sat a few yards ahead of my feet. With baited breath I stared arduously at the small gap of leaves, until a flash of green flickered, and the pair of green eyes returned, this time with a physical body.

Placing one paw in front of the other, the shadow silently crept out from beneath the darkness of the leaves, almost like a hunter stalking its prey. Light shimmered like gold on ebony fur, and with a twitch of its ear, a black cat emerged, traipsing into the light.

A soft gasp left my lips, watching it stop just before where my feet lay, and I felt a smile warm my face. Any sorrowful thought that plagued my mind earlier was now whisked away at the sight of the small feline.

“Hello,” I whispered, as I gently placed the lantern down, watching as the cat’s emerald eyes flickered over me, following my every move. “Where did you come from?”

As slowly as before, I lowered my hand to the ground, and carefully moved it towards the creature, stopping just past my toes. To my delight, the cat took another cautious step forwards, it’s black nose lifting to sniff the air, before lowering it to my curled fingers. My pinkie twitched slightly, and the cat took a step back, returning to sit where it had revealed itself by the bush, the end of its tail flicking slightly from where it rested on the grass.

“No touching? That’s ok.” I murmured, taking my hand back and placing it on my lap. Minutes passed by, where the two of us simply observed each other, getting used to the other’s presence whilst waiting for the other to move.

My head raised suddenly, Bilbo’s stern face appearing at the forefront of my mind, and I remembered my curfew. Getting to my feet as calmly as I could to not startle the creature in front of me, I brushed off the fallen leaves that had caught themselves on my shift and coat, and picked up my lantern.

I had only taken a couple steps, when a ‘meow’ sounded from behind me. Puzzled I turned around to see the cat was now by my feet, it’s eyes wide as it approached me, almost playful.

“Huh?” Was all I said.

It meowed again, white teeth flashing as it opened its mouth to make the sounds.

“I’m sorry but I have to go.” I replied gently. “Or Bilbo will have my head.”

I went to walk away once again, but jumped with a start as I looked down to find it had appeared in front of me, but this time with something familiar in its mouth. Squinting, I gasped in outrage when I realised what it was.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, shoving my hand into the inner pocket of my coat, only to find it open and missing the one thing that was supposed to be inside it. Though I knew where it had gone – and it was currently trotting away with its tail held high.

Turning on my heel, I strode after the cat, keeping the lantern as high as I could to not lose the dark-furred feline to the darkness it could oh-so easily blend into. Eventually I broke into a run, frustrated at the sight of the cat as it only got further away.

“Come on!” I cried with heaving breaths – bed rest had not been courteous to my stamina levels. “That’s important to me! You can’t just take it!”

Said thing was a braided leather bracelet, cream in colour, with a red button sewn on as a clasp. It was a handmade gift from my grandad, one I had kept close to me and cherished since his passing three years ago. And I certainly wasn’t going to part with it any time soon.

My walking boots thumped heavily against the ground. Whilst working perfectly well on the wild terrain, they were certainly not suited for running, as my feet began to feel like they have become big hooves – too heavy and stiff for these kinds of escapades. Shoving away a low hanging branch, I then leaped over a twisted root, only to cry out as my still-healing ankle gave way, and I hit the ground with a thud.

With a groan, I pushed myself onto my elbows before twisting over to sit up. The cat came back into my mind, and I whipped my head around, ignoring the throbbing aches from the points of impact my body graciously had with the ground.

The glass of my lantern was smashed on the ground in front of me, and in the final flickers of the flame, my eyes landed on a large rabbit hole in the middle of a hollowed tree trunk, and as I climbed to my feet, I caught a flash of green from in the shadows. Marching over, I kneeled down, braced my hands on either side of the rotting bark, and peered into the darkness.

It was an exceptionally large tunnel, big enough for me to fit into. Roots of all sizes twisted and hung from the walls and roof of soil. The odd beetle appeared, before dashing away again, and as the flame behind me finally died, I went to give up on the rescue.

With a snap, a twig broke behind me, and I spun around, only to let out a scream as the rotten bark crumbled in my hands as it gave way. Feeling a sharp knock against my head, I watched the world go black, feeling myself tumble into the darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“C’mon c’mon c’mon.” I whimpered, working my trembling hands as best as I could to strike the match against the rough side of the cardboard box. It really helped sometimes when I forgot to empty all my pockets, feeling extremely lucky that matches were one of the things found. What didn’t help was the uncontrollable tears that began to pool in my eyes – and also that fact that I was stuck in a narrow tunnel in the complete pitch black.

With a crackle and a hiss, the small flame burst to life in between my fingers, and I craned my head the best I could to look down either side of the tunnel, hindered by the fact that it was so narrow, my back was arched forwards and my neck was constantly bent over at the low ceiling. The tightening in my chest also meant the claustrophobia was kicking in big time.

Trying my best to look down both sides as much as I could through the blur of my tears, I noticed that one end trailed upwards, and decided that was my best option to fining the way out. Feeling the heat of the flame grow, I quickly blew the match out, and summoning all the energy I had left, I flopped onto my front, and began to commando crawl up through the darkness.

Digging my elbows and knees into the soil, I clambered onwards for what felt like a quarter of an hour, whilst also lighting the odd match, checking that there wasn’t any other tunnels that I would accidentally take. It was odd that I was so far down, and I wondered whether or not I landed down there naturally.

Soon, to my luck, the fresh air from earlier began to replace the damp and stagnant, the tunnel widening enough for me to stand on my knees, and I felt relief wash through me knowing I was almost out. Lighting a match, I raised it up, only to see a large hole above me just a metre ahead, with a familiar wall of bark surrounding it. Shuffling myself closer whilst trying to keep the match alight, I went to reach to the edge of the hole, when something caught my eye.

Adding on to the very odd things that had happened to me on this night, I stared bewildered at my bracelet hanging right in front of me, hooked onto an even odder-looking piece of wood. My hand quickly shot out, grabbing it and stuffing it to the bottom of my deepest pocket, making sure it was zipped up securely, safe and tight.

Lighting another match, I looked back, holding the small flame up as I eyed the piece of wood curiously. It didn’t look quite like a root – the end was too thick and blunt, and was covered in parts that were unnaturally smooth, a darkened colour as if someone had crawled down here and decided to carve and polish random parts of tree roots, leaving them to stick out about several inches from the soil. Reaching out, I poked and prodded at it with my fingernail, before slowly wrapping my hand around it. A pull.

But I didn’t pull it.

Before I knew it, my hand was jerked forward, sucked into the wall as if I had stuck my hand into the flesh of a giant slimy slug, and I quickly began to panic, my eyes widening as I watched soil wrap around my wrist like short, stubby tentacles to pull it in further. The squelching and crumbling of wet dirt and rock contorting around my limb echoed through the tunnel as I realised that I couldn’t let go of the stick, so trying my best to think rationally through the crushing fear of becoming part of the ground, I leant onto my back and lifted my legs up, bracing my feet against the wall. With all my might, I gritted my teeth together as I grasped my rapidly disappearing arm, and pulled.

I let out a loud grunting breath as I felt it give way a little, but quickly repositioned as I prepared to pull again. But before I could, a deep sound resonated in my ears, drowning out the noises of moving dirt, and every hair on my body stood on end, terror pinging through every vertebrae along my spine, the one sound I had wished to never hear again pounding against my ear drums.

Feeling the colour drain from my face, I slowly turned my head to my right, until my eyes landed on an oh-so familiar shape down in the tunnel.

It was blue.

Slitted eyes pierced into my own as I fixated on the terrifying creature from my dream, and a tsunami of panic crashed over me, for this time I wasn’t in a dream – and this was very much real.

With a cry, I returned to my arm, bracing my legs and pulling with all my might. My eyes darted back down the tunnel, and the creature lurched, it’s claws reaching out to gouge the dirt as it tried to pull its large body towards me. If they could gouge dirt, they could certainly gouge me. Sobs racked through my throat as I frantically tugged at my arm, feeling my fingernails break skin as I clawed uncontrollably at my wrist, that was slowly but surely revealing itself.

Letting out a scream with one final pull, my hand shot out, hitting me in the nose. Through the uncontrollable watering of my eyes, I watched as the soil closed itself back up, spiralling inwards like an alien mouth until it became part of the tunnel wall once again. A roar much closer than before pierced my ears, and I darted for the hole above me.

Hands clawed and gripped at grass as I clumped bundles of it up, pulling my torso up and over the edge whilst my feet scrambled and slipped against roots and waterlogged soil.

I managed to hook one knee over the edge, and went to drag the other up, when something pulled against it. Blood pumped through my ears as I looked down, only to find that the bandage around my ankle had snagged against a root. I pulled my foot up again and again, only to find that the know holding it together refused to budge.

“Curse Erard and his perfect bandaging!” I cried.

Remembering what I had put in my coat pocket earlier, I stuck my hand in to pull out my sewing scissors, and quickly got to work, hacking away at the cream material.

It was just in time, because as soon as my foot landed on the grass, a glowing blue set of claws shot out. I screamed in terror, then howled in pain as one of the hooked appendages nicked my shin, and I clambered to my feet, sprinting full power into the darkness.

Tears ran down and across my cheeks, and hair whipped across my face and neck as I raced between the dark silhouettes of trees and stumbled over unseen roots, hoping to whatever deity was out there that I was going the right way. Adrenaline had replaced any feeling as I tried to put as much distance between myself and that godforsaken hole.

I decided to only take a moment, hands gripping my knees as I arched over to catch what breath I’d lost, air rattling through my lungs as I tried my best to stop my breaths from shuddering and shaking. My back pressed against a trunk as I tried to shrink my shoulders together, hiding myself as best as I could whilst I recovered. Though an odd feeling in one of my hands had my eyes blinking open, and in the darkness, I could just make out the outline of a thin object in my hand. Running my fingers up and down the surface, I recognised it: I had not let go of the oddly shaped stick, the one that caused my hand to be sucked into a wall by some unseen force. Doing my best in the pitch black, I tried to make out the shapes and features on the stick of wood – surprisingly straight, and thinned out slightly at the top end, and I wondered if someone had dropped their toy wand down a rabbit hole.

Leaves rustled nearby, and I quickly spun around. Though I had not watched my surroundings, and my arm collided with the trunk, knocking the stick sharply against the bark.

A light.

A spark.

Then a bang.

I let out a scream, my arm coming up to shelter my face against the splinters of wood that flew past me. Lowering it, my eyes widened like saucers as I gawked at the sight in front of me.

The tree that stood to the right of mine was now smoking, the edges of the gaping hole that pierced all the way through the trunk glowing an orange, whilst embers floated, before slowly lowering to the ground.

My hands flew up unconsciously in surrender, when I looked to my right hand, looking accusingly at the perpetrator. Just barely, I managed to spot the tip as a light faded until it returned to looking like any other smoothed out stick off a tree.

Though I guess it wasn’t just a stick.

Thundering footsteps vibrated heavily through the ground, and up my legs. Daring to look around the tree, my eyes landed on the blue outline of the creature as it spread its wings, using them to help it skid to a stop, mud spraying everywhere (which was odd, considering I could still see through it).

I held my breath, begging for it to move on. It raised its horned head, taking deep breaths as it searched for scents in the air – most likely mine – and I prayed that the light wind blowed in my favour.

A creak, then a groan, then more creaks, sounded from beside me. Both me and the creature slowly turned our heads, watching as the tree with the hole began to splinter at the sides of the hole, bits of wood springing out as the upper half pressed its weight down. With a loud, creaking BANG, the sides gave way, and the upper half slammed down onto its lower half, before letting out a long, resounding groan as it fell to the side, and my body shrunk in on itself, cringing at every loud noise that drew the creatures attention to my hiding spot. Hitting the ground with a final mighty crash, branches and leaves snapped off whilst birds from all around scattered at the sudden noise.

Finally, I let my body relax, shaking off the tension as the foliage settled once again, and I peeked around my tree once again, only to find that the creature was looking directly at me.

Taking cautious steps, I slowly began to back away, only for the creature to lower its head,  and it began steadily stalking towards me, just like it had done on our first meeting.

Feeling the fear and panic pierce through me once again, I racked my brain for a way out. I glanced at the stick in my hand. Raising my arm, I hesitantly pointed it at the creature. Its eyes landed on what I was pointing, at it let out a roar, and broke into a run. I sped up my backwards walking, keeping my arm raised, and without thinking, I brought it back, and gave it a powerful flick.

Just like before, a spark shot out the end, flooding the forest with light for a moment, crossing the distance in less than a second before landing a direct hit on the beasts head.

The blast sent it flying backwards, and it crashed into the bushes behind it, vanishing amongst the leaves after leaving an outline of its landing. I punch the air, letting out an uncontrollable shout of triumph. Though that was short lived, as the beast let out another roar, more aggressive than the last. Oh, I had pissed it off big time.

Stumbling over my own feet, I darted back the way I had come, speeding as fast as my legs would allow, praying that the lights of Hobbiton would appear again soon.

To my luck, as if someone was watching over me, I finally felt the stone path, that I had foolishly abandoned earlier, back under the soles of my boots, and looking up, I smiled, relieved, at the sight of a street-lantern just metres ahead. I could finally see properly. I continued down the path at the same running speed, not letting any false sense of security fall over me. The banks at either side of the path grew higher and higher as the stones travelled downwards towards the first set of houses, until one fell away to reveal the town. Behind me, my ears picked up the sounds of footsteps again, and I whipped around, raising the stick once more to point it at the creature, this time aiming for between the eyes.

It skidded to a halt at the edge of the forest, kicking up another spray of dirt as it did. It stood there, nostrils flaring, with what looked like smoke emitting from them and from between the gaps of its mouth. Claws dug into the ground as it stood on the bank that towered above me, its eyes boring into mine before flicking down to what was in my hand.

A growl erupted from its throat, one that you would feel in the ground rather than the air, it was that deep. It snapped its jaws, teeth flashing and saliva dripping and disappearing into thin air. To my surprise, with a flick of its spiked tail, it tucked in its wings and turned around, vanishing into the forest.

A breath escaped me, and I relaxed every tensed muscle, whilst patting my chest to calm my quivering heart. I reached up and rubbed my neck, moving my head around in a full circle to feel those satisfying pops in my spine. I also shook my arms and legs out, ridding what I could of my remaining adrenaline.

Doing a quick scan of the area, I figured everyone was still in bed, despite the loud screams and shouts I had made while deep in the forest. I made a reminder to never get myself back into any sort of danger whilst staying with hobbits, because you could guarantee that they would snore through the whole ordeal unless you smashed their window in screaming bloody murder.

After confirming that nobody was watching me, I began the trek up to Bilbo’s house. Despite the fact that no one heard me in the woods earlier, it didn’t mean that I didn’t want to be found wandering around after hours, so I decided to take the long but hidden route around the outskirts of the town.

‘At least it’s scenic.’ I thought to myself, but remembered immediately afterwards that I wouldn’t be able to see most of it considering the sun was non-existent right now, and the nearest lanterns were at least a couple metres away from the path.

Jogging over one of the stone bridges, I walked along the path until I reached the banks of one of Hobbiton’s lakes. Across it, I could make out the lights from Bilbo’s kitchen windows up the hill, and sped up. Walking past a cluster of bushes, I looked over them at the small lake beside me, only to stop in my tracks.

On the grassy bank on the other side of the lake, Kay stood in only her shift and socks, deathly still. Her head was tilted down slightly, strands of wavy copper hair hanging down and concealing her face slightly as she stared into the watery depths.

I stared apprehensive – she had never done anything like this before. Unless she had a secret hobby that included staring at water (when she knows she can’t swim yet), then there definitely was something wrong. Silently lowering into a crouch, I hid myself behind the bushes, and crawled on my hands until I was able to peek around the leaves.

She still hadn’t moved from her standing position, though after a moment passed, her leg moved out, and she took a single step forward, and leaned over slightly.

Yeah, there was definitely something wrong.

I went to stand up, planning on marching over there and dragging her away for an explanation, when I stumbled slightly. My hand shot out to grab at a branch of a bush, only for it to let out a crack that resounded through the silence of the night.

Kay’s head snapped up, and I immediately stilled, staring in horror.

From where I was, I could see that her eyes had turned completely white, reflecting in the yellow glow of the street-lantern nearby, and was that blue on her cheeks?? No, no blue anymore. I remained as still as I could – I didn’t trust white eyed Kay – and remained in the shadows until she slowly turned back towards the water.

A minute passed, where she only stood, then she took another step forward, her toes at the edge of the grassy bank that held her up about half a metre higher above the water level. She leaned further. And further. I was preparing to call out, when she fell, sending a wave to crash over the still surface of the water, and I rushed to my feet.

Nuh uh, there was no way I’m having some water-obsessed demon possess my only earth friend to jump in lakes!!

(Well, more like belly flopped.)

Rounding the edge to where she had stood, chucking the stick in my hand on the ground, and I dived in, getting flashbacks to pulling her out of that pond when we first fell here. In the black depths, I stuck my arms out, hoping to catch onto her at some point.

A turquoise glow appeared from near my feet, and brushing the blurred outlines of pondweed aside, I made out the fuzzy silhouette of Kay as she floated unmoving over the glow, though one of her arms was outstretched, reaching towards it. I then reached out and grasped her shoulder, only for her to begin thrashing in my grip. Despite her flailing, I managed to keep my hands on her, and started dragging her to the surface.

Breaking the surface, I gasped for air, and brought Kay with me, only for her to worsen. This time, she replaced thrashing for screeching, her hands shooting out to claw at where mine were on her biceps. At one point she leaned over to bite me, and I noticed something ghastly.

Her teeth had become pointed and fang-like, snapping menacingly just like the creature had done earlier as it chased me through the woods.

Deciding that enough was enough, I swam towards the shore. More like flopped around, considering I had a feral, possessed Kay in my grip trying to gnaw my arm into a stub.

Reaching a part of the bank that slowly raised into short pebble beach, instead of the miniature grassy cliff, I managed to find my footing, and quickly let go of Kay to shrug off my heavy, now waterlogged coat and chuck it onto the shore. Turning back, I stood and watched as Kay remained on her front in the water, her hands gripping onto the stone as she lifted her head up to glare at me with her white eyes. I took a small step forward, and she bared her teeth, emitting a cat-like hiss. I put my hands on my hips.

“Alright, mermaid time is over.” I deadpanned.

She hissed again, and pushed back against the rocks, trying to re-submerge herself. Acting quick, I kicked at the water, emitting a wave that hit her directly in the face. Whilst she flailed distracted at the attack, I lunged forward and grabbed her under the armpits. She shrieked, arms twisting and flapping about to try and claw at my arms again. Though she had cut her nails recently, so all that she left were shallow red and white lines along my forearms. Dragging her onto the stones, I pinned her down by the shoulders and tried speaking over her hissing and screaming.

“C’mon, you can’t just go –” *HISSS*  “ –Stop it. I said you can’t just go around jumping into water whenever you feel like it and expect me to drag you out each time!”

A hand came out and slapped against the side of my head, and I sucked in a breath, gritting my teeth. Shutting my eyes for a second, I let out the breath and opened them again to meet Kay’s white ones, and came to my last option.

“You asked for it.” I warned, raising my eyebrows at her accusingly.

And slapped her across the face.

Letting go, I watched as she rolled over, groaning, and curled in on herself, then stilled. A moment passed, and her head shot up, whipping around with a frown on her face, along with a red mark shining prominently on her left cheek. What was relieving though, was the fact that her eyes had returned to her usual grey. Raising her hand to her cheek, she glared at me.

“The fuck was that for??” She whinged. “That hurt.”

“That hurt?? Then what the hell do you call this??” I raised my forearms up, accidentally flicking water everywhere, to show off the scratches and bitemarks along the skin. She gawked at them with wide eyes, but opened her mouth, outraged.

“I didn’t do that!!” She cried.

“Yes you did! For some reason you thought tonight would be a good time to play mermaids, and have been kicking and screaming ever since, all the while I’ve been trying to drag you out to stop you from drowning yourself!”

“Drag me out – ?” Looking to the side of me, her mouth hung open as she spotted the lake behind me, then down at her clothes, reaching to pull at the drenched shift that was clinging to her skin. “I was – I was in the forest!”

“The forest? What were you doing there?!” I questioned.

“I was there to ask you the same thing!” She exclaimed. “I followed you! To make sure you weren’t doing anything stupid after Bilbo had said you went for a walk. I ended up losing you for a bit when you ran after something, and when I found you looking into that giant rabbit hole, I ended up snapping that twig that scared you into falling in.” She frowned. “Then I think I blacked out, and woke up here – to you slapping the shit out of me, might I mention!” She accused, shoving a soggy finger in my direction.

My hands flew up in protest. “Yeah, cause you were acting possessed! I was walking back to Bilbo’s when I saw you standing on the bank just staring into the water like that girl from The Ring, then you fell in, and when I tried to get you out, you eyes were white and your teeth had magically become sharp for some reason!” I replied, gesturing to the shallow puncture marks in my arms. “All you had to do was grow a fish tail and I would’ve officially thought I was going mad!”

Kay stared incredulously, her mouth hanging open wide enough to catch an entire hoard of flies as she remained in a shocked silence.

“White eyes.” I nodded. “Sharp. teeth.” I nodded again.

“Would I lie about something as crazy as that?” I asked.

Slowly, she shook her head.

“So I went all demon on you?” She questioned, a guilty look on her face.

I thought for a moment. “More like feral mermaid.”

She raised her eyebrows, intrigued by that version.

“But you had no control over yourself.” I stated, and she went back to frowning, deflated at the revelation.

We both sat there, drenched hair clinging to our faces and clothes heavy and dripping with lake water. I ended up pulling a few pieces of pondweed off from where they had caught on my shoulders and legs. Flicking away a piece on my ankle, a tiny nudge of movement caught my eye, and I let out a gasp at the sight of a stick almost identical to the one I had found, held loosely in Kay’s hand. I pointed at it.

“Where did you get that?” I questioned.

She eyed me, confused, then her eyes switched to where I was pointing. Frowning deeper, she quickly brought it up to her face, examining it with wide eyes, before bringing it away and gingerly dropping it down between us.

“I have never seen this before in my life.”

We both stared at the stick as it laid on the pebble shore. Kay got startled as I then scrambled to my feet, kicking stones everywhere, and she watched as I ran along the shoreline, before skidding to a stop to grab something off the ground, and sprinting back. Flopping back onto my spot, I placed my stick next to hers, watching the realisation dawn on Kay’s face as she stared at them.

“I found mine,” I jabbed a finger at it, whilst catching my breath, “Down that rabbit hole I fell down.” Kay’s head shot up to look at me in shock. “It was sticking out of the soil, and when I tried to pull it out, the wall tried sucking me into it, a bit like how you were possessed and almost drowned when getting yours.”

Kay’s eyes glazed over as she stared, her mind most likely travelling a million miles a second as she tried to comprehend the newly revealed information.

“And mine did something.” I added slowly. “I don’t know how, but I ended up blowing a tree to smithereens with it.”

Her eyes refocused, and bore directly into mine.

“Like a wand.” She muttered.

I nodded. “Like magic.”

“There you are!”

We both screamed, jumping high in the air. I toppled over, though quickly regained myself to look up and see a very disgruntled Bilbo standing on the grass at the edge of the beach. He tapped his foot in place, his hands on his hips while a lantern sat at his feet.

“Jesus Bilbo! Where on Earth did you come from?!” I cried, clasping my chest as I tried to steady my breathing. Poor Kay looked as if she was about to cry from fright.

“I came looking for you two!” He pointed at me. “Your curfew ended two hours ago, and you!” He pointed at Kay. “You were supposed to be in bed! Imagine my panic when I found out you weren’t! And look where I find you, playing wizards in the freezing water!” He gestured to the sticks between us.

We both hung our heads, unsure on what to tell him. He looked at the two of us, and let out a long sigh, picking up his lantern.

“Right, come now. You must change out of those shifts and dry them before Mrs Greenfoot has you both by the ear.”

We stood up, both discreetly picking up the sticks and slipping them up our sleeves. Walking up to Bilbo, I grabbed my coat.

“Hurry now, can’t have you both developing an illness now.” He fussed.

“Yes mother.” I jabbed playfully as I passed him, listening amused at the sputtering match that went on behind me, before the hobbit grumbled under his breath, and ushered us along back up the path.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[willowhaired]

Secrets - Chapter 1: A rainy day

Remus Lupin × OC

Summary: Adrienne Macmillan is a Slytherin student in Hogwarts, who gets curious about his fellow classmate's, Remus Lupin's scars. Upon finding out their meaning, what will she do with this secret and the feelings she begins to feel towards the boy?

Word count: 1,660

Keywords: Marauders-era, Remus Lupin x Slytherin girlfriend, secret relationship

Trigger warnings: scars, "hate speech"

Author's note: So, this story has been at the back of my mind for a few months and I've rewritten the first chapter about a hundred times, but finally, here it is! Please note that I took the liberty of using Andrew Garfield as a reference for young Remus, and aligned descriptions as such. Feel free to change it up in your mind if it bothers you too much. 🤍

@errruvande you asked me to tag you if i posted this, so here we go. 🤗

Adrienne Macmillan was a young witch in her third year. She was making her way through the grounds in the pouring rain, covering under her robes – it made not much difference for raindrops found their way to even her still short, dark hair. Trying to get into the Quidditch team, she cut her long wavy hair last year, in hopes that it would be easier to manage, only ending up with the contrary. In the humid weather, it became more unruly than ever.

By her side was her childhood friend, Chloe Avory, who was in many ways, her opposite: her hair was honey-blonde, and her eyes, bright blue. While Ada sported many birthmarks around her body, Chloe’s face was clear and pure. She was somewhat taller (with the years this difference in height became more and more apparent) and her whole appearance resembled a well-made statue. Her personality was not much different from her looks.

’We’ll be late for Divination!’ she exclaimed after blinking up at the tower clock.

Chloe wasn’t fully pureblood, however, it was a topic she never discussed and always denied. It was her father’s mother: a witch, but of muggle parents. Her family considered it such a disgrace that they never even visited her father’s parents and rather lied that they passed away. This, of course, was known and a topic of gossip among Ada’s mother and her friends.

Adrienn, on the other hand, was from a family of the sacred twenty-seven, no less. This granted them invitation to all of the lavish parties that Walburga Black hosted. Her mother, Michelle, always made sure to strike up a conversation with the lady of the house, dragging her young daughter along.

'It is truly a disgrace,' said Walburga, with her monotone voice, yet it wavered often with anger. She sipped from her wine. 'The mudbloods are overtaking everything. There are barely any decent wizards working at the Ministry nowadays.'

'Next, they will let werewolves to work there. Can you believe they are considered wizards? They are monsters!' Michelle doubled down, gesturing with her glass as she usually did.

'We are living strange times,' the other woman agreed and a grimace twisted her face.

'All the more important to keep the bloodline pure,' Ada's mother said. She glanced at her daughter and Walburga took a good long look at her. This was the moment Adrienne realised that she was there for show. All those times she tried to talk or add her own remark (which was merely an echo of the two women's opinions), she was dismissed. She didn't have to speak: all she had to do was to stand there so Walburga Black would notice she existed.

'Why, can you believe Sirius and my Adrienne are the same age?'

When she got to Hogwarts, she was, of course, sorted into Slytherin. She wrote an excited and proud letter to her parents, only for them to ignore her. She could not please them, however she bent her personality to match theirs.

But the biggest blow to her confidence came when they got their first tests out.

'Here are your graded papers. Might I point out that you are here to learn. Some of you,' McGonagall pressed. 'Should put more effort in.'

Ada was leaning back in her seat lazily. She almost didn't look at her test when the professor handed it to her, only her grade glared at her in red ink. She made an audible gasp.

'Professor, there must be a mistake.'

'There's no mistake, Miss Macmillan. I suggest you study harder for the next exam,' McGonagall said sternly.

Ada wished she could be swallowed by the earth. Being a pureblood did not inherently make her better than others – a thing she never considered possible. Her face was burning while her body felt like her blood turned to ice in her veins. The green of her tie seemed to turn into a great blob of murky water that would slowly swallow her.

'Miss Evans, this was a pleasure to grade. Wonderful work!'

Adrienne sank lower in her seat. Merlin, could this be any worse? A mudblood outsmarting her?

From then on, Lily Evans became her rival, only this was not known to the redhead. Adrienne studied and practiced restlessly, yet could never really outdo the Gryffindor girl. This annoyed her to no end, and it did not help matters that she couldn't make it into the Quidditch team.

’This English weather!’ her other friend, Rachel exclaimed in a (rather forced) French accent when they finally stood by the ladder to the Divination classroom.

Rachel Tremblay was a new addition to their friend group, another pureblood witch who came back to England with her family just before she started attending Hogwarts. She had strawberry blonde locks – which she insisted was natural, just as her accent - with blue eyes, many freckles, and an impeccable style. She never missed an opportunity (or made one) to mention her years in France and how much better it was there, and while Chole could drink up her each and every word, Ada was growing bored at the pretentious nasal sounds and sunny countryside.

Maybe that was why, but Ada found herself zoning out during these conversations more and more often. One day, Rachel was fervently dismissing British cuisine during breakfast. She listed every French pastry under the sun to Chloe and a fair few of her peers while Adrienne was poking at her breakfast and staring ahead without much thought – suddenly, she noticed that she locked eyes with someone without meaning to. She was so taken aback that she dumbly continued staring at him and to her surprise, the boy gave her a small smile before turning back to his friends.

The breakfast gave a turn in her stomach.

'Ada, did you do your Herbology homework?' Chloe nudged her. Adrienne nodded and took a sip of her pumpkin juice. Merlin, she hated pumpkin juice.

'Can I borrow?' Her friend asked, and Ada mindlessly pushed her parchments towards the blonde.

Adrienne found herself glancing in the boy’s direction more and more often.

Remus Lupin was a Gryffindor, tall and lanky (even the tallest among his friends) with dirty blonde hair and brown eyes. Even though he was in the same year as her, she never paid much attention to him, for the boy himself was quiet and disappeared behind the boastful and loud pair of James Potter and Sirius Black. It did not take her long to notice his scars, and if anything, they made her curious. Or rather, she needed to know and understand things.

Figuring out the secret behind Lupin's scars became her hobby, if you will. She knew they were magical for they never truly faded, but more interestingly so, there were new additions every once in a while. This kept nagging her, so she began taking notes on a small piece of parchment of the dates: not only did she realise he looked downright ill around the times he gained new scars to his collection, but that it was a monthly occurrence.

Once they climbed up the ladder into the incense-filled room, she realized that this paper got wet in the rain, and much of the dates were now only blotches of ink. She crumpled it up in her hand to shove it back into her pocket and shook her head to rid of the raindrops.

Taking up Divination was Chloe’s idea.

’We should pick Divination!’ she pulled at Ada’s cloak when they had the forms in front of them. ’One of us might be a seer. Rachel's mum said Grindelwald was one. Besides, it would be fun. We could see into our future. I wonder if me and Lucius are going to get together.’

Muggle Studies, of course, was out of the question. Ada crossed in Divination without much consideration (she wanted to be close to her friends, after all) and she deemed Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures to be the most useful addition.

In Ancient Runes she was finally able to top Lily Evans – her mind was quick to learn and recognise the writing system, and the professor praised her translations as some of the best ones she had ever read.

In Care of Magical Creatures, she was able to meet Lupin and was even paired with him when they were observing salamanders (they had to constantly give them peppers for the creature to survive out of fire), although this encounter was tense, at best. Nervousness left a very angry-looking expression on the Slytherin girl’s face and she barely talked, while Remus, well, he was pale and sickly.

He was feeding the salamander some pepper.

’It really is turning blue,’ Ada gently ran her finger across the animal’s now purple-ish back. It shivered, for the girl had some exceptionally cold hands, but it apparently entertained Lupin enough to let out a small chuckle.

’My dear,’ the Divination professor’s misty voice brought her back to the room. Trelawney had a grave expression on her face and her heavily ringed fingers studied Ada’s chart. ’You have your Moon at the Anaretic Degree… And it conjuncts your Jupiter in Sagittarius! Take note, dear, for Uranus is aspecting it and the Node of the Moon will pass through it soon. Your long-held beliefs will surely change and I am certain you will experience some tragedy at home. Be prepared.’

’I don’t think that’s likely,’ the girl scoffed.

’Don’t be so sure,’ the professor cautioned her. ’Traditions can be washed away by a wave huge enough, or a small ripple if they are founded on a flimsy base.’

Then she turned to the whole class: ’For the next lesson, prepare your horoscope for the next month, using the Moon calendar at the end of your books.’

’Studying the Moon,’ Trelawney pressed while staring at Adrienne through her thick glasses. ’Might bring some answers to you.’

[liviusofpella]

one: let's meet again, for the first time

Pairing: currently ambiguous, f!MC (Niamh) x Cal, f!MC (Niamh) x (m!OC) Xander

Book: Nightbound

Word count: 3450

Rating: T

Warnings: cursing, mention of drugs

Category: (according to choices) horror; short-series, supernatural, romance

A/n: I'm not sure how my brain works and I don't think I want to find out, but this was first inspired by toss a coin to a witcher, but here we are. Bon appétit. 

I’ve teased about writing it for years (literally), so I’m just as surprised as those of you who remember me talking about it, that I’m actually publishing it 😂

Quick introduction:

Initially, Niamh stayed in NOLA for a few months but eventually left

Throughout the events of the book, Niamh and Cal did not romance each other, but they had a short-lived fling several weeks after the fight with Thomas

By any means, I do not promise to be faithful to the original in terms of... anything. If something is not as it was in the book, it's because I deliberately changed it. 

Setting: a year after the events of Nightbound

Tag list: @ladylamrian @lazypartridge @ginnyginsposts @brycesgirl @cashweasel @lilyoffandoms @choicesficwriterscreations (if you wish to be added or taken off the list, dm me! as usual, sorry if I forgot about someone)

pinterest boards for the vibes: niamh | cal | xander | crystaval / lamrian

Nothing can prepare you for grief. There is no handbook of conduct, and it does not get easier the second time. 

Until forced to spend hours by herself in a spacious chamber, Niamh never thought of her as a survivor or as bearing any trauma. It was half past midnight by New Orleans’ time, the air was heavy and suffocating despite the downpour outside. She's been in Crystaval for over a year, learning the ways of conduct, history, military strategy and magic when despite Lady Avyanna’s motto of nipping one’s emotions in the bud, Niamh fell into panic. She always thought that grief only concerned those who lost someone dear to them, but having spent many hours in isolation she realised that she was grieving her old life, the one she was ready to leave behind before agreeing to stay in Crystaval.

"My Lady, a visitor has arrived."

She nodded almost imperceptibly as her eyes continued to observe the reflection in the mirror. A young woman was staring back at her, clothed in luxurious fabric, wearing a thousand-year-old jewellery, one that created the impression of a powerful, steady leader. 

Straightening her back, Niamh rose up, and followed her aide towards the Grand Hall.

“Is everything ready for the announcement?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Who is the guest?”

“A young man from your birth realm. A nighthunter. He said the matter is urgent.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but her face remained impassive. The clicking of her heels reverberated in the spacious hall, blending with the happy chirping of the dwarf kingfishers, birds native to Crystaval, until a high-pitched ringing forced her to stop and lean against the wall. Alerted, Xander scanned the surroundings and, having found nobody around, placed a hand on Niamh’s back. “Breathe, Nia,” he said softly, stroking her skin.

The sense of duty threatened to blow his chest apart. Xander knew that this condition was unusual, possibly life-threatening, thus could not be taken lightly; however, Niamh made it very clear that this should stay between them. Since he was subordinate to her and not the Queen, Xander was obliged to follow the orders of the heiress to the throne.

Niamh bit her lip when the ringing became louder, clouding her mind and making her lose her balance. 

“We should tell someone about this, it’s potentially dangerous and happens too frequently lately,” Xander murmured while delicately wiping the golden tears off her cheeks. 

“Don’t you dare,” she threatened. “I have it under control.”

Closing her eyes, Niamh took a couple of deep breaths, waiting for her heartbeat to slow down. When she opened her eyes, she found Xander piercing her with his gaze.

“Let’s go.”

Familiar laughter echoed in the spacious room.

“What brings you to Crystaval?” 

“What the actual fuck, Niamh?”

The royal guards eyed the nighthunter, looking alerted, but the blonde did not pay them any attention. Xander stepped closer, his hand already on the hilt of his dagger. Noticing the mobilisation, Niamh intervened: “At ease, he's a friend. Why don’t we step outside?”

In comparison to Crystaval, Lamrian's gardens were mundane, stale, boring even. The water had a purplish tint, the sky was adorned with two suns—Halcyona, the crimson giant, and Eirele, a smaller one, yet still bigger than Earth’s sun was slightly peachy. The scarce clouds were pink, and the air smelled of the lush greenery surrounding them. Nik found himself fascinated by the landscape, especially because he’s never been allowed to Crystaval, but his eyes never left Niamh's silhouette. 

“You said you were coming back home,” Nik started, fumbling with his leather glove.

“This is my home.”

“Don't play dumb, rookie, you know damn well what I mean. All of a sudden, you decided to become, what, a queen? How come no one in the supernatural world knew about this? How is it even possible? Elric wasn't exactly that much of a big shot."

Niamh sighed quietly and began smoothing out her baby blue dress in an attempt to hide the trembling of her hands. “The throne is rightfully mine, but no, I am not a queen yet. Since Lady Thalissa preferred to remain in the colony, it became my duty to care for the folk of Crystaval as well as maintain peace among all seven realms,” she looked up and was immediately met with a pair of piercing grey eyes. “The kind fae of the Lavender City were asked to keep the new administration a secret until told otherwise, as we did not want unfit creatures knowing the authority was weak and unstable. Soon, the news will spread. I have gone through extensive teachings of Sir Xander about the history, politics, and militarization, as well as Lady Avyanna's magical training. Tomorrow, we’ll issue a statement of Crystaval’s readiness to aid other realms should they need it.” 

Nik chuckled at the ridiculousness of this situation and averted his gaze, letting it fall on a peculiar looking plant, transforming right in front of his eyes. The flower’s petals were similar to regular lilies in shape, yet its colour differed from what Nik knew back from his realm. The pitch black of the petals was brought out by the elongated, luminescent cyan stamen, and the longer he looked, the more drawn into them he was.

“Don’t stare for too long, or you’ll hallucinate for several days,” Niamh warned. The nighthunter reluctantly obeyed. “Cyan Lily Regina, the hidden treasure of the realm. These stamens hide the dose of cyanide that could easily kill entire kingdoms. The most dangerous poison in all seven realms.”

Nik coughed. “I assume Sir Xander is the one watching me like a hawk?”

“Yes. He’s the royal advisor and the head of the army, you can trust him.”

“Sure I can,” Nik mumbled mockingly and lowered his voice to make Xander’s eavesdropping job much harder. “Niamh, what actually happened?” 

“Queen Nymeria of Crystaval visited me in a vision two weeks after I left and requested that I visit her urgently. During the meeting, she explained that my father was her son, fourth in line to the throne. The rest of her children died under the attack of Svarvali tribes two days before she contacted me, which made me the last rightful heiress.”

“Elric must've been the long-lost child, I suppose,” Nik commented, gathering his thoughts. Ever since it was brought to his attention that Niamh might have indeed resided in either Lamrian or Crystaval, he began studying the fae’s politics, history, developing an unhealthy obsession with the royal bloodline. He noticed discrepancies within the official family tree, and according to his research, at least one heir was removed from the official data. 

He made a mental note to update his notes. His gaze kept coming back to the flower.

“Her Majesty is approaching her final days. Having in mind the balance of all the realms, Lady Fate warned the Queen that she must train the heir and since I had demonstrated magical abilities, I was considered a prospective heiress immediately. Now I serve as the Queen's First Lady. With the aid of the royal advisors, I carry out Her Majesty's duties as she is no longer able to perform them. May I ask what brought you here?” Niamh resumed. 

Nik squared his shoulders and sighed heavily as his fingers caressed the engraved hilt of his dagger.

“You ain't gonna like it, I'm afraid,” he admitted. “Something’s goin’ on in the bayou, it’s messing with the pack's minds," Nik continued, averting his gaze when Niamh finally looked at him. He cleared his throat. "They're nervous, angry—well, angrier than usual. Kinda hard to explain. They say they can hear the voices of their dead loved ones convincing them to give in to their primal needs, to kill, slaughter. Embrace the wolf, or some bullshit. One of them attacked a witch coven last night. They barely made it out alive."

Niamh frowned. "You came all the way here to bother the Queen about a vengeful evil spirit? It's a good thing you met me instead."

“I’ve checked every position in the bestiary, so trust me when I say it ain't no evil spirit, rook— Niamh. It's been going on for weeks, people keep disappearing and the pack's becoming a real pain in the ass, so you might wanna move your royal ass to New Orleans and play Moulder and Scully to figure out what's going on because neither me nor Kathy have a clue how to stop it. Besides, I had a hunch I might find you here.”

“You had no way of knowing that.”

“You’re underestimating my detective abilities.”

"Do you mean pestering Lady Fate for information for so long that she either gives it to you or curses you?" Niamh raised her eyebrow, smiling softly, and Nik averted his gaze yet again. She noticed a fresh scar on the left side of his face, which he skilfully hid until now. "What happened?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "Your local werewolf leader wasn't a fan of my interrogation techniques."

"Octavia isn't a fan of you as far as I remember. She probably just waited for an occasion."

His brows knitted. "Last I checked, Octavia got her ass beaten during the competition. She was licking her wounds for weeks."

"Competition?"

"Ain't you supposed to know all that's hanging in our realm?"

Niamh blushed. Indeed, she was supposed to know that, and to a great extent she did—she just didn't want to receive any updates on the NOLA werewolf pack. 

Quickly realising his mistake, Nik added: 

"There were two candidates and neither wanted to step down, so according to some kind of their law they had to fight for the position. Cal spared her life, which was apparently very controversial, but yeah, he won anyway."

"Cal never wanted to be the Alpha, why did he change his mind?"

He shrugged and pointed towards the scar with his finger. "Take it up with him, we ain't on the best terms."

"Very well," she agreed, breaking eye contact. "Give me fifteen minutes."

“I hate portals,” Nik mumbled and took a look around. “You took us to the bayou already, great, it’ll save us some time.”

Niamh took a look around at the familiar wooden houses, the lake she used to watch every evening as Cal promised her to see fairies there, and the common bonfire area they used to spend many nights by. Her mouth felt dry at the thought of meeting him again. 

“Alrighty, so a little heads-up—the chick you see next to Cal is Vivian, his unbearable, sassy girlfriend or whatever they call it. A real bitch, if you ask me, embodies everything I hate 'bout werewolves. Massive pain in the ass, too.”

Niamh nodded, ignoring the pinch in her chest at the sight of Cal’s arm around the woman’s waist. You have no right to feel that way, she reminded herself as they made their way towards the small congregation of men. Pack meeting. She remembered how Cal would ask her to stay home until he came back from those meetings, so she wouldn't accidentally interrupt. Pack meetings were in a way sacred to the participants, but the blond nighthunter paid little attention to that detail. Following him, Niamh soon stood in front of the pack leader, giving a stern look to a wolf next to him, ready to pounce on her. Suddenly changing his mind, he backed down and others followed suit. 

Nik cleared his throat. "See, I brought in help."

Holding his gaze turned out to be one of the hardest tasks she’s ever been granted. She felt her eyelids twitch and hands shake, her brain was telling her to look away and run, but as a representative of Crystaval on official business that was not an option she could use. Straightening her back, she tightened her jaw and assumed an impassive expression. Cal could hear the pounding of her heart, she knew that. There was no fooling him. However, having observed him for a few weeks, she also knew how to read him, thus it was easy for her to see his confusion and the perplexed look on his face.   

"How the hell is she going to help?" 

Nik's gloved hand flipped Niamh’s long hair onto her back, revealing a string of golden runes on the side of her neck, old-nymetic runes that every supernatural creature knew about and was taught to respect. The runes said as follows: a high-ranking Crystaval royal, under royal guard's protection, powerful magic wielder, dragon protector. Child of the storm. And an augury rune, mysterious and portentous. 

Crystaval royals were considered a very specific, hermetic group. They were those who held true power and ruled the supernatural world in all seven realms, those whose power far exceeded even the Fate's. Extensive training and versatile knowledge made them the most skilled, knowledgeable magic wielders in the universe. Hardly ever they were to leave Crystaval so as not to meddle in ordinary affairs, all of them marked with a person specific number of ancient golden runes, unforgeable, known to everyone. 

Cal remembered his mother telling him not to ever cross people with golden runes, especially those with the augury rune. He never learned what it meant, but seeing one on his ex-girlfriend’s neck worried him.

Vivian spoke up. "Do you expect us to bow? Cause wolves don't do that, especially not in front of half-bloods."

Nik's brows perked up in surprise, yet he couldn't contain a mocking chuckle. "Feisty. And stupid."

"Viv," Cal warned, growling deep in his chest, his grip tightening on her hip.

"I don't care for your bows," Niamh responded calmly, her gaze pining the woman in front of her. "However, be advised who you're speaking to, as the next time I’ll order my guard to have your head impaled and exhibited as a warning."

The coolness and self-confidence in her voice made Nik's heart skip a beat in the most negative sense of the word. Sensing the threat, Vivian, unwillingly, bowed her head a little in a gesture of apology. Cal spoke up.

"So I assume you're here about Mason. We already interrogated him, he doesn't remember much more than I've told you over the phone," he addressed Nik. "I'm afraid you came here in vain."

"That remains to be seen, our neighbourhood fae queen-to-be appears to have some new powers to show off."

"Queen?"

In her head, she punched Nik in the arm with all her might. In reality, though, her eyes shyly met Cal's and despite the sudden urge to run at the familiar warmth, she spoke up.

"Yes, Queen Nymeria's journey in the far realm is coming to an end, and I was appointed her successor."

Cal choked down the urge to say "the hell?" hearing the manner of her speech. Niamh seemed brainwashed, perhaps indeed trained to become one of the most powerful figures in the supernatural world. It wasn't the same person he woke up to every morning last year. 

"Listen, it's a mystery to me too, but we have more pressing matters on our hands now, don't we?"

Cal nodded. The pack meeting was rescheduled, and he led his guests toward a small wooden cabin, hidden deeper in the forest. Mason let them in wordlessly.

Niamh observed Mason while him, Nik, and Cal gave an account of the events of the night when he "lost control" as he called it. Finally, she addressed her companions. "Isn't it similar to the case of Jimmy?"

"Jimbo," Nik corrected her. "I mean, kinda, but not entirely. Jimbo, as it turned out, was poisoned and with him being a werewolf it didn't kill him but made him go feral. Mason was aggressive, but he kept mentioning voices."

"He got into a fight with several other pack members and mauled them pretty badly, but he was still able to obey me. I'm no expert on spells and witchcraft, but could it be that? We do have beef with another pack and several witches, maybe they decided to take revenge?"

Niamh shook her head. "I would feel it. There's no magic involved. Are you sure it's not some illegal substances from a new source?" she addressed the man on the sofa. 

He looked up at her, shyly, unsure how he should show her respect. "I don't use, Lady." 

Having pondered over the possibility of using magic on him long enough, Niamh proposed going through the werewolf's memories "It's not going to be comfortable, but I need you to stay as relaxed as possible and don't block your memories," she instructed, taking a seat on the armchair next to him. He nodded. 

Cal nudged the nighthunter on his right, focused on polishing his pocket knife. Niamh kept instructing the werewolf in the other room. "Do you feel it?" 

"Feel what?"

"The power she holds. It's… I've never felt anything like this. It makes you obey her even, the air feels different around her."

"What about last year?"

"Not to that extent. You can easily tell she's from Crystaval now."

Nik hummed, thinking of Cal’s words. "Fascinating," he muttered, watching one of the runes on her neck shimmer as she worked her magic on Mason. Leaning across the door frame with his hands crossed on his chest, Cal observed it as well, trying to wrap his head around the fact of how much she has changed in a year. "Well?"

"There's nothing,” she said, calmly, taking her time with the answer. Her hand touched Mason’s cheek as if in a soothing gesture.

"So maybe magic after all?" Cal suggested.

"No, there's nothing. Absolutely no recollection of that day. That's dark sorcery. You must have made enemies with someone more important than a local witch coven, Cal."

Take it easy today, she addressed the werewolf and exited his house. Cal followed.

"Should I call you your majesty now?"

"Not yet."

Taking his place next to her, the werewolf folded his arms. 

"Nik told me you're the Alpha now. How come? The last time we saw each other, you wanted to leave this place and lead a quiet, peaceful life."

"A lot has changed since you ran away."

She turned her head to the other side, pretending to be looking at a passing dog. Of course, he held a grudge, she would as well. She left for no apparent reason. Cal sighed.

"The pack needed a strong leader. We've been having some issues with the Texas pack, and Octavia would just escalate the conflict to the point of a war."

"What do they want from you?"

"Beats me," he crossed his arms on his chest. "They're just sending threats for now. No demands."

“There’s something about him that just doesn’t sit right with me,” Nik interrupted, closing the front door. “You sure didn’t see anything suspicious?”

“No. How did you know how to find me? The court made sure the information would not get out until the right time."

"Yeah, believe me, I've noticed. Your secrecy cost me another round of stripping for the Fate and almost getting cursed, but she budged."

"Why were you looking for me?"

"Cause of Cal, obviously. He said your disappearance was weird, that your phone number no longer existed, and your mother said she hasn't seen you in months. Kristin was surprised as well. It got me thinking you might've fled to Lamrian, but it looks like you managed to made enemies there," he nudged her shoulder playfully. "Come on, spill, what'd you do to poor Thalissa?"

Cal looked up at her, his interest piqued. 

"She believes I'm unworthy of taking my father’s rightful place on the Crystaval throne," she shrugged. "Don't believe in Lamrian's mushy sweet facade, Nik. Those who live there are expatriates from Crystaval, often times criminals who found refuge in Lamrian, which is basically n outlaw colony. Thalissa's protective domes aren't for bloodwraiths, they're for Crystaval's officials."

"What about Garrus?"

"As far as I know, he's free to come back."

"Does he know that? Cause he sure doesn't seem to."

"We've notified him several times. It was the first decree I issued when I gained influence."

Nik sighed heavily, looking around the bayou in thought. “Can we talk about this over a drink or is your curfew up?”

[lovely-oh-so-lovelyyui]

Hello I have a question but I was also thinking of starting a diablog but do you have any advice or tips on how to get started

hi angel, this is probably long time coming but i made some general things that really helped me so it isn't like just directed at you but something i think would help everyone!

Tips for starting a blog

Or a blog towards a central topic. The short answer is just to start posting content about them, compared to a lot of fandoms, I wouldn't say we are small but we aren’t that big. Content gets around, tag with as many things related to the diaboys as you would like for interactions, always reblog your stuff that also gets more interactions.

Why is reblogging so important? 

A lot of people underestimate the power of reblogging, Tumblr as far as I am aware has no fixed algorithm unlike a lot of social media, liking or following isn’t enough to get things out there reblogging is the best thing to spread your content across Tumblr. It’s also a great way to make mutuals by reblogging their stuff and customising your hashtags and whatnot.

Why are mutuals great?

Seems pretty obvious right? You're out here making friends who love the same things you do, so you have people to talk to, rant to, marvel over their ideas, and have them marvel over yours. But breaking it down it's a lot more useful than people realise. 

Humans are pretty sociable creatures especially when it comes to things they mutually agree on or even better mutually despise; you have picked to make a Diabolik lovers account which is perfect because any perspective you put on it will have people who agree with you due to the morally grey themes.  It’s just great to ping pong ideas with each other, or get consistent feedback. 

However, this isn’t compulsory, it is just something I quite like.

Put yourself first!

I say this a lot but it doesn’t matter what everyone’s posting, even if the ideas are similar to yours POST IT!! Everything within the fandom is superficial, it isn't real, you can put your twist on it, you can absolutely love someone else’s headcanon about it or completely disagree.  You should never feel obligated to change your creative outlet for anybody else.

Also, I only write about the diaboys, but this doesn’t mean I’m not involved in a bunch of other fandoms and forms of media from tv shows to books. You don’t have to always be diaboy centred if you don’t wish to. I encourage exploring many alternative media because often we forget just because we make content for something we aren’t obligated to, it’s something we do for enjoyment. Don’t centre all your energy on your blog, I know it’s hard. I do it a lot, but it’s not healthy. Sometimes it’s okay to sit back and just read content, sometimes  I feel like I’m falling back because I’m not churning out content as fast as everyone else is. Not true this is an old-ass anime, the only reason so many people are still here is probably because of fan-made content. Quality over quantity, enjoy what you make otherwise it will become a chore for you.

Aside from that I guess just enjoy it?

For OCs even though I haven’t publicised mine yet, I suggest starting with a mood board everyone thinks it’s a great way to get your oc out there.

Be nice! Remember it’s fiction but the people behind the blogs are real.

On this note turn off anon asks if you’re getting hate but i find that a lot more people are comfortable sending asks when anon is turned on.

Okay and stay safe internet safety and that.

[unbindingkerberos]

Pouring Your Heart Out

Featuring: Amarice "Patriot" Locke and @poisonedtruth 's Kentaro "Icarus" Hawkins

Words: 948

Author's Note: First time I've wrote a fic with someone else's OC. Sorry if it feels too ooc TvT.

Tags: @unpetitoiseau @children-of-epiales @chadillacboseman @shegetsburned @infinitewhore @linoleum-ice

The door opens and Amarice's ears are greeted by the lively rhythm of jazz. She bites her lower lip as she examines the area, noting the huge contrast of the stark, sterile facility to the warm, homely tones of the bar. It was a sight and Amarice nodded in approval to some of the furniture. She compliments the taste of furniture and eyes the intricate details of the flooring and ceiling. 

A spectacled man, presumably the bartender, polishes the mahogany counter with graceful and precise movements. She looks around and realises that she and the bartender were the only ones around. Guess nobody is in the mood for celebrating. For good reason. Amarice approaches the counter, pulling a stool for her to sit and dropping her duffle bag right next to her. The man stops the chore and glances up to meet her tired gaze, a smile on his lips.

"I believe you're the new operator, right?" Amarice nods quietly. "I'm here to celebrate." She looks behind the bartender, the lined liquor catching her eyes. "Have any recommendations?" The man lights up. "Just a moment." He returns with a bottle of champagne and a fluke-- lute-- flute glass (a glass is glass!). Setting the glass on top of the coaster, the man pours the beverage; the goldenrod liquid filling the glass to the brim. Amarice gives him a meek smile, before downing the liquid with one gulp.

Her tongue had never been graced with such delectable flavors. She had been so used to the rough and bitter texture of beer and the intense warmth of whisky, that her palate was overwhelmed by the smoothness of the champagne. 

"Do you want a refill?" Amarice shakes her hand. "No.." Her fingers tap the surface of the mahogany countertop. "Do you mind if I stay here for a while?" The bartender chuckles, that smile still plastered on his face. "Sure, I see no problem with that." 

Amarice watches the man do various chores with little interest. She returns her gaze at the empty flute glass, her reflection staring back at her. I look like shit. She wraps her fingers around the neck, tilting the glass in various angles-- her reflection warping. She lets out a heavy sigh.

"Do you feel like the world just picks someone to hate on for no reason?"

The man had just finished adding a glass to the rack when she asked. He turns, face confused. "What do you mean?" Amarice shrugs, setting down the glass. "I've joined the military to avenge my dead brother and sisters who were killed during a White Mask operation--" She still remembers their faces-- devoid of a life that once shone in bright eyes. How pale their bodies were and how her mother wailed as their coffins were lowered to the ground --"but most importantly, I've joined to make sure no one's brothers or sisters, mothers or fathers or children die-- to make the world a better place."

She clenches her fists. "But all I get in return is a dead son, a divorce and the death of my friend." They're tight now-- painfully tight her fists are. "And now," her voice croaks, "now Henry too." Tears sting her eyes as she keeps them at bay. She remembered how hesitant she felt when Henry brought it up-- joining the military. She voiced out her concerns-- her fears. But she let him. How could she? She should've done more. Amarice feels even more guilty considering she made him like this. They fed on each other's self pity and Amarice projected all her anguish onto him.

(With wide eyes, Henry made no move to resist as Amarice latched her hands on his shoulders-- shaking the boy. "Promise me!" She spat, the stench of alcohol ever present on her breath, "promise you'll never show kindness to people who don't deserve them! They deserve to die, child! If you wanna live in this world without any evil in it, you gotta snuff it out! No matter the cost!" 

She cries harder.

"Promise me… Nat… I can't lose you again…"

She feels a warmth on top of her hand and she gasps. "Don't worry, ma'am." Henry lifts his eyes to meet her. 

"I promise.")

A tear falls to her cheek.

"Am I going to lose another son?" 

It was deathly silent as a tense ambience began building up. The jazz music made no effect nor changed and did little to no help to lighten up the mood. "Did everything I've ever done mattered?" She feels a hand on her shoulder. "You carry a heavy burden with you-- the weight of the world seemingly on your shoulders." Amarice meets the comforting eyes of the bartender, a warmthness that Amarice can't quite describe. "But it doesn't have to be that way. You could ask someone to help you carry it." Amarice scoffs, breaking eye contact, gritting her teeth. She had opened enough wounds already from this conversation and to ask someone to "help her carry the weight" is something she cannot allow. She doesn't want to become a burden; an additional weight to their list of problems. After all, they'd leave. They all do.

She suddenly stands and reaches to collect her duffle bag. "Thank you for the drink." She turns to leave-- "My door is always open if you want to talk.." Amarice stops in her tracks. His insistence is annoying yet admirable. She's close to the door, she could just leave right away and forget that the conversation happened. But for some reason… 

"I'll be seeing you around--"

"Kentaro."

"I'll be seeing you around, Kentaro." 

And she leaves not even bothering to say her name back.