#temptation acknowledge au

[alifeasvivid]

Further On Up the Road, a drabble in the Temptation Acknowledged AU, usukus, Rated M

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Further On Up the Road - Bruce Springsteen (the song doesn't have much to do with the fic, it's just a banger)

I did kinda think I was done with this AU, but I also left the last part open-ended on purpose, so here we are. I think this part kinda represents a bit of a shift in it ... although to what, I have no idea. We'll see.

Warnings: non-explicit descriptions of past prostitution, violence, and drug use; Alfred Has A Tragic Backstory Summary: After his dream, Alfred drives to a church, intending to give confession, though not intending to give it to Arthur. Word count: ~2100

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“Are you going to go in, perhaps?”

“Shut up.” Alfred sighs heavily. He holds his black clergy shirt with white collar in his lap, while sweat trickles down the back of his neck, getting caught in his white undershirt, which is all he wears while driving in the desert. It’s sweltering hot in the afternoon sun and his 4Runner is turned off, so he and Arthur are just baking inside the car.

Arthur performatively examines his black finger nails as his black tail twitches this way and that. The priest’s energy is frustratingly tense, it has been since he woke up from whatever delicious dream he’d had yesterday and they’ve only been driving to the closest parish since then with Alfred hardly speaking a word. “Well,” Arthur tries to say casually, though he feels quite bristly himself, “if you do go in, will you at least be a dear and crack open a window for me?”

“Shut up!” Alfred shouts. “Just shut the hell up for once, will you!?” He can’t hear Arthur’s voice without hearing it the way it sounded in his dream and it’s driving him crazy. He needs to go inside and give confession, but he can’t bring himself to do it. What could he even confess? Many priests believe demons are only real in the metaphysical sense, not that they can exist in a corporeal fashion and the Vatican would prefer to let that be the case unless otherwise necessary. Secrecy very much counts among the vows Alfred has taken.

Arthur is mildly taken aback by and then mildly pleased with and then very interested in that outburst. “My my, aren’t we tense?”

Alfred’s fists tighten in the stiff fabric of his cleric’s shirt. “The supernatural intuition of a demon is truly unparalleled,” he retorts sarcastically.

Arthur hums pensively. He has never been so affected by a human’s energy as Father Alfred’s; it surrounds him in ways that even the most potent of his human victims never have and when the good Father’s mood takes a turn for the stormy like this, it is rather oppressive. “What is it that you feel you need to confess?” he asks. Perhaps if he can settle the matter for the priest, the storm will subside.

Alfred throws a glare back at him. “Well gee, I’ve only been traveling around the desert for three months with a hungry sex demon who refuses to be exorcised in my backseat. What do you think?”

Arthur blinks bright green eyes at him. “That’s not your fault,” he says. “Well… it is your fault that I’m hungry since you could quite easily remedy that, but, I suppose if you want to look at it in the church’s moral terms, you saved a young boy from a demon and now, all on your own, you are bearing the responsibility of keeping said demon from breaking free and preying on much weaker souls.”

Alfred’s whirling mind stops in its tracks, having not thought of it that way before and Arthur’s seemingly sincere attempts to console him are confusing, but strangely touching.

“I daresay for how well you’re playing the martyr, you’ll like be canonized when you die.”

And there it is, Alfred sighs internally.

“I suppose if I were a different sort of being, I might find your sacrifice commendable. It’s not an easy thing, exorcising demons. We deliberately make it as difficult as we possibly can for any who dare to try it and I know that your church demands that it be a very solitary path. Solitude isn’t your preferred state though is it, Father? You ought to become Wiccan, at least they have covens. Sometimes they even have orgies under the moonlight.”

“Seriously, just shut up.”

Arthur slinks up into the front passenger seat reclines with his clawed feet on the dash. “There’s no shame in surrendering to me, you know. I’m far more powerful than you by design.”

“Not right now, you’re not,” Alfred reminds him, and reminds himself. He’s not more powerful than Arthur, true, but God is. That’s the point: to rely on the Father, the love of Christ and the strength of the Holy Spirit… and of course, the Virgin Mary. Alfred silently calls upon her, but the reply is only an echo. He’ll lose his way again if he doesn’t go inside and confess his sins and he knows it. “And there would be shame in it,” he says more quietly.

“Why?” Arthur asks, perturbed, “because your church says so?”

“No,” Alfred says firmly. “There’s shame in giving one’s body to another when there is no love.”

Those sound like someone else’s words in Arthur opinion, but the conviction in Alfred’s voice is palpable. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I felt that shame every fucking day. For years. Say whatever you want, but it’s not like I was born into a religious family, definitely not a Catholic one. It’s not something I was taught.”

“Then what do you owe them, really?”

Alfred clasps one hand around his rosary. “Everything. You don’t get it. I guess there’s no way you could.”

Noticing how very unguarded Alfred is, Arthur can’t help but try to pry, it would go against his nature. “Try me. Humans are all quite simple creatures, I doubt it’s as mysterious as you think.”

It’s a trap. What Alfred really needs to do is go inside and speak to the priest of this church and confess his impure thoughts and gain absolution, but he makes the mistake of glancing over at Arthur and seeing the demon’s intense curiosity. “As you have… previously not so subtle hinted at, before I joined the Church, I was a… a whore. I lived in Las Vegas. I was broke. I slept with anyone and everyone, usually for money, sometimes for other things, sometimes because it felt good, and sometimes because it didn’t. Sometimes just because… I dunno, because I was bored.

“But it ate at me. I was either giving something away or having something taken from me all the time. And I felt it. I wouldn’t have said I felt ashamed at the time, but my life contradicted that. I didn’t have real friends. I never had a steady job. There was no one in my life who wasn’t using me for one thing or another. It wasn’t even the actual, you know, sex… that bothered me… I liked—” Alfred blushes, “well anyway, it was everything around it.”

Arthur nods. “Indeed. I will never understand that part I suppose—the part where you humans insist on making sex into something so transactional. It’s quite demonic, really. Of course, it makes the job of an incubus much easier that you decide to play our games.”

“Haha. You’re hilarious.”

“I am. However, you’ve not explained why the Catholic church now deserves your body instead.”

“What?” Alfred asks. “What the hell does that mean?”

Arthur shrugs with feigned nonchalance. “Well. You do not give it to anyone you desire anymore and you do Church’s bidding, go where they tell you to go, live how they tell you to live. I just don’t see how that’s any different, exactly, so I’m very curious why you think it is.”

Alfred sighs, looking out the window at the church without seeing it. “I don’t… know exactly how it happened,” he murmurs, “but I ended up in the desert, alone, pretty far from anywhere as far as I knew. Didn’t have clothes. Didn’t have water. I was beat up pretty bad. I don’t remember what happened or… or who did it. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

Arthur is certain Alfred knows exactly what happened and who did it, but he stays silent. It really doesn’t matter anyway.

“So I just started walking. I figured I was probably gonna die out there, but… well, I dunno I kinda… I kinda wanted to, but I started walking anyway. After a few hours I collapsed. And then… this shadow appeared and there was a woman standing over me. She was wearing a pink dress with a white apron and a blue shawl covering her head. She knelt down and… she brushed my hair back,” Alfred unconsciously mimics the action over his own forehead, “her hand felt so cool. She gave me water and helped me up. She tied her apron around my waist and draped her shawl over my shoulders. I don’t really remember her face, but she had dark red hair, almost black. We walked for awhile and she let me lean on her a lot. We stopped at a church in a small town and she was right next to me until the priest came out and then she was gone.

“No one else saw her but me, but I still had her apron and shawl. They took me to the closest hospital, in this truck actually, and after I got better, the priest of that parish took me in and now here we are.”

Arthur nods. “Quite a tale,” he says softly. He thinks it’s rather distasteful for any of the gods or divine deities to manipulate humans like that. Sending them visions or saving their lives by assuming the forms of miraculous strangers at their lowest moments seems far more insidious to him than the straightforward deals made by demons: ‘give me your soul and I’ll give you what you desire’, but in the interest of not pushing Alfred into putting up all his walls again, he keeps this opinion to himself. “Go inside. At least you won’t broil in there.”

Alfred raises his eyebrow. “You’re telling me to go inside a church?”

“Your energy is out of balance. It’s very off-putting. If going inside and telling some other man all of the filthy, wicked things you’ve thought about doing with a demon” with me, Arthur thinks, “will put you to rights, then just get it over with, if you please,” he says with a nonchalant tone that doesn’t quite match his feelings.

Alfred sighs and nods. He hops out of the truck and puts his shirt on, checking himself in the sideview mirror as he tucks it into his jeans. “Thank you,” he says, pulling his rosary out so it lays over the shirt.

“Yes, yes. I would ask that you remember this magnanimous gesture in the future,” Arthur says, waving him away. Father Alfred looks more tempting than usual when in any of his clerics garments. The effect is bolstered by the scent of vague memories of Alfred’s past swirling inside the truck.

Alfred had revealed quite a lot, most of it unintentionally: the tragically common tale of a beautiful young fool full of desire to please and be admired ending up in the dens of monsters far worse than Arthur. Alfred has always had an intense craving for touch, for pleasure and it had put him at the mercy of those who had taken violent advantage of him, who had quieted his pain with the poisonous balms humans often favor, leaving him desperate and dependent and, yes, full of shame.

Arthur glances toward the church doors. Despite all of it, Alfred’s soul, his life force is much, much stronger than any average human and superior in dimension and he survived it all. Even Arthur cannot deny that the Church has played a large role in that, though he disagrees with the method with which they drew Alfred in.

Arthur believes that, in comparison to the brutal hands of humans and the cloying grasp of the Church, there is a kind of purity in what incubi and succubi do with humans and he wishes one of his own kind had met Alfred a long time ago. Had he met Alfred then, he would have given him everything he wanted—all the affection and sex and praise he so obviously needs—in exchange for far, far less than what anyone else has demanded of him.

Arthur’s tail flicks about and he bites his own lip. He slinks into the back seat and nuzzles into the bag Alfred uses for laundry. The clothes are suffused with lust, Alfred’s natural vice of which he can never be fully ‘cleansed;’ his soul produces it as his bones produce marrow. Arthur wants badly to feed from both; he absolutely aches to lose himself in the priest’s gorgeous body and is increasingly certain that no other human would satisfy him at this point.

Inside the church, Alfred speaks with the priest, Father Luis, shows him his identification and Father Luis agrees to take Alfred’s confession.

The confession booth has never felt like a relief to Alfred, but rather, it is a grounding weight. The scent of burning candles, incense, and the lingering of penitent partitioners—even the lumpy, worn-out cushion—are familiar and welcome for that reason.

���Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: In The Serpent's Den.

Pairing: Yandere!Suguru x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 4.7k.

TW: Non/Con, Hybrid AU, AFAB!Reader, Cobra!Suguru, Rabbit!Reader, Biting, Aphrodisiacs, Heat Cycles, Oviposition, Manipulation, Biting, Breeding Kinks, and Predator/Prey Dynamics.

“It’s time to come out, little rabbit.”

 His tone was sickly sweet, lulled into something saccharine and tempting, only slightly distorted by the uncommon shape of his tongue. Despite his melodic coaxing, you curled further into yourself – pulling your thighs flush to your chest and burying your knees in your face, doing your best not to breathe, not to cry, not to make a sound. The temptation to uncurl yourself entirely and run, run, run until you found somewhere small and dark and safe gnawed on the back of your mind, but it never would’ve worked. You were in Suguru’s enclosure, Suguru’s territory, and there was nowhere to run where he wouldn’t be able to follow.

“I’m losing my patience, little rabbit. If you come out now, I promise I’ll try to hold myself back.”

Why was he even looking for you? It’d been weeks since his eccentric, white-haired owner forced you into the sprawling greenhouse that made up Suguru’s enclosure, and he’d never paid you a second glance. You did your best to avoid him, to make sure you never crossed his path while he was prowling for a meal. You could count the number of times he’d acknowledged you on a single hand, and he’d never so much as lunged at you. You couldn’t imagine why he’d decided you’d make a good meal now, after weeks of relatively peaceful cohabitation. Maybe he’d gotten tired of keeping you around, of having to share his territory with another hybrid – one so far below him on the food chain. Maybe, this was just the first time he’d gotten hungry enough to hunt you down.

You heard branches shift, twigs break, and instantly, all of your thoughts (rational and otherwise) were replaced with a frantic, buzzing static. “You’re only making this worse for yourself,” Suguru went on, and his voice was too loud, too close. You’d tucked yourself into the densest patch of foliage you could find, but your white ears and cottony tail stood out like blood on snow against the vivid greens and blacks of the flora. Suddenly, trying to hide at all felt stupid. Rabbits weren’t supposed to hide. Rabbits were supposed to die and get eaten by the big, mean snakes who preyed on them. “I’m going to find you, and when I do, you’re only going to be sorry you made me wait as long as I have.”

You could hear the dull drag of scales moving over rough stone, the ebbing ‘hiss’ that formed a slight lisp at the end of each sentence. You raised your head just far enough to see a large, black shape move in front of you, and something buried deep inside of you cracked and spilled open.

Running wasn’t a choice – it was the only option. You were on your feet in a second, sprinting deeper into the greenhouse in another. The direction didn’t matter. As long as you got away from him, nothing else mattered.

Blindly, you vaulted over fallen branches and overgrown roots, rotting leaf litter threatening to steal your balance as you veered away from the beaten path and threw yourself into the tangled wilderness. If Suguru was chasing you, you couldn’t hear him – the world little more than a blur of color and your own racing pulse. You just needed to find somewhere better to hide, somewhere he’d forgotten. A tunnel, or a tree hollow, or a cave dark enough to hide your snowy pelt from prying eyes. You just needed to—

 Your trek came to an abrupt end as your collided with a pane of thick, emerald-tinted glass and were sent crashing to the ground. It took you a second to process what you’d run into – the wall of the greenhouse, the edge of Suguru’s enclosure – and another to remember that you weren’t in the wilderness, anymore, that you wouldn’t find a tunnel or a cave or anywhere else to hide that hadn’t been created deliberately to trick animals like you into to think they were safe. You might’ve cried, if you hadn’t been so desperate. You might’ve gone looking for Suguru yourself, if you hadn’t been too scared to remember what it meant to be caged.

Fighting back tears, you started to scramble onto your feet, but it was already too late. There was no sound, no warning, just a sudden pressure against your back and an agonizing pain burrowed into the side of your throat. His fangs were planted in your neck before you could so much as scream, his strong tail wrapped around your legs and his arms crossed over your midriff, keeping your body locked against his as he pinned you to the ground. You expected his venom to burn, to be able to feel death as it flooded into your veins, but instead, there was only a slight numbing sensation around the point of insertion, a distant fog over your senses that might’ve just been your own fading adrenaline. If anything, you felt…

You felt warm.

Suguru took his time pulling away, his ribbon-like tongue flickering over the skin of your throat before he lifted his head. You weren’t facing him, one of your cheeks pressed into the dirt, but you could just barely see him out of the corner of your eye, make out the dark hair tucked behind his shoulders, the pitch-black scales littered over his face, his chest. You knew he was a snake, but you thought you might’ve heard his owner call him something else, once or twice. A ‘cobra’, maybe, but you’d never met a cobra before. You felt safer thinking of him as a snake.

He opened his mouth, but you were already babbling. Trying not to cry had been useless. Tears poured down your cheeks unabashedly, blurring your vision and making it that much harder to spit something coherent out. “P-please don’t eat me – I’m really small for a rabbit, and I promise I won’t taste very good, and I—”

“Quiet, little rabbit.” You’d been wrong, before. You didn’t feel warm, no, you felt hot – something deep inside of you beginning to smolder at the sound of his voice. Immediately, you shut your mouth, and he rewarded you with a raspy chuckle. “You thought I was going to… to eat you?” You nodded stiltedly, and he went on. “Ah, no wonder you were so afraid. And here I thought my timid little bunny just didn’t like me very much.”

“…’m sorry.” You must’ve run farther than you realized. A few minutes of sprinting shouldn’t have left you this breathless, this dazed. “You… You aren’t going to eat me?”

“No, bunny. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“But, you bit—”

“I gave you a present.” Another dry chuckle, his tongue flitting over the back of your neck. “Just a little something to make sure you wouldn’t be so shy. You should already be feeling better.”

You weren’t sure that you felt better, but you didn’t feel scared, either. A different feeling had taken the place of your fear – the sensation viscous and churning and prone sending pangs of dull, burning pain to the pit of your stomach. You had to make a conscious effort to move your lips, and even then, it was hard to get any sound past your suddenly dry throat. Suguru waited patiently, seemingly more than happy to watch you stumble over your own tongue. “It’s really warm,” you managed, eventually. “I think I might be… tired?”

“Oh, of course. I forgot how easy it is for prey animals to wear themselves out. I’ll take you back to my nest, where you’ll be able to rest safely.” It wasn’t a question, but you nodded eagerly. Safe. You wanted to be safe. You couldn’t remember what you needed to be safe from anymore, though.

He uncurled, but didn’t pull away from you. Rather, your smaller body was pulled against his broad chest as he took you in his arms and carried you through the greenhouse. His destination was a raised loft – set above the wild foliage of his enclosure, accessible only by a sparsely wrung ladder you never would’ve had a hope of climbing on your own. His nest wasn’t at all like a rabbit’s nest, either. Rather than a deep, dark tunnel padded with fur and leaves, he’d taken you to a mess of tangled roots and woven blankets, all piled onto one another to form a box-like bed. Your form, limper than you would’ve liked it to be, was laid on a relatively soft patch, and Suguru positioned himself above you; upper body supported by his forearms, his never-ending tail taking up whatever space you left unoccupied. You wanted to sleep, to do what he said you should, but he was still touching you – dragging a single, clawed finger down your chest and over your midriff, only pausing at your waist to draw slow, swirling patterns into your hip. “My venom has a unique side-effect, you know,” he muttered, his voice low and soothing, the tapered tip of his tail lashing from side to side as he spoke. “A full dose would be fatal. It’d be fast, too – a few seconds of screaming, a few seconds of twitching, and then—” He paused, clicked his tongue. “—dead, just like that. It’s a little anti-climactic, to be honest.”

Something deep inside of you began to throb. You shrunk into yourself, trying to relieve the pulsing ache, but Suguru mistook your agony for fear. “In controlled portions,” he continued, splaying his open palm over your hip. “The symptoms are much more pronounced. Humans tend to get all feverish and clumsy, but hybrids—”

Again, he paused. His hand drifted lower – first to your thigh, then your cunt. You didn’t realize you were dripping until his cold fingertips skirted over your slit, gathering up the slick already staining the inside of your thighs.

“Hybrids go into heat.”

A cold wave of dread washed over you, and Suguru’s smile widened.

“…heat?”

“Heat, little rabbit.”

His hand lingered on your pussy, two of his massive fingers splitting apart your lips and making room for his tongue to lap gingerly over your entrance. The sensation was strange – not good and not bad, a little ticklish – but your hips bucked as it flickered over your clit. You knew better than to get so close to a snake’s mouth, but you couldn’t seem to move, to think about anything but getting closer, closer to anything that could touch and poke and lick you. “Is heat—” You started, only to be cut off by a cracked whimper as the throbbing in your core intensified. “Is it supposed to hurt?”

“Only for a while.” His deep voice reverberated against your cunt, and you couldn’t stop yourself; attempting to rock your hips against his mouth with a high-pitched whine. It was embarrassing to be so needy, so desperate, but Suguru didn’t seem to mind, only ghosting his lips over the inside of your thigh as he pushed you back down. “But, you’ll need a mate to help you through it. Do you want a mate?”

“Y-Yes! Mate!” You’d never felt this empty, before. It was a little like hunger, but not as jagged, not as desolate. It was more of an absence than anything more tangible; a total and complete vacancy that had to be filled. You tried to roll onto your stomach, to scramble onto your hands and knees and present yourself, but Suguru held you in place with minimal effort. Your protest came in the form of a drawn-out whine, a waving sound Suguru mocked with a low coo and an airy laugh. “Please, please, it hurts, Suguru, I can’t— I need—”

“You need cock,” he finished, his tone one of pure, undeniable satisfaction. With a sigh, he picked himself up, straightening his back and towering above you. You felt saliva pool at the bottom of your mouth as the junction between his upper body and his tail came into view – pale skin slowly giving way to ebony scales, the sculpted muscle of his chest meeting the plated armor below his hips. His hand fell away from you, but you couldn’t mourn the loss of contact, not when your attention was so fixated on the thin, almost invisible slit just below his pubic bone. His fingertips slipped shallowly inside of it, and his gaze shifted back to you. “Come, little bunny. I think you’ve earned another treat.”

The encouragement was appreciated, but unnecessary. You were already crawling towards him, your limbs uncooperative and your movements jolting but your resolve absolute. There was still a throbbing emptiness inside of you, getting worse and more demanding with each neglectful second, but all you could think about was settling onto your knees in front of Suguru and drooling at the sight of his fluttering slit. You weren’t sure what to do, whether to use your hands or your mouth, but Suguru didn’t leave much time for indecision. His free hand found its way to the back of your head, nudging you forward until your mouth was pressed against his slit, just starting to leak thick trails of translucent slick over his dark scales. Your tongue darted past your lips hesitantly, at first, but your trepidation didn’t last very long. It couldn’t, not when you had a hollow pit inside of you still begging to be filled.

Suguru’s fingers carded through your hair as you lapped and sucked at his slit. The taste was mildly acidic, but surprisingly sweet – your eyes quickly falling shut as you sank into a pattern of wet sounds and strange textures and point claws grazing over your scalp, scratching at your ears. Throaty moans (the loudest noise you would ever hear Suguru make, in hindsight) and mumbled praise trickled past his lips as you worked, letting you know that he liked the way you were curling your tongue, that the spongy spot you could just barely reach inside of him was particularly sensitive. It wasn’t long before a mix of your saliva and his arousal dripped past the corners of your mouth, before the end of his tail was lashing violently within the confines of his nest. Maybe Suguru was in heat, too. You hoped he was. You didn’t want to be the only one in so much pain.

You felt the tapered tip of something smooth and stiff against your tongue, and Suguru buckled forward, a ragged gasp tearing past his lips as he took your head in both hands and pressed you flush against his abdomen. Confused and panicked, you tried to pull away, but his grip was iron-clad and it was all you could do to whimper, to sit there helplessly while something filled your mouth – hard and ridged and hot enough to burn. Cock, the pulsing in your core filled in, but it couldn’t be. Suguru had made it sound like something you needed, something you were supposed to want, but you didn’t like the way the blunt head prodded at the back of your throat, the way the ridged underside ground against your tongue. For the first time since he’d caught you, your instincts agreed with your better judgement, both urging you to get away, to run, to put distance between yourself and this newfound threat.

Your pussy, though, couldn’t seem to do anything but chant mate, mate, mate.

You could feel something else, too – not in your mouth, but pressing into your chin, your throat. Reflexively, your hands shot up, wrapping around the thick intruder, and this time, Suguru let go of you entirely, biting back a half-choked groan as he pushed you away, leaving you sprawled out and alone in the center of his nest. The hollowness inside of you was nearly unbearable, and rubbing your thighs together only seemed to make it worse. You tried to look to Suguru, to ask him to do something, but instead, your eyes caught on the long, pale appendage pressed into his lower stomach. His cock. Or, his cocks, you guessed.

You hadn’t expected there to be two of them.

You hadn’t expected them to be so big, either. Even at a distance, it was clear they weren’t meant for a rabbit. Just one would’ve been more than you could handle – as long as your forearm, as thick as your wrist, the end tapered to a steep point but the base absolutely massive before they disappeared into his slit. The color was strange, too – the tip flushed a dull pink while the base was nearly as dark as his scales, creating an ombre that might’ve been pretty, if you weren’t so terrified. You couldn’t see any veins, but both were sculpted with pronounced, perfectly spaced ridges. You couldn’t imagine having something like that inside of you, but you couldn’t imagine not having anything inside of you, either.

You couldn’t be sure how long you spent staring up at him, trying to wrap your head around his size, trying to decide if you’d rather be torn apart by his cock or your own increasingly demanding needs. In the end, it wasn’t really your choice to make. His eyes darted from your clenched thighs to your heaving chest to yours, wide and watery, and a grin found its way back to his lips. For some reason, his smile wasn’t as comforting as it’d been, the first time you saw it. “I’m sorry, little rabbit. Did I startle you?” The tenderness in his voice was almost cloying. You didn’t move, didn’t respond, but he didn’t seem to need you to. “I didn’t mean to. Why don’t you spread your legs nice n’ wide for me, and I’ll make it up to you?”

Your gaze fell back to his cocks. One of his fists had wrapped around both, pumping idly while he stood above you. “Are those supposed to…?” You trailed off, shrinking into yourself. Suguru hummed, and you took it as confirmation. “But you’ll only use one, right? I don’t think I can— I mean, it won’t fit if you—”

“Really? I could’ve sworn you were begging to be fucked properly just a few minutes ago.” You stiffened, but he only laughed. “Fine, fine. If that’s what you think you want, I’ll only use one.”

You didn’t think you could trust him, but you could feel yourself getting hot, again, a haze forming over your mind. You could leave when he was finished, you figured, even if you weren’t entirely sure how to get out of his nest, or where to go once you’d escaped back into the greenhouse. After you got over your— your heat.

Hesitantly, you started to listen to the negging mantra still playing in the back of your mind, to obey the near-deafening voice in the back of your head urging you to get on your hands and knees and make him fuck you, but Suguru must’ve decided you weren’t moving fast enough. His tail shifted underneath you, a thick coil catching your side and leaving you bent over one of the thicker lengths, your stomach pressed into his cool scales and your feet barely able to reach the tangled roots of his nest. You scrambled for purchase, but Suguru was there to steady you – his hands finding your hips, his cocks pressing into your ass. The calloused pads of his fingertips pressed into your waist as he aligned one of his cocks – the upper one, you thought, just a little thicker than its twin – with your entrance. He was kind enough to give you a long, slow second to breathe before his hips rutted forward and he inside of you.

Immediately, it felt wrong.

You’d been right when you decided he was too big for you. He was only half-sheathed, and yet, the tip of his cock pressed into the floor of your cervix, the head of his cock alone enough to stretch your pussy as far as it could go. Thankfully, he didn’t try to force himself deeper, but feeling the smooth ridges of rub against the walls of your pussy as he pulled back wasn’t much better. Still, your cunt clenched around him eagerly, doing its best to suck him in despite your physical limitations. Suguru, of course, seemed more than happy to indulge you. His thrusts were slow and lethargic, as gentle as they could’ve been but still forceful enough to leave you pinned to the curve of his tail. You weren’t in control of your body, anymore. As he rolled his hips against your ass, you ground back against him, your greedy cunt never warm enough, never wet enough, never full enough. You tried to dig your blunt claws into his tail, to ground yourself, but it was a futile effort; a limping dear attempting to evade a wolf who’d already tasted its blood. Suguru’s only response was a stifled groan, a new roughness to the way he fucked into you. You felt his chest against your back as he bent at the waist, draping himself over you, his dark hair falling from his shoulder and replacing chunks of your vision with a curtain of thick, endless black. It didn’t matter. A fresh wave of tears would’ve left you just as helpless, not that Suguru seemed to mind the way you sniffled and sobbed between moans.

“They say— fuck, you know what they say about rabbits, don’t you, bunny?” His voice was barely audible, but it seemed to echo on and on and on in your overly sensitive ears. His cock ground against something softened and vulnerable inside of you and your back arched, your pussy clenching impossibly tighter around him. “That’s it,” Suguru encouraged, as you tried to pry yourself away from his freezing tail and chase the gentle warmth of his chest. “They say bunnies make the best sluts. Knock them up once, and they’ll never stop begging for it.”

Kits. A strong mate. A safe nest. The thought alone had you crying out for nothing, your convulsions growing that much more erratic, and Suguru chuckled in-turn. “Like that? Want me to make you into my little mate-whore?”

“Want it, please, w-want it so bad.” It was all you could do to force yourself to speak, to spit something out through the daze of lust and exhaustion and total, unrelenting fullness. You’d never been more sure of anything than you were in that moment, never knew something as deeply as you knew that you wanted Suguru’s kits inside of you. “Please, wanna be you mate, wanna—Suguru—!”

One more thrust, one more scape of his sleek scales against your clit, and you were coming undone around his cock in jolting, erratic convulsions. Suguru let out a ragged grunt and straightened his back, but the distance was short-lived. Strong arms snaked under your knees, spreading your legs and hauling you up to his height. Your back remained pressed against his chest as he pulled out of you entirely and slammed back in. Even through the overstimulation, the wrongness hit you immediately. His cock was too big, too thick, and—

And he was inside of you.

Completely inside of you.

You forced yourself to open your eyes, letting your head fall forward limply. The shock was minimal, but still devastating – both of Suguru’s cocks buried inside of you to their pitch-black bases, their outlines just barely visible against the plush flesh of your lower stomach. “You—You promised you wouldn’t—”

His face was buried in the dip of your shoulder, his lips parted as panted against you. You felt his teeth catch on your skin before sinking into you, had time to process the pure heat of his venom seeping into your veins. Instantly, anything you might’ve said died on your tongue, your mind going utterly, entirely blank save for a single thought: mate.

Your mouth fell open, your thighs spreading that much farther. Suguru pressed a lingering, open-mouthed kiss into the injection site, then pulled away, grinning wildly. “A few drops, and you’ll want everything I have to give you,” he muttered. “That’s better, isn’t it, bunny?”

Much better. You could feel something swelling at the base of his cock, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge anything other than the utter bliss as a small, round shape was milked up the length of his cock and emptied into your core. Kits, you thought, and did your best to settle onto his twin cocks, to hold still as another egg was forced through your tight pussy. You stopped trying to count after the fourth – giving in completely to the shuddering, splintering euphoria every new member of your little family brought you. By the time the final egg was safe and snug inside of you, you were limp, twitching, and so full, it was hard to imagine ever feeling empty again.

As the last aftershocks started to fade, Suguru sucked in a stilted gasp and pulled you flush against his chest. You felt his second cock twitch once, then twice inside of you before something warm and thick flooded into your pussy. You whined miserably as he pulled out of you, but he didn’t stay gone for very long. Your pliable body was turned around in his arms, his cocks slid back into your leaking cunt as he carefully lowered himself onto the floor of his nest – your body laid on top of his. You strung your arms around his neck and pressed yourself against his chest, closing your eyes and giving in to your well-earned exhaustion.

You lasted just long enough to hear him mutter something about mates and clutches before your consciousness faded entirely and your mind went mercifully, blissfully silent.

~

Hours later, you woke up to the sound of a low, long whistle. “Really did a number on the poor thing, huh, Suguru?”

It took you a second to blink your eyes open, to raise your head and glance toward the man standing at the top of the ladder that led to Suguru’s nest, and another to recognize him as Suguru’s owner. His white hair was in a state of disarray, his eyes hidden behind circles of tinted glass, and for some reason, he was looking at you. You shrunk further into Suguru, but he only laughed – the noise loud and piercing to your foggy senses.

Suguru’s cocks were no longer inside of you, the flushed tips just barely visible at the base of his slit. You were still on his chest, and his arms were wrapped around your waist, his hold loose but possessive. There was a small bump over your lower stomach, and you weren’t sure whether to grimace or beam at the feeling of Suguru’s eggs shifting inside of you with every little movement. He was already awake – had been for some time, judging by the unimpressed scowl pressed into his lips. Something sharp and icy lodged itself into your chest, but his glare was directed towards his owner, not you, and the very tip of his tail curled around your ankle protectively as his owner stepped into his nest.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to walk into a serpent’s den?”

“I don’t think it counts if I own the den.” He straddled the bulk of Suguru’s tail, then gestured to you. “Turn the pretty baby around. I wanna see the damage.”

You shook your head vehemently, clinging to Suguru’s neck, but his own response was an exasperated sigh, a fleeting hiss to your cheek as he flipped you over; leaving you slayed across his chest and exposed to his owner’s prying gaze. “Five minutes,” he said, as his owner shrugged the waistband of his pants down just far enough to free his cock, already half-hard, already enough to send a bolt of pure dread from your heart to the pit of your stomach. “I don’t want your scent on my mate.”

You opened your mouth, ready to whine that you were sore, that you were tired, that you didn’t want anyone but Suguru and your kits inside of you, but the words withered into nothing on your tongue as his owner eased himself into your dripping pussy, as Suguru caught you by the chin and pulled you into a shallow, lingering kiss – the points of his fangs just barely scraping over your bottom lip. Looking back on it, it had been silly to ever worry that he’d eat you.

You should’ve been worried that he wouldn’t.

[hysteria-things]

Reverse countertop scenario where instead of you getting eaten out while seated on the countertop, Matt gets sucked off 🫣

TEMPTATION (part one)

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅!𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dilf!matt x babysitter!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: one heated moment crosses between you and forbidden desire.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, slight size kink if you squint, oral (male receiving), subtle face slapping (he taps her on the cheek once), praising

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,766

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: first dilf!matt fic of the collection :D

(dilf!matt au originally by @luvs4matt)

you’ve met matt through one of your mom’s work friends, who was talking about how her son needed a babysitter because of how busy his work has gotten. against your will, your mother gave you the job, saying that it’ll be a fun and new experience.

because you like kids, you genuinely didn’t mind. you’ve only been nannying for a few weeks now, and the routine isn’t that bad.

you drive to his house every weekday, arriving at seven on the dot. you wake up his five-year-old daughter (who is already fond of you) and make her breakfast along with getting her ready to drop her off at school.

she’s a cutie who looks a lot like her father—with his blue eyes and brunette hair—but she has a bubblier personality and is much more talkative. on the other hand, matt keeps to himself, and rarely says more than three sentences to you: “good morning.” “don’t forget to pack her lunch.” “see you later.”

on this particular day, a couple of hours after dropping his little girl off, you realized you had forgotten something at matt’s house. cursing to yourself when you notice, you drive back to sleuth your way into grabbing what you left and leaving.

however, when you walk through the door, a familiar figure is kneeling in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattoos and grunting as he’s fixing something under the sink.

you pause, genuinely surprised. he always leaves for work when you arrive at his place at your scheduled time. today, he hid from you upstairs the whole morning that you didn’t even acknowledge he was home. you stare at the gruff thirty-year-old for a few beats, not knowing if you should make yourself known or just sneakily retrieve your item and head back out.

so, instead, you swallow a lump in your throat, and start walking slowly to the living room hoping he doesn’t notice you. with the short weeks that you’ve been working for him, you’ve always felt intimidated by his presence. matt doesn't immediately catch on, but as he listens to footsteps getting closer to him, he perks up. he turns around, just in time to see you starting to walk toward the living room.

he raises a brow, his arms now crossed. “i thought you left already.”

jolting from his voice, you turn around to see him still in the kitchen by the island, but he’s gotten closer to you. “i-i forgot my wallet.” you stutter, scratching the back of your neck. “i’m sorry. i’ll get out of your hair when i grab it, i just didn’t know you stayed home today.”

he eyes you, looking up and down in silence for a second. he lets out a groan, not exactly happy that you're back here, but he's not angry. just… annoyed. “when did you realize you forgot your wallet?”

your face burns up when he looks at you like that, his eyes mesmerizing but also frightening at the same time. your anxiety rushes through your veins, fingers playing with the necklace around your neck to try and calm your nerves.

he’s just so intimidating.

“after i dropped evelyn off at school, but i didn’t have time to grab it until now.” you start, trying to not sound shaky. “she had a rough morning getting ready today, so i was scattering my stuff everywhere trying to help her get back on her little feet. i’m sorry again. i’ll leave the moment i grab it.”

matt lets out a frustrated sigh when he hears about his daughter having a morning like that. “i thought i heard the commotion from upstairs…” he trails off. he takes a moment to breathe and to think, looking you up and down again, trying to figure out why you're shaking. “you're nervous.”

“it was a weird morning.” you still fiddle with your necklace. “other than her tantrum, she was good.”

a huff escapes from his nose, still looking at your figure as he thinks. you’re so damn small compared to him. it's almost adorable in a way he won't admit to himself. “she had a tantrum this morning? why? what started it?”

looking around the room, you shrug. “it was typical friday stuff.” you say, still nervous that you’re talking to matt rather than hearing three sentences from him. “she didn’t want to get out of bed, then she didn’t like the clothes i picked, whined about how she didn’t want to go to school, then she started crying when i carried her backpack to the car when she wanted to carry it.” you think back to this morning before continuing. “we were also running late and that makes my brain a mess, hence why i forgot my wallet, but after a small pep talk when i strapped her into her car seat, she got better.”

the man nods as you explain the events from earlier. you were pretty, in his opinion—he was looking at you from head to toe. a thought seems to hit him, and he bites the inside of his cheek. his next sentence comes out in a much more gruff tone. “come here.”

your eyes grow wide as you blink at him, your heart rate picking up from nerves. “w-what?” you stammer.

letting out a soft sigh, he repeats himself. “you heard me. come. here.”

when you slowly start to walk over to him, you rub the sweat from your palms onto your jeans. you don’t get too close, but you’re not too far, either. he watches as you walk over, his eyes not leaving your body. the thought that he could easily pick you up with one arm in an instant makes him laugh internally. you stop about a foot or so in front of him, standing there with wide eyes. “closer.”

you put your shaky hands behind your back, shuffling even closer to him with a million thoughts running through your brain. did you do something wrong with evelyn? did you forget something important that you needed to bring to school for her? are you going to be fired for forgetting your stupid wallet?

matt’s eyes dart all over your face as you step closer, his jaw clenching for a moment as his eyes linger on yours, then your hair, your nose, your mouth, then your body again. you are so small. it’s very clear with the way you’re shaking and the anxiety clear on your face that you are nervous. “closer.” he says again, his eyes flicking to your necklace for a moment.

smirk tugs at his lips as you step closer, his eyes locked onto you. you’re now standing directly in front of him as he leans on the counter, his height is much more intimidating up close, but you can’t make yourself pull away. it’s like he has a magnetic pull, causing you to stare at him with awe.

he watches your every move and the way you tremble. “you’re shaking.”

“i-i just want to grab my wallet. if i interrupted something important, i’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

the chuckle in his throat is ticklish as you struggle to get any words out. “take a deep breath. calm down.”

surprised by what he said, you somehow listen and take a couple of deep breaths. well, he is the father to a toddler, after all. you’re sure he deals with a lot of temper tantrums that involve guidance in breathing. after a few inhales and exhales, you calm down just a smidge. “i’m sorry.”

matt watches as you finally start calming down, a slight sense of satisfaction washing over him as you do. he’s not exactly sure why, but he liked watching your shaky body slowly come together again. “you don’t need to keep apologizing, y/n.”

“sorry.” you reply, mentally punching yourself in the face when you say the word. “it’s a habit.”

although, your name rolling off of his tongue has between your legs tingle, but you try to blink away the dirty thoughts and ignore it.

he scoffs. you are so damn polite; it’s almost cute. “stop apologizing.” he orders, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek, his brows furrowing as his thumb grazes your lip. “how old did you say you are again?”

your breath hitches when he touches you, but instead of backing away, you stay put. your lashes bat in his direction as he continues to rub on your bottom lip. “twenty-one.” you exhale, as if you were holding your breath this entire time.

“you’re such a pretty young thing.” he whispers, hand moving down to your throat as he gently kneads at the flesh. “you must be so innocent still.”

grunting when he squeezes at your neck, you subconsciously glance down at his groin, where you can see his growing hard-on. your eyes widen, chest heaving and licking your lips. the pooling in the middle of your thighs only escalates, clenching them together.

this is your boss, y/n. stop.

“do you trust me?” he blurts out, a smirk growing wider once he notices you staring. he has you right where he wants you: at his mercy.

“yes.” and that’s true.

he grabs your hips and pulls you closer, leaning into where your noses are touching. “lift your leg.”

complying, his hand reaches under your thigh when you raise your leg to rest on his hips. you gasp, feeling his bulge rub against your clothed clit. he grinds against you swiftly. “you feel that? that’s what you do to me; every single time i see you.”

“fuck.” you exhale, subconsciously rutting your hips more into him to feel more friction.

“dirty girl.” he whispers, one of his hands reaching up to squeeze your breast while the other that’s resting on your thigh moves to the waistband of your pants. “do you want me to touch you here?”

you throw your head back, nipples peeking at his touch. “please.”

matt groans, leaning down to nip at that spot below your ear. a high-pitched whine leaves your lips, his fingers slipping under your panties. the pad of his pointer rubs at your bud, and you moan softly. he keeps leaving wet kisses on your jaw, toying at your clit. “so fucking wet.”

you keep moaning, clenching around nothing when he plays with you faster. this plus the rubbing of his dick against you makes you want more, but you fight it off. he removes his hand after a few seconds, leaving you aching before bringing his fingers to his lips. he laps at your juices, humming approvingly.

then, his eyes darken, voice extra demanding. “get on your knees.”

while you’re getting on your knees, the pumping of your heart is the only thing you seem to hear, matt starting to unbuckle the belt of his jeans. as you patiently wait, he unloosens it and his pants drop to his ankles along with his boxers. your mouth waters at what’s in front of you, being put under matt’s make-believe spell. he’s big—really big—and you can’t help but stare at it longingly.

tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he smiles a genuine smile. “open your mouth; good girl.” he cups both of your cheeks, sliding his cock agonizingly slow between your lips. he lets out a long groan the more his inches fill your mouth until you gag once his tip nudges at the back of your throat.

“awe.” he coos, wiping some drool at the sides of your lips with his thumb. “that’s not even all of it.”

you bob your head, moaning around his length at how good he feels in your mouth. slurps and gags continue when you go faster.

he grunts and hisses at your sudden change of speed. “ah, slow, slow.” he fists your hair and taps you on the cheek, causing you to wince and stop. “i said slow.”

matt hasn’t had his dick sucked since his ex, which had to have been over a year ago. hell, he hasn’t had sex since her. he was getting sick of his hand doing the pleasure for him, but the warmth of your mouth is a reminder that you’re here.

your eyes tear up when he lets go of your hair, the stinging there for a few seconds before you move again, this time at the slow pace he requested. he nudges your head up, forcing you to look at him through your lashes as you resume to suck him off.

“that’s it.” he exhales with a moan, back pinned against the countertop. “good girl, listening to everything i say.”

he licks his teeth as he stares down at you, your doe eyes going into his soul as you’re stuffed full with his cock. if only he had his phone nearby, he would take a picture of this.

it’s quiet, except for his groaning and the wet sounds. his mouth is agape, his dick disappearing in and out of those plump lips. deep down, he thinks he’s using you to get off, but little does he know, you wanted this as much as he did. it’s like he wants this image engraved into his mind forever.

without even realizing it, you start to bob your head faster again, gulping more of his cock in the process.

“mmph, fuck, wait.” he pants, voice getting higher when his dick twitches. “s-slow down. slow, slow—” he lets out a long groan, grabbing the back of your head to move it down to his pelvis. you gag for the last time, his cum shooting down your throat all at once. you relax your jaw, making his seed easier to swallow. “so fucking good. such a good girl.” he pants again.

when he pushes you off, you cough as you try to catch your breath from being able to breathe again. matt’s still looking at you, but this time with his original stone-cold demeanor. his eyes flick over to the stove clock. “it’s 2:45 now. you should probably start getting ready to grab evelyn soon.”

with that, he pulls up his undergarments, zips them, and walks away.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

matt’s seen walking towards the front door through the window of the white picket-fenced home when you park the car, and you take a shaky exhale. seeing him after what happened makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand, but you don’t know if it’s in a good or bad way.

because, well, you enjoyed what you two did. a lot.

after another short breath, you get out of the driver's seat to open the back door. avoiding matt forever is impossible, so you’ll just have to toughen up and deal with it.

evelyn’s kicking excitedly, the top straps unbuckled already when you reach to undo the bottom half of her car seat. just as she hops down onto the driveway, the front door opens as if on queue.

of course, she leaves her backpack and the little mermaid water bottle behind as she bolts to her father. “daddy! daddy!” you hear her squeal excitedly, closing and locking the car doors once you grab her school stuff.

matt scoops up evelyn with ease and kisses her on the head. he smiles down at his daughter, asking her a whole bunch of questions about the school day. he nods and pipes in here and there to keep the conversation flowing as his little girl rambles on. you notice how matt gets when he sees evelyn, and his demeanor completely changes. he’s happy and engaged, eyes showing the love he has for her. it’s so fucking adorable.

“what do you want for dinner, missy?” matt asks, adjusting her in his arms when she starts to slip.

you silently watch the interaction, not wanting to ruin their moment as evelyn brings her finger up to her chin to think. it takes her a few seconds, but she says something along the lines of ‘the dinner of champions.’

“dino nuggets and mac and cheese?” he questions with a quirked brow. “but you had that last night.”

evelyn puts her hands together and pouts, giving him the best puppy dog eyes she can muster. unfortunately for her father, that trick will always work on him.

he sighs, setting her down. “i suppose so…”

“can y/n stay for dinner?” evelyn tugs at matt’s pants as she pleads. “pretty please?”

you hesitate with your answer, because you don’t know what’s in store if you stay longer than usual. “oh, i don’t—”

“you should.” matt quirks a brow, turning to face you. “it will be fun, yeah?”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @mattgirl4lyfe @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @freshsturns @etershine @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @bernardsbendystraws @hoes4matthew @sturnsmadl @starz4star

[kiss4tell]

𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔, johnny mactavish.

summary: in a world where duty and bloodlines dictate fate, you, a princess raised to uphold tradition, find yourself ensnared in a forbidden love with your sworn protector—sir johnny mactavish, the knight who should be nothing more than your guard but becomes your greatest temptation. cw: forbidden love, heavy longing, makeout sessions, fingering, mild angst, slight overstim. knight!johnny, princess!user. wc: 1.5k note: second royal au to this post. can you guys tell i love johnny?

The castle was a world of cold stone and colder rules.

From the moment you were old enough to understand, you were taught the unyielding expectations placed upon you. How to hold your chin high without seeming haughty. How to speak with grace but never too freely. How to behave as though you were not a woman of flesh and longing but a symbol, a thing to be admired, never touched.

And above all, you were taught that love—true, burning love—was not for princesses.

It was why your father had knights, men sworn to protect you, not because you were fragile, but because your honor was. And among those knights, one stood apart from the rest, though he was the most unremarkable by noble standards.

Sir Johnny MacTavish.

He was not of noble birth. A commoner who had risen through the ranks not by blood but by sheer force of will. His accent was thick, rough around the edges, unpolished in a way that made the ladies of the court wrinkle their noses and whisper. But to you, he was more than his lack of a title.

To you, he was warmth, laughter in the lonely corridors, a pair of watchful eyes that saw you not as a duty but as a person.

And it was dangerous.

The first time you let yourself slip, it was a touch—barely a touch at all.

A summer afternoon, the gardens thick with the scent of blooming roses. You had been walking, and Johnny—no, Sir MacTavish—had been a respectful three steps behind, as always.

But you had stumbled. Not even a fall, just a misplaced step, a sharp intake of breath, and he had been there.

His hand, large and calloused, caught your wrist before you could right yourself, steadying you effortlessly.

“Easy, lass,” he murmured, his fingers searing through the fine silk of your sleeve.

It lasted a heartbeat too long.

You should have pulled away. Should have stiffened, scolded him, reminded him of his place. But you did none of those things. Instead, your gaze lifted to his, and for the first time, you truly saw him.

Not just the knight, the protector. But the man.

The one who looked at you not as a princess, but as a woman.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The second time, it was a meeting in the dead of night.

It had started with sleeplessness. A mind too full of thoughts of duty, of the future that had been decided for you before you had ever drawn breath. You had wandered the castle halls, your bare feet silent against the cold stone, unaware that you were not the only restless soul.

Johnny had found you at the balcony, leaning against the edge, staring at the stars as though they might offer you freedom.

“You should be sleepin’, Princess,” he had said, his voice softer in the dark.

“So should you,” you had countered.

The conversation had been light at first, teasing, familiar. But then, there had been a shift. A confession, whispered on a breath.

“I hate this life,” you had admitted, gripping the railing until your knuckles turned white. “I hate what it demands of me.”

A long silence. Then—

“I hate that it keeps me from you.”

It had been the first time either of you had acknowledged it, the thing unspoken between you.

You had turned then, your heart pounding so loud you swore he could hear it. And when you looked at him, when you saw the conflict in his eyes, the way he was struggling—

You kissed him.

It had been clumsy at first, a desperate, stolen thing. His hands had hovered near your waist, unsure, afraid. But when you did not pull away, when you instead curled your fingers into his tunic and held on—he gave in.

His lips moved against yours, hesitant, then surer. One hand cupped your cheek, the other pressing against the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. He kissed you like he had waited forever to do so, like he was terrified this moment would slip through his fingers.

And when you finally broke apart, breathless and shaking, he had pressed his forehead to yours and whispered, “This is dangerous.”

You had only smiled.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The third time, it was madness.

The corridor was empty, the rest of the castle deep in slumber. You had barely made it inside before Johnny had you pinned against the wall, his lips crashing onto yours in a kiss so hungry, so desperate, it left you breathless.

You had been playing with fire for weeks, and now, it was consuming you.

His hands roamed your body with reverence, sliding along your waist, gripping your hips as though trying to memorize the shape of you. Your fingers tangled in his short-cropped hair, nails raking against his scalp as he groaned against your lips.

“I should stop,” he breathed against your mouth, though he made no effort to pull away.

“Then stop,” you challenged, voice barely above a whisper.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his hands slid lower, fingers tracing the hem of your thin nightgown before pushing beneath it, rough palms grazing the bare skin of your thighs.

A sharp inhale. His fingers flexed.

“…Johnny.”

“Tell me t’stop,” he rasped, his forehead resting against yours. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead of answering, you lifted onto your toes, kissing him again, parting your lips for him, sighing when he deepened it. And then—

His hand moved.

Fingertips ghosting over the damp fabric of your undergarments, teasing, testing. You whimpered, clutching onto him, and he swore softly, his breath warm against your cheek.

“So fuckin’ soft,” he murmured. “So warm for me.”

His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, parting you, finding you slick and wanting. You gasped at the contact, your back arching against the wall as he pressed a thick finger inside you.

He groaned at the feel of you, at the way you clenched around him, his free hand gripping your hip, grounding himself as he worked you open.

His lips found your neck, kissing, biting, whispering filth that made your knees weak.

“You’ll be the death of me, lass.”

And as he curled his fingers, drawing another broken moan from your lips—

You thought you wouldn’t mind dying like this.

His fingers moved with aching slowness, each deliberate stroke sending shivers down your spine. You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, muffling the quiet sounds escaping your lips as his touch unraveled you.

“Look at you,” Johnny breathed, his voice thick with reverence. “Taking me so well, sweetheart.”

His fingers curled, seeking out that spot deep inside you, and when he found it, you gasped, your hands clutching at the fabric of his tunic.

Your response only spurred him on. He worked you open with care, a second finger joining the first, stretching you just enough to make your breath hitch. The forbidden nature of it all made it burn even hotter—here, in the darkened corridor of your father’s castle, with the threat of discovery hanging over your heads like a blade.

And still, neither of you could stop.

His lips brushed against your temple before trailing down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, the exposed line of your collarbone. Each kiss was a worship, a prayer, a plea.

“Been dreamin’ of this,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot, uneven. “Of you. Always you.”

You whimpered, rocking against his touch, chasing the pleasure he was so willing to give you.

Then—footsteps in the distance.

You both froze.

His fingers stilled inside you, and you held your breath, straining to listen.

The steps were slow, deliberate—someone patrolling the halls.

A fresh wave of adrenaline surged through you, but Johnny didn’t pull away. He stayed close, lips hovering just above yours, his fingers still buried inside you, your body wound so tightly that the mere thought of him stopping made you ache.

The footsteps passed, fading into nothing.

The second they were gone, Johnny exhaled a curse and kissed you—deep, desperate, claiming. His fingers resumed their sinful movements, stroking you to the edge, his free hand tilting your chin up so he could watch you fall apart for him.

“That’s it, love,” he whispered, his thumb brushing circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves at your center. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

The pleasure crashed over you like a wave, and you buried your face in his chest, biting your lip to keep from crying out. Your body trembled as he worked you through it, his fingers never slowing until you were gasping, pushing weakly at his wrist from the oversensitivity.

Only then did he relent, withdrawing his hand, bringing his fingers to his lips. He licked them clean, his darkened eyes never leaving yours as he hummed in satisfaction.

You should have been scandalized.

Instead, you pulled him down into another searing kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, reveling in the warmth of his body against yours.

[bonbonly]

CRAZY IDEA WOAH

what if… spin-off of temptation w different drivers as priests and bishops, based on the seven deadly sins?

genius, I know I know

- 🧃 (officially temptation au anon)

YOU GENIUSSSSS OH MY GODDD ?!??!?! HELLO!??!?!

Ok ok so hear me out if I had to make a list: Bishop!Charles is definitely Lust though I also see him as Greed, always wanting more.

Chapter!Carlos is Gluttony, relentlessly trying to find better opportunities for himself and trying to paint himself as the better person.

Chaplain!Oscar is Sloth, just because in the au he's pretty blind to a lot of things that happen, oblivious and naive and won't act on much unless it personally affects him

Pope!Max is Wrath - I mean we've seen what he can do when he's pissed off, he's more destructive than Charles is and will do anything to make sure no one tries to take his position of Pope from him.

Chaplain!Lando is Envy because he's jealous that he doesn't have the freedom and love that Charles has nor is he in a good position like Max is nor does he have the talents Carlos has. He tries to imitate them but most of the time it backfires on him and he's forced to play side kick.

Former Pope!Lewis is definitely Pride because he's the oldest and definitely acknowledges all that he has accomplished and might slip them into conversations, he boasts the fact that he is the wisest and has the most experience; the righteous person when he is far from it.

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Say my Name, As if it’s Drowning in the Tide - Jayce x Reader (Chapter 2/End)

Summary: But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

Pairing: Jayce x Reader Modern AU, one-sided Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 8.2K

Warning: Explicit

Tags: Hate Sex, Emotional Roleplay, One-sided Attraction, Switch!Jayce, Rough Sex, Biting, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (Female receiving), Eating Out, Angst, First Time, Vaginal Sex, Size Kink, Jayce Has A Big Dick, Self-Hate, Praise Kink, Body Worship, Crying

Notes: A LITTLE LATE BUT AS PROMISED, I’m publishing the ending to this fic before the end of January (and the beginning of my surprise Valentine’s Day event 👀). This one is gonna be quite the emotional ride, so better strap in, fellas (PS: I SWEAR I love Jayce with all my heart I just love toying with his heart because I’m a monster)

(Chapter 1)

“Do you want to know what Viktor likes or not? Because I haven't told you anything about what he wants in bed.”

‘Fuck you’, you wish you could spit back at Jayce. ‘What would you even know about what anyone wants in bed, you pathetic two-pump loser?’

It's extremely tempting, if only to see his face go crimson in frustration and embarrassment again, but you know his fragile little ego might not survive it. And no matter how much you'd like to deny it, he's right: you do want to know about what Viktor likes.

You want to know every single thing about Viktor so badly, it hurts.

You've fallen for him in the same way a forest fire burns: slowly, and then all at once, overwhelming, relentless, all-consuming. It's gotten almost painful to be near him in the last few months, your stomach contorting angrily whenever he gives you a witty smile or laughs at your idiotic banter. The desire for him to look at you, and only you, is searing your skin a little more each passing day; so much so that you wonder if there will be anything left of you but ashes by the time you muster the courage to confess.

And God, do you want to: the need to tell him how you feel has become a constant itch that's as painful as it’s unending. All it would take to quench these all-consuming flames are three little words, three measly syllables, a laughable eight letters.

Yet you just can’t say them.

Because underneath all the bravado you're always putting on, you're nothing more than a hypocrite, who is absolutely terrified of hearing his answer. Of seeing nothing but compassionate pity in those soothing golden eyes of his, a gentle ‘I'm sorry’ forming on his lips, and burning you alive once and for all.

So, you wait for a sign from Viktor: a word, a touch, anything that would make the risk of confessing more bearable. As a born engineer, you've always been pragmatic and logical to a fault; you simply won’t jeopardize your relationship with him based on insignificant data and hopeful speculations. Maybe it's nothing more than a spineless justification to let yourself wither away, but it's the best you, and your burning little heart, can do.

After all, something is comforting about staying in the unknown— in that state of limbo where there's no real acknowledgment of the nature of your feelings, or his. But the fire that is Viktor is relentless, ever burning, and it consumes you inch by inch, growing every minute you spend with him working side by side at the Academy.

It worsens more each time he remembers insignificant details about you: how you like a touch of extra cinnamon in your morning latte, how much you hate seeing your middle name used in the lab's paperwork, how you always fidget with your jewelry when you're stressed— little habits and quirks he somehow never misses or fails to offer a helping hand with.

You've been in love before, but never like this; and you doubt you ever will again. Viktor is the type of person you can only meet once in your life, a shooting star that graces the human eye every thousand years, just to disappear the second you look away, before you ever get the chance to tell it it's beautiful.

And then, there's Jayce.

Jayce, who looks nothing like Viktor, with his muscular frame, perfectly symmetrical smile, and sun-kissed skin.

Jayce, who is nothing like Viktor, with his annoyingly booming voice, total lack of social awareness, and oversized ego. Whose very presence signifies, at best, an incoming headache, and at worst, endless screaming matches and arguments over the most minor details.

Things hadn't always been that way with him. There had been admiration, at first, back when you had been accepted as dean Cecil B. Heimmerdinger’s newest pupil, and the fourth member of his elite team of post-graduates. He had more than his fair share of accolades for a man in his mid-twenties: many of his papers were cited in the highest calibre of academic journals, and he had a list of awards and scholarships almost as long as your arm. You had truly believed you would learn a lot from him.

It barely took a week with him for all your naive and bright-eyed delusions to come crashing down. Behind the pretty face and the accomplishments was nothing but arrogance and disregard for all the discipline you valued. It all came so maddeningly easy to him— school, work, looks—like effort was beneath him, or even worse, completely foreign to him.

He hadn’t been shy with his interest in you for a second, either. Between the corny pickup lines and the obvious stares at the meat of your thighs, Jayce hadn’t been quite subtle; but you had no endearment for men like him. A pretty boy whose grandiose romantic gestures were clearly an attempt to quickly get into your pants, only to leave you behind the moment your novelty had worn off. The type to take everything for granted, including women’s affection, and to never have heard a single ‘no’ in their life.

There was no way you were going to fall for it.

Yet the more drily you rejected his advances, the more Jayce seemed interested in you. It had to simply be the novelty of someone finally rejecting him and seeing his true nature that fascinated him. But it wasn’t love that he felt for you; it couldn't be.

People like him could love no one but themselves.

He would glance at you with desperate puppy eyes whenever he thought you weren’t looking, a shiny toy out of his reach. Every now and then, on one of his trashed design drafts, you’d find tiny pencilled sketches of your face with a surprising level of accuracy. He clearly took some pleasure in arguing with you over everything and nothing, and you'd lie if you said that you never got some enjoyment out of that dynamic.

You had let his resolve weaken you once, and only once, early into your arrival at the lab, and long before you had developed any feelings for the then much more reserved Viktor.

And it had been a mistake.

—

Those first few months had been gruelling for you: as the newest recruit, you did much more dull and tedious paperwork than any practical or creative assignments in the lab. It was hard, and the long hours of staring at nothing but the bright blue light of your computer screen made you dizzy; but you wouldn't have exchanged it for the world.

You had earned your place here by never being complacent, by refusing to see any task as below you or too difficult to accomplish. You had been a diligent student under the harshest of conditions throughout your life, and you would continue reaching higher and higher by working hard, and always proving your worth.

One day soon, you’d be standing at the very top of it all, with your wildest dreams accomplished; and it would be with the knowledge that you had made it there entirely of your own merit.

You had been surprised and apprehensive to see an email from Professor Heimerdinger that morning, requesting that you pass by his office. Heimerdinger was very much not the type to plan out discussions, preferring to randomly pop in and out of the lab to hold impromptu, casual meetings, so the atypically formal message had made you feel uneasy.

You were under the impression you had integrated into the program quite well, and that you had begun nicely bonding with your two lab partners. Although you had had strong reservations about Jayce and his attitude, and were still extremely on the fence about your opinion of him, his puppy-like charm had started to wear you out, and you had agreed to go get coffee with him during that weekend.

You had made it very clear it wasn't a romantic encounter, but a team-bonding exercise: an occasion for him to prove some of your unfavourable impressions of him wrong. Then, maybe, and only maybe, you'd consider the idea of a date with him; but he didn't need to know that yet, lest he’d let it go to his head.

For now, your focus was only on your appointment with Heimerdinger, and the anxious knot in the pit of your stomach.

You knocked on his door gently before coming in, finding the short, older man perched on top of a small ladder, nose-deep in one of the many books that lined every inch of the walls. The countless volumes adorned his office like multicoloured bricks, giving a cozy, yet slightly claustrophobic feel to the small room.

“You asked to see me, professor ?” you cleared your throat, attempting to steady your voice to appear more composed.

Heimerdinger raised his head in surprise, likely so entranced in the huge textbook that dwarfed his small frame that he hadn’t heard you come into his literary fortress—or even remembered he had scheduled a meeting with you.

“Ah, yes, dear girl, come on in and take a seat!” he exclaimed, closing the book with a loud ‘thwack’. He struggled a bit to place it back on one of the shelves as you sat to face his desk, eyeing his precarious position wearily. He, thankfully, managed to make his way down the creaking ladder without incident, landing on his feet with a slight wobble.

“The great, dangerous heights one has to reach to gain knowledge,” he mumbled pensively, a chubby hand running through his wild tuft of dusty blonde hair. “One would think that with twenty years of service here, the finance department could afford to invest in a less perilous stepping stool.”

He made his way to the other side of the desk, settling comfortably in his pillowy chair. He adjusted his thick, round glasses, his expression indecipherable behind the imposing white mustache that covered most of his lower face.

You immediately let yourself fear the worst, your firm conviction that you had been doing well since your arrival crumbling like a house of cards.

“Have I been performing… below your expectations, sir?” you asked abruptly, the anxious ball in your stomach tightening on itself.

Heimerdinger cocked his head to the side in confusion, frowning, his thick eyebrows shifting down like two fuzzy caterpillars.

“Now why would you say such a silly thing? You’ve been going above and beyond, from everything I’ve seen and heard,” he complimented with a reassuring smile. He gave you a sly wink, and you felt your shoulders relax, the tension leaving your body like a puff of smoke. “I have an eye for exceptionally talented people. I wouldn't have recruited you if I hadn’t been wholeheartedly convinced of your capacities.”

“Thank you, sir,” you exhaled, releasing a sharp breath you hadn't realized you were holding. So it was all a misunderstanding then. Everything was alright. “May I ask why you’ve requested to see me this morning, then?”

Heimerdinger only hummed as an answer, opening one of his desk's drawers and digging through a visibly messy pile of documents. “Aha!” he exclaimed, pulling out a single sheet of paper with a flourish, and handing it to you with no further explanation.

You grabbed it carefully, quickly looking it over with growing confusion: the bold title only stated your name, next to the words PROJECT TRANSFER.

“Here you go, all signed and completed,” Heimerdinger added with a casual wave of the hand. “I would have simply sent it to you by email, but protocol requires you to sign it in front of me. You know how bureaucrats get,” he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.

The more snippets you caught of the document, the less you understood. ‘Personal request made by the student to be discharged from desk work duty for the Wyatt Project — Approved by team supervisor — Reason for request: Lack of affinity with the project and given tasks — Signatures of department head, team supervisor, and concerned student below’.

“I’m sorry, what… is this?” you asked slowly in hesitation.

The Wyatt project had been the most tiresome and dull assignment you had been given as of yet at the Academy, and although you often complained about it in your off time, you had never made any sort of official demand to be transferred from it.

“The discharge paper for the Wyatt project,” the older man explained, seemingly surprised by your lack of enthusiasm or recognition. “I was told you didn’t enjoy the busy work much and would prefer a change of pace. I’ll be putting you on the assignment corrections for the undergrads, which should be much simpler and less time-consuming.”

Your mind began racing chaotically, attempting to puzzle how a few unserious, nitpicky rants could have possibly made their way as an official demand to the dean himself. You barely registered the empathic nod he gave you as he cleared his voice, a sparkle of something akin to remorse in his eyes.

“Perhaps I was requesting a lot of you for your very first semester here, with an assignment as advanced as this. My apologies, dear girl. But do know this transfer is a rare exception, and I will require more receptiveness from you for future tasks.”

The slight pitying look he gave you made you feel like throwing up.

You'd disappointed him.

You had failed the expectations of the man who took a chance on you as his youngest pupil, and you weren't even aware of how you had done it.

“I—I mean yes, the Wyatt project is a lot of busy work, but I never—who told you I asked to be taken out?” you managed to stutter.

Who? Who could have possibly gone so out of their way to ruin the reliable and efficient reputation you were working so hard to build here? Your mind came up blank, reviewing the few people you might have said anything to, and not finding a single one who would so blatantly jeopardize your fragile new position.

“Why, Jayce,” Heimerdinger said as if it was entirely obvious. “As your team leader, he gives me monthly reports of the status of each project you're involved with. He was quite adamant about putting you off the Wyatt and onto an easier project.”

A flash of understanding crossed his face at the sight of your decomposing expression.

“Has… Jayce not discussed this with you?”

No. No, he hadn’t.

You barely remembered the walk out of Heimerdinger's office after that, fuelled only by a mixture of incomprehension and betrayal. With each step, it shifted into something much stronger, a fury burning from your core directed not only at him, but at yourself.

You slammed the door of the lab open, the plexiglass banging against the frame with a dull thud:

“How fucking dare you?!”

Jayce was thankfully alone in the lab, but even if Viktor had been here, you weren't sure you would have managed to control the outpour of anger. The man looked up from his notes in surprise:

“Woah—wait—excuse me?” Jayce stammered, visibly more confused than insulted.

“Who do you think you are to decide what I can do or not?!” you seethed, barreling rapidly towards him. “How dare you go around asking things in my name to our supervisor?”

He got up from his chair hurridly, eyes wide, raising his hands in a placating gesture as if you were a wild animal ready to attack.

"Relax, I really have no idea—" he started hastily, only to stop mid-sentence as realization dawned on him. His brows knit together in confusion. "Wait... is this about the Wyatt project?”

"What else could it possibly be about?!" you yelled, your voice slicing through the silence of the empty lab. Under different circumstances—if this wasn't about your entire career here—you might have remembered that your outburst could easily carry into the corridor, reaching the ears of other students, and even possibly teachers. But blind frustration consumed you, eclipsed only by the raw, aching sense of betrayal you felt towards him.

“But you’ve been telling me and Viktor for weeks how much you hate it,” Jayce argued, frowning, his lips reducing into a thin line. He was genuinely perplexed, like the very concept that he hadn’t done you a service wasn't registering in his mind. “You’re the one who said you wished you could do more work in the lab with us!”

“So you went over my head and told the fucking head of the department I was too lazy to complete the work he gave me?” you retorted without missing a beat. You hadn't realized how close you had gotten to him, your balled fists barely a foot away from his increasingly punchable face. You could smell the artificial scent of body spray off him, and you wrinkled your nose in disgust. “Do you have any idea how unreliable and ungrateful that makes me look as the new girl?! I haven’t even had this position for six months!”

Understanding slowly dawned across his face, and his expression softened, regret pooling in his chartreuse eyes.

"I was just trying to help, I didn't—" he began, his voice gentle and remorseful, but you weren't even close to being done with him.

“Help?” you spat, the word dripping with venom. “Help how? By making me look like I don’t want to work hard? Like I'm a spoiled brat who goes on dates with her team supervisor to get easy jobs? What, do you think I slept my way up here?”

“I’d never—I thought you felt too shy to talk to Heimerdinger, I just wanted to give you a hand as my junior! How is that a bad thing?!” he protested, frustration creeping into his voice.

“It's a bad thing because it means you don't fucking believe in me!” you shot back.

You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, willing them gone and clinging to what little pride you had left.

“It means you think I'm too weak or too stupid to do the same work you and Viktor did when you started. That I'm not even enough of an adult to handle my own shit—that I need some random guy at work to baby me!”

He flinched at the harshness of your words, the hurt on his face unmistakable. His mouth opened as if to speak up again, eyes carrying the wounded look of a kicked puppy, but you didn’t let him, refusing to let his charm ever fool you again.

“I don't care if it's because I'm younger than you, or because I'm a woman, or because you think I'm attractive,” you snapped. “I'm staying on the Wyatt project until it's completed, like I signed up to. I won't let you mess up everything I've worked so hard for.”

You took a step back, your feelings too overwhelming to stand staring at him a minute longer. Your instinct about Jayce—that he was as spoiled as he was self-righteous— had been correct from the start, yet you felt no pride in that knowledge; there was only the bitter taste of disappointment.

Your voice was sharp and unforgiving when you spoke up again:

“Do me a favour. Next time you want to help, don’t.

—

And yet, here you are now, in a shitty motel in the middle of nowhere, butt naked in a cramped shower with him, the feeling of his tepid cum still lingering on your thigh.

Jayce Talis wants to help again, and you’d be an absolute fool to accept, or to give him more ground than you already have.

But things are different, this time.

You want his help. You need his help.

You know better now than to believe he feels anything resembling real affection for you. His obsession isn’t love: it’s a fixation born from entitlement, from the relentless need to possess what he’s been denied. You’re nothing more than a challenge, the one girl who refuses to fall for the Academy’s golden boy, and that only makes him want you more. But once he’s had his victory, once this game is over, the thrill will fade, and he’ll lose all interest in pretending he ever cared.

So what’s the harm in saying yes, then? It’s not like either of you will come out of this with any hurt feelings. It’s the same as back then, with him taking you for the easy fool he can be a knight in shining armour for, solving your issues like the great man he is. But at least, this time, he’s had the decency to ask you, first.

"Fine, whatever," you finally grumble, your gaze snapping back to his. A flicker of something unreadable passes through his expression, but you ignore it. It doesn't matter to you, just as you won’t matter to him. "What’s next, Talis?”

—

The issue is that Jayce really hasn't thought that far ahead.

His first and main goal was to distract you from how he had been so stupidly eager, he came without your hands ever even touching his cock. But now, he needs to come up with a next step—fast—before you see right through his bluff and realize he knows far less about Viktor’s sex life than he has so confidently let on.

To his credit, Viktor has always been intensely private about his personal life, even with his closest friends. In all their years of partnership, he had never once introduced Jayce to a girlfriend or boyfriend; never even hinted at a crush, or a stranger who might be something more. No matter how many times Jayce had prodded and teased him in their younger years, Viktor had never let anything slip.

But there is one thing, a small, passing remark, that Jayce does remember.

Back in their very first year together at the Academy, unravelling the enigma that was Viktor had been one of Jayce’s greatest challenges. The man revealed very little about himself and it seemed like science and logic were the sole foundations of his world, an unwavering structure built on nothing but reason and precision.

But every now and then, Viktor would do or say something so entirely unexpected, it shattered any understanding Jayce thought he had of him.

One of those moments had been Viktor’s quiet but undeniable fascination with the arts.

Jayce remembers a particular night, one that has somehow stayed in the back of his mind since. Sitting beside Viktor in the dim glow of the Academy’s theater, watching a play neither of them had particularly planned to see, he had expected boredom, maybe even a few sarcastic quips. Instead, Viktor had been captivated. His sharp eyes, usually so calculating while they worked in the lab, were alight with something softer, something close to wonder, as if he were seeing an entirely new world unfold before him.

"Do you not think it's nice? The music of someone's voice," Viktor had hummed afterward, his tone distant, contemplative, like he was still half-lost in the echoes of the performance.

Jayce had shrugged, stretching his legs out lazily in the cramped theatre seat. Art had never really been his thing—too abstract, too confusing. "I don’t know," he replied casually, "AI is getting pretty good at mimicking it."

Viktor had turned his head slightly, casting Jayce a look that was equal parts amused and disappointed, as if he couldn’t decide whether the comment was genuinely naive or just tragically shortsighted.

Viktor had merely tutted in disapproval, shaking his head. "The human soul, Jayce. The emotions, the passion, the sorrow—that is what a voice carries. We may build a thousand algorithms that reproduce it, down to the subtlest change in tone or pitch… but it will always be missing that.”

Jayce had gone quiet after that, letting the conversation die in the soft hum of the crowd leaving the theater. He didn’t get it then; maybe he does now.

“Voices,” Jayce blurts out, the thought snapping into place like a last-minute save. “Viktor likes hearing people’s voices. I think it’s because of how personal they are to everyone? Something about that just… makes him happy.”

He’s grasping at straws now, but it’s something, and that’s already better than staying silent with his mouth agape like an idiot.

“Maybe, um—maybe you could practice what you’d say to him? The kind of sounds you’d make?” His pulse stutters, but before he can stop himself. “I-I think he’d probably want to eat you out.”

It’s a blatant, bold-faced lie. A shot in the dark dressed up as certainty.

Because that’s not what Viktor said. That’s not even remotely what Viktor said.

It’s what Jayce wants to do.

But he’s already in too deep, tangled in his own bullshit with no way to back out. If he’s going to lie, he might as well be a little selfish about it.

You glare at him with that sharp, dissecting stare, the kind that strips away pretense and weighs his words like they’re under the lens of a microscope. Even though you’re shorter than him, there’s no mistaking who’s in control here; the balance of power tilts undeniably in your favour, and you have him fully, wholly under your thumb.

And he knows it, knows it from the tension in his own shoulders, from the way his lips uncontrollably twitch, from the slight tremor in his voice. He would do anything for this, for you, and he’s not foolish enough to think it doesn’t show. But this moment isn’t about him—not about how much he wants you, or how much he’d give to close the remaining space between your bodies.

It’s about you, and how much you want Viktor.

Jayce already knows your answer before it even leaves your lips.

“Alright. Just…”

You hesitate for just a second, as if there's something else you want to say; a glimpse of uncharacteristic doubt flashes across your face. But it vanishes just as quickly as it came, swallowed by that effortless, burning confidence. Whatever words you might have had for him go up in smoke.

"Forget it. Get on your knees."

Jayce certainly doesn’t need to be told twice.

It’s almost embarrassing how fast he drops, the wet tile beneath him offering no grace. He nearly slips twice as he contorts his broad frame awkwardly, trying to find a stable position. The cramped width of the glass panels press against his shoulders, making his movements all the more difficult.

You tsk at him, unimpressed and visibly growing impatient. The glare you send down his way is all the incentive he needs to stop fumbling and settle as best he can, even as the mosaic tiles dig uncomfortably into his knees.

One of your hands settles on his head, slightly brushing the damp strands of dark hair, and he leans into the touch; it's probably the closest thing to praise he's ever gotten from you.

"Don’t make me regret this," you warn him.

He grins, throwing you a wink with far more cockiness than he actually feels. "Regret is my middle name, baby."

Before you can shoot back a biting remark, his hands are on your hips, firm and certain, pulling you flush against his face. The heat of his breath ghosts over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

If this had been different, if it had been real, he would have taken his time. He would have traced every detail of your body with his hands, his lips, his tongue, committing every inch to memory like something sacred. He would have worshipped you slowly, methodically, with the kind of reverence you deserve.

But that's not the case.

Instead, he opts for savagely peppering your inner thighs with warm, rough kisses, just barely letting his teeth graze your skin. You hum in approval, the hand on his scalp petting him like a puppy. The rush of confidence that goes through his body is indescribable, and he makes the bites more insistent, leaving burn-like marks on your skin.

You tug at his hair, just enough to be insistent, but not enough to hurt. For once, he understands you immediately, without you uttering a single word. It’s a little strange —almost ironic— that conversations with you always spiral into arguments, yet here, without speaking at all, you're both in perfect sync.

He obeys the silent command and moves his mouth where you’re guiding him, never pausing the messy, open-mouth kisses against your lower body. It's no surprise that your pussy is as pretty and warm as the rest of you. The hair has been recently trimmed but has grown just enough to tickle against his face as he buries his face comfortably between your legs.

You twitch in his grip the second his tongue touches your folds, but you don't let out a sound. He’s not about to be beaten so easily, though: he gives a strong, assured lick against your clit, and this time you can't suppress a small moan:

“Ah…”

Oh, and God, it's an addictive sound, one that he yearns to hear again, immediately. He copies his movement once, twice, thrice, dizzy off the little vulnerable pants you make under your breath. He's like a starved man, lapping at the fresh water from the shower on your skin just to catch a hint of your juices.

“Hngh-” you inhale sharply when his tongue probes your hole. Your grip on his hair tightens, fingers tangling deeper as you pull him closer. It’s probably just instinct, a mechanical reaction to the rush of pleasure sparking through you; but for a split second, the pressure of your touch feels intentional. Like you want him. And that foolish, aching thought makes his poor little heart clench when you speak again:

“V-Viktor!”

A single word from you, just one name, and reality crashes back down on him like a tidal wave.

He freezes, his tongue flat against your clit, and the warmth of the moment vanishes in an instant, replaced by something sharp and unforgiving. The water hitting his exposed skin from the showerhead suddenly feels ice-cold, seeping into his bones.

This isn’t right. He knows it. And he’s certain you do, too.

But you’ve both chosen this.

You’re as guilty as he is, using him just as much as he’s using you. It’s a pathetic, hollow imitation of the intimacy he truly craves, the kind where your fingers intertwine with his without hesitation, where your voice murmurs words of love meant only for him, where your eyes remain wide open and locked into his.

But there’s no coming back from having tasted you. A single bite of the forbidden fruit, and he’s undone: his sense of judgment shattered, his pride discarded, his dignity crumbling beneath your touch. If this is all you’re willing to give him, if he’s nothing more than a placeholder for someone else—so be it.

He’ll take whatever scraps of affection you’ll offer, no matter how empty. No matter who it’s really meant for.

You let out another wonton moan when he shifts again, his teeth lightly scrapping your clit, and he lets himself wonder what you're imagining behind those closed eyes.

Granted, the who isn’t much of a mystery; that part is painfully obvious. But how?

How does it play out in your head? Is it tender and slow, filled with whispered confessions and gentle touches? Or is it something desperate, something raw, something that strips you down to nothing but need? Against his better judgment and all common sense, he can’t help speculating.

Viktor would probably not enjoy staying on his knees for very long; maybe you're picturing yourself laying in bed with him, his face nestled snuggly between the meat of your thighs. You’d have a smile on your lips, your sparkling eyes wide open, eager to take in every second of the moment. Viktor would probably chuckle at your eagerness, amused by the contrast of how firm and unyielding you are with everyone else, yet how effortlessly you melt in his presence.

“Viktor, please… please…!” you almost beg as he fucks you on his tongue, your hips rhythmically moving along to his pace, moans raw and unfiltered, forgetting about the thin walls and your likely disgruntled neighbours with how lost you are in your fantasy.

Jealousy begins to rear its ugly head in the pit of his stomach, a dangerous thing to start feeling during something that’s supposed to be pure make-believe. But no matter how hard he tries to swallow it down, it lingers, festering beneath the surface.

He can’t help it, spoiled brat that he is. He always wants more. Nothing is ever enough.

His childish ego whispers that he’s the one making you squirm under his touch, that for all your longing, for all the thoughts clouding your mind, he’s the one here. He’s the one touching you, drawing those needy sounds from your lips.

It's his name you should be saying.

He's gotten hard again, the touch of your skin blending with the smell of your body, the sharp taste of your wetness making his head spin. He's humping the air like a dog in heat, aching for any sort of relief. He wants to stay between your legs for as long as humanly possible, let you use him, but he's not sure how much longer he can handle hearing someone else’s name over, and over again.

He manages to pull away from the vice-like grip of your thighs, mouth coated with your juices. He looks up at you, standing above him like a goddess, surrounded by a halo of water from the showerhead.

"I really, really need you right now, baby," he breathes out, voice raw with desperation. He knows he should have some dignity left, some shred of self-respect; but it's all long gone. At this point, he doesn't care what you think of him anymore, not when he’s fallen this low. “Can I please fuck you right here?”

Your eyes flutter open, slow and reluctant, like it physically pains you to be pulled from whatever reverie you were lost in. For a moment, you just look at him, considering his expression, the firm grip on his head easing slightly.

“I…” you start hesitantly. There it is again, just like earlier: something uncertain in your gaze, lost, vulnerable. It’s jarring, unsettling in a way he can’t quite name. It doesn’t belong there, not in your eyes—eyes that are usually so bright, so sure and unwavering.

"Bed. Viktor wouldn't be comfortable here," you mumble under your breath, refusing to meet his eyes. "And don’t call me baby."

Jayce exhales a shaky sigh of relief. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t tease—just moves.

He scrambles to his feet so fast he nearly slips again, catching himself just in time. With a sharp nudge of his elbow, he shuts off the faucet before effortlessly scooping you up from the wet tiles. You yelp in protest, but he ignores it, already carrying you out of the bathroom, his grip firm yet careful.

The second your back hits the mattress, he’s gone, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes to his backpack; balance has never been his forte, but you’ve rendered him so unsteady his legs feel like jello. His hands fumble through the numerous pockets, almost frantic.

Socks, phone, extra boxers, sunglasses, toothbrush, toothpaste—

There!

He raises the lone condom triumphantly into the air, presenting it like a grand prize, his grin wide with victory.

You don’t look half as impressed.

"Do you seriously bring that with you everywhere you go?" you remark drily, one brow arching in clear contempt.

Ah, right. For a moment, in the heat of it all, he had almost forgotten that you really hate him.

“Can we keep the insults for after I'm done fucking you?” he groans, his arm falling in defeat. Yet, despite the frustration laced in his voice, there’s something oddly familiar about this, something comforting. The push and pull, the sharp edges of your words clashing against his: it’s a unique rhythm, a dynamic that belongs to the two of you alone; one that Viktor will never experience.

The idea makes him happier than it should.

You let out a dramatic sigh in response, waving a dismissive hand as if to say ‘whatever’.

He climbs over you, his body still sopping wet, water trailing down his skin and seeping into the sheets beneath you both. Droplets fall from his hair onto yours, cool against the lingering heat of your skin. The bed is going to be disgustingly damp later, and you will certainly complain and blame him for it, but he can’t bring himself to care about it right now.

The sight of his fully hard cock resting on your inner thigh makes his throat dry almost instantly. Jayce is more than aware he’s well endowed, and he hasn’t shied away from using it as a selling argument for flirting before; but this is so very different. His size dwarfs your cunt, like a little toy underneath him; the realization that he's going to get so deep inside of you that you'll never be able to fully get rid of him is enough to break whatever hesitation he might have still had.

He glances up at you with a cocky grin, expecting you to eye his arguably imposing member with some anticipation, only to find that you're looking away, gaze lost somewhere in the printed forest of the peeling wallpaper.

He clears his throat, and you turn back towards him, expression distant, maybe even cold.

“Want me to, um… prep you a bit?” he asks. He knows you’re soaking wet, he's made quite sure of that, but the thickness of his cock has usually required him to use a few fingers with his previous partners.

You seem disinterested, barely sparing him a look:

“I don't care. Just do it, Talis.”

The absurdity of the fact that you’re still using his last name after he’s eaten you out—and right before he screws you—would be comical if it wasn’t so deeply sad. He tears the plastic wrapper open, rolling the condom on himself without another word. He aligns his member with your entrance, just barely spreading your folds with his dick, before you interrupt him with a firm hand on his bicep.

The look you give him is full of something unspoken, heavy with meaning he can’t quite grasp—or maybe just refuses to.

"Just… be gentle,” you ask stiffly, like you doubt he’s even capable of it. “Like Viktor would."

That last part splinters something inside him, shatters a piece of his heart he thought had accepted he would never be the one you’d want.

For a second, everything blurs. The floodgate cracks open, and with it, the jealousy he thought he had under control surges forward, unrestrained and bitter.

Because Viktor. Always Viktor.

And never him.

He pushes in without replying, groaning at the resistance his tip is already facing. It takes a bit more force, but the head of his cock finally passes through the ring of muscle, and he's able to slowly and fully sheathe himself in, your wetness making the slide easier.

“Fuck- fuck, you're tight,” he sputters, the words falling out of him without his control. “You're so fucking tight, princess.”

Maybe it’s just that he hasn’t gotten laid in too long, but he doesn’t think he's ever been inside someone who feels this snug around him, like you were made for him. You’re walls are fluttering around him, squeezing him so firmly it’s as if your pussy is forbidding him from leaving. It's heavenly, and he stays still for a moment, just to carve in his memory the exact way you’re clenching around his cock.

A quick glance at your face tells him everything he needs to know: your eyes are squeezed shut, your brows furrowed deeply, likely lost in a world where he isn’t the one above you. There’s no doubt in his mind that you’re picturing him instead, rewriting reality with Viktor’s touch, Viktor’s voice, Viktor’s presence.

That’s fine. Perfectly fine.

Because by the time he’s done, by the time he gives it to you just right—hard enough, deep enough, good enough—he’ll make sure the only name you’re screaming is Jayce.

He starts pulling out before sharply shoving himself back in, and you let out an absolutely broken cry. There. As a sound that's for no one else but him.

He repeats the motion, again and again, the sharp feeling of your nails digging into his back making all thought incoherent. Your cries are driving him insane, raw and oversensitive, and he pounds into you harder with the knowledge Jayce Talis is the one tearing them out from your throat.

He looks down where your bodies meet, drunk off the idea of seeing his fat cock plunging into you, but he freezes.

There's blood.

It's not much, just a little red that has tinted some of your combined juices, but it's there, a stark contrast against your skin.

He opens and closes his mouth in incomprehension; he had been harsh, and hungry, yes, but you should have been wet enough to take him with only a slight burn, a nice feeling of fullness. How?

He looks at you in panic: your eyes are still sealed shut, but unshed tears have pooled in their corners, your lips stuck in a thin line.

You’re crying.

It’s so silent, so light, that he hadn't even heard it despite your proximity, despite him being quite literally inside of you. He’s staring at you, dumbfounded—the tightness, the blood, the tears—as the math begins to add up very unpleasantly in his head.

"Wait, are you—" he starts, voice laced with panicked disbelief.

You don’t answer.

Instead, you turn your face away, hiding it behind the crook of your arm, ever the prideful one. But he sees it anyway, the telltale tremble of your bottom lip.

And just like that, every ounce of his frustration, every drop of jealousy, vanishes in an instant. What’s left is something colder, heavier—realization.

You're a virgin.

His stomach twists. "I'm sorry, I—I had no idea—" he stammers, his mind racing to catch up. "Did I hurt you? Oh my god, yeah, I did. Do you want to stop? I’m so sorry—"

The words tumble out in a frantic rush, hands hovering over you like he doesn’t know where they should be—whether to comfort, to retreat, or to hold you close.

He moves to pull out, but you make a pained hissing sound, grabbing his arm to keep him in place.

You stay silent, breathing haggard, clinging to him like a buoy in a storm. Your fingers dig into his skin painfully, but you still refuse to meet his gaze.

Jayce swallows thickly, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Carefully, he slides a hand beneath your head, lifting it just enough to keep you from sinking further into yourself. With the other, he brushes away a few damp strands of hair stuck to your clammy forehead. You don’t speak, and neither does he.

There’s nothing he can say right now that wouldn’t feel meaningless.

Your eyes eventually open, and the few tears you had been holding back finally spill down your cheeks. He catches them with the pad of his finger, wiping them away as gently as he can.

You’re so still in his arms it scares him. Fragile in a way he’s never seen before. Like a doll he’s played too rough with, beautiful, limp, and oh so breakable. Not meant for the big, clumsy, uncalculated hands of someone like him, but rather, for a gentle and precise touch.

Meant for hands like Viktor’s.

The thought cuts deep, a jagged wound of self-loathing splitting open inside him. Jayce has never hated himself more than in this moment.

"I'm fine," you murmur at last, your voice steadier than he expected. "It’s not like I haven’t done anything before, I'm not a prude, just… not this."

You pause, exhaling slowly before finally admitting the words you’ve been trying to say all along. "I know it’s stupid, but I don’t want to look like a clueless idiot if Viktor ever… wants me."

Jayce’s chest aches at how small your voice sounds, at the quiet vulnerability you’re letting slip through the cracks after being so closed off to him for almost three years.

Why do you always say you’re fine when you aren’t? Why won’t you ever let me help? Why can’t you admit you’re scared?

"Viktor would never think you're an idiot," he breathes. "He’d think you’re the smartest girl in the entire world."

You hesitate: “…Yeah?”

"Yeah," he confirms without missing a beat. Then, with a faint smile, he can’t help but add, teasing, "Maybe just a little too thick-headed for your own good."

A weak but genuine laugh escapes your lips, lightening the weight between you, the tension slowly washing away, the tide receding just enough to let you both breathe.

"Big words from someone who compliments himself in the mirror, Jayce," you shoot back with a smirk, eyes glinting with a flicker of mischief. “And it’s not like you’re that big, anyway.”

He huffs out a laugh in disbelief: “Are you seriously pulling that card right now?”

You snort in reply, unable to hold your smile back.

It’s all so absurd, so fucked, tangled in emotions he doesn’t fully understand. But here you are, smiling at him—teasing, but genuine. A fragile thread of connection woven between sarcasm and chaos.

And then it hits him.

You’ve finally said his name.

Not in anger. Not in passing. Not as part of some joke.

Just his name, wrapped in laughter, soft around the edges.

It’s not exactly in the way he’s craved, not in the way that would make this his; but still, his name has left your lips with a real smile, with your eyes looking at nothing but him. Despite everything, it settles something deep inside him, filling the hollow space that’s been eating him alive.

It makes him feel whole.

"I’ll be fine," you tell him again, voice back to the one he knows and adores. "Just… a little slower, alright?"

Jayce exhales, nodding, his grip on you instinctively firming— not possessive, not demanding. Just there. An anchor for you, as much as it is for himself. He’s going to make sure you’re actually fine for once.

“Yeah. Of course,” he promises, but more than that, it carries the weight of a vow, something unspoken yet deeply solemn, something true.

If he’s water, then you are fire, never defeated, blazing brightly with something that could consume him whole. Maybe that’s why he lets himself drown in you—because it’s the only way he can hold onto something that he was never meant to touch.

You will always burn him, and he will always yield to the sound of his name on your lips.

🌸 Taglist Darlings 🌸: @soniiyi , @mischievous-piltovan, , @luv-urself-first, @girlidkthinkofsmth , @starflesh-moth , @raynoway , @just1cefor4ll , @apexie100

Tip a Coffee ☕: ko-fi.com/lefruitdelapassion

[cheralith]

Hi hope you're having a good day/evening, please ignore me if l'm making you uncomfortable or annoying you.

Hear me out karasu and his cannibal reader cuddling, when reader just bites his arm.

Anyways once again have a good day/evening :)

🍡 anon

— labitulate.

feat. karasu tabito | wc: 1.3k cw : gn!reader, they/them pronouns used, cannibal!au, cannibal!reader, lots of biting but no explicit cannibalism, fluff a/n : AHHH I FOUND IT !!! my darling 🍡 anon im sorry to keep you waiting for the reply, tumblrs been weird lately with asks that when i drafted your ask i couldn't find it in my drafts for the longest time (￣﹏￣；) !! the joy i felt when it miraculously appeared again! i was thinking about this prompt a lot so im more than happy that you somehow read my mind and sent this in, thank u! — an all-consuming desire masterlist.

"Ouch."

A bored tone of phrase, one that doesn't seem to actually exhibit an alert of pain drawls from the man tucked beside you.

Teeth go to slowly unhook themselves from a sunkisssed limb carefully, an imprined arch of post-anchored marks, bits of saliva pooled within the divots.

"Sorry," you murmur, pulling your mouth away from Karasu's arm where you've left a rather deep mark of yourself on it, marks that look a little darker than usual.

Karasu knew he should've pulled his arm away from you when he felt your warm breath on his skin, his hairs standing up from the sudden rush of heat compared to the coolness of his living room, where you and him lay on the couch, watching a simple children's movie to ease you down from the day's events. But he didn't.

He hasn't really been pulling you away from you, lately.

If anything, he's been drawing himself more towards you. Out of his own will, out of temptation—Karasu had yet to decide the manner (or let alone acknowledge it. All he knew was that he was drawn to you in some strange fashion he'd never felt before).

He blames it on the fact that you were a strange subject. An entity he hadn't fully deciphered the workings of yet. This outlier of a cannibal that rarely consumed flesh and bone, yet somehow whose withdrawals from it made them even stronger than those who were completely consumed by it.

"Odd," he had told you to your cowering face when you first showed him your capabilities, sallowed face all bloodied and mangled with the spare thigh he had purchased from Reo for his other patients clutched in your shaking hands (hands that seemed like they wanted to let go of it, as though it were painful to hold).

Karasu had never been too keen with compliments, as what he meant to say was, "extraordinary."

To take you under his wing for more research and specialized attention was one thing. To invite you, a cannibal whose full strengths and abilities he had yet to uncover, to his abode to act out plays of domesticity was another.

He had convinced himself that giving you back slices of normalcy was a part of his research. "Cook non-human human-like meat with subject to examine salivation volumes," one page read. But nowhere in his procedures did it ever say, "have a movie night with subject cuddled under a warm fleece blanket" anywhere.

Well, some things just have to be played by ear, Karasu supposes.

Karasu peeks over your shoulder to examine the arm that holds you to his chest, still not formally moving it away from you. It's neatly deep—aligned into place without recklessness. He's sure if he hadn't said anything despite the sinking, searing pain of your teeth slowly embedding themselves, you would've broken skin and drew blood.

"Did I hurt you...?" you ask, turning towards him with those large eyes that always seemed to be slightly scared since the day Hiori brought you to him.

"No," he lies casually whilst ignoring the mild burning ache of the bite. It felt more like an itch he couldn't scratch now if anything; he pinpoints it to the heightened pain tolerance that's developed since the years of building the underground clinic.

You mumble, toying with the spare edges of the blanket. "You sure?"

Karasu shakes his head, eyes going back to the TV so you wouldn't catch him looking at the marks. "If yer hungry, there's still popcorn on the table."

You thin your lips. "I don't want popcorn anymore."

"So go fix yerself up somethin' in the kitchen."

"I'm not hungry."

"Then don't use me as a chew toy," Karasu mutters without any actual hostility. He says it more like a tease and less like a complaint.

You frown. Karasu can see it from his peripheral vision. "I'm not."

"You are."

"No, I'm not," you argue back loosely, securing his arm back over your chest like a strap buckle before he can try to pull away (as though he was going to in the first place. He's learned to grow akin to the warmth you provide for him).

"Then why'd ya bite me?" he provokes.

"..."

You stay quiet for a while, your brows knitting as you try to focus on the images of the TV.

You're too hardheaded to actually admit it—but Karasu knew the answer.

Familiarity.

The incomplete motion of biting skin, attempting to replicate the wholeness of what you did that turned you into a cannibal to ease the urge somewhat. Though you could never properly satiate it, you did what you could and merely did a loose replication instead to temporarily calm the waters. Sharp teeth would go deep enough just to sting the nerves, but not enough to let the red rise.

Always biting, never breaking.

"I was bored," you lamely excuse.

Karasu scoffs, biting back a chuckle at your childish response with his bitten arm securing your shoulder. "Yeah, okay."

"I was," you insist.

His legs tangle with yours underneath the covers. "Never said ya weren't."

"You implied it."

"How so?"

"Your tone," you mutter. just jutting your lip out in response to his quick wit.

"My tone," he repeats with a thread of mockery, one you catch but don't say anything to draw to its attention. "Okay."

You abruptly turn towards him with that mild frustrated pinched on your face, one that he returns with a trying smirk. He sets the bitten arm on the back of the couch. "There it is again. That tone."

You're more human nowadays. Less like a shaking deer like the times you had an outburst and evacuated to the safety of the room, where Karasu, with a fresh bruise or cut of sorts made by yours truly, attempted to coax you out.

Your replies are more lengthy and woven in with who you once were prior to your attack, before you wilted and became nothing more than an empty vessel. The brief answers of "yes" and "no" were now replaced with your actual and true articulation of your opinions, threaded with thoughts. You seem brighter too, cheeks less hollow and skin more saturated.

This is what he wanted: to see you back to yourself. Not quite back to being human, but back to who you were... are.

Maybe this is why he let you into his apartment, why he let you have a spare key to it. Why he refers you by your first name instead of just your surname or patient number. To see who you were as a person and not a client of his.

Hiori warned him that it might not be the most responsible way of doing things. Karasu knew that—but still. Cannibals weren't the only ones with compulsory urges.

He lifts his grin. "What tone d'you keep talkin' about? I'm talkin' normally."

"You—!" you fidget in place, trying to find the words before you huff and flop back down. "Never mind. Whatever."

He lets out another brief laugh at your antics, his arm going back to the original position to secure you back to him.

The night goes on by, so does the movie. Karasu feels your hand toying with his own, his index finger sticking up on a will that's not his own, with a warm air then encompassing around it just before terse nips gently prick his skin again.

You nibble on his index for a while, still staring at the TV with Karasu's finger between your teeth, before you move onto graze his middle.

He watches you for a bit, then stays quiet again, choosing to put up with your nibbling.

You shouldn't be here, really. To have one of his patients have their back on his chest, his chin nestled on their shoulder with the lights dimmed and a blanket covering the two of you in his apartment is unheard of and extremely unprofessional (even if his own practice wasn't the most adequate clinic in comparison to some).

But you are. At least, the majority of you is. Karasu thinks there's still some leftover pieces he has yet to collect and piece back together to see you whole again.

For now, however, this will do.

[lo1k-diamonds]

Stellar Behavior 💜 Part 1

“What is worth an innocent’s life? You decide.”

PAIRING: Officer!Yoongi x Mafia (f)reader

SUMMARY: Yoongi has been in the police force for long enough to know that the system isn’t perfect, so when an injustice is about to put his protégé in jail, he has no other choice but to go to you. You’re the devil, but you’re hard to resist, and he needs to decide between falling into temptation or showing you that two can play the game.

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

GENRE: Gangster AU, Law AU, enemies to lovers, smut

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: corruption, power dynamics, blackmail, threats w/ a knife, slight degradation, sexual favors, oral (f rec)

A.N. I'm soooo excited, this fic is 🔥 Infinite thank yous to @moonleeai and @downbad4yoongi for working through my crazy and being incredible! Enjoy 🔥🔥

Masterlist | Masterpost | AO3 | Wattpad | Next Chapter >

Yoongi huffed and threw his eyeglasses onto the keyboard, rubbing his eyes so roughly he saw lights. It was no use; no matter how much he went over the evidence, again and again, he couldn’t change it.

“Hyung.”

He uncovered his eyes, only to be met with Taehyung’s sadness. His shoulders sagged from the sleepless nights ever since Jimin had gotten arrested, with dark circles bringing even more desolation to his otherwise heavenly features. He knew it wasn’t Taehyung’s intention, but the sight only unnerved Yoongi even more.

“Go home, get some sleep.”

Taehyung flinched, “But—”

“That’s an order, Officer.”

Taehyung stiffened and instantly bowed and showed his respects to his Superintendent before turning and leaving. Only then did Yoongi heave a deep breath and observe around him. It was weird seeing his department at the police station empty, without the officers at their desks taking calls or doing paperwork while on one of their 24-hour shifts. But they had all been shaken up, and so he had sent them home.

He was proud of his Division, and as their Chief, he couldn’t be more certain of everyone’s conduct and character. This included Jimin’s, and it was the reason why he was losing his mind over this case.

No matter how much he reviewed the footage and evidence, there was no mistake — Officer Jimin had seemingly shot his partner dead during an arrest gone wrong. This was a natural conclusion, judging by the body camera of the now deceased cop, Officer Junghee, that had captured Jimin nearing him with a fuming pistol in his hand. One that matched the ballistics report on Yoongi’s desk.

This was why the prosecution wanted to charge him with manslaughter at the very least, but Yoongi could not be convinced. The body camera also captured the panic in Officer Jimin’s voice and expression as he tried to save his downed partner. Yoongi didn’t care if that was Jimin’s gun or if it was fuming in his hand — he didn’t believe it.

“It wasn’t me!” The words Jimin shouted as he was arrested conveyed an absolute world of hurt and combined with the shock in Jimin’s eyes was seared into Yoongi’s retinas, causing him to dig the heel of his hands into his eyes again. But no matter how much he attempted to change the image, it wouldn’t. Jimin, his protégé, was still being handcuffed and taken away while begging, “I didn’t, you have to believe me! He put it in my hands! Hyung!”

Yoongi nudged his eyeglasses off the keyboard, locked his computer, and grabbed his coat. On long nights like these, he didn’t bother staying in uniform, only wearing black pants with a white shirt and his badge and holster belt. He made his way outside and got into his car, acknowledging whoever he met along the way. Temperatures were freezing, and his car didn’t start immediately. He reached for his nicotine gum while he waited for the car to warm up. When it finally started, so did the 3 AM news on the radio right as he left the parking lot.

“In a shocking revelation, an officer from the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency shot his partner dead after pulling up to a suspicious vehicle in Dongjak District. The mounting evidence is undeniable, and the prosecution is discussing the potential penalty in such a case, with the spokesperson revealing in a press conference that while mistakes happen, justice needs to be served.”

Yoongi kept chewing and driving as the prosecutor’s voice echoed through the speakers. On the outside, Yoongi was the picture of calm, cool, and collected, but inside, he was fuming. He had spoken with the prosecutor many times, who preferred a clean-cut arrest to build his case to run for whatever political role he was after rather than fight for justice, as he claimed. Yoongi had always known that multiple interests abound in the justice system, but now he was starting to get pissed.

When he parked the car, he looked outside through the windshield, observing quietly as the people moved in and out of the Aether. The bouncers kept drunks at bay, and despite the booming music and the flashy lights, everything looked normal for a nightclub.

He removed his belt and badge, shoving them in the glove compartment so hard that something fell out. He reached to grab it from the floor, his frown instantly turning into a scowl. It was a photo of him hugging a woman, laughing, taken many years ago when they were still happy. When they were not even married yet, let alone divorced.

He got out of the car and ripped the photo into as many tiny pieces as possible, dropping the scraps in a trashcan along with his gum. Then he stopped in front of the bouncers with his hands in his pockets, saying six little special words.

“I want to see the boss.”

The first bouncer just scoffed a laugh and shook his head, but the second one eyed him from head to toe, “If you’re here to inspect, then you have to identify yourself first.”

“Not an inspection,” Yoongi said nonchalantly, glancing around. “It’s not an official visit.”

The smirking bouncer kept the flow of the people going in and out while the serious one, resembling the first almost to a T, pressed his earpiece further into his ear, waiting for orders. Yoongi had noticed the cameras already while he was walking up, and he wondered how long it would take for them to know exactly who he was and why he was there.

The serious bouncer moved closer to him, “Are you armed?”

“No.”

“I have to make sure.”

Yoongi glanced at him, then nodded, raising his hands as he let the man make sure he was unarmed. When the tall man rose from his knees after checking Yoongi’s ankles, he lowered his arms and waited for the goon to catch his breath.

“Alright, you can go in.”

He moved past the bouncers and into the entryway, but he hadn’t even made it to the coat check when someone approached him. Just by the light clothing, styled hair, and badge hanging on his belt, Yoongi could immediately tell that the man worked there.

“Follow me.”

Yoongi wasn’t there to sightsee, but he could appreciate the columns and marble structures and statues. Along with the paintings, velvet curtains, and carpets, it made the Aether look like a temple or divine abode of the Gods. The aesthetic intensified as they went up the stairs, but he didn’t have time to register much. In a second, he was walking into what appeared like an ordinary office — a pleasant space with a large desk at the center in front of huge dark windows that showed the lights flashing from the dance floor. He ignored the liquor table, the cabinets with files, and the black velvet sofas to the side. What his eyes were immediately drawn to was you — you who had pushed the large computer screen to the side so you could watch him come in. Your chin rested graciously on your intertwined fingers, with your elbows on the desk, eyes flickering with amusement, watching him through dark curled lashes. He hadn’t even noticed he had walked to your desk or that the door had closed behind him, but then you stood up, letting your delicate arms fall alongside your tight black dress. Your black, straight hair slid over your shoulders, framing the plunging cleavage of your dress, and when you smiled, he felt hot—molten hot.

“Welcome, Superintendent,” you smiled with a glint of amusement, your perfect teeth shining in the overhead light, and he clenched his fists behind his back. “Or should I say Yoongi? I was told you weren’t here in an official capacity, but…” You eyed him from head to toe, and he did his best to stay poised and calm. “You don’t look like you’re here to club.”

Yoongi was already sweating, not out of nervousness but because of you. Because you always eyed him like you owned him, always had a hint of mischief to every smile, and were always as elusive as a ghost. One he couldn’t catch and had grown tired of running after.

Still, hearing his name in your mouth for the first time… made him pull on the collar of his shirt, “Not here to party; I’m here on business.”

Your eyebrow twitched, and he looked at you seriously; you were a cunning fox of the worst kind. Worse than a weed, than a pest, than the bloody smoke still hanging in the air and making his fingers twitch. He had a simple goal, and he had to stay focused.

“Not an official visit, but you’re here on business…” you mused out loud then shrugged. “Soon, it will be four in the morning,” you revealed with a hint of disdain as you neared the table that held liquor in crystal decanters. “Surely, if you wanted to do something official, you’d wait at least three more hours?” You chuckled as you poured a finger of whiskey into a glass. “Want some?” He shook his head, and you shrugged again. You made your way back to your desk, but instead of going around it, you perched on the side of it, close enough for him to see your dress parting, giving hints of your upper thighs, “What can I do for you, Chief?”

Yoongi had nerves of steel; he ignored the lush skin of your thighs, the cleavage, the numbing sound reverberating through the walls, the dimmed lights, and the way your eyes seemed to challenge him with every blink.

He focused, “I want your help.”

Your eyes widened comically, the image of innocence and confusion, “Mine? What could such a powerful person need from me?”

Thankfully, your coy attitude irritated him and helped him concentrate. “I know the suspicious car they were chasing was one of yours.”

Your eyes widened even more, but this time, you brought your glass to your lips to hide a smile, “My, my, Officer. I know I have many cars, but to say I was a fugitive—”

“You know what I mean,” his jaw clenched, and you licked your lips.

“I don’t,” you could only smile, and he clenched his fists again. There it was. It pissed the fuck out of him. “Are you going to arrest me, Chief? Make good use of those deduction skills of yours and put pretty handcuffs around my wrists?”

He hated that his heart jumped in his chest as you whispered salaciously and leaned into him, shortening the distance between you. He hated how tempting you looked, and he hated the way your eyes fixed on his, as if you were ready to follow suit with your provocation. You were probably a tease like that with everyone all the time. It pissed him off even more.

He only blinked, ever the master of showing a relaxed demeanor, “I have no evidence to arrest you, nor am I here in that capacity.” 

It instantly hit him, as you straightened your back and finished the drink in your hand, that he was going to have to ask for your help. Not outsmart you, not convince you, not squabble with half facts and hunches — he needed your help and that meant he had to come down off his pedestal.

“My— An officer from my team will be sentenced for something he didn’t do. I’m out of options; I’ve hit a dead-end.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you put down the empty glass, “Don’t tell me — the system he holds and protects with his life won’t even try to prove his innocence.”

His jaw clenched; he hated that you weren’t completely wrong. “I’m trying to prove his innocence.”

The corners of your mouth twitched in a smile. “What makes you think I can help?”

He kept his mouth closed for a thoughtful moment. There was no use in accusing you again. Your smile wasn’t sly, so he decided to go for it. “You’re one of the biggest players.”

“Me?” You acted surprised, “I just own a few businesses here and there…”

“They say you’re the one to contact for information.” You tilted your head, and he insisted, “Even if that wasn’t your car, you’d know about it because it was on your turf. You’re you. I just know you know something that can help us solve this.”

That answer seemed to satisfy you because your lips and eyes revealed a small yet genuine smile that caught his breath. It made him realize he was leaning towards you now, exposing himself like that, but he couldn’t bring himself to hate it. Not when you looked at him like that, feeding into his hope.

“Say I do,” you started, eyes fixed on his. “Say I have evidence that could exonerate Officer Park.” He snapped straight; he had never told you the name of the Officer, and the media didn’t know it either. Yet what got him were your words, “Why would I help you?”

He clenched his jaw so hard that his teeth clicked. He just about growled with the way irritation mixed with his desperation, making him reel.

“Come on, Chief. Talk to me,” you pressed, wanting him to push through both the shock and the stick up his ass. “You must be desperate enough if you’re asking for my help, and I’m not denying it. I’m saying I might have what you need. What would you do to save an innocent from prison for life or worse?”

He didn’t think, “You have it? Something that could undeniably prove his innocence?”

He knew before he was done asking that it was impossible and that he was acting crazy. Yet, you leaned into him, meeting him halfway, your breath hitting his chin, “In those exact words? I do.” You sat back and let your words sink in, not knowing they gave him a full-body shudder. He always knew you were powerful and had your ways, but holy shit— “What do you have that I want?”

He opened his mouth but instantly closed it. Objectively, he had nothing. But maybe there was something he could do. First, though, he needed to know it was real. “What evidence do you have? Show it to me—”

“Hmmm, no,” you pressed your lips and twisted your nose, displeased. “That’s not how this works. This is based on trust. Besides, you don’t seem to have anything to offer.”

For a split second, he wondered if you were bullshitting him, but he honestly didn’t care. He had to do something. “You want something concrete for a maybe?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” your tone hardened as your expression lost humor.

“Alright, name it. Tell me what is worth your help.”

His tone was soft, and it worked to soothe you. His dark eyes helped; there was so much willingness in them, and you liked that. The man there asking for your help to correct an injustice was the kind of man you were looking for.

“Since you asked,” you cheekily started, pulling your hair behind your shoulders. “I want three things.” He didn’t even blink, so you continued, “The first is a favor. Of my choice and at my discretion whenever I shall need it. The second is for you to get on your knees. And the third is for you to eat.”

He blinked, “What?” He looked down to follow your hands over your thighs, and you spread your legs for him, though the black dress covered between them. He shook his head in bewilderment, “You’re crazy!”

“Crazy?” You chuckled, “I think I’m being quite reasonable.”

“You— Do you hear what you’re asking?”

He sounded breathless and could feel the heat on his cheeks, which was not ideal. He almost managed to step back, but a quirk of your eyebrow kept him still — he needed that evidence.

“Oh my, Chief Min. Are you getting heated at the thought of a couple of favors?” He scoffed, and you continued your tease, “Or is it the knees? Too proud to beg?”

“No, not too proud,” he mumbled between teeth. He was ready to kneel on the floor and beg, and the heat rising in his neck told him the rest wasn’t a problem either. And that was the problem. “The favor—” He cleared his throat, scratching it, “What is the favor?”

“I don’t know yet,” you shrugged, and it seemed to him like it didn’t matter. He knew that couldn’t be true, that had to be what you were really after — something specific from the Superintendent of the Seoul Metropolitan Police. And yet your eyes were shining in such a way that he almost forgot who you were. Almost.

“Something illegal, no doubt.”

You sighed and he took the moment to let the anger cool him — you were a criminal about to use his good intentions to surely accomplish something even worse. Instead of cooling him, irritation made him snap his knuckles and shift on his feet.

“I don’t know what it is, but it shouldn’t matter,” you said more coldly, squinting your eyes. “What is worth an innocent’s life? You decide.”

There was a hint of impatience in your tone that only riled him up more. He turned to you, “What’s stopping me from just—”

“You’re not that stupid,” you interrupted, raising your chin. His eyes noticed the surveillance cameras and you smirked, “They’re not who you should be concerned about.”

Your smile was predatory but he scoffed. You didn’t need to threaten him, and he didn’t like the coercion. He refused to look at you for a moment, giving you the impression that he was weighing his options. In reality, he was figuring out what angered him more — the fact that he was about to make a deal with a devil like you, or that he was that turned on from it.

You huffed and got off the desk, your heels clicking on the floor like a timer had just gone off. “Never mind—”

He grabbed your arm to keep you from walking away, and in a second, something sharp was poking his lower stomach. You both froze in place, your gaze angry and fixed on his, while his heart raced inside his chest. He didn’t let go of your arm, and you didn’t lower your knife.

“I never heard a yes from those pretty lips, so…” you spoke quietly, then pressed the blade harder. “Hands off.”

He knew you could put your money where your mouth was, and that if you wanted to kill him and get rid of him, you would. Yet, his grip didn’t lessen as he observed you. He was still trying to figure things out — not what to do, but you. He hated you objectively; you represented everything wrong with the world. Jimin was innocent; you shouldn’t be bargaining for his life, you should do the right thing. But you weren’t, you wanted to play with fire. Maybe even to get burned.

“What is it…” he started quietly, still eying your angry eyes. “Is it the risk? The humiliation? The footage for blackmailing me later? The power over a figure of authority?”

You scoffed, leaning in to answer just as quietly, “No risk, Chief. The footage might be insurance, but you’re a man of your word. No power over you because you’ll be doing it willingly. And no humiliation,” you chuckled. “It’s a privilege to eat at this table. Although…” You looked down, then smirked. “I can play if that’s what you like.”

He looked away from your eyes for the first time and almost flinched; his pants had a tent. He couldn’t even think; why was his body betraying him like this? He tried pulling away and letting you go, but you pressed the tip of your knife harder.

“Nuh-uh,” you whispered, taking a deep breath a little closer to his neck. “I heard the missus left cause you couldn’t get it up, but won’t you look at that—” Your tone was sly, and he gripped your arm harder in retaliation. You laughed, “I guess she just didn’t know how to play. Or maybe you like this,” your voice lowered wantonly, and a shiver ran up his spine as though he was starting to attune to it. “Like not having a choice, to be in danger, to be forced to do something reprehensible.”

He had to lick his lips because for a second he thought he was drooling, “I have a choice.”

You smiled and his cock twitched, “Then choose.”

He eyed your smile and leaned into you, but you chuckled and playfully pressed the tip of the knife to impose distance, ignoring the red droplets tainting the fabric.

“On your knees, Chief.”

His eyes snapped to yours, and he pulled you by the arm, disregarding the blade, so you’d walk back until the back of your thighs hit the desk. Then, he gripped your hips and helped you on the desk, fisting your dress in the same movement to get it out of the way as he kneeled between your legs. Your knife had slipped from your hand as you rested them on the desk for support, and you didn’t think to pick it back up. You wanted him to eat you and mean it, but he was going above and beyond — nuzzling your thighs and inhaling your scent, frantically fighting with your dress, and trying to pry your legs further apart so he could have access.

When his nose poked your clit, you jumped in place, and his fingers dug into your hips, even through the fabric of the dress. Just looking at the way he was fighting to get his mouth on you was positively melting you, but you wanted it to actually happen.

“Slide them down,” you breathed after he nuzzled and licked your core through your panties enough times to cover you with goosebumps.

He immediately obliged, and you shimmied to help him get rid of them. He threw them on the floor, then gripped your legs apart before giving you a look that seared you in place. You didn’t know what it was, but you were living for it, and the excitement burned your gut. The Superintendent looked like a piece of forbidden heaven between your thighs; who knew he’d have you melting like this just at the hint of doing what you asked?

A smirk spread on your lips as he kept struggling with your dress, until suddenly — rip. He bunched the fabric and pulled it, causing the slit that revealed your thigh to rip, and you chuckled. You liked that energy, that hunger; the way he was willing to destroy to have his way. Instantly, he had free leeway to uncover your core and press his mouth, rolling his tongue all over your slick folds.

You jolted with a sigh, gripping his hair at the back of his head. The more he laved his tongue over your slit to taste you, the more you had the urge to move, but you stayed still. With your eyes closed, you enjoyed every second of his discovery, from his licks to his tasting and humming. You heaved the breath you were holding when he nibbled your heat right before finding your clit to suckle, and your voice finally came out. You could almost laugh at how easily he had found his way, but your mind wasn’t there. While he found his rhythm, you guided him with expressive sighs, grazing your acrylic nails over his scalp without ever forcing him. You wouldn’t; his hunger was part of the power trip. Chief Min would eat you, give you what you wanted, and service you because you had that much power. You could bring someone like him to his knees. He liked it.

You suddenly pulled on his hair so he’d look up at you, and he did, not even bothering with a quizzical look. You bit your lip to stop a smile and relented your grip, and he looked down for a second. It was all it took for him to get back to it, and you let your head fall back with a sigh — case in point.

“The things you do for duty, Chief…”

His tongue kept laving over you as if you were desert, focused, regardless of your taunt. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten where he was or why because his hands started gently exploring your spread thighs. His fingers pressed to your curves and didn’t stop even when he felt the garter that held the knife you had used on him. Instead, he pulled on it, making it snap against your thigh, ripping a stronger moan from you. 

It was then he realized you needed something stronger, so he pressed his face harder against your cunt, latched onto your clit, and started rutting into you. You were surprised but instantly melted, and your fingers curved around his hair. The grind of his lips pressing into you while his mouth held the suction was already maddening, but the thrumming of his tongue on your clit was the cherry on top. You didn’t have time to make it a challenge, or maybe you didn’t want to; his rhythm was perfect against your heat, and you moaned when it intensified. The strumming was precise and maddening, each tap firm and steady, giving you enough time to despair for the next one and moan when it came, leaving you to anticipate what would come next. 

Your hips started moving on their own, and that was when you knew you had let go. There was no point in pretending he wasn’t doing it just like you wanted, or that you weren’t rolling into his face to feel him harder, forcing him to dig his long fingers into the flesh of your hips as he drank the slick melting out of you. The very sounds of his humming and licking drove the blood to your cheeks and emboldened your hips, messily humping against his mouth. You could feel the edge right before you, and every time you ground on his mouth, you thought that would be it.

“Fuck,” you groaned between teeth, looking down to find burning brown eyes drinking you more greedily than his hot mouth. He wasn’t stopping you or holding you back, he was letting you fuck his mouth however you wanted, and it popped you. 

You let your head fall back and pressed his face to your cunt, your moans pitching higher when he sucked harder, as if to pull all the pleasure out of you like it was venom. He rode your climax with you, gripping your trembling legs around him as though he wished you’d smother him, and finally, you looked down. Your walls were still throbbing in the aftershocks when he dragged his tongue across you slowly, and you groaned through a smirk, then pulled him away by the hair.

“Easy there,” you smiled and let your legs down.

You quickly pulled your dress down to cover you again while your other hand raked through your long hair, putting it in place. He rose slowly to his feet with his eyes on you, and you didn’t even try hiding your heaving chest; he could see it well with such an observant gaze. His eyes were so intense that you shuddered and bit your lip, but avoiding them only landed your own on his evident arousal, and you smirked.

Looking up, for a moment, your taunt got caught in your throat. Min Yoongi looked the absolute best covered in your cum from nose to chin — deliciously ravenous.

You licked your lips, raising your hand to his face but stopping before you touched him. He mimicked you, his pink tongue collecting your slick over his lips while he focused on yours. Still, when your hand moved down, so did his eyes. You smirked, dodging his erection at the last second to hide your hand under your dress.

You hummed, closing your eyes as your fingers collected your wetness mixed with his saliva, and then brought them straight to your mouth. You licked them first, tasting what he did before putting them in your mouth and sucking. 

You clenched, knitting your eyebrows as you realized how turned on you were. You were throbbing and craving something to push into you and fuck you senseless, and opening your eyes, you saw the same urge staring right back at you.

Your fingers left your mouth with a pop, and then you smiled, shaking your head, “Should have asked for a good fuck too.”

His dark eyes stayed on yours for a moment, and even when he wiped his chin with the back of his hand, they remained on yours. It was almost a taunt, and you grinned; you loved a good challenge, and even more the kind of fucking that lustful gaze promised. But you knew the worth of asking, and you were not going to come out losing.

“Maybe next time.”

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Sweet indulgence 🛼

Written for the Valentine's Day pop-up challenge of the @steddieholidaydrabbles blog.

Rated: G

CW: none

Tags: No UD AU; Future fic; Flirting; Sexual Tension; Record label owner!Eddie; Waiter!Steve; Steve in roller skates; First date (Eddie says it counts 💖)

Notes: continued from this one.

"You can’t be fucking serious,” Steve says. 

“Why not?” Eddie throws the garishly pink flier back down on the table. “It’s still Valentine’s Day.” 

“For thirteen more minutes,” Steve bristles, pen pressing down on his little notepad so hard that Eddie is afraid he’ll punch a hole through it. “You don’t even have a date.” 

“Didn’t know that was required,” Eddie grins. “All I’m saying is, if you offer a Valentine’s Day special, then that special should be available for the entirety of Valentine’s Day, so …” 

Steve makes an exasperated sound, but still jots down the order. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” he barks over his shoulder as he pushes away from the table and disappears into the kitchen. “Just so you know.” 

Eddie watches him glide away, legs and ass a meal in their own right in those shorts and knee-highs and the fucking roller skates. 

Maybe the boy has a point. Maybe he is being ridiculous. 

It’s not exactly normal behavior, discovering that your former high school king is now a waiter at the diner down the street, and then promptly declaring said diner your new after-work dinner spot. But Eddie never claimed to be normal. And he’s always been a tad bit obsessed with Steve Harrington, so here they are. 

Steve has long resigned himself to his nightly visits. Never once has he acknowledged their shared history, and Eddie hasn’t pushed. Instead, he’s slowly putting together all the little puzzle pieces he’s been collecting. 

Steve will grumble and scowl and bitch over Eddie’s absurd orders and constant attempts at flirting, but he never fails to pocket his generous tips, so he must be struggling financially. He’s pulling at least one job besides the one at the diner. Most likely a babysitting gig, as indicated by the sparkly hair clips and stickers that Eddie regularly spots in his hair and on his clothes. He’s also not seeing anyone, because if he was, he sure as hell wouldn’t be working the night shift on Valentine’s Day. 

He also hasn’t eaten in a while, if the tummy rumble as he brings the order is anything to go by. Eddie quirks a brow. Steve blushes and hugs the tray to his chest. 

“Enjoy your meal,” he says, but Eddie holds up a hand and gestures invitingly at the empty seat opposite him. 

“Join me?” 

Steve’s brow furrows. “I’m on the clock.” 

“Oh yeah, and super fucking busy, I can see,” Eddie quips. “Indulge me, my liege.” 

Steve chews on his bottom lip, casting a hesitant glance towards the kitchen. Finally, he sighs and slips into the free seat. Eddie hands over one of the two cupcakes on his plate, decorated in a lopsided tower of frosting and a smattering of heart-shaped sprinkles. Steve devours nearly half of it with two enormous bites, and if triumph blooms warm and heavy in Eddie’s chest, that’s neither here nor there. 

“So,” he drawls, ignoring his own cupcake in favor of stacking his chin on top of his folded hands, peering at Steve over the rim of his sunglasses. “How was your day? Been handing out lots of these little babies?” 

Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, sure,” he says around a mouthful of frosting. “Have you seen this place? Premium date spot. So classy and romantic.” 

They lapse into silence for a few seconds. Steve grabs the milkshake with the two straws without waiting for an invitation and takes an enormous sip. There’s a tiny pink sprinkle at the corner of his mouth. Eddie resists the temptation to reach out and wipe it away. 

“What about you, huh? You own the record label down the street, right? Surely your day was much more interesting than mine.” 

So he isn’t the only one who’s been puzzling, Eddie thinks. 

“Hellfire Records,” he nods, happy to ramble about his baby, even though Steve’s attempt at diverting the topic is not nearly as subtle as the boy may think. “We have some pretty cool bands, but I’m not sure they’re your taste, exactly.” 

“Oh?” Steve shoves the last bit of cupcake into his mouth, licking leftover frosting off his fingers. “Bold of you to assume that you’d know my taste. Indulge me?” 

Eddie does. 

Steve does, it turns out, know fuck all about metal and grunge, but he’s surprisingly interested and open-minded. Much more open-minded than Eddie would’ve expected from Hawkins High royalty. By the time they wrap up their little talk and make their way over to the counter, Steve has finished not only the milkshake, but also the second cupcake.

When Eddie hands over the usual fifty, Steve hesitates. 

“You already gave me all the food.” 

Eddie smiles easily. “So? Gotta let my favorite waiter know I appreciate him on this fine holiday.” 

Something flits over Steve’s face, something open and vulnerable, but it’s gone as soon as it came. 

“Don’t think you can buy my affection, Eddie,” he murmurs, snatching the bank note from Eddie’s fingers and stuffing it into his apron pocket. 

“Don’t worry,” Eddie winks and saunters towards the door - carefully making sure to keep the giddy spring out of his step. Steve called him Eddie. Not Munson. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Good,” Steve calls after him. “See you tomorrow?” 

“You bet, big boy,” Eddie says. He’s just about to leave when something else occurs to him. “And I’ll be sure to pick a nicer spot for our second date, promise.” 

Steve’s blush is as pink as the sprinkle that’s still stuck at the corner of his mouth. Eddie doesn’t wait for his retort, just shuts the door and makes for home, grinning like a maniac.

🛼💕🛼💕🛼💕🛼💕🛼💕🛼💕🛼💕🛼💕🛼💕

Tagging some ppl who expressed interest last time: @p0lybl4nkk @fairytalesreality @colidamae @dissociatingdemon @steddhie @formosusiniquis @steddiehasmywholeheart @ellaelsinore @rozzieroos

Part 3

[spacebubblehomebase]

My Official Hazbin Hotel Stargazers AU Masterpost!

Or the #HHStargazersAU Checklist + MORE!!!

But before all that, here's the general synopsis:

Charline is introducing her first ever girlfriend, Vaggie, to her circus running dad, Lucius Magne. But unbeknownst to them, Vaggie is hiding a big secret: She's Charlie's guardian angel! Tasked with setting her on the right path towards good, but to make things more complicated, the family's live-in hire, Alastor, is actually a demon that's been trying to tempt Charlie's dad to the opposite side! So how can this unlikely pair keep their respective truths hidden when mysteries start to unfold, how do they play house while also playing tug-of-war for Heaven & Hell, and just HOW did they get in this situation in the first place? Well, one thing's for certain, family dinners will never be boring as feelings unravel and everything grand is yet to be revealed. So tune in~!

Or something like that...

So if this summary seems like your cup of tea and you happen to enjoy both Chaggie & Radioapple content, then hop on aboard! Because, let me tell you, the ride I've prepared is so convoluted, I wish I charge people for it, but it's FREE! Unfortunately, all updates usually depend on my schedule and plans for plot may always change. But this semi-serious story of mine follows a loose "artfic" format anyway. A term I use to mean: I write just as much as I draw. So this is both a fanart and a fanfic AU now basically. But everything for it can be found on Twitter, Insta, or Tumblr. I post just about almost the same things in each, so there's no need to look further for more! Though I won't protest if you ASK for more as in the end, this gigantic AU is just a personal project of mine and any support. Be it a little acknowledgement or a major gift of a comment goes a long way to fuel my motivation! Now that the sappy stuff is out of the way though, here's the links to my story and list of future posts that would be regularly updated anytime I remove or add something new!

Relevant Lore List:

Click title to be redirected to the post and some titles are [Redacted] for the sake of avoiding any spoilers...

-A New Day Will Dawn. ✅

-BONUS Interaction (& Ask). ✅

-Color Palette Reference. ✅

-Say My Name. ✅

-Divorce Aftermath (Ask). ✅

-Meet The Magnes. ✅

-The Stargazers. ✅

-Lore sneak peek. (Ask). ✅️

-Shadow Of His Light.

-His Pride.

-Her Joy.

-Close Calls.

-Surprise.

-The Dreamers.

-Phantom Pains.

-[Redacted] The [Redacted].

-[Redacted] That Day.

-A Cold Day In Hell.

-Prelude Promises.

-The Dancing Devil's Circus.

-Blossoming Feelings.

-False Start.

-The [Redacted, Redacted, Redacted].

-When A [Redacted, Redacted].

-The Last [Redacted] Lament.

-Moth To Her Flame.

-A Taste of Temptation.

-Better Than Never.

-Free Fall.

-HerStory.

-Wake Up Call.

-Seeds Of Doubt.

-Mother Knows Best.

-Fuck You, [Redacted].

-Dad Meet Mom.

-With Tax Benefits.

-Dawn Of A New Day.

-The First Stage.

-Reprise Reveal.

-B.U.S.T.E.D.

-A Third [Redacted].

-The Show Must Go On.

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

Related Posts:

((Asks are answered in between updates, but due to the amount of them, I unfortunately may still miss some. But rest assured I do read them! I just can't get to everyone. TvT Very much appreciate them though!))

-AU Idea Announcement.

-Magnes Are Humans (Asks).

-AU Name Explanation (Asks).

-Author Is Delulu.

-Excited To Spoil (Asks).

-Human Carmilla Carmine.

-Radioapple Dynamic (Asks).

-Alastor's Eyes (Asks).

-Questions About Lilith (Asks).

-Outdated Sneak Peek (Asks).

-Stimming Radioapple (Asks).

-Cryprid Alastor (Asks).

-Flavor Of The AU (Asks).

-Magne Discussion (Asks).

-Artist With Chaggie (Asks).

-Hug Alastor Request (Asks).

-Vaggie UwU (Asks).

-Yep. Still doing the AU (Asks).

-Alastor's Voodoo (Asks).

-Radio Signals (Asks).

-Masterpost Suggestion (Asks).

-Future Animatic Announcement!

-Dynamics & SPOILERS!!! (Asks).

-BONUS Vaggie's "dad" (Asks).

-Radioapple + Art Advice (Asks).

-ALAKAZAM!!! (Asks).

-Update about updates (Asks).

-First AU fanart??? HOLY SHIT!!!

-MORE fanart!!! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

-Reminded about my AU again. (Asks).

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-Bubbly💙

[leafydory]

I Need You.

(18+ Minors Please Do not Interact)

(Needy tired after work Zayne x Female Reader)

(Fluff to Smut, Married AU)

Zayne had a long day.

That’s an understatement for what he felt, what he endured, what he suffered.

Hours of endless, continuous, never-ending surgeries he needed to complete.

Zayne had always been a busy man, but today was different—draining. It left his fine, prim clothing rumpled; his hair tousled and abandoned, no longer neatly combed. His eyes sunk deep beneath dark sockets, highlighting eye bags he refused to acknowledge—or even glance at in the mirror.

When was the last time he ate a meal?

Right… he couldn’t even remember.

He just wanted to go home.

And home had always been you.

It always will be You.

He gathered himself.

How long had he been staying at Akso Hospital?

Dr. Greyson had stated, “Two and a half days.” Great. At least someone was taking over his shift now. Finally, he could rest.

The ride home felt eternal. He hadn’t been this impatient in his entire life, staring coldly at red traffic lights. The moment they turned green, he rushed forward.

Traffic laws? All abided.

Speed limit? He was at the maximum—rushing home to see you.

His lovely wife.

Finally.

He unlocked the door. The soft click echoed his arrival—1:00 AM.

He expected you to be asleep, but there you were, watching some late-night infomercial about kitchen appliances.

He couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath.

“Darling... we already have a lot of kitchen appliances. Unless that pan splits itself in half, we’re not buying any more.”

The calm, warm doctor teased, wrapping you in his arms the moment he sat beside you on the couch. Already, he was nuzzling into your neck, exhaling shakily as if trying to collect himself—recharging. And you, of course, were his living, breathing source of energy.

“I’m just entertained. It’s buy-three-get-one-free, after all,” you chuckled, trying to justify why you were watching that in the first place.

It was domestic. Calm. Reassuring.

Yet, you couldn’t help but be worried—seeing Zayne in such a worn-down state.

“Zayne… honey… rough day at work?” you asked softly, running your fingers through his hair, easing the tension in his scalp.

Zayne shuddered at the contact, leaning in more.

“Two days. Two nights without you beside me… it almost drove me insane.”

You chuckled gently, matching his energy, embracing the way he coped with humor.

“Does having me in your arms keep you sane, Dr. Zayne?” you teased formally, lightening the moment.

“Mhm… it does,” he murmured, low and approving, his breath still unsteady.

“It always does…”

His words lingered.

Silence filled the space. You felt his body settle—a puddle of contentment. He let out a deep sigh, burying his face against your chest, breathing in your scent. His wife was here. Beside him. Loving him.

He needed you.

“Darling…”

He spoke reverent like a prayer, suddenly his lips met yours, soft at first, a peck, then it deepens, needy, deep that it states a claim. Zayne has always been a calm man, controlled, collected... Yet the zayne on your arms right now was starved, worshipping your body while his hold on your waist and hips tightened, pulling you edgingly close to him, shaky breaths, lips trailing down to your jaw, neck, collarbone then settled on top of your plush nippple hard breasts.

“I need you…”

Those words alone made your knees weak. Your panties were soaked, cheeks flushed from the sudden shift.

Moments ago, he had been teasing you about TV ads. Now, he was on top of you—tie removed, eyes ravenous. Staring at his first true meal in days.

“I’m here… so give in to your needs, Zayne.”

A temptation. One he couldn’t resist.

Clothes? Gone, fingers? On your quivering cunt knowing every inch to tease with, lips? Worshipping the peaks of your breasts, branding marks there that can't be helped. Truly he can't help himself. He wants more, he needs more.

"I don't want you to regret those words..."

He whispers in concern, between panting breaths, he still can't help but worry about you despite his raging need right now.. holding his hardened cock positioning it by your sweet cunt.

"Please tell me if it hurts..." Before you can even register his words, his cock thrusts in slowly, feeling your tight insides clenching on him, it's enough to make a man lose his breath and groan in pleasure.

You? Quivering, trembling underneath him, moaning passionately as you clung on his neck, nails digging

"Zayne... Harder, Please..." A plea, he lost it.

"Seems like you need me as much as I needed you darling.."

Zayne mentions while he's literally thrusting his cock repeatedly on your pussy, feeling every wetness making erotic squelch, holding your hips to steady as he thrusts more deeper, more harder, more eager to hear more of your pleased moans

"Can you blame me? I needed you for 2 days that you were gone... So you better compensate" You taunted, earning a smirk of acknowledgement from Zayne

"I can't keep my wife from waiting anymore then."

His hands found the end of your pony tail, tugging your hair back and exposing your lips near his as he devours, tongue deep, dueling in hunger, muffling your eager moans, his cock continuously fucking your pussy deep and hard like you wanted.

He can already feel your cunt tightening more, impending release as he felt his about to shatter his composure, growling, groaning in pleasure against your neck as he fastens his thrusts more, your hips arching up against him...

With a final deep thrust, his cum spills deep inside of your pussy, snug to fill your womb full of his warm seed, he doesn't pull out, not letting a single drop be wasted inside of you.

He watches your body shook in release too, trembling and quivering underneath him, cum filed, utterly fucked senseless and he did that... A sense of pride and concern washed over him as he lifted you up in his arms... cock still hard despite the intense session, warming your insides.

"Did it hurt?" He asks gently, kissing your forehead in aftercare.

You simply smiled, resting your head against his chest, hearing his racing heartbeat, his warm body against yours.

"Never... It felt amazing"

chuckling with the odd situation, Zayne worried about you after that good fucking? That's so him.

"Good because one round isn't enough... I still need you darling..."

He trailed off a whisper against your ear, sending shivers down your spine, it can't be helped, your husband is still hard and he's now using that pleading low tone to seduce you and it was very much effective.

"I can't really deny you, you know that? You always need me after all"

It was a fact that Zayne fully embraces without any trace of hesitation.

"Your the only one I need."

That's right... It's always been that. He only needs you and you only need him. It was more than enough.

A need satisfied.

(This is my first post here lolol- bear with me TwT)

(I live for a needy soft dom Zayne. My target audience is literally myself here lolol)

(Grammar errors evident I guess? I didn't double check this before I posted)

[aziraphales-library]

I'm wondering if there are any good soulmate fics out there? Kind of like the Pray for Us Icarus series where you find out one or the other has just forgotten/been reborn and the other has been waiting? Or even just realizing after they get together there's something between them they can't explain?

Cheers for all y'all do btw! Found some amazing fics through you!!

We have #reincarnation and #soulmates tags you'll want to check out for plenty of fics like this. Here are some fics where they don't realise until later that they are soulmates...

strange thoughts by a_freaking_lenon (G)

Crowley was at his wit’s end. Either he was going bananas or he was hearing someone’s thoughts right in his bloody head. He didn’t know which option was preferable.

Nothing Left by Pumkincupcake (M)

It has always been that your soulmates last words are on your skin, you don't know its the last you will speak until after it is already done. Good Omens soulmate au where the last words you tell your soulmate appear on your skin after being said episode 6 is the last time they speak. “I forgive you” is written on Crowley. “Don’t bother” is written on Aziraphale. Season 2 spoilers

Oh, Simple Thing by Hoard_of_hyperfixations (T)

Crowley Black doesn't have much going for him. The black handprint on his face certainly doesn't help him out, and he doesn't really look forward to the eventual slap his soulmate is apparently going to deliver at some point. At the very least, his friend (?) Zira doesn't seem to care all that much about his mark. Crowley may not have much going for him, but he has Zira, and he seems to be more than enough. - Or, the one where Crowley is Crowley and grumpy about a soulmate mark, and Aziraphale is a good friend.

No touch, no soulmate by Yellowvelvetcake (E)

AU set in a world where, after you turn 18, you find your soulmate at the first touch. Aziraphale and Crowley have been in love with each other for a while now. Before their 18th birthdays, they decide that they’d rather stay together than risk the chance of not being each other’s soulmates. – and so they vow never to touch each other or anyone else. But two years in - Crowley’s finding it more and more difficult not to reach for Aziraphale.

The Scars on Your Soul by NebulaEyes (E)

Soulmates exist, and if they get wounded, a scar will appear on their mate. Simple, right? What if the soulmated pair were an angel and a demon, and when the demon was an angel, he didn't much like the thought of being forced to be with someone just because God said so? What might change his mind? What kind of relationship will Aziraphale and Crowley build? What new things about each other will they discover? However, more importantly, why is it that an angel can successfully do temptations and a demon can successfully do blessings? Read and find out!

It ties us together, but I've never been more afraid by AngelBoy3434 (G)

In a universe where you can feel your soulmates pain Aziraphale and Crowley have gone nearly 6000 years without realizing the other one is their soulmate, or at least acknowledging it. Lets follow them through time and see how long it takes for the pieces to come together

- Mod D

[effietrinket1619]

Effie your Lanternfam TikTok AU is driving me nuts and if I end up downloading the app it's all your fault (in a good way)

Jess posts a video of John and Guy talking to each other, but they set their rings to translate everything they say to be completely unintelligible. The linguists on TikTok are going crazy because it's very clearly a language based on how structured the gibberish sounds but it has absolutely correlation with any Earth language so they can't even begin to tell what is being said

On a related note, eagle-eyed botanists catch a glimpse of a plant in the garden that doesn't look like anything found on planet Earth. Is it an alien species? Is it even a plant? Did the Green Lanterns bring a potentially invasive species from outer space???

At some point, Jo begins showing up with a different hairstyle in every video. None of the Lanternfam acknowledge this, but the viewers are going insane because some of her hairdos seem to defy the laws of physics (they do, Jo is using her ring to make them work)

Simon has a whole miniseries of him working on the Lanternfam's car. They double as thirst traps because he's very buff and obviously knows what he's doing with those power tools. Keli's usually just off-screen handing him equipment and providing commentary

Jessica does a lot of gardening videos and mentions that she was in school for forestry before she had to drop out. Everyone assumes that she's a cutesy nature-loving vegetarian until she pulls deer meat out of the freezer and mentions that she hunted it herself

John built a bunch of hidden doors and secret rooms into the house. Some of them, like his office that's hidden behind a bookshelf, are just for fun so Jessica does show them on TikTok. But others like the armory or panic room bunker are because they're actual superheroes who need to be prepared if one of their nastier enemies like Major Force or Black Hand decides to show up. Those have some borderline lethal traps and Batman is very lucky he didn't set any of those off when he broke in

i spend like six hours on that fuckass app every day so other people don't have to. ignore the temptations, my brethren. you must.

every linguist i know and have seen are simultaneously the most passionate, clever and insane people i've ever had the pleasure of knowing. an alien language? i think that would send every linguist who watches and stitches that video into a genuine coma. or a rabid frenzy. depends. they're trying really hard to discern some of it while jess fights off collab offers valiantly. with a bat.

when people ask jess about her suspicious fucking plants, she literally films another video where all of the plants have been since removed and or spray painted/decorated to look like normal earth plants. people can very much see through it but she acts as if everything is totally fine. so does everyone else (simon does look like he's being held hostage with a rifle the entire time however which is suspicious)

oh yeah absolutely, though i'm pretty sure some hair types are just able to hold sickass shapes through the correct styling procedures and whatnot. jo will walk past the camera with her newest styling creation and a lot of them, while they look semi-plausible, are just impossible enough to plant a seed of doubt. jess, who knows exactly what jo is doing, tells her the new products are doing wonders. jo agrees and keeps walking. the viewers demand to know What Fucking Products but since jess is legally not allowed to do product placements (*cough* bruce *cough*), she says fuck all.

that miniseries with simon is great for a couple of reasons. keli almost always makes it a point to pass him the wrong tool whenever simon's wronged her in any way (sometimes she 'accidentally' drops it on his foot) and on occasion, like a wraith in the night, kyle will walk past and drench simon head to toe in water which makes viewers go feral because now they can see his abs through the shirt. simon seriously wonders how it got to this point.

i don't think enough people capitalise on the fact that jess is probably terrifying. this cements it. girlie has a fridgeful of deer meat that she hunted herself and as far as they'd known, she's a mild young woman with a mischievous streak and anxiety. i can assure you there is an immediate smear campaign against jess's name over the fact that she hunts and shoots and whatnot. it doesn't go far because jess should've died a million times by now and this cannot bother her.

i will say that bruce survived breaking in because the lanterns kinda saw this coming and accounted for that. the deadlier traps are activated mostly by actual commands, whether vocal or physical buttons/levers they need to press. there are some that are triggered automatically but john really cannot afford killing people who are (unfortunately) allies. generally the go to is get to safety rather than hope the traps work but they're definitely there. the hidden office is so john can disappear if things get too much. jess found out about it immediately because he always disappeared in one specific direction the moment hal and guy started bickering too loudly. are the others aware of this? unsure. but there are other things (which i'm too drunk to think of right now). bottom line: john is a genius and needs to be paid more.

[vermillioncrown]

to no country: age/origin-swap xover au w @rozaceous

summary: when your new guardian's family might be worse than your old one.

=====

[au of an au] * 10 for the pros and cons, a sunset every hour, domestication protocols

allie pov, korvin meet-ugly

=====

Someone besides Dick is in the apartment, she knows before she even unlocks the door. She doesn’t exactly know how, just that she does know.

Dick is always hassling her about that, saying that intuition is useful, but if it doesn’t have learned experience and method behind it, then it’s just superstition—and then he tries to get her to break it down, everything she might have subconsciously picked up on to come to the conclusions she does.

It’s not that Allie doesn’t get it, or thinks he’s wrong, because she agrees with his premise and conclusion; it’s just frustrating to have to meta-think her own thought processes when she’s certain of the outcome.

Whatever, right now, honestly—it’s nothing actively dangerous, even if her spidey sense or whatever has her cautious.

“Hey, Allie,” Dick calls once she’s closed and relocked the door and is kicking her sandals off at the entryway. “Got company.”

“Figured,” she calls back. They must be at the dining seating by the kitchen; she can see the living room and the doors to the bedrooms and bathroom from here. So she rounds the little not-hallway, her duffle bag still on her shoulder, and yep, Dick’s sat at the two-top dining table with someone else.

Well, the first thing of note is that while Dick isn’t tense, he doesn’t look naturally casual. Something about how far he’s manspreading combined with the overly easy tone of voice he'd just used.

The new person, then—fuccboi, is Allie’s first thought. Like, wow. Sixteen, she’d guess, give or take a year, based on the build; school uniform of khakis and a polo with an embroidered logo for Gotham Academy on the breast, unbuttoned; sneakers that someone else would probably have as a collectible, and which are still on despite the shoe rack at the entry; black hair with an excruciatingly perfect fade, and beautifully formed curls up top; stud earrings in the lobes; a watch that also looks like a status symbol even if she’s not close enough to make out the brand. And then there’s his face. Look, she lives with Dick Grayson and she still thinks whoever this guy is is unfairly good-looking. Except where Dick is the sort of good-looking that invites you in and makes you want to hang around, this guy is the sort of good-looking that has Allie acutely aware of how she’s still sweaty from soccer practice, and that she’s only at the beginning of her growth spurt and awkward for it.

It hits her at once. The Maserati she’d seen parked outside, this teenage fuccboi that Dick clearly knows, Gotham Academy—this guy’s related to Bruce Wayne and showed up out of the blue.

“Allie, Korvin. Korvin, Allie,” Dick introduces with none of his usual charm.

Allie spares Korvin a glance and a “Hey,” but he doesn’t seem overly interested in her, gracing—and boy does she mean gracing—her with a half-nod of acknowledgment.

She looks back to Dick. “Are we doing dinner soon?”

He glances towards the fridge, and she can see him thinking about its contents.

“We’d need to get takeout if you want to eat enough protein for an actual meal,” she interrupts his thought process. They’re both too active for a single chicken breast to satisfy. “Grocery store soon.”

“Tomorrow,” Dick agrees, mouth quirking at her in a half-smile that she returns on reflex. “Takeout, you said?”

“Why don’t we go out to eat?” Korvin says, his expression one that’s smiling but—what’s the phrase? Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Give you a chance to drive the Mas, Dick. Just for fun.”

From the way Dick considers that, it’s a genuine temptation.

Christ.

Dick says, “Sounds like you’re having fun—too much fun. How none of the county police clocked you is sheer, dumb luck.” His expression is one of instant regret as soon as he speaks, and Korvin looks as if he’s about to gleefully fulfill that regret.

But he doesn’t, and his smile goes back to the “butter won’t melt” version like he’s bestowing some great mercy on Dick, and Dick’s too good to twitch at it.

“You really think they’re gonna give me a ticket?” He asks instead. There’s no obvious emphasis on ‘me,’ but his attitude is loud and clear at this point. He’s special. Ugh, gag. Entitled rich boy, got it.

“I have to shower,” Allie says, since dinner out now seems like the agreed-on solution. There’s no way she’s going into a restaurant of any kind as she is.

“We can wait.” Korvin still has that smile on. “Dick and I have some stuff to finish catching up on.”

Yeah, that’s not ominous at all, okay. Sure.

But whatever. Allie dumps her bag, grabs some fresh clothes—or, in the case of her jeans, fresh enough—and rinses off quickly and thoroughly. Seriously, the sweat. Ugh. She doesn’t bother with blow-drying her hair, just clips it up still damp. And then she takes her hamper and sweaty clothes and dumps them in the washer tucked into the utility closet, so she can put the load in the dryer when they get back. Economy.

“Has the location been decided?” she asks Dick as he rises to put on shoes, and she slides the hamper through the open door of her bedroom with a kick. She wards off the hair ruffle he reaches to give her. Korvin’s still sat at the table, for all intents and purposes ignoring them as he looks at something on his phone, which is the latest high-tech brick, because of course it is.

“How are you with steak?”

“Does anyone who eats meat actually complain about steak for dinner?” she wonders. Still, ‘steak as the defining trait of a restaurant’ is a bit of a departure from their usual ‘steak as it exists in a taco’ style of consumption. Though again, not complaining.

“I’ve yet to hear it, but I’m sure it happens,” he returns. “And I didn’t ask yet—good day?”

“Nothing outstanding.”

“Practice?”

“Equally unimpressive, but not a waste of time.”

Dick snorts. “Damned with faint praise, it is.”

“Oh, there was no praise on offer,” she assures him. Her middle school’s soccer team is uninspired, and her coach is more of a drill sergeant than his coaching ability justifies, but she’s of the opinion that no practice is wasted. (She may also be the coach’s favorite, but that’s neither here nor there, in her opinion, as it has more to do with her scoring ability and how she runs whatever laps he deems necessary than anything about her as a person.)

She slips her sandals back on, at which point Korvin brings up the rear, the pleasant expression he’s wearing having a similar quality as his earlier smile. There’s something seriously fucking wrong with this guy.

Dick locks up, they file down the stairs, and then it’s Allie actively trying not to make a face at this fucking car. Good god. She’d seen it parked down the block coming in and not thought much of it besides the owner basically asking to have it stolen, but. Well.

Ah, shit, this thing only has two doors, which means she has to run the debate of whether she’s getting in behind Dick on the driver’s side, and thus risking Blüdhaven traffic more than is strictly required, or she has to get in behind Korvin, which feels self-explanatory at this point.

Maybe she shouldn’t be so mean? He’s barely said ‘boo’ to her.

Ultimately, she decides she fears Blüdhaven drivers more than she dislikes Korvin, and crawls into the backseat passenger-side. Of course, being inside the car is interesting on its own merits.

It’s been driven enough to have lost the new car smell, but otherwise it’s one pine-tree-shaped air freshener away from having been driven off the lot. Seriously, no personalization? Not even a package of Kleenex?

Wait, no, that’s a lie: there’s an ornament dangling on a red ribbon from the base of the signal stalk.

At least Dick is having a good time? He adjusts the seat and the mirrors with obvious relish, anyhow. Korvin gives him a good five minutes of enjoying himself on the road before he speaks up.

“I’m sure you’d be able to swing your own Mas as a ‘welcome back’ gift,” Korvin says. He’s not looking at Dick, but leaning next to his window and looking out.

“What, you actually miss me?” Dick says teasingly, quickly flicking a look at him and then back towards the front.

“I’d hardly have to see you if I didn’t want to in that crypt.” Allie can see him look away from the window—towards Dick—in the reflection. “Just saying for your benefit. Hers, too” —oh Jesus, what. Why is she part of this now?— “if you’re tired of slumming it one day.”

Can their lifestyle really be called ‘slumming it’? Dick affords all that takeout no problem, anyhow. She’s fed, clothed, comfortably housed, and he got her new cleats for the season and contacts when they had a conversation about playing in glasses. Obviously, it’s not living in Bristol, but Allie doesn’t have a problem with it, and if Dick did, he wouldn’t be a cop of all things.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Dick says, and that tone of pleasant means he has no plans to keep it in mind.

What the hell is Korvin prodding at him for if he doesn’t even want him around? Why does Allie have the sinking suspicion it has to do with her?

Korvin scoffs. “Do,” he then says, clearly reading Dick’s tone. “You’ve had time to get used to life without fancy toys. Thought you might've wanted an upgrade for someone following you along, is all.”

“Life’s fine as-is.” Dick breezily ignores the—whatever those undertones are. Allie thinks she grasps the implication, but the idea of her following Dick into vigilantism is absurd on its face in the first place, and, coming from Korvin, is requiring her to rearrange a few key pieces of information. “Wouldn’t say no to a vacation, even, but PTO’s at a premium at the moment.”

“City jobs are supposed to have rights, I thought,” Korvin muses. “Shame. Guess it’s just you, starring yourself, most nights, isn’t it, Allie?” Him addressing her, though abrupt, is casual like he hasn’t been throwing subliminals and ignoring her previously.

Is he asking her if Dick is out being Nightwing and she’s feeling neglected or something? What.

He cuts in before she has a chance to respond, his tone dry and amused. “Probably better that way—I’ve seen him burn PopTarts onto the microwave before.”

“Not shocking,” Allie inserts. “Or at least, not like the time he forgot to take them out of the packaging before microwaving them was.”

“I can imagine, but I’m always up for a dramatic retelling.”

“Mercy,” Dick begs, good-naturedly.

“I have none,” Allie says, but they’re pulling to the side of a restaurant that’s fancier than she’d thought ‘steak’ implied before she can make good on the threat of her narrative style in relating his antics.

“Valet,” Korvin answers Dick before he can ask. “I know better than to leave my car unattended in this hell county.”

“Fair enough.”

How is she with steak. She’s going to kill Dick later, is what, letting her come somewhere this nice while she’s in jeans, a tank top, and a plaid shirt. Maybe she should have dried her hair. Of course, Dick’s fine, slacks and a button-down that are his workday clothes, because he’s a goody two shoes.

Whatever. No one cares what a thirteen year-old wears. It’s fine. At least she didn’t wear a t-shirt.

Allie scours the menu once they sit down, practiced now at finding the things she can digest without event. It was sort of funny—she’d never outright told Dick that she was gluten or dairy intolerant, especially as she hadn’t had the luxury of eating that way regularly before living with him, but he’d picked up on it within a week. She thinks it only took him that long because he forgot that eggs don’t count as dairy.

“Get as much as you want, Allie-cat,” he tells her. “Turn it into an eating competition. Order multiple steaks.”

“Am I comparing cuts?” she asks, amused. She’d rather one larger steak and more vegetables, especially since she’s willing to compromise on the butter. Ooh, roasted brussels sprouts, she wants those.

“If you want, sure.”

The conversation throughout dinner stays tame, none of the poking about Dick slinking back over money and ‘toys’ and potential references to vigilantism.

Allie considers that as she sucks down a lemonade. If Korvin was referencing Dick’s role as Nightwing—well. That’s as good as confirming that Bruce Wayne is Batman, isn’t it? She’d suspected before, because Dick’s gear wasn’t the sort of thing that a police officer’s salary would support, and neither would whatever inheritance he got from his parents. He also clearly had been trained before the police academy, since not many cops knew martial arts like that.

And who had unreasonable amounts of money, and who had raised Dick after his parents’ deaths? Bruce Wayne. Just Occam’s Razor, honestly.

She’d gathered that there had been some sort of falling out, but also that they were on speaking terms. She’d also used a search engine to tell her more than Dick’s vague statement of not being “the only kid Bruce has or had taken in; just the first.” So she’d known that Korvin existed, just like she knows that there’s a dead adopted son who was the same age. It’d been enough that she hadn’t felt like digging further.

Maybe she should have? Probably it was too optimistic for her to think it wasn’t information that would be relevant to her day-to-day, or that Dick would tell her more if necessary. Honestly, he’d probably be the first to tell her that any information she can find is fair game and good recon.

“Allie, Allison? Alice? Something Patterson?” Korvin watches her squinch at being full-named and laughs. Damn it all for not being unpleasant or obnoxious to listen to. “Guessing you and Dick met while he was on night shift.”

She actually grimaces at thinking about how she and Dick met. “Allie, for Alice. How we met isn’t really dinner conversation.”

His face adopts a sympathetic expression. “Figured. I’m not one to pry, either way—Gotham Survival 101.” He brings it back to a lighter tone. “Hopefully school’s the worst that you have it right now. Where do you go?”

Allie knows the whole song and dance with school talks, and she rattles off basic information about her middle school, but she can’t say she finds it that interesting a topic. The subject then naturally transitions to extracurriculars, him mentioning playing lacrosse, and, “Oh, you play soccer? Thinking about joining the varsity team in high school?”

“I’m planning to play in high school, yeah.”

‘Joining the varsity team’ as though that’s something she can just choose to do. Hilarious. Suppose it’s that easy for someone like him, a high school junior—she was right about his age—and apparently captain of the boys’ varsity lacrosse team. She has a hard time imagining him playing, much less in a position of leadership; he seems like he finds the very concept of sweat offensive.

“I don’t know about Blüd besides the usual Gothamite propaganda, but we have the better sports programs by far. Might want to look into transferring if soccer’s something you want to keep doing.” He cuts into his filet mignon as he talks, the serving comically tiny in comparison to the portions on her and Dick’s plates. What teen boy orders a six ounce filet mignon? Much less one who plays a contact sport and looks like he’s still in the midst of a growth spurt, ready to clear six feet?

His whole vibe is just off. He’s technically well-mannered, but she feels like she’s been caught in an impromptu business meeting with the project lead possessing the body of a rich fuccboi. She feels like she’s stuck in an elevator with a Young Republican trying to be sly about networking.

But no, he’d button his polo if he were a Young Republican. And be worse at all of this, and even more insufferable, though that’s a hard state to contemplate.

He still eats like a prissy bird.

Why is he even here? Because of his dad? And if so, in what capacity—Bruce Wayne or Batman? He doesn’t seem—hm. With the plausibly deniable references he’s made towards vigilantism, and all the leading statements about toys and upgrades, he’s clearly in-the-know, and involved in some capacity if he’s that comfortable leveraging his dad’s resources. But not a vigilante himself?

Allie does an excellent job of staying in her lane, but now that she’s mostly got confirmation that Bruce Wayne is Batman, it’s easy to connect Dick to Robin. But regarding timelines, obviously there would have had to have been a successor. Not Korvin, not with that attitude, but—ah. The dead brother. Yikes. Oh, ouch, and she’d be willing to bet the actual circumstances of Jason Todd’s death were related to—

She revises: Korvin probably hates vigilantism. At least resents it.

Probably not here for his dad. His own agenda, then. And it involves her, except he keeps making it seem like it’s a given that she’d be following Dick’s example—no thanks—

“—one of the Bristol boarding schools?” The sympathetic mask is still on Korvin’s face, but now it’s being aimed at Dick. “Things are coming to a head for you, aren’t they? You’re only going to get busier; the lifestyle’s not really conducive to having quality time together.”

Real rich coming from a guy who looks like he’d rather do Spring Break in the Keys, snorting cocaine on a yacht, than spend quality time with anyone.

“Our lifestyle is fine,” Allie says, a little flatly. “It works for us. My social worker has no complaints.”

Korvin brushes off the comment with a laugh and good-natured, “Suppose so.” He then looks over at Dick again. “If time spent together was the sole determiner of a relationship, you’d hardly be able to call us anything like brothers, right?”

Another fucking angle, again.

Dick stills for a microsecond before going back to his steak. She wouldn’t have caught it, except she’s been nearly giving herself an aneurysm trying to figure this guy out for the past hour. It happens two more times throughout dinner, each little dig getting deeper under Dick’s skin with how his pauses get more noticeable. By the time Korvin caps off his passive-aggressive campaign against Dick by grabbing the check ahead of him, and handing his credit card to the server with a smarmy, “It’s the least he can do for us,” Allie’s ready to take out his knees. Kick his ankles. ‘Accidentally’ grind on his toes with her heel.

He’s doing it on purpose. Not just being an asshole, but specifically coming out to Blüdhaven to be an asshole at them. Of course, wildly successful, truly none can do it like you, sir—but why. Why make the effort? Why come out all this way to bother a sort-of brother he rarely sees or talks to and the kid he’s fostering? Korvin strikes her as the type to ignore rather than antagonize when he doesn’t like someone, unless the antagonism is to generate a particular outcome.

Even if so, though, what the fuck.

Dick ends up driving them back to their apartment, once Korvin ‘innocuously’ tells him not to go an hour out of his way to supervise him back to Bristol.

“Nice having dinner with you, Allie-cat,” Korvin quips. “Dick make that up? His naming sense’s really improved.”

Allie has never understood the phrase ‘seeing red,’ and she still doesn’t, exactly, but she’s a little closer.

“You don’t get to call me that,” she says faster than she can stop herself, and colder, too. She’s generally much better at reining that type of response in, but she decides to afford herself some grace. He’s been carefully working his way under her skin all night, and now he’s—not making fun exactly, but he sure doesn’t get to use Dick’s cute nickname for her.

“Hissy, okay, my bad,” he laughs.

She contemplates the back of the seat before her. If she places her knee against it just right and thrusts that hip forward—

“It’s cute you’re so attached. But maybe you shouldn’t be.” As if she doesn’t fucking know. Not that she wants to hear it from this asshole.

“I’m guessing there was a point to your visit, Korvin,” Dick says, more cutting than is strictly polite. He kills the engine. “Or did you just get bored and decide to stir the pot?”

Korvin has that insufferable, smug smile on his face until he grabs the keys from Dick’s hand, and he climbs out of the car without answering. Allie’s out faster than Dick, not wanting to be in the backseat any longer, wanting to get away, except that as soon as her feet hit the sidewalk and she’s straightened, she’s pinned with a nearly affectless look of assessment. It’s utterly different from every other face Korvin’s worn tonight, and, her gut tells her, more sincere.

“I’m giving you friendly advice; if you were thinking about joining ‘the mission’—” He pauses to let it sink in, and then he chuckles, though his face still relaxes back into a blank expression. “Hopefully you won’t need an ‘I’m sorry’ gift for your sweet-sixteen,” he says, miming a little knock onto his jaw, and then he gives the frame of his car a dramatic pat-pat before going towards the driver’s side. “Night, nice meeting you. See you maybe, Dick.”

He gets in, starts the car, and leaves without another look back at them.

Allie’s going to puke up her steak. He was absolutely implying what she thinks he was implying. He was—he—

“Allie—”

“What the fuck goes on in that house, Dick,” she demands, turning to face her guardian. Dick looks uncomfortable, like he’s had an epiphany he didn’t want to have. “Does his dad hit him, Dick? Did you know about this?”

“That’s not—”

“Joining ‘the mission,’” she repeats, and everything falls into place, not least of which why Korvin can sound resentful of vigilantism at the same time as he has a front row seat to it. She stares at Dick’s face, watching every twitch. “So this was after Jason died. One son dies and he decides he might as well beat the other? What the fuck is going on?”

Dick now looks slightly ill amidst his expression of frustration.

“You did know,” she realizes, though she instantly corrects herself. “Or, you knew part of it. He said something to you and you didn’t take it that way?”

Yeah, she’s on the money. She hates seeing Dick like this, hates that Korvin might’ve been right about her attachment to Dick not being a good idea. But it’s not—it’s not definite.

He still looks ill, and it strikes her that— “He hit you, too.” Wow, she wants to take a baseball bat to this guy’s hands, see if he ever hits anyone again. “What the fuck.”

She stands there on the sidewalk, her hands tightened into fists, streetlamps turned on against the coming night. She breathes in and out through her nose.

Dick lets out a weak laugh. “Put you in an interrogation room and no suspect stands a chance.”

“Don’t joke about this, Dick,” she says, voice hard, staring now at the curb. “It’s not funny.”

A sigh. “It’s not.”

“He’s still in that house.” Allie feels the thought out, and it feels awful. “He should not be in that house. What did he call it? A crypt? No goddamn wonder.”

“It’s not that simple.” Dick gives a frustrated sigh, tense as he runs his hand through his hair, and then bringing his fingers to pinch his nose bridge. “I’ll obviously go look, but there might not be anything I can do.”

“Nothing you can do. Not that simple.” She stares at him again, and he ought to look smaller to her now. She scoffs, turns on her heel, and makes for the apartment building.

“Allie—”

“Better not go out tonight with that attitude.”

“Allie,” he snaps at her, and something about his tone freezes her in place and makes her skin crawl. “Enough. Do you know what it takes to remove someone from their parents, especially at that age, and with someone as economically stable—thriving, even, let’s say—as Korvin’s dad?”

She does have an idea, actually. Kind of like how she knows she would’ve had almost no chance of getting a long-term placement if Dick hadn’t been there; she’d be in a group home or a series of fosters until she aged out of the system, and chances are good she’d be homeless after. Seriously, who does he think he’s lecturing?

And maybe she’s being unfair to Dick, but he’s the one—he’s Nightwing. He’s the one who’s supposed to think it’s simple, that something can always be done. Is she being unfair to hold him to his own standard, just because his standard is basically superhuman? She doesn’t know.

“Like I said—I’ll check in, and I can level with Bruce. I will level with Bruce. We’ll see where it goes from there, okay?”

Maybe what’s unfair is asking Dick to treat his own family the way he would someone else’s. To ‘level with’ the man who raised him, but hit him anyways.

Even so. “If he needs out, you’ll get him out?”

“If he really is in danger, I have the means to get him out of there. Promise, Allie-cat.”

She hopes; Dick hasn’t broken a promise to her yet.

[rarepairdumpster]

Priest Viktor AU

Pairing: Viktor/Silco (Arcane) Rating: M C/W: Devil Silco, Religious Themes, Catholicism, Confessional, Short but spicyyy

Just out of the seminary priest Viktor and silver tongued gentlemen devil Silco

Silco telling Viktor the filthiest things in the confessional and Viktor trying to speak as neutral as possible but he's hard as a rock under his robes.

to be fair, he was probably hard from that first gravelly Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned

Viktor lets out a slightly strained "go on" and Silco grins.

"Are you sure, Father? You don't sound so well."

"A little parched is all," Viktor says after clearing his throat

Silco let's out a noise that's half-sympathetic and half-mocking, before slipping into a heated and rather detailed discussion of the impure thoughts he's been having about a young priest

How he sat through holy communion and all he thought about was lapping the wine from the priest's graceful fingers.....or his cock

Viktor gasps a little, his face flushing and his cock starting to stain the inside of his robes. He starts to pray under his breath, seeking guidance for this clear temptation.

And then he confesses about how he'd dragged his eyes over the priest's lips and down his throat when the priest swallowed communion, wishing the priest was swallowing him instead

Viktor can't help but push down on his crotch, a small whine escaping him. No part of seminary prepared him for this.

Cheating? Easy.

Drug use? No problem.

Viktor could probably even handle murder if necessary but, this...

Silco was the sort of sin you heard about in blues songs and warned of in dive bars at crossroads. 

A greedly, lustful sin that he knew would consume him if he let it, but oh, he would love every moment.

"Is it so wicked of me," Silco purrs, "to desire a man God created to be beautiful? Is it not right to admire the soft pillows God gave him for lips?"

"To yearn for long legs God designed for gripping?"

"To ache to touch skin God meant to be soft and inviting?"

"I--I think that's enough," Viktor says, the confidence wavering in his voice. "Regardless of the creator, it is still a sin to lust, especially so...deeply"

"Of course, Father," Silco answers, as if acknowledging his wisdom, but he feels smug with triumph. "How shall I repent?" 

Viktor lists the amount/kind of prayers he should recite, and then guides Silco through a hasty prayer of forgiveness before dismissing him.

Silco doesn't repent.

He just vanishes.

Viktor puts himself together as much as he can before quickly leaving the confessional to go to his office. 

He should have known what Silco was when he joined the congregation weeks ago. The man just seemed like a normal widower, and Viktor thought the small crush he developed was harmless.

Now, he knows it isn't just his faith being tested, but his soul.

Arch + Woods

[aelincreativ]

Oshamir as Mace Windu's Grandparents - Crack Au

This idea is complete and total crack and should not be taken with any seriousness, unless you want to go wild I guess. I thought of this late last night while half asleep.

Mace Windu, renowned, respected, and strong Jedi Master of the Order. Known for his iconic purple lightsaber and having Force Visions of Shatterpoints, or moments of choice in time.

Now timeline can get a bit fuzzy, but Star Wars timeline is always fuzzy. (Plagueis is supposed to be like 15 at the time of the Acolyte so, lotsa questions bout that do I have) But it works out pretty well for Windu to be Osha and Qimir's grandson.Acolyte is set in 132 BBY and Osha is 24. Mace is born in 72 BBY, 60 years after the Acolyte. Say Osha and Qimir have multiple kids, Mace's parent could realistically be born any time between 130 BBY and 100 BBY depending on how well Osha and Qimir age due to their Force connection since we know that affects aging.

I personally like the idea of Mace being the baby of the family, youngest kid of the youngest kid type vibes. Before him, all his Aunts, Uncles, and cousins either didn't pursue a Force connection or trained with Osha and Qimir in the Force. Maybe not as Sith-inclined, but not light siders and obviously not as Jedi.

(I've got a whole bunch of headcanons about Dark/Light and the proper use and connection to the Force, ask me about them later but the gist is that the truly best way to connect to the force is to be balanced. Feeling, acknowledging, and using every emotion with no distinction of good or bad. Understanding that the universe itself is full of both good and bad and that to try and focus on either side makes you weaker.)

(Osha and Qimir are still very much “what a Jedi like you would call a Sith” but they've chilled. To the point as long as you don't touch their family you're fine. They are that old couple that will casually drop the fact they were Bonnie and Clyde if you get them reminiscing but otherwise the grandkids have no idea. Oshamir's kids though, the oldest ones experienced some wild shit but it was normalized for them and they don't realize that was weird.)

Back to Mace. This idea has Mace being taught by his grandparents as early as he can remember until the age of four when he gets a vision telling him that his greatest path toward achieving balance in the universe takes him to the Jedi. He creates a force bond with his family, but does not view it as an attachment because he understands that his highest calling and duty is to the Force itself and the path it takes him on with the Jedi. He feels no darkside temptation from his missing family because his family is there with him giving him the push and motivation towards his dreams, actively encouraging him to be the best Jedi he can be.

Now. Mace is only four when he goes to the Temple. He was not fully aware of everything going on with his grandparents. (Osha and Qimir not being obvious about their Sith-inclined tendencies. Hiding the red sabers and battle armor from the grandkids and the kids knowing to not bring it up. They still strongly despise the Jedi but what their grandson wants they will support as long as he remembers that his family always loves him and supports him and believes in him.) Mace doesn't keep it a secret that he was trained by his grandparents before coming to the temple. Openly talking about it with his fellow younglings and comparing what he was taught with what they learn at the temple.

Because of this he assumes it's just a known and recorded fact in his profile about his family. It is not. When he becomes a Padawan to Master Myr, he tells her about his family and while initially surprised, she realizes there's no negatives with Mace's connection to his family. Further solidifying in Mace's mind the difference between connection and attachment.

They struggle some through Mace's padawanship and take a visit to his family where Master Myr meets them and also misses the Sith indicators. Just seeing them as another type of Force user. This is because Jedi look for darksiders with very narrow minded cues. They think that all “darksiders” would be rampaging murderers. Not a slightly older couple surrounded by their loving family and carrying their first great grandchild around while picking sticky things out of their hair.

Sure Master Myr is a bit worried about it all, because she is a good Jedi, but she is also a person who sees the happy family and has to suppress her own twinge of jealousy at the large family joyously reuniting and celebrating the success of Mace in his journey with the Force. When Qimir steps aside next to her, and softly but with aged wisdom and surety, speaks about how their family treats the Force and finds greater connection and purpose through it. How it ranges from encouraging the crops they grow to the mechanical work intuition to their one granddaughter, Mace's older sister actually, who is off pursuing a career as an investigative journalist because her calling was similar to Mace's but she wanted to find and expose the corruption so that her little brother would know where to look and work on next.

Master Myr and Mace leave with their bond brighter and stronger than before and a promise to visit again. And if Mace assumes that Myr reported everything about their visit to the other Jedi and as such that the attitude of the Jedi about connection versus attachment is different than what it actually is, that's an issue that doesn't come up till over 20 years later when Anakin Skywalker stands before the council as a scare little boy. Mace's almost off-handed response to the reveal Anakin has no father shocks and then changes the course of the future.

Apparently responding, “So? My grandmother and her sister were Force conceived too. Force conception is rare, yes, but not impossible, just difficult. I would like to meet with his mother though, and ask what her technique was. The process my great grandmothers used was lost with the destruction of their coven when my grandmother was a child.” This response was not the response the other council members, besides Depa Billaba who had been to visit his family during her own padawan years and celebrated as part of the family, were at all expecting or supported.

Mace's further explanation of his family, something he is bewildered to learn the Jedi didn't already know about as he never felt he had kept it a secret. Depa herself chimes in about her meeting with the family and agrees with her confusion about this not being common knowledge. Yoda chimes in about his confusion and when prompted, Mace reveals his grandparents to have trained with the Jedi in their youth before both leaving as teens. He gives Osha's name and when her profile is pulled up there is a startling amount of information redacted from it, the redaction signed off by Vernestra Rwoh, who had vanished on a mission decades prior. Mace found this strange as the information he had been told about his grandparents past all seemed contradictory to what was left in the file.

At this point they shuffle out Anakin and give Obi-Wan instructions to not fuck up the kid they clearly need to do something about but just not right now. Go get him a snack or something and come back tomorrow.It's only after that Mace realizes that a looming shatterpoint had disappeared without a fuss. Strange but he'd had worse and weirder encounters with his unique visions.

How this continues is anyone's game, but a key component is Osha and Qimir coming to the temple to drop off Mace's niece who wanted to be a Jedi just like Uncle Mace. During this meeting at the temple, Yoda needs to walk into the room and immediately get into a mental conflict with Osha and Qimir. They rip the green troll apart and put him back together shaken and aware of just how disastrous everything could have gone.

The reveal that Darth Plagueis was killed decades back when the Sith tried to take one of the Aniseya family members to study and experiment on. Unfortunately this left a loose end of Palpatine who had only recently started his Sith apprenticeship when Plagueis was killed. So ripple that out however you want.

What secrets get spilled and what ones don't is all up in the air but yeah. This has been my incoherent ramblings about absolute crack Star Wars AUs.