#then you remember how he's clawed his way to this spot beside you and you're like. 'FINE I GUESS???'

[flockrest]

i think there is something so funny about tu.lin going from honorific-name to just name with adults of his flock as he grows. oh, the masters will still be master and dad and mum do not have any other names duh (joking) but everyone else is suddenly on a purely first-name basis with a t(w)een whether they like it or not

[diejager]

any thoughts for yandere!pervy!könig who has to resist from fucking you so hard? knowing you're too weak and fragile to ruin, but palming himself through his pants whilst bathing you, or creeping on you as you sleep!!! 🥹

ignore if you want to!! can be somnophillia/noncon if you want 🎀🩷

How exactly am I supposed to ignore this??? This is such a good idea!

Yan!Pervy roommate König x fem!reader

Cw: Perverted König, dub-con, somnophilia, panty sniffing, panty stealer, scent/musk kink, handjob, tell me if I missed any.

He just can’t believe how lucky he got when you answered the ad for a roommate. He knew you were searching for a place to move in, wanting to move out of your parents’ place as a first step into independence and he’d purposely put the ad out a few weeks before you moved. The rate was low, lower than most apartment would cost - even for a old, beaten flat, but his was new and well-maintained - it was his way of silently coaxing you to room with him. König had declined every other, keeping it open until you finally contacted him.

The days between your first interaction and your move in were a blur in his mind, dazed with ecstasy and joy to be have you at an arm’s length. You were so small compared to him - as most people were - and so weak and fragile, limbs a third to his and as strong as a child in his eyes. You were so innocent and untouched, your tight little cunt still a virgin in this age. You were temptation on two legs.

He can’t remember the first time he peeked through the crack of the bathroom door, the glass shower doing nothing to hide your wet, naked skin as he palmed himself, groaning lowly as he fished out his hardened cock. He pumped himself, hand twisting as he reached the swollen head of his cock, thumb pressing against the leaky slit and using his precum as lube, jerking his hardened length more easily. He came at the thought of running his hands on your skin, kissing your collar and biting that beautiful neck, digging his hands into your thighs as he fucked into your small cunt. He hurriedly cleaned up and tucked himself back into his pants, burying the flush on his skin as he waited for you to finish your shower.

After the first month, jerking off while watching you shower wasn’t enough, he humped your cushion when you were out, dragging his drizzly cock over your bed. Face buried in your sheets, he drinks in your scent, that sweet rose and vanilla smell of your shampoo as he rutted into his tight palm, imagining that he was between your warm walls. König could come at the idea of covering you in his musk, your hair smelling like him, you skin tasting like him, you cunt leaking of him. He came so hard that it spurted all over your bed, his cum was on your blanket, on your bedsheet, on your cushion and on your headboard. Fuck, he loved the idea of covering you and your things in his cum.

When coming in his hand to the sight of you in the shower and your empty bed wasn’t enough, he slipped into your room at night, the only sound in your shared appartient being you soft snoring and his laboured breaths. He stroked himself, teasing his throbbing cock with slow pumps and watching your innocent oblivion to his dirty thoughts while you slept. He was crouched over you, his figure looming over your figure when he came, thighs spread wide over your hips and hand clawing your bedsheet besides your head, you warm breath hitting his wrist.

You’d wake up without knowing why you were coated in crusty substance or why you were missing another panty, your pretty, blue lacy panty gone from your drawer. König would be in his room, holding your pretty lace lingerie over his nose, sniffing it while he pumped himself. God, König couldn’t stop himself from covering your underwear in his load before handing it back to you, saying that he found it somewhere in the house. Then you’d wear it, your sweet cunny over the spot he came on, making him purr in satisfaction, a branding on you in the deepest way possible since he couldn’t bully his cock into you just yet.

[the-kr8tor]

By Hook or By Crook

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 11.2 k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), CW guns, CW food mention, CW suggestive, CW blood, TW violence, TW death, TW abuse mention, Wild west AU, Cowboy AU.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 9 >>> CHAPTER 10

Hobie's nightmares are few and far between now that you sleep beside him. But on the rare occasion that it haunts him, it's always horrific. His own mind betrays him, the fog of a nightmarish scene unfolds like theatre curtains; where you're the star, a bleeding, screaming star of the night. It always starts off with you in place of him. Hicks has you in his iron grip, while his men, men that you've known since you were a little girl taunt you with the same disgusting words they threw at him.

He can never forget how your face contorted into a horrified expression when you see Hicks brandishing the knife in front of you. All the while, Hobie stands there, motionless, in place of the same oak tree bearing your name. As if your fate is predestined, your own tombstone carved above the shallow grave they're about to throw you in. It happens just like how he remembered it. Hicks, your own uncle, slices your throat with a cackle; while rain pelts down upon you, drenching your lace dress, mixing in with your blood gushing out of your neck in waves. Thunder and lightning cracks above, and you're thrown into the pit where they bury you alive.

You try to claw your way out, nails digging into the dirt, staining your once soft hands. Gasping for air, Hobie is unable to look away— how could he when he stays rooted on the spot of your tree?

As the storm pours down, your lungs filled with dirt and rain water, he watches as you slowly lose the light behind your eyes; falling limp, chest completely frozen as you stare up at the night sky. Hobie tries to scream, desperately uprooting himself off the soil, but it's not enough. You lay there unblinking, dead before they could cover your whole body with the same earthly soil you once stood upon with him. The last thing you saw was the leaves dancing in the wind, the last thing you saw was him, unable to save you one last time.

You hold him in bed until the trembling stops, you'll hold him forever if need be. Hobie's embracing your middle, face tucked just above your ribs, hiding his red puffy eyes from you while you knead at his nape. Your other hand cradles his elbow, fingers drawing patterns on his skin to calm him down. With every sniffle, you squeeze him tighter against you, and love filled words spilling out of your mouth to comfort him further.

You've told him a hundred times before that it was just a nightmare concocted by his mind that was caused by the trauma he has experienced. But you know that he understands that it isn't real, but you'll tell him a thousand times more to ease his worries because he once told you that it helps. You'll do anything to support him, and maybe one day his nightmares will finally fade away. Until then, you'll hold him and keep him grounded to the present.

His silent sobs have subsided, hand splayed over your stomach to feel your warmth. Dawn is peeking through the light blue curtains you've put up in the shared bedroom. You're surrounded in hues of brilliant blue, as if the sky itself presents itself inside your small bedroom.

The room is sparsely decorated, save for a large wardrobe at the other end of the room. You were too occupied to decorate the house. If you had enough time in between tending to the garden and the house, you'd decorate your home with things you and Hobie love— place photographs of you two, trinkets that remind you of the good days back home; and fill it with shared memories. You promise once everything is settled, you'd put your time and effort in making the place more homely. For now, you'll settle for filling the abode with warmth and your love for eachother.

The almost sheer fabric of the curtains does nothing to shield you from the light, but with the soft blue hue coming from the heavens above, and the cool breeze passing by, blowing the curtains around the sparsely decorated room— it helps him calm down. Hobie feels like he's floating above a cloud with you hugging him, lips pecking gently against the crown of his head with so much love he feels it in his chest. Blossoming, spreading around his limbs, tending to him and comforting him slowly.

You flick your eyes over to him, inadvertently meeting with his own that has been searching for the light behind your eyes. “I think we need ducks.”

Hobie cracks a smile, green eyes lingering on your soft grin. “Why ducks?” His voice is still hoarse so he clears his throat as you continue to massage at his nape. Making sure that he doesn't get a crick in his neck from how he's looking up at you with tender eyes.

“They hunt pests, it'll help the farm.”

“Where'd you learn that?” He humours you, hand cupping your side; such affection could only come from him.

You chuckle while your fingers play with his baby hairs clinging to his nape. “From my books.”

Hobie cuddles closer, nose nudging your stomach. “Buck and Cherry won't like ‘em. Clover might even eat ‘em.”

You snort, tamping down another laugh as if your laughter will disturb the peace when it's the opposite for him. “If we desensitize the horses they'll like them. And I'm sure Clover won't eat the ducks.” Hobie pulls himself up, tear stained cheeks illuminated by the dwindling oil lamp; chin placed on your chest. “We can build a coop for them, then have duck eggs every morning.”

“Have you tried duck eggs before, lovie?” His knuckles brush along your jaw, emerald eyes swimming with emotion. Sometimes you wish you could hear his thoughts so you could do a better job at comforting him. Like he does to you, he's better at that than you.

“I don't think so. Do they taste bad?”

“Nah,” his voice is soft, as if he's whispering secrets only to you. “It tastes the same as regular chicken eggs.”

You reach for his nose, squeezing it once before letting go. “I'll take your word for it, farmer Hobie.”

He chuckles, cheek pressed gently on top of your chest, straining his ear to hear your heartbeat. “‘Farmer Hobie,’ I never thought I'd hear that.”

“Don't like it?” With your thumb, you wipe the remaining tears clinging on his eyelashes. “How about ‘rancher Hobie?’”

“It sounds better than outlaw Hobie. Whatever you want to call me, love.” He pulls himself up more, face tucked in the crook of your neck. You cradle his head, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “I'll be there.”

“Good, you know I don't like waiting.” You joke, eyes slowly closing while you fight a yawn. “We can go back to sleep, Hobs. It's still early.” You feel his presence above you, eyes cracking open, you see him frown. “You okay?”

“'m sorry that we lost all that time together.” He sniffs, inhaling sharply. Eyes finding your own.

You smile, helping him ease up. “It doesn't matter. We have forever now.” Hands cradling his face, you peck his lips then his eyelids as he closes his eyes. It's a simple act, a small one but it wraps his heart in silk and warmth. He feels like that lovelorn boy he left behind a long time ago.

“I need to show you somethin'” He whispers against your lips.

You quirk a brow, lips pursed into a gentle smile. “Okay, show me.” Hobie kisses your cheek before leaning away. The mattress squeaks as he leaves your side, you already feel empty and cold.

You watch as he crouches down on the foot of the bed. There's a scraping noise when he pulls something from underneath. Propping your elbows up, you crane your neck to see what he's doing. Wood scraping against wood, you see him lugging it towards the side of the bed. It's a large wooden trunk that's carved with simple patterns. There's nothing out of the ordinary about it, nothing but metal inlays and a lock where a key would go. Your heart thumps loudly, filled with trepidation as Hobie takes an old rusted key hidden under the bedside table. Crawling towards the edge of the bed, you peek as he opens it.

“Please don't tell me that's where you're hiding your millions.” You joke just as when the smell of old paper akin to weathered books hits your nose. “Oh,” you almost cried at the sight of hundreds of letters piled inside. They all bear his name and yours where the recipient would be. Your letters dwarf next to his own, yours are wrapped in a red ribbon that's placed next to his own pile. “Hobie—”

“I kept it all, I used to write everyday, but I got busy. I never forgot, Y/N. I never forgot you.” You choke back a sob whilst he roams his eyes around the contents of the trunk. His hands reached inside to grab a leather bound book. He finally looks at you, staring at your tear filled eyes. “D’you remember this?” Holding up the book, you smile at the worn out title. You remember the gold painted on it, now it has been worn down from years of it being read.

Heart stuck in your throat, you could only beckon him over back to your side. “Come here please.” You sniff, and he complies. Reaching for your hand as you help him up on the bed. Hobie places himself in-between your legs, back laying on your chest as his hands flip towards the front page of the book. “‘Candide,’ how could I forget?” You wrap your arms around him while your legs are crossed around his waist. You're his personal pillow, you've accepted the role earnestly. “I never asked how you liked it.”

“Your confession trumped how much I liked the book.” Hobie takes your hand to peck the back of it, eyes reading the three words you wrote years ago. “‘I love you,’” he reads the brief inscription you wrote on the front page. It's short, but you'd write it on every wall you encounter, on every surface; carve it on mountains and even the sky itself if you could. “I thought it was as absurd as the book itself.”

You chuckle against the crown of his head, “I remember the way you ran towards me after you saw it.” His lips felt like morning dew against your own that day. It was heaven sent for him and for you.

“This is the only thing I could grab before I had to leave. It was just this, all my savings and the clothes on my back.”

“I'm sorry,” you hide behind his shoulder, sobs wracking your body as he holds onto you tightly. You should've been there, fought harder to be by his side. All you could do now is lament on your grief and longing for time lost.

“Never mind that, it's over now.” Hobie pats your cheek, “the trunk is yours, love. If you want it.”

You peek over his shoulder, blinking at the large amount of letters that would surely have you sobbing even more. “You'd let me read it all?”

“They're all addressed to you. ‘sides, I read all of yours. It's only fair that you read mine.”

You wipe a fallen tear, sniffing while a moment passes in comfortable silence. He senses your feelings, twisting around, he cups your cheek before laying his forehead on your own. “I never blamed you for everythin’ that happened.”

A weight is lifted off your chest, a weight that you never realized was there since you've gotten used to the burden. “I–I never truly hated you for leaving.” Eyes closed, you rub his shoulders, comforting him and yourself at the same time. “I wrote it a hundred times in my letters.”

“I know, I read all of them. Now it's your turn to read all my…” He inhales sharply, letting your scent ground him to the present. “...complicated thoughts.”

“Complicated thoughts comes with loving someone.” Pulling away, you kiss him gently. Hobie has placed his whole heart in your hands, and you intend to keep it safe and tucked right beside your own. Or perhaps you've given him yours years ago.

—

After spending hours in bed, letters in hand and Hobie sleeping soundly next to you; you've only read half of the letters he wrote for you. Some made you quietly weep as he wrote about his struggles in the new world without you by his side. Some have made you laugh with his almost incoherent scribbles, notes that he has written while deep in amber liquid and under the fog of longing. It was almost noon when you two finally decided to leave the comfort of the bed to eat and go about your day to day chores.

Hobie decided to make breakfast for the two of you, or brunch is the better way to put it. After feeding Clover and both horses, you come home to a neatly set table. Bowls of fruit, bread and butter with oatmeal on the side sit prettily inside the new porcelains you bought from town. The table is complete with a red checkered table cloth, and plush roses inside a vase placed in the middle.

You stop in the doorway, watching him whistle a tune as he straightens the utensils. “I love it when you go the extra mile.”

Hobie perks his head up, sun shining on the delight etched on his face. “Can’t help it, love, you're contagious.” He eyes your blue poncho that he gifted to you a while ago. “I spend all this time with you, it's impossible not to catch your flawless manners.” He's already reaching towards you as you close the distance.

You place yourself in his arms, palms flat on his chest. “You make it sound like I gave you an incurable disease.”

Index finger on your jaw, he wipes away sweat from your heated skin. You notice the gun belt around his waist that pokes your hip, you don't mention why he started carrying even in the comfort of your home. You know why he does.

“I don't mind dyin’ from it.” He starts to peck your forehead and then he moves down to your parted lips, but you lean away teasingly before he reaches your waiting lips. With a furrowed brow, he tilts his head questioningly.

“Easy there, cowboy. We just got out of bed.” You reluctantly pull away even though you wanted the kiss as much as he did. Patting his bicep, you walk towards the kitchen to wash your hands.

“What do you mean? It's just a quick snog, love.” He leans on the table with one arm, the other nonchalantly inside his jean pocket. He clearly knows what he's doing to you. Sun rays part around him, bathing him in godly light.

You laugh, looking away before you pounce on him, hands in the water basin as you scrub the grime off your hands. “You said that last time and we didn't get anything done the whole day.”

Shrugging, he pulls the chair away from the table for you. Wood scraping on hardwood, smirk thrown your way. “It was one time. ‘sides, we finished all our chores before the sun went down.”

Drying your hand, you walk back to him. You poke his chest with a chuckle, he feigns hurt, making you laugh even more. “Bucky and Cherry were ignoring us after because their food was late.” Sitting down, you roll your eyes, “and it wasn't just that one time, Hobs.”

Hobie slides the chair back in, quickly kissing the crown of your head before sitting next to you, not at the head of the table like you thought he would the first time you two shared a meal together. You love all the subtle ways he shows you his love without saying the three words.

He gestures between you and him, “combined effort, love.”

You flick his ear, heat settling on your cheeks. “I know, I was there.” mumbling, you grab the pitcher of orange juice to pour one in his glass then over to yours whilst he spreads butter on your bread.

“You love flickin’ my bloody ear.” His arm is comfortably placed over the back of your chair, fingers brushing along the top of your head. “How would you feel if I started flicking your ear, hm?”

Covering your ear, you dramatically gasp. “It's still healing, how dare you?” Despite your words, your smile betrays you.

Hobie chuckles, “you can barely see the scar now, love.”

“It still hurts, sometimes.”

“Wait, really?” The sarcasm goes over his head until you give him a look that says ‘I’m clearly joking.’ He sighs, relief in his viridescent eyes. “You had me, I was about to bring you to the doctor.” The last word doesn't send you spiraling anymore after what happened last time with a certain doctor.

Scooping up a spoonful of oatmeal with blackberries, you bring it to Hobie's mouth. “You're a worrywart, Hobs. And I love you for it, now eat. We have so much to do today.”

Smiling, he clamps his mouth shut. “Yeah, but what if we just stay in bed instead—” he gets cut off by oatmeal gently shoved in his mouth. Laughing, he almost chokes from amusement.

He loves this, the domesticity, the shared affection and everything in between. He now sees the beauty in the mundane, the peace in uneventful days. After what seemed like decades of longing and bone aching grief, he feels like he's finally living again

After eating, you pick up plates even though Hobie told you a dozen times that he'll clean up. Once you shut him up with a quick kiss, he immediately relents and continues to drink his coffee.

You come around his seat, taking his finished plate. Before you could leave, he dips his head down backwards to look up at you. “Don't wash them yet, let me help you, yeah?”

With one hand cupping his chin, stubble prickling your palm, you squeeze tenderly. “You made breakfast, so that means I get to clean.” He starts to shake his head, but your hand stops him, making him scrunch his nose. “Combined effort, right?”

As you brush your hand along his scruff, you can see that he's surrendering. “Fine, at least let me dry it.” Beaming down at him, you can't seem to move away from him, hand still running along his jaw. “Do I need to shave?”

“No, it's growing on me actually.”

“Funny, it's growing on me too.”

“Haha.” You walk away with the plates as he hides his laugh behind his mug.

Finishing his drink, as the warmth settles in his stomach, he saunters over to you with the remaining dishes. “D’you think a beard would suit me?” Appearing next to you, he grabs a clean towel, drying the clean plates just like he promised.

“Maybe if we shave your head it might suit you.” Teasing and giggling Hobie splashes water on your cheek. “Completely joking, my love. I like whatever you decide to do. Even if it's a mustache.”

“And they say ‘m the bloody menace.” He pretends to glare at you, but you flash him with a flutter of your eyelashes, melting his façade on the spot. You shake your head with a grin, a comfortable silence settles, save for the sound of water sloshing around the basin and birds chirping outside.

Your matching rings gleam in the sun with the kitchen window in front of you that's facing the backyard. You've gotten used to this life, yet you still can't believe you're living it. It's hard to think that you were running away and starving just barely six months ago. Now you're living the life you always hoped you would be in.

You've forgotten what you were worrying about in the first place.

“What are your plans today, love?” He dries his hands before he takes yours to dry with a clean towel. Gently wiping, he waits for your answer while you think.

“Pick some tomatoes for Riri, you remember how she loved the last batch?” You love it when he dotes on you.

“Yeah, she was raving ‘bout it.”

You hum, “then maybe try again with your surprise.”

Hobie pauses from drying your hands. “You're still not goin’ to tell me what it is?”

Shaking your head, you stare at him with a cheeky smile, and eyes sparkling. “Nope,” he doesn't know that you're trying to breed a new variant of roses that would bloom in the same shade as his eyes. It's a lot harder than you thought it would be, but you persevere especially after one of the saloon's band members lent you a book all about it. “I think I'm close to getting it.”

“As long as it's not going to blow up in my face.” His hands clasps your own, tilting his head with a raised brow.

“For the last time, I didn't know that combining those two cleaning agents would make the bucket explode.” You both chortle at the memory. “But I think it's about to rain though. So I might just help you fix the floors in the spare bedrooms.”

Hobie glances at the window, seeing a clear blue sky without any hints of grey clouds nor rain. “Let me guess, knee hurtin’ again?”

You nod, “exactly. Wanna bet like last time since you still don't trust my knee rule?”

“It’s not an exact science.”

“And yet I've been right ninety percent of the time.”

“Ninety?” He slyly wraps you in his arms, you let him wholeheartedly. “Try seventy.”

“You either bet or you don't, Hobie.”

Nudging your nose lovingly, he peppers your face with featherlight kisses. You softly smile, clay in his arms, eyes closed as he dusts your skin with kisses. “Fine,” kiss “I'll bite.” He smooches each corner of your eyes. “How much?”

“I think you're already paying in advance.” You don't blame him when you two didn't finish any chores for today. It is a combined effort as you let him in your saccharine embrace.

—

Hobie waits for you by the porch with a cigarette in between his lips, smoke wafting in the air. The sun is slowly setting, orange and pinks dancing along Clover's face as she paws on his leg. Her eyes are big and glinting in the afternoon hues. A breeze carries the smoke away into oblivion just as when Cherry and Buckeye make their way inside the barn like clockwork.

“Your treat is comin’, stop whinin’.” He pats her head briefly. If dogs could frown, Clover would be giving him the deepest lour. “You've become spoiled, girl.” His fingers scratch behind her ear, tail wagging from side to side, yet she still whines for her afternoon treat.

The front door opens with a creak, Hobie sighs from the sound, thinking that he has finally fixed the stubborn hinges. But alas, it still declares every time it opens. His furrowed brows are replaced by a gentle smile the second he sees you saunter out with two mugs of tea in both hands. Still gorgeous in your poncho that seems to camouflage you with the house paint.

He quickly snuffs the cigarette, and flicks it away from you. Waving away the remaining smoke, he holds his hands towards you, one to hold one of the mugs, the other to hold onto your waist.

“There you are.” He beams at you, palms meeting with the drink’s warmth and your affection. “Run into some trouble?”

You grin at him and his habitual sweetness. “Here I am.” Pecking his cheek, you place yourself on the porch railing, eyes never leaving his own. Hand brushing along Clover's head, petting her. “You didn't even wait that long.”

“Seemed like forever to me, love.” Hobie clinks his mug against your own, earning a soft chuckle from you. Taking a sip, he makes a face, scrunching up his nose with a groan.

“What's wrong? Shit, did I mistake salt for sugar again?” You take his mug, tasting it for yourself. His tea barely tastes like anything, if anything else, it tastes bitter and akin to dirt. You clearly forgot to add sugar and milk just like how he likes it with this tea variant. You don't blame him for disliking it, the shop in town ran out of the good tea so you both had to settle with whatever is floating in the mug. “Fuck, I'm sorry, I'll remake it.”

“Oi, oi.” Before you could leave his side, Hobie reaches for your hip, arm snaking around it to pull you back to him. “I can handle it, stay with me, yeah?”

You feign a huff, placing your own mug on the railing, bringing your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer to you. Hip to hip, you beam at him whilst his hands rests upon your hips. You two look like you're about to dance. “I appreciate the sentiment, Hobs, but I can't let you drink bland tea.” You're sure that you forgot to put honey in your own.

He shrugs while Clover watches from the side, puppy dog eyes waiting for her treat. “I've got all the sugar and sweetness right ‘ere.” Leaning down, he places his forehead against your own. He then pecks the tip of your nose, all the while never leaving the comfort of staring into your eyes.

“I knew you'd say that.” You giggle, hands balling around his shirt. His eyes shine brightly, emeralds mixing in with the soft orange.

“You psychic now?” He raises a playful brow.

“Nope, I just know you, Hobie Brown.” You slide your hands away from his shirt to his chin, scruff scratching you a bit. “And I know you hate this tea without milk and sugar.”

“I can live without it for one drink.”

“And what? You can't live without me for even a moment?” You tease, and you now notice Clover's waiting but polite stare.

Hobie smiles, tilting away to then bend back in to kiss your lips gently. His hand holds your chin in place while you smile into the kiss, eyes closed but you still see the soft afternoon glow behind your closed eyelids. With one last peck, lips brushing along your own, he gives you his answer without saying a word.

You open your eyes with a breathy sigh, warmth filling your entire chest. “Do that again when I come back.”

“Love.” He sounds like he's pleading.

“I'll make your tea better this time.” You pat his cheek. “Besides, I forgot Clover's beef jerky.” With the utterance of her name, Clover stands up, wagging her tail with her tongue lolling out on the side of her maw. You're already moving away backwards, but his hand still holds onto your arm. You take both drinks, careful not to spill and waste any. As you go, his palm slides down, still trying to make you stay. “Five minutes, Hobs. Give me five and I'll be back.” You giggle when he stomps his foot like a petulant child.

“I'll be waitin', countin’ down the seconds.” he exhales dramatically, making sure that his longing is clearly shown. You laugh as Clover follows you inside. “It's my beef jerky by the way!” He yells, earning a muffled guffaw from you.

Smiling, Hobie returns to rest on the railing, elbow propped up, leaning and relaxing on the bannister. He refrains from lighting another stick of cigarette so he could keep his promise to you of quitting smoking. Fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve, his ears perk up from the sound of hooves thumping on the ground. Hobie's heart immediately skips a beat from the sound. His hand stays on his gun as he leaves the porch to see where the horses are coming from. He's not expecting any visitors, and from how loud the sound is, there seems to be a dozen of them coming his way.

Everything screams at him to take you and run.

His worry quickly rushes to you, as he twists and turns to spot where they're all coming from, he finally sees them coming down from hills. A dozen or so of them unmistakably gallop towards the farm. They're fast, leaving everything in the dust behind them.

There's no time to run away. And there's too many of them to fight off.

“Y/N!” He yells. “Stay inside!” There's no sound coming from the house, not even your footsteps as the strangers come closer and closer within a second until they all appear from behind the farmhouse with a couple of horses missing from the line. He takes notice of them, afraid of what will happen.

Dust flies around the farm, the clover covered ground gets trampled by hooves. They stop a mere inches away from your precious plants, surrounding him. Horses huff and neigh just as when dust settles, showing Hobie all their riders faces. He doesn't recognize any of them, and none of them stands out from the crowd. Except for the one leading the party, he's clad in a white suit with a pitch black tie. Eyes as green as the grass he's standing on, hair slicked back, revealed when he took off his matching hat.

Hobie stands before them, hand on his gun, posture ready to quick draw. “You’re trespassin’”

“Sorry about that,” the man in the white suit answers for the rest of them. “We're just here to ask for directions.”

“Ask, then leave.”

He clears his throat, “You see, we're looking for a place in Scarlett Meadows. But we're all turned around.” Chuckling, he leans on his horse, the poor horse clearly looks uncomfortable from the awkward weight on its neck.

“You're in Scarlett Meadows, mate.” Hobie says the last part sarcastically.

Clapping, the strange man looks around his party before returning his attention to Hobie. “That's good! Now can you point us towards the direction of Emerald Ranch?”

Hobie's stomach plummets, “You passed it.”

“That so?” The stranger looks around the farm. “Funny, this place looks like Emerald Ranch.”

“This is a farm, not a ranch.” Hobie's eyes narrow at the man before flicking towards the front door of the house to then return at the man whose eyes stare him down without a single fear behind them. “Have you tried asking ‘round town?”

“We would, but we heard they're not too friendly.”

“I wonder why?”

The white suit man chuckles lowly, “I'm just looking for someone, mate.”

“You're like a bloody cigarette, you're draggin’ this out, mate.” Hobie unlocks the strap securing his gun, ready to shoot.

The stranger chuckles, cracking a humourless smile before his expression turns flat. “Where's my fucking wife, Mr. Brown?”

Hobie falters, hand twitching around his gun. “Wife?”

The front door slams open, and you come out with a shotgun aimed at the stranger's head. “Ah there she is—!” A shot rings out, Hobie dodges from your range, and the man has the same idea. He falls from his now dead horse, using its body for cover.

“Cross!” You scream with anger, fear laced into your tone like venom. “You motherfucker!” Pumping the shotgun, you glance at Hobie. “Run!”

“I forgot I taught you how to shoot!” Cross laughs even with bullets raining down on him and his entourage.

Hobie sees everything in slow motion, one by one, as the assailants run towards you, they get shot down immediately. Blood splattered all over the clovers and plants you love so much. The horses neigh wildly from the barn, and Clover barks desperately from inside the house. Shotgun shells fall on the porch he mended, with gunpowder replacing the honey scented home. Hobie quick draws his gun, emptying half of his chamber at the men you missed. You're in the clear as his Entourage now lies beneath your feet. Hobie aims at Cross where he has a clear shot at while the man continues to hide behind the corpse. But before he could shoot, he hears your gun run out of bullets from how the trigger clicks empty. And then a harsh crack follows as you fall loudly on the wooden deck, head bloodied, breath trembling and struggling as the man Hobie hoped never to see again stands over you with his rifle digging into your temple.

Hicks, a stout man with a pencil thin mustache, clad in gold and your supposed uncle; the one who started it all, cackles above your bleeding form. “Long time no see, Hobie! Back from the dead, eh?” He waves at him, grinning widely. “Drop your fucking gun or I'll end her right here.”

Hobie's entire body trembles just like five years ago, mind reeling from the sight of Hicks' face. Never wasting a second, Hobie drops his gun just as he feels a pistol whip him from behind the second he's unarmed. He falls on the ground not from the strike on his head but from the angry kick on the back of his knees. He gets a mouthful of grass, dirt sticking to his cheeks.

Gun punted away from him, his vision swirls, hand reaching towards you. “No,” he whispers as he hears your sobs. There's a sudden pressure around his wrists, rope tying his hands on his back. “You fucker.”

Hobie picks up the unmistakable sound of a body getting dragged across the ground. Hands and feet hogtied, he struggles to fight back. He stops his struggle when you're placed in front of him in the same position. Your hands and feet are also bound, crimson trickling down from your temple to your eyes; blood sticking to your lashes. Trying desperately to wiggle next to you, he gets a harsh kick at his side. He bites his lip to prevent a pained groan from escaping.

Your eyes try to focus on him, pulse rapidly decreasing, you're in danger of falling unconscious. “...Hobs?” You call to him despite only seeing his outline in front of you.

“‘m here, love.” He wheezes. “Stay awake for me, yeah?”

You struggle to see, black dots dancing around your vision and blood rushing in your ears. Voices come and go, victorious laughter echoing and fading. “I–I should've told you. I'm s–sorry.” Crying, you feel a heavy cheek pressed on your own.

Your sobs would haunt Hobie in his grave. A haze of despair falling over him like fog atop a mountain.

“It's okay—”

“Yeah, you should've told him. Or maybe you shouldn't have left in the first place, hm, honey?” Cross has his hands around your binds, flesh against your cheek. “You left me for him?” He yanks you up, your bones crack and creak as his hand slither up to your bare throat. “I told you, you can never leave.” You choke as he squeezes.

Hobie tries to fight back even with the ropes around his legs and wrists. “Let her fucking go!” A heel stomps on the small of his back as Hicks laughs above him. A raging pain flares, but he refuses to let you fall in the clutches of a man that you clearly never wanted to be next to you.

Guilt wraps Hobie in its familiar embrace. He should've done more, added barbed wires around picket fences, hid guns under the porch, grabbed you the moment he heard the horses— he should've been better at protecting you.

“P–please,” you mumble out despite the hand gripping around your neck. “Let him go, y-you have me. You won.” Gasping, you stare at Hobie with your bloodshot eyes. He shakes his head, eyes full of unshed tears. Even now he doesn't want them to see the sorrow that they've caused him. “Cross, please.” You beg, a trapped doe in front of him.

Cross lets you go after a moment of you desperately trying to gasp for air. You look into his green eyes that are awfully familiar that fills you with dread. You despise that colour on him and how similar it is with the only man you love.

He reaches for your face as you flinch away but with his hand around your collar, you can't escape. You wait for a hit, but it doesn't come. Instead, he pats your cheek with a gloved hand, rough leather sending shivers down your spine. For a second, he looks like he's considering letting Hobie go. Hope blossoms in your chest together with the panic.

Your husband turns towards Hobie, towering over him, his hand still on you. Hobie meets with the similar green eyes with fury. Silence blankets around the farm as both men stare each other down. Cross is the first one to break.

“Thank you for bringing my wife back to me, Mr. Brown.” Craning his head to look at you, you pray that he gets hit with a stray bullet. “Mr. Hicks,” said man hums in reply. He smiles at you, showing his teeth. “Do whatever you want with Mr. Brown, I'm done here.” Cross pushes you towards one of his men, your back hits a sturdy chest. Something gold and metallic pokes your shoulder.

You look up at the man who bears the familiar gilded star. “Sheriff Lee?” He could only look at you through narrowed eyes, anger swimming behind hazel. “No!” Heart in your stomach, heels digging in, you refuse to go. “Hobie!” Said man wails for you in agony as you get dragged away by Lee's strong grip. You ignore the sheriff's sneer as you return your attention towards the only person who deserves it. “Run! Please!”

Hobie yells your name with wild rage. “No! Fuckin' let me go, you wankers!” He fights back on the ground, teeth biting at anyone who comes near him. But there's too many of them left, they punch and kick at him. Steel toed boots hitting his flesh in a sickening squelch. Once they're satisfied, they drag him behind the house as you both fight back despite the odds. “Remember your promise!” He screams, blood coating his tongue from the beatings. “Wait for me!”

“Leave—!” A sack is placed on your head, lungs struggling to breathe, eyes flicking rapidly from side to side. Your joints are frozen in place as panic takes over your whole body. Even with massive amounts of adrenaline to keep you fighting, you feel powerless, muscles straining, fingers trembling; everything crumbles. It's an assault on your senses, there're hands touching you, trying to tie you down. Breath staggered, eyes blown out, and body trembling. And yet, his screams are the ones that truly stay with you. Him screaming your name, crying out to you whilst you try to reach him.

“Burn the bloody place to the ground!” Hicks yells as you're placed on the back of a horse. “Dig a deeper hole! I'm here to finish what I started.” You call for him desperately, throat aching, body twisting and turning on the horse as you try to fall off it.

The stench of iron is replaced with fiery embers curling around your nose behind the fiber hood. You see blurred red and orange spreading through your home in a blaze of wildfire.

The last thing you hear is his screams as you fall unconscious from another hard punch to your skull.

—

Stirring awake, head pounding mercilessly against your temple, you groggily sit up despite the throbbing pain and dazed state. Hands still tied by rough rope behind you, the skin around your wrist is angry and starting to blister. Back hitting hard oak, your eyes meet with red stained glass windows that shine underneath flashes of lightning. You sit hunched on a pew as rain batters the windows with wind howling outside while you roam your eyes around the chapel— Smooth stone walls carved all around with granite floors glinting from the candle light. Arched ceilings that seem to be taller every time you blink, and incense filtering around the air, making your nose twitch.

“Good, you're awake.” Cross’ echoing voice rumbles deeply from the altar. Shoulders straight as a ruler, white suit drenched and dirtied from his recent fall from his horse.

“Wish I wasn't.” You groan, noticing how your feet are also tied together. Glancing around the altar, you scoff bitterly. “Really? Is nothing sacred to you, Cross?” He stalks over to you, fists clenched on his side. Fear is slowly creeping up to you. Yet, you don't balk, nor flinch when he gets closer to you. “What? Are you thinking about renewing our vows?”

“What did he do to you? Hm? What did he say to get you out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere?” His wedding ring shines, making you glare at the piece of jewelry.

“Why? I chose to be with him, simple as that. I moved forward because you weren't there to shackle me anymore.” You lean closer despite the bindings and your instincts telling you not to fight or else. You know what he's capable of, his hands still bear the shape of your throat and cheek. “Why are you even here? You should've let me go, I gave you a reason to finally be free of me!” You stomp your foot, frustrated and angry. But most of all afraid for Hobie and what has become of him when you were dragged away. “Why didn't you let me go, Cross?”

His eye twitches, the same eyes that are sickenly familiar to Hobie's. “You're my wife, of course I'd follow you.”

You scoff bitterly, “your wife? I'm only your wife on paper.” Wrists twisting, you try to free yourself just like how Hobie taught you in case something like this would happen. And happen it did. “If you forgot, my aunt chose you, and Hicks made me walk down that fucking aisle with a knife to my throat. You are not my husband. Not to me.”

Cross blinks as if he's lingering around your words. Your heart beats louder than the storm outside, afraid of what the man before you would do. Your instincts are right as he suddenly raises his hand to land a harsh slap, you flinch away on instinct, heart beating loudly from the fear. But the pain doesn't blossom on your cheek like it used to, instead, he lunges for your throat, fingers digging in your pulse as you choke.

“Make s-sure you hit me right between my eyes until I see stars, husband.” You mock him despite your crippling fear.

“Don't.” He seethes, you don't stand down, this pain is nothing new to you.

When he doesn't get the response he wanted, his hold loosens, green eyes roaming and searching for the familiar fear in your eyes. A second later, he slowly lets you go and slides his hand up to cup your chin. He smells of nickel and rotten wood.

You tilt your head back so you can leave his hold but he grips tighter. Hair standing on end, his touch is a shivering familiarity on your skin.

“W-why do you hold on tight to me? You don't love me, you never wanted me to begin with.”

He rubs your cheekbone with his thumb. “A year of marriage with you— Anyone would hold onto you with a grip.”

“You should've gotten a dog instead of a wife then.” You laugh throatily, feeling his hand clasp tighter. “Now what has become of you, Cross?” His jaw clenches. “What happened to slapping me as your greeting? All the hair pulling, and dragging me across the floor to show your so-called love for me? Fetch my aunt, she knows how to properly greet me as always.”

His eyes sparkled with brief amusement. “You didn't hear?” He pauses, thumb brushing along your bottom lip, hunger in those green eyes. “Your great aunt's dead.” You swallow thickly, letting his words sink in. Your mind can't make out how to feel about it. “Died of a broken heart, that's what the doctor said.”

“A–a broken heart?” You shove his hand away from your face. “I didn't know she even had a heart in the first place.”

You can see the confusion spreading across his face, not used to your new found fiery attitude. “What has become of you? She died because you ran away.” Cross uses grief and guilt as his weapon, and he knows what he's doing.

“I'm not the same girl you married, Cross.” You tilt your head on the back of the pew, staring him down through your bloodied lashes. “And you and I both know that's bullshit. She smoked like a goddamn chimney, worse that she had numerous enemies. Not the kind of combination you want if you wish to live long.”

“Watch your fucking tongue, girl.” Hicks’ booming voice ricochets around the chapel as he appears from a door near the altar. “That was my wife you're talking about.”

“Look at that, hello, uncle.” Sarcasm drips from your words. “Why do you like a fucking priest when you're the farthest from being one?” You gesture with your head towards his robe like clothes, he's draped in black cloth from head to toe, mourning clothes.

Unabashedly eyeing him up and down, you start to giggle. “You married her for money, you fool. You're not convincing anyone with that.” Turning towards Cross whose eyes remained on you, you falter for a second before straightening your expression. “You blame me for her death but have you asked him about it? He has everything to gain from her death.” Cross flicks his eyes towards the man before turning to leave with a humourless scoff. “Coward.” You whisper.

A strong grip latches itself in your hair, pulling at your scalp. Hicks' hot breath puffs over your cheek, you yelp in pain, reminding you of all the times she did this exact thing to you. “You and your childish whims killed her. And for what? To be with that boy?”

“Fuck you!”

“Y/N,” Cross stands in the middle of the aisle, nonchalantly taking a coin from his breast pocket to twirl it across his fingers. “He didn't kill her, Hicks isn't the one named in her will. He has nothing to gain.”

Slowly, delight spreads across your chest, wrists almost free. You grin widely. “She left it all to me.” Hicks throws your head down, skull hitting the pew with a sickening crack. Yet, you still laugh even with blood trickling down to your nape. “A-after all the shit you had to do to win her over,” you swallow down the pain. “she still didn't trust you enough to hand the company over to you!” Your guffaw echoes around the chapel. You spot Sheriff Lee standing in the corner, guarding the door, your laughter roars louder at the sight of him.

Hicks scoffs, trying to act that your words hasn't fazed him. “I always admired her, y’know, her and her resilience to punish you even though she loved you so much. With your hands bloodied and knees in grain— pretty eyes wet with salty tears. It was quite a sight. But as much as I admired her, cared for her, I can't replace you. No one can.”

Your eyes brim with tears you refuse to let go. “She could barely look at me.” You whisper the words.

He sighs, “she loved you.”

“There was a time I thought she did. That I deserved all of the pain, that I didn't know any better. But I was just a child who didn't do anything wrong but look up to her.”

Shrugging, Hicks makes a face that fans the flames in you. “Maybe you did deserve it.”

You don't feel the fear anymore, your rage triumphs over it.

“Fuck you!” Your screech could be heard above the thunder. “It got worse because of you! Only because you whispered in her ears and told her everything with your jealous sickly eyes! Married me off to some man who would hurt me more than grains on my knees!” You heave, Hicks raises an unbothered brow. “Wasn't it enough that you took him away from me?” He grins at you, papers in his hand, looking at you as if you're the one in the wrong. “The poison drips down, from her to you and then to my accursed husband.” You turn your red eyes towards Cross, the coin in his hand pauses from your heavy stare.

Maybe you should've gone with your parents on that doomed expedition.

A rustle of papers makes you turn towards the sound. Hicks spreads the crumpled paper on the seat next to you, pointing at the dotted line and placing a fountain pen beside it. “Sign your name and this'll be over.”

You lick your dry lips, the taste of your blood is bitter and acrid on your tongue. Your eyes don't even glance at the words. Wondering how they knew where you went, your mind wanders to the only person back home who knew. “What did you do to Peter?”

“We set him free. Free to roam the gates of heaven that is.”

Nails dig into your palms, leaving crescent scars atop your old one. Fury snaking along your aching body, you crane your neck towards Cross who leans against the altar, flipping a coin as candlelight flicks across his face and red windows reflecting off his skin and eyes. “The people you surround yourself with, Cross, it's astounding. You've got a dirty sheriff, a gold digging motherfucker, and me, who will take every opportunity to kill everyone in this fucking room.” Your want for vengeance spreads across the chapel, voice louder than the thunder raging outside. Cross looks at you like it's the first time he truly ever saw you. Returning your focus on the man who buried the love of your life, you utter behind clenched teeth.

“Just sign the damn papers—”

“When you buried Hobie under that oak tree, you buried me too. And you sliced open my neck just like how you did to him, that's why I'll never sign it.” Hicks tries to grab your head but you headbutt his chin before he could. He collapses on the floor, cradling his bitten and bleeding tongue. Standing above him, pen in hand, wrists now free behind you, you smile at him so it's the last thing he'll ever see. “I'm going to burn the company into the ground, and you'll be left penniless but I'll be fine; thanks to you suggesting this, how did you put it? ‘Auspicious’ marriage.”

Cross notices the sharp, shiny pen in your hands. He yells, coin falling from his hand with a clink, but it's too late as you pounce on Hicks, stabbing his chest with every clink of the coin— three times, you stab him three times as blood gushes out in a spray across your vengeful face. Lee stops you by tackling you on the ground. The blood coated pen clangs on the granite, drenching the floor with crimson. Lee has to put his entire weight on you so you can't escape, Hobie drives you to fight back with the same ferocity he would.

You need to avenge him.

“How does it feel, Hicks?! That's how I felt while you watched!” Your uncle sits up, groaning, blood slipping from his fingers as the outlaws that they hired rush towards him. You know he won't die from his injuries, you'd know— but it's enough, knowing that you caused him pain until you can finally end him with your own hands.

Laughing, arms being tied up from behind, tighter this time, you continue to try and escape from under Lee even with his knee digging on the small of your back. “I will not cleave, never again! Especially to men like you!”

Hicks stands up with some help. He leaves small drops of his blood on the granite, hands plugging the holes you made on his torso. “Now I'm glad I finished the job! I buried him again, and this time he'll stay down there for good!” He tries to rile you up further, it works from the mere mention of Hobie. You fight back, Lee's hold on you wasn't enough so Cross joins him, hands keeping your kicking legs down. “I even burned down your dinky house, there's nothing left there for you!”

“Did you make sure that he stayed buried this time, uncle?!” You yell at him, a sound akin to primal fury. His eyes widen, and you grin bitterly, “You didn't. Don't bother running away because he's already coming after you.” Lee yanks you up, and then places the same hood on your face. “He's coming after you!” You get dragged away towards the small room behind the altar.

Your grief has grown teeth. “If he doesn't then I'll do it for him!”

As Lee ties you to a table, closing and locking the door behind your screaming form; Cross' entourage looks at him with trepidation.

“We'll leave the second the rain is gone.” They all agree immediately.

—

Dread spills over him like a flood, incapable of saving you, watching your unconscious form ride away as Cross carries you on his borrowed horse. Hobie had to gaze upon the agonizing pain of you being taken away.

Outlaws set fire to the house, razing it to the ground as smoke immediately entered his senses. Flames spread in the home you two built together, angry orange hues devouring the same place he promised to live the rest of his life with you. The light blue paint starts to melt, glass windows cracking in the heat. He watches as his home turns to ash.

Men drag his screaming, writhing body towards the back of the house as he hears the awfully familiar sound of soil falling from shovels. His entire body hurts, cuts and bruises marring his flesh, clothes torn, and teeth coated in crimson. Trying to fight back, his nails digging in on the men's wrists yet it doesn't faze them. He sees Buck and Cherry run towards Hobie, neighing angrily with every intention to kick each of his assailants.

Hicks takes his guns out, aiming at both horses before they could reach him. Hobie yells at his horses, pleading with his broken voice. “No! Get away, Buck!”

Hicks shoots, gunshot echoing around the farm, bullet missing Cherry's hoof by an inch. Both horses rears, neighing loudly. “Fuck, I missed.” Hicks looks back at Hobie, who's on his knees. Hicks pulls down the hammer again to shoot. “Good thing I have more than one bullet.”

Hobie sneers, turning towards both terrified horses. “Buckeye! Leave! Get!” Bucky seems to shake his head in protest, but one look from his rider has him understanding what he meant. He runs away in the direction with Cherry in tow, who looks at the place she last saw you in. Hobie's glad he listened, he can't lose them too.

With dust clearing, Hicks returns his focus on Hobie and the outlaws that are digging behind him. “Dig deeper, make sure he doesn't get out like last time.” An idea passes by his eyes. “Or maybe I should just strap your hands and feet to my horse and gallop away while I drag you around in your shitty farm?”

“Fuck you, Hicks!” Hobie kicks dirt at his direction, soil landing on his shoes, completely unbothered. “Where is he taking her?”

Hicks chuckles while he takes out a cigar from a golden case that Hobie recognizes as your aunt's cigar case. He cuts the cigar before lighting it up with the same fire that eats away the farm. “Why bother asking? She's married, boy, taken and all that.” Crouching down, he blows smoke at Hobie's face. Eyes flicking towards the hole behind him. “Besides, you'd be six feet under.”

Thunder roars overhead, followed by a spark of lightning and petrichor. You were right, it's going to rain.

“It was all arranged wasn't it? Was it you?”

“No, it was her aunt. God rest her soul.” Hicks points at the sky as droplets of rain trickles down.

“Good.” Hobie grins, teeth threatening to snap at the man. Hicks clenches his jaw, sneering with a scoff.

The fire continues to burn behind him, and the men carry on with digging Hobie's grave right behind him. “Well, technically, I was the one who suggested it but she's the one who did most of the work.” He huffs and blows smoke, “you should've seen Y/N at her wedding, so gorgeous in white.”

Hobie tightens his jaw, lunging at Hicks but the men holding him down stops him. “No matter how deep that hole you put me in, I'll dig myself out and I'll come and cut your neck this time.”

“Let's see about that, Hobie. Pity, if only you didn't chase her, you'd be fine. Hell, maybe a manager at the factory by now.” He takes a peek behind Hobie, sucking in his teeth when it's not deep enough. “Shame, you had talents. I gotta hand it to you though, you've built yourself quite a reputation over here.”

“Whatever you heard,” Hobie leans closer, but a hand stops him. “It's all true, especially what I did in the east. And once I get my hands on you and that prick you married her to, I'll make sure what happened back then was child's play.” For a brief second, Hicks wavers.

“It's six feet,” someone says behind Hobie, still heaving from the labour.

“About time.” Hicks stands up, instructing the men to lift Hobie up on his feet. He gets yanked up, shoulders throbbing. “I'm supposed to say some nice parting words to the departed,” Hicks takes out his gun, pressing the barrel on Hobie's forehead while he glares with a bitter smile— “But I don't want to waste my breath.”

“Make sure you don't miss.” Hobie leans closer to the metal as Hicks then digs it into his neck as Hobie taunts. Moving a few paces away with his free hand pressed on his ear, he knocks the hammer down and aims it at Hobie's head.

He braces himself.

Hicks shoots, lighting strikes a few ways from the farm, lighting up the bullet heading right at Hobie's head. Blood spills over the soil below. He falls into the grave with a thud. Hicks Looks from above, seeing Hobie limp inside the hole in the ground, right next to the writhing worms. Satisfied, he tells his men to cover it back up just as the rain starts to pour in.

“Meet us at the rendezvous.” Hicks says above the sound of rain and thunder as he makes his way towards his horse, already galloping away while soil drops on Hobie's motionless face.

—

It rains, just like that day five years ago.

Hobie's nails are coated in dirt and grime, face covered by his own shirt to protect him from falling soil. Yet it doesn't save him from slowly suffocating. Soil in his lungs, breath ragged, he remembers the panic in your voice, how you screamed so he could be let go. He's living his past once again, but this time, he's not a frightened boy, he'll rise from the dead over and over again if he has to. With a raging heart that feels like imploding, his thoughts are on you.

Your worst fear is him dying. Even with the threat of a gun to your head, you still chose him.

Did he deserve any of these? To see you cry for him desperately, to hear you call for him with blood spilling from your lips— is he cursed? Is this karma for all the things he has done? That he deserves all of it because he was molded into this, a weapon he never wished to become but had to so he could survive. He doesn't want to linger on the thought, all he knows is that he needs to survive this.

But will he survive long enough to see you again?

Grunting, his temple has stopped bleeding a few minutes ago, skin grazed by the bullet that he dodged covertly. Hicks was never known for his aim even if his target was just a few steps away from him. Or perhaps Hobie is incapable of dying.

With his belt buckle in hand, he digs upwards. While he laid there ‘dead’ he heard about the new factory settled in the south— That after your aunt's death, they changed the main location from London to the heart of the new world's south. He knows where to find Hicks now, and in turn, you too.

He's not going to lie down and bleed.

Hobie hears the pattering of rain just outside the grave, thankful that the idiots Hicks tasked to bury him gave up halfway after they thought him dead. Still, Hobie's having a hard time digging himself out when the soil has clumped together because of the water and became heavier because of it. But he won't give up until he gets to see and hold you again. He still needs to tell you that he forgives you, that he understands why you didn't tell him. That he loves you despite it all.

Yelling in frustration, he still can't feel the breeze from below. Seemingly not making any progress. Arms thrumming from fatigue, he inhales and exhales, remembering why he keeps fighting, why he wants to survive it all.

You. The image of you drives him to dig himself out of his own supposed grave.

Hobie digs and digs, calculating his breathing so he doesn't waste what little air he has. He lists all their names, all the people he has to cut through to get to you. Hicks is a given, he has to end that man to avenge his younger self. Sheriff Lee, whose asshole son he had to shoot or he'll continue to commit unspeakable crimes that his own father lets him do without a single reprimand. And Cross, your husband, a marriage you never wanted, your shackle that continues to drag you down.

“Fuckers,” he whispers, renewed energy making him dig faster and faster.

There's a metallic twinkle from outside, for a moment, he thought that he suffocated and is now being taken by death. His worries subsides when he hears frantic barking outside, paws digging and whining sadly.

“Clover.” Hobie is in disbelief, lucky that Clover returned. “Good girl, Clover! Keep diggin’!” He helps, tunneling together in tandem until he sees her snout sniff at the ground. “Atta girl!” Petting briefly, Clover digs as Hobie gets his hand out from the depths of the soil.

Lighting pierces the night, he rises from his grave once more.

Death can't stop him from getting back to you. This time, he won't leave you to be eaten by the coyotes.

Dragging himself out, Clover helps him by biting at the hem of his jeans, pulling him up by her teeth. Rain pelts against his skin, mud sticking to his flesh, and blades of grass clinging to him. Shakily standing up, he screams the moment he's fully out of the grave.

Hobie brushes his hand along Clover's head, scratching just behind her ear. She scampers off, running towards somewhere, maybe a dry place where she can rest after a job well done.

He lets Clover run away, taking out his cigarette and lighter, he drags the stick across his dry lips before placing it in between. Lighting it, he inhales deeply, the glow from it illuminates the fury on his face. Promising himself that he'll save you, that he won't abandon you this time. And If you're still willing, rebuild the house in each of your visions like it was supposed to be.

Staring at the farm house, its burnt, but remnants of it remains thanks to the unexpected rain. The structure still stands tall, darkened wood falling apart, ash mixing in with the rain, turning the floorboards into a muddy sludge. He can't think about all the letters that you didn't finish reading, all those words forgotten in the wind, nothing but ash flying away with the breeze.

Even the garden you worked so hard for is burnt to nothingness, not even a single leaf has survived. All the flowers and produce you've painstakingly kept alive are now cinders.

The familiar calmness that comes after a brush with death sits in his chest. A wave of pain seizes him to a pause, gripping the chest, his mind imagines the worst. That they've hurt you, that you're sailing halfway across the world by now; that they've killed you and dropped you into a shallow grave to let the rain inevitably wash you away. He shuts the thought out, tears pricking at his eyes. Uttering your name softly, he exhales. You're his peace.

Still standing in what remains of the farm, Hobie hears hooves rushing behind him, and a familiar bark running next to the pair of horses, whose shadow looms over him when lightning strikes and lights up the barren land.

“I'll get her back, I promise.”

—

The saloon is in full swing, patrons dance around the band, people rambunctiously play poker upstairs while Riri is arguing with Miguel after she told him that she's leaving to go and check the farm.

“I'm telling you, Miguel, something doesn't feel right. Morgan told me he saw fire blazing over there!” She unlaces her apron, tossing the empty whiskey bottle right next to other empty ones.

“Their place is far away, how could Morgan even see that?” Miguel chomps down on a slice of cake, rain continues to pour down as Riri takes her coat and hat from the closet beside the bar. “Where are you going, Ri? It's pouring outside!”

“To check on them—!” The saloon doors open with a bang, spooking the band, the music screeching to a halt when they see Hobie standing there drenched, bleeding and covered in weapons. Everyone stops to look, the brim of his hat covers half of his face, scar in full display, ring glinting in the light. Silence hangs, not even a whisper can be heard. “Holy fuck.” Riri pushes past people to get closer to him, hands reaching out to him, eyes seeking you from behind him. When she doesn't see you, she presumes the worst.

“They found her.” Lightning strikes behind him, briefly showing his red eyes.

Riri nods, hiding her shaking hands with a fist. “I've got your back, just like I said.” Miguel stands dumbfounded, frowning, eyebrows knitted in anger.

Hobie glances at the customers he knows, half of them were from the gang he used to run with. The other half are afraid of him. He turns his heed towards Miguel, eyes boring into the man. “Remember that bounty you never got?” Miguel smirks, already placing his hat on his head. “Any valuables you find, it's yours and the gang’s. Time to get even, Miguel.”

He hears ear splitting cheers before he collapses into Riri's arms.

[rodolfoparras]

Sorry other anon but logan woukd NOT share

Jean and scott? Sure! But reader??? Helllllll no only HE gets to see readers cock

Speaking of.... (cw for wolverines masochism and sexual burning and crazy jealousy and mean reader im gonna yap)

Imagine reader with good dick... like better than Logan's ever felt; size doesnt matter (even if you're big) because somehow you can fuck him perfectly and know what he wants before he even asks.

Overstimulation is tricky because his regeneration gives him insane stamina, so you dont do things over and over but all at once. Vibe ring on his cock, fingering him without lube (the burn is something he can ground himself on) and aiming right for his prostate, and simultaneously digging your other hand's nails on his thigh or chest.

He'd never been taken apart so thoroughly, and he loved whining out your name, telling you he was your boy, being your placid fucktoy before he came all over the sheets.

So imagine how he felt when you suggested letting someone else in to join. He'd feel like shit if he turned it down without trying after you'd explored all the weird kinks he'd found he'd liked after 200 years, so he swallowed the bile in his throat and agreed.

The new guy was... pretty, to say the least. It's like he was everything Logan wasn't. Scrawny, young, and spry. He remembered meeting him before, probably an acquaintance of yours. The thought bothered him that the new guy would see you undressed, but Logan found comfort assuming that you'd probably let the new guy watch first and then he'd take whatever Logan wasn't using.

Logan felt his eye twitch as he heard the new guy request to ride. No. That was Logan's spot, damnit, and he wouldn't let some random kid take away from what he wanted. He bit his tongue, drew blood and swallowed, then retracted and sheathed his claws so the pain would yet again ground him. He watched in discontent as you slid your expert fingers in and out of the other guy's asshole, and once the guy moaned out your name the way only Logan should be able to, he snapped.

Logan ripped the guy off of you and tossed him to the ground, throwing the clothes down beside him.

"I'm not getting cucked. Not now, not ever. Nobody else is gonna see your cock but me," he growled, enunciating by grinding down on you. Suffice to say, you were pissed. The guy was bleeding, Logan's claws nicked him on the way down, all because Logan didn't speak up until you were prepping.

You scoffed and tossed Logan off, showing the poor kid to the door and turning back to Logan.

"Unacceptable shit. You should have said no in the first place, or said no when he asked to ride, or said no when I asked if you wanted it," you snapped. Logan felt his anger fade to guilt—you were right, yeah. Many opportunities to quit.

You lit a cigarette and puffed angrily, ignoring the sad puppy dog eyes he sported. You slumped on the couch and once Logan sat beside you, you finally noticed what he was asking. His wrist was outstretched to you, inviting a burn that he'd almost expected never to come. You chewed on your cheek. He was apologizing.

"Open," you finally said. Logan hurried, opening his mouth eagerly to accept the 'punishment' (it wasn't really, since nothing got him hornier than you being mean) and a moan left his throat when you pulled on his tongue to stretch it out.

Right in the middle, you stamped your quarter-smoked cigarette out on his tongue and followed it with spitting right into his mouth to hear the sizzle of the burning flesh. It healed quickly, so you lit your lighter and heated up the metal around the flame, then pressed it into his wrist, searing the flesh. He brought his blistering wrist to your lips in an invite to lick it, which you obliged before his body could fix the wound.

Logan laughed giddily. Nobody else could see this. Nobody else could feel this. Nobody but him.

-wolverine pussyfucker (the one who brought up jealous logan)

AND WHY DO YOU GUYS LEAVE MASTERPIECES LIKE RHESE IN MY INBOC WHERE IS THE FULL FIC WHY ARENT YOU POSTING THIS THIS IS ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL SUGAR BEE THE AMOUNT OF TIME I REREAD THIS IS EMBARRASSING

I absolutely love a jealous Logan idc if it’s canon or not something about that grumpy bastard being incredibly possessive on the inside makes my cock hard especially him realizing it in the middle of a threesome? Oh Jesus Christ want to comfort and punish him at the same time head spinning need to lay down🧎🏻‍♂️🧎🏻‍♂️🧎🏻‍♂️🧎🏻‍♂️🧎🏻‍♂️

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

It was only supposed to be a one night stand part 2

Tw: mostly smut, yandere, self harm implications, suicidal ideation, gross underwear stealing

Part 3

Never did it occur to you to ask about his name. You thought he left you alone after that day, but he actually just had to go to work. Only after you punched your time card out for the day, you found this man waiting right at the entrance with his shitbox of a car. It's a white sedan with chipping paint, and rust spots everywhere. There is a roof box attached to it, and there are numerous scuff marks visible even though it's completely black.

You were about to bolt for it when he got out of the driver's seat. But he managed to block your way, shadow engulfing your form. You stood still and stared down (or in your case, up) at him, waiting for his next move. He seems to do the same thing to you, sharing a quiet yet intense moment for a minute.

Finally, he slowly moved his hands up until it reached your torso. The man pulled you into a hesitant hug, he's being so gentle with you as if you're going to break. You shuddered when you heard him take a deep sniff of your hair.

You protested, firmly pushing him away, he's noticeably fresher and cleaner than how you remembered him. You asked what his intentions are.

"It's late. Let me drive you home." He muttered, latching his hands onto yours. "Please." He continued, a twinge of desperation can be detected in his voice.

You took a deep breath and declined. God knows where is he taking you, and you're not keen on jumping out of a moving car. You said thanks through gritted teeth, yanked your hands back, and walked away.

As expected, he followed you. Stopping whenever you stopped to yell at him to go away. But he never budged, once you move he moves.

Finally, you reached the station. Where the both of you met mere days ago. His puddle of vomit is cleared away and the booze bottle is presumably recycled.

The man waited with you. Feeling burnt out and irritated, you kept your lips sealed and your eyes glued to the screen of your phone, ignoring the existence of the man sitting beside you on the bench. You felt a looming presence over your shoulder, so you turned your head slightly to the right to see that he was also staring at the screen of your gadget as well.

Feeling uncomfortable with him seeing what you're watching, you shift in such a way that the back of your phone is facing him. But that also means that you're pushing your shoes against the side of his thigh.

Once his source of entertainment was removed, he brought his attention elsewhere. It looks like he's just blankly staring into the void, looking at nothing in particular.

The train has arrived, you untangled yourself from your position and picked your suitcase up. He stood up and followed closely behind, leaving very little space between your back and his front.

Nothing of note happened during the ride. It's just a normal commute back home except you have an unwanted companion who tried to rest his arm around your shoulders multiple times, and you had to swat him away, multiple times. He finally got the hint when you physically moved away from him, sitting in another seat far away from the man. You are surprised that he didn't try to claim the spot next to you, though.

Reaching back home, you told him to stand on the sidewalk. He listened to you, seemingly curious as to why you made that request of him.

You entered your house and shut the door behind you.

It's time for you to unwind, you drew the curtains to a close so you don't have to see him trying to claw his way in. But his silhouette can be seen though, as he knocked on the glass multiple times before giving up. He stood there, very still.

And... you reached for your vices, good ol' alcohol. Downing multiple cans or bottles to try and relieve stress from having him in your life now.

And, seeing how he managed to worm into your life with alcohol (intoxication on his part and horniness on yours), it all feels like a sense of deja vu, where you swing the front door open, get all sexually aggressive towards him, and have him fuck you all night.

Tonight, he is showing what that mouth can do. He has a voracious appetite for both street food and the thing between your legs, lapping at your fluids and pumping his fist on his own cock, he's getting off of this too. He may not have the longest tongue, but his mouth is on the larger side, so you feel the warmth and sliminess covering the entirety of your groin.

You remembered being in bliss as he tongue fucked you in your ass while he fondles your front, your back arched back as your face is pressed against your pillow.

You would let out a tipsy moan as his hips thrust into yours, your legs hanging over his shoulders for easy access to paradise. He left numerous bite marks and hickeys all over your body, and you left him extreme scratch marks on his back in return, drawing some blood and staining the bed red.

It really isn't easy to take him in, he is big. You're so thankful that he's considerate to go slow even though you can tell that he wanted you so badly, the 'controlled' thrusts weren't really all that controlled. It was erratic as if he was trying to contain a powerful beast.

You and he would go at it for hours, cumming numerous times and not noticing the complaints from your neighbors about the embarrassing noise and headboard slamming.

You would wake up, realizing that you used him as a body pillow, throw his clothes at him, reject any further advances, or affection, act all cold and mean, rush to work, come back from work, drink your booze, open the door to let him in, and repeat. Only breaking the cycle when you momentarily ran out of beer or wine.

It really is impressive that you kept it up for months without even knowing his initials. You're more impressed that your liver can handle all those toxins you're chugging every day. In the end, you trusted him enough to drive you back home, so you could get drunk faster and enjoy orgasming.

As the days pass by, he would be a lot bolder with his presence. Spending his break buying a meal for two, having the employees pack it to go, and rushing to your workplace. Requesting to see you at the receptionist in a high-vis vest, often covered in either paint, sawdust, dirt, or splotches of cement. He had the decency to wipe his shoes on the carpet outside and take off his hard hat. He learned your name somehow, hearing what your coworkers call you and using that knowledge to his advantage; summoning you for lunch.

He didn't know what you liked. So he experimented, a lot. He would come each day with a takeout box containing a different dish, it was hard to gather data on you because most of the time you would go out to eat with your peers. He had to eat both meals himself, even those he didn't like.

Rare, but it is possible, that you would accept his meal offerings. Usually, it's because none of your friends are available for lunch and you don't feel like eating at a restaurant alone. You just ate his takeaway out of convenience, it doesn't necessarily mean you like them. But that was what he had to go on, he assumed the ones you took were the ones you liked.

So, I'd invite you to imagine the confusion and upset when you rejected it the next time he brought the same one. He would offer his own order instead, which is always chicken fried rice that's greasier than that you were used to. You had no idea where he gets his food, but you deduced that his usual spot is primarily a Chinese takeout place.

If you somehow managed to reject every dish he presented to you, he would move on to different food categories. Donuts, pizzas, hamburgers, tacos, sushi, curries, lobsters, seafood boils, fresh oysters... one time he handed you a wedge of aged cheese and a packet of expensive 'organic' crackers to see what you would do with it. Maybe you find it fun, you enjoyed the randomness of it all because you refused to tell him the foods that you liked. Even if you did, when he brought that exact meal that you claimed you liked, you would baffle him by pushing it away in disgust.

He's a simple man. He likes his rice fried with chunks of seasoned chicken and hotdogs with relish, he doesn't really like deviating away from his usual choices. So he disliked eating most of the foods that you rejected, but he had to because he wouldn't want it to go to waste.

He resorted to asking your coworkers what you liked. They told him what they saw, what you usually eat. But maybe out of sadistic pleasure or suspicion, you wouldn't accept the things he brings. Leaving him saddened and uncomfortable, and a bit more tired and poorer than yesterday.

His method of figuring out what you like is costly and inefficient most of the time. On days when you don't go to work or fuck him, he would still visit you in hopes of bringing you out on proper dates. The man is romantic, always bringing a bouquet of red roses and a small gift whenever he visits. The small gift could be a box of chocolates, a stuffed bear holding a plush heart with "I LOVE YOU" embroidered onto it, another takeout meal, some jewelry, a drink that is popular with the masses now (i.e., bubble tea, soda, energy drinks) or booze.

It's mostly booze. Because he knows that is the ticket to heaven in your bed. And it seems like it's something you rejected the least.

It's 50/50 whether you let him in and take advantage of him, or you slam the door in his face. But it's a 100% probability rate that he will come back with flowers and gifts. Or he would leave packages containing what he thinks you would like in front of your door during days when he has to work.

He hands his gifts to the receptionist, asking to take them to your cubicle on days when he knows he cannot see you due to approaching renovation deadlines. Your coworkers and friends would swoon at first, saying how lucky you are to have him. But soon after, they were unsure, you didn't even know his name? You met him, how?

Some tried to talk sense into you, he could be dangerous and one day he's going to do something you will have to live with for the rest of your life. He is obviously not all there in the head, you should call it quits while you still can. But you don't, it's fun. Something to give you a break from your monotonous salary person lifestyle.

Some tried to talk some sense into him, telling him that he deserved better, and pointing out the imbalance in affection. They would also offer resources that can help him better his mental health. He would just pretend that he's deaf and walk away without saying a word, clearly too deep into his own delusions. He knows to avoid them though, and none of your coworkers know his name either.

You know that he's stealing your underwear, its numbers are dwindling down and there is only a decrease when he comes in. You confronted him about it multiple times, even hitting him with your fist as you screamed in his face. All he did was stay silent, shielding himself with his arms as he took your blows. To be fair, it's probably too weak to do any damage.

The next package that came to your doorstep contained a brand-new set of underwear, to replace the ones he stole.

You one time saw your favorite underwear on his back seat, poorly hidden by his pillow and blanket. It was covered in crusts of off-white and translucent goop that looked freshly produced, and it also smelled atrocious. You had to keep the windows open while you berated him for being disgusting, he looked ashamed, and uneasy as you stuck your head out of the window.

He installed an air freshener in his air conditioning vents and you never saw any of your old underwear ever again. Well, at least he handles criticism decently.

You thought he earned your phone number. So one day, you blurted out all the digits once. Not bothering to repeat it while he desperately tried to get you to say it again.

He only managed to contact you a few days after that, you were surprised that he remembered. But actually he only remembered parts of it. He went on a texting and calling marathon, contacting close to hundreds of numbers trying to find you.

Since he has a car, you thought you would extend his use to other parts of your life.

You ran out of milk? Just text him, and he will arrive with a brand new jug. You can simply take it off his hands and close the door, or you can choose to accept his other gifts. Need something to be picked up? He is your personal delivery man. Need to go somewhere? He can call in sick and be your chauffeur.

He saved your contact as "My baby" whereas you didn't care enough to save his number.

The downside to this is that he calls you whenever he's free and he can't see you. At first, you would answer and ask what he wanted. You stopped answering his calls when most of the time all he wanted was to hear your voice.

All is well and normal, as normal as this could be. Until one day, you caught a nasty cold.

You were having high fevers and you couldn't even get out of bed. It was rare for you to call in sick, because work was a distraction to you from the horrors of reality. So for you to not come in, it means whatever you're being infected with was serious.

You didn't answer calls from him, nor did you get up to open the door. You heard him knock and call for your name for two evenings now.

And two evenings was the limit, you deduced. Because he went ahead and broke into your house. He didn't do it peacefully either, he hurled a brick through your window and hopped in. The sound of glass shattering jolted you awake, followed by frantic shouts from him. He was desperately and hysterically calling your name, thudding from his combat boots resonated throughout the house.

You were too exhausted to even defend yourself when he comes barrelling in with his hair even messier, bags under his eyes and stubble darkening. Or maybe deep down, you know that he cares and wouldn't hurt you ever.

You coughed and weakly told him to get the fuck out of your house, he ignored that and went on to straddle your hips. His large, calloused hands cupping your cheeks as fat droplets of tears and snot drip onto your face. The man sobbed noisily, begging you to please tell him that you're okay. He was worried that you weren't showing up at your usual places, your coworkers gave him a vague response about you being unavailable.

He held you in his arms for a long while as he cried and cried. Rambling on about how he cannot afford to lose you, the light of his life, albeit incoherently.

You tried to push him off, but to no avail. So you waited until he calmed down, his head is still buried in the crook of your neck. Periodically kissing the sensitive skin.

Finally, he's composed enough to get him off you. He still sniffles as he lies next to you, holding you securely in his strong arms which seem to have more scars than usual.

Eventually though, you heard snoring. Whipping your head to see the source, he actually got knocked out cold and fell asleep in your bed again.

You pity him a bit. He must have been sleep deprived in the past 48 hours, dreading the worst that might have happened to you while you go no contact. Moreover, he reeks of alcohol. He must have not drunk that much or else you would have been covered in his vomit by now.

But you're no angel. You shook him awake, he let out an exclamation as he registered that you're in front of him, real and physical. He could touch you, smell you and see you again.

You gently slapped his cheek, trying to get him to sober up.

The man grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing your palm feverishly and soon resorted to licking your fingers.

You whacked him on the head and wiped his saliva off on his face. This seem to bring him back to reality as he stared at you with his mouth slightly open.

You spoke too soon, because a split second later, he lunged at you and connected his lips with yours. Exploring your mouth with his tongue and roaming his hands all over your body, he seem to take note that it is warmer than usual. But he went ahead and fondled you anyways.

Maybe it's the vapors in his breath that's making you drunk each time his tongue caresses yours, maybe you're as touch deprived as he is. Because you're welcoming his fingers to play with your south, eventually having them in and out of your hole.

Even when you're sick, his dick is as amazing as ever. You are a mess when he enters you after preparing you for it, he bit and sucked your neck, you can't move because he is just too damn heavy and his hands are holding your wrists down. The wet slapping, smooching, smacking and moaning can be heard even more since the window near the front door is broken.

He nibbled the shell of your ear and whispered that he misses you. He doesn't know what he would do if he went on another day without you in his embrace. He doesn't want to know either, he just wants to be here with you.

"I love you." He whispered before planting a kiss on your temple. "I love you." He kissed your jaw. "I love you." He kissed your forehead, his lips are noticeably colder than your skin. "I love you." He pressed a passionate kiss on your lips, silencing himself by continuing his french kisses.

The bedframe creaks as he rocks his hips against yours, your legs jerk back and forth as he thrusts into you.

He released your mouth to let you breathe and for him to gasp for air too. But he returns to your ears.

"I owe you my life." He licked the shell of your ear. "I belong to you, only you." He lets go one of your wrists to cradle your face. "You're the reason why I'm still here." He panted. "You're my only will to live." He continued.

"So, promise me, baby." You struggled to breathe as he shoved his tongue back down to your throat momentarily. He pulled back with one of many strings of saliva connecting your lips. "Promise that you'll never leave me." He went on to stroke your hair, giving you tingles of pleasure on top of the stimulation you're receiving from his cock.

"Because if you do," Another deep kiss. "I will die."

"And I will take the world down with me."

He gave one last powerful ram into the right spot, making you scream in unbelievable pleasure as a flash of white blinds all thoughts in your head. He moaned as well as he reached his climax too.

He dropped himself beside you, but he didn't remove his cock out of your orifice. He panted along with you.

You're so fucked out of your mind that you couldn't open your eyes properly. He smiled and pecked your cheek.

"I will follow you wherever you go. I will do anything for you." He shifted around your limp body to make it more comfortable, warming his dick inside of you and enjoying the pulsating flesh around it. "Just... please pick up my calls." He brushed stray hairs away from your sweaty face.

"I was worried." He tucked your head under his chin. The man sighed as he ran his fingers through your hair.

"I'm glad you're alright. I love you, baby." He cooed at your now unconscious form.

[bellysoupset]

The New Guy

It was the first day of class and Vince felt like a toddler in kindergarten. Although he didn't actually remember going to kindergarten back in Italy, but his mom made a point of telling him he had wailed every time they dropped him off, so this was how Vince felt.

Except he wasn't the student today, he was the teacher.

He still wasn't fully back on his feet after such a hellish bout of flu and the emotional stress, but Vince felt steady enough he could at least fake it. Besides, he had wanted to be a teacher his whole life, so even if he felt like crying from the nerves, he was also incredibly excited.

This was his old school and it was weird, to say the least, to walk the halls as a teacher, not a student. Not much had changed - better flooring, a classroom had a smartboard instead of a white one, new teachers.

His old ones were still there, though, and Vince nearly jumped out of his skin upon entering the teacher's hall and having his name shouted, "Vincenzo! Oh look at you!" as if he was the chubby kid who grew up over summer. Which yeah, he sort of was.

The literature teacher was still the same woman, Ms. Lobdell. She had been already been an ancient faculty member back when he was at school and time had done her no favors, but she was sharp as a knife.

His old history teacher had retired, the spot Vince had occupied, and the biology and chemistry teacher, a horrible man whom Vin had hated back then, had also left the school.

He was told all this by Ms. Lobdell, who dragged him around by the arm despite the first class starting at 8 AM and it already being 7:55.

Finally Vince was released from the claws of that sweet wrinkly woman to his class of snotty 10 year old, whom he was already very partial to.

Because moving had been such a huge thing, from his relationship with Wendy and his friends, to quitting his solid job and getting an entirely new place, Vince had been more than a little insecure about the whole thing.

Suddenly it wasn't just "getting a new job", it was "getting a new life" and he felt a gigantic pressure for this to be as good as he had imagined it to be, otherwise... Otherwise he would have gone through all this trouble for nothing.

It was a relief so strong when teaching his first class ended up being everything he had imagined and more, that Vince was teary eyed by lunch break.

"So how was it?" Wendy asked, her voice breathless as she moved around. Vince checked his watch again, noticing his hands were shaking with how nervous he had been. 1:30 PM, she was probably leaving her hot yoga class to get dressed for her evening shifts.

"It was amazing," he confessed, smiling, keeping his voice low, "the kids were great, the teaching plan went smoothly... They keep calling me mister Monacelli, though, which is very weird... It was just great."

"I'm glad," Wendy answered and he could tell she was smiling and meant it, "what now?"

"Now I get my teenagers," Vince scratched at his cheeks, suddenly wishing he hadn't shaved in the morning. He felt too baby faced to handle the teens, doubting they'd respect him, "they're going to eat me alive."

"Yes, but not in the way you think," Wendy teased him, "you're going to be the class crush, just watch it."

He grinned, smoothing his shirt and looking around the empty classroom. Vince had been much too nervous to join the remaining staff in the cafeteria and had had lunch inside his classroom, like a loser. Just a veggie roll too, which normally wouldn't sustain him even for two hours, let alone the rest of the day.

"Now you're just egging me on," he rolled his eyes, "how's your day?"

"Great," Wendy huffed and her voice got distant as if she had left her phone in a surface, "I have far too much free time now that you're not around, so I'm gonna start taking classes."

"Classes on what?" he balled up the paper napkin and grabbed his tooth brushing kit, walking out of the classroom, holding the cellphone to his ear.

"Anything," Wendy sighed, "I just need to occupy myself a bit, it'll help."

"I think you should take interior design classes," he entered the bathroom, "you're always fiddling with things in the apartment."

"Uhm, maybe," she sighed and then he heard a noise and Wendy cursing, "a stupid pigeon just hit my window, I gotta go. Love you, break a leg, Mr. Pussy Magnet!"

"Love you as well, honey," Vince rolled his eyes, hanging up.

His first class after lunch actually went a lot smoother than Vince was expecting, but the second one... He had no idea where his students were.

After fifteen minutes of sitting there without a single soul appearing, Vince peeked at the hallway and frowned. He was half expecting the kids to be pranking him by sitting in the hallway, but nada. Not a single student.

He sighed, locking the classroom and walking back to the teacher's hall to see if anyone else would have an inkling of where his kids had disappeared to.

An older teacher, whom Vince remembered as the trigonometry teacher and who, thankfully, did not remember Vin, was leaning against the window, with his head poking out, smoking.

"Mr. Turella, hi," Vince smiled and the older man smiled back.

"You're the new teacher, right? History?"

"Yeah," Vince crossed the room to shake his hand and the man let out a huff.

"You're looking more like the P.E teacher, son," he teased lightly, "are you lost?"

"No, not really," Vince grimaced, "but I think I lost my kids? No one showed for my class..."

Mr. Turella let out a snort, carefully resting his cigarette on the windowsill and walking across the room to the big schedule that was plastered to the wall, "oh yeah," he shook his head, "Daniels stole your kids."

"Excuse me," Vince frowned, crossing the room so he could look at the schedule as well. Mr. Turella planted a wrinkled finger over the sophomore's schedule and dragged it down.

The class before Vince's was Chemistry, with Mr. Daniels.

"Uh... That's just great," Vince wrinkled his nose in distaste, "I don't suppose I should go over and tell him to release my kids?"

"Bad move for a rookie," Mr. Turella patted his arm, "just wait for them to show and you can chew out Daniels after class. Not that it's going to help much, it never did in my case."

"He does this a lot?" Vince scoffed and the other man nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh yeah, get used to it," the man sighed and walked back to the window, "take the win, it's a break in your schedule."

"It's time they're not learning the curriculum," Vince corrected, groaning as he imagine the headache this would be down the line, when he inevitably fell behind if he didn't have enough time to teach, "alright, thanks Mr. Turella."

"It's John," the man waved him off, continuing to smoke.

Vince returned to his classroom, chewing at his lip since it was still empty. He paced nervously, until his students finally showed, thirty minutes late and chatting loudly.

"We're having P.E now?" a boy asked, causing his friends to giggle and Vince to sigh. It was going to be a long evening.

Mr. Daniels fucking haunted him. His senior students, whom he was dreading already, were also late thanks to the biology classes. Unlike the previous kids, though, they walked in quietly and seemed very interested in Vince, if only because he was new and shiny.

"You cannot be serious-" a girl blurted out, when Vince announced he was holding them for ten more minutes, since they had arrived twenty past the time of class, "sir. You cannot be serious, Mr. Monacelli," she corrected herself quickly.

Vince raised his eyebrows, not the outburst, but at the correction. It was so weird to be treated like that.

"Well, I- Alright, today you can leave, but next time this happens I'll have to hold you until we're done. You can't fall behind so close to SATs," he sighed, gesturing to the whiteboard, "and remember homework."

"Yesssir," there was a chorus of voices, making him cringe. Sir, that didn't sit right.

"I'll see you Wednesday," Vince waved to the door and then sat down, waiting for the kids to leave. As soon as he was alone, he let out a groan and rubbed at his neck.

As Vince walked to the parking lot, he paused as he saw a man leaning heavily against the wall, just outside the view of the buses leaving.

The man had his back pressed to the wall and his hands on his knees, as if catching his breath after running a marathon.

Curiosity got the best of him and Vince stepped closer, wondering if this was a senior student who had been held back - he didn't look seventeen, for sure, but not old enough to be a parent either - and if so, why he hadn't been in his class just now.

"Hey," Vince said, realizing the guy was actually older than he expected as he stepped closer, "hey, you alright?"

The guy shook his head, lips pressed in a thin line, "not feeling too hot..." he let out a soft burp, unashamed, and grimaced, "you're the new guy, the new teacher."

"Uh- It's Vince..." Vince frowned, inspecting the other man. He was a blonde, with most of his hair pulled up in a man bun, showcasing an undercut. He was wearing a buttoned up shirt, but with short sleeves - which should be a crime, in Vin's opinion, - and he could see his left arm was completely tattooed.

Definitely not a teacher, Vince thought, crouching slightly. The guy wasn't short, but compared to Vin he was. He also looked incredibly, terribly familiar.

"I'm Max," the man grimaced and spread his feet apart, "I'm gonna hurl, you should step back."

So casual about the whole deal, as if it wasn't mortifying. Vince frowned even more, "are you waiting for your kid, Max? Can I get someone for you?"

"My kid?" Max let out a little chuckle, which quickly turned into a groan and he wrapped an arm around his stomach, "no, I'm fine. Lunch was just too heavy, the cafeteria food fucking sucks."

"You're a staff member?" Vince frowned, even more confused. He wanted to get a decent look at the man's face, but he was sort of bent over, with a couple hair strands falling in front.

"Bio-" Max cut himself off with a gag and groaned loudly. He panted, back heaving and a couple of belches bubbled up, low in volume, but terrible wet. He cleared his throat, but it morphed into a cough and then Vince jumped back as a splatter of puke hit the pavement, sinking in the gravel.

He made a face, reaching out and planting a hand on Max's shoulders, keeping him swaying, and looked around, hoping there was anyone better equipped to help.

"Fuck-" Max groaned, pressing his stomach with a hand and heaving again. An empty, painful and loud, heave, followed by another cough and more vomit, this time a much larger amount. He let out a little moan, hanging over the puddle with an arm wrapped around his middle and panting.

"Done...?" Vince grimaced and the man nodded, wiping his lips on the back of his hand and then making a face at it, wiping his hand on his jeans.

"Urgh, that was gross..." he straightened up, taking a steady breath and sidestepped the mess on the ground, "sorry. I didn't catch your name?"

"Vince," he repeated, studying the man's face. They were about the same age, now Vince realized, but Max looked younger. Blonde with brown eyes and a tanned complexion, he looked like a surfer who had gotten lost on his way to California, "I'm the new history teacher."

"I'm the biology and chemistry teacher," Max shook his hand, following Vince further into the parking lot and Vin nearly stopped on his tracks.

"You're Mr. Daniels?"

"Uhhh yeah man, the one and only," the guy opened a little smirk, looking amused, "you heard about me?"

"You're the prick who held my kids," Vince glared at him, "twice. Thirty minutes each."

"I had to wrap up the subject," Max shrugged, "and they were interested. You know how hard it is to get these gremlins interested in anything, no hard feelings."

Vince scoffed, rolling his eyes, "quit doing that then," he said, finally arriving at his bike, "...Are you sure you alright?"

"I'm fine," Max smiled, smoothing his shirt and undoing the top buttons, "see you around, Mr. Monacelli."

[elirastudio]

If I may I'd like to send in a stupidly fluffy fic because I need some distraction from a bad week

-

Macaque breached the threshold of his home, rolling his shoulders with a small grimace.

The monotony of kingly duties felt especially grueling today, making him want to become a puddle on the floor.

Ears twitched at the sound of a giggle trying to stay muffled from the side of the couch.

"Is that my Xiaotian I hear?" A small smile formed as Macaque took a few steps closer, prompting more hushed giggles.

Macaque walked past the couch purposefully keeping his gaze up, letting the six-year old think he had succeeded in being sneaky.

"Hmm, how strange. I wonder where my little star has gone?"

Xiaotian was doing his best not to laugh not noticing the shadow creeping up behind him like a cobra waiting to strike.

When it did shrieks of laughter filled the room as Xiaotian was snatched from his hiding spot and dangled upside down in front of his father's face.

"You got me!"

"I got you," Macaque's voice was softer in comparison to Xiaotian's laughter but still spoken in a smile. Large hands gently grasped the boy and held him close, nuzzling his face.

"Oh, Liu'er!" A large blue form emerged from the kitchen, holding a bowl of fruit. "You're back early."

"Not early enough if you ask me," Macaque said, plucking a few strawberries from the bowl, offering one to his son who ate it happily. "Thank you for watching Xiaotian. I appreciate it."

"It's no problem at all, I'm always happy to come watch him." Sandy smiled serenely, a colossal finger coming up to tussle Xiaotian's hair. "It's about time I head home, my cats will be expecting dinner. It's best not to keep them waiting."

"Of course," Macaque could only chuckle at the mention of Sandy's herd of cats he's accumulated these past couple of years. "Safe travels home, Brother."

"Bye bye!" Xiaotian chirped as he waved him off, leaning into Macaque's shoulder.

It was easy to get into a pre-bedtime routine, besides trying to wrangle the hyper boy into the bath, it went relatively smoothly.

Some movie played on the TV as Xiaotian sat on his lap. Clawed fingers ran through his boy's hair, absent-mindedly grooming like he would for the little ones on Flower Fruit Mountain.

"Xiaotian? Did you know your birthday is coming up soon?" Macaque questioned fully expecting the way Xiaotian sprouted up at the mention of his birthday. He remembers the dissonance that the birthday he celebrates with his son, the day demon hands lifted a baby from an alley, and the actual date of Xiaotian's birth that remains a mystery for only heaven to know. "Is there anything you'd like, Little Star?"

"Noodles!" Xiaotian spoke excitedly, "And more fancy pencils for drawing!"

"That's all?" Macaque questioned, thinking of Ao Lie's little granddaughter who seemed to be showered in a glittering gifts every year. "Out of anything in the world?"

"Uh-huh, getting noodles with everyone is the best thing in the whole world!" As soon as Xiaotian said that a thought crossed his face making his brow furrow. "How come we dont do anything for your birthday?"

"Oh well, I don't really have a birthday." Macaque spoke simply, "You see Xiaotian, I was born a long long time ago and old demons like me don't really keep track of that kind of thing."

"That doesn't seem fair, everyone deserves a birthday." Xiaotian murmured back, head tilted slightly as he digested the information before brightening up again. "I know! We can share mine!"

Blinking down at the boy in shock, Macaque wants to dismiss the notion. That Xiaotian shouldn't squander his own special day for him but he finds that he can't deny that sunshine smile.

"That's a very generous idea, my little star." Macaque nuzzles the boy, earning a bright giggle in return. He thinks that their 'sharing a birthday' will only last one year, if that.

It doesn't.

I love this so so much 💕😩✨✨✨

That’s why I did a comic of a little flash forward, when wukong is already free and Mac left MK in pigsy care.

He is on a chase with erlang but he couldn’t miss his son birthday ✨

Also macaque wears glamour when he’s around celestials but he dropped all it when he felt he was home to his son.

[isabeauwolf]

Toga, Magne and Mary having a sleepover, watching RomComs, painting each other's nail, then dragging Dabi, Twice and Spinner into the circle

Magne filing Spinners nail and painting them green and pink to match his scales and hair. Talking his ear off as he patiently listens.

Toga painting white and black to match his suit, humming with a huge smile on her face while Twice watches in fascination, not wanting to break her concentration

Mary painting Dabi's nail black with metallic blue tips, the blue flame user, holding his cheek in his hand, bored and trying to keep his mask off indifference. Her touch is gentle and warm as his turquoise eyes flicker to her face, his hand in her grasp and freshly painted nails, back to her face.

"Do you not like the color choice?" Mary asks, dipping the tiny brush into the black polish, wiping off the excess and painting his middle finger. "If you want something else, tell me so I can quickly remove it."

Dabi blinks, embarrassed for being caught staring. A pinkish hue spreading across his scared cheeks, his heart thudding wildly as he cleared his throat. "Nah, it's fine. Matches my emo vibe doesn't?" Remasking his features.

"Edgy is more like it, pyro " Mary smiled, stopping to meet his intense and burning gaze. Her mismatched gold and violet gaze twinkled. "Carrying all that fuck boy swagger and arrogance must be exhausting." Her lips curled into a playful smirk.

Dabi chuckled in amusement, arching a brow. "Good to know I've caught your eye, princess." A lazy grin on his lips.

"How can I not notice when you stomp so loud with your rockstar chunky boots." She laughs, continuing her work. "I should call you thumper with that foot tapping and antsy habit of yours. It's adorable."

He hasn't noticed his foot was bouncing and tapping, he froze mid stomp. "I'm not a bunny, wolf girl."

"No, I'd say you're more like a skittish and grumpy Tom cat."

"This kitty's got claws." He fired back, grin widening.

"As do I, casanova." She replied, "I'll bite to prove my point, if you're not careful." Pausing and giving a wink, tilting her head, purring, "Unless that's what you want?" Letting go of his hand to take the other one, waiting.

"Sounds like a fun time."

Shigaraki walks into the room, leaving his gaming session to get something to drink. He hummed in confusion, then cackles, cracked, chapped and scarred lips split into a wide grin. "Didn't know there was a pampering princess party."

Twice and Spinner blush in embarrassed.

Toga pouts, "You don't have to be a big meanie, Tomura."

"Don't take it to heart, Himiko." Mary cut in without letting go of Dabi's hand as she finished his pinky finger. "Gamer boy is just jealous that he wasn't invited."

Shigaraki's crimson gaze turned to where Mary sat, eyes narrowing as he grit his teeth, jaw clenching as he saw the she-wolf holding the zombie man's hand. His gut twisting and burning as envy and jealousy swirled in his body, his hands twitched as the familiar itching crawled over his scarred neck. "Say it again, wolfy." He hisses.

He didn't care that he wasn't invited, he shouldn't care that Dabi has been getting closer and closer to the Yakuza Princess underneath his nose, but the sight of the woman's hands gently holding the burnt man pissed him off more.

He remembers her gentle touch as she took care of his bullet wounds from the USJ, the light scolding she gave as he tried to scratch his neck in frustration. He shook himself from his thoughts, growled, "What?"

Mary let go of Dabi's hand, rolled her eyes and sighed. "I can smell your envy, jealousy, confusion and frustration from here." Her tail twitched and swished in irritation, pointing at the free spot beside Dabi. "It's stinking up the room, either sit your boney ass down beside Dabi so I can do yours next or zip it and move on."

Shigaraki let out a noise between a snarled hiss and a growl, sounded like a drowned cat. Muttering and growling curses underneath his breath, stomping his way and sat down beside Dabi. "Fucking happy?" Crossing his arms with his pink fingers raised.

Mary hums in approval, smiling. "Yes, thank you." Nodding her head, "You could have asked to join the party instead of acting like a stubborn edge lord, Tomura." She turns back to Dabi as he snickers, giving her his unpainted hand.

"Whatever." Shigaraki huffed, glancing away. His pale cheeks growing rosy underneath his mop of light blue hair.

"While you sit there pouting like a toddler. Go ahead and pick out what colors you want while you wait, please." Mary advised, re-grasping Dabi's hand and got back to work.

Shigaraki's shoulders relaxed and dropped as he stared at all the colors of nail polish, various hues, shades, glitters and shines like gems of a cave underneath his gaze. Why the hell were there so many? It was a bit overwhelming. His eyes roamed the room, observing all the color choices everyone in the league picked, no, none of those felt right. He didn't want anything too bright and sparkly. Yuck, glitter was off the table, nope, no, hell no.

Shigaraki inwardly sighed, this quest side shouldn't be overly difficult.

His crimson iris' found Mary's again, observing her graceful and steady hands, then flickering to her own painting nails. It was a light peachy color, simple and matching her peach colored lips.

Yes, that's what he wants.

Noticing the bottle beside her, he leans over picking the bottle with a three fingered grip, "here." Practically shoving it in her face.

Mary tilted her head, mismatched gold and violet meeting crimson as her brows furrow in confusion. "Are you sure?"

"Of course, I am." He sassed back, shoving it closer to her without touching her. "Everything else is too bright and stands out. I hate glittery shit, it gets God knows everywhere." He growls.

Mary giggled, "Alright, alright, calm the hell down. You don't have to snap at me. It's just not what I expected." Letting go of Dabi's hand after she finished the last nail, closing the blue polish, placing it beside her and taking the one Shigaraki offered. Waving the peach colored bottle between them, "switch places please."

Dabi grunted and scouted back, making room when an idea popped into his head. Burnt and scarred lips, curling into a teasing smirk, he stood and sat behind Mary, pulling her back into his chest, watching over her shoulder. "I like this seat better, princess. You're like a big cuddly tears bear." His still drying hand drumming on his knee.

Mary blinked and shrugged her shoulder, "Whatever makes you comfortable." Her face heated up.

Shigaraki noticed, he moved to the empty spot in front of her. His pinky curled under and spread his fingers to give her more room. The moment she touched his hand, he inwardly shuttered and his breath hitches; her hands are warm, touch is delicate and soothing. "Just... Just get on with it, damned wolfy."

"Hold still," she spoke gently, offering a reassuring smile.

Shigaraki said nothing.

He could feel the rest of the league watching with amusement and interest. Nosy brats.

He watched her work, coloring his nails. As much as he tried, he couldn't help the twitch of his lips curling upward into a faint smile. Watching intently as Mary started humming, crimson eyes never leaving her face as his heart skipped a beat and he felt butterflies flutter in his stomach. He was only calm and content, cherishing her warmth, oddly enough he didn't want to leave.

Of course, Dabi noticed and couldn't keep his big mouth shut, smirking and playing cooing into one of Mary's furry ears and whispered, "Looks like you are a real brat tamer, princess. It's only peaceful, you should come over more often."

Mary jumped and her breath hitched, shivering as she nudged her head into Dabi's jaw, glancing over her should with a pointed look, her tail and ears twitching in irritation. "Don't do that please. I need to concentrate or do you want to turn into dust along with me, pyro?"

He chuckled, "Whoops, did I hit a soft spot, princess? Lucky me." He noticed the blush on her pale cheeks, then his gaze flickered to Shigaraki. "Awe, look like you broken our boss from simply holding hands. Poor virgin bastard."

"What?" Mary blinked in confusion, turning her head and glancing back at her hand. Oh. She was holding his hand, except his fingers were still spread wide and their palms were touching, Shigaraki remained completely still as a statue. "Oops, sorry, Tomura." Unlocking her hand from his, slowly and backing away, waiting for him to notice. "Tomura?"

Toga got up and poked the top of Shigaraki's head. "Is he dead?" Blinking, she giggled as she got an idea, meeting Mary's worried gaze. "Should I get your taser, Mar?"

"No." Mary shook her head.

"Yes, go get it," Dabi replied, encouraging the teen.

Toga's smile widened, showing off her canines. "M'kay, be right back!" She ran out of the room and straight into her room where Mary's overnight back was kept.

Mary starred after her friend in disbelief, then shook herself, turning in Dabi's hold, glaring more harshly and a bite in her tone. "Do you really thinking shocking the human disintegrator is a great idea, adrenaline junk? Do you want to turn into a pile of dust that badly?"

"We all die sometime, princess." The blue flamed user shrugs his shoulder. "Besides, handy freak wouldn't hurt ya. He's too cautious, not that I blame him." Dabi pulls Mary into his chest, pressing her flat against him and straddling his lap.

Then there was a thud.

Dabi looked at Shigaraki passed out on the floor. "Pathetic man." He chuckled, "Virgins got a long way to go, if he wants to romance you, princess."

Magnet, Spinner, Twice were cleaning all around Shigaraki, every once in a while glancing at their passed out boss. Yup, he's still breathing.

"Must you antagonize him and Kai so much?" Mary asked pouting, ignoring Dabi's comment.

"If you want overly cheery, you've got the wrong monster, beauty." Dabi laughed and winked, "You enjoy my teasings more than enough. Why should I hide it. Your reactions are adorable and honest, I like that." Turquoise eyes growing heavy-lidded and intense.

Magne chuckled, "Get a room you too, please, all this flirting and tension is overly embarrassing."

Mary's face grew hot. "You are not helping, big sis Mag."

"It's true though, hun." Magne grabbed Twice and Spinner, shoving them over out of the living room and into the kitchen. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do~"

"Gottcha," Dabi's smug smile curled into a amused smirk.

"I've got the taser!" Toga cheered, smiling. She blinked, glancing at Dabi, Mary and Shigaraki. "Ah man, what did I miss? Where'd everybody go?"

"Boss man being a pussy," Dabi snickered as Mary lightly smacked him on the arm, chuckling and raised his arms in defense, mock surrender. "What? He is."

"The rest of the gang are in the kitchen." Mary replied, turning back around with her back against Dabi much to his disappointment. "Compress should be back by now with pizza and drinks."

"Shiggy still short circuited, huh?" Toga crouched down and sighed, taser in hand as her golden catlike eyes noticed Shigaraki's painted nails as she recognizes the same peach colored polish on Mary's hands. "Aw, he matched you, Mar. It's cute."

"I was surprised as well. Do you think it's his favorite color?" She asked, though she had an idea.

"Nah," Toga waved her off, smiling as she plays with the taser. "Tsundere creeper wanted to match his crush," she blushes, covering her mouth with the back of her empty hand, "but its better than nothing."

"Should we leave him like that?" Mary asked in worry, ears flat against her head.

"He'll be fine." Dabi waved him off, "Let the loser sleep in la la land." He got up, pulling Mary into his side. "Let's go check in on Mr. I'm getting hungry."

"Wait for me," Toga skipped along, grabbing Mary's other arm and linking their arms together. "Don't be a hog, Frankenstein." She scolded, pouting and puffing out her cheeks.

"I was here first, blood sucker." Dabi replied back in annoyance, tightening his hold on the she-wolf, his arm wrapping around her waist, possessively.

They three walked into the kitchen.

Shigaraki blinked and covered his steaming face with his arms, feeling his face grow more hot. "Dammit, I need more hp and gamer fuel for these surprise attacks from the main heroine," he mutters to himself.

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Mafia life

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader.

Warning:INCEST, Gore, Murder, Attempt Murder, death of a parent, smut, Breeding kink, Daddy kink, Bipolar Elvis, Voyeurism kink, Gun kink, Creampie, Dirty talk, Rough sex, Stockholm syndrome, Degrading kink, Planned and Unplanned Pregnancy, Breeding, Reader didn't know what a period is, Cockwarm, Choking and Squirting, Hair pulling, angry sex, Men jerking off, Cum shots, Virginity loss, Period sex, Dark humor. (Elvis is 40, and the reader's 18)

Summary: You were obsessed with singer Elvis Presley but your mother forbid it for some reason and after your mom died you finally got to see your birth certificate so you were shocked when you saw his name underneath the word father and you find out lots of stuff that you never knew and realize your mother made you live in a lie.

A/n: if you don't like to read this sort of thing, please move on or block. Do Not hate.

Elvis could recall the time he first met your mother; Sofia Longo. He was but starting the way of mafia life and he was making a deal with her father. He was smitten with her the moment see her, he remembers trying to talk to her and always ending up stuttering like a fool, a pretty giggle always leaving her pretty full lips. He remembers their first kiss, she was renting to him about her father and how he treat her like a delicate doll. It was a beautiful starry night in Memphis and they were on the balcony of her mansion from her room.

"Ì wás bórn intó this kìnd of wórld, hè shóuld knów ì'm nót á dóll" she walked back and forth, talking with her hands. Elvis smiled watching her, he was sure he had puppy dog eyes at her, she was beautiful and that accent surely didn't help "yóu lístening to mé?" she had stopped and glared at him with playful hate "I-I-I-i'm sorry darlin', just-well..you're just beautiful I couldn't. Oh, can I kiss ya?" He asked, nerves biting him like angry snakes "í thought you'd névér ask" Elvis's hand wrapped around Sofia's neck and pulled her into a deep kiss.

That was also the first night they made love. After that he got her father to agree to let Elvis date her which wasn't that hard, her father liked him like a son. A few years later he asked her to marry him, she was so happy that she basically tackled him into a hug as she said "YÉS".

He and she became the king and queen of the Memphis Mafia, and life was wonderful, not only did he have a beautiful wife and was a kingpin to a strong mafia, his singing career was taking off but it all seemed pointless when Sofia left without a trace, not even her father didn't know where she was. That was when he was 22 then, he's been searching for her ever since.

After 18 years, 18 years he finally found her but not in way he'd like..

The first thing that he saw as he busted open the door to her apartment, was her laying in her blood and still gushing from the stab wounds littering her body, the butcher knife standing strong within her throat, and..a girl kneeling beside her corpse, blood on her hands as she stares at the body of his love, her hair covering her face.

Elvis saw red and he rushed to the girl, her back hits the floor as Elvis pinned to it, his hands wrapped around her neck and squeezing. The girl claws at his arms, panic in her pretty eyes..Elvis had seen those eyes before and that nose and hair color..Elvis widened at the realization, he quickly let her go, and as she takes a deep breath in, he takes his pistol and knocks her out with it. He gets off and picks her up bridal Style, "Men," the men surrounding him perk up "I want to know this girl's relation with your queen. Check everything, no spot unchecked, and be quick. Understand?" Elvis looked around the room "Yes sir!" they immediately start looking.

Elvis nodded, satisfied. He walked to the door and looked at jerry, a silent message shared between them before he head to the car waiting for him, Jerry following not far behind. He placed the girl into the seat beside him as he sits, he gestured for the driver to leave.

"ugh," you groan, your head pounding. You went to rub your head but something stopped you from doing so, your eyes snapped open as you tried to move. You were bound to a bed and ropes tied you into a starfish position. You looked around the room, the walls black with gold. It was a big room, larger than your living room and at the foot of the bed, a few feet away, was a couch and a fireplace. Finally looking closer at the couch you saw a man with jet-black hair with his back to you, smoking.

You gasped, everything came rushing to you. Your mother's brutality murdered body. Elvis Presley! Him choking you and he knocked you out with a gun.

"I see ya up now," Elvis said calmly as he walked towards the bed with cold eyes "Who are you to Sofia?" He glared at you, a shiver makes it up your spine, and your breath got caught in your throat "EP! We have something you might want to see...privately" Jerry tailed off, holding the door open. Elvis looked back at him, hummed, and walked out the door with Jerry.

"What is it?" Elvis questioned but Jerry didn't answer instead he hands out a folded paper and Elvis takes the paper with a raised brow and unfolds it, what was in it made time stop for him.

It was a birth certificate.

'Y/n Longo.

Mother: Sofia Presley.

Father: Elvis Presley.'

"Goddamn." Elvis whispered "Here," He cleared his throat, handing the certificate to Jerry "Take this to my office, and lock the door" "What about her?" Jerry nodded his head to Elvis's bedroom door "I'll deal with it." that was the last thing Elvis said before he walked back into the room.

You watch Elvis walk back in and headed straight to you, He takes out a pocket knife. He was gonna kill you. you closed your eyes 'at least it's by the hottest man alive' you waited for the painful pierce but all you heard was a rope being cut, your head turned to the sound and you open your eyes. Elvis was sawing through the thick light brown rope holding your right hand. "I'm sorry I attacked ya..I just thought you killed her. She was a dear friend of mine. If ya wonderin' who I was to her." He finished cutting it and moved to another "The person who killed your mother will most like come after you, So you will live here with me." Snap "I know yar mother would want me to protect you." Snap "You will be sleeping here. With me understand?" He looked at you as he cut the rope that held your left foot "Y-Yes." you said in shock. "Good, ya see that closet over there" He looked at the doorframe beside The tv and fireplace, and you follow his gaze. "You can borrow some of my PJs until we get ya some clothes." Elvis gave you one last glance and then made his way to his luxury bathroom.

Elvis closed the door and lays his hands against the counter as he stares at himself in the mirror. 'Sofia is she the reason ya left me? S-she's all I have of you now. I won't ever let her go'. Elvis's train of thought ended when a knock reaches his ears, he quickly washes and dries his face, he opens the door. "Excuse me, Mr. Presl-" "Elvis" "R-right I um need to wash my hands" You held up your blood-covered hands to empathize your point.

Elvis just takes your wrist, he pulls you into the bathroom without a response. He turns the water on and puts your hands underwater, rubbing away the dried crimson liquid. Seeing the blood of your mother rush down the drain finally clicks in your brain and tears slowly fall as you can hear your past voice in your mind.

'MOM!!' 'PLEASE!!!' 'Y-YOU'RE NOT DEAD. YOU CAN'T BE!!'

"Ya take a shower, it will help and 'm gonna lay out some clothes ok?" Elvis stated after he dried your hands, you nodded refusing to look at him. You didn't start taking off your clothes into you heard him leave and shut the door.

You walked out of the bathroom with a towel around you and there on the edge of Elvis's bed were purple color pajamas, He was already fast asleep, his lips slightly open and he lets out a silent snore. 'He looks so peaceful...' you thought while you picked up the PJs and changed into them, you slowly crawled into bed, and despite everything that happened you fall asleep, his warmth surrounding you.

....

you sat in bed, reading a book, still in your babydoll nightgown when Elvis strolls into your shared bedroom, enraged, he didn't spare a glance at you when you call his name. He plops down on the couch, pours himself some whiskey that sat on the beautiful glass table and he downed it within seconds.

"Elvis?" you tried again this time laying the book down on your bedside table and shifted to sit on the edge of your side of the large white-sheeted mattress. Elvis started to mumble and poured another shot "Elv-" "Will ya shut up?!" Elvis glared cutting you off, you glared back at him "How dare you-" you gasped as Elvis takes out his gun and slammed it again the glass table, shattering it before pointing the pistol at you, breathing heavily. You put up your hands as you stare at the barrel.

"Here's what ya gon' do. You gon' take off that skimpy little thing you call a nightgown and walk yar ass to bed" He growled, his blue eyes now black as he watches you take your babydoll with the panties off in a haste and walked to the bed backward slowly with Elvis following. You walked to the bed, eyes still on the gun aimed between your eyes, a bit of the large rug tripped you onto the bed, and you gasped fearfully as you scoot up, the gun now pointed at your head. Elvis's eyes traveled from your face to your fully-grown body, your bare pussy glistening between your parted legs. He clicked his tongue at the sight " I didn't know I had a slut in my bed" Elvis climbed into the bed and spread your legs wider as he lay within them. He trances the gun through your soaked folds, around your clit.

You inhale sharply, scared and aroused from the danger the firearm brought, you squirm "Stop movin'." He demanded, sucking and flicking your clit with vigor, throwing the pistol away, he shoved a thick long finger inside while sucking and pulling at your lips like a wild man, groaning at the taste of you, sending vibrations throughout your quaking pussy. You let out a stuttering moan and threw your head against the black silk pillow. He sat back and flung his suit jack off then his pants, underwear, and shoes. His hooded eyes locked with yours, and he licked his lips as he unbutton his dress shirt.

You swallow your nerves, confidently grabbed his heavy, thick cock, and give it a few pumps, twisting your wrist as you do so. "Goddamn." Elvis hissed, face twisting in pleasure. He hasty took your hand off of him and kissed you hard, nibbling, biting your lips as he slammed himself inside your tight pussy, F-fuck' Elvis pants, his hips colliding against your own, your velvety walls pulsing around his dick. You whimpered in pain into his mouth, bucking your hips.

"So fuckin' tight," he growled pinning your wandering hands above your head with one hand, choking you with the other "Ya gonna take want your daddy gives ya." he kisses your shoulder, his hash-hammering jolted your body up like a ragdoll "You're a damn vixen, wormin' ya self in my mind." Elvis hissed, squeezing your throat, "Never goin' leave me, that's why I'm goin' to get you nice and big with my baby" he groaned, rolling his hips in circles as he lets go of your hands and instead use your knees as leverage to drive his dick deeper.

You moaned and wailed while Elvis used you as his personal little sex toy, his cock drilling into you like a beast untamed, grants and huffs left his pouty lips, his hair on his cheat sticks to his skin from the sweat moving down his tan body and his blue eyes blown out of proportion, barely able to focus on one thing from the pleasure that you grieving him. "FUCK!" you wailed louder as his thrusting sped up so much you could see stars, you gripped and tear at the white sheets. it was getting too much! "So goddamn beautiful. I'll keep ya nice and pregnant, gonna fill ya over and over." Elvis moaned turned on by his own words, his fingers found your clit, rubbing it without mercy. The coil inside snaps and you squirted, covering Elvis's abdomen and thighs.

Elvis thrusted one last time into your beat-up cunt, spelling and filling your womb with his hot thick cum with eyes rolling back, and a deep groan, he collapsed on you breathing heavily. Closing your eyes in exhaustion, and without meaning to you slipped into unconsciousness, Elvis's cock nestled deep within you.

You stirred awake, eyes fluttering as all different sensations washed over you. You felt full? It was something you never felt before, and the feeling of an arm laying across your waist, your back against something firm and hairy. "wha-" your eyes snapped open as you quickly look behind you there laid your host for a week now, The man you're the biggest fan for, Elvis Presley snoring soundly. 'Oh my god! I got fucked by THE Elvis Presley and...and I'm so stick, ew' you cringed as you slowly move away from him. You let out a pained whimper as his dick slides out of your poor core. Getting out of bed, you quietly limp to the bathroom to take a shower.

you turned on the light without a single glance at the mirror and towards the wide-headed shower, you winced when you bend down to turn the temperatures just right. Finally, you stepped under the much relaxing water, you looked down for a second, and screamed.

Elvis jerked awake from a high-pitched scream coming out of his bathroom, he throw the covers off, and his heart dropped, the once-white sheet was crimson red, he quickly jumped out of bed, grabbed his pistol from the ground, and busted into the bathroom "Darlin'?" Elvis called, walking to the shower with the gun aimed point blank, when you didn't answer, he yanked the shower curtain to see you sitting on the tiles, staring at your bloodied hands in terror "Darlin'?" Elvis repeated setting the weapon on the counter, "I am dying too..?" you trailed off finally looking up at him while he knees down beside you. "No, That's yar period," Elvis responded calmly, putting your hands under the water "Period?" you tilted your head, Elvis hummed, step into the shower, and pulled you up and in front of him.

"A period is when—"

.......

You rubbed your cramping stomach while you lay in the now-changed black-sheeted bed, luckily Elvis had some of your mother's old pads. You couldn't believe you had to go through this every month and you felt so..thirsty but not for water, you wanted Elvis, wanted to feel him inside like before, wanted to feel his cum in you, you mean you couldn't get pregnant right?

Getting out of bed, with a made-up mind, you didn't care if he was in a meeting, you needed him. So you left the room, not bothering to put a rope over your underwear-clad form. humming a tune you finally found his office, a big wooden oak door stood between you and Elvis, and you stop mid-way from opening the door, you knew he would be mad because he didn't want you to know more about his other world but you needed him so bad, you didn't care. "I want to find who killed Sofia, I don't care what it tak-" Elvis stopped mid-sentence, mouth gaping a little as you walked in, wearing nothing but a bra and underwear, Elvis closed his mouth when he noticed his men turned to you, eyes filled with want, lust for you, his daughter, his woman. His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed as he watched them check out your ass when you walked by them to him, the only one who wasn't looking at you was his right-hand man; Jerry.

"What in God's name are ya doin', comin' in here looking like a goddamn whore." Elvis hissed, you just smiled and walked behind his large work desk, sitting on it with your legs crossed, leaning forward"I need you, daddy, my pussy needs you. Please fuck me, I don't care if they watch im yours only" you leaned back and uncrossed your legs, putting your feet on the arms rests on either side of Elvis. A staring contest happens between you and Elvis, challenging him to say no. Elvis pushed your feet from his chair and stood up, one hand shooting out to grasp your neck, he pushes his hard erection against your crotch "Fine, Since ya want to be a slut, I'll use you like one" he growled, swapping away the items on his desk, and laid you down. He pulled down his pants, having gone without underwear he pushes inside, using your blood as lube, his men and Jerry watch on with bated breath as their kingpin takes a girl in front of them, some of the men couldn't help but touch themselves through their strained pants.

Elvis let out a deep, long moan, you were still so tight like he hadn't pounded you just last night. The feeling of your warm pussy, soft walls, and blood got, he couldn't lie the sight of the glistening blood covering his cock each time he thrusted, made him crazy with lust. "F-fuck! yes, daddy!" you panted out as his precise thrusts hit that special spot inside, the force of his pounding rocked the heavy desk like it was nothing and his hands held your hips, pushing them down with each rough thrust he gave.

Multiple groans and moans reached your ears, looking up, the view that graced your orbs, making another rush of arousal flow out of your pussy. Everyone besides Jerry of Elvis's Memphis Mafia was jerking off. Elvis smirked, a mischievous glint in his otherwise ocean eyes "Jerry. Come here" said the man's shoulders tensed up at his boss's voice "Isn't she a beauty?" Elvis asked Jerry when he stood in front of him, Jerry looked at you for barely a second, his dick hardening, you jolted each time Elvis slammed into you, and oh, your beautiful sounds were like music, how Jerry wanted you but no, he wouldn't ever betray Elvis, his best friend, and boss.

"She's gorgeous EP." Jerry agreed, looking anywhere but y'all. Elvis's smirk grew wider "Think she'd look good in white?" "What?" "Think she'd be pretty in your white?" "b-boss?!" you cried out as Elvis sped up his brutal pounding "Take off yar pants and paint her white." with a hard gulp Jerry did what he was told, and pulled his pants down as well as his boxers, he let out a small whimper the moment he touched his already sensitive, hard as a rock dick. Jerry slowly started to jerk off to Elvis's thrusts. Suddenly Elvis ripped his thick cock from your pussy, and manhandled you to bend over the desk, his cock slammed back into you. "Oh!" you scream, eyes closed shut from the pleasure. Elvis's hand wrapped around your jaw, and his chest lay upon your back, his hips smacking your ass "Look at him, Princess" his southern drawl whispers as he kissed the back of your ear, you open your eyes, you let out a choked moan from seeing Jerry pumping his dick to Elvis's thrusts.

"You like that baby?" Elvis's hand moved to your throat "You like seein' the effect ya got on man," a harsh thrust hits your cervix "huh?" Elvis questioned again, squeezing your throat, all you could do was nod as another harsh thrust meets your cervix. Your eyes rolled back with the feeling of reaching your climax and juices rained down on your lover's cock, onto the floor, your pussy clamped around Elvis, triggering his release, his cum painted your womb with a snowy white while jerry's showered onto your face and hitting your cheeks, the corner of your lips and even your breasts. With a pleased sigh, you slouched across the dark wooden desk.

....

You smiled as you rubbed your swollen belly with your left hand, while 8 months pregnant. It wasn't planned but you were happy regardless and the widows in the hall you walked down shined bright upon your diamond ring. You stopped when you notice Elvis's office door cracked open, you pulled the wooden oak and went inside despite knowing to not enter, Elvis seems to hate the thought of you in there, even after you had sex.

You strolled behind the beautiful desk, your head titled as you look at the open drawer, and sat down on the fit-for-a-king office chair to get a closer peek, a huge amount of folds filled it, what piqued your interest though was a folder with your name on it and the date you met Elvis. Like the cat that was killed by curiosity, you picked up the folder and looked inside, baby pictures, high school grades, vacations, and holidays pictures, and your birth certificate sat inside. You quickly pulled out your certificate and tossed the rest on the desk. Your eyes wided

'Y/n Longo.

Mother: Sofia Presley.

Father: Elvis Presley.'

"Ya gon' leave me too?" his beautiful southern called out, your head snapped up, Elvis leaned against the open doorway, his normal ocean blues were now an icky blue, and a blank look rested on his face. You got up without saying a word and sauntered to him, a brief look of panic, and fear showed in his orbs before returning to a cold stare. Once you reached him, you grabbed his face and pulled him into a passionate kiss, stunning Elvis, stunning him so much he didn't kiss back, you slowly pulled back and grinned at his shocked look. "No, never. If anything this makes our love stronger" you said, Elvis's glaze was filled with love for you before he kissed you and pulled you into his arms.

"I love you."

Taglist; @ash-omalley @flwersgarden @godlypresley @plasticfantasticl0ver @galaxygirl453.

A/N: Sorry that it took so long my doves, that waited eagerly for Mafia life I hope it was up to your hopes. I decided to add a bonus scene, my babes ( @galaxygirl453 ) and I were talking about it, and this joke came up. She wrote this part and the mood board coming up.

*The Presley family and Jerry at Tia's school for family at school day*

*Tia presenting in front of the class while the Presley family and Jerry are sitting next to each other Vernon on Elvis's right side and Jerry on Elvis's left side with you sitting on Elvis's left leg*

Tia: My name is Tia Jesse Presley an I'm 5 years old,today 'm gonna introduce ya to my family!

*Tia runs to you and Elvis along with the rest*

Tia: *points to you* This is my mama and sister!

*you smile at her sitting on Elvis's lap*

Tia: *points to Elvis* This is my daddy and Grandpa!

*Elvis tries not to laugh at the other family's faces and scoots you closer to him*

Tia: *points to Vernon* This is my great grandpa and grandpa!

Vernon: *mouths* you're doing a good job hun!

Tia: *points to Jerry* And lastly this is my uncle and great uncle he's my daddy's right hand man and he does everything with ma daddy!...Well somethings depends what it is but anyway this is my family!

[thefluffyrailway-official]

Sodor's Great War

Episode 1

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

That morning, Thomas had been, along with Gordon, the first to wake up and go out the sheds. He loved coming back when the rest woke up to tell them the news of the day just like a talking newspaper. 

He usually talked about gossip and commotions happening on the island, James and Emily loved hearing that. But that day something was wrong with Thomas.

His legs trembled, his back fur was bristly, and his short, deer-like tail shook with spasms of speed and then remained still.

Everyone noticed the strangeness in the behavior of the young bluish male, but a tall emerald female was the first to approach him and asked him if everything was okay.

-Y-Yes! E-Everything is fine!- Thomas nodded with a fake smile. -Then why are you so nervous?- Emily asked. -I-I...- Thomas tried to excuse himself but nothing good came to his mind. The rest of the engines left their sheds with slow and curious steps. Thomas knew it was only a matter of time before he was found out, so he had no choice but to tell the truth.

He took a deep breath...

Then sat down...

-He's back... -

Thomas fell unconscious after saying those words...

Everyone ran to his aid.

-Is he still breathing?- asked a young but robust female with blonde fur and turquoise blue eyes. -It's obvious he's breathing! Don't exaggerate, Rebecca! - Exclaimed a huge male with strong legs and unusually long claws. -I'll take him to Steamworks. I'm sure Victor will find out what happened to him.- Said the emerald female.

The rest of the engines nodded in agreement with her. The youngest of them still spoke.

-Thomas will be okay, right?- He asked while his dad, another large light green male, brought him closer, comforting him with a warm hug. -He'll be fine Percy. I promise- the female smiled to reassure her younger brother.

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

The entire way, Emily tried to find out what happened to her friend.

«Why was Thomas so scared? Who was back? Could it perhaps be a danger warning?»

Thoughts ran through her mind. But she couldn't answer any...

Soon, the cold iron and annoying pebbles of the rails turned into soft grass and earth under Emily's gray and spotted paws. She knew they were near the Steamworks.

Kevin, a small mobile crane with scales and golden down, Victor's apprentice, was the first to notice the arrival of the emerald female, and without hesitation he went to call his mentor.

-Excuse me boss! We have a visitor! - The little golden-furred crane said while his little scarlet fins shook. Victor turned towards the entrance to the Steamworks just as Emily rushed in.

-Victor! Can you help me please?? Thomas is unconscious! - The green-eyed she asked, carefully leaving Thomas on the ground. -Don't worry, Emily, I'm sure it's nothing serious- said the garnet engine as he leaned over the young bluey, inspecting if there was anything to worry about (besides the fainting).

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

A couple of hours later, Thomas finally regained consciousness. He stood up suddenly, gasping as if waking up from a terrible nightmare in the middle of the night. Then he looked around trying to guess where he was.

-Thomas! You're awake!- Emily meowed of joy as she hugged him. -H-Hello Emily- Thomas smiled as he responded to the older's action.

Kevin approached them to check the blue young man's condition and vital signs, and smiled when he saw that he was in perfect condition.

-I see that you are pretty fine- said the little golden amphibian. Thomas answered with a smile as Emily pulled away from the hug and sat next to him.

-How did I get here Emi?- The blue-eyed asked. -You fainted when you came back from your round of morning gossip- Emily explined as she settled her paws under her body.

Thomas looked down as his smile faded. It seems like he was starting to remember what happened. And because of his expression... Also the cause of this.

-You should rest a little Thomas. I will ask Sir Tophamm Hatt to allow you to take the morning off.- Victor's deep but calm voice brought Thomas out of his thoughts, making him turn to look at him.

-Later in the afternoon, if you feel better, you can go back to your work. But for now it is better that you make as little effort as possible.- The garnet male continued while Thomas nodded listening to his instructions.

As he finished explaining, Victor made a sign with his front paw allowing Thomas to return to his shed.

-Do you want me to take you back too?- Emily offered as they both returned to the cold, sharp rails. -What do you mean?- Thomas tilted his head in confusion. -When we came, I carried you on my back because you were unconscious. Do you want me to take you again? Or you can walk well?- The tall emerald female explained while the blue-haired boy blushed just by imagining what she was saying to him. -I-I eeehhh....- He tried to deny his desire to pretend not to be able to walk just to be carried by her. -I-I can walk! You don't need to worry! - He said and then walked ahead with clumsy strides.

Emily sat on the rails waiting for Thomas's, still weak, legs to fail, giving him a chance to get what he clearly wanted.

And so it happened. Within a few steps of trying to walk away, one of his front legs gave out slightly. Even Rebecca, the clumsiest of the steam team, could quickly recover from that little stumble. But Thomas fell on his side and then let out dramatic whimpers of pain.

-Owwwwww!! my leg!! - He howled, covering his face with his right paw while he held his left paw with his middle paws. -I think you're going to have to take me after all hehe- Emily approached him laughing and then grabbed him by the neck lifting him onto her back, being careful that neither her rods nor her whistle would harm him.

While they went back to Tithmouth Sheds, Emily felt a soft but audible vibration near her steamstack.

"Is Thomas... Purring?" Thought.

The emerald-furred one smiled warmly and slowed down so as not to wake him.

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

Emily placed Thomas in his nest, covered in soft feathers and warm blankets, careful not to wake him. The young male stretched and rolled around in his nest until he found a comfortable position to rest.

The green-eyed girl smiled when she saw him. Then he caressed the blue one's cheek with his front paw. -Rest well Thom- she whispered with a tender shine in her emerald eyes.

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

[moodymisty]

Hi! I'm brain rotting over here as I play Darksiders 2 and was just wondering how Death would be with a more battle type gender neutral mc? Maybe they met when mc accidentally ambushed him and he's been stuck with them ever since? Maybe a ton of scars on them,,,

Author's note: Omg I am so sorry anon, You got swamped in the bottom of my inbox;; Here, I hope these HC formatted thoughts and a little drabble is enough as forgiveness.

Relationships: Death/Fem!Reader

Warnings: None really, other than a brief mention of bruises and scares

Given how Death seems to be a magnet for all sorts of people despite hating people, it probably wouldn't take too long for him to come across some sort of cornered human.

Be they in the remains of Earth, or hell, even taken as a 'pet' by a demon to Hell.

You won't be doing any sort of actual damage to him when you attempt to attack him, but he has to admit he admires the gusto.

Though in his younger years he would've found it insulting, as he'd still had a fair share of cockiness back then he's since rid himself off. Maybe you just didn't realize what you were attempting to attack wasn't human.

He'd probably like a taglaong, even if he denies it. He's so used to not having companionship during his countless outings, that having another soul beside him is odd. He habitually pushes it away.

He sees a bit of himself in you sometimes. The way you're so desperately clawing for your own life against all odds.

Just don't constantly be so twitchy and looking around every corner, it makes him on edge also and he hates it.

The soft remnants of a fire burning out, embers floating upward, Death looks over at you.

You're finally asleep; Laying on your side facing him. Your legs are curled up close to your body in an attempt to stay warm, without anything but your clothes to protect you from the frigid weather.

With just enough light, Death can spot your one arm that's lazily flopped outward, in the general direction of whats left of the fire. In it's glow, he can see the bruise around your wrist, once a deep purple now partly fading to a sickly green.

To think, he almost feels remorse about that now.

Death is well aware humans are more fragile, but not that fragile. He barely grabbed you to stop you from pulling a dumb stunt, and now your skin clearly shows the mark of where he'd nearly hurt you much worse.

You had flipped around the wall with your gun, only to have a hand gripped around your wrist so tight, you were forced to drop it. No matter how much you clawed at the hand, he refused to let go.

And you had very much wanted him to, once you had gotten a sight of what you attempted to protect yourself from.

"Are you dense?"

Your knees had wanted to buckled underneath you, and partly did, but his grip had held you so tight it kept you upright.

You weren't dense, he remembers, you were just trying to protect yourself. He'd without knowing cornered you in that room, and you had only known to fight.

You were surprisingly quick to forgive it, and even going so far as to shadow him, once you realized he wasn't going to eat you alive. Contrary to his appearance. But Death wasn't in the mood for tagalongs, and had only accepted under the guise that he was going to drop you off at the nearest group of humans he would come across.

But there was none. Death finds his mouth bitter at the realization that your race is all but gone. You're a fighter and have kept going this long, but sooner or later that luck will run out. The scars on your hands and arms have all but proven with as many close calls you've escaped, you don't have much favor with lady luck left.

The Ravaiim, The Nephilim, so many races trampled underfoot. Humanity is just another one to add to the list, Death solemnly thinks.

"Hngh," Death looks over and notices you shifting in your sleep, the arm he'd bruised sliding close to your body. Your knife is still on your person, but you'd laid your gun close to where your head is. Death reaches over and nudges it away, assuring you don't hit it in your sleep.

He looks away again, content to just ignore your mumbling and shifting. Even as it increases, and your face seems more distressed the next time he takes a glance.

When you end up shifting close enough to him that you bump into his leg, he sighs.

One hand grasps our shoulder with a gentle pressure- conscious now of being softer than he had with your wrist. It stops your shifting and the touch seems to quell your nightmare, and you still. He moves to brush a chunk of hair that fell into your face away. Death keeps his hand there until he feels you start to wake up hours later, and pulls away before you realize.

[lightlycareless]

CHAPTER 34 HAS ME RUNNING IN CIRCLES CLAWING AT THE WALLS LOSING MY MIND,,, HELLO?? HELLO??? naoya just absolutely losing his mind writhing in emotional pain,, incredible stuff i agree w the staff. it is exactly like a car crash and i can not take my eyes away. hes so cringefail mariya. girlbossing standing in between the two of them... very strong of her. i talk a lot of shit abt naoya but i hate conflict and i'd probably start shaking and crying if i had to deal with him so mariya being able to just put herself right in the middle of all that and act totally normal about it is VERY impressive. props to y/n too for acting so normally too-- either that or naoyas just extremely oblivious to body language and emotional cues and doesn't notice them freaking the fuck out. 50/50

naoya detective arc,,,, it would be charming of him if he weren't so deranged. in fact its KINDA terrifying how incredibly focused and driven he was to figure everything out no matter how far back he had to trace it. like-- it'd be INSANELY hard to hide anything from him unless absolutely everyone involved in it was able to be IN on it and know how to keep up a lie to him. kinda fucked!

tho on the detective arc part-- it makes perfect sense for HIS deranged ass to immediately jump to the worst conclusion that y/n lied to him, despite the fact i imagine its still possible the package could've been stolen from inside the estate by one of the staff? as in, the worker got the wolf stamp, but it could've been jumbled up or stolen after entering the estate. not like he's thinking that far ahead tho,,,

FINALLY he sees her w naoaki and we get a whole-ass confrontation-- im going NUTS here this was SO intense. naoya's arc here plays on one of my FAVORITE villain tropes, the 'villain who genuinely doesn't realize he's done anything wrong'. those are always so good but rarely do we get the moments of said villain realizing how badly he's fucked up im SO excited for how this is going

the way naoya is genuinely sure he's not done anything wrong and doesn't realize how badly he's hurt her vs. naoaki thinking he's just pretending to be oblivious to get out of consequences- DELICIOUS STUFF. naoaki pulling the "because you *love* her?" in whats probably intended to be a mocking way and then realizing "oh shit. he does actually. oh this is a fucking mess isn't it" and feeling kind of guilty about it... is it weird i want them to make up at some point too in all of this? god knows naoya needs some fucking friends (besides ranta)

"Naoya doesn't... *can't* care for me... because he doesn't care for anyone but himself." Y/N WITH THE STEEL CHAIR,, FROM THE TOP ROPE,, might as well have just shot him. definitely did the equivalent of knocking him unconscious considering he apparently doesn't remember anything that happened afterwards. i like to imagine he just dropped unconscious right on the spot and they just left him there.

the dream sequence part KILLED me i genuinely believed up until maybe midway through this was real. ALSO HE CALLED HIM BROTHER,,, my onii-san joke rings true,, at the funniest possible fucking time,, wish he'd say it outside of a dream,, the y/n sneering at naoya and laughing at him was i think what gave it away-- i was willing to believe her and naoki went off to finally fuck after all that but sry y/n i do NOT believe you're willing to make fun of him that hard to his face yet. yet. i think you should though some time

but fr this WHOLEE dream sequence is soo important to his character its so good at illustrating the fear of failure and rejection and abandonment-- they're SO crippling for him to such a degree he ends up making it worse on himself and making this fucked up self-fulfilling cycle houghhh its so much,,

naoaki getting woken up in the middle of the night to naoya slamming into his room demanding to know where y/n is-- i NEED to know what he thought in that moment he mustve thought naoya's gone fucking insane esp when he just LEAVES right after without explaining anything

and then y/n probably thought she was gonna fucking die when he just showed up out of nowhere. actual jumpscare moment. also her being intrigued by just how disheveled and awful he looks? me too.

WHAT WAS HE GONNA TELL HER. IM WAILING AND CRYING DID HE EVEN HAVE ANYTHING HE WANTED TO SAY OR WAS HE JUST DESPERATELY TRYING TO GET HER TO STAY,, AUGH,, depending how loudly he collapsed to the floor and loud his crying was i wonder if y/n were able to hear him?? i think she should definitely see him crying at least once-- i wonder how she (or naoaki) would even handle him just breaking down into tears,,

ohmygod i wrote. a lot here. anyways. 20/10 chapter. im chewing on him. tysm for these incredible developments im foaming at the mouth to see whats next

Hello!!!!!

YEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS JUST EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED HAHAHAHAH I THRIVE IN OTHER'S ANGUISH.... lol.

Ahem, anyways... 🤭 I'm glad you liked this chapter!!! This has to be up there, in my top 10 moments of the story (we still have others though... but yeah, still up there) and the one I was dying to write for the longest. I don't know if it was enough "punishment" for Naoya, but it's good to see him be reminded of his stupidity :)

His downfall is something that I think many were expecting tbh, or at least see him get kicked down a notch lol He was out there thinking himself to be the king of the hill for far too long, someone had to remind him he’s not that special 😂

I’m pretty sure the staff’s perception of Y/N changed drastically once again, into a more positive I mean. They’re out there admiring how she was able to do what many couldn’t and can’t help but wonder if she has the potential to ruin the Zen’in if she wanted to—of course, that stops when Naobito is added into the equation, but they still like to daydream about it haha.

Mariya is a character I would consider 100% fed up with Naoya’s (or just about anyone from the clan) shenanigans, so that makes it easier for her to stand up to him, although I’m sure she’s still intimidated by him. Thankfully her extensive knowledge of how everything works around the estate helps her out in these situations, it’s kind of like a… “gray area” for her to exploit—something she can use if she ever gets in trouble with Junko or Meiko for example, she can easily say “I was just doing what was requested of me” and they’d be like “unnnghhhh I guess!!”

Besides, she has job security in the sense that Meiko considers her to be the best worker there (after her, obviously lmao) so she wouldn’t dare lose the order Mariya provides; because she’ll whine and cry about it, enough for Naobito to intervene, making him wonder why she was fired, forcing Meiko to say “well, because Naoya–“ and yeah, I don’t think anyone to be in that situation hahaha so she’s safe.

I’d say Naoya is greatly oblivious to body language when it comes to… socializing? Cause he’s great when it comes to analyzing targets in a jujutsu environment, but even then, I think he’d still be somewhat bad compared to others 😂 he's the kind of person that believes brute force overrules everything else, so he shouldn't worry about those menial details. (Kind of like Endeavor from MHA? Like he's a great hero, but in the sense of crime fighting, he didn't really care about making a fan base or anything else really... OUTSIDE OF SHOTO OF COURSE)

And because Y/N has always been “coy” when he’s around, he doesn’t think much of it outside of being normal behavior from her, so yeah, he didn't get any sense of "something's going on" when she acted the way she did.

Naoya being derange isn’t a surprise to anyone at this point 😭 I’m telling you, he does things that under any normal context it would’ve been sweet, but since he’s… him, it’s not lmao. I can’t imagine how terrified Y/N was upon hearing he went all the way down to the post office just to find out what happened with his gift. He’s determined, that’s for sure, and it makes her wonder what other things he's done already—although at that moment, at the same time she was hoping she’d be able to escape this situation… well, alive, she was mostly worried that her letters might be uncovered too. Thankfully Naoya was focused on something else 💀

And yep, the way he jumped into conclusions was eerie, but I think it was because deep inside him, he knew that was what actually happened. He had enough of bad history with his wife to know that she, more likely than not, discarded his gifts. Did he ever wonder why? No. Would he dare to ask? I don’t think so. And even if he did, would he understand? I think he’d feel offended if anything, more so when Naoaki’s gestures had been happily received. Oof.

Maybe if he wasn’t so paranoid (or heart broken, let’s be real) he might’ve considered someone else from the staff, leading him into another wild goose chase; good, this is revenge for what he put Hinata through.

I’m glad you liked the confrontation!!! It was above everything, awkward, cause there’s no actual confrontation coming from Naoya if that makes sense? Like he’s not open to actual conversations, he just wants to know the why of certain things, and if it fits his ideals, good, if not, God help us.

I definitely believe Naoaki thinks Naoya is so… “isolated” from the real world that he might actually, genuinely not know what he’s doing—can’t blame him, he had Naobito and the rest of the family as guidance lol—but his inability to even consider other possibilities is what always frustrates him 😂 poor Naoaki, he can’t go on with his life without being constantly disappointed by his relatives. (Have Mai and Maki disappointed him too? I wonder...)

My favorite part, and I’ll never stop talking about it hahahah, was when he asked Naoya if he “loved” Y/N aughagaga DAMN the skepticism was there 100% for sureeeeeeeeee, he was hoping to hear his brother say something like “yeah, I do” so he could be like “bullshit!” and continue to take out his frustrations, but the way Naoya remained quiet, looking away almost as if embarrassed!!! Now that’s when he knew there were feelings for her—beneath the complicated layers that make him a monster, Naoya was still capable of harboring sentiments for someone else (Allegedly… all allegedly…) and Naoaki immediately felt bad for putting him on the spot like that. He still cares for his baby brother after all 😭😭😭

I certainly feel bad that their relationship turned into this—I can only wonder what occurred on the manga for Naoya to want them (more) dead lol. If he’s already unhinged at 19, imagine at 27 💀 Ah, but one can dream….

AHAHAHAH Him just spacing out immediately after Y/N said that is, ugh idk satisfying and sad at the same time—like sure I feel sorry that his wife was like “no, you don’t care” and I could’ve had her say something like “ewww” but Y/N isn’t that disrespectful; and come on what was Naoya expecting 😂?? For her to be like “omg I’m so sorry Naoya I should’ve known” please!!! She was appropriate enough to state the truth, that he doesn’t care for anyone but himself, he should’ve just taken it and left them (which he did: I imagine he remained quiet, spacing out as he stared at the two before turning around and disappearing into the hallways. Naoaki and Y/N look at each other, wondering what happened before wondering if he’s going to return. Naoaki tells her no, but that she should be careful nonetheless. Y/N goes with Mariya, tells her staff what went down and collectively decide to keep a low profile—Hitomi offers to keep a lookout on Naoya, only stopping when she overheard that he was in his room and has been for the past few hours. They go on with their day, or attempt to, and that’s when Mariya decides to let them know of her secret hideout)

To irritate Ren, I decided that the song that best fits this scene is this one. And just for a little, tiny part before the chorus and Mel B's part hahahahha. That's the only thing that actually applies to their whole dilemma at this point.

Now, the good part… The dream sequence was the one thing I’ve been wanting to show you for a while now hahah I just kept teasing you about it, and I’m glad it got the reaction it did hahahahhahahhhahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

I was 99.9999% sure that most of my readers would immediately catch on to the fact that this was a dream, since I’ve never portrayed Y/N to be that crazy, you know? Like her making fun of Naoya is off the table completely; sure, she’s made some jokes here and there, but they’re always lighthearted—or at least I think that’s the impression one gets when reading them—never off the rails as this dream sequence 💀 leave that to Naohiko lol.

Either way, I tried my best to cover the fact it was a dream, and if someone saw right through it, it still served to show just how messed up Naoya is on an emotional at this moment.

But yeah, this nightmare worked really well ‘cause there was that lingering question of whether Naoaki and Y/N were finally going to do something more… intimate. I feel that if I hadn’t worked their relationship up to that point it would’ve easily been like “nah, this is a dream goodbye” 😈 glad it worked in the end hahahah!!!

Now that it’s mentioned, the scene where Naoaki is disrupted by Naoya is ironically funny—it was so out of the blue first he was like “I sleep” and then Naoya comes into his room to ask the most random question before leaving.

Naoaki for sure thought he made it up—he was worried for Y/N and overworked by all his duties that he was like “Man, I’m even starting to dream about Naoya wtf??” his slumber overtook him almost immediately after; had he not been that exhausted you can be 100% certain he would’ve gone after Naoya.

And I agree—Y/N for sure thought she was going to die at that moment, although it was a fear that quieted down a bit for the sake of her staff’s wellbeing… yet, the thing that surprised her the most was to see Naoya so… disturbed—he’d seen him angry, arrogant, a complete monster… but she’d never seen him so defeated. So yeah, I think she believed she was going to die, but more in a sense of shock of not knowing what the hell was going on.

Now, for your last question… Naoya desperately wanted to keep her there above anything else, but his broken heart also wanted to tell her that he did care for her, at least to some extent, if not then why would he have married her? A mystery for sure. If I had to boil it down to a singular reason, it was him wanting to tell her how much he wants to be with her. Happily, be with her.

(No one heard Naoya cry, outside of Y/N retreating as quickly as possible, I envision him to be a silent crier in a way, not wanting anyone to hear him out of fear of being reprimanded more than shame—Naobito as a father must’ve been really, really tough. And if anyone did hear him, they would’ve never thought it was him to begin with.)

Thank you so much for tuning in for another chapter!! 🥺❤️❤️❤️❤️ I really greatly, enormously enjoy your asks, they give me so much insight about things that sometimes escape my mind!! Kgagagkak I don’t know how to describe it, but they motivate me allot 😭❤️

I can’t wait to show you the rest of the story…. Another…. Specific part I want you to read (well, more than one, but that one is another favorite of mine) hahahahahaaa

Once again, thank you so much for your support 🥺😭❤️ I shall strive to deliver the next chapters to the best of my ability!!!

Take care, and hope to see you soon 🥺❤️

[01rag23]

Emizel mpreg part 2

Soda looked at him concerned. “Listen man, you know those aren't good for you right? You should try a healthier habit, like soda!” While talking he pulled out a dr pepper and shook it in his hand, before helping Emizel up.

“Thanks, but I think I'll pass. How have your teeth not fallen out?” Soda smiled, and his teeth seemed to pull in the little surrounding light, an unending void of darkness.

“Cause sodas awesome man, it’d never hurt anyone!” A few members of the Demons behind him looked concerned, and started googling diabetes statistics. Emizel saw this and very slightly shook his head no. “Anyways, where are all those Fangs man? Cause we're way deep in their territory right now.”

“I couldn't tell you, maybe they moved out after the last time we strolled through here.” There was a nervous chuckle that ran through the Demons. “Besides, wherever ever their hiding im sure we’ll find em.”

“Alright man, Lets keep walking!” The Demons left the street and took to the winding alleyways that spanned across the Fangs territory. What little light was left from the setting sun faded, as a mess of cables and rooftops loomed above them. A silence washed over them as the street noises faded, walking farther into the labyrinth of back alleys.

The silence was broken when a small gray cat jumped out of a shadow. A Demon near the back got startled and jumped into a wall, while another tried to pick it up “Oh shit man, it’s that cat! The one that Emizel likes.” Emeizel turned around just in time to see the poor Demon who tried to pick the cat up, get clawed in the face. The Demon wailed “It hurts!!”

He ran over to the poor soul and looked at the wounds. The cat hadn’t done much other than a swipe down one arm. Emizel checked it and said “Hey listen Levi, it’s not too bad, you're gonna be alright. Just head back with one of the other guys, ok?” Levi nodded his head and grabbed one of the other Demon members, leaving the group with 10.

After Levi had left, Soda turned to Emizel, “Hey man, smashing faces is fun and all, but it’s a lot less cool when there’s no faces to smash. Are you planning on turning back soon dude?”

One of the Demons shouted “Yeah, and it’s almost my bedtime!” Emizel looked around and gave a long sigh.

“It’s looking like we might have too. These fuckin Fangs don’t seem too keen on meeting us.” As he finished, a faraway noise echoed across the alley. Every Demon turned around to look at the sound, before turning back to Emizel. “I think that was them, let’s go gettem!”

The small crowd of Demons sprinted down the alleys as fast as they could, though it was a tight fit all the way through. As they came upon where the noise came from, there was a small spattering of blood, and a metal pipe laying on the floor. Soda was the first there, and started talking “Woah man, looks like someone got jumped back here! Sure hope it wasn’t one of our…”

Soda looked up at the dead end of the alley, and saw Levi hanging by 2 chains attached to his arms. He looked pale, with a small break in the wires above shining moonlight on his face. Below him was the body of a Fang, and the body of the Demon who went with him.

Levi chuckled from his spot on the wall. “Hey guys, I found the Fangs! Not before they could uh, do this to me though. I don’t really remember what they did, all I know is that Rufus killed one of the fuckers! Not sure how hes holding up though, passed out right after.”

A few minutes later, The Demons had picked up Rufus and started to carry him back. While he wasn’t dead, he also wasn’t in the best shape. Levi had gotten out of the chains when Soda found the keys lying on the Fangs body. Emizel walked up to Levi. “You holding up ok man? I know the Fangs can do some crazy shit.”

Levi glanced at him, “yeah I know man! After I got chained up and Rufus was all tired out, one of em showed up and tried to give me a hickey or something. I made sure to bite him right back though! Kinda funny actually, his blood tasted really good.”

Walking behind him, Emizel cringed. “Didn’t need to know that last part, but good on you man. I think.” The group settled into complete silence, with the only noise coming from the swaying wires above. It was almost calming to Emizel, hanging out with the Demons, trying to beat Fangs teeth out. And then a shout came from the back of the Demons small line, followed by a very quick lack of sound. Turning around, the Demons faced… nothing. The member in the very back shouted “Hey man where-

Prev

[annwrites]

she's so well-behaved

— pairing: commander ray cushing x handmaid!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: ray makes a display of you during a meeting with other local commanders. you have your first interaction w/ waterford. you & ray talk in bed.

— tw: objectification, waterford being a creep like always, misogyny, religious fanaticism, drinking, mentions of being shot, politics

— word count: 4,002

"Ofray, can you come in here, please?"

You and the Martha exchange worrisome glances, but you quickly turn, entering the parlor.

You keep your head down, feeling all of their eyes on you now. "Yes, Commander?"

Your voice is quiet without you even trying to make it so. Having so many of them in one room—can any of them sense it, tell? That you're a liar. A manipulator.

His whore.

You feel like they can see right through you. Not just your uniform, but your performance.

"Can you retrieve a book from the shelf to your left for me?"

Your heartrate quickens. A book. Why would he ask, of all things, for you to get that for him?

You turn toward the shelf, afraid of looking at a single spine.

"Subservience in His Name. It's on the top shelf, to the right, with a green spine, I believe."

Of course it's called that. You know what this is: a display of his power over you in front of all of his peers. Showing just how "fortunate" he is to have something so obedient and submissive to serve him.

You stand on tiptoes to reach it.

You had seen him in here earlier, had seen him near this bookshelf. He'd placed it in this specific spot on purpose.

Once you have it in your arms, you turn toward him and look up only once and balk when you see seven sets of eyes upon you, which include his own.

You look back down.

"Bring it to me."

You step over to him, walking between the men seated in sets of three on each side of you, with him at the head of them.

You kneel silently before him, offering him the book from trembling hands.

He takes it from you, tossing it on the table beside him. "Thank you, Ofray."

You nod infinitesimally. "Will that all be all, Commander?"

He looks back to you out of boredom. "Mm, yes. You may go."

You stand—your stomach now queasy—and head back in the direction of the kitchen, wanting desperately to get away from all of them.

Your eyes sting from unshed tears, a knot is in your throat, and your nails bite into the palms of your hands from the tight fists you've formed at your sides from him making you into a humiliating spectacle.

Humiliating for you, at least. But it doesn't matter how you feel. Only how he does. How you make him feel. Strong, powerful. Every essence a man who rules absolutely.

You fucking hate him for it. And you know what tonight will bring. You're sure he's already trying to hide his erection in front of all of them.

He'll bend you over his desk—spread open—as he pounds away inside of you while reciting scripture.

It's as you round the corner that you hear one of them say with awe "she's so well-behaved".

You look up to the Martha with angry tears gleaming in your eyes, your nostrils flared.

She only gives you a brief, sympathetic look before pushing a glass toward you. "Have some lemonade."

You're still sipping your drink, staring out the kitchen window, lost in thought, when you hear that same voice from earlier behind you say softly, "Hello there."

You turn, looking at him. He's tall, lean, with dark hair combed back, neatly-trimmed facial hair, and brown eyes.

You know you've seen him before; that he looks familiar. But, as you scramble and claw your way through your brain—sorting through the neat little boxes you keep everything in it within now—you find yourself unable to remember his name.

You look back down, folding your hands gently in front of you. "Commander... I-I'm sorry, I don't know—"

"Waterford," he finishes for you, with a kind smile.

"And it's alright. Learning new names, especially around here, can be a task all in itself. Try doing it as a politician," he says with raised brows and a playful smile.

You look up, returning the expression.

Polite. Always be polite. And sweet. Demure.

Perfect.

You must be perfect.

You've heard the name before.

He's quite high-ranking. Like Ray. So you need to be nice to him. Make him feel insulted, and you're sure you'll be made to feel the consequences.

"I can only imagine," you reply sweetly with a smile.

He likes you. You can tell.

They're all so easy to read. Well, not all. But most. Some...some don't wear their cocks on their sleeves like others. But you know he's the type who most certainly does.

"Ray—Commander Cushing, that is—seems quite pleased with your posting here."

You glance away, then back to him. "I'm glad."

His lips twitches. "You seem very...obedient."

It's the way he says it—his tone, the look in his eyes, the way he steps forward, angling his body more toward yours—that makes you want to slap him.

You're not supposed to be alone together. Period. He shouldn't be in here. Where has the fucking Martha gone? Where do the other Commanders think he's gone to? The bathroom, you suspect.

You nod, looking down. Mostly because maintaining eye-contact with him is only serving to further unnerve you.

"I just try to do as I'm told," you say in a whisper.

"Could you pour me a drink?" He asks, nodding toward the pitcher of lemonade on the counter, surrounded by clean glasses.

You want to tell him that his arms aren't broken.

Instead, you pour, silently handing it to him.

His fingers brush against yours and you know it was on purpose.

He takes a sip, then considers you for a moment before tipping the glass toward you. "Would you like some?"

You know it's just an excuse to touch his lips against something your own have—have closed around.

You shake your head. "No, thank you. I already had some earlier."

He nods, setting it on the counter.

"I hope your Commander knows just how truly blessed he is to have you."

He sighs, leaning back against the counter, fingers gripping the edges on either side of him. "My own handmaid has kept my house in constant disarray since nearly day-one."

"I'm sorry to hear that," you reply.

He looks at you from under his lashes. "Yes, well, some of you simply aren't as easily...palatable as others. I think that, despite the aunts' best efforts, the Rachel and Leah Center can only do so much."

He takes another sip. "Ray tells us Aunt Lydia had high praise for you, apparently, when she delivered you unto him."

He's curious about your Yelp reviews, clearly.

You nod, blushing, a small smile of supposed fondness toward her gracing your delicate features. "She always told me I was one of her very best girls. It was...high praise coming from her, I'd like to think."

He likes hearing this very much.

"I'm sure that God will soon see fit to bless your endeavors by making you fruitful," he says lowly.

You want to smash the glass against his face.

"I pray He does."

You look up at him and a muscle in his jaw feathers. "And your handmaid as well, Commander Waterford."

He smiles, then pushes off of the counter.

"I can only imagine how different things might be for me with someone like you under my roof instead. Perhaps..."

He looks down at you, trailing the back of his index finger along your sleeved arm, and your skin fucking crawls. "When your posting here is through, you might come to me next..."

He places that same finger under your chin, making you look at him. "Would you like that?"

His face is mere inches from your own.

Is he going to kiss you? What if someone sees you both like this?

You blink up at him, sweating. "I—"

"Ofray."

You quickly step away from Commander Waterford, like a child caught with its hand in the cookie jar.

Your face burns from shame. Even if you're thankful Ray saved you just in time.

You didn't have a good response for the man one way or the other. Disagreeing would emasculate him. Agreeing would do the same, but to Ray.

"Commander."

"Go up to your room, please."

You nod, quickly stepping past him. You let your hand brush against his own. He doesn't pull back, and you want to consider that a good sign. That's he's not angry at you for having been alone with another man, even if it'd not been your fault.

Then again, everything is a woman's fault here now.

It's only once you've made your way upstairs that Ray places his arms behind his back, studying Waterford for a moment, making him feel uneasy for being caught red-handed with another man's handmaid.

"I was just telling your handmaid how pleased you seem to be with her so far," he says with a forced smile.

A muscle in Ray's jaw twitches. "I heard otherwise."

Fred briefly wonders exactly how much he did hear, but then quickly decides it doesn't much matter. "I just hope you know how truly fortunate you are to have such a dutiful girl here serving you."

Ray takes a step toward him and Fred steps back, bumping against the counter behind him.

"I rule my house with an iron fist. We both know how unruly women can be when left to their own devices; to their own thoughts of what they believe to be right and wrong, and what they think they are entitled to. Give them an inch and they'll take ten miles.

"Perhaps, Commander Waterford, if you spent more of your time concerning yourself with controlling your own household—instead of indulging your idly curiosity with others'—it wouldn't be in such a notorious state of disrepair."

He pours himself a glass of lemonade; well-aware of the loathsome glare Waterford is staring him down with behind him. And to think they'd once been friends. But seeing him with you—touching you?

You come first now. You will be the one to provide him a child; an heir. No amount of friendship between them can ever accomplish the same.

He turns back. "It must be difficult; embarrassing, even. To see such peace beneath my own, while yours is... Just the opposite, to say the least. But, maybe, if I give you a bit of advice, it will go a long way."

He sets his glass down, settling his hands behind him again. "I would start by stopping. Stop blaming your shortcomings on your handmaid. Or your wife or Martha, if you do so. How are women meant to follow, if you are unable to lead?

"They're like sheep, easy to wander in the wrong direction if not given proper guidance. And often, at that. If they step out of line, the punishment must be swift, the severity according to the offense. But never indulge them. Unless you want to return to the way things were before: men easily manipulated by their feminine wiles. Their bodies, their false words, all so they can get what they want."

He goes to return to the parlor. "It's our world now. And this is my house. So long as you are under my roof, you will stay away from her."

It's late when Ray enters your room, all light from the day now gone. You'd dozed off and on through the rest of the evening after having dinner—he'd, at the time, still been occupied with business, which had eventually moved into his study, the doors firmly shut behind him.

You want desperately to know what they'd been discussing for so long—for hours. Perhaps you'll get him to tell you eventually. But not tonight. Prying into the going-ons now will only look suspicious when they've only just dispersed after such a lengthy day.

When the door shuts softly behind him, you slowly sit up, rubbing the back of your hand over your eyes, pretending to be soft and sleepy and warm.

Your hair falls over your shoulders, the arm of your nightgown slipping down one of them.

He steps over to the bed. "Did I wake you?"

You shake your head. "I waited so long for you to come I fell asleep."

He doesn't reply as he walks over to the window seat, sitting.

You sit up straighter, breasts visible through your gown, which he briefly notes.

"Are you upset with me?" You ask softly, voice timid, nervous.

In truth, the nerves are entirely your own.

You'd paced for hours up here, worrying about what he might've thought after seeing you and Fred together—even if you had wanted nothing to do with him; had wanted to be nowhere near him. But you know Ray is a jealous, possessive man. Especially with you.

He leans back. "Don't tell me you've been sitting up here all day worrying about such a foolish thing."

You shrug, looking down to the blanket in your lap.

He sighs, standing, coming to seat himself near you on the bed. "No, I'm not upset with you. I'm aware of just how...covetous Commander Waterford can be."

You look up to him, then, from under your lashes. "I'm just glad you came into the kitchen when you did. Did...did you hear what he said to me when—"

"Yes, I did. You don't need to worry. I...discussed the matter with him. He won't be bothering you again. Not that I intend for him to ever be near you again."

You nod, taking one of his hands gently within your own. "I don't think I like him."

"You're not alone in that."

You're both quiet for a moment and then he speaks again. "I suppose I feel sorry for him. So, I understand his seeking you out after seeing you in the manner I presented you."

Your fingers twine tightly around his hand.

"Why did you do that?" You ask in a whisper.

He shrugs, placing his hand back in his lap. "I suppose my biggest sin is pride. I couldn't help myself. Why? Did it bother you?"

When you look at him you're unable to read how you should answer. "A little. Mostly because it was a book that you had me get. If it'd been anything else, like a glass of scotch or a pair of slippers, maybe, I wouldn't have minded."

He leans forward, placing his finger under your chin. "Forgive me, then."

He presses a firm kiss to your lips.

You kiss him back, hands reaching for his own, until he breaks away, lying against his right elbow on the mattress, you now looking down at him.

"You said you feel sorry for him?" You ask.

His brows raise for a moment, having already forgotten all about Waterford. "Mm, yes. Do you know the story of how, exactly, his wife became barren?"

You shake your head.

He folds his hands. "You said you worked at a library before this. Do you recall hearing about a book called A Woman's Place? His wife, Serena Joy, is the author."

You think for a moment. The title sounds somewhat familiar, but if she wrote it, you doubt it's reading material you would've had much interest in picking up.

"Not that I can remember. I'm sure we probably put it on the shelves, though. Especially it being something published by a local."

"It was a book promoting traditional ideals—focusing primarily on what she felt...well, what a woman's place should be. In the home, birthing children, caring for her family. But touting such opinions in a liberal political climate was obviously met with...some backlash, to put it mildly.

"She'd gone to speak at some college or other, I believe—she should've known she'd be met with resistance from the first moment she took that stage, what with all their leftist indoctrination—and things got heated amongst the crowd. She and Fred left, but before they could even enter their vehicle, she was shot. Right in the abdomen."

He shakes his head. "Perhaps if she had been less of a hypocrite: publishing literature on what she believed women should be doing and instead doing it herself to set an example, she'd have a child of her own by now. Instead, she is now simply damaged goods."

You mull over this new bit of information. So, while her husband later advocated for women never being allowed to read or write again, she, herself, had been enough of a prolific author to be invited to speak amongst audiences.

And it cost her everything.

You don't know whether to feel sympathy for her or not. The wives want this world just as much as their Commander husbands.

She made her bed. And you're sure, that, just like Colleen, she despises having to share it with one of you—a handmaid.

You hope she loathes every moment of every ceremony just as much as you're sure Offred does.

And, that, even if one day her handmaid produces a child, you hope every time she looks at it she sees only Offred's face. A constant reminder of where "her" baby truly came from.

He crawls across the bed, flopping down beside you.

You turn toward him.

"The Waterfords are nothing but hypocrites. I knew them before, you know."

Your brows furrow. "You did?"

"Mhm. We used to vacation together. I knew Serena never liked me. Not that I much cared what a woman thought of me one way or the other. Especially one like her—preaching about staying home, being a mother and a wife—like I said—all while she seemed to want nothing more than a career above all-else.

"She and Fred seemed happy enough, but after what happened to her... He'd been understandably upset. Not just because she's his wife, but also because any chances of them having a child were then null. His reaction to such news had, in my opinion, seemed more emotional than even her own."

He looks up at you. "How he tolerated her coldness, her being more ambitious and more renowned than himself... I'll never understand how a man could ever marry such a woman. I agreed with her opinions, of course—on a woman's purpose—but most certainly not her behavior. It was unbecoming."

Yes, you're well-aware of his preferences when it comes to how a woman should behave. You've molded yourself to fit them.

He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No wonder he's so miserable. Even now. A child won't fix that mess. So, I suppose, I understand his seeking you out for a moment of feminine genteelness and warmth—not as if I don't do the same nigh-on every night."

You lay your hand against his chest. "Are you alright?"

"After all those hours of talking, and planning, and deliberating, I believe I've developed a migraine. I haven't had one since our first handmaid—the mess she was. I thank God for sending you to me."

"Do you want me to rub your head?"

He lowers his hand, opening his eyes, his brows pushed together in pain. "How would you have me?"

You pat your lap.

He lays his head on it, folding his hands over his chest, staring up at the ceiling.

You're a bit surprised he so easily agreed. That he hadn't instead just "toughed it out".

You begin to gently run your fingers through his hair, then begin massaging his temples, his forehead, then switching back to his temples.

You feel him relax under you.

He reaches one hand up, cupping your cheek and you soften your expression for him, looking at him lovingly. Adoringly.

You could rip his hair out right now if you really wanted to.

"I wish we had met before," he says, lying his hand back on his abdomen. "You would've liked me."

You give him a soft smile, very much doubting that. "I like you now."

His lip twitches, a nearly undetectable smile flashing across his features. "I've often wondered if we ever did. I went to the library you worked at occasionally, in fact."

You raise a brow. "Really?"

"Mhm."

You try to think if you ever spotted him, but are sure you'd know by now if you had—he would've looked familiar to you that first day, but he definitely hadn't.

You begin to massage your thumbs against his forehead. "It only took the world falling apart for us to finally find each other."

He smirks. "God can have a strange sense of humor."

The both of you remain quiet for the rest of the night, him eventually shifting his body so that his cheek is pressed against your stomach, left arm thrown across the bed, the lower half of his body pressed against your own.

It's when he begins to lightly snore that you stop your ministrations and lean your head back against the headboard, falling asleep with your hands still in his hair, thinking how much he seems like a little boy right now.

They all are.

They're just playing pretend at being men.

Before

"Excuse me, miss?"

A deep voice calls from behind you. You shove the book in your hand onto the shelf in front of you, turning back to him.

Handsome, you think, as you take him in. Black turtleneck, dark-washed blue jeans, and dress shoes. Dark hair upon his head, a beard, and striking blue eyes.

You glance down. Married. Of course. All the handsome ones always seem to be.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering if you could help me. There's a book your website states you currently have, but I'm unable to find it."

You step over to him, gently taking his phone from his grip, looking at the book cover on the screen: an image of a man with his back turned, a crowd before him, a bible in one hand, a gavel in the other, and a flag waving in the distance.

The title unsettles you—One Country Under God: How America Lost its Way and How We Can Lead it Back. You hand him the device back, thinking it's a rather long-winded title, but you've seen longer still.

"It's non-fiction, if that helps," he states, tucking his phone into his pocket.

You nod. "It sounds political in nature?"

He straightens. "Yes."

"We have a specific section for that now."

At one time, yes, it would've been in non-fiction. But so many are wanting books on politics and religion—theology—that the library has been forced to re-organize their collections.

"It's on the fourth floor. Is the elevator alright?"

"It is," he states, following you across the way to it.

As the both of you ride it up two floors, he stands at the back, you at the front, feeling uneasy with him behind you. You can't put your finger on why.

Had it just been his general demeanor? He seems polite enough. Maybe it's just his choice of reading material—not that you know anything about the novel. But you assume you can fairly-well guess what it's about from the title and cover alone: theocracy.

A dangerous idea, to say the very least. But not a new one, especially now. Especially here in the US.

He follows you out, and you walk down an aisle, and then another, until your eyes land on it.

You quickly pull it from the shelf, handing it to him. "Here you go."

His fingers graze your own and you quickly drop your hands to your sides. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

He seems to study you for a moment. "No, thank you."

You flush. Not from attraction. No, you've decided you don't really like him anymore. But rather from being uncomfortable.

"You're welcome," you reply, turning away, ready to head back down two floors, far away from him.

And then he calls from behind you. "God bless you."

"You too," you reply quietly, disappearing around a shelf.

[sleekervae]

Clamshell [0.3]

Masterlist

A/N: Hey, hi, hello. I finally finished. This got way longer than I first anticipated but I'm really happy with how it wrapped up. This will be the conlcusion to Remington and Vera's back story for now.

Warnings: violence, bank robbery, guns, vandalism, police, sex shops, adult toys, smut, Emerson being a little shit and Remington being even more of a little shit.

--

Rain cascaded down from the sky, painting the city in shimmering reflections of light. In the midst of this urban symphony, a nondescript bank stood, its façade seemingly unaffected by the storm. Seventeen-year-old Remington's breath hitched in his chest as he surveyed the scene, the weight of his desperation palpable.

The balaclava he wore clung to his damp skin, offering both concealment and a shroud of anonymity. Beside him, his heart pounded in rhythm with the rain. Moss, a burly figure with a scar tracing his cheek, loaded his gun with a practiced ease. Lilith, dark haired, striking beautiful, gripped an empty duffel bag, anticipation radiating from her every move. And then there was Victor, the Collector who exuded an air of unflinching authority, his gaze settling on Remington with an intensity that fuelled his anxiety.

"Where'd you pick this one up, Vic? A kindergarten class?" Lilith asked, venomous tone dripping as she glared up and down at Remington. He shrunk back on the spot, not daring to utter a word.

Victor however laughed heartily, clicking the safety off of his much large machine gun, "His big brother couldn't pay back his debt in time, so little brother has to pay it off for him,"

Lilith scoffed back, her almond eyes narrowing at the teenager, "Pathetic,"

"You ready for this, kid?" Victor slapped Remington hard on his back, a mixture of challenge and curiosity in his voice, "Remember what's at stake if you're not,"

Remington's palms were clammy within his gloves, his throat dry as he swallowed his apprehension. He nodded, though the action felt more like a spasm than a conscious decision. He couldn't afford to back out now, not with Sebastian and Emerson's lives hanging in the balance.

With a final glance at his companions, Remington adjusted the grip on the pistol he held, his fingers feeling strangely foreign around the cold metal. Victor gave a subtle nod, signaling the beginning of their orchestrated chaos.

The crew moved as one, entering the bank with an air of calculated purpose. The bank's interior was a stark contrast to the tempest outside – sterile, orderly, and blissfully unaware of the storm brewing within its walls. Remington followed his companions, his heart pounding as if trying to escape its confines. In one fell swoop, Victor raised his gun and fired into the ceiling, effectively garnering everybody's attention.

Lilith approached the counter, her gun held in plain view as she barked orders at the terrified bank employees and customers. Moss stood by the entrance, a sentinel ensuring no one could escape. And then it was Remington's turn to play his part.

He approached a teller, his voice betraying his nerves as he demanded access to the vault. The teller's hands shook as they typed in the code, and Remington couldn't help but notice the fear mirrored in their eyes – a reflection of his own dread.

With the vault open, Remington and Lilith swiftly collected stacks of cash, shoving them into the waiting duffel bag. The weight of the money was both a reminder of the urgency that had driven him to this point and a stark realization of the criminal act he was committing.

As the seconds stretched like hours, Remington's heart raced with an intensity that eclipsed the storm outside. He clung to his pistol, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to maintain control. He had never fired a gun before, and the thought of violence clawed at the edges of his consciousness.

Outside, the wail of approaching sirens cut through the tension like a knife. Time had run its course, and their window of opportunity was narrowing. Lilith zipped up the duffel bag, signaling that they had what they came for.

The bank guard, a middle-aged man with eyes that held a mix of fear and determination, was huddled near the entrance, his attempt to intervene thwarted by Moss' unwavering presence.

Time seemed to slow as Remi's heart pounded in his chest. His gaze locked onto the bank guard, his fingers trembling against the trigger of the gun. He never imagined he would find himself in this situation, faced with a decision that could irrevocably alter his life.

"Stay down!" Moss's voice cut through the air, a warning aimed at both the guard and the hostages.

The bank guard's eyes flickered between Remington and Moss, torn between his duty to protect and the dangerous reality that now confronted him. Remington's own heart seemed to echo the guard's conflict, the weight of the gun in his hand feeling more substantial than ever before.

In the midst of the chaos, the guard's gaze locked onto Remington's, their eyes meeting in a moment of shared vulnerability. It was a gaze that spoke of a shared humanity, of two individuals caught in a desperate dance of circumstance.

Remington's breath caught in his throat as he felt the weight of his desperation and fear press down on him. He had never fired a gun before, had never been pushed to the brink of taking a life. But he couldn't fail, he wasn't allowed to, the spectre of his own vulnerability pushed him closer to the edge.

In that heart-stopping instant, a gunshot pierced the air, the sound like thunderclaps colliding with reality. Remington's hand had moved almost instinctively, the recoil of the gun jolting through his arm as he squeezed the trigger.

The bank guard's eyes widened in shock as the impact struck him, a vivid contrast to the pallor that overtook his face. He staggered back, collapsing to the ground, his hands clutching at the wound.

The room seemed to freeze, the echoes of the gunshot still resonating in the air. Remington's breath came in ragged gasps as he stared at the scene before him, a whirlwind of emotions engulfing him. He had crossed a line he could never uncross, forever altering the trajectory of his life. Moss and Lilith were both in the throes of shock and awe, even Victor seemed a little impressed at the shaking boy.

With one last glance around the bank, Victor issued the retreat order. The crew moved in reverse, their steps measured and their eyes locked on the exit. Remington's legs felt like lead, each step a struggle against the rising tide of fear that threatened to drown him.

Amidst the cacophony of rain and sirens, the bank guard's gaze locked onto Remington's one final time, a haunting gaze that held a mix of accusation and understanding. In that fleeting connection, Remington saw the reflection of his own inner turmoil, a mirror into his soul that would forever remind him of the choices he had made.

They burst out of the bank, rain plastering their clothes to their bodies. The getaway car was waiting, engine idling. Remington's heart raced as he climbed into the vehicle, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions – relief, guilt, fear, and a lingering shred of hope that this desperate act would free him from his debt.

As the car peeled away from the bank, Remington stole one last look at the scene he was leaving behind. The rain continued to fall, washing away the evidence of their presence. Yet, no amount of rain could cleanse his conscience of the choices he had made on this fateful night.

"Congratulations, kid," Victor pulled off his balaclava, a greasy smile poking at his lips as he unzipped the duffel bag. Wads of cash spilled out, one of which Victor waved in front of his face "You just saved your brother's life," and with that, he dropped the wad into his lap. Remington briefly counted through the bills, culminating in a cool thousand dollars.

The choices Remington made on that night would continue to haunt him well into his twenties, but he wasn't that scared little boy anymore. Despite the violence, the chaos he contributed to, he made a promise to himself that he would never ever harm another human being like that. If he was going to hell, he was going to make his sentence light.

But hell, damnation and guilt all filtered away on this night. The abandoned industrial building stood in solemn isolation beneath the silver embrace of the moon. Its walls, adorned with layers of graffiti, told stories of a forgotten era. Broken windows and rusty machinery whispered secrets of days long gone. It was a place lost to time, a canvas waiting for a new story.

Remington had Vera's hand gripped tightly in his own, they moved stealthily through a gap in the chain-link fence that guarded the warehouse ruins. The night air hummed with an electrifying sense of adventure.

They had been hanging out with each other for a couple of months, now. People watching on the strip, getting ice cream in the plazas, spending blistering hot evenings driving through the desert until the stars began to peak out and they would spend hours upon hours talking about everything and anything. Their lives, dreams, or whatever shows they wanted to watch on Netflix.

She had met his brothers by this point, Sebastian and Emerson. They were a little skeptical about Remington bringing this girl around at first, weren't sure they could trust her given their lifestyle. However, Vera proved herself to be a calming presence and a trusting friend, and more than anything she brought a joy to Remington the brother's hadn't seen in a long time.

She tripped over some gravel, a result of some of the beers they'd consumed earlier in the evening. Remington stopped, smiling at her embarrassed giggle as she collected herself.

“Three beers and you’re tipsy?”

“Hello? I’m tiny?” she justified herself, causing him to eye her head to toe, a smirk on his face. 

“That you are,” he conceded, feeling the need to cup her face, but holding himself back. 

Remington didn't like to show his emotions, and he didn't often care to let new people into his life. But it was clear he was developing a real attachment to Vera, an attraction that bordered past just physical. He liked her, he liked her way more than he should've allowed himself to. Once she opened up and they began to trust each other, Remington wanted to keep her. He wanted her.

Vera cast a wary glance around, "You sure we won't get caught, Remington?"

Remington grinned, his eyes glinting mischievously, "I promise you! This place is practically forgotten. Besides, that's what makes it perfect,"

When Remington had asked Vera to hang out tonight, she was expecting maybe some drive thru, maybe a movie, maybe dressing up in their best clothes and pretending to be high rollers while they gambled in the casinos. And while breaking into spooky, abandoned lots wasn't on her list for the evening, she wouldn't deny the thrum of excitement bursting in her chest. Remington reached into his bag and handed her a spray can.

He teased her, his voice a conspiratorial whisper, "After you, my lady,"

Vera, nervous yet eager, nodded in response, "What -- what should I do?"

Remington stared at the wall curiously, his mischievous smirk present as he began to spray the outline of a male appendage.

"Remington!" she scolded, smacking his arm as he laughed heartily.

With a gentle hiss, they began to fool around with the paint. The cans sprayed vibrant bursts of color, the hissing sound echoing through the cavernous space. Side by side, they worked in perfect harmony, creating some intentional designs or random scribbles and squiggles. There was no thematic or intention, they were just having fun in the privacy of a sanctuary of forgotten memories.

In the midst of their creative frenzy, a wayward spray of paint landed on Remington's cheek. Vera couldn't contain her laughter.

"That's a good look on you!" she cooed playfully.

Remington blushed, a hint of embarrassment mingling with the excitement, "Damn things always kick back..."

Vera's shaky finger reached out and gently wiped away the errant paint from his cheek. Their eyes locked for a moment, she tried not to bite her lip.

Her voice was soft, a barely audible murmur in the echoing chamber, "Like it never happened,"

They returned to their graffiti art, their hands hovering inches apart, the tension between them palpable. Each stroke of paint brought them closer, yet they hesitated to cross the invisible boundary that separated them.

Their moment, charged with unspoken emotions, was interrupted by the distant wail of sirens, growing closer by the second.

Remington's eyes widened as he turned to Vera, "That's our cue! Time to go!"

Vera whipped around, the distant flashing of lights coming closer and closer, "I thought you said this place abandoned!?"

"I exaggerated a little,"

She nodded, a sense of urgency replacing the serenity that had enveloped them moments ago. They hastily gathered their spray paint cans and stencils, leaving behind little trace. With her hand clothed in his, they sprinted towards the exit, their footsteps echoing through the cavernous building.

The approaching sirens grew louder, accompanied by the flashing blue and red lights that danced like ghosts on the walls.

As they reached the hole in the chain-link fence, the police cars screeched to a halt outside. Officers spilled out, flashlights and radios in hand.

Remington and Vera squeezed through the fence just in time, their hearts pounding with adrenaline. They dashed into the cover of the night, the cool air whipping through their hair as they hopped into Remington's car.

The chase was on, but they were determined not to be caught. Remington was a great driver, Vera admired him for that. He outmaneuvered the cops with a steady combo of the emergency break and the headlights switched clean off, laying low in the labyrinthine city.

They hunkered down in a dark alley, the engine switched off as they watched the cop car peel away in defeat, driving clean past the old beater. Laughter and excitement filled the air, Vera clutched her chest in near disbelief as Remington relaxed in his chair. If Sebastian found out what he was doing, he'd kill him without a second thought.

"I can't believe it!" she puffed as though she had just ran a marathon, adrenaline coursing through her body, "That was so stupid! And so cool!" she turned to him, "I thought they were gonna' catch up to us on that last turn!"

Remington simply laughed, "C'mon, you think I'm gonna' let you get into trouble? You clearly don't know me at all, V," he sat up and quickly checked his reflection in the rear mirror.

Vera looked to him, sheer wonder in her eyes mirroring his. The night lights reflected beautifully on his delicate features, on his cute nose and his sharp cheekbones, on his pouty, blatantly soft, deliriously pink, wildly wanted lips, on his flashy studded bracelets, on his sparkly, delicate necklace, on his small and sober rings. Vera liked him, she had come to terms with that a while ago. Her heart skipped a beat at the way her body and mind aligned in that statement. He excited her, effortlessly charming yet it was so easy to be relaxed around him. The pressure she felt within herself was a living, beating, ravenous thing, enlarging its size like a bird puffing its feathers.

"I should know better," she awed, "Professional bank robber and all, I forgot,"

"That's right," he replied, shifting the car's gear and revving the engine.

"We're gonna' be late for Caity's party," she pointed out.

"I'll grovel at the door," he said, winking slyly her way. Vera bit the inside of her lip, the adrenaline in her blood now being replaced with something a little more instinctual.

Vera had never had the opportunity to mingle much in Vegas, always a little too busy scraping by in whatever dead end job she could get. And while some of the girls at the shelter were nice, none of them were much into getting to know one another beyond names and how they ended up there.

But Remington's friends were very cool, and the host, Caity, was an absolute doll the moment Vera walked in behind him. The only people she knew there were Remington's brothers and Andrew; and Remington was coy when Sebastian had asked why they were so late. Vera felt pretty comfortable at their smaller get together, some half-empty bottles of liquor scattered across the coffee table with disposable shot and solo cups littered beyond.

At one point a game of truth or dare had broken out, silly, juvenile questions were asked and immature, embarrassing dares were completed. When Vera was put on the spot, she should have known better than to trust Emerson and his precarious questions.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Emerson practically howls with laughter, doubling over himself and nearly falling off the couch with laughter. She glowered, about to tell him off but Remington beat her to it.

“Shut up. It’s not that big of a deal,”

Emerson sat up straight, looking down at Remington as he sat next to her on the floor. He wiped the tears from his eyes, his laughter finally dying down, “Hey, I'm your brother -- you gotta' talk to me with a bit more respect,” he prods teasingly, but Remington didn't seem to be in the mood, his previous lighthearted spirit vanishing upon Emerson's insensitive comment.

Remington's tone was excitingly stern, but not rude, “Yeah, I’ll show more respect when you show more respect to Vera”

She laughed, shaking off the flurry of red in her cheeks, “Don’t worry about me, Remi. I don’t think I can take Emerson very seriously, not when I highly doubt he’d even know how to make me or any other girl cum,”

The circle of friends in Caity's apartment erupted into comical ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’.

“Ouch!” Andrew said, leaning across the floor to high-five her.

Emerson stuttered, failing at serving a good comeback, “It's okay, Emerson,” Sebastian laughed, his sympathetic tone condescending, “maybe there’s a tutorial online,”

“I know how to make a girl cum!” he snapped. Everyone just laughed, ignoring him and carrying on with the game.

“Your turn, Vera,” another girl, Larissa, reminded her. She had met her once before, she was a hair stylist who was apparently just 'good friends' with Sebastian. From the way Sebastian kept looking at her though, it was clear he didn't just have being friends on his mind.

“Uhhh,” she looked around the room, choosing Ash because she had met him before, was a bit more comfortable with him, “Truth or dare, Ash?”

“Dare,” he smirked, and she knew it was for good reason. There’s almost no chance he’d deny anything she threw at him. Which was why Vera made it as crazy as her relatively innocent mind could.

“I dare you to kiss Remington,”

Remington's eyes widened, showing his surprise and hesitancy. “Easy,” Ash replied cockily.

“With tongue, and for 10 seconds,” she added. Ash pretended he didn't mind at all, but to everyone it’s pretty clear that that was not really the case. Vera wouldn’t have been surprised if in one of his drunken nights out he’s kissed a guy before, but she'd be a little shocked if he’d kissed one of his best friends.

“Wait, wait, don’t I get a say in this?” Remington asked her, his pretty gaze nearly overwhelming her. Vera took pity on him and nearly retracted the dare, but suddenly Ash, who moved over without her and Remington noticing -- her being too lost in Remington's eyes and kind voice, and Remington… well, he must have just not heard, was in Remington's face. Ash's big hands were pulling Remington's face to his in an instant, his lips crashing drunkenly to his.

Vera couldn't deny that the scene stoked something in her gut. Ash's tongue was looking for his friend’s eagerly; most likely to make a point, and Remington even began reciprocating. Everyone, was of course, cheering, but it was just white noise as she watched the way Remington's jaw moved as he used his tongue to kiss his friend. 10 seconds ended way too soon. Ash pulled back, wiping his lips with the back of his hand as he winked at Vera, “Satisfied?”

Vera rolled her eyes even though it was undeniably hot for her. She watched Ash return to his seat next to a still scowling Emerson.

“I can’t believe I did that for you,” Remington whispered into her ear, making her rip her attention away from Ash and to him.

“W-what?”

He smiled, also wiping the traces of spit from the corner of his lips, which were even more pink and delicious now, “I’m saying I wouldn’t have just gone along with that unless it was you asking. You’re too cute to say no to,”

This was an escalation. Vera bit back her sheepish smirk, her mind reeling for a snappy response to hide her blush, "You almost got me arrested, it's the least you could do,"

Vera was glad Ash called her name because she didn’t know how much longer she could keep up with this staring contest.

“Truth or dare?” Ash asked mischievously.

“What? I just went!” she complained.

“So? It’s my turn and I choose you,”

“Fine,” she grumbled, “Dare, I guess,”

“I,” he laughed, only making her more scared for the ridiculous dare she knew was coming, “I dare you to kiss Remington,”

“What?” she didn’t realize she gaped aloud.

“Don’t look so offended, babe,” Ash said, leaning forward to look her dead in the eyes, “See if you can taste me on him,”

“Taste you on him?” Caity scoffed, “You’re ridiculous, Ash. I don’t know how girls fall for your shit,”

“Agreed,” Emerson mumbled less playfully. Ash, however, was not paying attention to anything except Vera -- his eyes scorching into hers, beating her at the silently proclaimed staring contest. Vera looked to Remington, who was already looking at her. He didn't say anything.

She moved so quickly it could quite possibly have been a dream, but in a second she had leaned in and placed a mere peck to a taken aback Remington. That mere peck, however, was still able to burn at her lips like a fever. Maybe she did have a fever? But she was in Nevada, of course it was hot!

Or so she told herself...

“Ha!” Ash taunted, “You’re already blushing and you only pecked him,” Vera silently cursed him, “But unfortunately, babe, that’s not going to cut it. Same rules apply. 10 seconds with tongue,” she frowned, looking to Caity, silently begging her to save her. She just shrugged, smiling a small smile, telling how excited she really felt.

Vera looked back at Remington, who is still looking at her. Instead of arguing with Ash and letting him have more fun, she ignored him and softly ask Remington, “Is it ok?”

“Of course,” he smiled reassuringly -- his confidence flooding her system with surprise and lust.

She moved in, her lips brushing against his hesitantly, but Remington's hand was soon on her neck, guiding her and pulling her against him harder, his lips capturing her organically. His tongue swiped against her. And that’s when it happened: that was when she moaned. She fucking moaned and there was no way the others didn’t hear it. She even heard Sebastian and Caity start to laugh, the rest just sniggering. Fuck.

She pulled back, her eyes wide with embarrassment and her cheeks as red as blood. Remington also seemed slightly surprised, his eyes sticking to her as they sat frozen in place. Emerson's voice broke her out of the trance, “Seems that wasn’t such a bad dare after all,"

“Shut up,” she murmured and taking a swig of alcohol, hoping the bitter taste would wash away the arousing taste of Remington.

“And?” Ash asked, quirking any eyebrow questioningly at Vera.

“And what?” she asked.

“How did I taste?”

Vera hid her burning cheeks with a sly smirk, “Remington tasted so good there wasn’t even a speck left of you,” she replied, her insult simultaneously complimenting Remington, who she noticed biting back a smile from the corner of her eyes. Ash scoffed like that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Without reason, he stood up and squished between Vera and Hayden.

Hayden grunted, “What the fuck, dude? There’s not enough space here!”

Ash answered without even looking at his annoyed friend- his eyes trained to Vera with an annoying smirk, “Then move,"

Hayden sighed in annoyance, never the less moving to sit with Caity. Ash still didn’t move up, though. His side was still flush against Vera's.

“Ok, who do you pick?” Ash asked in a slow, sultry voice. Vera was not sure if she regretted daring him to kiss Remington and the game it prompted, or if it was a great decision. By the way Larissa was smirking, she could tell she thought it’s the latter.

“I pick you. Truth or dare?” Ash smiled like this was exactly what he wanted.

“This isn’t ping pong,” Andrew complained with a harmless frown.

“You know,” Ash used his finger on her jaw to pull Vera's attention back to him, just as she was about to apologize to Andrew, “you don’t have to dare me to kiss you, I’ll just do it,”

Neither were privy to the stern scowl that graced Remington's face.

With that, Ash's lips were on hers. She quickly melted into the kiss, surprised at how damn good it felt. This was the most she had let herself be spontaneous in a long time, uncaring for consequences. He tugged her bottom lip with his teeth, determined to make her moan like she did for Remington -- except louder. His tongue snuck between her parted, panting lips, caressing the sensitive insides of her mouth. Vera doubted anyone, except the person on the other side of her, who was of course Remington, could see Ash's brave hand, which had wondered its way down to her ass.

“Okay, okay! We didn’t come for a live sex show, guys!” Sebastian interrupted, making them pull away. Ash smirked at her swollen, wet lips, pleased with the effect he had.

She adjusted herself so that she faced the middle, and not Ash in any way. That was when she caught sight of Remington's clenched jaw, “Alright, I pick Vera,” she heard Ash say.

“Of fucking course,"

“Surprise surprise,”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Can’t you two play out this sex fantasy somewhere else?”

She chuckled nervously at the various people’s comments.

“Yeah Ash, leave Vera alone. Pick someone else,” Hayden said.

Vera could see Ash was displeased, but he didn't question it, “Fine. Sebastian, truth or dare?”

“Truth,”

“Mhhhm, ok… who in this room have you thought about having sex with?”

Sebastian grimaced, looking embarrassed and took a moment to answer quietly, “... Larissa,”

“Is that so, big boy?” Larissa teased sensually, and Vera was reminded of her jealousy of her confidence. Sebastian doesn’t expect such a sexy, easy reaction, and she watched in amusement as his entire neck reddens.

“In your dreams,” Emerson's voice was barely audible through his laugh and mouth full of chips.

“Anyway,” Sebastian tried to change the topic, "Emerson, truth or dare,"

"Truth," the youngest brother answered safely.

"Have you ever sent a dick pic?"

Emerson huffed, glowering at his brother, "I don't wanna' tell you this!"

"You picked truth!" Andrew reminded him.

"Fine," Emerson huffed defeatedly, "Once... a while ago,"

Remington cocked a brow, "How long ago is a while ago?"

"A while ago," Emerson repeated, "Vera,"

“... Yeah?” she asked nonchalantly, her hands bringing a bottle of straight vodka to her hot lips -- still burning and tingling from her peculiar and sensual kiss with Remington, whose presence next to her had not been unnoticed for a single millisecond.

“Truth or dare?”

“Oh come on!” she protested, “Why's it always me?”

“Because you're new, and we have to break you into the group somehow,” Caity replied coyly.

“Fucking fine, whatever. Dare,” she huffed, trying to get this over with as quickly as possible. It was difficult to choose between truth or dare. What she did know was that the last time she chose truth, she revealed to this particularly cruel and ruthless group that no one had made her cum except herself. Something she could already tell she’ll never live down. At least with a dare it only lasted a few humiliating moments. But that wasn’t the case anymore; she doubted she'd ever be able to be the same around Remington. With Ash, too. Now, instead of being the goofy, criminal friend she felt the most relaxed with, he was the goofy, criminal friend who got her wet.

Emerson tapped his fingers against his chin dramatically, as if he was in deep thought, but he’d clearly been harbouring something for a while, “I dare you to go to the sex shop on the corner,” everyone waited for him to add something more, but he was clearly one for dramatics and attention.

"... and?" Caity piped up.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and stared Vera down with sinister, teasing eyes. Someone was bitter, “Remington needs to take you, it is 2am after all and I’m not that cruel. Then… buy a dildo,”

“That’s such a weird dare,” Larissa chuckled.

“Yeah, why?” Caity added.

“Well, seeing as no one can get Vera off except herself, she may as well have the best equipment. I’m just being kind, you see,”

“What makes you think I don’t already have a dildo?” Vera shocked herself and everyone else with her words, but she enjoyed the way Emerson’s expression changed. It wasn't like she actually had one, though.

“Well, do you?” Andrew asked in genuine curiosity, his expression and tone not insulting, making her feel comfortable enough to say,

“No...”

“It’s settled then. Off you go,” Emerson said, flicking his finger in the direction of the door, leaning back cockily and crossing his legs like some CEO or something.

“What? No. I’m not going to drag Remington all the way there in the dead of night and spend money on something I don’t even need,”

“Trust me, babe, once you try it you’ll know you need it,” Ash added, unnecessarily. She turned her head to him just so he can see her rolling her eyes, which just made him laugh a stupidly cute laugh.

“How would you know that?” Remington chuckled.

“I’ve used one,” Ash said, like it was obvious, though noticing the various quirked eyebrows, he quickly remembered he left out a part that might not be so obvious, “On a girl!”

“I mean, no one would think it was weird if you used it on yourself…” Vera told him.

“Yeah, yeah but it was with a girl,” Ash repeated, “And she fucking loved it,"

“Gave her more to remember than your little pal, eh?” Hayden joked.

“Excuse you, we all know I’m not ‘small’,” Ash says, dramatically using his eyes to refer to the incident where he accidentally sent a nude to the group chat. Vera was shocked and flattered that he felt confident enough to tell her that story. No one could argue with that, so the conversation was quickly steered back to the topic at hand.

“I’m not asking, Vera. It’s a dare,”

“Emerson,” she whined with a pout, hoping it would work somehow, “It’s cold and besides, it would be closed, wouldn’t it?”

“Nah, it’s more of a night time place,” Ash said, “People are ashamed to go somewhere like that in daylight, for some reason,"

Damn it.

“Fine, it’s ok. It’s whatever,” she decided, standing up with a huff. She suddenly realized Remington was meant to go with her, she felt guilty as she turned to him, “You don’t have to come… it’s cold and I’ll be okay --”

Remington stood up before she could even finish her sentence. Like he had been for a good chunk of the night, ever since the kiss… or kisses, he stayed silent, walking to the door and handing over her coat, the sleeve spattered in loose droplets of spray paint.

"We'll be back!" he called to the others.

Remington closed the door behind them, they pair walked side-by-side to the elevator Neither one of them spoke.

It was only once they were in the cold of the outside word, walking down the street under the stark glow of the street lamps that Remington spoke up, “So you really meant it? No one other than yourself has ever made you cum?”

Vera looked down at her sneakers as they moved, swallowing her nervousness and trying to lighten the mood, she replied, “I mean, I wouldn’t make something like that up purely for the entertainment of people like Emerson,”

Remington scoffed, his feelings on his brother's behavior tonight being similar to hers. Vera waited for him to say something else, but he didn't, “Is that… is that a really weird thing?” she recalled him saying it wasn’t a big deal but wondered if he just said that to stand up for her, and didn't actually feel that way.

“I… I don’t know,” is all he said. His lack of words was strange and frustrating, making Vera feel small in some way. She wondered if she should make another attempt at conversation, but before she even had a chance he added, “I think you’ve just been with the wrong guys,” she hummed to show her contemplation, “Guys who haven’t paid enough attention to what you like or how you feel,” he spoke diligently, but carefully, not wanting to make hints at her past trauma.

“S'pose you're right, makes sense kinda'” she huffed.

“Maybe Ash can be the one to change that,” his snarky comment had Vera physically stopping in her tracks. Remington took a few steps before realizing and looked back at her, confused, “Is everything okay?” his now caring tone was in complete contrast to that of his comment a mere few moments ago.

“Ash?” A frown etched its way onto her face to show how genuinely confused she was.

Remington realized what stopped her, he became more upfront, “I mean -- he really seemed to get you going with all the kissing and groping,”

He seemed jealous which, first of all, made her blush with realization and, also, confused her. Ash didn't do anything new to her, he was confident and attractive and knew what he was doing, but he did nothing compared to what even that first peck she had with Remington did. She blamed the alcohol for making her brave enough to ask, “Wait, Remington -- are you jealous?”

Remington looked to the side and up at where she presume the moon was, his tongue poking at his cheek, “Well, I’m not going to lie, it kind of sucks when you kiss someone and think you really feel something genuine and then some guy -- who gets every girl he wants -- just swoops in and steals her in a matter of minutes,”

“Remington,” Vera laughed, taking a brave step closer to him, making him look down from the sky and at her. He looked hurt that she laughed, but it was just because of how far what he felt was from the truth, “It wasn’t Ash who made me feel like there were a five alarm fire in the room,”

He raised his eyebrows, “Come again?”

She laughed again, her heart doing somersaults at both his words and his endearing expression, his dark eyes, “I’m saying it’s your kiss that ‘really got me going’,”

“It was?” He smiled blissfully, sighing and turning to continue walking, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his denim jacket. She laughed, speeding up to catch up with him.

“…so?”

“So?” he asked with mock obliviousness and a small wink. She had a sudden urge to slip her hand into his pocket, interlocking her fingers with his warm, long ones.

“Whatever,” Vera huffed playfully, noticing the purple neon sign to the shop just a few meters in front of them. Soon they were standing before the blacked out windows, with various luminous yellow figures glowing and attracting them to the shop in some strange way. A small bell rung as Remington pushed the door open. The shopkeeper, a middle-aged women, looks surprised that Vera and Remington had entered the store. She looked as though she wanted to ask if they lost, but Remington's kind and unashamed greeting put her at immediate ease.

A double-sided shelf in the center of the store had porn DVDs of all genres under the sun. Vera noticed Remington was shamelessly taking in some of the covers, “Hmmh,” she was intrigued when he picked up of the cases up, “some people have really interesting tastes,"

She stepped closer to him, their arms touching, unable to help but read aloud “Old, white gran with young, black co --"

“Experimenting?” the shopkeeper asked from behind, Remington and Vera turned around.

“Sorry?” he asked politely.

“Are you two here for something new? Experimentation?”

Vera wanted to say no, but Remington stole any words from her as his hand was suddenly holding hers, “Yes, actually,” he replied, “We’re looking for a sex toy. Any advice?”

She watched him in fascination. He was the most charming, interesting and precarious man she'd ever met. She was lost in thought as she admired his slim shoulders and gentle, boyish voice. Remington broke Vera out of it as he tugged her along with him, following the lady to the end of the store where shelves upon shelves were stacked with dildos of any shape and size. Some of them had Vera in pure shock. She looked at one of such a size she cringed to even think of using it, “People actually use these?” she asked more to herself than the lady.

“You’d be surprised,” she replied with a smile. She looked her up and down before reaching for a particular toy and handed it to her.

“It's not that big,” Vera said, catching that she actually got swept away in the moment, like she was really here with her boyfriend buying a new toy to spice up their sex life. Remington squeezed her hand as he laughed, taking in the way she was analyzing the pink dildo in her other hand.

“So cute,” He murmured, sure enough elated when a pink blush tinted her cheeks.

“You two aren’t very experienced with sex toys, are you?” The clerk's question was more of an observation.

“Well-” Remington started.

“Wait, you’ve used sex toys before?” Vera asked him. He chuckled, almost nervously.

“There was this girl…”

“Oh, okay -- you don’t need to tell me. It’s okay,”

Remington flitted his pupils to the clerk, indirectly letting Vera know that she was the only reason he wasn't telling her.

“But you plan on using it on this pretty lady, yes?” The shopkeeper asked Remington.

He smiled, “Yes, yes indeed,” Vera was reminded of the distant sticky feeling in her panties that had been there ever since Remington and Ash kissed. The thought of Remington between her legs with that pink toy had her biting her lip, and she thought Remington noticed because he gave her a knowing smile.

“And she is not so experienced. Trust me, take that one,”

“Not a problem,” Remington replied, the clerk very clearly charmed by this handsome young man, “Let’s get this one, babe,” Remington glanced down at her with a small smile. Vera shifted, did he even know what he did to her?

"-- Sure,"

On the way to the till, Remington put the DVD he still had in his hand back on the shelf, saying playfully, “Another time, right, babe?”

It was funny, Ash had also been calling Vera ‘babe’ tonight, but the effect wasn’t nearly as severe as with Remington. He made her knees wobbly with just one word. “Of course,” she add, playing back.

Remington smirked, letting go of her hand to get his wallet from his pocket, “Oh no!” she grabbed his wrist, lowering her voice, “Don’t pay, you didn’t even need to come, never mind buy me a dildo,”

Remington faked a confused look, obvious to her but probably not to the shopkeeper, “What do you even mean, babe? Of course I’ll get it for you. For us,”

Vera let him pay, for the sake of the game he seemed to be enjoying very much. That they were both enjoying. Remington took her hand to lead her out of the shop, both of them saying goodbye to the clerk. He didn't let go of her, not even when they were back on the cold street. She felt herself shaking, not because of the cold, but because of how many thrills he was giving her.

He just bought her a fucking dildo.

The bag with the toy swung on the other side of him. He cleared his throat. “So… Vera?”

“Yeah, Remington?”

“About not being with the right guys…”

She laughed, “Yes…?”

“I was just uh…” he cleared his throat again, “I was thinking… I could you know… well, I’d try my hardest…”

“To?”

“…make you cum.”

He made her stop in her tracks for the second time that night, his nervous expression was cute, “You would?” her response and interest seemed to give him more confidence.

“Yes, I’d love to make you cum!” realizing how excited he sounded, he stammered, “I mean, that would be the main aim of the game for me. You wouldn’t even need to touch me… I just want you to know it’s not impossible…”

Realizing he was definitely making a proposition of sorts, Vera stepped right up close to him, “And what if I wanted to touch you as well?”

Her chest swelled with pride as she heard his breath hitch, “That would be good, too,”

She looked at him, their hands becoming even clammier against each other’s as she waited for what would come next. He finally spoke, “I think we should find somewhere to use this…”

"Well... I don't think we can go back to Caity's,"

"Absolutely not," he stepped closer, even more so than she thought possible, "I'm not letting you keep your noises to yourself, anyhow,"

Vera cocked a brow, "So... your place?"

His smirk was telling, he had a wicked idea, "Come with me,"

The car ride into the strip was a little awkward, both of them knowing what was to come. That was until Remington placed his hand on Vera's thigh, making her heart race faster than she thought possible; she feared he may hear her.

She was curious as he pulled up to Cesar's Palace, even in the dead of night so luxurious and bespoke with its perfectly trimmed gardens and marble fixtures. Nevertheless, Vera didn't question Remington as he handed his keys to the valet and led her inside, the unremarkable plastic bag still clenched tightly in her hand.

She stayed back a little as Remington approached the front desk; a younger, but still polished clerk was helping him. It was clear from how they interacted that they knew each other before, and Vera couldn't help but have a little pit of anxiety in her gut. She wondered if Remington did this type of stuff often, if she was just a stop in a line of many one night stands from before.

"I take it you do this often?" she remarked as he came back with a keycard.

Remington simpered, "Not what you're thinking, if that's what you mean," he said, "Ben and I go way back. He owes me one," he took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze, "Why? You jealous?"

Vera rolled her eyes, prompting a chuckle from him, "After you,"

There was no denying that they were both walking a little faster than they usually would have, her fingers curling nervously in her pockets as they waited for the elevator.

It was when they were in the elevator that Remington became so impatient that he pushed Vera up against the wall to kiss her. Suddenly, she was grateful they were given a room on the top floor. He must have been thinking about what was to come for a while because he was already hard, his member pushing against against her as he kissed her feverishly.

Remington didn’t hear the ding that indicated the opening of the elevator but Vera certainly did because she suddenly pushed him by his chest, taking his wrist with her other hand, “Room?” she asked..

“1025,” he replied. He located the door easily, looking at her expectantly as scanned the card and let them inside. In an instant, she has tossed the bag to the floor of the beautiful hotel room, he closed the door, kicked off his shoes and was ripping his coat from his body. When he saw her standing in awe of the room, he chuckled darkly.

“Coat, babe,”

Vera quickly comply, taking off the now seemingly useless material from her already hot body and she took her shoes off, kicking them to the other ones piled by the door.

"Nice pick," she murmured, picking up the bag, though still in awe of the pale gold walls, the soft carpeting beneath their feet, and the luxuriously comfortable bed that awaited them in the middle of the room; all of which was illuminated in gentle lamp lighting.

Remington approached her with a smile, suddenly bending down to pick her up bridal style. Vera giggled as he carried her to the bed, tossing her down gently. His eyes raked up and down her body shamelessly, “You’re beautiful, V,”

He didn’t wait for her response, as if it was nothing but a casual observation before he was pulling his t-shirt over his head and crawling across the bed to kiss her again. His scent was compelling and addicting, and the slight trace of alcohol and perhaps even Ash made it all the more addictive. Her hands clutched at his shoulders and neck as his tongue works against hers in a passionate battle. He was between her open legs, his erection once more throbbing against her. His hands trailed up and down her sides until finding purchase on her hips, pulling her harder against him so that he could grind into her more effectively. She moaned his name, seemingly putting a sort of strange spell on him. He sat up, hurriedly reaching for the bag, retrieving the dildo and putting it down next to her quivering thighs.

He unbuttoned her pants and she lifted herself so that he could pull them off. They landed on the floor somewhere. His fingers traced up the inside of her thighs with an attentiveness totally unfamiliar to Vera. Playing with the hem of her panties, she found her breath getting stuck in her throat as she watched him take them off her with a concentration that only made his handsome features look even better. They land somewhere along with her pants, “Baby,” he drawled, getting down on his stomach, his face right near her dripping heat, “I’m going to get you ready, okay?”

“Okay," there was a whisper of apprehension in her gaze. He leaned down to kiss her hip softly, "If there's anything you don't like, just let me know,"

She nodded again, willing herself to relax into the comfortable bed spread. He used both of his hands to open her folds gently, then using two fingers two spread her arousal. He rubbed her softly, teasing the sensitive skin hidden within her, “Remi,” she gaped, biting her lip.

He smiled up at her, “See? It’s not actually that hard to please a woman, you’ve just been with dicks,”

“Clearly,”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” how he spoke to her made promise that this would not be last time they did this. That excited Vera beyond belief; imagining Remington tangled in her sheets, holding her, loving her sweetly...

He dipped his head, his tongue coming into contact with her clit, which had her yelping. He gently flicked at it, one finger sliding into her entrance, quickly finding and curling to her g-spot. She threaded her fingers through his hair, her moans letting him know how good he was making her feel. He added another finger, the sensation eliciting a louder moan from her lips. He kept this up for a few minutes, though it felt as though it was over before it was started. He sat up and picked up the dildo. Almost expertly, he used his fingers to scoop up some of her arousal and spread it over the toy.

“May I?” he asked and she nodded. He smiled, giving her a short but hot kiss before returning to his position between her legs. He aligned the tip, pushing in slowly and considerately, “Does it feel ok?”

Vera didn't let herself tense up, shivering as the cool material slid within her hot slick, the pressure surprisingly pleasant within in, “It feels good,” she confirmed, her eyes fluttering closed.

He pushed it deeper, but still not all the way in before pulling it nearly all the way out, starting again with pushing it in, this time slightly quicker. He gradually built up a good pace, pushing it up so that he rubbed against her hot spot.

“Your moans are so pretty. So sweet,” he commented, his gaze fixated on her reactions.

The feeling of the dildo was so good, it was almost overwhelming; especially because of how much attention and care he was putting in to make her feel good. Remington's position allowed him to grind against the mattress, at least providing some friction, because fuck -- he was so turned on.

“You can take your time, baby,” his voice was thick and soothing, “As long as you need, I’m here. I want to make you cum,”

Vera could do nothing but moan in response. In fact, she didn't think she'd need much more time; Remington was unraveling her in a way she'd never felt before. Especially when he started rubbing her clit gently. 

He looked up, a blinding grin plastered to his face, confusing her slightly, “V?”

“Yes?”

“I just found a button,”

“A button?”

“Can I press it?”

She would've laugh at his cuteness if she wasn't hanging on edge. “Yes, do whatever you want,”

He pressed the button keenly, the dildo all of a sudden coming to life, vibrating within her walls, “Fuck, Remington!”

“Nice!” he exclaimed, “Does that feel good?”

“So good!” she stuttered “I’m close, Remi, I don’t -- fuck! It feels so good -- I’m gonna' cum…”

“Cum for me, baby,” he cooed, “Fuck -- cum for me,”

It took only a few more gentle twists of the vibrating dildo to have Vera yelling out Remington's name, her body going rigid as a white hot pleasure tore through her, tingling from the top of her head to the ends of her toes. He coaxed her through it, only turning it off as she came down, knowing it would hurt if he left it, and pulled it out slowly. It took her a good few minutes to settle her breathing just to be able to say anything, “Well, damn.”

Remington swiped the sticky hair from her forehead tenderly and kissed her, her lips weakly kissing him back, “Well, damn indeed. You look so pretty when you cum,”

She laughed sheepishly, faltering on sleep when she remembered, was excited by his erection, “Can I touch you?” her voice was the sweetest thing he'd ever heard in that moment, batting her lashes softly at him.

"Absolutely, babe," his fingers ran a stripe through her wet folds and she bit her lip, a moan still managing to escape, "You already want another one?" his fingers pushed at her entrance but she stopped him with a hand on his wrist. He looked up at her, eyebrows cocked, and she sat up to push him back so that she could straddle him.

“I wanna' take my time,”

He smirked and groped at her butt as she kissed him, desirable, delirious, trailing down his neck, kissing over his torso. His erection felt big even through his dark jeans and its presence beneath her pussy had her dripping. She rolled her hips and his grip tightened on the flesh of her hips. Vera moved off of him, “Take your jeans off, please,” she instructed.

“Yes ma'am,” he compiled with no hesitation. The new pet name does a trick on her heartbeat and she lean over to kiss his shoulder. She heard Remington laugh a raspy laugh, “You really do like me, huh?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled into his flesh as she carried on kissing up his shoulder and to his neck. Her lips finally met his and he accepted them hungrily. He pulled her leg back over him and she felt his thighs tense as she bit down on his bottom lip. She didn't think she could wait much longer…

His hand reached behind her to pull her shirt over her head and remove her bra. He took her by her lower back so that her chest was flush against his. Her nipples perked against his chest and he moved back so that he could rest against the headboard.

“I want you so bad, baby,” he said softly, mimicking her same desperation. Vera lifted herself enough to pull his member from his briefs, squeezing his head gently. She slid her fist down to his base, sliding up again and again.

"Is this good?" she asked, fascinated as his composure broke; his eyes fluttered shut and his jaw went slack

“Fuck -- you don’t realize what you do to me, V,” he begged.

She lifted herself over his tip. They were barely touching, so close, tantalizing, and she gazed at his flush expression. She could get used to this.

She sunk down around him and he held her hips tightly. She moved slowly, a whimper leaving her mouth at each new inch she took in. He nuzzled into her neck and she could feel his heavy breath, “So tight…” he choked as she reached the base of his shaft.

Vera waited a few seconds before moving, forward and up, forward and up. Her pace picked up steadily, as did the desire between them. She switched between fast and slow as her hips moved in circles. His hands controlled her speed to keep the pace as pleasurable as possible for them. He began to lift her up and down and he thrusted up to meet her.

The pleasure was so overwhelming that she practically went limp, and she relied on him to move her up and down and to push up and into her., hitting her g-spot perfectly.

She was convinced there’d be bruises on her hips for a few weeks, and the thought of such made her smile. She placed a tender kiss on his lips, using his shoulders as leverage to move her hips up again.

“Remi --” she cried, her head falling back. It just felt so goddamn good.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he growled, “God, I love it when you say my name,”

She felt her juices drip onto her thighs and she was sure they must be dripping onto him, too.

“So wet,”

He flipped them over and quickly pushed back inside of her, thrusting even harder.

“I won’t last much longer,” he admits, his voice raspy, heavy.

"Me neither," she gasped as his hand came down on her clit, fingering her in tight, fast circles. The stimulation was too much, everything around her screamed Remington, how he made her feel so good, so safe, so grateful she had lost her job that particular day.

Remington had never been so enamoured with anybody the way he had been with Vera. He wanted to keep her all to himself, protect her from the way of life she knew before, give her comfort and pleasure and so much joy. He adored her, he knew in that instant as he came inside of her, writhing against her hot body, that he couldn't have her just once. He wanted her beyond her body, she was everything to him.

His guttural moaning in her ear was sinful, driving Vera's lust further as her second orgasm took her violently. Remington continued to rub her clit, stars bursting behind her eyes, wave after wave of burning ecstasy flooded through her gut and she had to push him away as the stimulation became too much.

He collapsed on top of her, sweaty, panting, so heavy but not smothering her so much as he was cuddling into her. His fingers wound into her long dark hair, pillowy lips continued to leave soft kisses across her neck and chest.

"fuck,"

"shit,"

They laughed together, naked, sweaty, the only thing they had on were their socks... and Vera's shell necklace. She had never taken it off from the moment he'd given it to her. Remington shifted onto his side, holding her close to his chest. Vera felt strange, almost warm and fuzzy inside, something she hadn't felt in a very long time with any man. Her fingers traced the sharp cut of his jaw, sleepy eyes adoring him.

"Was that good?" he asked her quietly, not wanting to break the mood.

"Sooo good," she nodded happily, turning on her back, stretching out, "If I had known you could do that --"

"What?" he laughed, crawling over her top half, "You would've jumped me a while ago?"

"I should've known," she simpered, her sentiment echoing from hours earlier, "Bank robber, good with his hands and all,"

"Well, Emerson is a better safe cracker," he admitted, "My hands are good at other things,"

"Clearly," she blushed, her shifting thigh knocking into the dildo, "Everyone's gonna' freak if they find out,"

"I don't know if 'freak' is the right word," he admitted, "... But... I did text Sebastian that we might not be coming back,"

Vera should've been mad, in any other ordinance she should've been. Though oddly enough, she found herself smug. Not Emerson, nor Ash, nor anybody could take this away from her; nobody had ever loved on her the way Remington had.

"Good," she murmured.

Remington sat up; she expected him to get up and get dressed, but instead he turned off the lamp and pulled the duvet up, covering them both up snugly.

"We don't have to leave?" she asked curiously.

He held her flush against him, "Nope. Room is ours until check out," his fingers stroked through her hair, "Are you okay with that?"

It felt like a trick question, but Vera was more than happy to oblige as she snuggled into his chest, laying a soft kiss over his coat of arms tattoo on his pectoral.

"Absolutely,"

[worldismyne]

Mad At Disney Ch 3

Summary: What if Rhodri held onto the illusion staff too long?

Pairing: Harv x Finn

Rating: T

We got an Ao3 tag now people!!!

Ao3 Link.

With a stern glare from the red-eyed witch, both teens were scared out of Finn's room and ushered down the stairs. The manor was now consumed in shadows and grey cobblestones; the furniture sharp and dripping in red velvet. There was no sign of Finn's animal companions, leaving the manor lifeless and eerie. Finn arms were wrapped around Harv's in a vice grip as they climbed down the stairs. The pale witch was fuming, but neither of them had any answers for her. Last time she was this angry, she'd tried to kill Harv.

"To try to maintain an illusion this large takes a lot of concentration; that's why certain things are slipping." She threw open a mahogany wardrobe, there was a collection of staffs neatly arranged, everything seemed to be in place. "If you know what to look for, the flaws are easy to spot." The staffs didn't look quite right to Finn, the wood grain was almost hazy and the shapes of the stones were a little off. All except one. A twisted five foot staff with a blue star crystal. Leenan picked it up and held it up to the light with a grin. "Like leaving a counterfeit in place of my illusion staff." She turned and gave them a good look at the staff. "It was made to materialize people's desires, but in inexperienced hands, it'll manifest anything that comes to mind. I can only assume whomever has it is fairly immature to make a place this rooted in dream logic. When I get my hands on them-"

"We'll get the staff back." Finn interjected. "If people see you with the staff, they'll assume this was all your doing." The witch smiled sweetly at her 'daughter'. "We wouldn't want people getting the wrong idea."

"That's awfully considerate of you dear, but I'm the only one who knows how to control it." She ruffled his blond curls. "If someone with an active imagination like you picks it up, well, it'll just prolong the problem. Besides, this isn't your problem to fix, it's his." Harv withered under her glare. "You had one job while I was gone; make sure no one went into my study." 

"I don't-" He felt the words die in his throat as she stood at her full height.

"Remember. I know." The witch rubbed her temples. "Anything that doesn't fit gets altered or erased, that's how the spell works. Clearly, this person isn't conscious of this, or they'd have done a better job making sure our memories of the past lined up each others. You need to get your hands on the staff before breaking the spell. The last thing we need is for the staff to decide it's too much effort to keep you under it's control and boot you from the illusion altogether." 

Harv was eerily reminded of the illusion meadow he'd woken up in months prior, how the ground had ripped apart beneath his feet the moment he thought Finn had been nearby. Would escaping this illusion throw them back to reality or into a deeper slumber? Either way, that had to be where the rest of the townspeople had gone. Far enough away to be unable to find the staff and return it to it's proper owner. 

"So we just have to get the staff back without touching it." Harv concluded. "That shouldn't be too hard if they have to be holding it to cast the spell."

"Not 'we'." Leenan closed her claw-like hand and pulled on the air. Finn slid out of Harv's reach and into his mother's leg. Her other hand wrapped firmly around Finn's shoulder. "My baby isn't allowed anywhere near that thing for a reason."

"Mother!" Finn exclaimed, offended and mortified all at once. Leenan instead handed Harv the fake staff.

"Exchange the real staff for this one. Maybe this way, you won't forget what you're supposed to be doing the second you leave my sight. I will decide your punishment after you bring back my staff in one piece."

"Yes mam." Harv gripped the phony staff without making eye contact. 

"Now get out of my sight before I change my mind." She dug her nails into Finn's shoulder when he tried to follow Harv out the door. "Sweet pea, I know your worried, but you need to stay here where it's safe. Even if that simpleton touches the staff, his head's so empty I'll be able to find it immediately. You'll be-" Finn wrenched his shoulder from his mother's grip. "...fine."

"So that's you're plan is it? Send Harvey out as bait and then what? Hope the person who stole the staff has a change of heart?" Finn looked through his mother's study. Where had the crystal ball gone? If he knew where Harv had run off to, maybe he could send a few of his birds after him, just to keep tabs on him. At this rate, he'd never be able to find what he was looking for in this neatly organized study.

"Finn, don't you think you're being a little dramatic?" 

Sending Harv by himself to confront some villain wielding a mind controlling wand. It didn't sit well in Finn's stomach. He was reminded of the smell of gun powder, hot breath against his neck, and an angelic demon with a single pink horn.

A unicorn's horn.

What if Harv didn't come back?

"Kind people don't steal magical artifacts, and they certainly don't steal them to do kind things." He ran into the foyer to get his coat; pjamas or no he needed to catch up to Harv before-

before...

Mother was coming up the steps in a hurry. Finn had picked out a purple mink coat and stared at it. 

"Finn!" Leenan saw her daughter standing at the coat rack transfixed with a puzzled expression on her face. Her eyes fadinging in between their usual amethyst and an eerie blue hue. "Darling, why don't you lay down and rest?" Finn looked up at her with a start. 

"No, I... I have to go see Harv..." Finn looked back at the coat and took it off the rack slowly.

"Yes, but he's busy right now." Leenan gently took the coat and put it back on the rack, then nudged Finn in the directions of the stairs. "If you're not in your room, how is supposed to find you?"

"I suppose..." 

"Come on now, off you go." She ushered the blonde up to her bedroom at the top of the tower. Finn gave one last puzzled look at her mother with a confused frown as the wooden door swung shut. "This is for your own good dearest." 

Click.

Finn ran up to the door and jiggled the handle.

Locked.

"Mother! Open the door!" Finn banged on the door but it was no use. "MOTHER!" Leenan cringed at the ear piercing shrieks coming from inside. "You were just lying about some stealing something to get him to go away! You always ruin everything!" She threw her weight against the door, and that failing, an ornate stool from her boudoir. 

"You keep that up with that attitude and you'll be in trouble for real!" Leenan huffed. "Of all the ungrateful- You'll be thanking me this later. Well, you will if you remember any of this." She shook her head and descended down the steps leaving Finn to fume in her room. Finn's floor was covered utterly trashed, having tried everything she could to get the blasted door open. What was there left to do but weep into her downy pillows and hope someone would come rescue her? Maybe hum a few bars out the open window and hope some traveler could hear her nearby? 

Amongst the overturned furniture, a single pearl ring shone brighter than anything in the room. 

Of course! Rhodri was the king now. If she told him what was going on, he could rally everyone in the kingdom to come to their aid, and then Harvey would be able to come back from... Well from whatever fools errand mother sent him on. Surely he'd be able to overlook some petty disagreement to help his own brother. After all, Rhodri was a kind and wise king; the greatest in the world. She just had to get to the palace. 

Finn pulled her dresses with long trains and bed sheets into a pile and started to fashion them into a rope. 

-0-

The problem with trying to find who had stolen the staff was, well, everyone said it wasn't them. No one confessed to recognizing the staff, no matter how recently they had seen the genuine artifact, and there had been no witnesses to the theft. As far as everyone was concerned, Harv was toting around a very pretty piece of glass mounted on a stick. Though, they did seem overly enthusiastic about his phony treasure. In fact, everyone seemed to constantly remind him of how hard he worked and what a good older brother he was. Truly odd since mere weeks ago the only thing on everyone's minds was welcoming the new king.

He sat down atop on of the hills at the edge of town after a long afternoon of going door to door. The clouds rolled by some stilted like a rock dragged across the dirt and others were rippling like bubbles in a stream. It reminded him of a miss match of different paintings from the walls of the church. The goats were all starting to look the same as the munched on grass in the midday sun. Equal parts picturesque and uncanny.

Try as he might, he couldn't think of what any of it meant. If the thief really was a child, there was a chance Leenan would curse them with the same vindictiveness she had towards him. He didn't want a hand in harming a child. In fact, they had a better chance of waiting for them to tire of the whole thing and move onto the next. That's what worked best with his brothers anyway. Though the witch might not have the patience for such a tactic or risk letting the staff fall into the wrong hands.

It just wasn't fair!

Without a clear enemy to fight, he was just wandering around in circles, literally. It wasn't even his fault the thing got stolen in the first place! She was the one who left Finn all alone in her castle for days. He was really starting to feel silly walking around town with this thing and didn't really understand why this meant he couldn't keep Finn close by. It would be so much easier for them to just walk out of range of the illusion and find the staff from the outside. 

But, there were certain rules you just couldn't break, and never walking away from the quest was one of them. 

The palace was the last place he'd be able to check. If that failed, he'd just have to do things his way, and try to get them out of the illusion himself.

-0-

When Finn arrived at the royal palace, the place was bustling with activity. Maids, all similar in appearance were throwing up decorations in purple and gold. Rhodri was talking to some man in a tuxedo who smiled and nodded anytime he pointed at something. Rhodri turned and beamed at her, dressed head to toe in a light blue robes that matched his staff.

"Oh good, you made it!" He snapped his fingers and one of the maids dropped everything to get Finn's measurements again. "I figured out what was missing. All those fancy rich people hold huge parties to announce when they're getting hitched. That's why it doesn't feel official yet." The engagement, how could she forget? This whole time she'd been fussing with the state of the house for boring old visitors when she should have been making wedding preparations. They hadn't even set a date yet, and everyone in the kingdom would be there, including Harv... "Woah, hey, what's the matter?"

She was trying not to cry. Really, what good would crying do at a time like this? Everything was all wrong. She had been doing something else before she came here, something important. Her life wasn't supposed to revolve around someone else's wedding. It was supposed to be full of adventure and singing and where was Harv when you really needed him? How could he just run off without trying to get her out of that damn tower first. She came her for a reason. 

What was the reason?

"You're not wearing the engagement ring..." Rhodri's hand tightened around the staff. "Was there something wrong with the gem? I can always get you a different ring." Finn hesitated, no the ring wasn't the problem, women all across Austria would be envious of such a ring. All the gifts she had gotten were perfectly adequate in fact, they just weren't coming from an unwanted suitor. It was hard to think of a way to put that into words without hurting his feelings; but the well had run dry. Her mind was a fog. He took her hand, now looking at the ground. "...you don't have to force yourself to like me." The staff he was holding dimmed a little and Finn felt him give her hand a squeeze. "I see how those stuffy nobles act, I- I don't want to be like that. Even if you don't love me, I think we could really be happy. I can pass laws to legalize witch craft, I can bribe any noble who gets in our way, I'd do anything to keep you safe. Isn't that what you really want?" Finn pulled away slowly.

"...no..." What did she really want? This was a rich town where everyone loved her and wanted her to be queen. She should want for nothing. "I don't care if it's more dangerous, I want... I want to live with Harvey." The light from the staff was almost blinding. It was reacting to what they were saying...

"WHY!? He doesn't like you at all!" Rhodri shook his head. "All he does is complain about how annoying you are and avoid you. He treats you worse than our goats!"

"That's not true." Even if he did wrap goats up in his arms and carry them around like they were precious things. He talked about them a bunch too. Maybe even gave one a smooch on it's greasy little forehead. Good gracious, did she really rank lower than livestock? That couldn't be right. Rhodri sighed, he was looking at her with pity.

"Just because he's nicer to you than the jerks at the palace doesn't mean he actually likes you." Finn turned away. This had to be some kind of trick. Harv would do anything for her. "He's nice to everyone." He'd do anything for anyone. Even, say, help a vicious killer out of the kindness of his bumbling heart. Finn looked at the blond reflected in the shiney marble floors. The image of a pitiful weeping maiden looking back. 

"You said you'd do anything to help me, right?" Finn asked quietly.

"Of course."

"Then give me my mother's staff."

"What? Why?"

"Rhodri, mother will not be merciful if she finds out you took it and she is looking for it. I won't even tell her it was you who took it. But, you wanting me to be happy here is what's ruining the illusion." Finn sighed. "We can't both get what we want." He held out his hand, but Rhodri hugged it protectively.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Rhodri-" The door's to the palace swung wide open as Harv walked in. He briefly marveled at the dozens of maids bustling about, before realizing what was unfolding. Rhodri, trying to keep the staff away from Finn's outstretched hands. "Wait, don't touch that!" The two turned to him as he ran around the staff.

"What are you doing here?" Rhodri pointed at the fake staff. "What's that?" Harv paused, looked up at the staff and back at them before smiling at Finn. 

"You don't want that one Finn, you want this staff, it's better." Finn face contorted into an undignified look of outrage and confusion.

"No it's not." Rhodri tried to get between the two.

"Yeah it is. This one came from the witch's house." Harv tried to over exaggerate the words, hoping Finn would catch on. "It's newer and, uh, more powerful. You don't want that old staff, do you Finn."

"I-" Finn looked back and forth between two expectant faces. He didn't have siblings of his own and he wasn't exactly sure how Harv was able to do this kind of thing so easily. Was he supposed to play along with Harv? But, he wanted the real staff, not an excuse Rhodri could use not to hand it over. "Of course I want the new one. Then Rhodri and I could match. You're so thoughtful Harvey." Was that not the angle he was supposed to take? They both looked disappointed. "I'll make sure to treasure it?"

"I'll take the new staff." Rhodri handed his staff toward Finn. "I'll take the new one." Just before Finn could grab it, Harv kicked it, where it skidded across the floor. "What was that for?"

"Oops." Harv shrugged and quickly handed the fake staff to Rhodri. "Finn, wait!"

Finn had walked over to the magical artifact. Even out of someone's direct hand, it was still trying to maintain the illusion. It was actually quite easy to manage once you knew how to turn it off. He could see Harv running to catch up, to put everything back the way it should be.

"Not yet." Finn picked up the staff and the fairy tale castle crumbled all around them.

-0-

It was hard to explain to Harv exactly how the staff worked, since, it seemed to work different for everyone. It liked to latch onto the strongest desire the person held at the time, whatever day dream would keep the fiercely guarding the stone. And that failing, it would latch onto fear. When Finn had touched the staff when he was five, it had been horrible.

He had wanted a place to play that was safe, free of the unicorn that had attacked him years prior. Instead, it showed him this distorted version of the unicorn that lived in his nightmares attacking him again, and again Finn surviving. Then his attacker would get maimed somehow, as Finn hadn't quite understood the concept of death yet, but that was the sort of thing that happened in stories before the monster went away. Only, Finn had an active imagination. So after one scene played out, the scene would role back and play out a slightly different version.

Finn wanted to live.

Finn wanted the monster gone.

And the staff tried to give that to him again and again. 

So this time, when the staff cycled through Finn's daydreams and fears, it had a wider variety to choose from. They were shown to him in rapid succession, as the magic tried to find which one would stick. But it was easier to block out the noise and the sights and focus on what he needed to do.

A forest slowly materialized, first like lines on parchment, then cell shaded and darkened so that they were protected by a ring of dense trees. The sky would be overcast, slightly drizzling, the perfect weather for if you got stuck outside for a long period of time. Finn tried to picture something as close to realistic as he could, but he couldn't ignore the bold outlines around his frame or how his shadow was a collection of tightly knit dots. The staff wouldn't let him forget this was fake. 

He was alone, with Harv, now more aware then ever that there was no hidden danger lurking in the forest anymore.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Harv asked. He didn't remember anything of course. This thing loved to feed off of people's wants without leaving anything behind. The poet's blouse was a nice touch; he always thought Harv would look better in something more light and tailored.

"You want to be my friend, don't you?" Finn gripped the staff. Just once, he only needed to hear it once, then he'd turn the damn thing off.

"Of course." Harv laughed. "Come on Finn, what's this really about?"

"..." Finn bit his lip. "I've had a sickish feeling ever since I started noticing illusion magic was involved that... That once the illusion goes away, you're going to stop liking me." He could see Harv hesitate, then look a little sad. It was hard to tell how much of the magic was tampering with his behavior, his eyes were always a pale blue.

"Finn, I wish you didn't think of me like that." Harv took a tentative step towards him. "You know I'd never abandon you."

"I know. I know it's a selfish thing to say, that's why I don't say it. I try not to, anyway." Finn tried to concentrate. "But, I don't want you to just follow me, or be kind out of obligation, I want you to like me. This was the closest I felt that it was real, that you wanted me around, I don't want that to go away." Harv was touching his shoulder now, he'd need to let go soon.

"I don't think that's possible."

"Can you please say it, just once." 

"I like you Finn." Finn turned off the staff before it could show him anything else. As long as they could get it back to his mother without anyone seeing, it'd be like it never happened.

AN: Finn's dreamworld is based off of 1940s comics, there was apparently a whole genre of romance comics started then. Plus that's the same era as movie stars and such. Canonically Finn's supposed to stay away from the staff because of his uncontrollable revenge fantasies, but a later post rolled that back based on the assumption that it would be hard for Finn to live with that thing and NOT play with it on occasion. So I tried to incorporate both ideas :3