#things that in canon currently bothered her

[shidoukanae]

also been thinking about Twilight,,,, I thought she might've been Lyla's estranged grandma with the way she was talking to her but now i'm realizing there's a much more likely chance the author is Sienna and/or the real Lyla somehow

Considering Twilight wrote about Lyla's past ~5 years iirc before they actually happened and she says she's been watching "Lyla" and standing by, hoping to lend a hand...considering Twilight wants Lyla to stay in this world at the cost of forgetting about the one she left behind,,, who are you Twilight and why do you care for Lyla in particular (/why do you not want her to return to the place where she is happiest??)

I kind of can't help but think that Twilight is Sienna who transmigrated and grew up in Korea and has been waiting for the right moment to approach The Voice/Lyla. And maybe she wrote about her old world in an attempt to get Lyla to try and one day find her? Which WOULD explain the idiosyncrasies between the world Lyla knows about and the world Sienna left behind, such as why Lyla is completely clueless about Lyla's past and about Helene's harsh situation with her parents.

[mithrun-house-of-kerensil]

Lately, I've been thinking about Mithrun and the ways he is dehumanized in canon.

Before I get started, we know that elven society is incredibly afraid of death and illness. This is obvious in how they look down on the short lived races and see them as weak and childlike. We also know that Mithrun himself had ableist views toward his brother and these values did not leave him once he, himself, became disabled. He is a product of the society that raised him, but I also think how Mithrun is currently being treated contributes to his view of himself.

Mithrun has had three different caretaking groups over the years. The first are the ones his brother hired for him. From what we can see, they did the job, but we can understand that they did not know what to do with him. No one had ever recovered from having their desires eaten so the focus was less on rehabilitation and more on keeping him alive.

Later we see Milsiril take an interest in him because of his desire to return to the dungeon. Since she did not bother to visit him for decades after finding him, we can assume that there is an ulterior motive here. Timeline-wise, this was when the majority of the canaries had just been wiped out. They needed more men, and Mithrun is set up to be the perfect single-focused soldier.

Honestly, we can assume that Milsiril doesn't really care about him or see him as a person. Mithrun is just a new project for her to play with. We can see this in how she's focused on superficial level concerns like the fact that he doesn't look nice and wanting him to be overly grateful toward her. She also talks about him like he's not in the room and can't hear her. This is a dehumanizing trait shared by many characters when talking about Mithrun.

When he finally does recover enough to return to the canaries, the military does not make any effort to accommodate his needs. We know the canaries are understaffed and the ethics are already bad, but they really did not even try to care about Mithrun's safety at all.

Entrusting a criminal with his care was questionable at best, especially when Cithis immediately took the opportunity to abuse her power over him and no one stopped her.

While acknowledging the light-hearted nature of the manga, it's uncomfortable that Mithrun was treated like a child and an animal by Cithis for her amusement. Regardless of her 'learning to respect him' later, the point is that Mithrun was taken advantage of and degraded because she believed he couldn't say no. No one bothered to do anything about this until Pattadol yelled at her.

Truly his treatment is summarized well by Milsiril here. Mithrun is extremely vulnerable to being abused by those taking care of him because he won't advocate for himself. He has one desire so he won't fight for himself in any other way.

It is obvious that Mithrun was not treated well by his caretakers and this has resulted in him identifying his needs through a disconnected and frankly, infantilizing lens.

I understand that it may have been a translator's decision, but I always thought it was interesting that Mithrun says that he's "not sleepy" which is a childish term. Otherwise, he speaks like everyone else, if not rather posh.

This, followed by the fact that he is responsive to Kabru treating him like a literal infant to get him to eat, paints a clear picture of the fact that Mithrun is not unfamiliar with being treated like this. He responds to it because he's used to it and has no desire to argue with being treated this way. When we consider the fact that the chapter started with Milsiril treating an older child Kabru in the same way, it is likely that she also did the same thing to Mithrun when he was under her care.

In these panels, we see that Mithrun does not believe that he can sleep without magical assistance, even though it is immediately refuted when Kabru takes the time to bundle him up and help him relax. Not only does he fully believe he can't sleep without external assistance, but he states directly that there is no point in him getting comfortable.

As Kabru observes, Mithrun's inability to recognize his needs applies to needs such as hunger and exhaustion, but it obviously also applies to emotional needs. Kabru just wanting to feed him something delicious and not wanting him to give up on life is the most consideration someone has given Mithrun in years.

The relationship they form over the course of a single week is enough to shape Mithrun's behaviour completely. Mithrun ignores Cithis's demand in favour of asking Kabru's opinion. It is Kabru's hand Mithrun takes to pull him out of his defeated state. It is Kabru Mithrun confessed his true desire to.

Do you realize how depressing that is? All it took was the new perspectives from Kabru and Senshi to make him consider the fact that he should keep living despite no longer needing to fulfill his duty. Being treated well could have helped Mithrun much sooner and this shift in the way he sees himself contributes to his recovery going forward.

TLDR: Mithrun has no desire to be respected, but why does that make people feel comfortable acting like he doesn't deserve it? Someone not caring about being treated well doesn't give you permission to treat them poorly. This feels like a playschool-level consent lesson: just because he's not saying no to a humiliating or degrading act doesn't mean it's a yes and therefore okay to do. Acknowledging this is the bare minimum of treating him as a person.

[taeslarityy]

outage ༄ joel miller one shot (18+)

-> pairing: no-outbreak joel miller au x female curvy reader

-> word count: 4.3k

-> summary: after a citywide power outage, you're left to deal with the scorching texas heat. until, the well-respected neighborhood dilf — joel miller — lends you a more than generous hand.

-> warnings/tags: sarah is 10/11 so joel had her a bit older, power outage, texas heat, yes this is a warning because its not a joke, reader has a cat!!!, age gap (reader is 24, joel is late 40s), curvy/mid/plus size reader, brief fatphobia, reader has self-image/parent issues + is a lonely gal, fluff, SMUT (18+), unprotected piv, creampie, oral + fingering (f!recieving), squirting, body worship, brief ass play, daddy kink, big ole tits, spanking, spit kink, praise kink, a bit of belly bulge, cockwarming, pet names galore (darlin, sweetheart, baby, _ girl), joel has a huge dick (not canon!)

-> a/n: hi hi! i have been so anxious to begin writing again and currently have some wips that i am just not confident with. so when i saw the lovely @hellishjoel post her #hotdilfsummerchallenge, i was positive i wanted to join in! such a pleasure to be involved in this — thank you kylee for creating such a fun way for this community to get involved! as a curvier woman, i wanted reader to reflect that. because... joel miller is a handsy mf and loves to just grab himself some wide hips, thick thighs and phat tits <3 but ofc, this is can be for various body types. please please please, leave your thoughts and even constructive criticism! <3 DILF NEIGHBOR JOEL, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!!

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

You release a groan of annoyance as the visual of your TV, coffee table lamp and humming of the refrigerator all flicker off into silence. The frills on your throw-blanket settle, as the ceiling fan no longer produces the small gusts of wind that have caused you to be rather chilly on this hot, humid and rainy summer night. 

When you made the courageous decision of moving across the country for a new teaching opportunity in Austin — you were never informed on the true brutality summertime unleashed onto Texas residents. More-so, you really had nothing to do but be caged up in the comfortable AC of your home. You’ve been here for roughly 14 months and the only "friends" you’ve made have been the 28 fourth graders you had the pleasure of teaching last school year. Tragic. 

Your coworkers, did not handle your arrival pleasantly. Young, beautiful, freshly-educated and determined. That’s what your grandmother referred to you as when you called her sobbing after your first week. Informing her that the seasoned teachers won’t even bat an eye at you, and when they do it’s a look of disgust. Whispering amongst one another. Like you were in middle school again, trying to befriend the popular girls. 

“I was foolish to think things could be different for me down here, so stupid of me.”

“Now listen to me, you are the most intelligent woman I know. More than anyone in this family. Bullies like that, it stems from an unknown jealousy and overbearing insecurity. Don’t let a few sour grapes ruin this outstanding career for you. Your students adore you already, and so do I. Just continue to be yourself and if that isn’t enough for them, so be it.”

Your grandmother always knew how to make you feel better. She had been instilling your own sense of confidence since you were a little girl. The only adult in your life to do so. If only her words were enough. Your coworkers just never let up. After overhearing them gossip about you during lunch break, you gave up your attempts indefinitely. 

“She really thinks she deserves a place here?”

“Look at her back rolls in that shirt…”

“She really needs to put that sandwich down.”

“Why is she so quiet? It’s freaky, honestly. No wonder she’s always alone.”

You’re not a stranger to being alone. You practically have been your entire life. Your parents never really bothered to form a genuine relationship with you, always so focused on your younger sister. She was the prettier, thinner, more impressive version of you. You have only had one best friend throughout your long 24 years on this earth. She was smarter than you and moved away from the timid small town you shared in Northern Maine, choosing an out-of-state university. So, being alone was a familiarity. You have made peace with it. But being lonely — that’s a whole other ball-park. 

The booming thwack of thunder startles you from your thoughts. Your sweet calico boy leaps from your warm lap and scurries under the dining table — tail puffed in fear. “Milo... it’s okay,” you whisper. He just gleams at you with his jet-black saucer eyes. Even you don’t believe your own words. You are not used to storms like this, and you didn’t really prepare. You read some articles online about stocking up: having plently of batteries, candles, non-perishable foods. Yet, you didn’t do any of that. 

Rubbing away the moisture from your damp upper lip — the heat inside your home already becoming unbearable. Deciding on a whim, you can head to a nearby hotel for the night. Unsure how long you will be without power and don’t wish to succumb yourself or your cat to the searing temperatures of the night. 

The rain has slowed down, as you feel the soft patter on your umbrella. Throwing your purse and water bottle in the front seat, you begin to dread unpacking all this stuff when you get to the hotel. Bags, cat litter, cage — scrutinizing yourself mentally and deciding you better fucking prepare for the next storm. 

“Where ya headin’ sweetheart?”

Your heart jumps at the deep smooth Southern voice that fills your thoughts at night. When your hands would find their way in between your quivering legs. Throughout the day. Pretty much all the time.

Joel Miller is the only person in this town that has ever filled the lonely void you can never seem to fill. When you moved to the quiet suburban street, he was the first to come greet you as you struggled to pull your mattress out of the U-Haul. Immediately lending a hand, and proceeding to lug all of your remaining boxes, furniture, miscellaneous items into your new home. 

“Pretty lady like you, shouldn’t have to lift a single finger.” He remarked when you you blushed and assured him you could handle the rest, not wanting to be a burden. Even though the sweat dripping down your back was apparent and 5 minutes prior you had no idea how you’d be able to unpack the remainder of the truck. He then assured you — there was no way in hell you were being a burden. Words that were a rarity. 

Later that afternoon, he invited you for dinner at his home. You met his lovely daughter, Sarah. Where everyone learned that you were her new school teacher. What were the odds? 

Following that, seeing Joel was frequent. From parent-teacher conferences, backyard barbecues for the neighborhood, or even small intimate dinners with Sarah at each others homes. Sarah would even spend the night at yours on occasion. When Joel had a late night at the construction site, or when she just needed some girl time. You adored that little girl, and vice versa. 

You also adored the fuck out of Joel. 

So when you looked up at his porch, finding him in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants.. your throat went dry. His tanned skin gleamed softly from the street light — little speckled freckles adorned his waist in various spots. And that darkish grey hair on his chest and fat of his lower tummy that flowed underneath his pants. Your brain fuzzy at the thought of your face pressed against it as you swallow his cock. 

But you were not a fool. Joel would never express an attraction towards you. A man like that? He deserved the perfect woman. 

“Darlin’?” He speaks again, a bit louder. Disturbing your wandering thoughts. 

“I- I was gonna head to a hotel for the night, my house is too hot already. And I don’t want Milo to be uncomfortable.” 

Joel’s eyes wander down your body as you explain — the plush jiggle of your tits in that small tank. Nearly spilling out. Slightly damp from the rain or humidity. The chub of your tummy spills slightly from your leggings. A sight that makes his cock swell unbearingly. An act that occurs more often than not when he sees you or even thinks of you for the countless minutes of his day. 

“No way. Not gonna let ya drive in this weather. Plus, most hotels nearby are gonna be overbooked. I got the generator up n’ working, got the spare room too. Your stayin’ over.” 

“No! No, Joel. I can’t.”

“N’ why not?” His hands have found his way to his hips, popping a knee out and giving you that classic dad glare. Not angry, but confused as to why you’re even protesting when he’s already decided. 

“I don’t want to intrude and I have Milo. You and Sarah are allergic.”

“Sarah left yesterday to stay with her mom in California for the rest of the summer. Besides, Milo loves me. I can handle a runny nose as long as I know the two of ya are safe.” 

To this, your stomach nearly flips inward on itself. You’ve never been alone with Joel in his home. Not for this long. The few times you’ve come over to help him with dinner before Sarah got home from soccer practice, have always been excruciating. Staring at him without worry. Watching his muscles flex through his t-shirts. Big hands chopping vegetables and plating food. His hand lightly touching your waist when scooting by. 

There’s no possible way you can survive a night in Joel’s home. 

But, he’s already grabbing his umbrella and walking over to you. He grabs your stuff from the car and tells you to go grab Milo. So, you do.

Joel slips on a t-shirt after he put your stuff in the spare room, disappointedly enough. You nearly told him to keep it off, but held your tongue. You made yourself comfortable at the island barstool as you typed up some early lesson plans, Milo at your feet. 

He patters over to Joel who is now leaning against the counter, brushing against his leg. He then leaps onto the granite and purrs against Joel’s arm. 

“Psst! Milo get do-“ you beg, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. 

“S’ okay, sweetheart. He’s not botherin’ me,” Joel attempts to settle your nerves. Petting Milo’s soft fur and scratching under his chin, that special spot all cats love. “Can I get you anythin’ to drink?” He nods towards the coffee he’s brewing. 

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” You beam at him. Joel’s heart skips a beat every time your cheeks puff up ever so slightly when you smile at him. It’s something he swears is the most endearing thing about you. Of course, he’s only ever shared that with his daughter. Who begs her father to just take her favorite teacher on a date already. 

Joel grabs some sugar and oat milk from the fridge, your favorite. He learned from the few breakfasts you guys had shared. A bit of sugar and a nice gulp of milk softens the dark roast color in the mug, he slides it over to you as he grabs his plain black coffee. 

“You remembered!” You giggle slightly at the Number 1 Dad title that adorns the mug, taking a sip. You moan at the taste, exactly how you like it. 

“Of course I did, darlin’.” You almost hate how easily those pet names roll of his tongue. You summed it up as his southern hospitality, figured he calls any woman those special names. “So, you ready for this new school year?”

An icky feeling settles in your stomach. The thought of returning to the painful and toxic work environment you can only escape when you’re with your students.

“Not without my Sarah girl,” you swiftly change the subject towards the one person he can talk hours about.

He smiles proudly at her name. 

“Ya know, she still all mad that you wouldn’t flunk her so she could have another year with ya.” Both your laughs quickly fill the empty house. 

“Well, even if I tried to, that girl is too smart for her own good. She should skip a grade in my opinion.” You state, and you’re truthful at that. Sarah Miller is as intelligent as she is quick-witted. 

“Yeah, she gets it from me.” At that you roll your eyes playfully. Typing something up before closing your computer and taking another sip of coffee. “Although I love boastin’ over her, I guess I meant are you excited to go back? They treat ya good there?” 

Joel watches the color drain from your soft skin. Realizing he touched somewhere that might be too personal. Too raw. “M’ sorry sweetheart, shouldn’t have asked.”

“No- no uh, you’re fine. Um, honestly? No. I’m not excited. The staff there aren’t exactly the kindest bunch.” You confess, slight unease crawling over you. 

Joel’s eyes scrunch in confusion. Mind blank on how the kindest soul he knows, could be surrounded by complete opposite. “Whatcha mean?”

You sigh letting the anxiousness settle a bit before speaking again, “they hate me. I don’t even know why, really? I have tried my hardest to get them to accept me but nothing seems to work. Whether it’s jabs at my appearance, teaching style, they’re never satisfied.” Your eyes are burning slightly, haven’t confessed this burden you constantly carry to anyone. “If it wasn’t for your daughter and my class, and… you.. well, I think I wouldn’t have made it through. I try to be strong, I try to be everything that people expect from me but it’s just so hard, Joel.” At that, the fat tears begin to stream down your face.

Joel was frozen in shock. Or maybe anger. Protectiveness. He wanted to hurt the people who made you feel like this. The least deserving of any pain. He sets his mug down and snatches you in his embrace. Holding your head with his hand, stroking your back with the other. He lets you sob almost uncontrollably into his firm chest. 

“I just hate being so alone.” You whisper, clutching onto him. You can’t even be embarrassed anymore, you’re so overthrown by his scent, his comfort. Comfort you’ve not felt in so so long. 

Joel kisses your temple softly, "promise you're not alone, sweet girl." He nudges your head to look up at his own sorrowful expression. His thumb running over your full lips, a bit swollen from your teeth biting down on them in an attempt to muffle your sobs. "So beautiful." He murmurs as he leans down to place a kiss on your left cheek, his lips skim over yours before he places another on your right.

Joel just barely hears the whimper from the back of your throat when that feather light skim happened. He leans back half an inch, staring into your glossy eyes. "Tell me not to, and I'll let you go upstairs and get some rest. Tell me, sweetheart."

It feels like a whole minute passes by. The soft patter of the rain, the smell of coffee beans from each others breath, the same slow breathing that overwhelms the little space between you both.

Desperation.

Your fingers tighten on his shirt, "don't let me go upstairs, Joel."

Joel smashes his mouth into yours, his guttural groan flying into your soft whimpers. The softness Joel expressed a moment ago is long gone. This kiss is messy, teeth-clanking, tongue inside your mouth. Like he wants to devour you from the outside in. He releases your lip with a pop.

He threads his thick fingers through the base of your hair and yanks it back gently, tongue on your neck. Biting the skin there. "You're so soft, baby. Just need me to mark ya up, is that right?"

You nod as hard as you can despite his harsh grip on your locks.

"I need you to use your words, sweet girl. Let me know what you're thinkin'."

"Everything you do is okay. I want more. I need it all. Please."

"Oh baby, cm'ere," he wraps your lavish thighs around his waist and hoists you into his arms. Easily. Like you're just the most delicate thing he's ever held.

As he walks to his bedroom, you smile into his neck. Arms wrapped over his shoulders, hand rubbing ever so softly at his greying curls. You bite at the skin under his ear and he gives your ass a huge squeeze. Groaning at how his big hands barely hold all the meat there. He couldn't wait to touch and gnaw at this body he loved.

At the foot of his bed, he taps your leg as if telling you to get down. You stand in front of his massive overbearing figure, staring up at him lustfully. You grab the bottom of your compression tank top and pull it over your head, revealing your unsupported chest. Your heavy tits fall a bit.

"My god," Joel falls to his knees in front of you, face nearly level with your pebbled nipples. Both his hands grab a fistful of each, rolling them in his palm. Your sweet noises fill the room and he swears he might've just came in his pajama pants right there. He takes his teeth and bite at the fat above your leggings, licking and sucking at a sensitive part of you. Literally and figuratively.

Joel abandons your chest to yank your leggings and panties down in one move, coming face-to-face with your prickly oozing pussy. He can't restrain himself much longer, spinning you around he pushes you down into his mattress.

He spreads your ass open with both hands, the chub of your lips open ever so slightly as the slick between them strings together.

"Perfect cunt." That's when you feel the chill of liquid spat right onto your puckered hole, dripping down to your clit. He leans in, tongue catching the tangy mixture of your slick and his saliva, right on your throbbing clit.

You screech into the sheets, so turned on from his actions. As he licks up to dip his tongue into your hole, one hand that's holding you open sneaks up your back, to your neck and yanks your head up.

"Nu-uh, let me hear you, baby girl." He demands as he pauses to throw his shirt off as fast as possible — not wanting to leave your cunt for too long without the warmth of his mouth.

He sloppily makes out with your cunt as it clenches and unclenches under his tongue, his beard prickling at your skin. Like he wants your scent all over him for as long as possible.

"Ohh daddy, more more," you whisper hazily, hand reaching back to grab his head desperate to have him as deep as possible.

Joel stops as he processes your choice of title. "What was that, darlin'?"

You freeze at his serious tone. Just now realizing what you've called the man. "Oh my god, I'm s-" Joel grabs your wrist and pins it against your lower back — thick middle and ring finger hooking into you with no warning. Your wetness aiding in the rapid slide of them.

He spits on your puckered hole again and abandons your wrist to land a harsh smack against your ass.

"Only dirty girls say that word, baby. Are you daddy's dirty girl?" He edges you on as he spanks you again on the opposite side. Hard. Unsparing. A side of Joel you've never seen. And oh, does it make you feel that coil tightening within you.

"Mmmm yes yes 'm your dirty girl, daddy!" You groan loudly, eyes swelling with fresh tears. But not tears of pain from earlier, pleasure.

Joel's fingers fuck into you harder, thumb now rubbing at your clit as he leans forward to prod his tongue at your asshole. "Cum for me, my nasty sweet girl. Drench my face. Let me taste you even more." He halts his fingers knuckle deep, hooked inside your cunt as he presses into that spot on repeat. Like he's stroking it out of you.

That's all it takes for you to silently scream as you squirt all over his lower beard covered face and your thick inner thighs, that nearly squish his head from how hard you're coming. Joel just keeps himself situated, never letting up. Allowing you to completely let go and rut back into him, telling him you need more.

"Thaaat's it, my good fuckin' girl.” He praises as he kisses your cunt and ass, he leans over your face capturing your lips in a kiss so messy and depraved. “Open that mouth.” Spitting roughly onto your tongue with a groan as you taste your sweetness that he knows he will forever be addicted to. No chance of recovery.

He ruts his thick bulge into your ass as you whine needly.

"Really want you to fuck my face, now." You beg, hand reaching down to grope him through his loose pjs.

"Mmmmm," he murmurs as his hips keep rutting into you. "Tonight is about you, baby. M' gonna stuff your tight cunt so fuckin' deep you'll feel it in your throat, don't worry." And with that promise, he releases himself, throbbing cock slapping against his lower tummy. You flip onto your back just to see it and your eyes widen at the sight before you.

You always knew it was huge just from perception, but god. It's thicker than your wrist, and looks like it would prod into your cervix. Painful even. Joel senses the worry on your face as he pushes your legs back against your chest. Admiring the way your stomach folds into itself, soft roll after roll. And the thickness of your inner thighs lays heavy. He just wants to get down and feast on you again but he might die if he doesn't feel you wrapped around him.

"You're in charge here, sweetheart. Understood?" He explains as he rubs his fat cock head up and down your swollen slit — notching on your opening with every downward stroke.

You nod slowly, peeking down at the monster between your legs once more. He squeezes your ankle, subtly reminding you to vocalize.

"Yes daddy, I understand."

"Good." And with that, he pushes into your fluttering hole. Your eyes roll back immediately, head thumping onto the soft duvet. He pushes in deeper, barely halfway in and he sees your feet and eyes scrunch a bit. It almost feels like he could rip you apart. Maybe it's because you haven't been fucked in a hot minute — or maybe it's just that Joel is so fucking hung. More than any guy you've slept with.

“Deep breath for me, sweetheart.” He soothes you, as soon as he sees your chest fall — he slams the rest of the way in. Hips flush with the back of your thighs. Cock fully sheathed in your warm soaked cunt. Heavy brimming balls pressed against your little puckered hole. “You feel so damn good. Dripping for me.” Joel’s eyes close at the feeling of you hugging him so tight. He suddenly forgets the feeling of any other woman he’s pleased. Utterly devoted to you from here on out.

When he pulls out all the way to his fat tip — it notches on your opening. Like he has to put in that extra effort to fully remove himself from you. But he doesn’t, and starts fucking into you fully. Never half way, never pulling completely out.. but always making sure he reaches the end of you.

“Da- daddy oh, harder please.” You plead, squeezing his forearm at the overwhelming feel of him nudging your cervix with every thrust.

That confirmation of pleasure is all Joel needs to push your legs back even more — ankles by your head — and began a brutal relentless pace. Grabbing a fistful of your jiggling tit and messy hair, he pulls your head up so you can watch how he ruins you for anyone else.

“Ya see that, see how swollen your gettin’ already?” Joel questions as he holds your head perfectly to observe the slight lifted pudge on your tummy. Paired with the way his coarse hair rubs against your swelled clit — it’s a drool worthy sight.

“Cus’ your so big, Joel.” You sigh, eyes fluttering from the primal force he’s using on your body.

A smug grin flicks across his face at the view. Mind consumed by the most perfect woman. Eyebrows turning inward, the little lines between them deepening as you try to comprehend all the emotions in this moment. Removing his hand from your head, he finds your clit and swipes it upward. Over and over. Leaning down, he sucks as much of your breast into his mouth as humanely possible. Tongue flicking the pebbled area, coercing your orgasm from you. “Cum with me, baby.” His muffled command shoots straight to your filled core.

As he feels you spasm around his thickness, he stills balls deep. “There it is, baby…” Spilling his cum inside your warmth. Plugging you, keeping you full of him. Joel relaxes his body against yours, finding your mouth to kiss you gently. Sweaty foreheads against one another. Joel goes to push off of you, his comforting body heat about to be ripped away.

"No! Wanna feel you longer, please."

Your protest makes Joel's heart surge. "Of course, sweet girl." Wrapping his large arms around you, he flips you both so that your soft plush body lays above him. The new angle makes his spent cock nudge a bit deeper, you both moan at the faint squelch of his cum overflowing your cunt. "You're so perfect," he mutters.

Smiling into his full chest, you leave a swift kiss. "So are you. Thank you for this. For.. everything."

Joel's hands finds your back as he begins gentle strokes onto your supple skin, his head resting atop your own. "Thank you, darlin'. I want you to understand something, you might just be the finest thing that ever happened to Sarah and I. Y'know, she didn't really want to see her mom. Never had the best relationship with her. She just wanted to spend the remainder of the summer havin' ya over everyday to swim and all. That girl admires you more than anyone."

Eyes foggy, you shift to gaze up at him. "And what does her father think?"

Joel pauses briefly, rich brown orbs beaming into yours. "Think she's damn right. She didn't want me to tell you this, but she left so I could have some alone time with you — take ya out. Scolded me sayin' by the time she's back, we better be together." He laughs at the thought, you join him. Picturing that 4'9 ball of fire lecturing her father on the rules of dating.

"So, you're asking me out Miller?" You question with a heavy hopeful heart.

"Should've done it forever ago, darlin'." He confesses, placing a delicate kiss on your temple.

And with that, you place your head back onto the warm chest of the man you've craved your entire life. Realizing, ever since that day where he first greeted you with that sultry gentleman voice — you were never truly alone.

thank you truly for reading! let me know your thoughts below or in asks!! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

[factual-fantasy]

*Pulles out the Welcome Home Wiki and clears throat*

So, to start with, are there any elements of the Welcome home crew being a tv show? Any "neighbor" that Wally talks too?

Who would be the most likely to figure out Wally's house is alive? Can Home speak or are they limited to onomatopoeias?

Canonically, Wally can only do the Mash Potato, is your version of him a better or worse dancer? Is anyone particularly skilled at something you wouldn't think they'd be? (eg: Frank having mad crochet skills)

Who feels the most comfortable around Wally? Are any of the neighbors unerved by his sleep depreived behaviors at times?

If Poppy found Sally as a youngin, how did that happen on a scale of Thumbalina to Stitch?

How much of a jokster is Barnaby, has he ever gone too far with his jokes? What's his go to for lifting the spirits of his neighbors?

Does Julie love games just as much here? If so, how strict is she with the rules of them? Especially safety rules. Does she create new games often or stick with the same couple and occasionally introduce new ones as the current ones become less fun?

How much of a bug lover is Frank? Does it ever bother him that all his friends names end with -ly/ie and his last name does that instead of his first?

What is your current idea for Sally? More gremlin or fancy? Maybe a bit of both, reserving all her self-control for the stage?

Is Howdy's bugdega his most prized possession, or no more then it would be for a normal person? How receptive is he to jokes?

Would the town of Welcome Home still use Jokes are currency, or would you switch it to a more standard kind of money?

Hope that's enough for ya XD

XD I couldn't help myself, I interpreted that question about Franks name as a funny drawing prompt! XDD Now onto your other questions..

1: Are there any elements of the Welcome home crew being a tv show? Any "neighbor" that Wally talks too?

Nahh, there aren't any elements of their world being a show or a Y/N and/or neighbor that Wally talks too. Its just the neighbors and their world is very real to them! :0

2: Who would be the most likely to figure out Wally's house is alive? Can Home speak or are they limited to onomatopoeias?

I don't have any plans for anyone to find out Home is alive.. but if anyone ever did, Wally, Eddie and Barnaby would be good candidates. Wally because he lives there and is pretty sensitive to Home's energy. Eddie because he is very sensitive to homes energy.. and Barnaby, because he's really close to Wally and is looking in on this situation with a clear and level head. Perhaps he would notice things that Eddie and Wally are too scatterbrained to notice..

Also yes! :0 Home cannot speak and is limited to onomatopoeias!

3: Canonically, Wally can only do the Mash Potato, is your version of him a better or worse dancer?

I'd like to think my Wally is capable of learning new dances, but he's just not particularly interested.. <XD so yeah! Only the mashed potato for my Wally too XDD

4: Is anyone particularly skilled at something you wouldn't think they'd be?

I have a few in mind for surprising skills! My Barnaby is surprisingly good at sewing! He learned it from his mama 🥺💞💞 Julie is- well, to the surprise of the neighbors at least- really good at making campfires from scratch and other outdoorsy things! :0 And lastly, Eddie is known for being clumsy and forgetful.. but surprisingly he has fantastic handwriting. Beautiful cursive, perfectly spaced out, perfect punctuation, never smudges, all the "I"s are dotted and every "T" is crossed. He never has to erase and never spells anything wrong! Eddie doesn't know how he got so good at it.. Its just always been like that he says. hmm..

Technically Barnaby would feel the most comfortable around Wally, since they're best friends an all.. :0 But no one is uncomfortable around Wally due to his sleepy behaviors! The neighbors mostly feel pity for the poor guy.. it cant be fun to never get a good nights sleep..

5: Who feels the most comfortable around Wally? Are any of the neighbors unnerved by his sleep deprived behaviors at times?

6: If Poppy found Sally as a youngin, how did that happen on a scale of Thumbalina to Stitch?

I cant really remember the stories of Stitch and Thumbalina that well... but I'd say it might be more like Stitch..? <XD Sally was super excited to explore everything and go everywhere. So she was quite the handful! Like I think Stitch was..?

7: How much of a jokester is Barnaby, has he ever gone too far with his jokes? What's his go to for lifting the spirits of his neighbors?

Barnaby is a Sans level jokester XDD Fitting puns and jokes into almost every other sentence! But thankfully he's rather observant and doesn't ever go too far. He knows what jokes are and are not appropriate to say around certain neighbors. He also can tell if its a good or bad time to crack a joke.. when it comes to lifting the spirits of his neighbors.. his go-to will depend on the neighbor. For Howdy, Julie or Eddie, he just needs a few good jokes with maybe a sprinkle of life advice in there to get them smiling again.

For Poppy or Wally, his go-to is usually to talk to them rather seriously and figure out what's wrong..

If Poppy is upset, it usually because she's anxious about something. So Barnaby will try to figure out what's wrong so he can help her fix the problem or maybe comfort her if its worry over nothing..

If Wally is visibly upset, usually that means something is really wrong.. Barnaby probably wont let up in until he figures out what happened and is able to help his poor buddy..

8: Does Julie love games just as much here? If so, how strict is she with the rules of them? Especially safety rules. Does she create new games often or stick with the same couple and occasionally introduce new ones as the current ones become less fun?

I'd like to think that my Julie loves games too! :)) She is lenient on any and all rules if all the other players agree to it. In a way changing the rules creates a whole new game! But safety rules are no breakers! Gotta keep her friends safe after all! And I think Julie only switches it up and tries new games once her neighbors are bored with the current selection :00

9: How much of a bug lover is Frank?

Well considering my Frank moved to this neighborhood specifically so he could study and live alongside all the creepy crawlies there.. I'd says he loves them with all his heart! XDDD (Also never call them creepy crawlies around Frank, he hates that!)

10: What is your current idea for Sally? More gremlin or fancy? Maybe a bit of both, reserving all her self-control for the stage?

Right now I'm resisting the urge to make her a 100% chaotic gremlin <XDD Since I don't know if that fits her canon character very well.. I'm leaning more towards a passionate and sassy theater kid atm 🤣🤣🤣

11: Is Howdy's bugdega his most prized possession, or no more then it would be for a normal person? How receptive is he to jokes?

(AOIJASJFF I JUST GOT IT-- BUGDEGA XDD) Its his most prized possession! He treats it better than he does himself to be honest! <XDD And he has a great passion for the quality of the products he sells too!

As for jokes, my Howdy loves a good joke. There's a rumor if you make him laugh, he'll give you a discount! 👀👀

12: Would the town of Welcome Home still use Jokes are currency, or would you switch it to a more standard kind of money?

The canon uses jokes as currency?? :0 Huh.. I didn't know that, I intended to make my neighbors all have jobs. But I guess that begs the question, what jobs do they have.. I guess that's still a work in progress <XD

Anyways- thank you for all the questions! :DD These were a blast to answer, and I hope you had fun reading them! XDD

[angelwonie]

ME AND THE DEVIL || coriolanus snow

PAIRING: coriolanus x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 10.1k

GENRE(S): smut, fluff, slowburn, enemies to lovers, angst (if you squint)

SUMMARY: Coriolanus Snow is a difficult man to please. And yet you have overtaken his mind—you, the only person in the academy who seems to have no interest in him. But he is also a persuasive man, and he usually gets what he wants. There's only one problem: falling in love wasn't a part of the plan.

WARNINGS: SMUT [unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, degradation, praise, overstimulation, manhandling, edging, crying, breeding kink, brat taming?, coryo is mean but down bad], canon-typical violence, mentions of blood and guns, morally gray coriolanus

It started with a change of seats.

In the academy, students were assigned a study partner meant to last throughout the year. The partners were to sit together in the lecture rooms, write each assignment together and support the other in weakness. The goal of this premise was to keep all students attentive and growing—the academy hardly accepted laziness and not at all incompetence. In the top class which consisted of, as the name suggests, the academy’s finest students, the hunger for success stood stronger, and tolerance for failure—lower. Therefore study partners were as close to a lifeline as a student could come.

Coriolanus had no problem with that. Working with others, as vexing as it could be, brought on more pros than cons, especially when he was allowed to take the lead. And if anything went wrong, he was free to blame someone else for the outcome—though Highbottom never really believed him. 

The Problem, which currently he referred to with a capital P in his mind, had begun when Dr. Gaul suddenly announced a change in the seating arrangement. 

It came as a shock to everyone and frankly, turned the whole orderly system on its head. Livia was moved away to sit with Festus; Gaius with a clearly disdainful Arachne; and he—with you, a girl just recently having joined the top class and taken the spot of a guy who had moved down in ranks. 

Originally, you had seated yourself next to Sejanus, in the only empty seat in the room. When Dr. Gaul walked into the room, they all stood. She told them not to bother sitting again and began reading the names of what was to become new partnerships.

Coriolanus could hear Clemensia letting out a groan of frustration upon her name being read out alongside Sejanus’. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop his smile from spreading at the misfortune he had evaded.

But it didn’t last long, this state of contentment, because soon his own name was read aloud—with yours. 

Your face, as he noticed upon looking in your direction, had no distinctive emotion written across it. Your brows were ever so slightly raised, the corners of your mouth straight. You spared a single glance in his direction—glimmering eyes meeting his blue ones—then, without much reaction, strolled towards the seat which Clemensia had yet to vacate. 

“I think you’re in my seat.”

It was the first time he heard your voice. It was far from gentle, but not exactly rough; clear, but not exactly loud. You were standing with your back straight, your bag at your side. 

The sound brought Clemensia’s attention to your figure for a solid second before she turned to Coriolanus, brows furrowed. 

“This is so stupid. Why would she separate us when she knows how well we work together?” 

He didn’t have time to answer before you took a step closer, this time letting your lips spread in a smile. It revealed your teeth, but no cordiality. “You’re still in my seat. You can question the authority of our teachers another time, right?”

Clemensia, a little stunned, stood unmoving until Dr. Gaul shouted at her from the other side of the room. She took her things and with a last look of disbelief cast Coriolanus’ way, moved towards her own designated seat.

You placed your bag by the desk and sat down, legs crossed at the knees. Coriolanus did the same, although his eyes drifted to his right just a little. You looked a bit like a Greek statue, with your posture and expression so much like his own. 

Dr. Gaul clapped her hands anew. “Well, what are you waiting for? Introduce yourselves!”

Coriolanus cleared his throat and you turned to him, a somewhat bored look in your eyes. 

“Coriolanus Snow,” he said, extending a hand. 

You didn’t take his hand. “I know who you are.” 

You didn’t speak to him any more that day. Or the day after that. Or the next.

All he had was your name and the (maybe feigned) looks of boredom you seldom sent him. And a growing annoyance which came about each time he politely told you good morning and you replied in a dull tone. 

Nobody knew much about you, which resulted in what students do best when met with lack of information—they make up their own. Livia Cardew claimed you were from district 1. Clemensia whispered to Coriolanus about how your place in the academy was most certainly bought by your parents. Festus Creed was utterly convinced your arrival was a test to see how long they would last alongside a girl who showed no interest in anyone and yet walked with her head high.

But the only rumor which held any truth to it at all was Arachne’s hesitant scoff about how she knew you before. 

Livia immediately picked up on the statement and leaned forward in her chair. “You did? So she isn’t from district one?” 

“No. But she might as well have been.” Arachne looked to the rest of them for a dramatic effect. “She’s a total bitch, anyway. That’s all there is to say.” 

That ended the discussion. 

One day, perhaps a week after you and Coriolanus had become study partners, you walked into the academy wearing the tiniest skirt he had ever seen. It was the academy’s uniform, only altered to be shorter and tighter, framing your hips perfectly and ending just about halfway of your thigh.

Coriolanus heard Clemensia scoff from where she stood by his side. 

“Attention seeker.”

“Is that even allowed?” Festus asked, though it was unclear whether he meant vandalizing the academy uniform or how otherworldly your legs looked in the skirt. 

Whichever it was, the answer was probably no. 

On a daily basis, you were already pretty. He knew it and he was well aware the other boys also knew it from the way they eyed you like hawks when you weren’t looking. And, let’s be honest, you were never looking at any of them. So there was a whole lot of staring which Coriolanus caught every time, while you remained either oblivious or too stubborn to acknowledge the attention. 

Now, he thought, you must be aware of it—at the very least.

He, personally, was painfully aware of it. Like an embarrassing Victorian man whose mouth waters at the sight of a woman’s ankles, he felt his pants were suddenly too tight. It was in a state of panic that he adjusted himself, clearing his throat. His hand squeezed the desk he was leaning against as he mumbled an incoherent reply that was just enough for Festus and Clemmie to continue their conversation without his input. 

From over Clemensia’s shoulder, he could see Volumnia Gaul and Casca Highbottom strolling into the room. 

“Dr. Gaul’s here,” he said, pointing with his jaw.  

“Oh, right.”

The two of them walked away and Coriolanus closed his eyes, rubbing his nose bridge. 

Once he opened them again, he was met with your frame approaching—and he almost jolted in surprise. Your hair was hanging loosely down your shoulders, pinned back on one side to reveal golden earrings. You took a step in his direction and he wondered what for—the distance between you was close to nothing. 

“Move.”

Taken aback, he fought the urge to look around and see if anyone else had heard. But no, you were too far and class was almost starting; everyone was busy with themselves. 

“Sorry?” he asked with a strained smile.

You sighed, looking vaguely annoyed. “You’re blocking my way.” 

He grit his teeth, moving aside. You sauntered past him and into your seat, which he only now realized he had been standing in front of. Your skirt flowed behind you; when you bent down to place your bag on the ground he almost caught a glimpse of your panties. Almost. But what he saw was enough to fill him with rage that didn’t subside for the rest of the lesson—along with his boner. 

“I personally think she’s nice,” Sejanus offered when Coriolanus mentioned your poor behavior towards him during lunch. Of course, he said nothing of his dick hardening—oversharing wasn’t his forte. 

“Well, you don’t sit with her.”

“I did. And she was nice to me.” 

He sent Sejanus a death glare which worked effectively to shut him up. 

Coriolanus didn’t really care about your demeanor. It didn’t mess with his work—when you had to be cooperative, you were. And outside of class, Clemensia was more than happy to cling to his arm like a koala. The same went for Sejanus. What bothered him was that look—of disdain, boredom—the lazy way in which you displayed your distaste, like he wasn’t even worth an effort to hate. Because you didn’t hate him.

You just… didn’t care. 

You terrified him. You made him see red. You made him react physically, for God’s sake. And he had spoken to you all of twice. How pathetic was that? Enough to stay forever in his thoughts, that much was certain. He was never going to say a word about this to anyone. 

But worst of all was this: you liked Sejanus. 

Whenever he saw you talking to anyone, it was either your friends from your old class or him. Sejanus Plinth, from district two, with nothing but irritating opinions and a fortune to offer. He saw you laugh at his half-developed jokes, look at him in total focus while he spoke. 

One day, about a month after it all, when Highbottom showed no signs of letting them switch seats ever again, he decided to ask you about it. Dr. Gaul was currently strolling about the lecture room, monologuing, which gave him enough time to lean to the side, towards you. 

“Seems like you and Sejanus have gotten quite close,” he said, loud enough for only you to hear. 

If you registered his words, you made no signs of it. His eyes trailed lower, to your tiny, tiny skirt and the plushness of your thighs which he was free to look at but not allowed to touch. He clenched his jaw and tried again. 

“What is it you want? His money?”

At this, your head whipped in his direction. His cool, blue eyes bore into yours and he could see anger, clear like black on a white piece of paper, in your gaze. Your shoulders were tense, lips barely parted. But this only lasted a brief moment—a glitch in your composure—before you straightened your back and grit your teeth into a feigned smile.

“And you? What do you want from him?” 

He opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by Dr. Gaul’s piercing voice. 

“Miss L/N and Mr. Snow! Perhaps the two of you will answer my question since you’re so deep in discussion.” The woman looked at the two of you sternly. “What is the point of the hunger games?” 

You looked at Coriolanus, who seemed perfectly content in his seat. He had no intention of answering. Bastard. You folded your hands into fists and stood up. Everyone was looking, but only Coriolanus’ gaze made your heart thump against your chest. It felt as if you had something to prove. 

“To keep the districts at bay.” With a glance towards Sejanus, you bit the inside of your cheek. “In a highly unethical way, of course. It hardly takes killing twenty-three children to prove a point.” 

“District children. Remember that,” said Dr. Gaul. “You may sit.” 

You obeyed, suppressing a sigh of relief. 

At least it was relief until you felt a hot breath on the side of your neck, paired with Coriolanus whispering, “Liar.” 

You looked at him, seemingly unphased, and let out a soft scoff. “If you didn’t like my answer, you should have said something instead.” 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, just that it was a lie. Don’t worry, though, I don’t think Sejanus can tell.”

Your jaw tightened indiscernibly. The boy whose curls were falling into his forehead gave a smirk, eyes trailing to where Sejanus was sitting and then back again. You just looked at him, unwavering. 

“You know nothing about me.”

“And you know nothing about me,” he said, lips spreading to reveal his teeth. “Now we’re both liars.” 

***

On the third of the month, the Plinths threw a party.

It was a large gathering, consisting mainly of the academy’s students and their immediate family. The occasion was unclear—unofficially, it was said the Plinths wanted to scout the students to see who was fit to win the Plinth prize. But it was just rumors. Officially, it was a celebration of the academy’s fiftieth anniversary.

After all it had endured—the rebellion, the war, Coriolanus Snow—a party seemed in order.

On the topic of Snow—you were terribly irritated by the way his words were swarming around your head like bees. Somehow, you had managed to remember his voice down to every shiver and for whatever reason, your brain wouldn’t let go of it. Even as your mother, with her eyes fixated on the mirror, smoothed out the length of your silky dress and asked if you liked it. Even as the two of you left the apartment. Even as you exited the car and walked up the steps to the academy’s ballroom. 

“Nervous?” your mother asked. 

“No.” 

She pushed the doors open. 

Coriolanus had showed up to the party in a fitted, dark suit along with his grandma’am right on time. Upon his arrival, he had scouted Sejanus somewhere in a corner with his overbearing parents, while Clemensia stood with Livia and her sister. You were nowhere to be seen as far as his eye could reach. His grandma’am dragged him around the room in search of conversation partners and somehow ended up deepening into a discussion with Mr. Plinth, leaving her grandson to fend for himself with Sejanus by his side. The farce lasted for about half an hour; he felt himself growing weary. 

Then, you came in.

Fashionably late, as always, with your mother at your side, you strolled in like the entire party was thrown in your honor. And truly—he might’ve believed you if you said so, with the way your strapless dress sat around your curves.

In his peripheral vision, he could glimpse Sejanus swallowing hard. Coriolanus fought the urge to outright laugh at the ludicrous hope swimming in the eyes of his ‘friend’. He was reaching too high. Way too high. 

“Y/N! What a relief, you’re here!” 

It was the voice of Strabo Plinth that made you turn your head in the direction of their little clique. A smile spread over your face, but disappeared as soon as your gaze landed on Coriolanus. He watched carefully as you approached with your mother, the pearls on your neck glistening in the overhead light. Sejanus was still staring like a fool; Coriolanus felt his blood turn the slightest bit warmer, the tips of his fingers tingling. 

“Mr. Plinth, Sejanus.” You sent the two of them a sweet smile, then cast a look at Coriolanus with your lips pulled tight. “Coriolanus.” 

He nodded at you. “Sweetheart.” 

You didn’t comment on his choice of word, but he could see your jaw tightening and your chest fluttering, pressing against the restraints of your dress.

Thankfully, it seemed nobody else had heard—Mr. Plinth was too busy gushing over yours and Sejanus’ friendship to notice anything else. Coriolanus’ shoulder bumped into yours and you shuddered. The conversation dragged on until Mr. Plinth was beckoned over by another group of people who looked like politicians, and wandered off with a cranky Sejanus in tow. 

Left alone with Coriolanus and his grandmother, you began to plot your and your mother’s escape. 

“Look, mom, there’s Livia. We should go say hi.” 

You had taken less than five steps before Dr. Gaul’s voice reached your ears. 

“Not so fast, miss L/N,” she said, a menacing smile on her face. She waved you and your mother over to where she was standing—right between Snow and his grandmother. “Surely your mother wants to meet the only gentleman whose grades are as good as her daughter’s.” 

Your mother took the bait immediately, forcing you to follow her back to where you wanted so deeply to escape. “Oh, gosh, really? Coriolanus Snow, is it?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He bowed his head, sending your mother one of his disgustingly gorgeous smiles. 

“Now, Coriolanus and Y/N are my best students.” Dr. Gaul, more enthusiastic than you had ever seen her, pulled you and Coriolanus to either side of her, squeezing your shoulders. “And study partners, too. They work so well together. How about the two of you go for a dance?” 

“Oh, I don’t dance—”

“Yes, Y/N,” your mother obliviously interrupted, “don’t let those five-year dancing lessons go to waste.” 

Your face formed into a half-smile, half-frown. “Right.”

Coriolanus sent you a triumphant smile as he stuck out an arm for you to take. You hesitantly snaked yours through it, heart hammering as he led you onto the dance floor.

The song playing was irritatingly slow, and Dr. Gaul’s smile too wide for all this to be a coincidence, but you decided to let it slide—it wasn’t like you really had a choice. Coriolanus positioned you in front of him. From over his shoulder, you could spot Sejanus, to whom you mouthed a silent plea for help, but the boy proved useless when all he did was send you a smile and a shrug. 

Coriolanus placed his hands on your waist appropriately and you hesitantly placed your own atop his broad shoulders. Although you made sure not to touch him more than you had to, the hardness of his muscles was prominent against your fingertips.

The distance between you vexed Coriolanus to no end—especially when he had seen you in a skimpy, tiny black dress all pressed up against Sejanus at Arachne’s birthday party. His fingers harshly tugged at your waist and he smiled in satisfaction at the way your body pliantly molded into him. A gasp threatened to escape you, but you held it back, instead swallowing quietly. 

It turned out both of you were excellent dancers. Coriolanus sensed exactly when you were to make an unexpected move and was always able to maneuver you however he wanted. 

Finally, you decided to speak—a five-minute song danced in silence would last an eternity. “Clemensia’s staring daggers into my back. Am I in danger?” 

The blonde smiled. “Not at all.” 

“How come?”

“I’ll protect you.”

You smiled incredulously, shaking your head. “I hope you have a knife underneath your blazer, then, because she looks dangerous.” 

“I could snap her neck in half with one hand.” 

The way he said it—no hesitation and total seriousness—made you choke on the laughter that was supposed to come out, replacing it with a burning sensation somewhere in the depths of your stomach. His hand, on the small of your back, fiddled gently with the lacing of your dress, then lazily moved back to your waist. 

You cleared your throat. “I heard your father was a great man.” 

“Yes.”

“I’ve also heard he was a terrible person.” You tilted your head to the side, putting on a curious expression. “So, which one is it?”

“Are the two mutually exclusive?” 

At that, you laughed. Real laughter, with your head tipped back—laughter he had never heard before, not even when you were around Sejanus. Something swelled proudly inside his chest. 

“Only you could say something so bizarre. But no, I suppose they’re not.” 

He swayed his hips along with yours, then brought your hand up, signaling he wanted for you to spin. Whilst he swirled you around, you felt the tips of his fingers against your cheekbone, tucking something behind your ear. Once you were in front of him again, you brought your hand to touch the soft surface that felt like a flower. 

“What is that?”

He raised one corner of his mouth. “A rose.” 

“And why, pray tell, are you giving me a rose?”

He swirled you again, this time his fingers grabbing at the flesh between your clavicle and throat, pulling you against him. You felt his very fingertips, cold and soft, against your muscle, his hot breath against your left ear. 

“To mark my territory.” 

With that, he swirled you back and resumed the ordinary dance, with a deadpan expression and shining eyes, emitting an unidentifiable emotion. 

Your cheek trembled, although you tried to hide it by tightening your jaw. “It’s picked from your garden, then, I suppose.” 

“Grandma’am’s.”

“Really?”

Before you could do anything, he leaned forwards so the tip of your nose grazed his pulse. You stood stunned, taking a breath and being met with the strong smell of roses. You caught a glimpse of his collarbones, peeking out from underneath the two buttons he had undone in his shirt. He drew back before you could think to push him away, lips spreading into a smile. 

“Those are also from our garden,” he murmured.

“Coriolanus…”

He liked the way you said his name this time.

Not arrogantly or carelessly, but like it was the most important thing in the world; a bar of gold in your hands. And the shiver in your voice—the thought it must’ve been the most delightful thing he had ever heard. He wanted— no, he deserved to hear it again, but it would have to wait. You were looking up at him the way he yearned you would, like he was impossible to ignore. 

“Hmm?”

You smiled a strained smile, chest heaving. “The song has ended. I believe I should go dance with somebody else.”

Without awaiting a response, you released yourself from his grip and turned your back on him. He stood in somewhat of a silent shock.

And he felt it again, this immense anger because how dare you wrap your arms around Sejanus and convince him to a dance, when he’s standing right here, ready to rip anyone’s throat open to feel your body against him again. 

After your dance with Sejanus, you scurried off to the bathroom, silently inspecting the rose sitting neatly in your hair above your ear. It was a piercing red, matching perfectly with your dress. You sighed into the mirror, rolling your eyes. 

The rest of the evening was spent drinking champagne—too much of it, definitely, but who was counting the glasses which you picked up and later discarded?

Coriolanus, of course, but he was much too embarrassed to say anything and much too agitated and proud to even consider asking Sejanus to look after you. No, he’d rather see you pass out drunk than have Plinth take care of you—he could do that himself. But he didn’t. Not that day, anyway. He left the party somewhat early, assisting his grandma’am down the stairs although she claimed she didn’t need his help.

“What has gotten into you today? You’re too eager to help and you’re looking around like a lost district child.”

“I’m not, grandma’am. Get into the car.” 

But before he could follow in her footsteps, he heard laughter—the same laughter he had heard for the first time just an hour earlier.

He turned automatically, without much thought, and felt rage well up in him as he saw you and Sejanus leaving the hall shoulder-to-shoulder, your respective parents in tow. You were clearly drunk, your steps unsteady. 

Sejanus said something to you, apparently something you found funny, because you slapped his shoulder and laughed again. Unfortunately for you, the heels you were wearing weren’t exactly wasted-proof and gave out from underneath you when you moved your ankle to the side. 

It took the slip of a second for you to tumble down the remaining four steps of the stairs, and another two for Coriolanus to catch you, his arms knitting tightly around your waist. 

“Coriolanus,” you mumbled, at a loss for anything better to say. 

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

You shook your head, but he went out of his way to sit you down on the stairs and inspect your ankle anyway. 

“Stupid girl,” he said, landing a barely discernible slap to the side of your thigh as he stood, having concluded you were alright. “Why drink more than you can handle?” 

“I have a habit of getting in over my head.” 

He looked down at you, the disheveled hair and still present rose which you hadn’t taken out yet, and smiled. Slowly, Sejanus and the rest of them descended down the stairs and Coriolanus turned to get in the car. But first, he sent you a smirk over his shoulder. 

***

Dr. Gaul’s experiments were always interesting.

In the best cases, they were innovative and in the worst—fatal. None of the academy’s top class knew which one this one would turn out to be when they followed Highbottom into the laboratory. 

“What if she kills us?” Livia, who wasn’t particularly fond of you but neither did she feel a particular distaste for you, whispered.

“She won’t,” you whispered back. “We have the president’s son in our class.”

“Right.”

The lot of you walked inside, scattered randomly until Gaul reminded everyone to stick to their partners. You heard Clemensia let out a prolonged sigh upon Coriolanus escaping her grip and approaching you instead. 

He smiled self-importantly. “Y/N.”

“Snow.” 

The smile faded marginally.

Dr. Gaul ushered everyone closer. A servant dragged off the thick, two-meter long piece of fabric covering what at first sight looked like an aquarium, but later revealed to be a cylinder of rainbow-colored snakes. Someone gasped.

You furrowed your brows and took a glance at Coriolanus, who in turn looked back at you. You were quick to avoid his gaze, but not quick enough for him to miss it. 

Dr. Gaul sent you a half-enthusiastic, half-manic smile. “Now, everyone give me something of yours. Come on, I don’t have all day.” 

Coriolanus moved first, which you didn’t mind until he grabbed hold of you and pulled you along. 

“What are you doing?”

“What, are you scared?” 

His eyes twinkled and you tore away from his grip. But it was too late; the two of you were standing right in front of the open snake habitat. You swallowed hard.

He reached into his pocket and fished out a pencil—golden and engraved with his last name—before handing it to Dr. Gaul. You followed suit, albeit hesitantly, and handed her an embroidered handkerchief. 

The rest of the class did the same. Dr. Gaul received all the items, stacked them and instructed everyone to sit. Then she gathered it all into one big pile and threw it into the cage. Immediately, the snakes swarmed around the items, licking and slithering. 

“These snakes,” Dr. Gaul said, “are lethal only when met with a taste they don’t know. Meaning right now, when they’ve touched your things, they are harmless. Come say hi.” 

Nobody, including you, moved a muscle.

Obviously, everyone was busy figuring out why this was even an experiment if they were harmless—from what Dr. Gaul said it sounded more like a visit to the zoo. Next to you, Coriolanus furrowed his brows and stared the cage down with his icy eyes, inspecting. 

“No volunteers?” Dr. Gaul sighed. “How about Y/N and Coriolanus?” 

You froze, looking at Coriolanus with wide eyes. “You first.” 

He tilted his head. “Ask nicely.”

Forcing a smile, you swallowed your pride.

“Please.” 

He stood from the seat and you forced yourself to disregard his grin and the way his uniform strained around his back muscles. 

Just then, as your eyes followed his steps, you saw something by Dr. Gaul’s feet, something shimmering in gold. You squinted at the object. It was barely visible, currently hidden in Coriolanu’s shadow. Coriolanus walked up to the cage and the overhead light fell onto the object, revealing what looked like something engraved. The letter S. The letter N. The letter… 

“Coryo, wait!” You shot up from your seat. Coriolanus looked at you in bewilderment as you grabbed his wrist roughly. “You can’t touch them. Your pen isn’t in there.” 

“What?” His gaze dropped to the golden pen at your feet. 

You looked at his face, as if to make certain he was whole, then at his wrist in between your shaky fingers. How embarrassing, the way your body had grown so hot and how tragic, the way you had made a scene. You wondered what Coriolanus was thinking, with his mouth parted and eyes on you. 

Dr. Gaul clapping her hands together brought you back to reality. “Quite impressive, miss Y/N. I must admit, your reaction time was even faster than predicted.” 

You turned to her in disbelief and maybe a bit of anger. “You did it on purpose? Why?” 

“Why, to see if you were willing to save Mr. Snow here.” 

“That’s absurd, I would have done it for anyone!” Your face grew hot as you ripped your hand away from Coryo’s wrist, as though burned by his skin. “And what if I hadn’t noticed?”

“Then I would have known I made a mistake letting you into the top class. Regard this as a little test, if you will.” She sauntered happily over to you, where she stopped to whisper in your ear: “And for your information, miss Y/N, yesterday these snakes got familiar with mr. Snow through an assignment. I would never put him in danger, so calm your heart.” 

Dr. Gaul proclaimed the class dismissed and left—left you to stand in utter shock for at least ten seconds. Then, before any words could escape Coriolanus’ mouth, you followed in her footsteps, practically running out of the room. 

After this incident, you avoided him.

He noticed immediately, the lack of you in the hallways when he walked through them and the tenseness of your expression in class. Every time you showed up in those tiny skirts and paid him no mind, he resisted the urge to throw you over his shoulder. You had to be put in your place, certainly so—with the way you were messing with his head. A threat, but he chose to look past that, just this once. What he couldn’t look past were your plush thighs, pretty lips and addicting aura. 

Once, after school had finished, he cornered you in an empty classroom in which you were rummaging through your bag, clearly searching for something. 

“Looking for this?”

You jolted back, looking at him over your shoulder and at the kays dangling from his fingers. As your face grew hot, you turned your back to him again, suddenly not so keen on finding the keys. 

“They must have fallen out of my bag,” you mumbled. 

He inched closer, until his chest was against your back and he could drop the keys into your bag. They rattled—the only sound in the room spare for your breathing. 

He craned his neck to mumble against your earlobe, “How come you’re avoiding me, my sweet?”

You turned again.

“I’m not avoiding you.” You huffed at him, raising your head high. “Why would I avoid you? I simply don’t care for your presence.”

The side of his lips twitched. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I have class. I need to go,” you said, before realizing in terror that you’d both just had the last lesson of the day—of which he was fully aware. “I mean…” 

He took a step and you went silent. His hand cupped your jaw harshly, pointer finger and thumb on each respective side of it. He pulled you closer by his grip. 

“I thought I told you not to lie,” he said, squeezing your cheeks. “Did it not register in that pretty head of yours?”

Your lower lip trembled deliciously, eyes tinted with a hint of fear. “Coriolanus…”

“Call me Coryo. Like you did that day with the snakes.” 

There was a change in your expression: widened eyes turning normal again, lips curving into a soft smile as you pried his hand off. He let you, god knows why. Maybe because everything turned uncalculated when he was around you or maybe because he wanted you to listen to what he said. 

But you just said, “I’ll call you that when you earn it.” 

His blood boiled. 

“I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands, sweetheart.”

“Sejanus is waiting for me outside, Coriolanus,” you said, putting your hand on his shoulder teasingly. “I don’t want to keep him waiting.” 

He grit his teeth. “Do you think this is a game?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Is it?” 

He held his outburst enough for you to leave—then, he punched the nearest surface and let out a loud groan. A threat, definitely. A dangerous one. But he’d tear it out of you—these sensations similar to his that he knew you felt.

And how could you be of real danger to him when he was just as much of a threat to you? 

***

When Dr. Gaul and Casca Highbottom announced an ‘educational school trip to district eight’, everyone thought they were joking. 

They were, in fact, not. They took the train for almost ten hours—by the end of it, everyone was weary and irritable. Dr. Gaul told everyone to pay special attention and care to their partners and make sure they were safe, and despite the tiring trip, Coriolanus took on his task with the utmost importance. 

“What are you doing?” you asked him as he, for the third time, slung his arm around you to pull you away from passing wagons. 

“Protecting you, like Dr. Gaul told us to.” 

You snorted a laugh. “I’m sure she didn’t mean from horses.”

“Horses can be dangerous.” 

You just rolled your eyes. His arm stayed draped around your shoulders for the rest of the walk. When you arrived at the inn, Coriolanus leaned close to you abruptly and placed a kiss on your cheek. Before you got the chance to even think of protesting, he was gone. 

The next day all of you were to join Highbottom in his speech in front of the district people.

It was a simple stage made of wood—the people stood spread out on a small square in front. There were almost too many to fit. 

You, as students, were not supposed to do anything in particular other than stand there and look pretty. Coriolanus made the effort to assure you you were splendid at it already, his fingers fanning over your waist. It sent shivers down your spine, and he smiled in self-satisfaction. You cursed him for his perceptiveness as the two of you walked onto stage. 

Coriolanus was far from relaxed as his eyes scanned the crowd. You just had to wear that godforsaken skirt in front of a bunch of starved men. If he could, he’d tear all their eyes out. Starting with that brown-haired asshole in the first row. As Higbottom began his speech, Coriolanus walked up to you and stood purposefully a bit in front, as though to cover you. 

“Is it not impractical to wear a skirt today?” he asked, sending you a pointed look.

“It’s quite warm,” you replied, blinking up at him. “Do you not like it? I wore it for you.” 

He clenched his jaw, heart swelling in pride. Of course he liked it—a little too much to be considered appropriate—but not for everyone to see. He leaned down almost indiscernibly, but you felt his hot breath fan your lips. 

“When I’m president, nobody is going to see you in that skirt except for me.”

You grinned. “When you’re president? What exactly is the extent of your ambition, Mr. Snow?” 

“You are.”

His pupils were expanded, fingers snaking to hold you by the waist. If anyone noticed, he didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter anyway. His fingers found their way under your uniform and he observed attentively as your eyes widened, teeth sinking into your lower lip when he caressed your bare side. 

“Okay, everyone, let’s go,” Highbottom said, signaling his speech was finished. 

Coriolanus let go of you. The lot of you moved, surrounded by peacekeepers until you reached the truck ramp. You walked first, carefully placing your steps. 

But you only managed to take three of them before something—someone, to be precise—pulled your leg to the side and you fell.

Your brain barely registered the pain of your bare knee hitting the ramp before you were no longer on the ramp, but the ground. An ache spread along your side. Coriolanus shouted your name as he jumped down from the ramp, despite Highbottom’s screams at him to stay but.

The man who had pulled you down, who Coriolanus recognized as the hungry-eyed man from the first row, pulled out a knife from his pocket. He lounged just as you froze, unmoving spare for the trembling of your lips. Coriolanus grabbed him and pushed him down; but not before he had managed to sink the knife into your calf. He heard you scream. 

“Help her!” he roared at the peacekeepers, who had their weapons raised at the man who was trying to get up from the ground, but weren’t firing. 

Coriolanus, enraged, ripped out the gun from one of the peacekeepers’ hands. He heard some words of protest but ignored them entirely as he pulled the trigger. And again. And again. And again. Until the man was more holes than flesh. 

“Help her, for fuck’s sake!” he roared again; this time they listened and gathered around you. 

He spared only a glance at your bleeding figure, then turned to the rest of District eight’s crowd—the part of it that hadn’t thought to flee the scene—and fired again. He heard Sejanus shouting, he heard Highbottom shouting, he heard Dr. Gaul shouting, and the peacekeepers gathered around him like flies, but he listened to none of them. He fired and fired until the magazine was empty and someone tore the weapon out of his hands. 

“Coriolanus,” you whispered. 

Only now did he fully look at you, at the cut in your leg and at your frightened face. He ran over, relieved nobody tried to stop him, and kneeled next to you along with a clearly useless peacekeeper. There was blood on his white shirt, but not on his fingers when he ran them over your thigh gently. It didn’t look like a deep cut, but it was bleeding a lot. 

“It’s okay, Y/N, you hear me? Listen to me!” He grabbed your tear-stained face with one hand and turned it so you were looking into his eyes. “You’re gonna be okay. Don’t close your eyes.” 

When you didn’t reply, he shook you a little bit. “You’re alright, okay?”

“Okay, Coryo,” you said meekly. 

He nodded and tore a piece off his shirt to wrap it below your knee. He was angry, unbelievably so, and felt if he didn’t look at your face now and then he might kill all of them: the peacekeepers, his fellow students, Highbottom. He bore a hatred for them all. But you were the priority; you needed saving.

He heard you whimper, using one hand to hold at his shoulder. 

“Why did you…”

He cut you off. “Don’t talk. I’m gonna fix this. You’re okay. Keep your eyes open.” 

You obeyed for as long as you could, for as long as it took for the medics to arrive and carry you away; then, you let yourself drift off. 

***

When you first woke up, you were met with Coriolanus’ perceptive eyes staring back at you.

“Coryo?” you asked. 

“How do you feel? Does it hurt?” 

You wanted to answer, but your mouth felt as if it were made of lead. Coriolanus shouted for the nurses to bring you water, yet before he had even turned his head to you again, you were fast asleep. He sighed. 

***

The cut wasn’t deep. 

That’s what the doctors from district eight said, their heads hung low in shame. You were alone upon waking this time, spare for the nurse they had left to take care of you. 

“Coriolanus,” you said. “Where is he?”

“He just left to get some rest, ma’am. We sent him away for an hour fifteen minutes ago. He’d been sitting here all night.” 

“I want to see him.”

“It would be unwise to deny him his sl—”

You stood up and walked out, much to the nurses’ dismay. 

After a ride to the inn in which all of you were staying, you walked into the hallway that you knew belonged to the boys.

You had no idea where Coriolanus’ room was, but thankfully you met Sejanus just as he was leaving his room. 

His eyes lit up as he saw you. “Y/N! You’re okay, thank god. I was so wor—”

“Where is Coryo?” 

He stopped, smile falling the littlest bit. “Last room to the left.” 

You smiled and patted his shoulder. “Thanks.” 

You knocked on the door three times and stood silent, waiting. After half a minute, you heard his voice—husky and deep—telling you to come in. 

He was standing by the window, looking out at the desolate district eight. The back of his new shirt was just barely holding out the strain his muscles created as he crossed his arms. 

You cleared your throat. “Coriolanus.” 

Clearly not expecting it to be you, Coriolanus turned on his heel, sporting a smile as he saw your face. You had changed clothes—another tiny skirt and shirt adorned your body. You were walking without difficulty, just like the doctors had foreseen, perhaps even more confidently, with your head high.

He expected you throw yourself into his arms, or maybe pull his hair and kiss him, but he absolutely didn’t expect you to cross your arms over your chest and ask him: 

“Have you lost your mind?” 

“Sorry?” he asked, frowning. 

You took a step back, biting the inside of your cheek. “What have you done? What have you done, Coriolanus?” 

He looked into your eyes in search of disgust, terrified, but found only worry. You were worried for him. Not them, not that man, not your reputation and the rumors—you were worried for him.

His gaze flicked down to your bare legs, no scar left from the incident, and then up to where your stop was squeezing your tits together. Did you come in here to scold or seduce him? He really could not tell. 

He took a step in your direction, reveling in the way your resolve was starting to fade, lower lip trembling. “I was protecting you.”

“You didn’t have to kill him! You didn’t have to kill them all like animals!” 

At this, something switched. He snorted, almost mockingly. Against your will, you felt your panties getting sticky when he walked closer and closer, until he had you backed against the wall. One of his hands rested next to your head while the other he ran over your cheek, stopping to cup your jaw. 

“You don’t think he would have aimed higher if he’d gotten the chance? You don’t think you’d be dead if it weren’t for me?” His hot breath landed on your lips and you swallowed. He dragged his finger along your lower lip and you opened your mouth obediently, making his lips curve into a smile. “Now be a good girl and say thank you.” 

Your legs rubbed against one another subtly. “Thank you, Coryo.” 

“For what?” He slapped the inside of your thigh, making you jolt. 

“For protecting me.” 

His fingers crawled up your thigh to soothe the place he had slapped, rubbing small circles against your sensitive skin. It was embarrassing, how damp your panties were and how you had to press your lips together in order to avoid letting a whimper slip. The poor lighting cast shadows on his face, blonde curls falling just above his eyes.

He was devouring you even though he’d barely touched you. 

“You’re trembling,” he said, eyes twinkling. 

“It’s the cut.”

He tsked, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “Liars don’t get rewards, sweetheart. I thought I’d made that clear.” 

He saw your nipples straining against the thin fabric of your shirt and tightened his jaw. You were here to seduce him, definitely. His desperate little girl. Funny how you had such a dirty mouth until his hands were on you—then, you seemed to go entirely limp and thoughtless. One of his hands snaked to the back of your head, the other stayed touching your thigh—too far away from the place you wanted it to be. 

“Kiss me,” you pleaded, standing on your tiptoes to reach him, but he just pulled you down by your hair. 

“No. Not until you beg me for it.”

You scoffed shakily, reclaiming the very remnants of your dignity. “I won’t beg you for a kiss.” 

He pressed his chest against your sensitive tits, pulling at your hair so your noses were touching. 

“Don’t I deserve it after everything I’ve done for you?”

“I didn’t ask you to do it.”

“But you liked it,” he remarked, sliding his warm hand up your shirt, until he could fiddle with the hem of your panties. His fingers tapped against your clothed pussy only once, making you jolt, before returning to the spot between your hip and leg. “You liked having someone kill for you. Just as you like when I touch you and when I care for your attention.”

“I don’t—” 

“I think you’ve had a little too much being a brat, though. Now it’s my turn.” He slapped your pussy through the fabric and this time, you didn’t manage to hold back a whimper. “Beg. Me.” 

“Please,” you whispered, face hot. 

“What was that?” He pretended not to hear, leaning down even more. You wanted to punch him for his self-importance, for his cruelty, but it was what you craved, too—you’d take everything he gave you, although you’d never say it out loud. 

“Please kiss me.” 

His hands left you entirely before they cupped either of your cheeks. Your heart hammered in excitement watching Coryo’s eyes feeding on the sight of you. He lowered his head slowly, connecting your lips so softly you almost didn’t feel it. You tried to grab his collar and bring him closer, but then he just pulled away and sent you a pointed look which made you retract your hands. 

Then, he kissed you again—this time pressing harder against you, making your eyes flutter shut. His fingers held you softly, as though you could break any moment, but his lips enveloped yours like he had been waiting for the opportunity for years. 

You opened your mouth immediately as he licked at your lower lip and he hummed in appreciation. His fingers tilted your head as he slipped his tongue inside. He was hot against your own tongue, swirling and exploring, not letting you breathe out anything except small, timid whimpers. He smelled like roses, tasted like them too.

Your hands wandered to his broad shoulders, then down his clothed chest, his solid muscles against your fingertips. They flexed underneath your touch, a throaty groan of Coryo’s disappearing in your conjoined mouths. Your mouth watered at merely the thought of seeing them bare, seeing him. 

Coriolanus pulled away only when he had to take a breath—angry at this humane obstacle in his way but soothed upon seeing your swollen, parted lips.

“You’re nothing without me,” he rasped out, trapping your jaw between his thumb and pointer. “Say it back.”

You looked at him through hazy eyes. “I’m nothing without you.”

He pushed you against the wall, lips against your jawline. He sucked a mark into your neck and you mewled out his name, tangling your fingers in his hair. His tongue ran over your throat, then swirled around your collarbones as he pressed wet kisses to them and your stomach. 

Once he reached the waistband of your skirt, he dropped to his knees, looking up. You felt something turn in your stomach; the heat between your legs intensified tenfold.

His fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs languidly. Once gone from your body, he picked them up and dangled them in front of your face. You tried snatching them from him, but he just stuffed them into the pocket of his pants. 

“For later,” he said, smiling. “To remind me what a desperate little girl you are.” 

“I’m not—”

He cut you off by bunching your skirt up around your hips. The cold air made you shiver lightly, but his eyes set on the most intimate part of you like he was about to eat you didn’t really help, either.

Before you could look away from embarrassment, he dragged his nose through your slick folds. You let out a choked gasp as he came in contact with your clit. His hands slid up to your upper thighs, squeezing and prying them apart so you weren’t in the way for him to take his time. And he did take his time—painfully so. 

After almost five minutes of aimless fingers trailing over your cunt but never touching for too long and never on your clit, you let out a loud whine, legs fighting against his grip to close. To no avail, of course—Coryo was much stronger than you and very intent on keeping you in place. 

“Be patient,” he murmured into your heat. His eyes flicked up as a warning and you instantly stilled. 

His tongue finally touched you in the form of small kitten licks on your clit that made your breath ragged and fists tighten. He saw you tightening around nothing, heard you whining pathetically for more and mercifully let his tongue enter your warmth. You clenched around him immediately. 

He pulled his mouth off of you momentarily to look up at your pretty face twisted in clear rapture. 

“Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” 

When you didn’t answer, he brought down his hand to swat at your clit disapprovingly. You squirmed at the contact, slick practically dripping out of your cunt. His eyes met yours and you quivered, suddenly afraid he’d stop. 

“Yes,” you whimpered. “So much.” 

As a reward, he pushed two fingers into your pussy, watching as you gasped for air, furrowing your brows. He scissored them a little bit, then dipped his thumb into the arousal coating your cunt and let it rub small circles into your already puffy clit.

Your legs felt weak already and he must have sensed this, because he grabbed your thigh and positioned it on his shoulder. This way, he could curl his fingers enough to hit the spot which made you whimper so loudly it was shameful. 

Soon, his thumb was replaced with his mouth that sucked your tiny clit into his mouth.

He heard you moan his name and felt his pants tighten significantly. Part of him hoped everyone could hear the noises you were making, while another part of him felt the urge to murder anyone who dared even overhear these sounds that were innately his possession.

From his position, he could see your tits brushing against your thin shirt and cursed himself for not being in a spot that would allow him to play with them. He’d have to settle for playing with your cute little cunt. 

Your legs started shaking when he added another finger to pump in and out of your dripping hole. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, hips bucking into his face. “Feels so good, Coryo, thank you.” 

A guttural moan of his vibrated through your body and you cried out his name. A warm coil began tightening in your lower stomach. It was clear you were close—from the way your whimpers had grown unabashed and squeaky, the way you clenched around his long fingers, the way your hips stuttered against his tongue. 

“Oh my god, Coryo, I’m so close— Can I come?” 

So polite, he thought. Shame you only acted like this when his tongue was flicking at your clit. 

His eyes glimmered as he looked up at you. “Only if you ask nicely.”

“Please, please, let me come, please, Coryo.” You let out a broken moan as his teeth grazed your clit. “Please.” 

Your legs spasmed around his head as you felt it close, so close, and your eyes fell shut in pleasure.

But then it was ripped from you, this bliss, as Coriolanus pulled out his fingers and retracted his tongue, leaving you empty and stunned. You stared at him, lips parted, and at the self-satisfied smile adorning his features. 

“What, you really thought I’d let you come when you’ve been acting like a brat?” He licked his fingers and something throbbed between your legs. “Stupid girl.” 

He stood up, turning his back on you. You couldn’t see it, of course, but he was silently counting the seconds it took for you to protest against the treatment. Finally, you retrieved your consciousness in full and pushed yourself off the wall. 

“Wait, Coryo,” you pleaded, grabbing his arm. “Please. I’m sorry.”

He turned, raising his brows. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry. I’m gonna be a good girl now, I promise.” Your lower lip quivered; he saw the promise of tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m gonna make it up to you, okay?”

At this, you sank to your knees—a sight which made his adam’s apple bob. But he was getting impatient; his cock was aching painfully and when you looked at him with eyes widened and teary like this, he was willing to give you anything in the world. 

“Get up,” he demanded. 

You did as told, thighs trembling slightly, and his hands cupped your cheeks. Coriolanus led you to the bed in the middle of the room, hovering above you with his forearms on either side of your face. His hardened cock rubbed uncomfortably against the fabric of his pants. He laid it against your plush thigh for relief, but all he got was a slutty mewl from you and more precum leaking from his tip. 

“Sejanus is next door, you know. You don’t mind?”

“No.” You shook your head eagerly. “I don’t care. Just want your cock.”

The side of his mouth lifted as his hands slipped under your shirt. You gasped as his fingers found your nipples and pinched them, tantalizing your poor clit to start throbbing harder. He pulled the skimpy shirt over your head and threw it away somewhere, letting out an audible groan at the sight of you. Next to go was your skirt. 

He stayed staring at you for some time before he suddenly landed a slap to your cunt, making you jolt with a whimper. Then, he leaned to press open mouthed kisses against your throat, sucking the skin that covered your pulse into his mouth. 

His lips grazed your jaw. “You want him to hear, then? Is that it?”

“N-no,” you whispered shakily, feeling the tips of his fingers teasing your perky nipples. “No, Coryo, just want you.” 

“Say it again.” 

“I want you, Coryo, only you. I’m yours.” 

Coriolanus let your fingers slip under his shirt, letting out a shaky breath as you traced his abdominal muscles. He helped you pull it over his head, then he pulled down his pants and briefs as well. You watched hazily at his cock free from its restraints, certain if he’d tease you anymore you would start drooling for real. 

Thankfully, he wasn’t in the mood for teasing—he slapped his dick against your clit once, twice, watching you squirm, then positioned himself at your entrance.

Your foreheads touched as he pushed inside agonizingly slowly.

“I’m yours, too,” he whispered against your mouth. 

He was decently thick and longer than average—even lying still in your cunt, he reached places your fingers couldn’t dream of. Your eyes had a hard time staying open in facing the fullness which came with having him inside, but he was having none of it. 

“Look at me when I fuck you,” he said.

“But you’re not even fucking me.” 

You felt his cock pulse inside you before his hands roughly grabbed your thighs and pushed them up against your chest. This newfound angle was overwhelming in itself—when he additionally began thrusting his cock in and out of your cunt, you saw stars. You let out small noises, but he paid them no mind, leaning forward to have a good look at your face.

“Who knew the academy’s best student was such a fucking slut?” he tilted his head, ignoring your nails clawing at his biceps. “Guess words aren’t enough, hmm? I need to fuck that arrogance out of my sweet girl?” 

You didn’t reply; he didn’t expect you to. His cock found that spot that made your toes curl faster than you could have expected. When he hit it for the first time, you let out a whimper close to a shriek in volume. Instead of slowing down, he just went harder, his hips slapping against yours in the otherwise silent room. He thought Sejanus probably was able to hear it all. 

It was easy for him to slip his thumb between your parted lips; even easier to coax you with a gentle slap to your slack jaw to suck on it. Your mouth wrapped around it and he groaned, pushing your thighs further against your tits. He saw your eyes glossing over, felt your poorly suppressed moans against his finger.

And god, you were so compliant to his touch, so perfect. 

“Spread your legs,” Coryo said, moving his hands away.

You obeyed to your best ability, practically letting your thighs fall limply at your sides. He spread them further and sank deep into your dripping pussy. Your slick had made a mess of the sheets below, creating a small puddle in the white material.

His fingers grabbed both of your wrists and placed them on your lower stomach. One of his hands kept them in place while the other played with your sensitive nipples, twisting them until a couple tears escaped your eyes. 

“Don’t move your hands.” 

When you nodded weakly, both his hands grabbed your waist, guiding you back and forth to meet his relentless thrusts. He could see the vague outline of his cock in your stomach, your tits bouncing deliciously before him with each abusing rut into your cunt. 

“Good girl,” he mumbled, lightly tapping at your clit. 

Your walls sucked him in like it was all you were made for, fluttering around his cock and leaving a creamy ring at the base of it.  He wanted to fill you up—not only with his cock, but with his cum, wanted to watch it leak out onto this bed, wanted to hear you beg him to stop. Him, only him. He wanted you forever. 

Coryo leaned down to connect his lips to yours, teeth napping at your lower lip. You were whimpering, mewling his name, and he tightened his grip on your waist. He pushed you further down on his cock, again and again. 

“How does being the first lady of Panem sound, huh?” 

You just nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks in reaction to his cock bullying the gummy spot in your cunt.

“Yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked, rubbing tight circles into your clit. “I’d give you everything you want. You hear me, sweetheart? Everything.” 

His hips rutted into you so roughly your vision was hazy, but clear enough to grab at his sturdy shoulders. You had disobeyed what he said, but it seemed he was unaware, chasing his own high.

His cock was thrusting into the right spot repeatedly, fingers maneuvering your clit so that you almost screamed, slick practically gushing out of your hole.  

“Fuck,” you whined out, feeling your pussy pulsating. “Coryo, I’m—”

“Yeah, I know. Come for me, sweetheart.” 

You let go and so did he—seed spilling into your cunt as you clenched around him. You sobbed his name and in an attempt to soothe you, he planted kisses along your collarbones. He let you ride out your orgasm against his hand before he pulled out.

Vaguely, you could see his cum spilling out of you and onto the sheets. 

Before you could even make an attempt at calming down your heart rate, he stuck two of his fingers into you again. 

“Too much,” you whimpered, but he paid you no mind, stuffing his cum back into your swollen cunt. Too tired to move, you let him do it, only mewling his name softly from time to time.

Once he was done, he licked his fingers clean and smiled alluringly. You scooted closer to kiss him—he tasted of you and him combined. His hands cupped your face as you both lay down, facing one another. 

“You’re nothing without me, either,” you said, running your finger down his exposed chest. “Mr. President.”

His grin widened. “That’s right, sweetheart.”

TAGLIST: @peterpan-neverfails @urfavevirgoo @sayyysss @hwajin @hoshiseon @atrwriting

also big thank you to kathy, kiza and lex for being my enablers! ilyy

[easy-there-leftovers]

Magnum Opus (Ch. 1)

When an MIT prodigy on their gap year is contacted by the FBI regarding her potential involvement in a series of murders in Washington D.C., she must now cooperate to uncover how her paintings are mysteriously appearing at the crime scenes.

(Written with Season 1-4 Spencer in mind, but the timeline could be anywhere pre-season 12. No mentions of past cases)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Artist! reader|cw: Canon-typical violence|word count: 2k words

Also on Ao3!!

Series Masterlist

While Aaron Hotchner remained vigilant as he drove the black SUV, the constant flipping of Spencer’s case files seemed to be louder than the car’s air conditioning. 

He had directed Morgan and JJ to touch base at the MPDC, and had Rossi and Prentiss survey the crime scene of Jonathan Edwards; the identity of the previously unknown man in the vacant apartment.

This left him with Reid in the passenger seat to conduct an investigation on their only lead so far. 

From the update Garicia had given them, Y/n L/n was a prodigy a year younger than their very own. Having graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology a year ago, she moved to Capitol Park Plaza and Twins Apartments in Washington D.C., and is currently unemployed. Occasionally selling her paintings out of her unit under an anagram of her name.

 But something bothered him.

And it seems like Reid has picked up on it too.

“Do you think Dr. L/n is the unsub?” The unit chief asks.

Spencer hums before answering.

“While we can’t rule it out just yet, the possibility of her being the unsub is totally unlikely. The thing that’s throwing me off is that everything is too convenient. I mean, why would the unsub use something so publicly personal to them as part of their signature? It’s as if she’s overtly incriminating herself.”

Spencer checks back onto the pictures of the victims, then lifts his head up to look at Hotch to continue.

“Based on the way the victims are modeled, an immense amount of care was put into them. All for the purpose of making them look like the subjects in their paintings. Actually, the fixation on changing the bodies’ posture and keeping them clean is typically done out of remorse. But the added elements, like the placement of the paintings, creates an image of an unsub more on the narcissistic side. By creating two 'artworks,' they're prompting the viewer to decide which version of it they prefer. Mocking the original artist in the process.”

“So the paintings were done before the murder?”

“I have no reason to believe otherwise.”

His unit chief sighs and pulls over to the curb. “Well, we’re about to test that belief.” Spencer hurries to take off his seatbelt as Hotch closes the car door with a thud. 

—------

Hotchner nods at Reid as they find themselves in front of the written address Garcia gave them. He lifts his hand to knock firmly on your door, and waits for a response.

A thud from the other side causes both of them to assess each other before Hotch tells Spencer to stay behind him. Gun in hand until something, or someone, comes running at them.

But instead a muffled, “sorry” is heard right after, which causes him to lower his gun.

The door finally opens a crack to reveal a very tired twenty-something woman, some dark pigment or makeup smudged on their lower eye lines as they rubbed at it. She immediately fixed her posture however at the sight of the unexpected visitors. Eyes wide with concern.

“Dr. L/n, I’m Aaron Hotchner with Dr. Spencer Reid of the FBI.” He highlights his statement by showing his badge. “We’d like to ask you some questions.” 

“Oh, um,” The woman blinks rapidly and shakes their head before immediately saying, “Of course,” with a nod and opening the door wide to let them in.

A quirk that does not go unnoticed by Spencer, who observes how different she looks to her more formal ID photos.

—-----

You let the FBI agents into your apartment, but are now suddenly aware of the state of disarray you left it in last night. Not to mention the state you were in. 

You had just woken up and your brain wasn’t quite all there yet. If you had known you’d have guests over, you would have at least put some of your books and papers back onto their shelves rather than on your floor.

“My, uh—” You start, “Apologies! For the room and the um,”

You inhale deeply and gesture to yourself as you try to find the words before settling on an exasperated, “me.”

“No worries, miss. We don’t really call in advance.” You nod at the older man’s explanation vacantly before coming up with a response.

“Would you like anything to drink ?” You move to your fridge to get water to wake you up, and decide that it would be rude not to offer. The two decline, with the younger more busy observing your living room bookcase than the older one that sat on your couch. 

You notice that something must have interested him as he lingers on certain shelves. That section in particular had prints of dissertations you had been meaning to read, or have already read, in clear folders.

You wonder if he found his work there or something before returning with water for yourself. 

“So what can I help you with?”

“Dr. L/n, are you aware of the current string of murders that have been happening as of this year?” 

You blink rapidly again. The question catches you off guard, but you shake your head. 

“I know it’s a bad habit, and that I should, but I don’t really listen to the news.” Feeling your eyebrows quirk, you rub your hands together slowly. Making direct eye contact with Hotch, before looking at the younger man as he takes out a few papers from the folder he was holding.

“Are you familiar with these paintings then?”

 Now that piques your interest.

Dr. Spencer Reid, who sees a flicker of recognition in your eyes when it meets his own, presents various pictures of your artworks in what seems to be dimly lit areas. They’re a little dirty, but otherwise you would recognize them as your own.

 The thought instantly made something in your stomach turn.

“I–” You start, but shake your head subtly again. Unsure of what to say and how to say it next as you stare at the images. “am.” You turn your head to look back up at Spencer who nods thoughtfully.

“Recently, your paintings have been showing up at crime scenes in the D.C. area. Specifically, victims of an organized unsub that seems to be targeting people who accurately resemble the subjects in your work.” If your eyes weren’t wide enough, that bit of information had certainly opened them wider than ever before as you stared up at him.

“That, combined with the concentrated traces of 5-durastalene found in the pigments of the paint used, have led us to suspect your involvement in these murders, Dr. L/n.” You heavily feel the blink of your eyelids and rest your fingers on them to keep them closed before looking back at the two of them.

“I’m sorry,” you smile incredulously. “So you’re telling me that not only has Lunacite been identified on the paintings you’ve found, but that people who look like the personas in my private works actually exist and have since been–” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Murdered?”

“Well that shouldn’t come as a surprise, they were your muses, weren’t they? You were commissioned?” Hotch is the one who asks and you shake your head with wide eyes.

“I didn’t even know these people existed. They were just– faces I came up with mentally with the visual library I’ve amassed over the years. I don’t really make it a habit to paint from reference. Like I said, they were private.”

“And the chemical?” You thought for a moment before your lips thinned into a line.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Agent Hotchner, but I haven’t touched anything regarding that compound in over a year. I’ve only ever worked on it in my lab on university grounds, and I don’t make a habit of bringing work home.” You scratch the hairs near the base of your hairline.

“More importantly, hundreds of students and lecturers have access to my work, my research, and my lab space. Not to mention the people who might have heard my work through academic conferences.”

You move away from your position near the living room coffee table Spencer placed the pictures on, but picked up one before you did and shook your head.

“Besides, these paintings? No one should know about them, let alone have them. I didn't sell these.” That made Spencer’s brows furrow as he looked at the other photos still on the table.

“Do you have proof?” You stay silent, but then motion for them to follow you to the door of your room.

“Well, for one, I’m sure you’d understand that most people don’t make copies of their artwork traditionally, right? Expenditure of time, work materials, effort, human error, and many other variables. It just isn’t practical nor convenient.” You ramble and look back at them to continue.

“I also don’t make the majority of my art known online. Only a good 30% makes its way to my portfolio, and the others are never to be seen by anyone else.”

“They're studies. They’re made with cheap paints, they’re subjectively not appropriate for commercial use and-–I just wouldn’t be comfortable charging anyone for them.” 

They follow you across the room, and make themselves apparent behind you.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“So if my ‘commissioned paintings’ are currently on D.C. crime scenes, and possibly in MPDC evidence,” You open the door to reveal your studio to the two agents. 

Various paint tubes, books, and brushes littered the floor, table, and boxes. A lone easel was situated near your apartment window, with an unfinished painting on it. And various canvasses, not displayed, but instead kept on tall shelves. Only the differently colored edges indicated that they were ever used.

What surprised them both however, were the same paintings in the pictures staring back at them.

 Some on the walls, some on the floor, but what was most important was that they were in this room, they were clean, and there were more of them.

You turn to look back at them with shaky eyes. “So why are they still here?”

—----

Hotch and Reid stood outside of your apartment door as you cleaned yourself up. Hotch made the call to bring you to the precinct for further investigation and for your own safety, but allowed you to freshen up before leaving with them. Not that he told you about the safety part.

You were hard to read, given your erratic reactions. It unnerved him, but he supposes it comes with the territory of being gifted. You also offered to bring in your paintings and a few other materials for forensics to test, to which while he was suspicious of, was not ungrateful for.

He made a quick call to Garcia to check attendants of any academic conferences you’ve spoken at and if anyone had been more interested than the others. When he was finished, he looked to Reid who was crossing his arms and staring at the carpeted hallway before looking back at him.

“She’s uncomfortable.” He stated plainly.

“Reid, most people would be if they just found out their hobby had been getting people killed.” Hotch said as he kept looking at his phone for anything new from the others.

“There’s certainly that, but I meant her title. ‘Doctor.’” He said in quotes, and Hotch raises his eyebrow at that but allows him to continue anyway with a curt nod.

“I mean, every time we’ve addressed her with her title, she blinks faster. Did you know it’s a common attribute that’s directly related to an increase in heart rate, which is why they’re usually correlated with lying? Initially, you would think that she faked her experience to get those credentials, but given her educational background, she must have not been given an opportunity to be referred to as such for a long time. Also, the gap year she took could’ve only exacerbated any insecurities she might have about her intellectual achievements. Plus, the lack of organization in her own home, while not wildly uncommon amongst people her age, could suggest the sincerity of her belief about compartmentalizing her work and her private life.”

“And what does that tell you?”

As Spencer was supposed to answer, a thud much like the one they heard before they entered earlier was heard again, followed by a similarly muffled, ‘sorry.’

He turns to look back at Hotch again with a small, victorious smile.

“That she doesn’t fit the profile.”

——-

taglist: @littlewolfieposts

[whatswrongwithblue]

The Hunt pt. 1

Read on AO3.

Part 2. Part 3.

Summary: Alastor x Reader (reader is afab, uses she/her pronouns.) Date nights in Hell are done a little differently, especially when you're dating The Radio Demon.

Trigger warnings: Canon typical violence. Reader and Alastor in Hell for a reason. Horror with some twisted romance.

Today had been a particularly drab day.

Acid rain had been falling all afternoon and Pentagram City was shut down because of it. And you could feel yourself shutting down as well.

These bad days used to fall on you much more often. Back when life was simpler and less stimulating. When there were less options to hyper fixate on and stimulate those delightful hormones that didn’t always help you to feel happy but allowed you to . . . feel.

But today you felt that numbness creeping in; a slithering, creeping, darker cousin to boredom. You were so tired and every forced smile and polite reply aimed at the other hotel residents drained your battery little by little by little by little . . . .

You were on your fifth cup of coffee that afternoon, the bitter caffeinated beverage the only thing left that seemed to cause any kind of chemical spark in your dead gray matter, but unknowingly, you had stopped sipping it several minutes ago. Rather, you were just mindlessly staring down into it, watching the little tendrils of separated creamer swirl around the top. At least it was far more interesting than anything else going on in the lobby.

“Are we having a bit of a . . . down day?” Alastor’s voice said remarkably close to your ear and you jumped, turning to find him bent over at his waist, his head right next to yours.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, turning away from him.

He had pampered and fussed over you too many times on days like these, even when – no, especially when they became so bad you couldn’t get out of bed. But things were different now; since his return to Hell, Alastor was busier than ever and you didn’t want to bother him. The guilt would be worse than the emptiness you were currently struggling with.

“I think not,” came his sing-song reply and you shut your eyes against the enthusiasm you heard in his tone.

“Don’t I look fine?” you challenged and when he stood up straighter, his smile pinching just a little at the corners, you heard how snippy you sounded with him and sighed. There was the damnable guilt you had been trying to avoid.

“You look beautiful as always, darling,” came his quick reply. “I just thought you could use a little cheering up.”

He leaned back in, whispering conspiratorial into your ear now. “I was hoping you would join me . . . on a date . . .” His eyes glowed as he let his words sink in. “But if you’d rather sit in here and sulk the rest of the night, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Like . . . a date, date?” you asked, feeling a little bit of the weight leaving your chest as hope bloomed in you.

“Precisely.” His smile stretched ear to ear. “There is someone I need to collect a debt on and the weather tonight seems just perfect for such an occasion. I would more than welcome your company.”

You felt your first genuine smile of the day grace your features, nearly matching the wickedness of Alastor’s own features, and that little spark you had felt turned into an entire flood of dopamine.

“Where to?” you asked and Alastor took your head, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, before leading you out the front doors.

____

The prey dragged itself up the stairs, stumbling on every other step and grasping the handrail for balance as he went. Although the rainstorm had kept him from the bars that night, it hadn’t kept him from his personal stache of liquor and in his lonely anger, he had downed several gin and tonics before his stomach began to protest and he had passed out in his armchair. He’d woken up a few minutes ago, his bladder protesting the diuretic effects of the booze. By some miracle he had made it to his downstairs bathroom to relieve himself and then decided it was time to crawl into bed.

He made it to the top of the landing after a considerable struggle with the staircase and almost forgot to the turn the lights off behind him. Fumbling with the switch, he just happened to glance down the stairs as the lights flickered out of existence.

The prey blinked in the darkness, trying to adjust his eyes, as he thought he saw a strange shadow at the bottom of the stairs.

He was sure he was alone in the house and he couldn’t quite be sure of what he was seeing, so he flipped the lights back on.

Nothing.

Shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, he turned the lights back off.

And there it was again.

A shadow. Taller and definitely there.

Feeling his heart begin to race, the prey flipped the lights on, certain he wasn’t imagining it this time but as the staircase became illuminated once more, the shadow was gone.

He had perhaps had too much to drink.

One last time, he flipped the switch, inviting the darkness back in, and this time when the shadow came back, the prey swore there were faint glowing green eyes and the hint of a smile playing across its features.

And was it a little closer this time? He had sworn it was at the bottom of the stairs but now it seemed to be a few steps up.

“Now that’s enough of that!” the prey shouted and flipped on the lights.

He breathed a sigh of relief when once more, there was nothing.

Maybe it was best to sleep with the lights on tonight, just to be certain.

The prey turned away from the stairs, leaving the switch flipped in the on position, and came chest to chest with The Radio Demon.

“Good evening, Daniel,” Alastor said, smiling wider as the prey’s face turned several shades whiter. “I see you’ve changed residences.”

“Hey there, Al’ . . . I-I mean, Alastor . . . sir. M-Mr. Radio D-demon,” the prey stuttered, stumbling backwards and just barely catching himself on the banister. “You uh . . . you like my new digs, huh? Paid a pretty penny for it but you know, it’ll be good for business.”

Alastor remained at the top of the stairs, watching his prey make its slow decent down and away from him.

“And who’s business would that be? Certainly not mine, I don’t deal in real estate after all.”

“You know, ha, it’s funny you would say that because I’ve been meaning to talk to you- ”

“You made a mistake, Daniel,” Alastor told his prey, all the politeness leaving his tone, although his smile remained.

The prey swallowed audibly.

“Did you really think going to Zestial, of all demons, would save you from our deal?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re . . . talking abou- ”

“You see, Daniel, Zestial and I may not necessarily be friends, but we are colleagues. And we have an understanding. A certain level of respect for each other, if you will.” Alastor narrowed his eyes and his voice turned cold as ice. “And neither of us like having another Overlord’s leftovers.”

Daniel turned and fled, racing down the rest of the steps with a grace that only adrenaline could provide in such a state of inebriation, though he did fumble quite a bit with the locks of the front doors.

Alastor let his prey make it out the front door before he went in pursuit, though he let his deep laughter follow Daniel the whole way down, enjoying the sweet tangy smell of his fear as it spiked at the sound.

In his panic, the prey forgot all about the inclement weather and dashed thoughtlessly out into the rainstorm and ran down the deserted street. It took a minute for the effects to kick in but eventually he started to feel the itching on his skin and then the burning set in. The prey stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, beneath a streetlamp, and watched as the skin on his hands began to turn red and break out in a terrible heat rash.

With a sob, he dashed under an overhang of a nearby business and shook at the doorhandle, but it wouldn’t budge. He thought about breaking the window to get inside but then he heard that laughter again and the streetlights above flickered and then went out, one by one.

Looking down the street, he watched as The Radio Demon stepped out into view, his antlers now wide and pointed above his silhouette, and turned his head down the street, looking in his prey’s direction.

A smell wafted off of him, even from this great distance. A dank, swampy, animalistic smell. The musk filled the prey’s nostrils and burned his sinuses, and he knew it was the smell of a predator about to pounce.

“That’s alright, Daniel, go ahead and run. Please do.”

To the prey’s horror, Alastor began walking quickly down the sidewalk, completely unaffected by the burning rain.  His limbs and entire body stretched out and elongated with every step, closing the distance between them faster than previously possible, until Alastor was a towering demonic presence chasing down the street after him.

“I like my meals warmed up!” he shouted, and the prey screamed as he took off again.

It was either face the rain or be eaten and the prey chose the rain as it sprinted down the street, screaming and crying out for help but not a light flickered on in the buildings as he passed them.

Eventually the burning became unbearable and the prey darted blindly into the nearest alleyway, praying to Roo herself that there would be some shelter to hide in and protect him from the rain.

And there it was, a small overhang by a bar’s backdoor, with a conveniently placed dumpster to hide next to that blocked his view of the street.

That was where the prey found you, standing innocently by the door, shielded from the rain, and he didn’t question why you would be there on a night like this. He only fell at your feet, clinging to your legs and shaking, his hands and face now beginning to blister, his tears hot and stinging his flesh as they fell down his cheeks.

“Please! Please, help me! Let me in! Please! He’s going to eat me, please!”

“Who is going to eat you?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head as you considered the pathetic demon at your feet.

“Alastor. Th-the Radio Demon. He . . . he . . .” the prey fumbled for words, his sentence trailing off as he risked peaking up over the top of the dumpster and seeing nothing but an empty street at the end of the alleyway.

“Oh, right. Him,” you said, nodding. “Well, that’s his thing, isn’t it? Going after demons that try and break their deals. Especially ones like you, who preyed after helpless young women when he was alive. Isn’t that right . . . Daniel?”

The prey’s breath caught in his throat as he glanced over his shoulder at you, a new kind of fear lighting his eyes.

“Who . . . who are you?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“That’s not important,” you scoffed. “Who was the girl you raped and left for dead in the park on the night of your 18th birthday? Or the sex workers you then tortured and killed and left their bodies out in the desert? Do you even remember their names? Do you know how many family members are still looking for their daughters, sisters, mothers?”

“I don’t . . . I didn’t . . .” he stammered, getting to his feet now.

“You did. No use denying it now, Daniel. Not when Alastor and I are so . . . very . . . hungry.”

A crackling noise, like the sound of several joints popping at once filled the air, and the prey looked up and up and up as he saw Alastor’s gigantic form peeling away from the darkened side of the building, turning from nothing but shadow into a very corporeal and deadly form before his very eyes.

Behind him, you shoved at his back, forcing him to fall onto his knees into a puddle of acid rain.

Then you stepped out from under the cover of the overhang, letting the rain soak your hair and clothes, and the prey looked up at you with renewed horror as he realized the acid water had no effect on you either.

“Please,” he whimpered and then began to scream as Alastor bent over and lifted him into the air.

You watched as the prey’s tiny body was lifted higher and higher until the rain and the shadows hid him mostly from view but you could still hear him screaming. Then there was a crunching noise and a wet sound, followed by a thin stream of blood that fell from the sky.

The screaming continued.

“This will be quite unpleasant until it’s over,” Alastor’s voice said from high above you. “But my darling companion does love the taste of demon heart.”

Another sound of stretching and tearing and then you saw it; the warm mass of your meal falling towards you, and you reached up and caught it with skilled precision.

With the prey’s heart now in your grasp, you brought it to your lips and took an eager bite, never minding the blood that ran down your forearms and coated your lower face.

The screaming above you came to a sudden halt with the sound of one final loud crunch and just as you were taking the last bites of your own meal, Alastor was standing before you.

His antlers were still larger than usual, their six points gleaming beautifully in the dim light of the alley, as rain ran down them in rivulets, soaking the red and black hair beneath them.

Alastor gave you a loving smile as you swallowed the last bit of heart.

“Feeling better, my love?” he asked.

“Much,” you said with a satisfied sigh. “Thank you.”

He reached a hand out, wiping away a bit of blood from the side of your mouth with his thumb, though he had hardly succeeded in getting it all.

“You always look positively stunning like this,” he said as he brought his bloody thumb to his mouth and gave it an appreciative suck.

And there in the rain and the dark, you and your lover shared a private and tender kiss, the perfect ending to a perfect date.

Tag list for part 2? It will be smutty.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Had a terribly great thought! The Ghoul and reader traveling together. She's a brat but loyal as a dog to that man. They get into a pretty bad fight and she storms off and he's too proud to follow after her, struggling with coming to terms that he's actually soft for her even though he's mean as hell. She finds him some days later, with her tail tucked between her legs. He's not surprised, comparing her to a female dog often. 👀 still, he's going to make sure she's sorry. Lots of groveling on her part, maybe some face slapping, boot licking, he gets off, she doesn't. Ends with her in his lap. Hair petting and praise for coming back to who she belongs to.

As A Dog

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

Word Count: 7,085

Warnings: smut (18+), DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Jealous!Cooper, canon-typical violence, intimacy issues, angst, insecurity, slightly fucked conceptions of love and loyalty, pet play-ish activity, hard drug use, forced intoxication, shotgunning, slapping, boot licking, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, rough sex, riding, cannibalistic thoughts, orgasm denial (female), breeding kink, creampie.

Notes: I had several pieces in line in front of this one and then this prompt reached through my screen, sunk its teeth into my brain, and shook me until this came out. It really is a terribly great thought. Tagging heavy, since the themes/Cooper's mentality may be triggering for some. It is what it says on the can, folks.

I dunno what unholy demon you've unleashed on me here, Anon. But bless you for it. Another Coop POV because I have a problem. Thanks for the patience on this one; I've been doing some admin stuff the last few days, including setting up an AO3 that you can find here, where I'll be uploading all the long-form stuff. Enjoy!

Cooper's trigger finger was itchier today than it had been for a long time.

He was fully aware that he'd never be able to stop every man left in the world from talking to his little vaultie companion, but boy, he sure would love to try. On an average day, he struggled to hold his tongue as she drove away her own sun-baked suitors, standing silently aside until called up to defend her, no matter how badly he wanted to reduce whomever was bothering her to nothing.

Today was a worse-than-average day, and the girl wasn't helping anything, herself.

"Are you gonna be ready to go any time soon, princess?" he asked her acerbically as she passed by him for the millionth time, tossing his current cigarette down to the ground.

He'd intended to stop at this shitty little settlement, little more than a dingy bighorner ranch at first glance, for a few minutes at most, just long enough to unload some things and check to see if they had any vials on hand. Here it was, nearly four hours of glad-handing and chit-chatting and unnecessary gun repairs later, and he was still leaning against the same crumbing wall, still angrily smoking. She was pushing it.

"Oh, be patient." she shot back, rolling her eyes as she turned to saunter back to the little ramshackle counter. "I'm waiting for my gun back and I was having a nice chat with the mechanic. Try to be pleasant for five minutes, would you?"

She was so full of shit, he thought as he snuffed the still-glowing smoke butt out beneath the toe of his boot with just a little more force than necessary. Typically, she shied away from male attention at her most demure, refusing to acknowledge most advances, playing innocent, playing dumb. The big doe eyes and soft voice didn't hurt on that front, but usually didn't deter the more steadfast predators.

He preferred the days where she had a little extra spitfire, when she told them clearly and loudly to fuck off, no doubt emboldened by having the rather intimidating ghoul hanging over her shoulder, silently encouraging her as she did it. In the past, she had proven that she wasn't above evoking his capacity for violence as a threat when the desert trash was persistent, and it gave him a thrill he couldn't identify, one that ruminated deep in his gut.

That same gut feeling was burning him now, eating a hole in his patience as he watched her listening attentively to the third scrawny young man who'd approached her as she waited around the repair hutch to yap her ear off. She nodded and smiled politely, even laughed from time to time (the sound of which made him want to shoot he kid between the eyes just for that), but kept a respectful distance. Clearly, she'd finally learned that the sort of over-friendliness that she'd been raised with in the vaults could be read differently up here. The young buck, however, continued to try and dance into her space as he spoke animatedly, and, eventually, she reached out and quickly touched his chest.

The old cowboy was stomping across the sand to her before he was even aware he was moving.

His logical brain could see very clearly what had happened: the boy had advanced into her space for the half-dozenth time and she'd put her palm out to gently rebuke him, distracting him from the rejection with a laugh at whatever he'd said. But that part of his brain was rather quiet after a long afternoon of watching her rather blatantly flirt with the asshole she was having repair her plasma pistol (something that she would typically have him do, since it wouldn't cost her anything, and he almost certainly could do with equal or superior adequacy), and letting every other little piss-ant farmhand in the next mile radius chat her up.

"We're hitting the road in five. Get your shit and let's go." he hissed to her, ignoring the little scowl she shot him as he interrupted her newest conversation with the willowy, greasy mechanic, who was sliding her her pistol back across the knotted wood of the semi-exposed countertop. Flashing him that brilliant smile, the one that he wanted to be only for him, she checked the thing over before tucking it back into the holster she kept on her hip, pushing a stash of caps in a metal tin back his way. The old cowboy watched with inflamed indignation as the fucker opened the box, dug out a massive handful, and tucked them back into her hands, letting his own linger across her skin as he placed them back into her palms.

Frankly, he was impressed he was able to let her drop the things back into her bag before he grabbed her by the arm, none too gently, and wordlessly began to yank her back down the road, back in the direction they'd originally been heading in. He could've shoved the damn things in himself and just dragged her along; it wasn't like he was unfamiliar with where she put them. The long, sleepless nights could be boring, and early on, he'd been curious enough about her to nose through her things once or thrice. That, like this, had been quite illuminating.

"Oh, you're being such a prick today!" she yelled, yanking at his grip in an attempt to free herself. He humored her, dropping her arm and turning to face her, unpleasantly surprised as the last farmhand she'd been chatting with, the one she'd touched, came running up.

"Hey, leave her alone!" he yelled. Or, he would have, if he'd had a chance to finish.

The sound of Cooper's rifle butt cracking into the kid's face was incredibly satisfying, collapsing him into a limp, useless pile on the ground, deep crimson pooling around where he lie face-down in the dirt. The girl didn't scream, probably surprised that he hadn't outright shot him, but her hands did fly to her mouth in a quick moment of silent shock before she kneeled to quickly check his pulse, rolling his ugly mug to face the sun. Blood poured from his obviously broken nose, leaving the old ghoul wiping at his face to cover the smirk it sent twitching across his lips.

"What did you do that for?!" she demanded, frustration clear in her voice.

"Oh, my apologies, sweetheart. Your little boyfriend there was trying to join a party he wasn't invited to." he replied, though she was clearly ignoring him in favor of turning the boy onto his side and examining him.

His little companion let out a huff, casting a look between the body on the ground and the little cluster of buildings they'd just left. After a moment, she grabbed him by the fabric of his shirt the best she could and began to drag him back towards where he'd come from. The ghoul watched her pull him about five feet, red and huffing by the time she made it there, rolling his eyes deeply.

"Leave him. He'll be fine."

"He won't be if no one comes over to collect him soon, and you know it." she snarled, and her tone sent him seething, snatching the kid up over his shoulder like a sack of spuds and stomping ahead of her, depositing him unceremoniously against the ranch's handmade sign before yanking her along with him once again.

"Y'know, if you'd have just gotten in and out like I told you, that wouldn't have happened." he said eventually, dropping her arm once more.

"Oh, fuck you!" she hissed. "I was trying to see if I could talk him down on the price. And sometimes people know useful things, you know!" she yelled, exasperation clear in her tone as she threw her arms up in the air.

She pretended to be ignorant, but clearly knew what he was upset about before he specified. Interesting.

"Oh, I'm sure. Y'know, I'd wondered how long it was gonna take you to start sellin' that little ass of yours. Figured it would be for something nicer than a pistol repair or some bad intel, at least." he sneered. He could feel himself slipping further from rationality.

"What are you talking about? It wasn't even like that!" she insisted, an edge of something more worrisome creeping into her voice.

"Quit playin' dumb, doll. You make it seem too easy." he said, watching her entire face light up bright red in frustration. She was tersely quiet for a minute, the gears in her head clearly turning hard and fast as she worked to contain herself and formulate a response at the same time.

"I'm sick of you getting pissed off and treating me like I'm the stupidest person you've ever met." she spat, eventually, madder than he'd ever seen her. "I'm sorry that I haven't spent enough bitter fucking years walking around the desert and killing things and being an asshole to know everything like you do, Coop. I'm sorry I still have human emotions and desires. My sincerest fucking apologies."

That was it: the argument had officially become about...something else.

Honestly, he'd assumed that she was going to leave him a few days back, when they'd stayed in a rare hotel room waiting for a bad dust storm to settle, the little thing getting just a tad too tipsy on some whiskey he'd given her before trying to kiss him. He'd rebuffed her, though not as gently as he wished he had, and, feeling bold, she'd pushed back with surprising fervor, basically demanding to know why he wouldn't kiss her more, why he wouldn't sleep with her.

True, he felt closer to her than he'd felt to anyone or anything in a long while, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but, as embarrassing as it was, the idea of being expected to perform sexually so suddenly made him feel a seizing sense of panic that he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before.

What he'd wanted to say was "I care about you so much, but I'm not sure I'm ready to take that step." Instead, what had come out was "Why are you buggin' me about this? I said no. Fuck off." followed by him storming out to spend several hours smoking in the decrepit, junk-walled-in parking lot.

When he'd returned, she'd been asleep, her poor face tear-swollen and red. He'd waited for her to rouse and hash it out with him, but she'd slept through the night, and, the next morning, didn't bring it up or seem amenable to discussing it. She hadn't seemed angry, necessarily, perhaps a little sad, but in the few days that had passed since, she had definitely been colder, poutier than usual.

It seemed, to him, that she was punishing him now for not doing what she'd wanted, and it was pissing him off.

It didn't matter that he hadn't fucked her yet, that he didn't feel ready to expose the most vulnerable parts of him, inside and out, so openly. She was his; she belonged to him and she knew it as much as he did. The fact that she was even still traveling with him after all this time, after what happened at the hotel that night, was proof. She proved it every single time she came back from one of her little stomp-offs every time he ticked her off, lacking the wherewithal to ever even move fully out of sight before slinking down to pout awhile, inevitably peeking out from whatever she was hiding behind to see if he was still there. Despite her lack of proper training, she was a loyal little bitch.

The fact that she suddenly didn't want to act accordingly sat entirely wrong in his mind, wriggled under his skin like when his stash ran low.

"All's I'm saying, princess," he growled, throwing out the nickname he knew she loathed once more, "is that you're too fucking friendly for your own good, and you shouldn't be shocked when it gets people hurt."

"Why would you give a shit who I'm friendly to, anyway?" she spat, suddenly pushing her way right into his bubble and sending him baring his teeth.

"I wouldn't. Didn't I made that clear enough the other night?"

He knew that this particular barb would hurt her, but he genuinely didn't expect what she did next.

"Alright, then." she said; her voice was trembling noticeably, as was her lower lip. With that, she snatched her backpack up from the ground, jammed her arms into the straps, turned, and began to walk back towards the way they'd come from. He watched her silently, waiting for her to duck back into the ranch, but she didn't; instead, she kept walking, as long as he could watch her, until she disappeared over the hill that fed into the horizon.

The old man watched her go, dumbfounded as she actually continued to walk instead of stopping as she always did. For a while, he hung around, waiting for her to come huffing back, but she still hadn't by the time the sun had fully sunk out of the sky. Eventually, he resumed moving himself, stopping after about a mile in their original planned direction, settling down for a grating night of looking out over the road at every little noise.

She'd never even looked back. He couldn't shake that thought from his mind as he sat there resting overnight. It was basically the only thought he had for hours, plaguing him as he puffed his inhaler and watched the world around him brighten with the rising sun.

When the next day started in full, he'd resolved to hit the road, to resume his travels as he would be resuming his existence before the girl had come along. Compared to how long he'd been exploring the desert solo, she'd been but a brief blip in his life, and there was no reason to fret so much over where she'd gone or what could happen to her without him around.

For some reason, he only covered about half the ground he would typically cover on a day like this, and he found himself beyond unreasonably frustrated...with himself. Nothing about the conditions was slowing him down; he didn't run into more trouble than usual, and he was fine on supplies, vials, but for some reason he found himself hypervigilant, looking for any excuse to move up high and scan the road with his binoculars.

By the time it was too dark to safely continue, he was seething once again, but at his weakness, at his cowardice. After he chose a tucked away little corner to settle down in for a few hours, he quite literally couldn't dig into his stash fast enough, doing line after line, hit after hit of whatever he had on him, until the horrible pain he felt behind his breastbone melted away into a familiar, soothing numbness.

But his numb mind liked to wander, and soon he found himself thinking about the softness of her voice, her skin, her lips against his that night...

And, quickly, he was back to pain and anger, but an irrational anger fueled by a far-more than reasonable dose of basically every kind of stimulant known to Wasteland man. This pain, too, was chased away with more and more chems, until he was so fucked up that he could barely keep his eyes focused and open.

She truly did plague him now, just as she had all the months she'd traveled with him. She plagued his thoughts at all points in the day, plagued his worries about the future, and even as he attempted to snort and huff himself free of the thought of her, she plagued him, dancing up along beside him in a quiet, stalking creep, watching him daintily from the end of the rotted log he sagged himself on, his back wedged against the large rock cluster behind him. At some point, he'd tugged his gloves off and shucked them somewhere nearby, leaving him feeling quite naked as his hands fretted with themselves absentmindedly. Against his will, he thought about running them through her hair like he'd wanted to for so long, and the unpleasant flip his stomach did made him sigh.

"I'm sorry." came a voice on the breeze, so much like hers. The visions of her were persistent, annoyingly so, the one staring hauntingly at him from the side really starting to unsettle him. He was no stranger to visual and auditory hallucinations when he was this far gone, but she was so solid-looking out of the corner of his eye, watching him so close. Judging him and what a fuck-up he was.

He squeezed his eyes shut hard, willing her away, willing himself to go back a few days and redo this entire thing differently.

"Aren't you...gonna say anything?" came the soft, timid voice once more, this time from beside him. Firmer, realer.

He narrowed his eyes in her ghostly direction, focusing as best as he could on her blurry, swimming visage.

"Huh. Didn't know that was really you."

When had she arrived, exactly? Fuck, he was dangerously gone if she'd been able to sneak up on him like that.

She frowned at that, leaning close and sizing him up with worrying eyes. Gingerly, she placed her palm on the back of his bare hand.

"Jeez, Cooper. How fucked up are you?" she asked, her tone sincere, almost apologetic.

Her glaring worry burned into him as judgment, harsh and stinging, and he struck out in response, yanking his hand away.

"Mind your fuckin' business." he slurred, forcing himself to sit up straight enough to point his full anger in her direction, growing with each passing moment. "Think you're better'n me? Hmm?"

He'd fully expected this to ignite another yelling match between the two of them, but she didn't scream back; instead, she quietly dropped her head, avoiding his eyes as she gazed around where he'd chosen to bed down. Truly, he was quite impressed she'd managed to find him at all, let alone in the dark. Turns out he was rubbing off on her even more than he'd thought. The idea left him bitter.

A big part of the anger he felt, the ugliest, most violent part, was the Jet; he knew this. The stuff had gotten him into more than his share of scuffles through the years, making him even meaner than usual, his sharp tongue exact and piercing. However, beneath the amphetamine fog, there was a nugget of true bitterness, an open wound of insecurity that pained him into lashing out when she tried to come close. He'd lashed out in such a way that night at the hotel, despite how hard he'd tried to hold back his sour words.

There was a fear there that he'd felt before, but never so strongly as when he'd watched her disappear over that hill. If she'd tried to leave over that relatively small argument, when would she try to leave again? He wasn't a pleasant man to be around, even when he actually tried to be, a lot of the time. Hell, he wasn't even pleasant to look at; if he'd been a giant prick in his old life, at the very least, he had been handsome.

Increasingly, since she'd come into his life, he tried to reach deep, deep into himself and pull out whatever remained of the old him, the one who was kind and hopeful and actually knew how to talk to women, but the process was infinitely more difficult and painful than he'd imagined.

She clearly wanted and needed intimacy from him, on more than one front, and the pressure of feeling like he couldn't give her what she needed was increasingly getting to him in a way that embarrassed him more than he could possibly say (not that he'd ever say it out loud). Centuries of time had passed, and yet, here he was, still dealing with the same anxieties and feelings of inadequacy that he had before, just dressed up in a new, uglier face.

When would he finally succeed in pushing her away, in frightening her away from him 'for her own good'? The walls around him had never failed him before, for better or worse.

Things were quiet between them as she fidgeted in her spot, the tension of an inescapable conversation in the air, but the desert's constant score, the hiss of sand across corroded asphalt, the soft rattle of the wind in the rocky hills, played on. His muddled ears played tricks on him, making him hear murmurs and distant gunshots and the crack of his rifle butt into that farmhand's face, but he tuned them out, focusing on her steadying, but increasingly heavy breathing, his eyes unable to leave her mouth..

He let himself drink in the fact that she really was there, sat on her knees in the dirt before him and already begging him for his forgiveness, for his acceptance; corporeal, flesh and blood and her sweet smell and that wet, warm place between her legs. Only in his drug-induced private fantasies had he felt it, but he knew he wanted to bury himself there, as deep as possible, and never let her pull away.

"I really am sorry, Coop." she whispered, those big, round eyes brimming with big, wet tears. It wasn't difficult to see her sincerity, even as he struggled to focus. But that hot coal of bitter anger still smoldered in his gut; not replaced by the lust he felt, but fed by it.

Slowly, his own movements labored under the weight of too many substances, he reached out and ran the thumb of his sullied glove along her smooth, smooth cheek. Smearing the trail of wetness there until he was tracing the outline of those pouty lips, he pushed it into her mouth.

"Prove it."

She let out a pitiful little retch, though whether it was from the taste of the incredibly filthy material, or because he was shoving her tongue back in her throat and gagging her with it, he didn't know. What he did know was that the sound made his cock twitch, which was already more blatant sexual desire than he'd felt in ages.

"How?" she asked, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand as he pulled his own away. The wetness that trailed from his thumb, from her lips, made him feel feverish, and he quickly knotted his hand into the thick, soft hair at the back of her head, yanking her so close that their noses would've been touching, had he still had one. When her wide eyes met his, not so much as a sound escaping her lips at the sensation in her scalp, he finally gave in and harshly mashed his mouth to hers, swallowing the sigh that escaped her as he did.

Cooper was unsure how long they kissed, how long he plundered her swollen, eager mouth with his tongue before she stumbled onto her knees, pulling back slightly to pull air into her lungs. As she hovered there, eyes closed as she attempted to gather herself, he dug deep into the pocket of his duster and withdrew a Jet container, giving it a shake to prime it as she righted her breathing. Once she was steady once more, he cupped the back of her head again, bringing her to him and lifting it to her mouth. There was hesitation in her eyes, then disgust as the chem filled her lungs. It touched him with a twinge of amusement, knowing how badly the stuff tasted, watching her retch harder than before. He let her cough for a few seconds, allowing her a few half-cocked breaths of air before shoving the thing back between her lips and holding it down even longer.

By the time she managed to stop sputtering and drooling, he'd had a hit of his inhaler and started stroking his increasingly hard cock through his pants, watching her closely as she raised her now bleary, glassy eyes towards him. He waited for her to mouth off, to complain, to remark on anything that had happened, but instead, she sat there, unmoving, waiting for his instructions. She was the picture of obedience, but nevertheless, he could still see that glint of outrage behind her gaze, waiting to argue with him the moment she sensed an opportunity.

It pissed him off more than he thought possible, and, before he could even think to stop himself, he lashed out and slapped her across the face, the blow landing squarely in the center of her cheek and making her head turn away from him slightly. Surprising him again, she didn't make a sound, but she also didn't correct her head to look back at him.

Pulling a long drag off of the Jet inhaler himself, he held it deep in his lungs as he grabbed her by her long hair to kiss her again, exhaling the stuff right down into her lungs. She kissed him back until she choked on the sensation, leaning away to spew and cough more.

"Wanna prove you're sorry?" he hissed, his brain buzzing with the fresh hit as she leaned against his knee. "Clean my boots, vaultie. Show a little humility for once in your life."

His words were mean, meaner than he should be right now, but she didn't seem to register their full weight as she struggled to focus her eyes on the boots in question. When she lifted those dark, glassy pools back to his, he could see she knew what he meant, a heavy blush staining her cheeks and neck. Of course she knew what he meant; she was a smart girl, and her brain worked so much like his, even if she wouldn't freely admit it.

She looked up at him so dreamily through those thick lashes, though whether it was real affection in her eyes or simply the haze from all the Jet he'd forced down into her lungs, he couldn't tell.

In truth, his boots weren't as filthy as they could've been, as he'd cleaned the farmhand's blood off of them the night she'd taken off to get rid of the smell. But it wasn't about cleanliness; no, she'd humiliated him, her and her spoiled, entitled vault-dweller attitude, when she ran off, and he wanted to see her humiliate herself a little in kind.

The woman kneeling before him didn't hesitate as much as he'd thought she would, the red outline of his palm and fingers seeming to glow on her cheek in the dying firelight as she cast a vaguely-seeing glance around her, measuring her space before pulling herself into a sort of downward dog position, her round ass in the air as her marred cheek rested softly on the sandy ground. There was a moment of quiet tension as she seemed to study it, planning her approach before rather timidly leaning forward and running her tongue along the side, swiping a clean stripe across the tarnished black material from ball to toe. She gagged at first, likely from the dryness of the dust, but, again, she didn't complain.

He didn't have to tell her to clean the other boot; she did it with no prompting as soon as the first was finished, gagging less as she ran her pretty pink tongue all along the sullied, scuffed leather, and he couldn't believe how much it turned him on while equally failing to quell his indignation, his disappointment. Before she'd really finished her work, he yanked her up by her hair again; this time, she let out a slight yelp of surprise as he dropped her onto her ass, gesturing to her shabby, scavenged armor with one hand as the other began to wrestle his ammo belt, then his actual belt, open.

"Take that shit off."

Again, she did as he asked with only a moment's pause, placing all the little pieces of boiled leather and metal off to the side, her eyes flitting to him for a heartbeat before she proceeded with the rest of her clothes, quickly exposing herself completely. He could see her well in the moonlight, but not as well as he'd have liked, leaving her standing there, vulnerable and shivering ever-so-slightly as he took a good, long look at her. He was painfully hard at this point, desperate to have at least some minor relief from the confines of his trousers, but he was also uncharacteristically nervous at the idea of exposing himself to her this way. Beckoning her forward, he used her distraction as she kneeled once more to pull his cock free, grateful for the darkness and her weaker eyes.

"Suck me." he growled.

While he wasn't exactly pleased at how entirely fucked up he'd been going into this, he was sort of grateful that he couldn't feel almost anything with any vivid detail across the expanse of his body; the visual of her wrapping her dainty little fingers around him and obediently leaning down to take him into her mouth alone would have been enough to finish him if he'd have been able to feel her properly.

The way she went about it also seemed to indicate she wasn't entirely experienced, simply sliding her mouth down over his cock and setting to finding a pace that she could handle, as everything was surely spinning for her. For a while, he let her do so, fingers knotting into her hair again, before his patience wore thin and he began to push her head downwards, the sound of her gagging once more sending a thrill up his spine. Even with the numbness from the most recent hit seeping through him, he wasn't able to keep it up long before he yanked her back, taking in the drool hanging down from her swollen lips.

Cooper gave his spit-slicked cock a few firm tugs, hissing from between his worn teeth at her as he sat back, making room for her on his lap.

"Now get up here and show me you know who you belong to."

She didn't even look towards her bag, towards the condoms he knew she kept tucked deep inside her little toiletry pocket, as she quickly and sloppily pulled herself up into his lap. A part of him knew that he'd have stopped her if she did try to put one on him.

He tried so hard to not think of Barb as the pretty young thing on top of him began to sink down and envelop his cock in her heat, tried so hard to not feel guilty for giving himself to another, and he failed miserably. She felt heavenly, tighter and warmer and sweeter than he could've ever imagined, and he hated himself for how much he loved it, for how alive it made him feel when for so long he'd simply been existing. The choked noise that left his dry throat as the aching head of him fully breached her wasn't a sob, but he wouldn't have known what to call it.

It must've seemed to her, he thought, that he was forcing her to do all the work out of anger, wanting her to fully prove that she wanted him, that she was his; this was true, but he was also terrified, deep down, of how he would react if he allowed himself to freely touch her the way he wanted. He feared he would literally rip her limb from limb in his intoxicated state, sink his teeth into her pillowy flesh until it bled, tear a chunk off of her and swallow it so that she could be part of him forever.

He couldn't tell if the way she huffed and whimpered her way down his length was because she was high and hypersensitive or because she'd never been with a man this way before. That thought was quickly and harshly banished from his brain, however, his hands finding the plush fat of her hips, fingertips digging hard into the soft, supple flesh.

"Good pup." he breathed out when he eventually felt her ass rest on his thighs, fully sheathing him inside her.

The whimper she let out in response, her tight little clasp quivering around him as she clumsily reached out and braced her hands on his shoulders, made him throb hard, leaving him at least slightly grateful for his intoxication once again. If his numbed brain and body had been able to feel her fully, he knew he would've absolutely shot his load already.

Cooper struggled to stay still as she moved experimentally on top of him, lifting and lowering and grinding herself a few different ways before she found a rhythm that made him let out a throaty moan, the ghost of a smile flashing across her sleepy face as she rode away at him for a while.

What he really wanted, deep beneath all the unwanted feelings and unanswered questions about things he didn't want to think about right now, was to knock her up. For so long now he'd thought of her as his, and now that he'd claimed her, he wanted nothing more than to see her round and full to the brim of him. He wanted her to need him, to be completely dependent on him to provide for her and keep her safe.

He wanted her too vulnerable to get away from him.

On top of him, her movements were rapidly losing all coordination as her glossy, heavy eyelids drifted shut, her head nodding violently as she struggled to maintain her pace. He'd given her too much for someone who didn't use regularly, someone her size, and she was crashing out, falling asleep against her will right there. Poor thing.

He slapped her again, the sound ringing out across the vast, empty desert, watching closely as she startled back into a fully upright posture, her hips stilling for a moment before slowly beginning to churn again, her gaze unfocused.

"Mmm." she murmured groggily, leaning forward and placing her forehead against his shoulder, her arms winding around his neck as she tried her best to keep in some sort of motion.

This gesture, the way she cuddled up to him and sought comfort, support from him, even after the way he'd treated her, the fact that he'd literally just slapped her awake, was the only thing she'd done thus far that truly quelled the ugly, raging anger inside him.

"Thought this stuff was s'posed to wake you up." she sighed into the crook of his neck. She was entering the peak of her high, her body pitifully liquid against his chest as she clearly struggled to stay upright.

Personally, Cooper was reaching the un-fun part of his comedown, where everything started to feel grating and the mind began to uncloud, providing an increasingly painful level of clarity, but the senses remained muddled in a way that provided more discomfort than relief.

"Usually does. You had too much, baby." he responded, the mild chastisement in his tone doing a poor job of hiding the guilt behind it. His naked hands stroked reverently at her back, at the long, wind-swept hair that flowed down it, mindful to hold her so that she wouldn't lilt too far to one side as he attempted to soothe her.

Familiar with the unpleasant swimming sensation too much Jet could give you, he let her relax fully against him, the small sigh she let out one of gratitude as her whole body sagged even further. But she didn't stop grinding against him, probably out of some sort of pleasure for herself, he figured as he could feel her greedy insides tugging around him. He hid his grin again, this time in the crook of her neck as his hands found her hips once more, easily lifting her a few inches before dropping her down again, bouncing her on his cock as she rested.

Things went on like that for a spell, him bobbing and rocking her naked, lax body on top of his as she curled up on his shoulder, cooing and nodding off from time to time. As his high wore off, the sensitivity in his body was returning, and it made her feel more and more overwhelming as he continued to fuck her, her hot, wet little cunt leaking all over him as he continued to use her body to get himself off.

She seemed to be more conscious now than before, though barely, jostled awake by the increasing force of his thrusts up into her, bare breasts heaving with the movement. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to trace his lips down her chest, sealing them around her puffy, erect nipple and swiping his tongue along her slightly salty flesh. In response, her arms tightened around his neck, holding him on her breast as she clenched around him hard.

"Cooper." she whimpered, and that single little sound pushed him right into what felt like the most powerful orgasm he'd ever had, his fingers digging into her hips far too hard as he dropped her full weight onto him, grinding her down onto his cock and yanking her against him. His head dropped back, dead weight as he let out a feral snarl, tapering off into a throaty moan.

As he throbbed his gift up inside her, she squirmed at the feeling, tucking her bright red face into the side of his neck in what read as slight embarrassment, giving little huffs and whimpers as he continued to fill her. Another, smaller wave of guilt nagged at him as she clung to him, as he held her as close as he possibly could, struggling to regain control of his breathing; even if she'd had sex before, she'd never done this.

He held her as long as she could tolerate, her grip around him loosening slowly as she moved closer to real sleep. His girl was exhausted through and through, lightly snoozing against his chest.

For a few minutes, he let her rest uninterrupted, scanning her over to assess how badly he'd fucked up. She seemed fairly intact, though certainly more bruised than before. Eventually, he went digging into her bag, knowing (hoping) that she would have Radaway somewhere, and letting out a small sigh of relief when he found some jammed into the bottom.

Only one dose; he would have to find her more, and soon. This would be enough to see her through the next day, though, and he was pleasantly surprised to note that she wasn't showing even minor signs of radiation sickness as he found a vein in her arm, starting up the intravenous line to administer the thick, yellowed solution. Surprisingly, she didn't rouse fully when he slid the included needle into place, but she did begin to stir and groan mildly as the stuff began to effuse. Dimly, he remembered being given it when he'd been in the service, and how shitty it could make you feel.

Softly, he stroked her cheek with the backs of his bare knuckles before setting to jabbing her with a Stimpak from his bag around where she'd stuck some staples in her belly, making a note to ask her what had given her the several inches-long laceration he saw there.

He hesitated, though, when he moved to give her a dose of Med-X he'd dug out from the depths of his saddlebag. Most of the Wasteland's mind-rotting and pain-soothing substances were on the table for him, and in great amounts, but he hated the way the opiate made him sluggish and sleepy, reducing his accuracy in a fight significantly. The pain relief it provided wasn't worth it if he ended up dead anyway.

Smoothskins loved it, though, so he usually kept a few syringes on him for bartering purposes. Never did he think he'd be happy to give so much of his stash away for free.

He knew she must be hurting, or, she would be when she woke up, whenever that was. But he was hesitant to give her anything else, both for fear of how she would react, and, somewhat selfishly, because he knew a proper dose would make her sleep even longer, and he was desperate to actually get to speak with her again.

If she asked for the stuff, he'd give it to her. But...tomorrow. After they'd gotten a chance to discuss everything that had happened with cooler, more sober heads. After he was sure she wouldn't wake up in the morning and hate him for what he'd done to her.

His fingers played softly in her mussed hair as the indigo cover of night faded into the periwinkle of twilight, washing her nearly grey in his arms. She slept hard awhile, undisturbed until the awkward angle of her neck made him gently resettle her into a more comfortable-seeming position, letting her slip down until she was curled up in a ball on her side in his lap, her head supported in the crook of his elbow. Lying this way, he'd have to hold her up while she slept, but he found himself strangely excited at the prospect.

"M'sorry I ran away." she murmured suddenly after a long period of silence, readjusting herself in his lap to curl closer.

"I know, kid. I forgive you." he replied after a moment of hesitation, the words soft and strange as they formed on his lips. He petted her hair as gently as he could manage. "Did a good job findin' your way back to me, pup. Proud of you."

"Mmm. Please don't be mad at me." she echoed his own thoughts softly, so slurred as she finally began into unconsciousness that it was barely intelligible, her face buried in his side.

"I'm not." he said, fully, completely honest for once in his long life. He let his eyelids rest, his hand on his gun, ready to stop anyone who would try to ruin this quiet moment under the fading stars. "I promise. Now, get some sleep, pup. I know you came a long way today."

She sighed at that, as if to say "You have no idea." before flopping loosely into his arms, and was snoring lightly within a minute. He allowed himself a small smile at this, at how earnest and adorable she was.

"Good girl." he murmured.

[elsa-fogen]

what do you think about the fact that al likes doodling?

i have a head canon that he has some sort of scrapbook or sketchbook full of little doodles of things going on at the hotel and just in his life, I feel like he would draw really stick-figureish (is that a word?) but I read a fic that depicted it as the same art style as an Invader-Zim obsessed scene girl and I could not stop cackling.

I also feel like he would either guard it with his life from everyone (exception to Rosie, of course) or just not bother to tell anyone and one day they just find him doodling schoolgirl style, kicking his legs in the air, LMAO NEW THOUGHT WHAT IF CHARLIE OR LUCIFER FOUND IT

OH! OH! Now that you mentioned it - i LOVE that about him! I just absolutely ADORE little thing he made for the add in the first episode. And i love this fact because 1) he's the first character i like that likes to draw canonically (okay maybe also toothless from httyd?) 2) Me and Alastor share so many similarities, and even drawing???? This just makes me love him even more (i'm sure we would hate each other irl tho AHAHHAHAHA or maybe not, idk)

SO, SINCE ME AND AL ARE SO SIMILAR, I'M GONNA PROJECT ON HIM MY DRAWING HABITS >:3c Forgive me this one, i usualy don't do that, i usualy project characters on myself haha

He DOES have sketchbooks just to draw, and they are ORGANISED. He's numbers every sketchbook and counts every drawing in them since the first one. He also has two numbers for each page - through one sketchbook and through them all. He has over 300 of sketchbooks by now (I have less, only 56). They are stashed somewhere in a very safe place.

Every sketchbook has a date of first and last drawing. Also amount of drawings. It looks like: NOTEBOOK 253 (number of sketchbook, also he doesn't call them sketchbooks) 03.06.1978-05.07.1978 (dates while it was active) 119 (amount of drawings) 29961-30080 (which numbers of drawings are in this sketchbook) He would cound something else, but he's just too busy to spend time on it. He can remember something thinking about what he was drawing in that period and vice versa

He used to draw at overlords meetings, pissing off Carmila and everyone else, because it looked like he hadn't listened to them, so Carmila banned drawing at overlords meetings (Alastor is still angry about it)

But he doesn't progress too much - most of his progress was made through first 10-20 sketchbooks, now he only has slight style changes sometimes when he feels like it

Tho he's really proud of his current skill and used to think that he's literally the best (used to get angry when reminded that it's not true) (now he kinda knows, but still likes his own drawings, doesn't accept criticism and doesn't try to purposely improve)

He likes showing his drawings to people, he knows and if he does, you have to say that it's literally So Cool, show enthusiasm turning pages and say that everything is just amazing. If you don't, he'll be OFFENDED. He also can leave a sketchbook opened on a page with a drawing he likes the most, and it's like a sign "NOTICE THAT I'M DRAWING AND SAY THAT YOU LIKE IT"

If he considers you a friend (well not like Rosie, but at least like Charlie), he'll be showing you his drawings regularly (and you have to be enthusiastic about it!!!!!!) He has showed it to Charlie, but somehow her enthusiasm is... too much. She's too patronising about it. He also shows his things to Husk, he knows that Husk is annoyed and doesn't give a shit, and he just enjoys his annoyance. He also shows his drawings to Niffty and she gives him Just Right amount and vibe of enthusiasm. (He sometimes draws something for her fanfiction if he likes something enough and enjoys Niffty's reaction (she explodes from happiness)). BUT!!!!! He never shows anything to Mimzy. Because she's like, person from the real life, and he feels like she would laugh at it. To Rosie he shows only things he considers his best and her opinion is the most important to him. He can even forgive her criticism (wouldn't take it tho) (she never critisizes him and absolutely ADORES his drawings). Angel kinda likes his drawings, but isn't enthusiastic about them enough

He doesn't take requests (Angel tried "draw me like one of your french girls" shit, Alastor never did (also his ass did not get the reference and he was like "i dont??? have??? any french girls????")) (Vox also tried to make Alastor draw something for him, Alastor was just "that's interesting, i'll think about it" and never thought of it again)

SOME OF HIS DRWINGS TURNED OUT TO BE PROPHECIES but he notices that only when something happens and then he goes back to his old sketchbooks and accidentally finds it. They are just coincidenses tho, but it's fun and Alastor makes a big deal from it and screams to Rosie like "I PREDICTED THAT SHIT 27 YEARS AGO" when finds out. (it's how i predicted many plot points from SU and literally TOH hunter's possession before the show even was a thing JHJDFJHFGJFDHKH i wonder if i predicted something from Hazbin, i need to look through my sketchbooks now)

If you dare to mess with his drawings and vandalise them... oh... you better pray to whatever god you belive in to make your sufferings be enough to redeem your sins and go to heven.

[juiceastronaut]

*I dip my toes into the pool* Idk, I think what's happening with Helluva Boss is still a failure on a storytelling level, even if things are going to be addressed later on.

Even *if* Stolas hypocrisy is going to be addressed later, there's a *reason* people are getting So Mad about what he said during Apology Tour, and that's because the narrative has failed to challenge Stolas' perception of himself and the situation.

Blitz, the affected party, doesn't challenge this despite the fact that he can absolutely challenge the idea that Stolas doesn't look down on him, or just ANY other part of that rant.

He gets this, thoughtful (?) expression. He's thinking about what Stolas is saying. But doesn't push back with ANYTHING. The A.) The fact he felt objectified B.) How exploitive the book deal was (also, Stolas said the deal was wrong, but now gestures with his book on "support you" was the deal wrong or was it him "supporting" Blitz? You'd think he'd know the difference by now).

He doesn't even push back against the "You couldn't be bothered to come help me" with "My DAUGHTER was getting her VERY RARE, HARD TO BOOK SHOTS AND SHE WAS TERRIFIED" Any ONE of these could've been shown, to push back against Stolas' narrative but it's not. In fact, Blitz buys the premise when it comes to Striker, when Stolas says he sounds like him he says "No I dont!"

And that's only using the instances that Blitz himself could've challenged Stolas' narrative. There are opportunities that Verosika could've done the same, but are equally as passed up on. Her interactions only strengthen the idea that he's correct imo.

All of this makes it seem like Stolas' reality is the correct one, and Blitz's fumbling around isn't a reaction to gaslighting but him being made to look Silly about what he thinks Stolas is doing. And people with long-term memory are very rightly going "Wait...no???"

No amount of "Those will be dealt with" from the creator will make up for the fact that the narrative gives No acknowledgment that Stolas is even objectively incorrect, let alone that he had his hand in the way this shook down.

It's not "good story telling" to be able to use Canon evidence to point out how wrong he was, because those should be the supporting evidence that the show gives us, along *with* the *current storyline we're seeing* showing those nuances, even if it chooses to focus on Blitz's faults at the time.

[theloneotaku158]

As of Batman: The Brave and the Bold #12, local precious-gremlin-who-I-would-die-for, Maps Mizoguchi, is now officially(?) the sixth Robin. Or at the very least, she's now "in" on The Secret™.

If this isn’t a set up for her taking up the Robin mantle officially then I genuinely don’t know what is.

As one of the twelve Gotham Academy enjoyers in existence, I am having the extremely normal reaction of "FUCKING FINALLY! LET'S FUCKING GOOOOO--!"

In all honesty, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't seen this coming from miles away. Like, Maps has appeared in a number of seemingly random cameo roles recently, including Batgirls (2021), and even technically as Robin in the backup issues of Batman (2016) #119-121, and in a short story in Batman Black & White. And most of those got collected in a standalone titled "Maps of Mystery", which specifically gathered all her appearances as Robin (and the Gotham Academy Belle Reve story).

And then, of course, her recent time-travelling Future-Trunks-esque appearance in Birds of Prey (2023), as the tech-based Meridian, from a potential future timeline where she apparently makes it as a superhero using gadgets she apparently designed, proving that she's hero material.

That's not something you do for a character for no reason. That's the sort of thing you do when you want to keep a character in the conscience of your readers for whatever reason, because you have bigger plans for them.

Also interesting to consider that, in the "Mother's Day" story where this took place, Alfred is standing right there and not lying down six feet under wood, dirt and a stone slab, and that Bruce is in the old Batcave under the manor so he still has Money™. So we must assume this was some nebulous time in the past (after GA: Second Semester(?), but before City of Bane)... which I won't bother to analyse the exact timeframe of because DC doesn't care about the post-Flashpoint / New 52 / Rebirth / Prime Earth / idfk / Dawn of DC timeline, so neither should I.

But I think it's really funny that this presumably means Maps has known The Secret™ for a long time relative to present-day comics, but always acted like she didn't.

But if all her appearances are in chronological order, that means Bruce is only the fourth Bat whose identity she discovered.

Like, she discovered Cass' identity almost by accident on a trip to the zoo, Damian showed off his grapple gun and gave her an actual Batarang during the three hours he was enrolled in the school (as if she wouldn't immediately put two-and-two together even back then), and she even found out Terry fucking McGuinness would become Batman in a future via a time-travelling grandfather clock.

No I did not make that last part up. Read Gotham Academy istg.

Did Cass know that Maps had been acting as a Robin when she met her, both at the zoo in Batgirls and her future version in Birds of Prey?

Does Damian know the one (1) friend(?) he made in Gotham Academy is potentially in the running for his job?

Is Bruce himself aware that she knows as much about their identities as she currently does?

How is DC going to retcon this so it all makes sense in the barely-functioning canon of the modern DC universe?

I'm digressing. Where was I going with this?

Point is, she's destined to become a Robin, and I'm glad DC finally pulled their fingers out their asses and capitalised on that destiny.

Let's just hope it doesn't take another year for them to follow up on this plotline again.

Bonus: Jason Todd, after learning of Bruce taking yet another happy kid under his wing as yet another Robin, giving her some advice:

[arctrooper69]

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Beta-read by @dragonrider9905

Chapter 11:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Angst. Canon violence

--------------------------------------------------

Three days had passed since the argument with Hunter that sent you storming from the Marauder with anger blazing hot in your veins. Two days since you’d left the planet, intent on putting all your focus towards the job Cid had given you.

One day had turned your anger into a suffocating heaviness of guilt and grief. Now it was something else - it felt strange and unnatural - or maybe it was just nothingness. Whatever it was, you wished the anger would come back. Anger was tangible, it gave you something to hold onto. Anger had a conviction - a purpose. Whatever it was that you felt now, slipped numbly through your fingers, floating aimlessly and as silent as the vortex of hyperspace you currently traveled through.

They didn’t come for me.

---

You had waited around Cid’s for a full rotation - unsure what for.

Did you really think they’d come looking for you?

Did they even want to?

“Give it up, kid.” Cid advised as you’d found yourself glancing over at the door for the thousandth time, “Dark and Broody ain’t coming after ya.”

You looked at her sharply. How did she know?

Cid shrugged, “Don’t look at me like that, Hotshot. I’m not stupid, you know. I’ve seen the way you look at him.” She smirked, “It’s the same way he looks at you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Then tell me why he hasn’t come.”

Cid threw down her washrag, looking annoyed. “You’re the idiot who ran away. He’s smart enough not to bother a woman who’s mad at him.” She scoffed, “Or he’s stupid enough not to go after the woman he obviously cares about.”

That’s when the anger came back, flashing brightly like the flame of a candle exposed to the air just before it fizzled out again. “You’re wrong. He’s not here because he doesn’t care. None of them do.” Disappointment settled like a boot on your chest.

Cid let out a bored sigh. “Then quit moping around and do something! I’ve got plenty of jobs around here and no one to do them. Might as well get paid if you’re just going to be miserable anyway.”

You looked at her quizzically then groaned. “Alright… where do you need me to go?”

---

The ship shuttered as it dropped out of hyperspace, pulling you back to the present as you came into orbit around the moon Cid’s coordinates had directed you to. You chuckled bitterly.

Well joke’s on them. I don’t need them either.

---

“Omega, come on! We need to make a supply run in town,” Hunter called down the ramp as he slung his pack over his shoulder. He frowned as she made no move to get up, though he was certain she’d heard him. He set his pack down and walked over to her. She sat on the ramp, resting her arms and chin on her knees, as she looked blankly out at the empty road.

“Omega..” he sat down beside her.

“It’s been three days, Hunter. Where is she?” Her muffled voice broke his heart. She’d been crying and he had no words to comfort her.

There had only been two times in his life that Hunter found himself with no idea what to do.

The empty numbness that dug its relentless claws through his skull screamed at him in an overwhelming self-hatred after their first real mission failure which left Wrecker clinging to life.

Failure. Coward. Pathetic.

It was the same feeling now that spread through his bones. I should’ve run after her. Now it’s too late. Mission failure once again.

The gut-wrenching flood of emotion that came with being a parent and falling in love was more unyielding than any enemy he’d faced before. It’s the one thing they didn’t train us for. At least when an enemy combatant refused to cooperate, there were many ways to get what you wanted out of them. Hunter didn’t know how to react when it was his own thoughts that refused to comply.

“I don’t know, Omega.”

“She’s coming back though, right?” She looked up at him but he couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eyes.

He spun his vibroblade anxiously. “I hope so.”

“Wrecker went out looking for her, you know.”

Hunter straightened in surprise, turning to look at her. “He did what?”

Omega wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sat up. “Yeah. He left this morning. He said he was gonna find her and make everything better again.”

As if on cue, Wrecker came barreling down the road, skidding to a stop just shy of the ramp panting and out of breath. Hunter stood up as Omega dashed to his side.

“What is it, Wrecker? Did you find her!? Is she okay?!” Her eyes were wide and Hunter was glad to see some of the hopeful spark return. He just hoped that whatever news Wrecker brought wouldn’t snuff it out again.

Wrecker collapsed onto the ramp. “Phew… I’m never running like that again!”

“Well?” prompted Hunter, still nervously twiring the blade through his fingers.

“Huh? Oh yeah! I found out from some scumbag that Cid sent her on a mission. Said it was real dangerous.”

“What.” Hunter tensed. Suddenly that pitiful feeling of futility was gone, replaced by something he was all too familiar with. He slid the vibroblade back into its sheath with a deadly click, mouth set in a fierce line of determination.

“Did he say anything else?” Omega asked.

Wrecker laughed. “Yeah. When I hung him upside down from the roof, he cried.” He turned towards Hunter and his smile faded into a growl. “Hunter, he said it was a suicide mission. He said nobody gets outta there alive. That’s why I ran all the way here.”

Omega gasped, “Hunter we have to go after her! She might not know it’s a trap!”

Hunter had already strapped on his pack and secured his blaster.

“Tech, Echo! Start the ship.” He called out. “I’m gonna go have a little chat with Cid.”

Loosened by the adrenaline as he ran, a sudden moment of clarity fell upon him. He’d been thinking about this all wrong.

You were not a mission in which to succeed or fail. You were a part of him - the missing link in his short mess of a life - and he would do everything it took to get you back.

The door to Cid’s Parlour opened with a slam. Cid nearly dropped the glass she was cleaning as she looked up to see Hunter striding over to her, fire in his eyes. The only two patrons in the room fled, feeling the mood of the room sour almost immediately. Cid set the cup down in obvious annoyance. “Hey! You can’t just storm on in here, scaring away my customers like that! I’ve got bills to pay here.”

He didn’t seem to hear her as he pointed a sharp finger in her direction.

“Where is she?”

Cid smirked, deciding to play coy. This could get interesting, she thought as she dried her hands, making sure to look as unbothered as she possibly could.

“Where is who? You gotta be more specific.”

Hunter narrowed his eyes, “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

She tapped a finger on her chin, pretending to think. “Hmm… I really don’t think I do.”

Hunter sighed, exasperated. “I don’t have time to play your games, Cid. Tell me where you sent her.”

Cid sighed, suddenly bored of whatever ruse she’d cooked up to mess with him. “Fine.”

Hunter clenched his teeth. “I need to know, Cid. Now.”

“Cool your jets, Dark and Broody.” Cid rolled her eyes. “Your girlfriend’s fine. She asked me for a job and I gave ‘er one.”

Hunter’s face darkened. “Where. Is. She.” His white knuckled fist slammed down on the counter. “I promise you I won’t be so nice if I have to ask you again.”

Cid raised her hands in a mocked surrender. “Look, I promised her that I wouldn’t tell any of you lot where she went. She obviously doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Hunter's hands shot across the bar, vibroblade suddenly poised in a violent threat at her throat. His voice was dangerously low. “She could be in real danger. Tell me where you sent her. Now.”

Cid gulped, backing into the wall, knocking a bottle onto the ground where it shattered. She glared then raised her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright fine! Put the knife down and I’ll tell you!”

Hunter lowered the knife. Cid nervously rubbed her throat. “Geez… I can see why she likes you so much. I sent her to a small moon in the Sullest system. Doesn’t even have a name. Hardly anybody goes there at all.”

Hunter glared daggers.

“Relax, Dark and Broody. She’s not in any danger. It’s just a simple snatch and grab. The mines over there are full of stuff worth a ton to the right people.”

Hunter narrowed his eyes. “Just give me the coordinates.”

Cid sighed, “Already done. Get outta here, lover boy.”

Hunter rolled his eyes as he turned to leave.

“Hey!” Cid’s voice called after him. “You owe me for that bottle. Corellian Whiskey is hard to come by these days!”

--------------------------------------------------

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[apocalypse-shuffle]

JASON TODD | RED HOOD (batman:under the red hood | canon divergence?)

—

“Co-opt #1 - Fire Escape Rendezvous 1/?” (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader)

| You’d thought the man you were talking to was just uninterested and biding his time. That is until one thoroughly fucked up Red Hood falls from the sky early one morning and becomes a more pressing issue.

| SFW, serious injury, drugged & mentally compromised, late night conversations, idealogical debate, canon typical violence, mentions & descriptions of death/killing, -panicked!reader

| pics via: Batman: Under The Red Hood tpb

| content apart of the co-opt series

| 2k+ words

Beg. NOTES: This first chapter is a lot of establishing the universe and background information, so yeah.

‘I officially live in hell,’ you think idly over the crackle of the television and the almost imperceptible sound of your electric kettle boiling water.

One emergency evacuation of the mall, a slew of bomb threats, city wide shelter in place, and a mandated curfew had surely elevated the power struggle between Black Mask and the Red Hood to the top of the Gang War Hall of Fame.

If such a cursed thing existed, anyway.

“In recent news the fight seems to have traveled from the docks to the outskirts of the Narrows. Unfortunately there is still no sign of Batman and our eyes in the sky have once again lost the two battling criminals.”

Great. The man let you all take a collective breath a year after fucking off to who knows where just to restart the clock right after the final exhale. There was always a bomb - metaphorical or otherwise - about to go off in the city anyway, why not add another?

Your teeth worry at your lip. You haven’t heard anything yet, no gunshots or yelling - like Gotham herself was holding her breath in wait for the destruction they would wrought - so you’d been able to ignore the anchor trying to lodge itself in your gut, but now that you knew they were close?

Your teeth leave an indent in your bottom lip and running the top of your tongue over the bite mark only serves to make the area pulse more, not soothe it. You make a low sound, eyes rolling.

Honestly if you had done what you were supposed to last week you likely wouldn’t even be up to worry yourself to death currently. As it stands you’d had an assignment due roughly fifteen minutes ago, so from the second the telltale siren of the Gotham Emergency Network’s warning sounded from your phone you’d been hyped up.

Watching it buzz on the table beside your laptop had made your stomach drop. Like the split second where you start thinking up your funeral rites after missing a step on the stairs.

Even now, looking out at the wayward streaks of moonlight peaking through your curtains to splay onto your living room floor, your mind twits itself where it doesn’t belong.

Admittedly, a split second after the first buzz, right before your phone cried out that the city was once again on fire, you’d thought it was the guy you’d been seeing. Heavy emphasis on ‘been’.

Rising panic aside you’ve been throwing little looks at it for hours now. The colored bubble around your words hasn’t left your head; it meets you seared on the underside of your eyelids every time you blink.

You:

Hey we haven’t talked in a hot minute and I was trying to call to tell you this btw but I'd like to break the whole arrangement we have now off. We don't want the same shit I guess.

You’d gotten nothing short of the ‘unseen’ marker under your message changing to ‘seen’ for your effort. So, now here you were worrying over ten hours later about a guy that couldn’t even be bothered to respond to you breaking up with him.

“Well that’s enough of that,” you sigh, turning off the tv and walking over to your kitchenette. Did you still have anything left over in your fridge that you liked? A pick me up sounded good, especially if you were planning on worrying yourself into an early grave all night.

It was uncouth honestly. At least Batman contained his messes. Hood had managed to knock crime down in The Alley by 60% the last time he was at large, you’ve seen the reports, but starting a city wide dick measuring contest with Black Mask was only dragging everybody through their shit. You couldn’t exactly say you endorsed his current plan of action.

Now to the fridge. The contents of which make you frown.

Fan-tastic.

Swooping down a little more to catch a possible glimpse of anything other than the food stains clinging desperately to the floor of the bottommost fridge shelf, your eyes narrow. Your tongue clicks harshly in the quiet when you thump it against the back of your top teeth.

If you really let yourself think about it, the fact he hadn’t even bothered to answer grated like a snagged scab. Oh!

There was some leftover spam that’d been pushed back into a corner of the middle shelf — bad as it was for your mood you couldn’t help but pick at his lack of answer. Etching away at your thoughts on the man in tiny barely noticeable increments — you’d only missed the meat on your initial scan because of the box of leftover pancake mix shamelessly in front of it. You snatch up both items, shoving them into the bend of your non-searching arm.

Another click of your tongue; more picking.

There was no way he could just leave you on ‘read’. You broke up with him, that’s not just something you leave somebody on goddamn ‘read’ for.

Only a nanosecond’s worth of pain, of worry for what uncovering more could make come pouring out, before the rush started to fade and you couldn’t help but pull on the scab harder. Till you felt your brows furrow all over again.

What were you? Just a way to pass the time?

A dog's rapid fire barking sounds from outside and your head pops up, looking over the fridge door, head on a swivel and eyes wide. The way rabbits go; blood frozen and breath held.

A beat passes where you just listen. When no signs of further disturbance occur though your blood warms, your air puffs out of you, and you can move again.

If you ever saw Red Hood you’d kick him in the dick (except you really wouldn’t, you weren't crazy). You snap open the bottom drawer only for your lip to instantly curl, unfortunately not cause of the game of hide and seek your fridge was playing with you. Hood would deserve it though, and so would another man that was embarrassingly still on your mind tonight.

Peppers. How did you forget you had those? They join your arm stash with a few rough movements.

Maybe you shouldn’t even be surprised. Jason was great - a little testy, but who in this city wasn’t? He was definitely still the best person you’ve dated since high school, though only so far as he was paying attention to you.

The constant “work” calls he had to excuse himself for you’re half convinced were actually his main woman calling or some other jumbled theory. If there was one thing you could do it was reach, but it was more so just the real world applications of creativity in your opinion.

Point was Jason was - had been - nice to call yours for however brief a moment. Even now thinking about him had your body doing an odd combination of being close to legitimate tears over an eight month relationship and the nonstop tremble that tended to come with the hot sensation of shame crawling up your neck.

Was it embarrassing to be this hung up on a white boy you’d barely known for a year?

Kind of, yeah.

Eight goddamn months and you were so caught up on the man you couldn’t snatch the random ingredients out of your fridge without a slight tremor in your hands, and an incessant barrage of curses that weren’t gonna stop going through your mind anytime soon that was for sure. That fucking asshole.

It wasn’t even like you actually cared anyway, it was whatever. Jason was whatever.

With a heavy sigh you straighten from your crouch and move to drop everything on the counter.

Jason was cool enough half the kids in your complex flocked to guilt him into giving them some cash when he came over, and he’d play along like he himself was getting paid for it every single time. He volunteered all over the ‘rougher’ parts of Gotham, and he was from The Alley so he got the city - plus you were a sucker for that Bowery accent, what could you say? Sounds good right? Downright perfect? Yeah well, Jason also didn’t talk, but not in the way that meant he couldn’t hold a good conversation.

You grin a little, unaware of the action, while walking over to pull out a chopping board and knife to wash. You didn’t have much, but fritters didn’t sound half bad and would take thirty minutes tops for you to put to a pan.

Once, you’d both spent hours arguing how The Thing as an adaptation was actually better than Who Goes There? while he harped that you inherently couldn’t separate the adaptation from the book like that: “Everything genuinely interesting about the movie came from the book. The movie quite literally wouldn’t exist without it.”

The conversation had lasted long enough for you to fall asleep on him - a song and dance that quickly became habit for you two; by now your FaceTime has seen many a squished drooling face - but Jason never once revealed anything personal. Not truly.

Not ever.

There’s a harsh crash from below, and that damn dog bellowing again. You take a second to glare at your window before focusing back on the task at hand.

It was a hard thing to catch, the sidestepping, but you weren’t that clueless. Jason didn’t have a middle name - which is fine, that was normal - but that wasn't all. Jason also had an undisclosed job that was always interrupting your time together. Said undisclosed job that paid him so much he could opt to get a hotel rather than let you go to his place - godforbid - every time you didn’t want to meet up at your house for the fiftieth time. You got it when your relationship was new, but nearly a year in?

Both his parents were dead, but sometimes if you called him and it was early enough he’d say something offhanded and mean about his father like he was still alive.

And Jason was fine - he was always fine - but you’d asked him to ‘just trust you’ once and his eyes had gone hard before his entire expression went flat and the date had ended there, it didn’t matter that he hadn’t physically left. Afterwards he’d avoided you for nearly a week and only convinced you to stay once he finally came back around by offering to let you beat his ass if it’d make you feel better.

Even as flabbergasted by the offer as you’d been, it'd worked and you two were back to business as usual within the same hour - no violence needed.

Before that you’d honest to goodness been contemplating going to ask him for his forgiveness for whatever it was you’d apparently done wrong. You’d been so scared he’d leave you you’d been ready to apologize for a problem that wasn’t even communicated to you.

Something that was pretty sad now that you were thinking about it so you were gonna stop now.

Point is it was getting embarrassing, even for you. Contemplating stooping that low for someone who couldn’t be fucked to give you an actual explanation after ghosting you that first time, let alone one that couldn’t even put a name to what the two of you were, was a waste of your time.

You could do better than Jason fucking Peterson that was for damn sure.

A sigh rattles through your chest as you shake out your knife, water droplets falling all over you and the counter in the process. Which—

You turn your head to look at your kettle sitting pretty on the side table closest to the window - you only had so much counter space, okay?

Tea sounded nice right now. You squint at the kettle with a frown. You could’ve sworn you’d had that same thought a while ago. Sure enough when you look a little harder it’s already been filled with water. You were that deep in your head for real? Enough to miss the shrill peeping your kettle let loose to announce that your water was effectively boiled?

“Wow.” You look up, shoulders rising and dropping with more flourish than necessary. “I need a nap,” you grumble and push away from where you’ve got the least wilted peppers and your leftover meat diced.

The kettle clicks back on with a quiet beep, the batter that you completely disregarded the instructions for cause you didn’t have eggs or milk is mixed, and you’re in your third fold to incorporate all the food together when a sharp BANG reverberates somewhere below your flat.

It’s a painful sounding pang that makes you flinch; spoon clattering to the imitation granite with a wet plop. The noise sets off the stray dog worse than before and you’re dropping like a cracked brick flat to the floor, heart hammering in conjunction with the animal’s startled barks.

You're high enough up from wherever the loud noise came from that your window doesn’t so much as rattle, but close enough that the breath shakes out of you with no less resistance than if it were physically being squeezed from you, and your palms tremble against the peel and stick tile your landlord insists is authentic.

You couldn’t—

A gunshot rings out in the definitely too close distance and you flinch.

“Fuck,” you rush out.

The curse you gasp out is unintelligible even to your own ears as you shake against the floor. The bang feels like deadweight vibrating through your bones. Like a presence squeezing at your lungs. There were protocol’s for this, you knew it, but you were just—

The sound of metal rattling harsh and fast meets your ears and this time your window does shake. You look up in what feels like slow motion, dread burning a hole through your stomach. A thump and subsequent end to the rattling freezes you in your tracks.

No way that didn’t come from your fire escape.

Fuck.

You knew one day it’d be Gotham that facilitated your demise, but right after a breakup? That was cruel even by the city’s standards.

Just your damn luck too that whoever was out there skipped three other peoples perfectly presentable fire escapes for yours.

You worry at your lip, eyeing the window behind your sheer curtains for anything unusual. Nothing immediately jumps out to you, just what you can see of the night from the upper mouth of the alleyway you’re in front of and the very top of your guard railing. Your suspiciously un-obscured guard railing.

Without really thinking you pull yourself up to your hands and knees. Your knees ache uncomfortably from your fall and your arms are weak at the elbows, threatening to send you careening face first into the floor, but you crawl forward anyway.

See, you liked to think you were smart. It was one of those things that was nearly a prerequisite in Gotham, even if The Hill was becoming less outwardly dangerous as more of the rich guys looking for cheap real estate forced their ways in. Still, the changes were only recent and - most importantly - a thinly veiled façade.

Crime was still crime no matter how pretty the buildings it took place in or around were.

Regardless, you thought you were smart, but now here you are easing up to your window like a reckless idiot with a death wish. If you were any less shaken up maybe you’d be running out your door - false alarm be damned - or you’d be thinking about calling the police at the very least.

Even in your haze you snort quietly to yourself. As if. At best they’d show up too late, The Hill was so far from everything that police response was shit on a ‘good’ day, let alone when every cop was out falling over themselves in their search for Mask and Hood, so you know you wouldn’t’ve bothered even if your stomach wasn’t currently trying to turn itself inside out.

The floor is cool under your palms and you let out a shaky breath. Elbows aching and knees starting to chafe because of how slow you were moving. You shift to list yourself to the side - alleviate the pain hindering your common sense - only to have it knocked right back into you when you overbalance and fall into the back of your couch.

“Oof,” you huff, noise forced from your chest.

Hands fly up to cover over your mouth, your eyes widening.

The seconds spent sprawled out on the floor give you time to think, at the very least, as you try to catch your breath as silently as possible.

No one would be rescuing you. The police weren’t coming - not that you really wanted their help anyway, your parents had moved to Camden last year, and you’d never even seen Batman in person. If you kept being stupid you’d be well and truly fucked.

Christ, you were mental. What the hell did you think you were gonna do - confirm to whoever was out there that you were home and then fight them off the fire escape yourself?

Somewhere in the ether someone was probably revoking your black card all now.

Retracing your steps backwards while still keeping mum wasn’t the easiest feat with your horrible balance and shaky limbs but you’re managing just fine - even grabbing your phone along the way. That you almost forgot it in the first place you ignore for now, the door and your shoes right beside it are too close for you to jeopardize your goal—

Beep beep beep beep…!

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading! It has officially been two years to the day since I posted my first fic on this blog!!!!!

❤︎

Okaaaay, I am very nervous about finally posting this but it’s been nearly two years in the making so hopefully it��s not terrible. Could I have waited to write this until I was a better writer and all my personal thoughts were fully fleshed out? Sure, but there’s no time like the present and I can always rewrite this! This’ll hopefully be a long ride so I’m excited.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

—

Also, feedback would be lovely, but be nice please, goddamn. Was the first chapter unengaging considering Jason’s not in it? Was it in any way confusing or hard to follow the Reader-Insert’s thought process throughout, specifically during the back and forth where she’s thinking about Jason and about what she’ll cook and shit?

[smolvenger]

The Child Called Sharpe (Thomas Sharpe x fem! Reader Blurb)

Summary: You and Thomas Sharpe welcome your first baby and his second, as Thomas himself faces his own demons regarding his past.

Word Count: 1K (er...blurb or short oneshot, whatever)

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy and childbirth, but nothing graphic. In this version, though I try to have a more nuanced take on Lucille, In this fic I choose to portray the Lucille/Thomas relationship as nonconsensual, pedophilic, and abusive so if you don't like that don't read this, so mentions of sexual abuse, death, illness, blood with some of the canon events of Crimson Peak. But it becomes a lot of tooth-rotting fluff.

A/N: I can't please everyone with Crimson Peak on the is Lucille good or bad vrs. is Thomas good or bad discourse, so why bother trying anymore. I just wanna write my stuff. From @holdmytesseract's request!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr

Love for him meant creation. It brought out Thomas’s gift of invention tenfold- for love itself was creation. For the first time in his life, an act of love brought out the child’s creation. So it was natural for Thomas to spend hours inventing more for this little child on their way.

That is, his second child. For he had a child, once, and lost that child, once. 

Yes, it was a child conceived from control rather than consent…but it was still a child in need of care. A hungry baby- a human life crying for milk, and burning with fever. A child “born wrong.” A child Enola swore to fight to keep alive. 

And a child that despite everything died anyway. As did Enola. 

Despite Lucille’s cruelty, he did pity her grief for that child- For it was his grief as well.

Lucille caught ill and died not long after. He at least made sure she died comfortably. Warm beneath blankets on a soft bed. Assured her she was loved and kissed her cheek as she took her last breath.

It was complicated, his feelings about his late sister. He never could decide one thing about her. For everything was true- there was both in her. Lucille, both cruel and misunderstood, powerful and pitiful, villain and victim.

Though he never once forced himself on anyone or took advantage of a child as she did to him…

And yet…

He was still guilty of scheming, of blood, of darkness as she was. Of the invention that he wanted to be funded, that he bought at the price of three women’s lives… 

But… assaulting him when he was little? Using his innocence until when he was grown he knew no other but her? You would tell him that even if the murders were understandable, she did cross a line in that regard.

He still didn’t know if the woman who at once was his partner, his equal, his sister as well as his jailer, his predator, his molester was deserving of it. 

Or not. 

Or both.

Yet, all of that darkness and blood was now in the past. Here you were his current wife. A wife who would never take advantage of him. A wife who listened and respected when he said “no.” A wife who wouldn’t push him. Wouldn’t manipulate him. Wouldn’t control him. A wife who forgave him and saw he was now trying to do right with his life, and his choices and would be there to support him.

 Your pregnancy was poignant.  A reminder that he had a new life now- and a life that was about to expand as your stomach did each month.  A new life was about to come forth literally and figuratively for him. 

In the corner of his workshop in a special box were toys he made once. Toys were made for the first child who died. 

He never prayed, but he did now to whoever listened. For once, those toys would know being loved, being played, and for a baby’s laughter and delight and adoration. They wouldn’t rust from age, but with use. To be worn not with dust, but with love.

He brought out the box one morning and set it in the nursery of his new house. A simpler house compared to Allerdale Hall’s Majesty. Smaller and brighter, made of cherrywood and over earth rather than clay. But cheerful, the warmth bursting in every room.

The toys were cleaned and set ready in that nursery corner. You squeezed his hand after he did so.

When making sure you were comfortable, or when you slept or napped, away he would be in his workshop. He had a special toy shop now next to the house. So in his downtime, he would be found creating little toys that a child of any sex would love. A little teddy bear that twirled on top of a drum. A little cat that lifted to lick its little paw next to a puppy that wagged its tail. 

But…what else would a baby need!? His mind was reeling. It had been too long…

Of course! A place to sleep! You had insisted the old wooden rocker would work…but he still had that itching, the gears in his mind whirring faster than any clay mine.

He took a few weeks to study the designs and then set right to work. He stayed up late, rolling up his sleeves. Working on one where if you pressed a small pedal, it would rock gently, oh so gently, as to not stir a baby to more wailing, but only to sleep.

So when he discovered that Lady Sharpe’s water broke, he insisted on staying by you.

“Thomas! But…husbands don’t..don’t usually stay!” you cried. You clutched his hand as he led you to the bed.

Lucille would urge him to leave when it was time to put a cleaver into one of the wives.

For once, he would look at the blood and the bodily innards spilling from his wife and not turn away.

He shook his head, though his hand was still in yours.

“No- My dear, all of my life, I closed my eyes and ran away. I didn’t look when things happened. Not this time- after I get the midwife, I am staying with you. I will not run away for once. I’m going to stay with my wife and keep my eyes open, no matter what I see. I love you- and for once, I am not leaving.” I will not leave you alone to deal with it now.

You grabbed him and kissed his cheek. Then he ran and fetched the midwife. He held to his word and stayed.

Labor is always long. Labor is always primal. But he waited there. Squeezing your hand, cooling your head for every painful cry and push. 

Then, after the long hours, though he was a man used to blood he turned pale… Then at last there was a cry.

The midwives smiled, bringing out a little baby in their blaket. Declaring, “It’s a girl!”

You let out a smile and then a laugh of relief. Thomas kissed your hand, then looked at her. His blue eyes brimmed with tears, but for once in his life they were happy ones.

The little girl was brought out in her blanket, needing her mother’s touch- being so new to this cold world and wanting the soft embrace of knowing she was loved now that she was here.

“Look at her…look at her- our baby! Our daughter! Oh!” you cried, a mess of crying, swear, and relief—the pain of the last several hours was forgotten for the tiny baby.

“I never could imagine it,” he agreed, he pecked her tiny forehead.

Once she had settled down, you handed her over to Thomas. The warm, living bundle in his arms. Yes, her cry was loud and bright…but it only signaled that she was alive.. He had never known such joy without confinement, without limits.

The midwives and nurses were paid and thanked. They left, but though it was a long day his Daedelian mind was eager to share his gift.

As you sat in the bed after a while, Thomas got up.

“I have a gift now. For her,” he announced.

Setting you in the wheelchair for rest, he led you to the nursery. The little girl in your arms. Inside the little pastel room there was something in the middle that was tall beneath a blanket.

Thomas walked forward and slipped the blanket off. You let out a gasp.

Beneath was the cradle Thomas made. It was stunningly beautiful- a little pedal that when he stepped on it, would make it rock. Over the bed was a music box on the side that trinkled a lullabye. Stars and a crescent moon dangled were placed to spin over the babies head where she would be placed.

You gasped, seeing how ornate it was. Every bit made with love. As you got up and placed her inside, she opened her little eyes and cooed. You made a little gasp as she took in the sight- her parents and her special gift. Music, rocking, and the stars and moon to dance above her.

To think, after all he had seen, experienced, and done…that he would come to know this moment. Here it was…and he didn’t feel worthy of it.

What when she was older? His own father was a monster. And for a while, fatherhood was linked to such things…

“I only hope I shall be a good father for that little girl…” Thomas wondered..

“You already are,” you assured him. You wrapped an arm around him and kissed him on the cheek.

That night, you were set to sleep after the exhaustion of delivery and elation of the baby. Thomas offered to be there in the nursery. For she was crying through that night, as any baby. Not that she was hungry, as he found out, she just needed warmth.

He got her out of the lovely cradle and went to the rocking chair. He wanted to hold her, feel her close. Her warmth and beating heart and life. 

His most precious creation of all…and the one that would survive. He knew she would.

“I promise you, my little love…” Thomas told the baby. “You will not know of attics. Of cold and punishments. Of plotting and murders. Of blood and cruelty…”

He kissed the top of her head.

“No- you will be Protected. Wanted…and loved.”

He would do everything so that his daughter would never have to suffer as he did.

[soap-ify]

nsfw , minors dni.

☆ : lonely is a man without love — kyle 'gaz' garrick x reader

kyle's lonely life experiences a change when he moves into a new place — ♡

. . 11.1k words.

tags and cw : neighbors to lovers, angst but LOTS of comfort, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence (briefly mentioned), hush if you see any military inaccuracies, reader is struggling and kyle too, reader is somewhat shy, mentions and descriptions of anxiety and depression, reader is afab and therefore the smut contains afab anatomy but other than that gender neutral terms have been used, smut, p in v, missionary position, fingering, cum eating, body worship i think, LOTS of kisses this man is insane about you, LOTS of consent check-ins because he is amazing, some laughing during sex, use of alcohol, kyle smokes, kissing in the rain.

notes : this is very self-indulgent and probably horribly written i am sorry . . went overboard with the word limit too i didn't think it would be long. this is for the gaz likers, eat your dinner up!

Kyle sometimes felt like he was doomed to be alone forever. So much love floated around him yet not a single bit was directed at him.

It’s a good thing. He would reassure himself. Will help me focus on my work. Though that wouldn’t explain the gnawing feeling in his heart, the loneliness that just spread within him like a virus while he would curl up in his bed, arms wrapped around himself while his fingers would caress his shoulders, pretending that it was someone else.

It wasn’t that he was bad. He was far from it. Handsome with a nice husky voice and a fairly athletic build. Not only that, he had a great personality too — loyal and determined. Still not fucking enough though, it seemed. People did like him, just not in the way his heart desired to be liked. At some points, it was as if no one ever took him seriously, making him feel like the odd one out. The leftover.

Kyle is a sweetheart — heart full of love that was aching to be given to someone, aching to be understood and embraced for once.

A few days ago, Kyle had rented a new apartment on impulse. Not that he regretted it though, it was clearly better than the current apartment he was living in — more spacious and closer to the base.

He was moving in today, cardboard boxes scattered on the floor as he stood in front of the door of his apartment, fiddling with his keys. He was about to open the door when he felt someone tap on his shoulder, causing him to abruptly turn around to face the culprit, senses on alert.

“Sorry!” A warm voice squeaked out, instantly catching Kyle’s attention. It was you, a friendly yet surprised smile adorning your lips as you angled your head to look at him. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.” You laughed sheepishly, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your shirt as you gestured to the door beside his door. “I’m your neighbor.”

Kyle would relax a bit, her dark eyes flickering towards the door you had gestured at before landing back at you, a soft smile slowly gracing his lips. “Nah, s’fine. Don’t be sorry.” He chuckled warmly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. He was used to being hyper aware all the time due to his work, so that sudden touch on his shoulder had nearly made him have a heart-attack. “...And I’m Kyle.” He added after a while.

Silence would soon take over as you two looked at one another, thinking over what to say next. “Well…” You would trail off, not wanting to disturb this new neighbor of yours any longer. Your eyes would glance down at those plump lips for him for a second before you snapped out of your thoughts, offering him a smile. “I’ll see you around then… Don’t be afraid to ask for anything at all.” You mumbled quickly, feeling like a damn bother already, turning around on your feet before jogging back into your apartment, gently shutting the door behind you.

Kyle would stare at the spot where you stood with a dazed look in his eyes, his lips parted slightly as he let out a shaky breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding until you went away. Fuck, that was awkward, he internally thought, yet unable to shake off this warm feeling that was spreading through his heart. Typical Kyle, always being left shocked and giddy after anyone would show interest in him. You are a weirdo, Garrick.

Now he had another mini goal in his life — to get to know you. You were his neighbor after all so it was only polite for him to at least know you, right? And with that, he resumed moving the packed boxes into his apartment, blood rushing to his cheeks.

The following weeks were very much uneventful — simple greetings exchanged whenever you passed by Kyle, little waves here and there alongside the sweet smiles you would give him that would just melt his heart. Yet still, there wasn’t any real interaction. He didn’t know anything about you, and at this point, he felt like he had read too much into the time he first met you a few weeks ago.

It wasn’t as if he himself was making any effort. He was too caught up in work, coming home late at nights, barely having any time for himself or others.

Tonight was different though. He had come early. Well, not really — it was 11:00 PM, but still earlier than usual though he was just as tired as every time. As he made his way towards the door of his apartment, he felt a familiar figure next to him. You. His head was quick to turn to the side, brown eyes instantly meeting yours as you looked at him as well, the time suddenly slowing down. There you were outside your apartment’s door, in your work clothes and a bit of disheveled appearance, highlighting just how exhausted you were after work. Just like him.

For a moment, you both just stared at each other tiredly before he managed to gather up some courage, his hand holding the door knob. “Drinks?” He asked, internally cringing at how hoarse his voice sounded due to his throat randomly going dry at the sight of you. Though you were quick to nod, causing a familiar warmth to spread in his chest.

That’s how you found yourself in Kyle’s apartment, your eyes taking in the details. It was quite warm and cozy, not overly decorated but having little things like books, certificates and pictures around that made the apartment his.

You settled down on the couch, sinking into the softness while your fingers absent-mindedly played with the sleeve of your shirt, eyes watching Kyle as he came towards you with two bottles of bourbon. “Sorry that I look like a disaster.” You mumbled quietly, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“Nah. You don’t. And even if ya do, I do too. That'd mean we're matching.” He grinned and sat beside you, passing you one bottle of bourbon before opening up his own, taking a swig of it, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He would lean his head back, and you couldn’t help but look at the way the bulge in his throat moved as he gulped down the alcohol.

Kyle looked pretty. He always looked good-looking in your eyes ever since you had first met him, but right now, something made him look even better. Maybe it was the dim yellow light from the lamp on a nearby stand that fell onto his face, creating a soft glow around the face of his shape from the angle you were seated on. His eyes were closed while the bourbon relaxed his nerves, his plump lips parted slightly. You couldn’t help but admire his lashes, the mild stubble that adorned his jaw and the mustache that neatly rested above his upper lips — and that small scar on his cheek, your fingers aching to caress the rough surface. You silently took a sip from your own bourbon bottle, your eyes traveling down to his neck, the sight of skin making your insides feel weird, in a good way. You would soon find yourself in awe of his arms, the way his shirt was rolled up to rest on his elbows, and fuck, those hands. Your throat went dry as you mindlessly stared at the veins on his hand, and those long fingers of his. Get your head out of the gutter, you reminded yourself.

You weren’t usually like this. Yes, you had a fair share of people you have had a crush upon, but they were never a person that you sat with and drank a bourbon with, someone who also happened to be your neighbor. This all felt too weird, too real. It was maybe also the fact that you weren't so used to all this — this level of calmness and almost sickening domesticity. You don't even remember the last time you had let someone see you being vulnerable, open around them or anything. You were mostly alone.

Failing to rip your eyes away from Kyle, you silently continued to stare at him while drinking the bourbon until his eyes fluttered open and met yours, catching you staring at him. Shit. You went still, feeling your blood rush to your cheeks.

He went still too, his brows raising in curiosity and subtle amusement, his lips twitching a bit — as if contemplating on whether to smile or not. Why am I so awkward?, he internally scolded himself, his fingers tightening around the bottle of bourbon.

A part of him felt proud that you found him attractive. He wanted you to find him attractive. He silently took one last swig of the bourbon before putting the bottle aside, turning over to him. His cheeks felt warm, and he didn’t know if it was because of the alcohol or this situation — or both. Sensing your embarrassment, he decided to let this little action of yours slide and change the topic.

“Hey, you wanna hear somethin’ funny?” He asked, his elbow gently nudging your arm. You nodded curiously, fingers tapping against the glass of the bottle.

He would shuffle a bit closer to you, your shoulders brushing against one another. It didn’t feel odd this time, or creepy even — it felt just right. The type of right where the time seemingly slows down and the room grows warmer, the type of right where everything blurs around the person your eyes are focused on — Kyle. The type of right where your breathing gets slower in contentment and tranquility, an odd sense of serenity flowing through your veins, making it impossible for you to not lean into him.

He began talking, his tone not slurred at all but seemingly more confident now, and you couldn’t pinpoint whether it was because of the alcohol or just him warming up to you. He talked about his job, how he was an operator in the Special Forces, not disclosing much more than that because apparently, that information was classified. He subtly talked about some fucked up moments that he had to face, that he found funny even, despite it being somewhat horrific actually.

“There was this one time when I had to rescue a friend of mine. I was in the heli with Nik — he’s a nice man. Anyways, some stuff happened and I slipped off the heli, but hey, I didn’t hit the ground. I was danglin’ by a fuckin' rope, and my cap'n kept tryin’ to talk to me through the earpiece. It was hell, he couldn’t believe it.” Kyle chuckled, voice a bit raspy while his eyes were focused on you, eager to see your reaction.

You would have normally been weirded out by something like that, something that just seemed so dangerous. But the way he had described it, the way he had chuckled even — it made your lips twitch into a bright smile, a soft giggle leaving your lips that soon turned into full blown laughter. “Dangling by a rope?!” You try to mutter in between your laughs, hands clutching your sides as you try to regain your composure. Your reaction made him burst into laughter too, and now you both were just a mess, tearing up. At this point, it didn’t even seem to be about Kyle’s experience anymore. It was a sweet, genuine laugh — evidence of how you had gotten so comfortable with your neighbor, how you had started to feel this odd sense of affection towards him.

Kyle was no better, his heart drumming like crazy against his chest. You are an angel, he internally thought, so enamored by the sound of your laughter. It didn’t matter what you thought of your laughter or how much you tried to keep it quiet, he absolutely loved it. He began feeling that familiar ache in his heart, the emotions that begged to be spilled out, to be directed towards someone, anyone — you. But he was going to hold it in like every time, like all the times he had to keep his emotions bottled up, knowing that they wouldn’t be reciprocated. They never were reciprocated, and it made him into this — a love-starved fool.

The laughter eventually dissolved into muffled giggles and shaky breaths, your hands loosening around your sides while your glassy eyes looked over at Kyle, who was also looking at you. Both of you were panting softly, eyes locked on one another. You could feel your heartbeat picking up its pace, your lips parted slightly while your cheeks were all warm. God, he is gorgeous, you wondered in awe, feeling an oddly fuzzy feeling clouding your brain.

You two were so close, and you could just kiss him. You wanted to. But wouldn’t he find it weird, being kissed by his neighbor? You felt skeptical, but seeing the way his eyes just didn’t seem to move away from yours, you found yourself leaning forward. And he did too. He actually leaned forward!

Closer, and a bit more, and more—

Until his phone rang. Fucking hell. Kyle audibly groaned, looking at you with a collectively embarrassed and apologetic look. You backed away, cheeks burning up while your eyes darted away shyly, nibbling on your bottom lip.

He mumbled something inaudible under his breath, getting up from the couch so he could accept the call, pressing his phone against his ear. “Yes, Cap’n? Yeah… Oh, alright... On Friday? Yeah, okay.” He whispered, soon enough ending the call before turning back to you, clearing his throat sheepishly. “Uh— Sorry. Work call.” He grumbled, brows knitting.

You shook your head, still in a bit of haze after how you almost kissed him. Or maybe you weren’t going to. Maybe you were just overthinking the whole situation, clinging onto some false hope because fuck, your neighbour was gorgeously enticing. You pushed those thoughts away quickly, not willing to fall into another delusion, just like you had with your past crushes. “S’fine, Kyle. Need to go anyway. Too late now.” You mumbled softly, looking over at the watch on your wrist that read 12:45 AM now. You hadn’t realized how much time you had spent with him already. It was as if time seemed to melt away around you, just like the way he seemed to melt your heart.

But there was no time to think about that. You had work tomorrow. It was already too late. Kyle looked over at the clock hung on the wall, a soft sigh leaving his lips before his brown eyes looked back at you. “Thanks for keepin’ me company, mate.” He spoke, internally cringing at calling you ‘mate’ though he didn’t know what else to call you. Love? Sweetie? I will freak her out, he internally thought, you think too much, Garrick.

You made your way towards the front door of his apartment, glancing at him one last time. “Goodnight, Kyle…” You whispered, a soft smile adoring your lips, senses a bit clouded due to the alcohol though you knew that your smile was sincere — full of warmth that you had shown multiple, but managed to seem different when shown to him — more genuine.

When you stepped out into the corridor, your eyes caught a glimpse of his expression, a hint of disappointment and loneliness lingering behind the warm smile he wore on his plump lips. Maybe you were imagining it, maybe your mind was playing tricks on you, but you knew that you wanted to be there for him more and more. He was like a painting, placed in the far corner of the museum where no one would see him, but you were the visitor who had coincidentally stumbled upon the isolated area, now in awe of this painting.

It was just one of those days for you today, brows knitted in frustration as you went over the paperwork of your job, not understanding a single word written there. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep you had gotten the past few days, or the boisterous laugh of your fellow colleagues that roared in the workplace, overstimulating your senses. Or maybe it was your annoying boss, slamming loads and loads of papers on your desk and you just silently accepted them because, well, you couldn’t afford angering your boss. Or maybe it was just Kyle who had been stuck in your brain ever since that little experience you had with him a few days ago.

You didn’t have the luxury of having a pleasant lifestyle. It was monotonous more than anything — most days passed with you absolutely drowning in your work, giving you barely any time to take care of yourself. You were horribly burnt out, exhausted with the same old stuff going on. Maybe that’s why you were so drawn to Kyle in the first place. He was new, fresh like the spring breeze, his smile enough to kindle a strange warmth in your chest.

Whatever it was, you knew that you wanted to get to know him better, even though you weren’t the best at making connections — or even maintaining them. The thought made you wince, mind drifting away from the paperwork.

Your phone hadn’t pinged with a new message for a few days. You knew it, they had grown tired of you. Your friends — everyone. It was your fault, right? It was always your fault. Pushing people away, not letting them see past your mask, to see the real you that yearned to be understood, to fit in. If it weren’t for your depressive episodes, you would still have managed to maintain some relationship. But no. You just had to push them away. Now hopelessly sitting on your bed, dark circles adorning your under eyes while you gazed at your silent phone, a familiar emptiness lingering in your heart that just never seemed to go away. Your room was a mess, neither your body nor mind having any energy to get up. You needed help, you needed someone — anyone. But you didn’t want to be a burden, you didn’t—

You were snapped out of your memories at the sound of the glass shattering and some yells, your head snapping up to see that one of your colleagues had managed to break a glass, now getting yelled by the boss. Fucking great. You bitterly groaned silently, eyes looking over at the clock. Just a few more hours, you could do this.

Once the time was up, you were quick to grab your things and scurry out of the office, too exhausted to deal with anyone. 6:30 PM — you had actually managed to leave early today. You followed along your usual path, taking the crowded bus and then having a small walk along the street until you reached the small apartment complex.

About an hour passed and you had properly freshened up with a nice shower, now cladded in one of your pajamas. The fatigue still lingered in your muscles, refusing to go away. You frowned silently, eyes darting over to the balcony door. Putting on some slippers, you walked over to the balcony door and opened it, stepping into the cool, chilly evening air — the sky having mostly darkened up. You breathed in the fresh air, feeling a sense of ease clouding your senses. Though your moment of peace was interrupted by the smell of cigarettes. Wait, what?

Your head turned to the side, catching the sight of your neighbor on his balcony. Fuck, you had forgotten that your balcony was connected with Kyle’s.

Your brows rose in surprise, eyes carefully looking over at him. He looked, well, like a wreck. You felt your heart sink as you looked at him, taking in his appearance. He wore a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, the hood covering his head up, restricting you from the view of his short curly hair. His eyes looked tired, dark circles visible under his eyes, his brows knitted while his eyes were focused on the sky, gaze distant. A lit cigarette was snug in between his fingers, connecting with his lips as he exhaled some smoke. You wondered what happened, what caused him to look so… dejected. Though you resisted from asking him that directly, not wanting to pry into something you clearly didn’t belong in.

“Smoker?” Your voice cut through the silence, causing him to look over at you in surprise.

Kyle hadn’t expected to see you here. There you were, in your balcony, staring at him with concern that was masked behind nonchalance, though he could easily spot it. “Sometimes.” He replied, voice hoarse as his eyes looked away, staring back at the sky. He wanted to talk to you, had missed you so much, but this really wasn’t the best time. He didn’t mean it, but his voice sounded uncharacteristically annoyed.

You winced at his lack of reaction and the subtle show of annoyance, swallowing the strange lump in your throat as you silently stepped forward, leaning against the barrier of your balconies. “What’s wrong?” You finally decided to hit the sore spot, eyeing the change in his expression.

“Nothing.” He replied gruffly.

“Well there’s clearly something wro—”

“It’s none of your business. You don’t wanna hear it, trust me.”

“You won’t know unless you—”

“I told you, it’s nothing!”

“Stop fucking talking over me!” Your voice raised unintentionally alongside his. For a second, you just stared at him with wife eyes, panting softly as he looked back at you with an equally surprised reaction. This was such a stupid thing to argue on, and for a moment, you thought that maybe he was right. Maybe it really wasn’t any of your business. You were just his neighbor, right? Good job, ruining everything once again, you internally scolded yourself, a groan leaving your lips. If only you could control your goddamn temper.

Kyle was stunned, your voice pulling him out of his depressed haze. He huffed, brows knitting in embarrassment as he walked over to the barrier that separated the balconies, getting in front of you. “Fuck, sorry. It’s just…” He hesitated, taking another drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke aside. “I am tired, y’know. Working’ so hard every day and for what? I got no one to be proud of me. Fuck, even my own cap’n doesn’t give me the validation I want…” His voice cracked at the end, nose scrunching as he looked away, as if ashamed by his own vulnerability.

Fuck, you froze, You knew this feeling too well.

“And now look at me… Talkin’ to my neighbor about it. I am supposed to be protecting people, n-not be the fucking weak one.” He sniffled irritably, forcing out an insincere chuckle. Self deprecating thoughts, typical for Kyle. Though you were clearly unaware of it.

Kyle’s mind was a mess right now. Do better, do better, do better. Ever since he had joined the taskforce, he had this itchy feeling in his heart that urged him to prove himself. To make everyone sure that he was worthy enough to deal with the horrors of the world. But no amount of training or missions gave him the satisfaction he desired. There was always someone better than him. Who even was he anymore? He had molded himself so much for others, and now he couldn’t recognise himself.

You had noticed how Kyle had suddenly gone quiet, the connected balconies now surrounded by a thick layer of silence, sparking a familiar sense of anxiety in you. You wanted to say something to him, something you longed to listen to when you were struggling a few years ago. But what could you even say without properly knowing his situation? You knew nothing about what actually even goes on in his job despite the little things he had told you that wouldn’t really be considered classified.

So you simply reached your hand forward, grabbing his free one. You felt him stiffen up for a split second before relaxing again, his eyes moving back to you. You took this time to silently admire his hands, your fingers lacing with his as your thumb rubbed gently circles on his skin. His hand was so fucking pretty, the type you’d want after a manicure. His nails were nicely cut, and his skin was clean and only mildly callused. You were surprised that his hands weren’t so madly roughened up in the way you would normally expect a soldier to have.

“I have a hand care routine.” Kyle blurted out sheepishly, probably having sensed your fascination. You couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, causing his eyes to soften up. Your laugh. It reminded him of how you gave him company alongside drinking some bourbon a few nights ago. It was his favorite night in his damn life already.

“I don’t know what's going on in your head, Kyle. But…” You trailed off, giving his hands a gentle squeeze while your eyes darted away in an almost shy manner. “You can always rely on me. I swear.”

Kyle could have sworn that he heard his heart explode in his chest.

There was no way you weren't an angel. The familiar painful warmth made its appearance into his heart and this time, he didn’t push it away. He was smitten. You, sweet you. His lovely name. Not emphasis on his yet, because well— yeah.

Kyle had started feeling hopeful all over again, blood rushing to his cheeks and lips parting breathlessly. He didn’t know what exactly he was feeling towards you. Maybe a silly crush like many others wherein his feelings were never reciprocated. But he instantly pushed that thought away. He knew that you were different. Unlike others who had made him into this anxious, perfectionist mess — you didn’t put any burdens on him, simply made him feel safe and seen. Safe. He had never felt safe with any person before, maybe with his task force but that was really different from what he felt right now. He didn’t feel unlovable for once, despite the self-loathing thoughts scratching on the back of his mind, making him struggle to think straight.

He simply wanted to fall in your arms and cry. Cry about how it was just too much for him now, the sheer immorality of his work that he had promised himself that he would face. Cry about how no one ever wanted him, how he was always left out. Cry about being the second option. Cry about feeling like a fucking outsider. Cry about never being perfect. Cry about everything.

He would have actually made his way into your arms if it wasn’t for the little barrier in between your balcony and his. And the barrier between you both — the invisible one. You were still just a neighbor, and maybe a friend. He didn’t want to overthink this, to give himself hope like every time.

Once his cigarette had run out, he sighed softly and kept it tucked in between his fingers, his lips forming a soft smile — the one that you were so familiar with. “You’re a special one, lovie.” He said, before pausing, lips twitching a bit. Going all out now with the nicknames.

Your eyes lightened up under the faint, dim light of the balcony, lips forming a sweetly goofy smile. Lovie. That just sounded so… Kyle. You liked it, this new little change in your relationship. You never let go of his hand, your body pressing up against the barrier of the balconies. “C’mon. Wanna hang out again? My apartment this time.” You offered, gently nudging him.

And oh boy, he was embarrassingly quick to agree.

You had put down fluffy pillows in front of the couch, Kyle seated on them alongside you with your backs pressed against the couch. You had bought a bowl of popcorns, which was now settled in between the little distance you two had. The light from your TV illuminated your face, and he couldn’t help but silently stare at you.

“I’m going to put on a rom-com.” You mumbled softly, hands fiddling with the remote of the TV as you scrolled through the lists of movies, until random on a recently added rom-com movie you don't recall ever watching.

Kyle’s eyes drifted over to the TV screen and then back to you, a cheeky grin soon adorning his lips. ”I feel like this is a trap.” He chuckled under his breath, playfully nudging you with his elbow.

“Oh yeah? Why would it be?” You couldn’t help but giggle, eyes squinting.

“Well, I dunno! Didn’t know that lovie here was into rom-coms.”

“You don’t know much about me then, Kyle.”

The banter between you both went on for a few seconds until the opening credit song of the movie started playing, causing you to immediately hush him, focusing fully onto the movie. Kyle went quiet, pulling the hood of his head, finally. Those short curls of his were visible once again.

He was definitely more relaxed than before. He had even sprayed himself with your perfume so the smell of cigarettes goes away. His mind felt a bit clearer too, albeit a weird dull ache still present in his heart. The usual emptiness, the ache for you. He ignored those feelings for now though, trying to properly focus on the movie.

Easier said than done. You were so close to him, warmth basically radiating off you while your eyes were fixed onto the screen, mouth silently chewing onto the popcorns. He sneakily shuffled a bit closer, his shoulder gently brushing with yours. You didn’t flinch away at all, making his heart warm up even more.

He wanted, no, needed to hold you. His arms were aching to embrace you, and as much as the rational part of his mind would have normally stopped him, this time it didn’t. He gently leaned his head a bit close, lips a few inches away from your ears. “Can I hold you…?” He asked, voice soft and a bit raspy.

Your breath hitched at the sudden proximity, your head tilting to the side to face him, only for your noses to almost be pressed together. Warmth bloomed in your chest and you couldn’t help but nod, lips forming a sweet smile. “Yes…” You whispered. You wouldn’t have let anyone else hold you. You trusted him.

Kyle was overjoyed, but he managed to hide it well. His arms, firm with muscles, slowly around you and scooped you towards him until your back was nicely snuggled into his chest, seated between his legs. You could almost feel his heartbeat against your back — rapid and loud with soft thumps. you found yourself relaxing in his arms, leaning more into him as a soft sigh escaped your lips.

You picked the bowl of popcorns and gently placed it back on your lap, resuming to eat it. Kyle took this time to place his chin on the top of your head, happy that you couldn’t see the absolutely goofy grin that adorned his lips, his heart practically jumping up and down in his chest. He had never felt so connected with someone, your warmth seeping into the sheer loneliness that engulfed his heart. He wasn’t alone.

“Crappy guy.” He commented on the love interest of the female lead, some tall and cold man — very much typical in romance movies. You hummed in agreement, your hand grazing him as he put his hand alongside yours into the bowl, picking up some popcorn.

The movie wasn’t even good at this point. Mostly because all of your mind was solely focused on how nice and warm he felt behind you, making you feel so relaxed. You could basically fall asleep on him if you wanted to, but you restrained yourself mentally, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. What even were the boundaries now?

You closed your eyes momentarily, curling up against him after you put the popcorn bowl aside, your cheek pressed against his neck. “Bored?” He asked quietly, his hand rubbing up and down your arm in a gentle manner, earning a silent nod from you. He sighed softly and nuzzled his nose into your hair, inhaling your scent.

“About earlier…” You trailed off, brows knitting in confusion. What were you doing? It was as if you wanted to comfort him as much as you could, your heart speaking instead of your mind. It was like an itch, one that wouldn’t go away unless you talked to him. You shifted in his arms so you could face him, comfortable in between his legs, not caring about the movie anymore. “I…” You sheepishly cleared your throat, hands hesitantly twitching before grasping onto his shoulders. “I… I was struggling real bad a few years ago. Still am, but… Just wanted to tell you that you aren’t alone…” You nervously looked away, chewing on your bottom lip.

You had never opened up to anyone before. It was basically written all over your face.

Kyle’s brows furrowed momentarily, going quiet after your words. It explained a lot actually, the subtle dark circles under your eyes and the absent-minded fidgeting you always did. Though it wasn’t really noticeable, he noticed. Perks of having a job that required high attention.

“Lovie… You don’t gotta say anythin’ you don’t wanna.” He spoke after a while, his arms tightening around you as he pulled you in just a bit more closer, the tip of his nose almost touching yours. “But thank you… Really. And I am also here for you, always” His voice softened up even more at the end, so quiet and warm.

You scoffed softly, but nodded, your hands shyly caressing up his shoulders, fingers trailing up his neck, face before eventually reaching his scalp. Your fingers soothingly ran through his short, nicely cut hair, a soft sigh escaping your lips. You had been waiting for this. And the way Kyle’s eyes closed relaxed encouraged you even more to gently scratch his scalp.

Kyle leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttered shut and lips parted slightly, relishing your touch. It was achingly comforting, and he could feel the noises in his head becoming inaudible, his heart rate relaxing and his nerves calming down.

You, you, you, you.

That’s what rang in his head, blood rushing to his cheeks and ears as he felt himself get all giddy over his neighbor — sweet neighbor.

The movie was long forgotten in the background, the only trace of it being the muffled sounds and the light from the screen that fell onto you both. Kyle slowly opened his eyes again, his hands reaching up to gently cup your face, fingertips pressing against the back of your ears. His eyes looked all over your face, from the fond look in your eyes to your lips. Lips he wanted to kiss so bad.

“Can I kiss you?”

His own words surprised him, but he didn’t back away. Not now, not ever. He gently pressed his forehead against yours, his breathing syncing with yours as he felt your hands slide down to gently hold onto his shoulders again, your lips forming an adorable smile.

“Yes… Okay.”

He slowly closed the distance between you both, pressing his lips against yours. His lips felt soft, moving with your lips delicatel — a chaste kiss. The kiss didn’t seem inexperienced by any means. He knew what he was doing, holding your face so tenderly in his hands as if you were the most precious thing ever, breath hitching subtly as he parted from the kiss, looking at you with half-open eyes. Holy shit, he actually kissed you. If he were to die this very moment, he would die a happy man.

“Am I going too fast, lovie…?” He asked, his hands slowly easing their way down to your waist, helping you up to sit on his lips before he wrapped his arms around your waist one again, a blissful smile on his lips.

You shook your head lazily, arms wrapping around his neck as you comfortably sat on his lap, blood rushing to your cheeks while your heart thumped fast in your chest. You actually kissed him. “I liked it… You can do more, Kyle.”

God, you were perfect, he thought to himself, brain buzzing with glee while his hands gently caressed your lower back, fingers applying some pressure to your hip bone, earning a relaxed sigh from you. “I told ya I felt like this was going to a trap.” He chuckled in amusement under his breath before pressing his lips against yours once more.

Your mind felt fuzzy as you responded back to his kiss, soft smooching sounds lingering in the air. It felt nice. Too nice. Your brain wanted to somehow disconnect from the feeling of the kiss. Memories of you isolating yourself from everyone made their way into your mind once again like a fly that never went away, scratching at your head. Fuck. What if you pushed him away too? This felt impossibly good, and you didn’t know if you could handle it.

Still, you didn’t pull away from the kiss. You couldn’t. You still wanted this.

You felt his tongue gently caressing your bottom lip, poking it as if requesting entrance. You could almost feel him unable to hold in his grin in the middle of the kiss when you complied, gently parting your lips. He coaxed you closer and closer, the tip of his tongue gently caressing yours. A muffled whimper left your lips as you tightened your fingers around his shoulders, brows furrowing as you tried to keep your mind clear. This time, you properly felt his light stubble and mustache graze against your soft skin, heightening up your senses.

Once the kiss ended, Kyle pressed some more quick pecks on your cheek before burying his face in the crook of your neck, his stubble tickling your skin. You were breathless, clinging onto him tight, not wanting this moment to end at all as you leaned into him, fingernails gently scratching against his nape. “Bloody gorgeous you are…” He croaked out against your neck, gently pressing soft kisses on your skin.

Warmth pooled in your stomach, your hips twitching unconsciously. He was so sickeningly sweet —you felt your heart growing more and more fond of him. Your body shuddered once he began lightly nipping on your skin with his teeth, testing the water and bloody hell, it was working. You didn’t even know you were sensitive in that area until now. “K-Kyle…” His name left your lips in the form of a shaky giggle, a bashful smile playing on your lips as you gently tugged on his hair with his fingers, earning a groan from him.

“Fucking hell, lovie…” He huffed, playfully yet lightly biting on your neck, eliciting a surprised squeak from you.

“Kyle!”

“Hush.” He peppered sweet licks on the place he had given you a bite. He pulled his head back slightly, eyes meeting yours once again.

He could feel the subtle tension in your muscles, the mild hesitation that seemed too familiar to him. Maybe you were scared of this softness just as much as he craved it. It wasn’t a bad kind of scared though, he knew that much.

“I have really bad luck with… all this.” He blurted out after a few seconds of silence, brown eyes fixed on yours, filled with vulnerability that he wasn’t reluctant on showing you anymore. He trusted you anyways. “I dunno, lovie. I have been goin’ on with my life thinking that I was just… not lovable at all. Got sick of being so alone all the time, of being left out a-and—” His voice cracked, his lips quickly pursing shut with a subtle hint of embarrassment. Not now, Garrick.

He cleared his throat, licking his bottom lip that suddenly felt dry. “You are the only one who makes me forget about the emptiness in my heart. I mean it. You are the only one who doesn’t make me feel like a fool, lovie… Ever since I met you, ever since we drank a few nights ago, every greeting of yours every morning— Fuck, makes me so warm.”

This was the real Kyle in front of you. You could finally see him beneath the flesh and bones. His words made your heart ache. Him? Unlovable? He was surrounded by the wrong people then because nothing in him could ever make him unlovable.

“It’s okay. I am also… not very good at all this.” You mumbled, unable to suppress a soft giggle from escaping your lips. Idiots, you both were. “And… don’t think that you are unlovable.”

Kyle nodded and pressed one more quick kiss on your lips, his heart hammering against his chest fast at your words, his hands fiddled with the hem of your pajama shirt, his fingers aching to lift it up. “Can I…?” He asked, his eyes focused on you so intently, as if trying to memorize your very soul.

With a nod from you, he gently eased your shirt off you, sliding it up your head before putting it on the couch behind you. His breath hitched once his eyes landed on your bare torso, lips parted in awe. Pretty. Prettiest.

You looked away in embarrassment, realizing that you weren’t wearing a bra. You didn’t know that someone would be there in the balcony when you had gone out for fresh air — that someone being Kyle. You wanted to say something, but your thoughts were cut off when you felt both of his hands gently caressing your breasts, sizing them up while his fingers dug in your soft flesh, causing your breath to hitch and body to tense up.

“Relax, lovie… Tell me if you don’t want it.” He pressed a kiss on your cheek, smiling warmly at you. Kisses, kisses, kisses — he had given you so many kisses already, made you feel so special. And now this. All the earlier stress from work today, all the bad memories just seemed to wash away as his hands lovingly fondled your breasts.

You took a few deep breaths, feeling your muscles relax. “Okay… Okay.” You nodded, nibbling on your bottom lip as your eyes watched him, his thumbs gently brushing against your nipples that had begun to harden up under the sweet attention that he was giving to your chest. A little squeak left your lips when his thumb pressed against your right nipple gently, your sensitivity causing you to accidentally buck your hips forward.

“Woah there…” He chuckled teasingly, pulling his hands away from your chest before he held onto your hips gently, keeping them still. You grumbled at how he was getting amused at every embarrassing thing your body was doing.

Kyle was truly taking pleasure at the little twitches in your body, and as much as he wanted to take you right this very second, he wanted to be patient, to gently coax you into fully relaxing. Only then was he going to fuck you. He gently lowered his head, ignoring the way his back was leaning forward in a somewhat awkward manner, his lips gently brushing against your right nipple.

“Can I?” He whispered, looking up at you from this angle, watching the way your brows were furrowed and lips were slightly parted, your head nodding too quickly. He slowly latched his mouth to your nipple, his tongue caressing the soft bud with care. You moaned softly, your fingers going to his head once again, clinging onto his hair.

He took his time sucking on both of your nipples, hands never leaving your hips. Each swirl of his tongue around on your sensitive skin caused you to shiver, chest rising and falling with each breath you took. Once your nipples were all wet and swollen, he began peppering gentle kisses on the softness of your breasts before eventually pulling his head back, licking his bottom lip in delight.

“You have no idea what you're doin’ to me, lovie…”

He slowly eased you off his lap before laying you down on the ground, making sure that the fluffy pillows you both were seated on earlier were now resting underneath you. Once he got on top of you, kneeling in between your legs, he slowly began to press soft kisses on your belly, his hands holding onto your hands. He smiled against your skin once he felt your fingers lacing with his, his lips trailing a line of kiss down to your belly button before resting on top of them hem of your pajama trousers.

“Can I, lovie?” He groaned softly while pressing kisses on your waist line, wanting to make sure that you wanted this as much as he did. He was kissing on a particular ticklish spot of yours, causing you to squirm and laugh shyly.

“Fuck— yes. Yes, Kyle…” You whimpered out in between your soft giggles, your fingers slowly leaving him once he pulled his hands back. He slowly tugged your pajamas down, sliding them off your ankles and socks-cladded feet. His eyes fell onto the pair of panties you wore, a wet patch visible on them. His heart bloomed with fondness at how adorable you looked like this, all flushed and squirmy, visibly needy.

His thumb brushed over the wet spot, gently outlining your folds from the fabric of your dampening panties. Your hips twitched, your hands desperately holding onto your breasts since they didn’t know what else to hold onto. His other hand gently fondled your thighs before reaching to slide your panties down, tossing them aside.

“Holy fuck…” He breathed out in awe once his eyes fell onto your glistening cunt. It was so fucking gorgeous, his lips trembling a bit. Fuck, how did he get so lucky? He looked at you to make sure you were okay, noticing how you looked so fuzzy with pleasure, an excited smile adorning your lips.

“Kiss…” You whined out softly, hands reaching forward, aching to hold his face. He chuckled under his breath and nodded, gently leaning down to press his lips against yours while your hands cupped his face, his tongue finding yours. While he kissed you passionately, his fingers reached down to gently caress your wet folds, sliding his fingers up and down your cunt. Your whimpers were sucked in by his mouth, your eyes fluttering shut as your hands held onto his face dearly, your hips bucking forward to somehow get more contact with his hand.

He slowly pulled away from the kiss, his other hand going in between your legs too. His thumb cautiously brushed over your clit, feeling it pulsate and twitch underneath. God, just how needy were you? It was adorable, causing him to smile affectionately, his thumb beginning to rub your clit in circular motions. A breathy moan left your lips, your hand coming to cover your mouth because what if your noises are just so damn annoying to him? But the glare he shot you after that made you uncover your mouth once again. “No need to hold in your noises.” He grumbled softly.

You nodded sheepishly, your body struggling to stay still as his thumb continued to rub your sensitive clit, his finger gently coming to circle your entrance, feeling how warm it was. “Can I push my fingers in?” He asked softly, leaning down to press a peck on your forehead. You nodded, taking a few deep breaths to relax your muscles.

He started with one finger, gently sliding it into your tight entrance with surprising ease, probably due to how wet you were. Your walls tightened around his fingers as he gently began to rub it inside you, his thumb continuing to mindlessly fondle with your clit.

“Mmh… Kyle…” You let out a soft moan, eyes glossy due to how good it felt, your nerves feeling tingly — in a good way.

“Want more?”

“Yes—!”

Kyle slowly eased in another finger inside you, and soon one more. He couldn’t help it, you were being so good for him. He gently began thrusting his three fingers in and out of your tight cunt, stretching you nicely, his thumb never stopping from giving your needy clit some attention.

Your eyes rolled back, lips parted as your hips gently bucked back and forth in sync with his fingers. His fingers were rubbing against the sweet spongy spots inside you, causing your face to contort in pleasure. Even your own fingers couldn’t make you feel so good.

It wasn’t long until you felt your walls tightening up around his fingers, breathing getting shaky as your mind became blurry. “S-So close…! P-Please— Need it, need it.” You mindlessly babbled, almost sobbing out once the wave of pleasure hit you hard, warmth bursting in your stomach as your climax hit you hard, your body squirming. Kyle’s eyes were wide with adoration, his fingers slowly down but never stopping, letting you ride your orgasm out while his eyes looked down at the sweet, sticky white cum on the base of his fingers — your cum.

“Fuck… You are so good f’me, lovie.” He eased his fingers out of your pretty cunt, leaning down to gently kiss your chin, your teary eyes fluttering open to look at him. He smiled at you before gently putting his wet fingers in his mouth, lips nicely closing around his fingers as his tongue licked your cum off them. Your eyes widened in a mixture of surprise, arousal and embarrassment. He was actually licking your cum.

He savored the bittersweet taste before pulling his fingers out of his mouth, grinning cheekily at you. “Tastiest thing I ever tasted.” He commented, earning a gentle swat on his arm from you.

“Cheeky bastard…”

“You know I am.” He cooed before slowly sliding his hoodie off his head, revealing his nicely muscular torso.

You gawked at him, a tiny gasp leaving your lips as your eyes roamed over his upper half, looking at his smooth skin that was adorned with some little scars here and there, a bigger one staring from his waist and probably leading to his back. He's pretty.

He noticed your reaction, the cheeky grin never leaving his lips. He knew that he was good looking enough, and the fact that you find him attractive as well somewhat boosted his confidence even more — in a very good way.

Your hands gently reached up, caressing along the small scars on his shoulders before moving to rest against his muscular chest. “You look nice…” You finally managed to gather some courage to compliment him, all the anxiety just melting from your body. Your thighs were still trembling, the wetness continuing to pool in between your legs. Your eyes looked down, catching a glimpse of light happy trail leading down to his sweatpants and them— Holy fuck. You felt your mouth water once your eyes landed on his sweatpants, a visible erection visible there that you seemingly hadn’t noticed before. Your mind blanked out for a few seconds before you quickly looked back at his face, catching him staring at you with a knowing gaze.

“Do you want me, lovie? Want me in you?” He asked, tone a bit firm yet gentle at the same time — highlighting how he truly cared about you. He didn’t want to fuck you if you didn’t want it. You nibbled on your bottom lip for a few seconds, staring at him with a hazy gaze as you thought over his question.

Did you want him? Oh fuck. So much.

“Yes… But I-I don’t want this to be a one time thing.” You responded in a meek voice, causing his eyes to soften up.

“Trust me. Gonna take ya out on lots of dates after this, I promise.” He whispered, words full of sincerity. With one final kiss on your lips, he slowly tugged his sweatpants down alongside his briefs, not bothering to keep them. He tossed them aside before gently resting back in between your legs.

His cock was so hard, precum already sliding down his length. He was nicely sized with a big length and an even better girth. It would probably destroy you if you weren’t so wet right now.

He paused for a while, brows furrowing as he looked around. “Don’t have a condom, fuck.”

“I’m on pills.” You reassured him. It was true that you were on pills, despite having barely anyone to hook up with. Maybe you were just waiting for someone, someone like him — someone that reminded you of the sunset with how warm they were, somehow who eased the storm inside your head. He was just so perfect in every way, and he didn’t even know it. Fucking evil.

Kyle nodded, gently spreading your legs apart with his hands, his fingers kneading into the soft flesh of your thighs, massaging your muscles. “Gonna fuck you so nicely, lovie. I promise I will.” He said, words dripping with genuine warmth. He slowly pressed the tip of his cock in front of your swollen clit, nudging it — like a kiss. He began rubbing your clit with the tip of his cock, his hand gripping the shaft to keep his throbbing erection still. You let out a breathy sigh, melting into the pillows beneath you while he continued to tease you.

“Kyle, please…” You groaned shyly, voice laced with mild frustration and overwhelming need. You needed him in you, to feel his skin against yours so you could assure him of how lovely and special he truly is — a fucking gem in the rough battleground he had to face so much.

Kyle nodded, eyes glinting at amusement at your pleas as his hands moved up to gently hold onto your waist, aligning his cock in front of your entrance. “Ready?”

With one final nod from you, he gently began pushing the tip of his cock in your tightness, a blissful groan leaving his lips as he wetness engulfed him slowly. He made sure to look at your face for any signs of discomfort from the stretch, because fuck it was a lot. He found none and that was the green light for him to slowly push his cock in, inch by inch, until it was nice and snug in your tight cunt, some of his public hair tickling your skin.

“You okay?” He asked, one hand reaching up to gently brush some of your hair off your forehead which was a bit wet from sweat now, placing a kiss in between your brows while you nodded.

“Mmph—… So good…” You slurred out, feeling so full with his cock all stuffed in you. Your hands made their way to rest on his back as he leaned down on you, your fingers rubbing gently on his nape. “L-Like you a lot, Kyle. Don’t want you to think that you are not loveable… O-Or that you are a fool. You are so perfect in my eyes…” You fumbled on your words in the midst of the pleasurable haze, though your words were as genuine as they could — your heart speaking to him.

Kyle’s heart skipped a beat at your words, his brown eyes softening up. Fuck, you’re just so sweet, filling his empty heart. He smiled to himself and nodded, pressing soft kisses on the tip of your nose, causing you to let out a heartful giggle. He chuckled alongside you, rubbing his nose against yours affectionately before he slowly began to thrust his cock in and out of your tightness, his right hand clasping onto your waist again while his other hand moved in between your legs, thumb resuming to gently play with your sensitive clit.

His thrusts were gentle and paced nicely, not too agonizingly slow and not too fast. This was all to give you pleasure, to show how you had made your way into his heart so easily. He rested his head in the crook of your neck while your fingers gently dug into his back, not too hard to leave any marks. Breathy, blissful moans left your lips while a smile adorned your lips — just refusing to go away.

You could hear his soft groans echoing in your ears, his lips peppering kisses on your earlobe and down your jaw. Your skins were pressed together, making everything so humid as he kept a steady pace, the tip of his cock gently slamming against your cervix, causing your toes to curl up. His girth rubbed against your spongy sweet spots just perfectly, making you literally swoon while your eyes struggled to keep open, mind fogged with this feeling that was making you melt into mush.

“So tight— lovie. So perfect and warm f’me…” He breathed out, thumb sliding up and down your sweet clit as he hips moved alongside yours, skin gently slapping with one another. His musk mixed with yours, alongside the perfume that he had worn earlier, making his head spin.

You couldn’t stop a tear from escaping your eyes, your sniffle catching Kyle’s attention as he pulled his head back from your neck to look at you, your eyes all teary. “Feels too good?” He asked, kissing the tear away as you nodded, whimpering softly as your lips quivered.

“Never felt so good before…”

“Me too.”

A familiar pressure began building up in your lower abdomen once again as he continued playing with your bundle of nerves, cock continuing to thrust in and out of your cunt, balls smacking against your skin. “Close…” You mewled out, the pressure feeling stronger than before as your fingernails dug into his back, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him as close as you could, your movement causing the swollen tip of his cock to hit your cervix once again, causing your mind to go all white as your orgasm hit you once again, your body convulsing in pleasure as you cried out meekly, his cock coaxing you to ride your pleasure out while your folds fluttered around him. a white creamy ring made its way on his shaft, which was your doing. Your brain felt so foggy, body lightheaded and relaxed as he pressed soft kisses on your cheeks.

“Good God… Such a perfect thing ya are, cummin’ on my cock. Can I cum in you, lovie?” He grunted, his own orgasm approaching as his thrusts got a bit sloppy from the wet mess you created, his cock throbbing inside your tight walls. You nodded breathlessly and his balls tightened almost immediately, his orgasm hitting him in waves as thick ropes of cum spurted out of his cock, painting your insides white.

He didn’t pull his cock out once his thrusts slowed down before coming to a stop, his hands sliding up to cup your face lovingly, looking at how pretty you looked after being fucked, letting himself relish the way you were wrapped around his cock. An adorable mess actually.

“Kyle…” You shyly smiled at him, eyes half open while your hands moved to hold onto his shoulders, your body feeling so damn sensitive.

After a few more minutes of just basking in your warmth, Kyle slowly pulled his cock out of you, some drops of thick cum sliding down your cunt. It made him want to fuck you again, but he didn’t want to tire you any more than you already were.

“Let’s get you cleaned up…” He slowly got up on his feet and searched for your bathroom in the apartment, coming back after a few minutes with a pair of wet towels. He began cleaning your body, which was still trembling in pleasure — the towel gently gliding against the skin and in between your legs, cautiously cleaning your inner thighs.

“Pillows got dirty.” He cheekily mumbled, causing you to pout and look at him lazily.

“You will clean it… S’your fault.”

“Fine.”

After he was done cleaning you up, he gently eased you up on your feet, leading you into your bedroom, his hands carrying both of your clothes and putting them to the side, tossing the towel in the laundry — already memorizing each corner of your apartment.

He went to the bathroom momentarily to quickly clean himself up before he came back, guiding you to gently lay on your bed, your hand grabbing his wrist. “Stay with me…” You tiredly giggled, mustering up as much strength as you had to pull him on the bed too.

Kyle’s heart almost exploded in his chest at your words, his breath hitching as he looked at you in awe before nodding. Not bothering to wear any clothes, you both slid into the covers, his arms wrapping around you while your head neatly tucked into your neck, one leg hooking around his waist. “Sleep well, lovie… Gonna be here with ya when ya wake up.” He promised, placing a soft kiss on the side of your head as he felt your breathing calming down, your body and mind soon entering a state of peaceful slumber — probably the best sleep you had in months.

You never put a label on your relationship with Gaz. It was definitely not casual — something more for sure, especially with the blossoming feelings in your heart that could be described as nothing but romantic. Love, even. You didn't know what properly being in love felt like, maybe whatever this was that you felt towards him. He had taken you out for a date to an amusement park before he had to go for his deployment. A date. It meant something to both of you, right?

“Only three weeks, lovie. Promise I’ll be back soon.” He said softly while standing in front of your front door as he prepared to leave, reassuring you even though he had spent the whole last weeks cuddling you and trying to tell you that it will be quick. Your eyes were all teary, mind overwhelmed with anxiety because you had no idea how the whole thing even works. You just prayed that he would come back safe.

You nodded at him, handing him a box of cookies you had baked for him after hours of watching tutorials. “For you…” You sheepishly mumbled, wiping the tears that had formed in your eyes.

Kyle gratefully accepted the box before pulling you in a tight hug, smothering your face up with kisses. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Fuck three weeks. It had been five. You had stopped receiving messages from him after the two week mark, and all you felt was nauseous from how anxious you felt, hearing the loud beating of blood in your ears while your stomach uncomfortably twisted.

It wasn't until this morning that Kyle had finally texted you with a “Coming today.” — so painfully dry in comparison to his other messages but you could only rationally conclude that something must have happened in the mission. You were frustrated, yes, but that was just a result of being so overwhelmed for the past five weeks.

It was raining heavily today, the sounds of the rain sliding against the glass of your window alongside the muffled thunder somewhat soothing your nerves.

Though for Kyle, the rain was a mess. His flight had just landed an hour or two ago, and now he was at the base. The traffic was fucking jammed around the area, and his teammates couldn’t give him a ride home too because one of the SUVs had to go for repairing. Just his bloody luck. He didn’t want to keep you waiting anymore, he couldn’t. Not after everything he had gone through in this mission.

Blood was dripping down Kyle’s forehead as he struggled to maintain his vision, hiding behind a wall while gunshots roared behind him. The enemies had outnumbered them badly, and he had to hide here until more of the team arrived.

He didn’t want to die. God, not here, not now. Not after just figuring out so much about himself, not after just meeting you. Oh, you. You were there, waiting in your apartment. And fuck, he was so late. He had said three weeks, but it had been four starting today.

Wasn’t his fault though, even though it felt like one. They had gained new intel on the enemy last minute after what felt like a failed mission, and they knew that they couldn’t leave it.

God, he was terrified. It wasn’t often that he felt true fear. But he felt it now, only because he didn’t want to leave you alone, not at least without telling you how he felt about you. To expressing his undying feelings for you, to—

His thoughts were interrupted by the loud thunderclap, a groan leaving his lips. Slowly but surely, he made up his mind. He was going to run over to the apartment complex. It wasn’t that far away from here and he had enough stamina, plus he didn’t give a fuck about the heavy rain.

With his duffel bag in his hand, he sprinted out of the base, legs carrying him towards the streets. His blue cap was soaking, barely covering his face or providing him some sort of cover as he ran and ran through the slipper pavement, ignoring the ache in his head that was a result from the wound he gad gotten, although not fatal but still painful, a bandage now place on the sidre of his forehead.

Eventually reaching the apartment complex you both lived in, he breathed heavily, standing outside the building, not caring about being all wet. Still, hopefully nothing inside the duffel bag was ruined. He sent you a quick text, asking you to meet him outside.

You had rushed out of the apartment building as soon as you got his text, heart beating fast due to the sudden rush of adrenaline, a jacket hastily put on you while you held an umbrella. Your eyes looked around the foggy street before you spotted him, a big smile coming on your lips.

“Kyle!” You gasped in pure excitement, carefully making your way over to him. Though as soon as he saw you, he dropped his duffel back and rushed over to you, his arms pulling you in fast and tight, causing the umbrella to drop from your hand and fall onto the ground.

“Lovie! G-God, fuck… So sorry for leaving you… So sorry—” His voice cracked as he fumbled out every explanation he could form, his mind already overwhelmed at the sight of you. God, he missed you so much. His arms were wrapped around you tight, facing burying into the crook of your neck, feeling the familiar scent cloud his senses and calm him down.

“Kyle… It’s okay. Hey, s’okay…” You mumbled softly, still a bit confused though he could explain it all later. Right now, all that mattered was him. “We are gettin’ wet, we should— Wait, is that a bandage? Are you ok—”

But before you could finish your sentence, his mouth had already found its way to yours, kissing you gently. Your eyes immediately fluttered shut, your hand reaching up to gently take his cap off his head and hold it as you kissed him back, both of your arms wrapping around his neck while his hands held your waist.

The rain fell on both of you, your clothes clinging to your skin while a cool breeze brushed past you both. But he was already lost in the taste of your lips, and the feel of you in his arms. For the first time, Kyle felt like he was worth something, like he was not alone anymore. That he's loved.

He gently parted from the kiss, whispering gently into your ear, words that made your heart swell up in affection that you didn’t know you were capable of feeling.

“I love you, lovie.”

And God, you loved him too. More than anything.

[ludinusdaleth]

i think the thing about campaign 3 is that it very purposely shattered the suspension of disbelief in fantasy, and so everyones individual interpretation is caught in that.

if you solely watch campaign 1, you can engage with it as a mostly basic fantasy story, and accept what it has to say at mostly face value. campaign 3, however, could not more clearly be matt evaluating & reevaluating his work. therefore, if you look at cr through c3's lens, all the things that are easy to brush over are now asking to be analyzed. if you are a diehard c1 fan, watching c3, it may fundamentally bother you that this campaign is picking up strings of the gods acting as typical gods in dnd, and treating that as a questionable thing. if you are more interested in a throughline experience of all the campaigns, then your eyes are going to laserfocus on every past problematic element when they are called into question.

for example, when i first watched c1, the raven queen did deeply disturb me, and i never trusted her; sure, death is unfair, but she kept making contradictory, tiny moves to that belief system, that made my eye twitch. but because matt intended the gods as simply gods, and did not intend more than what they were in a typical dnd mythos, i didnt really pry at that. the raven queen was a metaphor for liam's abovegame grief, okay, fine. however, when campaign 3 rolled around, and the story is now prodding at the infinite grey of the gods, i can look back and see that matt clearly saw some of what i did, enough to find something worth questioning. and so, i can question without death of the authoring. and i will. (obviously you dont need an authors permission to critique their work; but if they are critiquing their own work.... it means theres something there to analyze.)

i think both the intent of current canon and the intent of past will always coexist; someone can watch just one campaign, take its themes, and never engage with anothers. i do think, however, 90% of discourse for c3 arises with a subtle hatred that the tenents for past campaigns are completely & purposely shattered, and anyone watching the story as a whole cant go back. to me, that is deeply exciting, and shows that cr can grow with respect & critique of its past. for others this is stupid when their story was perfect to them as is.