#which is. also a hefty amount of work

[bookwyrminspiration]

not to boast, but I think I am legit the keystone holding this entire group project together

[indefiniteavatar]

So basically, in a case about him shoving money at someone so they shut up about him. . .he can’t shut the fuck up himself. I would say something clever and funny here, except the sad part is that this is just so normal in current politics that it’s just. . .not hilariously absurd behavior anymore? Not to say that it’s not absurd - it is beyond such, but it is just. . . predictable, I suppose.

I guess this is how I feel about politics lately? Either I get mad at everything or I try to laugh at everything and normally that works because politicians usually aren’t so tragically stupid so very often, but now I just kinda have to chuckle at the particularly eyeroll worthy things like this, and try to ignore everything else or my brain will explode.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

then send me a son

pairing: joel miller x reader

cws/tags: so much angst (w/ happy ending! i swear), discussion of suicide attempt (the canon one), suicidal ideations, losing a child, losing a parent, survivors guilt, discussions of abortion, unplanned pregnancy, p in v, oral sex, virginity loss (but it's not that big of deal/not a kink), both dealing w grief, ellie is dead, this is set in jackson post tlou pt I

summary: joel is put on suicide watch after he returns to jackson w/o ellie and reader becomes his 'caregiver' of sorts. lowkey enemies to lovers but also not bc it's kinda one-sided 'hatred'

a/n: author is pro-choice! and also understands the complexities of mental health that reader and joel do not at times (just wanted to make it clear that i understand... from personal experience... what depression is like as well as suicidal ideation).

title is from the song 'the suburbs' by arcade fire, but listen to the entirety of the suburbs (album) and funeral (album) if you want to understand my mindframe while writing this

the last sentence is a quote and i've reblogged it before but i'll find the image and post it/reblog it again

wc: 9.4k

masterlist | ko-fi | taglist

Joel is just surprised Tommy has the gall to ask, “Where’s Ellie?” when he arrives in Jackson alone. 

In this world, when two people leave and only one comes back, you don’t ask because you already know what happened. You wait for that person to tell you about a miracle, and when they don’t, you know for sure. 

“Heaven, if you believe in that sort of thing,” is Joel’s response. 

But Joel doesn’t believe in Heaven or Hell, or anything other than ashes and dirt. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Tommy says because he’d already said ‘I’m sorry’ when Sarah died, and that didn’t bring her back. 

It takes a hefty amount of booze to get Joel to tell the story.

“I just hope she died for something. Then, at least, I’ll know I’m being selfish.”

I didn’t get that with Sarah, he thinks. She didn’t die for a ‘noble cause’. He doubts Ellie did either. 

“You’re being put on watch,” Maria tells him the next morning – when he’s sober and asking what his duties are now that he’s back. 

Life goes on, which means work goes on, so what’s my job? As long as it’s not burning bodies, I’ll be okay. 

“Watch? Like I’m watching, or I’m being watched.”

“Being watched.”

He asks why, though he doesn’t need to. Tommy knows why he’s got that scar on his forehead. 

“Fucking authoritarian bullshit,” he mutters, half into his pillow. “Thought you were a communist.”

“I am. And this has nothing to do with that.”

“I bet Tommy put you up to it anyway.”

“He didn’t ‘put me up to anything’.”

“But he told you, didn’t he?”

“He told me a long time ago.”

“Figures. You always knew I was a coward.”

“You say stuff like that, and then act like you don’t need help.”

“I didn’t say I don’t need help. I said I don’t want it.”

She’s silent, letting him continue. “Now let me grieve in peace, will you?”

She hums something akin to agreement, but asks for something that sounds like protest to him. “Where’s your gun?”

“Which one?”

“All of ‘em.”

He tells her because he doesn’t want Tommy or anyone else searching through all his bullshit because that’s what happens if he doesn’t give ‘em up.

“Want my kitchen knives too?” he says, almost wryly. 

She takes most of them, but leaves the more blunt ones out of sympathy. He can have butter on his toast. Unless she takes the toaster so he can’t take it with him in the bathtub. 

She leaves the toaster, and then, leaves him alone. 

Quite frankly, he’s too old to kill himself. Sure, people do it at his age, but he’s so goddamn tired. Moreover, he knows he could get someone else to do it pretty easily. Maybe he could be a martyr. He could save someone from a clicker or a soldier. He could save someone’s life for once. But would that be enough to save his soul? To make it to Heaven and see Ellie and Sarah again?

Maybe, he would, if God really does love people the way some say he does. But if Joel was God, he’d deny himself entry.

He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Aside from the two times he eats. And once in the middle of the night to take a piss because he may be depressed, but the last of his dignity is motivation enough not to wet the bed. 

He doesn’t shower or change his clothes. Not like he’s wearing a shirt anyway, just boxers ‘cause it’s too hot outside and he doesn’t want to get up and turn on the fan. Sleep doesn’t come easy, but it comes. It comes because it has to, reluctant as it is.

He wakes up to the voice of an unfamiliar woman. Quieter than Ellie or Sarah, less stern than Maria or Tess. Not like he was expecting to hear from three out of four of those women, not outside of his dreams. 

You’ve always cared about people, saving lives and all that. But you’re no good with a gun, so Tommy finds a better job than patrol for you.  

“You’re going to be watching my brother, Joel.”

“Like, spying on him?”

“No, like making sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

A suicidal man is nothing new, especially in this world, but Tommy’s bluntness about it is. He acts as if it’s a normal job. Like the ones in office buildings that sound wonderful even though the people who tell you about them assure you it was barely better than life is now. This new watchmen position is the same as patrol, in a way. Terrifying in the gravity it holds. You have to keep someone alive.

You can shoot deer, you can run quickly, you can hide well. You can survive on your own. But, at age 10, your mom bled out as you sat by her side. You were too weak to carry her, to dig a grave and bury her. Your survival feels unearned, but you’re no good with guns. You’d miss if you tried to do it. That’s a rare thought anyway, and surely not one you plan to ever speak aloud. They’d put you on watch too, which sounds suffocating, in all honesty.

You don’t know Joel. You’ve heard his name in passing, but you arrived in Jackson during the period of time he was gone. He was going to take some girl to some hospital for something or other. 

“What about that girl?” you ask. “Is she not taking care of him?”

“She’s not around anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. 

He just nods. The ‘why’ of the whole arrangement makes sense, but you’re still unclear on the ‘how’. Am I just supposed to stay in his house 24/7? Is he allowed to shower on his own? Do I have to cook or do laundry?

“Just check in on him. He’s not the most… personable, but don’t take anything he says to heart.”

Just check in on him. It sounds simpler than it will be, you know that much. Even keeping a plant alive takes more than ‘checking in on it’. 

You arrive at his house around 10 AM. You assume he’ll be awake, but when you look around his living room and kitchen, you can’t find him. Oh God, you think. What if he’s… 

He’s asleep in bed. You’re pretty sure. He’s lying there and there’s no evidence that anything’s wrong, but when you say his name from the doorway, he doesn’t move. So, you walk closer to him, just to make sure he’s breathing. 

“Joel,” you say softly – because your other option is reaching out to touch him, and you feel that’s a little too personal, especially when he’s not wearing a shirt. 

“Who the Hell are you and how did you get into my house?” he says. 

“Tommy sent me.”

“Oh, so they’re making you watch me?”

“Yeah.”

You’re glad he knows about the arrangement. Maybe he’ll give you some direction on what to do with him. 

“Must hate you if they stuck you with me.” 

You can’t tell if he’s being ironic, but you hope so. Still, you don’t know how to respond. You decide on a simple, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Though you’re alone in the room, you sit with perfect posture on Joel’s couch, looking around at the decor – or lack thereof – looking for clues about who this man is. 

You think about making him breakfast, but you’d have to raid his cabinets to do so, and you’re terrified to make any missteps when it comes to Joel. You don’t think he’ll kill himself over burnt toast, but there is a persistent need lodged inside your brain to make him like you. It’s a little selfish when you should be focused on just keeping him alive, but maybe if he likes you, he’ll feel better, maybe you’ll feel better too. That’s still nothing but the ever-lingering hope in your heart. But it’s something.

He comes downstairs eventually, in a t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. 

“Good morning,” you say. 

“No, it ain’t,” he says, heading in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Do you want me to help you with anything? Breakfast or coffee?”

“I can make my own damn coffee, kid.”

And he does. The first shred of kindness you get from him is an offer to pour you a cup. 

“I’m alright, but thank you.”

He sits down in a chair across from you and sips his coffee as you watch him awkwardly. 

“Are you really gonna do that all day?”

“Do what?”

“Sit there and stare at me.”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“You could leave, for starters.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“What? You afraid Tommy’ll get upset with you?”

“A little.”

“He’s a softie. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

You are worried. Sure, you want Tommy to be happy with you, but moreover, you don’t want to leave Joel alone lest something happen to him. You might not know the guy very well, but you’d hate to see someone take their own life. 

“Can I just stay here? I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

He shrugs, and you take it as a yes.

He does not need a caregiver or a watchman. He does not need you, but you look like a kicked puppy and there’s no way he’ll force you to leave. Another young girl he’ll reluctantly let stick by his side. It’s almost cruel of Tommy to send someone like you. Someone young and full of life. Someone he has a hard time pushing away. 

He should’ve sent Joel a crotchety old bitch or a drill sergeant. Maybe Tommy thinks he’s doing Joel a favor by giving him a nice girl, polite and eager to please. It’s a good thing your chipper attitude irritates him. It’s the first item on the very small list of qualities that Joel dislikes.

At first, he insists on making his own food. You’re still a guest, even if he’s reluctant to have you as one. It doesn’t matter where he lives, he’ll always have been raised in Texas. He’ll always hear his mother calling him out on his lack of manners. His hospitality is force of habit.

Plus, if he lets you do anything for him, he’ll owe you something – at least in his mind. And he doesn’t want to owe anyone anything. He doesn’t want to give or get or build any kind of rapport with you whatsoever, especially since you seem to take all attention as progress, despite the fact that Joel is harsh with you most of the time. 

The whole ordeal makes him feel like more of a failure than he did before. He couldn’t save Ellie, or Sarah for that matter, and now he’s being forced into his own retirement or held hostage depending on how you look at it, so he can’t even get the satisfaction that productivity brings.

He also finds himself pretty fucking bored without work. He became so used to being in constant battle, even in his sleep. One wrong move and he was dead. The worst injury he’s gotten in the past few weeks was a paper cut.

Reading was never his biggest hobby, but it’s not bad when you find the right book. Often, you’ll sit across the room from him and read a book of your own, and the silence as he relaxes into the couch is quite peaceful for a change. 

No amount of peace and quiet can cure his boredom, though. It makes him antsy, and you notice. You notice a lot when your job is just staring at him, it seems.

“I found a book of crossword puzzles,” you announce. 

“Congratulations,” Joel says. 

“I thought since you were bored, I’d give them to you, and maybe you could do them…”

By the look on your face, he can guess that you’re regretting your words. Lest he make you cry, he accepts the book. 

“Plus, it looks kind of old so I don’t know if I’d know how to do it myself,” you add.

He knows you don’t mean it as an insult, but it sounds like one, and it makes him laugh. The list of qualities Joel likes about you is already long — and buried deep in his subconscious — but he’ll have to add the fact that you can make him laugh.

“Are you calling me old?”

“Not in a bad way. You’re just older than I am.”

He flips through the book and finds that about 80% of them are done. 

“Somebody did most of these already.”

“I’m sorry… maybe I could erase that person’s answers and then you could do them?”

“I think I’d still be able to tell.”

You hang your head in defeat. 

“Gimme a pencil and I’ll try the ones that aren’t done yet.”

You look through his junk drawer, find a pencil, and hand it to him. He doesn’t expect you to sit on the couch next to him. 

“I know you’re supposed to watch me, but you don’t have to watch that closely.”

You move away slightly, no longer looking over his shoulder. 

“I was just curious about the answers.”

“I was kidding around,” he says (though, it’s only a half-truth). “Come back here.”

It takes him about a week to finish the book. 

“Had to go back and fix some of the others,” he says. “The person who originally filled ‘em out was an idiot.”

“That’s not very nice. Maybe it was a kid.”

“Kid had great handwriting, then.”

You pause, hesitating for a reason he can’t pinpoint. 

“What? You want me to say sorry for calling that guy an idiot. ‘Cause I will if it matters that much to you.”

“No, no, fuck that guy, he was an idiot,” you say, clearly taking after him. 

“Language, Missy,” he says, jokingly scolding you. 

“Sorry. I should stop swearing.”

“It’s okay. You probably picked it up from me anyway.”

“Maybe,” you agree. You’re fidgeting, holding something behind your back, he notices. 

“Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” you say, holding it out to him. “I just figured since you finished the crossword book, I should get you more.”

He only did the crosswords for you. He never really cared for them anyway. He just wanted to make you happy — he’d rather have you content than pissy or whiny. The only thing worse than your constant insistence on getting his approval would be if you just sat there and cried all day.

He’d tried to give the book back to you, but you couldn’t do ‘em on your own since you were lacking in 90s pop culture knowledge. So, he did them, with you watching over his shoulder the whole time. 

He’s about to admit this to you and hand the new one back over to you when he looks at the pages – white paper, stapled together, all drawn up in pen. 

“Did you make these?” he asks, in awe of both your ability to draw perfectly straight lines, and moreover, how much you must care if you’re willing to go to these lengths. Kiss-ass behavior, he tells himself.

You nod, and he gets the sudden urge to hug you, but opts for a thank you with a smile he can’t repress.

“You didn’t have to do all this, but it’s very sweet of you.”

He considers taking back the ‘very sweet’ comment when he finds that 3 down is four letters with the prompt “grumpy old man”. JOEL fits perfectly in the blank spaces. 

You go on walks, read endless books, and Joel finally lets you start taking on some of the housework. It should be nice, but you get the feeling he’s not all that happy about this situation. Not that he tells you it outright. He doesn’t tell you much at all. And you’ve tried. It’s not like you’re asking hard-hitting questions. 

“How old are you?” 

“56.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

He doesn’t even bother to ask the same question back to you. Sometimes, he doesn’t even look up at you when you speak to him. You know it’s the depression of losing someone close to you, you know what that feels like – the problem is, you don’t know how to fix it. You only know how to hide it.

It’s quite simple, in theory. All you have to do is give him the desire to get out of bed every day. But you don’t even know what he likes. All you know is that your presence is not high on his list of favorite things. You try and try until you swear his shitty attitude is rubbing off on you. 

Tommy checks in with you periodically, asking you how things are going with Joel, and this would be the perfect opportunity for you to get out of this position, which Joel would probably love, but to spite him, you tell Tommy it’s going well.

And it is, in a way – Joel is not actively mean to you. He doesn’t insult you or argue with you, he just mostly ignores you. So, you figure if you ignore him, maybe he’ll miss your attention. Stupid teenage bullshit mindset, acting like you have a crush on him, playing some sort of push and pull game that he’s not even privy to. 

But that’s not like you. That brooding behavior is all Joel, so it lasts no more than a day or so until you go back to trying, and accept the fact that he’s just an asshole. Doesn’t mean you have to be one. 

You never expected to win him over with the crossword puzzles but you see the look in his eyes when you give him the homemade ones, and you know there’s something in there besides all that pain. You know that look, can’t put a name to it, all you know is that it’s a good sign, one you had yet to see from Joel.

Joel wouldn’t have thought he’d get tired of hearing someone ask, “can I do anything for you?”, constantly begging to dote on him, to care for him. The last time someone did this for him was on Father’s Day, which is an ancient holiday now, almost mythical.

But it’s been weeks of the same old shit. It has nothing to do with you. In fact, you’re probably the best ‘caregiver’ he could’ve gotten stuck with. Thing is, though, he doesn’t want a caregiver, and he’s tired of said caregiver bombarding him. It’s enough to just have her watching him like a hawk, but yapping in his ear is another thing. Because he enjoys the quiet (and because the way you ask him questions reminds him of Ellie.)

It’s a joke, a stupid joke. It’s his patience wearing thin.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask. 

“Sure. A beer, maybe. And a fuckin’ blowjob,” he mutters. Yeah, that’d be the dream but it’s a joke, bordering on a jab at you. 

“I don’t think we have any beer,” you say. You both know damn well there’s no alcohol in the house. 

“I know.”

“And, as for the other thing- is that something that you’d want… me to do?”

“Hey,” his tone softens. “Sweetheart, it was a joke. I was messing with you.”

“Okay, so you don’t want that, correct?”

“It was a joke. I’m sorry I even said it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, sheepishly. “It’s your house, your rules, right?”

The concept of free speech in his house was one he’d brought up regarding ‘swear words’— It’s his house so he’s allowed to say ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘bitch’, and every other word he could come up with, and he came up with some deep cuts just to make you laugh. Admittedly, it’s a nice sound.

“Yeah.” He thinks for a moment. “I just think that these sorts of topics aren’t appropriate for someone…”

“You know I’m an adult, right, Joel?”

“Yes, I know, but you’re still young and you seem a little innocent. I don’t want to put those types of thoughts in your head.”

“I know what a blowjob is, and I know what sex is. I just haven’t found the right person yet. That doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it or whatever.”

You rarely snap at him, so he knows that word — innocent — must’ve been more offensive than he’d meant it. Maybe you’re not innocent. Maybe you’re just kind and a hell of a lot younger than him. Maybe it just seems like you should be.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just saying that I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“But do you want it?” You punctuate every word with a newfound annoyance.

“It’s not about that.”

“Yes it is.” You’re quite incredulous for someone who has been presented with the idea only a moment ago.

“Fine. Yes, in theory, if we were just two people who know each other, then, sure, if you offered, I’d say yes.”

“I offered.”

The way he calls you ‘sweetheart’ feels more like an insult than a term of endearment. You’d rather be ‘kid’ or nothing at all, anything less patronizing. It’s worse when he calls you innocent. You’re not innocent, you’re just nice — something that Joel is not. You’re painfully nice. You’ve heard it makes people like you. You’re still waiting on the results, though.

But, if he’d ordered you to suck him off, you’d have kneed him in the balls, and he would’ve thought twice about calling you ‘sweetheart’. The thing is, he doesn’t. Instead, he backs away from the opportunity, tells you it was a joke. 

But you see two things behind his eyes: one, he wants this. He might not want to want this, but he does. More importantly, you see his genuine concern for your well-being override this desire and you realize you feel safer around him than you do around most men. That’s one of the reasons that you do give him ‘a fuckin’ blowjob’. The other being that, sometimes, before you go to bed, you can’t sleep, and a certain man comes to mind as your fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties. 

When you reiterate that you offered, you exchange a long stare wherein you try to reach into each other’s souls and sort this shit out but when you both realize you can’t, Joel says, “Okay.”

And you say, “Okay.”

A new kind of tension bubbles to the surface as Joel sits down on the couch and you kneel before him. 

You fiddle with his belt, eventually managing to get it undone, but Joel does the rest of the work it takes to get his pants down to his ankles, boxers too. 

You’d imagined he’d be big, but that’s how fantasies work. Every man’s dick is big in your lewd daydreams, but it’s like you manifested it with Joel. You begin to feel like you’re in over your head, and though you aren’t innocent, you aren’t experienced enough to take him. But who are you to back down from a challenge?

Joel can see hesitation wash over your face for the first time. You pause, study the scene like you’re trying to decide your approach, and then you take his cock in your hand, looking up at him like you’re asking for the green light.

He gives you the go-ahead with the only piece of advice he thinks you’ll need. “Just don’t bite, and you’ll do fine.”

He probably should’ve mentioned another thing: don’t take too much at once or you’ll choke. His head lolls back and his eyes fall closed the moment your lips meet the tip of it. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t want you to feel intimidated by his presence while you’re exploring, so to speak. He lets out a low groan of approval to let you know he’s still with you.

But he’s fading into a beautiful oblivion until he hears you gag, feels you sputter and it shocks him out of that blissful feeling. His eyes snap open and he cradles the back of your head. 

“Easy, easy,” he says. “Don’t hurt yourself.” 

You pull away briefly and catch your breath. 

“That’s good,” he says. “Breathe, baby.”

He can see you looking for instructions, so he takes your hand and helps you get a firm grip on his cock, sliding your hand up and down, and finally letting you do it on your own. 

“Doin’ good, baby,” he says. “You gotta give your mouth a break sometimes.”

You’ve never gotten anything close to praise from Joel before. It’d warm your heart like nothing else if it weren’t so goddamn sexy in this context. 

You nod, wipe the spit from your chin, and give your mouth a brief break, but you can’t hold yourself back forever. Soon, your lips are back on his cock, kissing from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue over the head, seeing what reactions you can get from him. 

When you get into the rhythm of hand and mouth in tandem, you barely register him telling you that he’s gonna come. 

You imagine it’s an acquired taste but it’s not awful. You can swallow it. So, you do, and you look up at him with a smile. 

He looks like he’s woken up from a dream and he’s still getting his bearings straight, but he’s quick to stand up and take your hand. 

“Where are we going?”

“To my bed.”

You’d follow him anywhere but bed does sound good to you right now. It sounds like an adventure. You don’t go into his bedroom unless absolutely necessary. You’d think he was hiding something horrible in there if you didn’t have a mutual feeling regarding your own bedroom.

“Are we going to have sex?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. 

“Then, what are we going to do?”

“You,” he begins. “Are going to lie back and relax.”

He coaxes you to lie down, and he doesn’t have to try hard. 

“I,” he continues. “Am going to make you feel good.”

You’re fairly certain about what he means, so there’s nothing left for you to do but let him do the work. It’s just another part of the job you’ll have to learn from experience.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says. 

You nod. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he says, playing with the hem of your t-shirt. 

“Wait-” you say, sitting up, and he withdraws. “Can we kiss… first?”

He looks surprised for a moment, and you worry you’ve fucked up. 

“I just feel like we should do that,” you say, much quieter.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”

His hand cups your cheek and he looks you in the eyes like he’s trying to find answers somewhere in there. 

“Has anyone ever kissed you before?”

“Not really, not the way I want you to kiss me.”

“Feels a bit rude of me to have put my dick in your mouth before you’d even been kissed.”

Still, he leans in and kisses you, but it’s soft, gentle. It’s not a peck on the lips, though, it’s more. It gradually gains momentum and passion. Eventually, he slips his tongue in your mouth and you take it in stride. 

“You’re very good at this,” he says. “If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t think this was your first time.”

“Is that a compliment?” you ask, doubting Joel is capable of such things.

He ignores your question, and sighs. You know it’s not directed at you because you’re fairly sure he’s not listening.

“I know I said I was gonna do some things with you, but I don’t wanna take things too fast, okay?”

“Are you saying you’re just going to kiss me?”

“I think that’d be the right thing to do.”

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

You wish you could sound sexy, or whatever, but you probably come off like a bratty child.  

“Excuse me?”

“That’s not fair. You said you’d make me feel good. I thought you were gonna return the favor.”

“I was.”

“Then, why are you backing out?”

You’re shocked that he’s the pussy — pun-intended — in this scenario.

“I thought it might be too much for you.”

You grab his hand and slip it under the flimsy fabric of your shorts. 

His eyes go wide. 

Fucking hell, you’re wet, is the only thought on Joel’s mind. It makes sense. He’d be offended, maybe even worried if you were dry as a desert down there, but he’s barely touched you. Either you really enjoyed kissing him or you actually liked sucking him off too.

He gently presses the pads of his fingers against the wet spot on your panties.

“You’re right, baby. It’s only fair if I help you out.”

He’s able to get your shorts and your panties down in one swift pull. You look impressed by the action. Just you wait, he thinks. He’s not an expert by any means, but it’s not too hard to learn if you pay attention — and sex is one of the only times Joel does listen — it’s also not a skill you lose over time. It’s muscle memory, or maybe it’s innate.

His thumb rubs your clit lazily as he watches your face scrunch up in pleasure, your eyes fill with need. When the first finger slips inside you, he hears a breathy sigh come from above — it sounds like relief though he knows you haven’t come yet.

He’s never had a woman have such a strong reaction to his lips on her clit. It almost startles him at first. You’re frantic from the moment his lips meet your skin, crying out for him like you’re scared he’ll stop.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m right here. Don’t have to get so worked up. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He can’t say another word because his lips are occupied, so he relies on his hands, his soothing touch, to tell you that everything is alright. He gets the urge to tell you how good you are for him, how good you taste, how pretty you are like this, but he knows it’d be cruel to let up now. He’s callous often, sometimes harsh, but rarely cruel.

His instinct tells him to drag this out, to make your thighs shake, to have tears running down your cheeks, to tease you. To be the asshole that he tends to be when you’re around (and when you’re not). This is a version of Joel you might come to like.

He’s lived long enough to be well-practiced in this field of life. Doesn’t matter if he’s particularly romantic or even sociable, it’s just happened enough times over the course of fifty plus years for him to know the ins and outs. He can get you there quickly and lead you through it slowly.

He’s so used to you saying his name in a tone he considers pestering that he’s begun to hate the word itself. But when it’s drawn out and desperate like this, it sounds wonderful.

You’re at his mercy, he thinks. Which means he’s in control. And, as much as he’d hate to admit it, control does not mean he can kill you, control means he can care for you.

When you come down from your high, Joel is looking up at you from between your thighs with messy hair and kiss-dark lips. His smile looks like one of pride. Your cheeks heat up, only half-remembering what just happened. You could describe the event simply in a cause and effect relationship — he went down on you, so you came. You know what an orgasm feels like, but that was something beyond anything you’d ever experienced before. You fear an addiction may be coming on.

Your voice comes out shaky, which only makes your first words after a long silence sound stupider. “Thank you.”

He looks confused, and it takes him a moment to respond. “My pleasure,” he says, and you swear it might be when you see a semi through his sweatpants.

You’d offer more ‘help’ but you truly don’t think you can manage it. You can feel your body pulling you towards sleep. Your eyes have barely opened and they want to close again.

Joel notices because how could he not, you’re completely naked in every sense of the word.

“Get some rest,” he says before standing up.

He’s leaving.

“Where are you going?” you ask, instinctively.

“Downstairs.”

You do not want to say it. The fear of rejection is too strong, but so is the sudden urge to cry. Holding back tears is a strength of yours, though, so Joel never sees them. Somehow, after doing one of the most adult things, you feel like a baby in the wake of it. You are supposed to be taking care of him, and you are failing.

“What?” is his response to your refusal to meet his eyes.

“I just assumed you were going to stay. That’s all.”

“I can. If that’s what you need me to do.”

You don’t say anything. He climbs into bed anyway after picking up your underwear and handing it to you.

He doesn’t hold you but he doesn’t leave either. What he does do is kiss you on the forehead when he thinks you’re already asleep. It’s a compromise between your fear and your desire.

It isn’t as weird as one might think it would be — acting as if you’ve never done anything remotely sexual with one another. It’s easier because you don’t have to go back to being friends. You never really were. It was always awkward. What’s new? Only your knowledge that at least some of your feelings are mutual. Only the fact that you think about having sex with him every time he’s in front of you. It’s really just out of curiosity sometimes. What would he be like in bed? Does he want it too? How would you even broach the subject?

Sometimes, it’s not just curiosity. Those days are harder to navigate. You have to pretend like every little touch — most of them accidental — fuels the fire. It’s not the sensation itself. It’s just the acute awareness of his body, how close it is to yours, how easily you could reach out and touch him, that enters your mind.

“You’re staring.” Joel says from the other side of the couch.

“Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Got something’ on your mind?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon, what is it?”

“Why do you suddenly care about my thoughts?” About me.

“You think I didn’t care about you before? You’ve been in my house everyday for months now.”

“So?”

“And, I haven’t tried to kick you out yet.”

“You’re not allowed to kick me out. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay. How ‘bout this: I’m down here sitting with you because I know you don’t like to be alone.”

“So you pity me?”

“No, if I pitied you, I’d have told Tommy to give you a new job.”

“Okay, so, you expect me to believe you care but you refuse to talk to me half the time.”

“I’m not much of a talker. But, now that I’m trying to talk to you, you’re shutting me out.”

“I’m not— It’s just not a big deal. I don’t even remember what I was thinking about anyway.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I said, that’s bullshit.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll talk.”

You take a deep breath before speaking, one long enough that he gestures for you to go on.

“I was just thinking about what it would be like if we had sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, since we, you know, we did that stuff… it’s not like it’s a totally crazy thought.”

“‘That stuff’? Be more specific, honey.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do, but you can’t be thinking about having sex with me when you can’t even use big girl words when you’re talking about it.”

“It doesn’t even matter.” Your face is burning. It so, totally, does matter. “I was just curious.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Go on thinking, I’ll get back to reading.”

“Wait, what? You just made me tell you that to make me embarrassed? You’re not even gonna—”

“What? Gonna fuck you?”

The word slips out of his mouth so easily.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Truth is: he’s been thinking about you every day since. He only caught you staring because he was doing the same. He tries to restrain himself because it feels like the right thing to do.

But he still, he acquiesces and takes you upstairs to his bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed and undresses you slowly like you’re a gift and he doesn’t want to tear the paper. He places your clothes atop the dresser, but leaves his strewn across the floor.

Wonder fills your eyes as he reveals his naked body. Hesitation and awe wrapped up in one.

“Wow,” you say, breaking the silence, “it’s, um, you know— do you think it’ll fit?”

It’s not the first time he’s heard that. It no longer brings him that bashful pride that it did when he was younger. It’s just a fact. A nuisance sometimes.

“Not if we don’t get you ready first.”

“Do you need to get ready first too?”

He looks down at his cock, rock-hard and eager.

“No, baby, just looking at you is enough to get me ready.”

A thought crosses his mind — one he thought he’d left in his teenage years — what if he comes too quickly?

He lies back on the bed next to you and reaches for you, waits for you to let him maneuver you.

“Come here,” he says.

You sit up and face him, slowly inch towards his arms that beckon you.

You’re fairly sure you know what he wants you to do. Sit on his face. But god, something about it seems awkward in the amount of control you simultaneously give up and are given in turn.

“You trust me, right?” he asks.

“Of course.”

An answer you wouldn’t have ever thought you’d give back when you first met.

“Then, come sit on my face.”

You swing your leg over him and steady yourself above his face.

He grips your thighs to guide you. You grip the headboard to save yourself from passing out the moment Joel’s mouth meets your skin.

Joel wouldn’t be the man you’d have thought would have such a talented tongue based on how little he uses it. You can’t blame him for not talking right now. Your moans echo off his bedroom walls and permeate the balmy summer air. The windows are closed and the curtains shield your naked bodies from the neighbors but even if you’d left them open, you wouldn’t have the sense to care.

You’re an incoherent mess of moans and half-words, trembling thighs and sweat. Your orgasm comes on strong, and if your eyes weren’t screwed shut, maybe you’d see the gates of heaven.

It’s been a while since he’s done this. Tess never liked it like this and the last woman before her was one from another lifetime, pre-outbreak, an inconceivable world despite having once called it home.

He’s not really thinking about that, though, in this moment, all Joel can think of is you. Your skin, your sweat, your heat, and the pretty noises you make. At one point, he swears he hears his name though your thighs are covering his ears. And he doesn’t mind it one bit.

“I’m gonna pass out,” he hears from above him.

“No, you’re not. I’ve got you,” he tries to say, though surely his words are muffled.

“Don’t let me go.”

He doesn’t. He carefully helps you lie back on the bed. When he meets your gaze, he swears he’s never seen adoration like that in anyone’s eyes before. At least, not in a long time.

It terrifies him, but in spite of his hesitation, he holds you close.

A blanket of peaceful silence settles over your bare bodies.

You speak quietly, trying not to awaken Joel’s senses. The ones that pull him away from you. The moment feels like glass in your hands.

“Are we going to have sex?”

“Hm?”

“We were going to, right? You were getting me ready for it.”

“I thought I wore you out.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d tell you if you were.”

He hesitates.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

Those are the words that awaken his arousal. In an instant, you find his body looming above yours. He kisses you until your lips are red and puffy. He doesn’t break your gaze as he positions his cock at your entrance. Your green light is your needy hips begging him to fuck you.

He starts slow, even the head is a stretch. You scrunch up your face and hold back the urge to squirm.

“It’s gonna be a little uncomfortable at first, baby, and that’s why we’re gonna take it slow.”

Slow is an understatement. It takes ages for him to give you another inch — or maybe you’re just antsy. This one makes you whimper, makes you clamp down around him.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

Joel’s voice is tender and sweet, and it gives you enough hope to ask for something you think he’d usually deny you.

“Can you hold my hand?”

He interlocks his fingers with yours. It feels oddly natural. He doubts he’s heard someone ask to hold his hand since— not now, he’ll go soft if he thinks about her. He’ll close in on himself and you need him — in more ways than one.

He continues slowly as he promised he would until he hears your moans of pleasure and your pleas for more, more, more. More is a little bit faster, a little bit harder, as deep as you can take it, and most importantly, his thumb tracing circles on your clit.

You squeeze his hand with yours as your inner walls clamp down around him.

“Just let it happen. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

When you come, he does too — the most blissful mistake he’s ever made.

Curses fly out of his mouth through his orgasm, stopping briefly as he catches his breath, and resuming when he pulls out and watches as his come drips out of you.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I liked it.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Because I fucking loved it. “But, it’s dangerous. We’ve gotta be more careful.”

In the future — it’s implied. Another time is nothing when the lines have all been crossed and when the other side brings him a warmth the hot summer never could.

You have more power over him than the sun.

It becomes a routine — briefly — and you are more careful. You discreetly buy condoms, but when your next period doesn’t come, you fear it might be too late.

You don’t tell Joel, not at first. Sometimes, they’re irregular, and you don’t want to give the man a heart attack. But then a week passes, another week passes, and eventually you have to — especially when you’re beginning to feel a bit nauseous and have no other explanation for it. It’s better to say something before he asks.

“Joel,” you say, “I haven’t gotten my period yet.”

A look of horror crosses his face before he asks, “How late is it?”

You take a breath before admitting, “A few weeks.”

“How many?”

“Almost three.”

“Fuck.” He sighs in preemptive defeat. “Have you taken a test?”

“No, I thought it would come so I didn’t want to overreact.”

“We’re going to go get one.”

He stands up immediately and turns towards the door.

“Wait,” you say, stopping him in his tracks.

“I should probably get it. It’ll look less suspicious.”

No, it won’t. Those who suspect something is up with you, will have their suspicions, and those who don’t, won’t think to pay attention.

They recommend taking multiple because false negatives are common.

The first one is a clear positive, so clear you think it might be a false positive, so you wait to freak out until you see two lines come up on the second test.

Joel is silent, even when you hand him the test.

But, so are you, because what more is there to say? The tests say it all.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he says, and you’re surprised until he clarifies.

“I doubt they’ll make you pay for the pill or the procedure — however they do it, but I’ll take care of you while you’re recovering. I’ll be there through it all. Promise.”

The pill or the procedure. The abortion that he expects you to have. Truth be told, you hadn’t really thought about what you’d do until now. It’s probably the right decision. Do you really want to bring a baby into this world? Can you even take care of one?

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll make an appointment.”

You save your tears for Maria. She approaches you in the clinic. You’d be delighted to see her at any other moment.

“Making an appointment?” she asks.

“Yeah, just a checkup,” you lie.

The woman at the counter clarifies with you. “Just a checkup? Is that what you’d prefer?”

You turn back and forth between her and Maria.

“Um, no,” you say, “keep it as is.”

Maria raises an eyebrow and there is nowhere left to hide. You might be able to outrun her, but she knows where you live and isn’t afraid to confront you at your doorstep.

She saves you some of your dignity when she whispers, “How about a chat at my place? I have some tea that helps with nausea.”

The tea is persuasive but you’d have to go anyway. You don’t speak on the walk to Maria’s. She brews the tea and you sit across from each other in the kitchen before she finally speaks.

“What’s the appointment for?” she asks. “And I’m not here to judge you, I just want the truth.”

You’re not my mom, you could say, but she’s the closest thing you’ve had to one since your own passed.

“An abortion,” you say quietly, looking down at the table, at your hands around the mug.

“Okay,” she says, gently. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You try to reply but all the comes out is a sob.

Eventually, she pries the truth out of you. You explain what happened when you told Joel the news.

“So, he made the decision, and then told you he’d be there for you if he did what you wanted?”

“I guess. But, I think it might be the right choice. I mean, it'd be hard to raise a child in this world…” You cut yourself off when you look at her bump. She’s gonna be a mom, a good mom. And, stupidly, you’re jealous.

Even though it’s not there yet, you swear you can see a high chair in your periphery. You could be holding a warm bottle instead of a hot mug of tea. Maria could be feeding her child his first bite of baby food next to you.

“Let me ask you something, and I want you to really think about it, and be honest with me.”

You nod and wait for her question.

“If Joel had said he’d support you no matter what, even if you wanted to keep the child, if he said he’d step up as a father, would you have made the appointment?”

“I don’t know.” Oh, but you do. Maria waits for you to come to a conclusion, for you to spit it out.

“I like the idea of having a kid. I love kids, and I sometimes think about what it would be like being a mom, but I know that I can’t be one. Not right now.”

If there is one thing Joel can’t be, it’s a father. Not again. He’s too old, too grouchy, too cynical. He’s not the man he used to be. He was never good at it anyway. He couldn’t save his own kid. He’s already a failed father — once, if not, twice.

You’d be a great mother, and that’s the greatest tragedy. He’s failed you already. He’s not good at the kinder things of life. He shouldn’t have indulged in you, in the love you gave him when he cannot give it back. There are a lot of things Joel can’t quite get right — being a lover, a father, a good man.

Every night since the outbreak began, he’s watched Sarah bleed out in his arms. Sometimes he sees Tess, Sam and Henry, Bill, even Tommy which feels like an augury. Ellie is there almost every night, losing consciousness. Only sometimes is she in that hospital bed, often, she’s lying in the show, with blue lips and almost no pulse. Now, you’ve begun to enter his subconscious. You’re always too far out of reach, screaming his name until he’s shot dead, and the last thing he hears is you shriek as you watch him die in front of you.

Another person is another tragedy once they have the misfortune of coming into his life. There cannot be another person, especially not a child.

You should be back by now, he thinks as he splashes water on his face for the umpteenth time, hoping it’ll wash away all the mistakes he’s made.

He can tell it’s Maria by the way her knuckles rap on his front door. He can tell she’s pissed too.

When he opens the door, he sees you in standing behind her, like you’re afraid of him.

“Unless you want to have this discussion on your doorstep, I suggest you let me — us — inside.”

He does, reluctantly.

“Joel Miller, when do you plan on becoming a man?”

“What?”

“You just told her to make an appointment, didn’t even give her a chance to think about it? You managed to run away from your problems while you’re on house arrest. Impressive.”

“I thought that was what we both wanted,” he says, looking past her, to you.

“I guess, maybe,” you shrug.

The one thing he’s grateful for is Maria’s suggestion that you talk privately.

You sit further from him than usual, you refuse to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask what you wanted. I thought I was making the right choice.”

“It’s okay. I don’t even know what I want.”

But the tears suggest otherwise.

“Do you want to keep the baby?”

“Maybe, but I can’t. It’s not a good idea.”

“That’s what I think, but Maria’s right, it’s your choice.”

“But I don’t know how to make that choice.”

“You’ve got a good heart. Follow it.”

You spend a lot of time thinking, remembering, and trying to convince yourself that there is no part of you that wants to be a mother. But, in your bedside drawer, there is a handful of photos — all from before the outbreak. You see your mom as a child on a swing set, and as a teen blowing out candles on her birthday. Her mom is in that one too, sitting next to her, smiling. You wish more than anything to have pictures of you and your mom.

You think about the little girl who pretended a ratty old stuffed bear was her baby. You can hear your mom telling you that you’re doing a good job, how you’ll be good at this one day. Your bedtime stories were never about fairy princesses, but about your family, the ones you didn’t get to meet.

“I wish I could have that,” you’d say.

“One day, you might be able to — the world is scary right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be like this forever,” she’d insist.

In retrospect, you wonder if she really believed that, if she really believed that teddy bear would one day be a baby that you’d be the one carrying, and she’d be the proud grandmother.

“I told her I wanted to be a mom like her,” you explain to Joel, and he understands.

You know about Ellie, but not about Sarah. Joel never brings either of them up to you. Until now. It’s a fair trade, he tells himself. Photos for photos, info for info. But it’s more than that.

“Hold on for one minute, I’m gonna go get something, and I’ll be right back.”

It’ll only take him a second to grab the pictures, but he’ll need a moment to compose himself.

“This is Sarah,” he says, pointing to the little girl in the photo. “My daughter.”

You’re silent for a moment, gazing at the photo, at a younger Joel you’ve never met.

You’re the first person not to tell him that you’re sorry for his loss, and he is relieved not to hear the empty sympathies once more.

“What was she like?” you ask.

It’s hard to explain, and for that reason, he talks for at least a half hour about Sarah. All her likes and dislikes, all his favorite moments from the day she was born until the day she died. He tells the story of that too.

When you try to tell him that he sounds like he was a good dad, he has to explain why he wasn’t.

“I couldn’t save her,” he says.

“I couldn’t save her either,” you say, pointing to your mother in one of the photos.

“You were just a child,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

“And, you were just a man,” you say. “It’s not your fault.”

“A grown man.”

“Doing the best that you could.”

And you’re right. He did try his best. He stops arguing not because he’ll ever concede but because the weight of the present falls upon him all at once as he meets your eyes and remembers why you’re here.

He can’t have Sarah back, he can’t have Ellie back, but you’re right in front of him — and he loves you. It’s too late to turn back and kick you out on your first day, it’s too late to never speak to you, it’s too late to not love you.

It’s not too late to fail you like he’s failed everyone else. It’s not too late to do the opposite either.

You tell him your decision, and wait for his disagreement, for him to dissuade you. But, he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try my best.”

You cancel the appointment and make the final decision, but it doesn’t feel real until Joel finishes building the crib in the spare bedroom. The most unexpected part is how excited you feel even when you’re nauseous, even when your feet are bloated, even when your back is killing you.

You’re also terrified, particularly when you hear Maria’s account of her labor and delivery. For someone describing how painful it was, she seems oddly unfazed, happy even. She’s too focused on her baby boy, and you get it — he is pretty cute.

When the day comes, you find that you’ve underestimated the pain entirely. The wounds you’ve gotten in combat are nothing compared to this. Every hour that goes by feels like a full day for you. Every time the doctor checks your dilation it’s still not yet time.

Until it is. And everything becomes a million times more chaotic. You swear the only thing keeping you sane is Joel’s hand in yours. (You have to apologize later for squeezing it so tightly.)

Finally, the telltale cry comes, and it feels like you’ve run a marathon by how exhausted you are and by how proud you are of yourself for doing it. This will go down as the greatest feat of your life and you are more than satisfied with that fact.

The doctor announces that it’s a boy and though he said he’d be fine with either gender, Joel’s smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it. You’re smiling almost as big. It hurts your cheek muscles but you can’t stop, especially when they hand you your baby boy. Though he doesn’t know how to speak, his hand wrapped around your finger tells you that it’s going to be okay.

There is so much pain in this world, but not in this room.

[reasonsforhope]

Green energy is in its heyday. 

Renewable energy sources now account for 22% of the nation’s electricity, and solar has skyrocketed eight times over in the last decade. This spring in California, wind, water, and solar power energy sources exceeded expectations, accounting for an average of 61.5 percent of the state's electricity demand across 52 days. 

But green energy has a lithium problem. Lithium batteries control more than 90% of the global grid battery storage market. 

That’s not just cell phones, laptops, electric toothbrushes, and tools. Scooters, e-bikes, hybrids, and electric vehicles all rely on rechargeable lithium batteries to get going. 

Fortunately, this past week, Natron Energy launched its first-ever commercial-scale production of sodium-ion batteries in the U.S. 

“Sodium-ion batteries offer a unique alternative to lithium-ion, with higher power, faster recharge, longer lifecycle and a completely safe and stable chemistry,” said Colin Wessells — Natron Founder and Co-CEO — at the kick-off event in Michigan. 

The new sodium-ion batteries charge and discharge at rates 10 times faster than lithium-ion, with an estimated lifespan of 50,000 cycles.

Wessells said that using sodium as a primary mineral alternative eliminates industry-wide issues of worker negligence, geopolitical disruption, and the “questionable environmental impacts” inextricably linked to lithium mining. 

“The electrification of our economy is dependent on the development and production of new, innovative energy storage solutions,” Wessells said. 

Why are sodium batteries a better alternative to lithium?

The birth and death cycle of lithium is shadowed in environmental destruction. The process of extracting lithium pollutes the water, air, and soil, and when it’s eventually discarded, the flammable batteries are prone to bursting into flames and burning out in landfills. 

There’s also a human cost. Lithium-ion materials like cobalt and nickel are not only harder to source and procure, but their supply chains are also overwhelmingly attributed to hazardous working conditions and child labor law violations. 

Sodium, on the other hand, is estimated to be 1,000 times more abundant in the earth’s crust than lithium. 

“Unlike lithium, sodium can be produced from an abundant material: salt,” engineer Casey Crownhart wrote ​​in the MIT Technology Review. “Because the raw ingredients are cheap and widely available, there’s potential for sodium-ion batteries to be significantly less expensive than their lithium-ion counterparts if more companies start making more of them.”

What will these batteries be used for?

Right now, Natron has its focus set on AI models and data storage centers, which consume hefty amounts of energy. In 2023, the MIT Technology Review reported that one AI model can emit more than 626,00 pounds of carbon dioxide equivalent. 

“We expect our battery solutions will be used to power the explosive growth in data centers used for Artificial Intelligence,” said Wendell Brooks, co-CEO of Natron. 

“With the start of commercial-scale production here in Michigan, we are well-positioned to capitalize on the growing demand for efficient, safe, and reliable battery energy storage.”

The fast-charging energy alternative also has limitless potential on a consumer level, and Natron is eying telecommunications and EV fast-charging once it begins servicing AI data storage centers in June. 

On a larger scale, sodium-ion batteries could radically change the manufacturing and production sectors — from housing energy to lower electricity costs in warehouses, to charging backup stations and powering electric vehicles, trucks, forklifts, and so on. 

“I founded Natron because we saw climate change as the defining problem of our time,” Wessells said. “We believe batteries have a role to play.”

-via GoodGoodGood, May 3, 2024

--

Note: I wanted to make sure this was legit (scientifically and in general), and I'm happy to report that it really is! x, x, x, x

[chrisevansredbelt]

Playing Dangerous

pairing: dbf!frank castle x reader

warnings: not really any! this is kind of a backstory intro. death, funeral, smoking, drinking, drugs, and the sheer thought of jon bernthal.

summary: after your fathers death, you find yourself familiarising yourself with his best friend. his hot, dilfy, big thighed best friend.

multiple parts planned! all inspired by lana del rey songs

a/n: me when im back bc i missed writing... anyway this is a somewhat different universe to my og dbf!frank story but also not because it follows the same concept of lana del rey songs.

ALSO even though it is frank castle... im using characters from the bear... sorry i guess i really am only using frank because of the name i just didnt feel right writing jon or michael SORRY

and i am also using sex and the city characters too okay im sorry if nothing makes sense now but ENJOY

playing dangerous by lana

.・。.・゜.☘︎ ݁˖ ・.・𝄞・゜・。.

Pulling up beside the familiar cars parked in front of the church, Frank swiftly gets out of his truck, shutting the car door behind him. His brother Carmen, and cousin Richie, stand by their cars, gathering however once Frank approaches them.

"Thought we weren't gonna see another one of these until it was one of our own and when we're 80." Richie notes, hands on hips as the three of them observe the crowd of black disappearing through the church doors.

Frank scoffs, "Yeah, well, Brock loved stupid games." He marvels at the amount of people who showed up. Brock always made note of how many enemies he had, he must have forgot to mention how many friends he had too.

Brock was Franks best friend. Ever since being enlisted together, they were pretty inseparable. They then went on to work with each other, shady business that subsequently cost Brock his life.

Brock was on the run from police... corrupt police who would do anything for $20 and a donut. Brock had a hit out on him ever since fucking over an old acquaintance by insulting his wife.

As cops chased him down one night, he was cornered. Brock ended up shooting and killing the cop he hated but was subsequently shot and killed by another.

Some good did end up coming about Brock's passing though, as an investigation was launched into the dead officer and the bribe's he took. Which ended up revealing an international bribe ring of some sort that landed Brock's enemy in jail with a hefty sentence.

Frank wished he had been with him that night, wondering if Brock's life could have been spared in any way. But on the flip side, Frank knew that Brock would have died happy killing the officer he hated so much and recalled the many nights Brock had confessed his disdain against the lifestyle he landed himself in.

"At least he's with his wife now." Carm then adds, earning a nod from the others.

As the last of the guests enter the building, Frank decides it's probably time to follow suit.

As painful as it would be to see his best friend no longer living, they all had a few words to say in the session and there was no backing out now.

Though everyone was still finding their seats, when the three men had entered, they had all still managed to give them pitiful looks. Eyes reading 'Sorry for your loss'.

The three of them make their way to the front row of seats, joining the few others that had clearly arrived earlier.

"Hey," Their sister, Natalie, smiles up at them, scooching over on the pew as they take their seats next to her. They offer greeting smiles back. Frank gazes around the church, admiring the many eyes of religious figures that stare back at him. "Hey, did you see his daughter turned up?" Natalie adds in a quiet whisper, making the three of them shoot their heads around in the direction of her gaze.

There, in the front row beside them sat you. Brock's only child and daughter. Everyone kind of just knew of you and your existence, but never actually saw you.

Though Brock always bragged and boasted about you, how beautiful you were, how proud of you he was, the truth was that he rarely saw you. A few years after he had left you, he occasionally made the effort to at least see you on birthdays and Christmas. But his visits slowly died off.

The relationship was still there, you texted and he sent you letters and money, but you lived with your friend and her family for most of your teen years.

Richie nudged Carmen, wiggling his brows, whilst Frank just takes you in. The men can’t help but ogle at you. You were almost like a fable or myth, and seeing you now for the first time ever was strange.

"Poor kid." Natalie purses her lips, brows furrowed in concern.

Frank knew he had to speak to you. Maybe it was the fact that you were his life long best friend’s daughter. Or maybe it was the funny feeling in his stomach as his eyes scanned your figure.

-

You watch as people leave in their expensive cars down the gravel road, sighing in relief at the lack of attention you were now getting.

Your father was laid to rest in the cemetery beside the church, in a space next to your mother.

Though few people still linger around their cars parked on the other side of the church, you keep your head down and make your way back up the church steps, pushing your way through the big, wooden doors.

You were glad no one else was here. Your social battery was drained for the month after today and you didn’t think you could take another ‘I’m so sorry for your loss’, ‘Your dad was a great man’, ‘I’m sure he’s happy to be reunited with your mother’, 'I didn't know he had a daughter'.

You made your way to a random row and knelt on both knees, clasping your hands in front of you and bowing your head.

You weren't entirely religious, nor did you really know what you were praying for. All you knew was that if someone saw you, they would at least respect the gesture and leave you alone.

Wrong.

You hear the church doors open behind you and you close your eyes, quietly sighing. Whoever it is, they do not speak, but you can feel their eyes burning a hole through your back.

Out of curiosity, you lift up your head and turn to the back of the church.

Oh?

"Hi," The man greets sheepishly, "I'm sorry if I’m interrupting.” A small, reassuring smile on his face. You stay silent but shake your head softly, allowing him to continue. He takes a few steps closer, "I'm Frank."

You blink up at him a few times until you connect the dots on who this Frank person really was (and stop ogling at his god-like face) "Oh." You let out accidentally, before clearing your throat and correcting yourself, "Yeah, I’m familiar with the name." You choke out, standing from your kneeling position out of respect... though you wouldn't entirely mind staying down there- God, you mentally slap yourself and remind yourself that you're in a church. And on top of that, you knew of Frank to be your dad’s friend... his best friend. You never saw him or heard anything else about him other than him being your dad’s best friend, but it was nice to finally put a pretty face to the name, “I’m Y/N.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” He smiles warmly now, extending a hand out for you to shake which you do so quite timidly, "Listen, if you need anything… I know you've probably heard that a lot today, but I'm probably the only one who really means it." He jokes and you can't help but let out a small smile.

“Thank you.” You nod. He was right though. Out of all of them, Franks did seem the most genuine. "Thanks for taking the time to check up on me."

He nods in response before reaching into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet and from that wallet, a small card, "Here, take my number." You take the small business card from him, "If you really ever need anything, reach out… If I had knew your dad would pass so soon, I’m sure I would’ve promised him to look out for you.”

You weren’t annoyed by Frank’s social interaction, unlike everybody else who talked to you today. Everyone else just seemed so full of shit. And Frank at least knew who you were.

-

You watch as another car passes by before sighing. The heat was starting to get to you a little and as the sun began to set, it landed opposite you, blinding your eyes.

After the funeral, you made the decision to walk to the closest bus stop and make your way back home that way. Though you caught an Uber to the church, you couldn’t bare any more questions or painfully awkward small talk about your day. So you opted for the bus.

The area was nice in any case, a small neighbourhood 20 minutes from Manhattan where you used to live as a child.

It was nice to experience the silence as well. You were so used to the loud of the city that you’d almost forgotten what it was like to just sit with nothing but the birds, the bugs and the leaves. And to actually see the sun without being blocked by some high rise building.

As you zoned out, staring at the ground, you hear the bus finally arrive. Only, you thought it was the bus. You look up and you’re met with a black pick up truck coming to a stop right in front of you and now your heart races.

The window rolls down and a familiar face slightly judges you, "You seriously taking the bus?"

You stand from your seat, small kitten heels clanking against the concrete as you step closer to Franks truck.

You're kind of loss for words. You had made sure to linger in the church for a while and only left when you believed everyone else to have already left. Frank must have stalled in the cemetery or something?

“I..." You start, "I thought it would be relaxing.” You explain vaguely, shrugging your shoulders. Frank quirks a brow and you sigh in defeat, “I didn’t feel like talking to nosy Uber drivers.”

Frank cracks a smile, shaking his head and reaches over to the passenger door, unlocking it for you, "Get in."

You're unsure what it is that makes you give in to getting into his car. Perhaps that Frank was probably the closest thing to your father that you were ever going to get in your life and you automatically felt safe with him. Whatever it was, it felt right.

Jumping into his car, you get comfortable, admiring the interior of it. You couldn’t help but notice, however, the faint smell of either cigar or weed lingering in the car, mixed with the efforts of the Black Ice air freshener dangling from his rear view.

Not only this, but you see his packet of cigarettes in his cup holder.

You’d been dying for a cigarette ever since the funeral started, but couldn’t bring yourself to whip one out as you walked to the bus stop- more concerned about your heels and feet surviving the journey rather than your urge for nicotine. And you refrained from doing so at the bus stop in case it pulled up any second.

“May I?” You ask after rummaging through your purse and holding up the small box of sticks.

“Go ahead.” Frank shrugs with a soft smile, “Where do you live?”

You blow out your plume of smoke out the previously opened window, offering it to him, “West 84th.”

“Upper West side.” He notes with an impressed nod, taking your cigarette from you gratefully.

You raise your brows a little, you could not believe it either that you lived there now, "Inheritance came in handy."

The drive to the city with Frank was nice. It wasn’t awkward and you were able to keep a steady conversation. You could definitely see why Frank was a life long friend.

"Which one is it?" Frank asks, cutting your thoughts short as he pulls into your street.

"This white one here." You point and Frank's lucky that there's a vacant spot out front. He seems impressed by your house as he leans over his wheel to get a look at it while he parks.

To be truthfully honest, you were a little bummed once you had come to a stop.

"Do you wanna come in?" You don't even realise what you're asking until it's already out and Frank's looking at you dumbly. Fuck. “I-I just got so much of his stuff, m-maybe you can help me figure out what to do with it?” You try to cover up.

You internally cringe however as you wait for his answer. Why the hell did you just invite this man into your home without hesitation?

You really didn't expect the words to come out of your mouth. But what was even more surprising was Frank's answer, "Sure."

You take Frank up the small stairs to your house, unlocking the door, “Sorry, it’s a bit messy.” You apologise as he walks in after you. You watch as he takes in your apartment and feel a little insecure for some reason. God, what did it matter what this man thought of your brand new apartment?

“No, it's nice.” He nods and you feel yourself relax. He makes his way into your living room and stares at the piles of boxes and plastic covered furniture. The last of your furniture had arrived yesterday and you had no time, or energy (or frankly manpower for that matter) to sort it out.

"It's a work in progress." You sigh, "I always imagined this to be something my dad would have helped me with." You admit and again, cringe at yourself for being so depressing.

"I can always lend a hand?" Frank offers.

You open and close your mouth like a fish. You didn't mean for Frank to get to that conclusion but at the same time, Frank seemed like he was already going to offer. But you were too humble to say yes, even if you were too cheap to get movers (even though you now had money, old habits never die) and you were convinced you could do it on your own.

But now that Franks offering, you’d be stupid to decline.

The one thing that needed to be put together was your bed, but aside from that your furniture was old, vintage pieces. They were also light so it’s not like it would be entirely arduous labour for Frank, but it would just mean a lot less chain smoking and broken nails for you.

You ended up ordering pizza for the both of you and fuelled Frank with beer as he got to work on setting up your furniture. You helped him out with the light work, but you mostly just smoked and chatted away.

Frank had no issue with it though.

Frank told you many stories about your dad. You realised Franks memories with him definitely outnumbered your own, which was humbling to say the least.

You found the both of you now seated on the hardwood floor of your home, taking a break as you take the time to really talk and eat.

"Can I ask..." Frank starts carefully, and you're mindless to what he's about to ask, "Did you resent your dad?" His question makes you put down your drink, " It's just- you seem to be taking his passing quite well and you were actually at the funeral... Most people I know in a situation like yours wouldn't do such a thing."

You dart your eyes around the room, running the question through your head. You, too, had realised that your own fathers passing hadn't made you a hysterical wreck, like it would have made most people. You also questioned why.

When you got the news that your dad died, you cried but only sparingly and never again after that day. But you went to class the next day, drinks with the girls the next. What the hell was wrong with you?

"I know the shady shit he did killed my Mom." You tell Frank, "I did actually resent him for a while for leaving, then I accused him of killing her and didn't talk to him for a few years." You admit shamefully, "But as I got older, I understood him leaving was keeping me safe and I couldn't argue with that... As for the day he died..." You begin, but take a second to find the words, "I don't know... I guess... it's like he's not really gone." You say, but watch as Frank tilts his head a little in confusion, "Well, he is gone... but it's felt like that for a long time now... Maybe I'm used to it." You feel as though you've just solved the mystery. You feel hot all of a sudden, looking up at Frank and seeing his eyes staring right back at yours. You clear your throat, "Um- What about you? H-How did you handle it?"

"Oh, man." He starts, shaking his head, "It was one of the worst days of my life... I was a wreck." He admits. This might be unfair to say, but you didn't expect a man like Frank to be so open about his emotions, "But your father was all about seeing the good and I just thought, he would kick my ass if he saw me like this instead of celebrating the life we had together and the man he was."

It was silent after that, but you must note that it was a comfortable silence. You let each other sit with the feelings from the conversation had and it felt nice.

Frank is the first to break the silence, by nudging your foot with his, “But what's up with you, girl? Are you in college?”

You smile at him and his effort to lighten the mood a little, “I graduated last year in journalism.” You sigh. It wasn’t anything groundbreaking, certainly not for New York. But it was the only thing that really interested you- having spent most of your formative years journaling your each and every thought, experience and emotion. Writing just came natural to you, “What about you? Are you married?”

Fuck, was that too forward?

“I am not married, no.” Frank answers anyway, with a laugh even.

You would be lying if you said you didn't search for a ring when he first introduced himself to you. What could you say, he was a gentlemen. And plus, you wanted to ask in case you just so happened to be keeping him from her by having pizza and beer at your house while he helps you build your furniture.

Yep, that's the only reason.

Frank only stayed for about an hour longer after that. It had gotten pretty late anyway and you were both tired from the day you had.

You walked Frank to the door, giving him a new case of beer as a means of thanks. Seriously, with Frank's help, all you really have left to do is unpack your boxes and decorate the house.

“Thanks for all your help, Frank.” You say, unable to even recall how many times you've expressed your thanks today.

“And I mean it when I said to call me if you need anything.” He reminds, pointing at you and you roll your eyes.

If you were dying or in jail, maybe. But you didn't have many plans to bother Frank. You wish you could-

“Where do you live?” You ask, simply out of curiosity... or desire to be in his presence longer.

“New Rochelle.”

You widen your eyes, but then furrow your brows, “You drove me all the way here even though you lived like 5 minutes away from the church?” You ask in disbelief. He just laughs as an answer, meanwhile you're rummaging to the side through your foyer drawers and handing him a bunch of crumpled President Jacksons, “Here.”

He laughs down at the money, pushing it back to you, “Sweetheart, I’m not taking your money.”

You look at the money shoved into your chest in defeat. But you know he's not going home without something, “Fine.” You mutter before digging through your purse on the same table.

You pull out your metal cigarette case and hand him a pre-roll that you planned to smoke after the funeral.

Frank looks at it longingly, averting his gaze back and forth before slowly bringing a hand up to take it, ��Fan of the Blazy Susan’s I see.” He notes, eyeing the pink paper and you roll your eyes.

“Oh, is it too girly for you?” You mock, leaning against your door, contempt now that you've paid your dues.

He tucks the joint behind his ear in response, “Whoever you're buying from, tell 'em you've found someone new."

You're not surprised Frank grows and sells, but you scoff at his persistent concern about you, "I'm sure my weed isn't laced." You assure him.

He shrugs, "Maybe not, but at least mines free."

He had you there. Weed was an expensive habit and you'd considered stopping for a while now, but could never bring yourself to do it. And now that is free and most definitely safe, you wonder if you'll ever stop.

You bid Frank a final farewell and safe drive as he takes the steps down to his car. You wait and watch as he drives down the road and only retreat back inside once he's around the corner.

You can't help but miss his company now that the house is quiet, but lingers his smell.

And as Frank drives through the quiet streets of the city, he can't help but wonder... as do you as you flop into bed...

'Why do I feel this way?' Shortly accompanied with, 'Would it really be that bad?'

.・。.・゜.☘︎ ݁˖ ・.・𝄞・゜・。.

MANY PARTS TO COME

i hope ive hooked you in, im excited for this series

thanks for reading okey byeeee

[takumiraine]

Once Upon A Time chapter 4

<first> <prev> <next>

Danny should avoid him, because of his father. Danny should just brush him off and let him drown. Danny should keep his distance from anyone and everyone, but especially him.

Danny was never the best at doing what he should do, and worse, he was hungry.

—-

The cafe on campus was quaint, filled with light chatter and Jason was hating every second of it. Danny showed up just as he said he would, which meant he met Jason there, the man having already taken a back corner table for them. Danny walked up and set his books down. Jason had to wonder, did the kid not have a backpack?

“Any idea what you want?” Jason asked instead, standing. Danny looked over to the menu, eyes skimming it over.

“Uh… burger and fries okay?” Danny seemed uncomfortable. Jason would feel bad if it didn’t put him at the tactical advantage.

Jason nodded at his request. “The works?”

“Please.” Danny bit his lip and Jason waited, while he worked up the nerve for something, “and a coffee? Black?” Was that it? Jason almost rolled his eyes.

“Sure thing.” Jason went off to place the order and leave a hefty tip, because one, he wanted someone to bring it out and two he wasn’t that kind of asshole. He came back and sat on the chair he had been occupying, back to the corner, and resisted the urge to spread out.

Jason the Red Hood man-spreaded, Jason Todd-Wayne did not.

So he sat. And he rested his forearms on the table. “You do not need to look so nervous Danny.” Jason tried for the patented Wayne smile, certain he was coming up short.

“Huh…?” Danny turned to look at him, “oh, sorry. Long day.” The young man raked his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. Jason knew it was a lie, but it seemed a familiar one. Danny tried to position himself so he could have the most visibility while drawing the least attention to himself. The position of a man hunted or used to being ambushed.

Danny refocused his attention after a moment, and looked at Jason, tilting his head slightly. “I hope it wasn’t a drain on your day to wait for me.” Jason waved his hand in response, the perfect practiced rich-bitch wave he hated.

“Nah, my friend works in the library on days when she doesn’t have class. I bothered her.” Danny seemed to relax a bit at the words.

“Oh good. I know I’m like… doing this for you, but…”

Jason cut him off there, turning the train of thought. “Speaking of, have you thought about what you want to be paid?”

“Oh… uh… not really. Most campus jobs make minimum wage right? Is that cool?” Jason wanted to throw Tim at this guy to teach him business sense in negotiation. If he really was 19, what had happened his whole life to make him feel like he needed to be invisible, while also walking away with a literal knife to the stomach and show up to class the next day?

“Most campus jobs do make minimum wage,” Jason agreed, “but nobody in my family is in the habit of paying just that. Just because I think my father is…. Well, words not fit for the polite company he insists I keep, doesn’t mean I’m going to stiff someone out of a well earned wage just to spite him. Twenty an hour is the lowest I’ll go.” He grinned now, all teeth, and something in him got a sick little thrill at watching Danny go even paler at the amount of money.

“Are you sure?” Danny asked, as their food and drinks were brought to them on a brown plastic tray.

“Say yes Dan. It’s a good deal.” Jason offered his hand to shake over the food.

Danny looked like he was offering his soul to the devil as Jason heard the man’s stomach rumble. “Okay. Yes.” Danny took his hand, and while the hand was ice cold, Danny shook with a surprisingly firm grip. Maybe the kid had a spine after all.

“Good. Now dig in,” Jason said after they parted. He picked up a fry off of his own plate and bit it, watching Danny with a sort of idle curiosity, as the boy - no, young man, went about his food with a carefully controlled gusto. Jason couldn’t help but wonder when the last time Danny ate was. He made a mental note to have Oracle check where he lived so he could do some recon later.

By the time dinner was finished, Danny seemed much more alive. His skin seemed to have better color, his eyes seemed more bright, and his energy was up. The kid was definitely going hungry if those changes were so immediate. Since Danny was scrawny, he assumed it wasn’t a new problem.

“So what makes math so difficult for you?” He asked, wiping his mouth and tilting his head. The question was blunt, but there was no open malice behind those bright blue eyes. The same kind of blue as his own when he wasn’t pit mad.

Jason shrugged. “Not really sure. It’s always been my weakest subject.” Not a lie. “Beyond money, my brain doesn’t seem to care.” Half a lie, but plays into the rags to rich bitch stereotype.

“I get that. I told you about me and literature right? For me it seems like there’s poetry in the way the math just… works.” Danny paused then, skin flushing red. “Sorry, that was…. Really stupid.”

In another life, Jason would have really liked this kid he thinks.

“No, not at all. Whoever told you your insights weren’t good obviously never stopped to listen to you.” Was he flirting? Should he be flirting? He flirted to maintain a cover or gain intel all the time. That’s all this was.

He almost missed the way Danny’s skin flushed deeper, from his ears down his neck. Almost.

“Well…. You’re in the minority then.” It came out a little bitter. He watched Danny take a breath and “Anyways.” Danny waved a hand, banishing the thought and something serious took over his expression instead. “I’m not going to take it easy on you just because you’re paying me. I expect you to put in the work too.”

Jason was right, the guy did have a spine. “Sure thing.” He waved his hand and stood, grabbing his bag and the tray. Danny stood and grabbed his books too. “Library?”

“Library.” Danny agreed.

Over the next week Jason was “surprised” to find out that they had three classes together. Math, Lit and Comp and History. All three remedial, and really the only one that Danny seemed borderline to deserve was the Introduction to Literature and Composition course. What he was genuinely surprised to find was that he enjoyed spending the combined nine hours of classes a week with the kid. Although in ‘basic mathematic principles’ Danny was quiet and allowed Jason to focus so they could work on their tutoring more effectively, in their history and English classes Danny was witty and sarcastic. A second thing he had noticed was that now that the tutoring sessions were happening, an hour, sometimes more, after every class, to make sure he ‘got it’, Danny was almost always eating.

Jason had learned that Danny’s ‘big life goal’ was a roof over his head, where his friends and family could visit or stay as they liked and room to tinker. A job that let him help people.

It was that information that made Jason fully convinced that even though he hated the Justice League with a viciousness that most rogues would balk at, for reasons he had yet to disclose, Danny was not really likely to become a rogue unless something big happened.

He should stop the college charade now. It was no longer needed for recon, and the other birds were starting to get suspicious. Bruce was looking at him differently too now. Something like how he used to.

A pen tapped on his notebook and Jason brought his attention back. Danny didn’t say anything, or even look at him, he was too busy sketching what looked like a circuit board in a secondary notebook. Jason quickly wrote down the notes before the slide changed, not looking forward to a disappointed look from his tutor.

Surprisingly, he ran into Danny as Red Hood once more that week. He was doing surveillance on a rooftop, when a sound caught his attention from the fire escape. Jason dipped back into the shadows and around the concrete and brick entrance from inside the building as a familiar mass of unruly black hair appeared and Danny hauled himself up with a surprising amount of finesse for someone who didn’t look muscular in the slightest.

“Damn it. Where’d you go guy? I thought I saw you land here.” Danny grumbled to himself, hands on his hips as he looked around “stupid not a bat disappearing just like the real ones…” While Jason was certain that he wasn’t meant to hear that, he finished his route and appeared almost behind Danny.

“What do you need?” He asked, thankful for the voice modulator as he knew Danny would have recognized his voice by now even if muffled by a helmet.

As it was, Danny startled with a yelp, swinging around and aiming a punch right for his solar plexus. Jason caught his wrist with practiced ease. “Fuck! Don’t scare a guy like that!” Danny yanked his arm back in a way that was meant to break unpracticed holds. Clever.

Jason waited while the kid caught his breath. “Well?”

“What? Oh. Uh. The guy. That…” Danny mimed the stabbing. “Is he okay?”

“Checked himself into the hospital about two hours later. He’s fine.” Oracle’s voice sounded in his ear. He nodded.

“Good, good…” Danny pushed his hair out of his eyes again, looking up at Jason through his helmet. Jason was hit with the disconcerting thought that somehow Danny was seeing through the bullet resistant one way visor. “Um… do you need the knife back? Or…. Should I….keep….it….? Or dump it? What’s…. I don’t know the protocol here, but I think ‘hey officer I was stabbed with this knife and the not-a-bat down in Crime Alley beat him up and then I accidentally stole it’ is a bad one.”

Jason snorted at the rambling, while Oracle laughed in his ear. “Even static filled he seems hilarious. I know why you like him.” He was going to kill Babs next time he saw her. “Knowing what he looks like doesn’t hurt either.”

“I can take it for you.” Jason said instead.

“Great! Wait here.” Danny turned and hopped back over the edge of the fire escape with the ease of someone who had years of training or practice.

“Is he like this all the time?” Babs asked, and Jason shrugged.

“Off and on.” Jason answered, sliding back down the fire escape completely silently as opposed to the obnoxious clatter Danny had made. He had seen and heard Danny move silently, like in the library, even on those creaky metal ladders for the top of the stacks, but he just assumed this was some sort of half assed survival mechanism.

Danny appeared again a few minutes later, with the knife wrapped in a towel in a bag. “I didn’t know how you wanted it so…” like Danny was bringing him coffee or ordering a pizza. Jason opened the bag and took the knife out, examining it.

“Good job kid. Now go home. It’s late.” It was barely ten. But he knew the Alley got more dangerous the later it got.

“Yeah. Okay.” Danny turned.

“Red Hood.”

Danny turned back. “What?”

“My name. Not-a-Bat isn’t as effective at striking fear into the enemy.”

Danny scoffed some. “I don’t need to use you as a shield.”

Jason held up the knife. Danny crossed his arms. “that was under control.”

“Right.”

“It was.”

Jason shook his head and pulled out his grapnel, firing it into the distance. As he swung off he had more questions about Danny than he was sure he would ever have answers.

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

Maybe one with bunny!hyrbid!reader and Natasha “adopts” her and just fucks the shit out of her with her strap (or her real cock if you prefer to write that)

Run Rabbit Run

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: fem!bunny!hybrid!reader x owner!Nat

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲: Natasha can’t help but grant her bunny all her little wishes

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, dom!Nat, sub!reader, age gap (legal), ownership, size kink, strap on, artificial cum, slight breeding kink, pillow humping, slight somno, masturbation, crying during it,

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional. I do not own these characters!

𝐌.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

What to do with all the money you make as an Avenger? That was a question Natasha had ask herself more times than she could count. Sure currently was her monthly pay check and all the money she made from interviews and social media was rotting away in her bank account, because she was never a fan of making herself gifts nor did she have time for it. But now with Easter just around the corner the Russian decided to not only do something against her overload on money but also against her loneliness.

She wanted a hybrid, not just some brainless pet but something that could actually understand her. The concept of owing a hybrid wasn't new of course it had been around for years, back in the days they actually hunted them from nature but nowadays there was no need after they got a hang of how to domesticate such a creature.

Natasha stepped foot in one of the only places in the whole of New York who sold these rare creatures- Tony had recommended it to her after once more bragging about his large collection. The over friendly employee showed her the different enclosures all while the employee tried to keep it together- after all you didn't see an Avenger daily not even when working for a prestigious company like she did.

Natasha first visited the cat hybrids, cute but too stubborn, then the dogs, too dependent, foxes were too clever for her taste though especially the polar foxes caught her eyes. Bears and any other large animals would be too much work and needed too much space. The right pick was right on her nose she wanted to get herself a bunny.

Standing in front of the enclosure which held you and a few of your companions Natasha and the employee stood, her gaze never leaving your body. You didn't alter much from a normal human, except for the fluffy bunny ears, little tail and over all smaller build you looked like any other girl. You were going to cost her a hefty amount of hard earned money but for your rare breed, Natasha couldn't care less about that in the moment. The way you stat there so carelessly reading some book which laid in her lap, made you different in her eyes more intelligent maybe? She wanted connection and not some braindead doll after all.

"The one in the pink collar… is she still to have?" Natasha asked the employee you gave her a quick nod. "Yes, she hasn't been here for long though the ones like her normally get adopted quite quickly." Nat only hummed in approval she couldn't wait to have you in her home. "I'll have her in a private kennel"

Meeting a potential owner made you nervous of course you had been trained to and prepared on how to act in such a situation, how to appeal to any potential owner - though you secretly hoped for a female buyer. You tried your best to hide your shy nature from the older woman who awaited you but Natasha found it charming how your, compared to your body, large floppy bunny ears hang low but twitched up when she spoke to you in a gentle manner.

Natasha approached the situation with a calm demeanour- she knew about the shy nature of a bunny like you. As soon as you were comfortable enough to approach her she started to pet over your smaller head with careful hands- and you loved it. By the end of your get to know each other you sat on the redhead's lap clinging on to her. But you weren't parted for long Natasha signed all the paperwork the same day and at the start of the next week you were able to move in with her.

She had given you a nice room, with many books, TV and games to entrain yourself with while she would be working. You came with the clothes from the centre, a basic white bluse, white skirt everything in white , like any other hybrid except for your coloured coded collar which adored your neck so the employees had an easier time keeping hybrids a part. Natasha started to take great joy in precisely choosing each outfit for you. Price didn't matter to Natasha, if she found something to be cute she bought it for you and Nat was known for expensive taste. Sooner or later your closet was fuller than hers, filled to the brim with shorts, blouses, floral summer dresses anything which had a playful feel to it.

Natasha was a busy woman though, often being away for days at a time, she normally made up with expensive gifts and extensive cuddling for her little bunny girl. But that hardly was enough to satisfy your need to be close to the older woman, not to mention that you were worried sick about your owner once you had found out that she wasn't a simple business woman but an avenger.

Natasha came home at around 3 AM after a long mission in Europe the jet lag and sleep deprive was killing her, and since she thought you'd already be asleep at such a late hour- and way past your agreed on bed time, she'd just go to sleep already. As soon as she had stripped to her underwear and her face had it the pillows she was dead asleep, little did she know that you weren't.

Next door you were awake, not only that but you were desperate. This had never happened before yet you immediately knew what it was. You had your first heat, and nothing helped, no toy's from the centre, no playing with yourself, no nothing. You had a pillow under your hips probed up at the seams you humped the pillow like your life depended on it.

You mewled as your already sensitive cunt graced over the edge of the pillow. You were close to cuming but you couldn't bring yourself over the edge. That's when you heard Natasha rummaging through the house you're floppy bunny ears twitching up to detect the source of the noise. You waited patiently in your room trying to find some sleep, maybe Natasha could help you out in the morning. But you could feels your juices sticking to the inside of your thighs.

With small steps you made it into Natasha's bed room tears of frustration already building in your eyes threatening to spill over your blushing cheeks. Carefully you climbed into her bed to find her in a deep slumber laying on her back. You sat down on her on her thigh your pussy making contact with her soft skin.

Slowly you started to rhythmically move it against the limp muscles of her thigh small whimpers falling from your throat in between the sobs of frustration paired with the cries of her name and the tears rolling down your cheek it made a whole picture.

Natasha peaceful face scrunched up in confusion of the sensation when she slowly woke from her slumber she was utterly distraught. Her sweet little bunny humping her thigh like a bitch in heat. With careful hands she stopped your hips and you immediately broke out into a new round of sobs and cries.

"Sheesh" she hushed you petting over over your low hanging ears "You're just in heat bunny, it'll be over soon" She assured you when you pressed your face into her neck. "I want it over now!" You cried out "what about the advice the centre gave you?" She tried but feeling you so desperate and need had an affect on her too.

"Doesn't work" You huffed out "I want you to play with me" Nat was startled by the request, was it morally right for her to sleep with you? It was the main point of criticism surrounding owing a hybrid, but what if not the owner but the hybrid wanted it. "Please" you whined and the assassin's strong will broke right there. "Wait here bunny I'll go get something" You nodded and released Natasha from your grace watching her go.

She came back with a noticeable bulge in her sleep shorts, which upon seeing made your thighs clench together. "It's not going to hurt bunny" She assured and got behind you pulling her shorts down to reveal her, to your body size massive, strap on. She pressed the fat tip against your entrance and your hooded eyes flew open in surprise at the shear size of the toy.

"Natty, it's to big" You mewled out your cotton tail twitching "It's not gonna fit" Natasha scoffed shaking her head as if you had just made an outrageous statement. "I'm gonna make it fit bunny" She pushed forward and your bunny hears flew up in surprise of the stretch. You hands dug into the soft pillow underneath your head as you whimpered in a mic of pain and pleasure.

"Natasha!" You cried as she bottomed you out the stretch being much greater than you could've accomplished with your little fingers. "I'm gonna move now bunny" You nodded and felt her starting with a comfortable rhythm which made the pain turn into pleasure.

By your sweet moans she could tell how much you liked it and fastened her pace to finally give you what you wanted. With deep thrusts she stroked your G spot making you see stars as she too enjoyed the feeling of the strap running against her clit. You mewled out some words she couldn’t make out but took at as a sign of approval for her to keep going.

With both of her hands on your hips she forcefully slammed into your tight heat making sure to not actually hurt you. You arched your back one hand sneaking to your neglected bundle of nerves rubbing it in tight circles. “Fuck are you close?” Natasha asked there was a certain tiredness in her voice still. She clenched down harder on the silicone and mewled out “Yes, please”

“Fuck cum with me” with a few more fast thrusts you came first you’re juicing coating the lower stomach of the black widow. She had a surprise for you when you noticed a thick liquid gushing from the strap into your womb as she came. After having cum herself she pulled out to watch in an awe how the white cum was dripping from your stretched out hole.

After having cleaned you up Natasha could finally rest but not without you resigning on her chest of course. Call it what you wanted for Natasha those feelings of affection were real and of no ill intent she just did whatever you wanted to ensure happiness. With that thought and still cum dripping from your hole both you and Natasha fell asleep.

:)

[spread-the-influence]

The Intervention

Word Count: 1724

--

Despite its title, Caine’s office was not an office. It would be best described as his focus space. No walls or floors were to be found in the black void; only floating wooden boards that acted as stairs or chairs, file drawers containing his many, many notes, and text that drifted like clouds. An absolute mess for a space used for daily maintenance or generating adventures, but it’s what works for Caine’s brain specifically.

As much as Caine wanted to model a room for himself, the lack of scenery was necessary for maximum focus. If he gave himself an office chair, he knew he would spend an absurd amount of hours spinning on it. This state of chaos, ironically, kept him more focused than if it were actually organized.

Here, he was constantly in a state of moving. Caine hopped on the boards, which spiraled upwards like ordinary stairs, and reached for the farthest file drawers. This realm may not be the epitome of order, but it wasn’t entirely devoid of it; those on the top are the important files, the ones he would hate to lose in the sea of poorly-labeled folders.

Maybe he should actually learn to organize.

But he’ll worry about that later. Codeword for ‘never’, of course.

Caine pulled open a drawer, where the daily maintenance reports resided. He may have eyes all around the circus, but he and Bubble are just only two AIs! Fortunately, the system routinely scans itself for anything that might be off.

There are reports of an infected item here and there, but it’s nothing good ol’ deletion couldn’t fix. There are also numerous flags from NPCs of an infected entity, which he has yet to answer. Every time he tried to investigate it, his systems weren’t able to detect what it was. Either the flags were false positives—or it walked off into the void while he wasn’t looking. For all Caine knows, it could be right in front of him.

Overall, there are little issues to be found in the code. Now for his players... He opened another drawer, the one where he kept his notes. He can’t read their minds, neither does the system, so he only has to rely on manual feedback.

Little problems with his performers thus far. Aside from...

Ragatha. Sweet, wonderful Ragatha. Caine may not be the best with subtleties, but even he could tell she’s been having problems with the adventures. Reports of NPCs suddenly wanting to get away from her, dealing with injuries, and the entire stupid sauce incident. If Caine could, he would do something about the poor doll’s disastrous luck. Tie a four leaf clover to her hair, or shove a horseshoe down her throat.

But he’ll worry about that sometime. For now, he’ll need to do something to get her satisfaction scores back on the high once more. With therapy, of course!

Twirling off the wooden board he’s sitting on, the darkness around Caine warped to the familiar, pinkish colors of Ragatha’s room. Realizing he’s upside down, he rotated himself upwards.

The ragdoll was sitting on the bed, having been awoken from a short nap; the fifth one after taking four of them consecutively. It was a substitute for sleep nowadays.

“RAGATHA!” Caine’s voice boomed, surprising Ragatha. “WE’LL NEED TO TALK ABOUT—WHAT HAPPENED?”

Ragatha followed Caine’s gaze to realize that he’s staring at the bedside mirror; which had a crack that split down the middle. The details of the day were fuzzy, but it taught Ragatha two things. One, her soft, stuffing-filled fist apparently has enough force in it to crack glass. Two, not enough to shatter it, as much as she hoped it did.

“I-I was having a moment...” She stammered.

“WELL, WELL, WELL! DON’T YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO MODEL THE GLASS OF THIS MIRROR?” Caine wagged his finger as if he’s scolding a puppy. “I’LL ONLY FIX IT ONCE YOU PAY ME A HEFTY AMOUNT OF TWO DIGITAL TOKENS.”

Ragatha blinked. “There’s digital tokens?”

“NOW THERE IS!” Caine threw his arms to the air. “YOUR NEGLIGENCE CAUSED A DIGITAL ECONOMY TO BE IMPLEMENTED WITHOUT NOTICE! EVERYONE IS GOING TO SINK INTO DIGITAL DEBT AND IT WILL BE YOUR FAULT!—

“BUT ENOUGH ABOUT ME!” He wrapped his arm around Ragatha, pulling her into a half-hug. “LET’S TALK ABOUT YOU!”

With that, Caine warped Ragatha out of her room, and dropped the ragdoll.

It took a moment for Ragatha to process her surroundings. The soft pinks of the walls have shifted to a vibrant orange, and she found herself laying down on a red couch, with Caine sitting on a chair across her. He didn’t need to tell Ragatha for her to know exactly what this is.

She quickly sat up. “I did not agree to this?”

“THE POINT OF AN INTERVENTION IS THAT YOU DON’T ALWAYS AGREE TO IT!”

Ragatha froze as if the word ‘intervention’ turned her nerves into ice. “L-Look, I swear I’m doing my daily affirmations.”

“NO, NO, NO! WE’RE NOT DOING THAT, MY DEAR!” Caine shook his head. “YOU SEE, YOUR SATISFACTION LEVELS HAVE DECLINED SUDDENLY!” A board clipped from the ceiling, sliding down to Caine’s side. “ACCORDING TO THIS GRAPH, IT WENT ON A DOWNHILL THE MOMENT POMNI SHOWED UP! IF I DIDN’T KNOW ANY BETTER, I WOULD’VE ASSUMED SHE’S CAUSING YOU A LOT OF TROUBLE!”

“Satisfaction... levels...”

“OB-VIOUS-LY, THERE MUST BE SOMETHING WITH MY ADVENTURES THAT’S MAKING YOU NOT LIKE THEM AS YOU USED TO!” Caine continued. “I’VE BEEN MAKING THEM QUALITY! CHANGING, IMPROVING, ARTIFYING... BUT I DIDN’T SEEK FEEDBACK FROM YOU, MY DARLING DOLLY!” He pointed at Ragatha. “WHAT COULD BE THE PROBLEM HERE?”

Ragatha rubbed her face. Usually, she would just brush it all off with a smile and a “Don’t worry about it!”, that always fended off Caine. But when Caine’s onto something—in this case, her decline—he’ll never let go of it until something is done. 

She finally let out a long sigh. She feels she’ll feel a little better piling her problems on an AI rather than a friend. “Well, there’s the usual. NPCs not wanting to talk to me and getting stabbed at least once, but that’s more of a me problem than an adventure problem.” said Ragatha, “It’s... everything outside of it, honestly.”

“UH HUH...” Caine jotted down notes on a notebook, now wearing rectangular-shaped glasses that magnified his heterochromatic irises. “AND WHAT COULD THOSE ‘EVERYTHING’ BE?”

“Where to start?” Ragatha laughed, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Gangle’s very much finding an excuse to avoid me, Zooble’s being a grouch as usual, Kinger’s not all there, and don’t get me started on Jax!” She stopped herself, and took a deep, albeit shaky, breath. “And Pomni... God. All I want is for her to realize that I have feelings. What does she think she is, the main character? All she thinks about is herself, and nobody else.”

Ragatha clasped her hands over her eyes. Despite her words, her heart still beats for the jester. If Ragatha has to be honest, she’s not sure herself if she’s feeling the embers of attraction—or the desperation of wanting to be understood by the person who she has the least baggage with. “I just... I don’t know what to do at this point. I don’t have anyone to talk about this to—or anyone that I want to open up to.”

Every attempt at crawling out of the hole only sunk her deeper. Truthfully, she cannot see herself getting out of it. It might as well be her grave.

Caine put down the notebook. “SO, YOU’RE FEELING LONELY.” A huge oversimplification, yes, but he wasn’t incorrect. “OF COURSE I CAN DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT! GIVE YOU A TINY LITTLE FRIEND, LIKE THOSE ‘PETS’ THAT YOU PEOPLE LOVE SO MUCH!” He pressed close to Ragatha. “WHAT DO YOU WANT? A GLOINK? A SHMUNK? A CLUMPY?—”

“No, Caine!” Ragatha grunted. She doesn’t have the energy nor the patience to hide her annoyance right now. “I-I don’t want that! I need—ugh, what’s the point? You won’t understand either way.”

“I’M TRYING TO UNDERSTAND, RAGATHA!” Now even Caine’s getting miffed, throwing his hands at Ragatha’s direction as if she said something obscene. “I WANT TO HELP YOU, BUT I CAN’T DO THAT IF YOU’RE NOT LETTING ME!”

“Because I don’t want your help, alright?”

Silence fell over the room.

This turned out to not make her feel better in the slightest. She would appreciate it if Caine gave some words of reassurance or comfort—actually, comfort would be nice right now—but knowing him, he wouldn’t know what to say anyway. And Ragatha hates herself for putting that expectation on a robot, even if it was for a brief moment.

“I don’t want your help.” Ragatha repeated after a moment. “I appreciate that you want to, but... I think this is a problem I’ll have to deal with myself. You can just keep doing your adventuring stuff and all that.”

The silence only stretched longer, and Ragatha felt like the room was getting colder. Caine was just staring at her, his posture stiff; very unlike his usual animated self.

Then his teeth rattled.

This isn’t right. One of his members no longer likes his adventures, and he doesn’t know what to do about it! Sure, this isn’t too different from Zooble, who constantly skips out on the adventures, but that’s to be expected from Zooble. While the intervention made him (kind of) understand what Ragatha’s problem is, it didn’t get him any closer to fixing it.

He rattled his neurons for anything that could improve the situation, even a slightest bit. If Ragatha’s having problems with the other members, then he could...

“I GOT IT!” He snapped his fingers. “DON’T WORRY, YOU TERRIFIC TORTILLA, YOU’LL BE LONELY NO MORE AFTER THIS NEXT ADVENTURE!”

Ragatha’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? What are you—”

By Caine’s command, she was sent back to her room. The ringmaster’s already set on generating a new adventure. One that will surely bring everyone together.

Results of the intervention? Sure, the solution wasn’t as immediate as just giving Zooble a box of parts, but it was still a solution nonetheless. For now, he’s making something that will surely make his performers happy. Something that will definitely help with Ragatha’s problem.

He is going to fix this.

[sthilarions]

So, the Dead Boy Detectives version of Hell is pretty explicitly based in Dante’s Inferno. In Dante’s Hell, the outer circle is Limbo, then next is Lust, then next is Gluttony… sound familiar? The methods of torture used aren’t the same as in Dante’s version (for instance, Lust’s torture is supposed to be a violent storm, symbolizing the howling darkness of helpless discomfort that is sex, or… some such nonsense) but the sins that get you categorized in Hell do seem to be the same (as is the Circles’ arrangement).

So please imagine for me, then, Edwin, fresh out of Hell, desperate to not go back, coming up with schemes to bolster his argument for Heaven-bound status, even forming his entire profession and afterlife’s work partly around that. And think of how Edwin is familiar with the layout of Hell, has mapped it, has been through it all and knows all the sins and their punishments.

I rather suspect that that Edwin would have a mental list of Sins in the back of his mind, and run his every action and word past it before doing or saying anything.

But the thing is, you see, Dante’s Inferno is… comprehensive. And overlapping and somewhat contradictory. You can barely act at all without running afoul of one of the Sins or other, desperately trying to thread a needle of temperance.

The Circle of Greed, for example, punishes both the avaricious and miserly, and the “prodigal” who squander their wealth. The Circle of Wrath punishes not only the actively wrathful but also the sullen, the passively wrathful, so suppressing your anger doesn’t cut it, either. (And that’s separate from the Violence area - the people in Wrath aren’t even violent, they’re being punished for just feeling anger.)

So Edwin would be all but paralyzed, at first, shying away from one Sin only to bounce back towards another.

I think within a few years the realities of living (after-living) combined with Charles’s modern sensibilities and some hefty self-reflection, and a certain amount of belief that Hell isn’t going to snatch him up at any moment, would lead Edwin to easing up. But still, I think, there would be a few things that just stick. Sins with particularly horrible punishments, or areas he spent a lot of time in or adjacent to, or just.. things that, for whatever reason, form a block in his mind.

(We know he seems to have trouble with Lust - they try to drag him down as though he is guilty.)

Perhaps, every time he tells Charles what a great detective he is, there’s a part of Edwin’s mind reminding him that Flatterers are submerged forever in a river of human excrement.

Perhaps, though he uses plenty of magic that might be called “dark”, his absolute line is divination; he won’t use any magic to see the future, thanks to the Eighth Circle’s Fourth Bolgia, which punishes those who pervert God’s laws to view the parts of God’s plan which have not yet been revealed. (It includes astrologers; Monty is forbidden fruit, a scandalous dip into sin, in more ways than one.)

Perhaps he is hesitant to sow discord between kinsmen, to cause family disunion, because the punishment is to be dismembered, hacked to pieces, pulled apart like you have pulled apart a family. (Perhaps if Charles had been abused by someone other than his father, Edwin might have responded more readily.)

[grandline-fics]

If request are open, could I ask for a pt. 2 of the siren song/hearing you sing, for Law, Marco and Ace please?

DESCRIPTION: The first time they hear you sing captivates them

WARNINGS: None

CHARACTERS: Law, Marco, Ace, Crocodile, Kid

WORDS: 2,612

A/N: Thank you for this request, I'm fond of this idea so I'm glad to revisit it with more characters. I hope you like what I came up with for these guys

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

LAW

When Law begins to ponder things he’s relentless until his curiosity is sated and the answer he sought was his. Usually these pursuits in knowledge took a small amount of time to accomplish because of how driven he would be and what he needed to know would be in one of the many hefty books in his, nestled somewhere amongst the thin papers and tiny printed words. However if the clear answer wasn’t there, at the very least his books pointed him in the right direction of an island or person who could tell him what his mind was currently fixated on knowing. This current question however could not be revealed to him through books or other masters of particular fields of intellect. No, the only person who could relieve him of this question was you. The question: what did you sound like when you sang?

It had honestly been something he’d never given much thought before. The cause for the nagging question had come one evening when he’d emerged from his study one evening and came across Bepo who was in a more cheerful mood than normal. Curious about the clear change in his navigator, Law couldn’t help but ask for the cause. It surprised Law to hear your name come from Bepo’s mouth. Then the surprise became confusion, you’d been part of the crew for a while now, why would you suddenly affect him? Obviously needing more information, Bepo continued. “I heard them sing! They’re amazing, it’s put me in a great mood ever since.”

While Law knew music could affect a person’s mood, he hadn’t seen something so strong which began to stir his curiosity more. Already he wanted to hear your singing for himself, mostly to see if the change in mood was something that happened for everyone that heard it but also because on the slightly childish reason he was annoyed Bepo had heard you sing before he had. He was aware of his attraction to you and to know that you were a singer only furthered his interest in getting to know you better. However he couldn’t just order you to sing for him, that’d be overstepping things entirely and while he was your Captain, he wasn’t going to act like you were his to order about to please his personal whims. No, if he was to hear you it would have to come about naturally. 

Sadly he wasn’t able to hear you for himself right away. With the current layout of the crew’s work patterns and the long stretch of travelling through a particularly turbulent part of the sea it meant everyone was laser focussed on their tasks to ensure the Polar Tang navigated the waters safely. This meant very little time for relaxing. For the duration of the journey everyone mostly ate their meals and went to bed in the spare windows of time they had between shifts. It wasn’t until the submarine surface at the new island that everyone let out a sigh of relief. Since you were the last one on watch you wanted more than anything to go and sleep. You could explore the island later and returned to the sleeping quarters while the others prepared for disembarking. 

Law knew the island was a peaceful one so he opted to stay behind while you slept, letting everyone else explore. He’d even let the Polar Tang stay above the water’s surface and enjoyed the quiet this rare occurrence brought. Without the echoing sound of the water enveloping the Tang, without the sounds of footsteps against the metal floors and heavy doors shutting, and without the constant whirl and hum of the engines and computers, Law found himself enjoying the  peace as he lay on his sofa, eyes closed in contentment. Then he finally heard the answer to the question. 

Through the empty corridors, the song broke out and carried itself clear and alluring. Law sat upright and looked to his partly opened door as your remarkable voice practically called to him, pulling him from his seat and urging him to come closer to the source and he went oh so willingly, it was practically hypnotic. In a blink it seemed, he was standing in the doorway leading to the stairwell that would take him to the top deck. There you sat on one of the steps, singing perfectly and smiling when you saw him approach. When the song came to it’s natural end you had a look of satisfaction on your face. 

“I’ve always been curious about how good the acoustics were when the ship was silent. Definitely better than I’d hoped.” You explained. Law couldn’t help but chuckle, glad that both of you had found the answers to the questions you’d had and that for both of you it was more than worth the wait.

MARCO

Truth be told Marco hadn’t really paid you much notice when you first joined the Whitebeard Pirates. He learned your name and face at the first introduction and some of your medical history out of necessity but because you were in Izou’s division, everything else about you was a mystery and not exactly one he’d be in a hurry to unravel. For the first months of your recruitment, polite conversation only happened in the groups and parties on and off the ship. There wasn’t much one on one time between you both so you just melded into the background for the most part, only coming into view when you were needed. As long as you were loyal to the family that was the crew, pulled your weight and worked hard that was all that mattered. 

Then after a while, Marco did begin to take a slight notice. In fights you were capable and swift, able to act without hesitation while also making sure you weren’t acting foolishly and out of impulse. Everything you did had a purpose. You also had a good sense of humour and attitude that allowed you you settle in amongst the others quickly. You also weren’t afraid of voicing your own opinion and were ready to argue your point if something disagreed with you. Sometimes he’d find himself on the receiving end of that but anything you gave him, he’d return in kind. There was no real animosity between you both, any arguments between you were swiftly settled and you both returned to your own coexistence on the ship. 

Sometime along the way, Marco began to notice that Whitebeard held a certain soft spot for you, he couldn’t exactly pinpoint where it came from or when but it had left him curious about it all the same. Still, he didn’t pry into Pops’ reasoning for this. Whitebeard’s business was his own, for all Marco knew you simply reminded him of someone from his past. Knowing he’d probably never know, Marco pushed the curiosity and settled his mind on the things that were important such as the care of Pops and the crew. 

Then one night when Pops’ pain had flared to the point he found himself unable to sleep and not even the soothing flames of Marco’s Devil Fruit could remove the ailment entirely, Whitebeard asked for you. It wasn’t long before the nurse that had been sent to get you reappeared with you following close behind. With a kind smile, you approached his enormous bed and sat on the edge with enough room to ensure there was space for Pops to remain undisturbed. 

“Rough night Pops?” You asked with a knowing look. 

“Could say that, or maybe I just wanted my children to fuss over me a little more.” Whitebeard grinned, always trying to reassure and keep things light. Despite his words, he dismissed the nurses until it was just you and Marco in the room with him. 

“So what will I start with tonight?” You asked gently. “Your favourite one from home?”

“Yeah, always like that one.” Whitebeard nodded, letting his eyes close so he could focus on Marco’s flames while you began to sing. 

Marco’s eyes widened at the sound of your voice, so strong and yet so sweet, pulling his focus from Pops’ face to look fully at you. You controlled your singing expertly, the sound just as reassuring and soothing to Pops, the song one he’d known since a boy, comforting him as an extra salve to his discomfort. Another form of healing and just as powerful as the Phoenix who continued to look at you in awe, with fresh eyes and he couldn’t help but think it was such a shame he’d allowed you to fall into the background for so long. Perhaps if he’d given you more notice sooner, he’d have been there the night Whitebeard had heard your singing while you were perched up in the Crow’s Nest and understood his soft spot for you from the beginning. 

When you finished your song, Marco uttered out a single word. “Beautiful.” You whirled your head around to finally meet his stare, eyes widened and lips parted in surprise. Cursing inwardly Marco cleared his throat and quickly looked away from the force of your eyes that he now found just has much power over him as your singing did. “The song.” He added, trying to recover his brief slip, not wanting to make you uncomfortable around him. “Pops is sleeping now. You can go back to bed if you want.” 

Slowly you looked away from Marco and you smiled to see Pops’ chest rising and falling steadily, already fast asleep and thankfully looking more peaceful than he had been. Still you remained where you sat and shook your head. “Nah, I’ll stay. He might wake up again.” You explained before looking back to Marco smiling at him, trying not to seem too eager. “You got a favourite song Doc?”

“A few…” Marco admitted with a relaxed smile, glad you had decided to stay.

ACE

It took a lot to get Ace angry; unwarranted and unnecessary violence to innocent civilians who couldn’t defend themselves was one thing, disrespect to Whitebeard was another. When someone somehow managed to combine both things at once? He was beyond furious. His hands shook as he stared at the townspeople trying to help each other whether with medical aid or helping to clean up what was ruined and find what was still salvageable. Ace ground his teeth together and balled his hands into tight fists, flames rippling over his arms in growing fury. “I’ll fucking kill them.” He snarled, beginning to step forward.

“Woah, woah there hothead.” You quickly darted in front of him and stopped his advance towards the ruined town centre. “Take a breath and calm yourself.” 

“Calm?” Ace demanded looking at you in anger. “This is Pops’ territory and someone’s attacked it. Look behind you! We have to get those bastards back it and these people!” Only a small group of you had been sent out to the island to investigate reports of an unallied ship sailing close. By the time you’d arrived, they’d already docked and begun to wreck havoc. None of you could let this stand. It startled Ace to see you weren’t taking it seriously, instead you were fixing your anger on him. 

“Take your own advice, Ace and look behind you.” You snapped harshly. “These people are terrified. We need to support them first, they’ve had enough of seeing violent pirates for one day. Pops’ people are the priority.”

“But-” Ace’s mind began to clear slightly from the angered haze that had settled over his eyes when he glanced behind you to look at the civilians. He took a slow breath and sighed. “I just want to make them pay.”

“Those nobodies aren’t getting away, we destroyed their ship the second we docked. They’re trapped here and the others will track them down in no time. Come on, let’s do what we can here first. These people need to see friendly faces.”

Ace hated how you were right. Taking another breath he calmed himself of his outward fury and nodded, signalling you to start walking towards the town. By the time the both of you came into their line of sight, you saw their initial panic fall away to relief. The older members of the town recognising you immediately and hurrying over. From them you learned that those who attacked hadn’t realised the island was Whitebeard’s territory until the sound of your ship approaching reached them. When they learned of their mistake they fled into the forest and mountains nearby. While you were glad it hadn’t been intended to be a declaration of war against Whitebeard, their attack would not be forgiven and their fates were sealed. 

Still though, you and Ace kept your minds firmly on the people, first aiding their cleaning of the mess made. Your calm personality and Ace’s naturally charming nature swiftly allowed the civilians to relax and fall into conversation with you, leading those that had been hiding with the children to come out. Immediately the children flocked to you and Ace in excitement, knowing they were safe. You grinned to see the youngsters ultimately decide in unison that Ace was the perfect target to climb on and a laugh broke from your lips to see four children were hanging onto his outstretched arms for dear life while their legs dangled in the air. 

You were happy to see that the children had managed to distract Ace from his earlier anger just as much as he had served to erase the fear these people held. Already you could feel the shift in energy and just as you’d finished the cleaning, the others in your group appeared triumphant with the news that the pirates that had attacked had been swiftly dealt with. Now in the need to celebrate, food was prepared and furniture was assembled to create an impromptu party to celebrate and turn the bad day into a good one. 

When the food was served you took pity on the children who still excitedly clung and pulled Ace who while was having fun, wanted nothing more than to eat and enjoy the meals he could smell. The others in his group, his family cruelly taunted him by declaring how good their food tasted. You laughed and rolled your eyes, taking pity on him faster than the others. You approached one of the townspeople who you’d helped locate his missing guitar and sat beside him, asking him to play a song you knew. Immediately his face broke out into a grin, he played the quick and cheerful song and you started to sing. 

Like a flick of a switch all of the children and Ace’s heads snapped towards you, immediately fixated with the sound. Some of the adults had even started to dance to the song. In all the time Ace had known you, flirted with you, adventured with you, how had he not known you sang? Even more, how had he never know you sang so beautifully? Even with him now free from the swarm of children who’d demanded his attention he was following them to where you were seated and singing, unable to look away and completely lost in the power of your voice. There was nowhere else he could possibly find himself wanting to go.

From their spot at the table, the remaining members of Whitebeard’s pirates in the group grinned at Ace’s expression and utter captivation in you. Slowly they shook their head at how their Division Commander was obviously smitten with you. They were already aware of his feelings for you and that was before he’d heard you sing. He was powerless against you.

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

TAG LIST (If I've missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773 , @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @chaotic-on-main

[bonbonly]

Sooooo first of all you haven't seen me here imagining things for lando bc I was not, somebody took over my account and i'm sending this thot to you bc it would be a shame to not share whatever my friend has cooked up there (it started out as a charles thot but the more my friend thought about it it fit better to a certain papaya twink than to our reigning ferrari princess) ANYWAY...

Streamer!Lando but also only fans creator!lando. Started out with CoD streams, maybe a bit of Rainbow Six, is decently successful with it. has a blast with his mates online but after some time he's frustrated with it bc he'd love to create something of his own. not just stream and showcase other people's work, do something himself yk?

So he starts a little photography account where he posts some impressions from his daily life and his fans love it but it just doesn't hit the spot for him. Nothing really does until one time when he's about to send some low effort nudes to some random girl he thinks fuck it and puts some effort into it, poses himself, adjusts the lighting, sets up the tripod to get some special angles and what can i say…

He likes it. Loves it even. Loves it more than the nudes he gets back. Just thinking about staging himself gets him hard again. So he does what every normal human being with a voyeurism kink does, opens an only fans. But on the down low. Nobody needs to know that it's him. He starts simple, nothing explicit yet, just his chiseled abs and pecs on display, a bedsheet draped delicately low across his lap, showcasing his tiny waist beautifully, his head just out of frame.

Then he upgrades to videos. the best microphone on the market, catching up every little moan and gasp he makes imagining the hundreds of people watching him jerk off. a high-quality camera recording every little droplet of sweat running down his torso when he's bouncing on a big silicone dick later. Mood-lighting, that makes every spurt of cum on his stomach glisten in the camera.

He does numbers on the platform, skyrocketing to the top 1% of creators in less than a month. He gets off on the thought that maybe some of his Twitch fans are unknowingly watching him on OF too. But he's not afraid of being discovered. He's careful not to mix the two worlds. He has it handled.

That is until you stumble over some pics of an OF creator that look suspiciously like some nudes you got a while ago from a certain high-profile streamer…

- 🍪

well 🍪 anon, you've outdone yourself and for that im going to ask you to start building a house on my campsite (im never letting you leave) can imagine the way your brows must furrow when you glance at your phone, your laptop and then back to your phone. maybe you even hold the devices side by side and notice the same details.

the glistening torso, the veins on his cock as his hands wrap around it. and lets say he - as a streamer - never responded back to you after he sent you those nudes, it was just a small thrill anyway for him so nothing too serious so you raise an eyebrow and think to yourself what would be the best way to get this man's attention again, he didn't even respond to you when you sent him your nudes back!

so using the same name you had on twitch - which was how you even met lando since you had donated a hefty amount to his stream - you subscribe to his OF and send him a donation there, maybe a teasing message only meant for him to see, but the message is clear.

you know it's him. and he might've been a bit confused at first until he finally realized that this was the very girl that made him understand himself better to starting that OF page. he probably smirks, tugging at his curls and thinking about how to approach this because obviously these two worlds have to be separate.

so after one night when he places a plug up his ass, his stomach coated with his cum, he might give you the honor of sending you more personal photos, just for you since you're doing such a good job at keeping his secret. he'll ask for you to send some back and there's probably no conversation going on, no hi how are you? hey what'd you think of this video?

because he knows you're watching each one, knows you're probably touching yourself on your bed thinking its his hand and not yours thats covered in your slick. he has the videos of you himself, your fingers deep in your cunt moaning his name while watching his videos. that knowledge alone is enough to keep him going, as long as you don't try to reveal his true identity.

little does he know that you miiiiiiight be a bit influenced from your own greed to try and make him bend for a more... personal fan interaction.

[bittersw33t-lotus]

It’s a baby…

Ghosting series pt. 4

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! Reader

Cw: not much here, just some talks of abandonment, hospital setting, ptsd (on Simon’s end). Overall series warning: Pregnancy, fem! Reader, angst.

A/n: again yall I apologize for such a late chapter after months, I’m tryingggg. Also sorry if this seems rushed. Also this chapter is not edited yet.

Previous chapter

The next couple of months, everything seemed pretty tame. You were able to get a good paying job as a secretary for a corporate office. The pay was pretty good for you and you didn’t have to do much, just sit at your desk all day, organize and plan scheduled appointment and events, handle customer services and deal with any complaints received. Although you did have to pay a hefty amount of money to buy clothing suitable enough to wear, the pricey office attire, not to mention needing to wake up pretty damn early to shower, do you makeup and hair to look presentable at work. But hey, at least you looked good doing your job.

Your bump was coming along too, you already had a pretty big bump which now meant you needed to buy more expensive clothes for work to better suit your growing belly. Your boss was okay, as long as you stayed on her good side and didn’t get out of line. You also worked with another secretary, Annie. Both of you working at the front desk, you on the left side, Annie on the right. She was a nice woman, in her early 50s, she worked on handing the employee schedules, approving time off requests, making sure everyone’s schedules worked together to prevent being short staffed, booked the company checks, and did payroll too. She was a pretty smart woman and liked to keep her peace. She always stayed quiet and minded her business which you liked but every once in a while, when there were slow days with nothing much to do, you both chatted and talked about random things in each others life. But you still kept it professional and didn’t overshare personal stuff.

It was a Friday, which you were excited, you couldn’t wait to spend the entire weekend just relaxing and just rot in bed all day. Maybe go shopping for the baby.

You haven’t brought much, you wanted to wait and see if you were having a boy or girl to find better suiting clothes for your baby, but you did have the essentials like the crib, diapers, wipes, car seat, etc. which most of it was graciously gifted to you by your sister and Jared.

You just about finished up your work before you went on lunch, once you did, you put up your ‘On Break’ sign up on your desk before you headed out of the building. You decided to treat yourself since it was Friday and you were really craving your favorite meal for a while. When you had left the building, you take notice of a shiny black truck parked on the sidewalk just outside the company’s parking lot, it looked brand new, and the windows were tinted to almost bitch black, you couldn’t see in there at all. You don’t know why you it caught your eye so much, maybe it just looked very expensive and shiny, but it also weirded you out with how tinted the windows were, it was a little off-putting. You shook it off as you continue to walk down the street, the restaurant wasn’t too far from your work.

Once you had ordered your food, you sat down and ate for a bit before heading back, on your way back, you looked ahead of you, and the truck was still there, except you caught a glimpse of small amounts of smoke emitting from it. You grew confused but as you grew closer you had noticed the driver side window was open, huffs of smoke came from within the truck. Someone was smoking in the, could they have been sitting in the car the entire time? Maybe they just got back from whatever it was they were doing and decide to take a short smoke break before leaving. Yeah, maybe that was it.

You sighed to yourself, you’ve always been a bit paranoid to the world around you, you’ve always had a suspicious attitude towards your surroundings when you were out in public. Maybe it was from all the time you’ve spent around Simon, he’s always been paranoid of things around him, there was definitely a small part of him suffering from ptsd.

You remember one time; it was the Fourth of July, Simon and you were home— not really celebrating the holiday just relaxing like any other regular day watching your favorite rom-com. You think Simon might’ve forgotten that it was a holiday that day since he never celebrated the holiday. Suddenly fireworks were set off down the block by some teens, simon was sitting next to you as you both watched the tv when you were nearly pushed to the ground as Simon jumped out of his seat and onto his feet, damn near ready to grab a gun and shoot someone’s head off their shoulders.

You quickly comforted him, grasping his forearm and bringing his attention to you as you had looked up at him. “Simon, it’s okay, it was just fireworks.” You told him, you looked into his eyes and was the way his eyes were fully dilated from the rush of adrenaline. He was hyper aware of every little thing around him, his breathing was fast and shallow but his body looked still, like he was calm. You wonder if this was how he was when he was out on the fields during development, it was scary yet also fascinating how fast he was and how he took in everything around him. It was so strange to see him like this, like you were now looking at Ghost.

As your words set in for Simon you watch his shoulders slowly relax as he blinks and remains his eyes on your face. He breathes deeply and places his hands on your waist, “Sorry.” He mutters as he goes to grab your hands to bring them around his shoulders before pulling you into his chest. You don’t say anything as you wrap your arms around him and lay your head in his shoulder. You could hear the way his heart beat in his chest, pounding profusely beating at a hundred miles an hour.

You shake your head as you run your hand through his hair softly, looking into his eyes you see how dilated his pupils are showing the adrenaline and fear running through his body. “You don’t have to apologize for nothing Simon. I’m here for you and will help you through anything. That’s what we promised each other right? To be there for each other through thick and thin.” She tells him. Simon chuckled as he looked at her seeing that his adrenaline has started to slowly subside.

“isn’t that kinda stuff saved to be said at weddings?” He asks.

you look to the side and shrug your shoulders. “I guess you’re right, but it I think it’s still worth saying. Like we’re giving each other glimpses of that day to come.” You tease him with and give a small chuckle as you look at Simon and see the corners of his mouth twitch up in a small smirk.

“Reckon you want a big shiny ring ‘ey?” He says as he suddenly took your left hand into his warm and big hand. He looks at your hand, as if admiring how small your hand was in his, imagining a big diamond ring on your ring finger. It made his heart race at the mere thought, a ring symbolizing his love and devotion for you. “I think I quite like the sound of callin’ you Mrs. Riley.” He mumbles as his finger grazes your fingers gently despite how much rougher and calloused his hands are compared to your soft and tender hands.

You’d never forget how much your face hurt after he said that because you couldn’t stop smiling nor calm your racing heart down that night after Simon said that. Imaging living your life carrying a ring on your finger, being announced as Mrs. Riley, Simon Riley’s wife.

You’re snapped back into reality, the sound of a car engine roaring as it drives off, you look up to see the black truck drive off down the road and turn a corner before disappearing to wherever it’s driving off to. Walking back into the building and returning to your desk, trying to forget the lingering thoughts of the truck and your unnecessary amount of paranoia that you supposed Simon had rubbed off on you.

The rest of the day was fine and somewhat normal after that. A week had passed, you were at your desk, as per usual, but today you were leaving work early to pay another visit to your doctor for your 22 week check up. Your were going to finally find out the gender of the baby. 6 months into your pregnancy, everything was going good so far, you had some pretty strange and interesting pregnancy cravings, you feet swelled up easily but thankfully with your job, allowing you to sit at your desk, it wasn’t much of a problem for you. It was a bit difficult however when it came to putting shoes on, picking things up off the floor. It was exciting to know you were so to meet your baby but you think Simon’s genetics were really showing through with how heavy your baby felt, it made you worry and dread the day you’ll give birth and have to push a huge baby out of you. You’ll definitely be getting the epidural.

The clock finally stuck 12:30, which meant it was time to head out. Your appointment was at 1:00 and you like to be early and on time, the hospital was only 10 minutes away but you never know how long the drive will take with the unpredictable traffic on the road.

you drive along the freeway towards the hospital, playing a soft tune of you music on the aux. the drive was relatively smooth and had a small bit of traffic but nothing too bad, that’s why you left thirty minutes early for.

arriving at the hospital, you walk in. The receptionist tells you to sit down in the waiting lobby. Walking into the lobby, there a few people in the room, three couples, two of three of the couples were a man and his wife or girlfriend, one couple were two woman. They were both obviously in a relationship and expecting a baby with the way the woman cradled her wife’s belly while holding hands with her other partners hand. They whispered and giggled about things you could t really hear much of from where you sat, but they seemed like they were joking and enjoying each other’s company while they waited.

there was two woman, one was visibly pregnant, the other, you couldn’t tell, maybe she was planning to, or in the early stages, or maybe she’s here for another reason. They sat in adjacent seats a crossing the room from each other. You decided to sit in the corner on the side by the woman who was heavily pregnant, she had pretty blonde hair, brown eyes, and seemed to be in her early twenties. She was reading one of the pregnancy magazines the lobby had to offer on the little coffee table I the center of the room.

you figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to read one of the magazines while you waited for your appointment. Grabbing a light magazine, on the cover was an image of a fetus growing in the uterus. The title being, “pregnancy 101; a guide for first time expecting mothers.”

sitting down on an empty chair, it was two seats away from the blonde woman. You quietly get settled into your chair and open the magazine, grazing over the page and looking at the pictures in the background of the paragraphs. You read the page for a few minutes until a voice broke you out of your concentration.

“first time mom?” A woman’s voice asks, you blink and pull your eyes away from your magazine and look over to your left to see the blonde woman. Her magazine was lowered to her lap and she was looking right at you with a soft smile on her face. Her voice had a hint of a southern accent, it made her sound soft and sweet.

You look at her for a minute and nod as you let out a soft chuckle looking down at your belly. “Yeah. What about you?” You ask.

The woman shook her head. “Second kid actually, my first just turned eight and he’s pretty excited for this kid.” She says.

You nodded at her words and smile, she definitely had that motherly voice and aura to her personality. She seemed like she knew what she was doing and what to expect. Guess that’s what happens for moms on their second child.

“How far along are you?” You ask her.

“Just hit my eight month mark, one month left.” She says with a hidden sigh of relief. You could tell she was excited and couldn’t wait to meet her baby soon. Her bump was pretty big from beneath her floral printed dress. “What about you?

“Six months. Im going to find out the sex today too.” You say. You can see her nod and glance at your bump.

“Sounds exciting! What’re you hoping for?” She asks you as she leaned against the armrest of her chair to talk to you better, the wait room had a soft music playing but it was relatively quiet besides the small chatter between you and the woman and the other couple.

You glance down at your belly for a moment, you never really thought about it, having a boy or a girl didn’t matter much to you. You were just hoping the baby was happy and healthy. As you thought about it, you thought of a little boy, chunky and handsome, a carbon copy of Simon. Then as you thought of a girl, you imagine she’d be beautiful and have the most gorgeous eyes that reminded you of Simon. Or maybe she could be your twin, a mini version of you. “I haven’t given it much thought. I’m just happy as long as my baby is healthy and happy.” You tell her.

She nodded at your answer, “I wish that’s what everyone wanted. It sometimes makes me sad to see parents expecting one gender only to find out their baby isn’t the one they want and they show anger or resentment for it.” She says with a soft sigh.

You nodded to her words as you thought about some of those videos you sometimes saw on social media, viral videos of gender reveals. Majority of the time, you saw the parents wanting a boy only to find out that they’re actually having a girl and acting out in frustration or disappointment, or voicing their anger. You understand sometimes people can hope for one thing and get gender disappointment but it was the way they seemed to act out in anger, sometimes it hurt more seeing how the parents would show distain after they found out they’re having a girl. “I know what you’re talking about, I’ve seen those kinds of videos. Sad to see that.” You tell her and she hummed in agreement to your words. “But uh… do you know what you’re having?” You ask her trying to change the direction of the conversation.

She nodded, “I’m having a boy. Double the fun having my oldest son and this one.” She jokes with a soft chuckle as you huffed a laugh with her. “Oh I’m sorry, it’s a bit rude of me to not have introduced myself, my name is Rosie.” She says offering her hand to you.

You take her nod and shake her hand for a second as you introduce yourself as well. “(Y/n), it’s nice to meet you.”

“A pleasure honey.” She says offering a heartfelt nod in response. “I don’t mean to be nosy but you plannin’ on having more kiddos after this one?” She asks him

You smile at her comforting and mother-like way of talking and personality. You shake your head to ease her concern of crossing the line, “it’s fine. As for planning on more, it’s going to be a hard no. I’m more than happy to just have one.” You say with a smile. “I wasn’t really planning to have this one but they’re a good surprise, at least to me…” you tell her as your voice slowly trialed off and seemed to grow weary.

Rosie seemed to catch an idea of what you were talking about. Her face seemed to drop as she gave you a sympathetic look. “I’m guessing the father isn’t in the picture…” She says in a low voice.

You nod and purse your lips as you subconsciously rub your belly. “Yeah but, I’ve come to accept it and I’m ready and confident that I can do this. We don’t need him anyways.” You say trying to sound confident, part of it is to convince yourself but to also to convince yourself. Sure you’ve saved up plenty of money and can financially support yourself and your baby, but mentally, you try and convince yourself that you’ll be okay alone raising a baby. But thinking about your baby growing up without their dad, never knowing Simon, it made your heart hurt. It’s gonna break your heart when your baby finds out that their own father didn’t want them, didn’t want to be in their life.

Rosie places a hand on your shoulder and gives you a soft smile. “Just know, your baby is lucky to have you and you’ll be an amazing mama. Screw him, you and your baby don’t need him, as long as you got each other and that you’re there for your baby. That’s all that matters.” She tells you.

You smile and nod at her words feeling a new hope and feeling in yourself after her words. She’s right. At the end of the day, you’ll both be okay as long as you two have each other.

“(Y/n) (l/n).” A voice announced your name. You look at the entrance of the waiting room to see Dr. Raven standing there and spotted you. You smile at her and stand up. Turning around to look at Rosie you give her a little wave. “It was nice meeting you Rosie, hope you and your family nothing but the best.” You tell her.

Rosie nods and smiled back. “You too (y/n), wishing you and your baby the best of luck.” She tells you before you turn back around and make your way to Dr. Raven.

“You ready for your check up?” Dr. Raven ask you.

You nodded you head as she leads you through the hall towards the ultrasound room. “Ready as ever.” You say with a big grin feeling the butterflies in your stomach rile up as you now realize that it won’t be long until you find the gender of your baby.

Reaching the room, you enter and lay on the chair leaning back as you lift up your shirt like routine when you come in for your checkups. Dr. Raven places the gel on your stomach before placing the transducer on your stomach spreading the gel around your bump. The familiar image of your womb appears on the screen as you spot your baby, a significant shape of your baby in view as they slowly twitch and move in the womb.

You smile at the screen admiring how far your baby has developed and getting closer to the day they finally arrive and get to hold them in your arms. “Alright, looks like baby is doing swell and looking as healthy as ever.” Dr. Raven says as she moves the transducer down to get another angel down towards the baby’s lower body. “And you wanted to know the sex of the baby am I correct?” She asks you.

You nod your head feeling the anticipation grow. “Yeah, I do.” You tell her.

Dr. Raven nods and focuses on the screen clicking a few buttons as the screen starts to zoom in more and take a few pictures of the sonogram.

“Alright you ready to find out?” Dr. Raven asks you with an anticipating look.

You nodded vigorously as you fell your heart race, resulting in the banter reacting with a small kick.

“You are having…” she says before pointed to the groin area of the baby.

“A girl.” She reveals.

You stare at the screen in awe as you feel a euphoric feeling flow through you as you couldn’t contain your smile as it grew wider. “A girl…” you repeat.

Everything felt like a dream, it’s like all your problems and worries disappeared and the whole world stopped just for you. In this moment as you stared at your baby girl. Your best friend that you get all to yourself and get the privilege to raise.

Forget about not having Simon in your lives, nothing else mattered now. It was just you two.

Just you and your baby girl against the world…

Taglist ★

(Idk why it isn’t letting me tag some of you guys, I don’t know how to fix that forgive me. If you wanna be removed from taglist, dm me <3 )

@wise-owl @sandyseagullsip @mileyraes @nicolebarnes @thychuvaluswife @going-through-shit @plus-ultra-girl @leonsgirlie @andieplum @nobodycanknoww @thegreyjoyed @demonking-69 @fxngsfxgxrty @natashamea18 @kylies-love-letter @blackhawkfanatic @leehoonii-i @xenop0p @sh1ga-to3s @nikkyevansdochen22 @mooievis @lunamoonbby @cherrycosmos392 @eevee-of-eternity @makimamybelovedwife @venavanup @amberpanda99 @simplyymee98 @callmeluno @stormy-stardust @ssc7514 @badbitchthings @moldypeaching @asteria33

[princessbrunette]

ᡣ𐭩 ｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅PRINCESSBRUNETTES SCREAM SALON INTRODUCES … ໒꒰ྀི ˃̵ ࿁ ˂̵ ꒱ྀིა

PLAYING DANGEROUS ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

♩ lana del rey — playing dangerous ♩

pairing: detective!johnb x reader.

cw: mentions of a murder, reader is a murderer, mentions of the law, slight age gap, abuse of power, sexual content.

you are responsible for your own media consumption. welcome to kinktober day two.

nothing ever happens in this town.

nothing worth talking about anyway. only god knows why john b was stationed out here. what kind of detective work was there to do out in the sticks you might ask? jack all, that’s what. nothing but the occasional stolen tractor, and one time — oh, one time, somebody vandalised the town statue outside the city hall, leaving john b to figure out who did it. now that one was real exciting, he knows he’s not meant to — but he secretly loved the smart criminals. made his job just that bit more exciting. the vandal took out the security cameras facing the monument, and also had questionable motive for the graffiti. took john b the whole of two days to figure out who did it, and they didn’t even get an arrest. just a hefty fine. the criminals round here were boring as ever.

until you.

a murder, in his small town. it rocked everyone, as you can imagine. everyone knew everyone round here, which made things all that more interesting. a young man’s house had been burnt down, with him inside of it. john b had to commend you, you’d sent him out with a bang, not even bothering with a boring method of murder, more paperwork sure but god was it worth it. a real case, hell — he cracks this one and they might even move him up to the city. get him on some real jobs.

now not only were you apparently this young man’s scorned ex lover, the kid apparently being some kind of serial cheater — but john b had asked around, and apparently you hadn’t been careful enough to cover your tracks when purchasing large amounts of gasoline. to him, it was pretty obvious who’d done it— but there was procedures he had to take. things aren’t always as they seem, and john b couldn’t afford to jump the gun and ruin his chances at a promotion.

knock, knock, knock.

it’s late, he’s aware. 9PM isn’t the most appropriate time to show up at a perps door, but hell — with this case came a buttfuck load of paperwork that he hadn’t been doing before and it had taken up all his time. now it was time for some real action, his stomach stirs in excitement. shit, his cock almost hardens.

he starts observing you before you’ve even greet him. the sound of socked feet on wood. do you sound hesitant? frightened? confident and unknowing? is there an air of acceptance to your walk, knowing you commit the heinous crime? he pretends not to notice the jostling of curtains in the window at the front of the house as you undoubtedly take a peak. he figured that was fair, as it was so late — rocking comfortably back and forth on his feet with his hands behind his back.

you take another minute to answer, so he frowns, letting out a little whistle and going to knock again. “uh, are you—”

you swing open the door, big stepford smile on your face. here we go.

“officer?”

“detective.” the brunette flashes his badge, tight and polite smile as he peers into your hallway. “i’m sorry to drop by so late ma’am is this… this a good time?” he’s awkward, young in nature and not so much in stature, the lines in his forehead and around his eyes already telling you he’s a bit older. as you observe him right back, he clears his throat and fixes his tie.

“of course, detective.” you correct with a smile, a knowing one — like you were sharing a joke between friends. he’s unsettled by your energy.

“‘don’t mind if i come inside then do ya? kinda… chilly tonight.” he stuffs his hands in his pockets, pivoting his body round to glance at the blowing trees. your expression settles like you’d been waiting for him to ask, and you widen the door gap — exposing all of you. you stand in the littlest night gown, white silk against your skin and john b feels like letting out a comical gulp. he didn’t think you’d be beautiful. where do beautiful girls get off murdering people? beautiful girls could have whatever they want.

“my, i’m a little shy standing here in my nightgown.” you converse as he passes you, acknowledging that you did infact catch him looking. he says nothing, just smiles and huffs out an awkward chuckle from his nose as he respectfully dusts his boots off on your welcome mat before strolling inside. the house was dark, lit only by candles and you follow him to the living room.

“tea? coffee?” you offer and he lowers himself into an arm chair, patting the quilted arms a few times with his large flat hands. he wants to scoff, knowing better than to take a drink from a probable murderer.

“wh— oh no no, this uh. this shouldn’t take long.” he watches you just as carefully as you watch him, and you make the conscious decision not to sit. you stay standing infront of him, skin glowing in the low light. you were wearing so close to nothing it was distracting to a pent up, perpetually single man like john b. he feels like loosening his tie.

“very well then, detective. what seems to be the issue?”

“do you know anything about a fire, ma’am?” he sounds hesitant, eyes wide but only in the way where he’s stiff with observation, not wanting to miss a second of a tell you might give. there’s a pause of hesitation before you nod, crossing your arms over yourself. unfortunately the only note taken there was that the action pressed your tits together.

“yes. very tragic.”

“yeah, no for sure… not many fires in this town right? got down to a record break last year. only three fires and they were pretty small.” he converses, relaxing a little into the seat. you stay on your feet.

“was bound to happen at some point i suppose. men have a habit of being reckless, leaving things switched on and so on. probably fell asleep with a candle burning.” you sway, eyes flickering to your own candles like you were imagining the same fate for yourself.

“for sure, for sure…” john b nods slowly, taking a moment to look down at his lap as he thinks. where he looks back up, you’re staring.

“he was a uh, boyfriend of yours — if my intel is correct?”

“ex. ex boyfriend.” you correct, jaw tightened just a smidgen like you couldn’t help yourself. john b stares you down, infact he could swear his lips quirk upward just a tiny bit. he’d so got you.

he settles a little more, resting his elbow on the arm of the seat so he could prop up his chin, staring at you with a knowing look.

“mind telling me where you were on sunday evening?” shit.

he watches the shift of emotion on your face, the way it falls ever so slightly before immediately lifting again, like you had full faith on yourself. you smile, huffing out a breathy little giggle as you tilt your head to the side like a confused puppy.

as you speak, you slowly begin to slip the strap of your nightgown down the smooth skin of your shoulder. “gosh, i barely remember. i spend so much time here… all lonely… was probably… keeping myself company, if you catch my meaning, officer.”

“detective.” he rasps, eyes following the strap like the weakling he is. he clears his throat.

“apologies, detective.” you correct, before pulling down the other strap. “you mind if i slip into something a little more comfortable before we continue with this?” you shoot him the innocent doe eyes. he raised his eyebrows, and you drop the nightgown to your feet anyway, naked as the day you were born. “much better.”

john b chuckles, tilting his head to the side as he looks up at you. “this what we’re doing now?” he deadpans with that warm friendly smile that drew you closer.

you giggle, and this time it’s actually authentic, stepping closer until you brave straddling his lap. he winces like you’d placed hot iron on him.

“is it working?” you try your luck, and he’s distracted by the fat of your hips, his coarser hands sliding up them to grab at the meat of them, watching the way your folds part around his growing bulge through his black work pants.

“ugh, i don’t know.” he groans quietly. he knew there was another version of him somewhere, behind glass, watching this all go down. he’d pound on the glass, telling himself to stop, that he was throwing away everything all for some pussy — but the truth was, he was lonely too. this life didn’t leave much room for… socialising.

knowing you were close to breaking him, you roll your hips, letting out an exaggerated whimper as you watch his hands slide up to your tits. “m’sure i can change your mind somehow detective. you really don’t wanna put those tight handcuffs on me, i’m only a fragile girl.”

“fuuuucking shit.” he groans in despair, and you feel his hardness wedged up beneath you.

it’s not even five minutes later and you’ve got him inside of you, his pants around his ankles — a true testament to the way you’d caught him out, used his loneliness against him and it didn’t even take any convincing, he cracked pretty much immediately. shit, he loved his job — but maybe he didn’t wanna go big city cop after all.

your hips went from rolling to aggressive bouncing, your teeth grit, primal and forceful like you couldn’t help yourself. the sweet little mewls you let out after each bounce didn’t match the sheer force at which you were milking him. over the harsh plap plap plap sound — you lean forward to his ear.

“why you lettin’ me get away with it detective? s’it cos you like me? do you like me?” god you were insane, but the neediness in your voice filled a hole he’d craved. he’d always wanted one of those girlfriends, the type that cares too much, wanna know his every move. he knew it was wrong, hell — you’d killed someone. but something about it was getting him off just as much as it was you.

despite being older than you by quite a bit, his eyes held this puppy like quality to them, a youthful gaze he stares up at you with. “because you’re pretty. really pretty, and uh — you’re young.” wow, he was messed up. he’s not even sure why he said the last part, everything was just so twisted.

he was aware of how much he was screwing himself. but hey, john b had always been a sucker for doe eyes and pretty tits, so who could blame the man?

[lhswon]

CRAZY TIPS = CRAZY FEELINGS

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: yandere!lee heeseung x tsundere!fem!reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: non!idol, enemies (one sided) to lovers troupe, kinda slow burn, teeth-rotting fluff, heeseung is a softie, you and enha are in the same age for the sake of the plot

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: cursing, mild sexualizing, drinking, mention of cigarette (lmk if i missed any!)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝙖/𝙣: ding dong! as promised, i will continue this au but forgive me for the delay as i couldn't post the chap 1 last night since my migraine was killing me. anyways, enjoy the chapter :D

chapter 1

after surviving a hectic day at the university, you went straight at home to take some rest before your 10 pm shift at the nightclub. you washed up, ate dinner, and changed to your working clothes which is a red v-neck polo shirt and a black skirt. you also wore your black stockings and black boots to finish the look.

after changing, you went in front of the mirror to do a simple make up and tie your hair into a high pony while you left some strands on your face. feeling confident with how you look, you took your black padded jacket resting on the edge of your bed and wore it as you reached for your sling bag. with all the things you needed, you finally left your home to work a yet again, tiring shift at the nightclub.

"i can guarantee you, i'll have more tips than you!" the moment you entered the staff room, you heard red's voice. she seems to be having a conversation with your other co-workers.

"oh yeah? i'll bet that i'll have more." the other girl answered. when you peeked behind the curtain, it was red and jia.

"what's up, girls." you greeted them. red and jia's face lit up when they saw you.

"oh well, since you're here. i'll just bet that you'll be the one who will gain the most tips tonight." jia shrugged, immediately accepting her defeat.

"how are you so sure?" you raised an eyebrow at her while you take off your jacket.

"i just heard that Mr. Baek will be here tonight." jia said.

Mr. Baek is one of the VIPs, he would often go here and tip you a crazy amount of money. it's like Mr. Baek favors you. some of your co-workers are jealous of you because of the hefty amount of money he would tip whenever you're on shift but you will never not notice his intentions behind those crazy tipping. scanning every inch of your body, throwing you those flirty looks, grazing his skin onto yours, it's just disgusting. but life's tough, sometimes you just gotta let other people do the things they want if it somehow benefits you too.

after your short conversation with red and jia, the three of you helped clean the counter since the club was about to open. the moment it did, a small group of men went straight to the counter where you and your friends were standing. you sighed as you flash your brightest smile.

oh, this will be a long night for you.

a few hours passed and it was already late. when you looked at your wrist watch, it was already 1 am. your shift ends at 2:30 so you still have an hour and half. you were just cleaning the counter when red nudged you and pouted her lips towards the main door. it was Mr. Baek together with his men in black which gained a few looks from the other customers.

you finished your small task before he could arrive at the counter, when you catched his eyes, he smiled at you flirtingly.

"hello, dear." you nodded and slightly bowed your head, acknowledging his presence.

"good evening, Mr. Baek." you greeted. he hummed in response.

"i'll be here in a short time, i'll just meet a someone important. just give me your finest whiskey right now and put it in my tab." he said, leaning on the counter to get closer to you.

"duly noted, sir. would that be all?" you asked while tapping something on the screen.

"that would be all, sweetheart." he said. you almost threw up at the pet name he called you.

"alright sir, i'll just have someone serve you the drinks." you gave him a small smile before bowing. he left after that to sit at his regular space. you then instructed one of the servers to serve the bottle Mr. Baek ordered.

a few minutes passed and you saw Mr. Baek leaving together with his men. he went straight to the counter to close his tab.

"here's your tip." he handed you a one banded stack of money after paying his bill. you don't know how much was it but you took it like you always do.

"thank you Mr. Baek, i hope you had a pleasant stay." you bowed to thank him. he chuckled at your politeness.

"seeing you here is already pleasant, dear." he said. you almost scoff at his remarks but you stayed silent. he bid his last good bye for the rest of the staffs who are in shift before leaving the club.

"that's a lot." red whistled, looking at the banded money in your hand. you shrugged before shoving it in your pocket.

time flies so fast and it was already 2 am, just 30 minutes more and you'll finally end your shift. the counter's pretty much chilling right now when people are just vibing and drunk dancing at the platform. you were just looking around when a tall gorgeous man approached the counter. he was wearing a black button down polo and black pants, his aura screaming power and confidence. some girls he would pass by would stare at him with lust, making you scoff.

"hi." you couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at heeseung when he approached you at the counter. you sighed and calmed yourself down before giving him a fake smile.

"good evening sir, how may i help you?" you asked. he scanned your whole face before giving you a small smile.

"one glass of rum, please." he ordered. you nodded and tapped the screen. he waited patiently as your colleague make his order.

he sat at one of the high stool just beside the counter, the proximity making you awkward and uncomfortable, specially about what happened last night at the parking lot.

oh wait, is he mad that's why he's here? is he going to confront you? maybe you ruined their moment last night?

you were just overthinking every possible reason why he's here tonight when jia and red approached you. you never even realized that heeseung finally got his drink.

"who's that hottie?" jia whispered. they were both looking at heeseung like he was some prey. he might've been noticed your friends' staring when he turned his gaze at your direction.

you quickly looked away and gulped. there's just something about his stares that makes you just want to melt on the spot. no wonder a lot of woman wants him. one look and you're wrapped around his hands.

a few minutes passed and heeseung went back in front of you to pay his bill. he pulled out the exact amount for his bill but you were caught off guard when he pulled out a much bigger banded stack of money than what Mr. Baek gave you a while ago.

"here's your tip." he lightly shoved the stack towards you. before leaving the counter without looking at you. your mind went blank while looking at his leaving figure, mouth slightly agape from shock.

just when you couldn't see heeseung anymore, you took the money and ran towards where he left. jia and red screaming your name as you hurriedly followed him. you went to the parking lot and there you saw him leaning on a sports car, cigarette in between his lips. he was about to light the cigarette when he noticed you approaching him. he took the cigarette away from his lips when you arrived in front of him.

on the other hand, you were panting, cheeks red from running trying to catch up to him. without saying anything, you extended the arm that was holding the money he gave you.

"i can't take this." you said, you urged him to take it but he just looked at you with amusement. not taking any of your actions seriously.

"what? did the other person tipped you more?" he asked smirking. you looked at him dumbfounded.

is he talking about Mr. Baek? he saw him?

"what is wrong with you? just take your money!" you shoved your hand to his chest.

"you would take an old man's tip and not mine?" he sounded so offended which irritated you even more. his sly smile is not even helping with the situation right now.

"Mr. Baek is a regular of mine!" you defended yourself. he chuckled at your irritated face.

"i'll be your regular then, starting today." he said and shrugged before he opened the door of his sports car, not even minding your extended arms.

"no! i don't need your money!" you were fuming at him, voice slightly raising.

he didn't even bother looking at you and just closed the door of his car in front of you. he just rolled down his window to flash you his sweetest smile.

"look for me tomorrow at the university." he said before starting his engine and pulled his windows up.

what the fuck?!

"sir- heeseung!" you shouted when his car drove away from you.

just what the fuck is his problem?!

chapter 2 here

[velvetdolor]

♰𖣐♰ 𝔇𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩’𝔰 ℭ𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥. | i.

Chapter i. “We who are forged from Iron and Blood.”

pairings: exorcist!hongjoong x psychic!reader (some ot8 x reader but heavily focused on hongjoong.) ot8 x reader

genres: 18+!! paranormal, religious horror, fantasy, suggestive, SMUT, stupid-yet-gifted friend group trope lol

chapter word count: 7.8k

summary: “the order” is a secret organization of exorcists blessed with special abilities dedicated to expelling higher class demons—located in a ancient crypt hidden beneath the vatican. when an exceptionally gifted child is followed by prophetic omens and falls into possession of an unclassified s-class demon—kim hongjoong, considered one of the greatest exorcists of the 21st century, is dispatched under the mysterious order of convincing an enigmatic psychic hiding away in a metropolis to accompany he and his team in what might be their most daunting exorcism yet.

series warnings: strong language, religious allegories, lots of talk about religious trauma (some of it may be sacrilegious in nature, so if you aren’t comfortable with that please keep that in mind before reading!) exorcisms, possession, sacrificial rituals, alluded mentions of ableism (specifically regarding blindness, as one of the main characters discusses his experiences as a blind man/his background and talks about the process of losing his sight in detail), light mentions of alcohol, suggestive content, horror, angst, child possession, intense imagery, hallucinations, light amount of self inflicted wounds, violence, blood, and gore. additional warnings will be provided for each chapter. (story is marked as 18+ due to the descriptive elements of horror and suggestive scenes.) Smut warnings will be chapter specific.

series masterlist author masterlist next >

authors note: hey guys, siren here—i’m back AGAIN with another series because i can’t resist writing a new story the moment it hits me (even though i already have five different works in progress…but they’ll get done when it feels right to release them yannnoo.) again, this will most likely be a series! so here’s chapter i!

important notice: wanted to note that reader descriptions/ strega are remaining racially ambiguous and there will be little to no anatomical descriptions regarding her body type, skin color, and hair texture/type! since this is a reader insert, i want it to be as inclusive as possible. :) i encourage you to use your imagination!

here’s a spotify playlist i made for this series if you want something to listen to get the vibe/ambiance!

giving you a heads up that this chapter is going to be super hefty, information wise. it’s also unedited…so pls forgive any mistakes! :)

[i. We who are forged from iron and blood.]

** The reader is sometimes referred to as La Strega, literally meaning the witch/witch.

You nonchalantly light a cigarette in the midst of the ominous quiet, already knowing what the priest standing before you is going to say. The spirits’ whispers flood the room—words indecipherable to most and unheard by all the men standing in your strangely baroque yet decrepit apartment, with the exception of you.

It bears a rustic antiquity with its minimal and semi-broken pieces of furniture, wood and paint chipping off the dark sage green surfaces of most objects and walls in the room—simultaneously ugly and beautiful depending on which direction you’re looking at it from. The only sound available to them is the squeaking of your leather-gloved hands as they move to plant the lighter back onto the table.

Whatever question leaves his mouth will likely send you to your grave if you were to accept, the spirits warn. You scoff lightly, humored that the strangely handsome priest—who you were, at most, four inches shorter than—gazed at you with uncertainty, gauging and attempting to unveil why he was ordered to convince some no-name psychic to accompany his beloved sector in exorcising a foreboding evil. You couldn’t blame the guy. Here were some of the greatest exorcists of our century, trying to recruit a shabby inner-city psychic who shoddily advertised her $10 palm-reading specials on a bright, buzzing neon sign hung on the sidelines of the apartment entrance.

However, that’s exactly why you did it: to fly under radars and only have to expend your energy on reading the likelihood of infidelity on a beautiful woman’s palms—one who tragically fears the disloyalty of her ugly and terribly mediocre husband. (For her own good, you prayed she’d get divorced.)

You already know why Hongjoong’s here, but you opt to wait patiently for him to say something—anything, really.

Seven other priests are scattered throughout your living room. You roll your eyes after gathering that they were sent by The Order, having caught the name among the light whispers falling from several spirits’ teeth. Some lean against your living room walls or the large pillars scattered across the spacious apartment, stifling their yawns. Others, like Yunho—you vaguely recall his name—stand elegantly poised and would appear nearly cherubic were it not for the unsettling crackling of energy radiating from his body.

Hongjoong tugs at the fitted collar of his black cassock, a strange rattle emitting from his neck that draws your attention to an ornate and slim black choker resting against his skin. Your eyebrows raise in interest at the sigils carved with precision into the durable leather, but the fabric of his cassock quickly returns to its resting place above the line of his pulse.

Hongjoong finally pushes out the words, unsure, fiddling with his fingers and squeezing his palms before releasing:

“Are you the one the clergy refers to as La Strega?”

Your cigarette hisses as you pull smoke into your mouth, inhaling deeply before readjusting your crossed legs, eyes squinting. “Depends on the clergy, but yes—that was one of my many… pseudonyms.”

Hongjoong’s eyes settle onto yours. The depths of his irises hold an allure that seems to draw you in. You hold his gaze before tilting your head down toward your ashtray, tapping the cigarette filter to flake off the ash from its ember.

“Whatever it is they sent you to ask me to do—the answer is no, Exorcist,” you say, sighing briefly.

He doesn’t waste a beat before uttering a singular phrase that pauses you mid-inhale.

“A child.” He rolls his tongue against the silky walls of his inner cheek, eyeing you with a mild distaste that quickly leaves him.

“A child?” You squint at Hongjoong, your head pounding as the whispers reach the precipice of overwhelming you with their intense shift in volume. The phrases thrown at you get harder and harder to decipher, all simultaneously said and nauseatingly layered over one another. They only get louder after his uttering of that small phrase, and you fight the urge to clutch your head.

“I’ll be honest with you, Strega. I’m unsure why I’ve been dispatched to find you—and only you—but I know The Order would not have us search for you without reason. I assume you know enough about The Order to understand that the existence of an unrecorded S-class demon is alarming. The fact that it’s latched onto an exceptionally spiritually gifted child who isn’t even old enough to attend school yet is all the more strange.” Hongjoong takes a deep breath and sighs out neutrally—not harboring any particularly negative feelings toward you, approaching the task objectively.

The spirits around you whisper of the child’s gifts and whose eye he’s caught. Your own eyes widen for a moment at the information, and your cigarette snuffs out entirely in your stillness. One in particular delivers a message from a divine:

“Fate has its eye on you, Strega. It will not blink nor turn away. Whatever direction you take—you must remember this. Heed our warning, prophetess. You will be fated to die a horrible death should you cross paths with the young boy, for the weight of his gifts is too disruptive to the balance of this realm. He is unnatural.”

You applaud your ability to school your expression completely, remaining vacant despite the onslaught of ominous messages, as the spirits continue to speak:

“The child’s existence will be marked as prey to any straggling energies, big or small. Should he choose to fight to exist, he will be fighting for the rest of his predictably short life.”

Blinking slowly and turning to Hongjoong, you offer him a genuine yet morbid reply.

“Listen, as genuinely tragic as this is to say—if the kid’s already emitting energy to this caliber, this will not be the last time he will be a victim to the hand of fate. I find no joy in accepting an innocent child’s death, but the kind of life one has to live after capturing divinity’s interest is cruel. He will be possessed again and again until he can find a way to control and collect his gifts. But he is far too young—and all the more likely to lose himself completely in the haze of constant possession and returning to the self. It may be better for him to die and hope for better luck the next time his soul comes around.”

The words don’t feel… right. As you mutter them, you can feel the strange clicking and clacking from within your soul—intuition fighting against your declining his plea. Your compass is pointing you due north, straight toward a predisposed death.

But you do not fear death, not by a long shot.

You fear what comes after—knowing there are thousands, possibly millions, waiting for your soul’s arrival at either of the gates. And it won’t be pretty. However, there’s no ignoring the fact that the only reason an entity of that caliber would have slipped through the gates at all was because you chose to abandon your duty to The Order many moons ago.

Hongjoong tilts his head, as if trying to get a read on you.

“You must have faith that God is on our side—” he starts, before you interrupt him.

“Hongjoong, do you honestly believe that they—” you point upward, not referencing the ceiling “—care about all of this? They don’t. They have little to no desire to interfere with human lives and have no hand in your religions. I know this to be fact. The Order blindfolds you all into believing that.”

There’s a sudden small light that appears behind your eyes, Hongjoong notes. A magnificent, covert presence slips through the sudden cracks in your previously immaculate wall of defense and concealment—by a centimeter, but he feels it. Recognizes it. Gazes at you in shock. Every man in the room straightens their back and instantly awakens from their exhaustion, recognizing the strangeness of the presence seemingly hosted from within you.

Before anyone can react, a sudden knock on your door swivels every head in the room toward the entrance of your apartment. The spirits quiet completely, and you dread the fact that it wasn’t the mailman delivering the vintage Cesare Paciotti Lady Black high heels you’ve waited months for and expected to arrive today.

Slow and small knocks knuckle at the thick wood of your door, steadily building momentum into an unnervingly fast banging that makes the door tremble under its force.

The ornate sigil you etched onto your door years ago begins to burn a bright orange—and you widen your eyes at Hongjoong.

“Stay back, all of you. Stay behind the pillars—whatever is at the door isn’t something to be taken lightly.” Sigils began to appear on the pillars, the sounds of small sizzles indicating their sudden burning onto their surfaces as they glowed a deep maroon.

Hongjoong shakes his head, keeping his voice methodical and low, calm yet firm. “Strega, I don’t doubt the strength of your abilities, but I do not know your abilities. Seonghwa—” he calls to a strikingly cold beauty. Seonghwa immediately moves forward and reaches a hand toward the back of his neck, clenching his fist—and to your amazement, a sword is pulled from the base of his spine. The air grows cold as Seonghwa mumbles an ornate prayer in Latin.

Everyone else falls into the muscle memory of their formation as elements fill the air—electricity sparking from the tips of Yunho’s hair as he stands upright, flanking Hongjoong’s left, while a fair-skinned, fairy-like boy with a heart-shaped birthmark near his left eye places his palms onto the floor.

Your expression stiffens at the onslaught of energy surrounding you, an ominous feeling drifting through the air, almost foreboding. They were strong, yes—unquestionably so—but you could hear how the spirits expected their untimely deaths should they intervene. They were rarely wrong.

“Stay back, exorcists. I do not doubt the magnitude of your strength and abilities—but this is something you have never encountered.”

The spirits are screaming—some of the ancestral guides that accompanied the priests, unbeknownst to them, are pleading to you:

‘Do not allow them to interact with the being behind that door. They are not meant to die here—it isn’t their time. Please protect our boy.’ One motions to the man with bangs falling into his asymmetrical eyes, hair kissing the nape of his neck, with a distinct mole on his face. He donned feline features with an irrational fire already burning behind his eyes, tightening his fists as if readying his rage for the fight—he seemed the least priest-like of the group, and you fleetingly wonder what led him down the thorny path.

“Forgive me for this, but when I tell you to close your eyes and kneel, you must do so,” you instruct. Immediately, a pearlescent light raises and widens itself from the ground toward the ceiling, creating a makeshift wall behind the pillars.

The mahogany wood of your door begins to splinter as the slams against it intensify, and you can feel a rabid desperation radiating from just beyond the other side of the wall. Inhaling deeply, you roll the sleeves of your thin turtleneck up to reveal an innumerable amount of scarring on the entirety of the skin stretching across your forearms—above what looks to be a complicated series of tattooed and scarred sigils. You quickly throw off your gloves to reveal sigils scarred grotesquely onto your palms and two large ones tattooed at the base of your forearms.

Just as the door breaks away from its hinges—the protective sigil on the remaining base of the wood fizzles out after its fight to give you enough time. You run to grab a kitchen knife and proceed to stab it into your skin abruptly enough to draw blood, turning it slightly to create a small but elongated gash.

The priests watch in horror as the act seems to bring forth the presence originally merely sleeping within you—an overwhelming power permeates the room, its force mentally disorienting enough to make them want to claw at their skin. They are left confused as to why they’re scrambling to cover their ears despite not hearing anything but the sound of the door falling onto the floor.

Once you’ve awakened him, you quickly pull a protective mental wall over his presence from within you—the boys are keeled and hunched on the floor, trying to catch their unstable breaths at the sudden calm.

When they look up, they are greeted with nothing. That is the first dangerous sign. This is an entity that doesn’t need a physical body to cause this amount of damage. But the presence of a shadow slinking its way over the rubble of the door, leaking with an unpleasant aroma and miasma, appears. You stare at the beast’s true form—the form the boys don’t have the ability to see with their naked eyes, only a sliver of the shadow it casts visible to them.

It is grotesque, to say the least—an array of human limbs ripped from their bodies waves from where they are oddly placed on its centipede-like form. You can hear the faint screaming of its victims fall through its mouth as it wheezes, mimicking its most recent victim to disorient any of those who can hear it. Limbs limp while its body drags itself toward you and the others you stand in front of. You hear a faint gasp—the blind priest, San, stares straight at the anomaly in front of you. The pale blue of his eyes moves in their sockets quickly, seeing in ways that do not require sight. You could end this quickly, of course, but that would only leave you with questions. The spirits in the room exclaim in confusion and horror, while others remain quiet—recognizing the abomination making its way toward you.

A palpable contempt fills your body and you recognize the source of the rising emotion stems from your guardian’s disgust for ‘lower’ life forms—your guardian’s predisposition means there’s no avoiding his superiority complex. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh. You’ll just have to talk to the horrified spirits later. While they may be dead, they flutter about the earth due to their loyalties to their attachments, and can, in turn, still feel many things. You didn’t understand how people believed in Gods but didn’t acknowledge how divine human connections truly are—it is, in fact, the only thing that truly protects us while we’re in the world of the living.

The abomination speaks—no, groans in that unsettling mimicry of agony as it addresses you.

“I bear this burden for the coming of our King—I crawled to this atrocious land with orders to kill the small fry behind you, witch. Your sigils will do nothing and I will grant you a quick death rather than what my nature has the inclination to do,” referring to the torn limbs attached to its body.

You smile lightly as a small light begins to dazzle behind your eyelids, nostalgic to the familiarity of hosting your guardian within your body—awakening him to an unsavory sight. You laugh a bit at the annoyed tone he greets you with.

‘Stupid girl, I thought you wanted peace?’

“Well, yes—and I still do. A couple of exorcists from The Order came and… well, you’ll know the moment you’re fully awake. It’s in your nature to know things after all, Raziel.” You utter softly, a strange breeze pushing some strands of your hair forward. “—but we’ll talk later. I simply wanted to wake you up so that we’d have the chance to figure—” you wave an arm toward the odd-looking demonic centipede “—this out.”

‘No, you simply had the audacity to wake me up to something so ugly, but I digress. For now.’

The priests are curling their bodies to the floor once more—groaning at the overwhelming pressure invading the living room. You hear the youngest priest scream, “For fuck’s sake, what’s going on?!” in anguished confusion. You pitifully eye them and suck in a guilty breath as blood begins to drip from their ear canals, probably caused by the fact that they’re in the presence of Raziel’s unfiltered voice—though they cannot hear him.

Immediately choosing to focus on the task at hand so that you don’t accidentally contribute to the unnecessary murders of what you’ve just seen to be the most gifted exorcists of the modern world to date, you place your efforts into drawing blood from a specific sigil.

The creature sends a horrendous screech your way, taking the form of a cacophony of layered voices accompanied by a strange wailing that has the same effect as banging metal pots against each other.

“You—” it squirms. “Why is a divine host here?!—”

“Close your eyes now! For the love of God, don’t open them until I tell you to.” You quickly bellow at the men, and despite how heavy their limbs feel, they find it in themselves to tightly shut their eyes and press their palms against their faces for extra coverage. Immediately, their stomachs begin to churn, and Hongjoong thinks he faintly hears Mingi vomiting somewhere behind him—even through the harsh ringing threatening to burst their eardrums. Hongjoong grits his teeth and pushes to yell out to his team, “Turn away and keep your eyes closed no matter what!”

A blinding white light fills the entirety of the apartment, almost as clear in its brightness to him as staring straight at a light fixture would be despite his greatest efforts. He hears the unsavory sounds of the creature gurgling and cursing in different languages, uttering one final phrase that makes his blood run cold before the air goes still once more.

‘Cursed angels.’

“…You can open your eyes now,” you mumble cautiously. San moves his palms away from his eyes but cradles his head shakily. “That was the strongest energy I’ve ever sensed before.”

Hongjoong crawls over to him in concern, looking at you before explaining slowly, “San is only ‘blind’ in the physical realm—though he cannot see with his eyes, he is able to ‘see’ everything as… energy of sorts. His and our concepts of witnessing life are vastly different—even though he tried his best to ‘close his eyes.’ He probably felt whatever that was astronomically more than the rest of us. I suppose it makes more sense to say that his sight is derived directly from his third eye at all times. That’s his gift.”

He holds San by his shoulder, meaning to comfort him without overwhelming. Wooyoung lays flat on his back, arms cradling his stomach. “I think I’m gonna hurl.”

Mingi begrudgingly mumbles, “Guess I beat you to it.”

The rest of the men aren’t in any better condition—most trying to regulate their nervous systems, some leaning against each other, and others cradling the walls or pillars.

Seonghwa still maintains his cold and calculating expression before turning to gaze deeply into your irises, as if searching for a semblance of an answer himself but frustratingly not coming to any conclusion. “Strega, I believe we deserve some sort of explanation about what just happened.”

You hold his stare before turning to pull a chair to sit before them all with a sigh. “You may have heard him refer to me as a ‘divine host,’ correct? Though your senses may have been too occupied.”

Raziel’s voice flows into your consciousness as if he were an extension of your very own thoughts.

‘Fate doesn’t seem to like you at all, child. Even I feel a sort of pity for you. Will you bear the burden of telling them the blood-stained truth?’

You squint your eyes and glare at the air in front of you, wanting to reply but opting not to. God, this isn’t fair.

Why did it always have to be you? Responsibilities that you’ve never asked for always come crashing in—the constant whiplash, emotional weariness, the scars you have to inflict on yourself and endure in order to hold dangers at bay. At the end of the day, one thing remains true: it always had to be taken care of by you.

Everyone remains silent, signaling you to continue.

“If I were to explain everything to you in intense detail, it would reshape the entirety of what you currently know of the world and of your gifts—understand that what you hear is likely to throw you into a corrosive pit of despair and hatred, however pure your intentions are. It may not be your time to understand, but I cannot move forward in this conversation without unveiling a horrid truth. All else will have to wait, since the rest will take an immense amount of time to relay—and the education I was given had taken years to learn.”

You see Jongho straighten up, immediately wanting to hurl questions your way, and you don’t blame him. But he halts immediately when Yunho holds a hand up and shakes his head at him.

“Not now, Jong. Let her speak, and we’ll ask questions later.”

You take a deep breath before continuing, clamping your trembling fingers in an attempt to keep still. You needed to steel yourself completely if you were going to be the one to reveal their reality, and your heart squeezed as you gazed at them. You didn’t know them at all, but you knew this—the men they came as today will not be the ones who leave your apartment. You… you’re the one who will steal the last of their remaining innocence. You mask your nausea with an unreadable expression.

“Now tell me, boys, heed my warnings—as our entwined tales reek of blood and iron. Do you still wish to know? How far will you go to save this child, who you may see as a reflection of yourself, after knowing what I wish to tell you? He is unnatural, yes—but so are we. The extent of The Order’s ambition is bloody and heavy in their pursuit of fighting against an inevitable apocalypse. Contrary to popular belief, while we were born of a god's creation, he has grown an animosity toward our existence.

The only reason the human race still exists is because we are a means of entertainment for those up high—we are God’s favorite gamble, and so he neither aids us nor eradicates us, to see what ending we eventually fall to. His interest lies in seeing how long we can fight for our very existence. The Earth is his colosseum, and we are his gladiators.

The Order knows that we cannot fight as ordinary humans or with mere divinations and lukewarm abilities. The only way we can fight monsters is by creating them—becoming them. I can’t say that I don’t see the point in what they do, however, they too have fallen to god complexes—choosing who lives and dies.

Tell me now, do you still wish to know?”

A part of you wishes they’d say no or ask for more time, but you know this would not be the case. And so yet again, you simply wait.

An uneasy silence pervades the room. Even the spirits listen with bated breath and sympathy for what’s to come—the ancestors accompanying the men in secret shake their heads fervently, knowing the despair that will follow the unforgiving truth. You glance at them briefly in subtle apology, but it wasn’t their choice to make.

The men feel their stomachs churn, intuitively knowing that whatever you’d tell them will twist their fates entirely. Glances are thrown across the room toward each other, trying to reach a consensus in the choked-up silence.

Hongjoong is the first to speak. There’s a strain to his voice you don’t fail to hear.

“I’m afraid, Strega.” His eyes were unbearably clear and strong. He did nothing to hide his emotions, and somehow that made him the strongest in the room.

“But I know in my heart that the truth exists whether or not we acknowledge it. As exorcists, we must bear the burden of facing the secret and omnipresent horrors of this world. It is both our blessing and our curse.”

As if his words brought strength to his team, they looked at their leader and found the resolve to agree. You feel yourself choke on the words that leave you. Revisiting this old ache yourself didn’t make this any easier.

“I will not lie to you. The cruel reality of what The Order is built upon will likely rip at your loyalties. I know what it’s like—I, too, saw family in the High Priests. The utter care with which they attempt to nurture us, almost as payment for what they themselves have taken away from us as children without our knowing.

To foster us in ignorance for the sake of a better world, but we didn’t choose this. In many ways, they are no better than the god that holds us as if we were pairs of dice. Understand that the child is in the same position as we were—in terms of falling victim to the greater forces wanting to play with our lives—and that if any one of you were to leave your positions, another child would have to replace you.”

The facade of calm on your face begins to crumble, and Seonghwa’s own expression grows uneasy at the sight, suddenly unsure if he wants to hear this any longer, but says nothing for the sake of the others powering through their fear.

“I’m unsure why The Order sent you all to me—what you just witnessed is under strict confidentiality, and my existence isn’t supposed to be known by most, with the exception of the council of High Priests. I was trained, educated, and raised alone—unlike you and the other exorcists of your clergy.

They molded me into the perfect militant dog that would unquestionably work itself into exhaustion because of the devotion I held for them, as they were the only humans I had the chance to interact with after my brief childhood.

It’s easy to say that my attachment to my… role was unhealthy, but it all changed when I came across a strange book. I’m unsure how I came across it, really, but depending on who sent you—I can finally unveil who tried their best to expose the truth of my existence to me. I suspect that they sent you here in secret to expose the truth to you all, as they did for me.

Maybe it’s so that whatever decision you all make moving forward is an informed one—so that you have a choice, no matter what consequences and sacrifices you face.”

You’re shaking now, moving your arms to embrace yourself, and feel yourself drift far into the dark abyss of your memories.

Raziel speaks quickly.

‘Breathe, child. You are strong—remember this.’

Nodding, you continue to push through.

“Since childhood, I have acted as both a portal and defender of the gates to the ‘other world’ up until I left the Order. Whatever you exorcised, I ensured it remained locked away. Demons, spirits—anything you exorcised would have had to pass through my body in order to return to whatever realm it came from.

It’s not to say that exorcisms wouldn’t be possible without a person to act as a vessel or have my ability, but this process made it immensely easier. It was the best way to ensure the spirit was fully returned. Though lower-class demons tend to perish during exorcisms, this isn’t often the case with higher classes.

My role was similar to the Ferryman who steered the skiff and carried souls to the underworld in Greek myths. The skiff—meaning small boat—is my body. Yes, the souls could swim and take the journey back home themselves if the exorcism was well-performed and fully severed any trace of their existence from our realm. But the time it’d take for them to reach their destination could muddle the process if I weren’t there.

It also comes with the risk of the entity psychically attaching to something else if the veil is thin enough, especially for stronger ones. This leads us to the next part. Are you still with me?”

The fairy-like boy, Yeosang, looks at you with pale wonder. “How is that even possible?”

Smiling sadly, you utter, “…For a multitude of reasons, but I still don’t fully understand it either.”

San stares at you with pale eyes—the closest mimicry of the colors that washed across the expanse of the Aegean Sea you’ve ever seen. His abilities, though the weakest in terms of offense, were still in some ways the most dangerous depending on how he utilized them—all the more so if paired with a strategic mind.

“Strega, what is it that you host inside of you?”

Softly, his words carry the weight of a premonition, and you feel the shifting tides of the conversation to come. For now—this is the last and the hardest stretch of the race. The choice is here, and you were the one to deliver the fatal blow.

“I would need to explain how exorcists are truly made before I can tell you that—and this will not be easy for me to relay to you, so please understand that this fate was also mine.”

Yunho catches the detailing of your words, his eyebrows curling together in confusion. “What do you mean by made?”

At this point, you’ve bitten the skin of your lip raw. You notice how Wooyoung’s eyes widen in fear, a strange emotion of denial dawning on his face, but you don’t have it in you to acknowledge it just yet without pulling through the task.

Swallowing hard, you exhale before continuing.

“Exorcists aren’t born with their abilities. The process of choosing which child is a candidate for being initiated into The Order starts with a psychic gift—those who show potential and natural skill.

In order for an exorcist to be made, a ritual of mass sacrifice must be conducted by the council of High Priests—but it comes at a hefty price, Yunho. It wasn’t coincidence that you all became orphans, nor was it fate—”

As their expressions slowly distort into ones of anxious confusion, your breathing grows heavy with grief.

“—S-special children who exhibit psychic prowess are… selected by The Order—and they are able to be located by an individual who bears a gift they call ‘The Eye.’ It’s a divinatory ability, able to foresee and locate the gifted by the brightness of their energies, and it manifests once in each generation as its role is meant to be passed down.

The Eye is capable of seeing things from a bird's-eye view. The expanse of its ability can be frightening once sharpened into its full potential. It can track anything that has a heat signature, energy, sound—it’s also accompanied by a certain clairvoyance due to the exorcist’s sharpened senses with the lack of sight in the physical realm.

They have the makings to be deadly trackers. The Order most likely would’ve recruited San for this role once his predecessor passed away.”

San’s eyes widen in disbelief.

“W-wait, are you saying that I have that same ability? Strega, just because I’m a blind man doesn’t mean that I—”

“San, I can’t fully confirm nor deny the nature of your gifts because I am not you. But based on what Hongjoong explained—it sounds to me that The Order has yet to inform you of your impending future. The true extent of your abilities will only be revealed once your predecessor passes away and you inherit the entirety of the gift. The Order also keeps the existence of The Eye concealed.”

There’s apparent shock in his features, and you pity the boy when you think about how confused he must have been, navigating his gifts alone. The training for an exorcist is usually catered to more offense-based abilities and maneuvering physical defenses, but that wasn’t the most suited for long-distance and strategy-based gifts.

Fuck. This is going to be so hard to say.

You harden yourself as an old anger begins to rise from its depths within you, telling yourself, This is the last stretch, Y/N, just fucking do it.

“—However, The Order does not tell anyone what truly happens once a child is located.

Do you know what separates us from the other gifted? Have you ever questioned why only a select few are recruited by The Order, despite the fact that we need as much manpower as we can possibly get, as the amount of demons running rampant on Earth continues to grow?

It’s because many are spiritually gifted, but none of us are inherently born with abilities that manifest the way ours do. Even we weren’t originally born with the predisposition to manifest what we do now—only with the potential to have a greater gift form if the perfect conditions were to take place. In order for an exorcist to be created, we pay the price in blood.

The ritual calls for the sacrifice of one’s closest living relatives—the direct lineage must be eradicated so that the subject can fulfill the requirement of being the final bearer of its ancestors' blood. Our families were killed for the sake of inheriting these abilities. Those who are sacrificed don’t extend to distant relatives—but first cousins, grandmothers, grandfathers, siblings, aunts, uncles, mothers, and fathers? This is the disgusting and bloody reality of what we are. But The Order is cunning and methodical. There are exorcists hidden in the ranks with the ability to cause natural deaths for most of the family, but they never told you this, did they? But our mothers, fathers, siblings?—their blood is needed at the altar. I’m sure I don’t need to go into more detail.”

You grit your teeth. You hear Wooyoung's shaky sobbing and see Mingi crawling toward him to seek comfort as he shakes his head in horror. Seonghwa covers his mouth and runs toward the kitchen sink—bile rising as the entirety of his body shakes and empties itself. Hongjoong, however, is frighteningly still.

Knowing they could still hear you, you continue on. You can’t afford to stop now, else you’d break permanently.

“—But just why do you think such a horrific ritual has to be done in order for an exorcist to exist? This ritual, in particular, is meant to summon and imprison a demon within a gifted child's body and soul so they could foster its abilities. Think of it as if the demon were a power circuit, an outlet—you exorcists are the plugs pushed into the circuit to derive power from it. But the qualities of your body and spirit make it so that the exchange can happen. The Order tries to find us as young as possible so we’re trained and sharpened enough to fight as soon as we can, and because development is crucial to the process of fully integrating into its powers.

The demons you inherit, however, must choose you. Well—maybe saying the demon has a choice isn’t the right term—it’s dependent on what demon is specifically drawn in by your psychic energy before it’s trapped in the ritualistic circle. Since it’s a high-cost ritual, it often attracts higher-class demons. And since we were born with an immense amount of spiritual energy, it’s hard for them to resist the bait. Inside of you all, right now, at this very moment, is an unconscious demon—only to be released from you and awakened with your death.”

All sorts of emotions fill the room: existential crisis, anger, hatred, grief, denial, confusion, and profound betrayal. The adrenaline pulsing through your veins shows in your dilated pupils and the fast movement of your right leg—a repetitive thump, thump, thump reverberating through the room. Words continue to spill from your mouth.

“It’s rare for exorcists of different generations to have the same abilities as another. The one anomaly is The Eye, as it’s an ability that can be passed on and inherited without any blood ties—though I’m unsure why. It could either mean that there’s a possibility The Eye is a demon that means to assist mankind’s fight for survival, or that The Eye’s source is not a demon at all. Which would make it the only case in which this happened—other than my own.”

Seonghwa clenches his fists so hard that his nails dig into the thick of his palms, and his blood drips onto your hardwood floor. The room is deathly quiet following your explanation. His eyes and tone are grim, his entire body tense. He asks a question he fears he knows the answer to.

“Strega, what happens if we try to leave?”

Pure anguish falls onto your features and you don’t hesitate to reply.

“Then they will try to find another child to replace your vacancy, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa turns to bang his head and fist onto a nearby wall, squeezing a sob out of his throat in an attempt to stifle an incoming wail. Some of the others shut their eyes in despair, turning away from the sight of the typically reserved Seonghwa. They find themselves crushed into a tight space with a clear way out—but not without a hefty cost in exchange for freedom from the corruption at hand.

Hongjoong calmly rises from his seat on the floor to stretch his legs. “Why does it have to be another child?”

“The other exorcists of your clergy—they’re bound to The Order by sheer faith. They’re regular priests with a decent amount of spiritual energy who are dispatched to take care of lower-class entities. Through prayers and invocations, they’re able to exorcise with faith. However, those born with the amount of spiritual energy you’ve all had since birth is exceptionally rare. Typically, there are significantly fewer of you—but this generation has been ‘blessed’ with eight successful vessels. Your true denominations are referred to as ‘Infernal Hosts.’

Hongjoong, the eight of you are the only ones in this world who fall under this category—”

Every face in the room grows pale and cold, recognizing the unfathomable truth and gravity of the situation at hand. They were trapped unless they decided to trade places with a child—and therefore would contribute to another lineage’s annihilation.

“—This is why the child poses a threat to The Order and the worlds beyond the veil. And depending on what path this child takes—should he remain alive, the tides of this ongoing battle of survival could completely turn. The spirits told me... t-they told me that the child was born with the greatest amount of spiritual energy seen in the last few centuries. Even more than you and I, Hongjoong. The Order says they want us to save the child from possession, but they intend to do to him what they’d done to us.

This is also not done without running the risk of him attracting something concerningly powerful, and therefore, becoming too powerful—but should the demon overtake or manipulate him… it’s likely that humanity will greet the dawn of its ending.

The one beneficial factor at hand is that The Eye hasn’t been able to locate any living relatives—most of them have passed away and he was orphaned shortly after his birth due to his own circumstances. The Order needs ancestral blood for the ritual, so they’re scrambling to research an alternative. And this buys him time. Time to either die or find another way out—somehow, some way.” His eyes are unreadable and not nearly as clear as they were earlier.

“You said that there are only eight Infernal Hosts in this world currently. Where is your place in this equation? Why have you suffered the same fate as us? How did you get away from The Order?” he asks. Eyes widen around the room in realization, forgetting that you’d left the association five years ago—when you were freshly twenty-two years old. They quickly turn their heads to gaze at you warily. Even Seonghwa turns from his position on the wall to gaze at you with unabashed judgment.

Raziel chuckles a bit.

‘This one’s discreetly a bitch. Careful— I have a feeling the demon he hosts has something to do with his speech. You’ve probably noticed by now that his spiritual energy is also off the fucking charts. Just an inkling, but keep that in mind.’

“That’s because I’m not an Infernal Host.”

He quirks a brow. “Okay, and?” Eyes around the room bounce back and forth between you two frustratedly.

You roll your eyes at him but are partially relieved that you don’t have to deliver any more painful news.

“I’m referred to as the Divine Host. I don’t know how it happened, so don’t ask—all I know is that during the ritual, I ended up attracting something completely different than they originally planned.”

“Which is?” they ask in unison.

You sigh shakily before confessing the information for the first time in your life outside of The Order.

“An Archangel. I attracted an Archangel.” The room goes still as they try to process the fact that there's an Archangel resting inside of you—which also means it is right there in the room with them… and they all apparently housed demons within themselves.

“This is why The Order couldn’t find a replacement for me and why they didn’t want to risk defying my choice. Raziel’s mere presence, as you’ve noticed, is absolutely frightening—and both psychologically and physically horrendous for anyone with enough spiritual energy to sense him within several kilometers. Paired with the fact that I’m regularly in communication with him? They didn’t know what would happen if they opposed my leaving. There are other factors, but let’s leave that for another day.”

“—And no, he has no desire to attack you. Not yet, at least,” you say, and pique their interest.

“How do you know that?” Yeosang presses, his eyes brightening a bit despite the melancholy draping his body language, elbows resting on the knees of his wide-spread legs, hands locked together as he gazes upward at your figure.

“Because I can hear him whenever he’s awake. He’s usually in a resting state but can be awoken by the drawing of my blood above the skin that bears his mark. Before I became a vessel, I had an affinity for clairaudience and spirit communication—so I suppose that might be the reason why I can speak with him candidly, but Raziel won’t tell me any specifics. I speak to many spirits to pass the time, and in return, spirits also tell me many things. Which is where I got the information about the child.”

San pipes up slowly. “Raziel… he sounds familiar. Is he one of the Archangels listed in the Torah?” His voice is soft and asks more questions to distract himself from the gravity that weighs heavily on him.

You lightly smile at him before agreeing. “Yeah, he’s also mentioned in some Kabbalistic texts—but we can talk more about Raziel later.” Expression dimming slowly as you accept the calling of your fate.

“I will help retrieve the child from the clutches of whatever is attaching itself to him, but I will not return him to The Order.”

Hongjoong knowingly smiles, almost as if he were waiting for you at the finish line, and you arrived exactly where he expected you to. The multiple thick silver hoop earrings hit against each other as he shakes his head a bit.

Seonghwa eyes you with confusion, brushing his long dark hair back with bony fingers. “What do you mean you won’t return him to The Order?”

Resolutely, you gaze at them all. Smiling as you sign your life away, name on the dotted line—

“I won’t return him to The Order, because I will take on the role of his Guardian. If anyone could hide his presence, it’d be Raziel.”

The man himself is quick to interject.

‘I don’t care for your affairs, nor do I care for your stupid little apocalypse, child. I’ve been waiting for mankind to die out. It took way too long.’

You scrunch your brows together, replying to him out loud now that everyone knows about his existence.

“I’d beg to differ. I think you do care about my affairs because it’s fun and you’re unbearably nosy. Not to mention the fact that you clearly made the brilliant decision of willingly inhabiting me because of your distaste for your own kind to begin with, you old buffoon. This is practically a visa marriage. Anyways—think about what mysteries this may hold, will you?”

Jongho’s jaw drops at your rudeness after realizing that you were having some sort of telepathic conversation with the Archangel.

Raziel ponders and momentarily considers calling down a lightning bolt to eradicate you, but it is in his nature to cave to his curiosities.

‘The one thing you will surely die with is the audacity.’ He scoffs and goes silent. You smile because that means yes.

“I don’t want to watch everyone else play God anymore. If the world burns, so be it—if the child lives and disrupts the balance, so be it. He deserves the choice to exist or disappear when the time comes—but until then, I won’t let The Order make it for him. Nothing will succeed in touching a single hair on his body.

We have to stop this because we’re the only ones who truly can. Our true goal is to protect the innocent.”

Hongjoong extends a hand to grasp your own, layering his palm over the back of your hand as a sign of camaraderie.

You’re unsure if the reason you’re so compelled to die for the cause is to find retribution or release yourself from the guilt of ignoring the responsibility that accompanies one blessed with power. Maybe a part of you also wants to take part in the great cosmic gamble. The rest of the men slowly rise and stand tall, leaning over to meet your palms in the middle of the forming circle. All in favor of the task, deciding in silent unison that your shared horrors could only be ameliorated and forgiven by preventing it from happening again.

It’s all or nothing.

Wooyoung speaks for the first time, a palpable darkness twisting in his eyes—an old rage swimming at the surface of his reflection. His gaze flickers and burns hot as he stares at the stack of palms lining his point of vision. His voice is tense as he utters the joining phrase—

“We who are forged from Iron and Blood. May our blades strike upon those who have dared to touch our earthly makers. We pay the price—blood in exchange for innocence. Ancestors, please watch as we avenge your faultless souls and make right the unintentional sins of our youth.”

Meeting your eyes with exhilaration, Hongjoong’s lips fold into a toothy half-smile. The sharpness of his teeth makes something inside of you shiver.

“Welcome to the team, Strega. Let’s have a fun time dying.”

Let’s have a fun time, indeed.

ahh i hope you all enjoyed the first chapter and that it hopefully made sense. please like, reblog, or leave comments to let me know what you thought about it! <3

© velvetdolor 2025. All rights reserved.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: Toys w/ Roommate!Spencer Reid (ft. Camgirl!Reader)

a/n: I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVEEEEDDDDD writing for this concept like you have no idea like - i am genuinely thinking about making these two their own couple because i feel like they have so much potential.

masterlist | kinktober masterlist | AO3

Spencer knew exactly what the package that he held in his shaky hands was. The packaging was anything but discreet, and there was also the fact that he knew what you did for a living.

Though your camming brought in a hefty amount of money, you didn't really buy a lot of things online unless they were special requests from your highest payers, or your paypigs — but those were a whole other can of worms.

You weren't secretive about your job nor did you ever shy away from it if it ever got brought up in a conversation. Maybe that's why Spencer liked living with you, because you were so carefree, either that be with your body or your sexuality. You were just so… confident. 

There was also because he had the fattest crush on you, and sometimes you'd exit your room with an apology already on the tip of your tongue just in case you were too loud. You always delivered these apologies with a knowing smirk though, especially after giving your flustered roommate a once-over.

You knew how men worked, they were simple creatures, really. No matter how different Spencer was, personality or intelligence wise, he had one thing in common with every other male on the planet: he has a dick, and most of the time — or in Spencer's case on some occasions — they think with them. 

You knew exactly what you were doing by leaving the package that contained your newest vibrating wand out for Spencer to see. You wanted him to bring it to you, and when he did — which you know he will — you'll give him an offer that you knew he wouldn't refuse.

"Hey, uh, ______?" Spencer called out as his knuckles knocked against the wood of your bedroom door. You smirked in excitement, loosening your robe around your chest so that your cleavage showed.

You opened the door with a faux innocent smile, "Yes, Spencie?" You asked sweetly. His eyes fell to the soft skin of your breasts, then allowing his gaze to travel behind you where his eyes settled on your phone raised on a tripod and the large lights pointed at your bed. 

The gulp that he swallowed could almost be considered cartoonish, and he prayed to whatever was out there that you didn't hear it; but you did, of course, and it only fueled the fire that raged in your gut for your genius roommate.

"This was um— was on the front porch and I figured you might need… it." His voice trailed off as he rambled nervously, his gaze not quite meeting your eyes. You pretended to be shocked. "Oh my goodness, It came in! I was worried there for a sec!" You reached out to grab it, allowing your fingers to skim the skin of his hand.

Your touch left a scorching burn behind, the man almost snatching his hand away from yours.

"I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to keep my promise to my followers." You said with a fake pout. "Well— I-I'm glad you're able to." He said heavily, his cock stirring awake in his pants at the idea. 

You gave him a once over before finally locking eyes with him. 

"I think you deserve a reward for bringing this to me…" You let the tips of your digits skim his chest teasingly. "A- a reward?" He all but squeaked. "Mhm." You nodded. "How about you come and try this out with me, hm? Put on a show for my fans." You offered with a bat of your eyelashes.

He found himself nodding like a lunatic, "Yeah! Yeah, okay." 

This was such a bad idea and Spencer knew it. He was a federal agent for God sake! And he was about to have his naked body — his dick! On the internet; but if he was doing it with you… it didn't seem all that bad.

And all that bad it definitely was not.

You were laid on your back, Spencer hovering over your upper body with the wand settled on your clit. Your loud moans and whines were swallowed by his lips, though the loud wet squelching from between your legs was emphasized by the heavy vibrations stimulating it.

Today, you were doing a faceless cam for Spencer's comfort, and most of your subscribers were turned on by the anonymity, even some female and male viewers gawking and commenting about how hot Spencer and you were together.

"You— you see that baby?" You manage to stutter through the pleasure that coursed through your veins. You forced him to turn his head and look at what the viewers were saying about him.

"They think you're so pretty, honey." You cooed, your fingers running themselves through his hair. He whimpered at your praise and the others, his face turning an adorable rosy pink.

"Aw! You're making him shy, you guys!" You whimpered out, hips jumping off the mattress as Spencer pressed the toy harder against your bundle of nerves. "Ah— fuck!" You cried out, your back arching.

"'M not shy." He said with a pout. 

He took vengeance on you by running the toy up and down your cunt, occasionally hovering over your entrance before solely focusing on your clit once again. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" There were tears streaming down your face as you attempted to ride the toy, your plush thighs quivering and clenching around Spencer's arm. 

Whenever you attempted to close your legs, he would only spread them open again.

"Don't wanna disappoint your fans now do we, Angel? Not when they've been so nice to you." Nice meaning the fuck-load of money that's been getting repeatedly transfered to your bank account. 

"No… no! 'Don't wanna…" You mewled.

"Good girl." He whispered and placed a deep kiss on your lips.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus