#〈 ․ ’✧ ‒‒‒ ❛ all my demons greet me as a friend. / musings 〉

[julietsf1]

Hurricane - Franco Colapinto x Reader

summary: When a hurricane leaves Y/N stranded at Charles’s Monaco apartment with a few of his friends, Y/N has to navigate both the storm outside and the one brewing inside. (5k words)

AN: The absolute confusion I had when I saw a hurricane warning from my government yesterday (I live in south of France); they later changed it to a regular storm warning, as it was a mistake but it did inspire me to write a lil something :) Hope you all have a lovely day cuties <3

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The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the wide-open balcony doors, casting a golden hue over Charles’s perfectly pristine Monaco apartment. I sat cross-legged on the plush rug, sipping wine and admiring the explosion of shopping bags Alexandra and I had managed to accumulate during our day out. Monte Carlo had definitely been kind to us, and the light buzz from the wine wasn’t hurting either.

“I swear, you have this insane ability to sniff out the best deals,” I said, holding up a silk scarf I knew I’d never wear but had bought anyway. “How do you do it?”

Alexandra, always composed, gave me a sly smile from where she lounged on the couch, a glass of wine cradled effortlessly in her hand. “It’s all about instinct. Plus, I had to keep up with you. You were like a woman possessed.”

“Possessed by a very stylish demon,” I quipped, draping the scarf over my shoulder dramatically before laughing. The kind of laughter that happens when you’re a bit tipsy and surrounded by a friend who knows all your quirks.

“I still can’t believe we’ve kept this monthly tradition alive,” Alexandra mused, swirling her wine. “Feels like just yesterday we were running around Paris pretending to understand every art piece in the Louvre.”

I smirked, raising my glass. “Fake it till you make it, right? Look at us now — two very sophisticated, responsible young women.”

Alexandra burst into laughter at that, nearly spilling her drink. “Yes, responsible. Totally why we blew our budgets in today.”

“Hey, this is what reunions are for. Besides, Charles is always dragging you to fancy dinners — we need to keep up appearances.”

“Cheers to that,” Alexandra laughed. These reunions had become a tradition ever since they both left Paris. Shopping, gossiping, and generally pretending they had their lives together for a few days before returning to reality.

“I do wish I could stay longer,” Y/N said, glancing at her watch. “But I’ve got a flight back to tonight.”

Alexandra pouted in a way that could have convinced anyone to cancel their plans. “Come on, just stay for dinner.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I really can’t,” Y/N replied, laughing. “I don’t have a private jet. Air France is not going to wait for me.”

As if on cue, the front door swung open, and there was Charles, as effortlessly polished as ever, with a smile that seemed to say, I’m trying not to stress but also, I’m probably going to stress.

“Bonsoir, ladies,” he greeted, dropping his keys on the counter. “Good day of shopping, I assume?”

“The best,” I grinned, waving a hand over the spread of bags surrounding us. “Your appartment is stunning by the way.”

He smiled, giving a mock bow. “I do what I can You should stay for a bit, a few people are coming over tonight — nothing too crazy. Just some of the guys.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “The guys?”

“Yeah, nothing too big. Just Lando, George, Max, and Franco. A little pre-birthday thing before we head out later.”

I exchanged a quick glance with Alexandra, who was already giving me her classic stay for dinner look. Before I could protest, the apartment door swung open again, and in walked George, looking as composed and proper as ever. His eyes scanned the apartment critically before zeroing in on Charles.

“I still think hiring a private chef is a bit over the top,” George began, without so much as a greeting. “We could’ve managed something ourselves, you know. Is this private chef going to stick to traditional recipes? I’m just saying, none of that modern fusion nonsense. I don’t want to find some deconstructed tartare on my plate. It should be classic and-”

“Hi, George,” I cut in, giving him a pointed look.

He blinked, suddenly remembering that Alexandra and I were present. “Oh, Y/N, Alexandra. Didn’t see you there. Apologies, m’ladies.” He gave a polite nod before turning back to Charles. “Anyway, as I was saying—”

“George, we’ve got it covered,” Charles sighed, looking like he was already regretting inviting his overly particular friend.

Before George could launch into another monologue about culinary disasters, the door swung open again, and Lando breezed in with his signature chaotic energy. He didn’t just walk into a room, he practically exploded into it.

“Ladies, gentlemen, I have arrived!” Lando declared, grinning widely as if he’d just been announced at a royal ball. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on me and Alexandra. “Ah, the usual suspects. So, what’s the plan? Dinner, drinks, maybe a little dancing after?”

“That’s the idea,” Alexandra said, raising an eyebrow. “But Y/N is trying to bail for her flight.”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest in exaggerated shock. “What? Absolutely not. We’re not letting you leave before you at least see how this chef performs under George’s expert critique.”

I rolled my eyes, smiling. “You’re all ridiculous. I really do need to catch that flight.”

“You’ll miss the best part of the night!” Lando said, leaning back with a knowing grin. “But fine, if you have to go, you have to go.”

As if on cue, the door opened again, and in walked Max — no dramatic entrance, no greetings. He headed straight for the bar, poured himself a gin and tonic, and turned to the group with a small nod, holding up his glass.

“Evening,” he said, like this was all completely normal.

“Hi, Max,” I replied, grinning at his predictable, casual demeanor.

“Y/N. Alexandra,” Max greeted, raising his glass in acknowledgment before taking a long sip, completely unfazed by Lando’s lingering excitement or George’s quiet simmer of judgment.

It didn’t take long for everyone to fall into their usual rhythms. Charles, now somewhat resigned to the chaos, was behind the counter mixing drinks. George, still hovering like a concerned parent, muttered under his breath about the chef’s qualifications. Meanwhile, Lando was already plotting mischief, and Max was sipping his gin as if nothing in the world could faze him.

I found myself laughing at how these gatherings always followed the same unpredictable-yet-predictable pattern. It was hectic, but in the best way. As much as I hated to admit it, I would probably miss it if I left for Paris tonight. But I already had my ticket, urging me to start packing.

As I sat there, mentally preparing to say my goodbyes, the door opened again. In walked someone I didn’t recognize. He moved with a relaxed, almost casual confidence, and instantly, the energy in the room seemed to shift. He didn’t need to announce himself or make a grand entrance like Lando had — his presence was subtle but noticeable.

His hair was slightly tousled, the kind that looked soft and effortlessly styled in that perfectly imperfect way. The moment he smiled, a warm, very cute grin, I felt a brief flicker of something, my heart beating a little faster in my chest. There was something disarming about him. He had the kind of smile that made you feel like you’d known him forever, even though I’d never seen him before.

He stepped closer, his green eyes flicking to me. “You must be Y/N,” he said, his voice smooth and pleasant as he extended a hand.

I blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the easy charm he exuded. It wasn’t forced or showy, just... natural. Recovering quickly, I shook his hand. “That’s me. Nice to meet you.”

“Franco,” He held onto my gaze for a moment, the playful glint in his eyes unmistakable. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot.”

“All good things, I hope,” I replied, trying not to be too obvious as I shot a quick glance at Alexandra, who was absolutely soaking up this moment.

“Always,” he said with a playful glint in his eyes before releasing my hand.

Alexandra didn’t waste a second before giving me that knowing look, the one that practically screamed I told you you should stay. I elbowed her lightly, trying to suppress my smile and the butterflies that were fluttering in my stomach. 

Before I could continue the conversation or ask Franco who exactly had been talking about me, Charles’s phone buzzed loudly from across the room. As he glanced down, and the expression on his face shifted so fast it was almost comical — the laid-back vibe of the evening vanished instantly.

“Oh no.”

“What is it?” I asked, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach.

Charles stared at his phone, his brow furrowed. “It’s a hurricane alert.”

“A hurricane?” Lando immediately perked up, jumping off the couch as if the word itself had given him a burst of energy. “In Monte Carlo?”

Charles nodded, his expression darkening. “Yeah. Whole south of France. All flights are grounded, transportation is suspended and residents must stay inside.”

My stomach sank. “My flight…”

Alexandra, not missing a beat and clearly enjoying the chaos unfolding, sipped her wine and smirked. “Looks like you’re not going anywhere.”

Lando, ever the opportunist, grabbed Charles’s phone from him and squinted at the screen. “Ouragan? That’s the French word for hurricane? That’s got to be a joke.” He wrinkled his nose, making it sound even more absurd than it already did.

Max, sitting comfortably and sipping his gin, raised an eyebrow laughing. “That’s why I live in the Italian speaking part.”

“Lando, right now is not the moment to be critical of the French.” George said, looking concerned. 

Charles let out a frustrated sigh, running his hand through his hair, now visibly stressed. “Everything’s closed down. We’re stuck here for the night.”

Franco, now fully settled into a chair beside me, shrugged casually. “There are worse places to be stuck,” he said, his voice light, as if we weren’t all just stranded.

I glanced over at him, and he smiled again, that same easy warmth that seemed to make everything feel a little less chaotic. The thought of being stuck suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

Lando, on the other hand, looked positively thrilled. “Guess we’re having a proper night in!” He clapped his hands together, already mentally planning the night ahead.

Meanwhile, George, who had been standing to the side, immediately shifted into problem-solving mode. “We need to secure the windows, check supplies, make sure we have—”

“George, mate,” Max cut in, raising his glass without looking up, “it’s a little hurricane, not the end of the world. We’re fine.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, the ridiculousness of the situation beginning to sink in. As subtly as I could, I turned to sneak another glance at the guy next to me. His presence, along with that gentle, easy smile, had a way of making everything else feel a little less chaotic. For a brief moment, the reality of being stuck in here didn’t seem so bad. 

..

It didn’t take long for the mood in the apartment to shift, Lando, of course, was the first to act, bouncing off the couch and making a beeline for the Bluetooth speaker.

“If we’re stuck here, we might as well make it fun!” he declared, pulling out his phone and connecting it to the speaker. Within seconds, upbeat music filled the room as Lando scrolled through his playlist, queuing up tracks to keep the vibe alive. “Max, you in?”

Max, who had been lazily sipping his gin and tonic, grinned and gave a small nod. “Always.”

With the music pumping, it was clear that Lando and Max were determined to turn the situation into a party, despite the looming hurricane. I glanced at Alexandra, who simply shook her head, amused.

Meanwhile, Charles was pacing near the kitchen, still on the phone with the now-stranded private chef. His frustration was evident in the deep sighs he kept letting out. “Yes, I get it. But seriously? Not even a chance? Yeah, okay. Fine. Thanks,” he muttered, hanging up with an exasperated expression. “The chef can’t make it. We’re on our own.”

“That’s our cue,” Alexandra said, standing up and rolling her sleeves. “Y/N, you ready to help me chef it up?”

“Lead the way,” I replied, following her into the kitchen. The ingredients we had weren’t extensive, but Alexandra was already surveying the options with a critical eye, assessing what we could make work. “How about a classic tarte tatin to start and coq au vin for the main course?” she suggested, her eyes gleaming with the challenge.

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re feeling ambitious.”

She smirked. “We’re in Monte Carlo, aren’t we? Let’s do this properly.”

We quickly got to work, but as we gathered ingredients, I could feel someone hovering. Sure enough, George had appeared at the edge of the kitchen, arms crossed, watching us with that critical, calculating look. He looked ready to swoop in at any moment.

“I just want to make sure everything’s going according to plan,” George said, his tone a little too intense for a casual night stuck in a storm. “Are you sure you want to sauté those vegetables at that heat? I mean, it’s important we get the timing just right…”

Alexandra and I exchanged a quick glance, both of us trying not to laugh but also feeling the mounting pressure of George’s constant observations. It wasn’t that he was wrong, but his looming presence was starting to make things awkward.

Before either of us could respond, Franco, who had been leaning against the counter, stepped in with perfect timing. “You know, George, you’re really the only one here who knows how to handle a hurricane situation properly. I mean, I wouldn’t know the first thing about securing an apartment for a storm like this,” Franco said, his voice sincere but with a hint of playful exaggeration.

George, caught off guard, turned to Franco with a raised brow. “Well, thank you for noticing! Finally someone who takes my expertise to heart.”

Franco nodded, widening his eyes slightly as if he were genuinely impressed. “Yes! You’ve got to come up with gameplan, George.”

George’s posture shifted, the critical kitchen gaze giving way to the more pressing issue of hurricane preparedness. “Well, I suppose someone should check the windows… and the doors. And make sure we have everything we need in case it gets worse.”

Franco smiled, giving him a reassuring nod. “Exactly, and you’re the best person for that. Don’t worry about us in here. I’ll make sure everything’s under control while you handle the important stuff.”

George stood a little taller, clearly feeling validated. “Right. I’ll get to it, then.” With that, he turned on his heel and started making his way toward the windows, leaving the kitchen — and us — in peace.

I let out a quiet breath of relief as Franco turned back toward us with a mischievous grin. 

Alexandra chuckled, tossing him a knife. “Not bad. We owe you for that one.”

Franco caught the knife easily, giving a mock bow. “Happy to be of service. Need any help? Shall I chop something? Stir?”

I exchanged a glance with Franco, who had already rolled up his sleeves and was looking at the ingredients with a playful grin. “You any good at this?” I asked, 

“I’ve got some skills,” he said, flashing that same warm smile from earlier. “Just tell me what you need, and I’ll take care of it.”

I blushed a little, which Franco seemed to notice. He let out a soft chuckle, brushing his hand over my lower back as he walked to the other side of the kitchen to grab a cutting board. 

As we got deeper into the cooking, Franco’s talkative side started to show. He moved smoothly through the kitchen, cutting vegetables, making jokes, and occasionally breaking into exaggerated commentary about our process.

“You know, this tarte tatin is already looking better than any I’ve ever seen. Michelin-star level for sure,” he said with a grin, watching as I arranged the caramelized apples in the pan.

“Oh, absolutely,” Alexandra chimed in with a teasing tone. “I’m sure we’ll have food critics knocking down the door any minute now.”

Franco raised his hands in surrender, still smiling. “Hey, I’m just saying, if this racing thing doesn’t work out, I now got a backup plan.”

The smell of the coq au vin simmering away filled the apartment, a comforting aroma that seemed to blend perfectly with the upbeat music still playing from Lando’s speaker. Max, now fully entertained by Lando’s ridiculous dance moves, was swaying along with him, both of them taking occasional breaks to sip their drinks and laugh at each other.

I glanced back at Franco as he finished chopping, handing the neatly diced vegetables to Alex. “You’re a natural,” I said, impressed by how quickly he picked up the rhythm of the kitchen.

“Guess you bring out the best in me,” he replied with a wink, and I felt a warmth rise to my cheeks despite myself.

I couldn’t help but smile at that, the stress of the hurricane melting away little by little as we worked. Franco was good at keeping things light, his constant chatter and easygoing attitude making the cooking feel more like fun than an obligation.

After placing the tarte tatin in the oven, I wiped my hands and glanced out toward the rest of the apartment. George was now in full storm-prep mode, diligently checking windows, making sure everything was locked tight, and muttering under his breath about emergency plans. Charles, though still somewhat stressed, had at least stopped pacing and was leaning against the counter, sipping a drink as he watched Lando and Max’s antics.

“Not bad for a last-minute Plan B, huh?” Franco said, standing beside me as he washed his hands at the sink.

“Not bad at all,” I replied, feeling a warm sense of accomplishment as the scents filled the apartment. 

..

Dinner was a success, much to the delight of everyone in the apartment. The tarte tatin had been perfect, golden and crisp, and the coq au vin rich and flavorful, enough to win over even George, who begrudgingly admitted that “for a last-minute dinner, it wasn’t bad at all.” 

The energy in the apartment was buzzing, and the storm outside seemed like a distant hum. With Lando’s playlist still thumping in the background, we settled in the living room, everyone lounging comfortably after the meal. But George, predictably, couldn’t handle the idea of sitting idle for too long.

“Right,” George announced, standing up and clapping his hands together. “Now that we’ve eaten, how about some games? We could do something like charades or—”

Max, already sprawled out with his drink in hand, rolled his eyes. “Boring,” he drawled. “Let’s play something fun, like a drinking game.”

Lando’s face lit up immediately. “Now that’s more like it!”

George looked appalled. “A drinking game? We just had dinner!”

“That’s exactly why,” Max said, raising his glass. “Got to flush it down for dessert.”

Lando, grinning ear to ear, was already hopping off the couch. “Alright, but it has to be something chaotic. Max, what’s that one game we talked about? The one from New Girl?”

“True American,” Max replied, slouching further into his chair with a smirk. “That’s the one.”

George frowned. “What in the world is True American?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “It’s a drinking game, but with no clear rules, lots of chaos, and a touch of American history thrown in for fun.”

“And the floor is lava,” Lando added, already rearranging the room, pushing chairs and cushions into strategic positions.

“The floor is… lava?” George echoed, still looking deeply confused.

“Yep! So you have to move from piece of furniture to piece of furniture without touching the ground,” I explained, grinning as I grabbed some throw pillows to use as extra stepping stones.

Franco chuckled beside me, shaking his head. “Sounds like absolute madness.”

“Exactly,” I said, laughing. “You’ll love it.”

Max, now fully invested, sat up slightly. “Also, there are random trivia questions, mostly American history. And whenever someone shouts, ‘JFK!’ you have to drink.”

George raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “None of us are American. Can’t we do a British variant instead?”

“That wouldn’t be fair, mate,” Lando chuckled, stretching out his arms as if preparing for the chaos that was about to unfold. “You’re practically the lovechild of David Attenborough and the Encyclopaedia Britannica.”

“Yeah, at least let’s pick something where we all have an equal chance of winning,” Alexandra added, already on her feet and moving chairs around with an excited bounce. “Let’s call it True F1.”

Charles, who had been quietly observing the conversation from the couch, finally chimed in with a grin. “I’d actually love to see how you guys twist F1 trivia into a drinking game.”

Lando, never one to waste a good opportunity, was already hopping between the coffee table and the armrest of the nearest chair. “Alright! Here’s how it works: the floor is still lava, obviously. But instead of random American history facts, you shout out random F1 facts — the weirder, the better. If someone calls out a track name, you have to switch ‘circuits’, aka furniture, without touching the floor. Got it?”

Max smirked, finishing off his drink. “Sounds ridiculous. I’m in.”

Within minutes, the living room had been transformed into a messy obstacle course of chairs, pillows, and random objects. Lando, the unofficial captain of chaos, had already hopped onto the coffee table, gesturing for everyone to join him.

The game quickly descended into the same kind of chaos that Lando had promised. Max and Charles were the first to yell out random facts.

“Did you know Toto’s real first name is Totoro?” Max announced confidently, clearly just making things up for the fun of it, earning a glare from George.

“Very funny, mate,” Lando called back, leaping onto a chair. “But did you know Michael Schumacher once raced a kangaroo in Australia?”

Charles, balancing on the armrest of the couch, raised an eyebrow, amused but skeptical. “I’m pretty sure that didn’t happen.”

George, meanwhile, looked completely bewildered. “Wait, what? Is any of this true?”

“Doesn’t matter!” Lando shot back, moving to a footstool.

I found myself laughing uncontrollably, trying to maintain my balance as I stood on the armrest of a chair. Franco, standing nearby on the coffee table, reached out a hand to help me jump to the next ‘circuit’ — in this case, a cushion on the floor.

“Careful,” he teased, his hand steadying me. “You don’t want to fall into ‘Turn 13 at Monaco.’ It’s a tricky one.”

“Monaco? I thought we were in Silverstone,” I replied with a grin as I took his hand.

Franco chuckled, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. “It’s a complicated circuit.”

As I jumped, I almost lost my balance, wobbling slightly. Franco, quick to react, caught me, his arm wrapping around my waist to steady me. His touch was warm, and as our eyes met, the playful atmosphere between us shifted, feeling suddenlya bit more charged.

“You good?” he asked softly, his smile still warm but with a little more weight behind it.

“Yeah,” I breathed, trying to ignore the blush creeping up on my cheeks. “Thanks.”

I honestly didn’t mind standing like this. For a second, it felt like the rest of the game had faded into the background, the noise dimming around us. But then, just as quickly, Charles shouted from across the room, “Spa-Francorchamps!”

The spell broke. Franco let go, and I hopped onto the next chair, trying to suppress the grin that was forming on my face.

The game continued with more nonsensical facts. Max tried to convince George that Fernando Alonso once moonlit as a matador, while Lando made up a story about Kimi Räikkönen secretly being Oscar Piastri’s dad.

Meanwhile, Alexandra, acrobatically clinging a nearby bookshelf, caught my eye, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “T’as capté? Il te lâche pas du tout.” (Did you catch that? He can’t stop looking at you.)

I laughed, shaking my head. “Arrête…” (Stop…)

She raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer. “T’inquiète, ma puce, j’dirai rien... mais c’est cramé!” (Don’t worry, sweetie, I won’t say anything… but it’s so obvious!)

We giggled, and across the room, Charles, who had clearly understood the exchange, raised an eyebrow, amused. He didn’t say anything, but his knowing look said enough.

Lando, noticing the laughter but missing the French, put his hands on his hips dramatically. “Oi! What’s going on over there? You two plotting in French again? That’s not fair!”

Alexandra and I burst into laughter, but before I could explain, Lando waved a hand dramatically. “Fine! You know what? Max! We’ll speak Dutch and leave them out.”

Max raised his glass, thoroughly entertained. “Go ahead, mate.”

Lando nodded, puffing up with mock determination. “Absolutely. Let’s go!”

Max leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Alright, your turn.”

Lando furrowed his brow in concentration and attempted his best Dutch. “Uhh… Ik… spreek beetje Nederland… ja?”

Max nearly choked on his gin. “That’s… good effort.”

Undeterred, Lando kept at it, much to Max’s amusement. “Lekker... uh… ja?”

Max waved him off, laughing. “Stop. You’re embarrassing the language.”

The game continued late into the evening, with everyone’s laughter filling the room. Despite the storm outside, the chaos, and the completely nonsensical F1 trivia, it felt like we’d turned the night into something unexpectedly fun.

..

The night had wound down after hours of conversation, laughter, and chaotic games. The storm outside was still relentless, but inside the apartment, everything felt warm and comfortable. Conversations had softened, and people were beginning to yawn, signaling the end of the night.

Alexandra and Charles were the first to head off, exchanging quiet goodnights before disappearing into their room. The rest of us remained scattered around the living room, tired but still riding the wave of the evening’s energy.

Max, who had been slowly sinking into the armchair with his sixth gin and tonic, stood up, stretched, and made a beeline for the guest room without a word. It was clear he was done for the night. Lando was half-asleep on the larger couch, sprawled out in his usual dramatic fashion, leaving little room for George, who had claimed the other side.

Franco, who had been lounging on the small two-seater sofa, stretched his arms and looked over at me. “Looks like this is my spot for the night,” he said with a grin, patting the cushion beside him. “Not much room, except between Lando and George. You might as well join me.”

I hesitated for a second, but the way he said it — so casual and light, yet with that playful spark in his eyes — made it clear that the offer wasn’t just about space. The tension between us was undeniable.

I smirked, feigning reluctance. “Alright, but if you take up all the room, I’m kicking you off.”

Franco chuckled softly, shifting over to make space for me. “Deal.”

I sat down next to him, the proximity between us much closer than I had anticipated. The couch was small, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, being close to Franco felt easy, natural. His arm rested across the back of the sofa, and as we settled in, his fingers lightly brushed my shoulder.

We sat there for a moment in silence, the only sounds coming from the soft rumble of the storm outside and the occasional rustling from Lando’s half-asleep movements on the other couch. The apartment had gone from a chaotic whirlwind of noise and laughter to a quiet, almost serene atmosphere.

Franco shifted slightly, his fingers moving gently to stroke my hair. The movement was soft and rhythmic, calming, and I felt my heart skip a beat. I leaned into him, resting my head against his chest. His touch was tender, each stroke of his hand sending a warm shiver through me as I relaxed into the closeness between us.

We didn’t need to say anything. The silence between us spoke volumes, and as the storm continued to rage outside, I felt a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the blankets or the fire. Franco’s presence next to me, his fingers softly tracing through my hair, was all the comfort I needed.

As we lay there, my eyes growing heavy, Franco leaned down just slightly, his breath warm against my hair. “Sleep well,” he whispered.

I smiled, closing my eyes. “You too.”

And with that, the storm outside became nothing more than a distant hum as I drifted off, cocooned in the warmth of Franco’s embrace, his hand still softly stroking my hair.

..

The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the apartment. The storm had passed, leaving only the gentle patter of rain ticking against the window. stirred slightly, realizing that Franco’s arm was still wrapped around me, and my head rested comfortably against his chest. It might sound a bit odd but waking up like this — still wrapped up in his embrace — felt surprisingly natural.

Franco shifted beneath me, his arm tightening briefly before he blinked awake, his eyes meeting mine with a soft, sleepy smile.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice still low and heavy with sleep.

“Morning,” I replied, matching his smile.

Neither of us moved for a few moments, letting the quiet of the morning linger between us. I could hear faint sounds coming from the kitchen, the telltale signs of someone already up and making breakfast. I lifted my head slightly, glancing over toward the kitchen, and saw Lando and George huddled near the stove, clearly trying not to be obvious as they watched us.

Lando, with his ever-present grin, didn’t miss a beat. “Well, well, well. Look who’s finally awake.”

George, more restrained but no less amused, added, “Breakfast is almost ready... in case you’re interested.”

I sat up, reluctantly pulling myself away from Franco’s embrace, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks under their teasing gazes. Franco, however, seemed completely unbothered, sitting up with a lazy stretch and flashing them a grin. “You guys couldn’t give us a few more minutes?”

Lando flipped a pancake with dramatic flair. “Mate, I’ve been up for hours. Go do that lovey dovey stuff some other time.”

Before I could respond, more footsteps approached from the hallway, and soon enough, Max and Charles appeared, both looking groggy but curious. Charles raised an eyebrow when he saw Franco and me, but he said nothing, just exchanged a knowing glance with Alexandra, who had wandered into the room with a smile.

She looked between Franco and me, her eyes twinkling with amusement. Leaning in, she whispered, “Je vois que tu as passé une très bonne nuit… “(I see you had a very good night...)

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking my head at her teasing. Franco glanced between us, clearly picking up on the tone but not the words. “What did she say this time?”

“Just more girl talk,” I replied with a grin, standing up.

The kitchen smelled of pancakes, coffee, and eggs as everyone gathered around the table for breakfast. The atmosphere was relaxed. Even Max, still hungover, managed a grin as the lighthearted banter continued.

After breakfast, as everyone began packing up and getting ready to leave, Franco pulled me aside. His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. “So... I was thinking.”

I turned to him, curious. “About what?”

He hesitated for just a second, but then smiled. “I live in Madrid, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me for a few extra days. It’d be nice to spend some more time together... before you head back to Paris.”

Hearing it made my heart flutter. Madrid. A few extra days with Franco. I couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

“I’ve had a lot of fun and I’m not ready to say goodbye yet. If you let me, of course.”

“I’d love that,” I replied softly.

Franco’s grin widened, the excitement clear on his face. “Perfect.”

Before I could say anything else, Lando’s voice cut through the room. “Oi! What’s this about Madrid? You two planning a romantic getaway?”

Franco didn’t miss a beat. He leaned down, planting a soft kiss on the top of my head, and then turned to Lando with a mischievous grin. “Jealous?”

Lando clutched his chest dramatically. “A little bit, yeah! Where’s my invite?”

Everyone laughed, even Max managed a small chuckle behind his coffee cup. The teasing flowed easily as we packed up, and the mood in the apartment was as bright as the morning outside. Whatever had started between Franco and me felt natural, fun, and as I grabbed my things, I couldn’t help but feel a little giddy about what was next. I wasn’t nervous, just excited —a new adventure waiting to unfold.

[pink-sparkly-witch]

Tequila

Summary: Tequila has a lot to answer for when Y/N wakes up naked in Dean’s bed, but once the shock wears off, she realises that maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Rating: Teen

Warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of smut, angst, fluff, feelings, friends to lovers

Word Count: 1k

A/N: Another December Drabble for you all to enjoy!

My Masterlist     AO3    Ko-Fi

Consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leaving a comment. It really does fuel a creative’s muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

The sun streams through the motel’s threadbare curtains, rudely awakening you from a deep, drunken sleep. Your head is pounding, and there’s a ringing in your ears that comes with the vague memory of the loud music playing at the bar last night.

It’d been a hard hunt to stomach: Lamia, a child-eating demon, had decided to take up residence in Grangeville, Idaho, and once you’d blasted her ass back to hell, you and Dean really, really needed to let off a lot of steam.

Luckily, there was a dive bar next door to the motel, so neither of you had to stay sober enough to drive home, and you’d both been well and truly shit-faced. You’d hustled a small fortune playing pool; he’d sung karaoke, and there were tequila shots… lots and lots of tequila shots.

A snore from behind you made you freeze. It sounded like Dean, but that couldn’t be right. Why would you and Dean be in the same bed? Whoever it was rolled over and slid their arm over your waist, pulling you into their body. You could feel something hard poke the back of your thigh… at least he’s packing, you thought before the mystery man spoke.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Suddenly, the whole night’s events come flooding back to you at once.

One tequila shot turned into two. Two turned to four. Four turned to six, and before you knew it, you were stumbling through the door to Dean’s room, lips attached to his, nails raking through his hair and over his scalp and neck, tongues dancing a passionate tango while your clothes flew in every direction.

Dean made love to you so deliciously good. He was sweet and gentle at times. Rough and hard when you needed it. In all the years you’d known him, this was the first time you’d ended up in his bed, yet he knew your body better than you did. 

The green-eyed hunter had known how to pleasure you better than anyone had before him. Touching places no one had ever touched before. Taking you higher than you’d ever been, making you scream his name so loud the occupant next door had banged the wall.

It’s overwhelming, and you can feel last night’s alcohol swirl dangerously in your stomach, threatening to make an appearance. You lifted the covers and glanced down. Yep, definitely naked.

Pulling the sheet tighter to your body, you cautiously turn around, your worst fear confirmed as Dean’s twinkling green orbs and cocky smirk greet you.

“Well, this changes things!” he grins, and you can’t decide if you want to punch his painfully beautiful face or kiss him.

“Oh, God!” you gasp, covering your face with your hands. “This can’t be happening.”

“Y/N?” Dean asks, concern evident in his voice. “You okay?”

“I can’t believe I did you—I mean that. I can’t believe I did that,” you mumble.

“Come on, don’t be like that! We had a great time. I got you off six times, sweetheart! That’s a personal record for me!”

Dean’s words are meant to be comforting, but they do the opposite and only embarrass you more. The urge to kiss him is gone, leaving you wanting to punch his painfully beautiful, smug face.

“Seriously, Y/N, are you okay? Did I hurt you in any way? Did you not want that to happen? Because I gotta say, you were all over me at the bar, and I get that we had a lot of tequila and were drunk, but I thought you wanted me, too?”

Now that Dean had put his cocky persona aside and the real Dean was in the room, you’d changed your mind again and wanted to kiss him.

“No, Dean. I wanted it to happen. I have for an embarrassingly long time. What I don’t want is to be just another notch on your bedpost. It’s why I’ve never given in to your very persuasive charms over the years. Because I want to be more than just one night to you. And I know that’s not what you want—”

“Woah, Y/N, slow down!” Dean shot up on the bed and turned you to face him. “Did you not hear me when I said this changes things? Do you honestly think I’d risk what we have for one night? I’ve wanted you since the day we met, and last night was the first time since we met that you’ve shown any interest in me. And sweetheart, I haven’t been shy in pulling out my best moves for you.” His words and body language are so expressive and genuine, and you know he’s not feeding you a line. He likes you and he’s wanted you for a long time. All of his flirting and come-ons were real.

“And I thought ‘this is it. I finally get to call her my girl’. Maybe I shouldn’t have followed through with it when we were drunk, but I don’t regret taking my chance with you. Please tell me you don’t regret what happened.” Dean cups your cheeks to keep your gaze on his. The pain crossing his features breaks your heart. You want to tell him you feel the same way, but it’s risky.

“Honestly, I don’t remember much from last night, just bits and pieces, but I know enough to know that if that happened, I wanted it to happen,” you say, trying to ignore the look of Dean’s disappointment at your lack of memory from the night before.

“Do you really want me?” you ask, terrified this was a tequila-induced dream.

“Since the day I met you. And if you’re interested, I’d like to see where we’d go. Together. As a couple.” For once, Dean looks incredibly shy and vulnerable, making your heart swell.

“I’d like that too, De,” you smile, giggling when he grins boyishly.

“Yeah?” he checks, and you nod.

“Yeah,” you confirm.

“Then, I think you should lay back and let me refresh your memory of last night,” Dean grins as he gently pushes you back down on the mattress and pulls your legs apart.

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

[helluvabun]

RadioApple.... thing

A/n: Could be seen as not RadioApple since there's not romance, but it was written with that dynamic in mind. They're also a little OOC but I did my best. 1056 words

Lucifer's heels clicked softly on the floor of the common room as he entered, punctuating the silence. His usual bravado shimmered, muted by a flicker of something else as his eyes fell upon the lone figure in the corner.

Alastor.

Seated in a plush armchair, legs crossed, his cane resting on his lap, Alastor’s smile widened at the sight of Lucifer, though it remained sinister despite its brilliance. His red eyes gleamed, locked onto the fallen angel with predatory intensity. The static hum that followed him seemed to grow louder, feeding off the charged atmosphere between them. Lucifer observed the demon who had so arrogantly claimed a place in the Hotel.

Of all the souls in Hell, Alastor irked him most. He could tolerate the chaos of Sinners and their predictable ambitions, but Alastor was an affront to his very nature. The Radio Demon was a constant challenge, a reminder of the audacity of mortals who dared tread too close to divinity and came up short. Yet, there was something infuriatingly captivating about Alastor’s self-assured grace that kept Lucifer from dismissing him entirely.

"Lucifer," Alastor greeted, his voice dripping with vintage charm, distorted like an old phonograph. "What a delightful surprise! Come to join me for a quaint little chat, or do you simply wish to bask in my presence?"

Lucifer’s lip twitched, his gaze narrowing as he approached, the tapping of his cane echoing in tandem with his steps. "Hardly. Though I suppose I should be flattered by your assumption that I would have the time—or inclination—to indulge you."

Alastor chuckled, a deep sound that filled the room. "Oh, don’t be so dour. I hear it’s unbecoming of a king. Or is it that I make you uncomfortable, dear old Lucifer?"

Lucifer halted, his wings shifting beneath his coat. His gaze was sharp, like shards of glass, though it failed to pierce Alastor’s permanent grin. "You give yourself too much credit. You’re merely… amusing at best, Alastor."

Alastor’s smile remained, but something darker flickered in his eyes. "Ah, amusing, you say?" His voice lowered, mockery never quite leaving. "Tell me, why do I have the distinct impression that I’ve been living rent-free in that labyrinthine mind of yours?"

Lucifer’s wings flexed, feathers bristling, but he remained calm. "Rent-free? Perhaps. But the moment I find you an inconvenience, you’ll be evicted without hesitation."

Alastor rose to his feet, smooth as silk, towering over Lucifer despite the angel’s proud posture. He stepped forward, coming closer than was polite, obliterating any pretenses of civility. "I wonder," he mused softly, "is it your daughter’s project that keeps you around, or is it something more personal?"

Lucifer tightened his grip on the cane, but his gaze never faltered. "I’m here for one reason, and it’s not to entertain your delusions. Charlie’s dream… it deserves protection."

Alastor leaned in, his grin nearly brushing Lucifer’s cheek. "Oh, but what about your dreams, Lucifer?" he whispered, the static around him caressing the air. "Or are those long dead, buried beneath centuries of failure?"

Lucifer’s eyes flashed with fury, but before he could respond, Alastor stepped back, his chuckle low and melodious. "For someone who claims to be above us all, you’re rather predictable. Everything about you—your righteousness, your arrogance—it’s all so tiresome."

"Careful," Lucifer growled, the forked tip of his tongue slipping between his sharp teeth. "You forget your place."

Alastor laughed again, wrapping his taunt around Lucifer. "I’m fully aware of my place, old friend. Right here. Standing toe-to-toe with the so-called King of Hell, yet you never quite manage to rid yourself of me."

Lucifer’s wings flared, a display of power radiating through the room. "Don’t mistake my patience for tolerance, Alastor. There’s a difference between allowing something to persist and being unable to remove it."

Alastor turned, his grin shrinking just for a moment. A flicker of something almost human passed through his eyes. "I don’t think you want to remove me, Lucifer. In fact…" His voice softened, playful lilt gone. "I think you need me."

The tension between them became a palpable force. For a moment, neither spoke, the silence stretching taut like a wire, ready to snap. Lucifer’s expression darkened, studying Alastor, the depths of his mind churning with unspoken thoughts.

"Need you?" Lucifer’s voice cut through the stillness like a blade. "You overestimate your importance. You are a mere ripple in the ocean of eternity, and I…" His wings flared wider, casting shadows, "am the storm that commands it."

Alastor tilted his head, smile returning, now sharper. "A storm, yes. But storms eventually fade. What remains after the tempest? The echoes. The whispers. The memories of those who survive."

Lucifer’s eyes burned with rage, his voice rising. "Enough of your riddles, Alastor. Speak plainly or be silent. I am not in the mood for your games."

Alastor chuckled softly. "Oh, but where would the fun be in that?" Leaning on his cane, he tapped it lightly on the floor. "Let me be clear. This hotel… your daughter’s dream… it’s fragile, delicate. And you know it’s on the verge of collapse without the right influences." His gaze flicked to Lucifer, unwavering. "You may be the storm, but I am the voice in the static. Without me, all you will have is another failure."

Lucifer tightened his grip on the cane. "You are nothing but a meddler, Alastor. A parasite feeding off the dreams of others. I could end you with a thought, and yet here you stand, as if you hold power over me."

Alastor's grin widened. "Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. It’s not about power. It’s about purpose. You could destroy me, but what would you lose? What pieces of this grand puzzle would fall apart?"

For a moment, Lucifer hesitated. The weight of those words gnawed at his resolve. He knew Alastor was dangerous, a wild card in a game where every move mattered. To remove him now could unravel more than just the Radio Demon’s schemes.

Alastor saw the flicker of doubt, and his grin turned almost gentle. "You see it now, don’t you? You may despise me, but you can’t deny I serve a purpose. Chaos needs order, and order needs chaos. Without one, the other withers."

Lucifer’s expression hardened, but his silence spoke volumes.

Alastor’s voice, velvety and dark, slid between them like a serpent. "So, tell me, my King… what will you do? Will you embrace the storm, knowing I am the wind that keeps it raging? Or will you let it die, taking your daughter’s hopes with it?"

Lucifer locked his gaze on Alastor, cold and calculating. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, low and dangerous.

"Stay out of my way, Alastor. Or you’ll learn how much of a storm I can truly be."

Alastor’s smile returned, gleaming with satisfaction. "Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Lucifer." He bowed mockingly. "But let me know when you’re ready to admit you need me."

Lucifer turned on his heel, wings folding against his back. "Remember your place, Radio Demon," he growled, walking away.

As Alastor’s words lingered, Lucifer stood resolute, wings poised and powerful. With a final glare, he left, the door swinging shut behind him. The conversation sealed but left behind a promise of further clashes, an inevitable dance neither could escape.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part twelve - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: angst ; traumatic pasts ; nod at violence

“Well, well, well.” Michael shoves her shoulder lightly. “Are you cheating on your foreign boyfriend with old friend, or is old friend foreign boyfriend after all?”

“Nice tongue twister.” She giggles from his play fighting.

“Am I seriously not allowed to know?” Michael groans, draping himself over the couch and reminding her of a 1950’s housewife who just murdered her husband in his silky black robe.

She sits beside him, immediately relaxing into the soft cushions and ready to take a two day nap. “He’s private.”

“Fine, fine,” Michael grumbles. “But it’s like, are both of them private...” he raises his eyebrows and bites his bottom lip.

She chuckles. “Michael.” She doesn’t want to hurt his feelings, so it’s only a half hearted attempt at a warning.

Michael raises his hands in surrender.

She looks him over, and he’s got this soft grin and imploring eyes that just know she wants to say something, and, fuck, she really does.

But, she doesn’t trust herself not to give out too much info and…What? Are the cops even still looking for him at this point? Is her escaped death demon prisoner turned guardian angel on the run?

She’s chewing on her bottom lip so much that she can taste poinsettias.

“Just…tell me what’s bothering you,” Michael says. “I honestly don’t need to know anything else. In fact-“ he grabs a pillow from behind him “-if you start to reveal too many personal details I’ll hit you with this.”

She rubs her temples. “Can I take a shower and think about it?”

“Hello Johnathan,” Winston greets as John slides into his leather booth.

“Winston.”

“You have caused quite the ruckus, haven’t you?” Winston muses, clicking his tongue, eyeing John over the rim of his glasses

John raises his eyebrows and folds his hands on the table. “I didn’t start it.”

“I believe you,” Winston nods. “But you definitely ended it.”

“I got out, didn’t I?”

“Still, everyone’s quite angry.” Winston chews his teeth for a moment, brushes off the slacks covering his right knee. “I may have a war on my hands for this.”

“Sorry.” John looks sincere this time.

Winston shrugs. “It’s your head, John.”

“Sure.”

“Why did you kill him, anyway?” Winston asks, curious. “He always seemed nice.”

“Human trafficking.” John’s tone drops. “A friend’s daughter.”

“Ah,” Winston muses, satisfied to understand. “What a bastard.”

John’s face narrows and his eyes darken. “Yeah.”

“They can’t put a bounty on you, you know,” Winston tells him. “Continental owners are committed to peace. Most of them admire you, Johnathan.”

“I know,” John says.

“Still, they’ll have pressure from their constituents to end your life and my hotel. Not in that order.” Winston gives him a half grin, feigning unbothered by the violence that is about to invade his free time.

“You know I’ll stand by New York,” John tells him. What he really means is that he’ll stand by Winston, but that point is already solid and unmoving between them, so he doesn’t feel the need to reiterate it.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Winston muses. “But likewise.”

Winston thinks for a moment, purses his lips. “You could come stay for a while, catch up, delay the fight?”

John shakes his head no.

Winston sighs. “This better not be about a woman, John.”

John stays silent, and in that quiet Winston has his answer. He doesn’t look surprised. “Ah, L’amour.” He smiles, genuinely. “Took you long enough. What’s she like?”

“It’s not like that,” John says.

Winston snorts. “Go back to prison, then.”

John glares and sets his jaw in the way he does to indicate that he’d rather die than obey.

“Uh-huh. So, what’s she like?”

John leans back into the bench, defeated, thinking for a moment. Winston is more akin to understand metaphors rather than common sense, so John uses one.

“The sun.”

“A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, and man cannot live without love,” Winston sighs, leaning back with both arms spread around the back of the faded, stapled leather.

John shifts in his creaking indent.

“Viggo came by looking for you,” Winston says. “He wants you back.” He raises his as eyebrows as if to suggest something wicked.

John rubs his fingers together, thinking.

Winston goes on. “I wouldn’t mind having the mob over - just for some company.”

John grunts as if to laugh. “What’s in it for you?”

Winston grins. “Zero point zero one percent protection.”

John tilts his head. “Where’s the other ninety nine point nine nine?”

“Don’t get cocky, Johnathan, of course it’s you.” Winston sips his martini.

They sit there for a moment in silence, John thinking while Winston looks him over. “So it’s a no to dinner with Viggo, then?”

“I didn’t say that,” John says.

“When are you free?” Winston raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Night shift.”

Winston gets cheeky, leans closer. “What’s her name?”

John leans away. “Get me a drink. And give me my coins.”

Winston grabs a paper from the stack beside him, takes a pen from his lapel, and writes. He slides the note to John. “You could’ve just asked for the car, too, you know.”

John folds the scrap neatly and puts it into his pocket. “I didn’t think you’d be in a good mood.”

Winston rolls his eyes. “Translation: I wanted to have a little fun after getting out of prison.”

“Were you in a good mood?” John raises his eyebrows, trying to prove a point.

“Are you still in prison?” Winston fires back.

John finally gives him a delayed, full, toothy grin. “How about the drink?”

Winston tips his head, motioning to the pocket that John put the note in. “Get your own.”

———————————

They don’t go to breakfast this morning. He takes her to a snowy, secluded park where they can snuggle in his car with the heater on.

“I think cuddling was a great suggestion,” he says, hands trying to bring her closer so that she’s on top of his body instead of smashed into his side.

She buries her face into his flannel, gulping in fresh cologne and musky detergent, still timid about putting her full weight on him.

He plays with her hair, kisses at her head and cheek bones to get her pliant enough that she’s on his lap happily instead of reluctantly.

There is a shared thought between them, and it’s about how sickly romantic this ordeal has become in such a short amount of time, but that idea is drowning beneath their desire to get each other closer.

They sit onshore, warm and holding hands, watching doubt and trepidation sink and die. No, not watching; too pre-occupied with one another to even realize or care that it’s happening.

“Yes,” she says, playing with his burly hand.

“Da.”

“No?”

He tugs her hips against his thigh to match the tempo of the sharp word. “Net.”

She giggles like a delighted child. “Handsome man.”

“Krasavchik.”

She tries to make her mouth fumble with the pronunciation of that one.

He clicks his tongue, shakes his head, helps her go slow, syllable by syllable.

She pats his cheek. “Kra-sacheek.”

He looks at her with his mouth tipped and eyebrow raised. “Just say krasavets.”

“Krasavets,” she says.

“Roll your tongue a little,” he instructs.

“I can’t.” She plays with the collar of his shirt.

“Try it,” he goads, digging impish fingers into her ribs, acting like he’s desperate to hear her do it for his personal enjoyment.

She laughs and squirms. “Fine, fine.”

She does really try hard, but it just gets him laughing at her.

She sticks out her tongue, embarrassed.

“ты такой милый, я мог бы тебя раздавить”

“What did you say?” She asks

“Cute girl,” he answers.

“That sounded pretty long winded for cute girl.” Her voice leaks suspicion.

He grins devilishly. “If you would take your lessons seriously, you would know what it means by now.”

Her mouth pops open in an astonished smile. So easy to get under her skin. “We literally just started.”

“Words from an amateur,” he sighs, rolling his eyes. The dramatics of this stoic man are her favorite thing in existence right now.

She attempts to tickle his side, earns a little twitch, the grab of her hand tight and fast as if to snap it in half.

A tinge of pain crosses her face, but it’s replaced quickly by a wide, mischievous grin. Who needs to dwell on stinging grips when a big deadly man is under your hands and able to be tickled?

He pulls her hand to his mouth and kisses her fingers. “Did I hurt you?”

“I’m made of bone, John,” she groans. “You won’t break me.”

His eyes turn sour. “I’ve broken plenty of bones.”

She refuses to be scared of him anymore despite him reminding her that he’s a walking sledge hammer. “I don’t care if you break my bones.”

The violent vision of her pretty crying face as he contorts her arms behind her back and breaks her pelvis with the thrust of his hips makes him choke on any words he could have responded with.

“Plus, let’s revisit this you being ticklish thing,” she says, trying to get him smiling again instead of brooding.

He licks his teeth into a grin. “That a war you think you can win, honey?”

It’s her turn to pout at him. “Let me win.”

That’s something he never thought he would hear come out of her mouth.

“Or at least give me a head start?” She tries.

“Oh, right now?” He asks, looking at his watch. “Okay. 30.. 29 .. twenty-“

“Noooooo,” she cries, kissing him to shut him up. “Let me prepare first.”

He nips at her top lip. “I thought that’s what the head start was for?”

“I need at least a week.” She licks the sting of his teeth away, but he grabs her mouth, because it’s his to nibble and nip and bruise as he pleases.

She looks up at him, confused, her bottom lip caught in his fingers. Her warm, damp maw is open, so he sticks his thumb onto her tongue.

She closes around it and sucks, owlish eyes rolling to the side to avoid the look of starvation on his face.

He pops from her lips, grabs her chin and makes her look back at him. He’d kill for this enchanting woman, he realizes. He’d die for this woman.

“Will you teach me?” She asks, uncomfortable in the tacit silence.

“Right.” He clears his throat. “Give me another word.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Sorry. Will you teach me to fight?”

At first, he wants to say absolutely not. But that would be stupid, now. He needs her in his life, and his life is dangerous. With everything moving so quickly, including his attachment to her, he forgot about that part.

The past few days have been calm. Almost domestic. If he were normal, he would be ready to ask her to actually date him. He is acting completely delusional, blind, stupid, and it’s been wonderful.

Men are like wolves, a taste of blood is not enough. Pretty soon the desire for it becomes insatiable. John is no different from any other man in that way. He appointed himself father death a long time ago, and that has been his one purpose. Blood, heads, bullet’s with names on them.

A taste of love, he realizes, is also similar.

And her, so fragile and sweet in his hands, she creates a new path. Domestic bliss, waking every day to her pretty face, kissing and watching movies and flirting and making her warm and satisfied.

So many things he didn’t ever think he could have, all right here in his arms.

If he was weaker willed, he’d be pissing himself in fear from it all.

There are two options: leave her alone, forget about her and go back to doing what he’s built for, or teaching her basic skills to defend herself against his violent life that he needs her to be in.

One of these options is already never going to work, so that narrows it down.

“When do you want to start?” He replies.

“I have off tonight.” Her smile is wide and grateful because she really did not think he would agree.

“You need sleep, food, fluid,” he explains. “Self defense seems simple, but it’s hard on your body.”

“So is that a no to starting tonight?” She plays with his collar absently, and he takes the opportunity to huddle her closer.

“Sleep, food, fluid,” he repeats. “If you can get those things, then we’ll talk tonight. Beginner’s foundation.”

She seems a bit offended suddenly. “How do you know I’m a beginner?”

He cocks his head, trying to picture her fighting someone and coming up blank. He tilts her chin back and forth with his fingers, examining her cherubic face, the soft curves that belong captured in watercolors of a renaissance painting. Built for love, he thinks. Built for pleasure and playing. Fragility and soft, merciful beauty. Fighting? He almost scoffs. Instead, he inquires, “you’re not?” Anybody can be trained to be deadly, but he’s just not seeing it in her.

“I grew up in foster care,” she tells him. “I met a lot of bad people….”

He can tell that she doesn’t want to talk about this by the memory of it contorting her face.

“It’s okay,” John says.

“No, I’ll tell you.” She pulls her chin out of his hand and sits up.

He feels like he just ruined something, wants to drag her back and hold her in place. His fingers twitch, but he stays still and receptive to her story.

“Men.” She swallows, looks at him, looks down at her hands. “It’s usually men.”

He looks confused. “Fighting men?”

“Only the ones who hurt us.”

“Us?” As realization hits, so does anger. He can’t keep it out of his tone despite great attempt.

“I wasn’t the only kid in the system,” she explains. “I often had many siblings. I can only remember one family where I was the only kid they had.”

He nods, motioning for her to continue but already guessing where this is going. She’s a girl, after all, and women have vastly different experiences when it comes to growing up in orphanages and temporary homes.

“At first, I was the youngest, and I had no one to protect me. So then, when I was the oldest, I tried to become the protector I needed.”

His rage claws and screams for more detail. Mainly, one particular piece of information: Names, full and last. Maybe addresses if she can remember them.

The first rule of kill for hire is don’t be a hero and mind your own business. He should’ve known that was never going to work for him. These days he’s incapable of letting shit go or staying in his lane, and he’s sure it’s just going to get worse because he’s allowing it.

Why fight yourself if you already have to fight everyone else? Easier to just agree and compromise your base instincts into symbiosis.

“And screaming and calling the cops and asking for help - it never worked. Nothing peaceful ever worked. Violence became commonplace.”

“But, in turn, you were met with more violence.” He looks away from her for the first time since she’s known him - not in embarrassment, but contempt -  and watches snow tumble along the pavement.

“Bingo.”

John doesn’t want to imagine what she’s saying. He doesn’t want to think about her getting beaten like an unruly dog. He hates this. Rage so potent it turns all the delicate white scenery red. Hallmark movie transitions into slaughterhouse film. He wants heads, body counts - desires these so carnally that it makes his teeth ache and brain boil in cerebral fluid.

“I’m sorry.” Her small, worried voice fades the earth from crimson to pale pink.

“Sorry?” He asks.

“Did I make you mad?” She rubs at her forearm, and chews her lip. A tear slithers down her cheek.

“You?” The distance between them is too much, so he puts his chest to her forehead. “No. No, baby.”

She cries into his shirt while he rubs her scalp.

She knows what this is, at least on her end. The soft intimacy, the meeting of his friends, the terms of endearment he uses so casually after such a short amount of time. Still, she wants to ask him to tell her, in plain terms, how he feels and what is going on between them. She almost does, right here in his arms, leaking vulnerability. She opens her mouth to ask him if he really likes her, but the fear of scaring him away sows it shut.

“You need sleep,” he says, kissing her hair.

“Can I stay with you?” She asks. “Will you stay with me?” If he says no, she’ll drop it, she promises herself.

“I have some things I need to do today,” he replies, unable to stop his lips from pursing against her crown repeatedly.

“You’ll come back tonight?” She asks, cursing herself for the desperation.

“I want to,” he assures, “but I don’t know how the day will go. Here.” He uses his sleeves to wipe the tears off her face.

[jerichocopuffs]

𝕹𝖔𝖝𝖚𝖘 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖐𝖘 𝖇𝖞 𝖏𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬

🗡 A Voice whispering in the Shadows ~ Swain, character study

Jericho Swain was never one to believe in myths or fairy tales, nor was he fascinated by occult teachings. But ever since he was a little boy, he heard something whispering in the shadows. He believes it's only childish imagination, however, the whispers follow wherever his conquests lead him and he hears them after each battle. When he nearly dies in Ionia, he finally realizes that the whispers belong to an ancient and powerful demon prowling the shadows of the empire. Defeated and cast out, he sees no other option than to seek out this demon and try to wield its power for the good of Noxus.

🗡 The Emperor - Swain ~ Swain, character study/backstory

"I was born a patrician." A tarot card-themed oneshot, featuring Swain as The Emperor and how the concepts the card represents are depicted in his story, as told in six episodes.

🗡 Empire Above All ~ Darius, canon exploration

Darius set his right foot on the first step, still conflicted but determined to proceed. He was going to demand answers from Swain and give him a chance to explain himself; it was the best he could do, not only to show respect for an old colleague, but also to allow him to finally make a decision for the good of Noxus. The soldiers greeted him with quiet nods of respect as he passed them, making him wonder if Swain and his allies were expecting him. Either way, there was nothing Darius could do about it. The only way was going forward.

🗡 A Shadow's Musings ~ Talon, character introspection [drabble]

At first they thought they were separate blades, fated to strike one another down. But maybe they're two edges of the same knife, different, yet bound and always together.

🗡 Twinkle, twinkle ~ Kled, character introspection [drabble]

Kled remembers a certain yordle he once knew.

𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬

🗡 I never knew you cared ~ Swain/LeBlanc, Swain-centric longshot

They have known each other for many years, both as enemies and as lovers. When Swain searches a Black Rose hideout, he discovers some of LeBlanc's secrets and reconsiders the true nature of their relationship.

🗡 Realization ~ Swain/LeBlanc, LB-centric character introspection

For countless years, men and women alike had been mere pawns to her, tools to get whatever she wanted. Never had she allowed herself to feel anything while she lied, seduced, deceived, bewitched and betrayed her targets. Until now. Or: Emilia LeBlanc realizes what it is that she truly wants.

🗡 Surprised to see me? ~ Swain/LB, sword and sweet oneshot

Swain comes home from a long day of work, only to find a lovely surprise waiting for him.

🗡 Battle plans ~ Swain/Darius, short and spicy oneshot

Swain explains his plans for an upcoming battle to his generals. Darius has trouble focusing.

🗡 Late night negotiations ~ Swain/Vladimir, short and spicy oneshot

Swain asks Vladimir to cooperate. Vladimir is more than happy to show how cooperative he can be.

🗡 A Grand General's Vacation ~ Swain/Darius, Swain/LeBlanc, fluff & humor

After losing a bet with Draven, Swain agrees to go on vacation for once and takes him and Darius to a seaside hotel outside the capital. All he wants is to have a peaceful and relaxing evening to himself, but his fellow Noxians have other ideas, and no matter where he goes, the political opposition is never far away.

🗡 Drabble Collection: High Command Husbands ~ Swain/Marcus Du Couteau, friendship & romance ficlets

Throughout their lives, they've been comrades on the battlefield, political allies or even lovers, yet always each other's best friend. Or: Drabbles I wrote for one of my favorite niche ships instead of sleeping. Ship name by yours truly.

🗡 A rainy night ~ Swain/Marcus Du Couteau, friendship & romance oneshot

In which Marcus comes over for a surprise visit and Jericho enjoys his company more than he would like to admit.

𝐍𝐨𝐱𝐜𝐨𝐧 & 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

Warning for NSFW and triggering themes such as violence, dub-con/non-con, power dynamics, etc; please heed the tags on AO3.

🗡 Disciplinary Action ~ Headmaster Swain AU, Swain/multiple, smut oneshot

Headmaster Jericho Swain decides that his co-workers and students alike have gotten away with too much for way too long. Luckily, he knows exactly how such misbehavior can be corrected with appropriate strictness and the right kind of discipline.

🗡 submit ~ Swain/reader, Darius/reader, prisoner of war!reader

You're captured by Noxian soldiers after being defeated in battle and brought before the Grand General himself.

🗡 and serve, you will ~ LeBlanc/reader, Swain/reader, Darius/reader, Draven/reader, captive spy!reader

Your mission was simple: Attend a soirée and find out more about the mysterious Black Rose. What you hadn't expected was to be caught by the Black Rose's leader herself and brought to the Grand General's palace for entertainment.

[perfectmetaphore]

All my demons greeting me as a friend

Indie rp blog for John Silver from Black Sails. Selective/low activity/crossover and oc friendly - penned by Sunara 30+.

Due to the show's genre there will be violence and dark themes present so I ask, for my own comfort, that only 21+ interact.

Discord is available upon request, mutuals only. Ims are open for plotting always

Other than that. Let's have have fun and forget reality for a while.

Other blogs:

@pasthauntings - a variety of muses, forever changing. Low activity. ( side-blog ) @willixmbush - William Bush | Hornblower. Low activity. ( side-blog ) @intxlligibility - Ignis Scientia | Final Fantasy XV. Low activity

The Doc if anyone wants to read it idk.

[crackinglamb]

WIP Whenever

Tagged by @fadedsweater (like two weeks ago, ack), @theluckywizard and @anneapocalypse, thank you all! 💕

Tagging @ir0n-angel, @effelants, @lilbittymonster, @the-desert-dancer, @chrideart, @fiadhaisteach, @mogwaei and @serial-chillr. No pressure.

Biggest WIP right now is getting my back where it's supposed to be. Preferably without torquing my leg muscles into pretzels. Which is why I haven't been writing as much as usual. HOWEVER, the muse returned after months away at the war and I've gotten back into a groove this week with WG. Have a bit of HLTA, Imogen style.

---

“Ahh, a visitor,” a bodiless voice said, reverberating through the space. “Welcome, Imogen McLean. I have long been expecting you.”

Imogen stood tall, her hand halfway to her bow over her shoulder. “I told you that someday I would come, and I would cut you down to size.”

“I remember,” the voice of the Nightmare replied. “You are brave to enter this realm, and I salute you for it. But do not think I cannot feel your fear, even now. The fear of failure, of exhaustion and despair.” The demon laughed. It was a rich, rolling sound that felt like it should shake the ground, and yet it remained stable beneath her feet. “Come then, take your gift if you dare. I know you have sought it.”

“What is it talking about, Genny?” Hawke asked, her staff already held in her hands, ready at a moment’s notice to cast or swing like a cudgel.

“I’m missing the memory of how I got to Thedas. I’ve always known the Nightmare took it.”

“I took more from you than that, little fly,” the Nightmare taunted.

All at once she remembered Geldauran calling her that. A little fly caught in the web of something larger. Why is it always the Maker damned spiders? One of three last lines of a sacrificed Champion. It gave her strength now, feeling Hawke’s presence at her shoulder, while Solas stood at the other. Her friends gathered around her, fighting willingly at her behest. She was not powerless here. She would not give in to fear.

“Hmm, the very definition of bravery,” the Nightmare said as if she’d spoken the thought aloud. “But I am remiss, for you have brought company with you on this visit. The one who feels my voice creep up his spine into his head, the one who fears to mirror his past, the one who fears the opposite of death, the one who could not save anyone and...ah, yes, the harellan. Greetings.”

She ran the list through her head, identifying each member of her squad as their fears were named. Bull, Dorian, Terisin, Elly and Solas. The only one she wasn’t familiar with was Ter’s, but she could guess at it. Kal-Sharok had changed him, and now he was no longer a mere mortal. He would likely outlive everyone he knew and loved. Immortality was not a blessing, but a curse.

“Just words,” she said softly to her companions. “It wants to throw us off, make us think of these things so it can feed off them. Focus.”

“We once spoke on the nature of killing an idea, did we not, Inquisitor?” the Nightmare said. “It was an entertaining exchange.”

“I’m sure it was,” she called out into the expanse of green fog and glittering black stone. “But you will get no fuel from me now. As you might recall, I believe that was also when I told you that repetition dulls the experience of you. You have no power over me that matters.”

“Perhaps not. But you are not the only one here.”

“And you have yet to show your ugly face. Which one of us is afraid?”

[channelrat]

Hello, it is me :D I have assembled a few paragraphs from some works-in-progress.

If you're interested in any, just ask and I'll give proper clarification and context, though I'll still give a little bit just in case. (This involves almost purely characters I have not talked about before, by the way.)

-

Context: two divine groups, the Sentinels and the First Guardians, who are on very bad terms, have just encountered each other. The Champions (mortals chosen by the First Guardians) and the Counterparts (the mortal counterparts to the Sentinels) stand by.

Silence reigned. And then someone spoke.

"Warden." Avalon greeted in a clipped tone.

"Avalon." Warden replied in a similar, if not more irritated tone. "You're looking... well."

"Unfortunately..." Eminence muttered not so quietly from behind them. Beloved elbowed them although they didn't look all that happy either.

"As are you." Avalon continued, voice stable despite noticing the obvious display of distaste.

The two leaders stared off for a bit longer, remaining steadily silent while their allies glared from behind them. Symphony narrowed his eyes at Valorian, who scoffed in return. Sapphire stuck his tongue out at Dylan while Emerald flipped off Jerucalin, both glaring in return. Kristiana and Reverie faced off with each other, both restraining themselves from lashing out. Yuklin was holding back Yulin while Hearth held out an arm in front of Solus. In between the two groups, the Champions and Counterparts stood by, looking back and forth nervously.

Tension rose as the two leaders continued staring off, showing no sign of stopping. Eventually, Avalon scoffed and turned sharply, walking away. Slowly, the other First Guardians followed, but not without trading a few insults with the Sentinels.

-

Context: some of the Counterparts and their friends are being held captive by someone named Callis

“Oh?” Callis remarked, “And what exactly are you going to do if you escape?”

Barbara stared at him for a moment, a light frown on her face, before she pointed to the cell's door hinge, “You want to know what I’m going to do? Well, this is a door hinge.”

Callis raised a brow, thoroughly confused. Alann couldn’t help but relate. Regardless of their collective confusion, however, Barbara moved on.

“You know what rhymes with door hinge?” She continued, “Murder.”

Callis blinked.

-

Context: Ash (the Counterpart of Liberty, the Sentinel of Freedom and Justice) has just successfully manipulated someone to his favor. The Sentinels are discussing how he’s a lot less innocent then he appears to be, like Liberty.

“Oh. Oh. Vicious child.” Eminence’s shock quickly turned to pride, “How vengeful. Looks like the little champion has inherited more than simple benevolence.”

“It does seem he has a little bit more of Liberty than we originally thought,” Warden remarked, “Quite out of character.”

Symphony let out a pleased laugh, “Much more insane than I believed, very manipulative. Oh, Warden, are you sure he isn’t my counterpart?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Warden replied, “It’s likely Ash retained a few of your own personal lessons with Liberty. I wouldn’t be so surprised if he clearly remembered a little bit.”

“Though it seems he picked up more than just a little bit.” Blood God mused.

“Are we sure he doesn’t just remember all of Symphony’s lessons?” Sapphire asked, still watching everything occur, “Because this is not a ‘little bit’ at all, Warden.”

“Wasn’t he manipulated, like, seventeen times? All by different people?” Emerald asked, “Maybe he’s just using their tactics?”

-

Context: four characters (Faline, Marc, Ash, and Val (Eminence is in the background)) have just baked some obscure recipe from the 1900s. It is very, very bad.

Beside him, Val cried, head in his hands. Way in the back, behind the couch in the living room, Marc hid, screeching, “IT’S LIKE A DEMON QUICHE!”

Faline was staring at the kitchen counter, questioning his life decisions with tears in their eyes. Eminence stood behind him, a look of utter disgust in their face.

“Whoever made that, I want them executed.” Was all they said. Ash agreed.

-

These were all incredibly short and random. Sorry about that. Have fun with them. Or don’t. Which is understandable.

i love short and random don't apologize 💚💚 i love these little bits so much and your writing is wonderful thank you for sharing it (and your world) with me 💚

[florafounda]

knowing your partner well can potentially make writing together a lot easier. ( repost do not reblog ! )

✿ name:  rook ✿ PRONOUNS:    he/they ✿ preference of communication:  discord is honestly easiest, please ask for it. ims are good but they can be lost sometimes bc tunglr's bs ✿ name of muse(s):  Birth name is Sophie Poole, but known as Kit.

✿ EXPERIENCE/HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?):    i've been on tumblr for over 10 years now so....jesus uh....awhile. Quite awhile. I'm thinking I started in middle school so like...16+ years now.

✿ PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED:   i've been on tunglr for 10 years now as i said - and wow holy shit that's....wild. Because it feels like yesterday I was on my other websites -- I also used dreamwidth, some livejournal forums, gaiaonline and my start was with neopets forums.

✿ best experience: i've had so many wonderful experiences roleplaying. it's a great chance to meet and greet with other people. i've found so many good friends who put up with my shit so often. but shout out to meeting @badassxbirdy 10 years ago when I first started roleplaying Mel and the extremely hilarious way Tyler and she met. Demons. Nakedness. Awkward all around. The works. But how that meeting became a friendship that I wouldn't trade the world for is so important to me. I'd love to go back to England and see Emmy again soon and hope the world will let me.

✿ RP PET PEEVES/DEALBREAKERS:    starting with the basic, i'd say most people would agree that hate and drama is a big dealbreaker and I'm one of them. But some of my other pet peeves are people who come into your ask/ims and guilt trip you. And I'm pretty uncomfortable with large amounts of nsf.w, specifically imagery. If your blog is like 3 pages of nsf.w on any given day, blacklist is probably breaking down on my dash and cant block it all. And I'm super easily squicked out by sexual imagery. But that's about it.

✿ fluff, angst or smut:  smut is never an option on this blog. and while I've tried dabbling into it again with my older muses, my fluctuating nature of squickiness about smut can be limiting so it's very very very rare. Of the other two, I used to be well known for writing ONLY angst, but over time I've got much better at writing fluff. But i'm a sucker at exploring trauma, trauma reaction and the emotional outcomes, so more than likely my longer threads are angstier than fluffy.

✿ plots or memes: i want to say both, because plots can be so thereapeautic to see them through. But for me memes are ALWAYS easier to work with. I'm nervous about plotting and can almost NEVER think of anything on the spot when someone says "hey let's plot" and it ruins the vibe. However, if I ever have a thought about our characters or vice versa, I am hELLA ready to slam into DMs.

✿ long or short replies: preference for long replies because I'm a big sucker for novella level emotions. on the other hand, I know I struggle to write a lot. And I'm sure my partner's run into the same thing as well, so sometimes short things are a good way to continue building character dynamics without as much effort or plotting.

✿ best time to write:    when i'm not absolutely dying from exhaustion or mental health issues. I have such a chaotic activity, I'm aware. And I wish it wasn't like that but sometimes my brain just says 'nope' and that's been a lot lately too.

Honestly though, I find that I write a LOT better when I'm at work because when I'm NOT on a call, there's really not much else to do once base chores are done. But at the same time it's at the whim of the EMS gods if I have the chance to sit down and write at all or if I get interrupted in the middle of my flow. Doesn't really matter what time of day though.

✿ are you like your muse(s):   if I'm being honest - most of my muses have SOME bits and pieces of me mixed in. They say write what you know and all that. And as my comfort muse, I'll admit that Kit is a LOT more like me than the rest. While I'm by no means an escaped science experiment that's been brainwashed, a lot of Kit's interaction with the world and in particular her autistic traits, are very heavily based on my own or how I perceived the world in some cases. In other ways we are very different - I am not a nature encyclopedia for one. And also cannot punch to save my life.

tagged: @byanyan & @femtaile tagging: anyone else who hasn't done it, please please please

[thewritetofreespeech]

Raphael Welcome - Extended

Since my original Raphael work is about to hit 1000 likes (whaaatt???) I decided to write something else for our newest angel! This is an semi-extension of the Raphael’s Welcome Devilgram story. No spoilers. Just related to. (yes I made an icon for this; sue me)

Pairing: Raphael x MC x Lucifer (hint of Simeon x MC)

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

“There are tiny screaming heads in this jar.”

“Cherries.” Raphael looked up at [Y/N], his eyes questing for more information, so they reiterated. “They’re cherries. Screaming Cherries. They’re sort of a sour candy delicacy here in the Devildom.”

“Why are they screaming?”

“I don’t know.” [Y/N] replied in perplexity. Perhaps thinking of it for the first time themselves. “Maybe they don’t like to be picked. I’m sure that’s not comfortable.”

“You seem quite comfortable with all this….macabre.” The angel stated. Rising from his crouched position in looking at the jars, to his towering height over the human. “It’s rather unsettling.”

“Me or the macabre?” They jest, causing Raphael to pout and [Y/N] to giggle. “Well, I suppose. But once you’ve been plucked out of reality and thrown into more or less hell, to attend a magical school rule by demons cause some royal prince had a neat idea, you kind of just roll with it.”

The angel snickered back lightly at them. It was the first time Lucifer had him laugh in eons, as he watched the whole scene.

He was happy that Raphael was adjusting, and decided to join them down here. If only for a bit.

Lucifer had always been fond of Raphael. His steadfastness and stewardess towards what was right, as well as to act, had always won him favor with the former angel. Indeed he was happy that the other was adjusting well, but perhaps too well…..

“Lucifer!” The eldest demon brother looked up from his musing to see Simeon approach. Smiles as ever, in his pristine white robes. “I thought that was you.”

“Hello Simeon,” he greeted calmly. Offering him a glance as to not take his eyes off [Y/N] and Raphael. “What brings you here?”

“Raphael mentioned that he was coming out here with you for another tour, so I thought I would tag along.” Simeon offered with a smile. “He seemed very excited about it.”

“He did, did he?” Lucifer asked rhetorically as he watched [Y/N] explain some other otherworldly, Devildom thing to Raphael. His attention rapt on the object in question, but the subtle tint in his cheeks a dead give away to the trained observer that his attention was not wholly on the object.

“Yes he was.” Lucifer looked over to Simeon now. His calm smile still in place, but with a cooler look that to the trained observer knew it was not the easy smile of a man who meant friends. The angel glanced over at Lucifer and they both look back at the scene. “Seems we have further competition.”

“It’s not a competition.” Lucifer stated. Aside from [Y/N]’s heart wasn’t some prize to be won, he didn’t see any competition in anyone other that [Y/N] realizing their undying love for him like he they. Such was the demon of pride. “[Y/N] really must have some magical gift to keep insnaring all of us like this.”

Simeon chuckled. “Yes. Doubtless. I wouldn’t count Raphael out though. He is oblivious to his own charm. Which makes him that much more endearing.”

“So you’ve come to stop him before he gets ahead?”

“No, no.” The angel replied while shaking his head. “I would never stop them. If [Y/N] chooses him, or anyone else, and it is in their heart, then I’ll be happy for them. That doesn’t mean it still doesn’t irk the heck out of me.”

Lucifer watched his former colleague scratch his dark locks in frustration, and he had to scoff out a laugh. “Well. The enemy of my enemy and all that.”

“It’s so good we can be friends again.” Simeon teased back, and the two share a secret laugh as the two subjects of their conversation.

“Simeon! What are you doing here?”

“Raphael mentioned you’d be out here today, and I thought it was so lovely that I might join. I didn’t mean to impose.” Lucifer watched Simeon give a crescent eyed smile & ho-hum shrug, and thought what a cheeky bastard he was for playing it off like that.

“Nonsense!” Of course [Y/N] replied in response to such friendship and non-threatening behavior. “The more the merrier. We were gonna go to this book shop around the corner that Satan recommended for some guide book. Want to come?”

“He’s not suddenly going to come along, is he?” Lucifer asked, in response to this ‘more the merrier’ attitude, and [Y/N] tapped him in the shoulder.

Raphael looked shocked at the jab. But more than that, impressed that the human could strike the great Lucifer and live. The demon seeing his adoration for the human his human growing more in his eyes.

“I’d love to!” Simeon cheered. Seeming to want to break the moment. “After that you must let me treat you to some Madam Scream cakes near by. For intruding. Luke would appreciate a treat too.”

Lucifer grumbled in his chest as they walk on. Never realizing how devious the other man could be. He’d have to keep an eye on both angels now. [Y/N] obvious to their intentions, so he would have to be mindful of it for them.

Enemy of my enemy indeed…..

[obeythedemons]

Greetings [Obey Me!: Diavolo/MC]

Obey Me! Masterlist

--

“I supposed I should start by introducing myself,” a man sitting in the chief judge seat spoke. Curiosity danced in his golden eyes while he gazed down upon the human. The human stared at him with bewilderment. “My name is Diavolo. I am the ruler of all demons, and all here know of me. And someday soon, I will be crowned king of the Devildom.”

"Royalty?” MC spoke quietly. Their eyes widened even further. They swallowed, trying to calm their nerves. Slowly, they leaned forward, bowing towards the man before them.

“Oh? What are you doing?” Diavolo spoke with amusement.

“Bowing, is this not appropriate?” MC gambled to look up at the prince. He laughed at the nervous look they sent him.

“You don’t need to bow. Or is this a human custom?”

“In some cultures, as a greeting, yes,” MC tried speaking without stammering too much. They slowly rose back up to their standing position. “All though, most people bow towards royalty, so I thought that I should.”

“Ah, so you have different customs for greeting people?” Diavolo leaned forward in his chair. His hands clasped together in front of him. “Very interesting. Would you mind showing me different greetings whenever you see me?”

MC pressed their lips into a thin line. The thought of seeing the next king of demons on a regular basis was enough to make them dizzy with anxiety. Still, they thought it best to not make him angry. Slowly, they nodded their head. The prince laughed with joy.

--

“Ah! MC!” Diavolo sounded out with a boisterous exclamation. “It’s wonderful to see you again. I trust Devildom is treating you well?”

MC stiffened before bending a leg behind them and spreading their hands out to their side. They sank towards the ground, keeping their gaze to the floor beneath Diavolo.

“Another greeting?” Diavolo questioned, tilting his head to the side.

“A curtsy. It’s the female equivalent to bowing in Western societies,” MC spoke quietly. They quickly glanced up at him, hoping for his approval.

“So a person’s gender determines what greetings they use?” Diavolo asked. “How come?”

“I think a curtsy is more to do with women traditionally wearing more dresses or skirts,” MC mused out loud. “But I’m not entirely sure, I’m sorry.”

Diavolo dismissed their apology. “Don’t be! I’m just glad you showed me another greeting!” He placed a hand on their shoulder and gave them a bright smile. “Thank you!”

--

They knelt before him with their hand over their heart. “Good afternoon, Lord Diavolo,” they hummed out.

“This one’s interesting,” Diavolo chuckled. “What’s this for?”

“It’s another one for royalty. Though, it’s a pretty old one that you’d see in medieval movies,” MC responded and slowly rose back to their feet, wincing at how their knees popped.

“I see,” Diavolo muttered. “Are there perhaps any greetings for friends that you know?”

“Oh, um,” MC stuttered. “Yes. I-I could show you those.”

Diavolo nodded with encouragement. “Please do, I’d like it if we could use those with one another.” He bashfully smiled. “I’d like it even more if we were friends.”

--

They waved their hand back and forth. “High Diavolo.”

"Ah! I know this one!” Diavolo spoke quickly and waved his hand even faster. “I do use this one. Though, Lucifer and Barbatos tell me it’s unbecoming of the future king if I wave too much. Sometimes, I’ll wave my hand as fast as I can at them just to see how they’ll react.”

“I’m sure you exhaust Lucifer,” MC laughed lightly.

Diavolo froze at the sound. His cheeks flushed slightly. “Yes, I suppose I do,” he spoke softly.

--

“Okay, now raise your hand like this! Good! Now…” MC lightly slapped their hand against Diavolo’s. They grinned as he looked at his hand and then at MC’s.

“Why did you hit my hand?” he questioned.

“It’s a high-five!” MC giggled. “It’s how a lot of friends greet each other. Though you have to be careful to not do it too hard or you could hurt your friend. Sometimes, that’s the goal.”

“To hurt your friend?”

MC shrugged. “Yeah, just to mess with them.”

“I’ll have to try that with Lucifer.”

“No!” MC buried their face against his arm, trying to hide their fit of laughter. “If he finds out I taught you what a high-five is, and you do that, he’ll kill me!”

Diavolo chuckled. His cheeks burned hotly at the physical contact with MC. He placed a hand on the top of their head and ruffled their hair. “Alright, I promise I won’t do it.”

--

MC spread out their arms when they saw Diavolo next. He tilted his head in confusion and spread his own arms out to mimic them. With a giggle, MC shook their head and closed the gap between them, wrapping their arms around him.

“A hug,” Diavolo spoke, not questioning the action. “I am fond of this greeting, more so than high-fives.” His own arms wrapped around MC, squeezing them a tad closer to him.

“You give good hugs,” MC mumbled.

Diavolo’s heart sped up. He hoped that the fabric of his coat muffled the sound and prevented MC from hearing it.

--

“If this one makes you uncomfortable, let me know,” MC spoke. “But first, I need you to lower your face so I can reach it.”

“Oh?” Diavolo leaned forward. He grinned with excitement.

Quickly, MC kissed his left cheek, then moved to the next and kissed his other.  They backed away, looking to the side somewhat embarrassed. Diavolo raised a hand to his right cheek and stared at MC in awe.

“Th-that one’s common in France,” MC spoke.

“I see,” Diavolo whispered out. “May I try it on you?”

MC glanced up to him and nodded slowly. Diavolo bent forward and gently placed his lips on their left cheek. Then, he placed one just as tender on their right cheek. He hummed happily after having felt how hot their cheeks were.

--

“Dia,” MC sounded. They had found him looking out on the balcony of his mansion. Peering over the flickering lights of the nearby city. He turned to look at them. His lips turned upwards.

"Hello, MC,” he spoke, his voice sounding just above a whisper. “What sort of greeting will you be showing me today?”

MC slowly walked towards him. They played with their hands nervously. Looking off to the side, they spoke, “I have one last greeting for you. It’s one for lovers. If you’re not okay with that, I…” they trailed off for a moment. “I understand.”

Diavolo reached forward and took their nervous hands in his own. “No, please show me.”

MC looked up at him. “I need you to lean forward.”

“Alright,” Diavolo whispered. He leaned forward, hoping that this was going where he thought it was. He watched as MC’s gaze flickered from his eyes to his lips and back to his eyes. Nodding, he leaned towards them further. His eyes fluttered shut.

Taking a deep breath, MC pressed their lips against his. He melted into them immediately, but he couldn’t help but grin as he returned the kiss. Too soon, MC pulled away. They breathed heavily and looked away from him. Their hands squeezed his tightly.

"I think,” Diavolo broke the silence. “I think that was my favorite greeting you’ve shown me. And it’s a greeting for lovers?” MC met his golden eyes with their own and nodded. “I see. Then, I hope you’ll only use that form of greeting with me from now on. That is if you perhaps return the love that I feel for you.”

MC’s grip tightened on him. They slowly nodded their head. “I do.”

Diavolo laughed lightly. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against theirs. “You have no idea how happy that makes me. Even though we’re not greeting each other, could I kiss you again?”

[legends-of-apex]

‘Playing With Fire’

Robbie Reyes/Ghost Rider x Reader (18+)

Word count: 3,500

Rating: 18+ (penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, sex with a demon/spirit of vengeance, thigh riding, dirty talk)

Summary: One night when you have the house to yourselves, Robbie comes home craving you like nothing else. The Rider does too. You’re more than happy to partake in this arrangement and the kitchen gets destroyed in the process. Reader is presented as afab and uses she/her pronouns.

A/N: No readers were burned in the making of this fic! You’re immune to hellfire because you haven’t done anything wrong, okay 💀 this is purely nsfw from the get go. Hope you enjoy and please feel free to let me know what you think! Italics is the Rider and Robbie talking to each other just so you know!

Robbie kissed you harder than he usually did when he came home that night. It wasn’t a kiss of greeting but a kiss of need. You were tasting him, moulding his mouth to yours when you felt the demon’s heat flare beneath his skin. The itch he couldn’t scratch.

He had to pull away from you for fear that he might rise to the surface. The adrenaline was still pulsing. There was still blood on his shoes for gods sake.

“Sorry, I’m really worked up tonight. It’s probably safest if I just head to bed.” He might even have to sleep in Gabe’s room tonight just in case. He was away at friend’s house and wouldn't mind anyway, and it was certainly better than the torture that would be sleeping next to you when he was as worked up as he was.

It’s not that he didn’t want you. He did, a little too much given the adrenaline coursing through his veins. But he couldn’t risk losing control around you, least of all when the demon inside wanted you too.

The hellfire swam low in his belly, right beside his own longing for you. Robbie was already filled with a need to have you, whether that was in his arms or in his bed it didn’t matter. He just needed you. The adrenaline from fighting all night, having the Rider out and burning so violently struck a cord within him. Made his control over the demon falter. The leftover adrenaline just seemed to want to swim it’s way over to you and he swore he’d never let it for fear of hurting you.

He couldn’t be sure if it was his own attachment that made the demon so enamoured by you too or if that was an entirely separate ordeal. Just itching to claw out and have his way with you.

Man, keep your thoughts to yourself. I’m not letting you anywhere near her, he directed his thoughts inward.

He was all set to go to bed, just sleep off his thoughts and cravings when he noticed you were wearing his T-shirt and you looked fucking delicious in it.

“That my shirt?” He asked, admiring how it hung across your frame. That was definitely his shirt and you’d paired it with what had to be the tiniest pair of pyjama shorts you owned, “It looks good on you.”

Tear it off, the rider mused.

You wrung your arms around his neck, not at all attempting to hide how your gaze lingered on his lips, “You think so? I wore it just so you could take it off.”

Ha!

“Yeah?” He took note of where your eyes landed, your own lips seeming chapped and so very kissable. Shit, you wanted him too which just made his plans of sleeping this off go soaring out the window and out into the night sky, “You’re crazy, cariña. I’m barely keeping him down right now.”

You let out a laugh, a low one, like you were expecting him to say just that.

“I wouldn’t mind if he did decide to come out and play,” He felt the demon stir within him, “I’ve been thinking about you all night. Thought I’d have to make do with just my fingers, pretending it was you fucking me in their place. I still can if you’re not up for it, just thought you might like to know what you missed when you were out.”

You knew damn well just from looking at him that he was having a hard time keeping the rider contained inside him. His eyes kept flickering between the brown and orange and the heat, that blessed, beautiful heat radiated off him like an open stove.

“God, baby,” He looked off to the side and groaned in pain as the demon tried his damndest to surface.

He really liked the sound of that. Maybe a little too much for his liking and Robbie had to try so very hard to keep himself from thinking about the picture you just painted for him. You’d been thinking about him all night? Mewling and moaning on the couch, teasing your pussy with your own hand when he could’ve come home and helped you?

Shit. And the way you were looking at him right now, eyes all but one blink away from begging for his cock. He was done for.

You’re really gonna leave her unfucked after that?

“This is a risk. One I would never ask you to take.” He never even considered sex with you when he was as pent up as he was right now. No matter how much he wanted you, no matter how much he craved you. He would never endanger you like that, despite the demon’s persistence.

“Please baby, I’m already soaked just thinking about it. You won’t hurt me and you said he can’t hurt me either. So if you want this, it's yours for the taking.”

“I want to, I really do. But If I can’t push him down and he does come out, I can’t imagine he’d be gentle. Are you sure you’re okay with that?” He asked you sincerely and you nodded.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He hated to admit it, the Rider was right. You needed him and he needed you so why not give it a try?

So, he caved.

“If we’re too rough then you tell us and we stop right away, okay?” You nodded and the demon gave his acknowledgment of the arrangement too, “Good, now turn around.”

You turned so you leant over the kitchen counter and his hands were on you right away, peeling off your pyjama shorts. You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he said we and us and how his eyes were fully ablaze right now.

He knelt to gently rid you of your pyjama shorts, placing a single kiss to your exposed ass cheek as he went. The material clung slightly to the insides of your thighs as he peeled down the shorts, exposing your dripping heat to the cold night air.

“Shit, you weren’t kidding when you said you were soaked. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you this wet, chica.” Your thighs glistened with your own slick and Robbie couldn’t get enough of knowing that that was because you’d been thinking about him. Using your own fingers as if they were his cock and yet you still couldn’t recreate the feeling well enough to be satisfied.

He straightened up behind you and snuck his hand around your front. Teasing over your skin until he made contact with your dewy folds. You threw your head back against his shoulder as his fingers began to move, circling your wetness with the precision of someone who knew exactly what you liked.

You let the smell of leather and burn fill your nostrils, overwhelming your senses almost. But that smell was him, that was so uniquely Robbie.

His other hand kept you upright, wrapping across your stomach and holding you against him so when your legs did falter, you knew he had you. Only occasionally did he move to roll and tease your nipple between his fingers through the fabric of his shirt, causing the most glorious friction.

“This all for me?” He asked, groaning at the way you drenched his hand with your juices. If he’d had known you were in this much of a state he’d have been home a lot earlier.

For us, the demon corrected him and he outwardly rolled his eyes.

He was about to internally berate the rider when you whimpered, “Robbie,” you mewled, bucking your hips back into his when he glided one finger inside you, “Please...”

That’s my name she’s moaning. Not yours, He reminded the Rider before turning his attention back to you.

“Whatever you need, just ask and I’ll provide, cariña,” he murmured against your neck, loving the way you rocked your hips back up against him, “That feel good?” He asked once he’d added a second finger. From the way you were gripping his arm and keening he had a fair idea, but he always liked to make sure.

“So good,” you mumbled, “But I want you,” then you said something that made his breath hitch...

“Both of you.”

See, the demon grated at the back of his mind, she wants me too.

He didn’t like the way he spoke about you, didn’t like it at all. But he knew he couldn’t hurt you if he did come out. The hellfire only burned those you deserved it and you’d already touched it once before. But still, he knew how brutal that demon could be and wasn’t sure how much respect demons had for human fragility.

But you wanted this and he was going to give you what you wanted.

“You ready for me?” He asked, pulling his fingers from your entrance and letting you brace yourself against the kitchen counter.

“Yes! Please...” You heard the unmistakable sound of his jeans zipper, the same zipper you’d fumbled with many times before, and heard his belt buckle loosening. The anticipation in your belly growing with each passing second.

He nudged your legs further apart with his knee and ran his fingers through your folds once more, making sure he had a good coating of your slick on his fingers so he could lather up his cock. He guided the crown of it towards your entrance, letting it glide through your folds a few times before he pressed in. Your walls were so wet and wanting by then that he slid in without much resistance at all. Your body always welcomed him in, embracing his length so warmly that he couldn't help but moan at the feeling.

He bottomed out. The zipper of his jacket grazing the flesh of your ass as he did.

“Gonna make sure you can’t take a step tomorrow without feeling the ache from my cock between your legs.” His words made you shudder against the harshness of the counter’s edge, contrasting to the softness of his lips on your neck.

“Jesus, Robbie.” You breathed, delighting in whatever side of him this was.

He was usually so soft, such a gentle and attentive lover but seeing him lose just that tiny bit of composure? It was divine. You could practically hear his heart hammering in his chest, feel the pent up tension in his muscles. He was rougher, needier in his movements and you lapped up every second of it.

His teeth sank into the thickest part of your shoulder. Denting the flesh and marking you as his. You often littered his chest with hickeys and tiny little bite marks that faded in a few days or so, just to remind him of when you’d been dragging your tongue over the flesh and downwards. He always loved seeing those little marks on his skin and thought you might too.

He pulled out too far once and you used the time to turn around to face him. To your surprise, he grabbed you by the hips and roughly lifted you onto the counter before entering you again.

You grabbed his jacket and brought him down for a kiss, trailing your lips along his neck and jaw before reaching his mouth. The stubble littering his chin scraped against you as you moved so sloppily.

The angle you were at now was wonderful, your hips raised slightly higher than his so he stroked and rubbed against your walls all in all the best ways.

You trailed your way back down his jaw to his sweet spot right beneath his jawbone, biting down on the soft patch of flesh on his neck and sucking a flowering bruise into the skin. He loved it when you did that and the groan it elicited from him also let you know just that. All caught breath and delicious whimpers in your ear as he fucked you just a little harder.

You were close. Walls already so sensitive from your own ministrations earlier that you could've came on more than one occasion prior to that moment. But now, with Robbie’s hands gripping you like a lifeline and his cock buried so well within you, it was only a matter of time before you were sent tumbling into orgasm.

“Baby, I’m close!” You told him and he took it upon himself to get you there more quickly. With his thumb now rubbing circles over your clit and his lips on your neck you were down for, heels digging into his back as he helped you ride it out, clinging onto him for dear life. He fucked you right through it, holding you close.

Your legs just began to cease their shaking when you smelt it: sulphur.

My turn.

He couldn’t keep him down any longer and he barely managed to warn you. The clawing at the inside of his skin, the burning. His skin charring and fading away into tiny flaking embers until all that was left was the skull beneath and the fire that engulfed it.

You felt a hand wrap around your throat. It was gentle, barely applying any pressure at all but it was there. That wasn’t something Robbie usually ever did, if anything you were the one usually doing the choking. You turned your head slightly to get a look at him better, and the flaming head of the Rider, eyes burning straight into yours.

Oversensitivity flooded you along with a new wave of gushing wetness.

“Harder.” You told him and he wasn’t sure if you meant for him to choke you or fuck you harder so he did both, “Harder!” You cried out again and yelled when he pulled out of you altogether and picked you up, shoving you over the kitchen table on your back. Utensils flying in all directions as he shoved them to the side.

He leant over you, got right in your face so the flames did lick at your skin. But you felt no pain, no burn. Only warmth. A warmth that danced and curled along your cheek as flames did.

He was looking at you, directly into your eyes. It almost would’ve made you uncomfortable had you not been so turned on by the gaze. You’d only ever seen him once before, and never so up close. He was close enough now that you could see the grooves and indents on the bone of his skull, a few teeth wonky here and there.

You were barely settled on the table before he was on you, he was in you. His thrusts were rough and untamed but it was still very much Robbie’s body. That much you could tell. His cock still filled you in all the pleasant ways as it usually did, only now his strokes were ruthless. Every stroke had your legs shaking.

With each snap of his hips you thought the table beneath you might collapse from sheer force. The table legs scraping and squeaking against the floor as he fucked you.

The Rider’s hand found its way back onto your neck, applying a little more pressure now but you could still breathe easily.

With a single touch of his finger to your shirt it was turned to ash and you were fully bare beneath him. He couldn’t get enough of you, lapping up the sight of you sprawled out before him, taking his cock so well. He got lost in watching himself disappear inside you then reappear a moment later. Revelling in the way your walls stroked and embraced his member.

He no longer had to sit back and passively watch as his human host got to have you all to himself.

His hand made its way to your folds, thumb carefully circling your clit and pressing down on it again and again. That was Robbie’s touch, you could feel it. He was the preciseness and the gentleness whereas the demon moved in broad, rough strokes. Both effective despite their differences in approach.

You took a hold of his wrist, letting him know you were okay. You were more than okay, actually. Having a demon balls deep in your pussy? Things could’ve been a hell of a lot worse.

The Rider didn’t say anything, you supposed it was because he didn’t have a voice box. But his stare told you all you needed to know. His mouth opened occasionally in a silent cry, flames spilling from within.

“Can Robbie still feel this?” You asked, though breathless. And the demon nodded in affirmation. Oh he was feeling everything he usually would, it was just his mind that took a back seat when the rider came out.

Awwww. Even as I’m ploughing her she’s thinking about you.

She’s close, pendejo. Pay attention.

He wasn’t sure how exactly his host could tell that you were close to your release. That you were stumbling towards the edge. But he took his word for it and increased his pace.

Slow down, she’ll tell you what she needs.

He listened, figuring that if anyone knew your body it was him. And for whatever reason he wasn’t just chasing his own release as he usually would on the rare occasion he has an opportunity such as this, he found himself wanting you to have pleasure too. How much of that was Robbie’s influence he couldn’t be sure.

“Right there!” You moaned and the demon listened, focusing his thrusts right where you asked him to.

You felt him twitch within you and realised the hand he had braced on the table's edge sounded like it was sizzling. Looking to the side you saw a handprint burned right into the plastic that laminated the wood beneath and cursed because that would have to be covered up before Gabe got home and started asking questions.

He came like a crash of thunder. Stuffing you full of his hot, molten release until it leaked out of you. He was coming for two, you supposed.

The feeling of such glorious warmth filling you was almost enough to make you come a second time. Almost. You were so over sensitive at that point that you were almost glad that you hadn’t.

With a crack of his neck, you watched as the flames simmered down to a low heat, smoke rising faintly as skin began to grow back into place. It grew and grew, hair and features too until after a dozen seconds or so, you were looking at the face of your lover once more.

He blinked a few times as the fire in his eyes died down, getting used to his own skin again before he set out to help finish what the demon started. Because of course a demon wasn’t particularly well-versed in such intricacies of the human body.

Soon he was lifting you, cradling you gently in his arms as he sat down in one of the dining chairs. He set you down in his lap and you adjusted yourself so you straddled just one of his thighs and began to rock your hips forwards and back, ever so slightly, careful not to go too hard when you were so over sensitive.

“Did he hurt you?” His eyes were back to their usual shade a brown now, forehead creased in concern.

“No. But your shirt on the other hand…” he noted the marred material, “and the table” He looked down and saw the charcoal coloured handprints covering the table from where he’d leant on it.

“Shit.” You bit your lip, holding back a smile once the realisation dawned on his face, “I think we’re gonna need a new table.” He smiled, a bright toothy smile that was rarer than a blue moon these days.

“The kitchen counter isn't much better, hot stuff.” Now that he couldn't fully blame on the demon but not finishing you a second time? That he absolutely would.

It’s been a while. I’ll know for next time.

He watched his release leak out of you, how some of it spilled onto his jeans as you worked your hips, and he wondered briefly if it was hotter than usual.

“Almost there, baby. I’ve got you,” he reassured and you nodded, eyes scrunching shut as you chased your orgasm, “That’s it, cariña. Come for me.”

A few seconds later you did and your entire body quivered as you fell against him. He petted over your hair and ran his fingers over your shaking shoulders until you went limp.

“Tell him he’s welcome any time.” You took his cheek in your hand so he turned to look at you. The relief on his face was something else, the Rider must finally have been sated for once.

You felt his lips against your forehead, then his cheek and heard a soft mumble of “God, I love you,” Followed by “You wanna head to bed?”

“You too,” you replied, surveying the absolute mess that was the kitchen. The random burn marks and utensils strewn about. It’d be a nightmare for you both to tidy and clean. But that was tomorrow’s problem.

You made to move but your legs had other ideas so you had to just sink back into his lap. There was no way in hell your legs were steady enough to walk on right now.

“I think you might have to carry me.”

So he did, gently lifting you into his arms and carrying you to bed for the night. All three of you were spent, satisfied and absolutely exhausted. For the rest of the night the Rider didn’t even make a peep.

Tagging (if you’d like to be added to the ‘horny for ghost rider tag list’ then please feel free to ask!): @icy-spicy @spring-soldier @thewonderfulworldofjay

[heynikkiyousofine]

Nov. 9th, 2022 November InuPrompts: Childhood

My Children’s Childhood

read me on ao3

“How much farther?” Tiny legs struggled to keep up with his father’s as they walked the rocky path, a steep climb to a distant temple.

“Not too much longer, son.” He chuckled, holding out his free hand for him to take. Smiling, Miroku gripped his palm tightly, admiring the comforting jingle of the staff. They had been traveling for almost three full days now, his muscles burning with overuse, but he was determined to show his father that he was capable of being a strong, young man.

Not understanding why they were leaving home, along with all of his friends, Miroku remained silent, but observant. Every so often, he would wake from a nap, or stop mid bite and glance over while his father wasn’t looking, only to see the older man staring at his right hand. Wanting to know what was going on, he bit his lip and looked up, curiosity overshadowing his fear.

“Father, may I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why do you keep staring at your hand?” At his question, his father squeezed Miroku’s gently. He watched him take a deep breath before picking him up in his arms. At five years old, this was Miroku’s favorite place to be and he snuggled up against his father’s chest, ready to hear what he had to say.

“Do you remember the story I told about your grandfather?”

“Yes!” He smiled at his father’s chuckle. “He battled against a demon Naraku, who gave him the wind tunnel and that was passed down to you before he died.”

“Very good, Miroku.” Miroku felt his father’s arms hold him tighter as he continued, “Unfortunately, that wind tunnel will be passed down to you when I pass, but should you defeat the evil man, it would cease to exist.”

“I promise I will!”

“I have no doubt that you will, however I did not tell you how your grandfather died, as I will soon.”

“S-soon?” Miroku’s heart skipped a beat, a frown marring his features. “How soon?”

“One’s death is only known by the gods, but I’m afraid it might be sooner than I have realized.” They came to the top of the hill, a large temple across a field, surrounded by a forest of trees.

“Woah.” Miroku breathed, aweing at the sight. Their temple back home was modest compared to this one. “Is that why we are visiting your friend, Mushin?”

“Yes son, it is. Now, before we go greet my old teacher, just know I love you very much.” His father smiled, giving Miroku a hug, but the child knew something was wrong. Clutching his worn purple rob tightly, they headed off towards the new place he would call home.

“Miroku?” His wife called, her voice soft as their twin girls slept between them. Shaking out of his stupor, he smiled softly at her, his eyes tired as it had been a long day.

“Yes, dear Sango?”

“I just wanted to see if you had fallen asleep sitting like that.” She giggled.

“Ah no, I was just thinking back on a memory.” He mused, glancing down at Kin’u, brushing a dark lock away from her nose. When his wife didn’t respond, he knew she was waiting to see if he would explain. “I was thinking about the last good memory I have with my father.”

“You rarely speak of him, except the few times about his death.” She whispered.

“I do not remember much to be honest, he was not around for most of my childhood, even before his passing.” He shrugged.

“Tell me about the good one.” He smiled, grateful for Sango’s kind understanding and proceeded to tell her, laughing softly at his childish reactions to things. “It seems he cared about you.”

“I have no doubt he didn’t. He brought me to Mushin because he cared so much, but it is more of his absence that bothers me.”

“Because of the wind tunnel.” She stated and he nodded.

“I just am grateful we defeated Naraku, with the help of our friends, before we found ourselves having a family.” He sighed, reaching down to pull up the blanket Gyokuto kicked off in her sleep. Sango reached over, placing her hand atop his, understanding and agreeing. They settled themselves on their futon, sleep gradually overcoming them and Miroku’s final thought before succumbing was a vow to give his children the best life they could imagine.

tag list

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[silverflame2724]

Accidental Martial God WWX

That was exacty what I meant actually but I do have a few more povs if you want.

LQRs reaction to a demonic cultivator ascending, JGS and JGY reaction to the Yin Tiger Tally moving completely out of reach, WQ pondering the true requirements for ascension given WWX doesn't have a golden core yet ascended, WWX musing on Godhood and on his new followers both the good and the more disturbing worshipers.

Maybe LWJ protects the Wen Remnants because WWX asked him to in a dream and after he succeeds (13 years later) he ascends and is finally reunited with WWX.

Lan Qiren did not know what to think. Wei Wuxian, his most troublesome student, a demonic cultivator, had ascended. He’d ascended. How was that even possible? Were the Heavens blind? Why would they allow someone like Wei Wuxian to ascend?

From what Lan Qiren had thought, only those who are righteous and followed the correct path in life like the Lan clan’s founder, Lan An, would be worthy of ascending.

Either the qualifications for ascension were lower than he thought or Lan Qiren had been horribly mistaken about Wei Wuxian’s personality and motivations for using demonic cultivation. That last thought made Lan Qiren feel very uncomfortable.

He’d always been harsh on the boy and disregarded him, even - he ashamedly admitted - punishing him harsher and more frequently than others.

He’d thought he was in the right because of how Wei Wuxian was but…..

But if he was wrong then Lan Qiren owed him an apology.

………………….

Jin Guangshan wanted to scream out in frustration seeing Wei Wuxian ascend. That brat had the Stygian Tiger Seal on him - according to his spies - and now that he ascended, the Seal went with him.

He had had so many plans on bribing Wei Wuxian to his side or killing him when he refused - as well as stealing the Seal - and then taking over the cultivation world, lording over it as he was always meant to be.

Now those plans are ruined. He sighed. Hopefully that bastard son of his can finally prove his usefulness and give him countermeasures or he might retract his favor from him.

……………………

Jin Guangyao’s first thought upon seeing Wei Wuxian ascend was: Oh shit. I have to go make up new plans to help Father.

He knew his father wanted Wei Wuxian and the Seal and didn’t really care how he obtained both or either, just as long as no one traced it back to him. He sighed. This was going to be a big headache. But at least the plans on putting his father as Chief Cultivator were going smoothly. He could only imagine what his father would do to him if even this failed.

..............................

Wen Qing had still been in Yiling, making plans to relocate her family, when the news that Wei Wuxian had ascended had reached her.

Her first reaction was, That’s impossible.

Because it was, right? Wen Qing should know. She cut out his core, after all. But to think he was still able to ascend while he was a demonic cultivator made her wonder what the requirements were for ascending. Perhaps it’s an honest heart? Self-sacrificing tendencies? Or is it a sacrifice of some sorts? She paused. What if.....it was a trial? To test a person’s will? What Wei Wuxian had suffered was.....horrible. Could it have all been just a test from the Heavens?

If that was so, the Heavens really are cru--- 

“A’ Jie, we have to go! Some Jin were spotted nearby!”

Wen Qing gritted her teeth. Members of the branch families of Qishan, regardless of whether they were innocent or not, were captured and subsequently tortured to death by the Jin and sometimes the Nie. Because her family was all in Yiling, they were safe.......but only for now. They had to hurry and escape.

Wen Qing sent a quick prayer to Wei Wuxian, hoping for her family’s safety, and tucked the rest of her belongings in her qiankun pouch, remembering to wrap her arms in bandages to hide the needles she might need to paralyze any Jin that came close.

....................................

Wei Wuxian’s first thought when he landed in the Heavens was, What the fuck.

Then he looked around and looked taken aback and wary at the unfamiliar faces around him. Where the fuck am I?

“Hello.” A rather stoic-faced man greeted.

“Hello.” Wei Wuxian parroted back. The person in front of him didn’t seem to be a threat so he felt a little tension loosen from his shoulders. “Um, Xiansheng? I’m afraid I don’t know where I am?”

“You have just ascended.” The man replied, throwing Wei Wuxian aback.

“Are you pulling my leg?” Wei Wuxian asked. “How is that even possible! I don’t even have---” He swallowed. I don’t even have a core.

“I do not lie. Come, we are wasting time. We must get you washed up and dressed for the induction ceremony.” Seeing Wei Wuxian still frozen, the man sighed, signalled for some people to pick Wei Wuxian up and dragged the struggling man to some quarters.

After absentmindedly washing, drying and changing himself, Wei Wuxian noticed some differences in his body. He wasn’t....cold or hurting anymore. And - he touched his back - he could feel his back! After having his muscles and nerves shredded by Zidian, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to sense touch on his back or even move without pain! But now he can!

He heard the urging of some people and grumbled.

“You will become a god of demonic cultivation.” Was the first thing he heard when he stepped out of the room.

Wei Wuxian choked. “Excuse me?!”

“I said what I said. Now then, if you would please concentrate, you should be able to hear the prayers of the people below.”

Wei Wuxian felt like everything was moving a little too fast for him, but nevertheless complied. Immediately after, a flood of prayers hit him at full force.

“Wei Wuxian!” That was Jiang Cheng! “….Have some fun up there.”

“A’ Xian, do be well. Shijie isn’t there to take care of you so do be well.” Wei Wuxian refused to cry.

“Wei-Xiong! I hope there’s someone up there to supply you with you know what *winks*”

How does someone even wink in their prayers? Wei Wuxian thought amusedly.

“Wei Ying.” That was Lan Zhan. “Wei Ying, I will—be well.”

Ah, Lan Zhan. Always concise even in your thoughts.

Wei Wuxian was a little teary. As much as he was glad to not be a part of the cultivation world considering all the rumors, he did regret leaving behind those that cared for him.

That thought was much more cemented upon hearing…….

“Ah, Lord Wei, the pinnacle of evil, the role model of all demonic cultivators!” Wei Wuxian’s eye twitched. “Please hear my plea for more power! I need it, I need it to destroy everyone who harmed me!”

“Wei Wuxian, I wish to gain power over resentful energy so that I may tear my enemies limb by limb!

“Give me money! You’re a god, aren’t you? Be useful for once and give me some gold!”

“Tch. If I’m going to pray for anything, then it’ll have to be the Seal. You’re a god, now, right? So you have no need for the Seal. Just give it up.”

No matter the good or bad, Wei Wuxian heard the wishes and prayers of the people down below and while some were innocent enough, there were those that wished for death, destruction, tools for torture, power, money, women…….you name it.

It made Wei Wuxian feel a little disgusted with humanity. He cut off his focus from the bad and focused on the prayer he received from his friends and family.

“Wei Wuxian, I heard you became a god.” It was Wen Qing. He hadn’t heard her voice in a long time. “I know this might seem shameless of me after all I did to you, but please. Please guarantee the safety of my family. We’re being hunted down and—”

Her prayer was abruptly cut off, before coming back in full force with notes of desperation. Her family had been captured and taken to Qiongqi Path! Wei Wuxian panicked. He didn’t know how to escape from this place and try to go help her.

The…..person who was watching over him evidently knew what he was thinking about and merely stated that gods cannot interfere with the mortal realm. So he was stuck.

But that didn’t mean he was out of options.

It took a few days, but he managed to wheedle out how to help: via dreams. He merely needed to get into the mind of one of his followers and tell them to help. Much like those prophetic dreams Wei Wuxian had read about as a kid.

So he buckled down, thinking of the best candidate to help him.

……………………………

Lan Wangji looked at the landscape around him and concluded that he was dreaming. Though, it was a little odd that he was aware that he was dreaming. Not that he hasn’t realized he was dreaming before - especially in those many fantasies he had of Wei Ying - but to be aware that this is a dream and to see nothing but a flat landscape was pretty out of the ordinary. 

Anyway, he digressed. What was going on?

“Uhh, Lan Zhan? Can you hear me?”

“W-Wei Ying?!” Lan Wangji couldn’t be blamed for stuttering. He wasn’t expecting this!

“Phew. Oh good, you can hear me. Anyway, Lan Zhan, I gotta be quick about this because I’m kinda sorta bending the rules here, but do you think you can go to Qiongqi Path and rescue Wen Qing and her family?”

“Okay.”

“Huh? Just like that? Not even going to ask me for a reason, er-gege?”

Lan Wangji’s ears flushed red at the address. “If Wei Ying wants to save them, you must have a good reason. That’s enough for me.”

“Ah, Hanguang-Jun.” The title was spoken fondly. “Always so good. I’ll tell you anyway. Wen Qing and her family sheltered Jiang Cheng and I after Lotus Pier fell and even brought back Jiang-shushu and Yu-furen’s bodies! That’s a debt I cannot repay.”

“I understand. I will help.”

He couldn’t see Wei Ying, but could practically feel the amusement from him.

“Wei Ying.”

“Yes?”

“Are......Are you well?”

“Of course I am. I’m actually feeling so much better than before.” Wei Ying grumbled, “I’m not even in pain anymore.”

“You were in pain?” Lan Wangji asked worriedly. “Wei Ying, why didn’t you say anything.”

“Lan Zhan, there was nothing you or anyone else could do to alleviate my pain. It doesn’t matter now. I’m okay.”

Lan Wangji was still worried and wanted to speak to him more, but---

“Ah! Looks like my time’s up!” Wei Ying exclaimed cheerfully as the dreamscape wavered. “See you, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji nodded. “See you, Wei Ying.” I’ll catch up to you soon.

.

.

.

And 13 years later, Lan Wangji kept his promise.

___________________

I didn’t edit this so I’m hoping there’s not too many grammatical errors lol. 

[chaozsilhouette]

Moonlit Musings

The night is such a perfect time to face one’s darkest truths. Shrouded in the moon’s light what can one do but admit to their flaws. It can be a time of rejuvenation and rebirth, only if you let it.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

It was a quiet night.

The full moon hung high in the heavens accompanied by millions of stars. Not a cloud to be seen, an ideal night for passions to run wild. Normally people would be taking out their telescopes or arranging romantic picnics.

Sadly, nights like these only filled Sun Wukong with dread. It was a night like this when he was finally able to return after the Journey. That was the night he learned he had lost a precious treasure.

When he returned, he expected to be greeted by his subjects until Macaque showed himself. He expected to be strangled as the pale furred monkie admonished him for his recklessness. He expected to watch as fury transformed into tearful joy as they embraced one another for the first time in over five hundred years.

But that wasn’t what happened.

The moment he set foot back onto Flower Fruit Mountain, he sensed something was very wrong. Like his previous return trips, his subjects greeted him with loud celebrations. The new mothers showed off their infants. The young ones wasted no time climbing all over him, taking in the scent of their king.

The immortal elders, however, looked concerned.

That was when he realized Macaque’s scent on the mountain was far too faint. Even the magical signature of his clones no longer felt fresh.

Macaque was nowhere to be found. The monkeys reported Macaque had returned a few years after he stopped by the mountain earlier in the Journey but not as his usual self. He didn’t respond to any of their questions. He didn’t even take time to check in on the infants. He didn’t say a word.

He just entered the mansion, but no one saw him leave.

Entering the mansion, Wukong dashed to their room desperate for answers. Opening the doors, he saw the room was horribly empty, sure all of his belonging were exactly as he remembered them, but all of Macaque’s stuff was gone. Macaque’s closet was empty and all his books had vanished. Despite his desperate hopes, there wasn’t any signs of a struggle or hidden messages to be found.

Macaque left of his own free will, but why?

He couldn’t bring himself to sleep in the bed they shared so many nights together. Every time he dared, he awoke expect to be greeted with the comforting warmth of familiar presence, instead he opened his eyes to a cold emptiness.

The lack of answers broke his heart, but he didn’t have time to start tearing the landscape apart trying to find him. Now that he was back for good, he had so many responsibilities to catch up on. He was determined to be a good king for his subjects and that meant ughthinking things through. Plus, he wanted to spend as much time with his master and brothers as possible.

Then there was the concerning fact all his previous allies had severed their alliance with him.

Apparently after all the fuss with the Demon Bull King, word had spread that Wukong broke their alliance by disrespecting protocol and attacking the royal family. Plus, his new position as a defender of humanity annoyed more than a few respectable demons. Combined with the sheer number of powerful demons he killed on the Journey cemented the idea that having an alliance with him would only end poorly.

He was banned from court meetings and the other kings in the surrounding areas wanted nothing to do with him. The chaotic nature of his past had finally caught up to him and in the worst possible way.

He was still recognized as the Monkey King of the Sun Court but was effectively blacklisted. No one wanted to mess with him, but they also didn’t want to interact with him. Not good for his mental health to say the least.

Simians are naturally social creatures. Wukong was used to constantly being around other people and learning new things. His time imprisoned was not kind. His first year of freedom had him constantly climbing over his brothers and master just to reassure himself that this was real.

And now that he couldn’t reconnect with old faces unless it was through a battle to the death…It forced him to delve into old memories. Memories that while sweet only made the emptiness more pronounced.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

Sun Wukong smiled as he watched Macaque’s reaction.

The six-eared monkie was furiously pinching the bridge between his eyebrows after he shattered a boulder with a careless headbutt as though it would make his life mercifully easier. “You’ll have to explain it to me again. What did you mean by ‘no longer under Yama’s jurisdiction’?”

“Exactly what I said. I was napping. Having some time to myself, when out of nowhere some idiots tried to take my soul to the afterlife.” Wukong explained as though having entities of death rip out your soul to drag it to the underworld was no big deal.

“Bet you weren’t happy.” Macaque couldn’t help but smirk at the flippant tone. He just made it so difficult to stay mad.

“Not in the slightest. I barged my way to the top brass, bunch of cowards called the Ten Kings (totally undeserved titles by the way) and demanded what the fuck was going on.” He was still ticked off even if the payoff was sweet. Seriously! Did immortality mean nothing to these cowards? They couldn’t even play it off as him dying in battle. He was in the peak of his youth! “Can you believe they tried to play it off as a misunderstanding? Should have smacked the loudmouth when I was there.”

“So, through a series of ridiculous events, you erased your name from the records of the dead.” Macaque could easily piece together the rest from there. No matter how ridiculous the odds. He learned never to bet against his friend when a problem could be handled with brute strength or intimidation. If it didn’t look like such an answer was possible, clearly, they hadn’t experienced the force of a determined Wukong. Something about facing a ticked off monkie of practically infinite strength and invulnerability left harden conquerors pissing themselves.

It was hilarious.

“Not just mine. In my infinite wisdom, I erased the names of several of the monkey inhabitants of esteemed Flower Fruit Mountain, including yours.” Wukong playfully booped Macaque’s nose.

Turning away to hide a light blush, Macaque scoffed to cover his embarrassing response. “Typical. I can’t leave you alone for five minutes without you doing something insane.”

“I know. I’m just that awesome.”

“So what? Are we now double immortal?” That was the question wasn’t it. Due to their master��s instructions, they were immortal and ageless, so what exactly would this give them? He didn’t feel any different. He couldn’t sense any new powers or changes in his instincts.

His counterpart, however, had other things on his mind. “Who cares. All I know is that those idiots have no control over our souls anymore.” And with that the King took his rightful place across Macaque’s lap as the other returned to his scrolls.

Wukong instead took the time to examine his friend, who finally gained enough confidence to fully drop his glamour and embrace his true appearance.

He still couldn’t believe Macaque actually had six ears. The weird part was how natural they looked, almost as if seeing him with only two was bizarre. The coolest part was how each pair softly glowed a different color. Blue. Purple. Red. Sometimes Wukong would just stare at them, imagining that he could see glittering stars emanating from that glow.

Suddenly those magnificent ears twitched. Macaque didn’t bother looking up from the bamboo scroll. “A trespasser...multiple, boar and vulture demon. Another hunting party”.

“Again. Ugh. Don’t these idiots ever give up!” Don’t get him wrong, Wukong loved a good fight. What better way to prove how superior you are to others than to steal what’s most precious to them? But even he was starting to grow bored with the sheer number of hunters that thought kidnapping his subjects was a quick cash grab.

After the fifth army he returned in pieces to the surrounding upstart lords, you’d think they’d take a hint.

Thankfully he wasn’t the only powerhouse on the mountain. “I haven’t tasted blood in a while. Why don’t I defend the kingdom while your highness enjoys a show?” Macaque set aside his reading material, eyes glittering with bloodlust.

Wukong returned the smirk with one of his own. “I’m always up for a good thrashing. One request: make it glorious.”

“Don’t I always.” Macaque joked as he retrieved his spear from his own shadow.

Wukong summoned his cloud and claimed a good vantage point. Once again, he marveled at his friend’s hearing. Judging by the distance it would have been at least three hours before he would have detected their presence.

Kicking back, he transformed some hair into a fruit platter and waited for the screams.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

To this day, Wukong knew Macaque was alive. Thanks to his efforts combined with the intense training, the monkie was double immortal. Besides, that monkkie was way too stubborn to die. He would survive purely on spite if he had to.

Macaque left, but why?

While he may have effectively isolated himself, that didn’t mean he didn’t hear about the other courts. A few centuries ago, he heard rumors about the formation of a new court by someone under the title of the Macaque King. Supposedly they were a powerful monkie who knew way more than he had the right to. For a brief moment, Wukong dared to hope it was his old friend, but it didn’t last. The few recounts he caught described him with black fur. Besides, he knew how much Macaque hated the title of King. Even when Wukong offered him the position as co-ruler of his kingdom, the pale monkie adamantly refused.

Still, he was curious.

For a few weeks he could have sworn he detected a familiar scent hiding underneath Mk’s. And he wasn’t the only one who noticed. A few of the immortal monkeys questioned him on the mango infused scent and what his plans were. It was almost too much to take in.

To think he returned to teach his student instead of showing his face. It hurt just to think about it. He chose to ignore the beckoning scent until it became impossible to ignore MK’s leap in progress. Then it just vanished like it hadn’t been testing his patience. Like it hadn’t brought him to the brink of shaking the kid upside down until he confessed where his old friend was hiding. The kid probably grew wise, or someone told him to change his bathing habits, and by the next training session it was all but gone.

Dragging his hand down his face, Wukong tried to reevaluate his thoughts.

Getting mad at the kid wasn’t going to solve anything. He knew he hadn’t been the most attentive master. Hell, the whole hammer exercise at its core was a desperate attempt to remove a painful reminder of better times. His master would be disappointed in how he was running away from his problems, but would encourage him to take the steps to be better. Zhu Bajie would be a sarcastic little shit, trying to get him riled up so the monkie would prove him wrong. Sha Wujing would sit him down and wouldn’t let him leave until they talked everything through.

He had to make things right with the kid. He deserved a better master. And this New Years he was gonna get one.

He spoke, praying the winds would carry his voice to his Warrior.

“Macaque. I know it’s been a while, but…I-I want to talk. I know you’re out there, somewhere I can’t reach. I miss sparring with you. I miss lazy days napping in the shade by your side. I miss defending the mountain as we held contests to see who could take out the most trespassers before their common sense kicked in. I miss you. Please come home.”

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

The moon was high in the sky. Stars danced in the heavens as the faintest hints of vibrations pulsed through the concrete from the late-night dance clubs. MK lay awake, his mind struggling to make sense of it all.

Ever since Macaque disappeared in order to remain undetected, he kept thinking about his relationship with the Monkey King. Sure, he was being trained and he was definitely making progress. The monkie was still on his case for supposedly cheating on him with another mentor. Nothing MK said or did could make the monkie think otherwise. Thankfully, he was no longer shooting him suspicious glares, but the underlying tension remained.

The sad truth is they just weren’t that close.

He would have expected to learn more about the Monkey King on a personal and emotional level, but he just couldn’t get past that wall. Their training sessions felt more like just the Monkey King arranged just to get it over with. There was no passion at all.

Okay, perhaps that last bit was an exaggeration.

When you peered past the arrogance and pride, you found one socially awkward monkie. It was similar to Red Son the more he thought about it, both seemed to find it difficult to talk to or relate to others in a friendly setting. Sure, Monkey King projected a friendly demeanor and called him “bud”, but if he didn’t know any better he could have sworn the monkie was afraid to take that final step.

The last few sessions had taken a bit of a turn in a positive direction as Sandy would say. Maybe Monkey King decided it was time to make a change? Maybe this was all a trick so MK would lower his guard and reveal Macaque’s identity? Maybe he was just tired and should have conked out an hour ago?

Maybe.

Reality was so different from the legends. When Tang first introduced him to the Monkey stories, he was hooked. He loved listening to the tales of the infamous trickster that flipped off every major religious figure with unbridled confidence. Meeting the Great Sage in the flesh was like a dream come true until he was exposed to the King’s less pleasant tendencies.

Mk couldn’t help but wonder just how much confidence the Monkey King had in his training skills. Did he ever train someone before? Could MK talk to someone about this without appearing even more ungrateful than he already looked? Why didn’t he stop Red Son from unsealing his father when he was there? Why didn’t he simply seal the entire family when they were reunited? Why did the five times immortal sage decide that now he needed to train a disciple? Was Monkey King not telling him something important?

He had so many questions and not even the foggiest idea of where to start looking. Or perhaps he did?

The truth was he missed Macaque. The dark-furred monkie may have only taught him for a month, but the progress he made and the level of care he was exposed to made him feel as though he had finally unlocked the ability to fly.

He missed the regular grooming. He missed learning about the demon community. He missed learning new ways to mess with Red Son through appropriate court manners.

Watching the fire user freeze up at the term “honorable prince of the Iron Bull Court” just made him laugh, when his hair combusted it really matched his face. Now that he thought about it, were those horns starting to peek out of his forehead? And maybe the slightest hint of a tufted tail swiping the bottom of his coat? Seeing the demon frantically compose himself was a treat he didn’t know he needed. He still had the video saved as one of his favorites, didn’t hurt that Mei caught it at the perfect angle.

Oh yeah, he missed that.

With any luck, New Years would be the start of something better.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

On an island that remained surrounded by unquenchable storms, a single black-furred monkie sat cross-legged in a secluded part attached to the palace. All around him fruit trees and bushes bore a hefty bounty releasing an intoxicating scent of life.

Ears twitched.

Macaque opened his eyes, aroused from his meditation. It was odd. He had the faintest sensation that someone had been talking about him. Now that wasn’t exactly unusual, he made plenty of allies and enemies across the centuries. What was odd was that the voice sounded like someone he once cherished.

But that couldn’t be right.

The deceptive silence of his personal orchard gave him no answers. Not that he really expected it to.

For some reason he refused to identify, Macaque turned to the single peach tree in the grove. A tribute from his past and a reminder of his mistakes. But it was also a valuable resource once he learned the truth about the peach’s properties. He used its powers to protect many happy relationships, if only it could have helped him so long ago.

No matter.

He still had many projects to work on, including one successor just rife with insecurities. He honestly felt bad ducking out as he did. If things were different, he would have offered him a new life. His Stars were always happy to welcome a new member into their budding community.

As a bonus, his presence would have interrupted their constant attempts to set him up with new dates. He adored their efforts but being paired with partners who only wanted power or he would view only as friends was not something he enjoyed. Although watching them mentally destroy those they didn’t find suitable for him was quite entertaining.

Either way, New Years was coming up fast and he still needed to approve a few changes. His Stars were determined to make sure this event topped last years in every way possible, but they had to make sure they didn’t set the orchard on fire again. Or worse, they could launch the fireworks into the storm barrier. He wasn’t sure why or how, but the tornadoes and clouds turned different colors as explosions rang throughout the night.

It was beautiful but lost its charm after the third day.

[miss-smutty]

Brothers - Chapter 11

Unforgiven

Summary- You're hit with the bombshell of Chris coming home after a month away and after he left you questioning everything, completely heartbroken. How were you meant to confront him after so long?

Word count- 2K

Pairing- Chris Hems x reader

Warnings- Swearing, a smidgen of violence

18+ only!

Posted: 3rd August 2021

Taglist:- @everything-is-awesomesauce @nicolemt23 @innerpaperexpertcloud @pandaxnienke @chickensarentcheap @jjpogueprincess @longlostinanotherworld @mostly-marvel-musings @darklydeliciousdesires

Brothers Masterlist <<<

You haven't felt like this about anyone for a very long time and Chris has just made your fear of rejection all too real. You couldn't help the way you felt about him though, still feel about him. You love him and he'd told you he loved you, you'd felt it when he'd said it, you'd seen the look in his eye. So why were you even questioning it? 

In the morning you finally felt the courage to check your phone - Liam had stayed with you all night until you'd calmed down enough to go to bed when the sun had rised and you were no longer taunted by your demons in the dark.

There's multiple text messages and missed calls filling up the screen of your phone. 

I'm sorry I had to leave like that, are you ok? Xx

Read the first one. Your eyes scanned over the rest, mostly saying the same thing.

Y/N please answer. Let me explain myself. I didn't have time to speak to Liam about it all right then and I didn't want to leave on a bombshell.

His excuses made you feel sick to your stomach. You could understand why he did it but there were much better ways for him to go about it that wouldn't have left you feeling heartbroken.

You sighed heavily, putting your phone back onto your bedside table a little bit too forcibly and sinking back into your feather pillows. If you gave in to your impulses you would've text him back straight away but knowing deep down that would be the wrong thing to do, you restrained yourself. It took willpower but you just about managed, he'd made you feel like shit there was no way you were going to forgive him so easily.

*********

As the weeks passed by it became more and more difficult to ignore Chris, he wasn't giving up without a fight which admittedly made you feel a little bit better. You'd ignored him for so long it had become a habit and the fact he wasn't giving in told you he definitely did care about you but he'd made a major mistake and you were going to make him pay.

"Have you spoke to Chris yet?" Liam asked you over lunch. 

"Nope." A sly smile played on your lips, you were kind of enjoying making Chris sweat but you'd never admit it.

"Maybe you should, he's been blowing my phone up trying to get in contact with you. You do know he's coming home this week?"

"What? You stopped with your fork in front of your lips, eyes wide. "No I did not know that, has it been a month already?"

"Uh-huh, and its gonna be massively fucking awkward for me if you two are still arguing." 

"We're not arguing..." You brush your hair behind your ear, sitting up straight in your chair. " We're not even speaking." 

The thought of Chris coming home fills you with dread and excitement all at the same time. You're so excited to see his face and yet dreading the thought of having to deal with your problems.

"When will he be home?" You ask, trying to be casual.

"I don't know, he just said this week. I haven't exactly been speaking to him myself, I'm still pissed off with him."

"And you didn't think to ask what day?.and why are you pissed off? He didn't do anything to you." Your voice was a little too high, it always was when you panicked. Chris could come home at any minute and you weren't mentally prepared for it.

"No, but don't you think him hurting you effects me? You've had a face like a slapped ass for a month for a start and if you want to know so badly why don't you call him?" Liam raised his eyebrows at you, unamused at the whole messenger thing he had going on.

"Pfft, I can't." You push your bowl of food away, suddenly not very hungry anymore. "It's been so long I wouldn't even know what to say." 

"Your drama is honestly making me go grey." Liam runs his hand through his hair, looking at you with raised eyebrows.

"I think you'd look pretty good as a silver fox." You tease.

"I would but still, please sort it out." He gives you the glare. "Anyway, I'm going to have a little get together tonight. You up for it?" 

"A get together or a party?" 

"Well you know how it usually goes, it starts off as a get together but usually turns in to a party." 

"Exactly, well I'm off out with the girls so we'll be there later." 

You finished up your meals, Liam refusing for you to pay as usual, he was such a gentleman, you really wish his brother was a little bit more like him in that way. 

*********

You help Liam greet his guests, smiling and mingling as you go. The ratio of women to men doesn't suprise you one bit, Liam was newly single after all but you roll your eyes anyway after leading yet another group of girls through to the living room.

You watched Liam greeting the girls with the most genuine smile on his face than you'd seen in a while, he was happy, finally and it brought you great pleasure.

Your heart stops beating when you hear Chris's distinctive Australian accent carry above the noise in the room, you can feel his eyes burning into your back as you turn around to find him. Your tummy fluttering when your eyes meet, unable to hide how much you've actually missed him from your face. He smiles sheepishly at you making your tummy somersault, excusing himself politely from the group of girls that had circled around him and making his way over to you, when Liam steps in his way, blocking his path.

"I don't want to make a scene here but you've got some serious explaining to do." Liam says sternly.

"I know... I... I wasn't honest with you before I left." 

"That's putting it lightly. Y/N told me everything." You watched the exchange between the brothers, your nerves going into overdrive. You could hear Liam's friend talking to you but you weren't focusing on him, his words just a distant noise, your attention solely on the brothers. Brothers who looked like they were about to fight. Because of you.

"What are you, her bodyguard? If there's anyone I need to answer to it's Y/N, are you gunna let me past?" You watched as Chris' jaw tensed, the muscles in his neck becoming more prominent and you knew things were getting heated.

"If you're gunna treat her like shit Chris then yeah I am, the manly thing to do was come clean. It was a pussy move and you know it." People were starting to watch and your cheeks were burning but you were routed to the spot. Unable to move all you could do was stare blankly.

"Are you calling me a pussy?"

"Yeah, I'm calling you a fucking pussy." Liam shoved Chris square in his chest, he barely moved but his jaw clenched together, the tendons in his neck straining with rage.

Why, why, why were you stood watching this and not doing something about it? Your two favourite people in the whole world were about to fight each other and you're stood watching like it's a fucking soap opera.

You could see Chris thinking, debating about what he should do. Should he give his brother a free pass - he did deserve it, or should he fight back - he'd already called him a pussy he didn't want people actually believing it. 

He decided to let it go, moving past him to get to you when Liam shoved him again, this time he wasn't expecting it and almost fell over, recovered himself and then went for Liam. Your mouth hung open, your legs started moving before you registered what was happening.

"Stop! Please stop!" You screamed, Liam's friends coming to the rescue and holding them both back. Tears in your eyes at the thought of them fighting each other

You looked up at Liam's friend holding Chris back. "It's ok, I've got him." You took Chris by the hand, leading him away from Liam, weaving through the crowd that had gathered, pissed off that they'd caused such a scene in public but you needed to get them away from each other so they could both calm down.

Chris walked into your room and you closed the door behind him, resting your head against it for a minute.

"What the fuck was that?" You question, turning around to face him.

"Don't ask me, what exactly did you say to Liam while I was gone?" 

"Are you really trying to blame me? I told him the truth Chris, like you should've done." He hung his head in shame. His elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands.

"Yeah I know but let me explain."

"I haven't got time for it now." You start shuffling through your wardrobe. "I need to get ready." You say with your back to him.

"Ready for what?"

"I'm going out with the girls." You turn around slowly, looking at him, taking him all in. You've missed him so much, why does he have to be so damn attractive.

Then he gives you that sexy smile and your knees almost cave but you remind yourself of the things he said, willing yourself to stay angry with him.

"Do you have to go? I've only just got back." You start going through your wardrobe, if you had your back to him you could distract yourself from the heavy sexual tension between you. The need to run up to him and wrap you legs around him, telling him all was forgiven while you kissed every inch of his damn fine body. 

"Yeah I'm going. You don't get to treat me like that and then just come back and act like nothings happened." 

"Y/N can you please stop being so stupid, this is ridiculous." He said sitting down on the end of your bed with his head in his hands.

"I'm being stupid? Are you for real?" You take off your clothes until you're left in just your underwear, turning around to look at him with your hands on your hips.

"Ok sorry that was the wrong thing to say, I've been trying to speak to you every day for a month. Did you not miss me?" He looks up, his eyes widening when he sees you in your underwear.

"You're always saying the wrong thing aren't you?" Now can you leave, I need to get ready and I want to do it in peace." You point to the door, your hand falling limply by your side when you watch Chris licking his lips, his eyes focusing everywhere but your face.

"Do you have to go? I think I can find a way of making you forgive me." 

"You can't just fuck your way outta this one Chris, I'm not a toy for you to do as you please with." 

"You're so hot when you're angry... I'm really trying not to fuck you senseless right now." He bites on his fist watching your anger falter.

"We're just friends aren't we?" You say rather bitterly

"We're not just friends and you fucking know it, friends don't do this shit -" he says as he moves in front of you, his hands wrapping around you and resting on your plump cheeks. "I told you I loved you and I fucking meant it. Can we please forget what I said? I didn't think about it until after I'd said it and I tried to call you straight away to apologize."

"Do what?" You reply trying to keep your calm as his hands electrify your body.

He cups your ass and lifts you into his arms, you instinctively wrap your legs around his hard torso. He lays you back onto the bed and kisses you deep, his tongue desperately finding yours as he thrusts his bulge into your tingling pussy. Your body betrays you as you let out a low moan, you feel him groan from deep inside as his prehistoric nature takes over.

"That." he says breathlessly.

"I'm still going out tonight but I'll be back later." You say between him kissing down your neck, savouring every last inch of your taste. "You can think about how you can make it up to me while I'm gone and before that you better go grovel to Liam, I think he's even more pissed off than me."

"Oh baby, you're not even going to know your own name by the time I'm finished with you never mind anything else." 

"This doesn't mean you're forgiven, this means I'm giving you a chance."