#*through clenched teeth* i love being an artist i love being an artist

[skullinacowboyhat]

hands but gay and yearning. [mai/nat, both she/her]

[elderwisp]

The Sims is love. List 5 facts about a favorite sim couple of yours, and why you love them so much. Then pass this on to 5 others, whose sim couple(s) you also love. 💘💕

AHHH this is so fun! ok ok, i try to very seldomly talk about Atlas and Taryn and there's a lot behind that decision but I'll give you four facts as well as something about their initial concept (with a few pics from 2018 gwoah!) Also here's some pics I took while messing around with Reshade a while back :3

𝕬𝖙𝖑𝖆𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕿𝖆𝖗𝖞𝖓 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

ONE:

i lurv,,, i love writing their romantic scenes together so much. it's one of the few things i have written ahead in the docs. whether it's full scenes or different chunks of dialogue. however, the reasoning for enjoying it so much is atlas is a creative artist and taryn is a romantic novelist so when i combine the two, i can be as fluffy as i want with the way they speak to each other. on top of that they have a really sweet emotional connection which allows for them to communicate through nonverbal means

TWO:

atlas doesn't sleep much, but when we do see him knocked out, taryn is usually near. (one and two) in the beginning of their relationship, taryn takes it as she might be a bore but atlas quickly dispels that. however, in the present as neither of them are speaking, atlas will think about taryn before he attempts to go to bed </3

THREE:

they are connected through a very important milestone in both of their lives which we will learn in the prologue. the two understand each other deeply because of this moment, this is what helps them see each other clearly. that sounds so ominous LMAO MY BAD ;A;

FOUR:

how they get together came to me in a dream which is also how i built the specific lot for that scene. there's also specific posing in mind i have for that to how atlas looks at taryn from how she cradles his face... AHH! i actually can't wait to show everyone that. if you're extra curious, this is the song i imagine playing :3 here's a lyric too because i'm EMOTIONAL: "Teeth clenched in moonlight A limitation, want to ignite Reset my biology"

FIVE: the past

ah, okay so! their relationship wasn't supposed to progress much. really all i had planned was taryn had been in an on and off again relationship with rowan in which the both weren't the best to one another. rowan being incredibly manipulative and taryn eventually breaking his trust through a one night stand with atlas. atlas's friendship with taryn tanks after that moment. i honestly ended up hating it so much. there characters weren't very developed to begin with, almost clean slates so it was incredibly difficult to write and ended horribly for everyone involved >.< pics from 2018 under da cut bc i will NAURT be jumpscaring anyone today

[fandom-monium]

Sweet Poison - Part 5

Summary: In which you avoid Zagreus, until one day you can't. "What can I say? The life of a demon is a hard one."

WC: 2.4k

TW: Zagreus (Hades Video game) x Succubus!Reader, GN!Reader, a succubus AND an artist bc sex is just work and food, au where in game Zag commissions the paintings using gems, what if boons actually affected Zagreus, slow build, strangers to friends to lovers trope, sex work, fluff, fluff and humor, mutual pining, idiots in love, mild angst, pheromones (technically it’s succubi magic aura), Zagreus is at least 6 ft convince me otherwise, eventual smut, MINOR descriptions of blood and injuries. Physical touch, affection. Just Zagreus being soft and doting and kind to you this chap

Damn her, damn her, damn her, damn—

Teeth clenched, your vision swims as you grip the rim of the basin for balance, washing off the blood as red drops swirl and mix like watercolor paints before the water clears again. It’s days like this where you wish you can get stronger, more powerful, but there’s a limit to everyone’s full potential, and unfortunately you met yours a long time ago.

Still, it’d be nice.

Contrary to popular belief, succubi can be vicious warriors, they’re simply in their own class. Their abilities, their magic, while never measuring up to gods, could ruin an army in a master’s hand, but it has its limits. Especially amongst demonkind.

As the water calms, you grind your teeth at the sight of your reflection, assessing the damage. Blood and darkness, that’s going to bruise, that one’s definitely going to scar, and you curse the universe because your job’s about to get that much harder now that you may have to use a glamor. Oh, you swear next time you get your hands on her, you’ll—

A resounding rumble quakes the room.

Your chamber door.

You curse. But you're sluggish from the blood loss, and before you can hurl yourself out the balcony, Zagreus steps in without his usual greeting, panting and laurels slightly askew, like he rushed in knowing you’re here. Wild eyes dart to every corner of the chamber, as if he half-expects you to be hiding, until they fall on you, embarrassingly hunched over your healing fountain.

One glance at your battered face, he’s beside you in a flash.

"Zag—”

“What happened?” His tone is surprisingly strained as his hands, clean of blood and gore, reach for you. Then something flickers across his face that makes him hover, his eyes—red and green and wide—taking in your new wounds with horror.

If only you had the energy to cower, shield your bruised face. He’s the last person you want to see right now, and your vision blurs, hating how he of all people is seeing you like this—broken, imperfect.

“I’m fine, Zagreus,” You croak, your voice quiet as you swallow your insecurity like bile. A poor attempt to put some distance between you, you try to step aside, but your knees buckle, and before you know it, you crumple like a house of cards.

Of course, Zagreus catches you—asshole—strong, lean arms gentle as he hugs you to his chest, holding you up as if you’re the most precious of gems. Hate how quick you are to relax in his hold, clay in his hands. Blood and darkness, it’s so easy, so quick, so… right.

You squirm against him, but his grip tightens slightly, mindful of your injuries.

“Sure you are,” Zagreus snorts, though he gazes down at you so soft and sweet you want to shout, wondering if he tastes the same. “Come on, I’ll patch you up.”

Unable to protest, you let him carry you like a rag doll, limp in his hands before he gently props you up on the lounge chair. You lean against the back with a groan. “Really, I'm—”

“'Fine', yes, you’ve said that,” Already, he’s rummaging through your cupboards, at least the ones he knows aren’t filled with art supplies. “Do you have bandages?”

“… Second last cabinet on your left.”

Without a word, he walks through your chamber with self assurance, maneuvering around your easel and stepping over splayed out canvas as they finish drying, careful where to leave his burning footprints. He finds what he’s looking for easily enough, a moment later pulling up a chair and plopping down in front of you. His hands are methodical as he lays everything out; two bowls of water, a small cloth, and the saddest little first aid kit.

In your defense, you hardly end up like this.

You watch his hands as he dips the towel in the water then wrings it out, before gently dragging it across your exposed arms. You flinch as he begins wiping off the grime.

“I know,” His tone is soft, terribly understanding as he continues. “Give it a minute, you’ll feel much better soon.”

You want to snort, snap at him that you’re fully aware of how it works, but the cool sting of water, the mild burn from the open gashes and cuts along your skin, is quick to clench your jaw shut. Pain ebbs across your body, and you watch him speechless, the rhythm he follows, painfully gentle as he drags the cloth across your skin, careful not to aggravate your wounds. Clean water, wring out, wipe, rinse, repeat; he even goes out of his way to change the water, and the relief that comes after would make you sink into the couch, if not for Zagreus's silence.

He's yet to say a word since he entered. He'd asked you already, yes, but you take him for someone who doesn't give up that easily. You expected more of a fight. Now, you're not so sure.

"Zagreus, I… I—" It's hoarse, hardly above a whisper, but it's a start.

You feel him pause before choosing to lay into your newfound cowardice like a wet blanket, avoiding his eyes. Who knows what you'll do if you meet his gaze.

Sensing your hesitation, Zagreus clears his throat, "Perhaps you should save your energy. We can chat when you're healed."

You shake your head, though it only makes the room spin. "No, I need to tell you this now. Before..."

"Before what? You start avoiding me again?" He resumes, wrapping gauze around your forearm, his touch ghosting your skin as he holds your arm out. There’s no malice or respite in his tone, soft and withdrawn as it comes, but you wince. If anything, it’s bittersweet, with an acceptance he long held before he approached your chamber, and it leaves your heart clenching. You don't know how to respond. Are you that obvious?

"(Your Name)... did I do something wrong?"

You blink, whirling to face him.

Zagreus bites his lip, emotions he can’t fathom threatening to spill out of him. That's always been his flaw, according to Father. He's attuned to his emotions, more than Nyx, Father, literally any of the chthonic gods. He stares as his hands tremble, attempting to knot the bandage. "Because if I did, please just tell me what it is so I can make things right between us."

"No-no, you've done nothing wrong," You assure him, sitting up through the pain even when Zagreus protests. When he raises a brow at your answer, you rush to add, "I swear! I've been busy with... work." Technically, this isn’t a lie.

"... 'Busy'. Is that how you got these?" Zagreus holds out your mangled arm by your hand, flicking his eyes over your body in the way you hate most. You'd take aura-induced desire over this: pity, disgust.

You wrench your arm away, cradling it in your lap and shrugging. "What can I say? The life of a demon is a hard one."

"(Your Name), who did this?"

You freeze. Nerves go haywire, and you squirm under his piercing gaze, burning through you as you contemplate lying to him, but you know better. At this point, you know each other too well, and—blood and darkness—he'll see right through you. There’s a defeated sigh, then a quiet, "Alecto."

Zagreus's eyes darken, but you wave him off. "Don't worry. In her defense, I kind of deserved it."

Zagreus sputters, taken aback, staring at you as if you offended him. "'Don't worry'? Don't—how can you say that? First I've seen you in days, and you're—" A sharp intake of breath, and he clenches his jaw so hard you're surprised it doesn't break.

"It's not a big deal. I disobeyed direct orders, and..." You trail off, thinking back.

Since meeting Zagreus, seeds of doubt sprout in your chest, in your lungs, suffocating you as you question the system you’ve worked under for so long. You’ve never questioned who you are and what you do, not to say you love your job, but it’s your life. Yet who’s to say there aren't poor souls sentenced to the wrong level? Genuine and kind, noble and passionate—people who don't deserve eternal damnation.

The possibility of your victims being innocent and undeserving makes you want to hurl, tortured shrieks and endless tears flashing across your memory and echoing in your ears. Your stomach clenches just thinking about it.

"(Your Name), I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Zagreus starts, mouth opening and closing like he can't find the words, his breaths coming quick and ragged. He just stares at you, eyes gleaming with an emotion you can't quite place—as if your virtuous act breaks his heart, crushes his soul. Then he blinks, and it's gone, shaking his stupor. “This is my fault…”

You raise an eyebrow, “How is this your fault?”

“I… I just… you shouldn’t have…” You frown as Zagreus struggles, brow furrowed, clearly pained as he thinks over his answer, like whatever he says next determines your fates. Seeming to think better of it, he shakes his head and brings your hand to his lips, and you flush, your heart skipping as his lips graze over the bandages, warmth seeping through the material and into your wounds like a healing salve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” He rasps between each kiss, trailing up the back of your hand and up your forearm, like they’ll heal the wounds faster. Like this is the best he can do, like this is all he can do. Not that you plan to stop him.

Your face burns, but you let him apologize, though you’re not sure what for as he stops before your shoulder. At some point, he slotted himself between your thighs, and now face to face, he studies your cuts and bruises, already fading away as his eyes, soft and glistening, flick over your features. Like he’s debating if his kisses will help them heal faster too.

Gods, if he brings those lips anywhere near your face, you might combust.

You meet his gaze, “What—”

“I lied.”

It comes as a whisper, his voice dry and low that you tilt your head, urging him to continue.

“I’m not some mortal soul, dredging their way through Tartarus,” Zagreus grinds out, scanning your face as if committing you to memory one last time. Then he sits back and stares at the floor, still gripping your hand as he rubs circles over the bandage. “I mean, it’s true I intend to escape the Underworld.”

“Zagreus—”

“And yes, I’m searching for my mother—”

“Zag—”

“But I’m really—”

“My prince.”

He flinches, his eyes shooting up to meet yours. “What?”

“None of this is your fault, my prince. With or without your influence, I’d have done the same thing anyway.” He gapes at you and you smirk, using the little strength you’ve recovered to squeeze his hand reassuringly, “Or would you rather I address you as Your Highness instead?”

Zagreus shakes his head, black hair flopping out of his shocked face. “I don’t understand. You knew?”

“For a bit now, yes,” You shrug as you turn his hand over, large and calloused in yours, swiping a thumb over one of his healed blisters, probably from gripping his weapons. “Took me a while to figure it out, but I can’t say I was surprised. It explained some of your funny behavior.”

He scoffs, the corners of his lips twitching slightly, “What sort of funny behavior?”

“Pretend all you like, but you can’t suppress those noble habits,” You chuckle, eyes crinkling seeing him cheer up. “All your mannerisms screamed ‘royal’, I just didn’t realize we were talking Underworld royalty.”

“Seriously?” Zagreus gazes at you in disbelief. “I thought I did a pretty good job acting—”

“Like a commoner?”

“Like a mortal,” He shoots you a pointed look, and you snort, relaxing into the love seat.

“You were okay.” You purse your lips, “While we’re on the subject of identity reveals, you should know I’m—”

“A succubus?”

You blink before pouting, snatching your hand away to cross your arms over your chest. “You only say that because I was about to tell you…”

“Not true,” Zagreus grins, leaning over to give your thigh an affectionate squeeze. “I knew from the beginning. Succubi magic doesn't affect gods, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel it.”

“And you still stayed? Knowing what I am and what I do?”

“And you still treated me as any other friend, knowing who I am?”

“That’s not the same, and you know it.”

“I disagree,” He coaxes your hands into his, prompting you to meet his gaze as his expression shifts into something more earnest. “We both tried—and failed miserably—to hide a huge part of ourselves in fear of what we’d think of each other, am I wrong?”

You shake your head.

“Exactly. (Your Name), I hope you know not once did I think any less of you for your work, much less your species.”

You respond in kind, “And not once did I consider bowing down to the Prince of the Underworld, especially not after seeing him stuff his face with wraps he picked off the ground.”

He guffaws. “Good, then we’re in agreement?”

“I guess...”

“Just what every man wants to hear from a beautiful creature.” Ignoring the burn in your cheeks, you roll your eyes, and he adds, “But we’re okay? You won’t avoid me anymore?”

“I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Sure you weren’t.”

“Keep that up, you won’t be seeing me for another couple runs.”

“I was agreeing with you!”

“Your tone said otherwise.”

By the time your shared laughter dies down, the atmosphere clears, leaving a comfortable silence settling in the small space between you. In that time, he’s yet to let go of your hands, your thighs brushing as he rubs soothing circles against your hands, and while he insists on staying until he’s sure you’re better, acceptance rushes over you like the oncoming tide, because try as you might, Alecto’s punishment was nothing in comparison to Zagreus’s absence. These fleeting moments he stops by your chamber, whether to recover, commission a painting, or to simply have a chat, you appreciate each and every one of them. If that’s all you’ll ever have with Zagreus, you decide, your chest tight with a melancholic warmth, then that's okay.

This is enough.

—

Soon after Zagreus reluctantly leaves you once more, he enters the last chamber of Tartarus.

“Redblood! What say you—ack—hey, I wasn’t done talking!”

If he prolongs their time together, allowing him to indulge his cruelty, then consider it time well spent.

—

AN: One of my biggest peeves in media tropes is the betrayal and angst as a reaction from hiding identities from s/o, like in superhero media. It's overplayed, overdone.

A good, recent example of this is the new animated Superman show, My Adventures with Superman, where (SPOILERS) Lois forces the truth out of Clark, and is pissed when he confirms he is Superman. Bro, you literally said to his face how you'd reveal his identity to the public, can you blame the guy? Idgaf you think he's lying ab his feelings omfg he's protecting his idenity (its a good show tho pls watch it!!)

However, a cartoon that does the scenario right is in the old Nickelodeon cartoon, Danny Phantom (some of yall may be too young to remember), the older sister, Jaz, of the mc, Danny, quietly realizes he's the superhero of their town, and decides to patiently wait for him to tell her when HE'S READY. Like askjgdaksjhf yassss we love patience and understanding.

Which is why I like to imagine while Zag didn't outright tell you who he is, he didn't try to hide it either. The underworld's a big ass place, he's got no control over who and what ppl say and do, so however you find out, whether in passing or of your own sleuthing skills, you both wait.

Ty for coming to my ted talk :D

[curioushappenstance]

fic title: do you like my dress? it's got pockets [chapter 1]

[next chapter]

[ao3 link]

Summary: 9:19 Dragon – Varric Tethras loses his virginity to a pretty dwarf girl at the bar. 9:41 Dragon - The consequence walks through the gates of Skyhold. - In my childish fantasies, I used to dream of being the Champion; going places, meeting people, loving them and being loved in return, never discarded nor kicked nor beaten; love, in perpetuity, the likes of which a girl under the heavy and forceful hand of a mother could not begin to dream of, because she could not dream at all. - aka, the fic where varric has a daughter that he didn't know about until five minutes ago.

My father was not what I expected him to be.

What had I expected? I knew his name first from the books in the local library, then later from whispers in back alleys or drunken merchants.

So––a sleazy businessman? A corrupt merchant prince who’d sold his soul for sovereigns? He was a dwarf. He was a womaniser. He wrote books, and I wasn’t allowed to read them, but I would stare at his author’s portrait with an intense vigour in the middle of the night when mother was asleep.

Seeing my face in that man––the hooked nose that was flat against my face, the underbite that made my teeth ache, the red hair that mother made me cover––him, all him. I didn’t like him. I didn’t like looking like the man that mother sneered at when she heard his name, a name I was forbidden from uttering aloud.

Varric Tethras. A merchant prince, a famous author, a rogue with a crossbow that could take down the carta.

My father.

Skyhold was much too grand for a man like that. I sneered passing through the gates, accidentally offending the human woman who took our names. Was I staying long, she asked? I told her I was here to deliver a message, nothing more, and it was the truth, but really, I didn’t know how long I would be staying. There was nothing for me in Kirkwall. Mother was dead, and the dwarves who killed her were after me, too. If Tethras was safe here, why couldn’t I be?

Something kept him here. It wasn’t the goodness of his heart. Security, coin, business, an opportunity to cosy up to important people like the Inquisitor or the Lady Ambassador.

But that vision––that imagined man, sneering in the back of my mind, shaking a bag of coin in his palm––wasn’t what I saw when I climbed the stairs to the main hall.

He was older. Wrinkly around the eyes, rosacea flaring on his cheeks. Pay an artist enough and you could have them paint you however you liked, such as surrounded by scantily clad dwarven women, but this was… I didn’t know.

He hunched over a desk next to a roaring fireplace, scribbling fiercely on hastily torn parchment; his hands were stained in ink, and there was dirt under his nails, on his clothes, and in his hair. A muddy coat, which probably used to be hanging over the back of the chair, was splayed out on the stone tile.

He didn’t notice my shadowing presence. I was inclined to keep watching, in silence, until the sun set and he retired to bed.

What was that? Fear? My heart clenched at the sight of him, and I didn’t know why. What was so fearful about passing on a letter? I was a messenger, and he didn’t raise me; there was no reason for my throat to tighten, but it did.

I cleared my throat.

He looked up.

My hands shook as I held mother’s letter, but I held it nonetheless.

“Varric Tethras?” I asked, finding my voice weak.

“Yeah?”

If my voice was raspy, his was worse. It broke, and he winced, and licked his dry, cracked lips.

“I’m to deliver this message to you.” No. Too formal. Too distant. He was my father, whatever that meant, and he––he––

He had bloodshot eyes.

Ancestors, I had the worst timing.

I tried again.

“My mother,” I said, deciding that if I was going to do this, I would do it properly, “wrote you a letter before she died.”

It was actually many years ago. The parchment was old and torn by now, wrinkled then flattened again, stained with coffee and dried tears. Mother held onto it, and now here I was, her messenger after death. Her will forbade me from reading it. It felt wrong to give it to a stranger.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He took it, and put it on his desk, unopened. “Thanks.”

I stifled a sudden flash of anger. “I think you should read it. Messere.”

The honorific was an afterthought. Perhaps it would endear him to me, I thought, if I pretended to respect him… but he flinched instead.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s very important,” I said, feeling quite sorry after all. He looked down at what he was writing, then at the unbroken wax seal of mother’s letter, and picked it up with a sigh.

The crack of the wax snapping in two was like the dam that floods the river.

It didn’t belong to him––it belonged to mother! I should’ve buried it with her, the secret dying when she did, and with her gone, I’d pretend to live a normal, happy dwarf life with a caste boy husband and a dozen dwarf children.

How many bastards did Tethras have running around Kirkwall? How many were unwanted daughters? My mother could not have been the only whore he fucked. She was not special, I was not unqiue, and she made sure I knew it in my heart, body, and soul.

And yet; a letter.

A letter that he could read, but I could not.

How was that fair?

The wax seal broke. He thumbed open the letter. My head was heavy and my arms weak, or I’d have snatched it from him, because if there was anyone in this world who deserved my mother, it would not be him––

“Varric…”

Both of our heads snapped up. A human woman in Inquisition armour hovered over the desk, her expression taut and her hands linked together.

I watched many emotions sequentially pass through Tethras’s eyes, until a mask fell over them, and he grinned. “Seeker?”

Seeker. Seeker?

He dropped the letter, folding it again and using it as a cover what what he’d been writing. That was all it was to him.

“Varric,” she said again. She was blushing, but not in the romance way; I knew delicate, flushed glances, and this was something else. She shifted her feet. “I have come to… express my condolences.”

Tethras’s grin turned into more of a grimace. “Ah. Well. That’s…”

“And to apologise, for how I have treated you.”

“Uh.” He gave a stinted thumbs up. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“I should not have blamed you. You have been a good friend, Varric, and…” She paused. I didn’t realise why until I caught her eye––staring me down, like the templars in the streets at night. “You have company. I will come back later.”

He looked at me, surprised––had he already forgotten I was here?

Of course he had.

What a fool I was.

A Maker-damned fool, clinging to the end of a rope that severed when mother’s blood ran rivers through the grout between the stones. She was gone, and this man, just as much a stranger to me as he was to any bastard child, was not my family, and could never become one.

Knowing this, accepting it, feeling it in my heart and allowing it to sink into my bones, did not stop the bitter tears when I lifted my hood and turned away.

-

What had I expected?

He didn’t know me. What I knew of him was imagined from long nights of rumination, roaming the back alleys in the aftermath of one of mother’s rages.

I met the Champion that way, once. He was not the Champion then, only Hawke, if you knew his name at all. I didn’t, as a child of yet twelve, but I remembered his face, the glint in his eye and the kind smile as he draped a blanket over my shoulders and ushered me into the warmth of the tavern.

I remembered red hair like mine, catching the light of the candles, and being struck with a fear so deep that I fled back into the streets, the blanket cocooning me from the wind.

This was not unlike that night. Though the magicks of its walls kept the snow at bay, Skyhold was imbued in a bitter cold, a chill that ran deep. And here I was again, fleeing from the warmth and the light, back into the fog to freeze, fearing what might await me when I stopped to breathe.

I still had that blanket.

It had smelled of alcohol, and smoke, and sex, but a child knew nothing of these things, and it was softer than mother’s hand.

Most things were softer than mother’s hand.

Skyhold’s tavern bustled, and that was where my stout legs carried me, with my mind wandering. I stared at the plaque on the door as it came into focus, feeling again like that child of twelve, gazing at The Hanged Man and wondering what it meant.

“Hey, Varric!”

My breath snagged against my ribs. The woman laughed when I turned my head.

“You’re not Varric. Sorry!”

Another dwarf. Red-haired, like me, but a darker shade. She had a kind smile, a pretty voice, and freckles like constellations amidst the stars. Did she know him? Were they friends? Were they…

“Hey, you okay?”

I had been staring, and though her smile still lingered, she stepped close with concern. Her eyes crinkled in the corners, and I didn’t realise how near she was until her hand grazed my elbow and her breath tickled my jaw.

“You’re freezing! Here,” she guided me to the door, shoving it open with her boot, “let’s get you warm. Not really dressed for the mountains, are you?”

“I couldn’t afford much better,” I admitted quietly. It was a half-truth. Kirkwall’s weather was mild, if you excused hurricane season, and merchants didn’t sell clothes built for the snow. I had spent most of the journey on the back of a cart, huddled between a dozen elven refugees who took it upon themselves to keep the ‘shivering dwarf girl’ warm.

It was more than humans had ever done for me. It was no surprise, then, that a dwarf such as her, saw a dwarf such as me, and thought; I want to protect her.

“I’m alright.” I stopped walking. The bar was warm, rowdy, smoky with the stench of alcohol, and at any moment I felt like Tethras might burst through the door still ajar behind me. “I lost my way. Do you know who I talk to about boarding?”

“You weren’t assigned quarters?”

I knew should’ve stuck around at the gate.

“Harding!”

A booming voice echoed above the noise and the music. I couldn’t imagine the type of man who could make that noise––until I looked up, and my legs went numb.

Horns like a dragon’s, peering over the crowds and the tables; attached to them, a grinning grey head, teeth glinting. In Kirkwall, the roar of the oxmen, mother’s hand clutched over my mouth, the closet’s spider crawling up my leg.

“Save my seat!” Harding called, so close yet far and muffled, and guided me to a far table closest to the bar, where the crowd was thin. Her warm smile as she tapped the bar shielded the qunari from my sight.

A Tal-Vashoth. Nothing more.

Nothing more.

“Cabot,” she signalled the bartender, who barely looked at me, but when he did, it was with a passing concern, “something warm?”

I failed to stifle my temor. “Is there something special about me in particular, or do you buy drinks for every passing dwarf girl?”

She smiled. “Just the half-dead ones. No offense, you know, if that’s what you’re going for.”

“Not typically.” But I wasn’t surprised. “I’m fine, I was just… delivering a message.”

“Oh yeah? Long-lost lover?”

“No! No.”

I knew flirting when I saw it, and Harding––flushed in the cheeks and smelling faintly of alcohol––was batting her eyelashes. It was not the first time a stranger had dragged me from one end of a bar to another in search of a tryst or a public rut, it’s just––usually they were men. And human. And old.

Harding was none of these, and she wasn’t grinding against me yet, either. I took small victories where I could find them.

Cabot thunked down an appropriately-sized dwarven mug that sloshed with the force of it. It was steaming and smelled like chocolate.

It was rude to reject gifts. I used it to warm my hands.

“Your accent’s familiar,” Harding said. “Reminds me of–hmmm. Free Marches?”

“Kirkwall,” I affirmed.

“How funny!”

“Is it?”

“Mm, you remind me of a friend, that’s all.”

My throat tightened again. I sipped the hot drink to burn the knot away. “The one who you mistook me for?”

“Mmm-hm. Sorry.” She looked sheepish. “Just from the side, you know––”

I did know. There was a bitter reminder of it hidden in the bottom of my pack, sketch after sketch that I would compare to myself in the mirror. I could never get my face right, but I always knew his.

“Who is he?” I asked, against my better judgement. Harding leaned forward, and I regretted it immediately, but it was too late to take it back just as it was always too late for anything else.

But she laughed. “Varric? He writes books––I didn’t have much time for reading, as a farm girl in Ferelden, but––when we first met, he said… what was it?” She paused, then with a deep breath and her best gruff, grumbly voice, “ ‘You ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?’   I said; no, why? And he said, ‘Because you’d be Harding in Hightown!’ I didn’t get it, though.”

“That’s awful,” I said.

“The Seeker thought so too.” Harding shrugged. “We struck a good rapport though. You look a lot like him!”

I sipped my drink. “How funny.”

“It is.”

And to her it was. To me––a roiling, boiling sensation in the pit of my stomach. The burn of my drink, the pain as it grazed my already scarred throat, not even that could distract me from it.

I felt sick.

“So––” She leaned back again, elbow against the bar, lightly tipsy. “You boated all the way from Kirkwall just for a message?”

“I suppose I did.”

“And you’re gonna go back to Kirkwall?”

I hesitated. “I suppose I will.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.” After that––I didn’t know. It wouldn’t be safe there, but I didn’t want to stay here either. Either way, I wouldn’t miss mother’s funeral; I needed to be there when she was returned to the Stone.

Harding nodded, kohl smudged just below her eye where she’d rubbed at it. “I’ve never been to Kirkwall. I’ve heard it’s… well, in the words of Dorian Pavus, ‘a bit of a shithole’.”

I chuckled. “The understatement of the century. I grew up in Lowtown, which was…” No. Wait, what was I doing? About to spill my guts to this stranger, by virtue of our shared race? She was pretty, but nothing suggested trustworthy, and I knew enough about my kind to know you couldn’t trust a dwarf as far as you could throw one, which was not as far as most humans tend to think.

Harding looked lithe, though. I could probably pick her up.

I shook my head. “You know. Muddy.”

“Just like Ferelden, then,” she smiled. Then, before she could open her mouth again––

“Harding!” That booming voice. A deep growl that vibrated inside my skull, like a bug crawling into my ear. If I didn’t look, if I didn’t see, I could pretend it wasn’t–– “You joining us, or what?!”

“Just a minute!” She faced my again, sheepishly flustered. “I should go, or he’ll have me by the ear. Unless you wanna––”

One of the human men from the qunari’s table landed a heavy hand on her shoulder. The qunari’s horns shadowed him from far behind.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked. Harding grinned up at him. “She joining us?”

“No,” I said, too quickly.

“Shame. Lace and Rocky could use the competition.”

“Is Rocky…” I squinted, “a dwarf?” What kind of backwards, offensive to the point of non-offensive, ridiculous sort of nickname was that? The human chuckled.

“It’s not what you think. We all get nicknames. Part of the job. Lace, come on, Chief’s cracking open a new cask!”

“Didn’t you already burn through the last one?” She paused. “Literally?”

“Sacrifices had to be made.”

I stared incredulously between them. “You set your alcohol on fire?”

“Not me. Dalish did. With her––khm––bow.”

“...And I suppose Dalish is Dalish?”

“Well, yeah, she’s got the––tattoos, right?”

“That’s not a very creative nickname.” I was understanding ‘Rocky’ more now.

“Yeah, well, makes it easier for the Chief. Not like Varric’s. Half of his doesn’t even make sense.”

I couldn’t escape him. Varric this, Varric that. I turned away, suddenly bitter. The human dragged Harding away, and under his breath murmured to her, who’s she?

Damn, I forgot to ask, she said.

Most people did.

“Harding! Harding, hey have you seen––”

In my childish fantasies, I used to dream of being the Champion; going places, meeting people, loving them and being loved in return, never discarded nor kicked nor beaten; love, in perpetuity, the likes of which a girl under the heavy and forceful hand of a mother could not begin to dream of, because she could not dream at all.

“––red corset? Yeah, I was just––”

I downed the last of my drink.

“––thanks, I’ll catch up with––”

Some dreams were unattainable. I would never be the champion of anything; that was fine. But to beg and plead, my knees in the mud, for someone to want me for some reason other than pity…

“Isana?”

Why was that too much to ask?

A finger grazed my shoulder. I yelped like I was burned, and with my empty mug, snapped around and smashed it over their head.

One arm flung out to the bar, the other flew to catch a chair––I didn’t realise who it was until him, the chair, and several peoples’ drinks were askew on the tile floor, and a steady stream of blood began to soak his red hair.

I slammed my hands over my mouth.

No, no! I hadn’t meant to! Alive?! Yes, he was groaning and grasping at his skull, his gloves coming away red, the stone below him slowly stained––dying?! No, but breathing too fast, yes, and surrounding patrons rushed to him, closed in, panicked shouts that turned into whispers, whatever I’d done, it was bad.

Ancestors, I had truly done it now. Even if I hadn’t killed him––Maker fucking forbid––I had still lost him forever.

“Argh!” The qunari, high above the crowd, cut through it like butter, lumbering like one of the horned beasts I’d seen when coming up the mountainside, “Give the guy some air or you’ll trample him, fucks sake!”

I reached him when Harding did, and she helped him stand. With glazed eyes, blood caking his hair and streaming down the side of his face, Varric––he grinned at me.

“You… you hit hard, kid!”

[kagetxiga]

hi there! i hope you’re having a good day and merry christmas from 🇦🇺 if you celebrate it! i have a little idea that’s been on the top of my head recently and i just need to get it out into the world (this may be a request, or just a thought) but i have been thinking. imagine a ninjago au where it’s thief/tagger (graffiti artist) reader x the ninjas.. like it could be like a specific ninja but i was thinking more smth like this (picture it)

you’re out doing your usual criminal activities and you and the ninja squad have been rivalling forever, and suddenly you get caught off guard in an alleyway where one of them appear outta no where and ambushes you, so they tease and banter for a hot second with you before you land a hit on them and run off.. but then another appears, cocking their head at you.. then they all start just dropping in onto the hoods of abandoned rusty cars and like old crates and stuff, or like behind you and #jawontheground

anyways, there’s no specific genre to that just needed to get this out of my mind 😢 if you could turn it into like a one shot i would be 😱honoured😱 but it’s just a thought ^^

AHHHHH OMG I LOVE THIS SCENARIO MERRY CHRISTMAS ML 🫶🫶 i hope everyone is having an amazing Christmas eve or day!! Now, enjoy!!

ALLEYWAY ART GONE WRONG

Bobbing my hand up and down, shaking the spray can in my hand, i brought up the messy can and sprayed up on the wall, moving it slowly, leaving a dripping effect as the paint slides off the wall. Headphones to a full volume as i hummed along the tunes.

From morning till dawn, my mural was finally finished. I climbed down the rustic ladder and stepped back a few feet to see the masterpiece in front of me. I grinned in success as i laid my eyes upon my art.

Grabbing my bag, i stuffed the rest of the cans into the leather bag and threw it up my shoulder. I crouched down to a periwinkle purse and rummaged through it, the purse had a few dirt and soot on the cover, since it was recently stolen by me.

Finding a lighter and some cigars in the bag, i stuffed the said items into my pocket as i spotted a wallet, reaching my hand out to grab it, i heard some strange noises. Seeming it was some clanging metal. Whipping my head to the right, i spotted no trace of people.

I took my headphones off, being wary of my surroundings. I stood upright and eyed the area where the sound came from, before i knew it i was pinned to the wall aggressively.

Squirming against the strangers grip, they tightened their arms and pressed on my back. I was faced to the wall with my hands behind my back. Groaning and grunting as i tried to pry out of the hard grasp, the stranger started to chuckle from behind me.

“As expected, i knew you were here.” The voice spoke out as he whispered into my ear. I recognized the voice as the earth ninja, Cole brookstone. His hot breath against my ear sent shivers down my spine. He turned me around to face him, my back against the wall with his arms beside me and a knee between my thighs.

“Theres no way to get out of this one, you were a hard catch you know that?” I laid my eyes upon his dark brown ones, i felt his finger tracing my jawline as he chuckled. He moved his arms and started to propel on his elbows against the wall. Our face a mere inch away.

I moved my hand upward, clenching into a fist as i punched his chin from beneath, his teeth hitting each other as he grunted in pain, releasing me from his arms. I lifted myself from the wall and watched as he crouched down while holding his jaw, before he could muster up a word i held the back of his head, feeling his soft jet black hair with a tug.

Pushing his head to the hard surface, his face was met with the wall he was originally on before. His knees against the cold concrete floor while his face was against the brick wall, his hands behind his back with my foot on his wrists tightly.

I felt the corners of my mouth tug upwards as i felt a smirk forming on my face, i bent down to his ear, my hand still in his hair and my left foot on his hands against his back. My breath on his ear.

“As much as i love to be put in handcuffs, i dont like the police kind” i whispered and pickpocketed his gi. Throwing his head onto the floor, i darted away from the black ninja, only to realize a dead end, by another one of the ninjas.

Kai jiang smith, the fire ninja, also known as the red ninja. My eyes laid upon his figure as we were about 5 meters away from each other. Backing up and turning away from the said ninja, i was faced with a female with a pool of water in her hands. Knowing it was Nya i groaned and heard a few metal clanging from all around me. Looking around, my eyes were met with the rest of the ninjas on top of garbage bins and old rusted metal of car pieces.

I chuckled and turned my body towards the so called leader who was glaring behind me. “You really had to bring the whole skittles pack, didn’t you Lloyd?” I brought my hand against my hip, watching the Green ninja from afar. “It’s about time you trapped me, although i was having fun with the other ninja” I used my thumb and pointed to the direction of Cole, who was now standing a few meters away from me with some crimson red liquid flowing down his nose.

Lloyd started to get into a fighting stance with his hands glowing green. “Well the fun just started.” He spoke out with a rough voice. Sprinting towards me, he jumped upwards and brought his hand back for a punch, quickly dodging to the right, his fist was met against the floor, leaving a crack in the cement. Feeling a hot temperature behind me, i whipped my head and turned my body just in time, moving away from a fireball from behind me.

“6 verses 1 i see? Kind of unfair dont you think?” Kai and Lloyd was in the air with the intentions of pouncing me, slipping my legs into a split, my thighs and legs were met with the ground, moving my torso to kiss the floor, Kai and Lloyd accidentally attacked each other as they muster apologies.

Lifting my body into a hand stand, i moved my hands and twisted my body into a circular movement, kicking Jay who was dashing towards me.

At the same time he was kicked, he sent lightning at my chest as i grunted in pain, clutching my chest i was quickly met face first to the ground, my hands on my back with a strong grip in my hair.

“And thats payback.” Cole responded as he nodded towards Zane, feeling a cold sensation against my hands, i assumed he was freezing my hands shut. I squinted and groaned as i tried to wiggle my way out of his hold, that led to cole tightening his grip on my hair and pushing my head into the ground.

I bent my knees and started to kick cole, currently my feet were in the air, kicking left and right, Jay then grabbed on of my feet while Nya grabbed ahold of the other. Bringing them together as Zane also freezed my ankles together.

Bringing me to my knees as i was sat upright, “what should we do with her now that we captured her?” Nya asked to the colourful group infront of me. Puffing away a strand of hair in my face i glared at everyone as they were in a small circle, deciding what to do with me.

Kai stayed behind and watched me on the ground, my knees making contact of the cold hard floor, i darted my pupils to the fire head.

Crouching beside me as he sat down with a grunt. We made eye contact, my eyes met his hazels. “Looks like you’re on your knees for me.” He teased and laughed, a frown appearing on my face, i rolled my eyes and shook my head at his behaviour.

“Well then, it’s settled…” Jay turned towards me and kai’s figure on the ground, “You’re staying with us.” Lloyd finished the sentence as he pointed his thumb at himself with a smug grin on his face. I yelled in shock at the answer i was given. “Theres no way you’re making me stay at your stupid hideout!!” I glared my hard eyes at Lloyd.

“Well, we don’t think it’s a good idea to have you back at the prison, since you escaped from that before.” Zane stated.

Groaning, i laid my head back on the wall.

Well this will be a fun night…

A/n: IM SO SORRY THAT THIS WAS RUSHED, i didnt really know how to end it so i just hope this is okay 😓

MERRY CHRISTMAS 🎄🫶

MASTERLIST

[daydreamgoddess14]

The Escape Artist - Chapter 9

Masterlist

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5 | CH 6 | CH 7 | CH 8

Tag list: @moonmaiden1996 @theskytraveler @acrackintheteacup @succulentthief

When I said one more chapter.... I didn't anticipate that that might be, like, 14k words so I decided to split it!

I'm just in the trenches editing the finale so I'll get gushy on the last post - let's not detract you all from the smut, eh? 🔥

He settled atop her once again, his hands roaming over her body, pulling her closer.

"Wait. Bedroom?" she asked, tearing her lips from his. 

It was all so much. 

It had never been like this with Eddie, it was never easy and natural.

It was never, ever about her. Any orgasm she’d experienced in the last ten years at least had been either purely accidental or by her own hand - literally.

Prior to that… there must have been something there. A reason she fell in love with him.

Now, she had no idea what that reason was.

Where she thought at the time that she was being wooed, she was being groomed.

"Yes, god yes," River breathed, the need in his voice almost palpable.

Ella was overwhelmed. 

His hands moved to her hips, gripping them for a moment before he pushed himself up and off the couch.

He held out a hand to her, his gaze dark and heated as he said, "Come with me.”

He led her to the stairs where she took the lead, showing him the way. River followed her up, she could feel his gaze constantly drawn to the sway of her hips as she led the way. Each step closer to the bedroom felt like an eternity, Ella could feel him getting more impatient with each step. "Go, go," he chuckled, nudging her forward with a gentle push in the small of her back.

When they finally stepped into her bedroom, River wasted no time in pulling her into his arms, his hands roaming over her body as he backed her up against the wall.

His mouth found her neck, his lips and tongue trailing down the sensitive skin as his hands skimmed over her hips, her thighs. She slipped her leggings down over her hips and shimmied out of them, kicking them away. He pushed her back against the wall, crowding her against the cool surface.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmured, his hands running over the newly bared skin. He got to his knees, his tongue tracing the four leafed clover tattoo on her hip, his lips following the path his tongue had taken. 

She didn’t dare believe him.

It seemed impossible that he was telling the truth, and it was a far cry from what Eddie deemed to be a compliment. 

"There is a bed, you know?" she teased, her words turning to a gasp as his teeth grazed the tattoo

River chuckled against her skin, his teeth scraping gently over the tattoo once more. 

She tried to push the bad memories away.

"I know," he murmured, his voice low and rough.

He looked up at her, his gaze dark with desire. "I just can't get enough of tasting your skin," he admitted, his words sending a shiver through her.

He stood and pulled her to the edge of the bed, his hands grasping her hips as he guided her to sit.

He undid the buttons of his jeans, pushing them off his hips and kicking them aside, his gaze never leaving her face. Her lower lip caught by her teeth, she clenched her thighs together, impatiently waiting for him. He moved back between her thighs, his hands trailing over her legs, his touch teasing and electrifying.

She arched her back, desperately seeking more of everything.

He leaned down, his mouth trailing over her belly, his tongue tracing the smooth skin, his hands still holding her hips in a firm grip.

"Gonna show you how you should be loved," he mumbled against her stomach. Her hands tried to hide the softer skin there, the faint stretch marks. "Don't hide from me," he whispered against her skin, his mouth trailing over the stretch marks, his tongue tracing a path of kisses over her stomach. "All of you is fucking beautiful.”

It was all too much.

She felt niggling shame as she recalled being called whore and slut by Eddie.

The memory of being forced onto her stomach so he didn’t have to see her body.

And still he was surprised when she tried to avoid sex.

She stilled underneath River, the memories turning her stomach.

He moved up, covering her body with his, his hands gently cupping her face. "You are enough," he said, his voice a gentle but firm reassurance. 

Her eyes welled and she nodded hesitantly in acceptance.

“He never deserved you, El.”

He held her so gently, so careful not to overstep or move too fast. 

“I know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, what a fucking mood killer.” 

“No, no, it’s not. No pressure, remember?” He rocked against her, making sure she felt how hard he was. “Feel that? Because of you. I've never wanted anything more.”

She cupped his face, searching his blue eyes - darkened with lust - for the truth.

She half wondered whether to tell him the truth and admit everything she’d said when he’d been asleep in hospital.

She chose to lean into his desire and worry about the consequences later.

Moving her hand to hold his chin, keeping his eyes on her. "I'm not going to break, River," she whispered bravely, kissing him fiercely. 

Her hips rolled against his with intent. River chuckled softly.

"I know, but I still want to take my time with you," he teased, his body molding against hers as she pulled him closer. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, his lips trailing over her skin. "I want to memorise every bit of you.”

"Please River, let me feel you," she urged, hooking a leg over his thigh to hold him against her.

Her words, whispered desperately against his ear, were the last straw. 

“Have you got a -” he started. He felt her sharp inhale underneath him, her eyes wide with disbelief as she shook her head.

“You don’t?” She countered. He shook his head slowly. “I didn’t expect… I mean, jesus River, I never thought I’d have sex ever again. I'm not even on the pill.” She sighed impatiently. His laugh started quietly, a low rumble, but soon became contagious as Ella giggled too. She blushed, her hand covering her face. “Oh my god, this is so unfair,” she whined. “I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve wanted -”

“It’s ok,” he laughed, not moving from between her legs. “I didn’t expect this either.”

“Isn't this what Lamb would refer to as a ‘Cartwrong’?”

“Oh god,” he grimaced, “please don't mention him while I've got such a hard on for you right now.” 

Ella giggled again. 

“Rain check, then,” she sighed, waiting for him to move.

“Not entirely.” He kissed her again and then started moving down her body. “Believe me, there's still plenty of things I can do instead,” he paused and gazed up her body. She blushed, excuses and apologies on the tip of her tongue. “Don't make me beg, Cole.” 

Her breath caught in her throat as he continued down her body, his words and intentions clear. She opened her mouth to speak, but his gaze, darkened with desire, stopped her.

The look in his eyes, the way he smiled up at her, made her blush and her protest faded. 

She swallowed hard, her pulse racing, and managed a shaky nod. "Please..." she whispered, her voice thick with need.

His hands, slightly trembling, reached for the waistband of her underwear, pulling the soft fabric down her legs. The action, paired with his smoldering look, sent a shiver of anticipation through her. “Brave girl,” he said softly.

She lay before him, exposed and vulnerable, her skin flushed with desire. 

Her breath hitched in her throat, her heart racing as she waited for his next move.

He lay back down, spreading her out before him.

His mouth, hot and soft on her skin, traced a path over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, his kisses light and yet searing. She shivered, her body arching subtly in response to his touch.

She held her breath as he made his way closer to his goal.

River smiled slightly as he felt her tremble, the anticipation in the air thick and electric. 

He continued his path, his mouth moving further up her inner thigh, the kisses growing more deliberate and lingering.

As she felt his hot mouth on her aching cunt, her hand reached down, seeking him out to ground her in reality, and landed on his head, her fingers tangling in his hair. He continued his assault on her senses, his mouth and tongue moving against her, his own desire burning fiercely, but there was an element of tender reverence in the way he touched her.

His hand, resting lightly on her stomach, was a contrast of control and comfort. It held her in place, anchoring her to the moment, while simultaneously offering reassurance and a silent promise of safety.

He looked up at her, his gaze locking with hers, as he continued to lavish attention on her. 

The look in his eyes a mixture of desire and tenderness.

She writhed beneath him, teetering on the edge but afraid to let go fully. There was a hesitance in her, a part of her holding back. He leaned up, his mouth moving back up her body, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. 

His hands caressed her skin, his touch firmer, steadying her. "Let go," he murmured against her ear, his voice low and rough, "Let yourself go, love. I want to hear you, I want to taste you," he told her, going back to his work. 

His words, spoken against her skin, sent a fresh wave of heat through her. The sound of his voice, ragged with wanting, coupled with the sensation of his hot mouth on her, was like electricity shooting through her veins.

"Please... I want that too," she gasped, her words coming out in a shaky breath as he continued his onslaught on her senses.

“So let go,” he told her. “Come for me, Ella.” 

His words, spoken softly yet firmly, were like a catalyst that unleashed a torrent of emotion within her. She felt the last of her restraint slipping away, her body and mind surrendering to the overwhelming tide of pleasure. River watched her as he flicked his tongue over her clit again, again, again. 

"Oh god, River," she gasped, her breath coming in ragged pants as she allowed herself to fall completely into the moment, surrendering herself completely to his touch. 

He felt her pulsing against his tongue and reached up her shaking body to take her hand as she wailed his name again. 

Without letting her come down fully, he slid two fingers into her. 

She arched up to meet his hand as his fingers fucked her, the walls of her cunt contracting around them. “Please, please, please -” she begged for another release that was just out of reach. He circled her clit with his tongue, and the combination had Ella seeing stars. “F-fuck, River, oh fuck, oh fuck -, I can’t -” she whimpered.

“Yeah you can,” he said softly as she reached another climax, her body shuddering and shivering under his touch. River pulled back slightly, watching her ride out the wave of pleasure.

The sound of her whimper, low and desperate, sent a thrill through him, a deep sense of satisfaction in the knowledge that he had brought her to this point.

She felt him lean over her, his hand gently caressing the side of her face, his eyes drinking in every detail of her sated expression.

His hand gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"See, told you there were other things," he murmured. She giggled breathlessly, greeting him with a kiss. "Don't think for a moment that I'm even close to done with you yet.”

"What about you?" she frowned. "I want to make you feel good too," she kissed him deeply, the taste of her lingered on his mouth.

River responded to her deep kiss with a low moan, his tongue darting out to meet hers. 

"You make me feel more than good," he murmured against her lips, his hands roaming over her body, trailing over her curves. "This isn't about me. I want to make you feel everything.”

"It's never been about me before," she admitted. Embarrassment flushed in her still pink cheeks. "No one has ever asked what I want.”

He gently cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him, his gaze burning intensely. "Well, I want to know," he said, his voice steady and firm. “I want to know what you want, what makes you feel good.”

"You might regret that," she smiled, letting her hands roam over his body. "You'll make me insatiable.”

"I’d never regret that," he said, his voice thick with desire.

"I won't be able to keep my hands off you," she teased.

"Then don't," he said, his voice rough. 

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, drinking in the sight of him.

She felt his hands moving to her hips, pulling her body flush against his. She could feel the heat of her body against his, the desire pulsing between them.

"Tell me what you want," she asked, her confidence growing under his shelter. She pressed herself against him. “I want to know,” she urged.

Hearing her utter those words, surrendering herself so completely to him, was the last straw. 

With a low growl, River captured her mouth in another heated kiss, his hands roaming over her body, tracing paths of heat and desire on her skin. 

She reached down between their bodies, palming his erection through his tight boxers.

“Jesus, River,” she groaned, her hand barely covering him. “You didn’t answer me?” She breathed, her hand slipping underneath the thin material and wrapping around him. He inhaled deeply as she exhaled in wonder. 

“El -” he gasped, “don’t.” 

She stopped the hand lightly stroking his hard length.

“Oh,” she blushed, “‘m not very good at… y’know. I just thought,” she avoided his eyes, embarrassed and pulled her hand away. 

He held it in place, firmly against his painfully hard cock.

“No,” he stopped her, “I didn’t mean don’t. I want you to, fuck Ella, I really want you to.”

“So… what?”

“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,” he explained weakly. 

Her hand moved almost involuntarily, tentatively as she made a fist around him and pumped it up and down the length of him.

“Is this ok?” she whispered nervously. 

“F-fuck, Ella, it’s more than ok,” he moaned.

The pad of her thumb swept over the tip of his leaking, throbbing cock, making him jerk into her hand.

His hand covered hers, encouraging her to tighten her grip on him.

With his head tipped back against the headboard, he didn’t immediately notice Ella shift on the bed until he was engulfed in the wet heat of her mouth.

He looked down to see her swirl her tongue around the head of his cock before taking him back into her mouth. Her hand joined her mouth to take the rest of him.

“God, you feel amazing,” he grunted, brushing her hair from her face. 

She took him deeper, letting him hit the back of her throat and hollowing her cheeks as she bobbed up and down. 

She paused for breath, letting her hand do the work as she looked up at him, flushed and disheveled because of her. 

It made her pussy ache for him. 

She dragged her tongue from the base to the tip of his firm length and stretched her lips around his shaft again. 

She let the bucking of his hips drive out the voice in her head that said she was no good. The heat of River’s skin and his twitching cock told her otherwise. 

His fingers threaded through her hair again and caressed her cheeks, she looked up at him again as his hips stuttered.

“El, fuck… I need -, I can’t -” the warnings of his impending release tumbled from his mouth so she responded by taking him as deeply as she could. 

The muscles in his thighs tightened under her hand and his cock pulsed in her mouth as he came. She swirled her tongue once more and let go with a soft pop. 

“Fuck me, Ella,” he gasped breathlessly. 

She brought her hand to the corner of her mouth to swipe away anything she hadn’t managed to swallow, but he beat her to it. 

His thumb brushed over her lips, parting them, and slipped inside her mouth.

She moaned, pressing her thighs together, needing more. 

She reached for him again, finding him half hard against the palm of her hand. 

He rolled them over, caging her beneath him. 

“Is this ok?” He asked softly, gently taking her hands and pinning them above her head. 

She nodded.

“I’m clean,” she mumbled, blushing. “I had to get checked. Eddie, he -”

“It’s ok, you don’t need to explain,” he insisted, kissing her reasons away. 

She melted against him, hooking her leg around his to bring him closer. 

“I need you inside me,” she pleaded.

Ella had never felt so needy - or needed. 

She could easily have been embarrassed by her openness, but she could see it so clearly reflected in River that there was no reason to be. 

He was equally as affected, equally as needy and equally desperate.

She’d never known how intoxicating it was to be wanted. 

She felt him draw a shaky breath as she made her request, and then, the most exquisite stretch as he pushed slowly into her. 

With her hands still pinned above her head by his, she was entirely at his mercy, and for once in her life it didn’t terrify her. 

His nose brushed against hers once he was fully buried inside her, a silent check in.

“Ohh, f-fuck,” she trembled.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, god, River please move,” he freed her hands which immediately spread across his shoulder blades, bringing him closer to her. His breath tickled her ear as he laughed.

He set an easy pace, Ella savoured every roll of his hips into hers, feeling the tension coiling inside her.

She lifted her hips to meet his and wrapped her legs around him, crying out at the change in angle.

He responded to the way her body begged for him, her arching back and the nails that raked his back.

He felt the muscles in her thighs tighten against him, the walls of her cunt fluttering around his cock as she came again with his name on her lips. She trembled as she continued to plunge into her.

“God, El… I need -”

“Show me” she breathed, pushing against his thrusts as he increased his speed, chasing his own release. 

He pulled out of her and wrapped his large hand around his cock, wet with Ella’s climax. He watched her, unable to take her eyes off him as he pumped his hand up and down until he came over his hand and her stomach. 

He slumped against her, his face buried in her neck as she ran her fingers through his damp hair.

“Jesus, Ella.” He huffed, his breath warm on her skin. 

She laughed, reveling in his arms wrapped around her.

*

She leaned against the doorframe watching Eugene race around the garden. 

River's t-shirt didn't cover nearly enough of her legs to shield her from the cold. 

She whistled for Gene to come back, reaching out to fluff his ears. 

“Time for brekkie, pup.” She left him in the kitchen, already snoozing under the radiator and took two mugs upstairs. 

River slept on as she carefully put the cups down and slid back into bed. Her now cold legs tucked behind his as she wrapped herself around him. 

“Fuck, you're freezing,” he mumbled into the pillow. 

She slipped her arm around him and lay her cheek on his back. 

“Had to let Genie out,” she said softly. 

She felt the muscles in his back moving and shifting as he twisted in her arms to lay on his back before pulling her back in. 

He trapped her legs between his own, warming them back up. 

She sighed contentedly as his hand moved under his t-shirt to rest on her bare back. 

Her finger moved lightly back and forth over the gunshot scar on his side as she drifted in and out of sleep. 

“What time's Clo back?” River asked sleepily.

“Ten. It's early, we should go back to sleep.” She nuzzled into his neck.

“Hmm, we should make the most of being alone,” he smiled into her hairline, his hand ghosting over her ass. The butterflies in Ella's stomach woke up, along with the low ache of need. She freed her leg from between his and rose up on her knees to straddle his hips. He sat up to meet her. 

“What do you suggest?” 

“I think you’ve already read my mind,” he grinned wickedly as she sank down onto him with a hiss, her thighs still burning from the night before. 

He pushed his t-shirt up and took it off her, exposing her to him. “Better,” he declared, rolling a nipple between his thumb and finger. 

“Ohh, much better,” she agreed, spreading her knees wide to take him deeper.

*

The doorbell woke Ella. She checked her watch, but she could tell from the silence outside that it wasn’t late enough to be Clover back from her sleepover. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and made her way downstairs. Eugene joined her at the front door.

Two officers stood on the doorstep. The same ones who’d arrested Eddie.

Ella frowned and looked past them at the Range Rover. Neither of the dogs acknowledged her.

“Can I help you?”

“May we come in, Ms. Cole?” She held open the door and let them in, taking a quick hold of Eugene’s collar to stop him from showering them with love as soon as they walked in.

“Leave them alone, Gene,” she chided him lightly. “Can I get you a coffee?” She asked politely. 

“No, thank you. I’m afraid we have some news.”

Ella stopped on her way to the kitchen. She could hear movement upstairs, River searching for his clothes.

“A body has been found, Ms. Cole. It’s been identified as your husband, Edward Cole.” The officer continued. Ella sat down quickly, feeling lightheaded.

“Who identified the body?” She asked. 

“We did. Well, officers did, I mean. He’s a recognisable man.”

“Do… do you know what happened?”

“He has stab wounds to his neck, severe. They suggest it was quite a frenzied attack. He was pulled out of the Thames by a taxi boat.”

Ella nodded, growing nauseous. 

“I take it you’re looking at his work associates?”

“We’re looking at everyone who knew him.” The officer said pointedly. “He had many enemies.”

“Well… if there’s anything I can do to help -”

“You could, actually. We would like you to come to the station.”

Ella rubbed her hands together to hide the fact that they were shaking.

“My daughter will be back shortly, I’m afraid I can’t do that,” she started. “I’m sure if it’s contacts you need, I can dig the information out. Or his brother would probably be useful there.”

The officer cleared his throat, glancing at the stairs as River made his way down with their empty coffee mugs.

“Good morning,” he greeted them with a short nod.

“Morning, Mr…?”

“Cartwright.”

“Indeed. Ms Cole, as I was saying, we need you to come to the station.”

“Yes, but you haven’t explained why,” Ella replied firmly, chancing a glance at River. 

The officer sighed.

“Ms Cole,” he said weakly. She raised her eyebrows. “Can you please just come with us?”

Ella crossed her arms, waiting. 

The other officer stepped forwards.

“Ms Cole, I will not hesitate to arrest you. We would like you to come to the station to discuss  your potential involvement in Edward Cole’s death. Please, if you could come with us?”

“He had a lot of enemies, you said it yourselves, why me?” She asked. “I can’t just come with you, I have Clover, she’s due back any minute -”

“You’ll have to make arrangements. The sooner you can arrange childcare the better, this is just a formality. Hopefully you’ll be out before dinner. We just want to verify some things with you.”

“Without warning? Do I need my solicitor?”

“We can wait for you.”

“Not in this house you can’t. I’d like you to wait outside. Please.” Ella told them, holding the door open.

“Very well, we’ll be ready when you are. You’re not under arrest at this stage, you don’t require a solicitor.”

Ella closed the door firmly behind them and turned to lean against it. 

Her breathing grew more laboured as her thoughts raced.

River stepped up to her, his gaze on her face, concern etched into his features. "Ella, breathe. Look at me," he said, his voice steady and soothing. He saw her chest rising and fall rapidly, her breathing ragged as her reasoning and rationale spun out of control.

"I can't, I can't -" her chest heaved. She looked up at him, terrified as panic started taking hold of her. 

His hands coming up to hold her face gently in his hands, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on her cheeks.

"Love, you need to slow down," he said, his voice trying to stay steady, though the concern in it was evident. "Just look at me, focus on me.”

"What am I going to do?" Her hands shook as she dragged her palms over her jeans. "I can't breathe, River, I can't breathe,”

He gently gripped her hands, his fingers lacing with hers, the contact hoping to ground her, to anchor her to the present.

"Ella, love, focus on me. We'll figure something out, but right now you need to calm down," he said, his voice firm and steady. "Just breathe, in and out, nice and slow. Come on, do it with me.”

She shook her head, the tightness in her chest increasing with each shortened breath.

He could see the panic gripping her tightly, the desperate way she shook her head, seemingly unable to follow his instructions to breathe.

"Come on, breathe in, please. For me.”

She hiccupped unsteadily, tears streaming down her cheeks, "What about Clover? River, what am I going to do?”

“Let me worry about Clover, ok? You're not going to the station like this, anyway.”

"They'll know, they'll know I did it -"

"They will if you can't calm down, you need to be calm" River told her quietly.

River's voice was a soothing beacon in the midst of her panic attack, his words cutting through the chaos of her thoughts. He could see her spiraling, her words revealing her fears and guilt.

"Ella, listen to me, okay?" he said, his grip on her hands tightening, trying to capture her wandering attention. "I know you're scared, I know you're worried, but you need to focus.”

River held her gaze steadily, his eyes focused on hers as her breaths slowly began to steady. He could see her searching his face, desperate for answers, for reassurance.

"There you go. Keep breathing, just like that," he said, his voice gentle and steady. "You're doing so good. We'll figure this out, I promise. Just focus on your breathing, nothing else matters right now.”

As her forehead rested against his, River felt his own heart rate slowly begin to ease. Her deep breaths in and out, mirroring his own, were a soothing rhythm, a sign that she was slowly coming out of her panicked state.

"That's it, love," he murmured, his hand gently coming up to cup her face. "You're doing so well.”

"They'll know it was me," she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. 

"They might not," he said calmly.

He tried to reassure her, but his own mind was racing with thoughts of what might happen once she was in police custody.

"I still have the knife."

"Even if they try and put this on you, it was self defence." River reasoned. "They won't be able to get a murder conviction, they'll have to drop to manslaughter" he said carefully. 

"That's reassuring, thanks" Ella said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

River chuckled wryly at her response, appreciating the gallows humor. He knew the situation was dire, but her attempt at a joke was at least something.

"I can't second guess them," she admitted sadly. "I'll just have to see what happens. But what the hell am I going to do about Clover?”

"I know you're worried about Clover," he said, his voice soft but steady. "And we'll figure something out. She can stay with me, or I'll stay here with her. Catherine, Louisa, they'll all help out," he told her

River's reassuring words made her heart skip a beat. Knowing that he was willing to take care of Clover, and making other arrangements to help, lifted some weight from her shoulders. She took a deep breath, her mind starting to clear as a plan was taking shape.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude. "I— I don't know what I would do without you.”

"C'mon now, you need to get this over with," he reassured her.

River's words were a firm but gentle nudge, and she knew he was right. She had to face this, as much as she dreaded it. With a heavy sigh, she looked at him, her eyes filled with trepidation.

"You're right," she murmured, her voice a little shaky but determined. "Let's get it over with, I don't want Clo to see me in a police car.”

She pottered around quickly, brushing her teeth, picking up a warm jumper, pushing her feet into her trainers. As she trailed around the house, River followed.

“She does breakfast club every morning, Wednesday is gymnastics club after school. I'd better take a jumper, it'll be freezing in there. Umm… she hates broccoli, she'll only eat eggs if they're scrambled. She's not really allergic to anything, but she pretends to be allergic to homework…” She stopped suddenly. “This is ridiculous, what the fuck am I doing?” She said with a heavy sigh. 

“I'm sure I won't need any of this. Not for today or this week, anyway.”

“Eugene is the easiest pup ever, his food is in the cupboard by the door, he just wants to be loved all the time.”

“Don't we all?”

“I can't do this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I had such a lovely night,” she said sadly. “I should have known it was too good to be true.”

“Ella, they're not sending you down for life, we'll fix this.”

The doorbell rang and Ella froze.

“I can't do this,” she mumbled again. 

“You can, I promise you can.” He wrapped his arms around her while Eugene yapped loudly at the front door. “It's going to be ok,” he said, kissing the top of her head. She wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her, or himself. 

*

The air in the interview room was cool and sterile, the fluorescent lights bathing the small space in stark, unforgiving illumination. Ella fidgeted nervously, her hands moving restlessly, seeking some small source of comfort from her current surroundings.

She looked around, taking in the bare walls, the hard chair she sat in, the camera in the corner. The entire scenario felt like something out of a bad movie, not her reality.

Her thoughts raced. Clover and River consumed her mind. She should have been on cloud nine after her night with River, but instead, she found herself terrified that it could all end before it even had a chance to begin.

Ella's mind was a constant chant of the same questions: why would River want to be with a killer?

Why would he take on looking after a nine year old for however long she was expected to be held by the police?

Ella jumped slightly as the door opened, the sound reverberating through the otherwise silent room. The two officers entered, the first one speaking apologetically.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms Cole," the officer said, taking a seat opposite her.

Ella's voice was soft, her words tinged with both resignation and sarcasm. "I don't exactly have much of a choice, do I?"

“We'll try to get this sorted as soon as possible so you can be back home," he said, his tone somewhat sympathetic.

"Ms Cole, your husband was released on bail shortly before his murder. did he come to find you?" the other officer asked. 

"No, he didn't." Her response was immediate and resolute, not a trace of doubt in her voice.

The officer raised an eyebrow at her response, nodding as he made a note on his pad. "And what about your daughter, Clover?" he asked, his tone clinical and detached. "Did Eddie try to find her?”

Ella's voice was slightly defensive as she spoke, her words tinged with a hint of desperation. "I'm sure there are many more people out there who would be more capable of murder than me."

The officer's expression didn't change, his gaze staying trained on her as he continued taking notes.

“Did he try to find your daughter?” He repeated. 

His line of questioning was persistent, and each question made her more uneasy. He met her gaze as he spoke, his voice even and calm.

"If Eddie was as possessive as you say he was, don't you think it's strange that he didn't try to find you, or your daughter?" he continued pointedly.

"He was usually more concerned with his business activities," she replied, her voice tinged with bitterness. “You've been after him for years, you know he didn't give a shit about Clover and I. We were just trophies." she repeated, her tone almost mocking.

The officer jotted more notes on his pad, his expression unreadable. "Did you stay in contact with him while he was in prison recently?" he asked.

“No. I left the family home, I had no intention of going back to him but… in the end, I thought Clover would be safer. I should have known he'd want us back when he was released," she murmured. "Moving out gave me a glimpse of the life I could have without him.”

"And was that when you decided to kill him?" The officer's question was blunt and direct, cutting through the air like a knife. Ella's expression faltered for a moment, a flash of pain and guilt crossing her face.

“No, of course not.” Ella's voice dropped to a whisper, the memories of her past evident in the pained expression on her face. "He's had me imprisoned since I was 17. I could never escape him."

The officer's expression softened a little as he listened to her, his tone shifting from detached to almost empathetic. "And so you killed him?" he asked gently.

Ella's denial was firm and steady, her voice not wavering as she spoke. "No, I didn't," she repeated.

There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other, the officer's questioning gaze never faltering. He took a moment, making a note on his pad before speaking again. "Are you sure about that?" he pressed

Ella's mind was a jumble of emotions and thoughts, the truth on the tip of her tongue yet stuck in her throat. The desire for freedom, for release, weighed heavily on her.

She fidgeted in her seat, her hands twisting in her lap as she met the officer's gaze. He waited patiently, his expression giving nothing away.

A sudden knock at the door startled both officers and Ella, the unexpected interruption breaking the tense silence in the room. The door swung open, and a young desk sergeant moved aside to let Diana Taverner into the interview room.

“Sir, this is Ms Taverner, from service?”

The officers' expressions changed from confusion to surprise, their gaze shifting between the unannounced visitor and Ella.

"Please continue, gentlemen," she insisted.

Taverner took a seat next to Ella, her presence immediately commanding the room. The officers, taken aback by her unexpected entry, exchanged a quick glance before nodding.

"Of course," the officer in charge said, his voice carefully neutral. He adjusted his notes on his pad before continuing, his questions aimed at Ella once again.

"So, you're sure, Ms Cole, that you had nothing to do with Eddie's death?" he repeated, his tone steady and unwavering.

Ella's heart thudded in her chest and she forced herself to meet the officer's gaze firmly, her voice just a hint of a tremble as she answered. "Yes, I'm sure.”

"If I might interject here," Taverner spoke up. "The Park will be taking over this investigation. We've had Eddie Cole on our radar for a long time so we have plenty of background here. Ms Cole remains an employee of ours and I’m sure you know who her father is?”

The officer's eyes widened slightly at the unexpected interjection of Taverner. He opened his mouth, about to protest, but shut it quickly.

Taverner continued, her voice firm and authoritative, "if you could go and arrange the paperwork for Ms Cole's release, I'd like a word in private with her." Taverner dismissed them.

After a brief moment, they nodded and stood, obediently leaving the room. The door shut with a quiet click behind them.

The room was silent once more, the air thick with anticipation. Taverner turned to face Ella, her gaze steady and intense.

"How have I gotten into the habit of getting you out of sticky situations?" she asked Ella coolly.

Ella's lips twitched into a small, tired smile at Taverner's comment. "I don't know," she replied quietly, her voice betraying just a hint of exhaustion. "You must have a knack for it, I suppose, ma’am.” They sat in silence, Ella not wanting to open up the conversation she knew was coming next.

“The dogs reported into Flyte this morning that you were escorted here by the police.” Taverner started. Ella kept quiet. “The dogs which, it turns out, have not been required for the last two months. At the safe house that has not been required for the last two months. You should have told me from the start.” And there it was. Not with a bang, but with a whisper. Confirmation that Diana Taverner knew it had been Ella.

“I’m not sure what you mean, ma’am.” She replied coolly. Taverner tutted, clearly not happy at being kept in the dark.

“Don’t play silly buggers, Cole. The coroner report suggests his body had been in the water for the best part of two months. You should have told me when I first came to you.”

“Should I?”

“Yes,” Diana said sharply. “In case you hadn’t noticed, dear, without me you’d be facing a murder charge. You owe me.”

“You used me! You knew what was going on under my roof and you didn’t step in, you dragged it out to get more on him.” Ella exclaimed.

“You really got us out of a fix by killing him, top marks. And now, you see, we both win. Let’s call the dropped charges my apology, shall we?”

“I don’t know, shall we?” Ella asked, incredulous.

“Look, I get to keep my seniors happy that a troublesome criminal has been neutralised and you get to walk away a free woman, profiting from his business dealings. So, when can we expect you back at your desk?” Taverner asked brightly, pulling on her leather gloves and getting ready to leave.

“At the Park?”

“Where else?” She laughed, “not Slough House, surely?” 

“I don’t want to leave there.”

“Don’t be foolish, everyone wants to leave there. You’ll end your career if you stay there.”

“So be it,” Ella said firmly.

“You owe me, Cole. It’s not too late for me to hand you back over to the police with a gift wrapped case for conviction. I wonder how poor Clover would feel, her mother in prison for the rest of her life?”

“No, no, you wouldn’t -”

“Don’t test me, girl. I’ll call this in when I’m good and ready. I don’t need you at the Park for that.” Taverner rose from her seat, "and you can move out of my damn safe house." She breezed from the room, leaving Ella's life in turmoil once again.

CHAPTER 10 - the finale

[savemeafruitjuice]

OKAY THIS RIGHT HERE! 🗣️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

IF ANYONE IS INTERESTED, IM JUST GONNA FINISH THE SCENE FOR YOU GUYS, PLEASE ENJOY MY ACTUAL BRAINROT!

Lee! Donatello

Ler! Raph, Mikey, Leo

TW! None!

It was a normal day for the turtles, Donnie and Raph playing video games as Mikey watched from the couch, cheering no one on in particular as he stared intently at the screen as his brothers battled. Leo was out doing whatever Leo does in his spare time, probably finding a place to eat for later or something of the sort.

Raphael had won twice in a row so far, and the brainiac was starting to get a little frustrated. They were playing another Lou Jitsu fighting game, and Raph always took the strongest character, the bulky turtle barely giving his brother an opening for attack whenever they played.

The match had just started, and Donnie's health was already half way drained! It was impossible! He had already planned out the best moves for attack, and knew his brother a little too well for his moves to be surprising, so how was he winning? Surely since he knew all of the best combos he would have an assured victory, right?

Wrong.

Not only was he losing, but his older brother had been teasing him about it too, along with Mikey! Things like, "Hey, it's not my fault that you're so caught up in your science that you don't play as well as me!" and "C'mon Dee, don't be such a grump and just admit your losing!" echoed throughout his brain.

He was trying with every fiber of his being to win, he really was! The purple-themed turtle clenched his teeth as he fought for control. How was his brother beating him? Unless...

"Raph, you're totally cheating!" the smug grin on his brother's face never faltered as they mashed their controllers. "Hah! That's not cheating, this is cheating!" Raphael's grin widened as he reached over to Donnie, still focused on the video game.

Donnie realized what was about to happen, panicking slightly. He froze, eyes scrunched shut as he waited for the inevitable. While he wasn't all that comfortable with being touchy-feely, he supposed he could make an exception just this once. Plus, he was getting rather agitated over the game, and laughing a little couldn't hurt.

A smile crept over his features. He couldn't bare to watch as his brothers hand crept closer and closer, inching forward until-

"Eeheek! GyaHA!"

Laughter poured through his lips as his armpit was attacked, wiggling fingers drilling mercilessly beneath his clamped arm. Within seconds, his controller buzzed in his other hand as a pop-up appeared on the screen. Once more, big bold words appeared on both of their sides of the tv, the all too familiar "You Lose" echoing through the lair as the turtle squealed in mirth.

"Y-YohohU WOHOHON! Quihihit ihit alreHEADY!" the controller fell from his hands as he wiggled about, Raphael cheering as Mikey clapped, giggling as his older brother didn't stop tickling the other. The artist crawled over to the two, hitting the ground with an "Oomf!" as he slid off the couch.

Raphael turned fully to Donatello now, his controller tossed to the side while he latched onto his brother's ribcage with his left hand, the right still wiggling under the poor turtle's arm. The genius was full on cackling now, squirming about until eventually he lost his balance.

He toppled backwards, being caught by Mikey. 'When did he get there?' "MIHIHIKEY! HEhelp meheheeee!" his brothers laughed with him, Raph switching from squeezing at his ribs and armpit to wriggling all six digits along his waist. Little relief came from that action though; the purple themed turtle threw his head back and screeched as his little brother snatched up his arms, holding back his biceps with his forearms.

His face flushed a light shade of pink, squirming increasing ten-fold. "Ihihi meheheahant heHELP ME GET AHAWAAHAY! AHAAHNGELOO!" his older brother straddled his calves, now only allowing him to thrash around his torso and as much of his knees as this new position would allow. "Nice gohoing Mihikey!" the other two couldn't help but chuckle along, Donnie desperately reaching for Raph's hands as they moved down ever so slightly, now spidering along his thighs, but given how Mikey held his arms, he couldn't reach his tormentors.

"Awww, Dee! Your smile is so sweet!" Mikey now had begun teasing, each word sending shivers down the other's spine as his tone darkened slightly. "Ihihit's noHOHOHOT! L-EHEHEEE!" Donnie had almost called out for his twin, but quickly decided against it, because let's be real- he wouldn't help in the slightest.

Almost as if reading his thoughts, the portal user rushed into the lair, arms flying over his head. "GUYS, GUYS, GUYS! Oooooh~ watcha doinn'?" his excited smile quickly turned to a mischievous grin as he paused, taking in what was happening.

Don's cheeks were rosy, his eyes squeezed shut as his hips wiggled about, trying to avoid Raphael's fingers as they scuttled along his thighs. Mikey was putting quite a lot of effort into keeping his arms up, and looking from behind them he could see the youngest nuzzling his brother's neck, causing him to shrink away.

Leo giggled. He hadn't seen Donnie genuinely laugh in weeks. The oldest of them was lightheartedly making fun of his brother, noting how he wasn't telling them to stop. Leo swore he could see the pink of his face tinge the back of his neck.

"What did you wanna tell us?" Raph had looked up to Leo from the floor, tilting his head slightly in question. 'Maybe it's not THAT important..'

"Oh, it's nothing. We can deal with it later." his grin turned to a smirk as he crept up behind his brothers. Sensing his brother's presence, and knowing how ruthless he was when tickling, Donatello made a frantic plea for his release. "PLEHEHEASE! Leheo hE-AAAHAHA!"

The younger twin had already made up his mind, squeezing his brother's sides, making him laugh a little louder before going to sit to the left of him. He plopped down on his knees, looking at his brother's face. He didn't seem too frantic, but he did look happy. When Leo had stopped squeezing his sides, his laughter died down to high-pitched giggles, eyes opening to see Leonardo's wiggling fingers making their way to his hips.

A gasp pushed its way out of his mouth, his waist contorting to avoid the offending fingers. Donnie knew he couldn't escape. He knew it was pointless, so in one of the only options of being stubborn he had left, he used his hand to shield his face from them all. Jerking his head to the left, he used his right hand to swat at Mikey's face as it opened him up for more nuzzles on that side, using his other hand to block his own from his other brothers' view.

"Hiding, are we? I think I can fix that~" the blue themed turtle began rapidly squeezing Don's hips, causing a loud squeal to echo through the lair. The younger twin made little noises at the tormented, furthering his descent into madness. "Tktktktktk~ Does that tiiiickle? Is poor wittle DonTon tiiickwish?"

Donatello gave up on hiding his face, arms flailing about as his back arched up, only sending his evil twin's fingers further into his hips. The oldest of them had reached back and started scribbling along his feet, leaving the teen to breathlessly chortle and plead with his brothers.

"LEHEHEOOO! Dohohon't Doho thahaaat! Ihihit TIHIHICKLEEHEES! HAH!" Donnie's head began to go limp, chin pressed into his chest, before shooting back up and cackling once more as Mikey blew a raspberry on the back of his neck. "WAHAHAHIHIHIHIIIIT!" the scientist wailed, his hands flapping furiously.

Leo took note of this, and knowing his twin better than anyone in the room, put an end to his torture. "Awww! Okay guys, he's happy stimming! We should prolly stop before we kill him or something." all of their fingers slowed, Raphael pushing himself off of his legs, Leo switching to gently rubbing his sides, and Mikey releasing his arms, which he now crossed over his chest, hand flapping slowing until he slid to the floor, remaining giggles flowing out every once in a while.

The three looked down at their brother to make sure he was okay before Mikey ran to go get him some water. When he got back, Donnie took a sip, muttering a "thanks" before Raph picked him up from the ground, carrying him bridal style to the couch. He laid down himself, setting Donnie on top of him, Leo and Mikey soon throwing themselves on the pair as well.

The purple-themed turtle sighed, all of them enjoying this rare moment of affection in between their chaotic lives. They didn't have a lot, but one thing was for certain: they'd always have each other.

This turned out to be kind of a monster fic, and honestly, I'm okay with that. I love these guys waaaay too much, so I hope you enjoy!! Remember to drink water and eat, and have a wonderful day or night! 💕💕💕

[theslvttysimp]

Satan's Ragdoll

NSFW

18+ ONLY

MINORS DNI. DO NOT READ

MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED

~ Reader is female and goes by she/her pronouns.~

TW: Slapping, hair pulling, use of the word "girl", choking, gagging, throwing person, objects being broken, glass shattering, cursing.

((NOT MY ART!! FOUND ON PINTEREST. ARTIST IS @RIKKUCHAN ON INSTAGRAM AND TWITTER! SHOW THEM SOME LOVE!!))

You're chilling in your room doing your potion making schoolwork when you hear glass breaking from the common room. Annoyed, you let out huff as you get up from your bed and make way down the hall. What mess did the brothers get into now? You make your way to the source of the noise and see Satan absolutely obliterating the common room. Vases are flying, couches are flipped over, bricks ripped from the walls, and Mammon, Asmo, and Levi are huddle in a corner in fear. "SATAN!" Lucifer bellows from behind you, body glowing with his purple demon fog. "Shut the fuck up, you scum!" Satan spits as he throws a vase in Lucifer's direction. For the next 20 minuets, Lucifer and Satan are in a screaming match about God knows what as the brothers disperse from the corner and leave silently. You keep your distance near the entry way and wait until the dispute is finished. Satan throws the coffee table across the room and curses Lucifer on his way out. " Satan, are you oka-" you try to ask, reaching a hand to place on his shoulder. Satan cuts you off and turns around, eyes glowing an emerald flame. " Don't even try to follow me, human. Leave me be." He turns and storms to his room.

You slouch slightly at the sudden rejection and turn to Lucifer. " Let him be an emotional wreck on his own. He's not worth your time." Lucifer says disgusted as he picks up the pictures that were knock off the wall.

You head back to your room and try to focus back on your schoolwork. You try will all your might to finish your task but can't get Satan out of your thoughts. He is worth your time, if someone just went and actually tried talking to him, maybe he would be able to express his emotions properly. He needs someone to talk to. He's the only one who has never been graced with an angelic past, he was birthed with the punishment of his sin. Punished just for being born. You close your textbook and slide out your door, hoping you don't catch Lucifer on the way to Satan's room.

You reach Satan's door and politely knock, " Satan? It's MC, may I come in?". Instead of a voice responding, you hear a big crash from behind the door. You take it upon yourself to enter, worried that Satan as now begun to trash his room. You click the door behind you and stay against the wall, watching Satan confirm your suspicion. Book pages are torn all over the floor, towers of books now scattered on the floor, closet door shredded to splinters, and an angry Satan failing to notice the human watching near the doorway. "S-Satan..." you say, trying to get his attention. His head snaps in your direction, causing you to choke on your own breath.

With your back pressed to the wall, Satan strides towards you. His emerald eyes burn with fury, if looks could kill you would have been long gone. He takes his hand and grabs your face, causing your cheeks to smoosh together from the force of his grip. He holds you against the wall with his left hand on your shoulder and his knee in between your legs, closing the space between you two. He leans in closer to your face, through his clenched teeth he shouts, " Didn't I tell you not to follow me?!". You get nervous and try to free your face from the grip of his right hand, just for him to hold your face tighter to make you look at him.

Satan's outbursts made you nervous at times, but you were never truly afraid of him. Even at his worst, you never failed to see the beauty in this misunderstood demon. Even in his wrathful grip, you notice how his golden locks perfectly frame his face, his beautiful deep green eyes and how they shimmer in the dimmest of lights. Though never being an angel, his angelic features make you swoon at the sight of them. With him this close to you, feel a warmth grow in between your legs and a flurry of butterflies in your stomach. "S-Satan, please. You need to calm down." you whisper between your smooshed cheeks.

Thanks to Satan's demon powers, he can smell the arousal pouring off of you. " You find this attractive!? You find this irate, spiteful, heinous demon amusing?!" he shouts as his horns sprout through his hair, transforming into his demon form. He grabs you by your torso and throws you across the room on to his bed, knocking whatever books were left on the sheets on to the floor. You gasp at the landing, arms and legs splayed out on his bed; eyes widen with shock. He lunges on top of you, propping himself up with his hands and knees at the sides of your body and looks down on you. " You foolish human, you need to learn how to listen. When The Avatar of Wrath commands you not to follow, you obey his commands." he says as he caresses your cheek with the back of his hand, contrasting the angry look in his eyes. You lean into his touch, completely captivated by his beauty and gentle stroke. He moves his soft hand from your cheek the suddenly shoots his hand down to your top, ripping your shirt and bra off your body in one go. " You make me so angry at times, you know that MC?" he says in a calm voice as he trails a single finger down between your breast, gliding down your torso to the hem of your pants. You shiver at his touch, biting your lip and breathing deeper. You press your thighs together in suspense. " Sometimes... you make me.... very angry....". He grips the waistband of both your underwear and pants and again, rips the clothing off your body to shreds.

He grabs your throat and squeezes just enough to constrict your breathing. With his other hand, he plants a hard smack across your cheek. Your eyes well up as you fight for air, spreading your legs and getting your slick on his sheets beneath you. With him gripping your throat with his left hand, he takes his right hand between your legs and rams three fingers inside of you, causing you to let out a constricted moan. " You like making me angry, don't you?" he taunts as he begins drilling your pussy with his slender fingers. He drills his fingers inside of you, pressing down on your g spot. You cry out as you squirm in the overstimulating pleasure. Your head becomes dizzy and your vision is faded from your tears.

He lets go of your throat to move his other hand down to your heat, slapping your clit with force as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. You throw your head back and let out an ear-piercing moan, spreading your legs apart and arching your back, pathetically begging for more without saying a single word. The room fills with your pleasured screeches and the wet slapping of your clip against his palm. When satisfied on how abused your pussy looks, he stands up and takes off his clothes. With you laying on your back, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head to the edge of the bed he's standing next to. With your face turned to his throbbing cock, he slides it down your throat and fucks your face. He bobs your head back and forth by your hair, ignoring your slurpy gags and tears running down your cheeks. Your face is turned to its side so all you can do it looks up at him with glassy eyes and drool dripping out of your mouth, allowing him to use your throat as his personal pocket pussy.

He shoves your face into his pelvis, releasing his hot seed down your throat with a grunt between his teeth. He pulls his dick out of your mouth and pulls you off of his bed by your hair, making you stand up properly. He walks over to his bookshelf that stands about 4 feet tall and pushes all his books off onto the floor. He then gets behind you and with one hard shove, you land on the bookshelf on your stomach and ass in the air. He grabs a fistful of your hair again and with his dick pressed in between your ass cheeks, he leans over and whispers "Why must I abuse you to teach you not to provoke the embodiment of Wrath?". He bites down on your earlobe as he rams his dick into your heat. You gasp as you grip on to the lip of the bookshelf. You hang your head down as your knuckles turn white from gripping the aged wood. His dick is so deep in your guts, you feel it practically punching your lungs. He pulls on to your hair causing your neck to bend backwards as far as it can physically go. Your throat is now exposed, and your eyes are fixed on to Satan behind you. He begins fucking you on the bookshelf with all his force, shoving two fingers down your throat. He presses down on the back of your tongue, enjoying the view of you gaging and drooling while watching your crying eyes lock into his gaze. Despite the force coming from behind you, as well as sensation of being gagged, you arch your back and take all of his dick, enjoying the abuse. " What a good girl you are" he purrs in a breathy groan as he runs his fingers across your tongue. He lets go of your hair, and with both hands, he hooks his fingers inside of your mouth and pulls you closer into his thrusts by the inside of your cheeks. With your mouth forced open, there is no concealing the whimpery moans coming from you. You become weak in the knees and you reach your peak, eyes rolling to the back of your head as drool drips from your mouth and on to his hands. Once you've finished, he pulls out of you as you lay limp on his bookshelf. Satan has returned back to his human form, the fiery glow of wrath now gone from his eyes. He picks you up like a rag doll and carries you to his bed. Now that Satan as successfully released his pent of anger on to your abused pussy, he spends the rest of the night reading to you the soppiest of love stories. Despite his roughness, he's thankful you aren't very good at following commands. He'll remember that next time he tells you not to follow.

[msgexymunson]

hi :) i wld love to see your take on eddie sitting in on reader’s tattoo appointment, i just got my foot n ankle done and my lonely little rat brain was overrun w the idea of him reminding me to breathe, being encouraging, taking care of me after (i had to limp outta there lol)

Congrats on the ink bestie!! 

Warnings: none I don't think, a bit pine-y, very praise heavy, happy ending

A/N: I wish I had an Eddie Munson by my side at each of my tatt appointments! (Though, on second thoughts, if I did I don't think I'd have any bare skin left!) Not sure if this is where you wanted this to go but I got a bit carried away haha

1.6k words

Masterlist 

As you approach the shop you feel your limbs jangling like windchimes. The breath you take in is gulped and shaky, doing nothing to calm your quaking nerves. 

Eddie strokes your hands, each held in his ironclad grip. 

"Hey, hey, look at me." 

Your eyes travel to meet his, heart leaping at the concern etched on his face. Bold, wide eyes meet your gaze with every ounce of care one look could give. 

"You know you don't have to do this. Just say the word and we'll walk away." 

His concern makes you want to cry, trying hard not to focus on his unending gaze. 

"I know, I want to do it." Taking a big breath, you harden your shoulders. "Let's go." 

Eddie smiles at your bravery and opens the tattoo shop door for you, giving you a little bow. 

Smirking at his gentlemanly antics you take your first steps in and walk over to the counter, gaze being met by a smiling woman with a shaved head and a neck tattoo. 

“Hey there, how can I help you?” Her grin’s infectious, all teeth and warmth. 

“I’ve got an appointment with you, I think? Are you Miranda?” You give your name and you're led through, Eddie hot on your heels. As you walk past a couple of stations Eddie gives a salute to another tattoo artist, who waves and grins at you both. 

As you’re filling out the paperwork, Eddie’s hand finds your forearm, thumb rubbing encouraging circles into the warm flesh. 

“It’s gonna be fine, it’s not even that bad, trust me. I’m here.” 

As you smile back at him, face warming at his words, you bite back the lump in your throat that always appears when your best friend looks at you like that. Handing the form back to her, the words “First time?” surprise you from your revelry, and you turn to look at the grinning tattoo artist. 

“Yeah, it’s my 21st, so it’s a present.” Eddie waves half heartedly with his fingers, indicating he was the one who bought the appointment. 

“Cute. Well at least you’ve got your boyfriend here to look after you.” 

You cringe inwardly at that, wishing that her words were true. 

“Oh he’s- we’re not- “ 

“Oh this princess is far too good for the likes of me, ain’t that right?” Eddie’s lopsided grin tugs at your heartstrings as he lands a playful punch on your shoulder. A soft frown pulls your bottom lip into a small pout, wanting to say that he is good enough, that he’s everything, but the words never leave your lips. 

Miranda’s voice cuts through the awkward tension. “Shame. You guys make a cute couple.”

Your face flushes magenta as you remove your sneaker and sock, grateful to be looking anywhere but Eddie’s face. 

As the artist preps the area you risk a glance at Eddie. If he feels awkward, he doesn’t show it, just giving you that cheeky grin of his you’ve grown to love, a permanent etch of mischief lined in his features. 

She peels off the stencil and invites you to check out the design. It’s an orchid; roots, leaves and beautiful flowers run up the side of your foot to your ankle. 

“Oh, it’s perfect, thanks!” You smile at Miranda and she begins prepping the inks and tattoo machine. As soon as the machine turns on you clench. It must be visible as Eddie grabs your hand forcefully, squeezing your fingers. 

“It’s OK, it’s just noisy. Don’t focus on it, focus on me.” You will your eyes to open as you gaze upon his face. 

Miranda lets you know she’s going to start tattooing. Your gaze never falters, staring at Eddie like your life depended on it. 

The first touch of the needle shocks you, but only a little, and after the initial wince dissipates you continue to look into Eddie’s eyes. 

“That’s it sweetheart, doing so well. You’re doing better than I did on my first go!” 

You hear a deep voice from a few feet away. 

“That’s true, he started crying!” A hearty chuckle follows it. 

“Yeah, thanks for that Mac!” Eddie throws the words over his shoulder as you giggle. You don’t believe it for a moment, but you appreciate everyone wanting to distract you. 

As time progresses, the sting of the needle begins to feel like more of a burn, and it's getting harder and harder to ignore. As you flinch for the fourth time, nerves spasming in your foot, Eddie squeezes your hand. 

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s OK, you’re nearly done. Doing such a good job. So brave. I’m proud of you.” 

“Eddie, speak to me, tell me something.” You say through clenched teeth. 

“OK, er, how about…” then his face lights up. “How about I tell you about the three battle bards who wandered upon a clearing and discovered a fire dragon’s egg?” 

“Yeah? What were their names?” You smirk. A bubble of love threatens to burst in your chest. 

“Oh, you don’t know? They’re like, really famous.” 

“So, what are they called, Eddie?” Your smile widens at his stalling. 

“Easy. They were called Ragnar, er, Galduf, and, er… Lemmy.” 

“Lemmy??” You giggle. 

“Yeah, Lemmy the Gambler, famous battle bard.” Eddie nods sagely. 

“Did he sing about a certain playing card by any chance?” 

“Oh, so you have heard of him!” Your laughter rings through the shop, making Eddie beam with pride. 

He continues to talk you through the adventures of Ragnar, Galduf and Lemmy the Gambler, hands gesticulating wildly, until the colour portion of your tattoo is nearly finished. You were almost lost in his story. Almost. 

The burn begins to become unbearable. 

“Eddie, shit, I- I can’t!” You tense every muscle, flexing your pain outwards. 

Miranda the tattoo artist asks “Hey, if you want to stop we can, just finishing up with the purple though, and then it’s just white highlights, then we are done.” 

You see Eddie glance down at your ink. 

“Seriously, princess, it's so close now, you can do it.” He looks up at Miranda. “She can do it. Trust me. I’ll get her through.” 

Your mouth hangs open at his words. 

“Hey, princess, you trust me right? You can do this, I promise. Trust me.” 

You nod, unable to focus on anything but Eddie. 

“I trust you. I can do this.” 

“Atta girl. Being so good for me sweetheart.” Blood blooms in your cheeks at his praise, breath catching in your throat. 

It’s the last hurdle. The final touch ups, and everything in you wants to leap out of the chair and run. Eddie’s warm palm presses to your jaw, thumb rubbing comfort just by your ear. 

You’re barely aware that you’re speaking. 

“Eddie, I can't, I can't, that’s it, I just- no more, I- “

Suddenly, Eddie’s lips are on yours. You don’t have time to think, just feel. They are soft; a delicate, hesitant pressure being applied so chastely as if they were afraid you’ll break, or run. Your eyes widen immediately, caught entirely off guard. Then, you melt. Your eyes flutter shut as your hand reaches into Eddie’s hair, pulling him in softly. Eddie exhales a relieved breath through his nose that fans across your face, as you both kiss each other. Mouths pressing against each other; not opening, but inviting. A teasing promise of what could be to come. You inhale that particular perfume that is Eddie; all sweet snacks, weed, and the spell of his skin. 

A noise outside of your kissing bubble draws you back to reality. 

“So… I’m done.” 

You whip your head around to Miranda, who's blushing, looking a little like a third wheel. 

“What?” You gasp, still not entirely on the correct plane of existence. Not when Eddie’s hand is stroking softly at your jaw. 

“I’m done! Take a look in the mirror!” 

You jump up and hobble your way over to the full length mirror on the opposite side of the shop. 

“Oh, oh it’s beautiful! Oh my God, it’s better than I imagined. Thank you!” You hide your face in your hands, trying to snuff out the emotion. Eddie walks over to the till to complete paying for your present. Once your tattoo is wrapped, and you’ve managed to hop outside on one foot, you finally risk a glance at your best friend. 

“So.” you struggle out, heart in your throat. 

“So.” Eddie mirrors you, fear in his eyes. “I was just trying to help, you know? I thought it was the thing you’d least expect and if you want to pretend it never happened I totally understand and mmph” 

The rest of Eddie’s ramblings are muffled as you press your lips against his. 

“Do you wanna, erm, go back to your trailer, and we can talk about this? Or just kiss some more?” You smile up at him. 

“I vote for, kiss some more.” He grins and lifts you up bodily to your surprise, carrying you to his van. Your laughter rings through the car park, delight and surprise rippling through it like a sunbeam.

If you want to be added to my Eddie tag list please give me a shout, I kinda lost it after Rumour sorry everyone! I've got the following so far:

@munson-blurbs @eddiesprincess86 @munsonology @manda-panda-monium @tlclick73 @bookshelf-dust @needylilgal022 @tiannamortis @simple-lovebot

[fangirlies]

AGREEED i love jealous xavier too 👀 what about ajax tired of his bff being tormented around reader that he pretends he has a crush on her so xavier would make a move on her faster

-🍓

There you sat, cross-legged as you took a bite of your breakfast. Xavier eyed the way you body gently rises as you took in a fresh breath. He watched as you graciously greeted your friends. He noticed how your hair fell almost too flawlessly on your school blazer and you, as usual, played with the ends of it.

"You know, now that I'm really looking at her... she's kinda sexy," Ajax muses. Xavier shifts his gaze from your seated body across the quad to his best friends sitting beside him. It wasn’t like Ajax didn’t know how bad Xavier drooled at the mere thought of you. The gorgon was becoming irritated, hearing and seeing Xavier nearly fall at his feet for you but never doing anything about it. Hell, it wasn't even 8:00 a.m yet, and Xavier already seemed to be in a trance. Ajax noticed his best friend tense up, but Xavier brushed aside his comment. Ajax had him exactly where he wanted him. But to Xavier’s dismay, that wasn’t the last of it.

“She acts all innocent but I’d bet fifty bucks she’s into some kinky shit.” The beanie-wearing boy and the tortured artist sat there and watched you laugh innocently at something Enid said. They watched as you batted your eyelashes and leaned forward, your skirt riding up your thigh.

“Shut up dude,” Xavier said through gritted teeth. He was now tapping his fingers furiously and clenching his jaw to the point of nearly snapping. Ajax realized he was getting to him and still pushed further.

“Shit, if you don’t make a move, I might-”

Xavier jerked up before Ajax finished his sentence, nearly spilling his half-eaten breakfast. He didn’t want to hear it. He couldn’t hear it. The very thought of Ajax getting to you first drove him insane. You were his, even if you didn't even know it yet. Xavier glared at Ajax, who was now fighting back a mischievious grin.

“Y/N” Xavier zeroes in on you, his voice persistent, but hesitant with the impending question. “hey, can we talk?” Xavier interrupted your groups conversation while shoving his hands deep into his sweaters pockets. You were taken aback, but flashed your sweet smile like you always did. The one that made xavier melt each time. When he noticed your friends were paying close attention to the words that were about to depart his lips, he pulled you further away. Away from prying eyes.

“What’s going on?” You inquired. Your expression of worry caused his heart to swell.

“Do you uh. . .” When it finally dawned on him that he was speaking to you, he became a bundle of nerves. As he danced around his words, a small bead of sweat formed on his brow. You stood in front of him with your warm eyes and rosy cheeks, and a worried look plastered on your face. His knees practically buckled. "Would you want to uhm maybe. . . have a coffee some time? With-with me.”

Your sweet smile grew larger, which he didn’t know was even possible, and your rosy cheeks turned into a shade of crimson. “Is Thorpe asking me out on a date?”

“Ye-ah, I mean if, if that’s what you want to call it. If not, it’s cool. I don't want to make you uncomfor-"

"I'd love to go on a date with you, Thorpe."

Ajax’s jaw was left hanging and to say he was speechless would be an understatement. He knew it would drive Xavier crazy, but he never imagined it’d drive him to the point of asking you out. If he had known that, he would have tormented his best friend ages ago.

[noxsoulmate]

💞 Of Lizards, Love & Laundry 💞

🦎 Carlos Reyes and the Journey of Becoming a Lizard Papa 🦎

Ship: Tarlos | Fandom: 911 Lone Star Author: noxsoulmate | Artist: paxdracona Read on ao3 | View art on ao3

Chapters: 1-3/9 | Word Count: 4309 | Rating: Mature | Warnings/Tags: canon compliant, Lou II is the Houdini of Lizards, how Lou II makes his Papa love him, a story told in 7+2 parts, Carlos is so done, but TK knows how to condition his man, sex and spicy food, bribery, fluff, domestic fluff, fluff and smut, fluff and humor, Carlos loves TK, so he puts up with the reptile in their loft, until he starts to love the little monster as well

Inspired by @paxdracona's amazing art

Created for the @911reversebang

Summary:

“TK, your lizard got out. Again.”

Lou II might just be the Houdini of lizards, an escape artist par excellence – but he’s also TK’s emotional support lizard, so how could Carlos not start to like the little monster? It certainly has nothing to do with TK’s ways of bribery or attempts at conditioning him, and more with the fact that Lou II is just… growing on him. Even if that means loads and loads of extra laundry.

OR: Carlos Reyes and the Journey of Becoming a Lizard Papa, told in 7+2 parts

🦎 Read on ao3 🦎

💞 and please leave lots of love on the wonderful art on ao3 💞

I cannot thank @paxdracona enough for this wonderful collaboration 🥰 It started out as a simple "okay, I think I have enough ideas to make this a short 5+1 fic" and then became so much more, thanks to cute Bearded Dragon videos, funny Insta posts, lots of talking and laughing and plotting, and just the generally amazing art Pax created for every little snippet I sent her way. Pax, this was a delight and I would collaborate with you again each and every single time 🦎 (also, we should both adopt a beardie now...)

Sneak peek and more art under the cut:

one

Carlos will forever deny the high-pitched scream that leaves him the moment he opens the drawer to pull out a fresh pair of socks. What he won’t deny though, is the fact that his soul definitely left his body in that moment. 

He can already hear footsteps running towards the bedroom, his fiancé’s worried, “Babe?!?” echoing around the loft – and still, he can’t stop himself from putting his emotions into one frustrated yell of, “TK!!”

“I’m here, I’m here,” TK calls back, skidding to a halt in the doorway, using the door frame to stop his sprint. “What happened? What? Are you hurt?!”

Carlos tries not to explode at him, he truly does, so he simply glares at him with all the rage he feels and points to the drawer, pressing out through clenched teeth, “Your monster got free.”

TK, in all honesty, seems to light up as he steps over to the dresser and reaches into the drawer. “Oh, hey baby, hi. There you are. Hi.”

Something about that comment strikes Carlos as odd and he sucks in a deep breath, frustration rising, when he realizes what it is. “You knew he was out?”

At least TK has the decency to look sheepish while cradling the little monster to his chest. “He might’ve gotten away while I cleaned his terrarium earlier today.”

Carlos lets that information sink in for a moment, remembering how overly excited TK greeted him about half an hour ago when Carlos got home from his shift. How he seemed slightly breathless and waved it away as just being done with some workout but still had declined to share the shower with Carlos, claiming some tidying up he wanted to do.

That lying little… 

“And you didn’t tell me?” Carlos accuses to which TK almost reflexively replies, “I didn’t want you to freak out.”

“TK!”

And, yeah, that argument sounds eerily familiar.

Carlos pinches the bridge of his nose, trying not to think about the fact that he walked around the loft – mainly the bathroom and bedroom – naked while this little monster was running around. Or, worse yet, getting all his germs over Carlos’ clothes.

He points a finger at TK, giving him his strongest Officer Reyes glare. “It’s your turn to do the laundry and every single one of my socks will be in that machine, do you hear me?”

“Of course,” TK promises right away. “I’ll just… wash everything in that dresser, okay?”

💞🦎 Continue on ao3 🦎💞

Noxy’s Tagging List:

@detective-giggles, @sgirl18, @firstprince-history-huh, @beautifulhigh, @rangergurlgleek1211, @shadesofdeviant, @actuallysara, @carlos-in-glasses, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @welcometololaland, @wtfuckevenknows, @lightningboltreader, @meditating-honey-badger, @just-inside-her, @alidravana, @morganaspendragonss, @bonheur-cafe, @heartstringsduet, @ravens-words, @lire-casander, @otter-love-asl, @ramblingdisaster73, @first-kanaphan, @xtltokio, @buckybarnesalways, @mangacat201, @catanisspicy, @lemonlyman-dotcom

[mamoonde]

modern au for cssr x wcz

where cssr is a touring pop indie artist and one night after a set where she performed brooklyn baby (lana del rey) in a bar/club, wcz the bartender serves her drink and asks, "is your boyfriend really cool?"

cssr blinks, gives him a (slow) once over, smiles.

"depends. are you?"

mama wei got soooooooo much game i just know it. she knew it, wielded it, killed (metaphorically) with it.

baba wei got game. didn't know it. didn't flaunt it. poured delicious cocktails w his sleeves rolled up his forearms and a genial smile and assumed everybody else got the same insane amount of tips every night.

cssr chatted wcz up, and wcz responded in kind without expectation. when a persistent guy wouldn't take the hint, less so the blunt 'no,' wcz deftly deals with him with a mere forbidding look and even (dangerous) tone.

cssr took him home that night.

wcz thought that was it. and was proven wrong.

cssr kept coming back, night after night, even when she didn't have to perform, reveling in doing the chasing for once.

wcz thought cssr who lived that kind of wild carefree lifestyle couldn't possibly 'settle' for a guy like him. and yet cssr is sooooooooooo gone for him.

some spurned loser: you know she's just playing with you, right? cssr will never be tied down, least of all by you

wcz: thank you for your concern, but i'm afraid you're not my type. and i would be a fool to even think about tying cangse down. she loves being a free spirit and i wouldn't change her for the world

cssr: marry me

🔞 later in wcz's apartment 🔞

wcz breaks off their kiss. "you could have any man... why me?"

"can't i just want you? don't you want me too?" cssr pouts playfully, tugging at his hair.

wcz gives in and kisses her again. "you can. i do. so much." he says between kisses.

and then they don't speak again until they're both undressed on wcz's bed, cssr straddling wcz with him deep inside her.

"those men only want to own me, control me--" cssr gasps. "make me a trophy to display at home. but you," she rolls her hips. "you're not like them. you wouldn't do that."

she revels in the way he looks at her, like he sees right through to her soul. not some work of art display or land to conquer; just her.

wcz lets her set the pace, then lifts her off him by the hips and just holds her there. "are you calling me weak?" he tugs her nipple with his teeth.

cssr squeaks then tugs at his head.

"nooo, you know what i mean!" she whines, kicking her feet when he keeps holding her still with just the tip of him inside her.

she retaliates by clenching her walls, rolling her hips and sucking at the sensitive spot behind his ear.

their little game continues until neither of them can keep any semblance of rhythm, devolving into a relentless chase to the end.

"you really won't tie me down, a-ze?" cssr pants against his lips.

"not unless you want me to." wcz says, still rubbing her clit, wet with their spend, until cssr shudders again.

~~ end of nsfw bit ~~~

they stay like that for a while, catching their breaths against sweaty skin. then cssr blows a raspberry into wcz's chest.

"should i be offended that you won't even try?" she says dryly.

"i will not do anything you don't want." wcz looks her in the eyes. cssr flushes with an eep! then looks down, tracing his clavicle.

"so if i say i want to keep traveling?"

wcz holds her wrist, pressing her palm to his heart. "then i will say, where to?"

"you'd come with me?"

"if you'd let me."

"what if i lose my voice?" cssr asks later as wcz washes her hair.

"then we'll take sign language classes and i'll work extra until you can find a new job."

"what if i get old and wrinkly and all my hair turns grey?" cssr asks while they're shopping for groceries.

"then people will finally believe me when i say i've been had by a cougar." wcz says while placing a jar of cssr's favorite peanut butter brand in the cart.

cssr squawks and smacks his arm with a bag of gummy bears.

"a-se, no one will believe your age with the way you act." wcz deadpans, then kisses her forehead. "if it bothers you, we can dye your hair to match mine, or mine to match yours."

"hmm, i do think you'd look cool with silver hair." cssr says, then challenges, "what if i want us to get pink hair?"

"then we'll both get pink hair dye."

.

.

.

"what if i'm no longer beautiful?" cssr asks as they settle in for bed. "will you still love me?"

"it's a good thing i don't love you for just your looks then," wcz says then kisses her pout away with a smile. "i will always love you no matter what you look like. my love is always beautiful."

cssr smiles and kisses him softly.

"good answer!" she chirps then turns on her back. "'cuz in four months, my belly will pop and my ankles will be swollen, and in eight months, i won't even be able to see them! but you still need to tell me i'm pretty, okay?"

"yes, yes, you're pretty," wcz mumbles half asleep... then blinks awake. "...wait. cangse?"

cssr hums. "good night, baby daddy."

then she conks out.

wcz blinks, and blinks again. he starts counting.

"what."

he counts again. fuck, they hadn't used any protection that first time, did they? neither did he use a condom that one time at the bar... or that other night... oh.

oh.

wcz doesn't sleep for a long time.

when morning comes, cssr wakes to wcz curled up against her waist, hand on her belly.

"silly changze, the baby's still just a pea!"

she smiles dopily. yep, this one's a keeper.

the end

eight months and twenty years later, wwx asks his parents about their love story to deflect from his own love woes, does the math, and realizes they conceived him the night they met:

[talesmaniac89]

Charity Heist 11 - aka. The Reluctant Rescue Team

A Supernatural Heist AU - Masterlist

Pairing: Hitter!Dean x Thief!Reader

Summary: The Singer & Winchester Retrieval Agency is the best group of con artists in the world. But even though Y/N can crack safes, scale buildings and infiltrate even the most secure locations, she still can't find a way to deal with her all consuming feelings for the group's greek god of a hitter; Dean Winchester. How will she handle their next big heist, when she's forced to get up close and personal with the man of her dreams?

Warnings: Idiots in love, smutty thoughts, a lot of swearing and a ton of bad jokes.

Watch the trailer here

A/N: This story is 50% jokes and 50% dirty thoughts. No deep angst, just fun and action! Inspired by the series Leverage.

Y/N = Your Name

Start Here - Last - Next

A/N: Sorry for the delay here! Had a bit of a weekend 🤣

For a few seconds, the room was completely quiet except the soft sound of traffic coming through the speaker in the middle of the table showing that Bobby was out and about. None of you dared speak as you took in the news. 

Crowley, the damned idiot, got caught because he had to visit his fucking tailor? He couldn’t even go one job without ordering another stupid black suit? 

Fucking perfect. 

Yet, just as soon as the silence had settled over the War Table, all hell broke loose, with every member of your rag tag group of master criminals speaking over each other. Sounding less than the well-oiled con machine you were and more like a room full of school children. 

“He’s an idiot, that’s why I always say we shouldn’t work with him…” Dean growled from next to you, just as Charlie made some very apt comparisons between the mobster and a chimpanzee. Though you barely even caught either’s words over your own tired groan. 

“Holy… God, how the hell did he get caught?” You shot towards Sam, though you knew the youngest Winchester wouldn’t have held back on the details if he knew anything else. 

“You know Crowley. If nothing else, the man believes he’s untouchable. The king of the underground. So of course he had none of his own men with him,” Sam just sighed with a tired shrug of his shoulders. Leaning forward, your intelligence guy seemed just as lost as you as his big hands splayed against the wood of the table to steady himself as all his perfectly laid plans were shaken off kilter by Crowley’s antics.

“So… What now?” Castiel spoke up, keeping much more calm than the rest of your group. As always, your grifter was the most composed one among you as he leaned back in his seat. The last remnants of his latest role still shining through in the cocky hold of his shoulders and the slightly bored look in his eyes. Damn it, you hated it when he stayed in character. But the job was still on, and nothing could shake him from his role. 

“Now… We have to change our plans,” Sam gritted the words out through clenched teeth. If there was one thing your intelligence guy hated, it was anyone messing with his carefully laid plans. After all, he didn’t have a folder for ‘what to do if your idiot collaborator decided he feels like being kidnapped’. 

“We have to save him… Don’t we?” Charlie said with a sigh as she let her head drop to the desk with a dull thud. 

Pouting at your best friend you let out another annoyed groan. 

You knew she was right. But that didn’t mean you had to like it. After all, the problem with being an actual super thief with a heart of gold was that you actually had a heart. So you felt bad when you did bad, even if it was still kind of part of the job description. Maybe less so now than before, but you were still technically breaking the law. The devil and angel on your respective shoulders were mortal enemies, yet somehow also friends with benefits. Which wasn’t really great for your moral compass. As Charlie had said earlier that day; your rag tag group all had questionable morals. 

And though Crowley was an absolute ass, you knew you’d feel bad if he ended up with a brand new shiny pair of cement shoes at the bottom of a bay somewhere just because he was helping you out with a job. Even if he’d made sure to squeeze as much money as he possibly could out of you. You all would, unfortunately. 

“Do we have to?” Dean’s groaned, tired voice echoed your thoughts perfectly as he finally spoke up again. Though you knew your hitter wouldn’t leave anyone he was working with hanging out to dry. Even if the person in question kind of deserved it. 

“I guess we have to…?” You sighed, the statement coming out more like a question as you looked up at Sam. After all, him and Bobby made all your plans. At the end of the day, it was all up to them. You wouldn’t move without his green light. Even if you would drag your feet moving when he finally gave the signal. 

“Yeah, we need a revised plan, one including getting Crowley out of his own mess,” Sam confirmed, though he didn’t look all that happy with his own words either, sinking back into his seat from where he’d stood up to deliver the bad news.

“He annoys me though…” Charlie shot in as you all went silent, looking at the speaker as you waited for Bobby to talk some sense into you. 

“He annoys all of us kid, but we have to save him. If nothing else because he’s a liability,” Bobby’s voice finally spoke up through the speaker with a humorless laugh. 

“Ok. So what’s the new plan then?” You shot in, before another chorus of groans could shave even more time off of your planning. Hell, even though you were annoyed, maybe this was for the best? You had energy to burn through, and as the team’s retrieval expert, it would most likely be up to you to… Retrieve, the mobster. 

Plus, a job would mean you wouldn’t have time to think about the gun range. Or Dean. Or what the hell all of that was. Which the little escape artist you called a heart really appreciated.

“We need to hit them from multiple angles,” Bobby said through the speaker after taking a beat to think things through. Your mastermind was coming through for you once more. You could almost hear the gears grinding as he threw together a new rescue plan on the spot. Or, hell… That was probably still just background traffic, or Bobby changing the gears of his beat up truck, but it sure as hell sounded like gears grinding. 

“Crowley might be a bastard, but he’ll be true to his word. At least as long as the bad guys don’t offer him more money than we already have. Which, knowing their type, I doubt they will. They’re a miserly bunch of bastards,” Bobby continued as you all just nodded at the speaker. Still acting like the little piece of plastic and wiring could see you. 

“But, we can’t let them catch us. And we can’t let rescuing our damsel interfere with our plans,” He mused, as he worked out the kinks in his new plan out loud. Leaving you all to hold your breath, muscles tense as you waited for him to pull the trigger; firing you all into action. 

“Castiel, you need to hit them on their home turf. I want you to use your new persona to pay them a little visit at their white washed headquarters. Keep the bigger guys busy while we save our man,” Bobby finally said, earning a little nod from Castiel, who was quickly falling fully back into character. 

“They won’t be expecting me though… Might pose a problem,” Castiel’s voice was flat and void of emotion as he drawled the words. Making you shiver as you realized it wasn’t Cas speaking anymore. He was once more fully in character. 

“True.. Charlie, you go with him. Sneak into the IT department and set up some meetings in their calendars with Castiel’s cover. While you’re there, take this opportunity to plant some surprises in their system. A nice little bonus for messin’ with our plans,” Bobby easily corrected his own plans without breaking a sweat as you all sat waiting for your own orders. 

Watching your red headed hacker across the table, you cocked an eyebrow as Charlie’s cheshire cat grin replaced her former annoyance. Your best friend was nearly bouncing in her seat as Bobby gave her her role in the new plan. A wicked look in her eyes that… Honestly? Kind of scared you. She clearly had something up her sleeve, since she was normally not that happy to do field work. 

“Finally! I made this little virus a looong time ago. I can hide it in their servers and set it off with a click of a button whenever we want. It’ll cripple them, send their client’s data to a competitor of our choice and wipe their whole server clean. Their expensive computers and servers will just be overpriced paperweights when I’m through with them,” The red head was close to laughing maniacally as she let you all in on whatever it was she found so funny. 

“Good, sounds like just the thing we need kid,” Bobby didn’t even try to hide the pride in his voice as he responded to Charlie’s delight. A small chuckle escaping your normally tough-as-nails boss, before he cleared throat and fell silent, trying to formulate the actual rescue mission. 

“Alright… So while Cas and Charlie keep the higher-ups busy, we’ll need to get Crowley out as soon as possible. Dean, (Y/N) and Sam, I want the three of you to hit the spot where they’re keeping ‘im,” He finally continued after a brief pause, where you swore you could actually see him entering his own little mind palace through the small speaker. 

“Sammy… They might have some mid-level guys there. Crowley’s a pretty big mark for them after all. So they might have brought in someone a bit higher up than just your common muscle to keep an eye on him. Though if we’re lucky they haven’t gotten there yet. I want you to play the role of mid-level boss yourself or distract them if the bosses are already there. I trust you to figure out how,” 

“Quietly?” Sam shot in as he rolled his shoulders, his jaw set and clearly ready for a fight. Nothing pissed off the younger Winchester more than having someone mess up your jobs. Though you didn’t miss the way his hazel eyes softened from the trust his adoptive father placed in him. 

“Quietly, if possible. But feel free to get rough if the situation calls for it,” Bobby said after only a moment of deliberation. You weren’t worried that your mastermind was sending the youngest Winchester after the area bosses, hell, you’d seen Sam fight. And though Dean normally took on the role as the loud and violent distraction in any of your jobs, you knew his younger brother could more than hold his own in a fight. 

“So you want me to go get our damsel?” Dean sounded nearly nauseous as he asked the question. Seeming no more willing to go save the Scotsman than you were. 

“No. Your job’s a lot more important than that Dean,” Bobby shot back, causing Dean to frown as he leaned closer towards the speaker, waiting for his orders. 

“You need to keep our retrieval expert safe. (Y/N) will be the one infiltrating. If everything goes as planned, she should get in and out quietly with Crowley in tow while Sam poses as one of the bosses, or at least a mouthpiece for one to draw their attention. And you stand at the ready to help our girl out if something goes wrong,” Bobby shot back, leaving no room for arguing in his words. Though you could see Dean’s jaw tick in annoyance at the thought of you going in alone to save the greased up mobster. 

“Alright, I’ll go play knight in shiny harnesses and save our damsel. Dean will have my back, outside. Right?” You shot in, wanting to cut Dean off before he still tried to argue with your mastermind’s orders. Which, by the look of his eyes burning into the speaker, he was moments away from doing. 

Moving those same burning green orbs off of the speaker, Dean’s eyes settled on you as he tried to make you back down. But there was no way you would. You were the retrieval expert. Bobby’s plan made sense, even if Dean for some reason refused to see it. 

This was a job. Whatever had happened in the gun range took the backseat when there was a job to do. So even though your body was still heated from the feel of your hitter devouring you only 30 minutes earlier, you were not backing down. You were a big girl, and retrieval was your thing. 

“Right,” After a beat or two of silence, Dean sighed in defeat as he spat out the single word between gritted teeth. His eyes resting on you for just a second more before quickly standing up to get ready. 

It was time to go save yourself a damsel.

---

The ride to the job in Sam’s beat up truck was awkward, for the lack of a better word.  

Not only had Dean not-so-subtly been sending you burning looks through the rear-view mirror that made it very hard for you to focus on your rescue mission. But Sam and Dean kept arguing the finer details of the case. Mainly surrounding you and your role. 

And by that you meant Dean kept arguing the details.

Your hitter kept suggesting changes to the plan, which coincidentally all involved him going in first to clear a path for you, which you swiftly ignored. You didn’t need a damn babysitter. Dean had seen you in action before. Hell, you’d nearly knocked him out the first time he came to recruit you. But, you had no choice but to keep your mouth shut, or risk getting dragged into a shouting match with the two most stubborn men you knew. After all, no matter what Dean said, Bobby had made your roles crystal clear. 

You were the retrieval expert. You would be going in to save the idiotic Scotman with a suit fetish and a hard-on for his personal tailor. No matter how much your green eyed hitter batted his long lashes at you or pouted like a giant man baby in the shotgun seat. 

“I wish we could just turn this damn car around and leave the bastard to rot,” Dean groaned from the front seat after another round of arguing about who should do what during the job.

“Well, we’re basically here, so a bit too late for that Dean,” Sam sighed, sounding like he wished for nothing more than to turn the beat up truck he refused to part with around too. 

“We’re here? Good, let me go do my thing,” Cutting off the new round of arguing over the plan that you knew Dean was gearing up for, you spoke up for the first time since the car ride started. Both to at least get one shot in against Dean, but also because you were beyond ready to get your thieving on. Finally perking up at the idea of being out of the tense atmosphere in the car and away from Dean’s burning eyes, you nearly bounced in your seat from the thought of some much needed action to burn off all the dirty energy in your body. 

“You seem weirdly eager to rescue Crowley (Y/N),” Sam said as he pulled up and parked just half a block from where the mobsters had locked up your ‘damsel’. The hazel eyes meeting yours in the rear-view mirror looked at you in concern, as if you were possessed or losing your mind just because you were happy to work. 

Though, hell, if you had been possessed you would have ‘jesus take the wheel’-ed the shit out of that. With the way your life was going, you were just about ready to issue an open invitation to any demon who wanted to come take control of your life. Whichever demon was brave enough to come sort out your mess would have earned their permanent residence in the husk you called your body. You could be roomies. 

Maybe Netflix would give you a movie deal; a whimsical sitcom about you and your demon roommate. You’d name it ‘Doom Mates’ and Charlie would hate it.  

But, unfortunately, there was no demon willing to possess you and sort out your messy relationships. So, you were forced to do it yourself (or at least avoid the hell out of it) as you once more ignored Dean’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and wrenched open the truck door to jump out as soon as Sam had brought the car to a full stop. 

“I’m not thrilled about the… Subject of the retrieval. But it’s been a minute and a half since I last got to stretch my infiltration muscles. Plus, Charlie made me a new harness, and I need to play with it,” You shot back at Sam as he followed you out of the truck. Swallowing the many other reasons as to why you nearly needed the gig. Like the forest fire burning in Dean’s eyes, or how you could still taste the ghost of spiced peppermint on the tip of your tongue. 

Taking a shaky breath, you plastered your best imitation of a smile on your face and turned to squint down the street as Sam pointed out the building where Crowley was kept to the rest of you. The sight of the unlit neon sign outside of the business in question had your smile fall as you grimaced at the damned cliché. 

They had Crowley locked up in an empty, closed down nightclub. 

Because of course they did. 

Would it kill the bad guys to be fucking original for once? Why was it always warehouses, empty buildings or abandoned lots? Why couldn’t you go save someone from a fun place for once in your life? Like DisneyLand, or an active water park… Or at least somewhere with an open bar. Because, fuck, you could use a drink. 

Frowning at the building from half a block away, you busied yourself checking your equipment as the Winchester brothers continued their circular argument about the plan. Meanwhile, you were busy making plans of your own. From what you could see, the baddies had all congregated around the front of the building based on the few cars you could just about glimpse peeking out around the corner. Clearly not seeing Crowley as a big a threat as he thought he was. Which didn’t really damage your infiltration options much, as you’d usually never choose the front of the building as an entrance point anyway. 

Hell, from your vantage point, you could clearly see multiple ways into the nightclub. Including an unguarded rear entrance just begging you to walk in and sneak Crowley out from right under their noses. Still, as Sam had pointed out more than one time in his argument with Dean on the car ride over, you should be prepared for the worst. 

The unguarded rear entrance could be a trap. You had no way of knowing. So an infiltration plan was still needed. 

“Do you think you can get in from the roof (Y/N)? Charlie got us the blueprints, and there seems to be a skylight up there. Might mean you’ll get eyes on Crowley as well before you make your way inside,” Sam seemed to finally get sick of shooting down all of Dean’s ideas as he directed his next question at you instead.

After all, Bobby wanted this to be done quietly. And Dean going in first to loudly, and most likely violently, clear a path for you wasn’t exactly quiet. 

“You want me to throw myself in through a skylight and rappel into mobster territory? That’s a crazy idea… Insane!  I mean, there’s a perfectly good door right there,” You stage whispered, acting it up for the non-existent cameras as you pointed towards the unguarded rear entrance to the abandoned club. 

Ok… So maybe you were playing it up just that little bit extra to annoy your hitter. Who suddenly seemed to think you were incapable of performing even a simple retrieval mission. As if you’d lost all your hard earned skills after one makeout session. 

Who the hell did he think he was? Some sort of fucking dementor? Sucking out your ability to scale a wall with just one kiss?

The man was a damned good kisser, sure, but just because you could be someone’s good girl and be willingly shaped up against their body one second that did not diminish your skills as the fucking awesome super thief you were. You were fully capable of being a goddamn professional, and drown in peppermint spiced kisses thank-you-very-much. 

“So… You’ll do it?” Sam asked, the small tight smile of his lips tinged with mirth as he rolled his eyes at your drama queen act and the subsequent low growl that left his older brother in response. Though you knew he was just asking for the sake of a verbal confirmation, as you could see him gearing up to go distract the guys out front and buy you some time. 

“Of course I fucking will. This is gonna be awesome,” You grinned as you dipped back into the back of Sam’s truck to stuff a few additional toys and gadgets, courtesy of your awesome best friend, into your backpack. Including the new harness you had to take for a test spin.

“(Y/N)...” Dean tried, though you could tell the fight had gone out of him as his tense shoulders fell and his hands busied themself with double checking his own little arsenal. Still, for a second you froze. Taking a few deep breaths before stepping out of where you’d been halfway inside Sam’s car to fully see the Winchester brothers again.

Saying nothing, you simply raised an eyebrow at your hitter as you hoisted your go-bag up on your shoulder. Lips drawn in a thin line as you waited for whatever argument he had planned to stop you from doing your favorite thing in the whole damn world; throwing yourself off of a roof and into a building, however absolutely batshit insane that sounded. 

“You got this, just stay safe,” He finally sighed in defeat, giving you a soft smile which you returned with an enthusiastic grin. 

“You know I will,” You shot back, throwing a quick wink at both boys before quickly and quietly making your way towards the back of the building. Only throwing a glance back to see Sam get back in the car, ready to drive up front, and Dean setting out after you, just slightly to the left. Moving towards the building from another angle to set up camp near the rear entrance. 

It was go time.

Start Here - Last - Next

Charity Heist: @foxyjwls007 @seppys-return-to-madness @stoneyggirl2 @ladysparkles78 @twinkleinadiamondsky @tmb510 @mimaria420

Dean Winchester Tags: @ria132love @woodworthti666 @defenderrosetyler  @akshi8278 @justanotherwinchester @lyarr24 @torn-and-frayed @all-will-be-well-love @wearesuchstuff1 @thefridgeismybestie @adoptdontshoppets @screechingartisancashbailiff @septixtrash @punof-agun  @deandreamernp @justagirlinafandomworld @sexyvixen7 @justrealizedimmascifygurl @globetrotter28 @deans-spinster-witch @iprobablyshipit91 @mrsjenniferwinchester @leigh70 @djs8891 @pink-sparkly-witch

Forever tags will be added as reblog

[rabbit-bf]

You Never Forget Your First Kill

Ship: Oddfellow/Caster

Warnings: Graphic description of violence, gore, murder, and drug references

A/N: This fic is a part of Caster’s canon timeline! It was originally just the art but I felt like the art needed the whole context. Also if any main fandom members find this, I know it’s not entirely canon compliant and Odd is ooc let me LIVE.

Music Fest ‘69, the weekend of a lifetime. Quite possibly multiple lifetimes. Quite possibly, the rest of time. Depending on who you showed up with, who you were there to see, and what your state of being was, you either made it through that weekend or you didn’t. It was either the end of your enjoyment of live music, or the start of an eternity of it. No one got out entirely unscathed.

For Caster it had been utterly unbelievable. The first hours had been, at least. Nothing but snorting and smoking whatever he could get his little paws on, never coming down from the lovely floaty feeling he craved. Good music by artists he’d been waiting years of his life to see, and interesting people to talk to all around. The plucking of bassists making his fingers tingle while the kick drums all around were felt in his chest. He got to speak with friends he hadn’t seen in months, and on top of all that it gave him an excuse to use the shiny new camera he’d bought himself for his 24th birthday, fresh roll of film and all.

He had even met a dashing young man in his travels. Earlow Wolfe, he said his name was. Ochre skin, much like the light coming from the sunset beyond, and a face that can only be described as beautiful. He proudly dawned a red marching vest that reminded Caster of Stg Peppers and a full afro that he had conveniently tied away from his face with a colorful scarf. He also, notably, had a dark scar that ran across his left cheek. The two sat in a field, passing a sparse joint back and forth, and only taking breaks to converse.

Caster had run off behind one of the smaller stages in an attempt at a break, a country-rock act on the ladder half of their set as he rushed by. He had headed off to find somewhere quiet, at the very least somewhere less loud than the concert floor. He had been going since dawn and by now was nursing a bit of a headache, alongside his usual state of overstimulation. The only person he saw in the blank patch of grass was the man and he decided it was better than the sweaty bodies, loud speaking, and reek of alcohol that the rest of the festival carried.

Once they got to talking, they clicked. Earlow offered him a pre-roll he had in the inside pocket of the brightly colored vest, and of course Caster wasn’t going to say no. It wasn’t ideal, but by this point in the day you really couldn’t complain if you were able to take anything you didn’t smuggle in yourself. Caster didn’t particularly care what he did, or who he it was from, but he still couldn’t help but giggle about it. He found it humorous that after hours of putting the harshest material in his body he was being offered some simple weed.

When they met, Earlow was frustrated. His breath was still short and his jaw still clenched so hard you’d think he was breaking teeth. He had been talking to someone about their “plans for the weekend” and said other person apparently did not agree despite their supposed months worth of planning. So he stormed off, understandably, trying to find a secluded place to destress and smoke on his own. He was thinking of throwing away the plan all together, but then he happened to find Caster, and his mood changed entirely the longer they spoke.

To make multiple hours worth of stories much shorter, the two ended up talking with one another until it was almost nightfall. About life, about insecurities. Caster going on about how he wanted some purpose, some religion that didn’t need a church. How badly he wanted to stop his diseases and pain so he could continue his life of touring, and getting high, and selling his photos. How he wanted a purpose, and a job, but not to give in to the corporate world. The man couldn’t help but agree with some of the things being said, a lot about purpose, and power, and humanity. Their conversations flowed nicely, and naturally.

Cas thought they may stay there until one or both fell asleep, but right at sundown, Earlow was called away by someone at the bottom of the hill. They reminded him of the time, and that they needed to get going. Whatever plans he had with his friends were more important than him, which he wasn’t too offended about. Such is the way of the festival, after all. He decided to stay where he was, though. After all, the sets he wanted to see were done, he was pumped full of green by now, and he needed a nap. It would be inconsequential, right?

In the time that he was asleep, a hoard of vampires had invaded the festival grounds. They got in with ease, and now roamed every inch of the property His smoking partner was needed to direct and control them, and was doing wonderfully at is while Cas slept away in the grass. Screams and hisses echoes from one side to the other, no one could avoid the panic and terror of it all. The sound of a final breath was impossible to ignore. Unless you were Caster, of course, who was still high and now barely awake.

There were countless bodies scattered around the small stage by the time he had sobered up enough to come down the hill. He hadn’t noticed a single thing wrong, with how high and tired and fatigued he was. There was a large part of him that wasn’t even sure he was awake yet, the weed still fogging his brain. The only thing that tipped him off on anything being wrong was the appearance of a friend of his from the group of vampires he hung around. A friend that would never be at a festival like this, certainly not one including the artists she always referred to as “hippie shit” and poked fun at Caster for playing. It was far out of her tastes.

He could tell by her vicious demeanor that she was there for business, and yet when she found him buzzed and alone, she still usher him somewhere she deemed safe. After barking at him about how stupid he was, of course. One of the busses that lined the dark side of the bigger stages, full of the whatever bands personal belongings. She shoved him into the very back room, where there was a table and various leather couches built into the bus. What used to transport famous musicians now hid the young mortal that was away from the prowling, prying, eyes of the dangers outside.

Caster trusted his friends more than he did his own parents. Even if they were in the mix, hunting and killing, he trusted them. He was not going to move an inch from where she put him. Even as the screams got further from him. Even as his high faded into nothing but a faint mist.

Eventually, Earlow found his hiding spot. Before he even said a thing about the invasion, he asked a question. If Caster would like to become “one of them”, a vampire, that is. Caster had always considered it, being friends with no one besides a group of those with vampirism. This was on impulse, though. Some outside force telling him that this was the right path. Right now, with this man, as unprofessional and unsanitary as it was. It was either be turned, or die by his hand. He couldn’t help but wonder for a moment if he was the only one offered this way out, if their conversations in the daylight had influenced Earlow’s choices with the boy now. He didn’t have much time to ponder before letting his instincts win, and accepting.

It was just off from being erotic. The tension they possessed in the grass just as present, even after the mask had been lifted. His calm demeanor despite the dismal scene outside, and his straight forward manner of speaking was hard not to melt under. Gentle hands on Caster’s wrist as he brought it to his mouth, sinking his teeth into the dry flesh underneath. Feeling him puncture his veins nearly made Caster scream; From the pain or how much he enjoyed it, he has yet to pin point. His immediate blackout, and the knowledge that Earlow had stayed with him the entire time he was out didn’t help the connection he felt. The intimacy of it all.

He felt stronger upon waking up. More stable, fully sober for the first time in days. His body felt clean, like the last eight years of backlogged trauma had never happened. The thoughts that barked and barked were gone, his breath even felt lighter. The grogginess and indescribable pain he usually felt upon waking up wasn’t present. Even as Earlow relayed instructions and rules and information, the sting of anxiety he expected to feel at the unknown never came. His “go with the flow” persona was true now that the panic that always lulled in his bones was gone.

Despite this, he still didn’t feel “ready” by any means. He wished for some way to prepare, a practice round. He didn’t want to ask Earlow for any more instruction, but he wasn’t adapted enough to be on his own. Thus, he attached himself to Earlow’s hip like velcro, watching closely as he worked like a machine. Commanding groups like soldiers, even when they veered so far off course you’d think they had forgotten their task all together. Swiping lives like it was nothing as he took a kill or two for himself. His utter confidence as he oversaw the entire event.

Caster didn’t want to hurt anyone, it was one of the last things he wanted to do, actually. It was something he hadn’t considered when he accepted the trade for his life, the necessity of taking lives. His vampire friends talked about their killings all the time, and he always acted like he understood. He could never entirely understand what would convince someone to kill, though. Causing harm to another living being, no matter how big or small, felt vile. It made him feel even more tainted than he already did. He was always a true hippie in that way.

He knew that he had to, though. Killing, scaring, taking. It was all a part of his new way of life. The way his kin interacted with the world, the thing they do best. Especially in times like these, when they were all together with the intention of losing as many lives as possible. A successful raid, hundreds of souls being torn from their bodies. To water the plants with the bloodshed. He couldn’t be afraid forever, he would have to follow in their footsteps sooner than later.

Caster had been on Earlow’s heels for a good thirty minutes. He could feel the frustration rising in him, and knew he was holding him back. Still, he insisted on staying near, up until Earlow snapped at him. “I know you are scared but, for my sake, please do your job. At the very least find someone else to follow.” He wasn’t harsh, just frustrated. The plan wasn’t going as well as it could be. Caster knew he needed to put in the work. “We need more bodies. Can you handle one or two?”

Something in his tone of voice caused his mind to shift. Something clicked. That block in his mind that told him to put his own needs first, and survive any way he could, simply crumbled. Whether it was his self destructive tendencies, his guilt, or if Earlow’s words gave him the motivation and confidence to serve, the man could have asked him to do anything and he would have obeyed. A switch was permemantly flipped.

He nodded, much to Earlow’s surprise and relief. Bristly walking past and off into the dust that had been picked up. He didn’t have a plan, but he had the confidence, and for a Reed kid that was more than enough. When they want something done, they make sure it’s done well. He was going to get blood on his hands tonight. He would soak his clothes in it, keep pools in his mouth to bring back to the man, if it pleased him. He was going to be useful.

It didn’t take him long at all to find someone to test his new teeth on. It was a festival of thousands, not everyone could be lying dead just yet, even this late into the night. His target was meek, pathetic. Late twenties, maybe mid thirties. Probably here for the same country-rock act Caster had shoved past so many hours ago. Not the type he’d ever be friends with. He wore a tight fitting polo and a pair of jeans with a belt half the width of his waist. He appeared to be an easy option, if he was going for kill and not maim.

He was cowering by one of the big signs that advertised the many bands that were set to play the festival. Likely thought he couldn’t be seen from where he was, but he was gravely mistaken. Casters eyes were set on the scrawny young man, and he felt a hunger deepen in his stomach. An urge like nothing else he’d felt. So much stronger than any sex drive, more intense than any drug. It was close to consuming him, like he would soon be unable to control his own thoughts.

He continued to stalk him for a few moments more, watching as he self soothed, steadied his breathing. Calmed down behind the big painted piece of fabric. He eventually sat down on the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest and setting his chin down. Despite the outside demeanor, he was obviously still paranoid as his eyes darted left to right and back again every so often. Cas made sure to keep close watch on his eyes, to see exactly where they were pointed when.

He approached slowly. Step by step, inching his way closer to the yuppie looking kid. It wasn’t a hard task. The noise around the camp ground was still loud with screams and shoes hitting the dirt as victims and killers ran by. No matter how hard you can try to be vigilant in situations like these, chances are you’ll miss something in the sound of your own paranoia.

When his gaze was pointed the opposite, he pounced. Quite literally. Throwing his entire weight at the man, hands pushing his shoulders to the ground where he was sat. His back hit the gravel with a crack that echoed over the nearby hills. It felt a bit overkill, but Caster was just as nervous as this kid was. He couldn’t risk losing him, letting him get away. Especially when he didn’t know how many easy targets like him were left.

He snarled at the person under him, showing off his new sharp teeth with a dramatic hiss. It felt silly. Like a kid playing pretend. This scenario had been a fantasy in his head since he was a kid. Not the vampirism or murder, but being worth something. Having a purpose that was more than bagging groceries. He didn’t want to mess this up, wouldn’t mess this up.

The man began shaking, from head to toe, absolute terror plastering his now pale face. He didn’t have the strength to pull away, and he didn’t try. The force of the knock took the wind from him, and now Caster had one leg pushing both of his into the small rocks beneath them. The other was up by his chest, intimidatingly close to his heart. The boots he wore were thick, and heavy, and made the gravel crunch as he let all of his weight fall into them.

The hunger he felt became overwhelming. This close to a body so vulnerable, it overtook him entirely. His body no longer felt like his, it belonged to Earlow. It belonged to the cause, and would be used to further it in any way he could. He didn’t mind it. The only part he truly did mind was this urge. The deep starvation that he couldn’t push aside, that he knew he’d need to learn to wrangle and control. The urge that gave him the need for warm flesh on his tongue, sticking itself between his molars.

Looking at the boy, he was almost drooling. He imagined his untouched, moisturized, skin breaking with ease. The bruises that would be left behind once his teeth sunk in, painting the space around the wound. The way he would squeak and scream as he accepted his fate, it sickened him how appealing it sounded.

“If you want a chance to live, I suggest leavin’ now.” Cas voiced through a clenched jaw. Eyes not leaving his for a single second, the grip he had on his shoulders only getting tighter as he let his grown out nails leave crescent shapes in his skin. “You probably won’t get out, but it’s better than being the first person I take this shit out on.”

If he lifted his hands, they’d be trembling. That’s why he kept them as close to the ground as possible, to mask how nervous he was about going through with this. The kid only sat there, breathing ragged, and eyes filling half of his face with how wide they grew. He made no attempt to escape, or fight back, just sat as is his death looked him in the eye. Likely stuck in a freeze response, an innocent deer trapped in the viewfinder of a gun.

Caster took that as a go ahead. His queue to enter the spotlight, to take center stage for his first showing. He prepared himself, repositioning his body to easier gain access to the man. His left hand stayed on his shoulder, the right held both of his wrists together above his head. Legs pinning him to the ground with knees on either side of his waist, despite the pain it was causing Cas. There was no chance he was taking up the offer to run now, laid out and presented in the same way they showed meat in cooking magazines. He couldn’t have run if he tried.

There was hesitation. A moment where Cas thought, maybe, if he let the kid go and snuck off the premise that he could move on. Continue living as he was before just now with the added benefits of vampirism. An image of being able to go to festivals and shows with no fear, and stalking the night with his friends flashed by. He reassessed again, quickly. Running away to live in the mundane he always had was appealing, but sticking with Earlow was exciting. It was brand new territory, something he’d never experienced before. He may never get the opportunity to restart his life like this again.

He sent his tongue over his teeth, and let the hunger assume control of his body in its entirety. He decided he would worry about the consequences later, and savor the taste of flesh in the meantime. Finally letting his freshly sharpened canines pierce the man’s neck, the expected metallic tang filled his mouth immediately. It was dramatic, but classic, and he thought it was a good place to start.

No screams, rather no noise at all. He still didn’t make an attempt to run, didn’t move beside his eyes shutting so hard they wrinkled at the edge. He took in a breath so hard it whistled between his teeth. The hands that were picking at this side now balled into fists between Casters iron grip.

He savored the feeling of breaking through skin. Like the fatty part of a good meat, so well done it was nearly jerky. Tough to break through, but satisfying to puncture. He thought his teeth may shatter the harder he bit down, jaw strength not at the level it needed to be to complete such a task. The victims muscles only tensed, making it even more difficult to make it through his already stiff neck.

He removed his teeth off the man soon after he’d made the initial wound. Lapping at the blood that was generously dripping from the it. The only blood he’d ever tasted was his own, he’d never considered that it may taste differently, but it surely did. It was nearly humorous how quickly Caster realized it was the medications. This man didn’t take the dozen of medications that he did, the entire twcture of his blood was different. No thin consistency, metallic smell pungent, dark red rather than a watered down pink. He thought it was funny, smiling down at his victim.

He couldn’t imagine how he must look to anyone who took a glance at this moment. Straddling a conformist whose hands he had trapped between his. No sexual tension present, despite the display. Chuckling to himself, a grin across his face as the fluid of life clung to his yellowed teeth and dripped down his already bright red tee shirt. It must have been a sight, a beautiful one.

It was progress. Not much of it, but nonetheless, progress. The threshold had been jumped, he was on the easy side of it now. All he had to do was finish the job. All he had to do was choose what way he wanted to exterminate this man. Maybe find one of those dangerous pressure points he remembered from middle school health class. Maybe choke him until he simply blacked out. Maybe tear out the poor kids throat.

He was urged towards the later, his mouth watering at the thought of torn flesh. The smell that would permeate the area, even more so than it already was. A wild animal, that’s what he was. No craving he’d had was this strong. Uncontrollable, unavoidable. The boys soft ragged breathing was enticing. Inviting, like a friend offering you to stay for dinner. He was lured in, unable to focus on anything but the wound he’d already caused.

Before his morals could get in the way, he bit down again, hard. Using all the strength his jaw had, he sunk in as deep as he could. He clamped down like a bear trap. Pulling back, he felt the muscle rip between his canines, tendons snapping one by one, eyes closed tight with the effort it took. Blood coated his mouth, thick and abundant, as he continued to pull the flesh away from the body. By now the once tense muscles had entirely calmed, the quick breaths that taunted him just moments ago were gone.

Casters hands and shirt and face dripped with red. The concrete underneath the pair was likely stained, and the substance was soaking the now unmoving body. It was horrific and human and monstrous. It was disgusting and delicious and he couldn’t think of a single place he wanted to be less as he stared into the lifeless, stunned, eyes of the person he had just killed. Killed.

He leaned back, as far away from the body as he could get in one motion. As far away from the pooling liquid as he could get. Into the grass right behind them, pulling his knees up to his chest much like the dead had done while Caster was looming nearby. His eyes shut, and his breathing increased in pace. His nose wrinkles as if in disgust. Which wasn’t the furthest from the truth, the still human part of him was utterly disgusted at his actions. Asking himself what he had just done in a whisper.

Wetness on his face, sticky drying blood on his hands. Sitting curled up against himself, trying not to think about the consequences of the actions he’d just taken. He was disappointed in himself, he could have done better, he could have done worse. There were a hundred ways to take someone’s last breath, and he took the cheesiest way. There were a hundred ways he could have gotten out of this situation, and yet he still went through with it. The mental image of what he’d just done flashing through his head like a film reel. Over, and over, and over. Reminding him of all the things he did wrong, all the things he did right.

The conflicting thoughts became too much. They encompassed him. The battle against himself, the battle between him and the body growing cold next to him, was so angry it drowned out the sounds of whatever was happening on the rest of the festival grounds. The only thing he could hear was how horrible he was, one way or the other. He didn’t see the excited new group of guests arriving for what they thought would be a wonderful night of music. He didn’t notice the excited vampires running towards the entrance in hopes of fresh meat. He didn’t feel the cracking traces of blood that lined his hands and neck. He certainly did not hear Earlow’s large boots clanking against the ground as he approached him.

“Open your eyes, boy.” He demanded, usual tone traded for one soft and optimistic. A deep contract to the brash and commanding voice he’d taken on in the earlier hours of the night. Not quite the voice he used while they were smoking in the grass, but not much like the boom he had after true night fall. You could hear the smile as he spoke, and yet Caster was still surprised when he finally looked up and found Earlow’s upturned lips and shiny teeth. Welcoming, calm, a terrifyingly comforting sight in the middle of the chaos.

His eyes opened slowly, lashes flittering as he blinked away the stinging tears he didn’t even know were pooling. Earlow was crouched in front of him, leaning his elbows over his knees. Hair no longer pulled back, and spattered with blood and dirt all across his chest. His grin spanned his entire face, wicked and truly joyful. The frustration he carried when they had parted appeared to have dissipated as he stared back at his underdog with pride.

Caster wiped his face, quickly trying to piece back the facade he had taken on mere minutes ago. Attempting to seem like the tough guy he had been, and failing as the tears kept falling. It wouldn’t make a difference if he had been able to put the mask back on, as Earlow had already seen him. He didn’t seem to mind much, though. The young boy’s weakness, and show of emotion. He knew the strong point that it was, and that the soul he still possessed was a privilege.

“You truly did it.” His smile spread, showing off each and every pointed tooth in his mouth. He adjusted his position, now kneeling. He put his hands on either side of Casters sweet, blood stained, face. Thumb brushing away the stray bits that sat too closely to his eyes, gentle and uncharacteristic care in his action. His gaze looked soft, appreciative, like he was looking over a creation. A work of art. “You are brilliant,” he near whispered. “You will be brilliant.”

“Brilliant?” He asked just as quietly, voice cracking under the pressure of trying not to let the emotions overtake him again. No more tears or overreaction, his actions were already catching up to him. His hands met Earlow’s wrists, wrapping around them tightly. Not in any attempt to pull them away or defy the touch, rather, gently. Like he would melt if he wasn’t connected to another person. “I killed another man- killed him in a way so painfully he didn’t even scream.”

“That is exactly why you are the star of the night, my dear.” He spoke genuinely. This was no manipulation nor pandering. He was speaking nothing but the truth, the pride he felt for the young vampire was absolutely radiating. It brought him the utmost joy to see the boy give in to his urges, to let the hunger take over, and serve with his own pride. Even if it scared him. Such enthusiasm to work for him, even with the circumstances, was refreshing and irresistible.

Caster cocked his head to the side like a dog. He was confused. He had killed one single person, and was pouting about it next to the body. He cried about it, had sat spacing out for god knows how long. There were others that had taken a dozen, and gloated about it. There were others that had fun in their kills, and laughed about it. There wasn’t anything special about him, in fact he was more so pathetic; an utter waste of time. An utter waste of Earlow’s energy.

“You are the single person who obeyed. Others fell into their fear, turned away, ran off. But you, not you~” Earlow scanned over Casters face, looking over every detail with admiration. He looked even better when soaked in innocent blood, he thought. “You, little one, did just as I said and more. You showed such a strong hold of your anxieties, and all for me? I couldn’t be more flattered. You gave me a body with such little hesitation, and that is something to be noted.”

Cas couldn’t accept that. He had no response, besides his eyes that became more white space than pupil. He did a horrible thing tonight, and wasn’t even good at that. What did such a powerful person see in him.

“I’m obviously not the only one who’s- killed tonight.” Caster forced the word out of his mouth. It tasted like bile against his tongue. He shifted, knees hitting the floor as he kneeled. The knees to chest position he was in before was beginning to get painful, but he didn’t have the strength to yet stand. His hands still shook, and his limbs felt weak, he wasn’t sure he even could stand. “Are you just saying this so I’ll feel special or keep helping you?”

Earlow shook his head. His facial expression remained unchanged in a way that appeared so unnatural. Other worldly. He leaned in closer, so close that if Caster was still sitting up how he was moments ago, the man’s hair would just be brushing his face. “There’s no trick. I am proud of your work. I see potential in you- I see a future where you could do good for the cause.”

‘I am proud.l It repeated in Casters head, rung between the sides of his skull like the clapper of a bell. He wished to hear it again, and again. ‘Proud’ was not something he heard in his direction. He’d been praised, for many things, but has he ever had someone outwardly prideful of him? No, not that he could ever remember.

“I want to be a part of that future, if you’ll have me.” He said, almost weak in tone. Despite everything he had learned through the night, he still trusted the man. Something about his presence drew him in, calmed his mind more than any medication or drug. He never wanted to leave him, never have to part.

Earlow laughed darkly, reaching a blood covered hand out to Caster. He leaned back some, making himself a bit taller than he was. The gesture was subtle, in a way. No words, but Caster understood everything that was being asked by the outstretched hand. It was an offer of solidarity. An outreach in the name of partnership, becoming part a permeant fixture in the team. Familiarity, routine, commitment.

He thought back to the conversations they had earlier in the day. Caster spilling his guts on the grass, not having any clue he’d be spilling guts down on the concrete. He thought about all of the details he’d shared about his urge to find a purpose, and the need for family that was not by blood. This man was offering him everything he’d dreamed of since leaving home at nineteen. This was everything he wanted.

He reached forward, accepting the hand. Earlow’s grip was firm and sure against Caster’s shakes and weakness. He was pulled to his feet, feeling a sort of peace when looking at the taller man. Finally, he had something, someone. The days of wishing he was worth anything was over, as he was going to prove himself. After he tonight, he knew he could. He already had.

“Welcome, my dear~”

[rosethornewrites]

T & G reading since 3/18

I was going to wait a few more days to post but it’s getting too long.

Finished

Teen:

Everything Is Solved With Soup (And Poison), by Love_Psycho (reread)

Waking up from a nightmare – that may or may not just be a nightmare – Jiang Yanli decides she needs to stop that nightmare from becoming reality.

What Is Holding Is Also Being Held, by curiositea

“Congratulations,” Song Lan says with a grin that can only be described as ‘shit-eating’. “You’re haunted.”

“What.” Lan Zhan and Wei Ying say simultaneously, one sounding significantly less excited than the other. Honestly Lan Zhan, Wei Ying thinks, how can you not be ecstatic?!

—

Or, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are haunted by the powerful and lasting echoes of their past lives and maybe, just maybe, it’s fate.

(Halloween/Wei Ying’s birthday prompt from the fantastic @/wwxwashere on twitter: wangxian are haunted.)

The Best Soup in the World, by Nyatci (reread)

Lan Wangji wakes to his husband missing from their bed. He happens to find him in the kitchens, peeling lotus roots.

Possible Works 3 - What If Number 4, by Hauntcats

Things go differently at the Yiling Supervisory office when Wen Chao shows up early.

Possible Works 4 - Tunnel Vision, by Hauntcats

A night hunt turns interesting.

Stop, In the Name of Love, by weenakohi2 (🔒)

Artist/art teacher in training/volunteer crossing guard-Wei Ying saves A-Yuan from a road accident and gets hurt in the process. Lan Zhan and A-Yuan insist on taking him out as thanks. One things leads to another leads to domestic bliss.

General:

The Greed is the Unraveling, by nirejseki (4 chapters)

“Don’t cough blood on me,” Lan Qiren said, voice as prim and proper as it had ever been.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Wen Ruohan replied, teeth clenched and brow furrowed as he fought off the pain. Blood leaked out from the corner of his mouth despite his words. “I suppose the stain of red on white is terribly hard to get out.”

His tone was bitter, angry, and he was probably making some sort of very clever metaphorical point, given the Lan sect’s white robes and Wen sect’s emblem of red and white.

But -

(Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian said. Do you think we made it - worse?)

(no one else can) take me there, by azurewaxwing

In his recent article in Contemporary Theories of Cultivation, Lan (2019) sets out to study the correlation between instrument choice and outcomes in the liberation of spirits. While his main thesis appears sound, his decision to limit the study to the qin, dizi, xiao and pipa undermines his conclusions.

This decision falls prey to the fallacy that tradition cannot be questioned. It ignores, too, the fact that many practising cultivators will encounter spirits that will have no exposure to such “expectations.” In a small study comparing the use of a dizi with a theremin—undoubtedly a non-traditional choice—the theremin produced optimal outcomes in liberating spirits where: time since death was less than 6 months; spirit was younger than 25 and older than 17 at time of death; or spirit motivation included aspects of revenge. The conclusions reached in Lan (2019), while providing a foundation for future study, are therefore as yet incomplete.

Mo Xuanyu

Cultivation Studies, Center for East Asian Studies, Stanford University

Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian, and musical cultivation: a love story, told through academic articles, emails, texts, and videos.

just like glass, by sunflowersfield (🔒, 2 chapters)

Lan Zhan is grateful. Gratitude is a feeling that he can appreciate because it is not like the inky black guilt that runs hot through his veins. It is not like the dizzying paranoia that burns bright behind his eyes. His gratitude for Wei Ying glows like a flickering candle, and he hopes he can keep it alive.

Butterfly, by dragongirlG (🔒)

Lan Sizhui’s eyes widen. “Is it your birthday?” he asks, panic creeping into his tone. It occurs to him that he’s never asked about birthdays—Ning-shushu’s, his parents’, his sister’s—

“A-Yuan,” says Ning-shushu, his voice softer than normal, “it’s yours.”

Lan Sizhui blinks, stunned. “What?”

Lan Sizhui receives some unexpected gifts when he makes a visit to Wen Ning.

A reflection on family history, familial bonds, and identity written for Lan Sizhui's birthday.

Warmth in Winter, by rhysiana

Lan Wangji watches Wei Wuxian spend his first winter in Cloud Recesses.

(a song) greeting the dawn, by LadyKG (🔒, 2 chapters)

With a laugh he threw himself back over the seal painted on the floor, a hysterical bubble in his chest popping as he dug his hands into his hair. Of all the times to be sent back to. Of all the places he could have ended up. Why did it have to be now?

Unfinished

Teen:

Inchoate, by Marinelifeclub

“Where would you even go once you left? Wait a few more years before leaving." persuaded Jiang Fengmian,

“Will I live to see that long?” Wei Wuxian whispered under his breath.

Jiang Fengmian felt cold at those words. He always thought his children would be the ones to heal the scars left by their mother on Wei Wuxian, but just the concise way he spoke about them, he knows that wasn’t true. Now his best friend’s son sat in front of him, confessing to not thinking he will live to see himself become a man. Cangse and Changze must be furious in their graves as the sweet smiling son they raised endured pain because of a jealous woman and a cowardly man. Sighing, he did the only thing he could to make things right and accepted the boy’s wishes.

At age 14, Wei Wuxian left Lotus Pier and never looked back.

Wei Wuxian leaves Lotus Pier and while things change something’s are just set in fate.

Rabbit Charm, by aoeros (🔒)

“You gotta promise me that when you’re back home and settled in, I’ll be the first you come to see. Because I’m going to miss you more than anyone else will, Lán Zhàn. Except your brother, of course.”

“Of course. I promise to come find you first after I’ve settled back in.”

“Great! Then I promise to call you whenever I can. And, I will definitely not forget you.”

until only the mountain remains, by idleorbitals

Sizhui had asked why he wore it, and Lan Wangji had said something about restraint that sounded mysterious and grand, and Wei Wuxian had said it’s a no-fun ribbon. Once you put it on, you have to promise not to have any fun, and Lan Wangji had said Wei Ying, in that voice he had.

Can I have one? Sizhui had asked, and Lan Wangji had looked strange and fond, and Wei Wuxian had said, does no one listen to me around here?

- - -

The one where the Burial Mounds timeline gets expanded and Sizhui grows up a Wen.

Echoes, by LadyCrowned

Wei Wuxian heartbreak was so deep that broke time itself. Now, back in his youth, maybe this time around he can set the things right... But, how to change anything without knowing you have the chance to do it?

Your soul remembers what matters the most, even if your memory can't.

Something Warm and Safe, by Winxhelina

"Rich-gege!" A-Yuan exclaims happily.

"You can't call him that," Wei Wuxian admonishes gently. He puts an arm around Lan Wangji just as his knees give out, "Hey! I'm holding a child, you can't pass out on me like that. Oh. Oh, your back is covered in blood. Is that - is that your blood, Lan Zhan?!"

"Mn."

"Oh. Oh, you're bleeding a lot! Hold on! I'm putting A-Yuan down. A-Yuan, walk on your own for a bit. Can you also hold the basket for me? You're so mature and responsible! Okay, Lan Zhan, stay with me. I've got you."

"Is Rich-gege hurt?"

Lan Wangji doesn't hear the rest of that conversation.

In which Granny Wen manages to convince Wei Wuxian to take A-Yuan and hide away from the world. Lan Wangji manages to find them.

Shed Their Blood And Sealed Your Fate, by Eternal Scribe (Shadowcat)

The end scene at Guanyin Temple goes a bit differently...

General:

Pulled Against the Grain, by youleeyeah

“We found him walking injured just outside the Jingshi. He said-” Sizhui paused for a moment and then lowered his voice before continuing, ���he said it was Young Master Jin who did this.” The boy couldn't look into Lan Wangji’s eyes as he spoke and turned his head to the side.

“You know,” Wei Wuxian started again after the pain subsided a tiny amount, “if I had my old body, I could've had intestines falling out of my gut and I’d still be able to fight for a few more hours.”

Lan Wangji furrowed his brows.

He has heard this before.

-----

Wei Wuxian wakes up in Gusu with a fresh stab wound he claimed was caused by Jin Ling. Lan Wangji is confused because the last time that happened was three years ago. Something is wrong with Wei Wuxian.

he, who died, is ignorant, by Maxciel_99

Jiang Cheng is thirteen when his eyes lose the shine that has always mirrored Wei Wuxian’s wild spirit. And then no longer is he a shadow of anyone but merely a shell of himself.

Here is a man who is served the world, for once, but he has turned a boy who finally stops wishing and wanting all at once.

_

Or basically, JC time travels but it's not your typical time travel fix-it.

By the River I Sat Down and Wept, by naolbedo

Wei Wuxian, while in the burial mounds, kept a small paper scroll. It is in this scroll that he filled his happiest memories.

When he eventually passes away and Lan Wangji arrives at the burial mounds, he finds only A-Yuan, clutching onto a qiankun pouch close to his heart as though he was holding on to the flickering warmth that once graced the burial mounds.

When the Hills Are All Flat, and the Rivers Run Dry, by stiltonbasket

Wei Wuxian feels her blood run cold.

Yu-ayi’s right. He really is going to choose me, she thinks. Oh, no. Oh, good Heavens, no!

She nearly bursts into tears on the spot; but just as her eyelids begin to sting, she remembers what her aunt said only two minutes earlier and breathes a sigh of relief.

The moment Huangshang lays eyes on you, he will know what choice to make.

In that moment, Wei Wuxian realizes that she can only be certain of evading the Empress’s throne if she ensures that the emperor never lays eyes on her at all.

Or: in the second year of his reign, Emperor Lan Wangji yields to the wishes of his ministers and holds a bride selection to find his future empress.

[madaboutmunson]

I kill the lights, now, baby, watch me explode

I Think I Could Have Been Someone - Chapter 8

Ao3 Link

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Link to fic overview and all parts

Chapter Summary: Steve makes a nightcap get way out of hand

Author Notes: This is a mature story, definitely 18+ only.

Tags/Warnings: rockstar!AU; band; touring; music industry; alternate universe; drug usage; alcohol abuse; performing; enemies to lovers; road trip; stobin; platonic stobin; platonic with a capital P; canon typical violence; angst; masochism; fist fight

Word Count: 4.2K

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I Think I Could Have Been Someone - Part 8 - Steve POV 

Steve blinks back at him, mouth partially agape. His world's walls slowly crumble and ooze away as he asks, "What do you mean, you just wait for the marks to be hit?"

"This is off a fucking list. I used to do this shot all the time. I've done it for countless artists." Eddie bites back.

Steve shakes his head. No, there must be some mistake. Eddie had captured him. The real him.

"Don't believe me?" He grabs Steve by the arm and yanks him over to the laptop, roughly shoves him into the chair in front of it, as he types ‘barrier’ into the search bar. As the results hits fill the screen, Steve's heart empties, "Open one. Anyone you like." Eddie taunts him.

Steve swallows hard and gingerly opens a file. The air is taken out of him. It's almost identical, except the people are different. Forever greedy for hurt, Steve starts opening the others, and with each one, a new droplet threatens to form on his lash line.

"It was just chance! You ruined my life for something I could have explained in a matter of seconds!" Eddie yells, and all Steve can do is look at him and blink a tear from his eye.

"Just chance," Steve repeats, eyes locked on Eddie but not looking at him, through him. He'd been so wrong.

The rattling of the door gets louder.

"Do you have any idea what you did when you put up that fucking post?" Eddie paces, shouting at the top of his lungs, but Steve cannot respond. He feels numb. The one thing he'd been clinging to all this time wasn't real, either. His head swims with nothingness. All he can do is look and listen. Eddie squats down so his face is level with Steve's, "Let me fucking enlighten you, asshole!" He spits through gritted teeth, "First of all, I was harassed relentlessly personally, publically and online, as were the people around me. Then, because of that backlash, people didn't wanna work with me anymore. Then, of course, my savings are dwindling as I'm trying to keep a non-existent business afloat. Now I'm losing money, now I'm in debt, ok, and for you and your little horde of fucking fanatics, it's still not enough. I couldn't market my business without getting snide comments or being reported, so I'm working off networking and word of mouth. Which, as you can appreciate, is tiring and soul-grating. And then you all finally win. I'm at my lowest. Money was helping me achieve my dreams. You took it. Photography was my passion. You took it. My Happiness you stole. My love, you stole him too. And for what, Steve? For fucking what? A fucking ridiculous picture. I saw nothing in. It was a checked box. That's all." Eddie's chest is heaving, spittle flies out his mouth in a rage, and all Steve can do is watch as his insides fall apart, piece by piece. Eddie stands up to walk away.

Something in the abyss of Steve stirs. It glows a firey red, orange, yellow in the dark until it's white-hot and rapidly expanding.

Steve springs out of his chair, grabbing Eddie by the collar and sending the desk contents clattering to the ground as he sends them both reeling towards the wall until Eddie's head bashes against it.

"Where do you get off speaking to me like that, fucker?" Steve quietly seethes through his clenched teeth, "Do you know who I fucking am?" He picks Eddie easily off the wall and roughly shoves him back into it, making him yelp, "Got nothing to say now, huh, tough guy?" Steve twists the collar of Eddie's shirt and tightens it around his neck, "Is that why you agreed? To make a fool of me?" Eddie's face starts to redden, and his eyes begin to tear up. "Here is what you don't understand. You jumped up, little prick. I fucking own you. You do what I want. What I fuckin' say! Understand?" Steve sneers, as he listens to Eddie make a choked noise before releasing him. As Eddie slides to the carpeted floor, he crouches down to meet him, looks directly into his glassy, deep brown eyes and whispers, "My money will always be louder than any tantrum you could dish out. People are outside that door right now, biting at the bit to use their training on someone. So I suggest, unless you want that someone to be you, you shut the fuck up and be a good little photographer and take some goddamn pictures."

Eddie gets to his feet, and Steve mirrors his movement and scowl, "I fucking knew it would be like this. You're just what I thought you were. A walking stereotype. You're a piece of shit."

"Me? No, man. That's you all day!" Steve laughs, "Stereotype, maybe, but you are the only piece of shit here. I told you what that picture meant to me, and you fucking ate all that praise up on the plane, but once something didn't go your way, you lashed out. Have you ever thought that the reason you lost so much wasn't because of me but because of how you reacted to it? Maybe you would have thrived on the attention if you manned up."

"Oh fuck you! We aren't all attention sluts like you, ok? Some of us have creativity in our bones and a passion for what we do that isn't based on how big our house is."

"Do not ever presume that I don't have passion for what I do. I have plenty. I don't throw in the towel like some people."

"You can't even play an F major chord properly. You play the cheat version!"

"What are you even talking about? This is ridiculous!" Steve throws his hands in the air with a sarcastic laugh.

"No, buddy! What is ridiculous is that I'm still standing in this room with you. I don't need this shit. This project is over. Stick your money up your fucking ass!" Eddie seethes and walks over to his stuff to pack it away.

"You know what. Fine! Now I know you don't have the talent to capture what I thought you had. I could hire anyone to do your job!"

"Back to talent again. Do you think any of your peers like your stuff? Or do you just have a rabid set of fans you cultivated because of your appearance? And as you bury yourself in the ground line by line, gram by gram, they clamour for you more, but one day Harrington, they aren't gonna give a shit because the next new thing will be out, and you will be forgotten. As you should be!"

"You know what? If this is how you prey on people’s insecurities when you don't get your way, I can see why he left you."

"Say that again!" Eddie threatens, pointing viciously at Steve.

"What are you gonna do about it if I do? Hit me? You don't have the balls!"

"Oh no?" Eddie’s eyes widen, leaning toward Steve.

"Absolutely fucking not. You've got coward written all over you. It oozes out of you. You wouldn't dare. Go on, take a free shot."

“Mr H! Can you let us in, please? We’ll remove him from the premises.” Robin yells from the other side of the door, rattling it. He can hear her vain attempt at keeping her voice level and calm.

Eddie laughs, “That’s right, big man Harrington is gonna start a fight for his minions to finish,” he rolls his eyes, “I’ll just leave to prevent further injury from your fucking estate.”

“We’re fine, Buckley!” he turns back to Eddie, “I’m serious, go ahead, hit me. Put those years of pent-up frustration into a fist and send it my way.”

“What, and get sued for destroying your moneymaker face? I’m not that stupid, thanks”.

Steve just stares back and almost smirks.

"Do not try me!" Eddie threatens, the intense anger emanating from him. Steve can feel Eddie is right on the edge of doing something stupid, and Steve wants him to. He wants Eddie to hurt as bad as he does. He wants to make him feel so small and powerless that all he has left is violence.

Steve lifts the metaphorical hammer high to drive the final nails in the coffin of this partnership. He knows Eddie’s buttons and will keep pushing until he breaks him. "Your partner left you because you were an asshole to them, not because of me! Because you are a weak and selfish man. Because when the going got tough, you let the fallout hit everyone, didn’t you? Your precious boyfriend had no choice but to leave you, Munson. Otherwise, they would have got dragged under with you!"

Eddie launches himself at Steve, sending them crashing into another wall. His eyes ablaze, searing into Steve’s as he slams him against the wall, “Do, fucking, not ever speak about him. You hear me? You fucking junkie!” Eddie seethes through a face twisted with pure fury before Steve feels Eddie’s entire weight pressing on him now. A sliver of panic pierces him, concerned about what this man could do, how angry he was. Right now, it wasn’t as if Steve wouldn’t welcome the respite from betrayal and disappointment that a violent death might offer, but did this guy deserve to be the one to do time for it after everything? A tensed hand finds Steve’s throat. Eddie was not playing around anymore. He was livid, “A dumpster fire of a creature like you doesn’t get to comment on my relationships. Not after you openly cheat on your doting wife, and then the people you cheat on her with you want to be cuckolded by. What is wrong with you? You have everything. Four platinum albums, homes worldwide, money, awards, and accolades. Half of what you fucking have could change the life of a small town, and yet you squander it on your wares and wants and the chemicals propping up your zombie-like form. You’re disgusting to me. Vile, scum of the earth.”

Steve starts laughing under Eddie's grip. A few gentle laughs at first, but they get louder. Eddie looks at him in disgust, shoves him,  and walks away. His body is still tense and angry, but the absurdity is enough to make him back off. But Steve isn’t doing himself any favours by continuing, but he can’t stop. He’s realised something.

Steve shakes his head and catches his breath, “You tragic, pathetic little man, Munson. I just realised why you’re so pissed at me. Why didn’t you just dislike me and become indifferent over time.” Eddie's glare snaps towards him, his form slightly hunched in anger. Steve stands tall, rests a hand on his belt buckle, and drops his head to the side with a cocksure smile, “You were a fan.” He enunciates every word clearly, and each one takes Eddie down a peg or two, “Oh, isn’t this just the tastiest morsel of this whole thing.” Steve claps his hands together, “Bet your ex looked like me too, huh?”

“Keep him out of your cesspool mouth, Harrington, or I swear I’ll do it for you!”

“And now the guy at the hotel makes sense.” Steve laughs, overjoyed he's finally put the pieces together and is making Eddie miserable about it.

“ Guy at the- You’ve been spying on me? Is that why your cronies were there? Oh my god, please don’t tell me that is why he was suddenly working on your plane! You absolute psychopath!” Eddie says, folding his arms across himself in disbelief.

Steve ignores the questions, “And you think my wife dotes on me? Oh my god, hilarious, and Heidi? Please. You know why they’re there, and it has fuck all to do with me.” Steve laughs again.

Then Eddie pauses like pieces are forming together in his mind, like he realises how he’s been duped too, but unfortunately for Steve, that isn’t what Eddie is deducing at all.

He looks him straight in the eyes, a flicker of a smirk, “You wanted me! Didn’t you? How you stopped in the doorway, how you used Heidi as bait. Then you asked me outright if I was gay, and all your little minions laughed, but you genuinely wanted my answer, didn't you?” 

Steve’s inside freeze, but he has to keep up appearances here. This guy could ruin him, “Please! That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. Get over yourself!”

Eddie’s smile widens, and his eyes scan over Steve. He folds his arms,” I bet you do that a lot, don’t you? Lure unsuspecting men into your bed. So you can watch them go at it with someone else, wishing it was you, don't you?” 

“You need to watch your fucking mouth.” Steve growls and points at him.

“Oh, it does have feelings.” Eddie mocks, “Here’s the thing. See,  I don’t need to say anything at all. This whole thing is being recorded. It’s making its way up into The Cloud right now. Forgot about that, didn’t ya?” Eddie beams a toothy, self-assured grin back at him.

Steve does not know how to deal with this guy. Could he offer him more money to keep quiet? Though nothing was confirmed, Steve knew the conversation had already implied enough. He could blackmail him until the end of time with this. Every fibre of his being hates this situation, stuck under someone else's will again and over something so natural, but Eddie doesn’t realise the problem he’d be creating if he did leak this. A scandal was one thing, but Steve needed his career, which would always be his Achilles' heel. Eddie sought revenge, and he wasn’t going to get it without ruining Steve, and Steve could not let that happen. He needed to keep this together.

For a moment, he looks directly at Eddie in defeat. He thinks about asking him what he wants for the recording? What’s it going to take to delete it? But Eddie looks smug, and Steve can’t stand it. In Eddie's face, he sees the rest of those bastards around their boardroom table, he sees the face of his father and last of all, he sees himself, and that is all it takes for Steve to charge at him, rear back his fist and send it crashing into Eddie’s jaw. Steve expects him to go down like a sack of potatoes, but he seems to just absorb it with a grunt and a turn of his head. Now, Steve starts to panic. He hadn’t thought any of this through past this point, but now he knows what must happen. As it stands, Eddie has rumour mill dirt on him, and Steve just assaulted him. He needs Eddie to retaliate. This has to look like a two-way thing to save Steve from losing the most essential thing in his life.

Eddie rubs over where the blow landed and sets his jaw, “I think we’re done here.” He goes to pick up his belongings, but Steve cannot allow this. He reaches over when Eddie's back is turned, drags him back by the hair and spins him around to land a jab to his guts. And this time, he keels over and down he goes, to his knees, gasping for air.

The door rattles again, and Steve turns toward it, yelling, “Do not come in here. That is a fucking order, Buckley! Do your job and fucking listen! Anyone that comes in here is gonna get fucking fired!” As Steve turns back to goad Eddie further, he feels a kick to the back of his knees, collapsing his legs underneath him, and a bony set of knuckles slam into his lower back just before he crumples to the floor, with a hiss from between his teeth, as he reaches for the site of pain. As his back arches backwards in response, he feels himself being dragged up to his feet, his eyes still clenched shut. An almighty whack meets his face, and he’s sent reeling right back to the floor. A boot on his chest pushes him onto his back, and he slowly and cautiously opens his eyes to look up at the man standing over him but immediately has to shut one due to the sharp sting of pain.

He can roughly make out Eddie standing over him, panting so hard his shoulders and chest visibly rise and fall. He’s just staring, maybe shaking. Steve makes a move to sit up, and a sense of relief appears on Eddie’s face for a second, “We’re done here. Stay down!”

Steve knows he should stay down, and this will be over. They both have their own leverage now. They’ve both channelled their anger, but something curious is stirring inside him. His body aches, his head feels fuzzy, and his skin feels alive. He feels high, and he’s not ready for this to be over. He can’t ask. That might come across as pity-inducing, and he’s not after Eddie’s mercy, far from it.

So he uses the couch to drag himself up to sitting first. 

“Are you an idiot? I said stay down.” Eddie sounds more annoyed and regretful than angry, and Steve can feel what he craves slipping out of his fingers. He quickly pushes himself up, and the room spins, but he’s standing. With a grunt of effort, he shoves Eddie whilst trying to find a centre of balance, “Look, that’s enough. I’m gonna go and let Buckley in, ok? I shouldn’t have done that.”

Steve doesn’t reply, scowls and shoves again, with both hands this time, making Eddie stumble backwards. “Hey, I said enough!” Eddie snaps at him, and Steve can taste the hint of anger in it. Eddie doesn’t like being pushed around. He grabs Eddie’s T-shirt material and gathers it in his fists, one of which is starting to throb from where he’d hit him. He yanks Eddie towards his face, their noses almost touching, and Steve watches his eyes widen with fear until Steve shoves him back with all his might, sending him crashing back into the desk that Eddie just gets a hand to to prevent him from falling to the floor. His eyes are still wide, looking at Steve like he’s insane, and maybe he’s right. He feels insane. But Eddie isn’t retaliating.

Frustrated, Steve begins to stalk, paces towards him, squares his shoulders, grabs hold of Eddie’s jaw, and turns it left to right to see the red bloom of a bruise in the making. Eddie stays still, eyes wide, his mouth partially open to breathe shallow breaths.

“Harrington, what are you doing?” Eddie says as if he’s trying to get through to Steve. He looks confused and tries to wriggle away, but Steve has him in too tight a grip. Steve decides Eddie isn’t going anywhere, and that is precisely what will happen. He feels Eddie make jerky, uncertain movements to push him away, like he’s trying to find the magic combination that will get Steve to let him go without enacting any more violence. But Steve has the leverage and uses it to his advantage, looming over him, squeezing his jaw tighter. Eddie's teeth grit as he kicks and pushes back, but Steve does not relent. These little pushes and squirms weren't what he wanted from Eddie, “You’re crazy, Harrington. Let me go,” Eddie hisses through his teeth, and Steve almost laughs as he can feel him trying to knee him between the legs, but Steve just presses himself closer, forcing Eddie awkwardly backwards, with no room to flail anymore, but he’s still not fighting back enough. Steve’s hand slips down to his throat, and he squeezes. Eddie’s eyes flash with panic, and he grasps onto Steve’s offending forearm and croaks out a pitiful “Stop.”

Steve lets his eyes trail over Eddie’s features  as he shakes his head gently and tightens his grip, “No.” He says softly and squeezes again, watching the redness and panic fill Eddie’s face as his fingernails dig into Steve’s arm, sending shivers up and down his spine.

Then, in desperation, Eddie launches forward, making a choked-out noise in the process, as hurtling forward presses his throat further into his grip. Something hits the back of Steve’s legs and sends him reeling back towards the carpet again. He lands with a hard bump to the back of his head, Eddie’s neck still firmly in hand. But soon, his grip is relinquished as Eddie wails blow after blow on his arm until Steve feels a euphoric numbness spread throughout it. He looks up at Eddie, there is no pity or panic in his eyes now, only survival, and Steve is the only obstacle in his way. 

Even when Eddie is free from his grip, he doesn’t stop his physical onslaught. Eddie pins his forearms down by his sides with his knees, pushing his weight onto them, and Steve wonders if one might snap. Licks his lips at the thought of the potential exquisite pain, but before he can dwell for too long, a succession of well-placed jabs begin to litter his torso. Each one is the same cycle: instant pain, a blast of euphoria and the warm hum of blood rushing to the site before it flows much more hurriedly south, sending his head into a dizzying spin. Eddie’s eyes ablaze with anger almost thrill him more, but he can feel Eddie slowing either from effort or realisation, but Steve isn’t ready for this to be over. He needs his hands on him.

Quick as a flash, Steve bends his legs towards his chest, using them to grip hold of Eddie’s torso, and with searing pain, he uses all his strength to flip them over. Eddie flails wildly, trying to keep Steve’s brutal swings at bay. Some land, some don’t, but it was immaterial at this point. All that mattered was  Eddie was touching him, and if this violence was the only way he could have it, then so be it. He’d hurt him, some part of him hated him for being so cruel, but another part of him still wanted him. Needed him.

The flip-over happens again. Eddie, gripping his shirt at its shoulders to pin him down, looms over him, reddened, swelling starting to appear on the face that his wild hair was trying to hide. Steve braces himself for another glorious torrent of Eddie’s rage, but Eddie is just looking at him. His breath is shuddering, “Enough.” He pants.

Steve turns his head to the side, exposing his neck, like an act of submission, looks Eddie directly in the eye, and proceeds to bite down on his wrist. A hard slap meets the side of his face with a heated sting, followed by a hissed, “You’re insane.” 

Eddie’s hands retract as he inspects the damage, and Steve doesn’t miss the opportunity to have Eddie flat on his back again. Something unexpected happens as Steve rears his fist back to send reeling towards Eddie’s body. Eddie grabs hold of his shirt and pulls him right down with him. A creative act of self-defence, Steve thinks, as he’s being crushed in some sort of bear hug submission hold. He realises this might be the end of his fun, but then a new problem becomes apparent, something that hadn’t been a problem for almost a year now, and it might be that which loosens Eddie’s grip. As his body had been flush against Eddie, so had his growing arousal. He laughs with relief that everything still might be in working order. He thought it had been done for.

He pushes himself up a little, and now the grip is loosened. Face to face, noses centimetres apart, Steve waits for inevitable looks of pure repulsion or to be shoved away, but Eddie’s eyes will not meet his, and he’s swallowing hard. He’d got so caught up in this feeling he hadn’t realised maybe Eddie was freezing, newly afraid of something much worse that Steve might be capable of doing in this state, and that was enough to take the wind out of his sails, and he tries to get up, to give Eddie room.

As he pushes up, there is resistance. Eddie’s arms are no longer tightened around his torso, but his strong hands are splayed out on his back, keeping him in place. Steve looks back at him, and this time, their eyes meet, and both struggle to catch their breath. Steve watches as Eddie’s tongue glances over his swollen bottom lip. They must stay like that for a few seconds in the quiet, Steve busy searching Eddie’s eyes for what to do next. Unsure, he tries to push back again, but Eddie’s hands pull him back down, closer this time. Eddie’s every breath is moisture against the corner of Steve's lips.

“What do you want from me?” Steve mutters, desperately trying to tear his gaze from Eddie's mouth to look into his eyes.

“Nothing. I hate you,” Eddie replies breathily in the least believable way possible, almost like he is trying to convince himself it is true.

“Then let me go,” Steve mutters, his nose and lips brushing featherlike against Eddie’s cheek as he speaks. His prize is a shuddering breath and a growing pressure against his thigh.

“No,” Eddie says firmly, in a low register rasp that almost makes Steve’s thighs quake as it vibrates through him.

“What do you want from me?” Steve repeats the question into Eddie’s ear in a whisper.

Eddie's hands lower to the back pockets of his jeans and grip on firmly, “Only everything,” he replies.

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Songs that inspired this chapter:

Frantic - Metallica Heart Attack America - The Bronx