#Cement Filling Station

[rmxsolution]

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[chaotic-birds]

1-800-red-hoods-gas-station-attendant-service

Your boyfriend's not fond of you pumping your own gas at night, so he insists you don't do it alone.

🩹 G/AUs: fluff, est. relt. 🩹 TW: reader (f) is called beautiful, pretty, princess, baby, doll (i love nicknames okay leave me alone 😭), mentions of blood and fighting 🩹 WC: 1.5k 🩹 A/N: Inspired by this reel (sfw). Just a little fun and easy read 💗 enjoy!

this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty! (ageless/minors/blanks blogs will be blocked)

masterlist

Ever since Jason caught a group of people trying to rob someone at the gas station a week ago, he’s insisted you not get gas alone—especially at night.

Your arguments fall on deaf ears. He’s put his foot down and covered it in cement. There’s nothing you can say to make Jason change his mind.

“Hey, beau”—grunts—”tiful. Need somethin’?” Jason asks after the fourth ring.

You can faintly hear the sound of fists hitting skin in the background.

“You busy, handsome?” you wonder, eyes glancing at the low fuel light glaring at you. You already know his answer and the real answer before he speaks.

“Nope,” he answers followed by more grunting. “You home from your ladies' night?”

Upon seeing a gas station in the distance, you signal to take the highway's exit ramp.

“Not yet. I called because I’m low on gas and need to get some to make it home. I figured calling you while I pumped—”

“Where are you?” he asks instead, voice slightly strained.

“Near upper west side.”

“Come to the diamond district, and I’ll meet you there.”

You pull into an empty pump station.

“I’m already at a gas station, Jay. Just—”

“It’s not safe.”

“You’re tracking my location and you can hear—”

“It’s not safe to use your phone while getting gas too,” he continues to interrupt.

You heave a sigh and lean back into your seat, unable to stop your eyes from checking your locks. Although you’ve always been weary of pumping gas at night, you try not to be too paranoid. You hate being on edge all the time.

“Please, doll?” he pleads, breathing heavier.

There are curses in the background that don’t sound like Jason. His attackers must not like him much.

“Alright, but hurry. My light’s on,” you say. You sit straighter and shift gears to leave.

“I’m on my way now. Hey, Red Ro—”

The line cuts off, but you figure Jason’s recruiting Tim to take care of his loose ends. You feel bad for taking Jason away from his work, but you don’t want him to be upset with you for getting gas by yourself. He’s not fun when he’s grumpy.

Jason’s sitting comfortably on his motorcycle when you turn into the station.

When he sees your car, he stands and waves. You know there’s a grin behind his helmet.

The gas station is empty except for the convenience store worker. He looks at the vigilante suspiciously from inside.

You park at the station he’s at, turn off the car, and pull the lever that opens the gas tank. You climb out and smile at him, holding your card in one hand.

“Hi there, cutie. You come here often?” you tease.

He chuckles and swiftly pays for the gas before you can. You give him a disapproving look that he ignores.

“Only for you, princess,” he replies.

You put your card away as he takes the pump and untwists the tank’s cap.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say, feeling guilty again. You figured he’d come and watch the area, not actually pump your gas for you.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “You can sit back down and jus’ look pretty for me, baby.”

“That makes me sound like a spoiled brat,” you huff but do as you’re told, keeping the door open so you can converse.

Jason leans against your car as he fills your tank.

“Well, you’re only half right. You are spoiled, but that’s the way I like it.”

You shake your head at his reply, but there’s a smile on your face. Truthfully, it’s a little nice to not have to worry about anything—to just let Jason care for you.

Your eyes scan his tall form, taking in his armored-covered body and shiny helmet. You notice a few dark spots on his gloves and clothes that you figure are blood.

“It’s a little funny seeing the Red Hood pump my gas,” you quip as you grin at him.

“What can I say? I’m here to help the citizens of Gotham in any way,” he jokes.

“You have a busy night?” you ask, recalling the phone call from earlier.

“Nothin’ too extreme,” he replies.

When your tank is full, he returns the pump and twists the cap back on.

He moves in front of you, resting one hand on the car’s top while he leans down.

“If it weren’t for that goober watching us like a hawk, I’d give you a kiss,” he says.

“Only a kiss? I’d pull you in the back seat and have some fun,” you say with a flirty smile.

He laughs and lowers his head more. You’re so tempted to kiss him.

“We’ll have fun at home,” he says.

“You’re coming back with me?” you ask, eyes opening wider with hope.

He shakes his head. “Sorry, princess. I still need to go help Tim. I’ll be back soon though.”

“Define soon,” you reply with a slight pout.

Jason drops in a squat so he can take your hands; the act is hidden by your door.

“An hour or two?” he says. “But don’t wait up. It could be longer.”

You nod solemnly.

Jason squeezes your hands, thumbs rubbing your skin tenderly.

“Text me when you get home, ‘kay?” he asks.

“Okay,” you say.

Jason releases your hands to rub your thighs.

“Thank you for calling me,” he adds.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want my boyfriend upset with me,” you huff halfheartedly.

Jason squeezes your legs.

“Just want ya safe, doll.”

“I know,” you sigh and place your hands over his.

“I better get going,” he says and reluctantly begins to pull away.

You grab his hands to hold him close.

“Ya know, you might as well just kiss me. I think the worker knows you’re not just here to pump a random Gothamite’s gas.”

Jason chuckles and takes a peek at the window. The worker still looks on, but now with a confused face. When he notices Jason staring, he averts his gaze. Though, Jason knows it won’t last long.

“Fine,” he relents and leans down.

You grin, reaching out to cup his helmet as you kiss the cool material. Of course, it’s not the same as feeling his lips on yours, but the sentiment is felt.

“Love you,” you murmur as you pull away and drop your hands.

Jason sighs longingly. “Love you too, beautiful. See you at home.”

“See you,” you reply.

Jason ends up following you for a while for extra precaution before heading back to his patrol shift. He doesn’t come home for another three hours.

When he does, you’re on the brink of sleep. Still, you turn in his arms so you can snuggle your face against his chest.

“Missed you,” you mumble.

His chest vibrates as he laughs. “You saw me a few hours ago.”

“And what ‘bout it, Todd?” you huff.

He pulls you even closer and rests his head against yours. His body feels so nice. You wish you could stay in his arms for days.

“Nothin’, doll. I missed ya too,” he says in a deep, tired voice.

“Hmph! Thought so,” you reply and carefully lift your head to give him a triumphant smile.

Jason releases an amused puff of air.

“Get some sleep, silly,” he says.

“Kiss first,” you demand, puckering your lips dramatically.

Jason grins and angles his face to give you a tender smooch.

Your lips spread in a grin upon feeling him directly.

When he goes to pull away, you whine in protest and chase after him. You capture his mouth again before he can get too far.

Jason laughs into the kiss, pulling you on top of him. His hands trail up your sides to cup your face. His warmth spreads from your cheeks to your heart.

There’s a dopey, sleepy smile on your face when you pull away.

“God, I love you,” Jason says with the utmost sincerity that squeezes your heart.

“Not as much as I love you,” you sing-song, leaning down to peck his lips.

“Yeah, right,” he chuckles and moves his hands back to your sides. He slides them under your shirt to feel you directly.

Instead of arguing, you lean down to kiss him once more.

“You’re comfy,” you mumble.

He can’t stop the happiness that shows on his face at your words. He gently eases you down by pressing lightly on your upper back and says, “Good. I like you like this.” 

He adjusts his head against his pillow and closes his eyes, arms holding your body to his like a teddy bear.

“I like being here,” you reply and lay your head on his chest. You love hearing the rhythm of his heart.

You feel him give your head a kiss before he gets settled. It’s not long before his breathing gets steadier, and his arms lax slightly around your body. As you join him in dreamland, you realize you’ll never feel safer than in his arms. 

A/N: I have this for my other blog, so I wanted to share it here too: For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

©️chaotic-birds // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[starofthesea7]

König~ Carnivore

Very filthy with a little bit of plot xx

You overhear Konig jerking off and decide to investigate

You groan, rolling over and squeezing your eyes shut.

There it was a again.

It was faint, almost indecipherable, and initially you’d ignored it, told yourself it was in your head. The sweltering, desert heat (or ovulation) had gotten to you.

But now you were certain.

A groan, a delicious, thick groan dragging rough like barbed-wire through the thick, hazy air; rasping through makeshift walls and into your room— grating against your eardrums in a brutal taunt. You were feverish.

You’d heard König’s hoarse grunts countless times as he cleaned a fresh, gaping wound or heaved a particularly heavy load onto his colossal shoulders, but this, this was different. Under the cover of night it was different. Imagining what he was doing made it different; made your imagination run wild.

You bury your face into your old pullover, bunched up into a makeshift pillow— pulse beating deafeningly in your ear, yet you cant get the sound of him out of your head. There it was again, a strained, husky grunt. And wetness.

Oh—Fuck. So he was touching himself.

Heat diffuses across your shining cheeks at the sound. Eyes squeeze shut as your heart beat thrums. Ashamed, you strain to listen again. A moan, deep and rough as gravel, the rhythmic sound of his fist against his flesh. You were slick. Fuck.

You’re yolked to another side of yourself that keens away from the righteous path— dragged away by need and deprivation that only months of gruelling, violent work and near solitude can bring. You crave to go to him. To touch him, satisfy him. He’s been stationed here months, surrounded by grim, hardened men, surely he must be frustrated. Surely you would be a welcome sight to his lonely gaze. You ghosted over your clit, clenching at nothing but the hypothetical of him filling you up, stretching you out, pounding the air out of your lungs. Huge hands, rough and hot, groping at you in harsh, touch deprived handfuls.

You slid your finger down the split of your cunt, wetness coating your fingers, your thighs. He had no idea what he did to you — he was always so respectful, so quiet, eyes so focused on whatever work was at hand; but his reservedness only made you crave him more. Of course you desired what was out of reach — the only man who’d never made a move on you, never spat a snide suggestive remark in your direction, or blatantly stared at your ass. Typical. Man has always wanted what he can’t have, lured in by mysterious forces he can’t quite figure out. Our Achilles’ heel. You were pandora, and he was your box you were so tempted to crack open. What could be hiding inside that sibylline man?

You’re ashamed, perverse for thinking about him like this, yet you ached for more. For him. You press a finger inside, with a hot squelch, back arching. Another groan from the soldier. But his would be so much thicker. And longer. And his cock. Fuck. You know he’d stretch you so delectably…

You groan and roll over again. Slap, slap, slap… he is still going, fist to flesh— a soldiers stamina at work.

Studying a crack in the cement ceiling, you consider your options. You could lay here, and get off by yourself. Resort to imagining feeling his hand on your throat, cock in your cunt, groans in your ear… Or you could knock… with a slim, glimmer of a chance of him desiring you too, of him judging your ready cunt as a more desireable fit than his usual fist.

An unseen force dragged out of your cot, limbs heavy with nerves. Perhaps lust, adrenaline, or a mixture of the two. Spurred on by delirium from the heat, the late hour or clenching of your cunt you can’t be sure, but you somehow open the door and step out into the hallway. The moon is bright and you stare at your feet for a moment, feel them sticking to the rough wooden floorboards in the summer heat. Your heart hammers, each beat deafening. A humid waft tickles the baby hairs at the nape of your neck. Before you had a moment to mull over your decision, perhaps jot down a pros and cons list, you had knocked, knuckle and rough wood cracking dull against the silence of the empty hallway.

A deafening stillness. You flex your hand in apprehension. Then a rustle. Another pause. You hear him clear his throat, the creak of floorboards as he gets up from his cot, aged floor straining to support his immense frame. The blood drains from your face as your fantasy now condenses into the very real, colossal mass that is König. The door creaks open, you hold your breath. And oh, you bite the inside of your cheek as you look up at him, he looks so good.

He truly is a paradox. So enormous, yet reserved. So immense yet quiet, gentle. A man of very few words. A wave waiting to crash, or a volcano waiting to erupt. His hair is tousled from bed, curing around his damp brow, cheeks burning from what you know to be arousal. You’d only seen glimpses of his face. His features are still shrouded in shadow, but you can make out a vague picture. He’s younger than you’d imagined— and better looking. Each one of his features somehow exudes an enticing, rough crudeness, emanating true masculinity.

A large, strong nose, slightly crooked as if its been broken one too many times. Lips split, bitten and red. Inviting. A glint of teeth, an angled jaw and the whisper of stubble. A large scar slices up his prominent cheekbone towards his eyes. In contrast, soft, deep-set eyes framed with thick lashes. Effervescent, pale olive green— heavy with fatigue, they widen in surprise at the sight of you.

“Hey.” You look up at him through long lashes, chest rising with shallow breaths. You were suddenly aware of your nipples poking through a threadbare tanktop, and sleep shorts two sizes too small. You felt exposed, like meat on display before a hungry animal. There was nothing more you wanted than him to take you, but there was something holding him back from lunging.

You knew he would disregard his hunger, till starvation, until you give him assent.

He clears his throat. “Hi.” His voice is rough and deep—accent thick, but his eyes don’t meet yours. He looks sheepish, like a teenage boy caught with his uncles playboy. Like hes dirty before you— if only he knew the fantasies you conjure about him at night, awake and in dreams.

“Um, I thought I heard something… coming from this direction and I just wanted to make sure you were ok… in here.” Your voice sounds as small as you feel next to him. He was larger than life, a tower of solid muscle that could break you like a toothpick. It sounded stupid, now that it had come out of your mouth, but you reminded yourself you had the upper hand — you’d ambushed him.

A weighted pause.

“Oh, um… ja Im all good in here.” He rubbed the back of his neck— rippling arm bulging with the movement. You don’t miss the hem of his shirt rising above the waistband of his boxers. A trail of hair ghosting across taught muscle, leading down to… You quickly tore your eyes away before your imagination strayed too far, looking back up at his face. You swallowed, a click in your throat, and crossed your arms.

His eyes flickered, so fast you could’ve imagined it, to your chest, as your breasts bulge above your arms, the top you were wearing leaving little to his imagination. A welcome aid stabilizing your wavering confidence. Your heart pounded in your ears as you lean toward him slightly.

You smiled up at his nervous face, and his eyes finally yielded in meeting yours. “Sorry if I woke you, just cant sleep.”

The door gave way, just a little as he stepped away from you, as if he couldn’t let you get too close to him— or he’d be unable to keep things civil, your magnetic field too strong to resist.

You glanced at his bed: a threadbare mattress covered with tangled sheets, a book… and something… pink? It stood out harshly against the greyness of his room. You registered. Your stomach clenched. The incongruent lace among his muted bed things — your thong. You were lightheaded, thighs squeezing together. He’d been jerking off to your fucking panties.

It was dirty. Salacious. So fucking hot.

Your knees were weak as you ran your fingers through your hair. You feel his eyes studying your face, trying to make out your intention. A wave of confidence swells in your chest, playful smirk toying at the corner of your lips. “I got more if you want to start a collection.” Your fingers find the band of your sleep shorts, pausing as your pretend to pull them down.

He stutters, eyes dropping to your waist, “W-What?”

You nod towards his bed. He turns and his eyes widen, face growing hot with humiliation. “Scheisse, I am so sorry. They must have mixed up your laundry with mine—“ He grabs it from the bed, scarred fist swallowing it whole, the delicate lace almost amusingly mismatched in his cloddish grasp.

He holds them out to you, eyes glassy with shame. You don’t move.

He trails off as his gaze involuntarily falling to your hips, then to your thighs, back up to your hands still toying at the waistband of your tiny shorts. His tongue, blood red peeks between pink lips. A glint of a canine. So he is a carnivore. He cleared his throat, eyes meeting yours, holding your gaze vehemently.

He’s nervous, as if your are his alluring genie he rubbed into fruition, and one wrong step could ruin whatever shimmering wish you might be in the mood to grant him. He was waiting for you to lead— cautious.

He can’t read you. He shifts, studying your face.

The air is thick, and molten— time slow, coagulating around you, forcing you towards each other. The mood has changed and you both feel it, dizzy with desire yet waiting for the other to test the water first. You gazed up at him wanton through your lashes— you decided to dip your toe in. “Want them?” —your voice is sickly sweet syrup which he eagerly swallows. His adams apple bobbing in his throat, and your eyes blaze a trail along a thick pink scar, decorating the ivory column. You want to run your tongue up it.

He simply nods dumbly, a lock of dark hair falling across his heavy brow, wide chest rising with shallow breaths.

You ache for him, stepping inside as he closes the door, and you suddenly feel minuscule next to this behemoth of a man, the room far too cramped. You’d never been this close to him, or spoken more than a few words to him, he always kept his distance. His hands are brawny fists at his sides, still clenching your thong, as if he was unsure what to do with them. Veins and scars litter his knuckles. You wanted them on your neck.

You bite your lip, dying to feel his hands on you. In you.

He groans softly, as if you taunt him, merely by standing in front of him. You lick your lips, you want him to touch you: “Take them off then.”

He steps into you, hands rising to your waist, gripping you there, dwarfing your frame. The knowledge that he could bend you like a reed made you faint with desire. His fingers dig into the flesh at your ribs, blunt nails leaving crescent moons in their wake. You moan as he presses himself into you, thick cock straining against his boxers.

“You tease me.” His voice is cracked, as if your mere existence was unfair torment.

Your fingers trail up his abdomen, lightly over hard muscle, up his neck and into his hair. You ground your pelvis into his as your fingers fist his loose curls, tugging gently.

Your voice comes out a whisper. “I could hear you through the wall, König.” He grunts, blood rushing to his cheeks and his cock in both embarrassment and arousal, fingers inadvertently squeezing you tighter. Finding the swells of your ass, and he pulls the cheeks apart. You groan into him, the feeling of him splitting you open in such an unsatisfying way drives you wild. Your cunt is slick, clenching around nothing. His hips involuntarily buck softly into you and you can feel him, painfully hard. How long had he been edging. To you. Poor boy. You rise to your tip toes, open mouth kissing the ragged scar on his neck as you imagine what his cock looks like, thick and aching.

A crackled, “Please..” He trails off— its all he can muster. Unsure of what to ask for, unsure of what he wants you to do — of what he wants to do to you.

“Were you thinking about me while you touched yourself?” Your voice is an airy taunt. He looked away with a ragged breath, then back down at you, eyes searching your face, tongue wetting his lips. Then he nodded. Your stomach clenched. He smelled of smoke and musk, and you wanted to crawl inside his shirt and be skin to skin, consumed in him forever.

You rise up on your tip toes, fingers gripping his shirt to keep yourself grounded in him, and he leans down. A hair of buzzing space between your lips. Breaths raspy. His hand finds the base of your head and he pulls you towards him. Lips searing. He’s gentle, firm. You run your tongue along his lips and he opens his mouth to you. He tastes like mint and cigarettes. Intoxicating.

Your hands run over his bare stomach, muscles clenching under your light, fervent touch. Your hands find the hem of his shirt and hes pulling it off, muscles rippling below searing, scarred flesh, formed through constant use and necessity — through years of arduous work.

Your hands fall to his lower stomach and his hips buck forward. You snap the waistline of his pants and he grunts. You couldn’t get enough of his paradox. So terrifying yet gentle. Sensitive. More dangerous yet safer than any other man two heads shorter.

You find his cock, palming it through fabric, thick and aching. He raises his arm to stabilize himself against the wall behind you, as if he can barely stand. You want to make him feel good so fucking bad your mouth waters. You kneel down, and his eyes widen slightly. “You dont have—“

“Lemme make you feel good, König.” You gaze up at him lustfully, a behemoth of a man, bending at your touch. He lets out a raspy breath of air as you slide his boxers down, his hard cock slapping up against his stomach. Eager and painfully hard, he’s engorged a dark red, precum leaking from the slit, tricking down the underside, along a vein. Your cunt clenches. Fuck— hes thicker than you’ve seen before.

You lick a stripe up his length, along the vein bulging on the underside, soft skin. He bites his fist. Wrapping your lips around his mushroom head, a briny bitterness bites at you and you instinctively want to shove down your throat. It goes right to your head.

You take him deeper, hands gripping his thighs, solid and hot. Deeper, bobbing your head. A small whimper from above as his head drops forward; you can tell hes doing his best to keep from bucking into you, shoving himself down your throat, pale fingers digging into his palm. You looked up at him and he grunts— youre a vision gazing up at him, lashes clumped together with glistening tears.

His hand finds the back of your head, hand so large it palms your crown, swallowing you whole. Fingers softly intertwine with strands of hair. The sounds of you choking on him pornographic against the quiet of night, your cunt clenching around nothing, dripping down your thighs, onto your heels for want of attention. All you wanted to do was take him deeper, bob harder, choke louder. His hand reflexively pushes your head down onto him, bobbing you faster. Faster, deeper. His caution gave way to brainless need— and you loved it. You sputter, gagging as he hits the back of your throat, jaw aching to accommodate him.

Hes grunting—“Im f-fuck, sorry—” His eyes were glassy, brows knitted with pleasure. Your cunt clenched as you looked up at him. One of your tits was bouncing out from the neckline of your top and his eyes flicked down to it, fingers tightening sharply at your hair, then back up to your shining, drool covered face. You an his angel, his nymph. The answer to a desperate, agonizing prayer.

He suddenly groans, pulling you harshly off his cock to keep from spilling down your throat. His heavy cock twitches above your face— a spurt of precum landing on your rosy cheek. He lets out a strangled sound, pornographic, he has to tear his eyes away, embarrassed, as you smile up at him. All you want to do was submit. Let him use you how ever he wanted, bend you like a reed in any which way he wanted. Stretch you to your limit, ruin you for any other man.

Hes breathing heavily as he smears it off with his thumb. You clutched his brawny hand, bringing it to your mouth. You suck the cum off his thumb and his cock jerks again at the sight of your delicate lips sucking his tanned, scarred finger.

Your voice is hoarse, throat raw, “I want you to use me Konig— however you want.” He looks down at you, expression pained and needy. “Can you do that for me.” He lowered his chin in a fucked out, decisive nod. You rose, and blushing as he tugs your shirt down reflexively, your other tit bobbing out. His eyes are glued to your chest, calloused hands dwarfing you as he gropes at them. Yyou whine as he squeezes them tight, his strength has you teetering deliciously on the precipice from pleasure to pain. You love it.

You tug your shorts down and he groans at the sight of you bare before him, at your smeared, puffy cunt. His hand instinctively drops to your slit. He drags a rough forefinger up and down it, watching in admiration as you buck when he catches on the split of your clit. Your head falls back against the wall, shallow moans in the quiet air.

His voice is quiet, “So wet. So wet for me.” Half question half statement. As if he is unsure whether this was simply a dream. Two of his fingers suddenly split you open and you keel into him, moaning at the divine stretch. Hell, two of his were four of yours.

He made no move to wait for you to adjust. Not because he was cruel but because he didn’t understand the extent of his size, didn’t realize how he stretched you. So thick, larger than life, gummy walls spasming as they attempt to take all of him in, be good for him.

“Fuck, so big, König.” His eyes were fixed on your face, as he slowly thrusts in and out, the obscene squelch making you dizzy. Your hands find his broad shoulders, nails gripping onto him to steady yourself— he hisses at the sharpness. He reaches in further, past the knuckle, pumping in and out. You angle your hips instinctively towards him and he brushes that spongey spot deep inside you. He smiled crookedly at a loud, airy moan, your fingers digging into his shoulders. His mouth fell open, mirroring your slack jaw.

Suddenly, another finger. Hes three fingers in and you would’ve died at the sounds you were making if you weren’t so fucked out. His name a chant on your lips.

He grunts at your clench around him, imagining it around his cock. “Schleib— so tight… and h-hot inside.” Heavy lidded eyes study yours, brows furrowed as he hits that spot, deep inside you. His rough, calloused thumb finds your clit and you jerked away in over stimulation, breasts press against his hard chest, hard nipples grazing his chest hairs. His other hand gropes your ass, pulling the cheeks apart as he works your puffy, sensitive cunt. Your embarrassingly wet, leaking down his wrist.

Your moans increase, “Have to be quiet Liebling,” his tone serious. You ignore him, mouth agape, sounds uncontrollable. Every rut of his fingers, every bounce of your chest forced the air out of your lungs.

You whine. Salty, cum stained fabric is shoved in your mouth. Your eyes widen.

Your thong. So he’d cum to you already, into your panties. It was disgusting, perverse. There is jest in his expression, eyes shining with a tease that has you clenching down on his fingers.

Your name, soft, tugs you back towards earth, your glassy vacant stare struggles to focus on him. You must’ve looked a mess. Hair mussed, tits hanging out from your top, thong stuffed into your mouth, but he looks down at you with a furrowed, ardent need. Below him you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. You were his. His pupils were blown wide, drinking your glowing vision in like a man parched.

His voice comes out strained and hoarse, adams apply bobbing against his thick, scarred neck. “Please…” he trailed off. He wanted to take you, fill you, fuck you. His cock stood tall and waiting eagerly. But he didn’t know how to ask. His brows furrowed, breath ragged, “Please… let me.” His hands tighten painfully at your waist, as if clutching you making sure you stayed here, with him.

You wanted to hear him say it. You furrowed your brows in question, his makeshift gag keeping you from speaking. You brushed his cock, painfully hard with your hand. He bucked forward, the touch pushed him over the edge— “Let me have you.” His voice was rough, strained, as if there was a chance you’d say no. You shivered at his choice of words. Let me have you. Give yourself to me.

Gladly.

You nod up at him, eyes sparkling. You could have easily taken the thong out of your mouth but you hated to admit it turned you on— his attempt at dominance, calling instead of forcing your submission. He tugged your shirt over your head. He leans back, staring with glassy eyes, pupils blown wide, his gaze trailing down over your figure. His mouth parts as he if he is literally drinking you in. Normally you’d feel insecure at being so bare infront of a man but his expression is pure adoration, it makes you want to further expose yourself to him. Your insides crave his stare, his touch, his consumation.

Huge, hard, rippling muscle looms over you. His hardness exaggerates your softness. His immensity making you feel small, although you weren’t particularily so. And yet he feels safe. A shield from all outside forces lurking, waiting to pounce on you. His broad shoulders blocking out danger, bullets, peering eyes— the rest of the world. Here it was only him and you.

He gripped your waist, and lowered you to the bed. You were a rag doll in his iron grasp, pliable clay. Your only desire was to do his will. Make him feel good, let him revert to carnal impulse.

A halo of hair encircles your face on the hard mattress, cheeks glowing, eyes shining with desire. You are a vision. His vision. Splayed bare before him. You trust him fully, a killer to all but you. He suddenly feels as if you didn’t belong here. In his room, surrounded by cement, and rusty metal and dirty roughness. He wants to protect you, take you away, devour you whole.

Your thighs part instinctually, pussy bare and sopping for him. Your hand falls to your cunt, parting your lips for him in a V. His eyes are glued to your hole, drinking in your display. He tears his eyes away, as if to keep from orgasming right there, at sight of you, spread open for only him.

He guides his cock, painfully hard, to your aching hole, gently pressing it against the split. You moan with needy anticipation. He slides the mushroom head up, precum smearing across your lips. He groans incoherent german, “I’ve waiting so long for you Schatz… wanted you so bad… think about you all the time.” Your heart jolted at his words— his head caught on your clit and you groaned around your gag. His eyes were glued to your pretty little cunt, and he pressed into you, your thighs instinctively moved together at the feeling, his massive torso forced you open.

He grunts, forcing his way in. Hes big, bigger than you’d ever taken. And the stretch, the sharpness of the pain made the pleasure all that much better. Another inch. Another. You squirm, fingers clutching at the sheets. An airy moan, your torso keens upward. Another inch, you spasm around him— when he finally pressed himself all the way in, the air was knocked out of you. The hair at the base of his cock tickled your clit, you clench hard around him— he jolts with a barbed grunt.

Stuffed so full, stretched so deliciously— you feel wild.

He stayed there for a moment as you spasm around him, muscles straining to accommodate him— his hair fell over his forhead, mouth agape, breaths rough— desperate to ravage you, pound into you, put your furrowed brows and brimming tears hold him back. He stares at the connection. The way your skin stretches tight around him, taking him so well.

He pulls out slightly, your cunt clutching at him, unwilling to let him go. He begins rocking back and forth.

“So tight maus—Scheiße, so hot inside.” His gaze still on your little cunt, stretched so wide for him, straining to suck him back in. His eyes flicked to your breasts, watching them bounce lightly with each gentle thrust. Desperate for more, his pace quickens. He grunts at the bounce of your breasts.

Harder, faster.

His hard pelvis ruts into you. The wet slap is obscene, hips recoiling with each thrust. Your nails scratch as his back, mimicking the sting of your stretched cunt, straining to take him.

Deep grunts join your airy moans, and your head is light. No thoughts plague your mind, just pleasure, stretch, fullness. His pace was getting rougher, more needy.

You feel your orgasm building deep in your stomach, an iron hot clench waiting to uncoil. He presses your knees down, folding you in half, totally helpless against his bludgeoning into you. You are a ragdoll to his whims, a hole for his use. He’s gotten a taste and now he can’t seem to stop.

Your legs rise, knees bending against his chest— spreading you open embarrassingly wide. Your drooling. He’s impossibly deep— you feel him behind your ribcage, forcefully bludgeoning at your sternum. His hand falls to your lower stomach and he lets out a strangled sound at the feeling of his cock pressing up into his hand.

He’s repulsed at the roughness with which he pounds you, but he can’t seem to stop. “I’m so sorry, you’re so good for me liebling, i’m hurting you, i’m - ah!- so sorry.” His breaths become airier, more pathetic as his release nears.

You clench, pulling him down into you with grasping hands.

Closer. Deeper. More.

The sound of skin slapping together was wet, obscene. Disgusting. You’re close, hurtling towards a precipice. He grunts loudly.

From you, a muffled string of incoherent “Gonna come,”— it sounded distant, far away.

He pounds into you rasping a shamble of german and english, how you’re so small, so tight, stretched so wide, stuffed so full. He’s fucking drooling.

He’s hitting that spongey spot over and over again. Bludgeoning pleasure into you so forcefully you can’t help but take it. Engorged head pushing relentlessly towards the entrance of your cervix, so deep youd never felt anyone there before—cunt stretched so wide he’s splitting you in half with every thrust, breasts bouncing painfully with every rut.

It crashes over you like a wave, cunt spasming irregularly around him, breathy whines— impossibly tight. You writhe beneath him, pushing him away instinctively at the pleasure, but he barely feels it, his arms caging you beneath him as you ride out your orgasm.

You are a ragdoll, limbs spread, nails scratching blindly, a hole as he ruts into you, faster, jerkier, more erratic, still shaking with your orgasm, his colossal frame curling around you. He grunts, at the feeling of you tightening around him. You feel him twitch inside you. His breaths become airier, more pathetic as his release nears. Your wetness coats his pale lower stomach and rippling thighs. Brawny arms wrap around your body, holding you so fucking tight.

“So, -ah, so close- scheiße.” He lets out a pitiful groan as he stuffs himself into you with a final thrust, holding your pelvises flush as his cock lurches, mushroom head notching deep inside you. Your walls stutter around him, “C- cumming.” His voice cracks, cock jumping, spurting inside of you pitifully, impossibly deep— so deep you feel it in your guts, so deep it would be dribbling out for days. Hot sticky ropes pump into you, his hips stuttering against yours. Hes grunting into your neck, brows furrowed, eyes brimming with the tears of pleasure that mix with sweat. You fall limp, stuffed, belly full and warm with him, you sob at the delicious pressure.

He stills, shuddering slightly as your cunt clenches, the squelch making you blush. Its quiet, breaths against stillness.

Hes relaxed above you, your body still bent in half, cunt pressed up against his pelvis still agape, sucking him in. He rises, eyes soft and fucked out fall to your mouth, still stuffed with your panties. He groans at the look you give him, and pulls the panties out of your mouth.

He slowly fucks into you, a crackled groan at the feeling of shoving his cum back into you as you squirm— cunt clenching, spasming around him, always so willing, so good for him. His brows furrow as he pulls out, as if it pains him leave you. Your hole is gaping at the loss of him. Cum oozes from your red, abused slit, down towards the split of your ass. He stares, watching his cum spill out of you, committing the picture to memory, in case this is a one time thing. His face is flushed and sweaty, lips parted in focus. The image making him lightheaded.

He looks back up at your face, eyes heavy with pleasure. Fucked out, spread a mess before him, you look more beautiful than you ever had. You bring your legs together, more cum spilling out with a squelch.

Your voice was a hoarse whisper. “You can keep my thong.”

[minhosimthings]

Lucifer|| Prolouge

Synopsis: After you found your husband cheating on you, you found a different kind of comfort in his devilishly handsome colleagues.

Pairings: detective 02z × fem!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive, minors please do not interact, catcalling, mention of alcohol, reader is cheated on by Heeseung, cheating (which I do not condone in real life)

A/N: Prologue for my 02z short series everyone! I abandoned everything else after Enha dropped Memorabilia just to write this BECAUSE I CAN. I will try to put out the oneshots as early as possible and I hope all of you will enjoy it! Au revoir!

Taglist: Open

Series Masterlist

Crystalline tears filled your eyes as you walked under the dark azure sky. Your feet ached, your heart thumped hard against its prison and your mind spun and yet you kept walking. Walking somewhere, you didn't even bother to understand.

Adjusting your skirt, and moving your scarf down to reveal your bloodied lips from having bitten them too much, you tried to recall what had happened today that made you so miserable. Was it the broken coffee machine, or was it the recent murders in the newspaper? Or was it a person? Perhaps it was the latter.

Heeseung.

You loved Lee Heeseung. With all of your soul and all of your heart you loved him all the way through the bright Mays and the chilly Decembers. You loved him in a way only the setting sun could love the ocean, the way its rays danced with the water so gracefully.

And yet you caught him in your own bedroom, strong sinews of muscles handling another girl's lusty bones, as she merged her body with someone you thought belonged to you.

His apologies went deaf to your ears, you spent an hour or so packing up all your things and driving out the house without a second thought. You didn't even realise how much time you spent screaming your head off at him, trying hard to stop your tears from escaping their barrier as you shoved each and every gift he ever gave you into his arms and asked him to burn them to the ground. And yet you didn't know how to cope without them either.

Your mother never taught you how to handle grief without alcohol and your father's blood always seeped through your mouth in words of fire and fury everytime something went wrong. It was no wonder you had found comfort in Heeseung, a man who could handle all of your pain and all of your anger.

You had trusted him with your life, marrying him happily to escape your childhood home and entrusting in him your most beloved secrets, your love and dedication and your virginity as well. You thought that had been enough, staying home whilst Heeseung worked his ass off at the police station to provide you with everything you could ask for and more.

And when he came home, you were his toy, a plaything for him to release his stress on and yet you didn't budge. Why should you? When you were recieving all the pleasure you could ever want and giving all the pleasure back to your husband. Nevertheless, you stared at your empty ring finger now, hands shivering in the cold as you scolded yourself on not wearing mittens. Heeseung used to scold you too.

Lee Heeseung. What would you have done to absolutely irradicate Lee Heeseung?

You had parked your car at the nearby park where you knew it'd be safe, and had gone for a walk. Thoughts rushed to your mind. You had known about Heeseung's affair for some time now, but you wanted to catch him in the act, to prove to the world, to yourself, that your melancholic delusion could be justified. Here you were now, dragging your feet across the cemented pavement, knowing there's only one other place you could go to. The darkness was a bad place for a woman to be, at 10 pm but you didn't give a single fuck about anything as your prosaic body tried to get itself up. You swore you could have heard voices behind you.

"Hey, hey you!" You heard a voice shout behind you, "What's a pretty lady doin' in a place like this?"

You gulped in fear as your feet sped up. Stupid stupid girl, you thought to yourself, should have stayed in the goddamned car!

"Hey you ignorin' me?" The voice shouted again, and you could hear the gruff footsteps which followed you, getting closer by the moment, "Stop fucking runnin' away from me!"

Your heart pumped blood faster as you picked up your skirt and ran, at the fastest speed you could. This wouldn't have happened if Heeseung was here!, you thought, and though a part of your brain tried to scold you about still thinking about him, at the moment all you were focused on was getting somewhere safe.

The man's drunken voice could still be hear by your ears, and his harsh footsteps told you he was running behind you, chasing you as if you were a wild mongrel to be caught and leashed.

Only one place. Only one place you could go now.

Turning swift on your feet, you ran down the wide lane filled with shops on one side and the empty road on the other, being careful not to crash into the glowing streetlights, as your destination came into your visage.

The police station. Where you knew, your last hope would be standing.

|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|

"Got the Samson case solved yet?" Sunghoon yawned and stretched his limbs above his head, like a prosaic cat, "Man I could do with a drink right now."

"It's 10 pm." Jake checked his pocketwatch, running his hand through his hair as he always did, "What bar is going to be open at this time?"

"Hey, should we steal Jay's stash?" Sunghoon glanced, with mischievous eyes at Jake, who mirrored an equally mischief filled smile back.

"Don't even think about touching my bourbon." A dark haired man, with eyes as black as kohl, walked in, equally black gloves decorating his hands, "Unless you want to be stuck on traffic duty all week."

"Who pissed in your cereal today?" Sunghoon snickered, leaning back in his chair, a crack of his bone could be heard as he lazily stretched, "Let me guess, Heeseung?"

"Is it about his wife again?" Jake groaned, hair tangled in his hand again, "Jay, just leave it man, they'll sort it out."

"Sort it out?" Jay looked at the long haired man with a quizzical look, "What kind of a man cheats on a beautiful woman and brags about it?"

"Most of them." Sunghoon broke out into his drawer, hands reaching for a eloquent wooden pipe, which he lit and transferred to his mouth, sighing out the smoke as he relaxed into his chair, "You're too righteous to understand that, Jongsoeng."

Jay wrinkled his nose, as Sunghoon blew a puff of cigarette smoke into the air. Settling into his own chair, Jay's eyes flickered towards Heeseung's desk, where files lay messily scattered. A solitary photo frame brightened up the lonely atmosphere of the desk. Lee Y/N, Jay thought, his wife, not yours.

"Jay, come on, stop sulking over your little crush," Jake scoffed, his hands busy with a sleek, brownish-yellow bottle in his hand, "Just have a drink and get your mind off it."

"First of all, how did you get into my bourbon cabinet." Jay snatched the glass from Jake's hand, and toyed with it protectively, "Second of all, I can't just get my mind of it. I mean, come on," He extended his glass out to Jake who poured the elysian liquid into Jay's glass, "Who the fuck would have the gall to cheat on such a pretty woman who loves him to bits?"

"Look, you like her right? And don't say no, we all know it Jongsoeng." Sunghoon leaned forward in his chair, "So when she finds out about everything, just offer to take her home and, you know, let her sob into your arms and then take her into your bedroom and-"

"Since when did you start reading romance?" Jake chuckled, pressing a glass of bourbon to his lips.

"Since lover boy here started crushing on..what's her name? Y/N wasn't it?" Sunghoon laughed, taking another piquant drag of his pipe, "I get it, she is really pretty."

'Really pretty' was one way to describe you, Jay thought, smiling into his glass of bourbon. Every inch of you called out to him, beckoned him closer and closer to your poisonous radius. It wasn't that he didn't try to fight it, lusting after another's wife, but it was that he found that hidden sadness in your eyes heartbreaking everytime he looked into them.

"Want to head home, fellas?" Jake briskly sat up straight in his chair, "Or are either of you going to stop at a brothel?"

"Don't have time for that." Sunghoon chuckled darkly, putting out his pipe, "Plus I've got a-"

Bang!

The door of the quite airy police station burst open with a loud bang, and it seemed as if a hurricane in the guise of a panicked woman had swept in, alarming the three detectives. The sudden action caused them to act on their reflexes, pulling out their revolvers faster than their eyes could comprehend the sight in fron them. Jake's eyes seemed to work the quickest.

"Ma'am? Are you alright?" Jake called out, signalling the other two to lower their weapons. He stepped forward and turned a switch on, which caused the entire room to light up in bright light, contrasting to the soft yellow light that earlier shone from the desk lamps.

Jay's senses had seemed to ding up after the initial shock of the entire thing, as he walked forward with careful steps towards you, as Jake and Sunghoon whispered to each other, making out why you were here. Your eyes took a moment to register the man in front of you.

Jay Park, you thought, a man who was perfection incarnated.

"Y/N," Jay spoke softly, careful not to frighten you, "What are you doing here? Are you alright?" He looked you up and down to check for any disfigurements.

"I-" you spoke, your throat tightening by the moment, "Heeseung—he" you couldn't speak any more as his name uttered out your mouth. Bursting into tears, you buried your face in your hands as you felt your cheeks burn up with embarrassment. You really weren't crying in front of your (ex) husband's colleagues, men who you barely knew, apart from the usual condolences.

You felt warm, strong muscles pull you into their hold. It felt like a cozy cocoon, scented with the fragrance of pine and paper.

"Calm down, doll," Jay whispered into your ear, his hot breath fanning your neck, "take a breath for me."

Jay coached you through breathing in and out, which restored some of your consciousness. You had nearly been on the verge of fainting, with how much you had ran.

"Can I—May I sit down for a moment?" You asked, weary of the other two men's eyes watching you, "Please."

"Of course." Jay said, supporting your figure with his sinews as he led you over to his cubicle. You could see the other two hastily clearing out messy piles of papers. The shorter one, you assumed was Jake, from his drooped posture and lion-like hair. The taller one then, had to be Sunghoon, with porcelain skin and an ice cold gaze.

"Did-did you walk all the way from your house?" Jake questioned, offering you a seat, which you gratefully collapsed into.

"No, just the park nearby." You shot him a small smile through your croaky voice, which he returned, "My car's still parked there though. I drove from" you stopped in your words uncertain to say his name, "-from Heeseung's house."

You felt the tension in the room as you said those words. Heeseung's house, you thought, it had been home once. You felt Jay shift his position in the chair next to you, and Sunghoon transfer his weight to one foot, whilst leaning on the desk.

"If you want us to go beat him up, we'll gladly do it." Sunghoon offered, making you chuckle and shake your head.

"No it's fine, I mean she wasn't that pretty anyway, he's bound to lose interest in her some day or the other." You smiled, to no one but yourself. Humour had never been your strong suit.

"Aww man I really wanted to beat him up." Sunghoon feigned defeat, "Asshole deserves it for how much paperwork he gave me."

"That's the only reason you want to beat him up?" You raised a brow at the light skinned man, who raised one back.

"And for betraying a pretty lady of course." He winked at you, making you internally roll your eyes.

"Would-would you like some bourbon?" Jake awkwardly offered you a glass. You could see the embarrassment in his eyes the moment he asked the question, "Or water if you want-"

"I'll take the bourbon." You grabbed the glass from Jake, who, with his shocked eyes poured you a glass, which you downed immediately without flinching in front of the three startled detectives, "Can I have another?"

"Can we have some too?" Sunghoon smirked at you, grabbing his own glass and beckoning Jake to pour him a shot. Jay, admitting defeat, had grabbed a glass too, filled with the bubbly alcohol.

"Well," Sunghoon raised his glass in a toast, "to Heeseung hopefully getting bored of the other woman."

"Peculiar toast, Detective Park." You laughed, "I like it."

The moments that followed still felt like a fever dream to you. You had sat in a building, alone with three handsome men, talking down right shit about your husband, whilst drinking more bourbon than you ever had and although you had already defeated Jake in drinking (almost) half a pint, you still wanted more. This definetly was not on your itinerary for the evening, but did you care at this point? Absolutely not.

"Ugh fuck." You swore under your breath. You probably shouldn't have drank that much, but in all honestly, it would have helped to relieve some of the painful memories of the night.

"Woah steady there." Jay looked at you cautiously as you stirred in your chair. Jake was on the verge of passing out, having even taking his glasses off, while Sunghoon and Jay, who hadn't drank as much, looked as calm as the winds.

"You know what?" You started, not knowing the words coming out of your drunken mouth anymore, "Fuck Lee Heeseung, fuck that man." A sudden maniacal giggle from your mouth seemed to have amused Sunghoon.

"Fuck in what terms, Mrs Lee?" He asked, trying to hide his cunning smirk, whilst ignoring Jay's warning glares.

"Mrs Lee?" You questioned, feeling your senses come back, though you were still tipsy, "Who's Mrs Lee? Not me, no sir-ee." You laughed, "If I had the chance to chop off that asshole's dick right now, I would."

"But you wouldn't allow us to beat him up? Strange." Sunghoon whistled out in his usual cocky tone.

"It's getting late." Jay checked the grand clock in the corner of the room, his eyes wavered over the dried tears on your face, it was alarming to him how much a mere glass of bourbon had managed to get you giggling like a cuckoo, "Y/N I can drop you-"

"I'd rather fuck all of you in one night rather than see that idiot's face again." You chuckled again, this time, saying the sentence with full seriousness. Did you really mean it?, perhaps not, as you would have thought later on. But were you up for having sex with three extremely attractive men who happened to be the best friends of your ex-husband? That, was a definite yes.

"Oh really?" Sunghoon placed his forearms on the desk in front of him, leaning in closer to your face. Jay's hand clutched harder against the edge of the desk. "And what if I say yes to that proposal?"

"What are you implying, Detective Park?" You looked into his dark, devilish eyes, "That you'd have sex with someone pathetic enough to get cheated on?"

"Don't say that, you're not pathetic." Jay's eyes softened as he looked at you, but you merely scoffed, turning your face instead to look at Sunghoon, who was evidently smirking. You caught Jake's widened eyes from the corner of your eye, listening intently.

"How about this-" Sunghoon started, folding his arms, "You get a night of good sex, I get a night of good sex, you and I both get to rub that in Heeseung's face, and then we have breakfast in France."

"Are you married Detective Park?" You quizzed him with an amused face, his offer seemed at the very least, interesting to you.

"Not yet, no. I'm still young aren't I?", Sunghoon's mouth stretched like a cat's into a lazy smile, "Why do you ask? Are you....perhaps intrigued by my offer?"

There was something ironic about that sentence "I'm still young" that struck a chord within you, you were the same age as him and yet you were sitting there talking about your husband.

"Intrigued is one way to put it." You smiled back, hoping you looked anything like a vixen, matching the bastardous fox like energy of Sunghoon's, "But don't you think it's greedy of you, Detective Park? To want me all to yourself?"

"And what do you mean by that, Miss Y/N?" Jake smiled in his boyish manner, "Is Sunghoon here not enough for you?"

"I'm just saying." You held up your hands in mock defence, "wouldn't you both like to get a taste too?"

You glanced at Jay in the corner, who you had expected to be shaking his head in disapproval. But to your utter surprise, he had one of his gloves hands stroking his chin as if in deep thought. His eyes were dark even in the fluorescent light of the room, deep pools of cataclysmic waters floating around in his pupils. He looked vaguely interested.

"So just to recap," Jake started, clearing his throat, such that his Adam's apple was clearly visible, "You want us to bed you, so as to make your ex husband, our colleague and friend, someone's whose wife we definetly should not be sleeping with, jealous?"

"That's the blueprint." You said in a sweet honeyed voice, "How exactly you make him know that I'm not his anymore, you figure that out. If I even so as look at that man's face again, I will jump off a cliff."

"But the question is-" you put on a proud smile, eyes darting from one man to the next, "Who's going first?"

"Shouldn't you decide that sweetheart?" Jay's deep voice came like a rumble through the ground during an earthquake, slightly startling you. He hadn't said anything in the past few minutes, his sudden break of silence alarmed you.

"Alright then." You chuckled, not daring to meet Jay's eyes, you knew you'd melt as soon as you saw them, "How about the person who suggested this?" You turned your face towards a smirking Sunghoon, with his head held high like a peacock's, "Detective Park?"

"Shall I go with the lady's word boys?" Sunghoon asked Jake, who nodded his head, taking his glasses off the desk and outting them on again. The effect it had in him was quite handsome, according to you.

"Should we make a pact then?" Jake asked cheekily, glancing around for a piece of paper, finally picking one up from underneath the mountain of files lying on the wisened wood. Putting it down on the paper, he scribbled something down quickly, showing it off proudly to the others. You let out a laugh when you saw what he wrote.

"'The make Heeseung jealous organisation'?" You laughed, "I can't tell if you're serious or not."

"I'm dead serious." Jake looked at you with glossy eyes, he always was a funny one, you recalled, "Come on everyone, I need signatures."

He's serious about this, you thought, amused at Jake's comedic demeanor. You swiftly pressed the black ink to the paper, leaving off a flashy signature to decorate it. Jay signed off last, with an impeccable font.

Words couldn't have described that very evening. No sentence that could come out of your mouth could have ever even begun to explain to a complete stranger about how you had ended up in Sunghoon's car, driving to his house in silence. Shrugging off the moral doubts in the corner of your brain, you stared out the window into a dewy night.

Relax, you thought to yourself, there wasn't anything wrong with what you were doing.

Was there?

Taglist: Open! Send an ask or comment to be added.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Wrong Start

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (with a twin)

Summary: You're arrested for a crime you didn't commit. After you point Officers Bradford and Chen in the right direction, Tim decides you got off on the wrong start and wants to make it up to you.

Warnings: fluff, brief angst, discussion of mass murder, estranged family

Word Count: 1.1k+ words

A knock on your door at midnight wakes you long before you hoped to, making you reach for your phone. Los Angeles is dangerous enough with a mass murderer still on the loose. Your neighbor has watched the story closely, and though you’re not overly interested in the reporters’ version of the crime, you know it pays to be vigilant. When you see two police officers standing at your front door, you grip the phone tighter and pull the door open.

“Good evening, officers,” you greet.

The male officer says your name, and you nod. You spare a glance at the woman beside him, and she grimaces nearly imperceptibly. It’s fast, but something in her eyes tells you this night will worsen.

“That’s me,” you tell him. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re under arrest,” he states. “Please step forward and turn to face the door. Slowly.”

Your brows furrow even as you step forward and begin to turn. “For what?”

“Murder,” the woman supplies. “Fourteen counts of felony murder, assault with a deadly weapon, and domestic terrorism.”

“Whoa, what?!” you exclaim, pulling away from the half-secured handcuffs.

“Don’t,” the man warns lowly, gripping your wrist and pulling you toward him. “Trust me, you don’t want to make this any worse than it already is.”

“But I didn’t kill anybody!” you argue. “You have the wrong person!”

“That’s not up to us to decide. You’ll get your day in court, but the warrant says you are the person we need to arrest, so stop resisting.”

You fall silent as the man reads you your Miranda rights, and for a brief moment, you’re struck with an unwelcome sense of attraction. The officer is undoubtedly handsome, but this is not the time to develop a crush. You haven’t killed anyone, and there is absolutely no reason they should be looking for anyone even remotely like you!

At that thought, you stop on the sidewalk less than three feet from the police car. The handsome officer nudges you forward, but you feel like your shoes have been filled with cement.

“You are under arrest; do you understand that?” he asks.

“Why me?” you question.

“What do you mean?” the other officer – whose name tag you now see says Chen – inquires.

“Did you find fingerprints at the scene?” Neither of them answers, so you say, “DNA then.”

“It’s on the warrant, might as well tell her,” Officer Handsome but Grumpy rumbles.

“Yes, we found DNA at the scene of the murder,” she explains. “Yours.”

You exhale slowly. “I… I have a twin. Estranged, but we have the same DNA. How did you even connect it to me?”

“Short answer, trash is public property once it’s on the curb,” Officer Bradford explains.

“Okay, okay,” you mumble. Speaking up, you say, “I’ll go with you. But please look for my twin, I-I know I didn’t do it, so if you found my DNA…”

“Blaming a twin,” Bradford muses. “That’s a new one.”

“Tim,” Officer Chen whispers, cutting her eyes toward yours.

He hesitates, watching your eyes as you fight tears and stare at a crack in the sidewalk. Then he places you in the back of his cruiser and drives you to booking.

“She claims she has an estranged twin who had to have done it,” Tim tells Angela. “I don’t buy it.”

“That kind of devastation is hard to fake,” Lucy argues. “She seemed genuinely distressed that her sibling could have done this.”

“Or she was distressed that you didn’t seem to believe her,” Nyla offers. “I’ll look into her family, see what I can find. If she actually has a twin…”

“Let us know,” Lucy requests.

“Timothy Bradford,” Angela greets as he and Lucy return to the station. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Pass,” Tim says.

“You can’t pass.”

“Pass.”

“Uh, Tim?” Lucy interrupts. “Who is that?”

“Looks like your murder suspect,” he tells Angela. “What changed?”

Lucy flinches as the handcuffed woman jerks back before attempting to kick a passing officer as she less-than-politely asks for his handcuff key.

“That,” Angela begins slowly, “is the twin.”

“I told you.”

Tim turns quickly, and his shoulders drop when he sees you standing behind him. You send him a small smile and wave with the folder in your hand.

“You did,” he concedes. “Sorry.”

You smile as Angela pulls Lucy away from Tim. “No hard feelings, you were just doing your job.”

Your twin begins yelling your name, and you pull your lower lip between your teeth as you look down. Tim lays his hand on your arm and directs you away from the bullpen. Out of your twin's sight, you laugh wetly and thank him.

“I guess this is better than being wrongly convicted, but it’s…” you begin before shrugging.

“It doesn’t make this part any easier,” Tim adds. “Finding out someone you love is responsible for something like this isn't easy. I’m sorry you had to get pulled into it.”

“You’re much nicer when you feel guilty,” you muse with a smile.

“You’re just as annoying,” he counters with a matching smile that lets you know he’s joking. Mostly.

“And to think, I was going to tell the jury that you were nice to me!”

“You don’t have to testify,” Tim reminds you. “You were estranged, you didn’t know.”

“No, but I’ve seen enough to believe it. It sucks, but it’s the least I can do. Family or not, justice needs to be served. Dozens of families have been changed forever because of one decision.”

“Well…” Tim looks around before he decides, “Never mind.”

“Well, what?” you press. “You already arrested me for fourteen murders, this isn’t the time to get nervous to talk to me.”

Tim’s eyes widen in surprise, and he says, “You don’t have to say yes.”

“I don’t know what I’m answering, though.”

“Will you go out with me?” he asks quickly.

You hesitate to answer, and Tim immediately begins backpedaling. You place your hand on his arm and shut him up immediately.

“I wasn’t going to say no, I just wasn’t expecting you to ask that. I thought I’d have to do it, and then get rejected,” you explain. “Are you serious?”

“As serious as I was when I arrested you.”

“That is not funny!” you exclaim with a laugh.

“Look, we got off to a really bad start-“

“The worst.”

“Sure, the worst start, but… you’re kind of great.”

“Kind of? I am amazing, and yes, I would love to go out with you.”

Tim nods, smiling as he offers his phone to give him your number.

“Promise not to arrest me again?” you request.

“Or?”

“I’m not going to threaten you, a few hours in a smelly cell was more than enough.”

“I’ll try to make it up to you.”

You smile and take several backward steps, then call, “First I’m arrested, then I’m annoying, and you’re expecting to make that up with one singular date night?”

“It’s a start.”

[venus-haze]

Damned If You Do (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: You're almost certain Bo's getting tired of you. You're not so sure how much longer you can prevent the inevitable, but a slip of the tongue in a moment of desperation proves to be your salvation.

Note: Female reader but no other descriptors are used. I missed writing for Bo! I might be kinda rusty, but I hope y’all like it🖤 Please read the warnings before reading. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Canon typical violence. Prolonged captivity and isolation. Stockholm syndrome (some basement wife elements). Mentions of past torture. Extremely dubious consent. Sexually explicit content involving vaginal fingering, sadism, degradation, choking, knife play.

You were sure Ambrose was gonna kill you if he didn’t first. The damp, dead air permeated the basement walls, filtered in thick through the vent in the ceiling and filled your lungs with each breath. It would choke you once summer settled in, foul and unforgiving. Almost as unforgiving as him, whose presence inspired fear and loathing in you. Lately, however, the lack of it brought a foreboding sense of dread over you as your isolated mind raced to its logical conclusion.

Bo was getting tired of you.

One cursory glance at the state of your body made you panic—bruises fading, cuts and cigarette burns scarring over without fresh marks to replace them. For the first week or so you were there, every part of your body pulsed with pain. He found your limits with the efficacy of a bloodhound and brutally forced you past each one. 

All you felt then was dull aching, kinda hungry, too. Didn’t bode well for your long-term survival.

You shifted on the old, lumpy mattress on the floor, stained with blood, sweat, and cum that reeked with the breakdown of others’ bodily fluids. Probably the girls in the Polaroids all over the walls. He’d taken a few of you since you’d been down there. Hadn’t done that recently, either. Mostly came down there to feed you, take you upstairs to use the gas station bathroom, bring you back downstairs to throw you around a little and fuck you, and then leave. Shit. You were becoming a chore.

Bo had plenty of chores around Ambrose already. Would grumble about them to you, the closest he ever got to pillowtalk. The movie theater, the church, even the houses were his responsibility. You weren’t quite sure why, less able to clearly picture the town you’d driven into the longer you spent as Bo’s captive. There weren’t any immediate red flags that popped out at you. After all, you’d driven straight to the gas station on your blown out tire. Didn’t take the time to do any sight-seeing. He made sure of that. From what you’d gathered from Bo, the only living souls in town were he and Vincent, with the recent and temporary addition of yourself.

The floor creaked above you, and you pulled your knees to your chest, anticipating his arrival downstairs. It was almost impossible to tell what mood he’d be in whenever he’d pay you a visit. Tried listening for the sound of his footsteps, the way his boots pounded against the linoleum above to the cement stairs to where you waited for him, as if you could do much else. There was the TV, but the glimpse into the outside world left you feeling especially helpless when your own face flashed across the screen on the 6 o’clock news not long after you became captive in Ambrose. Then after a week or so, all mention of you stopped. Seven days for you to be rotated out of the news cycle. They’d gotten tired of you long before Bo did.

You screwed your eyes shut, as he ambled down the stairs, racking your brain for what to do. Opened them just as quickly to give him your undivided attention, just how he liked. Panicked and hopeless, you blurted out upon seeing his face, “You’re gonna kill me soon, aren’t you?”

He set the bottle of soda he’d undoubtedly brought down for you and smiled. Charming, disarming, like the one he first gave you when you naively drove into town on the roadkill guy’s advice—Lester. His name was Lester. Could he have known? Was he in on the whole thing? You hadn’t seen anyone but Bo for weeks, and he only made mention of Vincent, his brother, who you were certain had no interest in rescuing you from your plight.

“What makes you think that?” he asked.

‘Tire blew out,’ you had told Bo, feeling silly and self-conscious when he laughed. ‘I can see that.’ Threw a wink your way and assured you he’d have you back on the road before it got dark. You trusted him because he was handsome and laid on the compliments thick. Made you think maybe driving over that broken bottle in the road wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Within an hour he had you in that fucking basement.

“You—you’re bored of me,” you said. “You don’t come down here as often as you used to.”

“Aw, you miss me? Is that it?” he mocked.

Maybe. Maybe it was the security of knowing you were wanted, that the longer you kept his interest, the longer you’d be alive. Maybe even earn his trust enough to get a chance to escape back into the world that’d forgotten about you. But Bo wouldn’t forget. He’d keep you immortalized on those cinder block walls with all the others. Disgustingly sentimental. Part of you preferred being part of his shrine to his own depravity than a black and white photo people carelessly flipped past in the local paper.

“How are you gonna do it? Tell me,” you begged.

He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes at you as a grin spread across his face. “Well, I like to get that shit over with quick, but you might be worth slowing things down for.”

“Like—like how?”

As soon as he made his way toward you, regret filled your gut. You crawled backward on your hands, trying to put some distance between you until your back hit the wall. His hands were around your neck, his hungry eyes drinking in your distress.

“If you were most girls, I would just keep squeezing until you stop breathing,” he said, squeezing harder. “Pretty clean.” Black spots filled your vision as you fruitlessly tried clawing at his hands. “Makes it easier for Vincent to get to work on you that way.” He released your throat, and you fought through the coughing fit that burned in your chest as you gasped for air. Tears streamed down your face, and you wanted to smack the smug expression off of his.

“But that ain’t always fun,” he said.

Bo stood up and kicked your legs apart with his boots. Grabbed something from the nearby tool cart. The fucking knife. You swore he kept the blade dull on purpose just so it’d hurt more, leave nastier scars behind in its wake whenever he dug it into your skin, dragging it through your flesh with horrifying precision that only came from experience, because you never needed stitches.

“For you, I think I’d be a little more personal.”

He straddled you, sitting on your legs so you couldn’t possibly move them in an attempt to escape or defend yourself. You could feel his hard-on straining against his jeans, pressing into your bare pussy as he leaned over you, knife shining menacingly in the buzzing fluorescent light overhead. He made rags of your clothes not long after you became his and never offered any replacement.

The blade pressed against the middle of your chest, right between your breasts, making you shudder. He licked his lips. “I could shove this knife on in there, open you up all the way down to your cunt.” His fingers brushed your clit. “‘Beauty’s only skin deep’, that’s what my mama used to say. But sluts like you all look the same on the inside. Crack open your ribcage, and I wouldn’t be able to tell you from all the rest.”

You whimpered as he dragged the blade down your abdomen with a deceptive gentleness, his fingers still working your clit, making it hard for you not to jerk your hips, risking a slip of the knife directly into your belly. 

When he lifted the knife, you couldn’t even let yourself feel relief as your eyes followed it to one of your wrists. 

“Could take it nice and slow. Let you bleed out,” he pressed it against your skin, dangerously close to a vein. “It’d take hours for you to die, then. Messy as hell, too, but we could get up to some fun, you and me. A good fuck for ol’ times’ sake, then I can sit back with some popcorn while I watch the lights go out in those pretty eyes of yours.”

You let out a shaky breath, fear and arousal mixing with your lingering lack of oxygen so you could only half-grasp what exactly he was saying, just that he had a knife to your wrist, and he was enough of a homicidal monster to kill you that way. He slid his fingers inside you, and you could feel your orgasm creeping up on you, your head heavy and fuzzy as he kept going. 

“But if we’re talking easy and personal, then I’d just—” He brought the blade up to your throat until you could feel your rapid pulse beating against it. 

Bo curled his fingers, pleasure tearing through you as you jolted in place, feeling the cool metal superficially pierce your skin. 

Your voice came out as a strangled sob. “Please, Bo. Please don’t—” 

He kissed you, an undertone of fondness in the gesture that filled you with relief and terror. “You won’t have to worry about any of that for a long while,” he said, his voice low, reverberating through your aching bones. “I’m not finished with you yet. Not even close.”

[vienssunshine]

Don’t know how to feel

pairing: Choso x fem-coded!reader nsfw: sub!Choso, oral sex choso receiving word count: 3k description: while attempting to escape the chaos in Shibuya station, you run into a man dressed in a strange Halloween costume

Your friends said Shibuya was the place to be for Halloween, that they would just die if you didn’t join them for the party tonight. You surrendered to their begging, it’s not like you had other plans, and put on a more-slutty-than-tasteful vampire costume to accompany them for the festivities in the square. It should be a good time, you thought, the perfect opportunity to get buzzed and maybe laid. But as the screams got louder and you realized that no, someone hadn’t slipped something into your drink and that yes, the stampede coming towards you was real, your only concern became staying alive.

You’re torn away from your friends, elbows jabbing your sides, hands pushing you to keep moving or be trampled under frenzied feet. When you look to the sky, fighting to stay upright, you see that some kind of boundary has fallen over the surrounding area, keeping you all trapped. Despite this, the crowd still searches for escape, lurching in directionless surges and crushing you with pounds of body weight every time the current turns. So when you get to the edge of the mob, you take the chance to break free and run to the first shelter you can see: Shibuya station. You hurry inside, trying to not let the blood coating the stairs leading underground deter you. If you can’t escape whatever’s going on, you’ll have to hide until it blows over.

The bottom of the stairs is covered in rubble, the gaping hole in the ceiling above it the clear perpetrator. You clamber over the loose rock and steel to land on the tile of the train station. Behind you, strange noises from the world above begin to bellow through the staircase. You don't know what could be causing such unnatural sounds, but it's clear it would be best to put distance between you and their origin.

Your feet hit the ground hard, and you’re panting as you whip your head around, looking for anything to use as cover. You spot a small divot in the wall—maybe there’s a tunnel out of here—but when you approach it, you find it filled with the crouched form of a man. He’s in a Halloween costume too—though you’re not sure what he’s dressed up as—and leaning on the cracked wall, eyes wide in a thousand yard stare. It’s clear he’s not taking the situation at hand well, but if he wants to have any chance of surviving, he can’t stay out in the open like this.

A loud roar and a flurry of screams from the ground above echos through the station.

“Hey,” you whisper-shout, “Come with me.”

Unaffected, he mumbles something.

You try again, the urgency in your voice unhidden, but are interrupted by footsteps rumbling down the steps of the train station—though it doesn't sound like a crowd of humans, rather a parade of zoo animals. You’ve got to go, now. Still, you reach down and grab his forearm, offering the poor man one more chance to come with you and save himself. He must've had a moment of clarity because because he allows you to get him to his feet and drag him behind you.

The stampede is reaching the bottom of the stairs when you turn the corner and pull the man through the first door you see, slamming it behind you. An emergency light overhead casts a dim, yellow haze over what you recognize as a closet, allowing you to spy a tall shelf of cleaning supplies—a janitor's closet.

“Help me move this in front of the door,” you command.

You get behind the shelf and begin pushing, digging your feet into the cement ground and pressing your weight against it. Fuck, it’s too heavy. The weird sounds are getting closer. You push even harder.

The shelf flies forward, causing you to stumble and steady yourself with the wall to your side. Though you wish it had been, it wasn't your strength that moved it.

You turn around to see that the man is right behind you, having joined in the effort to barricade the door, and from his extended arm, had only used one hand to do so.

He drops his arm down by his side and looks down at you. For the first time since you’ve met, he makes eye contact. There’s a horizontal line drawn across his face, just under his eyes, with what you assume is make-up, but you’re only able to study it up close for a second before his expression crumples. He backs up, pressing his back flat against the furthest wall—which doesn’t get him very far in such a cramped closet—while his eyes frantically dart over your tattered costume. Then he looks down, staring at the dirty floor beneath his feet. It doesn’t appear that his mental state has improved since you found him.

“Hey, are you okay?” you ask softly, speaking as if you were trying to not spook a stray animal. His hands are gripping the sides of his pants. He must’ve seen something terrible in the commotion above ground.

You try something else. “What’s your name?” you whisper. Hopefully this question is easier to answer and you can work on calming the poor man down.

He doesn’t meet your gaze as he mutters once again.

“What was that?” you say, taking a minuscule step forward.

Thankfully, the movement doesn't startle him, but he stays curled into himself when he answers. “Choso Kamo,” he says.

You introduce yourself, and though he gives you a few quick looks, he can’t keep his eyes on you as you speak. He must be really freaked out. “I know this is a traumatic situation, Choso,” you say, “I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to make you feel better.”

Choso shifts his weight, keeping his eyes trained on the ground. “You’re making me feel weird,” he replies.

You furrow your brow. Out of the two of you, you’re definitely the one acting the most normal. “I’m sorry,” you say, folding your arms over your black corset—it's a miracle it stayed up after all that running. “We’ll only have to be here until everything dies down. Then you won’t have to see me again.”

“It’s not like that,” he says, fidgeting with the sleeve of his costume. He glances at you. His pale face is flushed pink. “The feeling feels…good.”

Now you’re puzzled. “…okay?”

“Can I…can I try something?” he asks.

Well, at least he’s talking now. And he seems to have calmed down, making him less likely to do something stupid and get both of you killed. It's a good idea to keep him this way, make sure he stays relaxed and reassured.

So you agree. “Um…sure,” you respond.

The yellow light flickers.

Choso takes a step forward, a step that crosses the entirety of the small closet, and lays a big hand on your shoulder. You lost the cape of your ‘sexy vampire costume’ in the commotion, so your shoulder is bare; it can directly feel the roughness and warmth of his hands.

“It feels good to…touch you,” he breathes. He turns his attention from your shoulder to your eyes, “and look at you, too.”

You shudder; his gaze is heavy. This…isn’t what you expected.

“I thought I was scaring you,” you say, looking down. There's a few bottles of cleaning supplies scattered on the floor.

“A little bit,” he says, working it out as he speaks, “I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s so intense.”

That’s when you notice how strong his grip on your shoulder is, not tight enough to bruise, but enough to communicate a possessiveness. A desire for more. You flick your eyes back up to him, evaluating. He is good-looking, and the expression he has on his face as he waits for your response—cheeks flushed and mouth slightly ajar in gentle pants—is stirring up something warm in your stomach.

You place your hand on his chest. Oh, how his heart is pounding. “You really don’t know what’s going on?” you ask.

He looks down at your hand, then back to you. “I-I don’t, just that…your hand feels so warm and nice.”

You smile a little, tilting your head. “It seems that you’re attracted to me.”

“I didn’t know that was possible–for me to be attracted to someone,” Choso responds. You laugh to yourself, is this guy an alien or something? Maybe that’s what his costume is. Alien or not, he’s still cute.

“Congrats on the revelation,” you say, dropping your hand.

Choso takes a moment to ponder, and you watch with amusement. This interaction doesn’t seem real. Well, this whole situation doesn’t seem real. You hope everything will blow over soon. You’re trying not to catastrophize, to think worse case scenario. And this—

“Are you…attracted to me?” Choso asks.

—is a good distraction.

“You’re handsome,” you say. “I don’t know you that well yet, but I think we are getting off to a good start.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, breathless. He’s trying not to, but his gaze is roaming what he can make out of your body in the dim light. There’s probably a lot to see due to how much your vampire costume already reveals and that parts of it were lost in the scramble for safety.

“Do you want me to keep touching you?” you ask, coy. His breath hitches at the idea.

“If…if it feels good for you too,” Choso responds.

“It does,” you say, taking the final step to have your chest pressing against his. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, hovering your lips just a millimeter away from a kiss. “It feels really good to me.”

He leans forward, not able to bear another second without, but just before he can get that release, you lean back.

He voices his frustration wordlessly and you giggle. “So desperate, aren’t you?”

“You’re teasing me,” he says, a whine in his voice.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you say, bringing your lips to the side of his neck. Choso gasps, a sweet sound, and when you open your mouth, licking a stripe on his skin, his fingers squeeze your waist.

“Fuck,” he says, breath shaky. Enjoying his reactions, you begin to suck on his skin, earning another swear and no doubt leaving a mark. You push yourself into him, and his back hits the wall, his chin raised, exposing more of his neck to be kissed.

With your body flat against his, it’s easy to feel the hardness beneath his waist. He's so eager; you only kissed him a few times. You slide your hand past his collarbone, down his chest, slender but strong, down to just above his aching erection.

Choso is caught off guard. “What are you”—you palm it—“ngh…shit, that feels so…”

“You like it?” you ask, proud because you already know the answer. His eyes are pressed shut as he nods.

“Use your words,” you say, squeezing his erection—he winces—“and I’ll make you feel even better.”

You continue to rub your hand over the erection pushing through his robe in slow, circular strokes as he forces himself to speak. “Yes, I—ah—like it—a lot.”

“So good,” you tell him. The simple praise makes his dick twitch against your palm.

Your eyes flick down to his white pants, billowing in fabric. You tug at it, but it doesn’t move.

“It’s–uh–all one thing.” He blushes, the color prominent on his pale cheeks. “Do you want me to take it off?”

You nod, and he clumsily pulls off his purple and white robe. You still haven’t been able to place what he’s dressed up as, but you don’t offer that thought another second when Choso stands in front of you, naked and impatiently waiting for whatever it is you'll do to him next.

You don’t deprive him long, stepping forward and running your fingers over his bare chest. Yes, you were able to feel how strong he was when you had your body pressed against his, but being able to see the defined ridges of his torso makes his strength unquestionable. He shivers under your fingers, needing more, needing you to touch him lower than you are.

“Can you…?” He’s squirming against the wall, looking down at you with needy eyes. “Sorry, it just feels so,” he exhales, the breath uneven, “so good.”

“Yeah?” you say, wrapping your hand around his length. It’s hot and throbbing. “You want me to touch you here?”

“Yes,” he whimpers, “There. Please.”

You begin to move your hand up and down his erection in a loose fist, spreading the precum dripping from his tip down his length, and adding some of your spit to coat it completely. Choso’s head falls back against the wall and he meets your hand with shallow thrusts of his hips.

“You’re so sensitive,” you notice. He’s reacting so sweetly to your every movement, every soft swipe of your thumb over his tip, every kiss you press to his neck as you stroke him. “I like it.”

You like it enough to get on your knees on the cold, hard closet floor, and position his length in front of your mouth, just so you can get even more of a reaction from him.

“What?” Choso gasps, “What are you doing?”

“Making you feel good,” you coo, pumping him a few more times—which quickly stops the questions and starts the moans—and then take him into your mouth.

He spasms, hand tangling in your hair, unsure of whether he should pull you away or push you further down on him.

“You’re so warm…and wet,” Choso gets out.

You hum your response, something that only makes him tighten the strong fingers knotted into your hair, and keep going, working your mouth around his dick. You wrap your hands around the backs of his thighs, bracing yourself as you take him in deeper with every bob of your head. He fills your throat significantly, so you take a few breaks, kissing and sucking on his tip as you catch your breath.

Choso doesn’t seem to mind that it’s hard to take his full length, he’s too busy writhing from the sensation of your mouth on him. He's new to all this, not able to process or understand what you're doing and why it feels so fucking good. But explanations don't matter, not when the pretty girl in the outfit that made him hot just from looking at it is on her knees for him, dedicated to blessing him with a pleasure that doesn't belong to this universe.

“Fuck, please–ah–keep going, feels so good.”

Choso's moans are filling the closet and he’s holding onto you for dear life. His thighs are shaking enough to make you worry his legs will give out. “Feel like I’m gonna die,” he murmurs, lost in pleasure.

You’d smile in victory if you weren’t so focused on getting him there, and with the way he’s tensing up, he’s close. It’s funny, how he’s gonna cum already; he must’ve been worked up from the beginning.

You dig your fingers into the thick muscle of his thighs, holding on as he takes over, placing his hands on the side of your head to keep you still, and sloppily slipping his length in and out of your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, and it’s obvious that you’re taking him well because he’s choking on his own moans, incoherent as he slurs his words.

“I can’t–fuck–oh–please–please–”

A final thrust into your mouth and his hot cum is pouring down your throat. It’s salty, but you’re able to swallow it, coughing a little as he pulls himself out of you. Then his strong arms come down under your armpits and lift you to your feet as if you weighed nothing. He pulls you into his body, gasping and shuddering as he recovers from the orgasm. Poor thing.

You press gentle kisses on his collarbone, soothing him. “You’re okay, Choso. You did so good.”

“Really?” Choso responds, his face nuzzled in your shoulder. He presses a small kiss there.

“Mhmm,” you affirm, smoothing his tied-up hair.

A rumble shakes the ground beneath you.

You swear, taking a step back to see the makeshift barricade you set up come crashing to the ground. Someone enters the closet.

You hold Choso’s arm tight. Surely you're dead now. Who the fuck is this dude? He’s in a weird costume too, possibly a movie villain because he has stitches all along his skin, even all over his face.

“Ah, Choso! There you are!” The patch-faced man is indifferent to Choso’s lack of clothing. He regards you, his grin unsettling. “And you have a friend.”

Choso’s face darkens, “She’s mine.”

“So territorial!” The intruder leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “I wasn’t gonna do anything…not to a friend of yours.” His words are lined with a playful deceit. “I’ll find someone else to have fun with.”

He turns on his heel, but before he leaves he says, “One more thing! Does this mean you’re out of our little game? Occupied with”—his slimy gaze oozes over you—“something else?”

“You’re not to lay a hand on Yuji Itadori,” Choso states, narrowing his eyes.

“No way! Guess you'll have to stop me then!” the man jeers, grinning like a bratty child as he disappears from the doorframe.

Choso turns to you. “I need to go help my brother…but not before I get you somewhere safe,” he says. Choso dresses quickly as you watch in a dumbfounded silence. What the fuck is going on?

He wraps a heavy arm around you and leads you out of the closet into the destroyed Shibuya station.

“Trust me, I’ll take care of you.”

Unable to make sense of anything that’s going on, you have no choice but to believe him.

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

III. “the alley”

read on AO3 🦇

parts: previous / next

plot: chasing down your interview subject lands you in a sticky situation.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, almost sexual assault, noncon physical touch, violence

words: 2.5k

You could tell by the bright yellow caution tape surrounding the blocks nearby that you’d finally arrived. Officers were stationed around the tape with a crowd beginning to form. Masses shuffled out of nearby clubs to see the drama, muttering amongst themselves about what it could be. None of them were correct. Another shooting? A stabbing? A drug bust? You heard murmurs of Where is he? which you could only imagine was about the man of the hour, the Batman.

Snaking your way around the officers would be difficult, but not impossible. The onlookers guaranteed a degree of anonymity, so you slink between distracted groups of friends and wove through the crowd, ducking under the tape and into the alley. Once there, the darkness was protective. Blaring sirens deafened your ears, causing a shudder on your spine as you trekked through the blackened night. The only thing that gave you any idea of where you were was the brick you kept your palm on as you walked, dust collecting on your fingertips from untouched cement.

It was eerily quiet, which unnerved you. Gotham was never this quiet, always with a constant backdrop of cars, drunks, and blood-curdling screams. As you kept forward, the commotion began to leave your ears. It seemed to fade into the distance rather quickly—either that, or you were walking much faster than you anticipated. When would this alley end?

Almost as if you'd asked for it out loud, you started to hear wet, frantic footsteps splashing through puddles ahead. You squinted your eyes to try and cut through the shroud of darkness, but to no avail. Then, frantic yelling. You pressed your back to the brick as you saw a flashlight appear in front of a tall, stocky figure a few feet down the alley. "Hey," the voice, a man's, shouted at you. He shone the light right at your face and your vision went white, stinging your tired eyes. "What's a lady like you doing back here, huh?" His tone was conniving, setting off your body's alarm system.

You turned and started to run, but he removed the light source as soon as he noticed you were on the move. Not ten steps after, you fell flat on your chest, tripping over a wood block mid-step. Your hands protected your face, your palms taking blunt trauma rather than your nose. You felt the familiar, childhood sting of scraped hands and elbows as you heard his footsteps creep closer. Fuck. This was so stupid, fuck. You started babbling, anxious. "Please, I'm just trying to get home,"

"A girl like you doesn't live over here." You heard him spit somewhere, hopefully not on you. You felt a hard tug on your right shoulder and found yourself yanked over onto your back. He threw the lit flashlight down onto the ground and it made a strong clang. The rain stung your eyes and hands, thundering down and into your jacket and soaking your clothes underneath. You began scooting backward and scrambled to get up on your knees as you were shoved back onto the concrete, further grating your palms. You yelped out in pain as he pinned you face-down on the alley floor with a grunt. "Not my first choice of broad, but you'll have to do." He chuckled and you heard the rummaging of clothes. Oh my god. I’m about to get assaulted.

Your jaw dug into the ground as he palmed your ass over your pants, giving it a slap with the hand that wasn't pressed between your shoulder blades. Suddenly you felt a breeze on your lower back, through the rain hearing a tearing of fabric. You squeezed your eyes shut and let your body go limp as you felt the breeze extend down your ass, to your thigh, and then down to your calf. Hard rain pelted against newly exposed skin. A white noise filled your ears, stifled sobs stuck deep in your chest as he started unzipping. You balled your sore, bloody fists in preparation, begging it to be over quickly.

Except...you didn't feel anything. The man gasped and you heard a thud. Adrenaline rushing through your tired, cold limbs propelled you up and you quickly stood, yanking your jacket off and hastily wrapping it around your hips. More thuds, then an unintelligible shout. You couldn't tell what was happening, and started to hobble back the way you came. You heard another thud and clang, and noticed the alley was illuminated behind you. Nervously, you looked over your shoulder and saw him: the Batman, rain-soaked and angry. He was crouched over the man, his gaze rising. Your eyes connected for a moment and you froze.

You again. He didn't know what to make of you. You were difficult to read. You didn't look like the city; you looked too innocent, too kind. Yet you had this persistence that made you do such ridiculous—if not impressively tenacious—things such as wandering around a crime scene in Gotham City in the dead of night. He glanced down and noticed your pants were torn and shredded in a pool around your ankles. His jaw tightened, molars starting to grind together. He'd thought you were just getting mugged, not... this piece of shit... his fists pressed firmer into the perpetrator as the man began to gasp for breath, struggling against him. Who would do that to someone? What made someone think they had ownership over someone else's body like that? To take it at any time? He looked down and stared into the waning eyes of the criminal, rage burning in his throat.

You had never seen someone die before, and you started to panic. The vigilante was staring at the man and pressing harder, harder, harder into their chest until the dude sputtered. "Stop, stop!"

He immediately jumped back, panting. He'd never come that close to killing someone.

He shot a frazzled look at you. His knuckles clenched tight, bent to perfectly cup the criminal's neck to snapping. He tried to hide his shock at having momentarily lost control.

You stared back at him, nervous. He was just... sitting there. Would he hurt you? You had a peculiar, yet strong sense you were safe here, but was that real? No one truly knew much about Batman; what if he was just as bad as the criminals he fought?

Looking at you in the alley triggered something deep within him. His palms began to sweat and he suppressed images of his childhood, the sound of gunshots ringing in his ears rendering him unsteady. You peered at him, nervous, stuttering a few steps back. The criminal, still choking and gasping, struggled up to his knees.

Batman’s heart raced and pulse echoed in his ears; he refocused, grabbing the criminal by the shirt and tossing him behind you both. The stranger landed on his knees, scrambling up to bolt down the alley from whence he came. It was now just you and Batman, and he looked... nervous? And his eyes... somehow they shined through the dark night.

"Go home." His voice was gruff, yet somehow still piercing through the thundering rain, echoing thickly off the balmy brick. You instinctually followed his order as if he was some sort of supernatural force, but stopped before exiting his eyeline entirely. The interview.

He was still staring at you, motionless besides some flexing of his fists. "Wait." You gulped down fear, adrenaline still coursing through your veins, staring down the dripping, armored mountain before you. You were surprised the words slipped past your lips. "I want to interview you for GU—"

"Go home." He tried to make his voice menacing as flashbacks caused nightmares in his mind, pelting him with suppressed memories of gunpowder and screams. You didn’t move, and his jaw set.

You weren't backing down without a bit of a kick, desperate, hyperaware this was the last time you’d ever have this opportunity. "It's why I came out ton—" He interrupted you with a hissing shout, slipping through your fingers.

"Do I have to tell you again?" You were audacious, he'd give you that. He narrowed his gaze to a glare and straightened his back to help tower over you, even twenty feet away. He didn't have the capacity to monitor his tone, his throat becoming more swollen and constricted as the images and sounds screeched inside.

"Please?" He wasn't having a lick of it, you could tell. His eyes were narrowed, chest heaving, tone bitingly bitter. He had a miserly quality about him, as if he were acting as savior whilst resenting people for it.

"Being here alone is a stupid thing to do. Don't let me catch you out here again." With that, he disappeared up the brick to the roofs of Gotham, barely concealing his panting, rushed breaths as he tried to calm himself off the edge of a panic attack.

You managed to get home without a hitch, which was a miracle. The swarms of people on the main road due to the club evacuations allowed you to slip into a nobody, a faceless member of the horde. You showered off the chill and the sting of your scalp left you reeling, a manifestation of your frustration toward the Batman. He'd wanted nothing to do with the affair, and you tried not to brainstorm more topics that night, letting your mind off the hook to simply be thankful he had intervened at all... even if he'd kinda been an ass about it.

The day was much the same, holing yourself up to your apartment. You didn't have any other classes besides journalism, didn't have to work due to your scholarship, and had just enough money left to get you through the next two weeks until you graduated and left Gotham permanently. It was maddening being so close to the end of something yet having no clue how to finish it. A part of you wanted to walk to the corner store just to have some human interaction, but you were more tender to the reality of living downtown now. It wasn't safe here, not even being outside for a moment.

You awoke the next day feeling restless from 36 hours contained to your studio. You vacillated between being tormented by lack of inspiration and doing everything you could to distract and fill the time. Crocheting? Too mindless. Television? The same. That final paper clung to every passing thought like a wet napkin. It nearly sent you spiraling; you were without a single word on the page, with twenty of them to fill.

You'd drawn up a plan the rest of that day, figuring it would take you at least two days to write the paper to your specifications, which gave you just under five days to: find an interviewee, develop a thesis and ensuing questions, and gather the data. You cursed yourself for ever choosing a class as heavy in writing as journalism for your last term. At least a PE credit would have let you blow off steam.

By the time it hit seventy hours in your apartment you nearly threw yourself out the window to feel something other than the crushing weight of the deadline. Phone calls haunted your dreams where you had to admit to your parents you couldn't finish college because you couldn't stop something as simple as writer's block. It consumed you, both day and night, pulling the color out of your face and emphasizing the dark crescent moon under your eyes. With a solid "fuck it", you threw on some sweats and hunkered down to the corner store. Rai would be a pleasant sight. He'd ask about your classes as he always did, and maybe he'd even have some ideas.

The sky stung your eyes after essentially living in a cave for the better part of three days, though it was cloudy and dark as it ever was in the city. The infamous scent of chemical rain stung the lining of your nose, prickling every microscopic hair to annoyance. It beseeched you how difficult this assignment was; nothing, no assignment in all your years of academia, had stirred you as much as this one. It plucked at the edges of your skin with relentless animosity, gleeful as you spiraled deeper into what eerily resembled a depressive episode. The experience of this paper was rattling your bones, and you were close to calling up the school counselor.

Your palm shoved the slick handle of the store door open, the familiar ding and "Welcome in!" forcing you to hide your chagrin. A quick flit of your eyes to the register and you noticed Rai wasn't on shift. Ugh.

You walked toward the register to check out the deli. Rai always had delicious surprises, and offered you the 'student discount', which was really nonexistent—just kindness from the sweet acquaintance. Hell, at this point he was one of your closest friends. You could’ve laughed at how lonely you were, if it weren’t so fucking painful.

Except today, the deli was empty. You checked your phone with confusion, sure you’d gotten here before even the earliest time he’d closed it. Peering over at a young woman you'd never seen before, you asked if he was okay. Rai was as reliable as the rain in Gotham.

Sheepish, she cleared her throat lightly before perking up. "Actually um, our family was asked to cater at the city hall meeting tonight!" Visibly excited, she rambled on. "Rai is my brother, he's with our mother prepping the dishes."

"Oh, cool!" You drudged up the small amount of enthusiasm still left within you and mustered interest. "That'll be good for business, I'm sure."

The young woman nodded so quickly you feared her head might roll off. Her excitement became palpable and you couldn't help but grin as she prattled on. "Definitely! My mom was so happy when we got the invite, Mr. Wayne sent us a handwritten letter with a BONUS inside!"

And then it hit you like sharp, salty wind, and you bid a quick farewell to scurry back to your apartment. You dialed up Dr. Vry after pulling her number from the syllabus, praying she hadn't left the office early. On the last ring she answered, chewing on something on the other line. "Dr. Janay Vry speaking."

"Dr. Vry, hey! It’s Y/N. Would you be able to give me one of the department’s press passes for the event at city hall tonight?" The keys were chilled in your hand from the outside air and you put her on speaker as you rushed your clothes off.

"Well hello to you too, Ms. Y/L/N. I'm afraid I was just packing up."

"Please, I found someone to interview." You yanked off your socks and unclipped your bra. You needed to shower and be out the door as quickly as possible.

"And who could be so important as to call me on a Friday evening twenty minutes before I retire home?" She sounded aloof, not quite frustrated yet.

"Bruce Wayne.”

[beanarie]

wip wednesday

tagged by @bidisasterevankinard ❤️

tagging @rcmclachlan @livelaughlou @ambernotember @dharmaavocado @geddyqueer

~

Tommy stares muzzily at his screen before he accepts the call.

"Hey, Buckley," Evan says without preamble, enunciating precisely, hitting each syllable with a small hammer. "What's this about you getting your bell rung by a victim. Have you still not learned to duck yet. Ell oh ell."

"What," Tommy says.

"Lucy," Evan explains. "She texted me."

"Ah." Tommy sits up, dislodging the weighted blanket, and winces as he turns on the bedside lamp.

"I- I don't-" Evan struggles for a second. "What do I say."

Tommy hums and rubs his face. The sliver of sun peeking through one of the blackout curtains makes his stomach drop. "Ask what she's doing hanging out with a reporter. Force her to play defense. She'll get pissed off and drop it."

"I'm not ready to tell people. Like, other people."

"I get it. Don't tell anyone else until you're ready. On the bright side? It looks a lot like Taylor bought it."

"Yeah, you're right." He blows out an explosive breath. "Are- Are you okay?"

"What?" He's slept maybe five hours in the last forty eight. His head is filled with cement. His spine is made of broken beer bottles. He still smells charred electricity after showering at the station and at home. "Yeah. Of course, Buck."

"Listen, Tommy-"

No, he's not doing this. Whatever it is. "Oh, hey. Sorry. My food just got here. Talk to you later, okay?"

Now he's awake, and fucking hungry.

[whore-ibly-hot]

Outsider in.

Yandere!Cultist x Reader

Minors DNI

Warnings: Gender neutral reader, dark content, suggestive content, manipulation, mentions of violence, murder, general manhandling of reader, religious references, cult behavior.

(AN: Two posts in one night? Look at me go. I re-watched Children of the Corn recently, so that was the inspiration and vibe for this. Some obvious similarities will be seen.)

🔔🌱🔔🌱🔔🌱🔔🌱🔔🌱🔔🌱🔔🌱🔔🌱

It wasn't your fault when you crashed. You couldn't have known that the unmapped zone you were driving through had been scrubbed from the maps and records for a reason. You couldn't have known that the gas station attendant would cut your brakes while you were inside getting snacks, and you certainly couldn't have known what awaited you just beyond that gas station parking lot.

The smell of smoke and burning rubber fills your nostrils, causing your lungs to burn as they rise and fall rapidly. Your head pounds, vision blurry. Sat in the front seat of the now busted up car, you can see through the front of the car where a windshield once was, now shattered across the dashboard and floor. You see what looks like some sort of well, lodged up against the front of your car, the metal around it bending to fit around the rounded edge of the construction. You had left the gas station and began north down the mostly empty farm road, when a turn came up. You had attempted to slow the car to make the turn, but were unable. The cars steering wheel froze up, and the brakes jammed. You were unable to stop the vehicle and let out a cry as it continued forward, barreling through the rows of corn that had lined the road. The crops had actually been quite scenic just a few minutes ago, but now as they rushed past in a blur of yellows and greens, they were nothing but overstimulating. Suddenly, you had jolted forward as the car hit the well, glass shattering around you. As you now lay there, feeling your consciousness slip away with every labored breath. As your vision blurs, and finally fades to black, you see several dark, blurry forms emerge from the crops and surround the car. Then, all is quiet.

Yan!Cultist had been in the chapel, observing with watchful eyes as the younger followers listened to the leaders sermon. As the first convert, Yan!Culist, born under the name of Joseph, had been appointed as the leader's right hand, despite his not being the oldest in the commune. Joseph stood to the side of the worn wooden pulpit, hearing, yet not listening to Gabriel's sermon. On top of the pulpit had laid a worn leather journal, upon which the sigil of "The Children of His Divine Judgement " was carved. The book, of which only Gabriel and Joseph had copies, detailed how the incident, or as the group would refer to it, 'the salvation', came to fruition.

Gabriel had been the first to speak to him, their lord. He spoke only through Gabriel, cementing his word as law. It was Joseph, who had witnessed first-hand the divine power of the lord, who converted first. Knowing how stubborn and angry Joseph had been, his sudden allegiance to Gabriel had shocked the towns youths, and soon they came to listen, and even revere the sermons and orders Gabriel gave. It was then, several months after Josephs conversion, that another demonstration of the lords power took place, this time in front of all the converts. A drought had taken place, killing the crops and cutting the town off from both food and financial security. While the adults and elders of the town starved, their children miraculously stayed healthy. They thought of this as a miracle of the christian god, though the children knew this was rather a curse from their deity, one met to rid the county of non-believers. A small area behind the old chapel had been set aside and blessed by Gabriel. It was here a well was dug, and a garden planted. The garden bloomed even in drought, when all other crops had shriveled and died. Soon, as the non-believers began to die off, Joseph grew impatient. He had asked Gabriel if their lord would permit 'speeding up' the cleansing. While Gabriel had scolded him for daring to suggest something to him and their all-knowing deity, he returned to his room for a period of just a few hours, before returning and allowing the slaughter. All followers above the age of 13 years grabbed the available weapons, farming tools, and even sticks, and carried out the slaughter of any remaining adults and elders that the drought had not yet killed off. When the bloodbath ended, only children and youths from the ages of 2-18 remained. Several years have passed since then, and many of the once young converts have grown. As Joseph recalled all of this, one of the followers bursts through the door.

The boys explanation is fast-paced and loud, though both Joseph and Gabriel manage to understand. An outsider has been caught, after one of the children sabotaged their car on the outskirts of town, while out on a fuel run for the community. "They crashed into the well, we think they may still be alive. What would you have us do?" The boy asks. Gabriel furrows his brows. "Who damaged the vehicle?" He asks. His voice is cold, and Joseph recognizes the tone, for he knows it well. "Sermon is over, return to your homes, and do not leave until the outsider has been dealt with!" Joseph yells, causing the children to spill out from the pews and into the aisle of the church, rushing out the door.

"Mary cut the vehicles brakes, y-you had instructed we needed more creative ways to lure in outsiders..." The boy explains, now feeling meek under the shared judgmental gaze of the two leaders in front of him. The boy feels himself shrink before them. "I had ordered for more lures, this is true, but Mary has inadvertently caused the outsider to crash into the well. The first well, and the very one that our lord blessed in the first drought, in order to give us sustaining water. Now tell me, is this monument damaged?" The boy gulps, and Joseph can't help but suppress a smirk, the feeling of power, though he is not the one wielding it, is invigorating. "No, no that I am aware of. Mary, she, she had no control over where the car went, she just wanted to help. Please-" Gabriel raises a hand, silencing the boy. "Mary must face punishment for this mistake. Do not mistake that I understand her good intentions. In the end, she did bring us an outsider, and for this her punishment shall be minimal." The boy sighs, relieved for his friend. Gabriel smiles and nods, and Joshua can't help but feel an annoyance grow in his stomach at the 'holier-than-thou' attitude of the pious young man.

Joshua had initially been willing to listen and follow Gabriel's plans, as the boy had promised the lord would bless them with power and glory, placing them first in his holy order. However, though the lord had both protected them and shown them his fury, it often did not feel like enough. Watching the praise Gabriel received for being the lord's messengers angered him, and he had no doubts that Gabriel knew this. While Gabriel gave out his fair share of cruel orders and punishment, as his right hand man it was Joshua's task to carry them out. While Joshua had no problem with this, he knew it was only a duty given to him to further darken his reputation in the commune, and shed a more angelic light on Gabriel. While Gabriel was respected and feared, he was still a religious figure, and one that the people rallied behind. Joshua was just feared, both before the creation of the cult and after. He had been a bit of a bully before, but it became much worse once he had an outlet under the guise of Gabriel's orders. He also knew this duty was given to him and Gabriel saw himself as too good for the manual labor required to carry out the punishment. While Joshua ran all across the commune, delivering messages and orders, building houses with the others and working in the fields, Gabriel sat in his priestly chambers, 'conversing' with the lord, according to himself. Gabriel turns to him then, and he snaps out of it. "Joshua, go and collect the outsider. I trust it won't be too hard for you to handle, considering they are unconscious." Gabriel smirks. Joshua holds in a remark, and only nods, trudging out of the church.

Upon approaching the well, he sees the dilapidated car crumpled on the southern side of the well, the fire having been dealt with by the first converts to arrive on the scene. Joshua orders for a group of the strongest boys to begin deconstructing and salvaging any fuel from the car. No outside influence needs to enter the commune, Joshua and Gabriel know this well. A group of children are huddled around a figure. Joshua's anger flares, and he pushes into the crowd. "Move! Have I not instructed you to remain in your homes until this has been dealt with?" He shouts, and the group scatters. He grunts. He knows that only the young children in the church had heard his instruction, but he needs an outlet for the frustration caused by Gabriel. As he approaches your figure, he feels as though a force is halting him. His breath catches in his throat. A young outsider lays before him, certainly no older than 19. Though dirt and bruises litter your arms and shoulders, it does not distract Joshua from the sight of such an attractive person before him. You're dressed in the garb of outsiders, which reminds him greatly of the time before the lord came. Since the massacre of non-believers, all outside influence was placed in a locked area in Gabriel's home, and is occasionally brought out for sermons. Clothes were changed to ones that could be easily crafted, worn and worked in for years, then handed down and eventually reused for other purposes. According to your clothes, style in the outside world has changed much since then.

Joshua kneels on the earth beside you, his eyes focused intently on your calm face. He reaches out a hand, brushing your face with the back of his palm. He had intended to use his touch to jolt you awake, but found himself enraptured. Your soft skin contrasts heavily with the calloused rough skin of his hands, worn from hard labor around the commune. As his breathing becomes heavy and his face flushes, your eyes crinkle. You let out a soft groan, and he recoils his hand quickly, as if suddenly aware of the trance he was in. He shakes his head, his features returning to the bitter look he was so well known for. You flinch once more, before your eyes flutter open. You gasp slightly, as light floods your eyes. You attempt to sit up, but let out a hiss of pain at the feeling of your sore muscles. You lean forward as much as you can, and try to look around. You're laid on the ground, near your car. Memories of the crash flood back to you, and you jolt, ignoring your pain in order to go find help. Just as you do, a sudden sharp pressure lands on your wrist. You look over, and see a much taller boy in odd, old-fashioned garb gripping onto your wrist like a vice. While you should be glad to ask someone to help you, something about the boy is wrong. His eyes are filled with an unplaceable emotion, one that looks not unlike the gaze of a predator on the nature channel, about to pounce on small prey. This look only increases your fear, adrenaline from the crash still coursing through you. Your heart beats wildly, and your breathing rapidly increases as you stare at the wild boy. "W-who are you, where am I?" You ask, attempting to squirm away from him. His ignores this, not releasing you from his grip. He stares at you intently for a moment more, before opening his mouth to speak. Before he can, another male voice rings out.

"Joshua, display to me the outsider." The boy glares, before his hand moves to grab your free wrist and yank you up, causing you to whine once more at your sore body. Joshua, as you assume his name must be, holds your wrists behind your back. He keeps uncomfortably close, even for a captor. His chest presses against your back, and you feel hot breath on your neck, making you shiver. Before you, a shorter boy steps forward, a book in one hand. He is dressed in a similar old-fashioned manner to Joshua, though his garb is darker, and a little cleaner. It seems as though this boy may be of a higher standing than the boy restraining you. "Hello, outsider." The young boy before you coos, his eyes calm, yet his tone makes you cautious. He's a few years younger than both you and Joshua, but his attire and outfit suggests he's more than meets the eye. "You've certainly made an entrance, what brings you to our home?" He asks. You immediately shake your head and launch into an explanation, anxiety evident in your ramblings. "I didn't mean to intrude, or trespass on your land, I-" You catch your breath. "My car crashed, something went wrong with the brakes. I didn't mean to crash into your well, really. Maybe we can just call the police, I don't want any trouble. I'll pay for damages-" The boy puts a hand up, and squints his eyes at you, as if shushing you. You fall silent, a little offended at being hushed like a whiny child.

"Do not worry, we have taken no offence to your intrusion." He says. "My name is Gabriel, and you have stumbled onto our holy land." He explains. You tilt your head, you weren't aware anyone lived out here, and there certainly wasn't anything about a town on the map. "I didn't know anyone lived out here..." You say. Gabriel chuckles, a cold laugh. "We do our best to keep a low profile. Contact with the outside world is heavily limited." As he explains further, you look around and notice all of the buildings are outdated farm houses, barns, and a chapel. Their attire suggests they must be a very religious sect that lives out here. "I understand, sorry to have intruded. Let me just call a ride-" You try to reach into your back pocket, but your arms are still being held by Joshua. You see Gabriel grin as he shakes his head. "I'm sorry to repeat myself, outsider, but as I said we keep contact with the outside world limited. We've had to confiscate that phone of yours." That feeling of dread creeps back into you. "But, I really need to call someone, it won't take but a minute." You beg. Gabriel sighs. "Outsider, our lord commands that we cleanse those who are impure, and destroy what he approves not of. Our town was once full of the non-believers, but now, look around." He motions to the buildings, and you notice there are very few people. No cars exist in the town you can see down the way, and all the inhabitants seem rather young. "W-what do you mean 'cleanse the impure'?" You ask, feeling your knees weaken. "Most are too dirtied with the ways of the world, and obey gods other than our lord. They would corrupt and defile land and society with their impure ways. The elders, men and women were too far gone, to set in their ways. My lord sent me a message, and told me they would not see the light." He rants. He suddenly stops, and glances at you, a small gleam in his eyes. "What... what did you do to them?" You ask softly, fearing you know the answer. "They had to be killed." You let out a choked breath, your knees buckling below you. What had been a simple road trip had turned into a life-or-death situation. As you kneel, sobbing and shaking on the floor, Gabriel pouts, looking at you as if you were a scared child, his gaze patronizing.

"Joshua." Gabriel motions down at you, and Joshua grips your chin, softening his grip slightly when you inhale sharply. He feels tear drops falling from your cheeks and landing on the backs of his palms, rolling down his arm and staining his shirt. He stares at the wet patch for a moment, considering not washing that sleeve again. Gabriel leans in and coos. "Fear not, outsider. You are still young, and it is not yet too late for you. I wish to offer you mercy, as our lord granted us." You blink, a few more tears leaking out of your eyes as you wait for him to continue. "Join us, and offer yourself to our lord and our ways-" He pauses and looks towards the town with a thoughtful gaze. He then turns back to you and continues. "-or join the impure. The choice is yours." He leans back, rearing to stand over your kneeling form. Joshua's grip on your wrist tightens, not in annoyance, but rather excitement, and surprise. Gabriel rarely lets any outsider join, though he supposes he was just a little younger than you when he converted.

Scared, hungry, and tired, you figure you have no choice. Maybe, once you've regained your strength and healed, you could escape. For now, you know you must remain here. "O-okay, I'll join you. Just, please don't hurt me." You whimper. Gabriel smiles, and clasps his hands together. "Wonderful! You know, just a couple of days ago we had to inflict a rather severe punishment on one of our own, so we actually have a room available. I'm sure Joshua will help set you up." Gabriel and Joshua share a few words before Gabriel departs back to the chapel. Joshua roughly pulls you up, parading you to a nearby farmhouse. He heads upstairs, entering a quaint bedroom with a bed, floral wallpaper, and a wash-basin.

He closes the door behind him quickly, before rifling through the drawer of the wash-basin. From inside, he pulls out an outfit of similar simplicity to his own. The well folded fabric hits you lightly in the chest as he tosses it at you. "Clothes from the impure world are not allowed, Gabriel will want you to change into something more appropriate." He says. You only nod, and begin to unfold the fabric. As you examine the outfit, you notice Joshua is leaning against the wash-basin, not leaving. "Um... aren't you going to leave. You said I need to change." You say. "I did, and I'm not leaving so you can try to make a run for it." He snaps. "Can you please turn around then, this isn't very appropriate." He rolls his eyes. "Turn my back to an outsider and leave me vulnerable to an attack? Unlikely. Stop whining, and change!" He slams his hand onto the wash-basin, making you squeak in fear. He stops when he sees your fear, and huffs. He doesn't enjoy that seeing you afraid isn't pleasurable like it is when he torments the other followers. When he glances back up, he feels his face grow warm, face colored a deeper shade of red than it was the day he spilt the blood of the townsfolk. You've taken your shirt off, and are now attempting to undo the buttons on your pants, a task that proves difficult due to your trembling hands. Once you finally remove them, you step out, now exposed save for your undergarments. The stress of the day on top of the embarrassment of being bared before this boy sends you over the edge, and you refrain from redressing in the new clothes. Instead, you begin to sob once more, and cover yourself with your arms. Joshua's eyes widen. While he likes the sight of your exposed form, he doesn't enjoy the trembling person before him. Unfortunately, Joshua is not equipped to handle comforting someone, and approaches you in the only way he can think of that is mildly comforting.

"God, you outsiders can't do anything for yourselves, can you?" He pushes you back onto the nearby bed, forcing you to sit down. He grabs the lower garment of clothing, and begins to slide it up over your ankles, and onto your waist. His breathing grows unstable as he moves the fabric upwards, the thin cloth the only thing between him and your plush thighs. Before now, all marriages and courtships had been approved through Gabriel, and Joshua himself had had no time for impure thoughts and boyish crushes, much less a courtship. But now, as your weak, frightened self sits before him, almost entirely naked and alone, he feels a stirring in his pants, as a warmth builds. Much more, he feels a stirring in his heart. He grimaces, trying to shake off those thoughts as he finishes buttoning up the lower garment. He slips your arms into the sleeves of a shirt, and begins buttoning the front up. Just a few buttons from the top, he pauses, just under your chest. He stares, and you watch in fear, unsure what he's thinking as he stares intently at your chest. He doesn't stop himself as he slips a hand just into the fabric for a moment, allowing him to brush a hand against the left most part of your chest. His cold touch makes you gasp, and he removes his hand, finishing up with the buttons. "Why did you do that?" You ask. "I had to fix a crease. Gabriel prefers a neat follower." He coughs, standing back up. "Come, we need to get you to sermon. Gabriel will want you in the front row." He practically pushes you out of the door, and as you stumble, you don't notice he takes an extra minute in the room, slipping your previously discarded shirt into his overall pocket.

[alexusonfire]

Warmth of Your Doorways - Chapter Nine

Jane Murdstone x dressmaker!Reader

In collaboration with @daydream-cement and beta'd by our baby @tunarunes 🧡

Summary: Jane learns what it means to forgive.

Jane remained outside a cafe all afternoon. She nestled herself in a corner near the front window to wait for your nightly walk home from work. Unfortunately for her, this was another day in which you stayed late into the evening - resulting in her having to wait near the mouth of an alleyway when the establishment closed. Regardless of this, Jane Murdstone would not be deterred.

You finished up your work, eyes growing heavy through your last few stitches. You took your time in cleaning up your station and locking up the shop - the thought of your empty home keeping you moving at half the pace in which you normally would be working.

The walk home felt uneventful, but there was an uneasiness to it - almost as if you were being watched. You made your way up the stairs and the uneasiness being quelled by the feeling of your home nearby.

As you made your way inside, you quickly made yourself comfortable by shedding your outer skirts and corset. You draped them over a chair and left them behind to fix yourself something small for dinner, going about your business absentmindedly while softly humming to yourself as you cooked.

Little did you know that Jane was positioned outside your front door, wrestling with her anxieties about knocking and making her presence known. She was terrified that she would be met with rejection and vile words - the same that she had subjected you to not that long ago. With the clench of her fist, Jane raised a shaky hand and pushed herself to gently knock at your door - the possible reward of earning you back ultimately outweighing the potential rejection.

At first there was no sign of movement, the wooden store staring back at her, mocking her. She strained to hear any sounds of life, music, puttering, footsteps. The windows were barely lit, though surely you'd had time by now to turn a light on or two.

So she waited. Knocked softly again. Waited.

When the door finally creaked open, Jane felt an immediate rush of relief fill her. There you stood, pretty as ever, hair half piled up. Jane noted you looked a wee bit run down, and if your hours tonight were indicative of your usual work schedule, she couldn't fault you.

She also noted how you did not move, so still Jane had to focus briefly on your chest to see that you were indeed breathing.

"... Jane?"

It was so quiet, so broken that it took all of Jane's remaining strength to stay upright. The tears now flowing down your cheeks matched hers, and she tentatively took a step towards you.

"Yes, little violet. I'm here."

You sobbed and flung yourself into Jane, nearly toppling the two of you over. Aware of potential onlookers, Jane quickly pulled you indoors, shutting the door behind her with her foot as you clung to her. Though her chest was filled to the brim with apologies and explanations, she allowed herself a moment to simply comfort you, gently smoothing down your hair as her tears stained it.

"Jane… Jane, you're here… why… how?"

Wobbled and unsure, Jane attempted to tell you how Marjory had bought her tickets, to come find you, fight for you. The mention of Marjory seemed to stir something in you, as you pushed back from Jane and now held her an arms distance away. Jane felt her resolve crumble slightly as anger lit your pupils, and she braced herself for what she knew was coming; what she knew she deserved.

"And is that why you're here? To fight for me? After… after everything you did? Everything you said?"

Jane cringed and wrapped her hand around yours, hoping to keep you from drifting too far.

"Please, let me explain-"

"Explain?! Explain what exactly? Never in my life have I been called such nasty things, or been so thoroughly disrespected… and I… I thought you loved me Jane, I… I love you-"

You knew you were yelling, knew that perhaps your neighbors could be privy to your rage, but staring at the woman who had hurt you so badly…

Damn them all. And damn her too if her excuses weren't good enough.

Even if she looked as weary as you felt. Even if the guilt and pain were written clear as day on her features, rolling down her cheeks to meet her throat.

Damn her, damn her, damn her-

"I love you too, little violet. I swear it."

Spoken with such hushed sincerity, perhaps you could believe it.

"Please. Please just- let me explain. Let me speak. Let me… show you. Prove to you. That I am worth the love you hold for me."

Every atom in your body screamed for her, as they had since the moment you met her; her pleas echoed in your marrow, and you felt some of the anger melt away when you noted how hollow her cheeks had become.

"Fine. But do not think you can simply… walk back in here and everything will go back to normal. I can't- I couldn't handle this pain a second time. You need to mean it, Jane."

You hadn't thrown her out on the doorstep, and truly that's what she'd been expecting. She nodded, and even dared offer you a small smile.

She would do this, that she knew for certain. She'd spend the rest of her life proving her love to you, if that's what it took.

"You can start by telling me why you ever pushed me away to begin with."

Jane’s mouth gaped for a moment. She didn’t know where to begin. How could she explain a lifetime of pain and violence in a way that also allowed her to take ownership of her mistakes?

With a gentle tug of your hands, Jane drew you to sit on the edge of the bed next to her. There was a nervousness about Jane as she worked up the courage to open up about her trauma. Her dedication to winning you back pushed the words from her mouth. “Since my father died... my brother became the head of the house. When we were young, he learned of my... love of the fairer sex. This was something I was... ahem... routinely punished for...”

While this hadn’t fully explained Jane’s behavior, her words tugged at your heartstrings.

“I slowly became more callous... more of the shrew others told you I was. So much of that changed when I came to live with Marjory. I was so much happier, and so much more myself. And then you came along...” Jane paused briefly when she thought of how you changed her life irrevocably, a shy smile causing her to turn her gaze into her lap. “Edward came back... He found out we were together. He threatened to tell people... to ruin your career. I knew it was wrong to turn you away. It was wrong to hurt you the way I did...”

“I never meant any of it. I-I was scared... I was set to be married three days ago... and I would have. I fell into such despair when you left. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t journal... I just sat there thinking of that night you came to me in the rain.”

You sat in a stunned silence, overwhelmed by the story she had told you. All of the insults. All of the ways she hurt you could be attributed to her fear of her brother. So much of you wanted to remain angry. You wanted to scream and call her a coward, but as you observed her typically proud and rigid stature, you saw Jane wasn’t her normal self.

The dress she wore hung looser around her body. Her face displayed an uncommon exhaustion and ghostliness. It was then you saw the true extent of Jane’s heartbreak.

“What do you want from me now?” Your question wasn’t aimed to wound Jane, but you needed to know more about her intent on being there in your home. As much as it pained you, you wondered if this was all a sick joke.

“I want to love you... I want to apologize for all that I’ve put you through.”

“I... I forgive you...” Your response immediately made the ravenette perk up, but the way you finished your sentence made her face fall with a sad understanding. “But... I need more time to trust you again, Janey...”

"Of course dearest. Might I, at the risk of toeing over the line, ask to stay the night? I'm afraid in my haste I've forgotten to book a proper room. I can… I can stay on the couch-"

You shook your head, the thought of the statuesque woman cramped in your living area almost comical, and tentatively took Jane's hand. Neither of you commented how much you had missed the feeling as you led her towards the spare room, fetching an extra blanket to help keep out the night chill. There was an awkward tinge to the air as you bade her goodnight, the yearn on her face palpable, and for a brief moment, you thought she might ask you to stay.

You wished she had.

--

Sleep did not come easy, if at all, and after tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, you finally sighed and tossed the covers aside, padding quietly towards where Jane slept.

You stood in the doorway for a few moments, simply watching her. She looked ethereal in the moonlight, her long black hair spilling over the pillow beside her. It made your heart ache every time you looked at her, and in the peaceful thrum of the night, you allowed yourself to be drawn to her. Carefully, you pulled back the blanket and slipped beside Jane, your breath catching when her perfume hit your nostrils. You'd been so overwhelmed earlier you hadn't noticed it; now however, it consumed you. You brushed her hair off the pillow and lay fully next to her, hardly daring to breathe.

It was the best you'd slept in weeks.

Jane had awoken to your presence not long after you slipped into unconsciousness. Through half lidded eyes, she thought she was experiencing the same recurring dream she had since you left. A dream where you crawled into bed and she held you throughout the night, only to wake heartbroken when it had all been a figment of her imagination. As she always did, Jane embraced the fiction and looped an arm around you - not caring of the heartache to come. Only if she knew that for the first time in weeks, her wildest dreams were a reality.

--

Waking up was slow, easy. The first rays of sunlight were spilling into the room, and you felt warm… almost too warm. Your brow furrowed as you shifted slightly, the smells and sheets not at all familiar. Cracking your eyes open, you peered around you, your heart stuttering when you met Jane's piercing blue gaze.

".... good morning, sweeting."

You couldn't help the sleepy smile- you'd missed her so much. Missed waking up to her like this. Rather than let the moment pass, you simply curled under her chin and wrapped your arm around her, breathing her in for a few moments.

"Good morning Janey. Did- did you sleep well?"

Jane nodded, and dared to gently run her fingertips up and down your spine. You felt that familiar twang pull in your chest; you'd missed this too much, and it all came rushing back as to why.

"We should eat something. I have to be off to work soon."

Jane had noticed the way you'd stiffened in her arms, but stayed silent as she watched you rise for the day. You left for your room without so much as a glance back at her, and it made her throat feel tight.

She could do this. She would do this.

Breakfast was manageable, that awkward tinge back in the air as you moved around each other seamlessly, cooking eggs and laying plates and cutlery. Any attempt at small talk felt… odd. Stifled. For now quiet seemed best, and Jane opted to tidy the kitchen while you finished readying yourself for work. She met you at the front door, a small bag with lunch for you in her outstretched hand.

"I hope you have a good day today."

"Thank you. Will, um… will you still be here when I return this evening?"

You looked so small and unsure of yourself Jane wanted to scoop you in her arms and never let you go.

"If you'd like me to be."

Your shoulders relaxed, and you took the lunch from Jane, butterflies skittering in your chest as your hands brushed.

"I would."

Jane smiled, a real smile, and opened the door for you. Some long-lost remark of her gentlemanly nature was at the tip of your tongue, but playful banter still seemed too… raw. Much like everything else at the moment. You simply squeezed her hand on your way out, and wondered what it would once again be like to come home to Jane.

--

@weemssapphic @bitch-we-have-a-hulk @yourlocaldisneyvillain @renravens @thegoddamnfeels @dvrkhcld @blessmysouljessisonaroll @opheliauniverse @ahsfan05 @ness029 @carnivorousflowers @willowshadenox @mysaviorfalsegod @myzzjolanda @bigolgay @pluied-ete @h-doodles @pro-weems-places @kimiinou @vigelvictoria @pigeonbrewster @saturnnnnl @azu-zu

[rmxsolution]

Air Classifiers are essential for precise material separation and particle size control in Vertical Cement Silos, Fly Ash Silos, and Cement Storage Silos. They enhance the efficiency of Silo Feeding Systems and Bulk Storage Silos by ensuring optimal material quality. Widely used in Mobile Bulk Filling Stations, Cement Filling Stations, and Dry Mix Batching Plants, these classifiers support efficient and accurate material processing.

[thesassywitchofthenortheast]

Home

When Tim and Lucy decide to move in together, just three months after their reconciliation, they agree to have Lucy move into Tim’s house. With a promise to look for a home of their own, one they choose together, in the near future. Something uniquely them, no ties to their pasts and only filled with the promises of their future. There’s an unspoken agreement to wait until after they get married, give themselves time to learn how to live together, and enjoy it. 

But just like with getting back together, their house plans don't go exactly as they’d envisioned. 

They’re engaged just one month after Lucy moves in and married in an intimate ceremony (just them and their closest family and friends) two months after that. And they began looking and making their must haves list the second all of Lucy’s things are in his house. 

The list is actually quite simple; a good school zone, far enough from the station that their drive isn’t insane but they also don’t have the potential to be the officers called to their neighbors, at least three bedrooms, and a decent sized backyard with room to add a pool when their kids are older. 

They share so many conversations during their search, both serious and not. Like their budget, how to go about the down payment and splitting the inevitable mortgage, and those silly little hopes they had growing up about what their dream house had and looked like. 

Lucy always wanted a treehouse for her children and a yellow front door, and Tim too wanted a treehouse and having that sentimental moment of putting them and their kids hand prints in the cement walkway that leads to the front door. 

And just a few days shy of their one year wedding anniversary, they close on the perfect four bedroom fixer upper with a beautiful backyard. 

With a great bonus of being just a few doors down from the Lopez-Evers abode. 

The renovations end up being a little over-budget, mostly due to the fact that they find out Lucy is pregnant and so things needed to be rushed and done faster. But, just as she’s nearing her twenty week mark, they’re moving into their home. 

“Babe, I’m not an invalid, I can help with the boxes.” Lucy giggles from the driveway, watching (ogling) Tim take the last of their things out of the U-Haul. One hand on her hip and the other caressing her growing bump. 

Read the rest on AO3

[waywardxrhea]

Part of Your World - George Weasley

Chapter 5

pairing: George Weasley x fem!Muggle!reader

installment list / previous chapter / next chapter

word count: 1,534

content: angst, dementor attack, mentions of death (non-main character), fluff.

dividers by: @firefly-graphics

One chilly November evening George was walking you home from the bus station after your classes and rehearsal at school. Things had started to get more dangerous on the warfront of the Wizarding side of things, so this was a habit he had gotten into for his own peace of mind as well as for your safety. As you two took a shortcut through the park, you pulled your scarf tighter around your neck and your coat closer to your body when the air around you suddenly got a lot colder than it had been moments before. “I can’t wait until the spring,” you commented with a shiver as the both of you quickened your pace. 

You only got about ten more metres at this pace before you slowed down to a stop. Your legs felt like they were cement and they refused to move as an overwhelming feeling of sadness and hopelessness washing over you suddenly. You placed a gloved hand over your mouth as tears began to run down your face and your mind flashed to the worst day of your life. 

One sunny June afternoon you and your parents were gathered around the hospital bed of Louise, better known as Gran - your dad’s mother. The room’s blinds were open and sun was streaming into the brightly decorated room. This would under normal circumstances be a very pretty room as it had been for the last few months, but today was not any ordinary day. Today was the day the family had been dreading for months, ever since Louise got diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. 

Louise’s condition had been deteriorating for weeks, but today seemed to be worse yet. A few minutes prior, the doctor had pulled your dad out into the hallway and informed him that she was showing signs of dying and that they would start giving her medicine to help make her departure comfortable. When he told you and your mum this, you finally broke down fully, grabbing Gran’s hand and holding on tightly. 

Gran squeezed your hand lightly and croaked out, “Remember what we decided?” 

“Yes, but, I- Gran, please, I just want to-” you tried.

“Please grant this old bag her dying wish,” she whispered with a quiet laugh. “This isn’t the last time you’ll see me, love. Just have a little faith and we’ll meet again.”

You nodded, taking the guitar that your dad was handing you that previously stood in the case that was propped against the wall. As your parents sat on the other side of the bed with your dad holding Gran’s right hand, you sat on her left side and Gran made sure to put a hand on your knee as you strummed the guitar to her favourite song: Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis Presley. It was the song that her husband had played when he proposed to her and they had their first dance at their wedding to. She wanted it to be played as she went to see him again. 

You couldn’t bring your voice to work as tears ran down your cheeks, so your parents took over the vocals for the song, harmonising like only they could as bandmates and as husband and wife. The sound brought a smile to Gran’s face and death approached fast, taking her before the second chorus even ended. 

Meanwhile back out in the stinging cold in Regent’s Park, George turned to check on you when he no longer felt your presence beside him and saw a couple of Dementors circling around you! A sense of doom creeped into George’s mind and dread filled him at the sight. Before this feeling could overwhelm him though, George remembered his DA lessons with Harry. He pulled out his wand and summoned up a happy memory: the one of him and Fred leaving Hogwarts. He concentrated on the warm feeling in his chest and bellowed, “Expecto Patronum!” 

From the end of his wand flew his Patronus, a magpie, and it began to pelt away at the Dementors, making them fly away in haste, leaving you on your knees on the cold ground. George quickly made his way to your side and as he did, he heard you whispering, “Please don’t go, please!” into your gloved hands as they covered your face.

George joined you on the ground and wrapped you in an embrace as he whispered, “Hey, I’m here, it’s okay now.”

Upon hearing his voice, you seemed to snap out of the trance the Dementors had on you and you buried your face into George’s chest as you tried to control your breathing. After a few moments, you found your voice and whispered, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to freak out like that. I don’t know what got into me…”

“Don’t apologise, it wasn’t random. There were Dementors here. Muggles can’t see them. I had to cast the Patronus Charm to get them away,” George explained. “Those damn things get into your head and pull out your worst memories. I’m sorry you had to go through that, darling.”

George separated himself from you and got you both to your feet before looking around, seeing that you were near the shop where you had your first date at and said, “Here, let’s go to our usual spot. We’ll get you a hot chocolate and a chocolate croissant.” As you headed in that direction, George told you, “Harry swears by chocolate after a Dementor attack.”

You nodded and followed George into the shop, still numb from both the cold and the memories that resurfaced because of the wretched beings. It was only after a few sips of the warm drink that you said anything, telling George quietly, “Thank you for saving me back there.”

“Of course,” he replied warmly, worry still etched in his small smile. “You still seem pretty shaken, are you okay?” George asked, noticing the tremor in your hands and how you used both to hold the cup in order to not spill the drink. 

“I’ll be okay…” you said quietly. “I just…haven’t really thought about all that day since it happened…”

“If you don’t mind my asking, what memory did the Dementors bring out?” George asked tentatively. 

You took a long sip from your hot chocolate before responding, your voice filled with emotion as you did. “The day my gran died. She was in the hospital on hospice for about two months before her body finally gave up. Stage four lung cancer. The doctors said there wasn’t any way to treat it so we just had to let it happen…” You placed the cup roughly on the table before the shaking in your hands got too bad, adding, “She was my best friend and biggest supporter. Before she got sick she made sure to come watch every show I was in and brought me hydrangeas after every one of them. Mary was the first show she didn’t get to see.” Your voice broke at the last sentence and you wiped a tear that escaped your eye from your cheek.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you added, “We would sing together when she watched me when I was younger and she taught me how to play the piano. The day she died, I was playing one of her favourite songs when it happened and Dad made me keep playing all of her favourites even after she was gone because they say hearing is the last sense to go and he wanted her to be happy when she passed on.” A smile finally made its way onto your face as you giggled quietly and said, “We played Sweet Caroline last and the whole nursing staff was in there with us singing, it was beautiful.”

George took your hands in his and squeezed as he told you, “I’m so sorry for your loss… I can tell she meant a lot to you.”

“She meant the world,” you agreed with a sad smile on your lips. “You know how I’m always saying to have a little faith?”

George nodded, saying, “Your optimism is one of my favourite things about you.”

You couldn’t help the bashful smile that made its way onto your lips before you said, “Well I got that mantra from her. That was how she lived her life and how she taught me how to live mine. Abbie thinks I’m too optimistic for my own good, but…”

“If we aren’t optimistic about what the future holds, there isn’t a future worth living,” George said thoughtfully.

“Well said, Weasley,” you said, impressed by the sudden philosophical turn of your boyfriend. 

“I try,” he said with a chuckle. 

Once you were finished with the warm drink and pastry, George walked you to your house and rather than going back to the shop, he stayed with you as long as you needed. And although you couldn't shake the memories pelting your mind of that day, with George's comforting words and hold, it became bearable as you finally began to come to terms with Gran's death and how it changed you as a person since.

a/n: I swear the next part is happier (mostly)!

anyways! likes and comments are always appreciated! xo, brooke <3

taglist: @reidmarieprentiss @v1ckycheesue @superduckmilkshake

[sevensoulmates]

Spec on what Tommy's (possible) sexuality might be?

In relation to some spec I'm seeing going around about how Tommy identifies his sexuality, I'm so curious to see what that's gonna be and how he came to figure it out.

Here's what we know:

Tommy had a girlfriend in Chimney Begins because Captain Gerrard asked Tommy when his girlfriend was coming by the station to cook them all dinner. But then again he was kinda cagey in answering the Captain about her coming.

In Hen Begins, Sal insinuates that Tommy is "more of a Team Jacob kind of guy" aka Gay because Tommy finds Kristen Stewart "too broody". Tommy takes this in stride, sending Sal a joking air kiss, but it's by far the biggest hint we've gotten about Tommy possibly not being straight during the time he worked with the 118. However this line was likely originally intended to show casual workplace homophobia in order to make Hen uncomfortable, and not really to be like "oh hey Tommy's queer". But it ends up working out for the writers that they already had this tidbit in here.

In Bobby Begins Again Tommy tells Hen and Chim "I'm telling you, single is easier. Having the scars impresses women, getting 'em freaks 'em out." Which heavily implies dating/being attracted to women. In the same conversation, he later brings up a quote from Fight Club the movie, and in case anyone wasn't aware, has long been interpreted as a queer allegory due to large amounts of homoerotic material in the source material and film adaptations.

All of that being said, there are arguments for Tommy possibly being bisexual, or possibly being an in-the-closet gay man. Whichever direction they choose to take Tommy will be telling for the future of the plot for different reasons.

If Tommy ends up being bisexual like Buck, then more than likely they'll end up having a lot of parallels to experiences Buck has had in the past, further cementing to the audience that Buck has been bi this whole time but just didn't realize it. It could also parallel Buck's current situation (hiding him and Tommy from Eddie + the 118) and possibly the catalyst for Buck to come out to the rest of the 118.

But, if Tommy ends up being gay, and had to hide it and/or repress it for most of the time he had been with the 118, that could prove very interesting for the ways in which he strongly parallels Eddie.

7x04 spent a lot of time hammering home to the audience that Tommy is extremely similar to Eddie. I wouldn't be surprised if they take this a step further by having Tommy have a queer experience similar to how many of us believe Eddie's to be. That being growing up in a hypermasculine environment, filled with shame and plenty of reasons to repress and/or keep that information to himself. And only figuring out who he is later in life.

Personally, I would prefer it if they went this route with Tommy. Not only because I think it would strongly parallel a possible queer Eddie storyline, but it would also provide a contrast for Buck. By that I mean if Tommy says "well, my relationships with women never felt right, and I realized later it's because I wasn't attracted to them at all" then Buck can firmly place himself in the bisexual category in contrast by clarifying that he was and still is attracted to women, but now realizes he likes men too. And it doesn't hurt that it could be possible foreshadowing for Eddie, and/or parallels to Eddie's storyline with Marisol in the episode with something possibly not feeling right between them.

Either way, I'm excited to see to learn more about Tommy in 7x05. I'm also hoping for a bit more acknowledgment for how shitty he was to Hen and Chim in the beginning. It's a good way to show 10+ years of character development in one convo.

[utilitycaster]

1/2 I was thinking about the Creator Hammer its intended function, which feels way closer to Predathos than Ascension based on my understanding. Like TRQ erased the old god's name and face when she ascended, but there was still a role for her to fill. But Predathos (and the thing in Tengar if it's not just Predathos) more or less created a vacuum of divine domain until TRQ'S ascension. Even the old god didn't seem to absorb those domains? And we don't know what would happen without any gods left

2/2 And I feel like that distinction is kinda crucial - it's wild to see some people treat the hammer as 'just' killing the gods (which. already has huge implications) but actually getting rid of the domain entirely feels like a step even further, and if the gods didn't already have a right to freak out at the idea of being killed, I think this really cements a reason for them to be concerned, idk!!

----

Hey anon! So actually I've been wondering about some aspects of deity lore/cosmology and I hope we get more answers because, to be honest, I'm not sure what happens here.

It's implied that the nothingness that destroys Tengar is Predathos. We also know that Predathos does not seem to take memory and name when it destroys something; Aily and the other entities of light are still able to say Edun's name after he goes away, just as Ethedok and Vordo's names can still be said. This is in contrast to the Raven Queen, who in ascending did erase the prior god's symbol and name (and aspects from memory, though to varying degrees - Asmodeus does recall in EXU Calamity that he was a brother, but acknowledges the name is gone). I think her rites of ascension likely added that aspect, especially since we know her mortal name was forgotten and made impossible to read. Finally, we know new domains can be created as Vecna ascended without eliminating another god, and simply added himself.

So with that information I think the distinction the gods are making between Aeor and the Raven Queen isn't necessarily one of preservation of domains but rather intention. The Raven Queen was not trying to kill a god out of spite or fear or hate, but out of a sense of obligation towards the station. Which does translate to the preservation of domains in this case but I think the point is that Aeor seems to be killing for the sake of killing and not for some higher goal.

Perhaps this isn't correct to bring in Worlds Beyond Number, particularly since Brennan is working, with I'm sure plenty of leeway and freedom, within Matt's worldbuilding here, but I do feel like the way he talks about the witches and their domains [note: haven't listened to the latest episode no spoilers please] is worth mentioning. The witches are proposing killing one of their number (Erika's PC, Ame), and when Ame brings up her domain, they note that if she dies, her domain doesn't disappear; it simply isn't tended to.

I go back and forth on how much the domains of the gods of Exandria matter because we know there is overlap - Nature is a very big thing that encompasses aspects of Death, Storms, Sun, and Moon. Corellon and Moradin and Erathis all share parts of the creative process and it's implied Pelor does too. Agriculture is part of civilization.

If all the gods were killed? Perhaps it would destroy the world, but if some were I think they would simply lose that overlap. I don't know if there is a tipping point - and I do believe there is one (and it's indicated some Exandrians who might know, such as Keyleth, believe this too) but it's also possible that the domain still exists, but the magic and potential within it is gone. If both Melora and The Raven Queen are killed, for example, perhaps there is no longer an afterlife for anyone, but death will still exist.

When Asha says that Aeor will destroy everything I don't think it's a domain thing - I think it's just her noting that Aeor is already consuming a huge number of the planet's currently limited resources. The apples are going to Aeor and not to the starving beggars nor the animals. I think it's just a statement, in terms that a hungry nature goddess would use, that this is an exploitative empire taking advantage of their position of power amid war and natural disaster and that it will eventually exhaust the natural resources Exandria has to offer and die out itself: "This thing, this will be rock and nothing else. Three generations, four, they're going to end it for everything." Taliesin out of character in Cooldown then says Asha/Melora is speaking on behalf of life on Exandria, generally. I don't think it's that nature or storms or death or dawn will cease to exist overall, per se; I just think that they believe that if the only power left on Exandria is Aeor, all life will starve and die out not long after.