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everythingelseisextra · 2 years ago

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Run, Little Girl

Part Thirteen: Horse To Water

Description: You breach a subject you've always feared talking about. Later, you're caught, and are faced with the feat of saving yourself. Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, references to rape, language, guns Word count: 3037 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @fairytale07 @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul @globetrotter28

He wants you.

You can see it in his eyes at night, though he keeps the distance between you. There’s a ravenousness to him that you’ve seen in other men, the ones who came looking for something that echoed connection, the ones who never hurt you but mimicked passion and intimacy. Hungry for touch, for closeness, for the physical kindness that can be passed from one person to another.

You have learned that sex is a commodity. Bodies interwoven with each other births a transaction, and, in a perfect world, it would be mutual. It never was for you. You know you can give that piece of yourself, and you know that it can be taken, but you’re never sure if you can get anything in return. It’s a privilege to accept pleasure from someone other than yourself, and it’s one you’ve never had. Men used you with carelessness and a mostly rough touch.

Your sexuality has been hidden away for years, safe from the world’s prying eyes. It’s battered and bruised, slowly bleeding out, and you’re not sure it can take much more. It hurts to think about, to consider stepping back into the world of physical touch, and so you ignore it, like a child learning for the first time what sex is and becoming shy of it. Part of you, though, is unbearably lonely. Part of you wants so desperately to be touched that you cave inwards, wanting to give yourself to someone, anyone, just to become whole again. And all of you believes that you’re insignificant, pointless, and incorporeal unless you’re being touched.

Tommy won’t take from you. He won’t force himself on you, won’t do anything you won’t allow, but he is not patient. There’s a childishness to him that needs immediate gratification or he becomes bitter and cold. You don’t fear him, not yet, but you’ve been trapped underneath a few too many times to not appreciate the breath you can take.

That morning, you lay on your back in bed, arm above your head on the pillow, watching faint filaments in the air float through the sunrays sliding in from the windows. Tommy lays beside you, his eyes traveling slowly over your upper body, no hint of shame. You’re not sure what he’s admiring; your body is swathed in one of his shirts, your lower half covered by blankets, and, underneath, loose black pants. Still, he looks, and there’s a faint ember in the blue, a wish, an imagination running wild.

“Thomas,” you say quietly. “I think I can read your mind.”

“Can you?” Careful amusement covers his words, and there’s a faint smile in them.

“Right now? Yeah. I can see it in your face.” You turn your head, your nose pressing against your upper arm. “I’ve seen it a lot on other men.”

His eyes flicker and he draws his head back slightly. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“I—” You sigh, looking back up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I’m trying to say a lot of things and none of them are coming out very well.”

He props himself up on one arm, looking down at you with faint concern. “Tell me.”

“What?” You glance at him, then return to staring at the ceiling.

“Tell me all of it.” It’s an order dressed in sincerity. If you didn’t want to tell him, you’d be coaxed into it. Like so many other things in your past, it’s easier if you just give in.

“I guess I just— I see what you want, and it scares me. I don’t know what to expect from myself. If you were to touch me, would I panic, or would I freeze and allow it, or would I want it? And you’re good to me, and I want to be with you, and I owe you that much. What if— what if I can’t? And I’m confused, because I see it and I think that I could want it, too, and then I flinch, because—” Your face grows slightly hot. “Because I crave it so much that it hurts. But none of that matters, because I have no idea who I am anymore. You could do nothing wrong and I could still freak out, or you could do nothing wrong and I’d be perfectly fine. Does any of this make sense?”

He gives you a single nod, a slow movement. “If you’re not ready—”

“I should be ready. It’s been fifteen years. I should be over it by now.” You lift your arm to gesture at the empty air, fingers cascading through the golden light, then drop it down by your side.

“If you’re not ready, we wait.” He repeats himself in the same tone as when he first spoke. “You’ll be ready when you’re ready.”

“What if it’s never, Tom?” You close your eyes, throat a little tighter than before. “What if it’s never?”

He’s quiet, and you feel his gaze on you, discerning. “I don’t know.”

Your heart drops and you swallow hard, opening your eyes to blink up at the ceiling, trying to clear your eyes. Your voice wavers. “No one will want me unless I give them my body, too.”

It’s a core belief, born of years upon years of being taken from, the formative time in your life molding you into a tool for use. Before you met Tommy, you wanted to be erased, to be untouchable and unfeeling, ghostlike in the countryside, to be nothing and never be known by anyone. It was lonely, but it was simple. An end to the constant deluge of attention you never wanted. There’s no going back to that, not now. You’re too strong to try to pretend not to want him, and you’re too awake to slip back into that purgatory of sleepy loneliness.

“I’ll want you.” He reaches out and touches your shoulder, then withdraws, careful. “If it’s never, I’ll manage. Won’t be what I wish, but I’ll manage.”

You close your eyes, trying desperately not to cry. “I’m not worth anything if I can’t give that to you.”

“No. You’re worth something.” His voice grows quieter. “Do you want it to be never?”

You shake your head, lip quivering.

“Then it won’t be.”

“You don’t know that.” Your voice cracks and you hate it, hate the ache that fills your chest, hate the regret that you had to have survived what you did.

“I know that,” he insists. “I know that, because you’re damn good at getting what you want. Sprayed me with a fucking hose and got me to buy you a horse.”

You manage a weak smile. “I never asked for the horse.”

“You wanted him.”

“You wanted him. You said he had spirit.” Your tone still wavers, your words small. You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If you want it to happen, it’ll happen.” He settles back down onto the bed, sighing.

You shake your head, a small tear hovering in your eye and dripping down when you blink. “You have more faith in me than I do.”

His eyes close. “I consider myself a realist.”

“Does— does that make me a pessimist?” You try to smile, wiping the tear away, but your lips tremble slightly and your voice still lacks strength.

“Yes.” His bare chest rises and falls, slow and steady, and your erratic breathing suddenly seems ridiculous.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, trying to pull yourself together, teetering on the edge of some kind of breakdown. “I’m sorry I’m not… not what you wish.”

His eyes flutter open, casting their endlessly critical gaze over you. “You’re fine the way you are.”

“Fine.” You turn on your side, facing him, curling into the fetal position. “I’m just fine to you. Everything is fine but nothing is good, is that it?”

“You’re putting words in my mouth that I haven’t spoken.”

“Tell me I’m more than just fine, Tom. Tell me I’m someone you want. Tell me I mean as much as you do to me.” Your voice trembles, your hands curl into fists, tightening, then loosening. “Tell me that this isn’t all in my head. Because right now, it feels like it is.”

His jaw tightens and he shakes his head, his expression conflicted.

“Put your fucking strength down and help me, please.” Another tear rolls down your cheek. “It’s just you and me in the morning light. You don’t have to be the Thomas Shelby everyone knows. Be Tom. Just… Tom.”

“If I were as cold as I try to be, I would stay quiet.” His voice rumbles, so soft that it barely breaks the air, barely makes it through to you. “Truth is, I get quiet when I’m with people. Stop talking and just listen. What’s the point, I think, in talking when you know they don’t feel what you feel. What’s the point in speaking if it isn’t with you.” He closes his eyes again, as if it’s easier to confess to the darkness than straight to you. “I am too far away from love to feel it now, but, when I’m ready, it’ll be you. If you promise me the same.”

You take in a slow breath, then let it out in a withheld, shuddering sob. You try to be quiet. You try not to take up too much space with your emotions, try not to be too big in your fear and sadness and pure overwhelmed state. But, still, you cry, pathetic as you may be, you let yourself cry in front of him. This is a kind of undressing; showing him the worst sides of you before you show him the best. Shedding the lies of your life to stand naked in the truth. This is your phone call, late at night, asking for a reason. This is your swan song.

And, slowly, carefully, he moves towards you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close to him. Your head fits perfectly beneath his chin, your bodies curled together. As always, he warms you, makes you realize you were cold before his touch. His hand holds the back of your head, his fingers stroking through your hair, and his breathing starts to steady you. You time yours to his, your chests rising and falling in unison, and your crying quiets, then stops.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “I promise.”

It’s a vow you make in the fresh light of morning, curled close to him in the quiet. This will be a new kind of fight, you think. This will be a war in and of itself. And it will be worth it. Because nothing beautiful comes without a fight, and you are no exception.

You’re hand-walking the white stallion when it happens. His head tosses into the air, his ears prick forward, and he whips around, staring past the barn. You stand quietly, waiting for him to calm so you can continue moving, but he doesn’t. He escalates, his body going tense, then he shoots off and you find yourself dragged behind a massively strong animal. You yank back on the lead rope, digging your heels into the ground to stop Iris from tearing your arms off. He skids to a stop, tail in the air, ears rotating to try to catch whatever it is that’s spooking him.

The shape of two well-dressed men wander casually into sight, as if they’re supposed to be there, as if you’d invited them onto your property. Your eyes go straight to their hips, where guns hang, holstered.

You have a minute at most to act before they spot you. Blood rushes through your veins, your heartbeat speeds up, and you’re moving before you’ve thought about what you’re doing. Iris trots beside you as you jog into the barn, quickly putting the horse back into his stall, then backing up, looking around you for a hiding space.

The men are at the mouth of the barn, moving slowly, languidly, cats on the prowl. From where you stand, half-hidden by the stall door, you can catch a glimpse of their faces. Your doubts vanish. Not Peaky Blinders, not anyone you know. You stand frozen, heart and mind racing, because they found you. They found you, and you’re unarmed, unprepared, and completely without backup. With each step they take, you’re tensing, eyes darting around, wanting something to protect yourself.

To your right, a ladder to the hayloft. As quietly as you can, you climb up, and cringe as the wooden platform creaks with your weight. You crouch down, looking down at the men as they pass underneath you. Maybe they don’t know you’re home, maybe they don’t know that you live here, and are just checking off a box. Maybe it’s a waiting game.

They vanish, leaving the barn behind you, and you release a slow breath. A moment too soon, as they return a second later, and one of them speaks.

“She’s gotta be in here, right?” His voice is high-pitched, almost squeaky, repugnant. “She’s not in the house. Not like she has anywhere else to go.”

“Yeah, she’s in here.” The other voice is lower, and a streak of cold recognition shocks your mind. A regular of yours, a man with cruel hands and dark eyes, whose relationship with Liszt grew stronger each time he purchased you.

You remember damage. You remember the soreness of your body, the bruises on your hips and arms and wrists after he was done with you. You remember blood on the sheets. You remember the smell of sweat and the lingering touch of his hands on your body.

Your eyes track them as they wander beneath you. Your options are few and far between. You crouch up here in the semi-light, a passenger of your old pain, frozen in the fear of passing time, and you wait for them to find you. Or, you find a weapon, you grip it in your worn, calloused hands, and you try to stand your ground. You try to fight against the rigidness in your bones, against the shake of your hands, and you protect yourself. Either way, you’re taken back. Either way, you return to the life you want so badly to abandon and forget.

You glance around, eyes peeled for something, anything, that could be used to fight back. Your gaze lands on a thick, solid piece of wood, broken off from a rafter. You crawl over to it, wrap your hands around it, and lift. It takes both hands and much of your strength to hold it. You glance down again, eyes on the two men. The larger one, you think. Get the larger one.

You push a flake of hay to the edge of the hayloft and push it over the edge. It falls with a dull, quiet thump. The men turn, eyes on the flimsy piece of hay, and their slow strides turn to approach it. Neither of them look up.

You smile faintly, waiting, biding your time. When they’re both directly under you, you heft your piece of wood, give it a kiss for good luck, and throw it over the side with all the strength you can muster.

It lands true. You hear a squelch and the dull thud of a body hitting the ground. The high-pitched man yells, scuttling back from the carnage in front of him. Before the shock wears off, you climb down the ladder and run, head down and legs pumping. Your eyes catch briefly on the crushed skull of your regular, blood and brain matter spilled over your barn floor.

The horses panic as you run past, reacting to your fear. The rattling and banging of them kicking their stall walls fills the air, and your body, fit and strong, takes you to your house. You dart inside, lock the door behind you, and take the few steps to the kitchen. Open the drawer, pull out your gun. You stare at it. You close your eyes, just for a moment, and you feel your mindset shift.

This is your home. They’re on your home turf. This belongs to you, and they’ve challenged you where you’re strongest. And now you’re on even ground. He’s alone, his partner is dead or dying, and you’re armed. You’re not backed into a corner. You’re in the ring, with a fighting chance and a loaded gun in your hands.

You glance at the phone, and the idea of asking for help flits through your mind. Immediately, you decide against it. You don’t have the time. You can see his shadow through the front door windows, hear him try the door handle. Besides, you can pack a punch. You can pull the trigger.

You hear his voice speak through the door, muffled. “Better run, little girl. You’ve trapped yourself. I’ve got you right where I want you.”

You hold up the gun, your finger toying on the trigger as if practicing. This little girl will put up a fight. This little girl got a gun from a gangster and knows damn well how to shoot.

The door handle rattles. You move slowly, with the confidence they had when you first saw them. This, you think, will be your warning to all the men who want to take you back, want to use you, want to pretend that you’re an object with no worth. This will be your warning to the world that you won’t be fucked with.

You sidle up to the side of the door. He bangs on it, trying to force his way through the lock. You take a breath, ready your gun, your finger on the trigger, and then reach out. Your hand rests on the lock for a second, the vibrations of his body hitting against it running through you, and then, when you’re ready, you unlock it, reach down, and open the door.

He falls through, not expecting the door to suddenly give, and lands face first on the welcome mat. Before he can right himself, you press the gun to his head.

He inhales sharply, then releases it in a chuckle. “You wouldn’t. You’re too much a coward.”

You roll your eyes and pull the trigger.

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scribbleseas · 2 years ago

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Straight Laced, Chapter II: To Be A Decent Friend…

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

Author’s Note: I have nothing to say for myself, except: I started a summer job & also three new fics. Two of which nearly have debut chapters that are set to come out very, very soon. Get ready, Levi fans. You’re getting fed. Soon.

I digress; I hope you all like this chapter! It took way longer than I wanted, and I’m so serious when I say that finishing up what I had done 2 weeks ago took like a 2-hour sitting. Yikes, but at least this one is heavily edited!!

Happy Reading,

Dan

MASTERLIST

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

Early October, 1895

The Royal Opera House, Backstage

You couldn’t seem to escape Ciel Phantomhive, though it had been about a week since you last encountered him. There was a paper clipping adhered to your vanity mirror reading presumably, his office’s telephone number and his initials: CP. No matter what you tried, you couldn’t seem to scrape the paper off. All you managed to do was pick uselessly at the edges of the clipping.

It was his means of mocking you, reminding you of your perceived selfishness. You were not selfish. You were reasonable. You were looking out for yourself— something a woman of your age and stature had to.

You watched your reflection in the mirror as you began to retouch your ballerina bun (it was somewhat loose from the performance’s first three acts) as you reflected on that exchange. The terribly patronizing conversation that transpired between you and the noble lord. The insufferable noble lord who was the product of European society favoring wealthy men.

“You need to realize that these dancers — who are either dead or abducted — are from your company! Or are you too content in your new role to care?” Ciel demanded.

Of course you cared! How could he accuse you of such selfishness? Because of his warning, you were hypervigilant when you left the theater, wary of new subscribers, observant when it came to other company member’s attendances.

In fact, it was your newfound caution that led you to realizing Amélie had not been present in days. The last you saw of her was Sunday’s night performance — she went home, and according to Natasha, had been suffering from some kind of stomach ailment.

After tonight’s show, you planned to check on Amélie. Throughout the years you knew her, she was a kind friend to you, from growing up in the same dance school to moving to Britain together. Even if you were reluctant to consider her your friend, since you last interacted with her about a month ago— even if she was from home.

You had no inkling of what you might do if you were about to find her dead. Call the Yard? Given that you were a ballerina, there wasn’t much else you could do. How could Ciel possibly need you to solve these disappearances if all you could do was make a call in the instance of finding a corpse?

There was nothing you could do that Ciel couldn’t himself, as much as you hated admitting so. At the end of the day, caring did not save lives. Solving real mysteries took real logic and precision that went beyond flawless composure on a stage. After all, this wasn’t some idealistic book where the heroine is merely reluctant to step into the light. All you were was yourself— a dancer who grew squeamish at the sight of blood and enraged at the thought of another privileged noble taking advantage of you.

And yet, Ciel’s telephone number continued to etch itself into the front of your mind. Without meaning to, you had the digits memorized.

You shook your head, chastising yourself. You only had a few moments left before the final act of the night. There was no room in your mind for any other concerns. It was a perfect performance and you refused to lose focus now. All you needed to do was finish the night perfectly, and you would be able to check on your…friend.

Midnight

A Small Townhouse in Birmingham

“Amélie, it’s Y/n,” you tapped your knuckles against her room’s door. She shared a townhome with a number of other dancers her age— though not all of them worked in London’s Royal Opera. One of the roommates let you inside, though she warned you that Amélie hadn’t left her quarters all day.

“We don’t know her enough to just barge in, but we were gettin’ worried— headaches don’t last for more than a coupla days. Thank you for comin’ by.” the roommate shrugged her thin shoulders before showing herself back down the old stairway. “Help yourself to anything. I need to get to rehearsal,” she added before proceeding down the stairs.

Headaches? You were told she was suffering from a stomach ailment.

Technically, you didn’t know Amélie well enough let yourself into her bedroom either, but she hadn’t picked up the house telephone nor sent word to Natasha. You couldn’t help but worry after Ciel told you why so many company members were disappearing.

“Yes. Thank you for allowing me inside,” you replied after roommate. She acknowledged your gratitude with a thin smile, a gesture of goodwill. The expression was slightly colder than a smile you would offer a patron.

“Lock the door on your way out!” The roommate’s distant voice reminded you, interrupted by the sound of a closing front door.

“Amélie!” You turned back towards the bedroom door and raised your voice. “I brought you ginger tea and a loaf of bread,” you reluctantly twisted the doorknob. It was unlocked. “From that bakery by the opera house. They can help calm your stomach…or the warmth with your head, I suppose…” You waited another few moments before fully twisting the knob and opening the door. The old hinges rasped, complaining because the townhouse had to be built decades ago. You weren’t sure it even had a washroom.

Her room was neat, everything in its rightful place— there was nothing more like her than a tidy living space. It only took moments for you to note her mess of brown hair on her pillow, the frizzy waves motionless as if she wasn’t respirating. She laid on her side, face shrouded by her riotous hair.

“…Amélie?” You took tentative steps closer towards her bed, a sense of dread gnawing at your stomach. The closer you were, the more noticeable the foul scent in the room became. One of your trembling hands reached out and pushed some of the dancer’s hair out of her face with a newfound urgency.

Moving Amélie’s hair revealed her slack face; her hazel eyes glazed over and bloodshot. Her skin, once sunkissed and tan, was ashen with death. She had deep bruising against areas of her body that pressed against the pillow or the mattress beneath her.

In tandem with your shocked scream, you dropped the bag containing her gifts. You removed your hand from her body as if it were burning. Your breath came to you in short, panicked, bursts as you forced yourself to squeeze your eyes closed. Your other hand flew to your mouth, your gag reflex more than triggered by your incidental staring contest with your childhood friend’s corpse.

This cannot be real, this cannot be real. This. Cannot. Be. Real…This cannot be….

“No, no, no, no,” you repeated the word so quickly that it began to resemble the French equivalent, non. Your frenzied voice matched the horrified thoughts voiced in your mind. Your eyes welled with tears as you choked on a sob, wary about vomiting but nearly unable to fight the rising bile and excess saliva in your throat. It hurt to look at her, but you couldn’t seem to force yourself to look away.

She was dead. The only part of home you had with you was dead. The only person you would consider a friend was dead. Finished. No more. She was dead because someone killed her.

Someone killed her.

“You need to realize that these dancers — who are either dead or abducted — are from your company!” Ciel’s words repeated once more, forcing another sob to rip out of your chest. Your tears fell in steady streams, warm and salty. They blurred your vision as you continued to stare into her eyes, the whites stained with blood. Could you have prevented this? Were you just as guilty as the true perpetrator because you refused to help the investigation?

“I am— s-so…sor—...so sorry,” you managed, your trembling hands unable to wipe your tears fast enough. You squeezed your eyes closed and tried to collect your thoughts. How could you have the audacity to cry, in the first place? After you stopped being her friend to focus on your professional career, you hardly had the right to grieve. Truthfully, you could hardly recall her surname. Was it Langston? No—Langford.

Even if you did grow apart, it was still beyond difficult to be in the same room as a decaying corpse. There was only nothingness behind her eyes but they continued to watch you, unable to move elsewhere. They reprimanded you and forced you to mull over whether or not you could have helped prevent her death.

You reluctantly closed her eyes for her, sighing when she looked more like a sleeping figure, rather than a decaying corpse.

In search of help, you noticed a candlestick telephone on Amélie’s nightstand. The roommates must have allowed her to keep it in her room for the duration of her illness, in the event she needed a doctor. The receiver was off its hook, motionless as it hung next to the nightstand. The knot in your stomach only clenched harder at the thought of Amélie being in a medical emergency and reaching for the telephone, only to die before the call could go through. Medical emergency. Could she have been poisoned? You didn’t believe in coincidences enough to think that Amélie’s illness was an instance of accidental food poisoning. Not after Ciel’s warning.

Hesitantly, you held the receiver to your ear and used your free hand to dial the number you memorized. There was an ebbing doubt in the back of your mind that no one would pick up. It was nearly midnight, after all. The Earl had to have retired for the night already.

Despite the time, there was a confirmative click that indicated that someone answered the call.

“Is-is someone there? I need to speak with Ciel Phantomhive. My— I… it’s Y/n Y/l/n. Please, I need to speak to him,” you managed to keep your words steady until you finished your piece — your voice weak and nasally from crying — but you burst into a fresh sob afterwards.

Lord Phantomhive, the corrective thought surfaced briefly. What difference did it make? You found a dead body. A corpse. A corpse that you very well could end up like, if this killer continued.

“Lord Phantomhive.” A serious, yet drowsy voice chastised once you managed to control your crying, minimizing it to staccato inhales through your mouth. Your crying clogged your nose too much. “What is it, Y/n?” he asked boredly, as if you would be calling for a trivial issue in the middle of the night.

“My-my friend is dead,” you glanced back over your shoulder to look at Amélie as if you were confirming that she was truly gone. There was a throb of guilt in your heart when you referred to her as your friend. “I just found her, and I don’t know who, or if someone killed her, or if there was an accident, but…I—” you rambled, explaining all of the events of the night. Ciel listened silently, and there was a soft rustling over the line as he wrote down the townhouse’s address.

“We will be right there. Do not call the Yard, and do not touch the body. Stay there, Y/n. Do you understand me?” Ciel asked sternly. You could hear his scowl over the telephone, it was a look so distinguishable that you could paint it in your mind with only a few words.

“I said: do you understand me? I need you to answer the question and stop blubbering.”

“I… yes. I understand, but— please do not end the c—” you started to beg, despite yourself.

“Good. Stay put.” The line died.

While you waited, you opted to sit on Amélie’s fire escape and light a cigar. After checking for an even light at the cigar’s foot, you took a long drag of it. The familiar feeling of smoke filling your mouth caused your eyes to flutter shut, comforted by the bitter taste on your tongue. Your head pounded from the stress that finding her body put on it.

You removed the cigar from your mouth and drew the smoke into your mouth. Watching it flow out of your mouth and into the dark atmosphere in front of you was almost as therapeutic as a standing ovation.

Amélie was dead. You were the same age as she was. You grew up together, mastering your pirouettes in the same classes and having your first kisses at fourteen. You let her become a minor character in your life because you felt that the only person there was room for in your life was yourself. If you cared more, you would have checked on her days ago, and she might have been alive. You could have helped her.

Or if you accepted Ciel’s offer, you might have been able to help stop the murders with Janet. Why did you refuse so vehemently? The guilt gnawed at your conscience like a rabid, starving dog.

You watched another lungful of smoke billow out into the night sky.

If, if, if….

“It is unladylike to smoke,” Ciel’s disdainful voice said. It came from behind you, causing your head to jerk back in a panic. In your surprise, you dropped your cigar, forcing you to crush it under your heel. What a waste of a good cigar. He arrived sooner than you thought he would— only a handful of minutes passed since you perched on the outdoor stairway.

“There are more important matters to concern ourselves with, are there not?” You smarted, rubbing any fresh tears from your eyes. You weren’t aware you were still crying, but your body indicated that for you now that you were back to your senses, forcibly removed from your thoughts.

“I suppose,” Ciel replied flatly, too calm, too bored for someone summoned to a crime scene. He took a glance over his shoulder, checking in with his butler in a wordless exchange. His head tilted down in a subtle nod. “We have everything we need from the scene. The Yard will be here promptly and I would like to make my leave before that happens.” He said the police force’s name like a curse.

“Everything you need?” You questioned, shifting on the stair before pulling yourself to your feet. Having to crane your head upwards at him was too awkward, and even with the gesture you could barely see him. Save from the bedroom behind Ciel, it was almost completely dark outside. You could hardly see the Earl’s face.

“Yes,” his gaze followed your body, analyzing the graceful way you carried yourself, even when you were distraught. It was instilled into you, worked into your muscles like forged steel.

“Are you able to get yourself home?” Ciel asked, an uncharacteristic gesture of empathy. He opened the door and let himself in, leaving a hand on it to make room for you behind him. “Or at the very least, someone we may call for you?”

Your first instinct was to ask him to call Natasha, but he doubted he would comply, given his clear contempt for your director. She was the only person you trusted. You had systematically removed everyone else from your life to focus on your career.

That didn’t make you selfish; it made you smart. If you were a poor friend for the sake of your career, that was perfectly—

The face of Amélie’s corpse flashed into your mind as you stepped back inside her room. The butler covered her for the time being, but that didn’t stop your guilt from continuing to eat at you. It was painful and terse, too real for you to ignore.

“No, there is not.” You took a trembling inhale, coming to terms with why you felt this guilt.

You were selfish, to a degree. Ciel was not entirely wrong in his assessment of you, a vain person who had and only expected to rely on herself. You were self-made down to your core. No one perfected your dancing for you; no one moved you from France; no one handled your suitors for you.

“Then I suppose…you may join us in the carriage. If you would like,” Ciel said, noticing your look of confusion. He didn’t care for your well-being; you were a commoner. Why pretend to? “It is unsafe for a lady to travel alone at this hour.” He hurriedly explained, causing you to nod your understanding. It was past midnight, after all.

Before you could respond, Ciel’s butler returned to the bedroom, briefly sizing you up before addressing his master. “My Lord, I was able to confirm that the young woman was indeed poisoned. Dimethylmercury,” he pronounced the chemical’s name perfectly and without a hint of hesitation. “It is a strong neurotoxin, a colorless liquid and easily absorbed through the skin.”

The Earl’s lips pulled into a grim line, but he didn’t seem surprised. That secured the incident as a murder. And your fault, directly.

“Did she suffer?” You asked before you could stop yourself. You doubted you wanted to know the answer.

“Miss Y/l/n, this particular poison attacks the body’s central nervous system, but it is incredibly slow acting. Your friend was likely infected weeks ago, and only recently started feeling the symptoms…blindness, difficulty hearing, paresthesias, dysarthria….” Sebastian explained, his handsome features creasing into an expression close to pity. He made a pointed effort not to directly answer your question, but it was safe to assume that the short answer to was yes, she suffered immensely.

You couldn’t imagine losing your sight and your hearing gradually over the span of a few weeks, much less any of the other symptoms Sebastian named. You didn’t know what they were— you weren’t a doctor — but you imagined they were just as horrifying.

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at the sheet that covered Amélie once more. You thought of the guilt pooling in your stomach, crushing your heart, and crowding your mind.

The back of your dominant hand aggressively wiped the tears away.

It wasn’t too late to be a decent friend. To join the investigation and take down the bastard who brutally killed her and so many other company members. A new m fire burned bright in your heart— not a desire to find out what happened to other missing dancers — a need.

Their families deserved the truth. Your surviving colleagues deserved to be vigilant. The victims deserved justice. Amélie deserved some friendship from you. You owed her this.

“Ciel,” you said quietly, taking stabilizing breaths. For a moment, you squeezed your bloodshot eyes closed, giving yourself the courage you needed to say the next few words. On either side of you, your fingers clenched and unclenched with uncertainty, and with a new vehemence you struggled to express. You swallowed with difficulty.

“How may I be of use to your investigation?”

In his surprise, the Earl didn’t even correct the way you addressed him. Instead, his exposed eye widened, replacing the stoic expression that his elegant features normally settled into.

The Next Morning

The Phantomhive Estate’s Dining Table

There was an impressive spread laid out on the table in front of you— more food than you had ever seen in one place. Potentially, more food than you consumed in a week. Even so, you convinced yourself you were full after scooping out a few spoonfuls of sliced strawberries and a half a croissant. You hated yourself for the croissant, and then you hated yourself for focusing on your diet when you needed to listen to what Ciel was saying.

You are not hungry, Y/n. That pastry was plenty, Natasha would tell you. Then, she would suggest you practice for an extra half hour to make up for it. You made a mental note to do so after Sebastian brought you back to your home.

“I need you to be discreet. I want to find patterns: which ballerinas are getting killed, who are their patrons?” He explained, putting a generous smear of butter over his croissant. You tried your best not to cringe at the addition, more than aware of how much butter was used to bake the pastry to begin with, and how much fat Ciel was adding to an already fattening delicacy.

You took a short sip out of your café serré, comforted by its familiar bitterness. For a British man, Sebastian made the drink rather well.

“At this point, we are assuming all missing ballerinas are dead, yes?” Your voice wavered at the question, because it would indicate that ten company members have been murdered at this point. It made you sick, a feeling that you nearly embraced for two reasons: keeping yourself from eating the other half of your croissant, and to punish yourself. That number could have been nine if you agreed to help sooner.

But logically, you knew that wasn’t true, either. Sebastian distinctly said that Amélie was poisoned weeks ago— before Ciel approached you. Before you turned him down. There was nothing you could have done, besides be there for her…

You didn’t do that, either.

“Yes. This killer does not hesitate, clearly,” Ciel replied, unsure of how to comfort your crestfallen expression. He settled on ignoring the look. “You need to keep a close eye on all of the ensemble. Gauge their relationships with their subscribers, with your director, and if anyone misses so much as a practice, tell me no matter what she tells you.”

“Rehearsal,” you corrected automatically, causing Ciel to scoff. You knew what he was thinking— if you couldn’t deign to address him correctly, why should he employ accurate terms for your profession? You could tell him why.

“If you are going to be my patron, you should be aware that we call our Nutcracker practices rehearsals,” you reminded him. Ciel had suggested he continue posing as your only subscriber in an effort to both keep you safe (if a particular patron was the killer) and keep Natasha from growing suspicious— though you doubted she was. All Natasha was concerned with was maintaining the company’s perfection. You had never met anyone so unaware of any insidious agenda because she, like you, had no room for anything else in her life. Not even her marriage.

“Minute details such as that are irrelevant. No one will question us,” he answered without missing a beat, the double meaning in his words as clear as day. ‘No one will question me.’

No, of course not. Who would question the Lord Ciel Phantomhive? A God amongst men? You thought you kept the words to yourself, until you noticed the sour look the Earl was sending you from across the table. Uncertain, you tilted your head, biting back a sarcastic smile. You tried to purse your lips into neutrality.

“Pardon me?” Ciel asked, raising a disdainful eyebrow. “You should understand that we are not courting. Whether or not I refer to your dancing as practice or a rehearsal is entirely irrelevant,” he insisted, more offended than he was willing to express because it goaded you. However, making a mockery of his title made you feel more like yourself. A bit lighter after what you endured last night.

“I still think you should have a basic understanding of the arts, Ciel,” you shrugged dismissively.

“You must refer to me as Lord Phantomhive!” Ciel snapped, raising his voice for the first time that morning. You assumed he was attempting to be patient with you because you had finally agreed to fulfill his intended role for you. “You are a commoner. We are not friends. We are—”

“On a first name basis,” you interrupted, raising your voice to effectively cut off his tirade. “If we are investigating these murders together, we are doing so as equals. I will not stand for being degraded when you came to me, asking for my help!” You retorted, exasperated. You both held steely eye contact, both unwilling to back down.

“I am the Queen’s Guard Dog. I am no one’s equal, save for the monarchy itself,” came his predictably insufferable reply.

“What you are, is one of the most arrogant men I have ever had the misfortune of meeting!” you exclaimed. This investigation was going to take several years off of your life, truly. Perhaps, you’d be seeing Amélie sooner than you expected— and for reasons unrelated to her killer. “You need to think about your priorities, Guard Dog,” you ordered.

“Now, I am looking forward to our partnership. Thank you for the meal, I will show myself out.” You added rapidly, standing from your chair and pushing it back in with a vengeance that nearly tipped it over.

“Report back to me every other night!” He yelled at your back as you left the dining room, smiling wanly at his servants. The three of them made a weak effort to appear busy, as if they hadn’t been listening in on your conversation for the past half hour. You wished them a good day before replying to their master, shouting your reply over your shoulder.

“Fine!” You’d see what the next two days had in store for you and for once, do as told.

For Amélie.

#black butler fanfic #anime fanfiction #historical fiction #historical romance #ciel phantomhive x reader #sebastian michaelis #ciel phantomhive #black butler fanfiction #straight laced #ciel phantomhive x you #ciel x you #kuroshitsuji #black butler x you #black butler x y/n #black butler x reader #ciel x y/n #ciel phantomhive x y/n

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 years ago

Text

ego, m | jjk, myg

pairing(s): jungkook x reader, very brief mentions of yoongi x reader

summary: On the cusp of death (read: hangover), someone recounts the events of last night to you. It sounds serious, but it's not. All you did was fuck Jeon Jungkook on Min Yoongi's bed. Wait, you did WHAT?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; no explicit smut, just descriptions of questionable... acts; heavy alcohol consumption; (adult) crack; possibly? friends-to-lovers

I thought about not posting this bc it's only comedic depravity but it made me laugh so I figured maybe someone else might laugh too XD

“I… regret living.”

“Oh, good. You’re awake.”

Light? Horrible. Sound? Distorted. Ow. Pain? Composed a thousand scorpions repeatedly stabbing you in the head or at least the fucking felt like that. And were your sleep paralysis demons holding you down or were you really so tired that you could barely move? Oh. No, it was just someone laying on top of you. A wave of oh fuck shimmered through your internal organs.

“I’m gonna throw up,” you wheezed.

“You better fucking not, because this is my bed,” the familiar raspy voice scolded you. “Also, need I remind you that you hate throwing up.”

Couldn’t argue with that. You fought back the tumultuous wave with several shaky breaths. A straw poked you on the lips. Ow.

“Drink.”

You drank.

What was the liquid? Only the gods knew. Maybe the demons too. You drank without question despite common sense shaking its head at you. Crawling back from death wasn’t easy, okay? The struggle was real. You felt a hand slip under the back of your head and lift it. Oh, very helpful. Long fingers, graceful touch, firm pressure. Familiar. Huh. Raspy voice.

Min Yoongi.

You almost spat, but your blurry vision suddenly cleared to slim pale face and pointed dark brown eyes fiercely glaring, daring you to do something so rude. You did not, perhaps out of sheer fear and shock. Such emotions did wonders (and fuck-ups) to the body. Yoongi sat back up, tossing his head to swish back his long black hair, and placed the glass of misty water on his nightstand, next to the torn-open foil packets. Oh, how nice of him. Hangover meds.

Next to a pile of condoms.

Your eyes widened.

Unopened.

You mistakenly relaxed.

“You fucked Jeon Jungkook on my bed last night.”

Your eyes went full dinner-plates.

Massive-peepers mode.

You choked on nothing but your own shame, which happened to be a whole lot all of sudden.

“WHAT?”

“Actually, fucked is a strong word for what transpired,” Yoongi remarked coolly, looking disturbingly handsome with his messy bedhead, loose black t-shirt, and matching cotton pajama pants. Disturbing because it felt like he was about to describe something deranged. “Got naked and rolled around in the sheets like caught fish, complete with increasing, inexplicable wetness as more time transpired.”

You couldn’t compute anything since your head felt like it was being hammered into an anvil similar to those old-school cartoons, but you could feel the inexplicable urge to, ahem, fuckin’ yeet yourself from this situation. You tried to flail about in attempt to run except Yoongi’s legs were on top of your hips, pinning you in place. While he may look like a scrawny guy, he was not. Tal and slender, yes. Physically weak? Surprisingly not. Also, he reached over and pressed the top of the blanket to your naked chest.

To.

Your.

NAKED?!!

Chest.

Your nipples, for some idiotic reason, were hard and rubbing against his soft duvet – they absolutely did not understand timing. You grimaced and fell back, trying to fuse with the pile of pillows as Yoongi calmly let go and continued with mortifying you in the most deadpan voice possible.

“I believe various body parts went into various holes and then I had to intervene with the condoms, but thankfully – or not thankfully depending on how you look at it – I don’t think either of you noticed that he was unable to finish considering you were both black-out drunk. What you don’t know can’t disappoint you.”

???

“Y… You just told me…?” you croaked.

Yoongi hummed. “I assumed you would want to know why you’re naked and half-dead on my bed without Jeon Jungkook. Although, you are right. Maybe I should have asked if you wanted to know that you smacked him down spread-eagle on and proceeded to lick him all over like a starving dog with their empty food bowl.”

…

You had never thought you would welcome Death, but you welcomed him now. Like, right now. Death, please grant me a heart attack so I don’t have to listen to Min Yoongi describing what he witnessed with visceral detail. Please. PLEASE. You did not die. You felt like you were dying, but you did not die, because of course you wouldn’t. That would free you from–

“Then he proceeded to jack off onto your face, missed, got it in your hair and forehead, then he licked it off and you sucked it out of his mouth. Oh, I guess that means he definitely orgasmed.”

You passed away.

Not actually.

That would be too merciful.

“Y… Yoongi,” you coughed. “Why the fuck were you here?”

“Excuse me?” Raised eyebrow, unamused expression. “This is my bedroom. I’m the one allowed to be here.”

Fair point.

“And you told me to keep an eye on you since this was your first time seriously drinking.”

“K… Keep an eye… means not letting me fuck Jeon Jungkook on your bed!” Instant pain. Oh, shit, too much emotion. Your neck jerked erratically and you groaned, sipping once again as Yoongi and the glass of bliss reappeared.

“Oh,” Yoongi tutted.

Oh.

OH?!?!

You sipped and decided this was the moment. This was the end. You had lived enough life. Curiosity killed the cat after all, and being someone who never drank, you had become too curious about how you would act when drunk. Why not? Live fast, die young, right? You could only be young and dumb once (actually, no, the latter multiple times if you were shameless enough). But you figured this kind of decision was much better to do as your own personal experiment rather than in an environment being pressured by others. No party. Just you, Min Yoongi, and bottles.

Annnd his roommate in the background.

Kim Seokjin. Nice dude. Very tall. Loved games more than most people, probably (valid). Surprisingly chill in a one-on-one conversation (did that mean you were even more energetic than he was?). Worldwide handsome (everyone said so and you accepted that kind of peer pressure). Yeah, go ahead. Use the kitchen. Oh, but that night he was going to invite a couple friends over to eat pizza and play games. Sure, sure. No big deal. Just five other guys besides Seokjin, chilling in the living room and having fun playing Just Dance. All the best vibes. They would come into the kitchen and offer their two cents about your alcohol adventure before going back to the group. Everyone had been mindful and respectful.

You stared into Min Yoongi’s eyes.

He stared back, emotionless.

One might ask, why implore Yoongi for assistance? Because he knew about alcohol and he was only interested in the good stuff. You can get drunk like trash or you can get drunk like royalty. That was a way to look at it, yeah. You could get behind that. You were also very sure that Yoongi would not take advantage. If he wanted to fuck, he would say so to your sober, unhinged self. Not to your drunk, extra unhinged self. It had happened before.

What?

Anyway.

Yoongi removed the straw from your lips and placed the empty glass onto the nightstand. Then he heaved up a large jug of water from the floor and refilled the glass as he calmly asked his question. You stared at him, impressed by this display of power that would not have impressed you if you were less hung over, but any feat of strength was amazing to your swirly brain right now.

“Haven’t you been making googly eyes at Jeon Jungkook or am I mistaken?”

Jeon Jungkook? Yes, of course, he was there. Unlike the others, he got distracted by the bottles and the education presented by alcohol professor Min Yoongi, who had been wearing his black, half-rimmed glasses, of course. Education required him to look the part (not really, Yoongi had been feeling lazy). One moment, you were listening intently and then suddenly you found curious, bright-eyed cuteness sitting next to you and sipping from your cup as you tasted the various poisons. He was not your focus, so you let him do whatever. This was not because you did not think tattooed, pierced, mole-kissed Jeon Jungkook was not hot. Quite the opposite, actually.

You were simply focused on the mission and that mission was a baaaaaaad decision.

Also, Yoongi would become annoyed if you stopped paying attention to him since he was doing you a favor. He would rap you with his knuckles for losing concentration. Jungkook bounced in his seat next to you as you pointed to one of the glasses.

“I like this one.”

“I would not take another sip of that scotch if I were you.”

“You’re not my dad, Yoongi. And you’re not me, because then you would know that telling me I can’t do something is gonna make me want to do it more,” you huffed, taking the small glass and drinking the rest of the dark-colored liquid. You did not wince, because there was something nice about pain and because you had an ego.

Hah.

Yoongi had handed you water. “Didn’t say you couldn’t. Just said I wouldn’t.”

“Wow, that was so cool. Let me try some!”

You were already pouring Jungkook some while verbally prodding at Yoongi some more. “Oh, yeah? Why not, huh? Scared?” So arrogant. For who? Literally nobody but you. You didn’t care what Yoongi thought and you barely registered Jungkook next to you. You were too busy being fiercely possessed by this new fragile power. Your vision was gaining fuzzy edges, foreshadowing what was to come.

Yoongi had only smiled.

“You’ll see.”

You’ll see.

Joke was on Yoongi. You didn’t end up seeing or remembering jack shit.

“I do not make googly eyes at Jeon Jungkook,” you retorted, feeling your blood violently pump into your skull in your attempt to hold your head up to glare at Yoongi. Sheer willpower was keeping you alive. “I just think he has a–”

Yoongi immediately interjected.

“Nice, big, thick…”

Dramatic pause.

“Personality?”

You narrowed your eyes. Actually, that helped the pounding. Less light attacked your retinas this way.

“I think I hate you.”

And here Yoongi went on again with his feline indifference. “I’ll give you a couple more details and then you can make a more informed decision.”

You closed your eyes and groaned. In pain. Both physical and metaphorical.

“I don’t wanna know–”

Number of fucks given? Zero. “So, after taking all those shots and Jungkook trying to two-up you.” Chill? Yoongi had none. “I decide that’s enough and start putting the alcohol away, leaving the two of you to giggle at the kitchen island and compliment each other’s eyes.” He made a disgruntled, scrunched-up face. “Disgusting.”

You gagged and it wasn’t because you were nauseous. Well, you were, but not bodily. At this point anyway. You kept your eyes closed. He’s not speaking. I do not see it. If I do not see it, it’s not real. You kept telling yourself that. It wasn’t helping.

“Stop,” you grunted.

Yoongi did not stop. Didn’t his parents and the internet teach him about consent? “I turn around and you’re climbing his body like he’s a fuckin’ pillar of our nation while he faceplants himself into your tits,” he continued, completely monotone as if this was a calculus lecture and not the story of how you and Jeon Jungkook ended up drunkenly rolling about in Min Yoongi’s sheets. “It was when the clothes started coming off that I figured I should speak up and remind you the kitchen island is for a different kind of eating.”

You didn’t even bother to open your eyes but you were very sure he was staring accusingly at you, but what you didn’t see didn’t exist, or at least that was what fellow idiots liked to say. “You should have pried me off him,” you muttered.

“I distinctly remember you telling me, quote, you’re not my dad.”

Yoongi was definitely not, otherwise you would not have said yes to that time when he asked sober, unhinged you if you wanted to fuck.

What?

Anyway.

“Also,” he added, about to say something that was probably very unnecessary. “I knew it was time to leave the kitchen when you told me to hold your wrists so Jungkook could take off your panties. I politely declined, stating that if hyung walked in right then, he would literally die of a heart attack and I need him to help pay rent.” Yup, not necessary information. Glad he had no interest in killing Kim Seokjin though. Seokjin was a very sweet man. “So, I told you that unless you want to pick up the slack, you’ll have to go somewhere else to boink. Where did you go?”

Oh, God.

“Yes, upstairs to hyung’s room. And yes, you do owe me big time dragging you out of there and shoving you two in here instead.”

That would have been… very uncomfortable. And many things would need to be replaced in the aftermath. Kim Seokjin’s room was full of expensive figurines and limited-edition items. That would have been expensive. At least Yoongi had seen you naked already. Plus, there was some story about Yoongi wearing Jungkook’s (clean) underwear a couple years ago. There must be some closeness between them as friends.

You opened your eyes blearily, seeing Yoongi’s relaxed form sitting at the end of the bed, holding the straw out of the way as he drank water from the glass.

“T… Thanks…”

He glanced at you. Dark brown eyes shrouded by black strands and dark circles. Upper lip ever so slightly upturned in disapproval but overall expression general feline indifference.

Very Yoongi.

“The weird bit was when you and Jungkook told me to stand at the end of the bed while he railed you from behind.”

You closed your eyes again.

“Made me think I should fuck you in front of a mirror, ‘cause apparently you’re a freak.”

“Not as much of a freak as you for watching,” you retorted.

“And let you two puke on each other instead?”

Touché.

“I like my mattress, so, no, thank you.”

What was suffering but listening to Yoongi’s reasonable logic? Sigh. Your face scrunched. Hold on. Something wasn’t adding up. You were here, in Yoongi’s bedroom, listening to him recounting the events of last night while living in a half-life, a cursed life (maybe if you called the hangover that, it would be more bearable) and yet there was a clear space next to you that was completely and utterly empty. You frowned. Opened your eyes, discarding all previous annoyance you had towards Yoongi, snapping your head towards him. His gaze immediately shifted. Locked with yours. Strands of black framing his face, intense and serious.

Electric silence.

“Did… did Jeon Jungkook just fuck me and leave?!”

You might have yelled, but your body was not allowing that bullshit right now. You ended up very sternly wheezing. Nice!

Yoongi tilted his head. “Oh, no. He slept next to you all night. He woke up before you, right there.” He reached over and patted the area right next to you. “Holding your tits and everything.”

This was starting to sound suspicious.

“And I was here.” The Devil, er, rather, Min Yoongi, motioned to the other side of your body, looking peeved. “Barely slept myself with the weird ass noises you two were making. Apparently, you snore when drunk. Impressive lung capacity. Anyway, I had to make sure nobody choked on their vomit while asleep. You should thank me.”

You did not.

You just made another displeased huff.

Yoongi kept talking as if he expected this response. “Jungkook woke up, looked right at me. Looked at you.” He spoke calmly and deliberately, on purpose. Ass. “Then, he ran.” Yoongi thoughtfully chewed on the side of his lip. “His face was pretty red,” he added.

You closed your eyes again. I do not see. “I should have woken up…”

“You were dead and required more resurrection technique than he did. Possible that he wasn’t as drunk as you were and remembered more of what happened. I doubt he got far though, because the second he left the room, he yelped, I heard a crash, and then Hoseok started yelling, so I got up and closed the door.”

You half-laughed and your brain hurt. Guess Jung Hoseok must have stayed over. Great. Another person who knew what happened between you and Jungkook. Awesome. “Why didn’t you help him?”

Yoongi’s reply was, once again, logical.

“You’d be worse off without me.”

A moment of silence.

Mostly for your dignity.

Okay, okay, enough about that.

“Yoongi, I’m… dying.”

“You should eat. I can make you some kimchi fried rice. Or pan-fried tteokbokki. That would probably be good.”

You almost sat up, but then you remembered you were naked. Oop. Also getting up was a bit of a feat without intense emotion. At this point, Yoongi had already gotten up to fetch his slippers while you hobbled and clawed your way up from the mattress like a horror movie creature, all while hugging his blankets to your body.

“Where… are my clothes?”

“On the chair. I washed them.”

You felt a little sick and not because you were hung over. “Oh shit, did I puke on myself? In front of you and Jungkook. Shit. I’m so fucking sorry–”

“No. I just thought you might want some clean clothes.”

“… Oh.”

“Also, we don’t stock panties in this household, so the only way you can get clean ones is to do laundry.”

Haaaah…

“… Don’t say it.”

Yoongi kept his back turned as you wormed your way over to the chair of neatly folded clothes. “Say what?” Very calm. Too calm.

“You know what.”

“That your panties were filthy and soaked?”

A muscle above your eye twitched.

“I don’t hate you. I loathe you.”

“It seems that Jungkook had an intense effect on you.” Deadpan, monotone. Yoongi might as well have been discussing how to find the area beneath a function. Except he wasn’t talking about math. He was being an asshat.

“Loathe entirely,” you hissed, yanking on your clothes.

“Oh, hey! You stayed over? How are you? You look rested. Oh, hyung, I have to leave now. I have rehearsals, but I ordered some food that’s on its way right now. Kimchi fried rice and potato soup. Seokjin-hyung’s absolutely dead in his room, so I wouldn’t bother him. He’s getting old, haha!”

Jung Hoseok’s kilowatt, heart-shaped smile shone brighter than most people’s futures. Probably including yours. You had to squint and mumble some kind of response as you attempted endure the embodiment of the living sun that was this golden, tan, bouncy morning person. Could not relate, especially right now. Thankfully Yoongi was doing the talking and thanking. What would you do without him? Not be drunk and be blissfully asleep at home.

Well.

It wasn’t Yoongi’s fault you got drunk.

That was your fault.

No, it’s my ego’s fault!

(No, it was definitely your fault.)

Fuck.

You formed a wobbly thumbs-up to Hoseok as he patted your head and laughed, telling you that you were cute, which was very nice of him but you did not believe it considering that you felt like a sack of potatoes thrown down seventy flights of stairs, but. You know. Hoseok was a nice guy. He would never tell you that you did not look cute out of the goodness of his heart.

You gave him another weak-ass thumbs-up as Hoseok waved from the front door and bounded off into the sunshine.

“How does he do it?” you sighed in awe.

“No idea,” Yoongi hummed, nodding. “He–”

Both of you heard a noise. It sounded like someone colliding with kitchen cabinets. Instead of being startled, both you and Yoongi scurried towards the noise, which very much explained why people died or horror movies – or survived, depending on what you both did upon entering the kitchen and assessing the situation.

Thankfully, the ghost was not a ghost.

“Jungkook?”

The young man leaning over the white kitchen sink had long, wavy black hair, a strong jawline, and plushy cheeks. Cute visible moles on the bridge of his nose, cheek, and under his lower lip. Skin that was usually a light tan but currently a sickly shade of pale green. He was wearing blue cotton long pajamas with tiny adorable angels printed all over them. The shirt was halfway unbuttoned as he held it open and leaned over the sink. The man lifted his head as you said his name. Big dark chocolatey peepers, startled at the intrusion.

Jeon Jungkook croaked something like your name.

Then, he threw up into the sink.

“Ugh, geez, not in front of the lady,” Yoongi chastised, saying the word lady as if it was a very loose label for your current state. Although you were not pleased, you could not protest the truth. “Here let me get you some water and a toothbrush, hah…”

You looked away out of politeness and also because you didn’t want to vomit yourself. Strangely, you felt alright despite definitely not being as fit as Jungkook. Hm, maybe Yoongi had done a good job of taking care of you physically (not mentally, that butthead). You did need to go to the bathroom though after all that hydration. You decided to give Yoongi and Jungkook some privacy as you crab-walked to the downstairs bathroom and emptied your bladder.

You checked the three hairs on your wrist as at least a solid minute went by.

Apparently, your bladder contained a whole goddamn sea, holy fuck.

Anyway, after finishing your business and washing your hands, you left the bathroom for the kitchen to be greeted by semi-shirtless Jungkook sitting at the kitchen island with a big glass of misty water, looking less green and twice as embarrassed. You decided it was time to be the mature one and plopped yourself beside him, patting his back soothingly.

Oh, yeah, and Yoongi was there.

This ain’t about him.

“Hey, you alright? Feel better after barfing?” you quipped.

O-Oh. Word choice there was a little questionable.

Jungkook winced. “Ahahaha… y-yeah…”

You rubbed his back some more. “There, there. I heard food was coming. You’ll feel much better after eating.” You ruffled his black hair. It was nice and soft. He must have showered. “These are Kim Seokjin’s pajamas, right? You didn’t want to get vomit on them, huh? Keke, you’re so considerate, Jungkook. That’s good.” You were talking too much. You were making this awkward. You heard the sizzling of pan-fried tteokbokki. Those big brown eyes were looking everywhere but you. Your mouth was frozen in a politician’s PR smile and you were still rubbing his neck. Jungkook was not stopping you. He was not moving away. His mouth was open. It seemed like he was attempting to form words.

Suddenly, Yoongi appeared with a spatula and spoke directly to you.

“Unlike you, Jungkook remembers everything.”

He disappeared again.

Your hand stopped moving.

Eh?

Birds chirped outside.

Jungkook fixated on a blank spot in the ceiling and didn’t make a peep.

“EHHH?!”

Most people would fling themselves away from the moment but, for some irrational reason, you grabbed Jungkook’s cheeks and shoved his face into your face, shaking his noggin like dehydrated islander checking a fallen coconut.

“You what?”

After his eyeballs stopped rolling in his skull, Jungkook wheezed and slumped in your hands, pulling a long face and puppy expression.

“I… I guess that’s how it is sometimes…”

Well, he was more fit than you. There was probably some difference between the way his body processed alcohol and the way your body processed alcohol. This was your first time. Your body wasn’t used to you willingly poisoning it. Ah, so it made sense. And, oh, what a strange shivery feeling creeping up your legs and back as you held Jungkook’s face. Your fingers fanned his cheeks, smushing them a little, and he was looking back at you, awe and wonderment as if you were different in the light, hey, maybe you didn’t look so bad after all, and then it hit you.

You blinked.

Rapidly.

“Jungkook.”

“Eh?”

“You remember what we did in Yoongi’s room?”

A moment of silence for Jungkook’s dignity.

“A… Ah. Y-Yeah… kinda…? I couldn’t really control myself… b-because I… you… I l-like you…”

You were hearing the sounds he was making but all you could think about was Yoongi saying you pinned Jungkook down and licked him all over like a starving dog. Oh, shit. You slowly let go of his face, feeling the blood drain from your own. Jungkook’s normally strong voice was getting smaller and smaller, until there was no noise at all.

“U… Uh,” you squeaked. “I… I didn’t lick you… right?”

Emotions flashed in his eyes. Apprehension. Confusion. Recognition. Pupils dilating. Definitely knew exactly what you were talking about. Saw the horror in your stricken face. Immediate denial of any recollection in attempt to save your dignity.

“N… No! Did you? N-No, I don’t think, uh, well, I don’t remember such a thing, ahah–”

There was a clatter of a heavily loaded plate and a sudden pointed glare of feline indifference appearing between your and Jungkook’s face. Disapproving black-brown orbs looking straight at you. Held your gaze for several long seconds. Turned slowly. You heard Jungkook gulp as Yoongi made deliberate eye contact with the younger man for even longer, even more excruciating seconds.

Then Yoongi slowly retreated and held up two pairs of chopsticks.

“Eat.”

You sat there and ate pan-fried tteokbokki with Jeon Jungkook as Min Yoongi stared you both down from the other side of the kitchen island, wearing a simple black apron and his glasses.

You leaned closer to Jungkook.

“Why is he staring like that?”

Jungkook mumbled under his breath.

“I don’t know. Keep eating.”

You kept eating. It was spicy, hot, and delicious. It was not a very big plate. It was gone in an instant with Jungkook’s ravenous speed and efficiency. He did make sure you had an ample amount though. The doorbell rang.

Yoongi marched away.

You let out a relieved breath and rested your head against Jungkook’s broad shoulder. “Whew. Why did that feel so stressful?”

“I dunno,” he mumbled beside you, drinking from his glass. “Maybe hyung is mad at me for, uh…”

You waved a hand. “Nah. You would be dead already if Yoongi was mad at you. He strikes when you’re weak.” You spoke from the personal experience you had less than twenty minutes ago. “Besides, it’s just sex, it’s not like you like me or anythin–”

Your mouth froze mid-sentence.

The birds outside chittered even louder.

There was a long whistle of echoey wind against the building.

“Y… You already said you liked me earlier,” you hollowly recalled.

Jungkook cleared his throat awkwardly. “U-Uh, yeah. Like you. Not liked.”

This was the moment that you decided not to overdrink again. Not because you regretted having sex with Jungkook. Absolutely not. Even with Yoongi making you look like an idiot (you were who you were, you could accept that). No, the reason you decided better not do that again was because of the next couple minutes. More sober, you could have handled this with a little more finesse.

Oh, how you would look back at these next few minutes and cringe.

“Ah… r-right. Me too. Like you.”

Am I malfunctioning?

“Me like you,” you stuttered out, suddenly an idiot.

“Maybe we should, um… let us move in a more natural direction,” Jungkook offered, ignoring your shitty grammar. Probably didn’t even notice. He scooted his seat closer, holding you up more. You snuck a glance. He was bright red from neck to forehead. “Eat and rest and…”

“Fuck?”

Both of you yelped and clung onto each other as Yoongi showed up with two big bags of fried rice and soup.

“Seems reasonable. I’ll join in this time since you’ll both be sober.”

“What?” you choked as Jungkook grumbled under his breath, “You should have joined in yesterday, hyung. I thought you were going to help me. I was so nervous.”

Eh.

Ehhh?

EHHHHHHH????

The other male held up his hands after placing the two bags on the counter. “Sorry, one of us has to be responsible. You were both drunk. I was fine with watching you two flop all over each other. Soup or fried rice? Ah, we should have the soup since hyung can’t have any.”

“I hate you, Yoongi.”

He did not seem the least bit bothered by your untruthful announcement. “Uh huh, sure, after I did all that work reviving you so you wouldn’t throw up in the sink that the young one here.”

“Hey!”

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #yoongi x reader #yoonkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook x you #yoongi x you #yoonkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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therhythmafterthesummer · 2 years ago

Text

Safe Haven (M) ~Bang Chan | Epilogue.

Pairing: SpaceRebel!Chan x WitchQueen!F.Reader Themes: Fantasy AU | Sci-Fi AU | Royalty AU | Soulmate AU | Slow Burn | Mutual Pining | Angst | Smut | Fluff. Series Warnings: Third person POV · Very loose and liberal usage of Star Wars concepts (mostly to refer to weapons and tech). you don’t need to know anything about SW to read this, trust me · Physical descriptions of the main female character such as: can visibly blush, having long hair, and being short · Violence · Swearing · Mature themes and language · Original characters · Graphic smut (later chapters) · Mentions of the members of other groups (later chapters) · No one is straight, beware · Each chapter will include its own individual warnings. Chapters marked as M (Mature) either include highly detailed violence, or smut.

Chapter Warnings: mentions of death · mentions of alcohol consumption · graphic depictions of intercourse (smut warnings under the cut). Word Count: ~8k | AO3

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for a 18+ audience only. Minors do not interact. ✰This chapter has been reworked as of 16/08/2023

Previous Chapter: Day 159. | Series Masterlist.

Author’s Note: i’m gonna tear up, i can’t believe this series is fully posted now. this was probably one of my most ambitious projects yet, it started as just an idea and next thing i knew three months had passed and the series was over 100k words long… anyway, if you’ve been reading as i’ve been posting, or if you’ve been reading after it was all posted, thank you ! i hope you enjoyed the ride and i hope you had as much fun as i did with it :) (don’t shy away from dropping in my ask box any comments or curious questions you might have, i love talking about safe haven and its lore lol).

Smut warnings: handjob · nipple play [F.Rec] · fingering [F.Rec] unprotected penetration [piv] · cockwarming · creampie.

Disclaimer: the story presented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

“Chris… Wake up”.

The Queen was frantically trying to wake Chan up, which only made him whine and turn around away from her in his sleep.

“Christopher Chan, wake up!” With a tight grip on his shoulder, she started shaking him, which finally got his attention.

“...What, love?” His words came out slurred, and his voice was groggy with sleep.

The room was still dark, save for the twin moons’ light filtering through the drapes hanging over the windows of their chambers. Her Majesty stood up from the bed. The sudden lack of her warmth next to him shocked Chan’s senses, finally waking him up. “What happened? Are you okay?”

She hastily got herself into a robe, and tied it messily around her waist. “The Frequency’s calling. A baby’s been born into the royal line”.

Her words came down on him like a bucket of cold water, waking him up fully. He flung himself from their bed to get into a robe of his own right as she was darting out the door. Freyja just looked at them from her corner of the room, where she’d been sleeping before the ruckus, looking utterly offended by their interruption.

They ran through the corridors of her wing, although Chan wasn’t really sure where they were running to, he just followed her wherever she went. As they moved, her words sunk into him…

A baby…

Sure, they had discussed babies–adopting one, mostly, if a kid ever needed them. Considering how dire the last biological child of a ruler went, the Queen was adamant on not having children of her own. Which was fine by Chan. Even if he loved kids, he had no real desire to bring a child of his own into this world, he was truly content with his life just as it was.

Regardless, as they had explained it to him, the High King was the one in line to adopt the next ruler that was born into the royal family. Which was information he was glad to have. Had he not known, he would’ve been shitting bricks at this very moment.

They were about to turn left around a corridor when the High King himself suddenly appeared out of it, and Her Majesty crashed into him with a loud ‘Oof’. He was also just wearing a robe, clearly having been woken up in a similar fashion to the Queen. Hoseok was right behind him, also half naked in the middle of the corridor.

Holding the High King’s upper arms tightly, the Queen’s eyes frantically scanned his face, just as her words rushed out of her mouth. “You’re gonna be a dad”.

“I’m gonna be a dad”, he repeated, with wide eyes. His voice was slightly airy. “Holy fucking shit, I’m gonna be a dad. What am I gonna do? I’m a horrible person! I can’t have a child!”

Hoseok was about to say something, but his words died on his tongue with the sudden loud smack that resonated in the corridor. The High King brought a hand to his face, where the Queen had slapped him.

Her Majesty brought her hands back to His Majesty’s shoulders, and gripped him tightly. “Don’t panic. You’re gonna be a great dad. You love kids, you’re responsible, and caring in your own way”.

Wrapping his arms around the High King’s waist, Hoseok pulled His Majesty to him. With his chest flush to his back, Hoseok rested his chin on the High King’s shoulder just as the Queen moved away from them.

“We are going to be dads. You’re not alone, sweetheart”, Hoseok sounded much more confident than His Majesty did. His eyes were glossy and sparkling with love and adoration when he reassured his partner.

“Holy shit, we’re gonna be dads”, an incredulous laugh passed His Majesty’s lips, and he turned around so he could hug Hoseok tightly against him.

Chan felt warm, and his eyes watered slightly at the sight. Draping an arm over the Queen’s shoulders, Chan pulled her to his side and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

“You are gonna be an aunt”, he whispered against her hair.

Her Majesty chuckled, turning in his hold to hug him close by the waist and murmur against his shoulder. “And you are gonna be an uncle”.

Chan and the Queen weren’t married, but they might as well be.

They had discussed it many times in the past, but it was something they just hadn’t done to this day. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to, they just never truly felt the need to.

Everyone already knew they were together–or, at least, Chan hoped everyone knew, considering they’d been very publicly together for four years already. He was even living in the castle, sharing her chambers, and, in a way, filling in the role of Prince Consort for political affairs when needed, even if they hadn’t married yet. Which was extremely amusing to him, since he was still pretty much working as a ship repair engineer with Talboot.

As it turned out, just as the Queen had predicted when they had officially started their relationship all those years ago, Chan was really good at filling in that role. It wasn’t that different from being the leader of a rebel unit, if he were honest.

He had the advantage of having Hoseok there with him. Since he’d gone through the same changes, the man was able to point Chan in the right direction when needed. He wasn’t sure if it was the same in other monarchies, but when it came to his Queen and her brother, it was just so easy to fall into their dynamic, to follow their lead and guidance when needed, that Chan felt no reservations when he started to be more present in their numerous commitments.

“Holy shit, we need to go”, the High King removed himself from Hoseok’s frame, and turned to the Queen. “We can’t go like this, my dear. We should at least get presentable”.

Her Majesty chuckled, shaking her head slightly. “Fine. Let’s meet in thirty minutes here again. It’s gonna be quite the trip… Seems like it’s further north, isn’t it?”

He hummed, and his eyes zeroed in on Chan.

“Channie, you’re coming, right?” The High King’s eyes were pleading, which almost made Chan laugh. He hadn’t really thought if he was supposed to go or not, but the man clearly wanted all the support he could get, and who was Chan to deny him of that?

“Of course I will, Your Majesty”, Chan answered confidently, tightening his hold around the Queen.

The dungeons of the castle were by far the only unwelcoming place within the structure. They were dark, musty, and the air was heavy with magic.

After four years of living surrounded by magic, Chan had somewhat become attuned to it, even when he wasn’t a magic wielder himself. It wasn’t like he could sense magic per se, but he could always feel the Queen’s magic around him, and this place was full of it.

There weren’t many prisoners in the dungeons. In fact, there was only one–the Charmer himself, Ike.

Chan had come here only a handful of times throughout the past four years, and he did it only because he wanted to be there to give some emotional support to the Queen. Every time she talked to the man, it was as if her old wounds opened again, as if she regressed back to her teenage years when he had killed her parents, when he had almost killed her, so Chan couldn’t bear to leave her on her own.

Even if the last thing he wanted was to see the Charmer’s face, he would always ask to go with her. Which was why he was here right now, standing by the dungeon’s entrance, with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the Queen as she walked towards Ike’s cell.

“What do you want?” Her tone was flat, if only a little harsh when she addressed the man.

Ike was sitting on the ground of the cell with his back against the wall. He’d been well fed all these years, but he’d clearly lost a good amount of muscle mass, which left him looking just like a regular dude, if only a bit too thin for someone his height.

As the Queen had explained it to Chan, the bracelets around his wrists, the anklets around his ankles, and the thick choker around his neck negated his magic completely. They made it so he could no longer pull from the moon–nor any other element–to harbour his power, which was probably why he had become so withered.

“Ah, you’re still carrying around your foreign lapdog?” Ike was eyeing Chan with a wicked smile on his lips, almost snickering. “How’s daddy?”

Sometime after he was imprisoned, Ike had learnt about Chan, about his past and the Charmer’s own involvement in it, and since then, the man made it a point to remind Chan and the Queen of what he’d done to Chan’s family any time they were in here.

Chan clenched his teeth, noticing the way the Queen’s hands curled into tight fists by her sides, and, as he looked at her, he didn’t care about the Charmer’s taunts, all he cared about was for her to not let his words affect her. Sure, Her Majesty had finally gotten full control of her powers, so she no longer had random outbursts when provoked, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t actively try to hurt him.

“What do you want?” She asked again, her tone still flat. “I don’t have all day, Ike”.

“So, a baby…” Ike let out a wicked laugh. “Whose will it be? Yours? Or my dear little brother’s?”

The Queen tensed a bit, but her tone didn’t relent. “It’s none of your business. You left, remember? You killed our parents and left. Whatever happens with the royal family, with my family, is not of your concern”.

Ike chuckled. “Oh, but how could I not be curious when the Frequency still reaches me?”

“It only does because you’re here. It doesn’t mean anything”, Her Majesty was tense, but she was speaking with confidence, and Chan felt a great deal of respect towards her for it.

“Maybe you’re right”, he shrugged as his fingers lightly drummed where they rested on his bent knees.

“Is this why you so eagerly asked to talk to me? For family gossip?”

“Yes, family gossip. But not about the royal baby”, Ike took a deep breath. “For the record, I still hate you. I still think you don’t deserve to rule, much less harbour the Shadows–”

“That’s bold of you to say, considering I’m standing here, harbouring the Shadows because they accepted me, because I am them, while you’re sitting in there”.

“–But, all this talk about babies…” Ike disregarded the Queen completely, ignoring her comment altogether. “Made me realise I do have one regret in life…”

Her Majesty tensed, and Chan had the urge to walk closer, but he resisted it, knowing she didn’t want him to be too close to the man in the cell.

Ike scanned the Queen’s face from where he sat, keeping silent for a moment before he finally spoke again. “I laid with a Liralean woman who had migrated to Ursis, and she had a son five years ago. My son. I left them a few weeks after he was born, so I assume he doesn’t know who I am. I wanted to come back once I had fulfilled my goal… Clearly, I couldn’t do that after you so rudely ambushed me”.

A deafening silence fell in the room. Chan’s eyes widened at the confession. When they were on their way here, the Queen and Chan had discussed that perhaps Ike was going to ask to be released–again–or that maybe he’d just try to get her to have an outburst, but this was something they clearly didn’t prepare for.

“Why are you telling me this?” Her Majesty’s voice was barely a whisper, clearly taken aback by the whole thing.

Ike shrugged, and his face was completely serious. “If I’m going to rot here, at least I want to see my kid. Even if just once”.

The Queen turned around, and started walking towards the exit without saying another word. Chan knew that face, it was her guarded face, and she was clearly making an effort to not let her emotions show when she spoke to Ike. Right as she reached Chan by the entrance, Ike spoke again.

“What? You’re not gonna give a dying man his last wish? How rude…”

She stopped, her eyes found Chan’s, and she took a deep breath. He reached for her hand to hold it in his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re not a dying man”, the Queen turned to look at Ike, her hand still in Chan’s, slightly trembling–whether it was because she was nervous or because she was completely furious, Chan couldn’t tell.

“Yes, well… Sitting here, I might as well be”.

“If you really care about this child of yours, the best thing you can do for him is never meet him. He’ll grow up just fine without having his crazy, murderous father by his side”, she turned back towards the exit, holding Chan’s hand firmly and tugging him forward as she walked.

Just before they reached the stairs, they could faintly hear Ike shouting in the background ‘Have you got no heart, wench? At least think about it’. Tugging on her hand, Chan walked towards the stairs and started climbing them to get as far away from the man as possible.

“Well… That was certainly something…” Chan commented as soon as they were back outside, squinting slightly, since the sunlight was almost blinding him after spending a while down in the dungeons.

“What a fucking jerk… How convenient, now that a royal baby was born he suddenly wants to reunite with his son? Bullshit”, Her Majesty moved forward with heavy steps, still holding onto Chan’s hand.

He followed suit. “Are you gonna tell your brother?”

“Hell, no. At least not yet. He’s got more important things to worry about than Ike’s mind games”.

Stopping his movements, Chan tugged on her hand to get her to stop as well. “Don’t let him get to your head, love”.

Her eyes scanned his face for a moment, and her façade eventually crumbled under his gaze as worry finally painted the features of her face. Moving closer, she wrapped her arms around Chan’s waist, and buried her head in the crook of his neck, just as his arms came to rest on her shoulders, and pulled her closer to him.

“Thank you for coming with me…”

Chan chuckled softly against her hair before he moved to press a kiss to her forehead. “How could I not? I must fill in my role as your lapdog!”

“Gods, don’t even joke about that”, she let out a tired sigh. “I almost blew his head off, I swear…”

Chan laughed at that, pulling himself out of her hold. “Come on, let’s go to the Bloom Bakery and stuff ourselves full of sugary treats. We deserve it”.

After taking a hold of her hand, he pulled her along, leaving the entrance to the dungeons behind them.

As it turned out, the inclusion of a new member of the royal family was one of the few things that were actually celebrated extensively throughout the whole planet.

Especially designed banners hung from every lamp post, some people even hung them from their house’s windows, and different types of desserts and spirit drinks were prepared throughout the towns to welcome the new member of the family.

When the four of them had travelled north to meet the baby, they had found her being taken care of by some old ladies in a temple. With a mop of black hair and tanned skin, the royal baby reached for His Majesty as soon as he hovered over her little cradle.

‘She’s so small…’ The High King had mumbled back then, bringing her into his arms right after. He was a tall, bulky man, which certainly made his daughter look incredibly tiny in his arms. That fact was highlighted even more the moment Hoseok, who was also tall and bulky, stood by his side to coo at his daughter as well.

Chan must admit that he might’ve shed a tear or two at the sight, completely endeared by the entire thing. Much like it happened to the Queen and the High King–and those before them–her mother had passed shortly after birth, so that same night, they had taken the little baby back to the castle with them.

It was tradition for a grand ball to be held when a new member was born into the royal line, so the High King and Hoseok–as the fathers of the baby–had prepared just that. They invited people from all over the planet to the castle so they could celebrate the birth of their daughter together.

Food, music, fancy and not so fancy dressing gowns… It was quite the event. Those that arrived much later and couldn’t fit inside the ballroom, settled to celebrate in the castle town. The place was booming with life as people drank, ate, and danced all around.

Chan was, admittedly, a bit overwhelmed by the amount of people and the noise. The Queen had to greet a new group of people that made their way into the room, and seeing the look on Chan’s face, she simply smiled at him and told him she’d be fine, that he should leave for a bit if he wanted–which he was immensely grateful for.

So Chan left the ballroom, moving around the ocean of people to find a less crowded area in the castle.

As he moved along, he stumbled upon a man, and just as he was about to apologise, he found himself staring at Skallarg, that old man that almost chopped his hands off on his first day here.

Chan being Chan, regarded the old man with his best shit-eating grin, offering a ‘Ah! Skallarg! It’s good to see you again’, relishing the way the man visibly gulped and his right eye started to twitch.

‘Ah, Chan, wasn’t it?’ There was restraint in Skallarg’s voice, and Chan was admittedly having a field day.

He simply hummed in response, nodding in Skallarg’s way and regarding him with a ‘I must go now, but I sure hope you continue to enjoy the celebration of my niece’s birth!’ before he went on his way.

As he walked away, Chan couldn’t help but revel in how the man’s face went red with rage when he said that.

He crossed many corridors, each a bit less crowded than the last, and when he thought he’d found the place he was looking for, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of Wang Eun and Minho eating face behind one of the wolf statues.

‘About damn time’, Chan whispered to himself when he started to backtrack.

Minho and Wang Eun had gotten extra annoying lately, with their painfully obvious flirting, and the cryptic phrases thrown at one another.

Until one particular day Changbin got fed up and told them to ‘Just fuck already and stop making me watch you make a fool of yourselves’.

If there was anyone in this world that could keep up with Wang Eun’s philosophy around relationships, it was Minho–or at least that was what Chan thought, so he wasn’t really surprised to see them there.

Removing himself from the crime scene, Chan made his way to the furthest corridor he could find next instead. Until, he finally found an empty balcony where he could enjoy some of the cool evening breeze.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, just enjoying the sight of the twinkling stars, and the two almost full moons in the sky. Noise and ruckus could still be heard from far away, but it wasn’t overwhelming or bothersome, so he quite enjoyed the almost silence of the night that mingled with that ever-present hum in his ears at this moment.

After a while, Chan felt a presence approaching, but he didn’t really need to turn around to know who it was.

As he rested his elbows on the stone balustrade of the balcony, a pair of arms sneaked around his waist. The sudden warmth against his back was familiar and welcoming.

“Hey”, the Queen whispered in his ear, resting her chin on his shoulder.

Chan brought a hand to one of her arms, and softly caressed her skin. “Hey, you”.

With her chest pressed firmly against his back, Her Majesty tightened her arms around his middle. In this position, a quick flashback of the night they first kissed in the castle’s pool played back in Chan’s mind, bringing a smile to his face.

“You okay?” She pressed a soft kiss on his neck, and goosebumps immediately rose under her lips.

Pulling on her arms, Chan exerted just enough pressure to get her to release her hold, enough for him to turn around. His hands rested on her waist briefly, only to slide them down to the small of her back almost right after. Her arms crossed behind his neck, letting him press her closer to him.

“I’m fine”, and he was, truly. “Just wanted some fresh air”.

The Queen hummed, scanning his features for a moment, until her eyes settled on his lips. “You sure?”

Chan just chuckled, and leaned in to kiss her.

It was almost crazy to him how even after four years, he could still hear that hum intensify in his skull every time she came close, and how his heart would flutter. Even now–as their lips moulded together, just like they’d done countless times already–her warmth spread to every fibre of his being, from the crown of his head to the tip of his toes.

The light scratch of her nails on his scalp as she threaded her fingers in his curls made him hum, and that fire deep within him suddenly ignited. With the first tug of her hand on his hair, Chan pulled away from her lips. The kiss was getting into dangerous territory, and they unfortunately still had a long night ahead of them.

A pout formed on her lips, which made him chuckle.

“Needy, love?” Pressing her further into him, Chan’s hands dipped lower on her back, just the tiniest bit.

“Maybe”, she pressed a trail of kisses from his cheek, to his jaw, to the soft, tender flesh on the back of his ear.

The action made Chan inhale a shaky breath, and his fingers lightly dug in the small of her back. “You’re dangerous, witch…”

The Queen chuckled, and her breath fanned over the skin of his neck, raising goosebumps upon contact.

“Isn’t that why you love me?” She pulled away from his neck to look him in the eyes, with a soft smile lighting up her features.

“One of the reasons”, he admitted. “Why? Do you want a list? I can pull out my list right now if you want”.

“Depends. Is my bum on the list?”

“It’s in the top 5 for sure”, Chan was serious when he spoke, which only made her laugh. The sound, coupled with the mirthful look on her face, made it so Chan couldn’t hold it in anymore, so he broke into a laugh as well.

As their laughs died down, a comfortable silence settled between them, and, for a moment, all they did was look into each other’s eyes.

Chan could feel the words bubble on his tongue, the question that had been floating around in his head for a long time, but he hadn’t gotten the courage to ask.

Maybe it was the joyous celebration that’d been taking place the past few days, or maybe it was the influence of the twin moons on him. Regardless, he felt courageous tonight.

“Would you like to be fully bonded to me?”

There was no hesitation in his voice, he was completely serious, and the moment the words left his mouth, it felt like a weight had finally been lifted off of his heart. Now, it was up to her to decide.

Chan and the Queen had known of their bond for a long time, since even before Chan moved in to the castle.

One night, during one of their many pillow talks on their now shared bed, Chan had told the Queen how he’d often feel as if there had been a bee floating around in his head whenever she was close, to which she responded by sitting up suddenly, and with shocked words of ‘You feel that, too?’ flying quickly past her lips before she frantically scrambled to her feet and out of bed.

A quick look at an old book forgotten in her study confirmed her suspicions, which made her literally facepalm herself at how long it’d taken her to realise.

The act of bonding was something solely reserved for people like Chan and the Queen–or like Hoseok and the High King.

Only those who’d been granted a bond by the moons would be able to perform the ritual. Bonding with someone was something that went beyond marriage, and that was recognised as such.

So, bonding with the Queen would mean that Chan would become part of the royal family. He’d officially become Prince Consort, he’d be added to the royal tapestry, and Hoseok’s title would change to High Prince Consort. All of which, Chan didn’t give two shits about.

He didn’t care about titles, nor having people recognise his union with the Queen. All he cared about was her, of being tied to her for the rest of his days. The moons had been calling him lately, igniting a primal need within him. And if they were calling him, they were surely calling her, too.

Her Majesty looked at him for a moment, with her eyes round in surprise, darting all around his face as if to make sure he was serious about it. Chan’s heart was beating fast in his chest, and the silence was deafening as he patiently waited for her response. Right before his brain hit the emergency button, he saw the genuine smile light up her face–only for a brief moment, though, since she connected their lips immediately after.

With her kiss and her tightening hug he could hardly breathe, but Chan didn’t care. Even if the Queen hadn’t given him an answer, he already knew. He could feel it in every graze of her tongue, in the way her hand gripped his shirt, in the all-consuming warmth emanating from everywhere she touched.

The Queen pulled away from the kiss, but kept her face close, gently brushing her nose against his. The tender gesture made his heart swell in his chest.

“Are you sure? You’d have me on your skin forever… Forever’s a long time”, her voice was barely a whisper, the implication that she’d think Chan wouldn’t be happy with that decision pulled at his heartstrings, almost unpleasantly, but he decided to ignore it.

Chan kissed her, a brief, chaste kiss. Instead of answering, he decided to ask, “what do you think about it? Or rather, how do you feel about it?” He added, lightly drumming his fingers on the small of her back.

Her Majesty went quiet for a few moments as she gathered her thoughts, keeping her hand on the back of his head, mindlessly playing with his hair.

“When I think of you having me on your skin forever…” She pecked his lips briefly. “Makes me feel warm. I feel like my heart grows ten sizes. And knowing I would have you on my skin forever… feels like that tenfold. Bond or no bond, thinking that I’ll be spending the rest of my life with you just makes me feel so full of love… so full of you”.

Chan hummed, lightly brushing his nose with hers before leaning in to press a kiss to her lips.

He wholeheartedly agreed with the Queen’s description of the feeling, since her words expressed his own feelings perfectly.

Chan had no doubts in his mind, he’d never had them. He was certain that he’d never get tired of this, of having her close, of being able to display his affections, of her.

So, he pulled back from the kiss, confidently, lovingly, adoringly looking her in the eyes. “Then you know my answer to your question, love”.

Her Majesty giggled. Her eyes were full of love and care, and her face glowed with joy.

“I do want to, Chris, my darling. I’d love to be fully bonded to you”.

The bonding ritual was to be performed in a very specific spring up in the mountains. So, in the afternoon, before night fell and the two full moons were going to be shining bright in the sky, Chan and the Queen hopped onto a speeder, and made their way through the forest and up the mountain. Chan drove until the forest got so thick they had no other option but to walk.

“Jeongin’s finally getting his engineering licence”, Chan said as they walked through the trees.

“About damn time”, the Queen chuckled. “He’s smart, but my Gods is he lazy sometimes…”

“Yeah… At least now he can actually work on ships instead of doing paperwork only. It was eating him alive, and Talboot was getting tired of his whining”.

“I’m happy for him, though”, the Queen smiled as she swatted a tree branch away from her face. “I saw Felix this morning, by the way. He needed some help with this potion he’s developing. I’m still amazed at the ingredients he uses, sometimes I don’t even know how they actually work that well”.

Felix had moved to a town further south to become the apprentice of a friend of the High King’s. There, he’d been mastering his potion skills. Funnily enough, Felix was quite adept at potions–even if Chan still held a grudge from that time he dyed his hair fire-red by mistake. Felix had really come a long way, and he genuinely felt proud of his friend.

Chan ducked under a few branches as he kept moving. “Did you shadow travel to him or…?”

“Nah, he appeared here for a bit and then left again. He was sad he couldn’t see you”.

“Well, if only he didn’t come when I’m at work every time then maybe we could see each oth–Shit!” Chan tripped with one particularly thick root, and almost fell on his face.

“Gods, my love, you okay?” Chan simply let out a breathless ‘M’fine’ to answer the Queen’s question as he straightened himself. “I don’t like this. Wish I could shadow travel to the damned cave. At least we’re close-ish…” she said simply, trying to not fall as well with all the intertwined tree roots littering the ground.

By the time they’d reached the cave they were looking for, it was already dark out. The Queen conjured a bunch of orbs of light to illuminate their path, and the things finally settled around the walls of the cave once they entered it.

The cave was spacious, with walls carved in the shape of pillars. Towards the farthest end, there was a wall covered in runes. Water was spilling from random holes in it, and falling into a spring right below it.

It felt slightly humid there, but the gaping hole in the ceiling of the cave kept the area well ventilated. The hole also provided a lovely view of Lira Le’s evening sky, twinkling stars greeted them, and half of one of the twin moons showed its head.

The Queen briefly looked back at Chan with a smile on her lips, only for her to look forward towards the spring right after, and started to slowly remove her clothes. Her shirt came off first, and just the view of her nude back already tempted him to reach out and touch her, but he stayed put. Her boots and her trousers followed soon after.

The sight of her completely naked was, still to this day, a treat to Chan’s eyes. It caused blood to rush from his head to his already interested cock.

Since Her Majesty had successfully harboured the Shadows, and her magic was no longer volatile, the tattoos all over her body had become less dense. Chan could now see more spots of bare skin peeking between the runes that spread over her form. These days she kept her chest and neck almost entirely bare, most of the ‘ink’ was spreading over her limbs and part of her back.

Chan honestly didn’t have any strong feelings about the change. Covered in runes, bare, he truly just adored any and every one of her facets equally.

As soon as the Queen got rid of her clothes, she dived into the spring, and resurfaced moments later to look at him, regarding him with a teasing look in her eyes.

“What? Are you chickening out already?” She taunted, which only made him scoff as he snapped out of the almost trance he’d been in.

Chan removed his clothes in record time. His hands were slightly trembling with excitement as he got himself bare. He realised then just how much he wanted this, to formalise their relationship forever–not like he didn’t know it before, but being here solidified his decision completely.

The moment Chan dived into the spring, he started to feel tingly all over, and he wondered if it was part of the whole experience, just like that ever-present hum now reverberating a tad louder in his skull might’ve been.

The water was warm, much like the castle’s pool usually was. It was a perfect contrast against the cool evening air coming from the hole in the ceiling of the cave.

Chan broke the surface to find the Queen’s form already in front of him, and his hands found purchase on her waist to pull her body flush against his. Their lips connected almost immediately, their tongues found each other, and moved against one another with practised ease as her fingers threaded in the hair at the back of his head to tug him even closer to her.

Pulling back from the kiss, Chan’s hands moved from her waist to rest on the curve of her ass, while her hands moved to his shoulders, and the Queen started gently massaging him, just like she often did.

“So, now we just wait?” Chan asked, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

“Now we just wait. Both moons need to be at their highest, we need to be able to see them both from the hole above”, the Queen pressed kisses on Chan’s neck, and goosebumps rose on his skin wherever her soft pecks landed.

Chan hummed. He, admittedly, got a bit distracted when his hands started massaging the supple flesh of her bum, especially when her grip on his shoulders tightened the slightest bit while he fondled her. Her shaky intake of breath didn’t go unnoticed, and the action fuelled a wave of lecherous thoughts that clouded his reason immediately. “What should we do to pass the time, then?”

With a chuckle, the Queen pressed a kiss on his jaw before moving her mouth close to his ear. “Play a game of charades, clearly”.

Her palm pressed against his erection, and his hips instinctively bucked forward to get a bit more friction. Chan turned his head, so their mouths could meet in the middle in a heated kiss, just as she wrapped her hand around him.

Slow, languid pumps teased him, his senses zeroed in on the feeling, and she tightened her grip just slightly, in the exact way she knew he loved.

One of his hands stayed on one of her buttock, massaging and groping the flesh as much as he wanted, while the other moved further up, until it found the soft skin of her breast. He squeezed the tender flesh briefly, just before the rough pad of his finger grazed her jewelled nipple, making her moan softly, almost quietly against his lips.

It didn’t matter how many times he heard it, every time she moaned, groaned, or cried out from his touch, his heart would overflow with joy, and his cock twitch. The Queen knew it, too, so she let herself enjoy his touch and show him how much she liked it every single time.

“What a weird game of charades”, Chan mumbled when their lips disconnected, just as his thumb and index finger pinched and twisted her nipple in just the exact way he knew she loved.

Her laugh melted into a strangled moan, and her hand stilled around him. Meanwhile, his fingers continued their attack on her chest, his other hand soon joined the fun as well to provide equal attention to the unattended breast.

“Fuck, I…” She was trying to come up with a response, he knew it. But the words died in her throat the moment he dived in to press kisses on the sensitive curve of her neck. While his hands worked her chest in unison, his hips lazily moved to get some friction from her now still grip around his length.

“What was that?” Chan couldn’t help but tease her, and his lips moved up from her neck to find the shell of her ear and lick it softly.

“I–Ugh… I don’t–don’t even know anymore”, she pouted, taking in ragged breaths.

“Always so sensitive, my love…” Chan chuckled, placing a soft kiss on her cheek bone. The gesture was tender, even if what was happening below the waterline was anything but.

“Just love it when you touch me”, she whispered against his mouth, just before she leaned in to kiss him.

Chan hummed in agreement. He loved to touch her, too.

Placing her free hand on his shoulder, Her Majesty used it as leverage to hoist herself up, releasing him from her grip with the movement. Her legs wrapped around his middle, her arms rested on his shoulder, and pulled him close. Chan’s hands moved from her breasts with the motion, his arm came to wrap around her waist, and he pressed a hand between her shoulder blades to pull her flush against him.

Their kiss was slow, sensual, expert tongues moving against each other. Their noses brushed slightly, tenderly, with every change of angle. They just kept it that way for a while, savouring one another, sharing their love, just like they had done countless times in the past four years.

Eventually, Chan moved, his hands found purchase on her bottom, and he made a beeline to one of the protruding surfaces on the side of the spring below the water. He carefully placed her down, and her legs loosened their grip around his waist a bit so she could get comfortable in her new seat.

Chan released her mouth, and moved to press a tender kiss on the apple of her cheek. His fingers teased her slit with slow movements, until he finally found her clit and started drawing circles on it.

“It’s crazy to think this place was built to fuck”, his lips attached to her neck. With his free hand, he started teasing one of her nipples, pressing kisses wherever his mouth would fall.

Her Majesty chuckled, slightly breathless as the movement of his hands picked up. “We don’t have to fuck, you know? It’s not like it’s mandatory”.

“Oh, but we will”, Chan laughed, starting a trail of kisses from her neck, all the way up to her ear. He tugged on her earlobe with his teeth, and the hand on her clit finally moved lower to stuff her full with two of his digits.

Her mouth seeked his, and he turned his head to catch her lips with his own as kept stretching her open. Soft whines spilled from the Queen’s lips, his fingers on her chest continued gently pinching her nipple, while his thumb started to rub her clit.

Every graze of her tongue against his own further kindled that fire within him. Every whine, every moan, and her tight, warm walls around his digits tempted him, and the need to have her crumbling under his touch was certainly increasing by the minute.

When Chan pulled away from her mouth, he felt air escaping his lungs at the sight.

“So pretty, my love…” He pressed a loud kiss on her lips, making her laugh breathlessly while his fingers worked her up.

“Darling, please… Wanna feel you…” She whispered against his mouth, between pecks of her lips.

“What? Are my fingers not enough?” His fingers curled up to hit that area within her walls that had her moaning and squirming with his touch.

“Shit…” The Queen chuckled, sinking her fingers into his shoulders, gripping him tightly. “I can’t believe you’re trying to tease me when we’re about to bond”.

“Tough luck, love. You’re about to be stuck with me forever”, Chan chuckled, pulling his fingers out from her core as he pressed kisses around her face.

“Willingly and proudly”, there was a soft smile on her lips when she said it. She brought one of her hands to the back of his head, and pulled him closer, finally sealing her words with a kiss.

Heat spread on his face, but he decided to ignore it. Holding his length in his hand, Chan gave it a few pumps, pulling away from her kiss to line himself with her entrance.

Slowly, his cock diligently stretched her walls, while he looked deeply into her eyes, and relished the feeling of her wrapping snugly around him, relishing the look in her eyes as he did. The hold of her legs around his middle tightened, bringing him even closer, and she pressed a brief kiss on his lips before pulling back to look him in the eyes again.

One of the twin moons came fully into view from the hole above their heads, illuminating the space completely. The orbs of light conjured by Her Majesty were now perched only towards the entrance of the cave, further away from them.

Right there, naked under the moonlight, stuffed full of his cock, the Queen was glowing. Her twinkling eyes looked at him with such care and love Chan thought he might’ve blown his load right then and there.

“You’re so warm”, Chan pressed a kiss on her lips, making her chuckle. “So warm, and tight, and beautiful, and mine… Driving me fucking crazy, fuck”.

Neither of them moved, Chan stayed buried to the hilt in her, while her legs around him kept him in place. They kissed as much as their hearts desired. There was no real rush to get anything done, for the time being, they just enjoyed the feeling of their naked flesh against one another. It didn’t matter if they’d done this countless times before, it was still just as fulfilling and satisfying every single time.

“I still can’t believe you let Wang Eun pierce you”, Her Majesty said when she pulled away from the kiss, bringing her hand to Chan’s chest and lightly flicking his jewelled left nipple, which made him chuckle. The sensation was still oddly pleasant to this day.

“Remind me to never get drunk with him again. He’s dangerous”.

“Oh, really? If I recall the story correctly, you asked him to do it. Insistently, even”, she leaned in, and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“That snitch…” Chan chuckled against her lips, moving his hands up and down her thighs underwater.

“You know… Whenever we do it on a surface like this, in this position…” She commented when Chan’s lips moved from hers to instead press gentle pecks on her shoulder. “I always remember that first fuck on the table”, she added with a giggle.

Chan laughed at that, looking her in the eyes again. The memory was still fresh in his mind, as if it’d happened yesterday. It always brought a bashful smile onto his lips, and spread warmth deep within him. “I still can’t believe you let me fuck you on the table that day”.

“We’ve done it in much worse, much more uncomfortable places since then, haven’t we? Besides, if you hadn’t fucked me on it, I would’ve certainly fucked you on it”, after bringing her hands to cup his face, she squished his cheeks, making his lips pout.

He couldn’t help but giggle, especially after she’d placed a kiss on his lips. When she pulled back a bit, her hands rested on his shoulders again, and she softly caressed his skin.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you this before”, Chan’s hands lightly massaged her thighs. She squirmed a bit whenever his fingers dug into the flesh. “But that day, the moment I saw your flushed face looking up at me, with your cunt stuffed full of my cum, I realised I was madly in love with you”.

Chan felt her inner walls clamp hard around him when the words came out of his mouth, which both amused him and made him leak fluids inside of her.

The comment made the Queen chuckle. She intertwined her fingers at his nape, and finally loosened the hold her legs had around his middle.

“Wanna know a secret?” She asked, kissing the tip of his nose.

Chan made an act to gasp. “Always”.

“I realised I was in love with you after you kissed me in the pool the first time”, her words took him by surprise, his eyes opened wide at the confession, and his cock twitched involuntarily.

“I never told you, but, when I left that night, I was so panicked I ran to Sol’s chambers and woke him up. I think once I spoke to him, he figured out that we were destined for one another, but he never said anything… Oddly enough, even without mentioning the bond, he was the one who helped me understand back then… Understand whatever it was I was feeling. You know I can be a bit clueless with these things…”

“Wow”, Chan moved his hands from her thighs to her waist, and gripped her tightly, pulling his hips back a bit, only to thrust forward, starting a slow rhythm. “That long, huh?”

“Don’t–Don’t look so smug”, her eyes fluttered closed when he started to move, he pulled his hips back until he was almost all the way out, only to thrust back in as deep as it would go. “As if back then you weren’t drooling over my cleavage the entire time”.

“Mmm”, Chan’s lips attached to her neck, and he started suckling purple roses on her skin. “Prettiest tits in the galaxy”, he brought a hand from her hip to pinch one of her nipples. “Truly the luckiest guy in the whole wide universe”.

Her Majesty let out a breathy laugh, bringing a hand to his hair as he rested his forehead on her shoulder and his hips kept the slow pace.

Her confession made him reflect briefly, even among the current hazy state of his mind. At the time, it’d been hard for him–for both of them–to cope with their feelings, they’d pushed them aside for the greater good. Chan felt truly grateful now that, at the very least, they succeeded, and have been able to make up for the lost time in the past handful of years.

Straightening himself, pulling away from her shoulder, Chan looked the Queen in the eyes. His pace didn’t relent, he continued to move in and out of her, and a pink flush spread over her cheeks under his heavy gaze.

“I love you. I’m utterly, madly in love with you. I’m going to be until the day I draw my last breath”, her inner walls clenched hard around his length, with want, with need, and her eyes started almost sparkling when he brought a hand between their bodies to rub that sweet bundle of nerves between her legs.

She leaned in, and kissed him, moulding her lips to his. Chan felt the urgency in the Queen’s kiss, he could feel all her feelings pour into him, and he hoped she could feel his pouring into her. Even if his hips kept that tantalising slow pace, his thumb was moving a bit faster, making her whine softly against his mouth.

All of a sudden, he felt movement in the water, and bubbles started forming over the surface as the twin moons of Lira Le shone their light into the spring.

The sudden movement didn’t really take Chan by surprise, he already knew this would happen, just like he knew what would happen after. For once, he’d picked up a damn book and informed himself on the matter…

The water bubbled for a while, his thrusts and the movement of his thumb on her clit picked up. The Queen held onto his shoulders, and her hips rolled to meet his movements–or, at least, as much as she could move while being slightly pinned down by him–enhancing every graze of his length against her walls.

Chan felt the itch come after a few minutes of this, once the twin moons finally conceded their bond. The bubbling water drew shapes against him, and he started to feel a sharp tingle on the skin of his chest, right above his quickening heart. Her Majesty took in a shaky breath, separating her lips from his to look at him, to really look at him.

Chan couldn’t look away from her, and the Queen couldn’t look away from him. The movement of his thumb quickened when he felt his own release edge close.

The hum in Chan’s head rang especially loud at this moment, just as he focused on every scrunch of her nose, on every clench of her walls, on every moan that fell from her lips. He knew the Queen was close, and he just needed her to let go.

“C’mon, love. Wanna feel you come around me, please”, Chan’s voice was barely a whisper, words of encouragement started falling from his lips left and right as he finally quickened the pace of his hips. At least, as much as he could with the resistance of water around their bodies.

After one particularly hard thrust, she gave him a warning before she came undone, and a groan of his own escaped his lips when he felt her walls spasming repeatedly around him. Her legs were trembling a bit, but she did her best to keep them in place around his middle. Bringing both hands to her hips for leverage, he started to chase his own high.

“All for me, all mine…” Chan whispered against her lips, pressing pecks as his hips continuously collided with hers.

“All yours”, the Queen whispered against his lips, and her hand found its way into his hair to tug him gently. “All mine”.

“All yours”, he reassured, moving faster.

The expression on her face and the feeling of her around him brought his release closer by the second, and her soft ‘I’m so, so in love with you, my love, my life…’ was the final push he needed to finally let go. With an appreciative groan, he finally came, pumping her full of him.

The bubbling of the water around them started to die down, while the two of them sat there, catching their breaths.

Chan opened his eyes–he had honestly not even realised he’d closed them–and looked at her, really looked at her.

In the Queen’s eyes, he saw all the love, all the want, all the appreciation and the respect she had for him, and, when his eyes moved lower, he saw the new, fresh rune painted on her chest, right above her heart, just as she looked at the matching one on his chest.

Cupping her cheeks, Chan brought her to him, kissing her deeply as so many different emotions bloomed within his entire being. He felt impossibly full–full of love, full of admiration, full of her.

When he pulled back from her lips and looked her in the eyes, he saw his own feelings reflected in the Queen’s eyes, and her genuine smile rubbed off on him. He couldn’t help but let out a goddamn giggle just at the sight of her.

Even when they’d spent years together already, Chan was excited at the prospect of this new chapter in their relationship. One he hoped would be full of happy memories, one filled with much more fortunate encounters, one filled with love and respect, and, most importantly, one that would last until his final day.

Author’s Notex2: just as a fun fact, i’ve been using Chan and the Queen as my characters for writing practice, so i have a shit-ton of drabbles within this universe (things that happened within the story, things that happened between the main story and the epilogue…). i’ve written the Queen’s POVs to certain situations, i’ve written about the development of their relationship, and i’ve written about them fucking in any way i could think of hahaha (and i’ll probably continue to write things with them every once in a while !) so if you’re interested in those, let me know ! i might post them once i get time to clean them up (if i do post them, i might just post them on my AO3 account, i haven’t decided yet). Once again, thank you for reading my self-indulgent mess !

Update: i’m posting the drabbles on AO3. here’s the link- post story drabbles/One Shots.

Previous Chapter: Day 159. | Series Masterlist.

#stray kids fantasy au #stray kids fanfiction #bang chan fanfiction #bang chan fic #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #bang chan smut #stray kids smut

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shinsengumi-archives · 2 years ago

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Shinsengumi MBTI: Okita Souji

I’ve been interested in MBTI for quite a while. This is a personality type model consisting of 16 types based on 4 characteristics: Extravert vs Introvert, Sensing vs Intuition, Thinking vs Feeling, and Judging vs Perceiving. Although I think real people are more complicated than just these types, if you have to put people into distinct groups, this is the best way to go about it 😅. That said, MBTI is a really useful tool for writing well-rounded characters, since every type has seemingly contradictory aspects and are more than just how they appear on the surface. If you want to write characters that are less flat, you can borrow one of the personality types.

I’m planning to analyze the personalities of various Shinsengumi members based on their writing, anecdotes, and portrayals. Since we’ll never know for sure how they were truly like, this is more about how I would write their characters, rather than their personalities in real life.

Let’s start with Okita :)

I think Okita is an ISFJ.

ISFJs are considered warm, polite, loyal, traditional, self-critical, secretive and judgmental. This seems to fit Okita’s personality very well.

If we look at traits related to their functional stack:

While sometimes viewed as stubborn or nitpicky, ISFJs are actually more easygoing than they are often given credit for.

This could be seen in Okita’s behavior when training, where he was very particular about swordsmanship and hard for his students to please him, compared to outside of training where he was someone who was always smiling.

more attuned to when they are full, thereby preventing overeating.

It is said that Okita tended to eat very lightly and would even leave banquets early.

In larger groups, they may seem characteristically “positive” in their expressions, as part of their attempt to cultivate good feelings.

In Kyoto Okita would always joke around and try to make everyone else laugh. Also seen when he never stopped smiling despite being ill with tuberculosis, because he didn’t want others to worry.

there is part of the ISFJ that is childlike, that wants to play and let loose.

Okita was known to like playing with the neighborhood children.

Extravert vs Introvert

Okita is someone who likes spending time with people and making them laugh, and could come off as an extravert in this way, but introverts could also be social.

The most important trait that makes me think Okita is an introvert is that he’s very private. His letters are full of niceties and objective descriptions of what happened, but he almost never writes about his own opinions or feelings. He also hid the fact that he had tuberculosis from others (although this might not be accurate in real life). An extravert would be more open about sharing their true thoughts.

There’s also the fact that ISFJs are considered the most extraverted introvert, so I think Okita is an introvert or ambivert who acts social without actually opening up to people.

Sensing vs Intuition

Okita seems to be a Sensor rather than an Intuitive, because his goals and motivations are centered around keeping Kondo safe. He’s not fighting for anything abstract like serving the country or an ideological cause. He just wants to protect the people he cares about.

Thinking vs Feeling

Okita is very people-oriented, and he’s loyal to Kondo and the Shinsengumi for emotional reasons (i.e. he likes them) rather than pragmatic ones.

Judging vs Perceiving

I think Okita is more Judging than Perceiving. He clearly knows what he wants (to be with Kondo) and he tends to follow rules and instructions. He’s also stubborn once he decides on something. For example, he tried to go to Kofu with the others despite being terminally ill and almost dying from illness earlier in the year. I’m sure many people tried to talk him out of it, and they only managed to leave him in Hino because he physically couldn’t keep going due to poor health.

#okita #personality #writing #original #analysis #recommended #mbti #series: shinsengumi mbti

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spencersmagic · 4 years ago

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a knife twists at the thought - SR

Prompt: a knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark - Arctic Monkeys

Summary: Spencer is new to this, and the poor boy is terrified

Couple: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid (i picture season 2/3 Spencer but y’all do you)

Category: angst

Word count: 3086 words

Warnings: general criminal minds stuff, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of loss, HAPPY ENDING!!, my 3am writing, tooth rotting love, uhmm spoilers for Orwell’s 1984 (if anybody hasn’t read it), humiliation, Spencer crying and breaking my heart (lmk if you need anything warned or trigger tagged).

A/N This is very loosely based on 2x15 (VERY LOOSELY). I’m quite proud of this one :)

masterlist // 505 series taglist

*****

They say you never see it coming.

When a tragedy occurs, and someone’s life is turned upside down forever, they never see it coming. It just... hits them. Like an oncoming car ramming into a bystander who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No one has time to prepare. In our time-starved lives, there is no place for such a warning.

One day, you just wake up. And they’re not next to you. They’ve disappeared, leaving the stickiest, most unforgettable parts of themselves behind for others to grieve to: the smell of their shampoo in the pillows they used to share, the seconds just as you wake when you still feel like you have them - only to gain full consciousness and realise they left you behind - even the fucking jars, which never seem to be open because he’s just not there to do it.

And you feel your heart breaking all over again as your soul sticks to the parts that couldn’t be erased with the rest of him as he left. Because you needed him, you had him, and now he’s gone. No warning, no letter, no signs which could’ve helped you foresee such a tragedy, because how could he? He didn’t disappear on purpose.

She doesn’t understand why he's so absent. So unequivocally missing. And the person she would turn to to ask these riddled questions isn’t there to answer. Because he’s gone.

But they’re not there yet.

And she feels so close to that feeling - the helplessness, the pain, the empty cups next to her bed because he always carried them to the sink when she was finished with her tea the mornings of those rare days they got to sleep in. Those days when they had time. She can practically touch, with the tip of her fingertips, the waves of pain that would surge over her if he was gone for one more fucking minute.

She has to remind herself, over and over again, like a mantra. He’s not gone yet.

The “yet” at the end of her mantra just breaks her all over again.

She was always the one to tell Spencer “if you worry before something happens, in case it goes wrong, and then it does, you’ve managed to suffer twice through something painful for absolutely no reason”. It usually worked. Needless to say, she felt like a hypocrite right about now.

Because Spencer is gone. And she doesn’t know how to bring him back.

She knows only to watch the monitor, never once blinking, taking in everything that happened in that damned livestream - every word, every sound, every reference. She can only try to hear anything over the whimpers and sobs her love was letting out as he’s tortured by that man. She can only hear the cracks of his knuckles against Spencers soft skin, the same soft skin she had kissed mere hours ago before telling him to “be careful”. Her own way of saying the three little words the couple was too young to hear. She can only see his lips parting, sobs rumbling out of his body as the unsub abuses his frame over and over again - same lips which had kissed her forehead before telling her “i always am”.

Then again, she isn’t sure if its his voice which is filling her head with painful sounds or if her mind is playing tricks on her, memorising the horrifying vibrations coming from his chest for her to ever consider anything else. She hasn’t stopped hearing him since she turned on that damned computer.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever stop hearing it.

As a man of great intellect, Spencer always recurred to knowledge to understand difficult occurrences in his life. Burying himself in textbooks, novels, poems, and even music to understand pain, and himself having a life filled with it, he was an incredibly knowledgeable man.

He knew much. But right now, he only knew one thing.

In Orwells’ 1984, as Winston was being tortured (much like Spencer is right now), Orwell described the following:

“Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could only wish one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes”.

And, as a man who had acquired most of his intellect by immersing himself in trivial content in the face of pain, he found himself doing the same thing as the unsub hurt him over and over again, each blow seemingly more painful than the last. As his skin bruised, a causality of his abusers torment, he analysed the seemingly logical quote.

It must depend on the person, he was sure. In fact, a number of factors must be taken into consideration at this statement. For starters, Winston lives in a society incapable of any human feelings. There is only dominance, and those who attempt, in vain, to challenge it. Surely, if he had felt happiness, like the one you feel when the first day of spring rolls around, or like the one that creeps up on you as you look into the eyes of your loved one, surely, he would understand that some things can outweigh pain.

Love.

If Spencer’s mind could make sense of what he was feeling right now, he would understand, something he would figure of were he to leave this damned place, that he was thankful to the Gods, were there any, for having the unsub kidnap him and not Y/N.

Winston hadn’t understood emotional pain because emotions weren’t dealt with regularly. They were discouraged. That’s why he believed that there are no heroes in the face of pain. Because he doesn’t understand emotional pain.

He knew he was suffering. He also knew that Y/N was at the other side of the blinking camera suffering more than he could ever imagine.

They say emotional pain lasts 12 minutes. Anything one feels after this would be the aftermath of the cause of the pain in question. Pure emotional pain, the one you practically feel in your chest, the one that says “i can’t think, feel or be. not until this feeling dissipates”.

She had learned this from Spencer.

And she wished it were true. As she watched that damned monitor, she wished that all the venom the unsub was spewing at Spencer, all the verbal abuse, was long forgotten. She wished he could only feel the physical pain. Because the mind is incredibly stronger than the body - it could keep him awake, alive, for just enough time for the team to rescue him.

The entire team had huddled around the monitor around her. She was painfully aware that other people were seeing this. Which meant it wasn’t her imagination. It wasn’t another one of those damned dreams she would have when she slept a little too far away from Spencer’s touch.

They had only been together for two months, but his touch was all that could get her to fall asleep.

She jolted as the unsub landed another slap on Spencer’s cheek, swiftly grabbing his hair for him to look into the camera. He had a cut above his right cheek, just where she would kiss him in the mornings, and bruises all over his neck, jaw and left eye.

“Say hi to your team!” he mocked Spencer, chuckling darkly as he moved his almost lifeless body around for the team to watch in horror. Spencer let out a heartbreaking sob, feeling so vulnerable.

“Why don’t we make this interesting?” he jumped, as if he had gotten an idea. The unsub reached behind himself to grab a pistol, clicking off the magazine safety to put one bullet in one of the eight slots, leaving the other seven free. He pointed it at Spencer’s temple.

Her entire body shook the thought of seeing Spencer’s lifeless body, held up only by the ropes and that sick man’s grip around his curls. The same curls she grabbed as she kissed his face when she wanted his attention.

“I’m going to ask you some questions...” he said, voice dripping with sickening sweetness as he turned the roulette, “and if i don’t like your answer i’ll pull the trigger! Let God decide what I do with you. Sounds good?”. He wanted to humiliate Spencer.

However, Spencer made the mistake of not answering him. He was quickly reminded as the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes, pulling the trigger, a loud bang! sound expanding through the barn.

“I asked you a question!” he suddenly yelled into Spencer’s face.

“Y-yes, Sir” he whimpered, shaking at the ease at which the man pulled the trigger.

“Good, you’re learning”.

She experienced it by bits. Hotch’s hoarse voice. “Talk to me Garcia”. “We’ve got coordinates”. Everybody rushing to the SUVs. Tripping over her own feet on the way to the car. Morgan’s voice. The iPad, which still carried Spencer’s whimpers and the man mocking tone.

“I’ve got your diary, Spence” his sing-song voice didn’t match the disgusting man she was looking at. Nothing made sense.

“And I wanna know why...” he drew out the ‘y’ as he looked for something between the worn pages between his hands.

Of course she knew Spencer owned a diary. But she was mature enough to keep her hands to herself and her eyes on her own pages as he wrote on his, eyebrows creasing as he recalled all which he had experienced during the day. His face would twitch slightly at the memories, both good and bad, as he basically described his day word by word.

“...why did you wait until you were 24 to lose your virginity?” he asked in a clear attempt to humiliate and ridicule Spencer in front of his team.

“I-I didn't-” he could barely finish a word before a sob wrecking through his body at the humiliation, chest rumbling and voice wavering. “I didn’t want to lose it before, i w-wasn’t in a hurry” he rushed out. The man brought the pistol to his own chin, tapping it as he thought. “Hmm... I’m satisfied with your answer. Let’s dig deeper, shall we?” he asked as he went back into the pages.

“ooh! This one is new” that sick bastard was having fun with this, completely unaware that the team was less than 5 minutes away from their location.

“Care to read what you wrote three days ago? Right here” he turned the pages so Spencer could read them, though he was painfully aware of that entry he was talking about. His body shook violently. “P-please. D-don’t ma-make me do t-this” he whimpered, body feeling defeated.

“Wrong answer” the unsub said before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger.

A shriek was heard from the iPad. The SUV went silent.

“He’s alive” she whispered, unable to speak up. “He-” she swallowed. “He’s alive. We’re not there, yet” her mantra became a reminder that she hadn’t been quick enough to help him. She had the tools to save him. Every second she had the knowledge to save him and didn’t was another second she remained impotent at the risk of losing the love of her life.

Spencer’s voice spoke from the iPad.

“C-can you at-at leas-st turn off t-the ca-amera?” he said between sobs.

And it hit her.

What hurt him the most wasn’t the memories he had to relieve, but the fact that the rest of the team would have to hear his most intimate thoughts. His deepest secrets.

He could bare the pain. The humiliation? That broke him.

“Aww” the unsub chuckled mockingly, “are you embarrassed?” he said, slouching down to look into his eyes. “Well too fucking bad!” he screamed into his face, spitting with every word he spewed at him. Spencer’s sobs got louder.

“O-okay okay!” Spencer caved, accepting the journal that got shoved into his face.

“Read, pretty boy” the unsub sang. That son of a bitch was having fun.

“We’re two minutes away, Y/N” Hotch said. Maybe it was he sobs, which were barely audible to herself, having accepted them as second nature after all the heartbreak she was experiencing, but Hotch needed her to be okay.

His own heart thumped into his chest, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt. Seeing a member of his team - someone he was supposed to take care of, someone he was supposed to keep safe - was sobbing as he was physically and emotionally tortured. But he was painfully aware of the feelings Y/N was experiencing. The sheer fear that was running down her veins at the idea of them running out of time.

After a few sobs, Spencer started reading, interrupting himself occasionally with his whimpers:

“It’s been three months. Today, three months, seven hours and forty-six minutes ago, she did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She asked me out. “I’ve been wanting to ask you pretty much since the day i met you” she had said. Those words keep ringing in my head like a beautifully written symphony, intrinsically designed to make me face my deepest fears. Opening my scars one by one, dissecting them and reaching the simple conclusion that i was a coward.

She didn’t say it, but what she meant was “i’ve been waiting for you to do it, but you never did, so i had to”. We wasted time - a time so precious and sacred - because i was a coward.

I’ve never felt like this before. I never understood a love so deep as to move something so stubborn as the human spirit. I’ve read textbook after textbook, and novel after novel, and still I’ve never learned more than with her. But I was a coward. And i wasted her time. I fear that I still am.

A knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark. It’s impossible for me to ever be enough for her”.

Her heart broke at this confession. Even worse at the thought that he wouldn’t’ve told her, instead inhaling fear and exhaling rejection at every breath he took next to her.

“We’re here” she heard Hotch, looking at her. She grabbed a bottle of water and dropped the iPad, not hearing the teams objections at the lack of vest and preparation and ran into the barn.

She isn’t sure if she’ll ever stop hearing his whimpers. As she runs closer, she hears them louder and louder, decorated with sobs and cries, and small, meaningless replies to his abusers’ mocking words.

She kicked the door down, the loud bang booming across the room, only helping in raising Spencer’s sobs as he feared the sound had been the result of a certain trigger being pulled. As she looks at him, she realises just how much pain he’s been put through.

She remembers Orwells words, much like how Spencer had remembered them mere hours ago. And disagrees, wishing over and over, praying to the Gods that she would be the victim of such atrocious abuse. She wished she could take his pain. Morgan joined her at her side mere seconds later, yelling. “FBI! Put the gun down!”.

Spencer used the last bit of energy to lunge forward, hitting the unsubs stomach with his head, successfully getting him on the floor for Morgan to apprehend. Y/N rushed to Spencer’s side, untying him, as his now nonexistent sobs grew louder and louder, not only at the prospect of getting out of that horrible place alive, but also at the knowledge that Y/N had heard what he had so dreadfully recited.

Spencer collapsed into her arms, crying into her in the same way she was crying into him, and she wondered just how to take away all his pain. So they cried into each other, desperately grasping each others hair, skin, clothes, anything that would make them feel like they wouldn’t have to spend another damned second without the company of each other.

Spencer was the first to break the silence.

“I need-” he stopped, coughing. She reached for the bottle of water she had brought with her because she knew he would need it. She always knew what he needed.

He chugged it desperately, stray drops falling down his chin at his eagerness. He took a deep breath trying to steady his lungs.

“I need to get out of here” he choked out.

She grabbed him under the shoulders, careful not to hurt him - not being successful, realising that there wasn’t much of him the man hadn’t hurt. Y/N pulled him out, sitting down on the grass with him. Their legs intertwined, pulling each other impossibly closer. They kissed, over and over again. Not as an act of any sexual relevance, but as a reminder that they had each other in any way, shape or form. That they weren’t out of time.

The team was certain they would stay there, never letting each other go for another minute.

After what felt like seconds in their time-starved little world, she broke the silence, which had only been filled with their own cries and occasional sobs.

“Spence” she grabbed his chin to look into his eyes. They were dull, red and hooded. He was exhausted. “Mhmm?” he let out, looking into hers. She was his solace.

“How could you ever think you were anything but completely and unequivocally enough?” she whispered the words he dreaded.

But as Spencer looked into her eyes he knew, better than he had ever known anything, that he was enough. And she was enough. He realised that which she had known for the past three months (possibly longer). They fit like two marvellous puzzle pieces.

Her hands grabbed his cheeks slowly, as to not hurt or startle him, pulling his forehead into hers. “Baby, I can’t imagine anybody else waking up to me every morning. You’re so much more than enough”, she planted a small kiss on his forehead before resuming her position. “I’ll remind you every day of the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe it”.

And with their eyes closed, foreheads and noses pressed together and legs tangled between each other, pulling each other close, closer - around grass and voices and his abuser pressed into the hood of a police car, they only felt each other. With their shaky breaths, even shakier voices, fearing any words that would leave them in case they triggered a cascade of tears down their oh so vulnerable cheeks, they were more than enough.

***

I hope y’all liked it!! Feel free to let me know by liking, reblogging, or sending me a message :)

super cool kid taglist: @lady-anon-x @spencerreid-mgg @eoupe @inlovewithbabygirl @galaxydefenderjulia @username2002

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ayamturd · 4 years ago

Text

yourself│awesamdude

summary: love is precious, love is pure; how insecure thoughts and concerns trouble a scared lover, and how to convince one they are deserving of said love

warnings: descriptive insecure + self-deprecating thoughts, slight angst to fluff

pairing: in-game c!awesamdude

a/n: couldn’t stop thinking of this concept, i wouldn’t physically sleep till i wrote it all out lol

pls know you are loved, that you matter and are important. even if it doesn’t feel like, i’ll say now that i do, i love you. i don’t need to know you to know you deserve love, you deserve to know you are amazing for being yourself and for simply trying your best by existing for what it is <3

wc: (2.1k) - m.list

“Why do you love me?”

It was late. Very late.

The sky was pitch black and the forest held nothing but a ringing silence to screen, the brief sounds of woodland creatures along with lurking monsters occasionally breaking through. While the night was alive by the stir of the wind, the world above was obscured beneath the depths of the newly discovered mineshaft.

You were tired, your body aching and sore from the continuous grind along side your lover for the past few hours now. Unbeknownst to you, the early morn had been replaced with the midnight sky, the twists of the cave’s darkness becoming so lost to your sensitive eyes.

While you were resting on a large boulder, Sam’s stamina was relentless as he worked to mine into the next cave tunnel. He was beautiful, to say the least.

The ever so flicker of nearby torches illuminated only the best of his features, his usual mask hanging low around his neck due to the cramped and tight spaces underground. His brows were furrowed, the gentle concentration that pulled onto his face strangely handsome to observe.

His hair, the dark yet notable green shade, was seemingly drenched with sweat. In spite of how dreadful the thought could come across, it only did him wonders when weighing his locks down to frame his face. It curled around his eyes, the sage emerald-color contrasting his light skin tone while emphasizing the dark glisten of his squinted eyes.

Through his intent and determined grunts with every swing of his blade against the course stone, his stance was firm and strong, each strike crumbling beneath him from pure strength and integrity.

Moments like these were random, but reoccurring. Moments where you could stop to stare at him for hours on end, appreciate him for what he was and all that he did, yet question on why he was still here.

Why someone so talented and earnest in his work could even consider you as someone special, someone worth his attention and love to be with.

You spoke before you could stop to process your words and what possible answer he could imagine. Your curiosity got the better of you, and your insecurity blinded your perception. It didn’t seem like he heard you initially, and as you began to take it as a sign to forget the question entirely, his diligent swings stopped and his heavy panting filled the air.

He carelessly rested the large tool on top of his shoulders, twisting only his head in your direction while wiping the salty sting of raining sweat from his eyes.

“Huh?”

“Why do you love me?” you asked again.

Pushing yourself up, you glanced down while fiddling with your pickaxe, the old wrap around its handle fraying ever so lightly despite its lack of consistent use. You’d need to replace it soon.

“I just- it’s hard sometimes, you know? To think why you’ve stayed with me for so long or why you even want to stay with me altogether.”

You suddenly lost all courage, and couldn’t dare look him straight in the eye from your admittance. There was an unfounded trust your relationship, no doubt, but trust can only go far when comparing yourself to others. This was a question of worth, of importance when believing one has nothing special to give to someone who deserves the world.

“Love…”

Shaking your head, you turned away from him to face the arching gem wall, driving your pickaxe into the thick, shimmering stone with a slam before wrapping your arms around yourself. You bit the inner side of your check, loose and anxious thoughts raging wild to come through in the vulnerable space.

Your hands shook in unpredictable expectations, fingers twitching against your pounding chest.

“I know you’re going to dismiss it as some kind of nonsense, ‘insecurity’ thing and honestly, you wouldn’t be wrong. But I can’t help it when you’re you and I’m me.”

The pause that followed was unbearable. Steady breathes pervaded the tense air, and after what felt to be an entirety in harsh, prolonged silence, you heard the shuffles of his feet when cautiously approaching you from behind.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His tone was serious, yet his voice soft. Like he was cornering a scared and injured animal, he seemed mindful of his volume for your own concern. Another quality to consider: he was too kind than for what you rightfully earned.

There was so much to say, yet so little at the same time. You were at a loss for words on how to explain something so broad and conceptually troubling to see through. How does one explain how little they matter? How meaningless they are in the grand scheme of things to someone that only tries to see the best of them.

Someone that would refuse a truth for the sake of your troubled mentality.

“Well- you know…”

He stood directly behind you now, his radiating warmth encompassing your entire being, leaving you to shudder from the sharp contrast in the freezing underground. Hands hovering your rigid shoulders, he contemplated touching you but decided against it. He dropped his arms to his side with a sigh.

“No, I don’t. What possible reasoning could you have for me not to love you?”

His pleading whisper was left unanswered, your body frozen to the guilt that consumed you from worrying him over your own problematic assumptions. As if he could read you, he began a different approach to break through to you.

“Why do you love me?”

His unexpected question immediately caused you to go in defense. Spinning around, you glared up at him with resistant eyes, the response to trade your unsure gaze with ones that screamed in flipped concern for his own good.

“Don’t do that.”

Sam’s own eyes remained just as hard, the unnatural line from his neutral expression pulling further to create an evident frown. He was just as serious as you.

“I’m serious here. What reasoning do you have to love me? A screw up, that does nothing but hurt others no matter how much I try in opposition to protect.”

Admittedly shaking your head, you unconsciously reached to grab the front of his chest plate, the enchanted armor glowing beneath your bare hands as you forcefully pushed him in disagreement.

You knew what he was referencing to, and how hard the events became for him. No matter if Tommy would never forgive him, he had yet to forgive himself in any reasonable sense.

“You know that’s not true. Mistakes are mistakes that can’t always be avoided or your fault.”

Tilting his head, Sam’s nose scrunched aggressively to your argument with a scowl.

“Can’t it?”

While your face dropped from his jarring snap, he only sighed before bowing his head away, rubbing the back of his head with a tired exhale and dropped shoulders. It was his turn to struggle with his own words as you stared intensely for his explanation.

His voice were soft again, and wavered slightly in the near beginning.

“I’m not perfect, far from it actually. No matter how many times you try and reassure me of the fact, I’ll never truly believe anything there is good to say about me. I only see the worst of myself,” he murmured. Although a majority of his speech could have easily been missed from his airy quiet, your ears were strained and focused solely on him.

As you tried to step closer to comfort him in some way or another, he finished his final thought then, causing you to freeze once more.

“And when that negatively becomes too much, I look to you as my light.”

Sam sheepishly faced you, his bashful grin completely deviating from the conversation at hand. An unexpected heat rushed to your face, causing you fall apart by the mere power behind his words.

He gave an airy chuckle, closing his eyes with a gentle smile and opening to reveal such fragility in all he had to tell, eyes watering from the sight of you.

“You give me more hope than I think I could ever deserve. From your shining smile to the smallest forms of affection, you give me a love irreplaceable by others and unconceivable to consider.”

Biting your lip, your eyes also began to tear from the overly tender conceptions. He knew better than to let your thoughts run wild and interrupt him, so he continued before you could open your mouth in protest.

“I love you, for everything you’ve sacrificed and lost. You are my strength that pulls me through, inspires me to continue even on the hardest of days. You teach me to forgive myself and work through my hardships for a greater objective at play.”

Steadily nearing your emotional state, Sam carefully pulled your hands into his own and caressed your knuckles with his callous thumbs. He squeezed them tightly once, before reaching a singular hand against your cheek, catching the fallen tears that escaped your adoring eyes.

“Even if you unintentionally did, you became that objective to pull me through it all.”

A sob escaped you, and Sam was quick to pull you into his chest. He kissed the top of your head earnestly while resuming to whisper his declaration against your hair.

“I love you and all that you do. Everything that I said now, everything that I know how to express, it does nothing to how much you truly impact by merely existing as yourself.”

“Sam-” you had tried to interject, stop him from tearing you to complete bits as an over sentimental puddle, but he chose to speak over you instead.

“I don’t love you simply because you’ve given so much to me, that you’ve went through notions with my sake as priority. I don’t care for any of that in all honesty. I love you, because you do all that you do as yourself.”

Shudder breathes caused you to shake beneath his firm hold, his only response to pull you inhumanely closer if possible.

“It doesn’t matter why or what pushes you to do what you do, it’s the fact that you exist as yourself, that that beautiful heart of yours goes beyond any and all expectations anyone can conceive of you and never fails to the most of any situation to come.”

“You amaze me, y/n,” he hummed. Pulling you back, he raised a single finger below your chin to lift your face to his. He leaned a near breathes away, with an indescribable admiration that caused more tears to spill.

“Why do I love you?” he re-asked.

His own tears coursed down his dirt stained skin, and you habitually moved to cup both of his cheeks.

“Because you’re able to love me, and not even know the adverse effects you cause to those around you.”

Bringing your forehead to his, he kissed your scrunched nose as he released a small whimper, for he had nothing left to express through words.

“If ever you question yourself again, ask yourself how are you able to love someone like me, and know that that same confounding thought shakes my very core and beats my love-stricken heart for you.”

Bonus:

Pathetic giggles bounced around the gem filled enclosure, the high of work finally wearing you both down into a helpless mess of two exhausted, yet stubborn lovers.

You leaned heavily into Sam’s hold, his own stance faltering from the unexpected weight you gave in as he groaned from the fast movement.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m about ready for some rest, wouldn’t you say?”

Giving out incomprehensible whines smothered into the crook of his arm, you raised a lazy hand to give a subtle thumbs up. Sam laughed loudly, and took your silent gesture as an answer.

“You ready to climb back to the surface then?”

Mellow wails spoke for themselves, and he shook his head in joking disbelief to how drained you easily became.

With you still in his arms, he maneuvered around you to grab both of your pickaxes and gathered resources, them too heavy to physically carry for his next course of action. He pulled out his Enderchest and swiftly packed everything away.

Once everything else was settled, he worked on the actual situation in hand; literally, it being you basically asleep on your feet against his balanced arms.

“Here,” he spoke. Lifting from your waist, he placed you on top of an overgrown gem stone and steadied your footing before quickly turning. He gripped your thighs, and even in your tired state, you instinctively jumped onto his back.

He sighed when adjusting you, before making the trek back up the stair incline.

“To think I choose to love you.”

You yawned loudly, and to his surprise, comprehended his words enough to respond.

“Mmmm, that sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” Head propped between his neck, he glanced down at you with a smirk.

“Maybe, but a problem I welcome nonetheless.”

#dream smp x you #dream smp x reader #awesamdude x reader #awesamdude x you #awesamdude x gn!reader #awesamdude imagine #awesamdude x reader fluff #mcyt x reader fluff #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #dsmp x reader

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rexxdjarin · 3 years ago

Note

💕👀❓

Ask game !

💕 How is your OC like with physical affection? What are their boundries? Do they enjoy being touched or is that a no-go? Is there any reason behind this?

So my OC/reader in Captain’s Log loves physical affection and she’s actually the one who teaches Rex the beauty of what that feels like. She loves little touches, to touch and be touched…circles on her back, caressing over Rex’s face, especially his jaw and cheek bones.

However, she highly dislikes being touched if she’s angry at her partner after a fight or something and needs time to cool off. In situations like that, no touching is allowed until they have a conversation and smooth things out.

And she absolutely HATES unwanted touching from strangers since it’s something she finds intimate and doesn’t want just anyone feeling entitled to her physical being. Her body is for herself and for Rex.

Combining these two !!

👀 Describe your OC through the eyes of another person! (bonus + specify who) +❓A random fact or short drabble! Or make up your own question to ask the OC!

This is through Echo’s eyes, who’d always had a crush on Reader before Rex essentially got there first:

“The 501st was dispatched to a senators conference/party of some kind once years ago because Padmé wanted Anakin there and it was just convenient that they be the ones assigned the protection detail. Echo and Fives, always partners of course, found themselves assigned to patrol the hallways of the palace that night.

Echo first sees her storming away from what he was pretty sure was Rex’s position and her dress is absolutely drenched. She was beautiful to him, dark hair, even darker eyes and heavy brows pinched together in anger that made her look so fucking passionate and pretty. Kind of like how you just can’t stop staring at a fire as it swells and climbs higher or how sometimes you just can’t look away from an explosion.

It looked like someone spilled a lot of something down the front of her and ruined a look that must’ve taken her hours to do. No wonder she was mad. Fives stood mouth agape next to him, very clearly noticing how the wet fabric now clung to every part of her body. Of course that’s what Fives notices first. They both turn to look at each other realizing she’s in distress and that it could technically be considered part of their assignment to help her out.

“Miss, are you alright?” Echo called out, somehow finding bravery he didn’t know he had to reach a hand out to her for help. “Here, take my hand, I’m sure my brother and I can find something to clean you up.” He offered, watching the outrage flaming in her big doe eyes soften at such a kind suggestion.

“Thanks…sorry you have to see me raging like this. I just- I can’t believe this happened. How can he pay so little attention to where he’s going?” She asked out loud, handing Echo her small bag filled with way too personal shit.

Fives looked around before kicking open the door of a bathroom in the hallway and ushering us all inside. “Who did this? What happened?” He asked, his jaw tightening as if he was mentally preparing himself to slug the face of whatever imbecile did this to her.

“One of yours.” She sighed, the huff of air blowing loose strands that had fallen from her carefully constructed updo off her cheeks. Echo didn’t think he’d ever seen someone look so put together and so stunning when they were so obviously flustered. He took several deep breaths to calm himself before firing up a cleaning droid in the corner of the room.

“Which one? Description? Colors? Name if you’ve got it.” Fives questioned, cracking his knuckles and chuckling. “Because he’s about to be in deep shit.” If there’s one thing Fives couldn’t stand, it was an idiot bothering women, especially one this pretty.

“Ordering other ones around. Too busy planning something to watch where his broad fucking shoulders are going.” She chuckled, clearly annoyed but not enough to pretend she hadn’t noticed something moderately pleasing to the eye. Echo watched her eyes twinkle with mischief, lips drawing into smirk. “Cute though. Blue, 501st, I think. Blonde?”

Echo turned to glare at Fives when he realized who she was talking about. The Captain. Whose ass they definitely could not and would not beat. “Shit that’s our Captain. How’d you fluster him enough that this happened? He’s never that reckless.”

“I dunno. You think I might’ve had an affect on him?” She asked, her gaze bouncing between Echo’s face and Fives’. Echo was almost positive that’s what happened. Rex would never fuck up anything, especially not on the job, unless he was really affected by something. Or in this case someone. And he definitely didn’t blame him. If he watched this angel walk by in a dress like this, he probably would’ve fallen on his face too.

No sooner had he opened his mouth to answer her, there was a knock on the door, before it flew open. “Uhm miss? I’m- I didn’t mean to- I’m so sorry. I- don’t know what I was doing. I apologize.” Rex stood there, empty tray in hand, fumbling for words. And immediately Echo knew. His Captain was struck by her too. Literally ran into her. Echo knew better than to stand in the way of fate and he stood up, motioning to Fives their need to get lost. Their superior, their best friend, their most headstrong brother, had already captured the attention of the prettiest woman Echo had ever seen.

Always observant and caring, always thinking of his brother’s feelings, Echo let himself forget how starry-eyed he felt the first time he saw her. She’d chosen his brother or maybe he was chosen for her. And that was that. Echo would wait.

#ask game #captain rex #arc trooper echo #arc trooper fives #this got out of HAND LMAO

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obsidiangst · 3 years ago

Note

Congrats on 100 followers! Could you do a thing for #47?

47: “How many more innocent people have to die?”

WARNINGS: Manipulation, vague nudity, non descriptive sex, body horror(?), stabbing, and open end.

Part 1 | Part 2

Zelda had to get out of this. The longer she stayed there, the more she realized she couldn’t just pretend that everything was so hopeless that there was no point in trying. She couldn’t abandon her people- Link didn’t die for her to do that. Though every plan she thought of to do something about her captivity was riskier than the last. If she was the last thing standing between Hyrule and mass destruction, she had to try to find something that wouldn’t kill her.

First thing: She needed to recover the Master Sword. Which would be difficult because the demon was keeping the sword in his quarters and despite being allowed to wander through the fortress, though she hardly did, she imagined she wouldn’t be allowed into his room for no reason. How would she manage to retrieve the sword then? What would come next when she did manage it?

While she sat in ‘her quarters’ deliberating internally about her plan, she looked over as the door opened, the demon entering as he did just about once every day. Whether he was checking on her or just coming to taunt, Zelda had no idea, but she kept her face flat. Link’s skin had long since turned a deep shade of charcoal grey and his hair was entirely silver. If his face hadn’t been the same and she hadn’t witnessed the slow transformation into this new appearance, she wouldn’t have known it was her Link at all.

“What do you want?” Zelda bit out, looking back down at her hands resting on the empty table before her.

“Well, that’s an awfully hostile way to greet someone who came to offer you a way to save the scraps of your kingdom.” He said dryly and Zelda looked back up at him sharply as he made his way to the chair opposite from her.

“You mean trick me into giving you something you want?” Zelda asked and the demon laughed.

“If that’s what you’d like to call it.” He said, pulling the chair back and taking a seat. “I have Castle Town under siege. At any moment I can say the word and have it razed to the ground.” He said, giving her a look like he’d just locked her into a checkmate in an invisible game of chess on the table before them. Zelda glared at him. “Or- I could call it off entirely.”

Her heart both sang and dropped into her stomach at this. So he was here to trick her. Wonderful. But- If it meant saving her kingdom, she would do whatever it took. Even if he wanted her head on a platter, she’d do that if he promised to end the attacks on villages and innocent people trying to live their lives.

“What do you want from me?” Zelda questioned, less harshly this time. Escape be damned, if she could at least do this one thing for her people-

“Marry me. None of your people will respect me as a ruler without a legitimate claim. If I marry you, then I will gain the right to rule.” Zelda stared at the demon dumbfoundedly. Was he serious? Just like that? When he had quite literally just admitted that he was doing so as a grab for power? As if she would-

She could trick him into allowing her into his quarters if she agreed. She would have easy access to the Master Sword then. She’d just have to lay with him- The thought almost made Zelda want to retch right there. If she gave herself to him under the guise of giving into his advances she could take the sword while he was asleep. It- Wasn’t the best situation, but- If she closed her eyes it could at the very least be Link in her head. And then she could kill him with minimal fuss. Zelda took a deep breath and closed her eyes, struggling with the idea of this plan. It seemed simple and yet-

“Think about it, Princess. I get what I want and you get to save your people. And you’ll get to be married to the person you love in a sense.” He edged her on, trying hard to convince her to accept his proposal. Oh- He really wanted this didn’t he? The demon who hadn’t even bothered to tell her his name since he had taken over Link’s body all those months ago-

“That’s-” Zelda stopped, unsure what to say still. She wanted the violence to end, but- She also didn’t want to use her own body in such a way. It was low and manipulative. But she had been being manipulated this entire time, so why should she care if it was or not?

“Come on, Princess. How many more innocent people have to die before you swallow your pride and submit?” He taunted her again. Oh, she wished she could slap him again right then- Her unease was cut through with anger. How dare he question her loyalty to her people- She’d show him.

“Fine.” She answered finally. “On the condition that you stop all violent activity against my people by this afternoon, I will agree to marry you.” He grinned wickedly.

“Consider it done.”

The demon was beyond pleased with himself and his guards had celebrated loudly for the rest of the day and well into the night at this ‘victory’. Oh, if only they knew the hell they would pay when Zelda got a hold of the Master Sword. Of Link’s sword. She’d make them wish that Link had killed the demon when he came to the fortress in the first place. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and she was a goddess and was fucking livid.

It was late the next evening when Zelda exited her chambers, padding her way barefoot down the hallway to where she knew the demon slept. Her heart was thudding loudly in her ears as she approached the door between her and the demon. Was this really about to happen? Would he be rough with her? Would she bruise? Would he talk down to her like she was nothing but a whore or would the tiny remnants of Link that remained in his behavior towards her come through and he would be gentle with her during her first time? She steadied herself before opening the door to the demon's chambers.

His crimson eyes fixated on her from where he was laid out over his bed that was much like her own. Odd that it wasn’t more lavish, but she supposed that wasn’t important.

“Oh? And to what do I owe a visit from my wife-to-be?” He teased her, propping himself up on his elbow and draping his other arm across his midsection. Damn him- He knew that was something LInk would do when she got his attention. Zelda slipped in and shut the door behind her.

“I’m- Tired of resisting.” She said, making sure that her voice had a tiny whine at the end of it. Like she was close to tears. Lady Impa would have been proud of her acting skills right now as the demon was eating it up. He raised a brow at her and smirked, gesturing her closer with a curl of a single finger.

“Are you now? Well, it’s about time.” He said, sitting up and watching her as she made a show of hesitantly locking the door behind her and ever so timidly making her way to the bed. “Don’t be shy, I won’t bite… Not that hard at least.” He teased, chuckling darkly and Zelda blushed.

Holy Hylia above, she was really about to do this. She didn’t have to fake the nerves as she crawled into his bed and let him touch her and disrobe her. The tremor in her hands as she started to touch him back was as real as the situation she was in. For all the demon’s aggression towards her in the past, he made sure to at least attempt to soothe her nerves, but every thought she had was plagued by the knowledge that this wasn’t Link like she was trying to pretend it was. This was a demon.

Thankfully, Link, or at least his physical body, was also inexperienced and wasn’t able to last too long. It had felt… Alright. Zelda would have been much more relaxed and emotionally fulfilled if she had been with Link instead of this spirit piloting his form.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.” THe demon rumbled into her ear when they were finished. He laid against her back, holding her naked form against his own. “I even made you finish~” He had, in fact, not done so. She had faked it to stroke his ego a little bit more into relaxing. She had been trying to focus on anything other than the demon the whole time: her plan to escape, going home and celebrating the end of the war, mourning everyone they had lost, mourning Link- But it was done now at least, she could turn her attention to her next step.

Of course, he didn’t make it easy.

With his arms around her waist and his face pressed against the back of her shoulder, it would be very hard for Zelda to get up out of the bed without waking him up. Especially because the way he held her wasn’t just a loose hold, he was gripping her firmly. Fuck, this may have been a mistake.

Though- She did have time to look around the room now. She didn’t know where exactly the sword was located or hidden, so she glanced around the parts of the room that she could see. There were weapons and baubles everywhere, but finally, Zelda was able to make out the golden triforce on the scabbard of the Master Sword in the corner of the room, concealed partially by a few other weapons.

Zelda shifted once. Then twice. Then a third time to see if the demon was awake or not. When he didn’t respond to her shifting in any way, his grip even loosening unconsciously around her, she knew it likely was safe to try and get up. If he woke up she could say she needed to use the bathroom or to… clean up from their activities. Carefully, Zelda squirmed and twisted from the demon’s grasp, finding the dress that she came in, not liking the bite of the cold air on her bare skin before picking her way carefully over to the corner where the Master Sword was.

There was no way this was going to be this easy- Surely this demon wasn’t so oblivious to think that she would just- Sleep with him without an ulterior motive. She had resisted doing it for months now, that wasn’t just going to change overnight.

She gripped the hilt of the Master Sword and carefully tried to move it from behind the other blades trapping it against the wall. Finally, Zelda was able to pull the hilt from behind the other blades and then carefully extracted the scabbard and blade from the tangle of weaponry.

That’s when a movement caught Zelda’s eye and she looked at the stack of blades on the wall. One of the swords crossguards caught on the Master Sword’s own crossguard as she freed it and it tilted precariously to one side, then started falling, falling- And clattered loudly on the ground, hitting two more on the way down, adding them to the noise as they also clattered against the stone floors.

Zelda whipped around to face the bed- Sure enough the demon’s eyes were open and fixed on her in a dangerous way.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing Princess?” The demon questioned as he got up, not bothering to put clothes on as he put his feet on the ground and began making his way to her. This was bad! Very bad! But she had the sword! She had no idea how to use a sword, but! How hard could it be??

Panicking, Zelda yanked the blade out of its scabbard and sent a quick prayer to the Goddesses to help her as the demon paused in his advancements. Then he started to chuckle.

“Ohoho, is this really what you want to do, Princess?” He taunted, narrowing his eyes at her. “What are you going to do? Kill me? Kill him?” He said, edging around her, trying to circle so that he was between her and the door. Zelda stepped closer to the door, keeping her back to the wall and the point of the Master Sword towards the demon’s chest.

“You think this is all a game. You want to use me and him like pawns. It’s going to end. Tonight.” Zelda said. The demon tilted his head to one side and scoffed.

“Perhaps it will.” He said, raising a hand as a myriad of shadows congealed into the form of a blade not unlike the Master Sword but pitch black. “I should have guessed that you weren’t going to concede that easily, but- You put on a convincing show. You were rather determined to do this, weren’t you.” He said, gripping the blade tightly. Oh shit- Oh shit, they were really about to fight weren’t they? Oh this was bad- This was a horrible plan, oh goddesses help her-

The demon swung and by some divine fluke, Zelda parried the strike. How? She wasn’t entirely sure. She’d never used a sword in anything other than formal ceremonies before, by all means he should have just stuck her like a pig- Another strike and she parried again, her feet taking her back half a step, but she wasn’t dying yet so that was fine.

“What-?” The demon furrowed his brow and eyed her, clearly seeing the surprise on her face. “Stop doing that!” He snarled as he struck again. Once again, Zelda blocked. The demon snarled at her now and began rapidly trying to strike her. And as if the Master Sword had a mind of its own and control over her feet, Zelda blocked, parried, and pivoted away from each strike, much to the annoyance of the demon.

When Zelda thought that there was going to be no end to this cycle of strikes and deflections, she saw an opening. The demon raised his sword up as if to bring it crashing down upon her head- and left his entire abdomen open. Zelda pointed the tip of the Master Sword directly at his stomach and stepped forwards, putting her weight and everything she had in her behind the thrust.

The sickening sound of the blade cutting through flesh and sinew was far louder than Zelda had been anticipating and she let go of the sword, staggering backwards as she processed what she had- somehow managed to do. Waves of nausea overcame her as she heard the noise on repeat in her mind. Goddess above, what did she just do? The demon stared at the hilt of the sword as it stuck out of his midsection. The sword was buried so deeply into him the tip was also sticking out of his back.

Then a barrage of disturbing noises and gargles exited Link’s mouth as the demon shuddered, dark black liquid beginning to drip freely from his mouth, nose and eyes and then evaporating quickly away into the air like black little puffs of smoke. He dropped the jet sword, which also faded into smoke before it hit the ground.

“Damn, you- No! I-” The demon gargled out and more and more of the shadowy smoke began to leave Link’s body. Zelda watched in horror as Link’s charcoal grey skin lightened and his ash colored hair grew golden brown again and as his body wretched the last of the shadows out, crimson eyes blinked shut and finally opened blue once more.

Zelda could have cried seeing that beautiful blue.

“Link!” She cried, overjoyed that he seemingly was back for a split moment before a pained grunt left him and he went down to one knee, clutching at the Master Sword lodged in his abdomen. Zelda blanched as she realized that she now had to save Link a second time from something a lot more dangerous than a demon piloting his body. Oh- Oh shit-

#100 follower request #zelink #corrupt link #legend of zelda

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monsterstewwrites · 4 years ago

Text

More Honey cuz I’ve gone insane

My Sheep hybrid AU Honey, from Miggiisdumb’s bnha hybrid farm au has been taking of my brain recently, so I wrote another thing for her. This time we actually see some of the smut she and farmer Shoto get up to.

I have no idea how farms work so a lot of this is guesswork and googling, also I am not a very good writer. But honestly, writing smut and sex gets me motivated anyway so here we go.

Shino belongs to one-spicy-spider and you should shower her with love.

Donovan stared into her eyes and ran his hands over her clothed breasts, her nipples hardening from the attention. The way his thumbs kneaded into the hardened buds sent shivers through her soft skin.

“Can you feel me through your dress?” He asked her, pressing himself fully against her and grinding his hips into her crotch. “The flimsy fabric you typically wear makes you practically naked, which I often love. But you're not actually nude, which can make things frustrating, as you can feel.”

Indeed, Alyssa could feel his manhood through the thin fabric of the white dress she wore, it throbbed through his own trousers and sent her into a flush.

“Do you want me?” He whispered into her ear, his hot breath making her wetter.

With a heavy swallow she nodded, and Donovan grinned and reached for the straps of her dress and pulled it apart with a hard ripping sound.

Her hands instinctively tried to cover herself, but he used one hand to grab her wrists and pinned them above her head. She could feel his long fingers twist down her skin and tightening around her joints, locking her into that position.

The now tattered dress fell to the floor as he snaked his massive hand down between her legs and pressed his entire palm against her dripping pussy and tapped lightly against her folds. She groaned at the gentle touch, hoping for him to pressing rougher.

“Do you want it rougher?” He said to her. “Do you want my fingers to treat you mean?”

“Please!” Alyssa cried. “Take me, open me and use me as you please!”

Donovan pushed his fingers inside her and kissed into her neck, teeth grazing her skin and his tongue working around her neck and squeezing, not to strangle her, but to feel her heartbeat against one of his most sensitive appendages.

She loved the way that his long fingers reached inside her in ways no one else could, and she groaned out in pleasure as he felt around inside her.

“Take me with your cock,” she moaned out. “Fill my cunt with your barbs and never let me go.”

“Sheepy, earth to sheepy!”

Honey snapped the book closed, her face aflame and legs squirming slightly as she pressed the book against her chest. She looked up at the sight of Doctor Keigo looking down at her with a smirk on his face.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked.

She winced and stuffed her smut back into the little pocket of her wool.

When she went over to Doctor Keigo's office for her checkup he had said it was okay for her to take the book she had been reading, and he once said as log as it kept her from being too nervous she could keep doing so.

They both forgot how much of a distraction her reading habits could be.

“I'm glad to know you're enjoying my gift,” the vet said to her as she turned back to him. “One person's trash really is another person's treasure and all that, still it'd be nice if you paid a pinch attention during your checkup.”

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“No worries Sheepy,” he said. “Some people get sucked into it more than others. Now let me check your vitals to you can head back to the barn and finish that bodice ripper.”

He took out his stethoscope and began checking her heartbeat.

“It's a bit fast,” he muttered. “Though I have a good guess why that is.”

Honey stuck her tongue out at him, proof that she was getting more used to him and could be comfortable around with without fear.

“I know you first got into them for research,” he said idly. “You wanna get more ideas for how to better seduce the lads around here, most likely Shoto because you're more of a nightingale than a sheep most days.”

Honey pouted, he had insisted that before but she didn't think so. She didn't like him because he saved her or anything, she liked him because when she was scared and alone he was kind to her and made her feel like this new place was home.

That was completely different.

“I'm not a sexy cow,” she said. “I can't just make him suck my boobs the way he does with the cows, I wanna be able to walk all sexy and make him hard just as our eyes meet.”

Her fancy description and wistful tone made Keigo throw her a look, she really had been diving into those books a lot hadn't she?

“You really don't need at that faff to seduce someone, you know,” he said. “Men aren't complicated, and it's not like you've never screwed him before.”

“Well, yeah,” Honey admitted as she turned around and leaned over as far as she could without falling. “But I can barely ask for normal sex, what about that fancy sex I keep reading about and wanna try? The one where the princess was taken on the ship and tied to the mast, and the Octopus King saved her from the pirates and pleasured her while pulling the boat she was still tied to to his kingdom is still one of my favorites.”

Keigo paused in his checking of her spine.

“Was that was that one was about?” He muttered.

Honey ignored him and straightened herself back up, a few of her spinal joints popping as she stretched slightly.

“Is it so bad to wanna feel like a pretty damsel being rescued by her strong prince sometimes?” She asked, voice growing shy by her admission.

Keigo wrote something down on his clipboard with an amused sigh.

“Honestly considering what usually goes down around here that's probably pretty tame,” he admitted. “Stick your tongue out for me.”

She complied with each of his instructions and made a 'blah' to show him her tongue, checkups were kinda boring of she were being honest. Luckily only a few more things needed to be checked up on anyway, and he soon was able to finish things up with her.

“Alright Sheepy,” He said. “Everything looks to be in order her, you need me to escort you back to your pen?”

“No thank you,” Honey said. “I'm fine, goodbye doctor.”

“Next time I'll being you a series,” he said as she slipped out the door. “You're one of my most manageable patients, so I have to reward that somehow.”

He threw her a little wink and laughed at her flustered reaction, slamming the door behind her.

Doctor Keigo doing that always spurred her into a run, sprinting back to her pen where she could finish her book in relative peace.

The barn was usually pretty empty around this time of day, most of the other animals being milked or sheared or fucked.

Sometimes they fucked in the barn itself, but the hay had yet to be replaced and most of the hybrids preferred clean hay to roll around in.

Honey arrived at the barn hoping to find a bit of quiet, curl up under her blanket and read and get a few more ideas to become more confidant in herself. Sometimes she got so absorbed in her novels that she didn't even notice that sex was happening in the pen right next to her.

She didn't expect what she saw when she entered the barn made for the sheep to get to her pen.

“What?”

Amber eyes flashed at her as a stranger stared at her in silence.

A raccoon hybrid was rooting around in Honey's little pen and had strewn her novels all over the place, nearly all of them in tatters. Ripped out pages littered the floor and the cover of 'A midsummer night's cream' was sticking out of the raccoon's mouth as well as a few strings of the she's blanket.

Honey wasn't a violent hybrid by nature, in fact she was probably the least physically assertive (or any kind of assertive) hybrid in the the entire farm.

But when she saw what this stranger had done to her belongings and sleeping space something inside her snapped.

“NO!” She screamed, running towards the offending trespasser with her little hands in fists as she bounded over the fencing to get to her. “Get away! Those are mine!”

She tried to throw a punch at the raccoon, but was caught off guard by the little pest swiftly spinning around and swinging a knife wildly at Honey, slicing into her arm. A manic laugh erupted from her feral throat at her own actions.

But unluckily for the raccoon, Honey was loud when she was both scared and hurt.

She screamed as loud as she could, praying that someone could hear her, and she grabbed the raccoon by the roots of her scraggly blonde hair to make sure she couldn't escape. Another attempt to swing the knife resulted in Honey using her other hand to grip the grimy raccoon wrist in exchange for the blade nicking her skin.

“Geh!” The raccoon let out a harsh grunt as Honey pulled the sloppy hair. “Gedoffa me you stupid farmie brat!”

She pulled her arm away from Homey's losing her knife in the process, and swiped out at Honey's body, and the sheep was thankful for the level of wool she had accumulated because the claws protected her flesh from being sliced into.

Instead they tangled up into the wool itself which was less than ideal.

The pair of them ended up tussling amongst the scattered papers, with the raccoon trying to pry free from Honey and Honey herself trying to keep her in place despite the pain of her wool getting snagged.

Blood from her knife wounds trickled down her arm as the sheep hybrid tightened her grip on the raccoon's scraggly hair, one of the twin buns coming loose as she held fast.

It hurt really bad and she was scared out of her mind but she was too angry to let go.

The raccoon girl hissed as her claws managed to get free from the wool, tearing a chunk of it out in the process. She dug her hands into the arm that was grabbing at her hair and cause the sheep to let go.

“That's it!” The pest shrieked. “I'll teach you to mess with my rummaging!”

She drew her clawed fingers back and swiped at Honey's face, the sheep closed her eyes and braced for impact.

A sudden clang interrupted the pain and she felt herself get pulled away.

She blinked in confusion before realizing that she was in Shoto's arms, one hand wrapped protectively around her while the other held held a large empty bucket.

The raccoon was doubled over, clutching her head.

“Shoto!” Honey breathed.

“Damn you!” The raccoon cried out. “Don't interfere you asshole!”

Shoto looked like he was going to swing his bucket again, but something stopped him. A rush of air from above as something else literally flew into the barn and landed atop the fencing of the pen.

The barn owl hybrid Shino stared down at the scene with fury in her eyes.

The raccoon stared back.

“Well shit.”

Shino let out a screech, spreading her wings to their fullest and causing the raccoon to let out a shriek and turned around to run, but Shino was faster. The owl hybrid was on her in a second, pinning down her prey with her mighty talons.

The raccoon could only kick and scream as she was held fast.

Honey stared in awe at the sight of how easily Shino had apprehended that horrible raccoon, and made a mental note to thank her in some way once everything was set back to normal.

Glancing at the tatters of her books below, she wondered if she could make a flower crown out of the papers for her. She'd look super pretty with one, not that she didn't look pretty already.

At the barn doors many cows gathered to try and take a peek at what had happened, the heifers who could see the mess whispering to the cows in back and sending the whispers of gossip throughout them.

A few of the cows could see that Honey was bleeding, and that only got them more abuzz with interest. Shoto ignored them in favor of putting his bucket down and checking up on the little sheep in his arms.

“Thank you,” Shoto said to Shino. “I was afraid I'd have to hold it off myself.”

“No problem, I'm just sad I didn't catch her earlier. Hey! Quit kicking,” Shino snapped as other farmers and hybrids arrived at the barn to see what the fuss was about. “Don't make me rip that nasty head of yours off.”

While Shino was threatening, Iida barged in, pushing past the gossipy cows and taking a look at the situation in all it's chaos. When his eyes fell on the raccoon hybrid beneath Shino he actually recoiled at the sight of her.

“What on earth is she doing in here?” He asked. “How did she get in?”

“Maybe we can get the details out of her later,” Shoto told him. “Right now we should take care of Honey.”

He looked over her and took stock of the injuries she had sustained in her scuffle. All of a sudden the gravity of what had just happened hit her like a ton of bricks, the pain of her wounds coming to her now that the adrenaline was wearing off. She threw herself deeper into Shoto's chest and let out a tired sob.

“I'll take care of her,” he said to Iida. “You take care of that thing.”

“Bring her here Todoroki,” A voice said, silencing the gossiping cows. Doctor Keigo walking inside with a medical kit at his side and Izuku trailing behind.

Shino's feathers puffed up in irritation at the sight of Keigo, but given the situation she didn't move from her grip atop the intruder as he stood just outside the pen.

Keigo kept his distance and gave a nod to Izuku, who approached with a long pole with a looped steel cable.

Izuku quickly looped the snare around the raccoon's neck, only giving Shino the okay to let her up once he was sure it was secure.

“Keep one talon on her,” Keigo advised. “Take her to my office and don't take your eyes off her for a second. I have a friend who can make sure she isn't diseased and take her back to wherever she came from.”

It was clear that the great owl Hybrid wasn't keen on going to his office, but since he seemed to be staying behind to take a look at her little sheep friend.

Only slightly reluctantly, Shino and Izuku led the raccoon, who had begun laughing like a lunatic for some reason, and the onlooking cows hooted jeers and jabs at her.

“Now now!” Iida shouted at the crowd of hybrids looking on. “Nothing to see here everyone, go back about your day, unless you would like to help clean this mess up!”

That made them scatter, most back to their milking or fucking.

“I'll cover you for today,” Iida said to Shoto. “You make sure she's alright, I know she likes you best so it'll be quickest if it's in your hands.”

The way his face pinked a little bit told Shoto all he needed to know about where his mind was at as he walked outside where the remainder of the cows were waiting for him.

Not that either of them were complaining.

Setting her down, Shoto took Honey's sliced up arms and winced at the sight of them. He hated the sight of anyone on this farm hurt, and reaching for the medical supplies that Keigo placed nearby he carefully got about disinfecting her injuries.

She winced at the disinfectant rubbing into her wounds but remained still so Shoto could do his job. Once he was done he pressed his hand to her cheek, which she leaned into and kissed his palm.

Nearby, Keigo was examining the knife that had been used to stab at Honey.

“Looks like she swiped this from somewhere on the farm,” he said. “That means it's not likely to have any diseases on it, so that's a bit of good news here. I'll take a blood sample just in case, but I don't think you have anything to worry about, especially since you've been given shots to prevent this sort of thing.”

“That's good,” Shoto said as he bandaged up her injuries. “You've been really brave so far, can you hold still so he can do that?”

She nodded, but leaned into Shoto's chest anyway as Keigo pulled out a hypodermic needle and drew closer. No one liked needles on the farm, but she knew better than to kick up a fuss about it after everything and let him draw a bit of blood.

Once he had taken his sample he stood up so he could head out to get it checked out.

“I'll leave it to you two then,” he said. “You kids play nice.”

Shoto ignored him, and the joke flew over Honey's head as she looked at the mess made of her pen. He laughed as the barn doors closed behind him and left them alone.

Honey sighed sadly as she bent down to pick up the destroyed books that were scattered around her pen, the sadness of losing them creeping back to her.

“I can't believe that horrible thing destroyed all my books,” she said sadly. “I loved them all and now they're ruined. I might be able to figure out how to make the scraps into something pretty, but it's sad that I won't be able to read them anymore.”

“'Tonio gazed into Angelica's eyes and gave her full rump a squeeze, causing a grunt to erupt from her throat. He wanted to make that sound fill his mind forever, and he had just in instrument to do so.'” Shoto read from one of the papers, his eyebrows raising with each word. “This is some intense stuff, you know.”

Honey flushed and tried to grab at the papers, but he snatched it out of her reach with a teasing grin.

“Were you hoping to get some ideas?” He asked.

She was about to deny it, but she realized that the look in his eye was a chance that he was giving her. Honey swallowed and said the first thing she could think of.

“So what if I was?”

That was all he needed to hear.

Shoto pressed a kiss to her forehead, then another above her eye, and her nose, and finally to her soft lips.

She hummed into his kiss, feeling everything around them melt away. Her mouth opened instinctively and allowed him to push his tongue against hers as he gently guided her backwards until her back hit the pile of hay in the corner.

His hands ran across her soft body, fondling her chest as he kissed her and traveling lower and lower. One hand hooked under one leg and hitched it up to allow better access to the lovely pussy that was aching for him.

She moaned into his mouth as he fingered at her delicate clit, rubbing small circles into it with her thumb as his fingers probed her sloppy little hole.

Honey's hands gripped around his neck and pulled him closer to her, as close as they could possibly manage. He took the chance to nip at her neck, at that spot he knew drove her crazy as his fingers pumped in and out of her and curled his fingers just so, making tremors shake her body as she spilled over his hand.

“You,” she panted. “You were like my knight in shining bucket.”

That made him laugh against her neck, his teeth scraping against her skin and savoring the feel of her pulse beneath his tongue.

He wanted to make sure she was completely ready for him, loosening her walls so there wouldn't be any pain. She's already gone through enough after all.

After another few moments, he pulled his fingers out of her and reached for the fly of his pants.

“I'm you're knight eh?” He muttered as he fumbled with the zipper. “In that case...”

The sounds she made had made him achingly hard, and he could tell she had been thinking about his erection for a long time as he freed it from it's confines. She looked hungry for it, as much as he was for her.

“Allow me to claim my reward from the lovely maiden then.”

Honey felt like Princess Stella from one of her favorite novels, and she bit her lip in anticipation as her legs spread more, as much as she could manage.

Shoto ran a hand along her thigh, gentle and loving.

“Well then, are you ready for me?” he whispered into her ear. “Ready for your knight to take you?”

“Please,” she moaned. “Oh please fuck me, I can't wait anymore.”

Shoto gripped her legs and spread them as wide as she could comfortably manage and pressed his length into her aching pussy with a groan, the wetness from his earlier treatment allowing him to slide in until he was balls deep.

They both let out guttural moans that were practically in harmony.

“You alright?” He asked, not moving an inch until he was sure she was good about it.

She was stuffed so full of him that all she could do was nod, allowing him to pull away from her and slam back inside against her cervix, making her head fall back with her tongue lolling out of her mouth as he fucked into her until she could barely think straight.

“Oh god,” she moaned, bouncing against his relentless pounding. “Oh yes, please yes! More, please.”

The panting she made and the bounce of her breasts against his pounding only spurred him on further, and he repositioned her legs further until they were pushed up against her ears. It felt like heaven for both of them as fucked deeper into her.

Honey was on cloud nine, only able to think of the sensation of the man above her rearranging her insides. She reached a trembling hand down to where the pair of them were connected so she could continue at her clit. The sight was too delicious and Shoto felt the pressure building up inside him reach a peak, but he did everything in his power to hold off as he mercilessly pounded away.

The two of them filled the air of the barn with their gasps and moans until Honey began to feel her orgasm reach a boil.

“Please,” she panted. “Cum, I wan' cum. Come inside me, please!”

Her begging was enough to push him further towards the edge, and she felt the tension inside her was wound tighter and tighter as he hammered into her even harder.

It was impossible to tell how long they went on for, until a wave of bliss crashed over her with a loud cry. Her back arched sinfully and her walls clamped around his length and triggered an orgasm of his own.

He pressed against her as he emptied his load inside her, filling her up with his cum.

Bliss.

The pair of them panted against each other, their high winding down but they didn't dare move or the feeling would dissipate quicker.

Shoto pressed a kiss to Honey's neck after a moment.

“Good girl,” he panted.

Carefully he pulled out, watching as a few dribbled of his seed spilled from her. She looked up at him with a smile and longing in her eyes.

“Shall we clean up now?” He asked.

“Let's wait just another moment,” Honey said. “This feels too nice.”

He smiled, Iida had told him to take care of her after all. This was all part of the job and who was he to go against his orders?

And she was so soft and perfect to snuggle up with.

It wasn't until an hour later that they were able to get themselves to clean up the pen, saving the paper so Honey could make a lovely crown of paper flowers for her other hero.

She was sad to see her lovely stories go, but considering the fallout she could deem the acceptable losses.

Besides, between doctor Keigo and other farmers hearing what had happened, she soon had more than enough donations to replace it with.

#farm au #bnha smut #hybrid au #miggiisdumb #one-spicy-spider #shoto x oc #shouto x oc #shame is for losers

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whittakerjodie · 4 years ago

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Stardust (13th Doctor X Reader)

Request: 13th doctor x reader where the reader is super insecure about their body and the doctor proves to her how much she loves her?

A/N: I kept descriptions of bodies as loose as possible, that way everyone can see themselves in this fic and most importantly can see themselves for what they are: beautiful, and crafted from stardust.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Insecurity of body image, etc.

The TARDIS wardrobe room was a blessing. Nearly any piece of clothing in the known universe was featured throughout its infinite halls, the shelves and racks switching out once you were done with them. Today, the features of the wardrobe were being stretched to it’s impossible limit. You simply couldn’t find something to wear.

Recently, you've been having that trouble a lot. No style seemed fit for you and the inbetweens weren’t working, either. Deep down, you knew it wasn’t as simple as a style change. The issue, to you, wasn’t the clothes. It was the body they were being placed on.

“Almost ready?” The Doctor’s cheery voice yelled through the walls. You jumped, dropping the large, puffy coat you’d been considering as a last resort. She was already through the doors, eyes moving across the massive piles of discarded clothes. You’d asked the TARDIS not to get rid of them, in case you wanted to dig through them for any second thoughts. But now, you supposed, it looked suspicious.

Even more damning was the tears of frustration pooling in the corners of your eyes. In the midst of your madness, you weren’t ever aware of their existence. Now that you were, you wanted nothing but to quickly brush them away so they could be absorbed by the skin you felt so wrong in. The Doctor noticed them, frowning. “Something wrong?”

“No,” You tried, but the lie was embarrassingly obvious. The Doctor frowned and stepped closer to you, hands outstretched. You obliged her, placing your hands in her palms. “Would you take a ‘nothing major’? “

The Doctor squeezed your hands comfortingly. “Only it really was, or if you didn’t think you could tell me. “

You sighed, then, not wanting to disappoint or alienate the Doctor from what was starting to have a large impact on your life. “Alright, Doctor… I’ll talk”

“Sounds like i’m interrogating you,” The Doctor chuckled lightly. She led you to one of the benches available in the wardrobe, so that you could both sit down and discuss things in a more comfortable setting. It helped to stabilize your physical form, which leveled your mental playing field too.

“I’m not entirely sure how to explain it,” You felt it was a fitting start. “It’s something very personal, detailed.”

“Just start with how you feel here, now. Then branch out from it, if you can.”

“I feel wrong.” You said shakily. “Like something isn’t right- like I’m not right. Not this body, at least. Every time I look in the mirror or try to get dressed … and I’m not sure how to move on from it.”

The Doctor’s eyes softened and her eyes examined your hands, which were beginning to pull away. You wrapped your arms around your chest, sighing. Telling another person had supplied just a little bit more weight against the doors trapping you inside yourself. You felt the need to reassure her, make sure she knew that you weren’t weak despite it all.

“Now, I know it’s probably nothing-”

“It’s not nothing” The Doctor countered instantaneously. She glanced back at the piles of clothes strewn throughout the room and stood. “Will you let me show you something?”

You accepted her invitation and rose from your seat, hating the shift of gravity that pulled you further back into your body. The Doctor walked towards the mirror on the other side of the wardrobe room. Your eyebrows raised in confusion. When you had been using the mirror, it was much smaller, barely showcasing your entire upper body. Perhaps it was a reflection of what little parts of yourself you wanted to see. Now, the mirror was massive. It was an ornate structure, circular gallifreyan masterfully carved into the hazel wood frame. In the center, you saw yourself, carefully approaching. The Doctor was waiting for you to join her by her side. When you did, she slowly stepped behind you. Her chest pressed against your back, her hands rested on your shoulders. The only way you could look at her familiar features was to first acknowledge yourself in full.

“Look in the mirror, Y/n,” She whispered. “Look at what I see for a moment.”

You swallowed harshly and brought your eyes to meet themselves in the reflection.

“There are a million theories throughout the universe about how we all come to be. I’ll tell them all to you someday, if you like. But for now I’d like to focus on another theory you’ll be more familiar with.”

“Hm?” You inquired. Looking at yourself, still wearing one of the many outfits you simply had to settle for, you couldn’t help but wish she would hurry.

“The conservation of mass. Nothing in this universe is created or destroyed, simply transformed. Do you know what that means?” You shrugged, knowing what the law was but not knowing how the Doctor was going to relate it back to the situation at hand. You were sure she could find a way, though, knowing her. She certainly lived up to the expectation.

“If no matter or mass is created and destroyed, that means it's all been travelling and changing throughout time. Waiting for the next object or person's turn so that it can explore another way of being. One day, your turn came. The universe’s particles collided and rejoiced in such a specific, perfect way- that you came to be.”

You let out a breath, relieved of some weight. The Doctor's hands moved from your shoulders to your face, fingers lightly caressing your cheeks. Then, into your hair, to softly comb. And next to your back, and around your middle so she could squeeze lightly.

“When I look in that mirror- when I look at you, I see that perfection. I hope that you can see it, too. “

A tear fell down your face and the Doctor caught it, holding her wet finger out in front of you. “Look at the way your tears catch the light. That’s probably starlight. Somehow it found its way to you. Surely it comes from the galaxy that formed your eyes, or-”

You turned around quickly and wrapped your arms around the Doctor, holding her tightly to you. She kissed your cheek, then pulled your head to a position where you faced her. “I love you. All of you. Every molecule. Will you share those feelings?”

You laughed at her awkward words, wiping the small trail of tears from your cheek. “Yes, Doctor, I will. Thank you.”

#13th doctor imagine #13th doctor x reader #13th Doctor #doctor who #doctor who imagine

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hardskz · 5 years ago

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forever after: masterlist

once upon a time still exists in this age, albeit in unconventional ways. alternatively, stray kids in fairy tales that were revamped and modernized to the point where it’s sometimes near impossible to decipher which tale the story was derived from.

genre: university au, romance, drama, humor, porn with plot/smut

a/n: i like fairy tales, i like stray kids, and i like smut, so why not combine all three into one? there is no update schedule and the fics are only very loosely inspired by the fairy tales, so it can be that the story goes completely off track from the original. descriptions might be altered when i reckon i’m straying away from the initial outline. the series does not have to be read in order as they’re all independent from one another!

one song glory ➵ bang chan

frankly speaking, nobody knows what the fuss about bang chan from the music production department is; all they do know is that you shouldn’t get yourself involved with him. that proves to be an impossible task when you are assigned to collaborate on a project with him. it’s only a matter of time until you figure out what lies beneath the ugly rumors spread about him on campus and his exaggerated eboy style that is way too flashy even for idol stage performances.

alternatively, another beauty and the beast story.

coming soon

damned if i do ya, damned if i don’t ➵ lee minho

you’re not blind; minho is hot. but you know better than anyone else that minho is the textbook definition of a real life troll (because really, which physics major is genuinely convinced that the earth is flat?). despite his antics, he manages to get laid four times a week and even after having slept with what feels like half of the university, he still whines that he hasn’t tried out his favorite kink yet, though he doesn’t spill the specifics. you wouldn’t be a best friend if you didn’t try to find out his #1 kink to annoy him. however, things quickly escalate into something none of you ever considered, but aren’t opposed to either.

alternatively, another peter pan story.

coming soon

cherry pop ➵ seo changbin

while your boyfriend looks the part of the stereotypical bad boy in every teen romcom — yes, he even got the sleeve tattoo down and goes to bars in the shadiest neighborhoods — he’s actually a science geek who is too whipped for you and refuses to take you anywhere that could put you in danger. done with his babying, you decide to act more recklessly, leaving changbin to clean up your mess which includes astronomical hangovers and severe side effects from a science experiment gone wrong.

alternatively, another little red riding hood story.

coming soon

heaven in hiding ➵ hwang hyunjin

you think it was just your lucky day when you drunkenly made out with a guy at the frat party your friend forced you to come. jeongin insists that day should be celebrated because 1) you made out with a (very attractive) stranger for the first time and thus, broke out of your comfort zone, and 2) you can’t stop thinking about said stranger. you think that was the first and last time seeing him, but when you meet again on a different occasion, you’re convinced that it’s a sign from the universe. luckily, he thinks so too.

alternatively, another cinderella story.

coming soon

between heaven and disaster ➵ han jisung

call it sad but you were desperate, fed up with being the goody shoes, and prayed for any salvation that would help you become well, less goody shoes. looks like your prayers were heard because that salvation comes in the form of han jisung, the infamous frat boy that has been sentenced to mandatory community service at the soup kitchen you volunteer at. the deal is simple and jisung is as brash as they say; a hands-on introduction to the world of kinks in exchange for a favor he can cash in without limitations. the only condition: no feelings, otherwise the agreement is off. well, fuck.

alternatively, another rumpelstiltskin story.

coming soon

lucked out with the devil ➵ lee felix

the story usually goes like this: new swimmers are recruited to the swim team. that means abs galore and a win for the team managers who can indulge in the eye candy. and because everyone has a different type, it’s natural that you’re drawn to a certain swimmer. the story isn’t any different for you (the team manager) and your subject in question felix (the new addition), except that he seems familiar to you. no, you’re not in the same major, so how— wait a second, why does his voice sound eerily similar to that one camboy your roommate gets off to?

alternatively, another little mermaid story.

coming soon

sugar, you’re going down ➵ kim seungmin

honest to god, everyone is confused about your strange love-hate relationship with seungmin. maybe it’s because you’re both photography majors, maybe due to your different financial backgrounds — after all, rumor has it that you can’t stand him because he’s one of the best of the year despite running on a scholarship unlike you. it’s a strange love-hate relationship indeed, but it’s quickly rotting into a purely hate one when you have to work on an assignment together and can’t agree on anything. at least, that’s what you assume. in reality, it’s way more complicated than that.

alternatively, another frog prince story.

coming soon

#oh man this is gonna be... wildt #stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan smut #han jisung smut #hwang hyunjin smut #kim seungmin smut #lee know smut #felix smut #seo changbin smut #masterlist

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eideticmemory · 5 years ago

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EMERGENCY II | SPENCER REID

Description: Part 2 of EMERGENCY! Read the first part here! Filling the request, “Spencer is in a relationship with the reader but is hiding it from the team and they all know he’s hiding something but don’t know what until he gets hurt / shot in the field and the hospital calls her in as his emergency contact :).”

Word Count: 1,658.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Graphic sexual intercourse, unprotected sex.

“[y/n], I can walk, babe. Really,” Spencer said. But you wouldn’t hear it. You positioned one hand on his waist, and the other on his shoulder, trailing him as he moved up the stairs. “I feel fine.”

You matched his strides as the two of you stepped towards the apartment door, ��Fine, Spencer? You feel fine?”

“Okay, maybe that’s overselling it. I feel fine considering I just got shot in the neck.”

“What did I tell you about the ‘S’ word?” You gasped, your hands working to unlock the door.

“Same thing you told me about the ‘G’ word and the ‘B’ word.”

“Exactly,” you popped the door open, subsequently guiding him into the living space. “Those words do not enter this apartment. This is a healing space. Only positive thoughts and positive vibes.”

“You have been spending way too much time with Garcia,” he laughed. You shook your head at him, as you two walked into the bedroom where you helped him lay down.

“Penelope is amazing. She stayed with us the entire hospital stay, decorated your room, brought me food when I didn’t want to leave you. She’s a gem.”

“Yeah, she is,” he smiled. “I’m glad you got to meet the team.”

“Me too,” you tucked him into the cover of the duvet, sitting at his side. “JJ and Emily took me out for a coffee a few times to get me out of the hospital. And Derek was telling me all these stories about my beloved boyfriend.”

“Oh, no!” He groaned.

“Oh, yeah. All about my little boy wonder — when you first joined the unit, all the cases you’ve cracked, all the facts you’ve told him.”

“Mhm, I’m sure he only had lovely things to say.”

“He did! He came to visit you everyday, even if you weren’t awake. That’s a good group of people you work with, Spencer Reid.”

“Yeah, they’re awesome. And I promise you as soon as I’m all better, we’ll all go out for dinner. Where I will properly, formally, introduce you as my girlfriend.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Emily and I are going shoe shopping tomorrow. I’m well settled in.”

Spencer smiled. In his efforts to divide his work life from his personal life, he’d separated the most important people in his life. And he vowed, never again.

It took Spencer exactly 100 days to heal. 100 days of physical therapy, psychological therapy, and you, doing nothing to caring for him. He insisted you go to work, but with the extenuating circumstances, you were able to work from home - Spencer’s home. And you were able to watch him, cook for him, clean for him, encourage him every step of the way until he was ready to go back to work.

Work, you thought. Work. And you dreaded the thought of the career that’d nearly cost you your greatest love. But you bit your tongue, sucked it up, and watched Spencer leave for his first day back. He held you for ages beforehand, and you swore that when he was ready to let go, you’d let him go as-well. But neither of you moved for a long, long time. You two were embraced in the warmth of each other’s bodies, facing the idea of being separated for the first time in months, terrified, and very, very in love.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You placed your forehead to his shoulder, “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

He chuckled softly, “I love you, [y/n].”

“I love you, Spencer.”

You watched him all the way to his car, waving until he was out of the parking lot. And you suddenly felt very empty. Very scared. It was clear you would not feel secure again, not until he was back. Back and in your arms.

You kicked your feet up on the couch, laptop perched on your legs as you began your work for the day. You tried with every ounce of effort to keep your attention focused, and your mind from wandering to Spencer. It didn’t really work. You watched your phone like a hawk, scared that it might ring at any moment. Scared of reliving one of the most traumatic moments of your life. But it never rang.

Instead, not even an hour after Spencer had left, he came barging through the front door and headed straight for the bedroom. You shot up, calling out to him, “Spencer? Baby?” But he didn’t stop. He entered the dark room and took a prompt seat on the bed, removing his shoes.

You followed him, face twisted in confusion and instant worry. “Spencer? What’s wrong, my love?”

He frowned, shook his head and anxiously ran his fingers through his hair. “They—they wouldn’t let me fly. They wouldn’t even let me stay at the bullpen. They sent me home.”

“They what?” You gasped, stepping over to him and placing your hands on his shoulders.

“They said I’m required to spend at least another week at home. Claimed my psychological evaluations didn’t give me enough clearance. How? How? I was ready to go back to work. I’m fine!”

“Oh, baby,” you whispered. “It’s okay.”

“No, no, it was humiliating.”

You sighed. As much as you dreaded the idea of Spencer being out in the field, you dreaded his sadness even more. “Okay, okay,” you said. “We’re not going to let this happen. We have done too much to make sure you’re happy and healthy and ready to go back to work and I just refuse to let them ignore that.”

“[y/n]—“

“No, Spence. I won’t let them do this to you. That team is your life, your family, you deserve to be back. Who do I have to call? Hotch? I only met him once, but I will call him. I will call him and verify that you’re healthy enough to work. And if he doesn’t accept my verification then I will include every doctor, psychiatrist, physical therapist that I can until he does accept it.”

“[y/n],” Spencer repeated, eyeing you closely, with a look on his face that even a trained profiler themselves couldn’t read.

“What?” You replied, tilting your head. “What’s wrong.”

He exhaled slowly, staring up at you, his eyes glazed over. “[y/n], will you marry me?”

The words hung in the air like smoke, filling your lungs and your ears so powerfully that your senses became overwhelmed. You froze in place, jaw dropped and your eyebrows furrowed together. “What?”

“Will you marry me?” He said. This time stronger, louder.

“Y—you’re asking me this now?” Your voice broke. “Spencer, what the hell?”

“Is that - is that a no?”

You darted your eyes around the room, attempting to blink away the tears in your eyes. “It’s, it’s a yes. Of course it’s a yes. Yes.”

He smiled up at you, “So, what do we do now?”

“How about,” you cleared your throat. “Something we haven’t done since you went into the hospital?”

“And what’s that, [y/n]?”

You stepped over to him and held eye contact with him, as you slowly stripped your shirt off of your chest, leaving you in a pair of pajama bottoms and no bra. You stepped out of the plush shorts, “I hear engaged people do this all the time.”

“Yes. Yes, they do,” he whispered, taken aback by the sight of you. He reached out and touched your waist, pulling you into his body gently. You straddled his lap, taking his face in your hands, and kissing him softly.

Spencer fell back against the bed, hands running down to your ass and back up to your spine. Everything was slow. The kisses, the touches, the removal of Spencer’s clothes. Gazes were intense and focused. You wound up with Spencer’s fingers inside you, his wrist perched between your legs as you sat on top of his legs.

You massaged your breast as you rode his fingers, your thighs working to bring you up and down in a gradual motion. You could barely keep your eyes open, so struck with passion and pleasure.

“You’re so beautiful,” Spencer whispered, his hand loosely holding onto your face. “I can’t believe I get to marry you.”

“Well, believe it, baby. Because I’m saying yes,” you moaned. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

“Come here,” he pleaded, drawing his fingers from your core and pulling you onto the mattress, laying you down on your back. He placed himself between your legs, continuing to stimulate your clit as he pressed his cock into you.

“Oh, shit,” you huffed. “I missed this. I missed you.”

“You did?” He whispered, his hips moving at a steady pace. “Tell me all about it.”

“Spence,” you whined. Your body had tensed up at the slightest of movements, racked with sensitivity and heat.

“Hm?” He hummed, kissing your neck as his fingers rubbed your clit in slow circles.

“One—one day,” you breathed. “When you were, were, were asleep. You were moaning my name. A—and all I could think about was this. And how much I wanted to touch you, make you feel good, f—feel you inside of me.”

“I dream about you all the time. You’re—you’re all I dream about actually,” he whispered, suddenly cut off by a moan. “You feel incredible.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You placed a gentle kiss on his lips, holding his face in your hands as he worked his magic on you. All while maintaining eye contact. The two of you were so connected, it was first time you’d nearly orgasmed at the same second. Spencer followed you in a fit of moans, thrusting into you sloppily and whimpering your name. “Oh, God, oh, baby,” he panted. “I love you so much.”

Coming down from your own high, you gave him a sweet smile and assured him you loved him more. He laid beside you and held you against his chest.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “I buy you a ring.”

“But for now,” you whispered. “We’re just going to lay here.”

“Yes, my love. We’re just going to lay here.”

A/N: PART 3? WEDDING FIC? WE SHALL SEE.

#mine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reidxreader #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid

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maxwell-grant · 4 years ago

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Your Top Five Pulp Heroes that you wish were better known? By Pulp Hero fans, I mean. Since pretty much all of them except Conan and Tarzan are fairly unknown.

It’s actually quite hard for me to narrow it down to just five, because I’m having to choose between characters that are my favorites that I wish were more well-known and appreciated (which is all of them), and characters that aren’t quite my favorites but I very much think should have achieved great popularity for a myriad of reasons. So instead I’m going to pick some of each. These are not necessarily ranked by their importance or my personal taste, just 5 characters I felt like highlighting in particular.

Honorable mentions goes to characters I already talked about prior and don’t want to repeat myself on. These aren’t “lesser” picks, just ones that I already talked about: Imaro (who in particular definitely feels like he could, and should be, a pop culture superstar if he was only more well-known), Kapitan Mors (who’s got a lot in common with one of my favorite fictional characters, Captain Nemo, but also has a lot of interesting things going on for him as his own character). Sar Dubnotal (a character that appeals a lot to me and I think should be included much more often in pulp hero team-ups). The Golden Amazon (again, definitely a character that feels like it’s just begging to have a pop culture breakout, even comic books rarely if ever have female supervillains this ruthless and over-the-top), The Mexican Fantomas (who absolutely deserves a better name than what I’m calling him here, because he’s incredibly awesome and leagues ahead of just being a knock-off). And of course my homeboy, The Grey Claw, whom I would consider Number One of the list if it wasn’t for the fact that his obscurity has left him untouched by copyright and I got plans of my own for the character that wouldn’t be possible if he was more well-known, so I guess I’m ultimately glad he’s obscure (even if I’m still bothered by how little he’s known).

Allright let’s go:

Number 5: Sheridan Doome

Sheridan Doome appeared in fifty-four stories and three novels from 1935 to 1943. As chief detective for U.S. Naval Intelligence, Lieutenant Commander Sheridan Doome’s job was a grim one. Whenever an extraordinary mystery or crime occurred in the fleet, on a naval base, or anywhere the navy worked to protect American interests, Doome was immediately dispatched to investigate it. Fear and dread would always precede Doome’s arrival in his special black airplane. For, in an explosion during WWI, he had been monstrously disfigured.

He was six feet two inches tall; had a chalk-white face and head. It appeared as though it had once been seared or burned. For eyes, he had only black blotches; glittering optics, that looked like small chunks of coal. His nose was long, the end of it squared off rudely. He had no lips, just a slit that was his mouth. His neck was long, as white and as bony as his face…. Sheridan Doome looked more like a robot than a human being. He was tall and ghastly; his uniform fitted him in a loose manner. Long arms hung at his sides; his face was a perfect blank. He had no control of his facial muscles; consequently, his countenance was always without expression, chalky and bony.

But behind the ugliness was a brilliant mind. Sheridan Doome always got his man. Before Sheridan Doome became a staple in the pages of The Shadow magazine, two Doome hardcover mysteries were written in the mid-1930’s by acclaimed hard-boiled author Steve Fisher (I Wake Up Screaming) and edited by his wife Edythe Seims (Dime Detective, G-8 and His Battle Aces). Age of Aces now brings you both books in one huge double novel, presented in a retro “flip book” style. This book is currently Out of Print.

I sadly don’t have any more information on the character other than this. The book is unavailable for me to acquire in any capacity, and the text above is taken from the Age of Aces website as well as Jess Nevins’s personal profile for the character. I’m not even sure if any of those 54 stories even exist anymore, since although he was published as a backup in Shadow Magazine, there doesn’t seem to be reprints of them anywhere, at least as far as I can find, and the original Shadow magazines have largely turned to dust by now.

A character who combines aspects of The Phantom of the Opera and The Shadow, whose adventures are set in a backdrop that can easily lead to ocean adventures? That’s like, what, three of my favorite things in the world combined. I really, really wish I could at least read the stories this character stars in, but as is, this description is all I can provide. Again, time really has been cruel to the pulp heroes.

Number 4: Harlan Dyce

This is another character I’ve only been able to learn about through Jess Nevins’s archives and have not been able to attain any further information on, which is sadly the case with a lot of pulp heroes that nowadays only seem to exist as footnotes in his Encyclopedia or records in libraries. I don’t post more about these characters because I really would just be copying the stuff he wrote without much to justify me quoting him verbatim, and I hate the idea of doing that.

I especially hate that in Harlan Dyce’s case though. Here’s his description

“Dyce had brains, taste, money, ambition, and a total lack of physical or spiritual fear. But—

“Dyce was thirty-three inches tall and weighed sixty pounds.

“That was all the world could ever hold against him. That was what had made the world, most of it, in all the countries of the world, stare at Harlan Dyce, billed in the big show as “General Midge.””

Harlan Dyce is a misanthropic and venomous private detective. He has an “amazingly handsome face,” and the aforementioned brains. But all anyone sees is his stature, and he hates that and turns his cold eyes and acid tongue on them.

The only person Dyce likes and gets along with (besides his dwarf wife, a former client) is his assistant, Nick Melchem, a six-foot tall former p.i.’s assistant with bleak eyes and a strong body. Melchem ignores Dyce’s stature and treats Dyce normally, which Dyce responds warmly to.

Dwarfs may be the single most maligned group of people depicted in pulp magazines, even more so than the Japanese in the war years or the Chinese during the peak of the Yellow Peril’s popularity. Evil dwarfs, murderous dwarfs, sexually depraved dwarfs, they are all loathsome, ugly cliches that are, sadly, the only instances you see of dwarf characters being represented at all, with the only ones who are awarded any measure of sympathy are doomed henchmen or tragic villains. Even outside of the pulps, the only other examples of heroic, protagonist dwarfs I can think off the top of my head are Puck from Marvel Comics and Tyrion Lannister from Game of Thrones.

I’m not gonna say Harlan Dyce is great representation because I’m not a little person and can never make that kind of claim for a group I’m not a part of, but Harlan Dyce may be the first time I’ve ever seen a dwarf character in pulp fiction who was not a villain or a murderous goon or a victim, but an actual person and a heroic protagonist, and that definitely counts for something. I’m not sure how popular this character was or could be if someone picked up the concept and ran with it (and I’m pretty sure he’s public domain), but I definitely think this is a character that should exist and should be popular.

Hell, this character has Peter Dinklage written all over it, give it to him. Maybe then he will get to play a smart, fearless, cynical, misanthropic but good-natured and heroic character in something where he actually gets to keep these traits until the show ends.

Number 3: Audaz, O Demolidor

Audaz is a Brazilian character who was created and published by Gazetinha, the same publishers of Grey Claw as well as properties exported from elsewhere like Superman and Popeye, and much like The Grey Claw, he is also completely unknown even here. I’ll get to Audaz more in-depth sometime but here I’m going to provide a quick summary:

Audaz, The Demolisher is a gigantic crime-fighting robot controlled and piloted by the brilliant scientist Dr. Blum, his close friend Gregor and the child prodigy Jacques Ennes, who pilot the giant robot from a massive laboratory inside it's head rather than a cockpit. He takes on a variety of ordinary human criminals, mad scientists, supervillains and invading armies, towering over skyscrapers and grappling with jets.

Audaz was created in 1939 by illustrator Messias de Melo, a year before Quality Comics's Bozo the Iron Man and 5 years before Ryuichi Yokoyama's Kagaku Senshi, and decades before the debut of Mazinger Z. Although he is not the first giant robot of science fiction, he is the first heroic giant robot piloted by human pilots, and thus the first true example of "mecha" fiction.

Number 2: Emilia the Ragdoll

This is another Brazilian character, although nowhere near as obscure as Audaz as even a cursory Google search can show. Although Brazil did not have a “pulp era” in the same way the US had, we’ve long gotten past the point of sticking to it as a definitive rule, and I’m including Emilia as a pulp hero because she’s a 1920s fantasy literature character who was created under a publishing company that released pulp stories, because she doesn’t quite belong in the mold of fantasy literature characters she takes after, and because I like her and if I was putting a bunch of pulp heroes together in the same story, I would definitely include Emilia in it. It’s not like she really has anywhere else to go, now that she’s public domain and she’s outlasted her franchise.

As you can tell by the above image, Emilia’s had a lot of variations over the years and that’s because the work she was created for, Sítio do Picapau Amarelo (Yellow Woodpecker Ranch/Farm), has become a major bedrock of Brazilian fantasy literature, one of the only works created here that you can find substantial information about in English if you go looking for it. Here’s some descriptions of Emilia’s character:

Emília is a rag doll described as "clumsy" or "ugly", resembling a "witch" that was handmade by Aunt Nastácia, the ranch's cook, for the little girl Lúcia, out of an old skirt. After Lucia takes her on an adventure and the doll is given a dose of magic pills, Emília suddenly started talking, and would never stop henceforth.

Emilia has a rough, antagonistic personality, and an independent, free-spirited and anarchist behaviour. She is rogue, rebellious, stubborn, rough and intensely determined at anything she sets her mind on, eager to take off on just about any adventure. She is often immature and behaves like a curious and arrogant child, always wanting to be the center of attention.

She is extremely opinionated even when she constantly and confidently mispronounces words and expressions. Her attitude often gets her into trouble, and she very often has to fight against the villains who attack her home on the Yellow Woodpecker Farm and mistreat her friends.

In the stories, Emilia often takes the role of a heroine who travels through different realms and dimensions, as the books include not only figures from Brazilian and worldwide folklore, but also several characters both real and fictional, such as Hercules, King Arthur, Don Quixote, Thumbelina, Da Vinci, Shirley Temple, Captain Hook, Santos Dumont and Baron von Munchausen.

She's fought scorpions and martians and nymph hordes, her arch-enemy is an alligator witch, she rescued an angel from the Milky Way and tried to teach it how to become a human, and once shrunk the entire population of Earth to try and talk the president of the United States into ending war forever.

To little surprise, she has become the most popular character and the series’s mascot.

It’s a little strange to consider Emilia underrated considering she is one of the most famous original characters of Brazilian literature, but hardly anyone outside of Brazil even knows who she is, and regardless of the quality of the original stories (and Monteiro Lobato’s views on race that tar much of his reputation), Emilia definitely feels to me like a character that should be a lot more popular globally.

She is the only character from Yellow Woodpecker Ranch that has transcended the original stories, since she was always the most popular character and there’s been a couple of stories written about her that usually separate her from the ranch and just set her out on the world by herself. The latest story about this character has been a series called The Return of Emilia, that’s about her stepping out of the books in 2050 and discovering a Brazil that’s been ruined by social and ecological devastation, and traveling back in time via a flying scooter in order to try and prevent this calamity.

Now that she’s public domain, I definitely think there’s some great stories that can be told with the character that just about anyone could get to, and I definitely think she’s a character that deserves more appreciation. Anything goes in stories starring her and it’s that kind of free-for-all freedom that I think can benefit future takes on pulp heroes. I would be very happy to place Emilia among them.

Oh yeah, and there was one time she kicked Popeye's ass by tricking him with a can of mouldy cabbage instead of spinach, making him sick and then beating him, which possibly puts her as one of the all-time badasses of fiction, except she would be pissed at not being number one and likely embark on a quest to beat everyone else just to prove she could, because that’s how Emilia rolls.

Number 1: Luna Bartendale, from The Undying Monster (1922)

Not necessarily my favorite of the bunch, but one who sort of epitomizes what you asked, a character who is both incredibly obscure and incredibly underrated in every sense. Despite the book being somewhat known, mainly thanks to the movie, the character is so obscure that I don’t even have an illustration of her to display here, not even fan art, just one of the book’s covers that I think best conveys it. Luckily, the book is also available freely online, so you can all go check it out here. The movie adaptation does not feature the character of Luna Bartendale which makes it pointless to talk about.

To not spoil it too much, The Undying Monster is a very fascinating book, ahead of it’s time in quite a few ways. You expect it to just be a detective story centered around a werewolf cursed, except the subtitle of the book is “The Fifth Dimension” and then it goes to talk about dimensions of thought and post-WWI trauma and love and hypnotic regression that travels through time and ancient runes and Norse mythology. It’s not exactly an easy book to get through in one setting, but I’d recommend it much the same if only because it’s got supersensitive psychic sleuth Luna Bartendale, literature’s first female occult detective, and she’s an incredible character who absolutely feels like she should have become a literary icon.

She lives in London but is world-renowned for her many good deeds. She is a small, pretty woman, with curly blonde hair, dark eyebrows and a high-bridged nose, and a slight build. She has a voice described as a light soprano that "does not make much noise but carries a long way".

Petite, bedimpled and golden curled, Luna is completely in charge of events, dominating every scene that she appears in with her welcoming disposition and cleverness.

Bartendale has various psychic powers, including mind reading. She is well-versed in psychic and occult lore, is a “supersensitive” psychic, and has a “Sixth Sense” which allows her to trace things and people through both the Fourth and the Fifth Dimension. (The Fifth Dimension is “the Dimension that surrounds and pervades the Fourth–known as the Supernatural”).

Her extensive knowledge of occult rites and practices puts John Silence, Carnacki and Miles Pennoyer to shame, and she beats them all with her "super-sensitive" gift of being able to psychically connect with troubled souls and hypnotize them.

She uses a divining rod for various tasks, including psychic detection and tracking, and distinguishing between benevolent and malevolent forces. She has various (undefined) powerful psychic defenses, can carry on seances, and can even cure a person of “wehrwolfism.” And she can always rely on her massive, intelligent dog Roska for help.

Luna sadly doesn’t show up in the book as often as I’d hoped, but everything about this character is so delightful. In a lot od ways she hardly feels like a pulp hero, at least the ones I usually talk about. She feels like a lost protagonist from an incredibly successful kid’s adventure series where a kind and eccentric detective witch and her giant dog go around solving occult mysteries and encountering all sorts of weird supernatural beings while counseling and helping people, like Ms Frizzle meets Hilda. Like this character is just waiting for Cartoon Saloon to make a film about her.

Its not so much “this character should/could be popular but it’s clear why that didn’t pan out”, it’s more me being confused as “why the hell isn’t she super popular? This character should have had a franchise ages ago, holy shit put her in everything””

#pulp heroes #pulp fiction #answer tag #sheridan doome #harlan dyce #audaz #boneca emilia #luna bartendale

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