#Judge/Rating Angel Forms

[lovieku]

HANDS ON ME ⋆ 정국

𐙚 if you like what you see, baby put your hands on me.

it’s about to look like jeongguk’s birthday everyday with you.

based on this ask

from the grande series ୨ৎ

pairing: nerd!jk x popular!fem reader

genre: smut

ratings: 18+ / mdni

warnings: lower case intended, jk is inexperienced and sooo whipped, it’s his birthday!!! and he’s getting it hhhh, lowk dom!oc x sub!jk, size kink, tit play, dry humping, brief coochie play, cum eating omfg, blow job, cutest babies ever

word count: 3.9k

a/n: first thing i saw this morning was that ask, so of course i had to write this. like THANK U ANON that was such a good idea yes yes yes. hope u enjoy 🩷🩷

🏷️ perm taglist: @ceellliiinee @jaytheatiny @dolligguk @luvismenu @theyloveyams @stillwjk-channie-lixie @bookstoread199 @girlygguk @vieviela @myngiii @angelxkoo @nnybtitts08 @mpbrinkss @https-mei @lyywst @mhdelu @apobangpogirlyyy @khadeeeeej @awrkive @nooooooooonnneeeeeee @vantelover1306

────୨ৎ────

jeongguk didn’t wish for his birthday party to look like this.

the second he casually mentioned that his parents would be out of town on the very same day he would turn 21, his small friend group (consisting of the two nerdiest guys in college, probably even battling him for the top spot) took it on them to turn what he imagined would be a calm, quiet night spent with the comfort of jimin and taehyung in front of video games into a contending rival of a literal frat party. in his own house. when he never approved of it, nor asked for it.

there’s an inestimable amount of faces he has never seen before this moment, but they all seem to know him, congratulating him every time he comes in their vision. then, they go back to drinking, kissing, soft-fucking on his couch, and seemingly pumping up the volume of the music more and more with each blasting and ungraceful song.

that is probably why he’s struggling a bit more than he usually does with breathing. he’s a huge germaphobe, and having all these strangers barge into his space and lean on every possible surface with their greasy, alcohol stained hands has him close to hyperventilating.

he still hasn’t figured out how his two friends did it, but they managed to involve what looked like the whole uni into coming at jeongguk’s 21st birthday party like it was an unmissable event. it truly did seem like one, though, the birthday boy looking around in a confused awe and realizing this is all he’s ever missed from his teenage years. meh. not all that.

what really got him struggling to breathe is you. you, the most popular girl in college, talks about you on the mouths of all guys and girls in the hallways, loved yet envied by every single one of them, are here. and when you greeted him, you did so with a kiss for each of his cheeks. he stood there like he truly was going to let his lungs stop working, and you just smiled up at him through your long lashes and big eyes.

you’re not popular for the cliché reasons a girl in college might be. you’re not mean, you don’t square uncool people from head to toe with a judging look, you’re not known to be scary and unapproachable. the reason why you’re surrounded by a devoted swarm of bees is because you’re the literal definition of an angel.

an angel always ready to help anyone who seems like struggling, flash them with pearly whites, and be impossible to resist with bug, wide eyes conveying all your most honest emotions.

you’re known for genuine reasons. he’s never even heard many rumors about you, and if he did he assumed it was coming from way too envious people. the only thing he allowed himself to believe about your privacy, is that you’re very caring in bed.

he won’t admit it, feels disgusting for it, but he’s touched himself to that thought a couple of times. maybe more.

it doesn’t matter now, because you’re closer to him than you’ve ever been, and you sit in the overwhelming circle that has formed on the floor of his living room, people he has never even talked to proposing games and pushing drinks into his hand since he’s now 21.

unlike most people, that number doesn’t mean a lot to him. he’s not that thrilled about the knowledge that he can now get his hands on anything that was previously denied to him, alcohol and substances of those sorts. he never liked them, and he doesn’t think he will just because of this newfound freedom.

he’s now getting the full experience when someone, sharp-eyed and drunk on audacity, spots the wooden door to his dad’s wine cellar left slightly ajar and suggests seven minutes in heaven with the kind of enthusiasm jeongguk imagines newton felt when that apple hit his head.

on his right, jimin panics for jeongguk, “you’re not going to fuck in mr. jeon’s wine cellar.”

“who said anything about fucking?” dahye, a friend of yours, the complete opposite of you with a mean aura and sliced eyes, intervenes and has everyone laughing.

jimin rolls his eyes and plops down from where he straightened up on his knees, and jeongguk stays silent. he gave up fighting long ago, when the first drink spilled on his carpet.

he just gives a tight-lipped smile when his blonde friend tries an apologetic look, shaking his head and studying the room. jeongguk gulps when his eyes inevitably fall on yours, and he finds you already staring, an intensity he hasn’t seen often. when he’s sure he’s perfectly resembling a deer caught in headlights, you tilt your head amusedly, and he hastily focuses back down on his lap.

“well, since jimin is so afraid we’re gonna break his boyfriend’s stuff,” dahye continues, feeding off the childish chuckles coming from around her, and maybe also off jimin’s annoyed glare, “why don’t we let the birthday boy go first?”

at that, jeongguk’s head snaps up, his fluffy hair bouncing with the sudden movement, and he looks around wide eyed. he’s not sure what the game entails, he just knows something is supposed to happen, but he’s not sure exactly what the people hungrily gawking at him are expecting.

taehyung is about to add something when dahye interrupts once again, resting her hand on your lap beside her, “he can go with ___. i know that would make his day.”

sitting at her left, you’re the only one who doesn’t laugh at the sneaky implication; instead, you glare at your friend, who shrugs in response.

both jimin and taehyung fall in total silence, their eyes alarmingly looking at their friend in the middle. jeongguk seems a hundred times more panicked, but not because of the same reasons.

while his two best friends are simply excited at the prospect of jeongguk’s every dream coming true, eagerly expecting a positive answer from his mouth, jeongguk’s whole focus is on you, and your seemingly impassive face. his mind spins with haunting worries, giving at least twenty different interpretations to the way you’re looking at him, brows subtly twitching up.

he clumsily parts his lips to say something, but with absolutely no senseful thought swarming his brain, nothing comes out.

a beat of anticipated silence goes by before you gracefully stand up, all eyes following you, and even if quiet, your voice goes through the music, “let’s go, gguk.”

jeongguk loudly gulps, and he hopes the sound isn’t heard, but he doubts it since he’s receiving a scary amount of attention that goes over what he’s received his whole life.

if it wasn’t for the two guys at his sides pushing him to stand up, he would have stayed with his ass perched to the floor. instead, he stumbles and almost trips, meeting your eyes with awkward shame as you just softly smile at his gawkiness.

you don’t wait for him, daintily walking to the room victim of the game, pushing the door open and curiously peeking inside. jeongguk hastily jumps over the people sitting on the ground, still quietly observing the scene, and he’s at your side way faster than the time it took for him to even realize what was about to happen.

he exhales loudly at the proximity, standing behind you and basking in the height difference, your head barely reaching his chest, and he thinks he truly sees heaven when you turn around to look up at him, grinning delicately as you tilt your head back, “wanna go in?”

jeongguk is sure he has lost the capability to speak. no matter the sounds he tries to force up his throat, they’re not strong enough to fight their way out. he simply closes the door behind the two of you, and he’s glad when it significantly helps drown out the loud music and drunkish chatter.

he’s less glad for it when it means he’s officially left alone with you in a relatively cramped space, the silence almost more suffocating than the room and its strong smell. but he’s convinced you must be an angel when you don’t complain, not even slightly, your face the expression of composure.

he stands in the middle of the cellar while you explore it in a circle, letting your heels click on the parquet floor and your fingers carefully brush the wine bottles.

the simple action makes him feel hot, naughty mind conjuring up images of you tracing his skin with such care, and he releases a shaky breath before you can stop him, blurting his messy thoughts out, “we— we don’t have— have to do anyt—”

“sit on that stool, gguk.”

the command is anything but harsh, your voice a soft melody of calmness, but it still startles him. no, it shakes something in his chest, traveling all the way down to where he’s starting to feel a strong urge.

you point to a wooden stool in the corner of the room, which doesn’t look too high, but when he obediently goes to sit on it with his knees wobbling, you promptly place yourself in front of him and grin at the way he’s still almost at face level with you, his forehead reaching only a little under your chin.

his huge proportions compared to yours have always managed to make your head spin and thighs squeeze together whenever you managed to sit next to him in the few lectures you shared, lashes fluttering seductively to have him fix nonexistent bugs on your computer just to see his wide hand close to yours on the keyboard.

now, with his puppy eyes staring up at you expectantly, his drawn up brows only emphasizing his yearning, you need to steady yourself with hands on his shoulder to hold back from quite literally grinding on him. you whisper, “good.”

his orbs shake impossibly more, and from the corner of your eye you see his fingers fidgeting in his lap, fighting a delirious need. his legs are spread just enough for you to be standing right in the middle of them, but you push yourself further into him, his chin lifting up even higher to never be forced to look away from your firm gaze, hanging from your lips when you voice an apology, “i didn’t bring a gift, ggukkie.”

jeongguk is almost panting, the endearing nicknames only adding to the warmth of your sweet body, your vanilla scent clouding his senses and gouging the truth out of him, “th—that’s okay, ___. i—i’m very happy you’re here.”

you smile, but it’s one he’s never seen on you. it’s not one of those you flash when you’re grateful, understanding, or even amused. it’s mischievous, almost belittling. “are you saying i’m your gift?”

his eyes widen, and he’s ashamed of the way your accusative tone causes him to throb in his jeans, and in his speech too, “huh— oh my god. i’m so sorry. that must sound so—”

you chuckle, stroking his broad back with your hands sliding across his width, “hey, slow down. it sounds so very cute coming from your lips.”

jeongguk appreciates your efforts at trying to put him at ease, truly. but your soothing touch and words only have him in a state of alert, even more when your fingers travel up his nape and find home in his locks. you’re impossibly close now, and he feels your voice resounding within him, “but i’m still not satisfied. i wanna give you more, make you forgive me.”

your whisper fans over his lips, and he unconsciously parts them for you, his eyes hooded by the second and glassed over with desperate want. you smirk.

stepping back enough for his neck to rest at a comfortable angle, he whimpers deliciously at the loss of your touch, but you shut him up just as quickly when your dress is off you and on the wooden floor in a swift motion.

jeongguk is definitely panting now, breathing manually and focusing too much on having his heart pump oxygen for him rather than the view of your exposed body in front of him.

he gradually realizes he could care less about dying right now if it means the last thing he’s going to be faced with is your nipples hardening with the cool, and hopefully something else, and your lacy white panties barely covering your core.

jeongguk stares like a starved man being met with his first meal after weeks of seeking, his hands trembling on his thighs and squeezing into suppressing fists.

his gasp turns into an awfully high-pitched moan when you hook a finger under the hem of your lingerie, sliding it daintily down your legs and walking out of it, never breaking eye contact with him. only thing you’re left with are your high heeled boots.

the next thing you do has the organs that keep all his vital functions going completely stop working, his heart missing more than ten beats and catching up with an alarmingly fast speed, causing his voice to shake, “___, wh—what are you—”

swinging one of your legs, you sit on him with your ingloriously stained panties pressing right on his crotch, hands placed back on the base of his neck, basking in the way you can feel his rapid beating under your fingers.

you lean into his ear, “if you like what you see, you can put your hands on me, baby.”

jeongguk throws his head back for air, his chest heaving with trembling exhales before he finds your eyes again, and in the fraction of second he needed to look elsewhere if he didn’t want to bust in his tight pants already, you’re a whole different person.

your eyes are sliced, pupils blown and hooded, and your parted lips stretch just enough to paint a wicked smirk over your face, its effects flooding right down his stomach and making you feel his hardness through the material.

his hands dance a panicked rhythm hovering over your sides, not sure what to do, not deeming himself deserving of feeling your skin under his touch. but you take it upon yourself to guide them, pressing his palms against your hips and letting them ride up your exposed breasts.

he whimpers, fingertips unconsciously testing the sense of the soft curve of your boobs with a subtle press, but it’s not enough. you can’t feel him.

with your hands still on his, you arch yourself further into his touch and have his thumbs slice over your sensitive nubs, letting out a moan of your own that goes over his low groan. you lick your lips and struggle to find your breath and words too, but you whisper them through an already too fucked out smile, “see? you can touch me, just like that.”

the go-ahead is all he needs for him to dive his head right into your chest, his tongue catching your nipple in an unpracticed hunger, messily sucking on it and quickly leaving your skin soaked with spit. he works clumsily with his hand on your other tit, movements uncoordinated and unsure.

but the fact that he seems to not care about his inexperience, willing to learn right at this moment all it takes for you to keep whimpering and trembling when he touches, has your usually composed senses lost in a haze of desire, the need to give your all to the nerdy boy that is finally being properly touched just as he turns 21 clouding your senses and pushing you to unconsciously buck your hips against his.

he moans with his mouth full of you, his free hand gripping your thigh, and he tries to stop it but he can’t help the way he meets your grinding, snapping up as if he lost all sort of control over his body. he quite literally wails in desperation, “fuck— don’t— don’t do that. i’m gonna— oh, god.”

“you’re gonna cum?” you sound just as crazed, hips rutting at a faster speed on him, the slickness smearing all over his jeans and leaving a wet patch right where his dick stays confined.

“no! i— i mean, just give me a second, shit. i swear, i—”

“ggukkie, this is about you. i’ll make you cum, hm? how’s that sound?” the sweet sound of your promise has him seeing stars, eyes squeezing shut as he feels himself getting close to a point he doesn’t think he’s ever reached before.

until he’s back to zero.

you lift your hips off his, helping your weight up by placing your hands on his broad shoulders, and you sport a devilish smile when he opens his eyes again, protest ready on his tongue. his brows are furrowed and there’s tears ready to spill out from his eyelids, but you don’t let them.

the huge palm that was still fondling your breast is now being led by you further down, until it disappears between you. you have him cup your wet core, the intensity of the moment only heightened by your gaze never leaving his, “touch me.”

when panic flashes over his expression once again, you instruct him through it just how you did minutes before, and he quickly gets the hang of it. you always appreciated him being a fast learner, but you couldn’t imagine that it would come handy in a scenario like this one.

you hum when his ring and middle finger trace your slit, only to come up to try and find your clit in a surprisingly good attempt, “good, get all of it. make your hand wet.”

the moment squelching sounds reach your ears, you leave your seat from his lap and stand on your heels again. he whines, unknowingly reaching for you, but you halt his hand and redirect it on the zipper of his jeans. you tilt your chin, “take them off.”

he’s quicker than he was at the beginning of his seven minutes in heaven now, freeing himself from the tight pants, boxers going along with it, and his cock springs free deliciously, standing tall and proud against his tummy.

you groan, almost already falling to your knees like you are planning to do soon. it’s an adjective you don’t think you’ve ever used on any of the guys you’ve been with, but jeongguk’s cock is pretty. its pink tip matches his lips, swollen from the harsh biting, and it doesn’t look rough. it has just the perfect length, girth, and when it twitches under your awe, you see it bend subtly to the right.

you smile, meeting his face again, delirious need written all over it, “stroke your cock with the hand you touched me with,” the second the order is out your lips, he’s already working himself. you can see him trying to go at a merciful speed, his grip loose, and it makes you grin amusedly, “mh, aren’t you so obedient. let me have a taste, gguk.”

you clearly have noticed that he’s not as quick on his feet as he usually is, brain clouded, so you once again take it upon yourself to lead his hand, this time introducing two of his fingers in your warm mouth. you hum loudly around the thick digits, eyes rolling back, and you speak around them, “fuck, you wanna try that?”

you don’t wait for him to reply, knowing it would get him minutes that you sadly don’t have to formulate a senseful answer, and you simply feed him his own fingers, carefully watching the way he lets his cheek hollow around them. you chuckle feverishly, “we taste so good together, don’t we?”

he nods eagerly, eyes glassy with more tears, and you think you can see one drop at the side of his face just as you fall to your knees in front of his seated body, your pretty figure even smaller from his view, and he’s graced with your bug eyes staring up at him through long lashes.

you don’t waste any more time, knowing there’s not much left in the heaven you’ve created for your own, and you wrap your ravenous mouth around him, showing none of the previous mercy in your speed.

he lets his mouth hang open, moans uncontrollably loud, and he needs to grab the sides of his stool to get the illusion of some sort of power still left within him. he closes his eyes in bliss, but quickly snaps them open when he realizes what he’s missing.

you’re bobbing your head up and down his length, and you still manage to maintain that dainty elegance that characterizes you, slim fingers gripping around the base and making up for the spots you can’t reach. he pants on the verge of a heart attack, pitch high as he begs, “fuck. look— look up at me, please.”

you do, aligning yourself better to meet his frenzied state, eyes communicating all the words you can’t say, too engaged in having him unravel all over your lips. he groans at the eye contact, thinking back to all the times he’s seen this exact scene flash behind his closed eyelids, and he’s a fool for even believing his mere imagination could compare.

it will never be enough, never again. not after this. not after knowing what you look like as you devote yourself to him, precise movements getting him closer, the way your tongue flickers out to reach down further and how you let his tip meet the back of your throat finally causing him to snap his hips up involuntarily, and before he can say something to warn you, he’s painting your warm mouth with his cum.

ropes of white, hot liquid spill out from you, but you promptly collect all of it, making sure not a single drop is missed, gulping it down with eager want. you wordlessly smile up at him, infatuated with the way his chest heaves and his lips part, trying to regain some composure.

he thinks he will need hours to fully recover. and he’s not even sure he wants this moment to end, blurting his predominant thought out before he knows it, “i wanna make you feel good, too.”

you chuckle as you get up, quickly soothing your knees before collecting your panties from the ground and walking back inside them, “it’s okay, baby. this was my birthday gift for you, hm? besides, we don’t have much time left before the others come in.”

“but…”

jeongguk helplessly watches as you get dressed, cringing at the stickiness of your wet core but nonetheless slipping your flowy dress back on. he just had the best orgasm of his life from the girl he firmly believes to be the love of his life, and he doesn’t get to give it back. oh, he feels like an absolute asshole.

you seem to read it all simply by scanning his face fondly, words soft, “that doesn’t mean you won’t get to do that, you cute boy. you will, and soon.”

when you’re done fixing the creases over your clothes, you walk to him and help him back in his jeans. tucking his softening length in, you lift up the zip of his pants and you’re glad for the way the patch of your wetness seems to have dried.

standing between his spread legs, you brush a hand through his hair, tenderly watching the way his curls fall and tickle his forehead. you smile and whisper quietly, “i got your number from dahye. i’ll text you, okay?”

he gulps, nodding hastily at your rhetorical question and feeling the blush creep up his neck. god, he must look like a total fool, “o—okay…”

humming lowly, you press your lips to his cheek, then to the tip of his nose, “you’re so pretty, you know that? don’t be sad.” next, your mouth rests on his, molding in a kiss that has his eyes shooting wide, and that ends way before he can even realize what’s happening. you chuckle at his expression, and you can’t resist another peck before promising, “happy birthday, gguk.”

[crustyfloor]

A new pop-up store dropped for ALIEN STAGE's 2nd anniversary and wow. It's so sick.

It's Interesting what exactly these experiments are focusing on and monitoring.

Instrument practice

I found it interesting earlier that Till was so tame, more so than he usually is when he's going through experiments, but music, and making music is what he loves doing, So he was fully in his element here. This was probably the only thing he was made to do by the aliens that he at least tolerated.

(Additionally, judging by his collar (orange), he was at least calm. maybe he just isn't fazed anymore.)

//Side note, that head contraption looks familiar BUT this most likely isn't related at least i hope

(It puts me at ease, at least..)

Dance practice

This surprised me, but I suppose Mizi needed more skills.

She looks very startled here, and nervous(?) +It looks like she's doing this while singing. And with that face covering I assume this was a test monitoring her dance balance, precision, etc. At first, I did think it was odd, "Why would Shine put her through that" But alas I was reminded that even though Mizi is the flower of the group she was never untouchable, to Shine, this was the equivalent of teaching your dog to sit and stay.

(seeing this it reminded me of those scenes in movies where the people are dancing, and the music gets faster and faster until they fall. I wonder if she was doing through something similar to that)

Singing practice (?)

Similar to Till she also looks quite calm outwardly, if the machine around her neck is an iteration of the collars they have, then this process wasn't something she liked, or given how intense this experiment looks, this was a test of high-pressure to ensure she always stayed calm during performances (?). Then again this could also be a posture practice given all the structure focused on maintaining her position.

(What I believe was another form of this test was shown before so I think so)

(With her hands in a praying stance I wonder if she was praying to herself or singing a religious song (sweet dream?) It's also interesting that the machinery around her looks like a halo, and she looks so...angelic? holy?)

Image making practice

By image making, I think they made Ivan replicate expressions with his face. Whether this process was painful for him or not...I'm not sure. But it looked visibly uncomfortable, maybe that was the point. (His expression, even in this circumstance is so dubious..)

Ivan, among other things, needed to have a spotless appearance to be successful, his image was a priority given his skills were certainly guaranteed.

I assume the aliens eventually took note of his lack of expression, in the real world this can be a detriment to one's career, so the Aliens had to ensure quality was perfect. (To a more...dedicated level)

Superiority test

'Superiority test' Is very vague.

HyunA is very calm here too, likely sedated in that water with all the tablets on her. I guess this was a test to get an idea of a pet human's strengths and weaknesses, endurance, and temperament to compare and contrast them with others, testing who is more viable for Alien stage?

Another interesting, and sad part about this is that HyunWoo was there, watching his sister through her experiments.

(Also, it looks like both of her legs are normal, no alien leg yet.)

Heart rate variability

And finally, the most visceral of them all. The wording 'variability' makes this all the more sickening, the Aliens were testing his heart hours, testing it at different rates, speeds, and states. And he was in agony the entire time. Even the way he's clutching his chest, it gives me chills. This would've been a completely harmless test in a normal setting, as something quite similar to this can be performed efficiently in real life. But he's being tortured in the process.

This is one of the first times we've ever seen Luka's face so truly clear and unprotected, (understandably so.) He's even crying.

[h-hollieskz]

ALMOST THERE

introduction | masterlist

->pairing : sub lee know x dom gn reader

->word count : 700+

->synopsis : lee know

->tw : idrk with this one, edging?, use of kitten once (I couldn’t resist sorry)

->authors note : was considering putting this in the tw, but this whole thing is incredibly sloppy and low key shit, but I’m just trying to get back into the habit of posting so bear with me

What you could only describe as the cry of an angel escaped your boyfriend’s plush lips as your fingers curled up onto his spot, his half-lidded eyes the epitome of a man far too gone to form a coherent sentence. Leaking on his stomach was his achingly hard cock, neglected through your teasing and cruel ministrations and you didn’t have any intention of getting him off any time soon.

Every time his body began to convulse, heart rate rising just a little too high, you’d pull away, leaving him to chase his orgasm desperately, tugging on the binds that held his wrists. He’d never pictured himself in this position and had you asked him a few months ago if he’d consider it he’d have scoffed in your face.

You see, your usually so proudly dominant boyfriend had agreed to a bet, allowing you to take control for one night, granted that you beat him at bowling (his pride certainly had gotten ahead of him considering his shaky skills at the sport). Despite not exactly being so great at it yourself, you still managed to beat him with quite some points between you both. The look on his face had been priceless.

Let’s just say that well, that night Minho learned some things about himself.

He’d already been denied twice at this point, and this is where previously you had given in. You reckoned he could take more though.

Lube squelched as you drove two fingers into his loose hole, aiming directly for his prostate each time and basking in the small yelps he let out, similar to the mew of a cat. His small hands were clasped together, knuckles turning white, in the soft fabric that tethered them together and his legs squirmed helplessly beneath your weight. Your hand danced around his crotch, caressing his thighs which you admired so greatly.

His pink lips were open in a small, delicate ‘o’ as he could feel himself approaching his release again, believing for a second that you were going to let him and whining as your touch departed again.

“Pl-please. I haven’t done anything wrong.” He gasped lightly. It was almost phrased as a question, begging you to tell him what he’s done. His usual grouchy tone returning slightly as he remarked, “just let me cum already.”

It was cute you decided. He believed that it would work. What he didn’t realise is how much harder he was making it on himself as you gripped his jaw like a vice, staring him cold in the eyes.

“Good kittens don’t make demands, they take what they are given.” You said through gritted teeth before continuing “If you don’t want it, you know your safeword.”

His glare began to soften as he gulped, his eyes squeezing shut as your hand found his cock, gliding it up and down his length agonisingly slowly. In a second you’d give him what he wanted, judging that he was right, he had done as you’d asked that evening, and you already pushed him so far. He deserved a treat. You just had to make him suffer a tad bit more first.

“You look so beautiful like this, you know that right.” His scrunched up face barely reacted to your words, but he let out another small whimper. You reinserted your fingers into his wet heat, Minho’s face relaxing slightly as he lost himself again.

It wasn’t long until he was at the edge again, a few beads of sweat noticeable in his hairline. He had gotten considerably noisier, the closer he got, eyes refusing to open right until he tipped over, body convulsing in pleasure as his orgasm rocked through him. It was more intense than any other he had experienced, and you made sure to kiss and ease him through it until the aftershocks were over. A sheen of sweat covered him as he flopped back, and you quickly undid his wrists.

“You handled that so well, baby.” You mumbled into his ear, peppering him with kisses, “did you enjoy it?”

“Yeah.” You faintly heard him say, and you didn’t press for more information.

“Do you want a bath?” You asked, ready to jump up and go run it for him.

“In a few minutes, jus want to lie here with you for a bit.” He whispered into your neck where you held him.

honestly gonna cry

[donelywell]

This is just a summary of how the story goes, kinda like bullet points I guess. If the time ever comes that this eventually gets written as an actual story, It would be a lot more detailed than this. Also, I don't own Sonic Unleashed or think the story is bad (I actually really like it), this is just how a strange person (me) would handle the story in their own fan universe thing.

DEATH EGG October 1

Tails helps Sonic get up to the Death Egg.

Sonic storms the Death Egg, going Super.

Super Sonic follows Eggman, he begs for mercy, but it’s a trick.

Super Sonic gets the Chaos Emeralds ripped right out of him,

Eggman fires a beam filled with the Chaos Energy to the planet, cracking it into 7 pieces, releasing a Giant Monster, but it fades away.

Sonic turns into the Werehog, only barely hearing Eggman yell something about the Gaia Manuscripts through all of the intense pain that he’s going through, and is shot out of the Death Egg with the now drained Chaos Emeralds. Tails, on the Tornado-1, sees this happen, and chases after him.

APOTOS October 1

Sonic crashes into Apotos. He notices that there is a small being passed out near him, so he tries waking him up to see if he’s okay, this ends up scaring the kid for some reason. 

Sonic realizes he can’t talk for some reason, his throat feels off and his teeth feel weird, so he uses sign language to try asking if the kid is okay. The kid doesn’t understand, but assumes (probably not the smartest move) that he means no harm because his eyes seem genuinely worried, plus he’s slowly moving as though afraid to scare off the kid again.

The kid calls him ‘Mr. Monster Guy’, which makes Sonic realize he’s not his usual self. This mildly freaks him out, but he tries to act calm to not freak the small creature out. Using his claws, he writes in the dirt, which luckily the kid can read, and realizes the creature has amnesia. Sonic worries that he might have caused it, and vows to help him get his memories back. (Little Fella joined the party!)

Sonic looks at the rising sun, looking at it as something to lean on to stay optimistic, and turns back into his regular self. He finds his shoes and now drained Chaos Emeralds lying on the ground, and with a lot more pep in his step, holds onto the kid and races off to the closest city to hopefully get someone who recognizes the little creature (and see if Tails landed there after he launched Sonic into space).

>Windmill Isle Day Act 1 (plays as it normally would)

Sonic questions everything that just happened, the Chaos Emeralds being drained, the strange new form he took not even 15 minutes prior, what this ‘Gaia Manuscript’ is that Eggman was talking about; but he’s interrupted by the kid getting sidetracked from the memory treasure hunt with an ice cream stand that holds the famous Chocolate Chipped Cream Sundae Supreme! After a little begging, Sonic ends up paying for 2 cones. Sonic ends up calling the creature ‘Chip’ as a temporary nickname until they get his memories back, Chip absolutely loves it.

While they go around enjoying their ice cream and asking questions about Chip's past, Sonic ends up being given someone's pair of gloves.

Meanwhile, Tails is searching for Sonic, he’s surprised that his communicator is broken, or at least not responding, because it should have been able to survive a fall that high. He manages to get a rough estimate as to where he might be judging by where he fell, but Sonic could really be anywhere on this section of the planet with his speed.

Tails is highly concerned for Sonic’s health and safety since the last reading from the communicator reported that his heart rate has spiked dramatically right before he saw him fall from the sky.

>Windmill Isle Day Act 2 (You play as Tails as he flies around town, looking for Sonic)

As he still searches for Sonic as it’s heading into sunset, Tails gets a call from Knuckles telling him that something happened to the Master Emerald and that Angel Island has landed.

Tails tells him that he’s looking for Sonic at the moment, but promises to come over as soon as he can.

After the call is over, Tails realizes how long it’s been since he last ate and spots a local Gyro Food Truck. He ordered a bunch for Sonic to eat later if he spots him.

As the sun is setting, Sonic and Chip still haven’t found anyone who recognizes Chip. Sonic gives Chip a pep talk when he sees that the kid’s down in the dumps, suggesting that there are lots of areas around the world, maybe he’s just not from here. Right when Chip feels reassured, Sonic transforms back into the Werehog. Both are stunned and Sonic realizes that he changes into the form every night (Chip needs a moment to come to the same conclusion).

Chip immediately notices that the Sundae Stand Owner is acting strange, and asks him what’s wrong, even suggesting he eats some ice cream. Sonic shoves his now too-big-shoes into his quills until daytime. Chip accidentally drops the ice cream, but Sonic manages to catch it by stretching his arm out. Both are extremely surprised by this, kinda freaking Sonic out with how strange it feels but he thinks it’s kinda cool. Chip really likes the stripes.

Meanwhile, Tails finds himself in between a rock and a hard place. He’s surrounded by these strange enemies and forgot his weapon at the Tornado-1. He would normally spin dash into them, but judging by the sharp claws and spikes on them, his fur would not be enough defense from that hurting him more than it hurting them. 

He could have also flown away from danger, but he’s currently trying to protect a lost little girl he found surrounded by said enemies. He knows he doesn’t have enough time to drop his defenses and fly away while carrying her before they attack, so he just has to try keeping the already miniscule amount of ground they have.

While not looking, an enemy gets a lucky hit on him, causing him to yell out in pain. Despite the pain, he refuses to stand down and keeps defending the little girl.

With his new sensitive hearing, Sonic hears Tails’ yell. Instincts kick in, realizing his little brother is hurt, and runs after the sound. Chip, with his not as sensitive hearing, flies after Sonic in confusion.

>Windmill Isle Night Act 1 (plays as it normally would)

Once he makes it to Tails’ location, all of the enemies focus on the actual threat, Sonic. The little girl uses this to run back home, and Tails hides behind a wall holding his wound from bleeding too much.

The enemies are piling onto Sonic, so he unleashes all of the energy he’s built up (and some instincts he didn’t know he had), somehow becoming more powerful for a period of time, yet feeling a little high off the energy practically pouring out of each hit he makes in this unleashed state. 

Sonic Emotions Handling Scale: 

Normal form- Can hide it frustratingly well and has normal emotions, 

Werehog form- His face and new Wolf-like instincts make it hard for him to hide it but he still tends to try to push it off if he can + negative emotions are a lot more powerful + he’s a little clingy, 

Unleashed Boost- Can’t hide his emotions to save him and they are extremely powerful + easily goes into a downward spiral in emotions + somehow even more clingy + he still is super emotional when getting out of his Unleashed state and will do things without thinking.

After the fight is over, Tails calls out to Sonic, he knew from the moment Sonic stepped into the battle that it was him, Sonic practically raised him for almost half of his life, how could he not tell? Sonic however, getting out of his Unleashed Boost daze, realizes just how dangerous and brutal he could be in this form. So once he hears Tails’ call, he books it in fear of possibly being able to harm Tails unintentionally.

Chip finally makes it over to the aftermath, he and Tails do a quick introduction (like saying, you know Sonic? You're the brother he was talking about? yep, let's go!), and book it towards Sonic. Tails is surprised that he’s actually able to catch up to Sonic, even on all fours, Tails’ namesakes spinning can beat him in a race now.

Sonic manages to hide in a barrel, in abject terror of what he is. Tails and Chip quickly catch up and sit near the barrel, trying to calm Sonic down. Letting him know that no matter what he looks like, he’ll always be by his side and his little brother. He proceeds to go on about how looking different doesn’t make you a monster or evil, having his tails sway as he talks, as a subtle reminder to Sonic that he went through that fear of being different too.

Sonic slowly uncovers his muzzle to use his hands to sign that he’s a monster who could hurt Tails. Tails is surprised by how open Sonic is being so open about his fears, he normally tries hiding it as best he can so others don’t worry for him (a bad trait that Tails is extremely relieved didn’t seem to carry over when he’s in this form). Tails gives a sad look and recounts all of the times that Tails has accidentally hurt Sonic due to not being used to touch (and the several months it took him to learn how to retract his claws), but Sonic stuck around every time and didn’t blame Tails for it at all.

Tails suggests that he runs a vitals check on Sonic back at the Tornado-1, to see if he can find out what’s causing this form. (Tails joined the party!)

That, and the smell of several Gyros in Tails’ bag, seem to be enough to make Sonic slowly walk out of the barrel on all fours. Tails notices that Sonic’s stomach is rumbling and uses this to walk him over to the Tornado-1 without having his mind drift into negativity (wow, that’s odd, Sonic’s almost never openly negative). Chip finds out Gyros are really good, almost eating 3 before they make it back to the biplane.

After eating, Sonic stands up (and is actively trying to ignore the stomach churning feeling of being so incredibly huge compared to his little brother), to sign that he can’t retract his claws or speak properly. Tails tries to make the best of it and says that Sonic doesn’t need to touch anything for the check up.

As Tails is cleaning up and patching his wound with the first aid kit he has stored in the Tornado-1 (he wanted to immediately do the check up on Sonic, but the werehog refused to even start that until Tails took care of his cut first), Chip is in awe that Tails can understand what Sonic means just by looking at his hands. He really wants to learn how to do that, so he can talk to Sonic at any time of the day. Tails tries to recall that he might still have some flashcards he’d give to any new friends Sonic made when he couldn’t speak.

Now tired and worn out from a long day of running around town, eating tasty food, fighting enemies, and making discoveries, Tails and Sonic sit on a brick fence next to the Tornado-1 to run a Vitals Check.

It’s a symphony of yawns as Chips quickly falls asleep on Sonic’s leg. Tails, being exhausted, unconsciously rests his tails on Sonic's lap (a deep sign of trust) and leans on him as a pillow (he realizes the sheer amount of muscle behind the fur, theorizing that the expanse of his arms might have stretched the communicator too far, thus breaking it), like how he sometimes would do that when the brothers ride a train late at night after a long adventure. 

Sonic was in a half asleep state himself, but once he felt Tails’ tails rest on his lap, he perked right up. He’s surprised Tails can trust him so much even in this form, he thought this whole time that Tails was just bluffing it so Sonic would feel better. He might still be bluffing… using that 300 IQ brain to use this token trust sign to make Sonic relax. But Sonic quickly has exhaustion fog his brain again, letting this track of negative thoughts fizzle out at the moment.

With a yawn, Tails murmured that Sonic’s Vitals all seem normal, if not for a slightly higher than average Chaos Energy reading, but it’s not enough for it to change his form.

Tails is officially out, Sonic’s delicately soft fur and heart beat lulling him to sleep. Sonic, still not wanting to possibly harm anyone by accident, gently slips Chip off his leg, landing on his enormous paw (that’s another thing he feels off about, why are his hands so big?), and rests him on his head as he curls up as best he can without jostling Tails much. He tries his best to both find a comfortable position and keep his dangerous hands away from anyone. It’s a rough night, but they all got through it.

In the morning, Sonic transforms back to normal, with Tails handing him some spare gloves and a back-up communicator from the Tornado-1. After enjoying some Tarts for breakfast, they head out to Angel Island. Sonic accidentally falls asleep on the wing while Chip studies his flashcards in the back seat.

Angel Island

[destielnoirbang]

Who Framed Sam Winchester?

By queerwerewolf | @queerwolf79 Art by anyrei | @anyreiart

Coming to Ao3 on 12/27/2024

Rated Explicit | 29,180 words | No Archive Warnings Apply

Down-on-his-luck private eye Cas Novak gets hired by Angelic Studios president, Nick Vaught, to investigate a scandal involving an infamous literary character (Lit), Dean Winchester, and Vaught’s primary nemesis, Fergus Crowley. A devilish producer and prop designer who has his hands in every movie studio in Los Angeles. Crowley’s prop factory shares a wall with Lit Town, and worse yet, he owns the contract for every Lit. Every contract, that is, except for brothers Sam and Dean Winchester from the Supernatural book series. When Crowley is found murdered, Sam Winchester becomes the primary suspect and goes on the run. The villainous Judge Edlund vows to catch and destroy Sam, having discovered a means of killing Lits with a substance known only as “Pulp”. Desperate to prove his brother’s innocence, Dean demands Cas help him find his brother before the Judge does. Despite vowing to never work with another Lit after his twin brother's murder, Cas agrees. With a contentious start to their working relationship, Dean Winchester and Cas Novak begin to uncover an ever growing nefarious plot. Can Cas and Dean put a stop to this evil ploy? And more importantly, will their attraction to each other get in the way of saving the day?

[Keep reading for a sneak preview!]

“Cigars? Cigarettes?”

When I turned, it was to come face to face with Dorian Gray. Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t aged a day in about a decade or so. Now whether that was because he was a Lit, or that damned portrait… His cobalt blue eyes rivaled my own, although, if I’m honest, his were always prettier. His curly blonde hair was coifed in a pompadour and his scarlet lips were curled in a hungry smile. He was dressed in a form-fitting pair of charcoal pants and an even tighter black t-shirt that left little to the queer imagination, carrying a tray of different smokes.

“Dorian, what are you doing here?”

With a wistful, overly dramatic sigh, Dorian pouted his plush lips and said, “Work’s been slow for those of us with a little more… culture.” Which meant with how many contemporary novels were capturing the attention of audiences, any Lits from the 19th century or earlier had to get creative to make a living. This suited Dorian, considering his nature. “But I’m still exquisitely tragic.”

With a soft laugh, I nodded, reveling in his beauty for a moment, although I was far too old for him now. “Yeah, you are.”

The lights started to dim and a spotlight shined on the closed curtains. I caught Crowley in my peripheral vision, straightening his tie and sitting upright. He even pulled out a small bottle of cologne, spraying it against his neck. It reeked of licorice and cloves, the breath of a child that got into his father’s cigarette case.

I turned to Dorian with a bemused expression. “What’s with him?”

Dorian smoothed out a nonexistent wrinkle on his pants with a shrug. “Oh, Mr. Crowley never misses a night when Dean performs.”

“Got a thing for Lits, huh?”

At that, Dorian gave me a pointed look. “If I recall, you did as well at one point.”

I cleared my throat and grabbed my drink, gulping down half of it at the implication, feeling a warmth at the memories that comment conjured. The crowd grew silent and the band could be heard from the pit, warming up their instruments. Then a familiar intro began, an infamously upbeat Cole Porter song that had been slowed down from a jazzy little jaunt to something sedated, steady, and sentimental. Just as a soft beat began, the curtains jostled and a leg popped out, bent at the knee in skin tight purple pants.

“We’re all alone… No chaperone… Can get our number… the world’s in slumber… ” A sultry, deep voice sang in a pleasant register, masterfully turning jazz to a ballad. The curtains parted and revealed one of the most breathtaking creatures I had ever seen in my life.

“Let’s misbehave…”

[dragonbarbie]

𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍

aemond targaryen x prostitute!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

summary: aemond becomes captivated with the most prized woman working the street of silk

word count: 3.3k

tags: mature content, sex work, choking, aemond being a tad bit dark here but still in character imo

aemond had scoffed at aegon’s penchant for the whores of the street of silk, but when he found himself attracted to one of its prized attractions, he felt like a hypocrite.

he had caught a glimpse of her the day he had gone searching for his brother with ser criston. aemond had stood by the door while cole conversed with the madame of the establishment and been momentarily distracted by the sight of the angel walking down the hallway inside the brothel, visible behind the older woman.

that day he could not stay to investigate as his duties called him away. but as the days went on, he found himself obsessed with the face he had only seen for a split second, and the delicate form barely hidden behind the flowy dress of silk that had stalked down that hall.

he had always imagined himself as a dutiful man, a man who lived his life in accordance with the code of honour that cole hammered into him with each sparring session, and with the faith that his mother had guided him towards. but with every dream he had about her, he found his resolve towards being that dutiful man, weaken.

those eyes, damn those eyes. there was something hypnotic about them, about the way she had kohl spread under them to make them look even more seductive. her skin, it had a shine, despite the lack of light inside the building.

she tortured him every night, invading his dreams without care. he would chase her each night, and she still seemed to elude him come morning.

until he had had enough. he donned a non-descript cloak to walk through the streets unrecognised, and walked till he reached the same brothel his brother had taken him to all those years ago. it looked much different in the dark, the doors were flung open invitingly for one. when aemond walked through them, he saw that it was teeming with people. men being led down by scantily clad women to areas sectioned off by thin veils of linen, women openly being pleasured by men upon cushions laid down on the ground. he could even recognise some lords from his father’s court, but as his mind began to judge them for their presence a voice in his head reminded him that he wasn’t much better than them, for finding himself skulking around these halls.

but among all those faces, he couldn’t see her. the thought that she might be off pleasuring some man in one of these corners crossed his mind, and he had the urge to storm out of there. but just then, he was recognised by the same whore his brother had chosen for him all those years ago. “my prince, i am delighted to have you grace my establishment once again.” her smile seemed more seedy to him than gracious. “hm.” he merely hummed in response, eye still looking around for her specific figure. “would you like to see the selection of pleasures that we can provide you with this evening, or…” she looked around to where he had been scanning the room, “…are you seeking someone more particular?”

how was aemond supposed to explain her, to this woman? he had no name, only a vibrant memory in his mind. thankfully, he didn’t need to. because suddenly a hush fell around the proceedings, and all eyes turned to the centre of the room where upon a slightly raised platform, he saw her. it seemed as if this was a performance that had been expected by the patrons eagerly.

the musicians then began playing their instruments to match the beat at which she was moving her body as she danced. slowly at first, every movement of her hands deliberate. her waist, exposed in the dress she was wearing, showed off its curves with the way it swayed. and those damn eyes. who needed wine when those eyes were intoxicating enough to beat any dornish red. the older whore hadn’t missed how his eye hadn’t left her. “ah, y/n… she’s our jewel that one….the finest you can get anywhere in the street of silk. the opportunity for even one night with her is sold out moons in advance.” “i don’t have moons to waste, and i am not a particularly patient man. money is no object.” he stated, his voice dangerously low as his eye closely followed each seductive step. “of course, my prince.” the older woman seemed to grin at the thought of the sheer gold that she would be able to get out of the prince.

aemond hadn’t even realised that his mouth had gone dry watching her until she finished with applause surrounding her, and men throwing coins at her feet. there was a proud smile upon her face as she picked the silver and tucked them somewhere inside her silk skirt. Men were approaching her already. she gave them a smile, as she apologised, “my lords i am promised to lord frey for tonight, alas.” he caught her words, his eye darting to where he had recognised frey sitting on the cushion earlier in the night. he was looking at her with unabashed lust in his eyes already, a look which lit an inexplicable fire inside the prince.

“my lord, i’m afraid y/n already has another patron for tonight. let me show you some of our other girls, i don’t think you will be disappointed.” aemond heard the madame placate frey as she walked towards him, but he was not pleased. “i have waited for days, and paid good coin for the whore, and i will have her!” he angrily proclaimed, and aemond saw y/n give her madame a confused look. as far as she knew, she only had one customer for the night, and frey had already paid in full. frey walked over to y/n and grabbed her arm, intent on taking her by force if nothing else. that was the point aemond decided to intervene.

“my lord frey.” he did not have to raise his voice beyond its normal volume, its distinctness coupled with him removing the hood to reveal his silver hair and eye-patch were enough to confirm his identity. “i believe you should look for other arrangements for the night.” he could hear the whispers around the room, the shock on everyone’s faces, including y/n’s. frey immediately let go of her, and bowed, “my prince… of course, yes…” he seemed to mutter.

so that was the new customer, y/n realised, taking in the man before her. she had never seen him around the brothel before, but she had heard from the older girls of the day the two royal princes had visited. and even more tales about the seedier activities his brother got up to at flea bottom. she wasn’t sure having the attention of the targaryen was an entirely good thing, as she thought of his brother. but with her profession, and her station, she knew one could not just refuse a prince of the realm.

she put on the sultry smile expected of her, “my prince.” she greeted as she approached him. “y/n, take his grace to your rooms. and take good care of him.” she caught the look in her madame’s eye, it seemed to read ‘tread carefully’.

had it been a different patron, y/n would have taken their hand as she led them up the stairs to her room, a luxury that was of the upmost rarity in the street of silk but that she had managed to accomplish with her revered skills. but the prince seemed so stoic, she couldn’t bring herself to reach out and hold his hand. “follow me, my prince.” she said instead and walked him up to her room.

aemond noticed that it was a small place, filled with only a bed in the centre and some cushions to the side of it near an open window. lit candles littered the corners, to shed some light for the work of the night, he realised. the sheets seemed to be made of fine material for the consideration of the noble men she brough up there, but the rest of the room was bare. then again, he thought, what items had he expected to find in the room of a whore? not that he’d ever imagined being inside one’s chambers anyway.

now that he’d come to think of it, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do now, he hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead. she seemed to pick up on how awkward he felt internally, even if he had kept his cool appearance.

“would you like some wine, my prince?” “no.” “i only offer because it tends to make one more… relaxed, for the proceedings.” she suggested, trying to put him more at ease. her words had the opposite effect. “are you suggesting i need wine to be able to fuck?” he accused her, offended as he took threatening steps towards her. used to placating customers who could turn on her at a moment’s notice, she kept her open palms reassuringly against his chest and told him, “i was suggesting it for myself, your grace. a woman’s heart, it’s a weak thing.” she had expected him to believe her words, batting heavy eyelashes to appear as pliant as possible.

his blue eye, it seemed to have the ability to read her. he chuckled darkly, “you’re a good liar.” and an unexpected, large hand reached to grab her throat. his hold was rough, but she could still breath and she refused to look away or struggle against his grip. she had learned that the best way to pacify these great men was to let them have the power over her that they so craved. she was surprised though, for no one had been able to look through her so quickly and easily, in all her years.

her lack of putting up a fight seemed to satisfy him, but at the same time, he couldn’t understand how she could lack the basic need to preserve herself. he tightened his grip further and further, testing her. yet, her hands remained limp by her side and her eyes trained on his. when he finally pulled his hand off her, it was only the coughs that left her and the red marks of his hand printed around her neck that could evidence the pain she must have felt, but not acted against.

he picked the goblet and poured from the wine jug kept in the corner, to hand it to her for the cough, wordlessly. she eagerly grabbed the cup and downed its contents to provide some relief to her throat. “why did you not struggle? do you enjoy pain?” he asked, curious. her fingertips rubbed against the skin where his hand had been moments ago, as she answered, “in my trade, you learn quickly to endure pain. to fight against it usually means something worse will befall.” she answered, her voice still coarse.

“then why choose it? you can earn a wage as a serving girl, a maid…” he looked at the bed in her room and couldn’t help but think just how many men before him must have pushed her against it and had their way “…why suffer such indignity?”

she was surprised at his question. some men did like to talk to her before they had her, but she had never been asked such intrusive questions about herself. “there are many reasons, every girl here has her story. i have mine.” never talk about your own woes with a client, she had been taught. it would break the spell, the fantasy if they thought of her as a living, breathing thing, as opposed to a doll only meant to please them. that was what she was attempting to do, but her answer did not satiate him. “and that story is?” “not one i care to share with your grace. i do not need your pity, i promise you. i’m paid ten times more than any serving girl at your grand castle, and all my work is done lying on my back. i am content.”

aemond could see the logic there, but he seemed unconvinced. she seemed to be in a hurry to move past the conversation. “is this how you would like to spend your night, asking me questions? i have no qualms, but you are paying quiet the small fortune for it, and i would not want you to feel as if i have robbed you.”

“since i am the one paying, why don’t you let me be the judge of what we are going to do.” y/n shrugged in response, “whatever you wish, my prince. i am but your humble servant.” she had a small, amused smile on her lips as she sat down on the edge of her bed. “ask whatever you like.” and he did.

once she got used to the invasive questioning, she settled in his presence. she found him polite but straight forward, proud but intelligent. he was unlike any man she had met. he seemed to be full of questions about who y/n was, where was she from and how she had ended up in a place like this. all questions that she patiently answered as she drank more wine by the hour. it was not common behaviour of a patron, to ask about her so insistently. even when the men wanted to talk, it was usually them talking about themselves, their problems and y/n sitting there patiently to listen. but every time she tried to ask the prince a question in return, he brushed her off or gave her short replies.

“why did you decide to come here today?” she asked him at one point. he had settled on one of her cushions a few meters away, but he never really looked comfortable, choosing to sit with his back straight as steel. his discipline was admirable, y/n thought. “you’re not known to frequent the street of silk, or i would have heard of it.” or i would have had you already, she thought, she was the most sought-after woman on the street after all. “your visit is most unusual.”

aemond swallowed at the question, “every man has needs.” it wasn’t a complete lie. he had come there because of a need to see her, to be near her, to touch her. “had you come here to fulfil some ‘need’, we would not have spent the night merely talking.” she commented. oh, he had meant to do much more than just talk, from the second he saw her dancing downstairs. she had captivated him, with the way her body had moved and set his imagination to wonder all the ways in which it would move against his.

but first, he had wanted to quench his curiosity about her. he hadn’t realised when he got so lost in their conversation that it was nearly daybreak, and he was yet to fuck her. every time he had thought to move in and close the gap between them, she had made some clever comment that he had to give a retort to, and so the night had passed.

“it’s a shame.” y/n sighed as she laid back down on her bed, “when you walked in here, i thought i would have the story to beat any other girl’s. the story of the night i rode a dragon.” she lazily smirked.

oh, she was a minx, he grinned as a hand grabbed her ankle to pull her down towards him. she yelped at the action but allowed him to snake an arm around her waist to seat her at his lap. “is that a desire of yours?” he asked in a murmur, close enough to feel her breath on his face. “i’m a whore, my prince, i cannot afford such luxuries as desires.” she draped her arms over his shoulders, fingers entangling themselves in his silky hair. “as your prince, i command you – tell me what you desire.”

she had lost count of the number of times men had asked her that question, the number of times they wanted her to tell them that she needed them, desired them. she had complied each time of course but had never really meant the words. as she gazed into the clear blue of the prince’s eye, though, she answered with the utmost sincerity, “you.”

he didn’t need more words, he leaned forward and closed the gap between them, his lips upon hers. there was a hunger in his actions, a desire to push in as further inside her as he could, of wanting to be one with her. she reciprocated the sense of passion, hands reaching to undo the buttons on his leather coat.

soon he had her pinned beneath him on the cushions, his coat and tunic discarded, her flimsy dress pushed up, so her bare core rubbed against his leather pants. he hadn’t objected to her removing other items of his clothing, but when her hand reached to pull off his eye patch, he broke the kiss and grabbed her wrist firmly.

when she had told him she desired him, he hadn’t taken her to mean it in a physical sense. For, how could she, he thought, with an eye missing and an ugly scar running down half his face? where she was a goddess reborn that men paid their weight in gold to be able to pay a pilgrimage to, he thought himself deformed.

as with many things, with this too it seemed she could read his mind. a crease formed between her brow, “this is a whore house, your grace. the price of admission is all your clothing.” she teased. her free hand reached to caress his face. gods, he was beautiful, she now understood why they said targaryens were closer to gods than men, for with the first rays of the sun hitting him to form a halo over his form, how could this man be anything else but heaven-sent? 

“i would see all of you.” she softly told him. he hesitated, but there was a conviction in her eyes that he could not deny. he eventually let go of her wrist, but she could feel how uneasy he felt as she slowly pulled the eye-patch off his face.

her eyes went wide at the sight of the blue sapphire she had heard only rumours of. it dazzled with brilliance, and almost matched the colour of his remaining eye. her hand caressed the side of his face, thumb tracing the scar before she pressed a soft kiss to the healed skin. “i wasn’t aware whores were supposed to be this… sentimental.” he mused at her actions, “you’re a special customer.” she grinned. “let’s see how good this service of yours is then, hm, that you can afford to rob all these lords blind.”

and service him she did, with a steady chant of her voice saying ‘my prince’ filling the room. she heard him whisper things too, against her skin in a language she couldn’t understand, but his voice was filled with a devotion she could recognise.

hours passed, till she could no longer feel her legs, and beads of sweat had formed on her forehead. she felt sore, but in the most perfect way. the day had set in now, the rays of the sun making her room shine bright as she laid with her head on his chest, legs tangled. she could feel his fingers tracing shapes on her bare back. it seemed like the perfect morning.

until he broke the spell with his voice, “i have to go.” he had only just realised the time, realised that he was late for cole’s training. as he shifted to get up from under her, she whined at the loss of touch but wordlessly watched him gather his things. “will you visit again?” she asked as he walked out the door, but it seemed he hadn’t heard her.

she lazed around until a some of the younger girls entered her room, excited to hear all about y/n’s night with the prince, brimming with questions. “oh, how i can explain to you, my darlings, the pleasures of riding a dragon.”

note: by the time i finished this i had sm muse im thinking of doing a pt 2 w an angry and jealous aemond, when reader is entertaining other clients?? lmk if you guys would be interested in something like that 👀

update: part 2 available now!

[guess-my-next-obsession]

A New Friend (Part 1/2)

pairing: park ranger!frankie morales x f!reader

rating: M (mild sexual desire but nothing even mildly explicit, reader has a douchey boyfriend, breakups, frankie is an angel because i said so, just cutesy flirting mostly, we get sexy in part two don’t worry)

wc: 4k

frankie masterlist

Where the fuck am I?

You turned to study the woods around you, the trees notched with marks you’d made after having watched one too many survival shows on your couch looking a little too familiar for comfort.

You’d been trying to find your way back to the trail for two hours now, sunset turning into night before your eyes.

Now, you had to come to terms with the fact that you were indeed very lost, going in circles when you were supposed to be heading south—you were supposed to be heading south, right?—to your campsite, the campsite your boyfriend and his friends were at getting shitfaced, likely not even noticing your absence.

As you wandered the dark woods in hopes of finding any sort of sign or guide to safety with your dull flashlight, you considered why you even came along on this trip in the first place.

This weekend marked your fifth anniversary, plans of a trip for just the two of you becoming quickly derailed by the unexpected—at least on your part—visit of his two best friends who showed up and invited him out for a camping trip. Not wanting to spend the weekend all by yourself, contemplating the future of your relationship, you decided to join them, much to their dismay judging by the way they’d been ignoring you since the start of the trip.

This evening, you decided to go out on a walk to get some much needed air from the men who were busy pretending you didn’t exist—including your partner. That’s how you found yourself lost, stuck stumbling through a navy blue washed forest, every sound heightened from fear, your brain creating scenario after scenario of how you’d reach your demise. Be it a bear or a bobcat, a stranger or nature, your anxious heart was sure somehow, this would be the end for you if you didn’t find safety.

Luckily, after a few minutes of hopeless navigating, your flashlight shined on a wooden sign with an arrow pointing left, “Ranger Station: ¼ Mile”.

“Thank god,” you exhaled, nodding as you started off in the direction of the well-used path.

As if the universe were laughing at you, halfway to the station, you began to feel a light drizzle from the blackened skies above, the clouds that had looked harmless this afternoon now slate-grey and rumbling. Shaking your head at your luck, you started to move quicker, but it seemed the rain had the same idea, the drizzle quickly spiraling to a full downpour by the time you walked up the steps to the Ranger’s lodge.

“Please be open,” you mumbled to yourself, noticing that the lights were off inside the tiny cabin. “Please, someone fucking be here.”

You pounded on the door after your knocks failed to earn a response, your eyes frantically looking around the building for any sign of life that could help (or hurt) you. Suddenly, your luck seemed to turn as a man dressed in a tight, form fitting uniform of khaki and forest green came running up the pathway with his coat thrown over his head.

“Excuse me!” you called out over the loud, crashing thunder, pulling his eyes from the ground up to yours. He seemed startled to see you standing there, drenched from the downpour and helpless.

“Oh—sorry,” he apologized as he stepped up the porch to unlock the cabin door, guiding you inside with the flick of a light switch. “I was out sweeping for stragglers when it started to get dark, must’ve missed you.”

“I got myself pretty lost, I don’t blame you,” you chuckled, overcome by the immediate relief brought on by shelter and warmth.

The cabin was small, a warm little space washed in golden light. There was a plaid loveseat in front of a fireplace, a half-read book laying on the coffee table in front of it. Turning your head a bit, there was a kitchen nook built in, nothing extravagant, just a mini-fridge, microwave, portable stovetop, some pots and pans, and a coffee machine. Beside the kitchen rested a desk that looked more like a dinner table, littered with papers and manilla folders as well as a closed laptop. Above, there was a loft built in, though you figured you’d need to climb up there yourself if you intended to study the layout.

“So,” the Ranger’s husky, low voice interrupted your snooping. You turned to watch him as he hung his coat up on the hook by the door before kicking his boots off. “How can I help you? You mentioned you were lost?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, clearing your throat. “I don’t remember the campsite location. I’ve been wandering for hours now.”

“By yourself?” he questioned, a crease forming between his brow as he studied you better, his eyes raking over your entire form before the reality of your soaked state dawned on him. “You cold? I have some tea, or…coffee?”

“Tea sounds great, thank you.” You watched him as he nodded, walking over to the kitchen nook to get the stovetop heated and water placed in the kettle he had hidden in a cupboard. Meanwhile, you looked longingly at the fireplace, hoping that he’d notice your shiver and light it. “Do you…possibly have a spare set of clothes? Anything would help, really.”

“Oh. Sure,” he nodded, avoiding your eyes but remaining attentive as he left the kettle on the burner and walked over to a closet by the door. He tugged out a plastic bin and lifted the lid off, a stack of brand new ranger uniforms inside. “What’s your size?”

You begrudgingly disclosed that information in exchange for warmth, and soon he was setting a pair of forest green pants and a beige t-shirt in your open palms.

“Uh, the restroom’s right there.” He pointed at the closed door in the corner of the room. “I’ll light the fire.”

“Thank you,” you offered him a smile but he was still avoiding looking at you directly, so it went unseen. With an awkward nod to him, you walked into the tiny bathroom to undress and redress, the full-length mirror mounted on the door serving as a good source of entertainment as you studied the way you looked in the ranger’s uniform, the pants undeniably, and shockingly, hugging every good curve on your body.

“The, uh, tea is ready when you are!” His voice sounded through the wooden door, making you jump as you posed in the mirror. gathering your damp clothes in your hands, making sure to hide your undergarments in the pile, you walked back out into the living room, spotting the man in uniform sitting at the table/work area with a mug of his own. “Yours is on the coffee table.”

“Thank you so much, for all of this,” you gestured around and he gave you a nod, no sign of a smile on his face, but there was no apparent anger or discomfort either. “My, uh, my name is…” You gave him your name and offered another friendly smile.

“I’m Frankie,” he greeted you back. Still no smile. “The storm is gonna go on all night. I think the odds of getting back to your campsite are slim, unfortunately.”

Your heart sank a bit at the news. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust this handsome ranger to house you for a night, but the thought of being an inconvenience to yet another person made you feel sick.

“I, um, I have a tent, so…I can stay outside and you can stay in here,” he offered.

“I know I’m not an expert at this stuff but that doesn’t sound very safe.”

“There's a cover, so, it’s not too bad. Your comfort and safety take precedence. It’s sorta my job.” He shrugged and took a sip of his drink.

“I appreciate the thought, but honestly, I think I would feel more comfortable with you in here with me.” You weren’t sure why you cared so much about keeping this glum ranger around, but there was something in his eyes, in his voice that calmed you in a way you desperately craved after the weekend you had. You weren’t naive to the deceit of men, but you truly believed this one meant you no harm. Besides, you were pretty sure sleep wasn’t going to come easy tonight anyway.

“Okay,” he agreed, his voice softer than before. “There’s, uh, not much for entertainment around here.” He chuckled, watching you as you set your clothes down by the fireplace before taking a seat on the sofa. “There’s books. Lots of books, but I know that’s not everyone’s—“

“Oh, I just finished this,” you interrupted him by picking up the book from the coffee table.

“Did—was the end any good?” he asked, standing up from the table and walking over to the kitchen nook to refill his mug.

“It was. Are you liking it so far?” You turned to watch him, the sight of his shirt straining against his broad back making you feel like a cheater for the lustful images your brain decided to flood your mind with.

“I am, but I’m an anxious reader. Constantly have to fight the urge to flip to the last pages.” He laughed again and you felt yourself melt further into the sofa. “So, are you camping alone, too?”

“No,” you sighed as you shook your head and set the book down.

“Touchy subject?” he guessed, resuming his seat at the table.

“I don’t know,” you exhaled and scratched your neck, chuckling at your own predicament. “It’s my anniversary tonight, and instead of spending it with my boyfriend and his two closest friends in the middle of the woods, I’m spending it with a stranger…ranger?”

He chuckled at the rhyme and let out a sympathetic sigh. “Can’t say the first option sounded very good, either.”

“No,” you nodded, looking to him with eager eyes. “It fucking sucks! And they were just ignoring me anyway. This is the most conversation I’ve had all weekend.”

“So is he like…an avid camper or something? You guys do this often?” Frankie questioned, sitting forward with his elbows on the table, his mug held in both hands.

“No, he’s just…an avid douchebag.” Frankie’s boisterous laugh both shocked and delighted you.

“Which is why, I’m assuming, you went and got lost in the woods by yourself?”

“Yep,” you sighed and shook your head. “And the sad thing is, I bet they haven’t even realized I left.”

“It sounds like you need to make this your last anniversary,” he advised, shrugging his shoulders when you turned to look at him.

“Yeah,” you agreed with a sad whisper. “Sucks.”

Frankie studied you for a moment, something more earnest than sympathy in his eyes as you stared down at your lap, picking at your cuticles.

“Hey—“ He caught your attention, your eyes lifting to meet his from across the room. “I’ve got a few board games in case my daughter comes to stay with me on duty. We could…play one? Pass some time?”

Knowing that the only alternative was to dwell on the crumbling state of your relationship, you agreed with a soft, barely there smile and a nod.

Frankie sat down on the rug in front of the fire, clearing the coffee table before pointing to the stack of board games on the shelf below the wooden top.

“There’s Candyland, Life, Monopoly, Scrabble, and Uno.”

“Huh,” you smiled and thought about the options, your stress taken away by this kind and charming stranger tasked with sheltering you for the night, seemingly in more ways than one. “We can start with Candyland.”

“Start, huh? Gonna be up playing games all night?” he asked with a matching smile as he set up the board game. “I guess I’m not one to talk given my personal track record, but I heard that sometimes it helps to face your shit, not run from it.”

“I’ll face it in the morning,” you replied, soft and vulnerable. “Tonight, I just want to be a stranded woman in the woods playing Candyland with a park ranger.”

“Okay,” he rasped back with a smile and a nod.

“I hate you,” you kissed your teeth and rolled your eyes as you reached for the stack of Uno cards on the table, picking eight up and stuffing them in your hand previously only holding one, that near-victory long gone after he matched your +4 card. “You actually ruined my night, wow. How dare you?”

“Jeez,” he laughed and held his hands up in defense. “I didn’t expect such a violent reaction—“

“Oh, yeah right,” you rolled your eyes at him again before meeting his, your laughter fading into just a few soft, breathy chuckles the longer your eyes remained glued to his soft, brown, puppy-like stare.

“You, uh—“ he chuckled and looked down at his lap, shaking his head. “Nevermind.”

“No,” you giggled and urged him on. “Tell me.”

“You just have nice eyes. That’s all.” He shrugged and went to place a card on the stack, changing the color to red.

“I think you have nice eyes, as well,” you spoke softly, almost shyly as you searched your hand for an appropriate card, choosing a “reverse” card to lay on top of his. “Very puppy-dog.”

“Puppy-dog?” he asked in a laugh, amused by the unusual comparison. “Never heard that before.”

“You know, the way puppies look when they’re begging for scraps? You’ve got that same…charm, I guess. Like I couldn’t say no to you.” You mumbled the last sentence, the words not entirely meant for him to hear.

As much as you were enjoying your time with this handsome stranger and planned to end things with your boyfriend the minute you were reunited with him, you were still a taken woman. Cheating was never your thing, but you couldn’t deny the pull to the man sitting in front of you, illuminated and washed in the golden amber light of the fireplace, the buttons on his long-sleeved beige dress shirt undone at the top, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“It’s getting late.” Frankie stood up abruptly and cleared his throat before looking at the watch on his wrist. “Two A.M. already. Sun’ll be up around six, we can head out and find your campsite then.”

“And in the meantime?” you asked, standing up as well though you weren’t sure why. Frankie’s eyes softened on you, not missing the hopeful twitch of your lip. He shook his head at you, but it was so subtle you nearly missed it.

“You’re…involved. It’s not cool,” he reminded, proving that at least one of you had your head screwed on right. “But believe me…I want to.”

“Yeah,” you nodded and looked down at your feet, embarrassed by the mere suggestion. “I—uh…yeah.”

“I’ll take the couch. You can go up into the loft. I have some clean pajamas on my bed, if you want.”

You climbed up the wooden ladder to the loft, finding a cozy space with a full-size mattress on the floor by a large window, a little lamp for reading in the corner, and a record player pre-loaded with a copy of Nirvana’s “Nevermind”. The rain was visible from the window, pattering on the glass while lightning struck in the distance, a loud boom of thunder cracking a few moments later. Lowering your eyes back to the bed, you spotted the set of red flannel pajamas at the foot.

“Mind turning the lights off so I can change?” you called out, and for a minute hoped he’d change his mind and come undress you himself.

“Sure thing,” he replied, and a moment later the cabin went black, except for the golden light of the fireplace.

You changed quickly, desperate to wear his clothes, to smell him up close for the first time, but the scent that flooded your nostrils was too clean, too soapy to have been him.

Now dressed, you walked to the fenced in ledge of the loft to watch him as he sat on the sofa, a book in hand. The fireplace illuminated him in a way that made him look painted, almost, like the product of an artist’s imagination. It was a painting you’d quite like to own, so that your eyes could study him everyday.

“Night,” he called, not looking up from his book.

“Good night,” you replied, smiling to yourself all the way to bed.

Hours had passed by, the sun now up but hidden behind the clouds, the rain pattering against the window calming to a light drizzle. You hadn’t fallen asleep the entire time, your mind spinning with thoughts of seeing your boyfriend again, of the conversation you needed to have before getting the fuck out of this godforsaken National Park.

“Morning,” Frankie greeted you as you stepped down the ladder to the main floor of the cabin. His smile served as a better stimulant than any coffee you’d ever consumed, your tired eyes going bright as you took in the sight of him scrambling eggs in the kitchenette. “Thought I should feed you before I take you back to the douchebags.”

You chuckled. “Thanks.”

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked as he scraped half of the pan of eggs onto one plate before repeating it with another. You pulled up a seat while he carried the food over, placing one in front of you and the other in front of the seat closest to yours. A smile tugged at your lips at his choice of seat.

“I tried,” you answered, remembering that he’d asked a question. “But…my brain doesn’t like to shut off.”

“I feel you there.” The sound of liquid pouring into a cup caught your attention before the waft of coffee hit your nose. You felt yourself salivating as he walked your cup over. “Creamer, sugar?”

“Neither,” you shook your head. “This is incredible, thank you, Frankie.”

“It’s no problem,” he assured as he sat down beside you. “Part of the job.”

“I doubt that,” you laughed.

“Keep the park and its visitors safe. That’s the entire job,” he argued with a tilt of his head, his fork stabbing at the eggs.

“So you do all this for every stray that shows up at your door?” you asked in a playful tone, hoping to conceal your hurt at the prospect of simply being an obligation to him even if that’s exactly what you were.

“No, I don’t typically let my strays wear my PJ’s when I shelter them.” He smiled, his eyes lowered to the flannel set you were still wearing. “And I never, ever, let them win at Candyland like I did with you.”

“Oh, let me win, huh? Someone’s a sore loser,” you teased, grinning at your eggs as you mindlessly stabbed at them. “Maybe we should have a rematch, then.”

“I was counting on it,” he replied. Your eyes lifted to meet his, both of you swallowing thickly at the tension that seemed to keep building with every passing second. “You should eat.”

“You should kiss me,” some out of character being possessing you replied, shocking not only him, but yourself as well. “I’m sorry. That was…god, that was way too forward. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve thought about it,” he admitted, reaching his hand over to lower yours as it shielded your eyes in embarrassment. “Believe me. But I like you, or, could like you…a lot, I think…if we did this the right way, I mean. But kissing you now—“ He shook his head. “S’not the right way.”

“I know,” you exhaled and lifted your fork to your mouth, swallowing down a bite of food that you could hardly get down with all the butterflies swarming in your stomach.

It only took Frankie about half an hour on his quad to find your campsite based on your half-assed description, your arms hugging him closely as you sat behind him.

When you arrived, your eyes widened at the sight of the once clean grounds now littered with trash, the boys, their tents, and the truck you all came in long gone. All that remained was their garbage and your duffel bag, a note sticking out of it.

“Well,” he sighed as he parked the quad and turned it off. “They are indeed douchebags.”

“What the fuck?” you whispered, staring at the note. You turned to Frankie and shook your head, a tear falling down your cheek as you started to read the note out loud.

Since you want to be dramatic and run off all night, I’m gonna give you all the space you could ever want. I’m so done with your shit. Consider this me breaking up with you.

“Fuck,” Frankie shook his head and through your tear-blurred vision you could see his jaw clenched. Frankie climbed off the ATV and walked up to you, reaching for your hand as it crumbled the note up. “This guy is a fucking dick—beyond a fucking dick, he’s…they don’t make filthy enough curse words to describe how shitty he is. You deserve so much better than that.”

“How do you know that?” you sighed, pulling away from him to pick your bag up off the ground. Frankie quickly took it from you and walked it back to the ATV, tying it onto the back.

“I guess I don’t,” Frankie finally answered your question as he returned with a trash bag. “But, judging by how kind and friendly you’ve been so far…I’d say that alone makes you at the very least better than him.”

You huffed a weak laugh and smiled at the sight of his dress shirt stretching over his back as he bent down to clean the campsite. Feeling guilty for your ex-boyfriend’s sins, you rushed to help, practically stealing the bag from Frankie’s hands.

“Thank you, Frankie.” You gave him a sincere, heartfelt smile. “I’m really sorry you got dragged into all my bullshit—“

He cut you off with a shake of his head and a reassuring smile.

“Don’t apologize,” he ordered before checking his watch. “My shift’s over in an hour or so. Do you live in town? I can drive you home, if you want?”

“I do, and that would…that would be really nice.”

You attempted to keep your tears at bay as he started the quad up and turned back around. Here was this stranger, treating you better than your boyfriend of five years ever had, and he’d only known you for one fucking night.

Back at the cabin, Frankie left you with the WiFi password while he tended to his end-of-shift duties, knowing that your phone had no service and that you should probably update your loved ones on your whereabouts considering you technically went missing last night.

You called your best friend first, giving them the rundown on not only what happened between you and your now ex-boyfriend, but also the building tension between you and your knight in shining khaki, Frankie. After some much needed words of comfort and reassurance that you deserve someone better than your shitty ex, you said goodbye and hung up.

Next up was your ex. You’d planned on telling him off, on calling him out on all the shit you’d been putting up with since the beginning of your relationship, but you never got the chance. The fucker sent you straight to voicemail.

By the time Frankie arrived, you already cried out all the tears you felt your relationship deserved, which wasn’t much.

“Everything okay?” he asked, walking over to join you on the sofa.

“Yeah,” you gave him a soft smile. “Or at least it will be.”

“Breakups are hard,” he empathized, reaching a hand over to rest on your knee. You stared down at the contact with a smirk before looking back to his eyes, finding him deep in study as he watched you. “This might…might not be the right time, but…and it doesn’t have to be anything romantic, but…are you doing anything tonight? Maybe we could go out for a drink or go see a movie or…anything, really. I could be a friend.”

“I’d like you to be more than a friend, Frankie.”

“So would I…eventually,” he added with a smile. “But for now, I don’t want you rushing into anything with me. It’s…it’s easy to confuse distraction for acceptance. Believe me, I made a lot of mistakes after my divorce. And…I really don’t want to be a mistake or a distraction to you. So, for now…friends?”

You twisted your mouth as you smiled, looking down at his hand on your knee and resting yours on top of it.

“Friends.”

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[crackrodent]

Check out the rest of my Flufftober library!

Poor Baxter

“Niff how fucking many bags of candy corn do you need? Poor Baxter can barely push the cart!” Husk huffed while absentmindedly rubbing the spot on his arm where Alastor’s mic had struck him for attempting to get out of driving Niffty on her seasonal sugar shopping spree.

Charlie should have picked anyone else to pick up the snacks and decorations for the holiday party. Niffty was going to really remind everyone that they are in hell at this rate.

“All of them!” Niffty said pulling another bag of the multicolored junk out of an unsuspecting hellhound’s basket and tossing it into her cart.

Baxter’s sinister little laugh forced its way into Husk’s ears leading to the former overlord wishing he could punt the tiny man. Husk was way too sober to be in Hellmart at six in the morning.

Baxter’s voice almost made Husk’s brain implode as he encouraged this bullshit, “Niffty, I think I saw some imps back in the freezer aisle, they must have had at least a dozen bags of candied corn, perhaps we could claim their share as well?”

Niffty looked like she had skipped Halloween and Thanksgiving and went straight to Christmas as she bolted out of Husk’s view dragging the cart behind her.

“Baxter! You fucking lost her now!” Husk hissed as he attempted to follow her.

“Nonsense Husk. She is in aisle 2 looking for imps that don’t exist.” Baxter said calmly, looking at his phone while walking opposite of Niffty.

Husk switched directions and followed the other short monster, “What? Why would you lie about that?”

“I needed to ask your advice on something,” Baxter said stopping in front of some big box of overpriced seasonal kid’s toy animals, “Do you think Niffty would prefer the stuffed spider or the stuffed scorpion?”

“Excuse me?” Husk asked, suddenly wishing he was more sober because he had to have caught a secondhand high when he hugged Angel goodbye as they left.

“The woman displays the most familial behavior to you and that radio demon. Since I do not plan to have my voice added to his broadcast, I require your assistance.” Baxter explained.

“Why the hell do you need my opinion? You just sent Niffty off to aisle 2 tracking down imaginary imps! You could’ve asked her yourself!”

Baxter rolled his eyes, “That would ruin the point of the surprise you dunce.”

“And you are trying to surprise her with children’s toys?” Husk asked, the annoyance flowing from his voice in contrast to its usual drip.

The fishy little man was definitely showing his form as he looked down checking the seams on the spider. "I wanted to ask her to accompany me during Charlie’s party. She doesn't seem like the kind to like flowers. I have observed her with bugs and other creepy crawlies however and she seems fixated on them."

Husk stopped and judged the pathetic scientist. Poor dude was going to get himself stabbed.

"The scorpion."

"You are sure Husk?” Baxter suddenly seemed hesitant to accept the help he was pleading for, “I wish they just had a roach. I know she likes those." Baxter said sorting through the bin.

"Women like her, like venom. And ya know scorpions got that stinger thing. Little shits like to stab people. Just like Niffty." Husk paused after his warning, "Trust me."

He was back to feeling too sober. Advising an adult about what teddy bug to buy for another adult added to the headache sobriety was bringing on.

Baxter quickly shoved the scorpion into his pocket as Niffty came back, the cart now full of candy corn décor as well as her 40 pounds of actual candy corn. Husk was going to have to take charge and grab the actual stuff from Charlie’s list.

Husk’s arms were on the verge of falling off by the time all the candy, drinks, food, and décor were inside the hotel. He grabbed a bottle of cheap booze that he was horrified to learn was pumpkin spice flavored after he already committed to a chair in the living room.

"Hey, Whiskers!" Angel Dusk said strolling in and perching himself on the arm of the chair Husk was already melting into. “How was your trip to the store?”

Husk chuckled a little. Sore and annoyed but still laughing at the fishy idiot. “Baxter has a crush on Niffty. He has no idea what he’s getting himself into.”

“I know that already,” Angel said, fidgeting with the bag Husk had failed to see in his hands before now. “He told me a couple of weeks ago.” He gave a nervous laugh.

“What is it Legs?”

“I’ve been trying to help out as his wingman and he keeps trying to ask her out and,” the sinner was shaking his head, “she just doesn’t hear him.”

“Yeah she tends to ignore people a lot-”

“No whiskers I mean, he keeps trying the dumbest things to get her attention, and she just doesn’t get it. He tried inviting her on a walk the other day and she responded that she was already walking and just went ‘see?’ and walked out of the room.”

“Today he bought her a stuffed animal to use as a bribe for her to be his date to the hotel’s Halloween party.” Husk took his turn to shake his head at Baxter. “Like I don’t even know how a normal person would react to that, let alone Niffty.”

“Yeah... that might not go well.” The bag Angel had been fidgeting with ripped and the contents fell on Husk’s lap. Angel attempted to recover the item but Husk was faster.

He looked at the stuffed orange cat wearing a little white ghost costume. Its little ears and nose poked out from underneath. And the belly of it had a little pun that read,

‘You look BOO-tiful today!’ in black factory print with ‘Husk’ written underneath in red marker.

“Hey Husk listen it was stupid, I just saw it when I was out with Cherri and thought ‘Hey! Husk is a cat, well kind-’” The rumble of purrs drowned out the end of his rambles.

Husk was certain of two things.

1. Baxter was going to get the Jack-o-lantern treatment from Niffty.

2. If Angel asked him to be his date to the Halloween party he would be the happiest sinner in hell.

[addledmongoose]

Good Omens Fanfic Friday (11 Oct 2024)

Visibilium omnium et invisibilium (5.9K; Rated G) by @haemey

A hilarious short set in 1969 when Crowley decides to set up another caper. Setting up an overly-complicated plan when he could just use a miracle, and the whole reason for it all is so very Crowley. It feels like one of those shorts that could work as a minisode.

***

That Odd London Bookshop (series) (6.4K; Rated T) by @gwenstacyismyicon

Outsider POV. A series of shorts told in social media form about the unusual cryptid running A.Z Fell & Co.

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Never Judge Books By Their...? (4.4K; Rated NR) by @Worse0mens

Outsider POV. Two detectives interview two very different men (well, man-shaped beings) about a crime in their neighborhood.

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Enraptured (42K; Rated E) by @naromoreau

Human AU (sorta). Aziraphale is a monk who works in the monastery's library. Crowley is an incubus summoned to kill him. Instead, he informs Aziraphale that someone wants him dead, and tells the monk he needs help finding an artifact that's keeping him tied to Earth. This one grabbed me from the get-go and wouldn't let go.

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On That Note (7.8K; Rated G) by @splitting-infinities

Outsider POV. Over the course of decades, Basil, a theater ticket seller, interacts with a certain angel who simply won't watch all of The Sound of Music, and a certain demon, who keeps trying to convince him to. I love how Aziraphale and Crowley don't really try to hide what they are from Basil, and that Basil just accepts that his world is weirder than he ever knew.

***

Mr & Mx Fell (17K; Rated M) by @shaggydogstail

Human AU. Part of the DIWS Silver Screen Bang. This is Mr. & Mrs. Smith with Aziraphale and Crowley. Two sexy assassins marry after a whirlwind romance before settling into a mundane life of upper middle class mediocrity. Of course, neither realizes the other is their nemesis until a job gone wrong uncovers the truth. Now they're ordered by their organizations to kill each other.

***

Take a Little Love From Me (81K; Rated E) by @hermiola

Human AU. A Pretty Woman AU, with rich businessman, Aziraphale, and sex worker, Crowley. The bickerflirting in this story was simply top notch. You won't be able to stop smiling at the instant connection they have.

After fleeing a disastrous work event masked as his 50th birthday party and getting lost in a car he can’t seem to drive, Aziraphale Eastgate, CEO of Eastgate’s Booksellers Ltd., meets the mysterious Anthony, who offers to help... and not just with directions. Things escalate as they are wont to do.

[mimisempai]

The human way of doing things

Summary

Doing things the human way can be taxing on the body, and Aziraphale won't deny it after climbing up and down the stepladder a hundred times to put the books away in the cottage. But the pain is quickly erased when a demon gives you a foot massage...

On Ao3

Rating G -  603 words

“I'm knackered.”

Aziraphale dropped onto the sofa next to Crowley as the demon looked on amusedly and asked, "How many boxes do you have to put away?"

"This was the last one. I swear I'm going to burn that stepladder, I can't see it anymore, I don't know how many times I've climbed up and down it."

Aziraphale bent down to untie his shoes and take them off before placing a foot on his knee and massaging it. Almost immediately, he couldn't hold back a wince.

Crowley said to him wryly, "You know it would have only taken a small miracle to put all your books away, don't you?"

"Crowley, you know that -"

"Yeah, yeah, the human way, blah blah blah..."

The demon had no desire to rehash this discussion that had been repeated over and over again for centuries, so instead, noticing the angel flinch once more, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

Literally.

He grabbed a pillow and placed it on his lap, then patted it and said, "Angel, if that's the way it is, then let me relieve you in a human way, give me your feet."

"Hm?"

Aziraphale looked at him in confusion.

"Your feet, lie down on the sofa and put them on the cushion."

"Oh..."

Aziraphale followed Crowley's instructions and, once on his back, placed his feet on the cushion in the demon's lap.

Crowley grabbed one foot and gently removed the tartan sock.

"Crowley, you don't have to do that, I can - oooh soooo good."

Crowley, ignoring the angel's protest, had just begun massaging the sole of his foot in a circular motion, silencing Aziraphale, or rather, rendering him unable to form a complete sentence.

Crowley smiled in amusement as he continued to massage the angel's aching feet. Aziraphale now had his head thrown back on his folded arm, clearly enjoying the treatment his feet were receiving at the hands of the demon.

After a few moments, as Crowley moved on to the other foot and Aziraphale said between moans of pleasure, "Millennia and I didn't know you had this hidden talent."

Crowley chuckled softly.

"Nice to know I can always surprise you."

"I'm not complaining."

Crowley hummed as he continued, treating the other foot with the same attention as the first, and judging by the grunts and various appreciative sounds that came out of Aziraphale's mouth, he was doing a good job.

When he was finished, he pulled Aziraphale's socks on the angel's feet and said with a playful grin, "You should take better care of your pretty feet."

Aziraphale giggled.

"My feet? Pretty?"

"Hey, I'm the best judge. I am, after all, the one who saw them up close, and that was millennia ago."

Aziraphale straightened up and, now sitting next to the demon, looked at him confusedly.

"What do you mean?"

Crowley wrapped his arms around the angel's neck as he replied, "Well, when I was slithering along the wall of the Garden of Eden, I got a prime view of your cute little angelic feet."

"My feet are not cute!"

Crowley brought his face close to the angel's and whispered, "Your feet are adorable," just inches from his lips.

"Oh, you cheeky little devil."

Just as the demon, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, was about to reply, Aziraphale gave him no time and closed the distance between them, putting all his effort into making the teasing smile disappear in the way he knew best.

Which didn't stop Crowley from thinking, as their legs intertwined, that his lover really did have adorable feet.

Until he couldn't think at all.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

South Downs cottage series : here

Ineffable fan fictions Masterpost : here

[geeks-universe]

The Fallen pt. 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Cooper Howard x F!Angel!Reader

A/N: The rating is going to go up after this chapter. This one doesn’t include any smut, but the next chapter definitely will.

The journey to finding the head was relatively uneventful.

Or, as uneventful as traveling through the Wasteland could be.

The group picked up a dog on the way, though somehow you were the only one surprised, and delighted. Among all of your father’s vast creations, they happened to be your favorite.

The feeling was apparently mutual, considering the dog had taken to sleeping on your chest every night and following close by during the day. You’d lovingly named her “Maze” after your favorite, albeit grumpy, demon.

It fit, if you were being honest, even though you knew the aforementioned demon would skin you alive if she ever found out. (Even if she’d secretly find it endearing.)

It was a nice distraction from Cooper too. When you’d first met him a few years ago, you’d been reminded of something so very human in his hesitation. It was buried deep, heavily denied, but there. Every meeting since then you’d been determined to find it, to find the man in the monster.

“Have you slept?”

Maximus had been a nice addition. At first, you’d been hesitant to trust him. Many, many factions had risen since the fall of humanity, and almost every single one of them became twisted, corrupted versions of what they were meant to be. The Brotherhood of Steel was certainly no exception, but Maximus was.

Maybe you’d been too quick to judge others before too.

“Was just thinking,” you murmured, absently petting Maze when she nuzzled further into your lap.

“About anything in particular?”

It was a kind question, and while you could see the darkness in him, the kind that came with growing in a world hell bent on destruction, there was a good heart in his chest. You only hoped he didn’t lose it.

“Nah,” you shrugged the question off, letting your mind wander through the twists and turns of your memory.

He studied you for a moment, before gesturing towards the other two sleeping bodies.

“Get some sleep, I’ll keep an eye out.”

Initially, you were going to object. You didn’t want to rest, didn’t have any desire to revisit the pain of the past that you were forced to witness in your dreams, but there was an exhaustion deep in your soul. Rest wouldn’t fix it, but it would help.

You muttered a thanks, not missing the way his eyes lingered on Lucy’s unconscious form. There was certainly something happening there, and the thought of a blossoming romance in a decaying world warmed your heart.

Sleep, like always, slipped through your fingers like sand. Even with the warm presence of Maze and the friends around you, it didn’t come easy. It hadn’t in a long time, and you doubted it ever would again.

Eventually, however, the lures of slumber found you, and instead of falling into a peaceful embrace, you woke to lungs full of ash.

You tried to call out, to yell to your friends, but the burning in your chest crawled up your throat, forcing you to your knees.

Before you, the world burned.

Not the Wasteland you’d been traversing, the endless desert and bloody terrain, but the world as it was before. Skyscrapers reached for the clouds, cars were like so many dots in the city, and there was so much life. Birds singing in the sky, the breeze swaying leaves, a smell so fresh it brought tears to your eyes.

Then the flames licked it, consumed it, swallowed it whole.

And you were left there to watch, your knees planted to the ground.

“Dad.”

A desperate, wretched sob. A wish. A cry torn from your throat, wrenched free by your heart.

“Dad, please.”

You were screaming now, begging, heart pounding with anguish.

“Don’t do this. Don’t let this happen.”

Each word shredded your soul, hopelessness bitter on your tongue. The brightness of your heart, the very essence of your being, dimmed to an ember. Your fists pounded against the Earth, the horizon disappearing in a cloud of smoke and ash.

A scream of rage, of agony, of desolation erupted from you, like the bombs that fell to the Earth around you.

Horror sliced through your back like a knife- blinding, hot pain coated your tongue like blood. You reached back, clawing at the pain despairingly, ignoring the splashes of blood as you tried to just make it stop.

But it wouldn’t.

Your nails provided no relief, the desperate slashing growing fiercer with the tears in your eyes, grasping with the last of your strength at the pieces of yourself.

It didn’t matter.

Made no difference, really.

The bond was severed.

Minutes turned to hours turned to days before you had the courage to move, to assess the damage. The fires still raged around you, days after the initial blasts, and the hollowness in your gut deepened.

Your hands shook as you reached out, first hesitantly, then madly, at the remnants of your once beautiful wings.

Golden Child.

Hope.

Growth.

Life.

Your father had called you all so lovingly, murmured into the ear of a child desperate for her father’s pride. It was all a lie, one that poisoned the air in your lungs.

Bloodied feathers and snapped bones lay behind you, the golden dulled with the death of an entire population. A crack formed in you then, one that would never heal.

“I hate you.”

A gloved hand pulled you from the clutches of unconsciousness, dragging you back to your prison.

The way you moved was instinctual- swiping your leg out and pressing Maze’s knife into the neck of your would-be attacker. It was fast, precise, a move taught over and over again by the demon until you’d been able to do it in your sleep.

Only, by the time the tears in your eyes cleared, you realized it was very much not an attacker.

It was Cooper.

And he looked far too smug for a man you’d just put on his ass.

“It ain’t good form, sneakin’ up on a restin’ man.”

Your words were an exact echo of the first time you’d ever heard his voice.

“It most certainly ain’t.”

There was an almost playful twinkle in his gaze as he pressed a little deeper into your knife. Your hand shook then, a reminder of what you were.

More importantly, a reminder of what you could never be.

Before he noticed that particular quirk, you sheathed the dagger, but didn’t move from your perch above him. He didn’t seem too keen on moving you off him either.

“You were squirmin’ in your sleep, sweetheart.” He explained, resting his top half on his forearms. That man surely did look too comfortable with you on top of him. “Makin’ a lot of noise.”

“Just… memories.”

You puffed a breath, nearly leaning your forehead against his. It was easy, natural, the way your body sought his out, like a moment of rest after a hard day.

Instead, your gaze zeroed in on an unassuming glint, a sparkle in a sea of sand. It was more than just glitter though, and upon the realization of exactly what it was, your heart dropped.

There, sitting inconspicuously in the sand, was a small, golden feather.

Your feather.

Cooper followed your stare, looking curiously at the object that was causing such a reaction. He didn’t understand though, couldn’t possibly.

Your feathers hadn’t shined like that since the day the bombs dropped. The few that remained were dull, bloodied and broken like the rest of your wings.

“Are we interrupting?”

Lucy approached, Maximus directly behind her with a curious look. Why in all the world were you on top of the ghoul?

While Max was shocked, Lucy wasn’t bothered. She was more astonished that she’d yet to walk back to the two of you fucking the absolute hell out of each other.

“Yes.”

“No.”

You and Cooper spoke at the same time, your movements quick as you disengaged. You didn’t see him grab the feather you seemed so mesmerized with and tuck it into his chest pocket, but after giving the two others a smile, you definitely did notice it missing.

“Okey-dokey,” Lucy drawled, another suspicious glance casted between you both.

“Are you okay?” It was Maximus who asked, and from the tenseness of his body, you guessed he’d probably heard more of your nightmare than anyone else.

“I’m okay,” you lied, standing closer to Cooper absentmindedly.

Maze trotted up to you, pressing her wet nose into your hand like she understood your pain. Maybe she did, in a way. Not the exact pain you felt, but the loss of something so fundamental to your person.

Animals had an easier time realizing what you were. Besides Chloe and Linda, you’d never actually told another human being. A few had found out through one way or another, but it was hard to trust that part of yourself with others.

“We’re close,” Lucy announced, gesturing towards the wide open desert.

Less than half a day, you’d all agreed on yesterday before you stopped for the night. Then, as soon as you retrieved what remained of Dr. Wilzig, off to Lucy’s dad and the mysterious Moldaver.

“Thaddeus had the head last,” Maximus explained, stepping up with Lucy as she led the way.

You hung back with Cooper, glancing over at him every few minutes.

The two at the front continued to talk, explaining something or another, but you were too focused on Coop. He’d been there when the world went to shit.

You’d known it for a while, that he was old enough to have witnessed the end. He hadn’t said it explicitly, but the pieces clicked together when he properly introduced himself. Lucifer had a week-long bender involving a piñata of drugs, a couple of Swedish models, and a whole lot of old cowboy films.

You’d passed on the drugs and sex, but he’d trapped you in his penthouse and forced you to marathon the greatest hits of one Mr. Cooper Howard.

Time hadn’t been kind to him.

That man had been good, altruistic. He, like so many others, had lost so much of themselves to the world.

“Any particular reason you’re starin’ at me like I’m the last piece of pie?”

You hummed a small laugh, more thoughtful than entertained.

“The world before…”

He held a hand up, stopping you before you could even start down that line of questioning.

“Whatever you think you know of the world before, you don’t.”

“I think you made a better cowboy hero than a cowboy villain,” you joked, a genuine chuckle sounding as he nearly tripped over his feet, shock on his face.

“And what’s that supposed to mean, darlin’?”

“Whatever you want it to, cowboy.”

The mischief in your eyes was rivaled only by the guilt. You’d never be able to let go of it, to not have it haunt you every moment of every day, but perhaps you could live with it.

Perhaps there was a future for you.

Not the kind of future Lucy wanted, with romance and children, but the kind of future you did- freedom and a person to share it with.

“Got jokes, do you?”

His smile was wry, not quite amused, but certainly interested.

“Just for you.”

He cut you a hard stare, one that saw far more than you wanted him to, and yet not enough. The relationship you’d built up was founded upon a mutual understanding of letting the past die, and yet you found yourself wanting to tell him everything.

Gazes locked together, longing mingling in the air, interrupted only by the sound of a growing melody. You snapped your head forward, surprised by the sudden appearance of an entire radio tower.

Perhaps Cooper had distracted you more than you cared to admit.

“Thaddeus,” Maximus called, drawing attention to your group.

Maze held back, sticking close by your side as you approached the tower. As unsuspecting as it looked at a distance, it grew more ominous up close. Bodies and debris littered the ground, blood speckled in the warm sand.

You frowned.

Death, in this world, was nearly constant. You’d never seen the uglier side of it before coming to Earth. Even knowing the eternal resting place for these souls didn’t make it any easier to see them strung up and displayed this way.

The brutality of man hurt almost as much as the abandonment of your own family.

“Maximus?” The man, Thaddeus, you assumed, approached with a look of surprise. “I thought you’d be dead by now.”

“Just give us the head,” Max bargained.

The mention of an ‘us’ seemed to garner a response. The squire finally looked at the group, a cursory glance to each of you.

When he saw you, a smile tugged at his lips. He blinked once, then twice.

“Hi,” he greeted, solely focused on you.

You sucked a breath in, not missing the clench of Cooper’s jaw.

“Hey,” you replied kindly, taking a step towards him. “Thaddeus, was it?”

“Oh fuck,” he rubbed his empty hand against his pants nervously. “I ain’t ever seen someone as pretty as you.”

You breathed out a laugh, holding both hands out in front of you as you approached.

“Flirting is definitely not a part of the Brotherhood’s curriculum, huh?” Lucy mused.

“We really need that head,” you told him cautiously, slowly, ignoring the vault dwellers' merriment.

His eyes were wide, following your every move with something a little too close to reverence for your liking. The divinity that ran through your veins certainly made you more appealing, but the look he was giving you was a bit deeper than that.

A bit hungrier.

“It’s too late,” he responded, and as if on queue, the distant sound of spinning blades cut through the air.

“It’s not,” you argued, another step as you very carefully maneuvered around a trap. “Bring it here and we can leave together, before they land. But we have to go. Now.”

For a brief second, you didn’t think he’d follow. His eyes flicked up to the sky, where the Brotherhood would be any minute, and then back down to you.

Then, he took a step.

A cry rang out in alarm, torn from your throat as you jumped forward, trying to push him out of the path of a well-placed arrow. It didn’t matter, though. You were too late, pinning his body to the ground after he’d already been wounded.

Guilt gnawed at your stomach as you gazed down at him, wide eyes staring right back up at you. He’d been struck in the neck, a fatal wound by all accounts.

“Are we having sex?”

You tilted your head to the side, confusion bubbling around you. He definitely wasn’t dying, if the appendage pressing insistently into your thigh was any indication.

“You’re not dead?”

It was a question, one echoed by Maximus somewhere behind you.

“He’s gonna be,” Cooper growled, his voice hardly registering in your confusion.

“Just, sit still.” You ordered, reaching a hand towards his neck.

The arrow went clean through one side, remaining embedded into the throat. How he was alive was a mystery for another day, your current concern revolving around removing his new necklace.

You grabbed one end of it, tingles splintering up your arm, that ancient warning rearing it’s ugly head.

Do not kill.

Do not harm.

You grit your teeth, tugging as his hands came to rest on your hips. You’d wanted to comment on it, to tell him to take his hands off you, but Cooper beat you to it.

“Keep those hands there and you’re losin’ them.”

It was a vicious threat, spoken from his chest with anger, the hammer of his gun clicking for emphasis.

A pounding started in your head, a chant repeating itself.

Do not kill.

Do not harm.

You wanted to shout in frustration, the tremors working their way through your entire body. They came to a crashing halt the second the arrow was through, the wound healing on its own only seconds later.

You slumped forward, catching yourself with your hands on either side of Thaddeus. The man beneath you noticed, the sound of a bullet echoing through the air when he reached a hand up, almost grazing the side of your face.

“Watch those hands.”

It was a final warning, the patience of the ghoul gone.

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

His voice was dazed, staring at you with awe. It made you fidget uncomfortably before you rolled off him, leaving the space Cooper needed to stand above him.

Rage burned in his eyes as he pointed his pistol at the young man.

“Coop,” you warned, stepping in front of him.

Your warning meant very little to him at the moment. Murder was in his eyes, the kind that promised to see it through to the end.

The sky grew louder, the Brotherhood closing in on your position faster than you’d like.

“We don’t have the time for this.”

Reason seemed to win out for the moment, the need to survive beating back the need to prove a point. He holstered his gun, a withering glare pointed at Thaddeus.

You paid it no mind, jumping into action before any more ground was lost. You tossed the head to Lucy, shuddering at the lifeless object. It was gory, unnecessarily so, and holding it felt unnatural.

“Get out of here,” you yelled to the others, finding your footing relatively quickly.

Cooper was close by, following your every footstep. Thaddeus, however, decided to take his own route. It was probably for the best, lest Cooper ever see him ogling you again. Maze, initially unsure of where to go, obeyed your queue, running alongside Coop.

You’d only made it a hundred feet or so before you realized Lucy and Max were not with you. Your abrupt stop was interrupted, the ghoul tugging the back of your jumpsuit before you could even try to turn around.

You caught a quick glimpse. A passionate kiss was exchanged, and a sorrowful goodbye. The moment wasn’t for you to witness.

Before long, Lucy caught up to your little group again.

She didn’t bother to greet you, her hand gripping the head for dear life. It was the only thing she’d managed to salvage from the radio tower.

It was clear Max’s departure bothered her deeply, but you knew some wounds couldn’t heal with anything but time.

Maybe one day they would find one another again.

Until then, you’d look out for her, make sure she was able to grow on her own terms.

God only knew she’d need it in the upcoming future.

[taintandviolent]

Hide & Seek - jpm x reader!

summary: You check into the Hotel Cortez for a little R&R, only to have nightmares. Some of which, are real. Run, little mouse.

warnings & word count: 3.4K! James being James, hide and seek elements, chasing, hunting, implications of murder/death.

a/n: this was a quick drabble that got longer. sorry that there’s no smut, I’m unwell enough that James chasing me is arousing enough. idea/requested by @garykingz

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! /

On an impromptu vacation, you were going to be in Los Angeles for a week - visiting a friend for a few days. In truth, you'd taken the opportunity to get away from the humdrum of work for a little longer, wanting a relaxing escape from the drab nine to five lifestyle that you lived day in and day out. Initially, you'd picked the Hotel Cortez for its lower than usual rates, but were also charmed by its lavish interiors and intriguing history.

You'd checked in when it was sunny - a delicate, warm breeze floated through the Los Angeles streets, which was a stark difference once you got inside the doors; there was a damp chill that made your skin prickle. You chalked it up to bad air conditioning and made small talk about the weather with the lady who kindly took one of your bags. The rooms were outdated, but still possessed some charm. The lady, her name was Iris, had informed you that some of the rooms had been remodeled; this wasn't one of them.

You'd spent most of the night lazily unpacking, nursing a bottle of cheap champagne that you called up from room service. You'd called your friend, excitedly discussing the details of tomorrow's brunch at around 8 PM. When you'd finally fallen asleep, it was half past midnight and you weren't sure how long you'd slept before the horrible dreams started.

First, a haggard looking woman sat at the edge of your bed, her head in her hands as she sobbed hysterically. Though you tried desperately to comfort her, she shoved you off, muttering something about never getting out. After that, you tossed and turned, jostling that nightmare into something else. A man sewed into a mattress, gurgling and screaming for help as his body decayed, his slippery, slimy limbs clawing at the fibers, and women stood at the edge of your bed, covered in blood and laughing, angrily hissing words you didn't understand, judging you in their native tongue. The final dream was the worst, despite the unsettling nature of the last few, it was the most vivid, and the one that made your heart rate skyrocket.

Someone else was in your room with malicious intentions, watching you silently as you slept. Their inviting, persuasive energy drew you closer to them, scooting towards the edge of the bed. Your face contorted painfully in your sleep, head swishing back and forth on the pillow, sweat dotting your exposed skin.

James stood above you, watching you as frightening, troublesome visions plagued your subconscious and tormented your physical form. The Cortez effect still reigned supreme - good . Nobody slept well in these rooms unless he permitted it. And you... you, with all of your beauty, were thrashing about like a child. You were delightful, exquisite... everything he wanted in a victim. Skin flushed with fear, hair splayed out on the pillow in delicate locks. Your features, though you weren't, were vintage and reminded him of some of his favourite past kills. He leaned forward, hands reaching out your perfect, slender neck.

Cold, unsettling fingertips ghosted along the nape of your neck and you flinched away, throwing your leg from underneath the covers. When a hand came down on your mouth, your heavy lids snapped open. It wasn't a dream. A man - a very well-dressed man - hovered above you, his cool hand pressing against your lips, prepped for and successfully muffling the oncoming scream. Now realizing that you were awake, lightning fast, both arms wrapped around you, coiling around you like a snake and pulling you from your warm sheets. You let out a boisterous shriek and, surprising even yourself, wrestled free, throwing yourself back against the mattress. You climbed atop of it, standing higher than he was.

His hands slipped along the satin of your nightgown as you wrenched yourself from his arms; what a sly little thing you were . Your sudden departure from his grip surprised James, and unbeknownst to you, the element of surprise was deeply arousing to him. Ah, he’d picked a good one, yet again…. 

You let out a desperate yelp, tucking yourself into the corner where the walls met. “Get away from me! What the FUCK are you doing in my room?!”

“Ah, what a rarity you are! So lively!” His stance was challenging, anticipating your next move.

Your eyes peeled away from him for a split second, just to judge the distance between you and the door. It wasn’t far, not at all. Certainly, close enough that you could make it… with enough speed…. 

You decided to go for it; with a final breath and a desperate exertion of muscle, you leapt off the bed and charged towards the door, nearly collapsing against it. With fingers trembling, you threw the chain from its casing and unlatched the deadbolt before throwing the door open - running out so quickly that you almost stumbled into the barren hallway. Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you opened your mouth to let out a shrill scream, in hopes that someone, anyone, would hear you.

“Run, run, run!” From behind you, came his elated tone as he watched you bolt out the door, barefoot and clad in your silky, lacy nightgown. His joviality was disconcerting, to say the least.

It had been so long since he'd gotten his jollies with a good old fashioned chase. Nowadays, people were dull, heavy buffoons whose logic had diminished like their will to live, they possessed no natural instincts to hide, only scream and fall to the floor, flopping about like a dead fish. Naturally, he could’ve ended the game quickly, materializing in front of you and taking you into his arms at once. But there was hardly any sport, any fun in that idea…. 

So, he let you run. He let you run down the long hallway, shrieking for help. The door clicked shut, and through it, he heard your voice crack as you yelled, beating futilely on the door of some unsuspecting guest. Of course, no one would come to your aid. Everyone minded their own business in this hotel, and naturally no one would open the door to a screaming madwoman.

You tried the handle of a door. Locked. Fuck . You tried the one next to it, only to find it locked too. Shit. You took off down the hallway again, your bare feet padding against the ornately woven carpets. You hadn’t heard the door open, but didn’t want to waste any more time trying locked doors, so instead, you rounded the corner, finding that it looked just like the hallway from where you’d just come. The doors lined each side of you, seeming to go on forever. How people didn’t get lost in these god-forsaken hallways was beyond you; you nearly had when you checked in. Where was everybody? Was the hotel empty? Full?

You looked both ways and took off again, your muscles begging for relief as you ran to the left; the few moments of standing weren’t enough to soothe your aching legs. The fire burned your muscles as you ran, terror building in your stomach. You thought you heard the echo of his voice behind you…. But when you turned, there was nothing – nothing but doors. 

“Jesus christ,” you whimpered, tears welling up. No. Now’s not the time to cry, suck it up.

You sniffed hard, silencing the sobs. You looked at the neverending doors, and still trembling, you tried the handle of the one nearest you. To your surprise, it turned freely. You snuck in, making sure to shut the door quietly behind you -- no more than a click of the latch.

The armoire seemed too obvious and easy of a hiding place, so you opted to crawl underneath one of the beds, albeit also obvious. The carpet smelled old, and there was a sliver of viewing space underneath the bedskirt. Watching the door with terrified eyes, you pressed your fingers into your mouth hard, silencing any breaths. The door opened moments later, and his polished shoes could be seen.

James knew you'd gone in here. He'd heard you. But where you went remained to be seen. He'd check the usual places; in hopes of finding his little escapist. His shoes moved around the bed, and you held your breath, closing your eyes. Perhaps this had been a stupid decision...

“Come out, come out wherever you are! There's nowhere to run where I won't find you!" His voice reverberated in the bathroom and your eyes snapped open, in relief. He whipped away the shower curtain, the shower rings clattering loudly on the metal pole. He peered inside. Empty. Drat.  

Knowing he was momentarily occupied, you took that opportunity to crawl out from underneath the bed and run to the door, opening it as silently as possible. There was no doubt that he'd heard you again, as his footsteps clicked quickly on the tile. Directly opposite from you, there was a door without a placard, without a number. You raced across the small hallway, your breath coming from your mouth in delicate little pants. A few seconds passed as you stared at it, as though you were trying to view what was behind it. A potential option…

Nervously, you swallowed and leaned forward, trying the handle. To your delight; it gave way. Tentatively, you stuck your head inside; It was an unwelcoming empty room, nothing but cold, bare bricks inside. A strange, square shaped room that was too long to be a broom closet, but not wide enough to be a guest’s room. It looked like it ran parallel to the rest of the rooms, it too went on forever. A terrifying, bleak, unfinished hallway.

“Ahh, my little buttercup! Where have you run off to? I know this hotel like the back of my hand!. Afterall, I built it!”

Though slightly muffled, his syrupy, crooning voice was loud enough that it still bounced off the walls, seeming to come from all directions. Watching old films ardently, the Transatlantic accent was one that you found attractive usually, with its refined over-pronunciation, but this… you never pictured this scenario. Never pictured it to be…

Your head snapped in the direction from whence you’d come. The handle turned, which prompted you to shimmy inside, quietly shutting the door behind you. You were submerged in darkness and an odd moistness that made your nose itch. Wherever you were hadn't been utilized by anyone in a long time. A long, long time.

“...fuck…!” you hissed through clenched teeth. “...fuck, what do I do now ?” 

If you weren’t going to die at the hands of that man, you were going to die in this bizarre, desolate hallway, starved to death, sealed away to decay like some forgotten wax figure. Pinpricks of darkness took over your vision, and you could do nothing but blindly feel your way down the hall, stepping carefully as you did, arms out in front of you to protect against any obstacles.

The floor was dusty, you could feel your warm skin picking up particles as you walked. You didn't hear him though, so he'd chosen another direction. At least, you hoped.

Your hands flattened against a surface that differed from the walls. It didn't feel like brick, it felt like another type of wood; there was bevelling on the sides. Your hands bumped into a handle, which you twisted, pushing forward. It gave with a little push and you came face first with a hotel room - one that looked similarly to your own.

It wasn't empty; a stout woman in a modest maid outfit was bent over the bed, meticulously smoothing every crease from the top sheet. She paid you no mind, though she'd surely had to have heard you open the door; the hinges desperately needed oiled.

You took a step forward. Hesitantly. "E-excuse me? Ma'am?" 

No response from her. What the fuck was going on in this hotel? People dressed like they were from another time, ignoring desperate screams of peril...

“Please,” you panted, frustrated. “You have to help me. Hide me. There’s… there’s a man after me. He’s –” 

Acting almost startled, she straightened up from the bed, and turned to you, waving her hands as though you were speaking too loudly. “Shhhush, shush, it’s alright, dear. Do stop breathing in such a way, you’re going to hyperventilate!” 

You swallowed, wetting your dry mouth. “I’m… I’m sorry. I just, he’s… there’s a man… he tried to- to....” You scrambled. A phone. There was a phone on the table behind her. To call the police. Yes. That. Perfect. “Just let me use the phone and I'll -"

In a fluid, determinate motion, she stepped in front of the small table, blocking you from the phone. Your eyes narrowed, brows furrowing. She was too calm. Something was off about her demeanor as she dutifully approached you, hands clasped together, wringing them, and it made your teeth chatter. A small, but devious smile curled around her rouged lips.

“N-no, what're you doing....?” 

The door to your left opened abruptly. The man exhaled as he burst through it, tying an apron behind his back. He first made eye contact with the maid, then with you, his dark, inky pupils widening.

“Ahhhh. Look at that, my dear.” 

“No… no, no, no, no, no, no! NO! PLEASE!” You stumbled back around, falling against the door - the one you had just come from, which had swung shut. Although you'd just pushed it open moments ago, it seemed heavier than before. You put all your weight into pulling at it again, tugging with everything you had. From behind you, his dubose voice continued.

“It seems as though I’ve won this little game of yours!” 

Finally, it released and the hinges let out a painful wail as you yanked it open. Although it had already begun to swing shut, you gripped the handle hard, pulling it until the lock clicked into place. You weren't sure if they were coming; you couldn't hear them talking from behind the heavy wood. You imagined they would be. Eventually.

The cool, looming darkness was all that surrounded you, but at present, it was less terrifying than what was on the other side of the door. Squaring your shoulders, you bravely took long strides back into the pitch-blackness, hoping to feel a sense of familiarity. After a few moments, you began running again, wanting to put as much distance between you and him as you could.

You only got a few yards before a searing hot pain shot up through your calf muscle as something sharp and jagged tore through your soft flesh, causing you to yelp and clumsily stumble to a stop. Though you couldn't see anything, out of habit, you gazed down in the general direction, breathing shallowly. Deprived of sight, your other senses kicked in, and you felt the warmth that oozed from the bottom of your foot and smelled the hot, irony scent of blood as it seeped through the gash in your toughest skin. Though the pain was crippling, you had to keep going.

Now hobbling hurriedly down the dark corridor, you thought you were nearing the door. With both hands out in front of you, you waited to feel something. A harrowing thought settled into your psyche, but you shooed it away, promising yourself that it wouldn't happen. Your fingertips finally felt the smoothness of wood and you pressed both hands against the door, gasping in relief. In trepidation, you tried the handle, desperately yanking it down. You wiggled it furiously, panicking. Just as you'd worried. It was locked.

The hinges howled at the other end of the hallway and you froze, holding your breath. Stupid. Where else would you have gone? He knew you were in there. Like he'd said, he knew this hotel like the back of his hand and likely knew that the door would lock. He'd probably designed it that way. Slowly, you turned your head, staring pointedly behind you.

Lights flickered on; though covered in dust, the same wall sconces that were on the outside hallways were also on the inside. You winced, as your eyes adjusted to the change in light. You spotted him, fast approaching. He held something in his hand, though you couldn't make out what it was. His crunching footsteps neared closer and closer. You spun around, pressing your back against the door. You were cornered. This was it. 

“Now, now. There’s no need for that!” His voice echoed down the corridor. “Well,” he added. “Perhaps fear is... apropos. I've no intention of being quick with you.”

He was terrifying with his eloquence and debonair demeanour, albeit handsome. In a different setting, you might've accepted a drink from him, or perhaps an offer to dance. But now... with your hands in front of your chest, shaking like a cornered animal, you were anything but wooed.

He was mere inches away now, and all you could do was tremble like a fool. With a long, drawn out vocalisation, he closed in the distance, sandwiching your body between himself and the door. His fingers ghost over the curve of your thighs and hips, up to your waist, and finally, just beneath your breast. He pressed his hand underneath the weight of it, nestling it underneath the flesh. He could feel the sweat that had settled into the fabric of your nightgown, the heat that radiated off your body and most of all, he could feel your thumping heartbeat beneath your skin. It hammered away, pumping your blood through its arteries, keeping you living, breathing, panting.... quivering. Aroused, he nipped at the air, hissing through his teeth.

"Oh, don't look so surprised, my dear. Did you really think you'd be the one that got away from me? You gave me a good run, indeed. But deep down, you knew I'd find you."  

No... he was wrong. You really had thought that you'd get away. You'd always considered yourself to be... smart, quick. As it seemed, that was a foolish misconception. You weren't quick enough.

He leaned down, placing his lips against your flushed cheek. His moustache tickled your flesh, his breath was cool against your ear like the first warning breeze before a storm.

“Now,” he whispered into your skin. "Where are those screams you so boldly let free before? Why, you're as quiet as a mouse now."

"Please, please don't kill me..." You murmured, pulling your face away from his. James immediately caught your cheek with his hand, pulling it back to its starting position. He stroked the skin softly, tenderly, and whispered: "Oh, but I must... you're going to make it sound so good."

With tears streaming down your face, you let out a pleading moan, transitioning into a blood-curdling scream.

"Yes! Scream for me, my darling! Scream to your heart's content!" James said, slipping his hand round your waist. "Miss Evers!" He called over his shoulder. "Ready my tools!"

You heard her call back: "Yes, Mr. March!"

Mr. March , you thought. That's his name. Mr. March is going to kill me.

You had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The only place you could go was into his arms - his cool, strong arms with their enrapturing steadfastness, their chilly persuasiveness. They gripped you so lovingly, though the threat of death loomed over you like a cloud. He hoisted you up into his arms and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You were light, alive and easy to manipulate.

"P-please. I was here to see my fr-friend..." you whimpered into his back, though you doubt he cared. Seeing your friend seemed like such a trivial thing now when your life was at stake. He carried you back down the hallway with ease, avoiding whatever obstacles laid on the floor.

By the time your back hit the table, your vision was so clouded with tears that you could no longer see him, but you felt the way he caressed you, and heard the way he spoke about your body, monologued discomforting facts about the human body, and how good yours was going to look once it was splayed open for the world to see. 

The last thing you saw was the deep, crimson gash on his neck. Passively, you focused on it as he spoke, watching the gore as it glistened and moved with his words. You'd never thought about what your insides would look like until then. You wondered if yours looked like that, too. You supposed you'd find out soon enough. 

"Please..." you whispered. "Please... don't..." 

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Dead for a Moment

Wake Up-- Chapter 3

Series Masterlist          Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: In an attempt to stop the advances of an unwanted suitor, Matt Murdock accidentally condemns you to being his fake girlfriend.

warnings: swearing, no use of y/n, description of anxiety and a panic attack, fluff

a/n: So sorry that I left you all hanging!! This is my first multi-chapter fic and I now realize I should’ve written a couple chapters before I started posting. Now that I am getting the hang of things, I am planning on updating this one every Friday! (I already have the next chapter ready to go!) Please reblog, comment, and feel free to send me asks/requests :)

w/c: 1.6k (the next one is longer, I promise!)

Matt shook Judge Hanover’s hand. “It was great catching up, your honor. Have fun in Rome!” The judge chuckled and squeezed Matt’s hand before reentering the crowd to chat with another attendee. 

Taking a moment to assess the room, Matt frowned, realizing you still hadn’t returned to the event. He made his way over to where Foggy and Karen were gathered, asking if they’d seen you. 

“Last I noticed, she was with you and Hanover. You two scare her off?” Foggy asked in jest, but Matt’s discomfort grew. 

“No, she excused herself but never came back.” Focusing his hearing towards the back of the room, he desperately waited for some indication of your whereabouts. He couldn’t hear your voice, or smell your subtle perfume. 

“Foggy, can you…” 

“Yah, of course bud. The bathrooms are this way.” 

As they got closer to the southern wall of the venue, he heard it—your heartbeat. It was frantic, outside the back entrance of the building. 

“She left out the back door. Something’s wrong.” Matt whispered, urgently. 

“Go find her, man. Karen and I will make something up.” 

Matt squeezed Foggy’s arm and began walking towards the exit as quickly as he could without causing a scene. 

Once outside, Matt rushed over to your shaking form, your gasping breaths echoing in his ears. He called your name, “what happened? What’s wrong?” 

“Matty?” You wheezed as he crouched next to you. 

“Yes it’s me. I’m right here, angel. Can I touch you?” His hands hovered near you as he desperately waited for your permission. Collapsing against his chest, you gave a stifled sob. 

Instinctively, his arms wrapped around you. “Breathe, sweet thing. You’re gonna make yourself sick. Follow my breaths ok?” He slowly maneuvered one of your hands over his chest so you could feel it rise with each inhale. He could feel you struggling to imitate as your other hand clenched around his suit jacket. 

“You’re doing so well, angel. Keep breathing for me. I got ya.” He sat the two of you down, with his back against the alley wall. Pulling you into his lap, he stroked your back as your hyperventilating started to wane. 

“That’s it. Just like that, sweetness.” He murmured into your hair as he held you. Your heart rate was still rapid, but you were at least taking in air again. 

“I’m—I’m so sorry.” Your voice was hoarse and Matt felt downright mournful hearing how broken you sounded. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, sweet thing. Not one thing.” He assured you, lips moving against your hairline. “Whenever you’re ready, we can get outta here, ok?” 

“And go wh—where?” Your ragged breaths were forcing you to stumble over your words. 

“Wherever you want. My place isn’t too far but we can go to yours if you’d be more comfortable.” 

“Yours is good.” Still slightly breathless, you push back from him and start to stand up. You wobbled viciously, and would’ve fallen back to the pavement if it weren’t for Matt’s quick reflexes. “Easy, easy. We don’t have to go yet, we can wait another minute.” He rubbed his hands over your arms, looking at you with a furrowed brow.

“No, I want to go. Please, Matt.” Turning to him with glassy eyes, you begged. You needed to get as far away from this place as possible if you wanted to avoid another panic attack. 

“Ok, sweetness. Let’s go.” Adjusting his hold on you so that your arms are linked, he took your hand. “My place is a couple blocks west of here. Did you want to get a cab?” 

“No, I’m ok.” He gave your hand a squeeze, leading you back to his apartment. 

———————————————————————————————————

Once you were inside Matt’s loft, you felt exhausted. The emotional toll of your anxiety attack had finally set in. As always, Matt seemed to sense the change in your energy. 

“Sit down, love.” He tenderly tugged you over to the couch and helped you sit. “Take off those stiff shoes, do you want to borrow some comfier clothes?”

“Yes please.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. 

Matt tenderly squeezed your arm. “I’ll be right back.” 

You slipped off your heels and rubbed at your face. The tear tracks had burned itchy trails through your makeup. The familiar lights from the billboard outside Matt’s place danced across the living room. As you took in your surroundings, a wave of guilt and embarrassment crashed over you. Biting at your lip, you realized you had just dragged Matt away from his friends and a great networking opportunity for, what? An emotional outburst because some lady had brought up your old coworker? Because she didn’t think you were pretty or interesting? 

Matt padded back into the room, holding a pair of sweats and a crew neck sweatshirt. “Here, sweetness. You remember where the bathroom is?”

“Mmhmm” you nodded, taking the clothes and heading to change. 

Matt let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. What the hell had happened to you? When the two of you were milling about, your pulse had been steady. You’d seemed confident, almost happy to be there. Who had ruined that for you? 

You shuffled around in his bathroom as you changed. Matt shrugged off his suit coat and loosened his tie. Removing his glasses, he moved to the kitchen to fill two glasses with water. Dutifully listening to you, he heard your breath shudder as you held back a sob. Clenching his hands around the glasses, he moved to set them on the coffee table. Pacing over to the bathroom, he hesitated a minute before knocking softy on the door. 

“Need anything else, sweetness?” His question was quiet and he impatiently waited for a response. You moved towards the door, opening it carefully before staggering into his arms. 

“I’m so sorry, Matt. I ruined everything.” 

“What do you mean, angel? How did you ruin everything?” 

Tears were welling up in your eyes again. “You left because of me. I stopped you from enjoying yourself.” You tried to pull back from him but he kept holding you close. 

“Hey, don’t worry your pretty head about that, ok? I told you before, you get to call the shots. I know these events make you nervous. Leaving is always an option.” 

You nodded against his chest, biting your lip. He kissed the top of your head firmly, stroking your back. The pair of you remained woven together for a moment as you calmed down. When your breathing had steadied a bit, Matt pulled back and faced you.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Those events never have enough food.” Matt grinned at you, trying to at least get you to crack a smile. “Want to order something?” 

“Yah, that sounds good.” You scrubbed a hand at your face and let him lead you back to the couch. After he had you nestled into his side, Matt placed an order to his favorite Thai place. You weren’t really hungry, but you doubted he’d be letting you leave without eating. 

Waiting for your meal to arrive, you could practically feel Matt holding himself back, giving you space. It must’ve been killing him to not know what happened when you stepped away. Absentmindedly, he ran his hand over your arm. You sighed, turning your face into his neck. 

“It was Snyder.”

“What?” He pulled back, head tilting in confusion. 

“She’s the one who—the reason I freaked, it was Snyder.” 

A low growl emanated from Matt’s chest, rumbling through you. “What the hell did she do?” 

“It was stupid, Matty. I mean—“ 

“It wasn’t stupid.” He murmured, in that same deep rumble. “If it upset you to that degree, it wasn’t stupid.” A dark rage burned in his eyes. You’d never seen this side of him before. Other people might’ve been frightened, but you tugged him closer, pressing up against him again. He relaxed a tiny bit, letting you pull his arms around you like a security blanket. 

“She just…she called me pathetic. Said I wasn’t good enough to date you, that I stole my job. It was just some jealousy-induced bullshit.” 

“She what?” You let Matt pull away this time. He stood from the couch, pacing angrily. “How fucking dare—“

“Matt, really. It’s ok, I overreacted.” You offered, turning to watch him as he tugged at his hair with frustration. 

“No, you didn’t. She shouldn’t have—“ Matt inhaled deeply, squeezing his eyes shut. He knelt before you. 

“You did not overreact. She’s an asshole who’s upset because she can’t have the younger man she’s been pursuing for years. You’re allowed to be upset, what she said was cruel.” His eyes flitted around you, distressed. 

“We aren’t actually dating, Matt. I shouldn’t care so much about her opinion of us!” 

“Your reaction is more than understandable. This was exactly what you were afraid of, wasn’t it?” Matt’s knuckle brushed over your cheek and you leaned into his touch, sighing. “You tried to tell us what you thought might happen. You reminded me today! And we all brushed it off, and then…”

“You didn’t.” You murmured, eyes locked on his distant yet passionate gaze. “You believed me, offered to stand up for me.” 

“I did. And I would have! I should’ve paid more attention.” Matt scolded himself, still running his fingers along your face soothingly. 

You grasped the hand he was resting on your cheek, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “It wasn’t your fault. You are, quite possibly, the person farthest from the line of blame in this situation. Don’t beat yourself up, please.” 

“That’s a pretty common habit of mine.” 

“I know. ‘Catholic guilt’ should be your middle name.” You flicked your thumb under his chin making him smile. “But you’ve unfortunately chosen an agnostic fake partner, so I’m here to remind you that not everything is your fault.”

Matt let out a mirthless laugh, “Agree to disagree.” 

Before you could chastise him, there was a knock at the door. “Our food’s here.” He gave a sheepish grimace, standing to get the door. Watching him retreat, you bit your lip with a smile. Tonight had been tough, no doubt about it, but you couldn’t help but be grateful for your incredibly sweet fake-boyfriend.

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I hope you enjoyed!! Feel free to reblog, comment, and send me requests! 

Tag list: @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @scoliobean @harperdoodle @mattkinsella @leikelle

[dragon-communion]

Headcanon time for each of the Empyrean children.

Ranni did present strange physical traits related to her moon when she had flesh. However: the dark moon thrives on subtlety, and chiefly presents its influence through frost at the most dramatic. Ranni probably had an easier time than the other two of keeping her uncanny abilities under wraps, and after she shed her flesh it wasn't a concern anymore. I guesstimate she used to passively make the temperature drop just by existing, judging by Blaidd's armor. She can quite literally just be the cold now. She only has four arms because her new body is technically a modified combat marionette. It's unclear what her rune might have been, but I wonder if it was literally just Destined Death and she didn't so much "cast it away" as "call dibs and never collect".

Malenia is the Empyrean we know best. Her benefactor is the Scarlet Rot, whether she likes it or not, which manifests as a scorpion. She passively and uncontrollably rots the people around her, though she can actively choose to let more rot out it seems. The rot also changes the landscape around her- I imagine her bed might've grown a lot of mushrooms that the staff were in endless war with, and the laundresses had a high turnover rate. In her goddess form, in addition to utilizing a giant lotus flower, she has wings made of butterflies and her own hair. Vaguely angelic wings seem out of the norm for the insect-like rot god, and I'm tempted to say they're a deliberate mockery of whatever Malenia could have been if left alone. Her rune allows the bearer to heal every time they do damage, which thematically fits both a goddess of victory or a goddess of rot, taking life in order to flourish.

Miquella is where the fun begins. Headcanons exponentially increase beyond this point.

The two previous Empyreans were chosen by a specific god. The Dark Moon, and the Scarlet Rot. Miquella is uniquely notable for his complete and utter aversion to gods, and the ability to reject their influence. In-game we mostly use this to reject the Flame of Frenzy, though I find it interesting that his alter ego also dabbled in directly fighting off Frenzy. Was Miquella ever selected by an outer god? If so, did he just invent a way to reject them the same way he worked on rejecting the Rot?

It's hard to say, and I've been trying to make inferences based on Miquella's powers, abilities, and implied abilities. This includes but is not limited to:

dominion over Sleep via St. Trina

an affinity for holy damage in weapons and spells he personally invents (what exactly is holy damage? is it specifically Erdtree related or more of an expression of pure faith?), and his soldiers exploding with holy damage

eternal youth and abundance, definition unclear on that though

affinity for trees and flowers

advanced smithing skills and the production of unalloyed gold (how? maybe from his blood?)

lots of references to his blood (is that where the abundance is?)

divine curse/ability to passively make people love him, and potentially the ability to directly amp that up at will

cocoons. possibly as a form of baptizing people into his cycle of life, possibly as a form of immunizing people to the scarlet rot. the Cleanrot Knights have insect wings where their tassets should be. is Miquella capable of turning people into bugs? are his cocoons a way to meddle with the makeup of their blood, which he seems to have an affinity for? is he injecting people with his blood a la Mohg and then wrapping them up to wait? where does the silk come from

unalloyed gold. potentially meaning white-gold, which would be thematically interesting concerning the albinaurics. Haligtree tabards are white and gold

possibly related, but he spends his life conveying a message of hope and belonging that i've always blamed partially on his extremely absent and emotionally distant mother. he's trying to literally do her job but better in all ways.

I honestly wouldn't be surprised if Miquella's outer god had actually been Frenzy. I'm not hard set on it, but I do like the idea- hope versus despair, plenty versus oneness. He definitely had some reasons to feel despair, and he seems determined to offer a second chance to everyone maligned by the Golden Order who can actually feel it. I don't think the living dead really have emotions anymore, just perpetual motion.

Sometime I should try writing my full crack theory pitch for Miquella, god of Frenzy.

If I examine some of his more uncanny abilities, they seem to divvy up into two subcategories: psychic damage and physical growth. Trina is/was a part of him, and she got dominion over induced sleep and flowers. Miquella has charm and flowers. I think part of his affinity for plants comes from the core concept in Elden Ring that kids in general come from plants, at least under the dominion of the Erdtree. Malenia had flower kids via the rot. Births are implied to come from the amber dripping from the Erdtree. Miquella, cursed with youth, is stuck in this state of perpetual growth with nowhere to go- so that could mean he's constantly growing things around him, and part of the quality of being nascent is being somewhat flowerlike. I like the idea that he just has too much blood, either because his body overproduces it or he trained it to overproduce blood because he's an Empyrean and his body just adapts to excessive bloodletting.

When he was removed half-formed from his cocoon, he had four insect wings. Which is why I think the wings on the Cleanrot Knights are his fault somehow.

(I have not played the DLC and I am ignoring it right now, I was spoiled on his appearance and I didn't like it at all, which is why I'm writing this)

I think that, like Malenia, his apotheosis would involve wings somehow. Maybe insect wings, maybe flower petal wings, maybe something else. I don't know what his great rune is beyond abundance or what it would have done- maybe something to do with healing, like Malenia's- but while Malenia has always been visually associated with the valkyries, Miquella is incredibly fae to me. Or angelic, if you want to go that route, but the flowers and the treehouse with a secret entrance and the charm ability all scream fae even without the uncanny subtle insect theming. Not a changeling child, but there's definitely a theme present in some fairy tales of changelings being fae children that can never grow up.

Most of the outer gods are expressions of Death in some way, possibly because Marika outlawed death and the cosmic order got a bit fucked up. Miquella's main association with death is through Sleep- while there is no obvious outer god associated with that, it could just be a comparatively young god. People haven't really needed to get drunk and forget on such a massive scale before, until the Shattering- before that is was mostly oppressed and chronically ill people. One could argue Trina was actually the part of him meant to become a god, since Empyreans seem to be meant to be female or at least alchemically represent the feminine aspect.

If I snag that imagery for a second- white queen, red king- while Miquella seems to visually be very blatantly the white queen, if I squint at him and then look at Trina I can see a way for him to be the red king. Mostly the repeated references to his power coming from his blood. Godfrey counts visually because his second phase is literally covered in blood. No reason Miquella couldn't be the same.

Both Miquella and Trina are selling a world of peace and love, so it's an interesting idea. Especially since the white queen seems to wear the matriarchal pants of the relationship in Elden Ring- I wonder what it would look like, for Trina to be the dominant force in their little binary system.

I digress.

If I use the format I used with the other two Empyreans, we get: Miquella's benefactor is (???) whose symbolism is (???) and whose effect is (???). He passively and uncontrollably (charms people/grows things) around him. His god form involves lilies, fairy wings, and some sort of insect somehow. His rune probably had something to do with abundance, effect unknown but maybe involving healing somehow.

His ability to grow things and make them flourish might have something to do thematically with his ability to make cocoons. I still want to know how he does it. Spinnerets? His blood, somehow? Maybe he's like a queen bee but for silkmoths.

I'm very distracted by the hypothetical AU where Trina wins god-paper-scissors and has Miquella become her consort, now.

I'm still not entirely sure what Miquella's god form would look like, but it absolutely needs flowers and wings and maybe weird eyes, judging by the rest of the Empyreans and Marika. It'd probably be gold, which is boring considering Marika already has that covered, but maybe he could do something fun with the color white. And some purple. Maybe his hair's made of flowers and he's got a third eye or something, to contrast Malenia being made of butterflies and having no eyes.

[seedofjoseph]

homebound

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Relationship: Jacob Seed x F!Deputy

Rating: M (mature)

Words: 700

Author's Note: I've already confessed my preference for a possessive male love interest (link), so that's the romance trope I'm guilty of in this one.

Jacob Seed pulled back your leash the night you stepped foot out of his sight.

It turned out that his collar was tighter than you thought, as he tracked your scent down in spite of you splashing through every stream on your way down the Whitetail Mountains.

Under the full moon, surrounded by snarling Judges and challenged by his Chosen, you shivered. Then, bitting down on your thrumming heart with clattering teeth, you braced yourself for their Bliss bullets. Yet, none ever got to graze your gooseflesh that night.

"Hold your fire," you heard him howl before he manifested in the moonlight. "At ease," he lowered his hand, and the others lowered their guns with it. "C'mere," he called to you as if you were one of his Judges.

You disobeyed him, standing up as straight and as tall as your shivering spine allowed.

"C'mere," he waved you over as if you were one of his bitches. "Let's get you back home."

"I'm not going back into that kennel," you barked, voice breaking and chest heaving.

Under the moon, in the spotlight, your wet shirt clung to your skin, to the swell of your breasts and their perked-up peaks. And you only saw yourself exposed through his eyes, through the glare he gave his men as he grazed past them.

"At attention."

Because he could stand both straight and tall, he did, and all the others around him averted their gaze as he advanced toward you. With one last glower, he shot down the stares of the soldiers further undressing your form.

"I warned you, angel," Jacob Seed said softly, like a lullaby. "I warned you 'bout strayin' from the path. You must be fuckin' freezin'." He undressed, stripping the jacket off of his shoulders, and suspending it in the air, up at around your height. "C'mere," he called to you, like a song refrain you already knew.

Stepping into the open jacket, you sighed when its warmth was wrapped around your freezing shoulders.

"That's it."

And you gasped when you were gathered into his arms and your feet stopped touching the ground.

"That's a good girl."

With his arm around your sore shoulders, his hand squeezed your bruised bicep. With his other arm under both of your knobby knees, he turned around

"There a problem, soldier?" He raised his voice once more, directing it at the man who didn't divert his eyes from you, from his angel.

"N-no, sir."

"We're moving out," he began his trek back to the truck. Back home.

"Yes, sir."

You were halfway up the mountain and all the way up in Jacob Seed's lap when realization set in, seeping into your bones like the icy streams you crossed to wash off his scent: your collar was never coming off.

He words seeped into the base of your skull, his nose buried into the knotted hair at the back of your neck. "Did you think you were free?" He breathed you in, the ravenous rumbling in his chest vibrating through the back it was set against. "You've forgotten your purpose." And his words now seeped into your spine, into the pit of your stomach and bottom of your belly. "You've forgotten who you belong to."

When his tongue lapped up the salty sweat and fresh water running down the side of your neck, you tasted your own hunger on yours. And when you swallowed the scent that surrounded you, the scent that clung to his jacket, you also distinguished the dampness in your already wet jeans. And the musk marinating in his own.

Your seat was hot because Jacob Seed was hot. And the bulge he sat you down on was burning, not nursed by the friction forming between it and your bottom.

When his lips latched onto that strip of skin covering your jugular vein, you tilted your head to make room for his teeth.

His canines pressed against your pulse, and his hand came around to tighten around your throat. "Mine." As his fangs forced themselves into your flesh, you felt the pull of his leash and the squeeze of his collar. "You're mine."

You swallowed a scream and wound up your spine like a bow against his chest, your cushiony ass arching back against his hard cock. And he licked at your wound, winding the invisible collar even tighter and visibly marking you.

"You belong to me."

[hordeofangrybees]

She knows Charlie isn’t going to judge her, that’s not why she’s hiding. The real fear is that she will become a detriment to what they’re doing here and disappoint Charlie in the process. If the “resident angel” of the Hazbin Hotel has been a sinner all along what does that mean for Charlie’s dream? Or the treaty they have with Heaven?

The Devil Within (Underneath Your Skin) No Archive Warnings Apply Rated: Explicit Category: F/F Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon) Relationships: Charlie Magne | Morningstar/Vaggie | Alastor/Lucifer Magne | Morningstar | Angel Dust/Husk (Hazbin Hotel) Characters: Charlie Magne | Morningstar | Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel) | Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) | Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel) | Lucifer Magne | Morningstar | Husk (Hazbin Hotel) Additional Tags: Cunnilingus | Strap-Ons | Lesbian Sex | blink and you'll miss the huskerdust | Hurt/Comfort | Fallen Angel Vaggie | Vaggie Needs A Hug | Vaggie-centric | Fallen angels bonding Words: 13,965 Chapters: 1/1

Chaggie centric exploration of what happens to angels, and their angelic forms, when they fall. Or When Lucifer Fell, how long did it take for the pit to turn him from an angel to a demon?

What did being in hell do to his angelic form?

What does that mean for Vaggie?