#all the gifts he's gotten at the stage door and this is the one he doesn't pass off to his bodyguard

[ingravinoveritas]

You know the way David wears the same sweaters over and over and holds onto clothes and other things he loves, things that mean something to him, over the years? Seeing the video of him at the Macbeth stage door tonight, that's how it feels like he is holding on to Aziraphale and Crowley and Good Omens...

[freedomfireflies]

Better Not Pout*

Summary: The one where Harry isn't leaving until he gets what he really came for.

You.

Word Count: 10.6k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, violence, guns, gunplay, exhibitionism (This one-shot is a bit darker, so please only read if you feel comfortable! 💞)

December 24th, 1945.

The streets of Chicago are cold. Windy. Dark. Everyone is either at home, visiting loved ones, or spending their Christmas Eve at the one place they know they’ll be welcome.

The Bees Knees – the renowned, underground speakeasy – is rather sparkling tonight. The customers continue to bustle in, some here for the booze, some here for the atmosphere and warmth, and some for the entertainment.

You.

You’re one of the establishments best performers, three nights of the week. Employed by none other than Johnny Winters himself to sing for the lost souls of Chicago as they drown their worries in a bottle of whiskey.

You quite like your job, and the people you work with. Milton, who tends the bar, always has a compliment to lend, offering you engaging small talk between sets or any new mixes he might make.

And Johnny isn’t so bad. But perhaps you’re a bit biased, seeing as he is your fiancé. But more than that, he’s one of the most powerful men in all of town. And considerably wealthy, which you suppose doesn’t exactly hurt.

But he’s also kind. Giving. And so very attentive. He spends every second he’s not working with you. Doting on you, showing you off to all of his friends. And having such a handsome man on your arm is certainly not the worst thing.

Tonight, however, Johnny is nowhere to be found. Which you don’t consider to be too terribly odd, given how much work he mentioned he’d be catching up on. 

Even still, he hates to miss your performances, and insisted that you keep a part of him with you as you take center stage tonight in the small bar.

That part happens to be in the form of a stunning red, silk dress that was gifted to you for this very occasion. It sits on your frame like it was always meant to be yours, hugging every desirable curve, and showcasing just enough skin to taunt the imagination of those in the audience.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so beautiful, and you walk up the steps tonight with pride. Shoulders back and painted lips poised with your first song.

The few gentlemen scattered across the main floor holler when the spotlight finds you, and you offer your signature smile.

“Evening, gentleman,” you call as the pianist begins behind you. “How are you all doing tonight?”

A few whistles are offered that make you laugh, and just like that…the show begins.

Santa Claus Came in the Spring is always a favorite, and you croon the festive lyrics while the live band follows your lead.

And even though the crowd is rather dull and distracted, you have a blast. You feel comfortable in this role and in the way their eyes drink you in. Even if their attention drifts between you, their drinks, and the cigars.

In fact, you get so swept up in your act that you hardly notice the door open or the tall, lanky stranger that slinks in from the cold.

But when his head lifts, and his eyes find yours, you feel a hitch in your throat.

Unfortunately, he looks away all too quickly, pulling off his trench coat before moving along the shadows toward the far end of the bar.

He goes unnoticed by those around him, yet your attention follows him all the way to the booth that he settles in. And it stays even after he’s leaned back, gotten comfortable, and pulled a cigarette from his rather expensive looking suit pocket.

But even though your focus has drifted, you don’t miss a single beat of the song. After all, you could sing it in your sleep, and this habit serves you well as the intriguing stranger finally shifts into the light and allows you a better look at his face.

He’s…stunning. Absolutely beautiful, with his slicked back curls, sharp jaw, and pointed nose. And he’s lighting the end of a cigarette with what you can only call practiced precision before perching it between his two, crimson-colored lips. 

Rings adorn his fingers as he holds the nicotine to his mouth, inhaling a long drag before exhaling the dark smoke from his lungs.

Yet unlike the other patrons in the bar, this man seems to be rather put together. He’s not missing any teeth, his skin isn’t stained with dirt or grease, and his clothes appear to be rather new. It’s quite the upgrade from the usual appearance you’ve grown used to, and you can’t help but feel rather relaxed.

And it’s now that you realize that this striking stranger seems to be watching you much like you’re watching him. Studying your dress, your silhouette, the way you grip the microphone stand. He takes in each detail presented before him with what looks to be wonder, and your cheeks instantly grow warm.

Still, you carry on with the ballad, making your way through the final chorus and the last few notes as the band plays you out with a flourish.

The few men in front of the stage clap, and you smile gratefully as you nod your thanks and call out your appreciation.

Jingle Bells is next, and a few more people join in on the fun this time around. They clink their glasses together or belt out the lyrics a few seconds too late and wildly off-key.

Even still, it’s rather fun as you continue on with your set before finally wrapping it up with a high note that’s accompanied by a rather lively trumpet solo.

And once it’s all over, the room bursts into applause. You wave to the growing audience, taking a quick bow before gesturing toward the band. Offering them their due praise which the crowed quickly obliges.

But you notice the man in the booth keeps his expression indifferent as he continues to watch you exit the stage and make your way to the bar. He doesn’t applaud your performance or even offer a smile of encouragement. He merely takes another hit of his cigarette and throws his arm over the back of his seat. A position you imagine is intended to display dominance more than it is to find comfort.

Truth be told, you find it rather unnerving. He doesn’t seem to be here for the alcohol or the company. Perhaps he’s only here to get out of the cold or perhaps he’s avoiding his home.

Either way, his focus stays only with you, and you feel a sharp chill run down your spine as you turn to the counter and flag down Milton’s attention.

You ask for a drink and request that he tell Johnny that you’ll be waiting in his office until he arrives. 

He quickly agrees, preparing the beverage for you before jutting his chin toward the silent stranger.

“Want me to have him escorted out?” he asks, but you only smile as you shake your head.

“No need, I’m sure he’s harmless.” You take the crystal glass and tip it toward him in thanks. “Besides, the attention is rather nice.”

Milton nods his understanding and you leave it at that, taking your drink toward the hallway just off the corner of the room.

You sip leisurely as you stroll to Johnny’s office, picking up the edge of your long gown so it doesn’t drag on the floor. The sounds of the crowd grow quieter and quieter with each step you take, and soon, it’s nothing but silence.

After retrieving the key Johnny insisted you keep on you at all times, you slip open the door, and make your way inside.

It’s quite dark, given the time of night and lack of lighting. He’s only got three lamps in the room, one by the window, one on the shelf, and one on his desk.

Right beside a photo of you.

Getting your photograph taken is quite the privilege, but Johnny insisted he have a vision of you in his office at all times. And you couldn’t help but indulge him, allowing him to dress you up and place you in front of the large contraption one Sunday afternoon in spring.

It’s his favorite thing in the entire world, and he mentions it constantly. Commenting on your beauty or your ethereal outfit. You know he’s only trying to embarrass you, but it’s still rather flattering to hear.

You grin to yourself as you take a seat in the large chair behind the wooden table. Downing the rest of the contents in your glass before setting it down and taking a glance around the large space.

Vaguely, you hear footsteps approaching just outside the door. Echoing through the hall as your grin grows a bit wider. 

And as the knob turns, you expect to see the handsome face of your Johnny.

What you don’t expect, however, is the green-eyed devil and his quiet charm.

He’s followed you. You assume this immediately, and your heart leaps into your throat as he steps inside…and shuts the door behind him.

A tense silence settles between you as you slowly sit up and force in a quiet breath. “Hello,” you call quietly.

The sound of your unsteady voice seems to amuse him, the corner of his mouth curling up as the burning cigarette sits tucked between his lips. “Hello, mama.”

You feel your lashes flutter. “Can…can I help you?”

“I’m looking for your fiancé,” he says, and his voice is low. Deep. And you believe you catch just a hint of an English accent. “This is in fact his office, is it not?”

You hesitate, unsure whether or not to disclose such information to a stranger. “It…yes. Yes, but he’s not here right now. Perhaps you could come back later?”

“Later,” he repeats, almost thoughtfully as his head tilts. Then, he tsks. “See, I’m afraid later just doesn’t work for me. I need to speak with him right now. It’s quite urgent, and I’d like to finish this up and be home to my lover by midnight.”

“Oh…” You shift a bit in your seat and hope he doesn’t notice how nervous you’ve become. “Well, I would love to help, but I don’t believe I know when he’ll be in.”

He considers this for a moment before striding further into the room. Eyes tracking every tremble of your fingers and heave of your chest. “Can I tell you a secret, mama?” he murmurs, placing both hands on the desk and leaning closer.

You nod.

“Your boy Johnny owes me money,” he whispers. “And I’m here to collect.”

And now you understand. Now you know why he’s here. Because even though his tone is friendly, it can’t disguise the threat you know lingers underneath. 

“Oh,” you whisper back, and he hums.

“Exactly. And I’m a pretty reasonable guy. Decent. So, I’ll make you a deal.” He begins to smirk behind the cigarette. “If he’s not here within the next five minutes…you and I will find another way.”

The truth is, you don’t really know too much about the financial side of Johnny’s affairs and business. You know he has plenty of money, but you don’t know what he does with it. Or where he keeps it.

And if this alluring stranger seems to think you’ll be his key…you’re afraid he’ll be mistaken.

“Problem, Doll?” He seems smug, and it makes your skin crawl. “M’not scaring you, am I?”

The answer is obvious to you both, but you force yourself straighter and attempt to appear calm. “Not at all, sir. I only want to help.”

"Mm? Good girl,” he mumbles, eyes flicking down to your painted red lips. “Knew you’d behave for me.”

Your heart is hammering inside of your chest. You’re unsure what to do now. Do you ask him to leave? Do you scream for help? Do you call the police?

And where the hell is Johnny?

He should be here by now, especially after promising to wrap up his meeting early in order to catch your last performance before Christmas. He’s always here. One of your biggest fans and greatest protectors. 

The only thing you can truly think to do now is attempt to call him. You figure the police won’t get here in time, but at least if this gentleman can be assured that Johnny is on his way, he won’t be as inclined to act rashly.

However, the moment your fingers lift from the desk in order to reach for the phone, the stranger reaches for something, too.

In a matter of seconds, he’s wrapping his hand around the barrel of a gun, pulling it from his back pocket, and aiming it straight at your head. Cocking it loudly as you gasp and withdraw your arm as quickly as possible.

“What are you doin’, hm, mama?” There’s a haughty condescension in his sneer, laced with just the faintest disappointment. “Thought you were gonna be good.”

“I…I was just going to call him,” you stammer. “I know you’re in a hurry.”

The stranger studies you now, that familiar smirk beginning to fade as his attention flicks across your face. Perhaps he suspects a lie or perhaps he merely doesn’t trust you, but truth be told, you know better than to try and pull a fast one on him. 

Finally, he plucks his cigarette from between his lips before tossing it to the floor and nodding at you. “Yeah? Go on, then,” he instructs, reposition the barrel at your chest. “Call your little pretty boy. Tell him he’s got a visitor.”

With a racing pulse, you once again slowly reach for the telephone, eyeing the gun carefully as you scoot closer.

You’re careful not to make any sudden moments. Hesitant to even look at him for fear of upsetting him, but your timid demeanor only entertains him further.

He simply chuckles as he slowly makes his way over to your side of the desk. Snatching up the phone just before you can reach for it and handing it to you almost cockily.

Curious, you glance up. That soft green in his eye is almost alluring, even despite the circumstance. Still, he reeks of nicotine and expensive cologne, and you lean back in an attempt to put as much space between you as you can.

He smiles. “I’m gonna watch you dial,” he tells you calmly. “Make sure you keep your word. Okay, Doll?”

Posed like a question, although you both know you don’t exactly have a choice. And you'd likely point this out if you were just a touch braver, but nevertheless, you nod. Agreeing to his terms as you take the phone and begin to dial.

As the seconds go by, you feel him watching you closely while the line rings. Leaving you to desperately await the sound of your sweet Johnny’s voice. A sound you’ve never needed more than in this moment.

Yet his voice never comes, and your heart sinks to the cold floor blow as you return the phone to the desk.

“He…he must already be on his way,” you murmur, and the man hums.

“You think so?”

You nod weakly.

He takes a seat on the edge of the desk, just inches from your arm before leaning closer. “How much are you willing to bet, hm?” His brow raises. “How sure are you that your precious fiancé will actually save you tonight?”

You feel trapped by him now. The closer he moves, the faster your heart pounds. You have nowhere to run, no personal space to disappear into. 

But you only have to hold on for just a little longer. Johnny will come for you. He always does.

“Incredibly sure,” you respond, ignoring the slight waver in your voice. “He said he would be, so he will.”

The man considers this before clicking his tongue. “All right. Then how about I make you another deal, yeah? For every minute he’s late, and for every minute he leaves you here unattended…I’ll put an extra bullet through his head.”

A sharp chill runs down your spine, skin growing hot and prickly, but you force your expression to remain unfazed. “And why would you do that if you need him so badly?”

The gentleman laughs now. A sound that would almost be charming if he weren’t so vile. “Because I don’t need your precious Johnny,” he answers calmly. “I just need what’s in his safe.”

And despite the danger you’re in and despite your better judgment, your features scrunch into a grimace as you scoff, “Oh, how pathetic.”

Your reaction loosens his smile.

“Truly, how incredibly pathetic to come all the way down here at this time of night – and on Christmas Eve – just to break into his safe,” you huff. “Honestly. He won’t give you a damn thing. And you have absolutely no business to come storming in here and—”

You don’t get the chance to finish the rest of your furious scolding before he’s suddenly standing to his feet and wrapping his fingers around your arm.

Instantly, you’re yanked from your chair and shoved against the bookcase just behind you. Hard enough to knock the wind from your lungs as he traps you there, leaning in so close, his nose nearly brushes your own. 

“I’d be careful how you fucking speak to me, mama,” he seethes quietly, yet even still, there’s just an air of pleasure. “Because you might not get the chance to do it again.”

He’s desperate to scare you. Desperate to see you cry, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you suck in a sharp breath, and do the one thing you can think to do:

You spit.

The collection of saliva just misses his eye, landing on his cheek with a rather wet splat until the amusement fades and fury takes its place.

His fingers leave your arm and find your throat, curling around the delicate skin and forcing your head up as he begins to chuckle darkly.

“So, that’s how you wanna play, hm, Doll?” Another tsk. “You wanna be bad? Wanna test my fucking patience?”

You squirm a bit in his hold, yet for some reason, you don’t feel as frightened as you did before. Because there’s this look in his eye – this hunger. And even though his grip is tight…you feel oddly safe.

“Better find a way to keep this pretty little mouth shut,” he says next, head cocking to the left almost curiously. “Or I’ll have to shut it for you.” 

His attention returns to your mouth, fingers slowly slipping up toward your chin until he can brush is thumb over the painted fibers of your lips.

Just enough to taunt you yet startle you all in the same second. 

“Maybe,” you finally breathe before jerking your head away from his cruel touch. “If you knew how.”

The cocky grin widens as his hand immediately returns to your neck. “Still disobeying me, hm?” he nearly purrs. “Guess I could always just squeeze this sweet, little throat to keep you quiet, yeah? Feel your pretty pulse beneath my fingertips. Feel the life drain from your body…watch the light go out in your eyes.”

You take in a strained inhale, and he makes a sound that almost sounds like a groan.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, moving in just a bit closer until his lips are ghosting across yours. “Or maybe…I could put my gun in your mouth. See how chatty you are then, yeah, mama?”

Your chest heaves anxiously, but you find just enough confidence to whisper, “But without your gun, how will everyone know what a tiny cock you have?”

And you’re so proud of yourself. So endlessly pleased with the way you’ve managed to make his smug expression waver, even if he keeps his smirk in place.

“Oh, you think that’s funny,” he snorts as you attempt to bite back a laugh. “Well, you wanna know what I think is funny? I think it’s funny that you said Johnny would be here…and he’s not.”

“He will be,” you retort, a bit firmer. “He will.”

“See…you keep saying that,” he muses, placing one hand on the bookshelf beside your head. Truly trapping you beneath him. “And yet…your noble fiancé still isn’t here to save you.”

You tilt your head back in an attempt to appear stronger, but it doesn’t seem to fool him. 

“Are you afraid?” he whispers, chest brushing against yours. “Are you afraid your Johnny won’t be able to keep you safe from the bad man?”

It’s almost hostile, the way he goads you. And yet you can hear just the slightest concern beneath his question.

“Or maybe you’re afraid he can’t pay up,” he continues. “Maybe you’re afraid he’ll have to find another way.”

Suddenly, the grip on your throat constricts. Recapturing your attention.

“Are you gonna be my other way, mama?” he exhales. “You gonna be my consolation prize?”

You feel dizzy. The room is spinning. And you aren’t sure if that’s because of the hold on your neck or the way he’s speaking to you. 

However, before you can decide if you’re actually intrigued by his intimidation tactics…the sound of footsteps echo outside through the hall.

Johnny.

It has to be him. You almost need it to be him, and your shoulders unwind as the man glances toward the closed door curiously before finally leaning back.

Then, he grabs onto your arm for a second time, and flings you back toward the chair. Shoving you down and keeping you still.

“You’re gonna sit here and you’re gonna keep your fucking mouth shut,” he hisses softly right as the door swings open. “And then maybe…I just might reward you.”

But you don’t even mind this malicious threat because then you see him. Your fiancé, smiling brightly as his eyes find you before they flick to the man to your right.

For a moment, he seems surprised, seemingly assessing your position and the situation before his grin widens. 

“Ah, Mr. Styles,” he calls as he strides into the room, quickly removing his hat and coat. “What a pleasant surprise. Did we have a meeting tonight?”

He seems relaxed. Almost too relaxed, as though he doesn’t view this man as a threat, and you aren’t sure whether to feel relieved or wildly confused. You hadn’t exactly expected him to grab the mysterious guest by the collar and throw him out the window, but you also didn’t expect him to welcome him with open arms. 

A strange man is alone with his future wife, in his office, in the middle of the night, and that doesn’t seem to concern him even a little?

Perhaps Johnny is far too friendly for his own good.

The gentleman, in turn, straightens up while subtly slipping the gun behind his back. Tucking it into his belt just out of view before Johnny can catch it. “Not quite,” he says coolly. “I’m here to discuss a bit of unfinished business.”

Your heart sinks, yet Johnny merely nods. “Ah, I see. Well, is there any way this can wait until after Christmas? It’s been a long night, and I’d like to be getting the lovely lady home.”

Now, both of their stares turn to you, and eagerly, you begin to rise from the chair. Grateful for the opportunity to leave this unsettling stranger behind.

Yet before you can even find your footing, the man’s hand is coming down in a firm smack on your shoulder to force you back down.

“I’m afraid the lovely lady isn’t going anywhere,” he replies, and you catch Johnny’s expression fall. “And neither are you. Have a seat.”

Johnny begins to frown. “Look, Harry, whatever business we might have, I’m sure it can—”

“I said, have…a seat,” the man – Harry – repeats a bit brasher. “Yeah? Or things will get a lot worse for your darling fiancé.”

Johnny hesitates, eyes flicking to yours. But he must notice the panicked look you wear because he finally sighs and does as instructed. Taking a seat in the chair just in front of the desk before glancing toward Harry.

Harry nods, almost proudly. “There you go. S’not so hard, is it?”

Johnny’s figure slumps but his lips purse together. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I just want to talk,” Harry says, his smirk returning. “And lucky for you, your schedule just cleared up.”

“Harry—” Johnny begins, leaning closer as though getting ready to stand.

But instantly, Harry is reaching back behind him for the gun, pulling it free, and aiming the barrel straight at his head.

Johnny quickly leans back, eyeing the weapon hesitantly while you gasp and glance up at the stranger pleadingly.

Harry only looks at Johnny. “See, I’m running out of fucking patience. Eight goddamn months I’ve had to listen to you go on and on about this special fucking shipment you got. And now…it’s time to collect.”

Your sweet fiancé understands now. Realizes why this man is here and how real the threat is, and glances back at you almost apologetically.

You merely mouth, “It’s okay.”

Johnny’s eyes flick back to the gun. “I’d be careful waving that thing around. Somebody might get hurt.”

The man merely hums. “Oh, I’m fucking counting on it.”

Now, the office grows quiet. A tense, charged sort of energy that filters between the three of you as Harry begins to walk around the desk.

“So,” he continues, grabbing onto the other free chair in order to spin it around and sit in a straddle, “where’s the safe, Johnny?”

Johnny’s brow raises, but his Adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. Down at the club, you said you just got a brand new, fancy safe to hold everything from your latest shipment. Practically bragged about it to the whole goddamn bar, yeah? So…where is it?”

With piqued interest, you look between the two men curiously as you await Johnny’s answer. You’ve never really been sure where he gets all his money. You assumed most of it came from the bar and alcohol sales, so you’re rather stumped by what sort of shipment they might be referring to.

However, Johnny isn’t so quick to divulge all his secrets. “And what is it you’re expecting to get out of my safe, Mr. Styles?”

There’s another heavy pause as Harry rests his arms over the back of the seat and whispers, “Everything.”

Instantly, Johnny scoffs. “You think you can storm into my office on Christmas Eve and threaten my fiancé? Threaten me? That you’re entitled to anything you damn well please?” A bitter scoff as he leans back. “You’ll be arrested before morning, and you’ll never see a red fucking cent.”

 His retort dangles between them for only a moment as a breath catches in your throat. Pulse racing as you watch the stranger’s reaction closely.

Yet the mystery man doesn’t so much as flinch as he suddenly repositions the gun into the air, aims it just to the left of Johnny’s head, and fires.

The sound is deafening, much like your sharp, shrill shriek as the bullet flies through the air – just missing Johnny’s ear – and lodges into the wall behind him.

Johnny immediately flinches, eyes screwing shut and muscles recoiling before he seems to realize that he remains unharmed.

And once he does, he takes a deep breath, and begins to smirk. “You missed.”

“Did I?” Harry runs his tongue over his bottom lip before re-cocking the gun. “No, see…I never fucking miss. That was your first warning.” 

Johnny simply snorts. “Yeah? Well, eat my shit.”

Things move quickly from there.

Harry is instantly on his feet, tossing the chair aside rather angrily before he’s turning to you once more. And you don’t even have a moment to think before you’re being yanked from the seat for a second time and immediately tugged to his chest as he presses the barrel of the gun into the side of your temple. 

“Where’s the fucking safe, Johnny?” he says again, and you notice Johnny’s face pale.

“Styles,” Johnny murmurs, “you don’t have to do this—”

“The safe,” he seethes. “Where is it? Or do you need a little incentive, huh? Need to see her pretty little brains all over your goddamn floor? Is that what it’s gonna take?”

Poor Johnny doesn’t know what to do. He looks from the gun, to your face, to the arm keeping you hostage.

And you almost feel bad for him, yet you aren’t even afforded the chance for empathy before Harry furiously growls and shoves you in Johnny’s direction.

You stumble across the wooden floor until Johnny can quickly take you into his embrace, keeping you safe from the bad man as you begin to sniffle.

“My love,” he whispers, tightening his hold on your trembling frame while turning you away as if to protect you. “It’s gonna be all right, I promise.”

With a quick nod and a hiccup, you look up and slip your hands around his neck for comfort. “I know.”

He smiles.

It’s Harry’s disgusted sneer that brings you attention back. “Fucking pathetic. Really, mama? This is who you choose to save you?”

Your features fall ever-so-slightly while Johnny begins to pull you behind him, shielding you from the aggravated aggressor. “If you need money so badly, there are plenty of other ways.”

“It’s not just about money,” Harry retorts calmly. “It’s about your money. Yeah? So where’s the fucking safe.”

“None of your goddamn business—”

The reply no sooner leaves his mouth before there’s another gunshot fired into the air. 

One of the paintings on the wall falls with a crack and you jump almost two feet into the air, nails scratching down Johnny’s nice shirt.

“Johnny,” you whisper faintly, refusing to let this go on any longer. “Johnny, tell him. Tell him, please. I don’t care about the money; I don’t care about any of it. I just want you. I love you, and I can’t lose you.”

The office falls silent as you request hangs in the air, and you feel Johnny take in a deep breath.

“Yeah, Johnny,” Harry adds in a condescending murmur. “She loves you. Don’t make her watch you die. It’d be such a shameful waste of her tears.”

Johnny looks to you, and your expression softens. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “It’s okay, I promise.”

Finally, he sighs. “Under the desk.”

Harry’s head whips toward the large table curiously before he frowns. “Where?” he murmurs before repositioning the gun at Johnny’s chest. “I promise you don’t wanna lie to me.”

However, Johnny’s indifferent expression remains. “Under the desk,” he repeats while thrusting his chin toward the massive piece of furniture. 

And now Harry seems to understand, although it does little to relax him as he suddenly reaches for you again and yanks you from your lovers’ arms.

“Show me,” he hisses, keeping you hostage again while ushering Johnny forward with the barrel of the weapon. “And don’t be dense.”

And Johnny can do nothing but obey, seemingly defeated while sending you one last remorseful look. Finally moving to lift the desk and pull it back.

The sound of wood scraping against wood is heavy, and it takes him quite a while to relocate the table beneath the window by himself. 

But once it’s out of the way, you notice a particular part of the flooring juts out. The rotten board almost askew.

You and Harry lean closer, both magnetized by intrigue as he bends down in order to wrench the board up, revealing the hollow hiding place underneath.

And there you find it. The large, black box with a gold dial in the middle.

He glances up toward Harry, perhaps looking for permission – which Harry quickly gives him – before reaching down to put in the correct combination.

And after a couple seconds of clicking and turning…the door swings open.

Truth be told, you were hoping to find a secret gun that might help you out of this situation, but it seems there are no weapons to be found as Harry shoves you back in order to get a better look.

He no longer seems concerned about Johnny or the possibility that he might attempt to attack because Johnny seems to have given up. 

All your dejected fiancé does is straighten up and motion you back to him, watching Harry bend over and reach inside the safe almost uninterestedly. 

Your heart aches for him, yet you can’t help feeling relieved. You’re a few steps closer to this wretched night being over, and perhaps once Harry has what he came for, you’ll be able to leave.

“Are you all right?” Johnny whispers to you now as Harry begins to unload the contents in the floor. 

You nod quickly, clinging to his strong frame as though you’re scared you might be taken again. “Yes, I’m all right. Are you?”

“I will be once I know you’re safe,” he says, and your heart sinks.

Once everything inside the safe has been shoved into a bag, Harry turns to the two of you. “That was a good start, Winters. Now where’s the rest of it?”

Johnny frowns. “I don’t know what you mean. Everything I have is in there.”

But Harry only tsks as he sets the items down and begins to stride closer, making you curl even further into Johnny’s embrace. “Come on, now,” he mumbles almost tauntingly. “You know what I really want. And you know that you’re gonna fucking tell me. Isn’t that right, mama?”

He looks to you for only a moment as you swallow. 

Johnny begins to seethe. “No. No, you can have everything else, but you won’t touch that.”

“Johnny,” you try, unnerved by the sudden look of warning in Harry’s eye. “Johnny, please…just give it to him. Whatever it is, I don’t care, just…just make him leave.”

“Smart girl,” Harry adds. “Come on, Johnny boy, your darling fiancé is scared. Don’t you wanna save her?”

Your lover simply grows stiff, eyes narrowing at the faux sincerity in the stranger’s voice.

“Johnny,” you mumble again. “Johnny, please, he’s right. I’m scared and I don’t care about what you have or what you don’t have. I just want you. And I want him to go away.”

Still, Johnny wrestles with his decision. With the choice he’s being forced to make, and as the seconds go by, Harry’s patience reaches its limit.

He grabs for you – again. Forcing the weapon under your jaw this time around as Johnny’s muscles tense and his fingers curl into his fist.

“God, look at him,” Harry whispers to you now, lips ghosting up the shell of your ear while forcing your eyes on your fiancé. “Fucking look at your pathetic excuse for a man.”

You attempt to remain indifferent – appear unafraid – but he sees right through you.

“D’you really think he cares about you, Doll?” he murmurs. “Do you really think he’ll choose your life over his own?”

“Let her go,” Johnny barks, yet it only forces the barrel even further into your skin.

Your chin is tilted up, a sharp inhale getting caught in your throat until Harry begins to chuckle.

“How about this,” he says. “I’ll let you choose, mama. I’ll let you decide if he gets to watch me kill you…or if he gets to watch me take you. All for myself.”

“Fucking piece of shit—” Johnny hisses, but Harry simply tsks.

“So, what do you say? What’ll it be? Either way, I’ll have him on his goddamn knees by the end of the night. And then we all win, yeah?”

“Enough,” Johnny yells, and a strangled silence splits the air. “Fine. Fine, I’ll tell you. Just let her go.”

Harry’s arm begins to lower but not very far. “Once it’s in my hand, she’s all yours.”

And you want to resent these men for treating you like you’re some sort of object to be traded, yet you’d happily be given back to your lover if it meant you could leave this nightmare behind.

No matter the cost.

Johnny rolls his shoulders back and flicks his unrelenting stare back to his desk. “There. The picture.”

You feel your eyebrows raise while Harry slowly begins to loosen his hold on you.

“Get it,” he instructs, and with an aggravated sigh, Johnny obliges.

He retrieves the golden frame from the table before pulling open the back and removing the picture inside.

The picture of you.

It almost breaks your heart, the look on his face. Like he’s absolutely gutted to be defiling this memory of you both, and you ache to comfort him.

Once the photo has been plucked from the glass, you catch the faintest sparkle in the soft light of the moon, and hear yourself gasp.

There, sitting snug inside the small frame, is the biggest fucking diamond you’ve ever seen.

It’s…stunning. The most gorgeous jewel you’ve ever been privileged to lay eyes on, surrounded by what you can only assume to be hundreds of tinier diamonds and rubies arranged in a delicate but intricate pattern. 

Altogether creating the most breathtaking necklace you’ve ever seen.

It has to be worth hundreds of dollars – thousands, in fact – and Harry reaches over to take it from the frame with the biggest Cheshire-like grin you’ve ever seen.

This is what he came for.

“You have it, all right? You have it, now go,” Johnny calls, already attempting to reach for you. “You got what you want.”

With an agreeable hum, Harry studies the necklace a moment longer before finally looking to you. “You’re right. We did, didn’t we?”

You both smile.

Instantly, you raise the gun that Harry had discreetly and secretly slipped into your hand only moments ago and aim it at Johnny’s chest.

Three.

Johnny’s expression shifts, eyes widening as he begins to piece together what’s really going on. Why Harry looks so proud and why you look so relieved.

Two.

His lips part. Ready to speak to you, whisper your name, ask for an explanation. And a part of you can’t help but wonder if you’ll feel any remorse for the deception you’ve put him through these past few months.

But as you stare at him now…you feel nothing but liberation.

One.

The third and final gunshot echoes through the air. Louder and far more permanent. Resolute.

Johnny stumbles back, unable to catch himself before he goes tumbling to the ground. A dark red stain expanding like watercolor across his chest, ruining the clean white shirt underneath.

You’d bought him that shirt.

And as the look of life slowly leaves his eye, you feel your muscles unwind, and your shoulders droop.

It’s over.

Harry’s got his arms around you before you can even release the deep breath you’ve been holding onto for so long. 

“Oh, good fucking girl,” he nearly groans, pressing his lips to yours for the first time in months as you sling your arms around his neck. “Fucking hell, I missed you, mama.”

If Harry had had it his way, Johnny would have been dead months ago. He never liked this plan – not because he thought you couldn’t handle it, but because the idea of going without you for so long nearly killed him.

But it was the only way to gain Johnny’s trust. And to find his true weakness. He never would have given you the location of the safe or the necklace if you’d simply held him at gunpoint from the get-go.

No, he needed a reason to cave, a reason to put his possessions on the line in order to save something else he truly cared about.

And that’s where you came in.

Sure, it was hard to be without Harry, but you knew it had to be done. Getting these items would set you up for years. You’d never have to work in sleazy bars again. You could simply be with him…forever.

And perhaps pretending to be a stranger to him and appear frightened of his intentions wasn’t quite necessary, but you happen to like the roleplaying aspect. 

The way he threatened your life as though he wouldn’t do everything in his power to protect it. The way he taunted you, teased you, scared you…when he knew deep down how much you fucking loved it.

You can still feel his fingers around your neck. The pressure of his hand against your throat, holding you still, keeping you close. You hadn’t felt it in months and a part of you wanted to keep the game going for just a bit longer if it meant you could have him.

You weren’t able to run into his arms and kiss him the way you can now and it’s…perfect. Absolutely perfect.

“Did he hurt you?” he whispers, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw. “Did he fucking touch you—”

“No,” you’re quick to assure him. “No, never. He wanted to, but I never let him.”

“Good.” He takes hold of your hip and gives it a firm squeeze. “Good girl, knew you’d be on your best behavior, yeah?”

You grin. “Of course. Only ever thought about you.”

“Is that right, doll?”

“Mhm.” You tuck your lip between your teeth and nuzzle your nose to his. “How could it ever be him?”

His lashes flutter, and you can see the edges of his frayed sanity coming loose. He’s had to pretend for far too long, and you don’t imagine he can do it much longer.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, nearly clawing at your dress. “Then, maybe I’ll—”

“What…did you do?”

The sound of Milton’s confusion pulls you apart instantly. He’s standing in the doorway, eyes wide, expression horrified. Looking from his boss, to you, to Harry, and back.

He sees the necklace on the desk, sees the gun in your hand, sees the bag of gold and cash lying at Harry’s feet.

He understands, and your heart almost sinks. Milton was one of the good ones.

Quickly, Harry takes the weapon from you and points it in Milton’s direction.

Milton only leans back with a soft inhale while you turn to your lover and whisper, “No. No, not him.”

Harry’s pursed lips and furrowed brows never waver. “What?”

“Not him,” you repeat, as firmly as you can.

And he hesitates for only a moment before dropping the weapon and nodding his chin at you. “Grab the bag and go out the window.”

You nod your understanding before stealing one last glance at the bartender by the door.

He’s heartbroken and terrified…but his features grow softer as he finally mumbles, “…five minutes. I’ll give you five minutes.”

And you can’t help but smile.

You rush to grab what you came for and hurry to the window, with Harry right behind you. You don’t have a lot of time. Once Milton makes the call to the police, you’ll need to be far enough away that they can’t find you.

You know they’ll be looking. Know they won’t stop until they find you both – after all, they’ve been searching for you for years.

But you don’t mind a life that’s on the run, as long as it’s with him. 

And the pleased smile he offers you now only confirms this.

You quickly lift the hem of your dress and begin over the ledge, with Harry right beside you to help. He takes your hand for support, keeping you steady until you can safely drop to the ground outside before he’s following suit.

The moment his feet hit the ground, you both run. The Chicago air is cold – frigid. You don’t have enough clothes to truly cover you and your feet are sore from having to wear these outrageous shoes all night.

But you somehow feel…alive. Invigorated and so very free. You have everything you’ve ever wanted.

You have him.

You both slip along the shadows as you make your way through town, leaving the speakeasy and Johnny Winters behind. After a minute or two, you hear the sirens in the distance, and the stakes are raised. They grow louder and louder the closer they get, and it’s then that Harry recaptures your hand and tugs you into a dark alleyway for cover.

This is where you stay until the cars have zipped down the street and proceeded without you. They don’t even think to look for you here and you’re rather impressed with your lover’s quick thinking.

Harry, however, isn’t as quick to revel in the success. Continuingly peeking around the corner in order to watch for anything unusual. Ignoring your amused laughter and giddy grin of accomplishment.

He’s on edge. Alert. Ready to run again if need be, and while you rather admire his practiced precision, you hope to put it to better use. 

You drop the bag near the wall and make your way for him, palms quickly finding his cheeks in order to pull his attention to you.

He grunts. “What?”

But you don’t answer with words. You answer with a kiss. A kiss that makes your stomach flip and your mind grow fuzzy.

And this seems to be explanation enough as he groans with approval and wraps his arms around your middle to keep you against his chest. Nipping and licking at you as though his life depends on it.

Perhaps it does.

He shoves you back against the brick after only a few seconds, finding the leverage he needs in order to deepen the kiss and truly claim you. In a way he’d been desperate to the moment he saw you sitting in that office in such a beautiful dress.

“Trying to distract me, hm?” he murmurs, and you can’t help but smile. “Yeah? Or did you just need me that badly?”

He spins you around, pressing your cheek to the cold blocks of clay before dancing his fingers down your spine. Indulging in you.

It makes your insides twist.

You feel the hem of your dress gather in his fist as he finally gets a proper look at what he’s been missing for months. And the sound he makes goes straight to your cunt.

“You filthy fucking thing,” he whispers, rather delightedly while moving in to trail his mouth along your neck. “Look at you. Look at how perfect you are.”

His fingers find your pussy, stroking over your covered slit once or twice before plucking the covering from your hips and dragging it down your thighs. 

“Just dripping for me, yeah? All fucking night.” He drags his palm up the inside of your leg. “Power makes you weak, doesn’t it, mama?”

You nod desperately, unable to answer with words.

But he understands, smirking to himself rather deviously before his hands are tangling in your hair in order to yank your head back. Just to hear you choke on a whine. “I’ve waited months for this. Yeah? M’gonna take my time with you…gonna make it worth it.”

And you don’t doubt that you will.

You nod again as the sound of his leather belt coming undone echoes between your ears. You’re trembling with anticipation, body aching for the feel of his cock. It’s been far too long, and you’ve nearly withered away without him.

You imagine he feels about the same, already fisting himself in one hand and readjusting your dress in the other. You hear him mumble something under his breath – you’re not quite sure what. But you suppose it doesn’t matter. He can say whatever he likes as long as he gives you what you need. 

Normally, he’d take his time. He loves to make a show out of ruining you, but there’s no chance for that tonight. No patience. So, he kicks your feet apart, grabs your hip, and eases himself in all before you can take a breath.

And it’s perfect. Exactly the way you remember. The stretch, the scratch, the desperation. Nobody feels the way he does, and you both know it.

He’s still for a moment, merely pushing himself in and watching your pussy swallow him whole. As if so overcome by the sensation that he can’t do much else. As if losing control over his own body.

So, you push against his chest to remind him you’re here while your fingers reach back for his hair in order to tug it softly.

You feel him smile against your cheek. “All fucking night,” he whispers the moment he’s buried to the hilt. “Knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”

You grin as well. You’re rather happy he noticed.

“Spitting in my fucking face,” he continues. “Challenging me. Acting like a fucking brat. S’all cause you were so fucking needy for me, wasn’t it, mama?”

“Maybe,” you can’t help but retort. “Maybe I knew you’d like it.”

He laughs now. A low, deep, sadistic sound from the back of his throat. Using his hold on your scalp to force your head into his shoulder. “Is that right, hm?”

You only nod.”

“Yeah? Then say it,” he hisses. “Tell me you missed me. Tell me you missed my cock. That nobody fucks you like I do—”

He accompanies this request with his first, sharp thrust. Pulling back only to drive himself in so hard, the air is nearly knocked from your lungs.

“Because they can’t, can they?” he coos, yet it’s angry. Fingers moving from your hair to your neck. Squeezing until you gasp. “Nobody knows how to treat this little pussy like I do. Do they?”

You fall mute. Going limp in his hold as the pleasure begins to build.

“You love it when I fuck you like this.” His nose presses to your cheek as he breathes, your delicate throat a plaything in his touch. “Love it when I kill for you. Love it when I make you mine—”

You gasp at the ecstasy, hardly able to hear him, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You love me,” he murmurs, and you just about disappear into his embrace.

“I do,” you gasp, almost too loudly. “I do, Harry, please—"

“Quiet,” he hisses, glancing now toward the street in order to make sure the police haven’t found their way to you. “You know better than that. You’ll take me and you’ll do it quietly. Understood?”

Your only response is to whimper pitifully while your nails scratch down the brick walls of the alley.

In turn, he grasps onto your jaw, forcing your head to the side until your eyes can meet. “I said, is that fucking understood?”

“I thought you said to be quiet,” you can’t help but retort, and he hums.

“Oh, is that how you wanna play it?” He releases your throat only to take hold of your hips once more and spin you around between thrusts. Quickly returning to his place between your thighs before lifting one of your legs and hiking it around his waist.

“What…” you begin, chest heaving as the tip of his cock drags down your clit. “What are you—” 

“Had to see you,” is his gritted response. “Had to see this pretty, bratty face as I ruined you.”

You imagine you’d smile if you weren’t so close to coming apart, but he understands. Pressing his forehead to yours before reaching up toward the top of your dress and ripping the fabric down to reveal your chest. 

You can tell he’s been wanting to do this all night. Know he’s been ogling your tits from behind the expensive fabric since the moment he walked in, and truth be told, that’s the real reason you wore it. 

Not because Johnny loves you in red.

But because Harry deserved to look at something pretty.

The cold air meets your skin with an unforgiving fervor, and you squirm against the brick as Harry’s eyes fall to the tattered fabric lying so pathetically on your chest.

Instantly, his head dips, mouth leaving open and sloppy kisses to the beautiful pair before him. Tongue stroking the hardened nipples rather respectfully, all things considered.

In turn, you run a hand through his dark curls as he does this to you. As you watch him take whatever he wants. Feeling the way his hair moves like butter between your fingers. The way he hums against you. The way his lashes flutter.

You’ve missed this.

Then, your grip tightens, and you yank his head up until his lips can meet yours. And you take. Take the taste of him, the taste of you, and the taste of victory.

His palm comes up to rest against the wall beside your head. Steadying himself as he works to find that perfect rhythm again. Over and over and over.

And all you can do is move your anxious kisses to his throat as he fucks into you. Whispering, “Nobody, baby. Nobody feels like you do. Nobody.”

Your fingers trail down his strong back, feeling each muscle that dips and flexes as he moves. The way he grunts when you scratch your nails down his spine. The way he consumes you and succumbs to you all at once.

Johnny was beautiful, but Harry is a beast. You’ve never seen a man like this before – never felt a man like this before. Every curve of his body is ethereal. Every detail, every touch.

Your touch continues to move lower and lower down his strong frame until you find something at the base of his spine.

And it makes you grin.

You slip it from his belt with ease, feeling the way it sits firmly in your hand as though it were made for it.

Harry doesn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps he just doesn’t care with the way he’s so deep into you. Emotionally, physically.

But he’s quickly pulled from his pleasured trance the moment he feels the familiar, cool touch of his gun sweeping across his jaw.

He stills. Straightening up ever-so-slightly, eyes finding yours.

But you’re too busy gazing at the barrel that dances across that beautiful face. 

After all, he got to have his fun this evening.

Now it’s your turn.

You bring it to a stop just under his chin, tilting his head up exactly the way he’d done to you earlier as he releases a deep breath.

“Mama…” he warns, but you only hum.

This isn’t the first time this deadly weapon has made this an unofficial threesome, but it is certainly the first time you’ve been the one to wield it.

You hate guns. You do. But you love Harry’s. The way he holds it. The way he handles it. The way he uses great care and great power.

Because there’s something about seeing him with it. Seeing the way he controls it, controls the room. The way he holds someone’s life in the palm of his hand…

Perhaps you should be concerned by how enamored you are by it. By him.

But not tonight. Tonight, you simply enjoy.

And from the look in his eye, he seems to be enjoying it, too.

After all, you know he loved watching you use it on Johnny. Know he almost had you right then and there, on Johnny’s desk, before the mission was even through.

He’s endlessly pleased with you, and you can’t help but use this to your advantage.

So, with the weapon still taut to his clenched jaw, you lean forward and ghost your lips over his. “What’s the matter, Daddy? Does power make you weak?”

The twitch of his cock is answer enough.

You go in for the kill. With your fingers dancing over the trigger button, you lean back and dip down before dragging your tongue up the length of the barrel.

His eyes nearly roll back, and the sound that leaves his chest is euphoric. You think you might just kill him.

Because you’re slow. Meticulous. Licking every inch of the weapon until you finally reach the tip still tucked just beneath his chin.

Then…you kiss him.

And he’s so overwhelmed that he growls into your mouth, no longer threatened by the gun at his throat. Instead grabbing onto the back of your neck in order to squeeze it tight and keep you close. Devour you the way he’s been so frantic to.

You don’t even realize that you’ve begun to lower the gun until you feel it snatched from your grasp.

And pressed tightly to your clit.

The cold surface of the weapon against the warmest part of your body has you arching your back with a whimper. He has the upper hand once more, and he’s certainly not about to waste it. Mouth curling up into a satisfied, smug grin at the way your expression has gone hazy.

You’ve never looked at another man the way you look at him and he knows it.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks softly, adding just enough pressure to make you whine. “All fucking night? The moment you saw me? Saw my gun? Wanted me to fuck you with it?”

Your nails meet your chest, scratching down the frigid skin in a desperate attempt to find something to ground you.

His only response is to drag the tip of the weapon down just a bit further. Until he can watch it glisten in you.

“Fucking looking at you,” he muses beneath a strained exhale, enamored by the way you subconsciously begin to grind on it. “So desperate to feel it. To be fucked by it. And what if I do, hm? What if I fuck you with my gun right here in this alleyway?”

You only whisper his name and an airy, “Please…”

“I thought about it,” he continues quietly, nose brushing yours as he slips the soaked barrel back up your cunt. “Thought about ripping off this pathetic little dress and fucking you right in front of your precious fiancé.”

You wish he had.

“You’d have liked that, wouldn’t you, mama?” His fingers drum against the handle. “Yeah? I know you would. Would have loved to watch him watch me.”

And he’s not wrong. He hardly ever is when it comes to your darkest fantasies, and it’s just one of the many reasons why you love him.

“But I had to wait,” he tells you now, finally pulling the gun away from your dripping clit until you nearly crumple to the cold concrete below. “Because after all this time…I’m the only thing that gets to fill you tonight, yeah?”

You simply nod again as he brings the gun back to your mouth with a proud grin.

And you know exactly what he wants, swiping your tongue all along the barrel and tasting every drop, every indication of your need for him. Swallowing it all as he watches proudly.

The moment you’re finished, he takes the gun and returns it to his pocket, tucking it away safely. Because he’s right again, and you need to feel him far more than you’ve ever needed anything else.

So, you grasp onto his face and bring his lips to yours, allowing him to pick up right where he left off.

Because as much as you love the power…you love being weak for him more.

At least in moments like this.

He fills you and fucks you until you’re dizzy. Until you can taste the pleasure and the unraveling. 

You make a show of it. A way to apologize for all the time lost. Trailing the tips of your fingers along your own chest and down your sternum until you notice you have his attention.

He watches you take your tit into your palm before you’re tweaking the hardened nipple with a soft whine. Allowing your head to drop back into the wall while you do it again and again.

And he’s an angry sort of infatuated. Groaning almost pitifully before kissing you again and easily swatting your hand away in order to do it himself.

But that’s still not enough. So, you play your ace, and move your touch down to your clit in order to pinch it exactly the way he likes.

And it’s beautiful. The most exhilarating feeling, and this is what sends him over. The feel of your pussy clamping down on his cock, the sight of your fingers against your clit, the sound of your pathetic whimpers and pants as you cry out his name.

He fills you before he can stop himself, kissing you quickly as he releases into your aching, abused cunt. 

Claiming you in more ways than one until you have no choice but to follow.

It rips you apart in the same way he ripped the dress. Until you see stars, and your back arches, and your toes curl. And everything makes sense.

He works to make it last for as long as he can, and once it’s all over, there’s a soft, tender moment of silence as you work to catch your breath.

You forget about everything else. The sirens, the lies, the deceit. Even Johnny. You forget about it all.

Because you got more than a diamond necklace tonight.

You got Harry back.

After a second or two more, you lazily reach up to sweep some of his rogue curls from his forehead. Wanting to really see his eyes as he holds you tonight.

“Harry?” you whisper into the cold, dark alley.

He hums. “Yes, mama?”

“I love you.”

And you’ve never seen him so happy. “I love you more,” he breathes, kiss you again as if to cement this vow.

Eventually, the moment comes to pass, and you have to drop your leg back down to the floor and part from him. You find that your muscles are sore, and just a touch achey, but you don’t even mind. Because it’s somehow just as deliciously pleasurable.

Harry works to readjust your dress and keep you covered; despite the way he’s ruin the expensive fabric. He offers you his jacket – insists on it. Wrapping it around your shoulders before you can even argue.

You smile as you snuggle into the warm material, feeling calmed by the familiar smell of him.

“There,” he says as he looks at you before his head tilts. “Just missing one thing.”

Curious, you watch as he slips his hand back into his pant pocket in order to fish something out.

The necklace.

He hadn’t told you about it before the mission. Only about the safe, and now you think you’re beginning to realize why.

He places it around your neck and readjusts the clasp until it can sit comfortably over your heart. 

And you both look down as it sparkles from your chest, smiling together as though you truly can’t believe it’s real.

“You like it?” he whispers.

You grin so wide, your cheeks hurt. “I love it.”

He kisses you again, and it’s perfect.

Everything. All of it.

Him.

Suddenly, a loud toll echoes through the small town. The sharp chime coming from the clocktower in the town square.

Once, twice, three times. 

Midnight.

“It’s Christmas,” you realize aloud as you and Harry both glance toward the clock. 

His expression softens, and it makes your heart soar. “I guess it is.”

And then…you feel it. The first drop of something cold on your cheek. And then another. And another. And another. Gathering in your hair, getting stuck on his lashes.

Snow.

With a gasp, you look up into the dark sky as it dances down onto the quiet Chicago streets.

A rather perfect ending to a perfectly imperfect day.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

With a soft giggle, you curl yourself under his arm and press your lips to his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Harry.”

He laughs, and you’ve never been so happy.

“Merry Christmas, Mama.”

I'M SORRY THIS ONE GOT A BIT DARKER, IT WAS FUN BUT MOSTLY JUST FOR THE ERA ASPECT!! Thank you for reading if you did and letting me write something a little weirder 😭💞

~ Main Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs

[itsa-me-lily]

So I’m stuck on my military program spouse and this idea that you and Simon have gotten to the “we’re like roommates and kind of friends” stage of things and one day Simon overhears a group of guys from the same program talking to each other. Technically the program can’t make the spouses sleep together because that would be a teeeeeenty tiiiiiny bit illegal, since it’s technically paying for sexual acts. But some of the guys joke about how they essentially buy kisses and other…things from their spouses, a little extra pocket change for a little bit of sugar.

And maybe, just maybe, the idea intrigues Simon a little. Not the sliding slope of possible financial abuse. No that idea makes his skin crawl a bit. He knows you work and like having your own money. But he wouldn’t mind funneling a little something into your fun money account if he knew you’d let him. As for the sugar…if he spends parts of afternoon burning a hole into space thinking about what kissing you might be like well…that’s between him and god and not even the threat of million years of guinea pig wheeking could make him confess. (He’s grown to appreciate the furry little fuckers but Jesus do they get loud when they hear him open the fridge).

So cue Simon starting Operation Sugar. Too bad for you that step one isn’t you know, talking to you. No instead Simon decides that clearly the way to do this is through the pigs. Cue late night research into what goes into guinea pig care, random Chewy boxes that you didn’t order coming to the door all from an anonymous sender of course (you assume they’re from your mother, who does send gifts to her grandpiggies sometimes), and a week later a fridge surprisingly full to the brim of all the veggies the pigs like to demand for.

The last one is what gets your attention, looking for Simon, who’s in the living room, totally not looking online on his phone at some new cage set up that you want to get that would take up half the damn living room. When you ask about it he shrugs, pocketing his phone and mumbling something about how all of it was on sale when he went shopping. The smile and arm squeeze you gave him wasn’t the sugar he originally wanted, but the thank you that accompanied them made it all so much sweeter than he thought he deserved.

Edit;

I've made a list to keep track of all the random ideas I get for this

[skzstannie]

"They found her"

SKZ -> ot8 x 9th member fem! reader

This is a part 2 to this fic, but it can be read as a stand alone as there's not much reference to the original fic.

genre: hurt/comfort, angst wc: ~3,800 words cw: kidnapping, guns and gunshot wounds, hospitals, some brief cursing

Summary: Since the incident, the guys have been extremely over protective of you. You heed their warnings, but still go out unaccompanied by security on your vacation, only to have to pay the price for your poor decisions.

A/N: Hiiii, ik I've disappeared off the face of the Earth again, but I've brought gifts back with me this time. This one's a bit heavier, but it's the long awaited part 2 to "Did you know?", so I hope you guys enjoy. I hit 500 followers since the last time I posted, so this is kind of a celebratory post as well. Thanks guys!

Masterlist | Happy Scrolling!

The time has come around again when JYP has given you and your members some well-earned personal vacation, and you've chosen to spend that time back at home with your family and friends.

Upon hearing about your vacation, your childhood friends started blowing up your phone, asking about when you'll be in and if you wanted to hangout. Of course, you've missed them just as much and gave them all the details of you're arrival.

The day of said plans has finally arrived, and you couldn't be more excited. You and three of your closest friends have decided to go to this cute breakfast cafe for brunch, run by all your favorite stores for some shopping, and then round your evening out with some bar hopping.

"You have got to see this!" Ha-Yoon, a friend you've known since grade school, explodes from beside you in the passenger seat, fanning herself. "Look at how hot this guy is? Think he'll give me his number if I DM him?"

"Are you being for real?" Dae cringes from the backseat, leaning forward to get a closer look at your friend's new internet crush. "He's kinda ugly."

This elicits a bickering match for the remainder of the drive, with you and your remaining friend, Soon-Bok, rolling your eyes at their silly banter.

You decided that you'd pick them all up from their homes, figuring that you'd get to spend some more time with them that way. You didn't really think about the fact that perhaps more time was synonymous with too much time. Just because you hadn't seen your friends in months, doesn't mean that they didn't see each other literally every single day.

With a clear of your throat, they stop insulting each other's fantasy love interests, both squealing when they realize you've pulled into the parking lot for the cafe.

The four of you get out of the car, you pulling your keys out of your purse to lock the doors. While walking towards the doors of the cafe, you're hit with a strange feeling- like someone's watching you.

Immediately, you whip your head around in search of anyone getting a little too nosey, but you come up with nothing. You keep your guard up though, knowing you can never be too sure.

Since the stage incident a few months back, you've been feeling a little paranoid. Understandably so, especially since the mean and threatening comments never subsided. It's gotten to the point where the staff have begun to send out a few extra security guards each time you leave the JYP building. In fact, JYP gave you all this nice little vacation in hopes it'd help some of the comments die down. To your dismay, they have not.

The guys have been incredibly protective since then, and you're actually grateful for it for once. Their constant questions about your whereabouts and wanting to tag along with you everywhere you go used to annoy you, but you'd never think to complain about it now.

Just this morning, having told them about your exciting plans for the day, they sent a barrage of texts telling you to be careful. Chan practically demanded you take a security guard with you, but for the sake of your friends' comfortability, you declined. Was it stupid? Possibly, but you're only wish for this vacation is to make things seem normal again. Having constant security around is not normal.

You placated Chan by telling him that your family knows of the places you'll be, and your family and the rest of your members all have your location at all times. He was reluctant, almost threatening to fly himself to your home just to go out on your little excursion with you, but he eventually gave way, not without first lecturing you about how important your safety is- like you didn't already know that.

~ ~ ~

"And then he pushed him down the stairs! How crazy!" Dae finishes, your eyes widening at how her story ended. She had just finished telling you all about how her boyfriend got into this big fight with a guy at the bar the other day. Apparently, the random man thought it acceptable to lay his hands on Dae, and her boyfriend did not appreciate that.

"Your boyfriend is so hot," Ha-Yoon comments, her eyes looking dreamily off into the distance.

"Excuse me?" Dae questions, raising a brow at Ha-Yoon's confession.

"I mean-"

"Ok!" you interrupt, pushing your chair back from the table you've all been sat at. The brunch was nice, catching up with your friends was much needed and the food was warm and comforting, but enough is enough, and your friends are starting to get a bit squeamish. "I need to use the restroom quickly, then we can head to the mall? Does that sound ok?"

There's a chorus of yesses, and they shoo you off into the restroom, picking up their phones to distract themselves until you get back.

You make your way to the back of the cafe, noticing how the bathrooms are secluded down a small hallway in the corner of the restaurant. Your eyes glance out the emergency exit door, and you tilt your head in confusion upon seeing a large white van sat outside it. It is not parked in a parking spot; it's just parked directly outside the door.

You quickly do your business, not wanting to keep your friends waiting for too long, and head back out to the front of the cafe. Stepping outside the restroom, a hand is immediately thrown over your mouth, a piece of foul smelling cloth pressed up against your nose. You try to scream, but this only causes you to inhale more of the chemical.

You fight, attempting to throw an elbow behind you to dislodge yourself from the person's vice like grip, but this only leads to your elbow being grabbed at a painful angle. You whimper slightly as the person pries your elbow behind you, and it almost feels as if your arm could snap if you were to move another inch. You become lightheaded, and it's hard to keep your eyes open and your mind alert. Unable to fight any longer, you give in and slump down into the arms which hold you captive.

~ ~ ~

"She's been gone awhile, I'm gonna go-" Soon-Bok is cut off by an alarm inside the cafe going off. All the customers heads perk up at the noise, their attention drifting to the employees.

The waitresses look to one another in confusion before one makes their way over to where you went for the restroom a few minutes before. The cafe is silent as the waitress disappears, looking for where the alarm would be coming from.

It's silent for another minute, before there's an audible gasp. She comes back with your purse in one hand and your cracked phone in the other.

Your three friends quickly get up from their seats, rushing over to the waitress. "Where'd you find this?" Dae asks, her eyes tearing up.

"Just outside the bathroom. I was just able to catch a glimpse of a van speeding off. Do you think someone was taken?" she asks, her eyes widening at the thought.

"I think- I think our friend was kidnapped," Ya-Hoon whispers.

~ ~ ~

"This is why I said she needed a security guard with her! This would have never happened!" Chan snaps at their management in anger, rising up from his seat in the meeting room.

Upon hearing about your kidnapping, the rest of your members were immediately brought back to the JYP building. They were all livid.

"Chan, I understand you're upset, but there's really nothing we can do now but wait-"

"Wait for what? Huh? Wait for her to just magically appear here?" Minho cuts off the head of security, his face red with anger.

"Of course the police are on the case and doing everything they can to find her. As for the eight of you, you are not to leave this building until we get all of this under control. Do you hear me? We do not need more than one missing member." JYP is stern as he speaks, leaving no room for discussion. "This meeting is dismissed. We will update you all if we hear anything."

With that, everyone else clears out of the room, leaving your eight members.

"This is awful," Felix says, his head hanging in his hands.

"No shit, Felix, why not state more of the obvious," Jisung narrows his eyes at Felix.

"We can't turn on each other," Changbin butts in, deterring them from getting into it any further. "We have to stick together and just wait this out. She's strong; she'll be ok."

"But what if she's not," Hyunjin speaks up for the first time since they got back. He's been huddled up against Jeongin since they got there, his head hung low. It's obvious he's been crying with the way his cheeks are stained with tears, his eyes red from how often he's rubbed them.

"We can't think like that," Chan says, moving over to Hyunjin. He lays a comforting arm around his shoulders, and Hyunjin immediately moves to the comfort of the leader, turning his head to hide it in Chan's chest. "They saw the van leave, it couldn't have been too long before the police were there. They'll find her, and then she'll be right back here with us."

"To never be let out of our sights again," Seungmin grumbles from the couch, wearing a similar expression to that of Felix's.

"Correct," Minho agrees, leaning back in his chair.

~ ~ ~

"Seungmin, you have to sleep. Staying up for 72 hours straight is not going to make her come back any faster," Chan lays his hand on the back of the boy's neck, slightly rocking him side to side.

"Maybe not, but I'll be the first to know when they find her," he counters, his bloodhsot eyes meeting Chan's. "You're one to talk; you haven't slept either."

Chan just sighs in response, plopping down on the couch next to him. It's quiet between the two of them, but neither are complaining about it. The peace is nice after what they've been through the past few days.

"Hyunjin hasn't stopped crying. Jeongin and Felix have had to take turns laying with him," Seungmin breaks the quiet, his soft voice travelling throughout the practice room. "Han hasn't eaten since we found out."

"I know, I've been trying to get everyone up and moving, but no one's interested."

"Chan, we're not expecting you to be the hero. We know you're in pain, too, and it's ok to act like it," it takes Chan a minute to process what Seungmin had said, but as his brain takes time, he realizes that it's been so long since he's cried, so long since he's truly let his emotions out.

With another moment passing, Chan's breath quickens and tears spring into his eyes. Without another thought, he turns his head into Seungmin's shoulder and cries. He cries for you, and how scared you must be right now, and he cries for the rest of his members, knowing how bad this is hurting them. He cries because he can't take away their pain or yours, not this time.

~ ~ ~

"Wake up." You feel a cold splash of water hit your face, and you're abruptly brought to consciousness. Your eyes open quickly in response to the cold, but you squint once you're hit with the blinding light coming from the ceiling light above you.

You try to talk, to say anything, but you quickly become aware of the duct tape placed snuggly over your mouth.

You gain some more proprioception, feeling the tightness of the rope around your wrists and how your ankles are tied to the legs of the chair you're currently sat on.

"Hey!" Your attention is brought to the large man standing in front of you, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of the gun in his hand. "Eyes here. And quit squirming so much!"

You freeze at that, stilling your movements. "Now listen here," you hear another guy say from across the room. You are just noticing him for the first time, and you realize that this guy in front of you must be the brawn of the operation. "We need some money. A lot of money. So, if you want to make it out of here alive, you need to call your family and have them bring us 350 million won. No less. Think you can handle that princess?"

Tears well in your eyes at the mention of death. You can't die like this, at the hands of these awful people. But you also know you don't want to get your family involved. So, deciding this is your best bet, you sit stoically. You look straight ahead, your focus unwavering.

"The silent treatment, huh?" You can see out of your periphery the man at the desk across the room stand from his chair. He makes his way towards you, but you pay him no mind, keeping your blank stare on the wall in front of you.

"If the threat's not enough to get you to talk, maybe this will be." He's quick to take the gun from the other man's hand, and before you can even flinch he's pointed it at your lower leg and let off a shot.

You choke on your own spit when the pain registers. You close your eyes and strain your body not to react, but there's only so much you can do. The tears you were successfully keeping at bay before now slide freely down your cheeks. Your hands are in tight fists behind your back, and you feel you may pass out from the white-hot pain radiating from your calf.

Your consciousness teeters, and all words being spoken by the men sound gibberish in your state. Just as you feel you may fall completely unconscious, you're startled by a loud bang from behind you. Your eyes lazily drift to the men, and you see their gazes widen before they quickly raise their hands in surrender. You make eye contact with the one that shot you, and that's the last thing you see before your eyes shut, your body and mind going completely numb.

~ ~ ~

The practice room door is flung open, bringing Chan out of his sleepy state. "What the hell? Be a little quieter would you," he mumbles, rolling his eyes at Jisung who stands in the doorway. For the first time since the news, Chan is attempting to get some sleep. It wasn't exactly on his own accord, though. After the constant hounding from the rest of the members, and even a threat from Felix that he'd sneak melatonin into his water, he decided it would probably be best for him to try and get some shut eye; he'll be of no use to anyone if he's delirious with sleep.

"They found her."

At this, all of Chan's previous drowsiness vanishes. He sits up from the couch faster than he ever has before, his joints cracking with such a sudden movement. "What?" he asks for clarification, fearing it might be too good to be true.

"They've found her. She's on the way to the hospital right now," Jisung's contagious smile makes more sense now, Chan wearing a similar expression.

"Where are the rest of the boys?" Chan stands from the couch in a rush, quickly slipping his shoes on.

"They're in the meeting room. They just bought our flight there, we're leaving now."

~ ~ ~

"Thank you," you tell the nurse, taking the small cup of water from her hands. It's been a few hours since you woke up from your unconscious state. Upon arriving at the hospital, they immediately took you into surgery to remove the bullet from your leg. Thankfully, it missed all the important stuff, leaving your bones completely in tact. You're left with some muscle damage, but the doctor assured you with some physical therapy you'd be back to normal again.

You're now laying in bed recovering. The wound has been stapled and is wrapped tightly. You have your leg resting on a couple pillows, hopefully to help prevent the swelling. Beside you on the couch is your family, having come in immediately upon hearing the news. Some silly K-Drama is playing on the T.V, but it's enough to keep your mind occupied for now, so you're thankful for it.

Nobody confirmed it for you, but you were sure your members were well on their way. Your family told you that you had been kidnapped for a few days. You told them you only remember being awake for a few minutes, but apparently they kept knocking you out again and again.

After talking with the police, you find that they were using you for ransom, and they kept knocking you out because they didn't have everything squared away yet; whatever that means, you're not quite sure.

As if on cue, the door to your room swings open, revealing Chan and Minho. They're out of breath and sweaty, looking as if they had just run a marathon.

You're given no time for formal greetings as they both launch themselves at you, throwing their arms haphazardly around you until you feel like you're squished beneath them. Your mom makes a protesting sound, but you wave her off with a gesture of your hand. They missed you, and you missed them. They weren't hurting you or anyone else by hugging you.

"You're never leaving our sights again," Chan says, his cheek pressed against the top of your head.

"Never ever," Minho agrees, his torso laid lightly across your lap.

"I'm okay-" you start, only to be cut off by an angry looking Chan. His face pops into view at your words, eyebrows furrowed.

"You are indeed not okay! You were kidnapped, unconscious for hours on end, and then shot! How are you possibly trying to convince us that you're ok?" Minho stands up at his outburst, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm alive, and that's okay enough for me."

With your response bludgeoned into their minds, they both collapse on top of you in another hug.

You bask in their warmth a bit longer, only being interrupted with the door creaking open. Felix and Hyunjin stand there, teary and red-eyed.

"Your time's up," Hyunjin sniffles, moving out of the way of the door so the two can exit.

"We'll be back," Chan leans down to kiss your forehead while Minho grabs your hand, giving it an assuring squeeze.

They leave, and Felix and Hyunjin scurry in after them. They crowd around your bedframe, hesitant to even lay a hand on you.

"Hey," you whisper, reaching over to grab both of their hands, "I'm okay."

Hyunjin breaks down in sobs, and it only takes Felix a minute before he's right there with him. You let go of their hands and open your arms to welcome them in for a hug. Both of them hesitate again, but eventually bend down to give you the gentlest hug you've ever received.

"Does it hurt?" Felix mumbles, his arms tightly wrapped around your shoulders.

"They've got me on some serious meds, so no. It probably will when I come off of them, though. I haven't tried to walk-"

"And you wont either. Not for a long while," your mom cuts in from the couch.

"Thanks for your input, Mom."

"No problem," her gaze shifts to the boys, "She's been moody since she came out of surgery. They say it's because of the meds." They both let out a huffy laugh at that, and while you're absolutely dying to argue, you're just thankful to see Hyunjin and Felix smile.

There's another knock at the door, and all your heads snap to Changbin and Jisung. "Our turn," Jisung says, gesturing for Felix and Hyunjin to get out.

"We'll see you soon," Felix says before making his way to the door.

"Love you," Hyunjin says, hugging you for a second longer.

"Love you, too," you tell him, and you watch as he gets up and walks toward the door.

Once they're gone, Jisung and Changbin come into the room.

"Chan is never letting you out of his sight again; you know that, right?" Changbin asks, pulling up a chair beside you.

"Uh, not just Chan, all of us," Jisung argues. "You know how when girls go out they all have to, like, go to the bathroom together? That's about to be us bestie."

"Um, ew," you grimace just thinking about all your privacy being stripped from you.

"We'll wait outside, of course," Changbin says, trying to make you feel better.

"Oh, how thoughtful," you sass back, giving them a sarcastic smile.

"But for real though, are you ok?" The atmosphere turns serious at Jisung's inquisition. "We were all worried sick about you."

"I guess I could be better, but I'm gonna be just fine. Doc said some physical therapy and I'll be good as new."

"Did you know they didn't even realize you were an idol at first?" Changbin says, piquing your interest. "They said they thought they just picked up some random person at the cafe. Apparently that's why they kept you knocked out for so long; it made things more complicated."

"I did not know that, actually. The police only gave me a quick run down, said they'd be back later for some more questioning and to give us some more information."

Another knock is heard at the door, and you look to see Seungmin and I.N standing there, the last of your boys. "Our turn now, move along," Seungmin says, tapping his foot impatiently.

"That's our cue, we'll see you later." They both lean down to give you a kiss on the cheek before walking out of the room.

Seungmin and I.N come in, seeming even more urgent than Chan and Minho did earlier.

They both come crashing down on top of you, all concern for the wires attached to you out the window.

Wanting to tease them, you say, "What if I was, like, seriously hurt? And now you two just came running in here like a pack of wild animals?"

"Give me a break, everybody said you were fine and that you were accepting hugs," Seungmin throws back, giving you a firm poke in the side.

You bark out a laugh at that, a smile gracing your features. "They also said that you hadn't smiled yet. So there," Seungmin nuzzles his head back into your shoulder, and you feel him breath a sigh against your neck.

"We missed you," I.N says from the other side where he's latched onto your arm.

"I missed you guys more."

"Not possible, I'd never seen any of the guys so worked up before. Chan didn't sleep the whole time you were gone, and as soon as we convinced him to, they found you," Seungmin says.

"Well, I'm here now," you comfort them, rubbing a hand on each of their backs.

"And we're never letting you go again."

~ ~ ~

Part 1

[satansdarlin]

Blue stained glass

While I work on the fourth chapter of a full deck of cards I also decided to write for another one of my boys! Welcoming Kurt Wagner to the stage! Apologies for any bad German, I'm still learning it and often forget that it is a gendered language so please forgive me.

MDNI

Rating: E

Word count: 8.3k

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x shy!artist!fem!reader

Warnings: reader being kinda stalkerish but not with bad intentions, implied that some of the students have harmless crushes on Kurt, Kurt being a flirt, smut! Because I missed writing it, Oral (fem receiving), PiV, mentions of Kurt's faith, you wife that man up!, pregnancy. Not beta read!

If you liked this check of my masterlist or put in a request if they are open

Golden light trickled in through the curtains as the sun set behind the school. The smell of dragon's blood incense wafted around the room in delicate wisps of smoke. The only sounds were the slight breeze outside and the dragging of bristles across canvas. You sat on the wooden stool, a slight hunch in your back you'd need to correct later with stretches. Your gaze followed along as you drew blue across the canvas. Blue had become a vital part of all your recent works, and you knew exactly why. Whenever you thought of art, flashes of blue fur, a spaded tail, the smell of sulfur, a silver cross, and a mischievous laugh filled your mind. You wouldn't call it obsession or infatuation. He was your muse. Not that he knew. How could you tell your teammate that he gave you such powerful inspiration? So the portfolio filled to the brim with artworks of just him remained hidden away under your bed.

Kurt Wagner. Everyone loved him. He was a friend worth keeping, made everything fun, always had the best ideas to keep the students entertained, and loved to chatter. Even Logan enjoyed his company from time to time. Kurt just had a way with people, with mutants. A few months back, you had a solo mission with him. It was awkward at first��the shy, quiet artist of the school and the impish chatterbox didn't know how to approach one another. In the end, the mission had concluded in giggles and soft-spoken words. Kurt was wonderful. That's why you couldn't understand why he kept insisting on spending time with you of all people. You were reserved, shy, introverted—the exact opposite of Kurt.

You had put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on your door before starting, hoping it would deter visitors. It did. Well, anyone who saw the sign didn't bother you; the same could not be said for the blue fuzzy imp. He didn't see it, to be fair. He had just gotten home from taking some students to the mall for shopping and wanted to show you the paints he had found, so he teleported. The smell of sulfur and the familiar BAMF sound filled your room, making your eyes widen comedically as you stared at the canvas. A painting of Kurt praying in a church with blue stained glass—one he was most certainly not supposed to see.

"Mein Freund, you would not believe the gift I have found for you— ah," his pleasant accent-tinted voice stalled as he gazed at your shape and then the painting before you. His eyes widened and filled with glee. "Oh mein Gott! Is that me? It's... it's—" he struggled to find the English word for a moment before settling on, "herrlich."

You stammered shyly as he walked up behind you, gazing at the painting with a smile that made your insides flutter like a thousand baby butterflies had hatched. "I... erm... yes, it's you, but it's not finished," you spoke hesitantly.

"Not finished?" Kurt moved closer, his tail swaying gently behind him in that way it did when he was truly excited about something. "But it's already so beautiful! The way you captured the light through the windows..." He leaned in, careful not to disturb your workspace, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. "I had no idea you were watching me pray."

Your cheeks burned hot. "I... I wasn't. Not really. I just... sometimes I sketch you when you're around the mansion, and I remembered how peaceful you looked that one time I passed by the chapel..." You trailed off, realizing you might be revealing too much.

Kurt's expression softened, and a knowing look crossed his features. "Then perhaps..." he said, reaching down to carefully take the brush from your trembling fingers, "you wouldn't mind showing me the other drawings?" His golden eyes flickered toward your bed, where your portfolio lay hidden.

Your heart nearly stopped. "You knew?"

A gentle laugh escaped him, musical and warm. "Mein Schatz, I may be a fool sometimes, but I'm not blind. I've seen the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching." He paused, his tail curling slightly in what you had learned was nervousness. "The same way I look at you when you're lost in your art."

The confession hung in the air between you, as tangible as the wisps of incense smoke still dancing through the golden evening light. You sat frozen, brush dripping blue paint onto the dropcloth below, as Kurt Wagner—your muse, your teammate, your secret inspiration—waited for your response with bated breath.

"You... look at me?" You whispered in shock and a tinge of disbelief. He looked at you like you looked at him? That sounded impossible, yet the way his tail curled in nervousness and his foot tapped against the ground told a different story.

Kurt's hand came up to rub the back of his neck, a gesture you'd seen countless times when he was trying to find the right words. "Ja, I do. More than I probably should." His voice was softer now, almost vulnerable. "When you're in the garden sketching, or during the art class with the students when you create those beautiful displays... The way your face lights up when you finally perfect a piece you've been working on..." He trailed off, a deeper blue tinting his cheeks.

Your heart thundered in your chest as he took a small step closer, his tail now swaying in a gentle, hypnotic pattern. "I've wanted to tell you for so long, but..." He gestured to himself with a self-deprecating smile. "Well, I wasn't sure someone who creates such beauty would want..."

"Kurt," you interrupted, finding courage you didn't know you had. Standing from your stool, you reached for his hand, feeling the unique texture of his fur against your palm. "You are beauty. Why do you think I can't stop painting you?"

His golden eyes widened, and that brilliant smile you'd captured in countless sketches spread across his face. "Then perhaps," he said, bringing your joined hands up between you, "we've both been a bit foolish, ja?"

A small laugh escaped you, breaking the tension. "More than a bit." Your eyes drifted to the painting on the easel, then back to him. "Would you... would you like to see the others? The real ones, not just the ones I do for art class?"

Kurt's tail perked up, and he squeezed your hand gently. "I would love nothing more, mein Schatz. But first..." He reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand and pulled out a small paper bag. "I really did bring you something from the art store."

Inside was a set of iridescent blue paints that shifted colors in the dying sunlight, almost the exact shade of Kurt's fur when he moved. Your breath caught at the thoughtfulness of the gift, and when you looked up at him, his expression was so tender it made your heart ache.

"I saw them and thought of you," he admitted quietly. "Though I suppose I'm always thinking of you these days."

The confession hung in the air like a prayer, and you found yourself moving closer, drawn into his orbit like you'd always been, only now there was no need to hide it. The golden light that had started this evening's painting session now painted Kurt in warm hues, making him look almost ethereal—your own personal angel, right here in your art-cluttered room.

"Kurt," you whispered, not quite sure what you wanted to say, but knowing you needed to say something. The way he looked at you now, like you were one of his precious religious paintings come to life, made you understand why he'd always insisted on spending time with you. He'd been drawn to you just as you'd been to him, both of you dancing around each other in an elaborate routine of stolen glances and hidden feelings.

His tail curled gently around your wrist, as if he couldn't bear to not touch you in some way, and you realized that maybe this was what inspiration truly felt like—not just the desire to capture beauty, but to be part of it. With trembling hands, you knelt beside your bed, aware of Kurt's presence behind you as you reached underneath to pull out the large black portfolio case. Your heart hammered against your ribs—no one had ever seen these pieces before. They were raw, honest, intimate in a way your public artwork never was.

"I, um," you started, clutching the portfolio to your chest as you stood, "some of these are just quick sketches, and others aren't very good—"

"Liebling," Kurt interrupted gently, his tail swaying with barely contained excitement, "everything you create is wunderbar. May I?" He gestured to your bed, and you nodded, watching as he settled cross-legged on the corner, patting the space beside him.

You sat down carefully, the portfolio balanced on your lap. Kurt's warmth beside you was both comforting and nerve-wracking. Taking a deep breath, you unzipped the case and pulled out the first few pieces.

"Oh!" Kurt's delighted gasp made you jump slightly. His tail curled in pleasure as he leaned forward to study a charcoal drawing of himself perched on the mansion's balcony railing, looking out over the grounds. "I remember this day. It was right after that terrible thunderstorm, ja? When the sun finally came out?"

You nodded, surprised he'd remembered such a small moment. "The light was hitting your fur just right, and I couldn't help but..." you trailed off, embarrassed at admitting how much you'd observed him.

But Kurt was already reaching for the next piece, his golden eyes bright with wonder. "And this one!" It was a series of quick gesture sketches of him during a training session, his body in various poses of acrobatic grace. "You've captured the movement so perfectly. I had no idea you were watching so closely."

Your cheeks burned. "I hope that doesn't sound creepy."

His laugh was warm and genuine. "Nein, not at all. Though it does explain why you always volunteered to help supervise training." His tail brushed against your back playfully, making you squeak in surprise.

As you went through more pieces, your initial nervousness began to fade, replaced by a warm glow at Kurt's genuine enthusiasm for each drawing. He had a comment for every piece—remembering the moments you'd captured, praising your technique, asking questions about your process. His tail never stopped moving, expressing his excitement in a way his controlled expressions couldn't quite hide.

"This one," he breathed, carefully lifting a watercolor painting, "this is..." It was one of your favorites—Kurt in the library late at night, reading by lamplight, his tail curled around a cup of tea. You'd painted it from memory after watching him there one evening, trying to capture the peaceful contentment he radiated in those quiet moments.

"The way you see me," he said softly, tracing the air above the painting as if afraid to touch it, "it's so..."

"Real," you finished quietly. "That's just... how you look to me."

Kurt turned to face you then, and the expression on his face made your breath catch. "All this time," he murmured, "I thought I was alone in feeling this way. In seeing such beauty in someone else."

You ducked your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze, but his tail gently curved under your chin, lifting it back up. "No hiding," he said softly. "Not anymore, ja?"

The portfolio slid forgotten to the floor as Kurt's hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch feather-light, as if he still couldn't quite believe he was allowed this. In the fading golden light of your room, surrounded by scattered artwork that told the story of your hidden feelings, Kurt Wagner looked at you like you were the masterpiece—not the artist. Time seemed to slow as Kurt's hand remained gentle against your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. Your heart was doing acrobatics that could rival his best performances, and you wondered if he could feel how warm your face had become.

"Mein Schatz," he whispered, leaning closer, "may I...?"

You could only manage a tiny nod, and then his lips were on yours, soft and sweet. The kiss was gentle, almost reverent, and you could feel his smile against your mouth. His tail curled around your waist, drawing you closer as your hands tentatively came up to rest against his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt and the steady beating of his heart beneath.

When you finally parted, you immediately buried your burning face in his shoulder, earning a warm chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "Hiding again so soon?" he teased, his accent thicker with emotion.

"Mmph," was all you could manage, which only made him laugh more.

"And here I thought artists were supposed to appreciate beautiful moments," he continued playfully, his tail squeezing your waist. "Perhaps I should pose for another painting? 'The First Kiss' would make a lovely addition to your collection, ja?"

You groaned and swatted his chest weakly. "Kurt!"

"Or maybe a series?" He was clearly enjoying himself now, his voice full of mischief. "We could call it 'The Evolution of Romance' or 'Love in Blue'—"

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your face still flaming. "You're terrible."

His grin was radiant. "Terrible, but yours?" The hope in his voice made your heart flutter.

"Yeah," you whispered, managing a shy smile. "Mine."

"Wunderbar!" He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. "Though I must ask—do you have any paintings of our future together hidden away as well? Should I be prepared for more surprises?"

"Kurt Wagner!" You tried to sound scandalized, but you couldn't help laughing, especially when he waggled his eyebrows at you.

"What? It's a reasonable question! After all, you've been secretly documenting me for months. For all I know, you've already planned our wedding colors—blue and more blue, I assume?"

You grabbed a nearby pillow and tried to smack him with it, but he teleported across the room with a BAMF, leaving a cloud of sulfur and the echo of his laughter. He reappeared perched on your easel, careful not to disturb your painting, his tail swishing playfully.

"You know," he said, his golden eyes twinkling, "I think I prefer being your muse when I know about it. The poses can be much more interesting this way."

"Oh my god," you mumbled, falling back onto your bed and covering your face with your hands. But you couldn't hide your smile, especially when you felt the familiar displacement of air and suddenly had a warm, fuzzy mutant curled around you, pressing gentle kisses to your temple.

"Don't worry, Liebling," he murmured against your skin, his tail finding your hand and twining with your fingers. "I promise to be the best muse you could ask for. Though..." He paused dramatically, "I do have one condition."

You peeked through your fingers at him. "What's that?"

His smile softened into something so tender it made your chest ache. "That next time you paint me praying in the chapel, you'll be there with me. Some masterpieces are better created together, don't you think?"

This time, when you pulled him down for another kiss, you didn't hide your face afterward. After all, how could you when he was looking at you like that—like you were both the artist and the masterpiece, the muse and the creator, the beginning and end of something beautiful?

Though you did blush furiously when he later insisted on signing all your portraits of him with "Kurt Wagner, Professional Muse and Master of Stealing Artists' Hearts.”

.

.

.

The chatter of students filled the air and the sweet smell of honeysuckle surrounded you and your students. Truth be told, you hadn't even offered to do this job; teaching the art class wasn't something that had ever been on your mind, but Charles had asked you to do so, saying it would be good for the students to have an outlet for their emotions. Though teaching a bunch of mutant teenagers wasn't particularly easy, especially when half of them wanted to be in the danger room training to be X-Men—you probably got more questions about that than actual art.

"Your piece should be about expression. There is no right or wrong, only your feelings about your art," you spoke gently as you walked by the students settled in the grass of the gardens behind the school. A hand rose up and you looked over and nodded at the boy, Damian you believed his name was.

"Excuse me, but how exactly is painting helping us prepare for anything?" You sighed at the boy's question as he got some chastising nudges from some of your more kind students. You got that question about every class.

Before you could answer, a familiar BAMF sound and the scent of sulfur announced Kurt's arrival. He appeared perched on the garden wall, his tail swaying as he grinned at the class. Several students brightened immediately—Kurt had always been a favorite among them.

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong, mein junger Freund," Kurt said, gracefully flipping down to land beside you. His shoulder brushed yours in a subtle show of support that made your heart flutter, even after months of being together. "Art teaches us more than you might think. Strategy, patience, observation..." He winked at you before continuing, "How do you think I learned to move so efficiently in battle? By understanding space, movement, and perception—all things your talented teacher here helped me improve."

A few students giggled, well aware of your relationship with the blue mutant. It had become something of a school legend how you'd been caught with a portfolio full of Kurt drawings. Some of the older students even insisted they'd known all along, claiming they'd seen the way you both looked at each other during training sessions.

"Besides," Kurt continued, picking up one of the spare brushes from your supply kit and twirling it like one of his swords, "did you know that Leonardo da Vinci used his artistic skills to design defense systems? Or that camouflage patterns were created by artists? Even the maps we use for missions were drawn by artists."

Damian sat up straighter, suddenly looking more interested. "Really?"

You smiled, grateful for Kurt's intervention. "Really. And speaking of missions..." You shared a knowing look with Kurt before addressing the class. "Who wants to hear about the time my sketching skills helped us locate a hidden Sentinel facility?"

"Oh, tell them about the warehouse in Berlin!" Kurt added enthusiastically, his tail curling around your waist as he settled beside you. "When you noticed the architectural inconsistencies in my reconnaissance sketches?"

The students were all paying attention now, art supplies temporarily forgotten as they leaned in to hear the story. Even Damian had put down his phone, his previous skepticism replaced with curiosity.

"Well," you began, feeling Kurt's tail squeeze encouragingly, "it started when we noticed some unusual energy signatures in an old industrial district..."

As you recounted the mission, Kurt occasionally chimed in with his own colorful commentary, making the students laugh with his dramatic reenactments. You couldn't help but smile, watching him demonstrate his acrobatic moves while describing how your artistic knowledge had helped spot the hidden entrance.

"And that," Kurt concluded, landing gracefully beside you again, "is why we should never underestimate the power of art. Or artists." He pressed a quick kiss to your temple, making several students coo and others playfully groan at the display of affection.

"Mr. Wagner," one of the girls called out, a mischievous glint in her eye, "are you going to model for our class like you do for the teacher?"

Your face immediately heated up as Kurt laughed delightedly. "Sadly, I'm needed in the danger room. Though..." He grinned at you, that familiar impish look in his golden eyes, "I do have a private session scheduled later."

"Kurt!" you hissed, mortified as the students erupted in giggles.

He merely winked, pressed another quick kiss to your cheek, and teleported away with a theatrical bow, leaving you to face your amused students with burning cheeks.

"Now then," you said, trying to regain some semblance of professional dignity despite your flushed face, "back to your projects. And no, Jenny, you cannot paint Mr. Wagner for your assignment—pick a different subject."

The disappointment on several faces told you that more than one student had been planning exactly that. You couldn't really blame them though. After all, you had an entire portfolio that proved just how inspiring a subject Kurt Wagner could be. After the lingering giggles from Kurt's dramatic exit finally subsided, you circled back through your students, the grass crunching softly beneath your feet. The afternoon sun warmed your shoulders as you paused to observe their work, offering gentle guidance where needed.

"Sarah," you said, stopping beside a girl whose hands were literally glowing as she painted, her mutation allowing her to create luminescent colors, "that's beautiful. The way you're using your powers to add depth to the sunset—very creative." Her beaming smile made your heart warm; it was moments like these that reminded you why Charles had been right about teaching.

Moving on, you found Marcus struggling with his brushstrokes, his extra set of arms getting in the way of each other. "Try coordinating them like we practiced," you suggested softly. "Remember, each hand can work on a different section. Think of it like... like when Kurt coordinates his tail with his movements during training."

The mention of Kurt made a few nearby students glance up with knowing smirks, but you ignored them, focusing on how Marcus's face lit up with understanding. Within minutes, all four of his hands were working in harmony, creating an intricate pattern that would have taken others four times as long to complete.

"Teacher?" A quiet voice drew your attention to Amy, a shy freshman whose scales tended to change color with her emotions—currently a nervous purple. "I... I don't know if this is good enough." She gestured to her canvas where she'd painted a self-portrait, her scales rendered in beautiful iridescent shades.

You knelt beside her, careful not to disturb her workspace. "What makes you think it's not good enough?"

"It's just..." she glanced around at her classmates' work, her scales shifting to a deeper purple. "Everyone else is painting normal things. Beautiful things. I painted... me."

"Amy," you said gently, thinking of all the times you'd doubted your own artwork, of all the paintings of Kurt you'd hidden away because you thought they were too revealing, too personal. "Do you remember what Kurt said in his last ethics class about beauty?"

Her scales flickered with hints of pink—she had a bit of a crush on Kurt, like half the school. "That it comes in all forms?"

"Exactly. And look—" you pointed to how the light caught her painting's scales, creating rainbow patterns across the canvas. "You've captured something uniquely beautiful. Something only you could create, because only you know exactly how those scales feel, how they shift and change. That's not just good art, that's powerful art."

The purple of her scales gradually shifted to a warm golden hue as she smiled, looking at her painting with new eyes. Around you, other students had paused to listen, and you saw several of them return to their work with renewed purpose.

"Damian," you called out, noticing he'd actually started painting instead of just complaining, "excellent use of perspective on that building. Been practicing your architectural sketches?"

He tried to look nonchalant, but you caught his pleased grin. "Yeah, well... after what you said about the Berlin mission... I figured it might be useful. You know, for future X-Men stuff."

"Hey, teacher?" Jenny piped up, paint smudged adorably across her cheek. "Since we can't paint Mr. Wagner, could you tell us more about how art helped on missions while we work? Please?"

A chorus of agreements rose from the class, and you couldn't help but smile. "Alright, but keep painting. There was this one time in Moscow when my knowledge of color theory helped us identify a shapeshifter..."

As you shared the story, moving between easels and offering guidance, you noticed how the students' work seemed to come alive. Even the most reluctant artists were engaged now, their creativity flowing as they listened to tales of how art and heroism could intertwine.

The smell of honeysuckle grew stronger as the afternoon wore on, mixing with paint and teenage enthusiasm. A flash of blue in your peripheral vision caught your attention—Kurt, watching proudly from a nearby window between his training sessions. He blew you a kiss before disappearing again, leaving you with paint-stained fingers and a garden full of budding artists who were finally beginning to understand that there was more than one way to be extraordinary.

"Teacher?" Amy called out, her scales now a confident shade of blue that reminded you of someone special. "I think I'd like to do another self-portrait. Maybe... maybe one of me in an X-Men uniform this time?"

You smiled, thinking of your own portfolio of Kurt, of how art had led you to love, and how that love had led you here, helping these young mutants find their own way to express their unique beauty. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Amy. Just remember—"

"We know, we know," the class chorused together, matching your grin, "there is no right or wrong, only our feelings about our art!”

.

.

.

Evening had settled over the mansion, the last rays of sunlight painting your studio in familiar golden hues. The day's classes were done, art supplies cleaned and stored away, and you'd finally managed to stop blushing from Kurt's teasing comments during your lesson. You were just setting up your easel when the familiar BAMF announced his arrival.

"Ah, mein Schatz," Kurt's voice was warm as he appeared behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tail curling affectionately around your ankle. "Ready for our 'private session'?" You could hear the playful smirk in his voice.

"You," you turned in his arms to poke his chest accusingly, "are terrible. Do you know how many knowing looks I got from the students after you left?"

He laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I couldn't help myself. You're adorable when you blush. Speaking of which..." His tail reached over to your desk, picking up your sketchbook and flipping it open to reveal today's quick sketches of him during his brief visit to your class. "Someone was inspired during their teaching duties, ja?"

"Kurt!" You tried to snatch the sketchbook, but he teleported across the room, perching on the window seat as he continued flipping through pages.

"Oh, this one is new!" He held up a sketch of himself demonstrating acrobatic moves to your students. "You captured my best side."

"All your sides are your best side," you mumbled before you could stop yourself, then immediately covered your face with your hands as he teleported back to you, gathering you close.

"Is that so?" he murmured against your ear. "Then perhaps we should make sure you have proper reference material for all of them?" His tail gently pulled your hands away from your face, forcing you to meet his tender gaze. "Now then, how would you like me to pose, Liebling?"

You gestured weakly to the arrangement you'd set up—a comfortable chair positioned near the window, where the last of the sunset would cast those perfect shadows you loved to capture. "Just... sitting would be nice. Natural. Like when you're reading in the library."

Kurt's expression softened as he settled into the chair, understanding your desire to capture one of your favorite quiet moments. He pulled out a small book of poetry—Rilke, you noticed—and arranged himself comfortably, his tail draped over the armrest.

"Like this?" he asked, and you nodded, already reaching for your charcoal. This was familiar territory now, though no less special than those first secret sketches. If anything, it was more intimate—knowing he was here specifically for you, watching you create, sharing these peaceful moments together.

As you began to sketch, Kurt started reading aloud softly in German, his accent wrapping around the words like silk. You'd grown to love these evenings, the gentle cadence of his voice mixing with the scratch of charcoal on paper, the way his tail would occasionally twitch in response to a particular phrase or stanza.

"You know," he said during a pause between poems, his golden eyes meeting yours over the top of his book, "I used to wonder why you chose me as your subject so often. Now I think I understand."

You paused in your sketching, curious. "Oh?"

"Ja. It's the same reason I can't stop watching you when you create." He marked his place in the book and leaned forward slightly. "There's something magical about seeing someone doing what they love, being exactly who they are meant to be. You see me that way when I move, when I pray, when I simply exist. And I see you that way when you're lost in your art."

The charcoal trembled slightly in your fingers as he continued, "It's like seeing someone's soul, isn't it? Their truest self?"

You nodded, unable to find words for how perfectly he'd captured it. Kurt rose from the chair in one fluid movement, crossing to where you stood. His hand covered yours on the charcoal, bringing it to rest against the easel.

"Perhaps," he whispered, turning you to face him, his tail wrapping around your waist, "we could find other ways to capture this moment?"

Your breath caught as he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that tasted of poetry and promises. The charcoal slipped forgotten from your fingers as you wound your arms around his neck, letting yourself get lost in the overwhelming rightness of being held by him.

When you finally parted, Kurt rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Though I do hope you'll finish the sketch later. I have a reputation as Professional Muse to maintain, after all."

You laughed, the sound mixing with his own quiet chuckle in the golden evening light of your studio, where art and love had become beautifully, perfectly intertwined.

"So how do you wish to capture this moment, hm?" You hummed up at him with a new sense of courage.

Kurt's yellow eyes sparkle with mischief and desire as he gazes down at you, his tail gently squeezing your waist. The sunset light casts a warm glow on your skin, highlighting the delicate curve of your neck and the soft fullness of your lips. He leans in, his breath ghosting over your skin as he speaks.

"There are so many ways, mein Schatz..." he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "We could start with a kiss..."

And he does, capturing your lips in a deep, lingering kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. His lips are surprisingly soft against yours, moving with a passion and tenderness that sets your heart racing. One hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, while the other slides down your back, pressing you closer to him.

When he finally pulls away, you're both breathing heavily, your cheeks flushed and your eyes dark with desire. Kurt's tail tightens around you, keeping you anchored against him as he trails his lips along your jaw, nipping lightly at your earlobe.

"Or perhaps," he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine, "you'd like to capture the way my hands feel on your skin?"

Without waiting for an answer, he begins to unbutton your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he reveals more and more of your body to his hungry gaze. Each touch sends sparks of electricity through you, igniting a fire that only seems to grow with each passing second.

As your shirt falls to the floor, Kurt takes a step back, his eyes roving hungrily over your newly exposed skin. His gaze is almost reverent, as if he's drinking in every inch of you like a man dying of thirst.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his voice filled with awe and desire. "You're absolutely perfect, Meine Liebe."

His hands come up to cup your breasts, thick fingers brushing over your hardening nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as he begins to circle and tease, building the pleasure slowly but surely. Kurt's hands continue their sensual exploration of your body, tracing every curve and dip with a reverence that makes your skin tingle. He leans down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin.

"I want to worship every inch of you," he murmurs against your throat, his voice rough with desire. "To show you how much you mean to me."

His fingers find the clasp of your bra, deftly unhooking it and sliding the straps down your shoulders. The garment falls away, baring your breasts to his eager gaze. Kurt pauses for a moment, simply drinking in the sight of you, before cupping the weight of your breasts in his palms.

"Perfektion," he breathes, thumbing your nipples until they pebble beneath his touch. He lowers his head, taking one nipple into his mouth and suckling gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

You gasp at the sensation, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair, holding him close. Kurt continues his ministrations, alternating between your breasts, licking and sucking and nipping until you're writhing against him, desperate for more.

His hands drift lower, skimming over your stomach and hips before dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. He strokes you through the damp fabric of your underwear, his touch light and teasing.

"So wet already," he marvels, his voice thick with arousal. "You're so responsive, mein Schatz. So perfect."

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your pants and underwear, tugging them down your legs in one smooth motion. You kick them off impatiently, standing before him in nothing but your socks and shoes.

Kurt takes a step back, his eyes raking over your naked form with undisguised hunger. He licks his lips, his tail swishing behind him in anticipation.

"Lie down on the couch," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I want to taste you." You obey without hesitation, settling into the plush cushions immediately.

 Kurt follows you to the couch, his eyes never leaving your body as he crawls over you, settling between your spread thighs. He runs his hands up your legs, his touch light and teasing, until he reaches the apex of your thighs.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, spreading your folds with his fingers and exposing your glistening flesh to his hungry gaze. "I can't wait to taste you."

He leans down, dragging his tongue along your slit in one long, slow lick. The sensation is electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body. You gasp, your hips lifting off the couch as you seek more of his touch.

Kurt chuckles, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. He looks up at you through his lashes, his yellow eyes gleaming with mischief and desire.

"Patience, mein Schatz," he teases, blowing a cool stream of air over your wet heat. "We have all the time in the world."

And then he's diving back in, his tongue delving deep into your core, lapping at your essence like a man starved. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, flicking over the sensitive bud again and again until you're writhing beneath him, desperate for release.

His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he feasts on your flesh, his groans of pleasure muffled against your skin. The room fills with the obscene sounds of his licking and sucking, punctuated by your own breathy moans and gasps.

Kurt brings a hand up to your clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen nub as he continues to tongue-fuck your dripping cunt. The dual stimulation is too much, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with each passing second.

"That's it, Kleine," he encourages, his voice rough with arousal. "Let go. Come for me."

His words are all it takes to send you hurtling over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You cry out, your hands fisting in Kurt's hair as waves of pleasure crash over you, threatening to drown you in their intensity.

Kurt works you through it, his tongue and fingers never faltering as he prolongs your climax, drawing out every last shudder and gasp until you're boneless and spent, collapsing back against the couch in a sweaty, satisfied heap.

He presses one last kiss to your sensitive flesh before crawling up your body, settling his weight on top of you. His erection presses insistently against your thigh as he wiggles off his pants, hot and hard and ready for you.*

"I need you, meine Engel," he breathes, his voice thick with desire. "I need to be inside you."

He reaches down between your bodies, grasping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. You can feel the heat of him, the pulsing need that throbs against your slick folds.

With one swift thrust, he's inside you, filling you completely. You cry out at the sudden stretch, your walls clenching around him like a vice.

"Fuck, you're tight," Kurt groans, his hips rocking against yours as he begins to move. "So perfect. So gut."

He sets a steady rhythm, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, his cock hitting depths you didn't even know you had. Each thrust sends sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine, igniting a fire in your core that threatens to consume you whole. Your heart flutters hearing him slur out German and English in a pleasure drunken haze. Kurt's tail wraps around your legs, holding them open wide as he pistons into you, his hips snapping against yours with increasing urgency. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps.

"So good," he pants, his face buried in your neck as he laves his tongue over your pulse point. "So perfekt. So mine."

His words send a shiver down your spine, igniting a possessive heat in your core. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into your body with each thrust.

"Yours," you gasp, your nails digging into the fur of his back. "All yours, kurt"

Kurt growls, low and deep, his tail tightening around your legs as he pounds into you with abandon. The couch creaks beneath your combined weight, threatening to give way under the force of his thrusts.

"Ich liebe dich," he slurs, his words muffled against your skin. "Love you so much. Need you. Need to be inside you forever."

His confession sends you careening over the edge, your body seizing up as another orgasm rips through you. You clench around him, your walls fluttering and spasming as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

"Fuck, Prinzessin," Kurt groans, his hips stuttering as he chases his own release. "Feel so good. So perfect. Gonna come. Gonna fill you up."

With a final, bruising thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he empties himself into your waiting womb. You can feel the heat of his seed, the way it paints your insides, marking you as his.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the cushions as he pants against your neck. His tail unwinds from your legs, draping lazily over your thigh as he nuzzles into your hair.

"I love you," he murmurs, his voice soft and sated. "My perfect girl. Meine schöne Künstlerin."

You smile, your heart full to bursting with love and contentment.

.

.

.

Nearly a year later

The chapel was quiet save for the soft whisper of your pencil across paper. Early morning light filtered through the stained glass windows, casting familiar blue patterns across the wooden pews. Kurt knelt at the altar in prayer, his tail curved peacefully behind him, rosary beads wrapped gently around his three-fingered hands.

You'd grown comfortable here in these morning moments, sharing this sacred space with him. What had once felt like an intrusion now felt like belonging. Your sketchbook was filled with these quiet scenes—Kurt in prayer, Kurt reading his Bible, Kurt simply existing in this place that meant so much to him. But this morning was different. This morning, your hand trembled slightly as you drew, your mind wandering to the small box hidden in your art supplies.

It had taken weeks to create, working late into the night in your studio after Kurt had fallen asleep. A hand-carved wooden ring box, painted with delicate scenes from your relationship—the first time you'd been caught painting him, your first kiss, teaching art class together, quiet moments in the chapel. The ring inside was simple silver, engraved with tiny crosses and artist's brushes intertwined.

"You're thinking very loudly this morning, Liebling," Kurt's voice startled you from your thoughts. He hadn't moved from his position, but his tail swayed knowingly.

"Sorry," you mumbled, adding another shadow to your sketch. "Didn't mean to disturb your prayers."

"You never disturb me," he said softly, finally turning to face you with that gentle smile that still made your heart skip. "Though I am curious what has you so distracted. Usually you're much more focused when drawing in here."

You set down your sketchbook with trembling fingers. "Actually, I... I have something for you."

Kurt's eyebrows rose curiously as you reached into your art bag, pulling out the painted box. His golden eyes widened as you stood and walked to him, kneeling beside him at the altar.

"Kurt Wagner," you began, your voice shaky but determined, "you've been my muse, my inspiration, my best friend, and the love of my life. You've shown me that beauty exists in so many forms, that faith can be found in art just as much as prayer, and that love..." you had to pause, swallowing hard as his tail curled around your wrist encouragingly, "love can be both the masterpiece and the creation itself."

You opened the box, revealing the ring nestled inside. "Would you let me spend the rest of my life creating with you?"

Kurt's breath caught as he took in the painted scenes on the box, his fingers trailing reverently over the tiny details you'd spent so long perfecting. When he looked up, his eyes were shining with tears.

"Mein Gott," he whispered, "you've managed to surprise the teleporter." His tail tightened around your wrist as he pulled you closer, pressing his forehead to yours. "Did you really think there could be any answer but yes? You are the greatest masterpiece God has ever placed in my life."

Your laugh was watery as you slipped the ring onto his finger, a perfect fit just as you'd hoped. Kurt cradled your face in his hands, his touch infinitely gentle.

"Though I must say," he murmured, his accent thick with emotion, "you've rather stolen my thunder, Liebling." With his tail, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, making you gasp. "I was planning to ask you after morning mass."

Inside was a delicate gold ring with a blue sapphire that matched his fur perfectly. "Great minds think alike, ja?"

You couldn't speak through your tears as he slipped the ring onto your finger, but you didn't need to. The way you pulled him into a kiss said everything necessary, the morning light painting you both in shades of blue and gold through the stained glass windows.

"I can't wait to see how you'll paint this moment," Kurt whispered against your lips, making you laugh.

"Already planning it," you admitted. "Though I might need my muse to pose for several reference sketches."

His tail wrapped around your waist as he grinned. "I believe that can be arranged. After all..." he pressed another soft kiss to your lips, "we have the rest of our lives to perfect it."

Through the chapel windows, the morning light continued to paint you both in blues and golds, artist and muse, two hearts creating something beautiful together. And if anyone noticed that your afternoon art class was especially romantic that day, well... they were kind enough not to mention it. Though you did have to tell Jenny, once again, that no, she still couldn't paint Mr. Wagner for her assignment—even if he was now your fiancé.

.

.

.

You woke up to soft snores and looked over, unable to help but smile softly. Your husband's sleeping face was too cute to not smile at. After five years of being married, you'd never grow tired of waking up to this. Recently he had taken to growing out a goatee, saying it made him look more mature (you couldn't help but agree—after all, it made your mind wander a lot too). You carefully pulled out of his embrace without waking him; his tail was always a struggle to remove from its place around your leg without waking him, but you managed it. After a small silent dance of triumph, you moved out of your shared bedroom to the room across from it.

The room was halfway painted, though you had been working on it for the past six months. It had paintings of stories and family littered across it—scenes from Kurt's favorite fairy tales, the X-Men as loving aunts and uncles, even a small portrait of Professor Xavier smiling benevolently from above the planned crib space. You picked up a brush and were about to continue when you accidentally kicked a paint bucket. That's all it took, and with a sudden puff of smoke your husband had teleported in, his stance ready for action but relaxing when he saw it was just you up early.

"Mein Gott, woman, I thought you were a thief!" He exclaimed, holding his three-fingered hand over his chest before walking over with a soft tired smile and pecking your lips. "You're up early, I don't even hear the morning birds yet."

"Needed to stretch my legs," you hummed back, and he hummed softly in suspicion. His hand rested on your stomach.

"Are you sure it is not because of the Kleine?" He spoke in a teasing voice as he gently rubbed your stomach.

You leaned back against his chest, letting his warmth seep into you as you both gazed at the wall you'd been painting. His tail automatically wrapped around your waist, just above where your small baby bump was beginning to show. "Maybe," you admitted. "I just... I want it to be perfect before they arrive."

Kurt nuzzled against your neck, his goatee tickling your skin. "Liebling, with you as their mother, how could it be anything but perfect?" His hand joined yours on the brush. "Though perhaps we could add a few more acrobatic scenes? A future X-Man should know their father's best moves, ja?"

You laughed softly, mindful of the early hour. "Kurt, we don't even know if they'll be able to teleport yet."

"Ah, but they're already showing artistic talent!" He moved to stand beside you, gesturing dramatically at your stomach. "Look how perfectly they've rounded out your usually straight lines!"

"Did you just call me fat, Mr. Wagner?" you asked with mock offense.

His eyes widened comically. "Nein! Never! I merely meant to say you're more... sculptural these days?" His tail flicked nervously as he tried to backtrack, making you giggle.

"Saved it," you murmured, turning back to the wall. You'd been working on a particular scene—a small blue figure learning to teleport while protective arms waited to catch them. "Do you really think they'll like it? All of this?"

Kurt's arms wrapped around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as he surveyed your work. "Mein Schatz, they will love it. Just as they will love you." His hand splayed protectively over your stomach. "Though perhaps we should add a small easel next to the training equipment? Best to be prepared for all possibilities."

You turned in his arms, brush still in hand, accidentally leaving a small blue streak across his chest. "Oops."

His grin turned mischievous. "Oh? Is that how we're playing this morning?" He reached for another brush. "You know, the wall isn't the only canvas in need of some color..."

"Kurt Wagner, don't you dare—" But it was too late. With a playful BAMF, he was behind you, painting a gentle heart on the back of your nightshirt.

What followed was a careful (mindful of your condition) but enthusiastic paint war, filling the nursery with quiet laughter and colorful streaks. By the time the sun began to rise, you were both covered in paint, sitting on the drop cloth and admiring your handiwork—both on the walls and each other.

"You know," Kurt mused, his tail drawing abstract patterns in a small paint puddle, "this might be your best work yet."

You looked around at the cheerful chaos you'd created together—the story-filled walls, the paint-splattered drop cloths, the mixing of your artistic vision with his playful additions. Your hand found his, fingers intertwining as they rested on your growing bump.

"No," you said softly, "I think our best work is still in progress."

His answering smile was brighter than the rising sun, and as he pulled you in for a paint-smudged kiss, you couldn't help but think that sometimes the most beautiful art came from life itself—messy, unexpected, and absolutely perfect.

Though you did make him clean up the paint footprints he'd teleported all over the mansion before the students woke up. Your gaze went over to the window which Kurt had helped you place the stain on. The blue hues glittered over the room and it filled you with a sense of love and happiness. Blue would always be apart of your life now, and you wouldn't have it any other way. 

[bruisedboys]

congrats on 6k!!! loved the prompts lists you used soooo: sirius black + "you've got me flowers?" i think it would be cute if it was him being gifted the flowers BUT! totally up to you and your creative juicess

hi angel thank u for your request! loved this prompt for sirius!! join the celebration

rockstar!sirius black x fem!reader

Sirius knows you’ll be here soon, but he wishes he didn’t, because he feels a bit nauseous with the prospect of seeing you. You’ve never been to one of his shows before, this is your first. He’s worried you’ll hate it. Worried he’ll mess up his notes or trip over on stage and you’ll never want to see him again.

He’s thinking all this as he sits on a worn sofa backstage, plucking away at his guitar, practicing notes. Well, he’s not really practicing. He’s mostly just playing random chords with no rhyme or reason and thinking about you. He’s about to call you and maybe pretend the show is cancelled when the door opens.

“Hello!”

It’s you. Sirius looks up and finds you in the doorway looking so pretty and so excited to see him it hurts his chest. You’ve got on a lovely dress, and one of his leather jackets he leant you that you never gave back. Sirius thinks he actually might throw up.

“Hey, dove,” Remus says, happily leaning into your one armed hug. “You look nice.”

“Your boyfriend’s stressing,” James supplies unhelpfully, kissing your cheek in greeting.

You laugh and shove James’ curly head (he deserves it, Sirius thinks). Sirius watches, totally transfixed, as you cross the room and move towards him.

“Hi, Siri,” you say happily, coming to a stop in front of his knees. You give him a once over that makes him blush all the way up his neck. “You look killer.”

Sirius grins sheepishly and sets his guitar to the side. His face feels like it’s maybe on fire. You take his cheek in your lovely soft hand and bend at the waist for a kiss. Your perfume washes over Sirius and he thinks, I’m going to die. She’s going to kill me. But then you pull away, and he’s not dead, just very, very lovesick.

“It took me forever to find this place, it’s like, in the middle of nowhere,” you’re saying, apparently oblivious to Sirius’ weird mood. “Oh! I almost forgot-“

You reach into your tote and pull out something crinkly, holding it out to Sirius with a smile that could set him on fire.

“Here. They’re for you.”

Flowers. A huge bouquet of them in buttercup yellow and dusty pink, bursting out of cream tissue paper, tied with a lovely thick pink ribbon. Sirius blinks.

“You got me flowers?”

You giggle. “Well, yeah,” you say, like why wouldn’t I? “To say good luck. And I love you. And I’m so excited to see you play, I was listening to your stuff the whole drive here.”

Sirius thinks his heart bursts. What was he worrying about again? He takes the flowers from you, your fingers brushing his. “I— thank you, doll. That’s really sweet.”

You flush, clearly very pleased. “You’re always getting me flowers, aren’t you?”

“I suppose.” They’ve never seemed as significant as the ones you’ve just gotten him. These feel like pure gold in his hands.

“And I’m serious about being excited,” you say, flopping down onto the couch next to him, your hand moving to squeeze his knee. “You realise you’ve never looked more attractive, right?”

James laughs. Sirius chokes on air.

[honestlydarkprincess]

a gift i've never gotten before

buck x tommy || rated: t || wc: 588

read on ao3

Buck was nervous.

He and Tommy were redoing their first date since their original one was cut short and Tommy hadn’t quite made it to wedding, so they were doing their first official date tonight. Buck hadn’t been this nervous for a date in a long time— if you didn’t count the original date he and Tommy had gone on. Buck didn’t count that one as a real date given how it had ended. And he considered the wedding a pre-date since Tommy had missed the ceremony and since they were in a hospital they hadn’t gotten to have their dance. Tonight though, tonight was their real first date. His nerves were more manageable, excitement fluttering in his belly as he waited near the door for Tommy to come pick him up.

Buck bounced on his heels while he checked his watch. Tommy was late. It wasn’t a big deal, he was only ten minutes late so far but Buck couldn’t help the nerves that flared up. What if Tommy canceled? What if he decided that no, he didn’t want to go out with Buck anymore. They were in that in-between stage right now, they weren’t officially boyfriends yet and Buck felt a tendril of unease.

His worries were for naught though because seconds later there was a knock at his door and Buck let out a sigh of relief. He smiled wide as he opened the door. “Hey, Tommy.”

“Hey, Evan,” Tommy replied, smiling softly. Buck took a minute to appreciate how good Tommy looked in his henley, dark jeans and leather jacket before his eyes zeroed in on what Tommy had in his hands.

“What are those?” Buck asked, breathless.

“These are for you,” Tommy said, holding out a beautiful little bouquet of flowers. “They’re actually why I’m late, there was this guy in front of me who couldn’t choose a damn thing to save his life.”

Buck took the bouquet gently, cradling it like it was fragile as he looked at them in awe. “You got these…for me?”

“Of course,” Tommy said, leaning against the doorjamb. “I am trying to woo you, after all.”

“Trust me, I am plenty wooed,” Buck grinned, leaning in for a lingering kiss before breaking away with a happy sigh. “I’ve never— no one has ever gotten me flowers before,” Buck said quietly, his fingers brushing the delicate petals with reverence. “I don’t know if I have something to put these in— let me check.”

Buck whirled around, holding the flowers close as he started hunting through his cupboards for something suitable enough for him to put the flowers in. He was trying to remember whether or not he had a vase when he spotted a glass that looked sturdy enough to do the trick. He grabbed it and filled it with water before placing the bouquet inside and taking a step back. They looked utterly beautiful and Buck felt affection well in his chest at the thoughtful gesture from Tommy.

“There,” Buck said. “That should hold them until I can buy a proper vase.”

“Excellent,” Tommy said, holding out his hand. “Shall we?”

Buck caught his hand with a happy grin, grabbing his wallet and keys from the table and following Tommy out the door. He was so excited for their date, it had started off amazing and Buck knew it was only going to get better from here.

And while Tommy would go on to buy him many flowers, Buck would always, always remember that first bouquet.

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Paper rings 🩷

Jason Todd x singer!reader

A/N: I have to be honest, half of this is cat content ngl. This is based off the song by T. Swift :) Catdad!Jason is real because I say so. I geeked out and somehow love for greek mythology always find its way into my Jason fics idk

Enjoy!

~Fi 🪻

Prompt: reader is a singer who writes a song for Jason. How does he react?

Requested by: 🌙 anon

Warnings: fluff all around! Cute kitty moments, the concert parts may be all wrong idk what I'm doing lmao

Word count: 1.8k

Please don't copy my work! I put a lot of effort and heart into the things I write.

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🎤°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°☁️°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°🎤

You let out a sigh as you got into your car. It had been a long day in the studio, recording new songs for your latest album. Your throat hurt, but you were happy with the progress you had made today. Starting the car, you made your way home to the apartment you shared with your boyfriend, Jason.

It was his birthday soon, and you'd planned a little surprise, not only for him but for your fans as well. You had written him a song, one that would be on your newest record. You smiled only thinking about it, you couldn't wait to pull off this surprise.

The show you were performing tomorrow in Gotham was no ordinary one. You'd called it the "Jazz on Special", which was just a a play on Jason. Your lovely, yet sometimes a little daft lover had not gotten the hint. Good.

He always attended your concerts, watching from backstage, giving his support. The moment you stepped off stage, he was immediately one you, showering you in compliments and kisses, telling you how proud he was of you.

So you figured this was the least you could do to show your appreciation for him. You wanted the whole world to know how much he actually meant to you, scream it into the crowds. So that's excatly what you were going to do.

Unlocking your apartment door, you stepped in, dropping your keys in the little dish right by the entrance. You could hear footsteps the minute the door closed. Jason came towards you, with a big smile and open arms. "How was your session today, Baby?" He asked, wrapping you in his strong and comforting arms. You snaked your arms around his waist and hid your face against his chest. "Was really good. My throat is sore though, I need some tea." You mumbled, letting a content sigh to be in his arms. He placed a kiss to the top of your head.

"I'll make you some, got get comfy, okay?" He said softly, stroking your hair. "Thanks, Jay," you replied, slipping from his embrace with smile. You went to put on a change of clothes. You did wear comfortable clothes to your recording sessions, but you had to dress it up at least little bit with some jewelry. It probably wouldn't be the best look to show up to work in your kitty PJs.

After having changed into said kitty PJs, you plopped down on the couch next to Jason and your cat, Nyx. She was a black stray with a white streak on her forehead. You'd picked her up from a local animal shelter, you just couldn't resist her cute little white paws that made her look like she wore socks and the fact that she matched Jason. It was supposed to be his Christmas gift one year, but you just couldn't keep her to yourself.

Although you got her for Jason, he insisted you name her, his reasoning being that she got her looks from dad so her name should be from mom. And yes, you do treat her like your child. You named her Nyx, after the greek goddess. She was the first, daughter of Chaos, night incarnate. You thought that it fit, with Jason being the protector of Gothams street at night. And in a way, you were grateful to her, to Mother Night, for holding Jason safely in her dark yet loving embrace.

"Nyxieeee!! There you are my sweet girl! I missed you SO much, yes I did," you beamed in a high pitched baby voice, scratching her face. You stole her off Jason's lap, making him huff. Taking her into your arms, you placed overly dramatic kisses on her tiny head. She didn't seem to mind, though, rubbing her cheeks against your hand and purring. Jason's face softened at the sight.

You looked so precious like this, the cat curled up in your arms as you cooed at her. You'd be a little embarrassed about your habit of talking to animals in a baby voice if Jason too, wasn't guilty of it as well. He put an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him. "You know, technically that's my cat," he said with a smirk on his face. You shot him a glare.

"Technically, you wouldn't have her without me and you asked me to be her mom. She's my child too, Jason!" You responded playfully. He threw his head back, laughing. "I guess she is, huh. Thank you for being the mother of my furrbaby." He sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "It's my absolute pleasure, baby."

You were getting sleepy, your eyes unvoluntarily fluttering shut ever so often. Nyx was curled up on your lap, peacefully snoozing away while Jason was intently watching whatever was playing on the TV. You took a sip of the tea Jason had so lovingly prepared for you. Setting the mug back down on the coffee table, your gaze shortly fell on Nyx and- wait

You had to do a double take. She had one of her small paws reached out towards Jason who was gently holding it and without paying much mind, softly stroking his thumb over it. Your heart was about to explode. Your lips were slightly parted and your eyes were wide, looking at Jason completely bewildered. He noticed your stare, turning his head towards you with furrowed brows.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He asked, the question slightly muffled by the hand that was supporting his head. "That's the cutest fucking thing I've ever seen," you mumbled, the shock pretty evident in your voice as you gestured to his huge hand that was ever so softly caressing Nyx's comparably tiny paw. His eyes softened.

"It is, isn't it? The first time she did it I was practically shaking from excitement," he laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. Your brows shot together. "What do you mean 'the first time'?! Has she done this before? AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME?!" You yelled in disbelief. How dare he keep something so precious from you.

"Sorry, Baby."

"Unbelievable."

Today was the day. The day you would pour your heart out in front of Gotham. To say you were nervous would be an understatement. The blood in your veins was at boiling point and you were seconds away from a panic attack. Fiddling with the two colorful paper rings you had made for today, you took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. This was fine. You were fine. You've literally done this hundreds of times. But would Jason like it? God, you hoped he would.

Before you could overthink more, you heard your cue through your earpiece and it was showtime.

The 'normal' part of the concert went well, you performed some of your best songs, the crowd was amazing and it was overall an incredible night. You'd talked to your fans a little on stage between songs, receiving some nice little gifts here and there. Flowers, plushies as well as a bra was thrown on stage. Well that was a first. Not that you complained, you were rather flattered, actually.

It was nice to know that you had the ladies on your side. Jason, who was watching from backstage, almost keeled over with laughter when he saw you pick up the under garment, completely bewildered. He would never let you live this down.

"Alright, Gotham," you said breathlessly, "before our lovely night comes to an unfortunate end, I have prepared a little something. Not only for you, but also for my special someone, who might or might not be here today," cheering could be heard from the audience as you fixed your earpiece and chuckled breathlessly into the microphone.

Singing and jumping around stage sure was a work out.

"This is a song I've not shared publicly, as it is from my new album, but I thought I'd make a little exception for all of you and at the same time be the best girlfriend and make the coolest birthday present ever!" You laughed. The moment you mentioned that it was a new song the crowd absolutely lost their shit. You don't think any of your concerts have ever been this loud. Your eardrums nearly burst at the sheer volume of teenage girls screaming their souls out.

"Here's Paper rings. This is for you, Jason." You said with a smile on your face. The music started playing and it's like all your worries faded away. You'd been waiting for this moment for weeks, to finally share this song and your love for Jason. As you sang the lyrics, a compilation of cute and silly pictures of you and Jason ran over the huge screen behind you. Some were of you and Jason in a face mask, others were of Jason cuddling with Nyx. You occasionally glanced over to Jason who was doing his best to hold back his tears with the biggest smile on his face. Your heart swelled at the sight.

With the last bit of music fading out, you finished the song and bowed. The picture remaining on the screen was of you and Jason kissing with a sunset in the background. A heart was drawn around it. The minute the last words left your lips, Jason was storming on stage, showering you in kisses. He held you tightly against him, peppering kisses all over your face. His actions made you giggle into the microphone and the crowd went wild. The security guards were really struggling by this point.

You grabbed Jason's hand and slipped one of the two paper rings on his finger, pulling him in for a sweet kiss. The dam broke. There were happy tears rolling down his cheeks as he continued kissing you. Managing to pull away, you addressed your fans one last time. "Thank you, and Good Night, Gotham!"

You squealed when Jason unexpectedly picked you up bridal style and whisked you off stage, your head thrown back in laughter. It was safe to say you were on the front page of the Gotham Gazette the next day.

Jason was talking his heart out on the way home, talking about how much he loved it and how much he loved you. You were listening patiently, holding his hand while a big smile was plastered on your cheeks.

Now, you found yourself in the familiar spot on the couch, Jason's arms wrapped around you with little Nyx making biscuits on your thigh. "I have one question for you, though," you said, turning your head to Jason. "What is it?" He replied softly.

"How the fuck did you not get the play on your own name?"

"Oh, shut up." He pouted, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You let out a soft laugh.

"I love you too, Baby."

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[redrandomposts]

alien stage high school(+twist) au!! ivantill

summary: there's an old ring in an antique shop, and the perfect gift for someone you like. when ivan gives it to till, he finds that he can wish for something relating to till - as long as he pays a price.

=====

it's an ordinary day. that is, ivan was going to school, ready to bother till again. he gets up early every morning, sends a text (or seven) to wake till up, then heads on his way to class.

he takes a slightly different route today. it's been seven years since till and he first hung out outside of school, and he needs to find a gift for the occasion. he's sure that till doesn't remember, but ivan does, and that has to count for something.

in the window of an antique store, he spots it. though weathered, a beautiful ring with a gemstone that reminds ivan of till's eyes sits there, waiting. he buys it without a second thought, fiddling it in his hand as he planned how to go about gifting it. it's for the best that it was anonymous. so, wrapping it in discreet packaging, he slipped it into his locker and waited for till in the classroom as he always does.

fifteen minutes later, just half a second before the bell rang, till came crashing in and claiming his spot next to ivan. in the corner of his eye, ivan watched as till fiddled with the ring. satisfied, he opened his textbook and got ready to write notes (which, of course, was for till. color-coded, neatly organized, and three or more syllable words having the definition beside it).

after that, he didnt have anymore thoughts about the ring. it was not the first gift he gave to till, and not the most expensive one either. he'd feel a slight satisfaction when he saw it on till, but other than that—nothing.

well, that was how it went until till was involved in a car crash.

ir was an otherwise ordinary day. till was most probably going to the music store for new strings or sheets, and as much as ivan would like to, he wasn't by till's side 24/7. he only heard about it when the hospital contacted him as an emergency contact (something he had done without till's knowledge) that he found out.

when he arrived, till was in a coma. he was the most peaceful ivan had seen him in a long while, and not even dreams brought a sign of life to him.

ivan pulled some strings to get till a private, vip room, make sure till's "guardian" wasn't contacted, get them both sick leave from school, and settled in the hospital for rhe foreseeable future.

till's father was out of town most of the time, only coming for urgent matters. ivan decided that he didnt need to be there.

soon, ivan came by to the school once a week to turn in work and explain to the principal that till was not waking up anytime soon.

a month passed. ivan... ivan was growing desperate. by till's bedside, he had practically made a home for himself; his laptop, notebooks, novels... if he were an artist, he'd draw till again and again until he went insane.

"till," he said. there was no response. "god...till, why won't you wake up? open your eyes, or twitch a finger. till, till... i wish you were never in that accident."

ivan fell asleep again that night by till's bedside.

when he woke up, though, it was in his own bed. he felt oddly refreshed, as though the past month were a dream. looking at the calendar, his mouth dried.

it was the day till had gotten into the crash.

was it really all a dream? ivan grasped at his phone. it was six pm, an hour after till had gotten into the accident. before he could do anything, the door opened.

"ivan, there you are. i thought you invited me over to do the project, not sleep." till stood there, alive and well. and, well, ivan decided to put the rest in the back of his mind.

he went out to the dining room, where till had set up the project. notebooks and papers were already scattered across the table, though it was obvious till hadn't worked on any of it yet.

ivan looked at till. he couldnt forget how till had lied, unmoving, on that hospital bed.

"i'll make us food," ivan decided, heading to the kitchen.

ivan had learned how to cook long ago, if only to feed till. till, for no apparent reason, had hated the food his nanny used to make, so ivan took it upon himself to learn. it took several years to perfect the art of cooking for till.

ivan set down the finished dishes in hastily cleared spots and sat next to till, eating his own share. as till wolfed down his food, ivan stared blankly at his.

was his tongue broken? why couldn't he taste it?

===

a week later, in chemistry lab, till had gotten a little too handsy. ivan sat next to him on the way to the hospital, and thus he witnessed till's absolute devestation when he learned that his hands wouldn't be able to heal the way it had before.

till had painstakingly learned the guitar, how to draw, and it would all be ruined because his hands were burned.

ivan frowned, looking down at till's bandaged hands. unbidden, he recalled the car accident, and quietly, he whispered; "i wish till's hands will heaal to a state better than before."

the next week, it was as if a medical miracle had graced till. his hands returned to it's condition, if not better. ivan looked at till's hands, unable to smell anything. it was fine, though; he'd give anything to till.

===

the next to go was his right leg. it wasn't anything that bad; ivan's newfound loss of taste and smell led him to seek food that felt nice eating. they both went to a restaurant together, where a robbery had happened whilst they were there. till was shot in the leg; naturally, ivan wished to go back so that he could take the shot instead.

unfortunately, it hit some nerve, or it was the wish's penalty. ivan was unable to use his leg again.

it was easy enough to wrap it up in a cast and walk in crutches, though.

[marvins-linguinie]

corroded coffin has gotten really popular. im talking 'a stadium full of people for a single show' popular. steve, being eddie's husband, wants to be at every one of his concerts, but can't. and the day that eddie breaks the news of his world tour to steve, a flood of emotion sweep over him. of course, he's ecstatic, because people want to see cc play!

but, he knows he won't be able to go. steve has never left hawkins, and he's afraid something will happen if he does. that's part of the reason. the other part is his job. he can't miss a lot of days, let alone however long the tour takes. he teaches kids, and he can't just stop in the middle of a year. eddie knows steve can't go, but promises to call him everyday.

eddie's flight is early in the morning. steve drives him there, and robin and nancy tag along. they don't know how long it'll be. the drive is mostly quiet, beside the cool breeze from the windows. everyone knows how sad this goodbye is going to be. it's not forever. eddie kept repeating that, hugging steve. robin and nancy weren't sure if he was trying to convince himself or steve, but they were on the verge of tears. eddie and steve share one last kiss, and he walks away with his guitar case slung over one shoulder, and his duffel bag slung over the other.

steve drives home. he's shocked by how much eddie has affected the world. he's upset. over the next year, he keeps imagining eddie playing, and the crowd cheering. imagining him running to eddie on the stage, hugging him. robin and nancy stay over sometimes. the tourism dies down in hawkins. the only reason they were there in the first place is because they wanted to see cc live. eddie knows steve doesn't go out of hawkins, so most of his shows are based there, mostly so steve can watch them. eddie follows through with his promise, calling him every night, bragging about the different foods, and how fancy the hotel is, what some of the fans gave him.

a few more months pass. steve feels numb. eddie is getting tired, and wants more than anything to be back home, with steve. one night, eddie calls steve, and he doesn't pick up. eddie goes into panic mode. he immediately calls robin, and she simply explains the time difference, and how it's 2am in hawkins. eddie's emotions take over, and he just starts to bawl. he misses the morning kisses, he misses steve's smile whenever eddie has a show, he misses not being alone in a bed. and, however nice the fan art, and the gifts may be, he misses steve. he would give anything to be in steve's arms.

turns out, cc finished all of their tour early. he couldn't get in contact with steve, to tell him that he was flying home, and figured it would be better as a surprise. once the band arrives in hawkins, eddie knows steve is at the high school. it's a friday, and around 10 am, so he's teaching a class. perfect. eddie always loved dramatic entrances, and this was an incredible opportunity for one. eddie stops at the front desk, and has to get a visitors pass. he starts walking to steve's classroom, practically bouncing with excitement.

his boots make an echo down the empty hallway, at he makes a stop in front of a door. he quietly knocks. no answer. he knocks again, this time, opening the door, cautiously. steve has his back faced toward him, writing on a chalkboard. the whole class goes silent because 'oh my god superstar eddie munson is standing in our classroom?' one student squeals, and eddie puts a finger over his mouth, getting the kids to stay quiet. as steve is explaining the homework, still faced toward the board, eddie steps closer. eddie has a goofy grin on his face, as he raises his hand. "Mr. Harrington," he says, "what's the homework again?" steve sighs and turns around, and then realizes.

"You guys call him that, right?" eddie asks. steve's mouth is open, and his eyes are glassy. the room is mostly quiet, from confusion, and trying to figure out what the hell eddie munson is doing in their classroom. steve scans eddie's body. eddie's hair is longer, even longer than it was. he's wearing new rings, but still has his wedding ring on his middle finger as he did when he left. the bell rings, and as some of the kids flow out, some ask for signatures, and eddie scribbles something down on a piece of paper for each of them. the last student walks out, admiring the gibberish on their paper. steve stands still, tears slowly running down his face.

eddie steps toward him, and steve runs to eddie, practically jumping into his arms, sobs coming from both of them. robin walks in, and gasps. eddie doesn't let go. he never wants to. steve has some stubble, and his hair has grown out. steve sinks his face deeper in eddie's shoulder. he doesn't want to let go either. god, he's missed this. that part of steve that disappeared when eddie left, is finally there. like a puzzle piece.

eddie is his puzzle piece. the one that fits perfectly into place, and connects the other pieces. he's never loved a person more. robin will always be steve's platonic soulmate, but eddie.. eddie is his not platonic soulmate. and everything is okay again. steve is okay. eddie's okay. no more empty beds, no more envisioning the other's face, no more feeling empty. no more.

[jungle-angel]

Christmas Play Chaos (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You think it's adorable that Auggie has gotten a part in the school Christmas play, but what happens when he goofs a line? Hilarity that could only make Bob blush

Bob shivered a little as he stood at the edge of the driveway, the bus finally pulling streetside to let Auggie off along with a few other kids from the Waldorf school they attended downtown.

Auggie clambered down the steps in his little Carhardt jacket, almost the same as his father's, his boots, hat, mittens and scarf covered in little dustings of snow that had begun to fall a little harder. Auggie cleared the last step as he jumped into the snow, Bob hoisting him onto his hip, backpack and all.

"Thanks Steel!" Bob called to the driver.

"Not a problem Bob!" he called before shutting the doors and pulling down the street.

"Daddy! Daddy! Miss Kay gave me a part in the Christmas play!" Auggie said excitedly, pushing his little glasses further up his nose.

"Oh she did?" Bob asked, excited by the news.

"Yeah I get to be a wise guy!" Auggie exclaimed excitedly.

Bob started laughing when he opened the front door, unable to control himself and unaware that you were in the living room trying to get the Christmas decorating done.

"What's so funny?" you asked him.

"Auggie, tell mommy what you just told me," Bob told him.

"I get to be a wise guy in the school Christmas play!" Auggie exclaimed.

You busted out laughing yourself. "Auggie honey, don't you mean a wise man?"

"Oh," Auggie said suddenly.

As soon as he had his jacket, boots and other things off and hanging up on the coat rack, Auggie bounded up the stairs like a rabbit, leaving the two of you a laughing mess.

"Oh God I'm hoping that he does ok during the Christmas play," Bob said in between his laughter.

"Bob, him and his classmates are only five," you reminded him. "The school Christmas play is the definition of Murphy's Law."

******************

You, Bob and his parents all filed into the school auditorium with Joe carrying one year old Deidre, Irene carrying three year old Patrick and Bob carefully guiding you through the crowd.

"Alright (y/n) it's showtime," Bob chuckled as the four of you sat in your seats.

You groaned a little even as the lights in the room dimmed to those of the stage. Auggie's kindergarten class got on with their performance, each one doing rather well with their parts until Auggie came out.

"I am Balthazar, wisest of the wise men," said the first little boy. "And I come bearing the gift of gold!"

"I am Melchior," said the second little boy. "And I come bearing the gift of frankincense."

"And I am Casper!" Auggie proudly declared. "And me and my friendly ghosts come bearing the gift of brrrrr."

The entire audience was roaring with laughter, most of all your husband and father-in-law. You and your mother-in-law couldn't stop laughing, even on the car ride home that night, yet you and Bob knew that years down the road, it would become one of your funniest holiday memories.

[sentientgolfball]

Need To Bleed

I couldn’t not write about this pic

18+ MDNI

Pairing: Phantom/Swiss/Cirrus

Word count: 5877

Tags: self deprecation, mentions of puking but nothing graphic, mommy kink, sub Swiss, oral

Summary: the new guy looks like he’s about ready to pass out at the end of his first tour. Swiss and Cirrus take care of him.

Phantom’s breathing comes in short and heavy as the sparks fall around him and the ghouls drag out the last notes of the song. He did it. He made it through the first leg of his very first tour. He felt like he was going to get sick or pass out or both. The lights and the roar of the crowd didn’t help either.

Once everything settled and the ghouls went backstage to return their instruments before final bows he tried to sneak away to find a quiet space to collapse in. His ears started ringing as he handed the techie his guitar.

Why was this happening? He thought Everything went perfectly. I should be happy! I should be excited! I’m gonna puke. He had to choke down the bile rising in his throat. He started to creep his way closer to the door to the outside when he felt someone pat him hard on the back.

“Where do you think you’re going? Stage is this way!” It was Swiss. Of course it was, he had been the most enthusiastic about breaking the ice and welcoming the new ghouls into the pack. That’s not to say the others didn’t like the new summons, but for most change is something that takes time to get used to. Swiss was not most, however. He was always eager to spend time with the two new ghouls trying to help them fit in and find their places. Phantom had been a bit wary of the multi-ghoul for the first few weeks once he had heard about his reputation from Aether, and even more so when he heard the pleasured cries of Aurora late one night when he couldn’t sleep.

It’s not that he didn’t want to do that sort of bonding with the others, he was nervous. Terrified is probably a better word to use. He was constantly reminded he was not Aether every time he did…really anything. He wasn’t as big as him, he had to crop the sleeves of the old uniform he was given. He wasn’t as gifted with his quintessence, it took him minutes to heal a cut Rain had gotten during rehearsal. He didn’t play the same, every time Dew had rolled his eyes at him when he messed up parts of songs in the months prior to the tour he felt another drop of his confidence evaporate.

So, he spent all of his time learning the songs by heart so he could do the one thing he was summoned to do. It also helped to keep his mind from wandering too far whenever he heard the pleasured sounds of his pack. It was just another thing he’d be compared to with Aether. He knew the others didn’t resent him for taking the older quintessence ghoul’s spot after he was asked to take charge of the abbey’s nursery, but he was terrified of disappointing them. He wanted to be just as great as his predecessor. He wanted the others to like him. And they did, but he was too clouded by self doubt to see how badly they wanted their newest packmate to stop hiding away and join them.

The first few days of the tour were rough for everybody, but a system was developed that helped everyone calm down. With the forced proximity of the tour bus, the other ghouls and Phantom started to become closer. He was also able to get over his aversion to Swiss after a heavy make out session to celebrate the first show that ended with cuddling instead of fucking. Besides Rain, Swiss had become closer with him compared to the other ghouls.

That’s why when he put his hand on Phantom’s back and spoke to him he had no shame in bursting into tears. Swiss quickly drew his hand back before gently turning him around to face him. With the helmets still on it was hard for Phantom to read his expression, but he could smell the concern radiating off of him. He opened his mouth to try to explain in any way but all that came out was a pathetic whine. Swiss just looked at him for a moment before pulling him into an embrace. He was never the best at comforting others, but it hurt seeing the little ghoul break down like this.

“Do you think you can get back out there for bows?” Swiss asked calmly. Phantom shook his head with another small whine. He was convinced that if he let go of Swiss now he’d fall over. He was about to say something to Phantom when another voice interrupted him.

“What’s takin’ so long boys? Oh…” Cirrus came up slowly behind the two. She sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose at the smell. She cautiously approached the pair and put a clawed hand on Phantom’s shoulder. “What’s wrong, sweet thing?” She kept her voice low and gentle as she spoke.

He shook his head. “‘S too much.” His voice came out in a high-pitched whine as he buried his face into Swiss’ chest.

“What’s too much, little bug?” Swiss asked.

“Everything,” He choked out

“Can you be more specific?” Cirrus asked, gently running her thumb over his shoulder.

He shook his head again with a whine. The two ghouls exchanged a look of concern and confusion before Cirrus spoke up.

“Hey, it's alright Phantom. It’s the last show for a month then we get a break. All we gotta do is our bows and then it's over. Can you do that for us?” She moved her hand from his shoulder to his head holding it gently.

He wanted to. So badly. He wanted to be proud of how far he’s come in only a few months, but he felt like he was untethered from his body.

“I don’t have to let go. I’ll carry you out there if you need me to. Me and Cir will be right there.” This was the most genuine that Phantom had ever heard Swiss sound. The soft rumble of his voice helped to ground the ghoul squished against his chest. He felt tears start to burn his eyes again, but he blinked them away and took a deep breath. He made it this far. He was going to go out there and take his final bow if it killed him. He felt secure with the support of Swiss and Cirrus. He could do it if not for himself at least for his packmates.

He detached himself from Swiss and nodded “Okay… Okay, let’s go.”

He smiled despite the mask covering his face. It was more for himself anyways. He was trying his best to muster up as much confidence that he had left in him. The other two still looked concerned, but they walked out there with him. They followed behind him in case they needed to catch him.

They arrived just in time for Dew to throw his last pick into the crowd and the others started to line up. The ghouls grabbed each other's hands and paused for a moment before taking their bows. Phantom then realized he made a mistake coming back out. He felt his knees give the second he stood back up. Swiss quickly scooped him up to make it look like a hug, and not that he was about ready to fall over.

“I got you, bug,” He whispered, holding him steady. Cirrus came around the other side of them and reached out to help Swiss. He gave her hand a squeeze. “I got him Cir, don’t worry.” There was a hint of laughter in his voice.

“I need out,” Phantom mumbled against his shoulder. Swiss nodded and led him offstage, keeping an arm around him. Cirrus quickly followed, wrapping her hand around the other side of him.

The two ghouls navigated expertly through the crowded backstage to the dressing room. They gently put him down on the worn sofa and took his helmet off before discarding their own.

Phantom laid his head back and closed his eyes trying to keep himself calm with deep breaths the way Aether showed him. His concentration was broken when he felt a hand on his arm. He slowly opened his eyes and saw Cirrus sitting in front of him with a rag. Swiss stood behind her tail flicking with worry.

“May I?” She looked at him with such adoration he felt himself be pulled closer to his body. He nodded and reached out to Swiss. The multi-ghoul eagerly complied and sat down next to him, careful to not touch him anywhere as to not make the overstimulation worse. Phantom, however, practically threw himself onto Swiss the moment he sat. He felt grounded by the warmth of his body and the scent of him. Once he was settled Cirrus took the rag and started to gently clean the show makeup off his face.

“I’m so proud of you for finishing the show, sweet thing,” She whispered as she ran the warm cloth over his face. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be brought back down by Cirrus’ words and the feeling of Swiss all around him. He let out a small trill as praise fell from both of their lips. After Cirrus had cleaned him, he let Swiss help him into a more comfortable outfit.

He had no idea how long they all had been in the dressing room or when they left the venue. He didn’t really come back to himself until he was told they were home. The entire ride back to the Ministry was a complete blur to him. He might’ve fallen asleep, but he wasn’t even sure about that. He blinked slowly and raised his head off of Swiss’ shoulder looking around in confusion. Cirrus laughed softly from beside him.

“You passed out the moment we stepped foot onto the bus,” She explained.

“You also drooled all over me,” Swiss teased.

“I…sorry about that, but also thank you. Both of you,” He looked at his packmates with affection, feeling a purr kick up in his chest.

“Don’t thank us yet. We still have to get you back to the den without breaking you, or Aether will kill us,” Swiss said as he started to untangle himself from Phantom and Cirrus.

Phantom stood and stretched himself with a few loud cracks that earned a shudder and a groan from Rain as he passed by.

“You gonna be able to make it back to your room okay?” Swiss asked carefully, watching him move about.

“Yeah,” He smiled, “I think I’m feeling better.”

He took a step forward towards the door of the bus and his vision went hazy. “Uh-oh,” was all he could say before he felt himself stumble backwards. Cirrus quickly caught him before he fell.

“Yeah, you’re better alright,” She said with a laugh as she hoisted him up.

“Okay, so maybe I’m not as stable as I thought.”

There was a hint of amusement in his voice. The slight wag of his tail showed that he was feeling better than before, however. Swiss cracked a wide smile as he walked over to Phantom and Cirrus before bending down and scooping him into his arms. He let out a gasp as Swiss threw him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing.

“Come on bug, let's get off this smelly bus.”

He carried Phantom to the ghoul den while Cirrus carried all of their luggage. The rest of the pack had already settled back in lounging around in the common area. They all turned to look at the three as they entered, but Swiss paid them no mind. He just kept walking past them heading straight to Phantom’s room with Cirrus following close behind. The other ghouls laughed, and shouted congratulations to him for somehow managing to get both Cirrus and Swiss into his bedroom. Cirrus just rolled her eyes at them as she closed the door behind her.

Once inside Swiss carefully laid Phantom onto his bed and curled next to him with a soft purr. He looked at Cirrus with a smile and shifted around to make room for her. She wrapped herself around the other side of Phantom allowing him to rest his head on her chest. The two twined their tails together and let them rest on his lap. He sighed deeply and melted into the feeling of the bodies pressed close to him.

“You guys don’t have to watch over me like a sick kit, ya know,” He said, speaking flatly with no malice in his voice. He felt bad for the care he was receiving, like he was more of a burden than an equal. His body betrayed him though and the other ghouls could sense it. He wanted nothing more than to continue to have his packmates close to him. That was obvious from the way his tail hadn’t stopped wagging since Swiss picked him up.

“We know,” Cirrus began, “But we want to. Let us take care of you, sweet thing.”

She began to gently scratch at his scalp with her claws. He immediately leaned into the touch. He could try to deflect all night, but he had no more excuses left in him. So, he stayed silent apart from a soft purr and let the two bigger ghouls dote on him.

After some time, the peaceful silence was broken. The muffled sounds of furniture scraping against the floor and moans drifted in from the common area. Phantom’s eyes snapped open and looked between Swiss and Cirrus whose ears were perked at the noises.

His ears dropped as he sighed, “You two should go celebrate with the others. I appreciate what you did for me, but I’m actually feeling better this time.”

They both looked down at him with soft eyes.

“Why don’t you join us, little bug?”

It was both an offer and a genuine question. Phantom bit his lip trying to think of an excuse that wouldn’t make the two ghouls worry even more. When he took too long to answer, Cirrus gently turned his head to make him look at her

“We’re not leaving unless you really want us to, but that’s not what you want, is it?” Her voice was low and silky when she spoke. She was right. Phantom didn’t want them to leave, he wanted them to stay right there with him. He wanted both of them. He wouldn’t admit that though, he couldn’t. He was convinced he would be a disappointment to both of them, or any of the other ghouls for that matter.

“Tell us what’s wrong, sweet thing,” Her voice was still soft, but firm. A command, not a request. She still held his chin in her hand.

He closed his eyes with a whine and huffed, “I’m not Aether.”

Cirrus’ eyes flicked to meet Swiss’ before looking back at him

“Of course you’re not Aether.”

“That’s the problem. I’m nothing like him. I’m not stupid. I know you’d all rather have him here.”

“We don’t expect you to be him, sweetness,” She moved her hand from his chin to hold his cheek, “We miss him, of course, but it’s also exciting having you here. We want you to be a part of this pack in your own way.”

“You’re definitely not like him, but that’s a good thing” Swiss spoke as he pulled Phantom closer to him, “You’re a hell of a better kisser.”

He laughed as Cirrus smacked him over the head.

“Really?” Phantom’s voice was quiet when he spoke. The comment brought a blush to his face and made his stomach flip. The two bigger ghouls exchanged a look and a grin before turning their attention back to Phantom. They could smell the arousal on him. Cirrus trailed her fingers down from his hair back to his chin making him look at her again. The feeling brought a shiver through him.

“So that’s what this is about. You just wanna be good for us, huh?” She grinned when Phantom nodded his head with a desperate whine.

“What was that, little bug? I didn’t quite catch that,” Swiss started to slowly drag his claws down his back to rest at his hips. He growled in satisfaction at the scent of Phantom’s arousal getting stronger.

“Yes I do… I just wanna be good. I don’t wanna disappoint any of you.”

The confession came out of his mouth so easily. The desperation in his voice made Swiss’ cock kick in his sweats. Cirrus hummed in response pulling his face closer to hers so they were only a breath apart

“Then show us,” She whispered before closing the distance.

He melted into the kiss with a pathetic whine. She bit down lightly at his bottom lip making him gasp. With his lips parted she snaked her tongue into his mouth and pressed against his. He brought a shaky hand to the back of her head, more to ground himself than anything. He felt Swiss shift beside him and let out a groan that was swallowed by Cirrus when he felt how hard the multi-ghoul already was just from watching the two.

Without breaking the kiss Cirrus hooked a leg around Phantom and moved to straddle him. She smiled with a huff when she felt his dick straining against the fabric of his lounge shorts. She tilted her head to adjust the angle to allow her to practically shove her tongue down his throat. She licked around the inside of his mouth with expertise learning the taste of him. When she was satisfied, she slowly pulled back, letting her tongue drag on his before she leaned all the way back to look at him. She used her thumb to swipe the bit of drool that collected on his lips. He whined at the loss of contact as he looked up at her with big eyes.

She shushed him as she slowly dragged her claws down his torso and under his shirt. His breath hitched when he felt her lift his shirt at a leisurely pace. He involuntarily started to thrust up against her, searching for any type of relief. She clicked her tongue and removed her hands from his body.

“Patience is a virtue pet. All good things come to those who wait. You wanna feel good, don’t you?”

He nodded his head with pleas dripping from his lips, “I’ll be good for you. Please just keep touching me. Please.”

Swiss was the one to oblige him. He picked up where Cirrus left off, dragging his claws to his chest before rolling a nipple between his fingers.

“Come on Cir, listen to him beg. Give him what he wants.”

Cirrus hissed and smacked his hand away with her tail.

“Down boy. You’ll get your turn with him when I say so.” Her voice turned stern when speaking to Swiss. She didn’t even look at him when she spoke. He growled in response but didn’t dare to disobey her. She then turned her full attention back to Phantom.

“Do you want me to continue?” Her voice was thick and sweet.

He nodded eagerly. He had to force himself to stay still under her as she took his shirt all the way off with a feather light touch.

“Will you do as I say?” Her hands were resting on her thighs as she waited for his response

“Yes– fuck– yes, I’ll do anything you want,” His voice was shaky as he spoke.

“Yes what?”

“Yes mommy.”

Cirrus let out an amused trill.

“Not what I expected, but I can work with that,” She smiled down at him as she rolled her hips forward over his clothed cock. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he let out a groan. She did this a few more times before turning to Swiss who was currently palming himself through his sweats.

“Don’t you think it’s a little unfair he’s the only one half naked?” She mused.

The multi-ghoul immediately understood what she was implying. He sat up and started to take Cirrus’ top off for her. He went slow with her bra, making a show of it as Phantom stared with blown out pupils and his mouth slightly open. When her bra was off, he couldn’t help but cup one into his hand with a squeeze. She grabbed Swiss’ wrist with force.

“That's twice. Break the rules again and I’ll have to tie your hands behind your back,” She smiled menacingly at him, “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you whore? Go play with yourself until you’re needed.”

He flicked his tail in faux annoyance. He was grateful she was even allowing him to touch himself, he knew she could be worse to him and he didn’t want to test that. Not yet at least. Not before Phantom was taken care of. He slid his sweats off and shoved his hand into his boxers as he watched Cirrus grab Phantom’s hands and put them on her chest.

He greedily squeezed her breasts before rolling both her nipples between his fingers. A wide smile plastered his face when he heard her breathe out a soft moan. She gently guided his hands from her tits down her torso to the tie on her pajama shorts.

“Take them off,” She softly encouraged him. Despite how badly his hands were shaking, he made quick work of the knot and started to slide them down her hips. She raised up to help him get them off of herself. Before setting back down, she hovered her hands over Phantom’s shorts tracing a finger around the waistband, silently asking permission to remove them.

“Please,” Was all he could manage to choke out.

She bit her lip with a smile as she took both his shorts and boxers off. He shuddered at the feeling of the cold air against his flushed dick. Swiss groaned from his spot on the bed at the sight. Phantom looked over and saw that he had taken himself all the way out, squeezing the head of his cock as he watched Cirrus slowly wrap her fingers around Phantom. He gasped and threw his head back into the pillow. His hips bucked slightly as she dragged her claw tips from the base to the head, before she swiped her fingers over the slit to gather the precum that was pooling. She hummed as she rubbed it between her fingers, spreading it over his whole dick.

Phantom was breathing heavily as he focused on not thrusting up and fucking into Cirrus’ hand. She squeezed at the base before running her hand up and down the shaft slowly at first, tracing a vein on the underside of his dick. His whimpers turned to moans when she started a faster pace. His tail started to twitch involuntarily as he began rhythmically rocking into Cirrus’ fist. Pre was leaking down his dick and over her hand as she continued to stroke him from root to tip.

“Mommy, please, I’m gonna—“ He was cut short by Cirrus completely letting go of him. His head snapped up to look at her with desperate confusion.

“Aw, come on, be nice to the new guy, Cir,” Swiss huffed with his hand wrapped around his dick.

She just laughed lightly at both of them, “Can’t train a new pet by giving it what it wants all the time.”

She looked at Phantom waiting to see what he’d do. He started to reach towards himself to finish the job, but she stopped him with a tsk.

“Not that… Try again sweet thing.” He paused for a moment before bringing his hands to her hips grabbing the waistband of her underwear. She gave a trill of approval and once again lifted herself off of him so he could take them off of her. She gently sat herself on his thighs once her underwear was tossed to the side. Phantom groaned at the feeling of her wet cunt against him.

“Tell me what you want, pet,.” She rolled her hips.

“I— fuck– make me cum please. I want to. I need to.”

His head was thrown back into the pillow trying to focus on anything else besides his throbbing dick.

She laughed, “I know you want that pet, try again. What else do you want?”

She continued to roll her hips over his thigh. He bit his lip trying to think.

“Close. I want you close,” He whined out. She seemed pleased with this answer stopping the roll of her hips.

“Sit up then,” She whispered.

He quickly obliged, sitting up to rest against the pillows and the headboard. Cirrus turned herself around and leaned back against his chest and reached down to guide his cock to her slit. The weight on the bed shifted when Swiss sat up to watch with hungry eyes as Phantom slowly went inside her inch by inch. She took him slowly, giving her body the chance to stretch and get comfortable with the feeling of him inside her, before she started to rock her hips. Phantom’s hands immediately gripped her hips with a bit more force than he intended as she lazily rode him.

She looked over at Swiss, noticing he was about to cum all over himself, and huffed a laugh.

“Get over here and make yourself useful.”

She used her tail to spread Phantom’s legs further apart to emphasize her request. He quickly let go of his dick and positioned himself in between the pair’s legs. Phantom tried to peek around Cirrus to see what she intended Swiss to do.

The multi-ghoul ran his hands over Phantom’s thighs before he heard a hiss from Cirrus, “I didn’t say you could use your hands now did I? You wanted to touch so badly without permission, this is what you get.”

And there it was. Of course she wouldn’t actually tie his hands around his back for breaking the rules, it would only add to Swiss’ pleasure. No, she had to find a way to break him instead.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Her tail darted forward and wrapped around the base of his dick just a bit too tightly causing him to let out a mix of a gasp and a moan, “You can only cum once both of us have finished. Better get to it.”

She smiled cruelly down at him as she started to rock her hips again on Phantom’s dick.

“Swiss fuck please. I need to cum.” He whined when he realized he wouldn’t be getting anything else from Cirrus at the moment. “Aw come on listen to him beg” she mimicked Swiss “give him what he wants.” She emphasized her words by squeezing her tail tighter around Swiss’ dick. He groaned before he put his hands behind his back and bent down so he was between the pair of legs. He held eye contact with Cirrus as he licked a trail from the base of Phantom’s cock to where the two were connected before circling around her clit. Phantom cried out at the feeling and bucked up into Cirrus causing Swiss’ nose and tongue to be dragged down her cunt. She bit her lip to stifle a moan as she laid her head back to rest on Phantom’s shoulder.

Swiss continued to circle his tongue around her clit before taking it between his lips. Phantom's hands reached forward wrapping his hands around Swiss’ horns and gently started to scratch at the base. He moaned against Cirrus’ cunt at the feeling, pulling a groan from the other two ghouls as his voice vibrated around them. He started to rut into the mattress trying to find stimulation, but it was a herculean task with how tight Cirrus’ tail was around his dick. He was only spurred by his own desire at this point. He licked at her clit again before trailing his tongue down to where the two ghouls were attached. He feverishly flicked his tongue between Cirrus’ cunt and the base of Phantom’s dick, moaning loudly when he felt the grip on his horns tighten. He could tell Phantom was getting close by the way his moans turned into soft whines and pleas. Being so desperate for his own release, Swiss trailed his tongue down lower and licked at Phantom’s balls. That combined with the way Cirrus was still lazily rolling around him sent the quintessence ghoul over the edge with a lascivious moan. His cock kicked inside of her as his orgasm crashed into him. Swiss quickly trailed his tongue back to where the two ghouls were connected and licked at where his cum was spilling out of her.

Swiss dragged his tongue around her folds before circling around her clit once more. He continued to suck and lick at it while Phantom rocked deeper into her pressing kisses of gratitude into her neck. She couldn’t stifle her moans at the feeling of the two working in unison in an attempt to satisfy her. She snaked a hand around the back of Phantom’s head and held him close to her. Her thighs squeezed around Swiss’ head as she came around Phantom who was still buried inside of her. Swiss continued to roll his tongue over her clit to drag her orgasm out.

When her thighs stopped shaking she slowly released her tail from Swiss’ dick and pulled him to look at her by the chin. He grinned and licked her slick off his face. She peeled herself off of Phantom and bit her lip at the feeling of his cum dripping out of her when she stood. He watched it slide down her leg with hazy eyes. His head was too fuzzy with pleasure to even fully comprehend that it was his.

She gently cupped Phantom’s face in his hand and gave him a chaste kiss. “Be a good boy and take care of him while I get cleaned up, okay?” She didn’t wait for a response as she bent to gather her discarded clothes and headed to the bathroom right outside of Phantom’s room. He wasted no time crawling over to Swiss. He looked at him with blown out eyes waiting for him to tell him what to do. Swiss ran a finger over his lips tugging slightly at them. That’s all Phantom needed. He pushed his lips against the head of his dick letting it slip into his mouth. He hollowed out his cheeks when he felt Swiss grab a fistful of hair, letting him use the other to satisfy himself. Phantom pressed his tongue to the bottom of his dick as Swiss used the grip he had to make him bob his head. “Shit just like that little bug.” He hissed when he felt Phantom cup his balls, mimicking what Swiss had done earlier for him. He pushed him down until he gagged. The muscles contracting around Swiss threw him over the edge. He shot his load against the back of Phantom’s throat as a mix of curses and praises tumbled from his lips. He tried to swallow as much as he could, but he couldn’t breathe anymore. He pulled off Swiss quickly with an obscene pop and started coughing. The multi-ghoul gave him a few firm pats on the back with an affectionate laugh.

When he finally stopped coughing Swiss swiped his thumb over his cheek catching the tears that had fallen when he choked. He got up and dug through Phantom’s stuff before he pulled out a small towel from his dresser. He used it to clean both of them off before tossing it into the laundry basket. Phantom was still too hazy to protest or help with the clean up, but Swiss didn’t mind. He just carefully helped Phantom back into his clothes for a second time that night and pulled him tight against his chest once he laid back down on the bed. He peppered the quintessence ghoul with kisses muttering praises in between.

The two ghouls looked up when they heard the door open. Phantom’s face lit up seeing how Cirrus looked at them in adoration.

She walked over to the bed and curled in next to them giving both of them a kiss “So good for me, both of you.” She wrapped an arm around Phantom’s waist and tangled her tail with Swiss’. The little ghoul started to feel the weight of the day catch up to him again, but this time he didn’t feel like he was going to fall into the void. He felt safe and content with the feeling of his packmates around him along with the sound of their purrs. He was about ready to drift to sleep when he heard Swiss break the peaceful silence

“So…was that your first blowjob? Hey!” Cirrus smacked him over the head the moment the question came out.

“Damn it Swiss have a little bit of shame…but was it?”

Phantom’s face flushed a deep shade of purple, his eyes open wide. He tried to stammer out a response, but the longer the question hung in the air the more embarrassed he got. He groaned and covered his face with his hands when the other two started to laugh at his reaction.

“That’s all I needed to know” Swiss smiled and planted a loving kiss on the side of his head “next time I’ll give you a better demonstration.” He couldn’t help the way his tail wagged at the idea of a next time. He wasn’t a disappointment to them, and for once he didn’t feel like he was being compared to Aether. Cirrus pulled him closer with a soft hum and whispered her goodnight against his ear before closing her eyes. It wasn’t long before the other two followed suit, sleeping peacefully through the rest of the night.

The next morning Phantom walked into the kitchen area of the ghoul den only to be met with a smug looking Dewdrop. Part of him considered turning right back around and burying himself back into the cuddle pile. The other part of him was curious to see what Dew had to say to him. So, he stood there in the doorway waiting for him to speak.

Dew just smiled, took a long sip of his coffee and walked past him but not before patting him on the shoulder.

“Oh one thing” he turned back towards Phantom “next time there’s a fucking party, don’t hog the two best ghouls.” He then left the kitchen with a laugh as Phantom stared at him slack jawed floundering to come up with some type of response. He sighed and gave up when Dew was out of sight turning back towards the kitchen. It was then that he saw Rain sitting at the table sipping from a mug.

He jumped, “How long have you been there!”

“Long enough” he smiled “glad to see you’re starting to get along with the others. ”

Phantom paused for a moment processing the words before smiling back at Rain. He was right. The other ghouls had been patient with him, and now he finally started to feel like he was a real member of the pack. He couldn’t wait to spend more time getting to know them.

[awingedinsect]

-Flood me like Atlantic-

Chapter 10

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: cursing, alcohol use, Vessel is that bitch. Minor character death

“What do you think of my gift?”

Vessel head is bowed. He can feel the mark on his forehead flickering, burning; carving his flesh over and over.

“It’s beautiful.” He says.

He can feel the earth beneath his knees. What was once a blank plane is now something rich and almost real, a dark forest that creeks and twists with ancient power. It’s serene.

There’s a black cloak on his shoulders, the hood draped over his head. Another gift.

He looks up slowly, eyes scanning the trees as they whisper to him.

“Do you have a form?” He asks, hands clamped to his knees. “Can I see you?”

There’s a silence.

“I am something beyond sight.” The forest says. “I am a force, a saturation of thought. Any form I take does no justice to my entirety, nor any name, to what I am. Though to you, I am something you have needed since first you opened your eyes.”

Vessel feels something cold along his spine, slithering over his skin and dragging delicately like a mothers touch.

“…I believe you know my name.”

“Sleep.” Vessel whispers.

There’s a weight over his face. It turns his vision to slits as he looks up, feeling the touch drag along his shoulders and to his chest. His breath grows deeper as he feels his chin tilt up. “I am the author of your dreams. And you are the catalyst of my hunger. Worship.”

His lips part slowly, watching as his colorless surroundings seep fog into the little clearing until it rises up past his eyes. There’s a form in the haze; a singular bit of color that splits into six pieces that slowly gather before him.

Six glowing slanted eyes bore into him.

“Be my voice.”

When he looks down, he sees his arms covered in ash. His hands tremor and climb up over himself, admiring the palette of the trees as it bathes his skin.

“Does it please you to dress me like your home?” He asks. “…Why do I have a new face?”

“This place is what you make it, not me.” The eyes say, trailing over Vessel’s body. “The mask, is a sacrament of your surrender. You don’t need a face, only a mouth. And what is not necessary is not shown. Did you ask them to wear the masks?”

“…yes.”

“Is it almost time?”

“…yes.”

“Then stand, Vessel.” The trees twist and spread into four corners around him, the canopies spreading black and consuming above. He gets to his feet, setting the empty glass he finds in his hand on a table.

“Give your voice to me.”

He walks through the wooden door and opens it into a hallway, feeling the lights and the fog and the crowd all beckoning him. His cloak flows behind him and he reaches up, adjusting the mask one last time before mounting the stairs.

Worship. He thinks, unsure of what it truly means.

Worship.

He steps over wires, brain sloshing a bit more than it ought to be. But he’s truly not sure he could have gotten on stage at all without a bit of liquid courage. II is there, behind the drums. IV stands quiet and still with his guitar, arm free of the sling just for the occasion; it’s obvious how happy he is to be reunited with his instrument.

Vessel’s eyes move to III, dragging over him slowly as he makes his way across the stage. He didn’t talk much before the show, which was probably for the better anyway, if not a little concerning. He had hardly protested when the idea of the masks came up; something Vessel did not expect. Although if only one of them hid their face it might seem a little strange to the hundred or so people gathered in this tent to witness a mostly unknown band with a completely unknown name.

He wanders to the mic stand.

There’s a lot of eyes. More eyes than he had on him the first time. He’s safer this time, for sure; the paint, the mask, the hood… these things come together in a concoction free of normalcy and full of interest that has practically nothing to do with who he actually is beneath. All they want is a show, not him. But even with that thought he can’t look up.

There is a single pair of eyes he wants on him tonight and it’s not in the bloody crowd.

He pulls the mic of the stand and wanders off, trailing the chord head bowed. Can they tell he’s nervous? He prowls slowly as the music starts, looking down at himself bathed in the pale lights. The paint is honestly half-assed; splotchy and missing a whole few centimeters between his jeans and hips, displaying a glaring reminder of how rarely he sees the sun.

Whatever.

He picks up a water bottle and takes a small sip, before twisting the cap back on and just dropping it on the stage floor. He can practically hear III’s anger, and he can’t help but smile a little.

His lips hover over the mic, parting slowly.

“And I’ll see you when the wrath comes…”

“Do you have any songs you wanna add to the set, Vess?” II had asked. He sat with a pad and pencil on the couch. “That song you played at the bar, maybe?”

“Knocking on your bedroom door with money…”

“…actually, I’ve kinda been writing a new one.” He said, fingers twitching at his sides. “…I was gonna run it by you guys at practice, see what you think.”

“Building you a kingdom…” Vessel’s voice is low. Breathy. It draws a few screams from the crowd, something that does nothing to put out the fire simmering in his chest. God, it’s so much easier. He’s just a mouth, and they're just ears. And whether he understands it or not there’s a god who approves of that arrangement enough to make him promises he can’t begin to understand.

He glances at III, heart lurching when he sees the bassist strumming intently to his words.

“Dripping from the open mouth. I’ll show you what you look like…”

Both hand graze the mic, caressing the chord like his heart isn’t beating at twice its usual pace. “…from the inside.”

He steps up to the front of the stage, now casting a brief glance at all the sets of cold eyes now warming up as they watch him. It’s euphoric. Interesting. And it’s enough to make his back sticky with sweat.

“And I’ll see you when the wrath comes around.”

When the breakdown hits him, he can’t help but move. The sound erupts in the little tent like a call to a whole new plane of being and he closes his eyes, jumping side to side on the stage as the crowd reaches and roars for that plane. That Eden. His bandmates don’t hold back either, pouring their hearts through their fingers and giving everything they have to offer. And when he sees III actually kicking the air to the beat his face splits with a glistening smile.

He loves this.

Suddenly his head flares with a shooting pain. He doubles over, hands reaching up with the mic still trembling in his hold. He gasps and scrunches his eyes as a thought loud enough to terrify him seeps through the cracks of his skull;

“Don’t be driven to distraction. I will build you a kingdom, so long as you know to who you belong.”

His chin wobbles, a line of spit falling from his glossy lips. “Let’s load the gun.” He whispers below the music. “Load the gun…”

A wicked laugh falls out of his mouth as he straightens, forcing the pain deeper and raising his hands in the air. He ignores the wet tracks making their way down his face. He just smiles and bows his head, feeling the music flood his fucking form.

He floats on the brief silence as the song closes, chest heaving. It’s an intense quiet. Like a grave, at the bottom of the sea.

Then noise thunders into his ears like breaking waves.

They’re ecstatic; screaming and clapping and demanding more, maybe more moved than he is. He can’t believe it. Do they really like him- the music, that much?

He suddenly feels very awkward, aware of how lost he’d gotten and how insane he must have looked. He just stands there, stiff and still with a mic in his hands.

He gives them a little nod of thanks and retreats back as the next song starts up; one of II’s own.

• • •

Vessel’s still in his costume.

He feels a little silly, standing around in almost plain sight behind the tent. Although he’s sure that a lanky guy in paint and a mask isn’t necessarily the strangest nor most exciting thing to see at this festival.

He sits on the rigging, swinging his socked feet and looking up at the sky as dusk sets in over the chaos. He likes being secluded.

He takes a sip of his beer.

“That was insane.” IV says, pulling his mask off and leaning back against the structure. He drops his head back, swiping his face with his still-weak arm propped up on his guitar, and pops the cap off his own beer with a keychain. “God, I’m tired.” He says, taking a swig. “You?”

“…where’s III?” Vessel asks, voice a little quiet. He’s pretty drained after all that, body quite literally dripping with sweat. IV shrugs. “Off getting lit, most likely.” He says. “There’s plenty more shows to watch before the nights over, and he’ll probably be in as many pits as possible.”

“…and II?”

“Meeting up with some friends, I think.” IV rolls his head over, lashes flickering up at Vessel as he takes another sip of his drink. “What are you wanting to do, Vess?”

Before he can answer, II comes around the tent with a much taller man in tow. Vessel straightens, clearing his throat and blinking behind the mask. He wasn’t expecting company.

“Vessel! I want you to meet someone.” II says, pulling the guy by the arm. He’s a brunette, with soft features and a flushed, smiling face. He’s probably hit up a few drink stands himself tonight.

“Matt, Vessel.” II says, dropping the stranger in front of him. “Vessel, Matt.”

“Nice to meet you,” Vessel says, considering offering his hand but opting to just clutch his beer awkwardly between his knees. “Drummer, right?”

“Likewise!” Matthew says, still smiling wide as he shoves his hands in his jean pockets. “And yep, that’s me. Listen, man, I managed to watch your set- that was fuckin brilliant. Brilliant.” His eyes suddenly flick up and down Vessel’s body, smile quirking thoughtfully. “I like your style.”

If it weren’t for the mask, Vessel’s pretty sure his blush would be record breaking. But he just sits there instead, nodding and tugging his mouth into an award straight line of an expression that says “thanks” in the most casual way he can muster.

He fails a bit.

“What’dya think of the new name, Matt?” II asks, stealing the beer from IV’s hand and taking a long sip. “Does it suit us?”

“no man, it’s sick.” Matt says, turning to his friend, though his eyes are always just a fraction away from Vessel. “Though honestly, can’t believe you changed it! But ‘Sleep Token’ has a hell of a ring.”

IV snags his drink back from II. “Well, we didn’t exactly want to go down as the band that played before the damn crisis of the year happened.” He says. “Besides, it was time for a new vibe. Vessel actually came up with it.”

At the mention of the Blacklit room, Vessel’s body tenses. But he’s quickly distracted once more as Matt turns to him, grinning. “Oh really? What was the inspiration, then? Or does it just sound cool.”

“Um, both… I guess.” He smiles. “I mean, We all need Sleep, right?”

They all laugh a little good naturally, eyes gleaming as the dark sets in.

“Well,” Matt says, rifling through his back pocket and producing a pen and napkin. He starts scribbling it, eyes drifting to Vessel midway with a small smile. “If you ever wanna tell me more about it.”

He sets the napkin down on the rigging besides Vessel, casually dropping his pen back in his pocket.

Vessel swears he catches a wink before Matt turns back to II.

“Man, your percussions were wild. What was the name of that second song? Halfway through I swear…”

Vessel stops listening, eyes flicking down to the napkin as his fingers curl around it. There’s a little flutter in his chest, a smile fast growing on his lips as he unfolds it just enough to see the beginning of an area code.

He shoves it into his pocket, eyes twinkling under the mask and turning to IV.

IV takes a sip of his beer and offers him a small thumbs-up.

That night they all crash immediately. II, IV and of course III. After about twenty minutes of searching they managed to find the bassist in a mosh pit, screaming and shoving every person in sight until the whole thing nearly required security. He was wasted, and fell asleep against the backseat window with II on his shoulder as IV navigated them through traffic. Vessel sat shotgun, blinking away the alcohol with his hands in his lap, mask, robe and paint getting second-looks from other cars.

He thought he looked sick.

The next day they did nothing but practice until 5:00pm, when II suggested they all go get sandwiches. They did. And when they got home, the sun was already setting.

They all got ready for an early night.

“Anyone wanna watch some tv?” II asks, wandering out of his room in an oversized shirt and boxers. III is already digging through the fridge again, and II ducks under his arm, pulling out a beer before disappearing in the living room.

Vessel is leaning against the kitchen counter, a yawn trapped in his mouth while IV downs a glass of water before filling it up a second time for the singer.

“I’m good,” Vessel says after II, checking the clock on the wall. He nods his thanks at IV and sips the glass he’s handed. “I’m fuckin beat. Guess I didn’t sleep all that great last night.”

III is hauling a half-eaten banana pudding into his room, not bothering to say anything at all as he retires for the night.

IV looks at Vessel.

“You know, you do look off.” He says. “You feeling alright, bruv? …I heard you get sick last night.”

“What?” Vessel rubs his eyes. “Me? I…“

A horrified scream suddenly fills the house, turning his blood to ice.

“What the fuck-!“ III speeds out of his room, charging down the hallway to get into the living room where Vessel and IV have already gathered.

They find II on the couch, jaw dropped and wide eyes filled with the reflection of the tv.

“…found dead early this morning, in an abandoned home three blocks from his apartment.”

Vessel covers his mouth, a choked sound leaving him as he sees the face on the screen.

No way.

III and IV are already holding II, trying to quiet his cries. But Vessel feels empty. Devoid of reaction or even the ability to move.

“The man has been identified as Matthew Todd, a 22 year old college student.”

Tags: @thevenomousseprent @moonlit-valkyrie @mmendez0124 @yourviscera @rain-down-on-me @xzero01

[aliypop]

Don't Fly Away

Word Count: 1,722

Writers Note: So for anyone asking yes I saw Elvis Presley's ghost during our shared birthday Weekend and yes his ghost kept doing things to alert me that he knew I saw hi

Warning: None

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Plot: When the gates of Graceland have closed for the night, Anya takes it upon herself to sneak back in and finds a birthday surprise she didn't expect

Taglist

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

@leapresley

@everythingelvispresley

@dreamondina94

@elvismylove04

@pocketfulofpresley

January 7th, 8:00pm

It was last the meditation garden walk up for the night, when Anya had gotten the idea, nothing too silly, but something that would've been hard to do, sneak into Graceland. Of course, earlier that day, she had taken the UVIP tour of the house and felt a strange feeling. But she didn't think much of it until that night. She'd wait for everyone to pass through the garden again to talk to Elvis as she did earlier, although if you asked her, Anya talked to Elvis every day. "El... Once again, happy birthday, even though today is my birthday, and I'm sorry I didn't get you anything, but then again, neither did you." She laughed, "I guess we're each other's gifts, so... ta-da!" She said, knowing she was crazy if Elvis even did respond, but then again, she did see him in Tupelo. As everyone cleared out, the security guards began to politely tell the guest to leave the premises of his home, which everyone did, 

"Alright, everyone, another surveillance of the house, and everyone's good to go..." 

"Man, I don't wanna go in there..."

"Whys that?"

"You don't hear the footsteps upstairs..." One guard said as Anya hid behind a tree by the pool. 

"Alright, goodnight?"

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Presley." One guard joked,

"Yeah, like he can hear you..."

"He moved my cup yesterday!" 

"Yeah, right..." The door then closed, and for a moment, the house was silent. Christmas decorations all glow as the red curtains complimented the white and mirror interior of the living room and piano room, 

"Thank God... They're gone," a familiar voice said as he began to hum. He was wearing the Aztec medallion jumpsuit and his sunglasses as he came down the steps. He looked majestic and lonely and, 

"Hey, Honey, we're closed," He bent down to the girl's level as she looked in shock,

 "I-I really did see you..." She gulped, 

"Whadya mean saw me? " Elvis asked,

"In Tupelo, you were leaning on a tree by your statue... January 5th." 

"Yeah... I do that sometimes to uh clear my head," He laughed, gesturing his hand out to hers. She had a scared expression on her face as he smiled, "Sweetie, I should be more scared of you. Than you of me..." Anya took his hand as she felt it feel like flesh. He didn't feel cold, but he didn't feel all that alive either. "Say, weren't you the one who asked what I was watchin in the TV Room?" He asked as she nodded. She was flabbergasted at the moment, 

"Yes, I-I did..." 

"Well, I would've told ya, but you left." He laughed as he began to play piano. Elvis patted a seat next to him, 

"I don't bite, honey," He joked as he looked down at his appearance. He looked over at his hands and then the jumpsuit as he sighed. He didn't much enjoy the fact he was in his last stage of life, so he decided why not something better, something more lively. Anya was looking around the piano room as she took pictures,

 "You can get comfortable if you'd like." He smiled, wearing his red velvet shirt and some slacks with his black and white loafers. Taking her coat off, Anya was wearing a 1956 pink sweater with black pedal pushers and her black and white oxfords. Elvis couldn't help but notice.

"You dressed like that for me..." he mumbled as she turned to face him, her heart pounding.

"Been awhile since I've been twenty-three, suddenly I've got energy and- sweetheart. You're blushin." He winked at her, trying to get her to open up a bit more,

"I..." She coughed, "I... Are you flirting with me?" She asked as he nodded, "Might be..." He laughed as she physically swooned, "I still got it..." He mumbled, "Like you got my pink Sharpie..." She mumbled as Elvis laughed, 

"I like pink..." He mumbled,

"So do I." She chuckled, sitting next to him, a smile on his face. His fingers tinkered on the keys as she grinned, "So I gotta ask, did you come here with anyone special..."

"Came by myself, figured why not spend my birthday with you. You know." She mentioned as Elvis blushed, "When's your birthday?"

"Today..."

"Today, why let me make ya a cake or somethin!" He jolted up as he took her hand and ran to the kitchen, 

"El... you don't cook?" She laughed as he felt the space where his heart should be tightened, "You're right..." He laughed, 

"Well, you like to talk?"

"Sure, whaddya wanna talk about?" 

10:30 PM

"So then he tried to pretend to be you, which I said he could never be you because Elvis would never!" She laughed at the two hanging upside down on the couch, "I know... You told me about it." He began to smile again as she chuckled. Their faces were close, a blush creeping on their cheeks. Elvis began to lean in until they heard footsteps coming from the attic. 

"Booby, who on Earth are you talkin, too!" Elvis and Anya got up as she saw who it was, "A friend, mama..." He smiled as Gladys looked at her, a bit confused, and then she smiled, 

"She can..."

"Yes, I can, Mrs. Presley." Gladys smiled as she looked at her son. He was cheesing like he once was with Anita, but this time something was different. Of course, she also heard everything that Anya said to her earlier in the garden, "Ain't that something?" Gladys smiled, 

"Elvis kitchen now... Excuse us, will you."

"Of course."

"You're blushin..." Gladys laughed, getting the ingredients out to make a cake, 

"I-I-I- I'm not!" He whispered back as she laughed, "Elvis, I had you, and I know you, you like her." Gladys teased as he rolled his eyes, 

"I..."

"Well..."

"Yeah, I do, she gets me..." He laughed, "Like earlier, right? She found the pool room spectacular!" He smiled, "And she sings and-"

"She's wearing Dixie's sweater?" Gladys laughed as Elvis shook his head, cracking three eggs, 

"Mama, that's not the point. We got a lot in common..."

"And a lot uncommon..." Gladys gestured to themselves, "She's alive, we're not." 

"Aw hell, mama, I know that, " He sighed,

"Well, you know what. You two go have your fun, and I'll be here." She kissed his cheek, 

"Thanks, mama." He smiled as he began to walk back toward the living room. Anya was admiring the Christmas decoration as she looked at the tree in slight disgust at the tinsle,

 "This is the ugliest thing I've ever seen..." She mumbled to herself.

"I uhm... threw the tinsle in it..." Elvis said rubbing the back of his head as she turned to see him, "Oh, It's so beautiful!" She smiled as Elvis laughed, "Naw it's kinda ugly you're right," He slyly pulled her close to him as she blushed, 

11:30PM

"Say, you wanna see my bedroom?" He asked, realizing how that may have sounded,

 "I-I don't mean it like that I-" 

"I know though if you did I'd still say yes..." Anya blushed as her face was just as red as his, leading her upstairs to his bedroom, he opened the door to the velvet wonderland that was his room, TV's on the cieling and and EP on the wall, though she felt somber being in here, but Elvis knew how to shake the mood, taking her hand he took her to the window and smiled, 

"This is my favorite view ya know."

"It's beautiful, and with all the lights..." She gasped, "It's breathtaking." Anya smiled, taking it all in. There was something beautiful about this moment, but so sad, "Yeah, it's nice seein all the fans come in and out the house everyday," He smiled, "But, somber..." He sighed,

"Hey, hey, hey don't you go getting all sad on my birthday!" Anya held his hands, 

"You don't get it, everyone gets to walk in and out and..."

"You have to sit here and watch 'em leave," She held his face as he nodded, "You're lonely aren't you." He looked down at her as she cupped his cheeks, his eyes were still vibraint blue, she could feel his breath on her lips, "So lonely... I could die." He whispered as she giggled at the refrence, 

"Well...Kiss me." Anya whispered,

"You want me to..."

"Yes." She held him closer to her, "I'd want you to," Anya blushed as she felt his soft lips on hers, her fingers laced in his black hair as she pulled onto his velvet shirt, 

"Cakes read-" Gladys stopped as she walked away, the two blushing as they pulled apart, "I..I just kissed Elvis..." She mumbled as he kissed her cheek, "Mhmm, now come on so you can blow out your candle,"

"Our candles." She blushed,

11:59PM

"Alright blow out the candles." Elvis smirked, Anya counted down, the two hovered over it as she looked at Elvis and they both blew out the candles, Gladys smiling as she saw how happy he was, 

"Alright what did you two silly kids wish for."

"Well, It's silly really," Gladys nodded at her son as she rolled her eyes and shooed him off, "Well if ya'll wanna party I'm going to bed," She walked up the stairs, and back toward the attic, Elvis and Anya had now been sitting in the TV room in silence as they were eating cake as he looked over at her,

 "You know..."

"Hmm..."

"I died never finding my soul mate..."

"I know..." Anya looked at him,

"You do?"

"Mhmm... I wished for you to one day unite with your soulmate." Elvis looked at her as she giggled, "I think that wish came true, toots," He kissed her,

January 8th 5AM

"Do you really have to go..." Elvis asked as she was half asleep in his lap,

"Yeah... But I'll be back." Anya grinned as he smiled, Elvis walked her to the front door as he opened it, 

"You know something?"

"What?"

"This may have been my favorite birthday yet." 

Anya walked down the driveway as she felt eyes looking at her from the bedroom window, she turned to look as she saw Elvis watching her leave knowing deep down she'd come home to him. 

"Until August... May we meet in our dreams."

[sleepingdeath-light]

celebrating mother’s day hcs ; poppy

requested by ; anonymous (14/05/23)

fandom(s) ; welcome home

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; poppy partridge

outline ; “I know this probably won't be posted today, but can you do a Poppy Partridge and a Child!reader where they celebrate Mother’s Day together?”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

note ; getting this request a few minutes ago confused me since we brits celebrate in march — but needs must so you get this piece today

you’d been planning for today over the past few weeks, confiding in wally and howdy about your plans since you needed their help the most

howdy had made sure that what you needed was in stock and passed the goods over to you — ‘on the house’ for his favourite little tyke

wally had provided the space to prepare your gifts (with home’s approval, of course)

and julie, with very minimal persuasion, had become your cover — offering to babysit for poppy whilst ferrying you to and from home

the whole ordeal was much more secretive than it needed to be, but it was much more fun that way so nobody was complaining

but after days of thorough preparation the stage was set and your neighbours helped you set everything up in the early morning — before your loving mum was up and ready to start the day

you, with some help from a newly recruited frank, made her favourite breakfast (plenty of pancakes and waffles with syrups and fruits galore) — before he slipped out of the back door whilst you went with a tray full of goodies to wake her up

a very chipper ‘morning, mum’ followed, rousing her from her sleep only to be greeted with her comparatively tiny child carrying about a half a dozen plates stacked with servings of various dishes and desserts

still tired, she smiles at you and thanks you, welcoming you by carefully taking the tray and setting it on her bedside table before pulling you up into a very warm hug — kissing all over your face and making you giggle

then she’ll indulge in the breakfast you made, careful not to spill anything, and insisting on splitting it with you — surprised by how well made it all is (but masking it behind typical compliments like ‘wow, honey, this tastes amazing’ and so on)

the two of you spent a good hour and a half in her bed just lounging and chatting before you remembered her card and gifts and basically flew out of bed to go and get them for her (tripping over your own feet in the process and getting a ‘careful!’ yelled after you in response)

the card itself is handmade and crudely drawn in crayon (a loan done under the guiding eye of wally) — a picture depicting the two of you with ‘happy mother’s day’ written in bold capitalised letters at the top

the message inside is what you’d expect from a child but the effort of it all still had poppy tearing up and wiping stray tears on the feathers of her wings before she finished it and pulled you into another hug — carefully placing the card to one side when you launched yourself at her

next were the gifts: a mixture of suggestions from neighbours and your own intuitions that culminated in quite the sizeable pile of presents

new oven-mitts embroidered with birds and baked goods and her name in the centre — a custom order placed by howdy and designed in part by julie

a new cookbook that frank had bought two of and gifted to you for the occasion, knowing poppy was always looking to expand her knowledge of baking

a painting of the two of you made by wally — a recreation of an older photograph that had gotten damaged a few years ago due to a leak in the roof

and a ‘world’s best mum’ teddy bear that you’d bought for her with your pocket money (howdy tried to give it to you for free, but you insisted so he settled on a massively discounted price)

by the end of it all, poor poppy was in tears and was only able to thank her sweet little fledgling for doing so much for her — pulling you into a hug and kissing the crown of your head as she did so

the rest of the day would be spent in the kitchen helping her experiment with new recipes whilst doing silly dances and singing along to whatever song comes up on the radio

ending the day with a wonderful picnic in your garden as you watch the sun set, stomachs filled with delicious food and hearts filled with love for your little family and the friends that helped you feel right at home

[klausinamarink]

Prompt: “new beginnings” (discord drabble from STWG) | ao3 link

a day late since I’ve been working on other stuff but also a gift to the amazing @pearynice! hope your birthday was awesome

-

Despite being a Tuesday, the tavern’s gotten busier as the hours inches towards the evening. Eddie feels the headache coming as more patrons demand beers their way. The strong stuff, they always request, even though Eddie’s been serving in this place for nearly five years and he still has no fucking clue what that’s supposed to mean.

There’s some prep shuffling onstage but Eddie doesn’t turn around to check. Very few so-called musicians in this place make him peek over his shoulder. The ones that do turn out to be disappointing.

Turns out that playing Master of Puppets to distract a horde of interdimensional demobats that would later chew out half of your body can set up high standards in music. 

“Hey, Quinn,” Jessie, one of the other servers, calls him, “clean up the tables, would ya?” 

Eddie nods, grabs an empty container, and goes over to collect the abandoned drinks. When he rounds to the third table, Eddir hears the mic being tapped before the mediocre singer of the night speaks.

“Hello, folks, my name’s Joey and I’m happy to share some of my original songs with you.” 

Eddie pauses. His brain is rattling with recognition. But for some reason, he cannot place where or why that voice sounds so familiar.

“Hopefully, someone I’m searching for is here today.”

They clear their throat. Starts playing on the keyboard. It’s slow and melancholic like a lullaby. Then-

“I can’t stand the storms when it flashes red. It just shows how much they hate the sun.”

Eddie slowly turns around, hands gripping the container’s edges so tight that it probably cuts his fingers. 

But none of it matters more than the sight of Steve Harrington onstage.

It doesn’t look like him. But it sure as hell sounds like him. But Eddie can’t be sure of that either because he had heard Steve talk, not sing like an angel. 

“I grab my bat and run to your side. Like an avenging angel, but all I earned was the loss of my wings. And maybe my tears too because I sure can’t cry anymore.”

For once, the tavern has fallen silent. Everyone is captivated by the long-haired stranger exposing his broken heart so casually. All the while, Eddie is stunned.

The longer he listens to Steve’s song, the more difficult it becomes to hold back the tears in his eyes. It brings him back to the day when the government suits told Eddie and the entire Upside Down crew that not only Hawkins will be scrubbed off the Indiana map, but they would be given new identities and homes somewhere in the country. On any other day, Eddie would’ve been avid. But instead, he stared at nothing and nobody as everyone’s cries of protest and outrage faded into static in his brain. 

Eddie had looked up once. His gaze had landed on Steve, who looked like he was either seconds away from snapping the closest suit’s neck or seconds away from bursting into tears. Eddie had wanted to follow the internal plea to walk over to Steve and hug him. Maybe whisper some comfort in his ear that the Party would still find contact. But he hadn’t - he was still too shocked and tired from his healing injuries to even get up.

That was the last time anyone had seen or spoken to each other.

“The storm continues. I keep walking, the bat in my hands. Hoping to-” Steve brings his gaze up, eyes flickering through the crowd. 

And, like a magnet, they land directly on Eddie.

Eddie is half a room away from the stage but he sees the exact second of Steve’s expression changing from painful reminiscence to disbelieved shock. Eddie himself feels his heart stopping mid-beat, unable to move or even try a silly wave back. 

The crowd applauds, mistaking Steve’s silence as the end of his song. It’s by then that Eddie hurries outside. 

-

Eddie’s on his second cigarette when the side doors swing open. He expects the manager Ripley to give him shit again, but it’s only Steve with his keyboard slung over his back. 

Steve stares at him again. When the door closes with a click, he says hoarsely, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Eddie greets back.

They both stare at each other, taking in the sights. Eddie had long cut his hair short and kept his curls trimmed behind the ears. Steve’s hair had grown (as if it wasn’t already long when Eddie last saw him) and appears to be sun-bleached. Even their clothes got reversed; with Eddie wearing polos (as per tavern guidelines) while Steve’s clearly taking denim vests and a darker palette. 

Eddie expects the change. But it still hurts him somewhere that yeah, it’s been six years. 

“Sorry, it’s weird to see you without long hair.” Steve breaks the silence, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. 

Eddie laughs, “Well, when you got a name like Joseph Quinn, you gotta try and look like the guy.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, “That’s what they renamed you?”

“Yep,” Eddie nods solemnly, “But I’m still Eddie Munson at heart. What’s yours?”

Steve looks away, a blush rising on his cheeks. “It’s terrible.”

“Dude, you literally introduced yourself as Joey just now.”

“That’s how terrible my government-mandated name is!”

“Tell meeee!” Eddie starts poking at Steve’s ribs, making the other man burst into laughter. Steve grabs onto Eddie’s wrists, stopping him just inches from his face. Eddie catches his breath, unable to stop himself from briefly glancing down at Steve’s lips. He sees Steve doing the same, even licking his lips.

“I got a trailer parked in one of the lots nearby.” Steve says softly. “If you want-”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice catches in his throat. He swallows and says again, “Yeah. Of course.”

They walk together, forcing themselves to keep their hands at their respective sides. Eddie’s heart pounds in his chest as they arrive at Steve’s trailer, a Winnebago that’s smaller than the one Eddie had hotwired for him years ago. The moment they step inside, Eddie lurches forward and pulls Steve into a sheering kiss. Steve moans and grips his hands on Eddie’s hips while Eddie tangles his fingers into Steve’s hair.

Eddie lets Steve take him apart first, squeezing his hand tight as Steve whispers sweet nothings to his skin. Then Eddie flips them over and does the same to Steve, telling himself to go slow even though Steve is urging him the opposite. After they’re both spent, they stay in each other’s arms, gulping down air and tears. 

“I never thought I would see you again.” Eddie confesses quietly, tracing nonsense patterns between the tiny moles and rough scars on Steve’s arms. 

“I couldn’t just live this new staleass life without seeing everyone again. Even if it would take me decades to find them again.” Steve’s eyes are soft and sad as he stares into Eddie. He has a finger circling around the puckered scar on Eddie’s cheek. 

“So you go around the fifty states singing on the keys hoping to see one of them at a bar?” Eddie asks.

Steve huffs, “This is my side gig. But yeah, I guess you can call that wishful thinking.”

“Where did they send you?”

“Oregon. Too wet there.”

“That’s what he said.” Eddie can’t resist saying, earning a playful flick on the cheek. He hears himself turn somber when he asks, “Did you find anyone from the Party?”

“Robin in ‘88. She was in New York.” Steve smiles, undoubtedly proud to reunite with his platonic soulmate. “She refused to let me leave for a whole year.”

“Good for her. Who else?”

Steve falls silent and shifts his gaze up to the ceiling. “I haven’t found anyone since. Probably because I’m too dumb-”

“Don’t even say that.” Eddie cradles a hand on Steve’s cheek, tilting him to face him again. “You’re not an idiot, Steve. You should give yourself credit for actually finding Robin and me, even if it was dumb luck with me.” He wipes a thumb underneath Steve’s eye as a tear trails out. “Besides, it’s the government’s fault for thinking they can separate us all forever.” 

Steve gives a wet laugh. “So much for new beginnings, right?”

Eddie presses another kiss on him. One on his lips, then two more where the twin moles lay on Steve’s cheek. “Not if we keep searching together.”

Steve stares at him. His eyes go wide before they soften. “Together?” 

“And ever.” Eddie confirms. Steve makes a small disbelieving voice before leaning in to kiss Eddie, holding them together as long as they can.

It tastes like a vow.