#also his FUCKING PROFILE IS MAGNIFICENT HOW IS HE SO

[radioactive-cloud]

why is he so

source: x

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ’  simple acts of love from skz

—All the times stray kids said I love you in the little things.

words・6.8k pairings・stray kids x reader genres・fluff, a little crack, established relationships warnings・lots and lots of kisses!! happy tears, drunken re-confessions, silliness, playful living room dancing, minhos a shy baby, he's also a little shit in changbins, erotic painting in hyunjins, hans is a little bit more emotional, silly little proposals, my terrible attempt at writing lyrics, jeongin stalks your goodreads profile and buys your entire TBR list like I don't have at least a thousand tbr books...some of these are silly some of these are sickeningly sweet,

a/n・I wrote these drabbles based on these headcanons, but I did change Minho's because I believed it fit him better!! Also, this has been rotting in my drafts for MONTHS im not super proud of them, but I hope you like them anyways.

ᡣ𐭩 chan + sneaking into your bathroom to trace hearts onto the bathroom mirror.

"This is a suicide mission!" his lungs scream as he slips into your inferno of a bathroom, a heavy cloak of steam hugging him instantly. His respiratory system begs for release, a moist cough rolling up his throat; but like the magnificent boyfriend he is, he shoves those rebellious bodily functions right back down his windpipe.

Was his silly little plan worth the ability to breathe? Yes. Did he also wonder how you even could? Also yes.

The mirror fogs like the surface of an ancient lake, obstructing the image of his mischievous grin. He brings a pointer finger to the glass, drawing all his ardor in the mist—though it only comes out as lopsided hearts.

Your voice floats out from behind the curtain, absentmindedly humming to a silent tune. Shadows of your hands move through your hair, your body refracted onto the thin sheet.

You are so beautiful...

Cupid smacks his jaw shut.

He manages to slip out right as the water sputters off, sliding into the living room by his socks. He face-plants onto the couch, scrambling to sit upright. The loud smack of your towel echoes in his ears as his wide eyes dart to the table, frantically searching for something to occupy his attention. He snatches the first thing he sees, which just happens to be a... candle?

Whatever, no time!

Chan is intently studying the ocean-blue Bath & Body Works label, when you come pattering out, damp hair dribbling water behind you. The moment you step into his line of sight, his heart plummets—that stupid aromatherapy candle nearly tumbling with it.

There you were, in all your drenched glory, your towel wrapped snug against your chest, tears rolling freely down your cheeks. Did you hear that?! Tears!! You were crying?! Why were you crying?!?!

Chan must have embodied the spirit of a kangaroo, because he’s never jumped up faster in his life.

"Why are you crying? You're supposed to be happy!" he yelps, yanking your body into his arms, water seeping into the thin fabric of his tee shirt. His brain becomes the equivalent of the world’s most fucked-up ambrosia when you begin laughing, the curve of your smile pressed into his chest. He blinks—he doesn't know whether to kiss you or call a priest. Maybe he should do both?

Suddenly you pull away, cocooning his cheeks with pruney hands, your bottom lip wobbling as you sob, "I'm so in love with you."

Well, good job—now he's sobbing too.

"I'm in love with you too, baby."

You had drawn hearts on the walls of his soul in the same way he had drawn them in the steam of your mirror. The only difference is, yours would never fade away.

ᡣ𐭩 minho + randomly sending you songs that remind him of you.

Minho wasn't the type to throw his arms around you, pressing kisses to your face with all his overflowing ardor. Instead, in the minuscule overlaps of time between talking on the phone and constructing a perfect dance routine, he'll find himself sitting dazed upon the lounge room couch, mindlessly nodding to a catchy tune. He had left his Spotify on smart shuffle, finding comfort in the idea of a song found without searching, as if it were fate's gentle finger dusting the path to new adventures. He flutters his eyelids shut, ripples of sound washing over his skin.

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on everyone that you'd be mine, mine

In a rash flood of emotions, he sends you the song just before Chan steps into view, announcing his dire need to finish choreographing the final steps of their newest single. Begrudgingly, he slips his phone into his back pocket, his earbuds following suit. The only thing that keeps him sane throughout the day is the anticipation that he will go home and see you, and that makes it all worth it.

ᡣ𐭩

May I have this dance?" you declare, extending your arm with feigned seriousness, though the playful smile tugging at your lips betrays you instantly.

“What?” Minho chuckles through furrowed brows, observing the unusual surroundings; candles flicker dim lighting on the walls, throwing shadows on the rose petals you had scattered around your living room, forming an intriguing resemblance to a romantic dance floor. He sets the bags of groceries on the ground. Lee Know is so beyond confused, yet also pleasantly surprised, especially when you waltz over to him, tight red dress hugging all your gorgeous curves.

“You still haven't answered my question,” you sing, playfully twirling into his arms. Your hands find their way to the nape of his neck, tracing mindless circles in his hair. A shiver rolls up his spine as you tilt your face forward, lips so close; his heart flutters like a fragile leaf tumbling down from an autumn tree. He blinks before exhaling—

“Of course, I'll dance with you.”

A delighted squeal erupts from your lips, and you jump away from his arms, heading straight over to your phone to play the song he sent you prior. A warm blush floods his cheeks, painting them a bashful red.

“Did you like it?” His eyes fall away from yours.

“Did I like it?? Of course I liked it!” you squeal, gaping at him like he was the dumbest person on the planet. World War Three rages inside his chest as he fights not to fold like a lawn chair, flopping on the floor like a flustered starfish. Though when your hands rub their way up from his chest to his shoulders, he's surprised he's even upright. Your hips sway to the melody, a warm smile melting away all his defenses; but when you guide his awkward hands to the dip in your hips, it’s game over. He stuffs his face into your neck, littering the sensitive skin with kisses, his brain screaming: distract the enemy!! distract the enemy!!

“Do you know how much I love you?” he mumbles with striking genuineness. Instead of answering his question, you simply twirl yourself around his finger, placing his hand to wrap around the small of your back. He dips you down right as the music swells. It was magical, really—the candlelight twinkling in your peripheral, spills of starlight dancing off the ocean's surface. It was all so perfect—that was until your shoe caught on one of the rose petals, the floor turning slick under your feet. You send yourself tumbling straight to the ground. Minho squeals, grasping at thin air, but then he too also slips, frantically shooting his wrists out so he doesn't crush you.

The music cuts through the deafening silence as petals weave their way into your hair. You roll your lips into your teeth, glancing over to an eerily still Minho, staring at the ceiling like a spooked tabby. As if he could feel your eyes, his gaze finds yours, and only then does he burst out into roaring laughter, which prompts you to also join the fun.

“Are you sure you're the main dancer?” you tease through breathy giggles. He gasps, smacking a dramatic hand over his chest.

“I’ll have you know you fell first.”

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on everyone that you'd be mine, mine

In that moment, as the light hits you just right, he swears he finds the universe in your eyes. Your skin is showered in candlelight, head tilted back—joy flickers on your tongue as honey drips from your teeth. His heart pounds against his ribs, flowers sprouting in his lungs. To the world, he was an aloof grump with smooth moves and an impressive affinity for cats; but to you, with you, he was so much more.

Mid-snort, he captures your cheek, pressing his lips to yours. In a single gesture, he is pouring all the words he wished to say—

though to you, it tasted a little bit like—

If he had to blow a wish on every dandelion in the universe just to keep you, he would; and only through your lips would he find the power to keep breathing.

ᡣ𐭩 changbin + gushing about you while drunk

The balmy patio is sticky with soju-infused groans, most of the boys slumped in their respective seats, throwing back exasperated swigs of their drinks as they desperately try to drown out Changbin’s relentless rambles.

The two semicircle outdoor couches form a full circle around an unlit bonfire pit. On one of the couches sits a completely unfazed Felix, taking small sips of his soju between chuckles; an extremely annoyed Seungmin, glaring daggers at Changbin; and I.N, who doesn’t seem to be doing much of anything except, well, sleeping—body slumped against the armrest. Hyunjin is sandwiched between Chan and Changbin on the other couch: Chan, who wishes he never even brought up the idea to buy beer in the first place, and Changbin, who is currently slumped over a very irked Hyunjin’s lap. Han is somewhere in the house, probably giggling at his own swirling reflection.

Hyunjin digs his fingers into the roots of his locks, fighting every urge not to yank the tufts straight out.

“N-no, but Jinnie, you don’t u-understand—she’s so pretty,” Changbin slurs, stuffing his face into his friend’s hoodie, which makes Hyunjin frown and swat him away.

“That’s it! I’m calling Y/N!” Seungmin announces, jumping up from his seat. Chan grabs his sleeve, yanking him straight back down, much to Seungmin’s dismay. he sinks into the polyester in a puddle of disgruntled grumbles.

"Or we could record him," Minho calls out from the shadows of the back entryway, only ever appearing when he needed more beer or more entertainment. And right now, it was dinner and a show. Minho simply shrugs as if his evil plan wouldn’t ruin his best friend's bad-boy reputation. "Send it to Y/N later," he mumbles to himself, the devil tilting his cheek up. Nobody seems to hear him, so he slyly pulls his phone from his pocket and presses record.

"No, no, no! You can't call Y/N. She’ll know I love her!" Changbin gasps in horror, stumbling to grab the phantom phone that apparently appears on Hyunjin’s lap with the way he paws at his jeans. Hyunjin takes a nice, long swig of his soju.

"You know you and Y/N have been together for over four years, right?" Felix chuckles, finding the whole ordeal pure comedic relief.

"No, you don’t understand. She’ll know I love her... lover," Changbin’s words slur into an incoherent shake of his head. Minho's evil cackles float out from the concealment of the doorway, and Chan perks up.

"Minho, what are you doing?!" Minho slams his phone against his thigh. What the hell?? Does Chan have Spidey senses or something??

"Nothing!" he yelps, sounding super convincing. Chan narrows his eyes toward the darkness where Minho is supposedly lurking, sporting an eerily perfect rendition of a frustrated father. That is, until Changbin begins a very off-tune version of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” rolling over on Hyunjin’s lap to tap his fingers up his arm and eventually landing on Hyunjin’s nose with a giggle. When Hyunjin almost bites his finger off, Chan finally diverts his attention. Minho thanks God for the shadows—how else would he have gotten away with recording all of that?

“I’m about two seconds away from bringing you back to Y/N,” Hyunjin sighs, his lips pressed into a tight line as he glares at the man whose eyes just burst with light at the thought of seeing you. Chan smacks Hyunjin on the back sympathetically, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Why me, Lord? Why me?" Chan sings his woes under his breath but just loud enough for the camera to pick up—and for Minho to giggle.

"Y/N, I miss Y/N. Can I go home to Y/N, please?" Changbin hiccups, slumping his head onto Hyunjin’s shoulder. Hyunjin’s eye twitches. "I wanna tell the pretty girl I love her."

Felix emerges from his silence with a fit of laughter, nearly spilling his beer all over the floor. "Weren't you just saying you didn’t want to tell her you loved her?"

Changbin whips his gaze forward, his eyes hardening into a very foggy glare. "Well, now I want to tell the pretty girl I love her," he states matter-of-factly, his eyes fluttering a bit, betraying just how drunk he is.

Felix’s amusement is transparent as he raises his beer in Changbin’s direction. "Somebody needs to bring him to Y/N and let him re-confess his undying love for her."

Seungmin has never jumped up so fast in his life; he’s mid-volunteer when Chan grabs the cuff of his sleeve again and yanks him right back on his ass. Seungmin collapses onto the couch, ready to spit a disrespectful insult at his elder, but he folds like a lawn chair when Chan shoots him that look.

"Seungmin, you are far too drunk to take him home, while I," he looks to the sky with regret, "am very regretfully sober." Chan sounds like he’s going through the five stages of grief in one sentence.

"Okay, buddy, I’m taking you home," Chan grunts, clapping the drunken boy on the back. Changbin beams like he just heard there was a cure for cancer.

"Hell yeah!" He jumps up, only to stumble slightly, the patio swimming in his vision as he catches himself on Hyunjin’s forehead. When he finally, barely stabilizes himself, he throws his hands up. "See y’all bitches later! I—” he dramatically points to his chest in pride, “—am going to see my girl," he declares and marches straight out the door. Chan is mid-goodbye hug turned introspection with Felix, wondering what he’s doing with his life, when he hears a loud shatter in the hallway. Chan falls out of Felix’s arms immediately, his stride turned sprint. 

"Son of a bitch, Changbin, that was my favorite vase!"

ᡣ𐭩

“Go ahead, tell the pretty girl how much you love her,” you tease, playfully mimicking kissy faces while simultaneously poking Changbin’s crumpled form, his boiling cheeks sandwiched between his knees.

Why did Minho have to send you that video? But most of all, why did he have to send it while Changbin was still hungover? All this humiliation can’t be good for his headache.

Changbin groans, falling back on the bed to pull a pillow over his scorching face. The fact that the whole mattress hasn’t burst into flames is truly beyond him. Giggles pour from your lips, even as they settle atop his stomach, leaving kisses all the way up his torso. You can hear his flustered pants from down here.

“Okay, that’s enough bullying for one day,” you say, straddling his waist to snake your arms around his waist, pressing your chests flush together. Your teeth graze his shoulder, softly biting the flesh. “Come on, baby, take the pillow off your face.” You press your smile against his shirt before resting your chin on his chest.

He peeks out from under the pillow, tugging it down just enough to reveal his eyes, still reluctant to fully reveal himself. You bat your lashes at him, pouting ever so slightly. He folds—like a damn lawn chair, at this point, he’s practically collapsing in on himself with how much he’s folded. His face melts into a grin as he finally pulls the pillow down.

He so regrets that.

Your face lights up with laughter as you take in his beet-red cheeks, your eyes disappearing into crinkled slits. “I’m sorry, I just... I just can’t,” you cackle, doubling over in heaves.

“I hate you,” Changbin shouts, flustered, smacking you square in the side of the head with the pillow. It does nothing to quell your amusement; in fact, it only makes it worse.

“That’s not what you said last night,” you snort, falling off him as you kick your feet against the sheets.

Despite his urge to tie a millstone around his ankle and jump off the face of the earth, he can’t help but smile, caught in an unusual state of awe. Your mouth is boxy, laughter filling the air like strands of warm honey.

“Apparently, you think about me a lot,” you snicker, still rolling around. his smile only spreads wider.

If only you knew how much he thought of you.

ᡣ𐭩 hyunjin + painting perfectly captured portraits of you

“Hold still for me, baby,” Hyunjin whispers, his voice low and intimate, as he lightly drags his brush down the length of your arm, adding the final touches to your portrait. His gaze traces your bare body, memorizing every inch until even the freckle on the upper left side of your waist is drawn onto the inside of his eyelids. The valley of your breasts trembles with each labored breath, your muscles tightening against the couch where you lay.

“I’m really trying, Jinnie, but it hurts,” you whine, fighting to keep your head steady. Your boyfriend lets out a breathy laugh, savoring one final glance at your naked form. With careful precision, he drags the sharpest part of his brush down your thigh, finishing the entire painting with his favorite peice of you.

“Done,” Hyunjin murmurs, settling back into his chair with a satisfied smile, admiring the art he’s just created. Usually when he painted, there was always something he hated about his work—whether it's the proportions or the colors were slightly out of harmony—it was never good enough. but when he paints you, there's never an issue; for he could capture you with children's finger paints, and you'd still find a way to look utterly breathtaking.

“Let me see,” you squeal, jumping up from the uncomfortable spot you’d claimed on his couch. A faint blush appears on his face as he turns the easel around, unraveling his heart before you. And oh, when he does—you collapse into his arms, all your strength diffused into a shuddering gasp. He had dipped his brush into your soul, and with every meticulous stroke, he gathered the very essence of your heart. It was almost unreal how perfect he made you appear to be—your moles speckled across your skin in gold, dusted like stars; your stretch marks adorned in silver, shining like slips of light.

How are you not sobbing right now??

“Is it okay?” he asks, bashfully wrapping his arms around your naked waist, completely unfazed by your current state of undress.

“Hyunjin, this is more than okay,” you sniffle, voice crackling with emotion. You turn to meet his gaze, only for his palms cradle your cheeks with a touch so tender, it's barely there. One second, you’re breathing; the next, you’re transcending, existing only between his lips.

By the time you come up for air, the world around you has changed. He’s on top of you now, his hands resting on either side of your head, thoughts long forgotten. He moves closer, allowing whisps of his hair to tickle the sensitive flesh of your neck; for his lips to settle upong the delicate curve of your collarbone. He doesn’t stop—he doesn’t stop until the sun kisses your skin, until the sky is filled with the very stars he painted upon your skin.

Only in love and art are you eternal and in hyunjin, with hyunjin, you are both. 

ᡣ𐭩 han + hiding messages into every song he produces

"In every lifetime," a heartfelt promise whispered between shuttering breaths. Han's lips parted, your tongue savoring his astonished gasp. "What did you say?" quickly transformed into "Did you mean it?" when you had tenderly threaded your fingers into his hair, the pad of your thumb settling just under his jaw. Your needy hands had fogged his head, but he never forgot it.

"In every lifetime," you had uttered many moons later, nestled underneath the stretch of midnight sky. The universe had stilled, all of time and space screeching to a deafening halt. You unraveled the scrolls of his soul, and with the eternal vow of "I do," swore forever. So, he, for however long he may live, intends to hold you to that promise.

From: Hannie 🐿 Do not by any means play my new song!!!

From: Hannie 🐿 Im serious!!

From: Hannie 🐿 Promise me Y/N!!!

You giggle at his earnestness, clicking the notification to message him back.

From: My Wife ❤ I won't I promise!

From: My Wife ❤ Scouts honor 🫡

You admired Han's dedication to his craft, but what you admired most was his need to share every single part of it with you.

"You didn't listen to the song, did you?" Han calls out from the foyer, slamming the front door behind him. He urgently throws off his shoes, his heavy footsteps following him all the way up the stairs. Your mirth bubbles up behind a bitten grin, lip firmly tucked between your teeth.

"No!" you shout back, feigning indifference; though when he swings your bedroom door open, you’re overcome with breathy giggles—his hair is tossed around at all angles, puffed cheeks pink and gasping.

Now that was the man you fell in love with.

"Somebody's eager," you tease, chucking your phone somewhere on the bed. His eyes are oddly fearful when you lift yourself up from the comforter, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. His chest heaves, breath labored and shaky; flighty fingers find the knot of his tie, yanking it loose. You reel your head back. Since when does he wear a tie? You flick your gaze down his figure. Since when does he wear suits?? Your confusion only festers as he lets out an anxious chuckle, wringing his hands like wet rags.

"You have no idea." You didn’t know—didn’t know what he was about to risk. His heart was clay in your hands, and with the delicacy of a butterfly's wing, you pressed your fingerprints into his skin. For now, through touch alone, his soul will find you in every lifetime; but first, he must promise you himself in this one, and that appeared to be an impossible feat.

It's now or never, he tells himself.

So, with an arduous breath, he steadies his quivering hands just long enough to slip his phone out of his back pocket. Was it just him, or is it suddenly really hot in here? He swipes to YouTube. Why was it getting so hard to breathe?? He presses play. His heart somersaults its way down to his stomach when the opening melody echoes from the speakers. Your brows lift, lips pursing in your signature concentrated quirk. His mouth forms around a smile, breathing getting marginally easier, but that peace is short-lived as the chorus begins—only then does he feel the symptoms of real fear.

In every lifetime, his warm voice melts from the speaker.

A falling star just shot from space and hit you directly in the chest, rendering you utterly speechless; even as your gaze finds his glassy eyes, you just can’t believe it.

In every lifetime you swore.

It’s just too perfect.

So, for as long as I may live, I wanna be yours.

He’s just too perfect.

In every lifetime I'll dip my knee down.

There’s no way.

And yet he sinks to one knee, slipping a velvet box from the confines of his pocket. Your hands make purchase around your mouth, stifling a wet cry.

In every lifetime I'll ask to be yours.

"Y/N L/N, will you marry me?"

You drop to your knees, tears tracing cordate-shaped rivulets down your cheeks. "Yes, Han, I'll marry you! I'll marry you!"

Your lips swear forever as they land on his, and that promise echoes far into lifetime number twelve.

ᡣ𐭩 felix + giving you gum wrapper hearts

Lee Felix was stupid in love, heavy on the stupid, figuring he was about to start World War Three to get that gum wrapper out of Seungmin’s hand.

“Please,” Felix begs, drawing out the "e" in an obnoxious whine.

Felix has been professing his love for you through gum wrapper hearts for about as long as he’s been chewing gum, so he is going to be damned if he lets one gum wrapper gets away without meeting his fingers first. Seungmin’s eyes harden into an frustrated glare, about two seconds away from punching a pizza-sized hole in his best friend’s face.

“You know, the more that you beg me for this wrapper, the more I don’t want to give it to you,” he deadpans, voice flat with irritation. Felix throws his head back in an ear-splitting groan.

“Whyyy not??”

“Oh my gosh, Seungmin, just give him the damn wrapper,” Chan interjects, exasperated.

“Yeah, listen to Chan. Give Felix the wrapper,” Felix teases, laying his chin on his hand, fluttering his lashes with a shit-eating grin. Seungmin clenches his jaw, crumpling up the foil—much to poor Lixie’s dismay.

“Did you see that, Chan?! Seungmin crumpled my wrapper!” Seungmin squeezes it harder. “Look! Do you see that, Chan?! Seungmin is bullying me!” Chan sighs, digging a knuckle into his eye. He is about five seconds away from sticking both grown toddlers in time out.

“Seungmin, for the sake of my sanity, give Felix the damn gum wrapper.” The fact that he actually had to tell two full-fledged adults that was truly beyond him, yet here he was.

“It’s the principle of it, old man—” As soon as the words leave his lips, Seungmin wants to stuff them right back in. Chan grits his teeth, steam practically whistling from his ears.

Oh, crap.

“You little—” Chan dives for Seungmin, to which he squeals, ducking from his elder’s hand, gearing up to smack him square in the forehead. In the clamber of movements, he ends up dropping the beloved wrapper. Felix lets out a squeal of excitement, lunging for the foil. When the crumpled aluminum sits in his hands, he has never felt so rewarded in his entire life, smiling like he just won a million bucks.

Almost out of muscle memory, he begins smoothing it out, folding up all the right corners. He beams, stuffing the little token into his pocket, fingers itching to give it to you later.

“Thanks, Seungmin,” Felix smirks, taking a proud sip of his drink. Seungmin manages to stick his tongue out while trapped in a headlock.

“You suck,” he wheezes, throwing weak slaps onto Chan's bicep. Felix giggles, his phone buzzing against his jeans. Felix quite literally drops everything to pick it up, his heart singing the same song as your special ringtone.

From: My world 💙 Look, baby, isn’t it so beautiful? I took the pic while I was on my way to work. I actually swerved off the road to take the picture, haha. Just wanted to share it with you. Love you, baby!! [Image.png]

When he clicks the image, his phone is flooded with the most breathtaking view. The sky is stained like melting ice cream, cotton candy colors that burst around your hair, though that isn’t what Felix is looking at—he is looking at you. The moment he looks into your lopsided smile, Cupid shoots him all over again.

From: My star-light 🌟 Wow.

From: My star-light 🌟 No words.

From: My star-light 🌟 I didn’t know my girlfriend could look so stunning.

From: My star-light 🌟 Oh, wait, there was a sunset back there somewhere.

From: My star-light 🌟 Yeah, that was pretty too.

From: My star-light 🌟 Are we still on for tonight?? I miss youuu.

From: My world 💙 Oh my gosh, Lix, you’re making me blush, haha.

Seungmin chokes somewhere in the background. Felix doesn’t notice. Felix is submerged in the silky ocean of rose-colored love.

From: My world 💙 Of course we are!!

From: My world 💙 I miss you too, baby!!

From: My world 💙 Literally can’t wait to see you.

Felix is mid-text when his friends suddenly turn bright red, clambering to untangle themselves from the mess of limbs they got themselves stuck in. Felix doesn’t realize the reason Chan is suddenly fixing his hair or Seungmin is unruffling his shirt is because two of the most stunning women just walked past them. Felix was too focused on making time move faster.

ᡣ𐭩

Felix has never been to space, though he can accurately say that he has tasted the sky.

He sips the stars off your lips, every shared breath an inhale of the galaxy. Felix knows that somewhere, someplace time exists, but not here, not now, not with the blades of grass lacing through his hair; not when he’s pressing your chest flush against his, rolling around on the ground until the night sky is kissing the earth in his vision. Your laughs are buried in his neck when he gets too dizzy to continue, littering kisses on the sensitive flesh there. You pull away for only a moment, brushing a rogue strand of hair off his brow. You smile, dipping to press a soft peck to the tip of his nose.

The two of you had crept into this darkened backyard hours ago; you proposing a date under the stars only to share them between your lips instead. You have been locked in this position for lifetimes, and Felix has no plan to stop.

His palms lift to graze your cheeks before sealing your mouths together again. His soft laugh puffs against the seam of your lips, his smile curving against your own. “God, I am so in love with you.”

He was; he so, so, so was.

He was so in love with you, he had almost forgotten about his gift. Key word: almost.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he gasps, chasing your warmth when he pulls away, sitting up.

“What?” you playfully whine, biting back a grin, settling your hips against his thighs. He chuckles, poking a finger into his pocket, fishing out the gum wrapper heart.

“I know it’s not perfect,” he whispers, cupping something in his palm, “but I hope you still like it.” He rolls his fingers out bashfully, offering you the crinkled silver heart. He bites his lip, a faint blush falling over the apples of his cheeks. The little gift was by no means perfect; it was ripped, wrinkled, and just a little lopsided. Yet you can’t help the fondness that explodes in your chest. Still cradling the heart with care, you throw your arms around his neck, tackling him to the ground. Your chest flush against his, he grunts when you land upon the earth, smacking slobbery kisses all over his face. You don’t stop, not until he is flipping you over, now attacking you with equally wet kisses. Your giggles live in the balmy summer air.

To you, he was the sun; but to him, you were the universe 

ᡣ𐭩 seungmin + buying you a bouquet every time the old ones wilt

October 11th, 2020.

That was the last time your apartment smelled like something other than florals. That was also the first time Seungmin had ever bought you flowers—a simple gift for your one-year anniversary that spiraled into a four-year tradition. You don’t ever talk about it, and he certainly denies it, when you thank him for how the wilting tulips magically evolved into beautiful daylilies. You find it endearing, the faint blush that falls over his cheeks when he tries to convince you that it wasn’t him.

Now that you think about it, your white roses did seem to have a little bit of brown on them yesterday.

Mid-wipe of the bathroom counter, you rush down the stairs, almost sliding into the kitchen in your socks. Without fail, there they were: bright red tulips, replacing the withering roses that had been in the vase earlier. A spreading grin pulls at your lips as you check the stove clock, quickly connecting the dots.

You had been cleaning the bathroom most of the evening, your earbuds blocking the world out. He had probably heard you humming from upstairs, choosing the perfect time to sneak in through the door. You squeal, sprinting up the stairs to throw open your bedroom door. You expect to find him lounging on the bed, but instead, you find him below it, cradling a square object in his hands. His head whips around, panic falling over his features. He slams the lid shut before fumbling to shove it right back under the bed, much to your dismay.

“Hey, what?” You yelp, diving for the box. Seungmin blocks you, accidentally knocking it out of his hands, unfurling its contents all over the floor.

It looks like a garden just threw up in your bedroom.

Hundreds, thousands of differently shaped petals are scattered on your floor, tufts of colorful memories spread out like a silky scroll. First, you freeze. Then, you gasp; your muscles thawing like a flower unfurling in the snow. It hits you slowly, blossoming in your chest and spilling from your eyes—Seungmin hasn’t been throwing away the flowers he bought you. He’s been collecting them.

You didn’t realize you were crying—not until you spoke—“Seungmin, what is this?”—then you heard it, your voice withering and wet. When you finally go to meet his gaze, he can’t seem to look at you, tilting his head down in shame.

“W-Well I-I’ve just…” he begins, trailing off with a rub of his burning neck. “Fuck, this is going to sound so stupid,” he flushes, staring down at the single yellow petal that fluttered onto his folded thighs. Suddenly, Seungmin feels your thumb brushing over his knuckles, and something shoots through his skin, something that straightens his spine and evens his breathing.

“I-I’ve um…” This was harder than he thought it would be. “Been collecting them for a while now, I wanted to keep them for when we get married. Wanted to scatter them down the aisle…”

His voice gets smaller with every word, sinking into himself as though that will make the gravity of the sentence less exposed, less raw. For a second, as silence stretches between you, Seungmin feels so stupid, embarrassment painting his cheeks red. You must think he’s such a fool, must think he’s crazy for ever believing he could marry you—his thoughts stop the moment your lips meet his, palms pressed firmly against his cheeks.

“I love you,” you whisper in between breaths, kissing him until it feels like you can’t kiss anymore; until he falls back upon the feathery bed made of magnolias and memories; until, with a star-lit sigh, he pulls away, untucking the red of a dried rose tangled above your brow. Even surrounded by God's most beautiful creations, he can’t bring his gaze to fall from yours, your eyes and all the mesmerizing sparkles they hold.

Seungmin couldn’t trace the exact moment he fell in love with you. Rather, it bloomed slowly over time, a feeling that took root; wrapping around the slabs of his ribs.

With you, he grew, and all of a sudden, with every breath he inhales, he finds you fluttering in his chest. At first, it terrified him. Though, now he knows—some gardens never die.

ᡣ𐭩 jeongin + stalking your goodreads profile to annotate your favorite books

“So, you’re a stalker, huh?” you muse, brushing your palm over Jeongin’s shoulder, which was clearly not a good idea, cause no sooner do you make contact is he jumping twenty feet out of his skin. You throw your hands up when he swivels around, ripping off his headphones like they were going to materialize into a baseball bat.

“Crap, y/n, you scared the hell out of me,” Jeongin pants, a relieved smile pulling on his cheeks; grateful that the intruder was indeed his girlfriend and not a 6-foot-tall man in a scream mask. For a second, he wonders if you’re possessed, a lopsided smirk playing on your lips while you tweak out, kind of laughing, kind of nodding, kind of looking like you need an exorcism. Then it hits him. Hits him like a 200-pound dump truck, rendering him breathless once more. He puts Flash to shame by how fast he slams his laptop shut, scrunching his face in cringe. The laugh you let out is devastating, a full-belly guffaw that makes you double over, stumbling straight into his arms.

For a second, when the lamplight hits you just right, Jeongin has to stop.

His breath catches in his throat, taking all of you in. There you were, with your hair falling in messy tangles, your eyelids slightly smudged in black, your smile boxy and sun-bright, you were perfect, and you were sitting on his lap. If you didn’t start talking, he would have stared at you for hours—probably would have started drooling as well.

“So, this is how you’ve known all my favorite books, huh?” you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck. It takes him a hot second to gather himself, heart fluttering at the newfound proximity.

He stuffs his head into your neck, the heat of his cheeks burning into your skin. “Yeah…is that weird?”

“Is it weird?? Yang Jeongin, I’m pretty sure you just inadvertently proposed to me,” you reply, your tone light-hearted though you're dead serious.

“What?” He chuckles with a shy smile, leaning back.

“Yeah, I mean, you stalk your girlfriend’s Goodreads profile to read and annotate her TBR list. That is a proposal. I don’t make the rules.”

“Is that so?” he smirks, inching forward, your noses brushing together.

“Yeah,” you whisper, hot breath fanning across his lips, you lean in, finally sealing your mouths shut. Jeongin groans, your thumb swiping the nape of his neck. His heart pounds with a thousand different translations of 'I love you'.

“How many?”

He hums, slamming back down to earth, still a little bit dizzy.

“How many books have you bought?”

That sobers him up.

His eyes widen slightly before he bashfully chuckles, awkwardly scratching his ear. “Oh, uh…not that many.”

“Can I see them?” He’s two seconds from saying no, until you brush your lips against his cheeks, then his forehead, then the sides of his eyes, before, finally, he is tasting your grin instead, “Please?”

Well, how can he say no now?

He fiddles with the bottom of your shirt, biting his lip before sighing and pointing under his bed. “They’re all under there.”

You squeal, clambering off him to dive at the foot of his bed, sticking your hands into the dusty abyss below. It doesn’t take you but five seconds to find the box, though it takes you 5 minutes to actually pull the damn thing out, feeling more like a dead body than dead trees.

However, when you flip open the lid, the struggle is all worth it. Your jaw drops. Jeongin’s stomach flips upside down.

"Yang Jeongin, there’s no way..." You peer at him through dewy lashes, there had to be at least fifty books in this container. "You were planning on giving me all of these?"

"Well, yeah. Just...when I had enough time to annotate them."

"You've already given me like 10. How have you found enough time to read them?"

"I read them every night before I go to bed."

"And annotate them?"

He clears his throat, a faint blush falling over his cheeks like rose petals. "Yes."

"Where did you get the money for all this? These books have to have been like a thousand dollars."

"My check had just come in, and I knew how much you liked to read... I just wanted to do something nice for you. Why is this starting to feel kind of like an interrogation? Are you mad? Is this, like, really weird?" Jeongin can feel his eyes widen, anxiously shifting in place.

“One more question,” you step forward, pinching his chin between your thumb and forefinger. He shutters when you make contact, gaze fluttering down. Jeongin expects you to laugh, maybe demand that he takes them back, or the worst of them all tell him he’s too obsessed. What he doesn’t expect you to do is drag him forward, and smash your lips together.

“How are you so perfect?” you exhale, puffing onto his lips like a breath of his own. He was going to show you how, he was going to show you how all night long.

ᡣ𐭩

If you thought he was perfect then you definitely think he is perfect now.

The sun slips through the curtains, dyeing your sweaty skin in gold; your mouth is nuzzled into his neck, lashes tickling his skin every time you shift. He draws phantom circles over your naked waist, savoring this moment, soaking your body in until he can remember the feel of your form through memory alone. You stir, feeling his heartbeat pick up.

It must have been a dream that urged you to say it, because somewhere, on the edge of sleep, you murmur, “What’s your favorite story?”

He didn’t have to think about the answer, not when he had thought about it a million times before. Without hesitation, Jeongin whispers, “Ours.”

(I rushed tf out of some of these I'm sorry)

[thestarlightexpress]

Kinktober Day 4 - Hatefucking - Eris x Reader

TW: sexual themes including degradation

A/N: this is so late in the day, i spent way too much time reading and not writing, oopsie

word count = 2.26k

NSFW under the cut

Kinktober Masterlist

As much as you hated the High Lord of the Autumn Court, you did have to admit - Beron Vanserra knew how to throw a party. While they may not be as relaxed as the parties you’re used to back in Dawn, Autumn parties sure did have a well-developed sense of finery. 

As one of Thesan’s most trusted courtiers, your official goal was to preserve the tenuous trade routes between Dawn and Autumn and keep a low profile. But to be fair, attending a quick party wouldn’t hurt anyone - or so you thought.

You were leaning back against a tapestry hung on the wall of the marvelous ballroom, watching High Fae dressed in reds, oranges, and greens dance around you. You supposed you should’ve taken the opportunity to mingle with the Autumn nobility but you really couldn’t care less - the glass of fine Autumn whiskey helping you decompress and making you feel just floaty enough to be enjoyable. 

After the week you had, you definitely deserved to relax. You normally excelled at court relations but there was something about the Autumn Court that got under your skin. Or well, really someone - the Heir Apparent, Eris fucking Vanserra.

You could never understand how someone so gorgeous could be so damn insufferable. You guessed that there had to be some balance in the universe. After all, it wouldn’t be fair for him to be easy to get along with and nice to look at. On top of how unbearable it was to listen to him all week, you had also managed to embarrass yourself multiple times by getting lost in just how beautiful he was. How unfortunate it was that he had to ruin your daydreams by running his mouth.

You were so distracted by your reminiscing that you didn’t even hear him approach you. “Having fun?”, Eris drawled in your ear. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he’d appeared out of thin air. 

You sighed dramatically before glancing over at him, “I was until you decided to bother me.” You took a second to take him in - wearing his finest Autumn attire, his wavy shoulder-length hair impeccably styled, and his pointed ears adorned with gold hoops and cuffs. 

Eris gave you a piercing glare before smirking, “Well aren’t you just peachy tonight? You’d think you’d be glad tha-”

The rage started boiling as his perfectly lilting voice skimmed your ears in just the right way. “Gods, do you ever stop talking?”

Flames sparked in his amber eyes as they narrowed on you. Before you had a chance to react, he gripped your arm and winnowed both of you away.

You blinked and the ballroom faded away to reveal a spacious but quaint bedroom - including a cherry wood four-poster bed, floor to ceiling bookshelves, and a magnificent window showcasing the beauty of the Autumn Court right outside the Forest House. 

Unfortunately for you, you weren’t outside the Forest House, you were pressed up against a door by Eris Vanserra, in what was likely his bedroom. 

The pressure of his hand on your shoulder, his thumb grazing your collarbone, quickly brought you out of your trance. You craned your neck to look up into his eyes, only seeing thinly veiled rage reflected back at you. “Do you really think you can speak to me like that in my own home? You should know better than that, sweetheart.”

You scoffed and tried to push him away but he only held you tighter, “What gave you the impression that I even care what you think? You don’t scare me, Vanserra. I see right through you.” 

While you knew most of the male’s cruelty and insufferable nature was only for show, the fact that he could very easily overpower you at this moment was not lost on you. You just prayed to the Mother that he couldn’t sense the small amount of fear in your voice. 

Something changed in Eris’ stare like he knew something you didn’t. “I don’t scare you? I don’t know about that, princess,” his free hand firmly gripped your waist and you swore you felt sparks under your skin at the touch. “We both know exactly how much I scare you. But, I think you like that.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat - he had realized something you hadn’t even been able to admit to yourself. That despite your best efforts, you couldn’t resist the small wave of arousal you felt every time he displayed even a minute amount of his power. 

He leaned down to whisper in your ear, “I know you hate me, probably fantasize about killing me, but I think you fantasize about other things as well.” Eris’ voice sent shivers throughout your whole body. 

He started to pull away before you gripped the back of his neck and kept him close to you, “The only thing I’m fantasizing about right now is how to shut you up.”

Eris released a breathy laugh against your neck before taking your earlobe in between his teeth. “There are many methods to do that, perhaps we should investigate the ways?” He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. 

His gaze flitted between your wide eyes and your plump lips, waiting to see who would break the tension first. You figured your night couldn’t really get much worse, so you rose up and pulled him to you.

His lips softly brushed against yours, sending a shock down your spine. Eris reluctantly pulled away, lips parted and ragged breaths sawing out of his chest. He suddenly leaned back down and roughly kissed you. 

Within no time at all, his tongue roamed around your mouth and your hands were hurriedly pushing his tailored jacked off and onto the floor. 

Eris hiked the skirts of your dress up to your hips and pulled you up against the door, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist. 

His lips attached to your neck, quickly working at sucking multiple bruises into the soft and supple flesh of your neck. You tried to distract yourself by unbuttoning his silk shirt as you threw your head back against the door. 

One of your hands floated up to tangle in his hair, lightly pushing his face into you.

You tried and failed to stifle your moans, “Oh fuck Eris - I still hate you, for the record.” 

He sharply bit into your neck at your teasing, pulling a raspy groan from you. One of his hands rose up from his hips to paw at your supple breasts. “ Don’t worry, bunny - I still hate you too.”

You smirked and ground down against his very evident erection. “Are you quite sure about that?”, you whispered in his ear. He lowly growled and bucked his hips up, his bulge grazing your clothed clit. 

Eris spun around and threw you down on the bed before stripping off his shirt and standing between your legs. He leaned over and reached around to unzip your dress before pulling it off, leaving you almost bare save for your thin, lacy panties.

He caged you between the bed and his strong chest. You ran your hand over the expanse of firm and freckled skin as he leaned down to kiss and suck at your exposed tits. 

His warm and wet mouth around your nipples had you leaking through your panties and moaning for more. You raised your leg and teasingly rubbed your foot against his clothed cock. 

At the sudden stimulation, he menacingly growled and bit down on your collarbone before pulling back to look down at you. He licked a smear of blood off his bottom lip before roughly gripping your thighs. He flipped you onto your stomach and hiked your hips up.

Eris gripped your hair and harshly pulled back to arch your back before snarling, “You want to act like a cock-hungry whore? Then I’ll fuck you like one.” He ripped your panties off before spreading your ass to take in your glistening cunt.

You really shouldn’t have teased him when he was this temperamental but you couldn’t help yourself. You bit your lip before muttering, “I sure hope so, you’ve yet to deliver on most of your threats.” 

You started to realize that you got yourself into deep shit when you felt the temperature of the room drop as his rage grew and fiery heat radiated off of him. He clicked his tongue before forcefully slapping your ass. “I should’ve known you would’ve been an insufferable brat, just like you always are.” 

You were sure there would be a hand-shaped burn on you in the morning if the scorching heat emanating from where he struck you was any sign. The delicious mix of pain and pleasure had you dripping all over his sheets.

You heard him fumble with the laces of his pants and pull them down, hissing at the cool air brushing against his swollen cock. He spread your legs further apart and ran his leaky tip between your soaked folds. “Fuck baby, you’re already so wet for me. I could just slip right in, couldn’t I? Let’s test that.” Without any more warning, he pulled your hips back onto his cock as he thrust forward into you.

The burning stretch and sheer size of him already had you tearing up. He groaned as he stilled inside of you, giving you time to adjust. However, the alcohol you ingested earlier already had you pliant and ready for him. You huffed and wiggled your hips against him, “Well fucking get on with it already, would you?”

The hands gripping your hips heated up to an almost scalding temperature as he hissed at the sudden movement. He reached forward to grip your hair - arching your back up towards him - as he started relentlessly fucking into you. The sheer force of his cock sliding in and out of you knocked the air out of your lungs. 

Your gasps quickly turned into moans as the pleasure hit you like a tsunami. The tip of his cock hitting a specific spot inside of you on each stroke and his balls slapping against your clit already had you teetering over the edge. “You just have to be a bitch, don’t you? Can’t even act properly when I’m about to fuck you,” he managed to groan out between low moans and growls. 

You gripped onto the silk sheets for dear life. It was moments like this where you could definitely see how powerful he is, the true Heir to a High Lord. You were starting to get overwhelmed by all the different sensations Eris was giving you - the warmth of his hands, the fullness inside you, even his scent of clove and honey from his sheets. Despite this, you couldn’t help but whine for more. “Gods Eris, don’t stop. Fuck - harder!”

He pulled your chest up and off the bed to him before he growled in your ear, “You’ll take exactly what I give you,”. One hand slipped down to rub tight circles on your clit, “Gods, such a good fucking pussy. So tight and wet for me, gripping me just right.”, he moaned in your ear. 

He placed a knee on the bed next to yours to get a better angle. “Do you have any idea how hard it's been to restrain myself around you? To not kick everyone out of those insufferable meetings and bend you over the table?” The new angle had his tip brushing against your cervix, making you see stars as your vision dimmed. 

You could tell he was getting close when his voice wavered and his chest lightly shook against you with the force of his rapid thrusts. Your walls started to flutter around him as the pressure started to mount in your body. 

You interlaced your hands with his as he growled in your ear, “That’s it, bunny, right there.” He bit down into the crook of your neck as his cock rapidly twitched and spilled inside you. The pressure peaked as you fell over the edge, gushing all over his cock as you came. 

He gingerly pulled out of you and laid you down on the bed on your back. Eris leaned down and softly kissed you. Your chest was still heaving as you tried to will your heart to relax. You were so focused that you didn’t notice him slip into the adjoining washroom. He quickly returned clad in maroon sweatpants, with a wet towel and glass of water. 

You propped yourself up on your elbows and raised your eyebrows, questioning what exactly he was doing. He lightly chuckled as he handed you the water, “I may not like you but I’m not a brute, you still deserve to be treated properly.” 

Eris kneeled at the edge of the bed and started to slowly wipe down your shaking legs and through your center. He then laid down some clean clothes next to you, which you quickly slipped on.

Eris sat on the bed against the headboard and pulled you over to rest your head in his lap as you curled up next to him. He placed one hand on your waist as the other ran through your hair. You glanced up to see his head against the headboard, eyes closed with a content smile. He peered open one eye and smirked down at you, “As much as I enjoyed this, we go back to hating each other in the morning.”

You snorted at his blunt command, “Agreed. Until next time, lordling.”. You quickly shut your eyes and drifted off to sleep encompassed by his comforting scent.

[alonetimelover]

pairing: Harry Styles x equestrian!reader

fc: Jessica Springsteen

summary: in which harry needed to learn how to ride a horse for his daylight music video

a/n: thank you to the anon that requested equestrian!reader

masterlist

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harryupdates

liked by hArrysbtch, harrysmoustache and 42 101 others

harryupdates HARRY SPOTTED FILMING SOMETHING IN ATLANTA!!!!!!!!

view all 4 201 comments

hArrysbtch NO FUCKING WAY

hArrysbtch WHAT IS HAPPENING

harrysmoustache STOP whatever you're doing, just STOP

harrysmylife King is back

harryshoee this is for daylight, i'm telling you!

⤷ stylesbabie didn't he film sth with james?

⤷ harryshoee i think it was only for the show and not the original music video. at least I hope so!!!

harrybestie phoebe is that you?

harryno1fan he has a strange mind...

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yourinstagram

liked by harryupdates and 24 301 others

yourinstagram Olympics are no more for us, so Don Juan joined a circus!

view all 1 301 comments

hArrysbtch ill recognise that bitch anywhere!!!!

harryshoee ariana what are you doing here?????

harryupdates 👀

user49 hello, why are "Olympics no more"?

⤷ yourinstagram hiii! jumping has been removed from Olympics because of an incident that happened during one of the competitions.

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harryupdates

liked by hArrysbtch, stylesbabie and 33 201 others

harrysupdates HARRY FOLLOWED YN YSN ON IG AND TWITTER! he liked all of her photos and commented on the last 10!

view all 4 201 comments

harryupdates YN YSN is equestrian that won silver medal at the 2020 Olympics! she also is rumoured to be involved in harry's daylight music video!!

hArrysbtch nah, that bitch is gone!

harrysmoustache he's taken?!

harrysmylife maaaaan, he in love

stylesbabie oh she so posted a picture of harry on her ig then

harryshoee we're the same. I've done the same to her profile. I love her too

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harrylisbon

liked by harryupdates, hArrysbtch and 67 208 others

harrylisbon WTHAJDKOW GUYS!!!! HARRY JUST PLAYED THIS DURING DAYLIGHT!!!!!

view all 10 401 comments

harryupdates what is going on?????

hArrysbtch what if he drops ot during the final show????

harryshoee im losing my shit rn

stylesbabie im seeing him in Rome, he better played it in the background!!!!

harrysmoustache screaming crying throwing up

harrysfan82 I died dead

harrysfan03 i lost the idgaf war....

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harryupdates

liked by yourinstagram, harryshoee and 58 401 others

harryupdates DAYLIGHT MV 19th JULY 5PM UK

view all 6 402 others

harryupdates guess what? im not sleeping again tonight!

hArrysbtch excuse me, i have heart problems

harrysmoustache yellow bird supremacy!!!!!

yourinstagram 🏇🏻🏇🏻🏇🏻

⤷ hArrysbtch what you mean???????

⤷ harrysmylife yn, tell me you're involved!

⤷ yourinstagram 🤫

harrysmylife he's in his taylor era

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harrystyles

liked by harryupdates, yourinstagram and 8 301 031 others

harrystyles DAYLIGHT MV just for you, H xx yourinstagram

view all 491 301 comments

yourinstagram Don Juan looks magnificent!

⤷ harrystyles what about me?

⤷ yourinstagram we still need to work on your posture

⤷ harrystyles yes, ma'am

⤷ hArrysbtch WTF, he knows how to comment?????

harryupdates that's your best video to date

harrysmylife he can ride??? what can't he do??

annetwist Proud ❤️

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harryupdates

liked by hArrysbtch and 49 302 others

harryupdates "She was the first choice from the moment the idea popped in my head. I couldn't be happier about it. She's the best." HARRY ON WORKING WITH YN IN DAYLIGHT MUSIC VIDEO BTS

view all 5 302 comments

hArrysbtch he in love

harrysmoustache HE BLUSHED SO HARD!!!!!

harryshoee the clips of the laughing together??????

harrysmylife and and and the way he looks at her

harrysfan94 but the clip when yn's doing all the jumping and all??? she's sooo good. couldn't harry just have her starring in the mv?

⤷ yourinstagram yeah, harrystyles?

⤷ harrystyles there is this version...

⤷ hArrysbtch WHAT

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yourinstagram

liked by harrystyles, stylesbabie and 492 301 others

yourinstagram THE Don Juan and some indie singer on their first lesson

view all 49 302 comments

harrystyles the star 🐎

harryupdates the shade???

stylesbabie uhhh, they so together

harryshoee do you give lessons to ordinary people?

⤷ yourinstagram during the summer when there's no competition I'm holding a camp. you can enrol with the link in my bio!

⤷ user92 be careful, it's expensive as hell!

⤷ yourinstagram well, we do not take any money from our pupils. we ask for food or money (however much you want) donation! hope that helps, x

harrysmoustache oh, I'm so in love with them

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harryupdates

liked by harrysmoustache and 49 301 others

harryupdates YN AND HARRY SPOTTED HORSE RIDING OUTSIDE OF LONDON!

view all 7 492 others

hArrysbtch oh so we know what he's going to do during the break

harrysmylife 😭that's😭so😭sweet😭

stylesbabie he looks so cute in his little outfit

harryshoee SAVE A HORSE RIDE A COWBOY

harrysmyman unholy thought, unholy

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yourinstagram

liked by harrystyles, hArrysbtch and 830 201 others

yourinstagram ❤️❤️❤️

view all 49 201 comments

harrystyles congratulations, darling.

commemt liked by yourinstagram and 68 302 others

harryupdates the support

hArrysbtch we haven't heard from him in months

⤷ harrysmoustache and we've got a prize today for waiting patiently

stylesbabie everyone say: THANK YOU, YN

harrysmylife and everything started because this man has a mind strange enough to start a circus...

[sephirthoughts]

If you dare, something I haven't seen much: vincent valentine & rufus shinra

I'm curious how you see them interacting. if you have a thought, go for it, otherwise providing options: 2, 5, 28, 34

OK! Vincent and Rufus! I got things you said (2)through your teeth, (5) didn't say at all (28)in the dark, and (34)whispered in my ear. I loved this prompt because it produced this absolutely ridiculous scene. Enjoy!

He sat in the dark, into the small hours of the morning. The office lights off, so the poisonous, green glow from the reactors could and must be appreciated to its fullest. So there was no glossing over the ugly reality. That Shinra was a machine that swallowed blood and spit out gold. That he was a petty autocrat, enthroned on a mountain of garbage. A dead man ruling an empire of bones. 

“You are not your father,” a man’s voice whispered, right into his ear.

His hand was instantly on his gun, but a cold, metal claw had already caught him by the throat, and was squeezing threateningly. His eyes flashed to Darkstar, whose monstrous bulk was coalescing amongst the inky shadows, fangs bared and crimson eyes ablaze. 

One look at the intruder, however, and the massive, demonic hound gave a high-pitched whine and cowered, like a whipped cur. Rufus glared disdainfully after the beast, as it slunk away, with both its tails between its legs. Some fucking guard dog.

“Are you reminding me, that I am not my father, or yourself?” he asked calmly, removing his hand from the stock of his gun, and placing it flat on his desk, with the other.

“You seem to need to be reminded,” the intruder answered.

Rufus sighed forbearingly. “If you were going to kill me, you would have, by now, so do you mind getting to what you want and sparing me the theatrics?”

“Said the man sitting alone, in the dark, at the top of a giant tower with his name written all over it.”

“It’s not money,” Rufus mused. “You’ve bypassed my security to get to me, which means you could easily have walked into a bank vault and taken what you wanted. No, you…you believe in your own righteousness. You have the stench of ideology, all over you. Let me guess, Avalanche? Is this an absolutely fantastic bit of irony?”

“Coffin wood.”

“I suppose y—what?” Rufus said, actually caught off-guard.

“It’s not ideology that you smell all over me, it’s coffin wood. And dry-rot.”

“Do you think convincing me that you’re deranged is going to further your goals, somehow?”

The man sounded offended. “I’m not deranged, I sleep in a coffin.”

“You’re not deranged…you sleep in a coffin. Can you hear yourself, when you speak?” Annoyed past the point of prudence, Rufus looked up at the man holding him by the neck and gave a start. “A Valentine?” he said aloud, before he could stop himself.

The man looked surprised. He also looked fucking magnificent. Rufus suppressed a scowl. These goddamned Valentines and their perfect genes. No wonder that lunatic Hojo was so obsessed with them. 

“How did you know?” asked the most obvious Valentine ever. 

“You look exactly like your father. And I’ve seen your personnel file. Employee profile: Valentine, Vincent,” he said, to no one in particular. 

A glowing holographic screen obediently materialized above the desk, displaying the HR file for Vincent Valentine, including a large, full-color photograph. Notably, the upper right corner of the file bore a stamp that read ‘DECEASED’ in red ink.

“Hm. I’m impressed you recognized me. I was so young in that photo.”

It took Rufus a full five seconds to comprehend that the man wasn’t joking. Then he was even more irritated. “Your hair is long now. That is literally the only difference. Are you absolutely certain you’re not deranged?”  

“Fairly certain.”

“Well then, Vincent Valentine, will you kindly tell me what the hell it is that you want, that has you in my office in the middle of the night, threatening my life, before I kill myself from exasperation?” 

The Valentine stepped back and pulled something out of the idiotic cloak that he was somehow making look amazing. Rufus stared at the object in blank disbelief. It was…it was one of those stupid robot cats, that Reeve was always playing with. 

“I came to return this,” the Valentine explained, which only raised more questions. “I wandered into the wrong office.”

Rufus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You wandered. Into. The wrong. Office.”

“Mn,” he nodded. “Sorry about that.”

“Then why, pray tell, did you grab me by the neck!”

“You would’ve shot me, if I hadn’t, and there would’ve been a big scene. I really don’t like noise.”

“And the creepy whispering, about me not being my father?”

“I already told you, you seemed like you needed to be reminded.”

“You were right about that, at least. Because if I were my father, you’d be dead already.”

“He didn’t have anything capable of killing me, any more than you do. If you knew of a way for me to die, I would welcome it. Not to be a bother, but could you direct me to Reeve Tuesti’s office, so I can return this thing? I’m getting sleepy and I’d really like to leave.”

“You have gone far off course,” Rufus informed him. “Director Tuesti’s office is three floors down on the—wait, no! I am not giving you directions! You are trespassing! And you just threatened my life! You may think you’re invinci—”

“Three floors down, got it,” the Valentine interrupted, with a solemn half-bow. “Thank you, Rudolph.”

“Fucking…Rudolph???” Rufus ground out, through clenched teeth.

He had officially had enough of this shit. He whipped out his gun and fired a shot, just in time to entirely miss the red-cloaked menace, as he vanished in a melodramatic, crimson whirl. God damn slippery vampire-ass Valentines!

He had his hand over the button to summon building security, when he thought the better of it, and drew it back. The last thing he needed was a gaggle of fools in here tromping around, tracking in dirt probably, failing to find anything, and publishing a description of a suspect that very much fit Count Dracula. People would say the new president was losing his mind, and hallucinating fairytale monsters. 

No, there was no use kicking up a fuss just to be humiliated. He’d send the Turks after the Valentine…in a little while. If he gave the man a head start, maybe he’d kill that annoyingly upright pain in the ass Reeve, while he was down there. Now, where was that stupid dog?

“Darkstar!” he shouted, into the cavernous blackness of his idiotically massive office. “You have five seconds to get over here and explain yourself!”

[NOTE: it's probably unclear, but (5) things you didn't say at all was Rufus' name. Vincent never said it because he called him the wrong one.]

[skitskatdacat63]

I should've been sleeping before my flight but instead I drew Seb as Antinous :D

Reference + Commentary:

SEB IS MY MODERN DAY ANTINOUS, OKAY!? I WOULD DEIFY HIM IF I COULD!!!

But seriously I spent like an hour obsessing over statues of Antinous just thinking; "holy fuck, he reminds me so much of Seb???"

Big, pretty eyes? Check. Magnificent curls? Check. Beautiful side profile? Check. Etc etc.

I read this description of a statue and was instantly struck with "this is so Seb.":

"The body and face of this sculpture are in idealized youth, with plump cheeks and round face, and his hair is usually unkempt. Antinous's hair has also been described as artificial looking, even wig-like, because of how similar the placement of his hair is across statues. His youthful appearance, large eyes, pouting lips, and layered locks of hair over his forehead are some of the iconography that can be used to identify him"(x)

Also which AU of mine is this hmmm. It can be either the Renaissance Muse AU(x) or the random Roman Caesar Fernando AU(x) I drew it with the latter in mind(bcs its basis is literally just Hadrian and Antinous), but it's fun to imagine the Martian version as well!! Maybe an AU of an AU, where Mark is Pygmalion, and Seb is Galatea 🤭🤭

[malavera]

Low Profile (18+), pt. ii — Tom Cruise

↳ you’re a successful singer who’s secretly a Sugar Baby to the biggest movie star, Tom Cruise.

summary: 2 months earlier before hell went loose, you and Tom went to Lake Como for a small getaway to enjoy yourselves.

pairings: Tom Cruise x Singer!Reader

warnings: undisclosed relationship, mature content, fluff, smut, public (but secluded) oral f/receiving, squirting, age gap (reader is 25 tom is 59), pet names (princess), dd/lg elements, daddykink.

w.c: 2891

a/n: please do keep in mind that THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, any places mentioned, time and events are all fiction. I do not own tom cruise (i wish i do). this series will contain 18+ contents most of the time, minors DNI!

read part 1 here

“What do you have in mind?” His deep raspy voice mumbled through the phone on your ear. Your hands playing with the hem of your dress, your eyes darted back and forth watching the situation in the studio peeking from your sunglasses as you think to yourself what would be the perfect place to getaway from all of this workload. Every once in a while people would need to get away and heal just for a good hour before they go back to face the reality ahead of them.

Then you remembered, you’ve always wanted to visit Lake Como in Italy. You’ve seen pictures of it from Pinterest or Tumblr, how wonderful and seemed so magnificently magical. It’s almost too good to be true. A week later you told your manager how you needed to fix yourself a getaway, alone. She offered to come with you, but you politely declined as you assured that you’d be going with a very dear friend of yours. You also wished that you have a full day off, you don’t want to be bothered, nor the internet needs to be informed about your whereabouts.

Here you are, head on his broad shoulders, snuggling around his arms on your way towards the hangar for to get on his private jet. The smell of his signature fragrance breeze lightly through your nose—felt like being at home. The warmth that he projects, the touches, the sweet words it’s nobody’s fault if your heart desires to wish for more, more than what you have right now.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry, but it’s just for 15 seconds. Okay?” The first 3 months were fine, you were intrigued by the excitement—the feelings were mutual while it lasted. Now, it aches your heart as you watch him handing your sunglasses and your scarf to cover up your face. As if on default, your body reacted normally and quickly put on the disguise. Tom, of course, is not stupid. He knows you’re starting to hate these kind of things, but he couldn’t help it any other way. He’s aware about the danger to this relationship if it breaks out to the world, and little did you know—he’s not thinking of himself out there, he’s thinking about you. He knows the majority of your fanbase across the world will look at you with a side eye, at least their parents would as the majority of your fans are younger age.

Tom always finds a way to distract you from your own thoughts, Throughout the long flight, you both pretty much enjoyed yourselves with you warming his cock. Having his hard cock inside your cunt without doing anything for a good 15 minutes to, even possible, 1 hour, is one of many things that is your favorite when you’re with him. Aside from he could just fuck you right there, you feel more connected as he’d get vulnerable with you—for some reason, maybe he felt connected with you more though no pun intended. He’d excitedly talk about his upcoming movie projects, and you’d ask him about his old movie projects for example; You had a movie with Brad Pitt and I read that you complained he had a bad odor, was it so bad? When it was your turn to talk about something, he couldn’t really give you time to talk about anything because when it was your turn, he’d find you adorable explaining all of your big singer gig and music project he couldn’t help but to thrust his hips slightly here and there—that’s where you’d get flustered, fisting his dress shirt and have your eyes fluttered shut feeling his cock.

Turning off the hairdryer, you softly place it back to where it belongs before you brush your thick hair smoothing them out. You sighed to yourself, applying chapstick to your plump lips then joining him in the bedroom as he laid there shirtless with only a jogger around his hips, arms crossed behind his arms flexing his chest watching the local channel. Of course, he owns a Villa here and you couldn’t feel more happier, safe, and content for it is his private manor, and no one would bother both of you.

Unwrapping your robe to reveal your bare breasts and a soft pink panties, Tom peeked to stare at you with a tiny smirk on his face as well as yours. He loves it when you’re almost naked as it gave him easier access to play with your breasts while cuddling. You sighed pulling the blankets up, Tom uncross his arms behind his neck shifting into an open invitation to cuddle against his chest.

“What do you want to do first thing in the morning?” He mumbled in your hair, kissing your head.

“Mm, I don’t know. You be my tour guide, daddy.” You mumbled out an answer while rubbing your eyes with your knuckles. Tom chuckled and went to kiss your forehead,

“You feel so soft, baby. You smell good too.” His big calloused hands went wandering around your body, caressing your arms then to your collarbone, down to your chest—massaging your breasts. A smile formed on your face with your eyes closed.

"I'm tired, Daddy. Can we do this in the morning?"

Tom smiled, "Alright, baby. Get some sleep, I'm here, I'm not going to leave you."

Your heart melts in your chest, your smile falters slowly, you could only pray to god that despite the undisclosed relationship and how wrong it is, you hoped that there comes a day where you could be flaunted in his arms to the world as you could finally say it's me and you against them.

Of course, you didn’t plan this little getaway trip only to feel melancholy and other things that you shouldn’t be overthinking. You’re with him, and that’s all that matters. Morning came by pretty soon that you thought, you woke up to a smell of the burnt Blueberry Pancakes and a hint of the sweet maple syrup. You peek one eye open before adjusting your blurry vision to reveal he had prepared a tray full of breakfast. You gently rub your eyes before sitting up to look around the room for him, you noticed how he opens the door to the balcony—the breezy wind breezes into the room, that unfamiliar fresh air runs through your nose giving your heart at ease. A note was propped against the cup of coffee as it reads,

Out for a small meeting with McQ, be back before you know it.

Of course, everywhere he goes, he would have his crew around with him. You huff in annoyance, crumbling the piece of paper and toss it away. You thought this would be only just the two of you, away from the reality like you wished to. It’s a bad trip already, you thought. You tried to not let your annoyance gets in the way of you and him enjoying this trip, but you couldn’t help it, either way you’d be a brat.

Sitting outside of the Vila at the backyard that leads straight to the beautiful lake, just need to take a couple of steps down and you’d have your own private swimming pool. You plan on getting in the water but Tom just came back and better yet, he’s talking on the phone while you sit there, annoyed, with your legs crossed while flipping through Vogue.

“Do you want to see the market? They’ve got good spots and you can take your Instagram pictures.” Once he hung up his phone, he placed it down on the clear glass rounded table and pulling his chair closer to you.

“No, I won’t be posting any pictures.” You mumbled.

“Okay, how about a small cafe not far from here? It’s my favorite they’ve got-”

“McQ or anyone of your crew’s going to be there?” Tom clamped his mouth shut receiving your snap. You’re upset, tilting your head biting your tongue in the corner of your mouth staring at him while your hands kept flipping the magazine pages on your lap.

Tom’s shoulders slumped, a soft sigh escaped from his lips. He understood why you’re giving him attitude, it was his fault anyway. “Princess,” Oh he’s calling you using your favorite pet names now huh.

“I know you’re upset, you have every right to be. But, you don’t have to worry about anything, they’re not staying. Even if they are, I promise you they won’t be in our away..” Tom coaxed, wrapping his hands behind your knees as he kneeled in front of you. You kept your ground, your lips pursed still in annoyance.

Tom sighed once again before he put himself back om his seat. “How about this,” He started. You turned your attention from the view to him. “You’ll have full control of my phone, for these 3 days. I’m all yours, Princess—I promise.” Tom assured, pushing his chin down, his eyes burning into yours.

“How does that sound to you?” You tried to suppress a smile but fail either way, your arms slowly uncrossed before nodding your head vigorously.

“That sounds like a deal, Daddy.” Bright smile displayed on his face before you jumped to sit on his lap, hugging him.

"Come on, let's go for a swim."

At last you could finally feel at ease, throwing your head back, a sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose, your elbows propped to support your body relaxing on the ground. Striking a pose for your Sugar Daddy as he took the photo using your phone, a smile on his face as words of encouragement sounded from his lips. Your heart felt giddy in the moment watching him act like a paparazzi taking your pictures, it's a hot day outside but both of you didn't mind it at all.

"Here, Princess." Tom handed you your phone as you gently set it down beside your stuff.

"Come on, let's jump into the water. Get on my back."

"Uhm- Are you sure? I think it's pretty deep, besides it's been a while since I went swimming, I'm afraid my body forgets how to float." Tom laughs shaking his head before he grabs you by your hand pulling you up to stand on your feet.

"Don't worry, Princess. You'll have me, just hold on to me. I promise you, it's shallow, you'll land on your feet."

Boy, that was such a big fat lie once you get on his back as he jumped into the lake with your eyes screwed very shut. As both of you dived into the water, your legs tried to find the bottom where he said you could land on your feet but failed because the lake was not shallow. You swam up to the surface with your heart thumping in your chest, gasping a breath before Tom follows.

"YOU LIED!"

"SEE, YOU FLOAT! There's no way your body forgot how to." Tom laughed.

You grunted, splashing the water at him. "It's not funny! What if my body did forgot how to float?!" You exaggerate. Tom is still laughing, wiping his face before he swims closer to you, holding your body.

"You're silly, that wouldn't happen, you big baby."

The water was mineral clear, it was cold but it felt nice against your skin. You and Tom basically became kids again, at least for him. You both had a challenge who could hold their breaths longer, play tags, goofing around until you didn't realize it's almost afternoon. You swam towards the steps as Tom follows behind you. Setting your palm against the surface to lift yourself out from the water, before sitting down on it.

"What do you think we should eat?" You asked, gathering your wet hair before squeezing the water out.

"I have something in mind." His voice low, his hands set on your knees, spreading them gently as in default, you adjusted your seating position and Your elbows propped on the higher steps.

"I want a taste of this." His thumb went to caress your soaked bikini, a smile pulled on your face.

"Here?"

"Mhmm.." Tom nodded his head, his eyes set on your pussy before his hands went to untie your bottom. You help him by lifting your ass up as it would be easier for him to discard the clothing off from your hips. He tossed it behind you as it landed on the ground, turning your head back to watch him get in between your legs. Tom puts your legs on his shoulder, his fingertips went to caress your naked pussy—teasing your clit.

"Mm, Daddy.. Do you think it's a good idea to do this? What if someone sneak into your manor and took pictures of us?" A worry started to rush inside you, you know it won't happen but you like to overthink the unthinkable situation, as it didn't even happen.

"No need to worry about anything, Princess. Now, shh. Let daddy have a taste." Tom mumbles before he dives into your flesh, his tongue gliding from the bottom to the top, as he sucked on your clit. A gasp earned from your plump list, as your head throws back, your eyes fluttered shut rolling to the back of your head. His tongue game is definitely something, it never fails to bring you the euphoria.

Especially now, the thought of being watched by someone, whoever hides behind the bushes or the walls, or even if there's a helicopter passing by—watching the way Tom Cruise eats the young singer's pussy in the pooling steps, somehow excites you know. The worries had gone away, consciously you challenge anybody out there to watch you getting eaten out. He nestled against your thighs as his hands caress your waist before they wander up to your breasts giving them a massage.

"Oh fuck, daddy.. That felt so good.. Please give me more." You whine out a plea. Tom pulled his face away from your pussy, his eyes bore into yours as you watch him gather his saliva using his fingers before he glides them over your pussy.

"Tell me you need my fingers to cum." Tom growled, flicking his fingers against your clit.

You squeaked, your thighs almost clamped against each other but Tom stopped them. "I need your fingers to cum, daddy. Please!" You moaned.

A smirk on his face, shoving two fingers inside your cunt earning out a loud gasp from you. Tom started to curl his fingers at a slow pace, moans escaped from your throat, your hips started to move to create more friction, you spread your legs wider—if you could watch yourself, this is such a porno situation. But, you love it. You watched the way his bicep flex as he shove his fingers inside you. His eyebrows scrunched in concentration, eager to get something out of you.

Tom increased the pace of his fingers, before he dives back into your pussy playing with your clit using his tongue. Porn sounds watered down from your lips, you couldn't stop staring at the way his jaw moves up and down sucking in your pussy, the familiar tight knot feeling appears in your stomach and Tom knows you're almost reaching for your orgasm.

"Come on, princess." Tom growled against your pussy, the boom from his voice sends vibration through your body, his tongue flicking nonstop.

"Shit! Daddy!" You shrieked, your legs lifted straight up in the air, your thighs shook and with one final glide from his warm tongue, his face are greeted with a spray from your pussy as you squirted out your orgasm. Tom moaned drinking in your fluid, his fingers still thrusting inside you as you ride out your orgasm.

Fuck, I just squirted out to the lake, You thought. Tom must've read your mind as he is taking in the way your eyes widened, your chest heaves, your eyes stares away to the lake. He lets out a small laugh before wiping his face.

"Come on now, Princess. Let's get you something to eat."

Memorizing it as you swiped through the pictures in your phone, you couldn't help but ache. You miss him, it's been 2 weeks and he's back into his reality. Busy as ever, he barely texts you nor call you. You have to understand though, after all,

You don't think he's really yours.

"Y/N, there's a package for you. Here." Your manager came into your room, setting down a medium sized box on your table. You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion as you set down your phone to reach for the box.

"Who is it from?" She asked, nudging her head.

A note was attached to it as it read,

I know you miss me,

here's something to keep you company for a while. — D

The way your lips tugged to each corner your Manager got the hint as it is probably from someone very dear to you. She rolls her eyes with a silly smile before leaving you alone, shutting the door on her way out. You bit your lip once you hear the doors closed, unwrapping the ribbon on the box.

A gasp sounded from your lips, a silly smile plastered shaking your head side to side.

"Such a naughty old man."

It's a replica of his cock as a dildo.

——————————————————————————

tagging:

@deanscroissant

@helloitstsyu

@tomsf18

@call-sign-shark

@moondustfairies

@katherineswritingsblog

@elenavampire21

@gypsymoon548

@lynnsthoughts

@joeltheegoodson

[seeingteacupsindragons]

Perhaps some of you remember that time I wrote up an entire essay for the TVTropes forums to get William cemented as a Magnificent Bastard because you literally have to get fictional characters vetted by people who care an absurd amount about this to add them to the trope page.

I am now back on my bullshit, and just got Albert confirmed (Louis is in the works, but the voting looks good for him so far). I did his write up today and it should be up later this week? I enjoy the short version as well.

And now:

The Work

Moriarty the Patriot is a (very loose) retelling of the Sherlock Holmes stories combined with James Bond set in the late 1800s, focused on Professor James Moriarty and exploring his motivations.

The Character

This post is to open a discussion specifically on Albert James Moriarty, older brother of Professor Moriarty (who we already confirmed) and one the Professor's Co-Dragons. Albert is the original "Moriarty" family member biologically who took the other two in as children, and is the leader of MI6 for most of the series.

Why Is He a Bastard

I mean, he kills his own younger biological brother and his mother by hand and then arranged for the entire rest of his family and servants to die in their sleep in a fire. So like. Is that enough?

He also took two orphan kids in, then basically said, "Hey, in exchange for getting your little brother heart surgery he needed to live, help me murder like so many people. Kthx."

He tends to come off colder than either of his brothers, which is sort of impressive since they're all murderers.

I like Albert, but he's certainly a bastard.

But Not That Bad?

Much like his brothers, Albert is trying in a very fucked up way to improve society by murdering people he thinks are making society worse. He is...trying to help in a Pay Evil unto Evil sort of way.

Honestly, Albert is the Moriarty brother who gets the least amount of sympathy from fans, although this shifted a fair amount after it was revealed he has severely untreated OCD, which is a massive contributing factor to his need to eliminate the hypocrisies of all these abusive nobles who keep going to Christian churches. But it's not like most people with OCD are murderers, so there's a limit to how far this Freudian Excuse is going to take him.

Is He Charming/Magnificent

Albert is, according to an official Japanese fan poll, the second most popular character in the series (second to the protagonist of the series, who won by a landslide). This seems to track from the interactions I've had with people. So people are charmed by him.

Albert is also in the series pretty much assigned to "socialization" on behalf of everyone else. He doesn't seem to really like it very much, but he gets along with people rather well. According to his official character profile, he's still getting asked out and courted even after losing his title and going to prison for the murders, so apparently people are really into him.

He also has a similar flair for the dramatic to his younger brother. This is absolutely a man who is going to revel in elaborate schemes and acting a part. While he often asks his brother to arrange details and plans, he always shows up to convince people that he's just so worried about his kidnapped brother, please help him, and oh, gasp, people have died, how tragic.

But Is He Brilliant?

This, I think, is a key factor in Albert's case here: Most of William's subordinates are very subordinate to him. It's made clear that William expects all of his crew to be able to think and plan for themselves and make their own decisions, but the series doesn't always take time to show that off for everyone. Albert does get that time.

Albert often sees opportunities before he engages William for a plan to make it work. Manipulating Mycroft Holmes into getting MI6 created so he could lead it was Albert's idea, and he executed the plan (and he leads MI6 when it's not doing Lord of Crime business), even if William came up with many of the details to help him out. Albert is the one who sees the potential in Adam Whitley and brings the topic up to William.

Also, Albert was the first person to bring William's dreams of killing nobles and creating a brighter world into fruition and set it into a tangible, real path. He and William are frequently tagged as the only two who originated the entire plan.

Albert is a brilliant opportunist and an excellent man to have making sure everything goes off without a hitch, even if the details of getting things done aren't really his forte.

He's brilliant.

What About His Competition?

Most of the nemeses in the series are focused on William, and Albert is his subordinate. Basically none of Sherlock or Milverton's attention ever splashes Albert's way. The person he really engages with in a competitive dance with is...Mycroft Holmes. And while Albert doesn't exactly win, neither does he lose to Mycroft. They come to a couple of agreements and passes to work together and watch to make sure the other isn't getting in their way.

Verdict:

Yes.

[frozenbound]

I'm the person who asked about your tumblr so glad to see asks open for requests! I absolutely adored that shimadacest fic of yours, I also saw a fic recently where jesse has the hots for hanzo but hates him they eventually fuck and it's written as fairly tender/smut with feelings at the end. I'm not sure if that was you or anyone else but I am always and I mean always in need of more yeehan smut. So my request is assless chaps, hanzo in a cowboy hat fukin.

Thank you so much for your kind words! The hate-to-tender-fuck fic isn’t mine, but it’s a great story! I tend to want to skip straight to the tender fucking. I have no patience for hate between two handsome men, haha!

Thank you so much for the request!! I’m super excited to write it! YeeHan Cowboy Hanzo coming right up, under the Read More!

“What are you wearing?!” Genji demanded, rocketing to his feet off of Hanzo’s bed. Hanzo shook his head as he closed the bathroom door behind him and walked…the hairs rising on the back of his neck from the noise the jingling spurs made, so antithetical to the silent steps he had taken since he was four…to the full-length mirror beside his wardrobe.

He stopped in front of it and considered himself: front on, in profile, and looking over his shoulder.

He looked really good as a cowboy.

Genji came bouncing up behind him, staring. “No way. No way. Who are you? What have you done with my brother?”

“If you’re allowed to make extravagant purchases every day,” Hanzo retorted, still looking himself over, “then I’m allowed to make at least one.”

“Extravagant?! Is that what you call this?”

“What would you call it?”

“Insane!”

Well, Hanzo conceded internally as he turned back to face the mirror full-on, Genji might be right.

A dark brown cowboy hat, a blue-green plaid button-up shirt, tight-fitting jeans, chaps, and cowboy boots, complete with spurs, were an insane impulse purchase after discovering that Seven Samurai had an American rip-off called The Magnificent Seven…a rip-off that was actually, surprisingly good.

But, as Hanzo raised a hand to his chin and stroked his new beard and goatee, which he had grown recently and now coincidentally looked like the finishing touches on this new look, the impulse had paid dividends.

He looked good.

He looked really good.

He would never, ever, ever wear this in public, but he looked really good as a cowboy.

“I can’t believe,” Genji said slowly after a brief silent period while they both stared at Hanzo’s outfit, “that you even got the assless chaps.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. “All chaps are assless, Genji. You remember how in English ‘trousers’ and ‘jeans’ are plural? It’s because they started out like this.” He unbuckled the belt holding the chaps together and took them off, showing Genji the shaped leather was in two distinct pieces that covered the outer parts of his legs, but not only didn’t join up at the crotch but were also open in the interior.

Genji whistled. “Huh. You learn something new every day.”

“Indeed,” Hanzo replied, buckling the chaps back on and turning back to the mirror to feed his growing admiration of himself. “Do it and I’ll break it in half.”

“Brother!” Genji whined, cellphone in hand. “You gotta let me!”

“I will break it, Genji.”

Genji put it back in his pocket, grumbling, but Hanzo had no pity for him. This had been an impulse buy, a gift of sorts, but to himself, and himself alone.

Nobody would ever see him like this. Ever.

“Ever” turned out to mean “For twelve years”.

When Hanzo and Genji walked down the exit ramp of the transport to meet the small crowd of Overwatch agents that had gathered to greet them, Hanzo only had eyes for the giant gorilla who was leading this insane escapade of a second Overwatch, and when he got over him, there were plenty of other characters to distract him, ranging from the bubbly British agent to the Brazilian guerrilla DJ to the Korean streamer-slash-war heroine.

Then there was Genji nudging him familiarly and catching Hanzo’s eye and grinning, his teeth flashing white in his dark, scarred face, and the fact that Genji was here and alive and welcoming him into his circle of friends and comrades took Hanzo’s breath away and he could only look uncomprehendingly at his brother for a few uncomfortable seconds.

Then Genji motioned again, stronger and more insistent, and obligated Hanzo to look at a…at a…

At a cowboy.

With a cowboy hat, red and yellow plaid button-up shirt, tight-fitting jeans, chaps, and cowboy boots, complete with jingling spurs.

Hanzo stared.

He even had the cloak over his shoulders. What was it called? Not a poncho, it was a…

The cowboy looked back mildly, with a trace of unfriendly wariness at Hanzo’s scrutiny and silence.

“Howdy,” he said at last, when Hanzo failed to say anything, and Hanzo nearly closed his eyes.

He even sounded like a cowboy.

But he managed to return the greeting with a minimum of nervousness under Genji’s gleeful eye, and the cowboy introduced himself as Cole Cassidy and left it at that.

But things didn’t stay like that.

No, over the next weeks and months, the cowboy revealed himself to be an astute, thoughtful, charismatic, and capable leader. 

He turned out to be an excellent shot.

He had a varied and eventful and unlikely background, with an undercurrent of a search for redemption running throughout.

He was gay. Completely and thoroughly gay, and after a few months, when he discovered that Hanzo was a sharp, observant, poised, and skilled agent who was an incredible shot with a mixed and weighty and strange background that had ultimately led to a search for redemption…

Well, it turned out they had a lot in common.

So it was no surprise when they started fucking.

It was a surprise that it didn’t take at least a little alcohol to get them started, but Cassidy made sure to proposition Hanzo in the afternoon that first time, not in the evening after they had both indulged in some whiskey and sake.

Maybe he simply found him irresistible when they were shirtless and sweaty and alone in the Watchpoint’s gym.

At any rate, they ended up running up to Cassidy’s quarters, and Hanzo managed to surprise Cassidy by pushing the cowboy to sit on his bed while Hanzo dropped to his knees.

“And here I thought I was taking the initiative,” he drawled as Hanzo tugged down his workout shorts to reveal his erection, the head shiny with precum.

“You did,” Hanzo replied, “but I’ll take over from here.”

The cowboy opened his mouth to retort, but only a groan came out as Hanzo engulfed him in the moist heat of his mouth.

Hanzo was pleased to find that the cowboy was a complete gentleman. There had been times when his partner had enjoyed Hanzo’s lips and mouth and tongue and then immediately dropped off to sleep or simply left as soon as they exploded down his throat, but not Cassidy. After Hanzo had swallowed, Cassidy took a few minutes to catch his breath, gently stroking Hanzo’s cheek with a thumb and gazing affectionately down at him, but then he lifted Hanzo onto the bed and returned the favor with gusto, milking Hanzo dry with the best blowjob he’d gotten in years.

Things progressed and meandered at a gentle, languid pace after that, the two men cautiously yet resolutely exploring this new relationship of theirs. Their encounters were restricted to blowjobs and sloppy makeout sessions for a few weeks more, until Hanzo realized that while the physical contact and physical release were welcome, a certain bloom of warmth began to swell in his chest whenever he saw Cassidy, and he fancied that he could see something similar welling up in the cowboy’s eyes and face whenever they met, and it stayed there as he watched Hanzo’s head bob up and down in his lap or when he stared up at Hanzo as he licked up and down his straining length.

“I think,” he said slowly one golden afternoon, his metallic fingers tracing the lines of Hanzo’s dragon as Hanzo cuddled him to his chest, “that I’d like for you to call me Cole.”

Hanzo blinked, swallowed, then ventured, “In what capacity, exactly?”

“In the capacity of my, uh…” Cole said, trailing off, then setting his jaw and looking up at him. “As my boyfriend.”

To his visible relief, Hanzo smiled. “I’d like that very much, Cole.”

Genji screeched when he found out later that day.

“I knew it! I knew it!” he crowed, pounding a metal hand painfully on Hanzo’s back. Hanzo absorbed it stoically. “I knew you had a thing for cowboys! C’mon, we gotta get down to the evidence lockers and see if it’s all still there.”

“If what is still there?” asked Hanzo, bewildered by this completely unexpected turn.

Genji grinned, and while Hanzo was thankful he was getting used to the sight, he couldn’t help worrying at the implications. “If the evidence we seized when Blackwatch raided Shimada Castle is still there.”

Hanzo felt the blood drain out of his face. “Evidence?”

“Yes, brother,” Genji replied with a gleam in his eye. “Evidence.”

And that was why, hours later, Hanzo sent a text to Cole. 

“Come to my quarters. We need to celebrate.”

Cole came, and knocked on the door, which slid aside to admit him into the dark interior, lit only by a few candles.

“Hanzo?” he asked, sounding as though he rather liked where this was going as he stepped inside and let the door close behind him. “Where are you?”

Hanzo pushed the bathroom door open.

Cole stared.

“Howdy,” Hanzo said at last, when Cole failed to say anything, and Cole closed his eyes.

“Tell me,” he said, opening his eyes and letting a grin slowly spread across his face to rob his words of any seriousness, “that I’m not just your fetish.”

“You are not,” Hanzo said, smiling back as he stepped into the room with a jingle, forcing an involuntary chuckle out of Cole as he glanced down at the spurs. “When I was younger, I…happened to see and enjoy an Old West film, and I liked the aesthetics enough to want to have some of them. It’s not a sexual thing, but, ah…now…I thought it might come as a welcome surprise.”

“It sure did. It sure is,” Cole said, laughing again in wonderment as he came forward and took Hanzo by the shoulders and looked him up and down. “Look at you! You’re picture perfect. You look like you’re ready to mount that bull and ride him all the way to Santa Fe and back.”

“Well,” Hanzo said, reddening. “I thought…though it isn’t a sexual thing…I thought perhaps…we could…that I could…” he trailed off.

Cole’s grin widened, though it disappeared for a moment as he licked his lips. “That we could ride?” he finished, his eyes alight with hope.

Hanzo nodded.

Cole leaned in close. “Yeehaw,” he murmured, then he ducked under the brim of Hanzo’s hat and pressed a kiss to his lips. “You, uh…you want me all dolled up, too?”

Hanzo licked his lips and nodded.

Cole looked radiant. “You into assless chaps at all?”

“All chaps are…”

“Oh, darling!” Cole interrupted, hugging him close and nearly bumping Hanzo’s hat right off his head. “You’re turning into my sun and stars, you know that?”

Hanzo mumbled something into Cole’s chest, but even he didn’t know what it was.

Cole rapidly went back to his quarters and returned so quickly he was breathing hard when he knocked on Hanzo’s door to be readmitted. Despite being out of breath, he did his best to saunter in, his own spurs jingling, and even twirling on the spot under Hanzo’s heated and openly admiring gaze. “Look who’s here,” he said smugly. 

“I’m looking,” Hanzo replied, pushing off the wall he had deliberately posed against. “I see a wild stallion in need of being tamed.”

“Oh, really?” Cole said, reaching up to pull the brim of his hat low over one eye. “And you think you’re the one who’s gonna do it?”

“Clearly,” Hanzo said as he stepped up to him and looked up, their brims brushing against each other.

“You’re awfully sure of yourself, partner.”

“With good reason.”

And Hanzo took Cole’s jaw gently in hand and guided him down to his lips, immediately licking into his mouth before parting and looking into Cole’s rather dazed eyes.

“You got a, uh,” the cowboy said slowly, his eyes flicking between Hanzo’s eyes and Hanzo’s lips. “You got a gentler touch than I was expecting.”

“Gentle or rough, I’ll get the job done,” Hanzo purred. “Perhaps the wild stallion might even come willingly.”

“Oh, he sure will, when he sees what you got to offer,” Cole replied fervently.

“Good. Then first, the stallion can lose these.”

And Hanzo swiftly unbuttoned and unzipped Cole’s jeans.

“Tit for tat, cowboy,” Cole said, a little breathlessly.

“If you insist,” Hanzo breathed back as he tugged Cole’s jeans over his thick thighs to pool around his boots. Hanzo had the presence of mind to pull off his boots first before he unbuttoned and shucked off his own jeans, and he laughed as Cole awkwardly tried to shove off his jeans and boots while keeping his eyes glued to Hanzo, managing to tangle the jeans into his spurs before finally kicking the whole mess off.

Then the two of them stalked around each other in the middle of the room, hungrily devouring the sight of the other’s bare ass flexing, round and muscular and framed by the dark leather of the chaps.

Then Hanzo began to slowly unbutton his shirt and Cole’s lips parted as he drank in the sight, Hanzo’s abs and pecs and the swirling lines of his tattoo coming into sight as he shrugged off and dropped the shirt to the floor. 

Hanzo winked and slid his fingertips along the brim of his hat. “The hat and chaps stay on.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, darling,” Cole replied, his weeping cock bouncing.

“I would,” Hanzo said stepping forward and taking hold of the hem of Cole’s shirt. “I want this off.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Very well,” Hanzo said, stepping a little closer and swishing his erection back and forth. Since he was shorter than Cole, his cock brushed over Cole’s hairy ballsack, leaving a trail of precum.

All of Hanzo’s attention, however, was on the vista of Cole’s dark skin and darker body hair coming into view as he pulled the concealing, offending fabric of his shirt away, rising and falling under Cole’s heavy, aroused breathing. When he finally had it all unbuttoned, he stepped even closer to push it off his arms, which had the extra effect of pushing his cock past Cole’s balls and into the tight junction of Cole’s thighs, rubbing against his perineum and eliciting a sigh from the taller man.

“Feels good when you touch me there,” Cole said over the soft sound of his shirt falling to the flood, leaving his muscular biceps on full display.

“Does it?” Hanzo asked as he cupped Cole’s balls with his hand and stepped still closer, forcing his cock further between Cole’s legs and along his perineum.

Cole shuddered. “Surprisingly good,” he admitted.

“For me as well,” Hanzo said, wrapping his free arm around Cole’s waist and grabbing a fistful of his ass while simultaneously pulling Cole until they were pressing flush together, with Hanzo’s cock pressing through Cole’s legs and into the softer region of his asscheeks. Hanzo had to tilt his head up to keep his hat from bumping into Cole’s face, which suited him just fine. Cole’s face was red and slightly sweaty, his eyes dark with arousal, his lips full and parted, and his cowboy hat made the perfect background.

“God, you look so handsome in that hat,” Cole whispered, echoing Hanzo’s thoughts. “Never thought I’d find another cowboy so far from the cattle ranches back home.”

Hanzo smiled. “Clothes don’t make the man, Cole.”

“Nah, but now I’ve got to get you back there,” Cole said, starting to run his big, rough hands up and down Hanzo’s sides, feeling the soft skin and hard muscle. “Gonna get you up on a horse, and then we’re gonna gallop all over the countryside together. Gonna teach you how to lasso a calf. Gonna see how long you can stay on a bull.”

“Real or mechanical?” Hanzo asked, flushing under the open, yearning look in Cole’s eyes and under the touch of his hands wandering from his sides to his chest.

“Oh, you’ll graduate from the mechanical to the real thing in no time,” Cole said, sounding entirely convinced. “You’re gonna be winning blue ribbons in barrel racing and bull riding and calf roping in no time.”

Hanzo smiled indulgently. Cole was talking complete nonsense.

The thought of Hanzo on a horse, lasso overhead, chasing down cattle…

…

…well, actually…

…no, it was absurd.

However…

“If you were there,” he said slowly, imagining Cole alongside him on his own horse, whooping and hollering, egging him on, and cheering when Hanzo effortlessly looped a lasso right around a steer’s head, “if you were there, I just might be able to do anything.”

“They got team roping, too, darling,” Cole said with a grin. “Two people gotta rope a steer together. We’d break records, I’m sure of it.”

“Me, too,” said Hanzo softly. “Me, too.”

And he tilted his head back a little more invitingly, and Cole leaned down and kissed him, and it was like something out of a dream that had started out bizarre and nonsensical but had slowly morphed into something more.

Cole licked into his mouth and the dream got even better as Hanzo responded in kind, subconsciously thrusting his hips and making them both moan at the feel of his cock rubbing between Cole’s legs.

When they broke apart, they took a moment to take in the sight of each other’s shiny, wet lips before Cole whispered, “I think it’s time we ride.”

Hanzo’s body burned with desire and he began pushing Cole towards his bed.

“Whoa there, partner!” he said, chuckling at his impatience. “We haven’t rightly…I mean, do you want to…”

Then he yelped when Hanzo roughly shoved him down onto the bed and was instantly upon him, straddling his hips and looking down into his surprised face. Hanzo slowly took in the beautiful sight of the cowboy laid out beneath him, his thick legs covered in leather chaps, his erection standing tall between the leather, his defined, muscular torso bare but for his thick body hair, and his hat, lying upside down above his head, pushed off by his falling on the bed.

He leaned over to snatch the waiting bottle of lube off his bedside cabinet and watched Cole’s face darken with lust as he squirted a healthy amount onto his fingers and reached behind himself, his slick fingers probing toward his entrance. He sighed when his rough fingertips grazed over the sensitive ring, then sighed again, louder and indulgently, when he pushed in, sticking in an entire thick digit because he was impatient and he wanted to be bouncing on Cole’s dick right then and there.

Then he felt Cole’s hands on his hips, over his own chaps, steadying him as he murmured, “Easy, darling, easy. I’m not going anywhere. You get yourself nice and ready, alright? I want you to feel good. Real good.”

Hanzo took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then smiled down at him. “I have been anticipating this for some time.”

“You’ve been anticipating dressing up as a cowboy to seduce the one other cowboy on the Watchpoint?” he replied with a wink.

“Yes,” Hanzo said with a smirk and a shake of his head, looking down at his own legs encased in the loose leather of his own chaps. “Precisely.”

“You sure this ain’t a fetish?”

“Are you?” Hanzo shot back.

Cole grinned triumphantly. “Sure it’s my fetish. I didn’t grow up on a ranch, I was a farmboy. I used to wait all year for the rodeo just to see all them cowboys strutting around in their assless chaps. I didn’t get my first cowboy duds until after my first heist. They were my reward to myself for pulling it off. I was hard as a rock when I first put everything on and looked at myself in the mirror. Jacked off and came all over myself. Almost stained that brand new hat.”

Hanzo stared down at him, idly continuing to finger himself open as he digested this information. 

“Then you’re telling me I shouldn’t aim for your face when I cum?” he asked, glancing at the hat resting on the sheets just above Cole’s head.

Cole burst out laughing. “Just try not to get the hat, darling. If you can manage that, I think I’d look mighty fine covered with your cum.”

Hanzo sucked in a breath at the mental picture.

He was going to make it happen.

He scissored and spread his fingers, stretching himself out until he was working three fingers in and out with ease.

He was ready.

He shuffled forward on his knees and took Cole’s erection in hand, stroking it gently as he covered it in lube. 

Then he shuffled a little further forward, rose up, maneuvered himself into position, then looked Cole in the eye.

“Yeehaw.”

And he sank down onto Cole, breathing out as his blunt cockhead pressed against his entrance, then popped inside.

Cole groaned, his fingertips digging into Hanzo’s hips, but he didn’t hurry him on. He waited patiently for Hanzo to get used to his thickness and length and slide down a little further, then pause, then slide down, until soon Hanzo’s ballsack draped over Cole’s pubes, and Cole’s cock was fully sheathed in Hanzo.

They were both breathing heavily, and sweat dripped down Hanzo’s skin, trailing down his forehead and chest and stomach as he shifted in place, feeling his body stretch and relax in order to accommodate Cole, his own cock leaking like a sieve. 

Just when he was nearly ready, he felt Cole take his cock in hand at the base, his fingers not quite touching around his girth, and he gently pumped him a couple of times.

“You feel incredible,” Cole whispered reverently.

Hanzo smiled as the last of his body’s resistance melted away, leaving nothing but the pleasant buzz of fullness. “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he replied, mimicking Cole’s accent. “And now, stallion, we ride.”

He closed his eyes and pictured himself on horseback, going at an easy pace, and began working himself up and down on Cole’s cock as though he were bouncing lightly in his imagined saddle, getting speared quickly yet shallowly.

“Wow,” Cole breathed.

Without breaking his rhythm, Hanzo opened his eyes and reached up to tip his hat. “How’s the pace, wild stallion? Should we kick up into an easy trot?”

Cole’s eyes shone with erotic amusement. “You tell me, cowboy. You’re in charge. You’re riding me.”

Hanzo grinned and did indeed pick up the pace, but imagining a fast trot instead of an easy one, and Cole actually went a little cross-eyed at the feel of his cock sliding further out of and deeper into Hanzo’s heat, the two of them bouncing on the mattress. 

Hanzo, on the other hand, was enjoying the glide and the fullness of the cock rubbing so deliciously against his innards, but the feel of the chaps, so loose and soft around his legs yet leaving his cock free to jump and wobble with each movement, was a novelty that he found he greatly enjoyed.

Then he leaned over and Cole smiled up at him and puckered his lips slightly, expecting a kiss.

Then Hanzo broke into a “gallop”.

Cole gasped and gaped up at him as Hanzo jackhammered his hips up and down, leaning forward with a savage grin as though he was tearing across the prairie at full sprint on his “horse”.

Despite the concentration it required to keep up the brutal pace, he couldn’t fail to notice the strange feeling that started to build up in his groin. His dick, though untouched, was tingling at both the head and at its base…no, not at the base, within him, the two sensations spreading out to engulf the length of his dick and then his entire pelvis. What was…?

Then, with a surge of exhilaration in his chest, he realized he was slamming Cole’s cock into himself so fast and hard that he was going to come untouched.

Buoyed by the revelation, he snatched his cowboy hat off his head and waved madly above his head.

“Fuck!” Cole gasped, his eyes wide at the sight. “Fuck! Fuck! Darling! Ride me! Ride me! I’m gonna! I’m gonna! Yes!”

“Yes!” was all Hanzo could reply before he threw his head back and yelled wordlessly.

Cum exploded into him and out of him in the same instant as Hanzo and Cole were simultaneously rocked by their orgasms.

“Darling! Sugar! Oh! Honey! I’m! Oh! Darling!” Cole blabbered as he tried to thrust up into Hanzo as deep as he could go.

Hanzo had no words. He just let out meaningless grunts and half-formed, guttural noises as he sprayed cum everywhere, onto Cole’s hairy belly and chest, onto Cole’s face and beard, on the sheets surrounding them, everywhere.

Then, the strength of his body taken up entirely by the strength of his orgasm, he dropped his hat off to one side and slumped forward onto Cole’s torso, smearing himself with his own cum and trapping his own cock between their bodies.

He lay there, eyes wide open yet unseeing, as Cole shuddered and panted underneath him, pumping cum deep, deep into him as his cock continued spurting, forcing semen between them as they lay pressed together, skin-to-skin.

Slowly, slowly, their orgasms subsided, leaving them drained, exhausted, euphoric.

Cole was the first to regain his senses, and he wrapped his arms, warm flesh and cold metal, around Hanzo. “My god,” he murmured, sweeping his hands up and down Hanzo’s sweaty back. “My god.”

“Mmm…?” hummed Hanzo, Cole’s word rousing him out of a pleasant, heady mindfog. 

“You have no idea,” Cole said quietly and adoringly, “how good you looked up there, waving your hat around like that. My god, Hanzo. You just about killed me, you looked so good. Like sex personified.”

Hanzo smiled and kissed the skin beneath him. “And you, stretched out beneath me and so far inside of me. I have never cum handsfree like that in my life. Never. You felt exquisite, and looked even better.”

“Aw, shucks,” Cole said, half jokingly, half bashfully. 

“I fear,” Hanzo said, after a few minutes of comfortable, silent afterglow, “that I may have gotten your hat after all.”

“Nope, not a drop, darling. See?”

Hanzo looked up, and Cole was holding his hat aloft to show that it was untouched, but Hanzo hardly saw it.

Instead he saw just how much of his semen had splashed over and still clung to Cole’s face, a fat white drop hanging off his beard just below the faint scar that ran across his lips.

Hanzo reached up, caught Cole’s hat out of his fingers, and plunked it on his head.

He scrutinized the resulting tableau, Cole’s handsome face framed by the wide brim of his hat, and covered with Hanzo’s cum.

He hadn’t been lying before when he said cowboys weren’t his fetish…but it would truly be a lie now.

[missyourflight]

we're doing this again! here are some of the things i read/watched in feb:

dopesick: not sure how i feel about the mix of real/created characters! a lot of the sackler stuff i was familiar with from empire of pain (more on patrick radden keefe later) (relatedly i'm so eager for the nan goldin doc to be streaming over here), some great performances, also doesn't disney have money for better wigs?

happy valley (s3): as a nation we don't deserve sarah lancashire. magnificent television!! good thing f1 is coming back so i can continue to experience tension on sundays etc

lovecraft country: i got myself into a whole jonathan majors situation just in time for creed iii and this was Wild. i wasn't always in love with it but it took some massive swings and honestly reminded me a tiny bit of doctor who just in like the genre-of-the-week approach. also wunmi mosaku, my beloved

justified (s3): as ever this should just be the boyd/raylan show. jfc but raylan is bad at his job. i'm torn re: the progressively more deranged gay antagonist bc he was kind of fun but also whew @ some of those backstory elements

full swing: golf to survive! i didn't know any of these men apart from rory mcilroy! bit of a mixed bag but i loved joel dahmen and his caddy and also matt fitzpatrick, tiny stats nerd from sheffield. lol forever @ zak and lando's golf friend defecting to the sketchy saudi tour etc, like fucking obviously

the green ray: woof a bit close to home! aching for connection, crying on holiday... rohmer girl summer forever in my heart

scream 4: just fine until it goes gleefully Bonkers in the last act

scream 5: last act not as much fun as scream 4, jack quaid is charming, weirdly i found some of the stabbings like off-puttingly intense?

great freedom: this was wonderful and i cried. almost shockingly tender at times and just like, we have always been here? franz rogowski is remarkable and i can't wait to see him in passages (ben whishaw basically doing the andrew scott role from cock 14 years on?? i mean)

devotion: see above re: ongoing jonathan majors situation, thought he was beautiful in this, loved the partnership w glen powell. there's a part that's like you think is going to play out like top gun maverick and then it doesn't because it's based on a true story (why is joe jonas here)

magic mike's last dance: obviously doesn't approach the heights of xxl but channing is still so fucking charming (why is she's the man not streaming anywhere here. i need it). i saw it with some friends and one of them was sad afterwards bc her husband never dances with her - not to be like are straight people okay, but are you?

creed: i am not well versed in the rockyverse lore but i Need to see creed iii due to the jonathan majors situation and i really liked this! mbj charming, i do not care for boxing as a sport but ryan coogler can really move a camera, also pleasantly surprised by the liverpool of it all??

creed ii: this was fine! the fighting didn't have anywhere near the impact of the first one bc this director is not as talented as ryan coogler

patrick radden keefe, rogues: really enjoying this collection of some of his new yorker profiles. listening on audio and i feel like it's kind of rare for a non-fiction author to read their own work this well? also this month i listened to his wind of change podcast (was not prepared for the tommy vietor cameo lol) which was a lot of fun but took a lot of time to not really answer the question

[donald4spiderman]

Ok hear me out. Spencer is dating Reader and she’s always hated that she’s been more chubby/curvy. And one night in the middle of a case she calls him crying and Spencer just gets really soft and calms her down after a bad nightmare. And his heart breaks cause his loving girlfriend hates her body. So Spencer plans this elaborate date and proposes maybe? You can decide if the team have met her or not. I’d like it to be the original team but if you wanna combine the original and new teams together that’s cool too!

no bc my body image issues have been rampant lately so this is personal as hell to me. I work out a lot and i’m fit but i’ve never been SKINNY like i have thick legs and muscular arms andnnfnfjndjnffn so this is personal.

I modified this a bit but it’s still the same premises hope you like it! ***BTW IN THIS UNIVERSE THE S3-7 CAST EXISTS FOR THE ENTIRE SHOW— SO THE LATER SEASONS HAVE MORGAN AND HOTCH.

also sorry this is a long

TW: body image issues, discussions of food & weight, insecurity, crying, kissing

WC: 1.5k

-

You know, pragmatically, that you have nothing to worry about. Spencer chose you. And for the past four years, Spencer has worshipped you every day— again and again. He is the most loving, considerate, and tender partner you could ever wish for. He is near perfection.

You’ve met Spencer's friends many times. You’re not close with either of your parents, so the team of profilers welcomed you into their arms with grace and care. Each and every one of them is beautifully amazing and exceptionally brilliant.

Spencer‘s friends are not only badass, but they’re also gorgeous. JJ, Emily, and Garcia are national treasures— so visually stunning it’s almost sickening.

You knew he used to have a crush on JJ way before he met you. You’ve also heard the tale of Lila Archer, the celebrity actress who made out with your boyfriend in a pool. Spencer’s had an eventful life, full of beautiful, sweet, magnificent women— so why does he choose you?

You view yourself as bland in comparison. What do you have to offer Spencer that he can’t find elsewhere? You don’t have toned abs, slim hips, and slender arms. You’re not striking in any way.

Spencer calls you every night when he’s away on a case. He’s never missed a call, even when he got shot in the neck and kidnapped by a murderous cult. He’s reliable and consistent, and that eases your worries a little bit.

It’s eleven pm in D.C. and your phone rings right as your getting in bed.

“Hi, my love,” Spencer says breathily, his voice slightly muffled by the phone. He’s away in Ohio for a case.

“Hey.” You reply, the sweetness in his voice soured by your mood. “How’s the case going?”

“Good. JJ and I are about to pass out in our beds— we’re so tired.”

You can’t help the way your face drops. “Oh. Well, get rest.”

Your about to hang up before he interjects. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Why?” You know better than to lie to your boyfriend, who happens to be an expert on human behavior.

“Okay, I know a lie when I hear one. (Y/N), baby, what’s wrong?” He pleads.

You can’t help the tear that rolls down your cheek. “God, I’m sorry. I just miss you so much. You always know what to do when I’m feeling like shit.”

Spencer knows how much you struggle with self and bodily acceptance. He hates the world for making you feel anything less than incredible, both inside and out.

“I miss you too, so much, (Y/N).” His voice is thick as if he’s going to start crying too. “I love you so much, so fucking much. You have no idea how beautiful and amazing you are.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” He laughs through a sob that wrecks his body. “You deserve everything in this world. I promise to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. You are the love of my life.”

You wipe the tears from underneath your eyes. “Sorry for keeping you up. You must be tired.”

“Never, if it means I get to talk to you.”

“I love you, Spencer.”

“I love you too, (Y/N). More than you’ll ever know.”

-

Spencer wakes up the next day with a newfound determination. The team solves the case as fast as possible, and by the end of the night, they’ve boarded the jet back home.

Spencer has more than enough hours to think about you and how much you mean to him. Hotch is seated directly across from him, rereading the case files.

“Hotch?” The wiser man looks up from his files, raising an eyebrow.

Spencer pauses for a moment. Maybe he’d be better asking Morgan or JJ for advice, considering Hotch’s tragic circumstances regarding Haley.

But no one loves like Hotch does-- sincerely, passionately-- stronger than anything else in the world. Spencer decides there’s no one better to ask.

“How uh did you know that Haley was the one?”

Hotch’s eyes soften for a bit. He clears his throat. “I knew since the day I met her that I would love her for the rest of my life unconditionally. She makes me complete. Do you feel that (Y/N) makes you complete?”

He already knows why Spencer is asking for his advice, steering the conversation in that direction.

“Yes. She’s my world.” Spencer whispers.

“Then it’s simple, really. Love doesn’t need to be complicated and precise. It’s what you do with it that matters.”

“I want to marry her, Hotch. I want to be with her for the rest of my life.”

Hotch smiles, “Then do it.”

Spencer feels the rush of excitement as he gathers everyone on the jet, including the prior sleeping passengers, filling them in on his big plans.

“I need all of your guys’ help.”

-

There’s a firm knock on your door at four in the morning. You know it isn’t Spencer because he has a key, but who could it be?

You take a cautious look out of your peephole to find Penelope, Emily, and JJ outside.

“What are you guys doing here?” You yawn. “For god's sake, it’s four am.”

“We know, and we’re sorry.” Penelope smiles.

“Is Spencer alright?” You ask, wondering if things suddenly went wrong during the case.

But by the joyous look on their face, you know nothing somber occurred.

“Spencer’s completely fine. But, we need to you to get changed and come with us. FBI’s orders.” JJ chuckles.

You change into warmer clothes in minutes, and the BAU ladies usher you into Emily’s car as fast as possible.

“So, no ones gonna tell me what’s going on?”

They shake their heads, “We’re just... running a quick errand.”

After a few more minutes of driving, Emily parks on the side of a dimly lit street.

“I need you to put this on.” She says, holding up a blindfold.

“Are you guys gonna murder me?” You joke, slipping the fabric over your eyes with little resistance.

“Quite the opposite, actually.” You don’t have time to think about what Penelope means before you’re being yanked out of the car.

You walk, guided by JJ, for four minutes. The grass beneath you crushes below your boots, and the hushed whispers of Emily and Penelope behind you do nothing to calm your nerves.

“Okay,” JJ says, halting to a stop. “You can take off your blindfold now.”

You hesitantly slip the blindfold off, revealing a brightly lit table in the middle of a secluded field. Morgan, Hotch, and Rossi are standing off to the sides.

Suddenly, Spencer emerges from behind a tree, dusting the leaves and dirt off his adorable sweater.

“Hi?” You laugh, utterly confused by this situation. “What’s going on?”

His hands are shaking, and he has to swallow a few times before he can speak. “I-I uh got y-you apple pie— uh your favorite.”

Spencer walks you towards the table, where a small slice of warm pie sits lonely on the table.

“Y-you should um... eat it.” He urges, pointing at the knife and fork next to it.

You glance around, trying to gauge the emotions of everyone around you, but fail. Stupid profilers and their poker faces.

Your fork cuts into the heavenly smelling pie, and you scoop up a bite into your mouth.

“It’s... good? I’ll pretty much eat any pie you give me, Spencer.”

He smiles, “I know that. But t-this is a special pie.”

“Okay...”

“You should t-take a closer look— at the pie.”

You inspect the dessert, completely puzzled until a glinting piece of silver catches your eye. Spencer notices the shock in your face and catches the plate that almost falls out of your hand.

Morgan hands him a napkin, and when Spencer pulls an apple-covered ring from the slice of pie, you almost faint.

“No way.” You gasp; tears spring to your eyes as Spencer wipes the ring clean.

He holds it tightly between two fingers, bending to kneel on one knee.

“(Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N), I knew from the moment I met you that you were the most special woman I’d have the pleasure of meeting. A month later, you asked me out for our first date, and I couldn’t believe that someone as gorgeous and amazing as you would settle for someone like me.” You scoff at his humility.

“I spend every moment loving every part of you, (Y/N). None of my love will ever stop— ever. I promise to share my heart with you until the very end. There is absolutely no one I would rather be bonded to for the rest of my life. You are better than my dream girl because you’re real. You’re here, and you chose to love me every day— the good, the bad, and the ugly. (Y/N), will you do me the honor and great privilege of allowing me to become your husband?” You silently sob.

“Please say yes.” Spencer smiles.

“Yes!” You exclaim, pulling him up to hug him. “How could I say anything but!”

The dam breaks, and the entire team begins to cry as you and Spencer share a passionate kiss, almost collapsing down onto the grass from the sheer force of your love. He slips the ring onto your finger; it belongs there.

“I choose you, (Y/N).” He repeats.

“I choose you, Spencer, always.” You whisper into the crook of his neck.

Nothing’s ever felt so right.

[siremasterlawrence]

A.I. A

Part 1 - 3

Here it is the first official highly automatized unit base of bone, blood, and skin so rare.

I smirk knowing this process will literally be the change the world needs.

I smirk as the interface comes to alive with a few simple code I programmed.

The interface comes to life a million little bits of screens forming in to one mega one.

A face begins to form one whom through shall we see efficient means is created.

The new being smiles gratefully at me with a ridiculously cute and obnoxiously sweet smile.

I take a deep breath weighing in on my truly

magnificent achievement.

This is unprecedented so with a heavy heart I sigh clicking a button as the process bas begun.

Inside the pod next to the a green I can see a load of clay descending in to the mold.

The clay sinks in to the machine as a array of electrical flow produces out put in to the pod.

The prototype flaxes out as the top of the mold comes crashing down closing it.

“Excellent! This is only the beginning of it all truly.”

“This creation shall be the first of many my own army:”

The top lifts off the mold revealing my pretty boy creation and it is a sight to behold.

“Simply beautiful” I say helping him out of the pod.

Part 4 - 6

“While I do love your clothes, I have a job for you.”

“Of course sire, but I don’t want to leave your side.”

“Put those close away, here this will suffice for now go get dressed in the new duds.”

“As you wish sire”

“Great! This packet will explain everything read it and absorb all of the information.“

“Wow this is fucking amazing”

“My name is Officer Rick Cosnett”

“I am at your disposal”

“Use me as you wish”

“How may I serve you?”

“Sire, I love you with all my soul”

“You have my heart and soul”

“Go infiltrate the precinct and do your fist shift.”

“I will miss you sire”

“Sir Yes Sir”

Part 7 - 10

Rick ha slept me abreast of everything so fill with utter joy at my victory.

“A few sexy pics of your cops”

“Good boi”

He puts the cellphone away making his way to the boxing bag.

He starts to lose his mind pounding the bag over and over.

“If I can keep them busy for awhile Master will be pleased.”

“Oh right of course.”

He sneaks off to the side playing a call to the office anonymously.

The Officer race out as he sneaks in to the file cabinet.

“Soon I will complete my mission”

“All he wants to do is the specs of this place”

“Also the psychological aspects”

“He will build his own profile”

“Will I?”

“Of course”

“Oh Master!”

“It is complete”

“They are heading back by now”

“I just need to rig this shit”

Kaboom

The end

Please check out all four stories I posted today thank you.

[your-daily-biaswrecking]

Hi ! I've seen that your request are open so here's mine for mister Park Jimin or Kim Taehyung, whatever you prefer !

So like, It would a scenario where the reader starts sending letters to one of them that is in prison for whatever reasons (it's up to you), and they start falling in love through these letters until they finally meet in real life when he gets out. And if you'd like, maybe things can get a little (a lot) freaky once they reunite. But overall it would be a fluffy love story :)

Thank you in advance if you decide to write it ! Hope it was clear enough...(I love your writing by the way <3)

Not me calling my dad (who is a lawyer) to ask for legal advice over this lol

Also I did Jimin because I have lots of Tae requests on my to-do list

A crime by law but not by morals. You were looking through the profiles of the prisoners that wanted a pen-pal —just because your friend had mentioned the organization and you were curious— when an inmate caught your eye. He caught your eye because he was undoubtedly the most handsome man you had ever seen; face so ethereal it made you wonder if he was human or a fairy. And when you dug through his profile a bit more, you found about the reason for his incarceration. Young man hits his father after years of physical and mental abuse towards him and his mother, ends up giving him a fractured neck that needs multiple surgeries to be fixed. Court rules it was not done in defense, because the young man came home to find his mother having just been thrown down the stairs, meaning he wasn’t present for the violent act and therefore he acted out of malice. Five years in prison.

His name was Park Jimin. And be it his majestic beauty or the injustice you felt for him upon reading his file, you decided to send him a letter. You didn’t know what you expected in his response —if you even got one of those— but it was definitely not one of the sweetest letters you had ever read. Thanking you for the gesture like it was the best thing that had happened to him the past two years he was in there. Immediately sharing with you his interests, like his passion for dancing and singing, as well as his love for drawing, taking the liberty to include a small piece of art he had created in the letter. Which was phenomenal. I know you might not believe me, but I’m actually a great dancer. And to prove it to you, here are some scribbles of me dancing.

He wanted to know all about you. And by the way he wrote, you knew you wanted to get to know him better as well. He was so funny, nice, smart, understanding… A perfect man trapped away that you could only talk to via those letters. A perfect friend. I have made a couple of friends here, but by far the best acquaintance has been you. And perhaps even more. I saw a dream about you last night. It was a nice dream because I could touch you. Time passed and you went from smiling at receiving his letters to verging on addicted to them.

I wish I could meet you. Perhaps… one day…

That day finally arrived three years after you first started corresponding, and by then Jimin knew you were waiting for him; you knew he was counting the days even more than he was already. He asked you for a few days to visit his mother and find his old self back before seeing you. And you had agreed to meet at a specific diner, on a specific day, at a specific time. And knew that if one of you didn’t show up, you would probably lose touch forever. You tried not to think about that as you sat and waited, butterflies in your stomach absolutely killing you. The door opened and closed, the little bell over it ringing and signaling people’s arrival, yet never the one person’s you wanted.

“Sorry I’m late—” a sweet voice gasped next to you, “—but apparently there’s been changes to the public transports since I’ve been gone and I got a bit lost.”

You blinked at the man. Park Jimin. That was Park Jimin, right? The ethereal face you couldn’t stop thinking about, yet could have never imagined it would be even better up close. The chirpy voice you had tried to guess many times but never got so close to how at home this one made you feel. The smile, a smile that definitely lived up to his corny jokes, and his eyes that found yours, never to let go again. He was right in front of you and you couldn’t believe it. You didn’t know what to say.

“Hi…” you panted.

And his smile grew. “Hi.”

There was just a second of uncertainty, perhaps even awkwardness, before you both leaned in for a hug— a hug was appropriate after three years of talking and never seeing each other, right? A hug was appropriate after you had confessed to each other in every way other than the physical yet? He smelled like a fairy, flowers and scents of emotions of love filling your body as you held him as tightly as you could. Like you were afraid he would slip between your fingers, or you would wake up alone in your bed all of a sudden.

But none of that happened. Jimin sat with you and you had dinner together. It didn’t flow as easily as your letters did, but neither had such expectations when you were too busy battling the heat growing in your chest and he was too busy blushing with every compliment. “I’m sorry, I haven’t done this in a while…” This? “A date.”

It’s not like it was planned for you to kiss him before going into your apartment that night —I mean, you had definitely daydreamed about it enough times, but you understood why something like that might take some time. But it happened naturally, it would have been more awkward to prevent it. His lips soft against yours, even when things got more heated and his teeth bump into yours like he had forgotten how to do this. You pulled him in through the door and it was the most natural thing.

“I’ve missed you so much, even if this is the first time I see you.” You knew he meant it by the way his breathing was all over the place and you had barely even taken your shirt off. You struggled to find beautiful words like his, even if what you felt inside you was undoubtedly the most magnificent thing ever. But he understood you even if all you could do was kiss him. The moans that were born and died in between your lips told him all he needed to know.

“I can’t wait to have you in my life.” It was good enough, he seemed pleased enough. Happy enough to flip you on your back and change your positions at which you were making love, plunging into you as he held you as close as possible, mouth never leaving yours. A position normally so bland, yet so powerful when it’s with the person you love. He was whiny in your ear, almost crying about how good it felt to finally have you the way he wanted, to feel you, touch you, kiss you, fuck you. Love you. Jimin promised he wasn’t ever going to leave your life as he came, and you promised you wanted nothing more than to be with him as you found your own release. Confessing to each other in the physical sense for once, all throughout the night and the rest of the nights that were to come.

Park Jimin. Finally, in your arms.

Masterlist | Moodboard

[jemmahazelnut]

Dark Écriture

Summary: The magic swelled in him, draining his energy. It was more powerful than any of his previous spells. More terrible than the rune of pain, more sinister than darkness, more vigorous than the rune of fear. It was pure evil and Freed was beginning to enjoy it, knowing full well the spell would end too quickly to relish it.

Or: the story of how Freed lived with his demonic magic over the years. [Freed/Laxus]

Link: AO3

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, unnamed character deaths, morally ambiguous actions.

Notes: This is a story about Freed, his dark past and his cruel side.

Thanks to oofenflugen who has beta read my fanfic. Without his help I would never have published it. Check out his blog @cygnus-arts to see his art. He also has a profile on AO3 oofen_flugen where you can find his fanfics.

Hope you like it!

Dark Écriture

-Year X777, Dark Écriture: Death-

(16-year-old Laxus, 13-year-old Freed)

Freed had promised not to do it again. He promised it only a few months earlier, but there was no way he could keep that promise to the Master. Not when he saw those children locked up in the cells and the instruments of torture surrounding them, not when he saw the man’s cruel face, not when he heard the whimpering of the children. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t hold back his strength, much less the hatred that was beginning to rise and fill him.

Freed almost didn’t realize it, but he subconsciously raised his sword in front of him. He hardly noticed the way the Master’s grandson stared at him. He almost didn’t realize the demonic aura that enveloped him and choked the oxygen in the room. Mentally, he knew it was happening. He knew that he was breaking a promise he had made, and in doing so, he was doing something terrible that -maybe, just maybe- he would regret. But he couldn’t afford to worry about it.

The magic swelled in him, draining his energy. It was more powerful than any of his previous spells. More terrible than the rune of pain, more sinister than darkness, more vigorous than the rune of fear. It was pure evil and Freed was beginning to enjoy it, knowing full well the spell would end too quickly to relish it.

His magic caused his hair to rise. Freed's fringe lifted and exposed his face, leaving his black eye uncovered. His body burned, and he felt the pure hatred concentrated in his eye. His mind focused on a single thought.

“Death,” Freed hissed, unconsciously, as if his lips had moved on their own.

A deadly silence fell. It was as if the whole world had been silent for a moment. He no longer heard the whimpering children, the fighting upstairs, the voice of the guild leader, or that of the Master’s son. He heard nothing, and it was unreal.

A moment later the magic shot out with all its power out of his body, passed his guildmate, and struck the enemy. The dark wizard clawed at his chest, desperately trying to breathe. His body twitched, and he fell back to the ground, continuing to jerk, causing his leg to thump erratically against the wall. It was a terrible sight, and Freed was enjoying every moment of it. The dark mage's eyes filled with terror and widened. His drool poured and mixed with his blood staining the floor. The veins in his neck swelled.

It was magnificent. It was what Freed wanted, pure evil. It was what the man deserved.

It ended too quickly. In a few seconds, the man stilled, reducing himself to a corpse. Freed’s magic faded, and the ambiance of the room returned. The distant sounds of fighting and whimpering only brought Freed exhaustion.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, sword slipping from his fingers, forcing Freed to lean on his hands. Even if the spell had only lasted for a few seconds, Freed felt as if he had been fighting for hours. Sweat coated his body, and he struggled to catch his breath.

He couldn’t see the shocked gaze of the Master’s son. Freed didn't bother to check that the man was dead. He knew it was impossible.

He tried to stand up but staggered, exhausted in a way he’d only experienced a few times before.

“You killed him,” said the Master’s son. Freed smiled. Yes, he wanted to say. Yes, I did, and it was wonderful. Instead, Freed stood silently, realizing what Laxus Dreyar must be thinking.

No. It wasn’t okay. He had to go back, back to a safe place, go back to being Freed Justine. He was no longer Freed the Dark. He was no longer a killer, no longer evil. He was a member of Fairy Tail.

That awareness immediately brought him back down to earth, and he felt nausea rise in him. What had he done? He advanced towards Dreyar but staggered again and was forced to lean against the bars of a cell while he tried to regain his strength and balance.

He had broken a promise. The only promise he had made to the Fairy Tail Master. He had broken it within a few months. What the hell had he done? He began to feel the terror rising in his back, terrified that everything he had done to change had been in vain. Nausea made him double over, and Freed coughed with tears stinging his eyes.

He was a monster. A killer. Just a cursed child.

He heard Dreyar’s footsteps approaching, and Freed looked up, swallowing hard.

“I’ll take responsibility for everything,” Freed said, petrified to hear his guildmate's incoming judgment, Dreyar, however, tilted his head to the side, his eyes glittering with curiosity.

“How did you do it?” he asked.

Freed blinked in confusion.

“Excuse me?”.

“What spell is that?” Dreyar asked again. “I want to learn it”.

Freed’s eyes widened and he took a step back, straightening his back and avoiding his gaze. Was he crazy?

“You don’t want to do that,” he said. There was no way that the Master’s grandson wanted to learn how to do something like this.

“I want to know what spell it is,” Dreyar insisted. Freed shook his head.

“You can’t learn it anyway. Magic is tied to my eye,” he said. He saw Dreyar grimace and Freed turned to the children who were still locked up and crying. “I’ll tell the Master personally, for now we have to free them.”

“You don’t need to tell the old man,” Dreyar retorted. “Besides, the bastard deserved it,” he added as he opened a cell. Freed gave him a surprised look, but he didn’t say anything else. The mission wasn’t over yet.

-Year X778, Dark Écriture: Darkness-

(17-year-old Laxus, 14-year-old Freed)

Freed wanted to stop. He wanted to cry, scream and stop those attacks. He wanted to kill that darkness, kill that agony, kill the feelings suffocating him. But the only thing he succeeding in killing, were his teammates. It didn’t matter how much he fought; it didn’t matter how much he tried to free himself from the grip. The darkness enveloped him, and he was sinking inside it, letting the demon prevail over him.

Freed felt tears sting his eyes but, he was unable to escape. He couldn’t even control the tears pooling at his chin. He couldn’t do anything; his body was completely out of his control. He could only watch. Watch and suffer from every blow Laxus dealt. Watch and suffer for every blow the demon dealt.

Freed felt small, helpless, useless. But he was just that. He was just a cursed child, just a monster, just a killer. Freed put his hands to his ears in an attempt to drown out the thoughts, but nothing could stop them. Now they were there, they were constantly repeating themselves, filling his brain, echoing through every nerve.

Stop it, stop it!

But they were right; he was a monster. A monster, a murderer, he deserved that pain, he deserved to die, he deserved to sink, he deserved to disappear.

“Fucking hell, do you wanna get goddamn control back?”

Freed heard a scream and saw flashes of electricity piercing him everywhere. They stung and burned, leaving him in excruciating pain. Freed opened his eyes biting back tears, only for another punch hit him, with Laxus’ magic building stronger and stronger in ever more acute pain.

“Stupid kid, what the fuck are you doing, huh?” the voice growled again, and Freed looked up, seeing his teammate keep fighting him. Laxus was right, what the fuck was he doing? Crying and letting the demon seize control? No, he was stronger than that, he was better than that. He wouldn’t let the demon kill his team. He was a member of Fairy Tail, the Captain of the Raijinshuu, the bodyguard of Laxus Dreyar. He had to protect all three. It was his promise. No matter what, he wasn’t going to kill them.

Freed scrambled to stand but was halted by another shock. He gritted his teeth trying to bear it best he could and tried to rise from the darkness. It swelled around him and pulled him down, leaving him suffocated in the darkness. But he could still reach towards the light. Freed knew it. There was always a way to escape.

He growled and forced himself back up, ignoring the pain of lightning and the burning. He just had to think about his teammates and the guild he was a part of. He had to think of his friends, Bickslow and Evergreen. Freed ascended and for a moment stopped the blow the demon wanted to throw, only to sink into its control again.

The demon struck once more. Laxus had wavered for a moment, and the demon was more than happy to take that opportunity. Freed gritted his teeth again, scrambling a second time. The demon was launching another attack but as soon as Freed regained control he held it back. He was already sinking again, but the shock of electricity convinced him to grit his teeth and stay aloft. Then he closed his eyes and pushed all the darkness into himself, into the back of his mind, into his heart, and his soul.

When he finally felt it grow small, he forced himself to open his eyes again, only to see two orange eyes staring at him doubtfully. Laxus had a ready fist with electricity crackling.

“Hope you’re you again,” he growled, and Freed nodded.

“I’m back,” he whispered and Laxus lowered his fist.

Freed realized that he was collapsed on the ground, Laxus at his side.

“Your demon is fucking awesome but you really have to learn to control it,” Laxus snapped as he walked away. Freed didn’t move. He still felt numb from the shocks, dizzy from the fight, and tired as if he had exhausted all of his energy.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Bickslow and Evergreen rushed to his side and helped him sit up. Freed grimaced but held back a groan, even though he could feel injuries covering his skin. It wasn’t the first time he fought Laxus, but God, that was painful. Freed glanced at Laxus and noticed that his leg was injured.

Freed reached out to him.

“I’ll heal your wound,” he said, partly to apologize, partly because he felt guilty. Laxus gave him a dirty look.

“It’s nothing,” he retorted grumpily and stood up. Freed noticed that he was staggering a bit and felt even worse. However, he didn’t dare say anything knowing his pride. Laxus glanced at him as Freed got to his feet, aided by Bickslow and Evergreen. “You should fight with that demon more often, he’s fucking strong,” Laxus said with a grin.

Freed looked up with widening eyes, wondering if he was crazy.

“You saw what happens if I do.”

Laxus rolled his eyes and snorted and took a step toward him. Laxus was close, close enough that their foreheads were almost touching. Freed looked up.

“This happens because you don’t train, kid. You just have to get stronger than the demon, that’s why he takes control.” Laxus turned away and walked away. “Now let’s get this fucking reward, I don’t want to waste any more time.”

Freed couldn’t argue and followed Laxus, refusing the help of Bickslow and Evergreen. As he watched the blond with admiration and respect, a thought formed in his head. Maybe Laxus wasn’t all wrong, maybe the only thing he needed to resist the demon was training.

-Year X781, Freed the Dark-

(20-year-old Laxus, 17-year-old Freed)

“For a kid who wants to follow the rules, you break them quite often.”

Freed’s head jerked up in surprise at the voice. Laxus Dreyar. How did he find him? Freed made sure he wasn’t being followed by anyone when he walked away from Magnolia.

“How did you find me?” he asked aloud this time.

“Easy, I saw that the mission I wanted to take was gone and that you were gone too,” Laxus explained, sitting beside Freed. “Now you have to explain to me why you took a class S mission, especially when you know it’s forbidden,” Laxus commented, crossing his arms behind his head and throwing him a curious look.

“I’ll take full responsibility for my actions,” Freed assured, deflecting the question and staring straight ahead. He didn’t plan on coming back. He would complete that mission at any cost.

“Not if you do it with me,” Laxus retorted. Freed remained silent, refusing to reveal his true motive. “Then I’ll guess,” the Dragon Slayer challenged, glancing at Freed from head to toe.

“You hide under a cloak, in the past this place was headed by Lord Justine, and the mission requires to break a demonic curse written in strange purple characters. I suppose you or your family created the curse, right?” he inquired, and Freed pursed his lips, nervous. The last thing Freed wanted was for anyone to know his past, or to know his family.

“So? Are you going to explain it or do I have to find out all by myself? Because I will,” Laxus challenged. Freed stared at his hands, peering at his guild mark. He knew that Laxus would find out. He was one of the most skilled wizards he knew, and not just physically. It didn’t take a genius to understand that this mission had to do with Freed or his family.

Freed sighed and then looked up at Laxus, who was watching him expectantly.

“Okay,” Freed said. “But you have to promise me that you’ll never tell anyone about it.” Laxus nodded and Freed resolved to speak.

“You’re right, I was the one who launched the curse five years ago. I lived in that villa with my parents” he said, indicating with a nod of his head the large villa located on the hill, surrounded by a black fog, the same one breathed into the city, and the reason the city had asked Fairy Tail for help. “I was part of the Justine family; my father was the lord. It’s not like they really headed over this city. Theoretically, they had no rights other than the territories behind the hill. However, they were feared by everyone for their strength,” he said. “And a few years ago,” he paused for a moment, uncertain. “A few years ago, there was a bad fight, which led to the birth of the curse,” he concluded.

Laxus raised an eyebrow and peered at him.

“I guess that’s not all,” he said. Freed looked away.

“Details aren’t important.”

Laxus snorted and stood up.

“Okay, then let’s go and destroy this curse. I guess I’ll find out of the rest when we get there.” Laxus started towards the hill and Freed hurried after him, making sure his cloak still covered his face well.

“We won’t go into the villa,” he objected.

“It’s not for you to decide” was the dry reply of Laxus.

-

Freed wasn’t satisfied. He had destroyed the curse in minutes. It was child’s play, but Freed certainly didn’t feel good at it. Since he created the curse, it was quite obvious that eliminating it would be easy. Revisiting the villa had brought back only old memories. Old and terrible memories, and in that moment, Freed had decided that he was going to destroy that house.

He had done it, now he could only look ahead of him at the rubble of what had once been his home. But he still wasn’t satisfied and wanted to let years of anger and fear out. He would eliminate his past, destroy it definitively, destroy every little existence of the Justines, destroy everything that bound him to that place, but he couldn’t do it. He growled as he put his hands on his thighs, exhausted from the amount of magic he had used. An exaggerated amount, since he could have destroyed that building with much less. But he needed to let off steam, and he still needed it.

A new wave of dark magic rose, but he felt Laxus’ hand rest on his shoulder and a felt slight jolt run through him.

“That’s enough,” he said. Freed turned to him, gritting his teeth.

“No,” he growled.

“By now you’ve nothing else to destroy. What you’re doing is pointless and senseless,” the Dragon Slayer retorted harshly. Freed pulled away from his hold.

“Pointless and senseless?” he repeated furiously and again a wave of energy surrounded him. “You’ve no idea what I had to go through, you’ve no idea how much I want to destroy everything here” he growled and Laxus looked at him with an indecipherable expression.

“Tell me then,” he said. Freed turned to the castle, refusing to do anything like that. Laxus wouldn’t have understood anyway, he doubted anyone could. Seeing the rubble and dirt he had raised pissed him off even more. Laxus was right. It was useless, destroying the castle wouldn’t change his past. It wouldn’t change who he had been, nor who he was at that moment.

Frustrated and furious, he collapsed to the ground, trembling and feeling a sudden urge to cry. He didn’t, because Laxus was there and he wouldn’t show himself so vulnerable. He was silent and strangely Laxus sat down next to him, staring at the rubble and silently lighting a cigar.

They stayed like that for a few minutes until Freed’s nerves compelled him to speak.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I’m waiting for the story” was the simple reply from Laxus, who glanced at him, throwing out a puff of smoke. “You hated your parents, didn’t you?”

“I hated my father,” Freed clarified. “I still hate him.”

“Parents can be assholes,” Laxus commented. “So, what did he do?”

Freed almost laughed. He mentally filed through the very long list of things his father had done and hadn’t. The longer he thought about his father the more he resented him, and the more he wanted to go back in time and exact revenge. Now that he was dead, Freed had lost his chance.

“My parents were mages, but they weren’t very powerful. However, they were both very fascinated by wealth and dark magic” he began to explain chronologically, despite the difficulties to remember it in order. Laxus let him speak and Freed continued, unsure why he was telling Laxus. He had never thought of confiding in anyone, and the Dragon Slayer certainly wasn’t his first choice. But he was here now.

“They did business with dark guilds. They found items for them and sold them, or they bought items to then resell to others. Our house was full of those things, and I was a curious child, I wanted to know more. I was fascinated by everything related to magic, so one day I opened a book and read a spell. There was a demon in that book, and I saw that with that spell I could capture his soul and have his magic. My father didn’t pay much attention to me, he thought I was just a child with no magical talent, no matter what I did. I wanted to prove otherwise, so I cast the spell and united our souls.”

“You were a child and was already able to do something like this?” Laxus asked.

“Yeah,” Freed replied. “I think I’ve already proven to be skilled,” he commented coldly and Laxus just gave a half-laugh, puffing more smoke and waving him on.

“It actually worked. I caught my father’s attention all too well. At first, I lost control and feared he would treat me even worse, but he didn’t. He saw potential and he decided to train me. I was very happy, so I did what he said,” Freed said and stopped for a moment, thinking about the training his father had forced him to do. He clenched his hands in two fists and a new wave of hatred overwhelmed him.

“I told you the Justine family was feared. Well, it was because of me. When someone dared to challenge my father, he would bring that person to me and tell me to torture or kill him. Every now and then he even made me do it in public, in the town square. Everyone began to fear him and my father was happy, he felt himself the master of the city” Freed stopped for a moment. “My mother wasn’t happy, and she told me it was wrong to do it, and I knew it. So, one day I refused and… my father blocked my magic and made me understand that refusing him wasn’t allowed, especially in front of other people”.

“Did he beat you?” Laxus asked.

“Yes,” was the dry reply and Laxus snorted.

“Asshole” he growled and Freed turned to him, feeling a little understood. Maybe that was the reason he was comfortable sharing with his teammate.

“My father became more pretentious and crueler. Both with the wizards of the dark guilds, with the city, and with us. I don’t know if it was the wealth or the amount of magical power, he had accumulated that drove him out of his mind, but it happened. And one day he killed my mother,” he said in a distant tone as if he wasn’t talking about his family but something foreign to him.

“I was there, the two of them were arguing because of me and then they started fighting. I knew my dad would win, but I was scared, so I didn’t even try to stop him. My mother was a good woman, I loved her, and since all the children in the city feared me, she was the only person I could have fun with. She was the only one who really loved me. She died because of me in front of my eyes, and I didn’t even try to save her,” he said coldly, reviewing the images of her in his head as if they were part of a movie. He would never forget his mother’s expression, her screams, her lifeless body.

“My father destroyed her body. When I realized she was dead I went mad and my demon took over. I tried to kill my father, but I was still too weak and he stopped me. My father locked me in a room for weeks, torturing me to make me understand who was in charge and what would happen if I failed his orders. I think that’s when I truly started to hate him.”

“I hated him. I hated him so much you can’t imagine. But instead of taking that anger out on him, I took it out on all the innocent people he brought in front of me. If I was hesitant to torture people before, at that moment I began to enjoy it. He was proud of me, but the more he was, the more I hated him”.

“I’ve never forgiven him. I’ve never forgotten that day, and for years I’ve prepared a revenge for him. I wanted to destroy him. But I didn’t want to just kill him, I wanted him to suffer, I wanted him to feel what I had felt all those years, what my mother had felt before she died. And I wanted to take everything away from him. So, I studied for a long time in the library, looking for the most frightening spells, until I found a forbidden curse”.

“This curse would have locked people into an eternal Hell. I was excited, I couldn’t wait to torture him and the men most trusted by him. I prepared everything in advance, away from everyone. I drew the runes around the entire villa. It took me half a year. Every time I thought about the final spell, I enjoyed the sights, I imagined my father’s expression, I imagined him crying, I wanted to make him cry.” Freed’s words poured out of his mouth uncontrollably.

“And finally, the day come. It didn’t go the way I wanted. Even though it had taken me half a year to prepare it, I wasn’t powerful enough. The curse hit my father and it worked. But for only three days. I stayed there for three days hearing my father’s screams and I was delighted. But after only three days he died, I no longer felt anything. I made sure he was really dead, and I was so angry that I destroyed his body. But I still wasn’t satisfied. But it was over now, I couldn’t do anything else. So, I left. I wanted to live in the city, but I heard what they said about me. They all hated me, they called me the monster, the cursed child or Freed the Dark. I left and vowed never to come back,” Freed concluded. Laxus was silent and Freed continued to stare at the rubble for a long time. No words were exchanged between the two.

“This mission was because of the curse. Something went wrong and filled the city with fog,” Freed explained after a while.

“Your father is even worse than mine,” Laxus commented and turned to him. “At least you managed to take revenge.”

“I don’t deserve to be part of Fairy Tail,” Freed murmured, sadness enveloping him.

“You do,” Laxus sternly retorted.

“I’m just a monster,” Freed sighed. Laxus snorted and put out his cigar.

“You’re not what your father decided for you,” Laxus consoled. “You’re much better, and you’ve already proved it. You deserve to be a part of Fairy Tail more than anyone else.” Freed turned to him, surprised at the statement said with complete certainty. Laxus had never been very sensitive, yet he was here. He had listened to him and hadn’t changed his mind about him. Indeed, he had Laxus’ respect and friendship, and it made Freed feel accepted and warm inside. Laxus put his hand on his shoulder.

“You’re a skilled wizard and a good person. And you’re so much better than anything your dad has ever led you to believe,” he added, and Freed could only look into his eyes, feeling overwhelmed by those words in a way that had never happened. “So don’t be ashamed of who you are. Take off this cloak and show that you’re different from your father,” Laxus said and stood up, holding out his hand. Freed took it and stood up without hesitation.

“Thanks,” Freed murmured. Laxus grinned.

“Although, I have to say, Freed the Dark sounds quite threatening. Maybe you should start using it.” Laxus started down the hill. Freed watched him for a while before following him, feeling his heart beating madly. If Laxus, the person who most represented Fairy Tail, told him that, then Freed had no doubt he was right.

I swear Laxus, you won’t regret putting your trust in me, Freed thought, as he walked beside him.

-Year X791, Dark Écriture: Fear-

(23-year-old Laxus, 20-year-old Freed)

The brush ran smoothly through the boy’s hair, who looked at himself in the mirror. He was sitting on the big mattress, and behind him, his mother was singing softly, fixing his hair. Freed hummed the melody to himself and moved his fingers to the rhythm of the song. When the woman put the brush on the bedside table, she smiled in the mirror.

“You like it?” she asked.

Freed ran a hand through his hair, which reached over his shoulders and shrugged.

“It’s just hair,” he said automatically. A phrase that his father constantly repeated every time he saw Freed brush it.

“You don’t like it?” the woman asked softly.

“Father doesn’t care” was the next automatic reply.

“Your father isn’t here,” the woman said and rested her chin on his shoulder. “What do you think about it?” she asked again. Freed observed himself for a long time in the mirror.

“I like it,” he said. His mother smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Then she sat cross-legged on the mattress and grabbed a large hardcover book. Freed turned to her, suddenly curious and excited.

“Will you read me a story?” he asked, and the woman nodded, smiling, looking down at the first page and beginning to read. Freed rested his head on the palms of his hands, curious about the new book.

His mother continued to read aloud, but it became a distant murmur. He heard a scream and then some crying and looked around, trying to understand the sudden foreboding changes. He turned to the mirror but didn’t see the reflection of a child, but that of a teenager. His hair now reached his waist, his face was sharper.

He turned back and was no longer in his room. He was in the garden of his villa, holding a sword. A woman in front of him was crying and pleading. Freed couldn’t understand what she was saying, but of one thing, he was sure. That woman was terrified, and she didn’t want to die. By now, however, her fate had been set.

Freed felt the darkness envelop him, the heat rising through his body. His right eye burned and all his muscles were tense. His lips moved on their own and a single word came out.

“Death,” he whispered.

For a moment, silence fell around him. He no longer heard screams, no tears, no pleas. It was an abnormal silence as if the whole world had fallen silent. The woman put her hands to her chest, winced a couple of times with wide eyes, and then fell back to the ground. A helpless body with a blank expression on her face. Her eyes were full of the terror that had struck her in the moments before death took her.

Freed looked at her and lowered his sword, exhaustion hitting him suddenly. His energy disappeared, and he collapsed. But he didn’t have to. He could stay up, stand up, he didn’t have to let him down.

A hand rested on his shoulder.

“I’m proud of you,” his father said.

Freed raised his head. Two large bright green eyes met his. The little girl was screaming.

“Mom! Mom!” she screamed and Freed stepped back.

“Murderer! Murderer!” the little girl screamed. Freed backed away and crashed into a wall.

“You’re a killer! Give me back my mom!” she kept screaming and Freed wanted to run away. He turned but couldn’t run anywhere. In front of him was the body of Cana, lying in the rubble. Freed stopped and the sword fell from his hands. He was shaking. He wanted to turn around and leave and never return. But he knew that if he did it, it would be worse. That something even worse would happen. The darkness would follow.

As if forced to do so, his face turned to the right. Elfman was there, also lying on the ground. He was perfectly still; his chest was covered with the rune that had killed him. Above him, Mirajane was crying, and she was screaming, and her screams filled his ears.

“Murderer! Murderer!” Freed desperately turned, tried to escape, but stumbled through the rubble, fell to the ground and sank, under the earth. It was all dark, and he felt lost. He tried to fly. He had to get out of there. He had to escape. He had to find a way back home. But something was holding him down.

“Freed” the voice calmed him instantly. Freed turned and was greeted by Laxus.

“Freed,” he repeated, and Freed tried to get closer.

“Laxus, I’m sorry,” Freed breathed through tears.

“You killed him.”

Freed stopped short and Laxus looked away. Whatever void Freed had fallen into had vanished, and he was back down on earth. He was in the center of Fiore’s arena. And in front of him, there was another dead body. Ivan. His armor was shattered; his body was full of wounds. Blood stained the ground beneath him. His eyes were wide with pain and fear. Freed took a step back.

“You killed him,” Laxus said.

Freed looked up, perhaps for a savior, or any sense of peace, but in the stands, there were members of Fairy Tail. They hated him, everyone hated him. He caught the Master’s furious gaze and Freed was still under his glare.

Makarov raised his hand and a powerful light radiated from his palm, Freed tried to bring his arms in front of him to defend himself, pleaded that it wasn’t him, but it was useless. He was outnumbered and outmatched when everything went white.

-

Freed jumped up, his heart pounding in his chest and sweat sticking his clothes to his body. Terror ran through him and Freed inhaled deeply to attempt to calm himself.

‘It was a nightmare,’ he thought. ‘It was just a nightmare’ But it didn’t help him, because he knew it wasn’t just a nightmare. Because he knew he had really killed that woman years ago. Because he knew he had risked killing Elfman and Cana. Because he knew that when he saw Ivan in the arena, he felt that sudden desire to let himself go to the darker side. Because he wanted to kill the father of the person he loved.

Freed put a hand to his chest feeling his still racing heart. He wanted to throw up and cry.

“Freed, are you okay?”

Freed looked up suddenly. It was Laxus. The boy sat by the fire they had built on their way home from a mission. Freed scanned their campsite. There were two sleeping bags, the small fire, and their backpacks placed on the ground. They had decided to walk home so that Laxus wouldn’t have to take the train.

“Freed?” Laxus called him and Freed turned to him and smiled slightly to reassure him.

“I’m fine, I just had a nightmare,” he explained as he stood up and got out of the sleeping bag. He realized that his clothes were indeed damp with sweat and his hair was sticking to his neck and his clothes.

“You’ve been getting them a lot recently, is something bothering you?” Laxus asked. Freed shook his head.

“No,” he replied simply and sat next to him in front of the fire, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. But Laxus was right, he had been having nightmares for weeks, about his past, about his mother, about the people he had killed, about the people he could have killed, and about the ones he wanted to kill.

He'd had nightmares in the past, namely the Battle of Fairy Tail, and just as he finally began to overcome them, the Grand Magic Games brought them back in full force. And as much as he wanted to banish those thoughts, he just couldn’t seem to do it.

He felt Laxus’ arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t you want to talk about it?” he asked and Freed closed his eyes, leaning against him and closing his eyes. Talk about it with him, of all people? He who had asked him to kill his guildmates? He who was the son of the man Freed wanted to torture to death?

“No,” he said, “I’ll pass.”

He felt Laxus’s gaze fixed on him and his arm comforting him.

“You said my name,” the blond said, and Freed stiffened. “You said my name and then yelled that you weren’t the one who killed them,” he said tonelessly. “You know, I’ve never thought about it too much but I can’t believe I asked you to do something like that. I used you like your father did and I’m sorry. I know you’ll never forgive me but…”.

“I’ve already done that,” Freed said. “We’ve already talked about it. I forgave you Laxus, completely. The only person I haven’t forgiven is myself”.

“My fault,” Laxus murmured.

“No,” Freed tried to say reassuringly. “Laxus, darkness has been with me for a lifetime, it wasn’t you who pulled it out, it wasn’t you who put it in, and it wasn’t you who made me hate it,” he said forcefully. “You helped me instead to make me accept it as part of me, and even though I’m still working on it, it’s to your credit that I can now control the demon. It’s to your credit if I don’t feel horrible for everything I’ve done”.

“But you still have nightmares about the battle of Fairy Tail,” Laxus muttered and Freed shook his head.

“Trust me, that’s not the cause of my nightmares,” he said.

“So, what’s it?” Laxus asked.

Freed didn’t answer. He stared into the flames in front of him while he thought back to the nightmare he had had, the destroyed body of Ivan, the pleas of that woman. Freed didn’t think those nightmares would ever go away, but that wasn’t Laxus’s fault, it was the fault of the darkness that accompanied him and the evil he was hiding and that he was trying to control.

“My greatest fear” he answered simply. He let himself be enveloped by his friend’s embrace.

-Year X793, Dark Écriture: Suffering-

(25-year-old Laxus, 22-year-old Freed)

Freed could still hear the screams of terror of the enemies. He could still hear their pleas and their cries, their prayers, and their despair. And the more he heard them, the better he felt. The more he heard them, the more satisfaction grew inside him. The more he looked at their faces full of terror and pain, the more his soul laughed. There was no escape from that rune and Freed enjoyed every single moment of it.

He wanted it. He wanted to make them feel small. He wanted to make them feel powerless; he craved their terror. He wanted to make them pay for everything they did to his teammates. He wanted them to feel the way they did. He wanted to hear them pray for death. At that point, perhaps Freed would have satisfied them. Though he probably wouldn’t have indulged them.

They deserved it; they had asked for it. They had mistreated his comrades and still had laughed at it. They had enjoyed Fairy Tail’s momentary helplessness. Now it was his turn, and it was right. And if that wasn’t right, Freed didn’t care. It was he who made the rules.

Freed walked down the corridor going out into the fresh air and closing off the screams with the door behind him. He almost wanted to stay there and listen to them longer, but he knew that if he did, he'd seriously risk going mad and giving in to his dark side. And as much as he enjoyed having that dark power, he knew it was best not to go too far.

He walked away and entered the woods, passing all the trees in the shadows of the night and reaching the small stream near Magnolia. He sat down on the ground and looked at the water in front of him.

He didn’t want to get carried away by rage or fury, but he was far too happy to hear those screams. And even though he could no longer hear them now, just knowing that those men were still suffering filled him with a terrifying joy. He knew he would have to let them go sooner or later. He had to do it, fearing his sanity would disappear with each scream.

He heard footsteps behind him and then a voice.

“Are they still in there?” Laxus asked as he sat down behind him and wrapped him in a hug, pulling Freed against him and resting his head against his chest.

“Yes,” Freed said. “They were already begging,” he said with a sadistic smile and felt Laxus’ arms squeeze him even more. Freed felt himself returning to reality and realized what he had said and in what tone. “Sorry, I sound like a monster.” He knew that Laxus avoided gratuitous violence. He could kill someone or fight them if he was pissed off, but torture wasn’t his style. God, he must have found Freed awful. His stomach sunk at the thoughts, but still, Laxus’s proximity helped him. The blond rested his chin on his shoulder.

“I knew who you were from the moment I met you,” he said. “And I never thought you were a monster, you know.”

“I know,” Freed agreed softly. It still seemed strange to him, but it was true. Laxus had never been afraid of him, and he had seen some terrible things.

“Don’t keep them in there any longer,” Laxus murmured, leaving him a kiss on the neck.

“They deserve it,” Freed objected.

“Yes,” Laxus agreed. “But you don’t, and I’d rather you stay with me.”

Freed didn’t answer, knowing what Laxus meant. And he was right, he didn’t have to give up. He could have fun, but without completely abandoning himself. He closed his eyes and leaned completely on Laxus, who was now holding him in a loving embrace that Freed probably didn’t deserve. Even that didn’t interest him. Laxus loved him, Freed loved him, and that was one of the few pure things in Freed’s life. He wouldn’t let him go.

“You know Laxus,” Freed said after a while, placing his hand on Laxus’s and stroking it slowly. “Sometimes I like to be a monster”.

[shurisneakers]

shut in [5]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, threats, implied ptsd, violence

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: sam wilson nation how are we feeling after that trailer. only about a month to go for my two dumbasses to get the recognition they deserve!!

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Where are they?”

“We don’t know, boss.”

Their eyes glossed over with rising anger, masking its earlier aloofness.

“I’m going to need more than ‘I don’t know’.” Their voice was acidic, dripping with faux politeness. A bad sign.

“Police say they pulled off the highway at one point and then they lost track of them because there were no cameras.” The agent looked at his partner who only nodded in confirmation.

“They could have ditched the car before going on foot,” the partner suggested rather unhelpfully,  “We have no idea where they could be”

They were silent, mouth pressed in a hard line, leaving everyone in silence.

“Have I told you about the time my dad hired someone to fix the sink here?” they finally asked, looking away from the agents. “Some drunk fuck got in a fistfight and absolutely decimated the thing. Dad got someone to fix the hole in the wall and the fitting.”

They turned away, facing the wall.

“He did an alright job, that guy. Fixed up the place, installed a new sink. But there was a problem that he said he’d be able to fix only the next day, something about water dripping through an unsealed pipe.”

The agents just sat there on their chairs, feet cold. They knew where the story was going. It was a myth at their organisation, a cautionary tale to everyone who joined.

“My dad, he agreed. Said ‘Yeah sure, come back tomorrow’. Guy packed up his bag and was on his way out when my dad called him back. Asked him to hold out his hand for the money and then he just,” they paused, “cut one of his fingers clean off. Told him that he’d get his payment and his finger when the job was done.”

“I loved my father,” They skipped a beat before whipping their head around to look at the two agents. “But he was a coward. I would have shot him in the head.”

The agents looked paler than what they were a few seconds ago.

“If I tell you to do something, either do it perfectly or don’t do it all because the next time you’re here and those two are still alive,” they sneered, lunging forward to grab one of their collars, “I’ll blow your fucking brains out. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes boss,” the partner was barely audible, speaking for the one who was breathing heavily, looking like he was on the verge of passing out.

“Go on then.” They smiled, letting go of the agent’s collar as he stayed frozen in his place. They dusted their hands off before straightening up. “Don’t return without good news.”

The frustration of not knowing something was not one you were used to.

You were used to knowing. The satisfaction of a puzzle. The ease of a predictable pattern.

So when this mystery wasn’t getting solved within twenty minutes, it was starting to affect you. You spent hours staring at the ceiling, replaying every detail for months leading up to the case. Every client you shook hands with. Every coworker you greeted with a nod. Every vile sicko you had killed.

And yet, no matter how much you thought and rethought and rethought again, it simply didn’t make sense. There was a piece missing. A hidden variable.

Sam helped wherever he could. He offered up arguments and rebuttals. If you had a theory, he’d find the flaw or the lack of proof. He was keeping it reasonable. Only snorted when you suggested that maybe the president was involved in a large scale extermination of underground mafias. A absurd theory that had no roots in reality.

“You could point out any official on the damn senate and they would have some connection to our gang that you can dig up with one Red Bull and twenty minutes on the internet,” he had said. “It’s too much of a liability if we get caught. They’ll just get exposed for all the nasty shit they’ve been hiding under the carpet.”

You knew this, of course, and it didn’t help to be reminded of it again because it also meant that one more theory was ruled out. And with each theory ruled out, the further away you were from your answer.

It was frustrating.

Sam was in front of the TV, lounging on the couch with the copy of Pride and Prejudice in his hands. You were working on plausible solutions, drawing up flow charts to see what could be connected.

If Pierce wasn’t the common link then it had to be something else. You couldn’t proceed with the other spies theory because no one else immediately sprung to mind. There was one... but you decided against writing it.

If Ransone was telling the truth, and there was no way of knowing he was, Sam and you were unrelated and his being there was coincidental. You just had to rely on the employee-employer relationship you shared, if you could even call it that.

“Fuck,” you cursed loudly, tearing up the piece of paper and crumpling it. You groaned, holding your head in your hands. Your eyes were burning from straining it for too long and your shoulders were in pain from slumping over the table all day. 

You took a deep breath, shaking your head before instinctively reaching for another sheet. Your hand came up short so you fumbled around the table blindly, trying to grab at a piece of paper without spending the extra effort of searching.

“You’re not getting another sheet,” Sam’s voice came from above you. “You’re going to watch some shitty movie, eat some soup and relax for today.”

“Give it back, Wilson,” you muttered, reaching out your hand.

“No. You can use your unhealthy coping mechanism when I’m not around to see it. Half of this is my mess too and I’m not going to watch you have a breakdown over it.”

He was going to be annoyingly persistent; somehow he had exhibited that magnificently over the last few days. You knew better than to argue with him over something that he had made his mind up about by now.

“I don’t want to watch a movie.” You let your head fall onto the table, wishing that the cool wood would do something for the headache you felt coming.

You heard him set the paper back down, not saying a word. Your head was throbbing and all you wanted was the frustration to ease. It was killing you.

“Come on. We’re going outside.” That piqued your interest. Sam had never invited you anywhere before.

“Where?”

“Y’know; the outside. I know you haven’t seen it in a while but see if these words jog your memory. Sun. Grass. Win-”

“I know what the outdoors is, Wilson.” You smiled against the table, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing it. “I’m asking where exactly we’re going.”

“You’ll see. Put some shoes on.”

By the time you looked up he was already walking away from the table, leaving you to follow.

You sighed. He sounded too determined and you didn’t have many other options.

Pushing your chair away from the table, you went to go put on your shoes. __

“If in care you were planning to, I’m just going to tell you right now that you can’t kill me.”

The both of you had been wandering along the path for a while. When you met him by the backdoor, he had a bag with him filled with who knows what.

He declined to tell you what was in it either, despite you asking thrice.

“Calm down, Keanu Reeves. That’s not what I was going to do.” Sam gave a short laugh.

“I’m serious. I know karate.”

“So do I.”

“Krav Maga.”

He hummed in agreement. 

“Kickboxing.”

“Now you’re just insulting me. That’s level one.”

The path was littered with tree roots that stuck out of the soil, stray branches and leaves that crunched satisfactorily under your feet. One second of distraction and you were sure you’d fall flat to the ground. 

You both continued for a few more minutes before he finally came to a stop.

It didn't look very different from the rest of the woods until something caught your eye. In front of you, one of the trees stood out. The bark had large concentric circles, resembling a large dart board. A few indentations were already made in it; clearly it was being used for practice regularly.

“Here you go,” he spoke from beside you, handing you a tomahawk. “Go ahead, throw it at it.”

You looked at the tiny axe in his hand.

“Think of it as adult darts,” he encouraged, “Here, I’ll throw the first one.”

He extended his arm in front of him, pulling his wrist back before effortlessly throwing it at his makeshift board. It was two circles away from the bullseye he had carved out. It must have taken a while to make.

“This doesn’t look very safe,” you commented as he picked up another one, launching it at the tree. You followed its trajectory, watching it embed itself into the bark closer to the centre than the previous turn.

“That’s what makes it fun.” This man had no regard for safety protocols. Given, these were things that came with the job but it didn’t mean you did it in your free time. “It helps, just try.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked curiously, trying to assess his reaction. Pulling you out of the house for a bar game wasn’t exactly the type of thing people generally did for you.

“Because I wanted to.” He shrugged, not giving you any further explanation. “Try one.”

“Okay.” You followed his example, watching as it glided smoothly before landing close to his initial throw.

“Nice shot.”

A smile made its way to your face automatically as he handed you another one. You repeated your action, an unusual sense of pride establishing itself in you when it came closer to the middle.

“Now what?”

“Now we collect and do the whole thing again till you feel better,” Sam replied, making his way towards the tree and plucking the small axes out easily. His back muscles tightened against the material of his shirt in the process. It wasn’t a bad sight at all. “Endorphins and all that.

“Is this where you keep disappearing to?” you inquired, taking two of them from him when he returned.

“Sometimes.” He took aim before throwing it at the board. “There’s a few things you can do around here.”

“Your coping mechanism is extreme sports without proper guidelines.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” Sam took a step to the side, giving you space to take your turn.

“Have you always been this wise, or?” you teased, concentrating on the circles in front of you. Your shot came pretty close. 

When you didn’t receive a reply, you glanced at him through your peripheral vision. He wasn’t moving, a thousand yard stare in his eyes.

“Hit it.”

“I can’t.” His fists were bleeding through the bandages wound around them. He could feel the tear in his skin, the burn of flesh against sweat soaked clothes.

“I said, hit it,” Emil commanded once more. Sam could feel his chest rising and falling steadily from beside him, his putrid breath making him want to vomit.

“I can’t.” He could barely stand up. Exhaustion seeped through every muscle in his body.

“You’re weak,” his trainer spat. “Nothing but a fucking child.”

“He’ll die.” Sam looks down at the boy, bloody and mangled on the floor. He had passed out ages ago but that did nothing to stop them from forcing Sam to continue relentlessly.

“It doesn’t deserve mercy. You hear that Wilson?” He leered right into his ear. “Do you fucking hear that?”

Sam flinched, nodding his head. The saltiness of his sweat was fresh on his tongue, burning where it dripped onto his busted lip from his forehead.

“So fucking finish it.” He knew that if he didn’t listen this time, there would be consequences. He didn’t want to find out what it was because he had no doubt it would pain a hell of a lot more than bruised knuckles.

“No,” he whispered, eyes wandering over the body on the floor. “I won’t.”

“What’d you say?” Emil straightened up, taking a step towards him.

“I said no.” Sam turned around on his heel. He could barely stand straight but the spite running through his veins was driving him, giving him enough energy to not collapse right there on the spot.

“He said no,” his trainer repeated, leaning away from Sam. “He said no.”

He turned to look at Ransone. Sam had forgotten he was there in the darkness of the room, observing the fight for the past two hours.

“He said no.” He started chuckling. His chuckles soon gave way to hideous laughter. Stomach clutching, tear inducing laughter.

Before Sam could even realise the change in attitude, Emil’s entire demeanour shifted. He stepped forward, forcefully gripping Sam’s neck. He shoved him backward until his back was pressed against the wall, no doubt bruising his spine further than what it was.

“Say that again, you fucking idiot,” he growled. But Sam couldn’t say anything. He could barely breathe. He was terrified, but determined not to let it show on his face. “When I say something, you better fucking listen.”

His trainer observed his expression for a few more seconds. Sam didn’t open his mouth.

His trainer finally loosened his grip, letting go of his neck.

Sam’s knees nearly buckled but he kept his balance, coughs racking through his body. He felt lightheaded, swollen eyes watching Emil walk towards the body on the floor. The only friend he had.

“Maybe this oughta teach you a lesson.” Emil flashed a quick smirk at Sam before raising his fist above Riley’s face.

Within a split second a guttural cry escaped his throat as he launched himself at the much larger trainer, taking him by surprise. The pure rage he was feeling had him seeing only red, the adrenaline steering his body on autopilot.  

With their position suddenly switched, Sam found himself on top of Emil, bloody fists beating down on his face without a break. The pain didn’t even matter anymore.

“Fuck you,” he screamed, not giving him even a second to defend himself. “Fuck you, you fucking dickhead.”

When he could feel his trainer raising his arm to grab from behind, he took a pause from pummelling his face to grab his arm, twisting sharply it till he heard a crack. The roar escaping Emil’s throat didn’t dissuade him from finishing what he started, returning to landing a punch wherever he could.

He didn’t even know how long had passed before his body was being pulled away, kicking and cursing.

“You see how good it feels Wilson? You feel that relief?” Ransone held him tightly as he squirmed furiously trying to get back to beating the shit out of that asshole on the ground. “Next time you’re angry, remember that’s the only way to feel good. If you’re in pain, you cause pain.”

Sam’s flailing was reducing as the adrenaline wore off. The exhaustion was beginning to take hold of his body as he looked at the onslaught of blood splatter everywhere, two bodies side by side on the ground. He did this to both of them.

“Violence is your only friend. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Ransone let go of him. His feet gave out beneath him, chest rising and falling heavily. His shoulders ached as he dragged his body towards Riley, praying to every force in the universe that he wasn’t dead.

He was still breathing. Sam nearly cried out of relief, collapsing next to him. Ready to defend him if Emil woke up.

“Next time you want to let out some anger, come find me,” Ransone called out. “I’ll find you your next victim.”

“You okay?” You waved your hand in front of his face. “Earth to Wilson.”

It seemed to work as he snapped back, blinking rapidly.

“You zoned out a little there. Everything alright?” you asked. He looked at you blankly for a second before realising what you asked.

“Yeah.” He gave you a half smile. “Yeah, I’m good. You done with your turn?”

The light that was there behind his eyes a few minutes ago had dimmed considerably. He looked weary. You recognised what had happened, what he was probably thinking of. You didn’t bring it up, not risking the chance of him reliving it.

“Kinda.” You pointed towards the target where a tomahawk was sticking out of the centre.

“Damn,” he whistled, resting his hands on his waist. “Best of three?”

“Didn’t know it was a competition.” You went to collect it. It was harder to pull out than you thought. You wondered how many times Sam had practiced it to make it look so effortless.

“Only if you want it to be.”

“Nah.” You walked towards him, handing two of them back to him. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time, huh.” He tested his throw before letting go of the handle. Bullseye. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

You only smiled.

Next part

[whenimaunicorn]

Playing House Part 5.2

Vikings College AU, Dom/sub/Dom,  Ivar x Reader, Ubbe x Reader

It’s a broke, submissive college girl’s dream: living for free with your two crushes in exchange for doing all the housework. The Lothbrok boys wanted a “thrall,” and now you’re hoping they’ll notice that you’re game for all kinds of “services.” Ivar seems to know exactly what you’re looking for, but you’ve never met a Dom so mysterious, constantly keeping you off-balance and not sure what to expect next. And then there’s his brother Ubbe, who may not understand the kind of game you’re trying to play here, but makes up for it in raw sexiness and eager desire for you. But will these two strong-willed boys be able to play nice and share you as you live out one of your hottest fantasies with them both?

This fic is so far away from canon that it should be accessible to anyone that can imagine being in college and wanting to be submissive to two hot bros at the same time. 

Catch up: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 (you can also find the whole thing on ao3)

A/N: after an embarrassingly long hiatus, I think I’m ready to finish this fic now. I have all the rest of it planned out, I think there will be 3 more chapters. And if I continue my streak of posting the chapters in part 1 and 2 chunks here on Tumblr, then I guess you have a lot to look forward to!

Also, you might want to review the previous section; what’s included below is pretty much all smut straight through. If you need a little seduction to get back in the mood first, the first half of the chapter is here.

Ubbe’s cock feels so good under your hand. How long had you been dreaming about touching it? How many times has he taunted you with the sight of it, letting you know how you had been affecting him on the most primal of levels. You take the time to savor it now, stroking that tantalizingly wide shaft through the thick fabric of his jeans.

“Do you like that?” Ubbe asks you, voice slow and thick. He’s got one hand on the wheel, one hand on the stick, and he keeps his eyes mostly on the road even as you slide and sculpt around the length of him. Ubbe drives like a speed demon, and apparently he can’t take it easy even with a distraction like you and your willing hand in his car. He shifts gears and tilts the wheel in tight, expert little motions, passing another car he deemed to be driving too slow. You know from driving with him in the past that just about everybody on the road qualifies for that judgment.

“I do,” you answer, with what you hope wasn’t too much self-conscious hesitation.

“Yeah?” Ubbe takes his hand off the shifter just long enough to pop open the button at the top of his fly, angling his hips enough to ease the zipper down. “Want to take a closer look?” He keeps his eyes on the road, letting you stare at the perfect profile of his chiseled face.

You never realized before this moment how much lust and hunger could feel similar. The prospect of getting your hands, and probably your mouth if the streets were dark enough, on Ubbe’s cock is actually making your mouth water right now.

Your fingers dance up to the opening in his fly. Ubbe puts his hand back on the shifter and leans his hips a little further, making more room for you. A heavy breath escapes him as your fingertips dive under the fabric.

The noise makes your submissive soul tingle. You’re quite sure Lauren or Sonya wouldn’t stoop to giving a guy road head before he’d even taken them out on a date, when you’d barely even had time to share more than a few breathless kisses yet, but you like feeling a little bit like a whore. If Ubbe wants this right now, why on earth would you withhold it from him?

You slide your fingertips across his lower belly, seeking the waistband of his boxer briefs. You allow yourself to indulge just a little in tracing your fingers along his skin, playing with the trail of hairs that tempt you lower. Ubbe rumbles an appreciative little sound, though you can almost detect a little whine at the end of it. He wants you to get on with it, doesn’t he.

Your fingers slip under the elastic band and feel down along the warmth of his body. The hairs get thicker and thicker as you go, though you can tell Ubbe keeps them cropped fairly short down here. You make contact with the side of his shaft; he’s angled mostly up and a little bit away from you, and you tickle your fingers up and down the edge of it.

“Fuck,” Ubbe whispers through his teeth; then, without looking away from the road: “are you teasing me right now?”

You give him a cute giggle, and a few more light, quick fingertip strokes. “Maybe.”

His brow crinkles, crookedly, and he glances at you like he can’t quite believe what he just heard. “I thought you were a good girl.” Blood rushes to your face. “Or do you want me to treat you like a bad girl, hm?” Watching you out of the corner of his eye, he reaches behind your head, curling his fingers into your hair, close to the scalp just above your neck. He tugs once, and you moan at the tiny pain.

You accept the reprimand, relishing the way he’s taken control of your head, and push your fingers deeper into his pants. You wrap them around the warm velvet iron of his shaft. The contact feels electric against your palm.

He groans, first tightening his grip on your hair, creating a sharp pain, and then releasing it quickly, as if he had only just realized how hard he was pulling. He scratches your scalp in an appreciative caress as you trace your loosely-cupped fist up and down the length of him. “Fuck.”

There is barely any room to work him while still inside his pants. You’re just pondering whether you should take his dick out, and what’s the best route for that, when Ubbe stops the car at a traffic light. The street isn’t busy, but there is another vehicle waiting alongside yours. Still not as much privacy as you would like.

Ubbe’s hand leaves the shifter, returning to the back of your head and pulling you toward him, his mouth meeting yours halfway for a searing kiss that seems to go on and on. He breaks away as decisively as he went in, shifting gears before you’ve even opened your eyes, barely crossing the intersection before he’s shoving the top of his undies down, letting the full length of his cock spring free.

It’s magnificent in the flashing lights of the passing streetlights. The ruddy head of it looks positively swollen with need, and you lean over his hand on the shifter to wrap your lips around its tip. You flit your tongue, tasting the salt of pre-cum. More evidence of how much he’s been longing for you.

A guttural groan comes out of Ubbe’s throat. It sounds both pleasured and exasperated, and after you give him just one more lick, his arm that’s underneath your bent torso is pushing you up and away. He needs to shift the gearstick. You lift your head to see the oncoming red glow of another traffic signal.

Turns out, there are too many traffic stops on the drive home for you to give Ubbe any proper road head. Every time you lean down to run your tongue around that fat, glorious head, you get in no more than a few licks before he needs room to shift gears again. The whole stick shift thing is suddenly feeling a lot less sexy.

Settling back into your seat, you keep your hand wrapped loosely around his shaft, arm snaked under his and giving him plenty of room to change gears. You’re counting down the minutes with lazy strokes and firm squeezes until he pulls into the parking garage attached to your building.

You can’t help but notice that Ivar’s car is in its assigned parking space as Ubbe backs into his own beside it. He must be inside the apartment. It’s impressive, really, how Ubbe is able to reverse the car so competently between the narrow lines while your fist is still gripping his rock-hard erection. As soon as he’s got the car in ‘park,’ he kills the headlights, but does not turn off the engine. He reaches across to pull you in for a kiss, wild and needy. His mouth plays expertly across your own, sucking and nipping until you’re sure your lips will be swollen.

“Fuck, babydoll, you want it bad, don’t you,” Ubbe groans against your cheek. His mouth assaults your neck again, teeth grazing your skin and tugging at your ear. “Such a dirty little girl, grabbing a guy’s cock when he’s just trying to drive her home.” His kiss claims your mouth again before you can answer. You tug harder and he squares his hips toward you. He breaks away after one last a flourish of his tongue and wraps his hand around the back of your neck, pointing your face toward his straining cock. “Let’s see how far can you fit that down your throat.”

Your pussy clenches on nothing and you moan as you bend down to show him. You’re still not sure if Ubbe has any idea about doing BDSM the “right” way like Ivar does, but his frat boy, bad-porn style of dirty talk is working for you anyway. Your head is spinning at the whirlwind this night has turned into, as you suck his cock deep into your mouth. Not in a bad way, though; you’ve built enough of a relationship with Ubbe over the past weeks to know there’s a caring guy behind this disrespectful façade. It’s safe to let this thing get a little wild.

His cock is thick. It’s hard work to suck him down deeper, and the press of his blunt head at the back of your throat bothers you a little as you strive to show Ubbe just how far you can take him. Judging by his noises, you’re doing well, though, and his hands clench and un-clench in your hair as your head bobs up and down. Like he wants to encourage you but he’s holding himself back from choking you on the damn thing. “Fuck, that’s good, oh, take it deep like that.”

Soon instead of pushing you down, his clutching fingers start pulling you up.

“Get up here, straddle me, I want to see you.”

You kick your heels off quick as you can. Ubbe rips at the seat control and lays it back almost flat, giving you just enough space to plant your knees to either side of his hips on the expensive leather and hover your body over his. Your hands land on his shoulders, keeping you balanced while hunched under the roof, and while your faces are almost close enough to kiss again, Ubbe’s eyes are focused lower.

His palms run up your thighs, greedy, still muttering filthy nothings while pushing your skirt up until you remember you’re not wearing anything underneath it. You make a warning noise and he slows down, sliding around to the sides and then exploring the bottom curve of your ass carefully, reawakening the welts Ivar left there without causing any new damage. His gaze comes back to your face, pupils widening, as his hands cover both your cheeks. Reaching that far lifts his upper body closer to yours but still he doesn’t kiss you. Your skirt’s now shoved up high enough that you know your whole pussy would be visible through the front windows, if anyone were to come walking by. He spreads you further, and you wonder if he’s thinking about that too.

Does he want Ivar to catch you? Does he know you’ll be punished? Or does he not want the interruption, is that the reason that Ubbe’s tracing his fingers between your legs out here, and not taking you inside to his more comfortable bed. The questions blur and scatter as his finger slides along the slick he finds between your inner lips.

“Fuck, dirty girl,” he marvels, “you really like getting treated like this. You’re so fucking wet for me.” But he doesn’t plunge his fingers in like you’re expecting, like he did out on the balcony back at the party. Instead his hands slide up your sides, coming to scoop around your breasts, leaving your skirt rucked up high. “I want your tits out.” He pushes the straps of your tank top and bra down your shoulders, far enough to scoop your breasts out into the thin light of the parking garage’s scattered fluorescents. “That’s my beautiful, slutty little girl. Just imagine if someone came by and saw you like this.”

He slaps you across the side of your ass, lightly, but you’re sensitive enough to jump and moan just from that. His eyes follow the bounce of your breasts, hanging out of your shirt above him. Your clothes are still technically on, but they’re not covering anything important, are they.

“I love the idea of someone else seeing what I got to watch last night,” he murmurs, and then his fingertips are sliding between your slick folds again. “Would you come for me right here, with your pussy pointed right out the windshield?”

You moan in agreement, and his fingers find your clit. He keeps on muttering filthy nothings as he traps it with his fingers and squeezes, then rocks in circles that make your toes curl. His other hand squeezes into your thigh, trying to pull you closer. His lips trace the skin of your neck.

“Fuck. I can’t wait anymore.” The growling edge of his voice sounds ragged and you absolutely believe him on that. You’re feeling it too; his fingertip on your clit is amazing but after all the buildup of the past few days you need so much more than just a little teasing. “Will you ride me?”

You look down at his cock, still springing tall and proud from his open jeans, framed by your knees. You want nothing more than to sink right down onto it. “Do you have a condom?” you somehow remember to ask.

Ubbe grins darkly, and with only a little digging produces one from his pocket.

You pluck it from his fingers. “Let me.”

You’re so conscious of his eyes on your body as you sit up and concentrate on tearing the little packet open. Your bare thighs, your pert and exposed nipples, the teasing glimpse of your pussy that’s surely visible to him under the skirt that’s been pushed up to your hipbones.

Ubbe’s looking like a wet dream himself, reclined underneath you with his shirt riding up over cut abs, a light trail of hair leading down from his navel to the base of his straining cock. His pale eyes are rapt and so hungry he’s almost begging.

But only almost. As you roll the slippery latex over his fat head, a predatory spark blooms across his features. His fingers spasm and you know that as soon as you get this condom situated, you’re all his.

He scoops up your ass with both hands, pulling you closer to line yourself up. “You might be Ivar’s in there,” he murmurs, and there’s no trace of unhappiness in the words, “but right now you’re all mine. Show me. Sink yourself right down on it for me.”

So he does know. And, apparently, is entirely cool with the situation. You tease yourself with the tip of him for a moment, gliding it along your inner folds. With his eyes locking onto yours, Ubbe spits into his fingers and reaches out to coat your entrance, a cocky look on his face like he knows exactly how wide he is and how you’re going to need this to take him all the way in. Then he grasps himself at the base and presses in between your slick folds.

The stretch feels amazing as you sink down onto him. His fat cock fills you up and just keeps coming, inch after delicious inch. When your hips come to rest against his you just stay there for a while, reveling in it, gloriously full.

He bumps his hips, just a little, and you shudder. Even a small movement has a huge effect with a cock like his, making you feel tight and delicate above him. “Not too much for you already, am I princess?” he teases.

“Ho—just hold on,” you gasp, holding onto his shoulder and trying to get a grip so you don’t just drool in his face.

But Ubbe doesn’t want to see you get control of yourself. He wants to see you a panting mess. “Like this?” he says, grasping one of your hips in each hand, squeezing hard and pulling you against him even tighter.

“Ah!” you squeal, but maybe the motion feels better, despite the intensity. You rock against him, taking a shuddering breath in, and find that all that stretch melts into pure pleasure when he’s moving inside you.

“Is that how you like it, babygirl.” He turns his hips up to meet yours, matching your rhythm as he stares up at your face. “You’re taking it so good for me.”

His thrusts start to hit harder, and it becomes more difficult to keep up as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through in his wake.

“Fuck, yeah, this tight little thing. I love to feel you ride me.”

You try and rally, forcing your core muscles to keep moving because that’s what Ubbe wants. Even though his sweet impaling is making your legs feel weak.

“That’s it. Stay up just like that.” His hand has found the back of your neck and he’s coaxing you to sit up as straight as you can inside this car, bouncing over him. “You look amazing. Keep your back straight.”

Every demeaning little instruction just makes you wetter, your core burning and stretching around his fat hog with each pornographic phrase that comes out of his mouth.

“God, your pussy’s tight. I want to feel you cum all over my dick.”

He brings his hand between your bodies, finding your clit and batting a rapid, back-and-forth rhythm across it.

“Just stay up—keep sitting up high and pretty for me so I can watch you cum.”

It doesn’t take long, not with the string of filthy words that keep coming out of his mouth, not with his expert finger on your clit and the staccato bounce of his cock buried to the hilt inside you. You press your lips together so that you don’t wail as you come to pieces all around him.

As soon as you gasp in your next breath, Ubbe’s grabbing your hips again, taking over all the movements and not giving you even a moment’s rest after your peak. He fucks up into you, fast and hard and with more force than you thought one could accomplish from the driver’s seat of a tiny sports car. You bury your face in your shoulder to stop from yelping, hands clutching at his shoulders as he groans and drives himself on. “Fuck—yeah. Fuck—yeah.”

He’s hollowing you out. The aftershocks of your orgasm feel like little climaxes of their own, given that Ubbe is still bucking up into you for all that he’s worth. You’re panting, gasping into his ear and you can’t decide if you need him to finish right the fuck now, or if you want this to go on forever.

His whole body strains, and a long, wrecked sound pushes between his teeth and against your ear. He holds you to him tight, shuddering through wave after wave of his evidently spectacular finish. “Oh,” he finally pants, with a concluding-style tone, “fuck. Yeah.” His arms wrap you up tight as his entire body relaxes underneath you. “Wow, Y/N. Just, wow.”

You’re floating. Shimmering high above the clouds, luxurious and electrified both at once. You nuzzle into Ubbe’s neck and he shifts to make room for you there, inviting the post-coital snuggle.

Except, absolutely nothing else about your current position is comfortable. As your consciousness comes back down to earth, your knees are screaming and your ass feels way too conspicuously bare up here in the front seat. The steering wheel is likely not providing it much cover. You shift, and Ubbe nuzzles your cheek before letting you go. He holds the bottom of the condom down as you disengage and swing yourself back as gracefully as you can into the passenger seat.

Ubbe tilts his own seat high enough to be even with yours again. He rolls his face toward you, peaceful and present. As soon as you’ve got your shirt covering your chest again, he’s reaching out to take your hand.

“You’re really ok with this.” It’s not really a question, though he’s looking at you like he wants a response. “Both of us.”

Warmth blooms through your body as you continue to straighten your clothes. “I’m the one that should be surprised, that you’re cool with it.”

Ubbe smiles, a little darkly. “Ivar and I, we’ve got a way that we work things out. When we both want the same thing.” His thumb is playing idly with the side of your finger.

“I think I’m gathering that.”

You’re still settling your skirt back into its correct place when you hear the stairwell door swing open. The sound of Ivar’s crutches on the concrete confirm the nervous thrill that runs through you at the noise; you look down at your fingers entwined between Ubbe’s. Does this count as “his hands on you?” You glance up to meet Ubbe’s eyes nervously. He squeezes once and then lets go with a soft, conspiratory smile.

You smooth your skirt one last time and try not to look too suspicious as Ivar comes past Ubbe’s car on the way to his own.

His face lights up when he catches your eye through the glass. “Y/N, I was hoping you would be back soon!” He nods to his brother. “So kind of Ubbe to drive you home.”

Ubbe nods with a grunt that only sounds a little bit annoyed. There is a bit of smugness to Ivar’s smile.

“Forgot my phone,” Ivar says, holding it up after rummaging through his car. “Let’s go inside, shall we? I was just about to start a movie.”

 It’s too difficult to concentrate on the film he wants to show you. You’d rather think about how good it feels to be tucked under Ivar’s arm, snuggled up in the dark, even if it is a little odd that the guy that just fucked your brains out is now the one back in his bed sleeping alone.

Ivar’s fingers are dancing over your limbs, slowly, intermittently, as you pretend you’re paying attention to the movie. There’s nothing urgent about it; his fingertips just seem to like to explore.

He tickles at the base of your hairline, rolls his face into the crook of your neck. How are you supposed to think about anything but that? If he starts kissing you, you’re just going to turn off the movie.

“You’re lucky that you had your clothes back on,” Ivar murmurs in your ear. His fingers keep playing idly with your hair. “I came so close to catching you.”

You emit a sort of small animal noise. You know you didn’t violate any of his instructions today, but you still feel deliciously trapped.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asks, tone even, and a little bit amused.

“Mhm,” you answer in a small voice.

He nips at the edge of your ear. “Did he make you cum?”

Somehow the question sends heat flooding between your legs all over again. You’re not sure if it’s the right answer, but you nod ‘yes.’

Ivar’s fingers dig in for a moment. “Good.” Then they go back to drawing little circles all over your skin. “Tight space in that car,” he murmurs. “Were you riding him?”

Does Ivar like thinking about this as much as you do? Or is all of this some kind of trap. “Uh huh.”

Get up here, on my lap.” He pulls on your leg, setting you up to straddle him. “Let me look at you.”

You spread your legs for the second time tonight, bridging Ivar’s lap and grateful that the couch is soft enough under your overworked knees. Your pussy is already throbbing. Or did it never stop throbbing since Ubbe so thoroughly beat it up?

Ivar looks up at you, perfectly pleased by everything he sees. “Do you know how obvious it is when you’re aroused?”

You try to stop your face from flushing.

“I can tell so easily. Your lips part”—he reaches up, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip, peeling it down a little further—“your lashes get heavy, but your eyes sharpen.” His fingers trail down your collarbone. “Your skin somehow glows.”

He has to be making half of that up, but it sounds good. You put your hands on his shoulders.

“Don’t touch me, touch yourself.”

You bring your hands to your breasts, a little awkward. You wish he would let you admire his body too. Maybe you’ll ask him for that later.

He leans in, saying the next words a little lower. “You like the idea that we are both going to use you now, whenever and however we want.”

His words make you moan in agreement, and you scoop up your tits and nod.

“Our little thrall.” Affection and possessiveness drip in equal measure from his lips. “You wanted it as much as I did. I could tell, when I said it that day. You started to glow then, too.”

His fingers dance over your thighs, but he does not try to push up under your skirt.

“Tell me how much you love to be at our disposal.”

You purr for him, a little embarrassed but more than turned on enough to say some dirty things for him. “I’m all yours.” You rock your hips gently against him, mindful not to put too much pressure on his legs, and “I love letting you… have me, any part of me you want.”

“Whenever I want.”

“Whenever you want.”

“No matter how many times you’ve already come today.”

You definitely feel a flush after that one. Ivar’s hands trace up your waist, then catch at your wrists and push your hands down your body.

“Touch yourself for me now.”

You arch your back and sneak your hand into the waistband of the skirt, happy to ease the ache that’s been growing between your legs. You go right to your favorite spot, closing your eyes and making soft sounds of delight for him.

Ivar’s fingers dig into your thighs. The pain only heightens your excitement. “I almost feel sorry for you. Ubbe’s an animal, you know. Now that you’re ours he’s going to grab you every time he needs to nut and my God, that guy usually whacks it several times a day.” Although you may not be sure what, exactly Ivar gets out of telling you this, the thought is certainly sending your own arousal skyrocketing. “But then, no matter how he uses you, then”—he whacks your bottom swiftly, reactivating the bruises he left there last night—“you will always, always be ready for me.” He grabs at your wrist, making sure you’re still going, still working yourself as eagerly as he wants. “Even right afterwards. Won’t you.”

You hum and nod and press yourself even faster.

“Show me,” he urges, face dark and rapt as he stares up at your writhing passion. “Show me how your body can be so fucked out and still so absolutely ready for me.”

You moan and spread your legs wider, bringing yourself close to the edge but not wanting the moment to be over just yet. You try to keep your eyes open, staring at the way Ivar’s pupils have gone so wide there’s barely any blue, the way he licks his lips as he looks down the line of your body.

One of his hands finally slides underneath your skirt. His fingers climb quickly, his target clear when he runs one fingertip up and down your pussy. His growl is a deeply pleased noise. “So wet. That’s good, you’ll need it.” He presses more firmly; your swollen lips are tender from fitting all of Ubbe in and you jump. Ivar’s other hand is at the small of your back, catching you, holding you down.

Somehow the invasion of that one finger is as powerful to your system as Ubbe’s entire cock. Maybe it’s the way that Ivar’s gorgeous face is smirking up at you, or the sting still echoing through your abused backside, but all he has to do is press that one finger up and into you and suddenly your body is clamping down and spasming an unexpected release all around it.

You moan and writhe and keep working your own clit as the moment stretches on; you hadn’t planned to come so fast but you’re certainly going to make the most out of it. Judging by the praise Ivar’s murmuring up at you as you ride the waves of climax, you’re giving him exactly what he wanted.

When you’ve thoroughly exhausted your second fantastic orgasm of the day, you try and slump comfortably against your lover. “Stay up,” he orders instead. “Keep your back straight, I’m not done looking.”

And so you sit up straight above him, closing your eyes and letting only your head sag a little as you try and catch your breath coming down. Ivar makes it difficult by wiggling that finger inside you several times more, making pleased noises at the way you shudder and struggle to deal with the overstimulation.

“So gorgeous,” he whispers. Then he finally withdraws his finger, and draws you down to snuggle against his chest.

His hands spread wide and happy across your back. “Sorry I came so fast,” you feel compelled to say.

“Are you kidding? What better compliment could there be. You can’t control yourself around me.”

You both smile.

“I know you will always have more for me.” He pulls you down to settle into the couch beside him, grabbing a blanket to spread over the two of you. “I really do want to show you this movie, though.” He lifts the remote and presses rewind. “No more distractions now.”

On to Chapter 6

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