#and possibly things that only I will notice

[salmonmakiii]

hi!!! i read god!phainon fic a solid three times. i'm chronically, terminally, unequivocally obsessed with the way you write. it's been so refreshing amid this patch which is... raw pain. however, possibly bc i'm conditioned to pain, i've thought that wifey is a mortal... so... basically phaichan has but a blink of an eye together with her... what's 50 years to him? but i was thinking of a fluffy and potentially comedic resolution to all this, and wondered if they just were their lovey dovey selves and with time (say, around 20 or 30 years into their marriage), mrs. khaslana noticed she doesn't age in comparison to her old classmates, her cousins, even her atlas looks older than her. and then she realizes that her hubby's "divinity" rubbed off on her... phaichan probably fumbling bc he neglected to mention that a god's presence tends to 'rub off' on mortals that spend a lot of time with them - maybe the temple priests have unusually long lives too, but obviously, not to such an extent as his beloved, as they are just that close and intimate, as a married couple should be.

- peachy anon 🍑🧡

Okay, since Peachy anon 🍑 and other anon's questions are similar, I hope you all don't mind if I answer them together in a post ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ Also, I'm really impressed that y'all are so smart with these asks?? like I didn't even thought of that???? So as a thanks for fueling my brain juice, here's a drabble for it!

I tried so hard for it not to be too angsty and more fluffy. But really, how does one make the immortality theme 'fluffy'????? I hope it was to y'all's expectations huhu ಥ‿ಥ

Again, I am referring to this fic!

Wc: 2.1k+

Cw: Mentions of sex, mentions of death, kind of angst?? MDNI!!!!!

Now, you and Phainon had... well... done a lot of intercourse- Oh, what the hell, we're all adults here - SEX, you've had SEX lots of times.

At first, it was nothing.

The temple priests would mention, in quiet pleasantries, that you had begun to glow in the mornings. A soft, golden sheen clung to your skin like morning dew clings to grass— barely visible to the naked eye, but to priests trained to read omens and divine signs, it was unmistakable. 

They said nothing outright, of course. Just subtle murmurs,

“Such radiance, even before morning prayers.”

“Lord Khaslana must be treating you very well.”

You brushed it off. Maybe it was just the afterglow of last night’s intimate session. Gods, he was affectionate, wasn’t he? Intimate moments with him often left you breathless and glowing in more ways than one. You didn’t think much of it. 

Well… until you started to notice the other things.

The love marks Phainon left, the ones you tried so hard to hide with shawls and powder, began to fade. Too quickly.

You’d wake with fresh ones, only to find them already disappearing by noon. A few hours at most. Even when you knew they were raw that morning. 

At first, you assumed Phainon was healing you in your sleep. Maybe it was just his way of doting on you, sparing you the discomfort. But soon, the phenomenon grew stranger.

Scars from childhood, a sign of your triumphant tree and wall climbing, were gone. Entirely! As if they had never existed at all. 

You didn’t get blemishes anymore, even if you were out in the sun for too long. You didn’t have eyebags after sleepless nights. Your skin remained unblemished, your body never sore, your energy strangely boundless (even after rounds of intimacy with Phainon, and you know you don’t usually last after round two).

Then years passed.

You were still young, but others weren’t. Friends begin to subtly shift as their faces grew rounder, some even sharper. Wrinkles crept in at the corners of their eyes and the edges of their mouths. Their laughter sounded the same, but their smiles were aging. 

And you… weren’t.

You still looked like the girl who arrived at the temple years ago. Your reflection hadn’t changed, and it wasn’t just your imagination.

Even Atlas, who was once clearly younger than you, now looked your age when you stood beside him. Time was grazing the world around you, but it was skipping you entirely. 

You wanted to deny it. Chalk it up to a trick of the light. Good fortune. Healthy living. Anything but the obvious.

Is being with Phainon… changing me?

The question haunted you, ghosted behind your lips every time you looked in the mirror.

You were going to ask him tonight.

But first, dinner. A long, filling meal in the temple dining hall left you comfortably full and just a little sleepy. You leaned back in your chair, stretching your limbs with a soft sigh. The thought of walking all the way back to your chambers felt… effortful.

Still, you stood, pushing back the chair, only for the world beneath your feet to suddenly vanish.

A rush of wind.

Weightlessness.

Then solid ground again.

You blinked, heart racing, when you noticed that you were in your chambers.

No footsteps. No corridor. No time passed between standing up and standing here. Your fingers curled in on instinct. The air shimmered faintly around you, sparkling with gold, like the aftershock of a spell just cast.

And sitting across the room was Phainon. He looked up from a book, startled, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Did… did you just—?” he began, slowly placing the book down.

“I–I was going to ask you that!” you stammered, breath catching. “I thought you teleported me here!”

Phainon stood quickly and crossed the room in just a few strides, his expression shifting from surprise to concern. His hands reached for you with reverence, like you might break under his touch. He cupped your face, brushed his fingers along your arms, checking you for any signs of harm or tampering.

You saw it then—the golden flickers still dancing along your skin. The shimmering residue of magic. His magic.

His frown deepened.

“I didn’t teleport you,” he murmured. “But this—” his fingers hovered just above your shoulder, where the light hadn’t yet faded, “this is my power. My exact signature.”

He stepped back, gaze locked on you as if seeing something for the first time.

He decided to ask Anaxagoras about this. 

The next day, you and Phainon journeyed to the Grove of Epiphany to visit the God of Reason, Anaxagoras. And today, Phainon carried a question that had quietly begun to terrify him.

Anaxagoras was already waiting, sitting atop his living throne—an immense, gnarled structure of divine wood and woven time, rooted deep into the heart of the grove. His form was human enough to comprehend, but his presence still felt divine.

“I heard you wanted to speak on something urgent,” Anaxagoras said dryly.

Phainon didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and uttered the question that had haunted him since last night.

And the vein on Anaxagoras’s temple visibly popped.

“Khaslana, you absolute fool!” Anaxagoras barked, leaping from his throne so abruptly that the branches shuddered in response. “If you were my subject, I’d have struck you down with my gun!”

You blinked.

Phainon blinked harder.

“Could you explain it first and threaten me later?” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

Anaxagoras growled under his breath before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But you’re not going to like the answer.”

He looked at you briefly, then gestured for Phainon to come closer.

“It’s your own doing,” he said. “Your powers, to be specific. Or in this case—your bodily fluids.” He shot Phainon a glare. “You’ve consummated the marriage, haven’t you?”

Phainon flushed, eyes darting away. “I mean… yes. A lot of times–”

Before he could say more, Anaxagoras reached out and flicked him hard on the forehead. The sound was crisp. “I do not need to hear details of that!”

You tried not to laugh. Truly, you did. You’d heard tales of how the gods interacted—centuries of shared chaos, rivalries, ridiculous escapades—but witnessing it firsthand was still surreal. The god of reason, flicking the god of worldbearing like a misbehaving child.

Then Anaxagoras turned to you.

Even in his mortal guise, he was intimidating.

But his voice, when he addressed you, was unexpectedly kind.

“I genuinely feel sorry for you,” he said. “Married to this fool.”

You blinked, unsure whether to thank him or agree.

Phainon groaned behind you. “You’re really not helping.”

“Let me be clear,” Anaxagoras said, turning back. “Our bodies—our fluids—aren’t like humans’. Ichor, divine essence, even our breath carries remnants of power. When exposed through repeated, intimate contact,” he emphasized, “it begins to leave a mark.”

Phainon’s brow furrowed. “So this is my fault?”

“Yes,” Anaxagoras said flatly. “Absolutely.”

“Will there be… side effects?” he asked, now more anxious than indignant.

Anaxagoras shrugged. “If you count slowed aging, accelerated healing, and a growing resistance to mortal harm as side effects, then yes. But she’s not immortal, Khaslana. Not truly. She’s just… out of sync with human time now.”

You had mixed feelings about this revelation, of course. But Phainon, knowing the pain all too well, would always comfort you whenever you had doubts. He felt sorry too, seeing as this was all because of him. But you reassured him, saying that you could be with him longer. He sighed, shaking his head. He knew you were just trying to put up a front, but he’ll play along with you. Talking about the things the two of you could now do with your extended time.

Now, talking about being mortal to divinity. Maybe at some point in your relationship, seeing as you are now aging differently, you might as well ask how to become an immortal like him. 

When you asked the question, Phainon’s smile faltered.

He didn’t answer at first. His lips parting before closing again. He looked away, as if trying to search for a gentler version of the truth.

“It’s not easy,” He said at last. “Becoming a god… means dying first.”

His voice trembled in ways you’d never heard before—not with fear, but love, tangled with the fear of losing it.

Immortality wasn’t something that could simply be gifted. It had to be earned, endured. Ascension wasn’t just glory; it was transformation. And death would be your final offering.

The ritual was ancient. It required the counsel of Castorice, goddess of death, and the consent of the other gods. 

And when approval was finally granted, he returned to you with a heavy heart and a golden chalice cradled in his hands.

The ritual took place in the Vortex of Genesis as you stood at the center of a magical circle, painted with Phainon’s golden blood.

The air shimmered, thick with power, and the light bent around your body like it already recognized your soul’s changing shape.

You stood there barefoot, wrapped in white, the chalice of ambrosia trembling in your hands.

Phainon stood behind you, arms encircling your waist, his face pressed gently into your neck. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered, “not for me.”

But you turned to him with a steady gaze. “I’m doing this with you.”

And so you drank. The special ambrosia burned.

It wasn’t a drink—it was fire, a star condensed into liquid. It lit every vein in your body until you collapsed, convulsing, gasping as the pain overtook you. Your hands clawed at the air, and Phainon was there, pulling you into his lap, cradling you like something fragile and sacred.

“It hurts — Phainon, it hurts—!”

“I know,” He sobbed. “I know, I’m here— I’ve got you.”

He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, and your hands. His tears evaporating everytime it touched your skin.

You screamed. Your body arched. And then—silence.

Phainon stared at your lifeless body, waiting nervously. Then, the circle glowed along with your body. 

Golden veins of light threaded through your skin, pulsing with divine rhythm. The hollows of your cheeks flushed with new life. Your breathing returned—slow, serene. You opened your eyes.

And though you were no longer mortal, your eyes were still human. Still you.

Warm. Alive.

Phainon exhaled with relief, tears still falling. He cupped your face, awestruck. “Welcome back,” He whispered, “Welcome home, my love.”

Then he kissed you, not with desperation, but reverence. 

After your ascension, Phainon chose to remain with you in Okhema.

He didn’t want you to make the same mistakes he had made.

For centuries, Khaslana had drifted through the divine currents of existence—distant, worshipped, untouchable. The god of worldbearing had carried the weight of creation across his back, but never the soft weight of a shared breath, or a mortal hand clasped in his own. He was praised by cities, prayed to by kings, but he had long since forgotten how to feel like one of them.

And over time, without even realizing it, he had let that distance hollow him out.

The more he watched from afar, the more he became something unfeeling. Something vast, and cold, and unreachable. He had thought it was the price of divinity—this quiet decay of empathy, this numbness that settled like frost across his soul.

But then you came.

And through you, your laughter, your mortal worries, your stubbornness, your warmth— he remembered. 

What it was to ache. 

To hope. 

To want. 

You brought color back to a god dulled by centuries of stillness. You touched him, and the world moved again.

Where once your relationship with Khaslana had been veiled in secrecy, now there was no more need to hide. You and Phainon walked openly through Okhema, your divine presence no longer a rumor, but a truth the people embraced. Hand in hand, you moved through the markets and narrow streets.

Your friends wept when they saw you. Some knelt. Others reached out to touch your hands, to make sure you were real. Your family embraced you with a kind of joy so deep it broke into grief.

And Atlas? He wept the most.

“Are you… Still you?”

You hugged him tightly. “I am,” you promised. “I will always be your sister.”

You and Phainon often returned to Okhema, walking through the markets, tending to the sick, healing when you could. Your powers were still new, still growing—but you used them with care, and with humility.

Just as Khaslana was the God of Worldbearing, to the people, you were now the Goddess of Humanity.

A goddess who still walked among her people, not above them, but beside them.

©salmonmakiii, do not steal my work or feed it to AI.

[keferon]

Hey i was just wondering, like i was going through the portal au and just noticed

Do...do the autobots know Prowl has a body, technically? Like, that's their size???? Or does Prowl just show up one day and jumpscare them like the one robot from Wall-E (or donnie and his spiderleg thingies or MOMU Jazz when he drops from the ceiling like he likes to do)

OMG ACTUALLY It would be REALLY fucking funny if they didn’t instantly know that he has human-like body. Soooo so many possibilities for stupid situations haha

They arrive at the complex and Prowl is like “I am helping them but I am NOT trusting them.” and proceeds to so everything with moving doors/panels/manipulators. Because his “avatar” is packed with really important things and also contains all the weak spots. So. Only Jazz is allowed to come near him at first. Everyone else naturally assume that Prowl is like a program uploaded somewhere on the normal computer haha

[shiny-jr]

PROLOGUE, the beginning

– Summary: Why were you here? That was not a question you could answer, nor could you even remember the events that led you to awake in a world unlike your own. Archons of elements ruled the lands, and they will either answer your prayers to return home or become obstacles in your path.

– Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader. 

– Characters: Grim. 

– Note: This is thanks for all the followers, all +8,500 of you. Yes, I consider this a milestone. Which is why I decided to share this now. Also, because I've been genuinely struggling to write this series behind the scenes, although I really do adore the AU (even if not much story has been shared yet). I think I have almost fifty pages by now, and it's still only the very very beginning. Maybe I might share the first proper chapter later just to test the waters, see how y'all like it. Maybe. For now, I hope you do enjoy this prologue for the Empyrean AU! Please, do feel free to tell me your thoughts on it.

– Pages: 9

prologue | chapter i

This was not your sky, and yet you were looking up at it. 

The sky was never so clear to the point where you could actually see them. The stars. At home, if you were lucky, maybe on the odd occasion you could spot a few blinking lights if you squinted and stared at the inky darkness for a while. Never had you actually seen them so vividly, except in pictures. Maybe that’s what made it hard to look away, when this was only the kind of sky someone would see if they were dead. Or at least, that’s how you pictured it. That, or they were far from the familiarity of civilization. 

Were you dead? Perhaps not, you thought, when you felt a cold breeze and felt a grainy substance beneath your fingertips. The scent of salt invaded your nostrils, confirming that you indeed were not dead, unless heaven or hell was a beach and you were currently lounging on it. That seemed like a rather foolish notion. If you were in hell, how far down would it be and how would you even be able to see the sky? If you were in heaven, how close would the stars be? Probably so close that it wouldn’t make for much of a view. 

Disoriented, you slowly pushed yourself up as you were met with a vast expanse of darkness. The moon cast its gentle glow on the world, reflecting upon the stretch of endless ocean that began in tides washing against the shores just feet away from your toes. 

“Where––?” 

It was night, and you found yourself on a beach with no clue as to how or why you got there. Unsurely, you scanned your surroundings as you sat up on your knees, and attempted to pat off the sand particles that stuck to your clothes. Clothes that were a clear sign that you were unprepared to be here, when all you had on was an old white t-shirt and a pair of shorts that exposed your limbs to the cold. As you continued to pat yourself down, trying to remember why you were here, your pockets felt strangely empty. Again, you pat the spot, double checking as you felt your heart drop. 

“No, no…!” 

The pockets where you usually kept your phone and wallet or any other spare change, were both devoid of its contents. Patting yourself down entirely again, led to the conclusion that you had nothing. No method of communication, no form of payment, no proof of identification. Nothing. 

Were you kidnapped? No, that didn’t make any sense. If you had been kidnapped, why were you left alone on a shoreline? Robbery was a possibility, although you began to doubt that theory when you confirmed that you still had your jewelry. So if robbery and kidnapping were checked off the list, then why were you here? 

The last thing you could recall… you couldn’t remember. What were you doing before? You knew who you were, where you were from, but you couldn’t remember what you were doing last! 

Just before the situation could fully sink in, out of the corner of your eye you noticed blue. Not of the water, no, this was a bright blue glowing like the stars. And there were two. In the distance, two small flickering fires of blue moved along the edge of the forest. The pair shifted and floated not too far off the ground, dancing within the shadows, but seeming to grow further and further away. As if wherever the source was coming from, was traversing deeper into the woods and away from the shoreline. 

Looking around once again, you saw you were alone. There was no evidence of civilization whether it be some type of building, a pathway, or a sign to conveniently point you in the right direction. All around you was the ocean, shoreline, and the forest. You could travel in one direction and hope you either happened across another person, or you could wait patiently in hopes someone would come searching for you. Of course, there was the riskier option of following the lights and pray it was a person and not something else. Currently, your options were limited. 

Not quite particular to the prospect of starving or freezing out in the open, you quickly scrambled up and chose to follow the lights. Your sneakers allowed you to run across the sand without sinking down, as you attempted to keep up with the lights. You didn’t dare speak out, because you still didn’t know what exactly the lights were! 

In any other situation, your fear would have never allowed you to just blindly follow two glowing blue lights in the middle of nowhere at night. However, this wasn’t exactly a normal situation. You’ve read stories of people foolishly pursuing strange lights which often lead them to either a wondrous new thing or a terrible fate. You could only hope that it wasn’t the latter in your case. 

By the time you had reached where the sand became grass, you were out of breath, but still forced yourself to carry on. Lingering behind the blue lights, as you kept your breathing quiet and remained cautious of any branch should you step on it and it make a noise. 

Speeding up, the ground became a bit easier to walk on when it was mainly grass and dirt. The lights kept low, visible in the tall grass that brushed against your knees as whatever it was weaved between trees at a swift and easy pace. As you got closer, you could verify that your eyes had been correct earlier. It was two blue flames. Two blue flames and a cat! 

It was the strangest cat you ever saw, with blue flames that came from within its two little ears. From behind it, all you could make out was its gray fur in desperate need of a wash and paws slightly damp with mud. The tail at the end of it was most peculiar, black and forked like a trident. Well, even if it was the strangest little kitty, it was much of a relief to see it was a creature that you could recognize. 

“Wait…! Come here, come here, it’s alright.” You gained the courage to speak, finding your voice as you attempted to catch the kitten’s attention and beckon it closer. Even if it was feral, maybe it could lead you somewhere. Feral cats had to eat, and some liked to rummage around the bins in the alleyways back home. Perhaps this one was the same. 

As you reached forward, the cat screamed in fright. It screeched, hair raising along its spine and tail standing straight in alarm. It didn’t scream like a cat, it screamed like a person with a voice, which in turn caused you to reel back and scream too. 

It did indeed have the face of a cat, but its eyes were highly unusual. Blue. Entirely blue, the same shades as the fire from its ears. The sclera of its eye was a light blue instead of white, and its pupil was like a cat’s, but the iris was an unusual shade of chathams blue. You had never seen anything with eyes like those! 

“Who are you?! What are ya doing following me?” 

It spoke. It spoke in a grating little voice that caused you to flinch. The feline looked just as tense as you were, as it stood on the tips of its claws with its back arched, staring up at you with those wide eyes. You half expected the thing to hiss at you. 

“A… A talking cat!” You exclaimed in pure shock, as you scanned your surroundings, in case someone else didn’t emerge from behind a tree and claim to be the voice you heard. But you had clearly seen the cat’s mouth moving and heard the words come from its mouth. Was this some sort of dream? It had to be. I mean, waking up alone in a foreign place, having no memory of why you were here, encountering a cat with fire ears and the ability to talk, it had to be just a dream! “Okay, I’ll play along.” Or at least, that was your current logic, as you willingly deluded yourself for your own peace of mind. 

“I’m not a cat!” The creature hissed, its back arching a little higher as if it were an attempt to intimidate you. It was difficult to be intimidated when it was very cat-like and small. “I’m Grim! Remember the name, because you’re looking at the next great archon! Now, I already asked who you were and why you were following me, are you not gonna answer that?” 

Taking a step back to not loom over him, you regarded him carefully, deciding not to press about the archon thing, whatever that was. “Oh, um… My name is (Y/n). It’s very nice to meet you, Mister Grim.” 

The-not-cat creature paused, slowly sitting as a content little grin curled below his whiskers. Grim preened, sounding much less threatening, “A human with manners and brains! Aha! Finally, someone regards me with the respect I deserve! Although I prefer Master Grim, but I’ll let Mister slide. I’ll take it easy on you. Now, stick 'em up, human!” 

Puzzled, you slowly did as he commanded, although you weren’t sure why Grim wanted your hands up. It’s not like you had to obey, but you did. 

Grim regarded your appearance and attire, scoffing as he straightened his posture to stand on his back two paws and walk like a person. “What bumbling little village are you from where you dress like that? Don’t tell me you’re so poor you can’t even afford proper clothes!” 

Furrowing your eyebrows, you continued standing with your hands up as you looked down at your own outfit. Yeah, it wasn’t anything amazing, but you wouldn’t say you looked poor. Slightly wounded, you looked down at the little feline creature. “What’s wrong with my clothes…?” 

“Everything!” The creature exclaimed as he gestured to multiple aspects of your current wear. “You’re practically begging to get all banged up and scratched with all that skin showing out here, and those pockets are too small to hold anything of value! Don’t tell me someone already got to you first and robbed you?!” 

Robbed? Yeah, that was the theory first, but it seemed like that was no longer the case. That wasn’t what happened to you. “Uhh… no? I don’t think so? Why?” 

“Because this is a robbery! I’m robbing you! Catch up!” Grim groaned in exasperation, no longer pointing a little claw at you. When his eyes went over you once again and he didn’t see anything of real value, he grumbled and averted his gaze down at the dirt. 

Peering down at the creature, you slowly lowered your arms back to your side as you tilted your head at the thing. It kicked a stray pebble before plopping down with his head hung low, only its ear twitched in response as you responded softly, “Sorry, I don’t even have anything on me.” 

“Yeah, I can already tell, duh.” Grim mumbled, not stirring even as you slowly sat across from him, just inches away from where he had flopped down. Not even raising his head, he mumbled bitterly, “What sorta stupid human are you?” 

“The lost sort.” Seeing that the small creature didn’t look about ready to sink its claws into the flesh of your leg, you took the moment while he was tame to explain your precarious situation. How you woke up here, can’t recall the events that led to your arrival, and had no idea where in the world you were. 

The entire time, his little ear occasionally twitched, but he didn’t really move. Grim sat like a person, his little paws sticking out as he kept his head down. It felt odd to be talking to a fiery feline, his blue flames flickering and illuminating the small clearing of the forest you two were sitting in. 

“So… what you’re trying to say is that you ended up here and you have no idea how?” When he lifted his head slightly, his eyes focused intensely on your hands. Despite claiming to not be a cat, Grim acted a lot like one, as he pawed at your palms. 

Tentatively, you nodded, letting the feline do as he pleased, as long as it didn’t involve his claws. You even unfurled your fingers further, just so your palms were more open. “I was wondering if you could tell me where we are…?” 

“Heartslabyul, obviously.” He answered, as if it was common sense. Well, for you, you didn’t recognize the name at all, which made you a bit nervous. It must be very very far from home, wherever you were. There was no time to even ask for clarification, because he pawed at your palm with more force. “What’s that on your hand? Is that––?” 

“My hand…?” 

Turning your hand over, your fingers trembled when you noticed a spot in the very center of your palm. At first you thought you somehow got pierced by something, but by Grim’s light, it became clear that it wasn’t some puncture wound. It was a mark on the flesh, along the creases and line of your skin, there was an oval shaped symbol. Intricate, but far too small to really make out all the details. Whatever it was, it wasn’t plain old regular ink like someone tattooed you while you were unconscious. This mark was glowing. It was very dim, but still, glowing black. 

Any fear you had been containing, escaped when your breath hitched as you turned over your other palm and saw the same thing. Inhaling sharply, your growing alarm became evident by your tone and expression as your voice raised a few decibels, as unsteady as your shaking hands. “M-My hands–– I don’t know what’s on my hands! I didn’t even know it was there! I swear, I don’t know what this is or what’s going––” It was dawning on you all at once, and you couldn’t delude yourself further that this was a dream especially when you felt a tiny prick on your flesh. Pain. You could feel the prick of pain. This wasn’t a dream.

“Why are you panicking? This is a good thing! A great thing! Count yourself blessed, mortal!” Grim cut off your panic, using one of his little pointed claws to trace the oval-marking without drawing blood. Any semblance of disappointment was dashed, and his grin returned as he explained, “This is a symbol from the gods! They’re very rare, not many of the archons use emblems anymore.” There was that word again: archon. “Wayyyy long ago, they used to be mainly used when an archon picked a mortal to use as a vessel and took over their body. Then the body would get a mark sorta like this one! That, or it was used as a branding kinda deal if a mortal owed something to an archon. Weird, I don’t even recognize that emblem. It’s not from me, I mean, I can’t do this yet, but one day I will! So, which archon do you belong to?” 

“I’m gonna get possessed?!” 

The feline scoffed, pouting as you quickly withdrew your hands that were shaking so terribly. “You don’t know why you even have that?” 

You wanted to cry. “I don’t know! I already told you…!” What kind of existence was this, where you lived your mundane life, ended up here lost and afraid, only to get told that you may be possessed by an archon? “I don’t even know what you mean by archon––” 

“WHAT?!” Yowling, he immediately jumped up onto his two back paws as he exclaimed in utter disbelief, almost offended, “You don’t know about the archons? That wasn’t just some wacky made-up story about how you ended up in this dump?” 

When you shook your head, you sniffled, trying desperately to keep your calm, but it seemed almost impossible in this impossible predicament. 

“Okay, okay, since I feel so bad for you, I’ll tell you. Then one day, if you’re still around, you can proudly say that you met the Great Archon Grim! You can brag like, I knew him! Isn’t Grim so cool? I might even remember you and accept your prayers, you can thank me now!” 

At his smug little expression, you relented, as you weren’t exactly in the position to make demands. “Alright, alright… Thank you, Great Grim. And I’ll thank you again if you can explain maybe a little more to me? Please?” 

“Fine, fine, if you insist.” Crossing his arms, he basked in the attention, appearing quite pleased with himself as he began, “Let’s see… here, I’ll put it so simple that even a baby can understand! There are seven nations, and each one has a god. These gods are super-powerful! I’m talking crazy-strong! Like they can level mountains and raise the sea type of miracles with their crazy magic!” 

Right now, you had no idea what to do or how to get home. However, if magic existed in this realm, then surely there would be some way to get back. There had to be, for your sanity. 

“Buuuuuut, I don’t recognize the emblem on your hand at all. It could be one of them? Chances are you probably won’t get possessed, because let’s be honest, what kinda archon would want your body? But, maybe if you pray to one of the archons, you’ll get an answer. But the chances of that are pretty much zero, because only idiots rely on the gods since they almost never answer. You’d have a better chance trying to actually meet with one of them and try to talk to them in person, but good luck with that!” 

Immediately burying your face in your hands, you groaned, shaking your head in misery. This was a world of magic and archons, things that were so unfamiliar, and you were talking to a demonic little cat! A cat was telling you all this! “This can’t be happening, this can’t be real––” 

Grim listened to your murmurings, blinking as he watched your mind unraveling. His little blue eyes glowed in the darkness along with the flickering light of his ears like dim candlelight. Sitting across from you in the middle of the field, his tail slid an inch to the side before tilting his head. Fireflies emerging from the underbrush floated gently, dancing in the breeze around them. Comically, one of the flying critters in particular levitated above his head, lighting up like a light bulb as an idea came to mind. 

“You know, we’re actually not too far from the capital of Heartslabyul.” A toothy grin took root on his short snout. “It’s this hugeee city where the god of pyro lives in this giant palace! One day, I’m gonna live in a palace ten times bigger than that one! My worshippers will build it for me, brick by brick, a towering temple that reaches the very heavens! It’ll make that palace look puny in comparison, but I’m getting ahead of myself.” Temporarily distracted by the fireflies, he didn’t even notice when you slowly lifted your head to look at him. He was far too entranced, pawing and trying to catch the light in his paws. 

“A city…?” A city was a good thing, wasn’t it? When you thought of a city, you thought of towering buildings and bright lights, but it’s entirely possible that cities weren’t the same here. Whenever here truly was. Either way, cities had a lot of people. People could help. “How far is it?” 

Swinging his paw through the air, he managed to hit a firefly that burst into a tiny flame. That was not a normal bug. It was an actual fire-fly. “I dunno, like… a few hours? The point is, I’m willing to offer you, pathetic lost sad human, the offer of a lifetime!” Hopping up onto his back paws, he waltzed right up to you and stood proudly with his little arms crossed in front of the white puff of fur at his chest. “I tried staking my claim there in their main city, but I was kicked out! Can you believe it? Me! They threw me out as if I was nothing! But they can’t keep me out forever! Here’s my amazing offer: if you help me sneak back in, I’ll help you… ah… what were you looking for again? I already forgot.” 

Furrowing your eyebrows in disbelief, you replied in quiet distress, “Uh… a way home…?” 

“Oh! Right! That.” Clearing his throat, he resumed, “Swear to help me sneak back in, and I’ll lead you straight to their capital where you can look for the Pyro Archon to ask about a way home! I even know a shortcut so you don’t have to walk all the way. Now, say thank you.” 

Grimacing, but with little choice as it was either follow the eccentric talking cat or remain lost and possibly rot in the wilderness of a foreign world, you replied unsteadily, “Thank you…?” 

Little white fangs poked out as he grinned, and darted into the tall grass. “Good enough for me! Come on, human, if we want to catch that short cut, we gotta do it before the sun comes up!” 

There was hardly any time to register what was going on or how quickly this was all going by. Right away you had to jump to your feet, stumbling after the feline. You could make out his path by the glow of his ears and the shifting of the grass as he occasionally jumped in the air to smack at the fire-flies. “H-Hold on, where are we even going?!” 

Grim smacked at another fire-fly as you were careful to avoid even touching them. He chased away the glowing embers, creating a path for you to follow in his trail. “The nearby port! Where else? We got a one-way ticket to the capital and that’s on the King’s ship!” 

Jogging to keep up with his quick pace leading to dense forest between the shores and woods, you did your utmost best to remain in his sight. It would be terrifying to be lost here at night alone. “I thought you said you were thrown out of the city! Why would their royalty let you on his own ship?” 

“Because he doesn’t know, obviously!” Grim paused at the edge of the meadow just before the trees to let you catch up, and he offered a confident little smirk. “We’re sneaking onto the King’s ship that’ll take us straight to Chesswick.”

[bodhiscurls]

what happens in vegas stays in vegas. ( robert 'bob' floyd )

this isn't the way i would've done it- i would've wanted to remember this moment forever. robert 'bob' floyd and you have always harboured feelings for each other, hidden in hotel rooms, stolen glances and secret kisses shared across the base. except one night in vegas celebrating the end of a gruelling mission finds you and bob waking up the next day unsure of how you made it to his room, the remenants of tequila pounding in your head and a rock the size of san diego on your ring finger. and what scares him the most is just how is he going to explain this to your brother.

pairing: bob floyd x fem! bradshaw reader (no use of yn, rooster's little sister)

themes: fluff, angst, rooster being an angry over-protective brother. surprise marriage. drinking, slight grief more of rememberance, swearing.

your call sign: claws. (bob's nickname for you is kitten)

the first thing bob notices that he's very noticeably naked.

he furrows his brows, the chill of the morning air tickling his bare skin and then he feels the heat. you're so warm under him he thinks as you're tucked under his bare chest- his body blanketing you from the breeze that carresses his back.

it's not an usual or rare sight for you and bob to end up in tangled limbs and love. he's had a thing for you since he started his naval training and all the way till now present day: two days after they've successfully finished the most dangerous flight he's taken in his life. you weren't selected for the mission- ending up in the standby jets alongside jake seresin where you two acted as spare daggers. you didn't complete the mission but you and jake both saved rooster and maverick's life that day and will always be remembered as the real heroes for it.

instead the two of you loved in silence, in long gazes across briefing rooms and whispered murmurs across radio comms. it evolved more into booking hotel rooms out of radius from the base, spending half your live in bob's apartment and the other wishing you were anyone other than your last name; if that's what it would mean for the two of you to be together all the time.

your brother- bradley to you, naval officer 'rooster' to bob. the scary six footer who holds quiet determination and leadership, who is a damn good pilot and maybe he doesn't mean to intimidate bob at any chance but he does. bob decided its best to avoid rooster where possible as any time he steals a glance all he can see is your face, hear your voice and he blushes a crimson red- the guilt displayed all over his face.

it feels like betraying a friend- but bob would do anything to be with you in whatever little slices and forms you'd have him.

like now, as you lie fast asleep below him almost hidden from the world and bob positively melts knowing its only him who gets to see this relaxed, undone, free version of you.

there's a crease between your brows as you snore lightly, the morning light streaking across your skin as your mouth parts open slightly. he watches the gentle rise and fall of your also very naked chest and feels himself relax completely.

"robbie?" you stir, scrunching your eyes tightly before opening them, as if to stamp out the fatigue from your body. you stretch you arms and legs as far as you can extend them before bringing your limbs closer inwards, wrapping them around his body to draw him closer. he feels the shiver when his cool body presses into your warm one but you show no inclination of letting go any time soon. your movements are almost feline and he grins thinking of the moment he gave you your call sign. as cute as a cat, but god do you have the claws to strike at any time.

your face is burrowed into the crook of his neck, listening carefully to his pulse point and he knows he's lost you again to a slumber so peaceful.

until the knocks come.

or bangs rather.

three pounds of fist rattling the door, shaking it from its frame fill the air and bob stills. you however, have not shifted from your drifting trance underneath him and he curses himself for how he's going to have to untangle himself from you.

"robbie?" you murmur as you feel him begin to pull away.

"good morning," he whispers into your skin, planting a soft kiss to your brows then to your nose and down to the centre of your lips. he can feel you smile against him, "i'm going to be right back ok?"

you whine reluctantly and he hushes you with another kiss before you sigh and let him take back his limbs. though your weighted human blanket is greatly missed as he slides on some boxers most likely from last night and then a pair of shorts.

"floyd are you in there?" comes a loud rumble accompanied by some more thundering at the door and bob absolutely freezes. he hasn't even got his shorts on as his blood runs cold as his legs bolt back to the bedroom where you're currently blissfully unaware of the chaos that will soon follow.

"oh kitten, you have to get up, please please please" his voice is urgent, low but still cautious of its volume as you begin to wake up slowly.

"i don't really want to," comes your muffled response, coccooned up in the sheets.

"i know, but this is serious. you really gotta get up," and the desperation in his voice alerts your body in a delayed reaction, but its there.

"love?" you blink slowly and bob has to remind himself that now is not the time to start drooling over how gorgeous you are freshfaced in bed.

"your brother," he heaves, out of breath in anxiety and panic, "is at the door." you feel your own heart stop and you bite your lip.

"oh my god," you sit up frantically and whisper, the consequences of last night's tequila instantly rush to your head and you clutch at the growing headache in desperation.

"baby?" he stills, "what the fuck is that?" and his heart rips open in two, rising through his system and into his mouth where the words just can't get themselves out.

your own brows furrow in confusion until you feel the weight of a humungous rock wrapped around your ring finger, "holy shit," and the tears start to well in your glistening eyes. "robbie?" and he hates himself for how your voice starts to wobble in worry. "robbie does this mean we?," your voice trails off as you repeat a frequent "holy shit, holy shit, holy shit," as if saying it again and again will make this all disappear.

"hey," he breathes as the pounding on the door thunders even louder, "we'll figure this out okay, trust me on this," and he presses a comforting kiss to your forehead. you lean in to his embrace for a milisecond before he presses a finger to your lips and heads back into the entry way.

"okay bob, just," he takes a final look in the mirror and realises he still has no pants on, before wiggling his legs into his shorts and reaches for the handle, "just be cool."

"what the fuck, bob?" comes jake seresin's southern drawl instantly. bob hadn't even seen the complete view of his face before being met with fury.

"gentleman," he clears his throat and nods to each of them, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. just be cool, bob. you are cool, bob, his brain reprimands. just be what you are-

"where were you? we rang you a million times," rooster asks, as calm and collected as bob wishes he could only just scratch the surface or that kind of demeanour.

"drank too much, slept too much," he tries to shrug off with indifference and rooster quirks a brow, instantly picking up on the subtle shift in bob's behaviour.

"did you now?" he slowly repeats, like he's testing how bob's words feel and he doesn't like it.

"yup," bob's answer comes too quickly, lazily put and he has to force his facial muscles to smile softly and not wince. married your sister too, the cheeky devil on his shoulder grins and he can feel his heart thud so rapidly against his chest it'll be seconds until it escapes free.

he thinks he's off the hook. jake's already beginning to walk away but bradley is firmly planted at his door. "you seen my sister anywhere?" he asks, voice suddenly jumping down an octave. and bob's eyes widen ever so slightly, praying rooster- one of the navy's most finest and skilled hasn't noticed.

"nope," he leans against the door casually, the door itself creaks open just a little further, "you uh, you tried calling?" he places a facade of concern on his lips, curling softly as he clicks his tongue, trying to remember if he has seen you some place other than his bed.

"yeah," rooster breathes through a level intake of air. he sticks a tongue in his cheek in thought, cocking his head to the side and bob offers his prayers to god intently. "she hasn't been picking up, like you." the last two words hit the wind out of bob and he mutters out a "sorry, i'll have a look around- keep you updated" before shutting the door in roosters face hurriedly.

"fuck!" he whisper- yells, dread filling him whole and drowning him from the inside. you're awake now, standing before him wrapped in the sheets with a matching frown on your lips. he wants to hug you, hold you and protect you more than anything and just when he thinks a tiny part of the worst of it is over, the thundering starts all over again.

"bob!" rooster calls out from the other side of the door and he knows there's no way to run from this. you reach out to hold his hand and give it a squeeze.

"whatever comes, we will make it through," you swear earnestly and bob swallows with a tight nod. he paces slowly back to the door, pulling it open a few inches but rooster's got his heavy hand on it, opening it further.

"those," he points with a menacing brow, "are her shoes," and lo and behold- you sparkly silver heels you use for dancing and stealing bob's attention are thrown across bob's hotel room floor and you curse yourself for your extravangant taste.

"bob, have you had my fucking sister in there?" he growls and jake seresin instantly has to hold back his friend's arm in desperation.

"no rooster," hangman adds unhelpfully, "i think you mean he's fucking your sister in there," the grin plastered on his face is undeniable and in a fresh new wave of anger, he pushes jake off of him and goes straight for bob until your voice stops him straight in his tracks

"hi brad," you whisper, waving meekly and its the wrong move because bradley bradshaw pulls back in shock, like you've slapped him across the face and he recoils in the shame and pain.

"and look what the cat has dragged in," comes a familiar laugh you've grown to love.

"hi, jakey," you shyly whisper in reply, not taking your eyes off your brother for even a moment, trying to decipher the weight of his stare until you feel it at your finger.

the drawl of "hi, little chicken," is hushed to the back as bradley's voice booms through the air, shaking the walls with a vibration of steel.

"what the fuck is that?" and his eyes bulge as big as the diamond. it's the second time you've had that question thrown at you and the confrontation of it makes you want to cry. bob is instantly at your side, infront of you and you press your forehead to the curve in his bare back that instantly melts at your touch. you're hiding and he hates it- he decides that he's not as big and built as either rooster or hangman- he most likely couldn't take them in a fight but he'd certainly die trying.

oh he's definitely going to die.

"i," rooster breathes raggedly, chest heaving in borderline hyperventilation- you're worried he's going to have a heart attack, "am going to kill you" and he lunges for bob, bob stands there ready and bracing hoping you'll see this act as honourable but jake seresin the saviour comes between you all once again, holding off rooster to give bob enough time to choose his last words.

"okay okay enough," hangman gets out. "rooster, snap out of it, you giant baby and the two of you," he raises a brow, "put some damn clothes on and meet us in the restaurant for breakfast. you have five minutes."

his words are crystal clear and rooster leaves the room with a grunt and a final lethal stare directed straight to your husband.

your husband.

heat pools in your stomach and you feel faint as the door slams behind the two aviators leaving the thick air behind.

"robbie?" your voice wobbles and he strokes your arm gently in reassurance before wrapping you in a tight hug as if it might be the last time. "you don't regret this do you?" your voice comes tiny.

"no, sweetness," he promises as he presses his nose against yours, "this isn't the way i would've done it, i would've wanted to remember every single moment of it- but i don't regret the fact that drunk bob had more courage than sober bob," he lets out.

you lean up to him to find earnest swinning in those chocolate eyes and sigh, "i love all the versions of you you'll let me have," and he squeezes you in his embrace.

now he just has to make it past tomorrow to find out a way to redeem himself and actually propose in a way you'll remember for the rest of your lives.

....

its three on three in an interrogation chamber known as the breakfast buffet.

fanboy sits in the middle of you and bob; sleep slowing his body down as he fights the fatigue to sit up straighter, feeling the weight of bradley's stare on him. you wanted to sit next to bob but the twitch in bradley's eyes and the soft shake of jake's head told you to take the futher seat away from your lover.

bob casts you a glance of reassurance as his eyes track your fingers that fumble and twist the ring backwards and forwards in nervousness and he wants nothing more to reach out and hold them tight.

"no," bradley shakes his head, "you two are not looking at each other"

"bradley," you lower your voice in desperation. but he spares you not an ounce of attention, focusing it all razor sharp on fanboy in the middle of you three.

"you officiated the wedding?" rooster shouts, "are you fucking insane?" and natasha shoots him a deathly look, aware of the amount of people also making use of the unlimited amounts of pastry and coffee.

fanboy can feel the sweat trickle down his brows and shrugs when he can't find the words, "you know how i get with tequila!" he cries out, "i don't even know what day it is!" and he can feel rooster growl.

"bradley," you call out again and instantly he shoots you down, focusing on bob and fanboy at your sides and this is how its been your whole life. as much as you love your brother and he loves you, he's always been dismissive of your opinions and actions- you'll always be the younger little sister who doesn't touch him close.

"this is what we're going to do," he breathes out a level responsible answer and bob interrupts him bravely.

"rooster, she's got something to say, let's hear her out" he gets out, unflinching to bradley's stare.

"i'm not hearing anyone out, the two of you are going to get this marriage nullified and we are going to fucking go back home where-"

"no," you pause his rant softly, your voice gentle as it holds the weight of your decision- this is your future he's disregarding as a chore- a pit stop in his plans and you hate it. he pauses though however, the stop slicing through the air with a cutting edge.

"no?" he recoils in a shout, "i'm sorry, you think you have a say in this? you got married! drunk! in vegas!" each exclamation reeks of exasperation and jake furrows his brows.

"what would dad say about this?" and the whole table stills in shock.

you however, don't even move a muscle, just a slow blink your brother.

"rooster don't be such a dick," bob scoffs to break the ice and jake murmurs in agreement- "i don't like your tone with her," nodding to himself and at you in support and you smile.

"oh shut up," he rolls his eyes, "i am not talking to you, i'm talking to her," and before bob can start again you reach out gingerly to place a hand on his shoulder to let him know its all going to be okay.

"no brad, you're talking at me, not to me," the words that leave your anxious bitten lips are not loud or strained but heavy with the notion of this talk being a long time coming to face your brother. "i'm not nullifying anything, this is my life and my decisions. i'm going to be married to bob as long as he lets me love him," you look over and smile sadly.

"till i die," he swears firmly, "and every life after that."

rooster opens his mouth again but you hold you hand up as a truce, a silent plead for him to let you finish. "i've known bob for years, loved him for longer than we've been together and this is all i've ever wanted. yes, it's wrong to sneak behind your back but can you blame me? knowing this would be how you'd react? i've followed you my whole life bradley, i might not be smarter than you or as quick as you but i'm also a damn good pilot and two days ago? i saved your life," you breathe.

"and here you are hell bent on ruining mine," the confession is thundering as rooster lowers his eyes to his lap hearing it fall from your lips. "i don't know what dad would think, you got to love him for whatever little time you had but i didn't even get that- i didn't know him at all so forgive me if i don't really care much because i know deep down if he's anything like mom- as passionate, kind and loving then i know he'd look at bob and i and see what he saw in her. i love him, rooster" you can't stop the words from rushing out. "i love him so much that i can't imagine my life without him. he's sweet and caring and has never asked too much from me even though i'd give him the world- he's my universe and i don't think i could ever love anyone but him, it's scary. i've married him bradley and i'm going to stick by him for the rest of my life. if you can't support me on this, then you're not the brother i thought you were nor one that i can call my own," you stand tiredly, clutching the table slowly to give you some more support and then wrap the hoodie a little tighter around you for warmth.

you walk away from the table and head in the direction of the hotel rooms again- your breakfast untouched. and the table looks at rooster disappointedly, he doesn't meet any of their eyes however until bob speaks.

"she has no middle name, her favourite colour is yellow like the sun, she loves coffee and is slowly trying to get the hang of matcha. she sleeps in on her days off and loves to read books that are too quick-moving for me. she doesn't watch tv much but uses it mainly as background noise. she does yoga not to keep in shape but to give her some breathing space and meditation. she cooks lasagne because it's my favourite meal and even eats it even though i know she doesn't like how heavy it feels but she does it anyways. when she's angry, she flies more rolls than usual and a little choppier than usual. when she's had a good day she celebrates with a bath and a sweet treat. she doesn't know what to ask for sometimes and that's okay i've waited years for her and i'll hold this patience for the rest of my life. i love her rooster, i love her when she cries and tries to hide her sadness in fears shes burdening everyone, i love her when she tries not to laugh so loud to not draw attention to her and i love her even when she doesn't feel like she has much to give me," his rambles get choppier, each breath landing and conveying all the feelings he's hidden from your family. "i know she loves you rooster, you're all she has left and she cares about your opinion more than anything- so much that she lets you speak to her like she doesn't even matter and it bothers me so fucking much," he fumes.

"she loves you rooster," he stands, taking your plate with him hoping that you'll at least get something in your system to numb the sad feelings of today. "and she'll forgive you because thats just what she does, but this? i'll always remember how you've made her feel today," and with that he leaves.

jake lets out a low whistle, wincing at bob's departure and patting bradley's back before following his lead. rooster sits at the table, natasha at his side who picks at his breakfast, and lets him mellow in his regret.

"you know rooster, you're a lot like maverick than you think," she hums softly, "and you need to fix this."

"and how do i do that?"

"i think you already know the answer to that, bud."

he nods in agreement, before pushing his chair abruptly across the floor with a hard scrape and heading off in the direction of where all his friends have left before.

...

you spot maverick on your way back to the hotel room, he's walking opposite to you and you assume he's on his way to get some fuel in before he starts the day.

"hey honey," he calls out with a smile that you return though you can feel your heart cracking at the edges. "you okay?" he detects in an instant. you swallow the phlegm gathering in your throat, the thick emotion that causes you to exhale longer than usual and nod tightly.

"i got married," you lift your hand to show him the rock, a weak smile straining your features.

"congratulations, honey!" he exclaims and wraps you in a firm fatherly hug. you relax in his hold and slowly begin to break down. the tears you've been holding in since rooster sat you down like a child infront of all your joined friends, embarrassing you infront of your own damn husband stream your cheeks, wetting his shirt in little droplets. he pulls back, using the pads of his thumb to wipe away the stray tears falling in an instant.

if goose was here today, this is what he would've done, maverick thinks and boy does he long for his old friend who would've loved to see his daughter grown up- especially how proud he'd be of who you've become. and even if he was still here, pete would still be here for always.

"you're not happy with bob?" he questions, holding you.

"god, no!" you exclaim dramatically, "its not him- i mean it is him, and i couldn't be happier to be with him its just rooster doesn't approve," you bite your lip carefully. "he doesn't seem to approve of anything i do."

maverick lets a groan leave his lips before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and waist to lead you back to the buffet room. he fights your tired "i'm not really hungry, uncle pete," with a gentle, "you'll let an old man eat by himself??" within seconds.

as he spreads a thin layer of raspberry jam on some toast and then puts it into your plate despite your protests because he knows its your favourite, always has been and waits until youve taken a bite before he carefully picks his words.

"you think dad would've been disappointed in me?" you ask, licking the sweet conserve off your lips and fingers. youre a messy eater, reminding him so much of nick that it brings a smile and easy chuckle.

"i think he would've laughed at the fact that you and bob waited longer than him and carole," pete reassures you. "the thing with goose is, there never was a right moment- it was always a here and now thing and as long as you're happy kid then that's all that matters."

"rooster doesn't think so, he thinks dad wouldve hated me."

"nick would've thought bradley's head was too big for his body and that moustache is only something nick bradshaw could make work," he grimaces, "makes him look older than his dad." and you fight a laugh.

"he'll get over it," pete promises.

"he was really disrespectful to bob. i can handle him, but to insult bob? when he's been nothing but the best to me?" you shudder, and take another bite of toast.

"your brother is headstrong, i'm not making any excuses for him but he has a hard time of showing his love. what he did was unacceptable but i think more than anything he just wants to protect you."

"i know uncle pete, i just- he was mean," you stress and feel the tears come again, lightly dabbing at them with your fingers.

"give it some time, let him wallow, and besides. maybe he knows he needs to get a move on being the last single bradshaw and all," pete grins and you reach across the table to pat his hand.

"when your dad met your mother it's like his whole trajectory changed- he was still goose but he finally had a whole person he could give all this love to. your mother made him smile and laugh the loudest i've ever heard, i mean half of the world could've probably heard him. she also made him cry and sob in my car during the hard times but one thing about him and carole was that their kind of love- it's worth everything, kid," he tells the story of your parents and you soften at the reminisce. "when your dad came to me and said he'd met the love of his life, i laughed it off- i told him we're navy boys but then when i stopped laughing and saw the look in his eyes- that same fierce determination i can see in yours? nothing else mattered, it still doesn't."

"i think," you begin slowly, "that maybe they've found their way back to each other in heaven," and pete pauses, exhaling the breath he didn't even know was trapped into his chest.

"they definitely have kid," he whispers. "i don't think they ever really left each other, it just became a waiting game of who would come home first and now? they have forever waiting for them."

tears escape both your eyes and then you look over at each other with the same expressions and laugh, the emotion still thick in your voices.

"thanks, uncle pete. i needed this."

"anytime kid, it's what your dad would've done," he smiles.

you two continue to eat in silence before pete delves into more stories of carole and nick, ones you've never had the privilege of hearing yourself and you soften.

you know you and bob are capable of a marriage and love like theirs but your relationship is so unqiuely yours too that there's no way without a doubt you'd walk away from this marriage.

...

you spot bob sitting on the bed, elbows resting on his knees as he waits and watches the door eagerly. then, as he spots you safe in his line of vision, the ropes holding him tight loosen and he feels his whole body relax- the reaction his soul has tethered to yours pumping in his heart in an instant.

"hey, kitten," he greets, meeting you halfway. he instantly wraps you into a comforting hug and sways the two of you back and forth. you imagine ocean waves in your mind as you tilt side to side, peace and serenity filling your body. with this weight of secrecy of your shoulders, it feels less like drowning and more like sailing.

"you had something to eat?" he asks softly into your hair, "i brought your plate up in case," and you want to tear up at how sweet he is.

"i caught a bite with mav," you stick a tongue through your cheek in thought before reaching up with a free hand and raking it through his hair, tugging at the spots you know he loves and he leans into your touch, "i'm sorry about bradley," you wince and he shakes his head immediately in understanding.

"you have nothing to apologise for; rooster will be rooster i guess," he shrugs and a sigh leaves you.

"but it shouldn't have to be like that. he spoke about you like you were just a bad decision, something i'd grow out of like you didn't matter," you meet his gaze and drown in those honey eyes, "you're my person, bob. you're it for me."

he laughs, eyes crinkling in a gorgeous radiant smile of bliss, "i should hope so considering we're married now." and you return the smile a million times brighter, hand now coming to cup his jaw and carress his cheek gently with you fingers.

"i'd do it again if you wanted to," you whisper into the distance between you.

"what?" he pulls back ever so slowly.

"a ceremony, a whole wedding- white dress, if you wanted to. i'd do it again."

"you'd marry me?"

"i mean what's one more time, huh," you laugh and he pinches your side, playfully.

"be serious, you'd do that for me?"

"i'd do anything for you, robbie. you just have to ask."

"should i get down on one knee?"

"i mean, you don't have- oh okay, we're really doing this," as he bends one knee into the floor and then freezes. you catch up to his delayed thought process instantly, "shit, you'd probably need this back," and you slide the ring off your finger and back into his warm hands. he holds it up to you like a trophy, a soft glint blinding in his eyes.

"you wanna marry me, kitten?"

"i don't think that's exactly how the question goes but yes, yes, yes, more than anything, bobby," and he slides the ring on with such ease before you're jumping straight into his arms in a messy, exciting barrel. hes lifting you to the air with his hands at your waist and yours at his shoulders. laughter fills the hotel room and you feel his lips at your neck and then at your face hovering over you again and again.

this is what it mustve felt like last night, you muse, giggling over and over, savouring the sweetness of this moment till the last drop.

bradley bradshaw stands outside the door after having heard the whole encounter and softens, regret and guilt filling his entire heart till it weighs his soul down completely. his hand raised for a knock drops down to his side, thinking that this intimate moment shouldn't be disturbed just yet. he turns to walk away and head back to his own room with quiet resolve and an apology at the tip of his tongue.

there's two things he knows for sure: one, that he's royally fucked things up and needs to fix things before you leave vegas and two, bob floyd is probably the best thing to happen to your family ever in existence.

...

"do i look okay?" comes your hurried question as you stand outside the garden door.

bradley stares down at you fondly, nothing but adoration in his eyes as he twirls a lock of your hair behind your ear- the rogue tendril falling from your updo and he smiles.

"beautiful is not even the word for you," he breathes and you beam pure radiant sunshine at him. he bites his lip gently, trying to hold back the tears and clears his throat.

"oh no brad, you said you wouldn't cry," you panic, dropping the bouquet to the side, hands finding his shoulders shaking him gently, "pull yourself together, aviator or i'll start crying too!"

his chest heaves as it demands air, "i'm trying!" he cries, using his free hands to waft and dry the tears escaping from his eyes, "don't you dare start!" the order heavy with desperation.

"jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you two?" maverick is there, eyes flickering between the two of you like you're wild animals and he's unsure of how to approach.

"he started it!" you shout, fingers finding the waterline of your eyes and patting them dry.

"did not!" he barks back childishly and pete rolls his eyes.

"get a hold of yourself, soldiers," and the two of you straighten yourselves up. he walks over, hands you back your wedding arrangement before turning to rooster. he straightens bradley's baby blue tie- identical to his, before standing at your right side, interlocking your arms. rooster takes the side at your left, clearing his throat and failing to appear sharper.

"goose would've never let you guys live that down," maverick mutters to the two of you before the door of the manor you and bob had rented out opens.

"i wish they both could've seen this," rooster whispers to the gentle spring breeze and you pat the arm you're wrapped around comfortingly.

"me too, but i have the both of you and that's more than enough for me."

"you ready for this?" maverick asks and you nod tightly, more sure of this than anything.

"then lead the way mrs floyd," bradley grins and the three of you walk to where you find jake seresin's wolf whistle and robert bob floyd's nervous smile and heart that promises to hold yours for an eternity and then some more.

they do say what happens in vegas stays in vegas; but the story of your and bob's relationship is something that is carried out from the drunken air all the way to your friends and family and hopefully, you'll be alive long enough to tell this story to your children too.

you hope they'll have his gentle smile, kind heart and chocolate eyes that have never loved you anything short of what you deserve.

note: AAAA FIRST BOB FIC HOW DO WE FEEL !!!! i love this & had so much fun writing this. i'd love to do an actual wedding wedding scene or maybe like a flashback as to how i think their vegas wedding went separately- let me know if you'd like to see it!!! hope you enjoy and as always let me know what you think of it because i love me some lewis pullman (doesnt everyone??)

[anathemafiction]

ROs reaction to the MC being jealous? 🙏🏻 Would anyone enjoy it? 👀

Hadrian wouldn't believe it at first. It's simply out of the realm of possibility. He's the one who feels insecure. He's the one who doesn't deserve you. He's devoted to you, body and soul, and Hadrian simply assumes that you know it — he can't phantom you not knowing it. 

He wouldn't get it for a while. If you kept your jealousy subtle, Hadrian would never get there, and would just be confused when you'd act colder or more aloof. But if you make it obvious?

The moment that realization hits that, no, you're actually jealous, Hadrian would enter panic mode. Immediately rushes to your side, trying to reassure however way he can — tries not to use words because he'd blunder and make even a bigger mess of things. If you let him, he wouldn't leave your side for the rest of the day. Eyes on you only. 

There's only you. Please, never doubt it. 

-

Alessa would secretly enjoy it. Much more than she admits even to herself. 

Outwardly, she'd raise an eyebrow, maybe call you a fool, but she'd be biting her inner cheek to stifile a smile, and those glacier-blue eyes would shine brighter for a few hours. She scoffs at the notion, of course, but still...

Alessa enjoys this side of you. "Retract your claws," she says, while gripping your arm closer. 

-

Jealousy isn't a novelty for Alain. It's unfortunate, but it's a sentiment he's been on the receiving end of more times than he'd care to count. 

People have tried to claim him, to control him, to chain him, and, honestly, it just leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He gets bored. Distances himself from the scorned lover. 

What is novel is this need to soothe you when Alain realizes that you are insecure about him. He does it while grinning, almost teasing you, "Afraid I'll get myself another bird?" he asks, but when you don't smile back, he leans over and soothes a finger down your furrowed brow. 

"You shouldn't be," he murmurs, his voice surprisingly gentle. 

-

Ysabella would be saddened by it. Not because of you, not even because of herself, but because of Fate itself. Because, as she sees you gritting your teeth, trying to pretend you're not affected by the thought of her being sold into a politically convenient marriage, Ysabella feels her heart breaking. 

But only a little, because she cannot afford to fall apart. Not now, perhaps not ever. 

So, she'd smile, and pray you don't notice how it doesn't reach her eyes. "Hush, now," she'd say, hand finding yours, fingers interwining together. "You shouldn't put so much strain on your jaw, darling. It ruins those lovely features."

-

The Pirate King would be amused by it. He'd chuckle wryly, which would only infuriate you more. And the more agitated you'd get, the more he'd be entertained. It wouldn't be until you're spinning on your feet, prepared to storm away, that he'd reach out, loop an arm around your waist, and pull you to him. 

Just to kiss you in front of whoever it was that's making you doubt that you'd won his heart long ago. 

You'd stomp his foot, or push him away, and the Pirate would chuckle lowly into the kiss. "That's my spitfire."

-

Neia, like Hadrian, would probably not realize it 😆. But it's not because she thinks it impossible — Neia just wouldn't be paying attention. She speaks only to bark commands, spit orders, or let out grunts.

Who the hell are you jealous of? The wench cowering in the corner?

But people admire her from afar, and that could get to you. Neia wouldn't realize it until you've been silent for a few hours, now. She noticed the change in mood immediately, but she gave you space. Now, you're back in your quarters, and you're still silent, and Neia's patience runs out. "What is it?"

You purse your lips. 

"Have I done something? Spill it out, sweetling, I'm not playing a guessing game."

And you tell her, and Neia simply stares at you. Silence falls for an uncomfortably long time, until...

A lone raspy laugh. 

"Seriously?" You scowl at her. 

Neia throws a blanket at your head. "Go to sleep," she says, voice still rought with amusement. "You've clearly lost your mind."

-

Lance would honestly be a bit lost. Did he... do something to merit this? Did he fail to make you feel assured? Perhaps he shouldn't have bowed at that patron who tipped him generously earlier. 

The problem was that Lance Silverthrat would have no idea how to fix this. So, masking his uncertainty with a plastered smile, he'd loop an arm around your shoulder. "Did you enjoy the song, Starlight?"

You'd shrug, and Lance would feel the sweat at the back of his neck. "It was for you," he says, using that tone he knows you like. 

You don't look at him. "Was it?"

Oh, there it is. Lance can feel the stiffness in your muscles. "Of course it was," he says, gold tooth glinting. But his eyes eagerly search your face, all smoothness tossed aside. 

"Hm."

Lance would then drag a hand down his face and do what he so rarely has ever done: open the game. "I am not interested in that woman."

"She sure looked interested in you, what with the long talk afterward—"

Lance would gently grab your chin to make you look at him. And the solemness in his gaze would snap you out of it. "And I've yet to hear praise from the only audience member I care about." The pads of his fingers softly brushing your cheek. "Will you not give it to me?"

-

Vallen would delight in it. 

She'd smile, a kind of curling, self-satisfied smile that bares the points of her teeth. Her hand would close around your wrist as she peered at you through her eyelashes. "Are you jealous?" she'd ask in a breathless whisper, knowing the answer already, but wanting to hear it from your tongue. "Is that why you're gripping me? Want to keep me from running away?"

It's not that she wants you to be insecure. It's the very nature of it. You want to claim her, maybe as much as she'd like to claim you, and that —that sends a thrill down her spine. 

So, when you look into her eyes, that gaze of yours carrying a storm within, and say, "You wouldn't dare."

Vallen is not a woman to coo, but she does the next best thing. She lets her smile grow wider. "Nor would you."

-

Rafael, much like Alessa, would enjoy it. Unlike Alessa, however, he'd have no qualms about admitting it. 

He'd be grinning from ear to ear as you clung to him, one hand locked tight around his bicep, the other firm on his thigh. Rafael would drink in the sight of your deadly scowl, the way your fingers would tighten just the slightest bit whenever the person from across the table complimented him. 

He would let you do whatever you wanted, push him on top of the table, and claim him right there, if that's what you needed. He'd just grin, face flushed bright red, and follow along, drunk on your jealousy, on the way you're staking your territory.

Rafael has never been treasured, not like this. Never by someone like you. He doesn't know what you see in him, but by God, he ain't about to question it. Never look a gift horse in the mouth and all that.

Rafael would never dream of anyone else. He could never even imagine touching another. Not after knowing the texture of your skin, the scent of your hair, the taste of your kisses. 

But you like this? Well, damn. Rafael supposes you can still surprise him. When you're alone again, back in your room, he'd just keep grinning like a fool in love. "Hey," he'd say lamely. "That got me goin'."

[rhube]

They're also doing this because the prisons are overflowing and the court system is collapsing due to chronic, decades long underfunding.

Don't misunderstand me, I think mandatory chemical castration is monstrous, and its hard to see how it cannot be coercive in the space of incarceration, but a lot of people only know about the headline and not the details, and the details are multi-faceted and important.

In no particular order:

1. There are different options on the table. Mandatory castration is one, but it's not the primary option being explored.

2. Some inmates want this. We don't like to think of sexual offenders as people, but they are. And sometimes people feel compulsions to do things that they don't actually want to do. In this context, the hormones are not meant to be a punishment, but a treatment - one that would be available to these people if they were not incarcerated. The matter of rights is extremely complicated here. These people have the same right to treatment as everyone else in the UK. It is wrong to bar them from it just because they are incarcerated. But it's also hard to see how they can freely consent to permanent bodily changes when they are incarcerated, when the treatment has health risks, and when it's what the state wants them to do it. Because:

3. There are too many people in our prisons. Way too many people. We do not have room to put new people away. Yes, yes, dismantle the carcereal system, but how are you going to do that? What are you going to do about sexual offenders who still experience the desire to repeat their crimes? This is an experiment to see if hormonal treatment could be an answer to the problem whilst also enabling these people to live more normal lives, not driven to commit crimes. The headlines talk about 'chemical castration' but that is not the intended consequence. It is a *possible* side effect. That said:

5. Of course it opens the possibility for abuse. Let me be clear on this website where we routinely piss on the poor: in providing perspective here I am not defending the experiments, but I am asking you to tone down the knee jerk reaction of 'they're doing this because they want to castrate trans people'. I get it. And I agree it opens the door towards abuse by bad actors, and that's a strong reason against it. But that's not actually the aim. This is not a grand plan by Labour to exterminate trans and non-binary people (although, yes, I know, there are people in Labour who would want that); it is honestly about saving MONEY. Because if you could offer a treatment that made these people not a danger, they could leave prison, free up space, and reduce the burden on the tax payer, which, idk if you noticed, but Labour care more about than justice, ideology, or anyone's lives and liberty.

6. What happened to Alan Turing was horrific and should never happen again. It is a national shame. That is not what is being proposed here. Conflating the two issues does not help anyone.

TO REPEAT: while I do think inmates deserve the option to access the same treatments that would be open to them as free people, and that if people WANT to do this, that should be an option, I do not see a realistic way to enable incarcerated people to make a free and uncoerced decision about this.

Moreover, I do not want to open the door towards future potential abuses by bad actors, which could include transphobes and binarists and homophobes, which we know do exist in the Labour party.

I am NOT defending it. I just don't think it helps to muddy the water with misinformation that builds fear and mistrust.

Unfortunately, I can't provide sources and my info comes from an in depth radio programme I listened to on the subject. But when you hear about something like this, I strongly encourage you to get informed on the details rather than being allowed to be led by headlines and assumptions made my users on Tumble.com.

[ontherunnt]

Boyfriend!Simon won't let you overwork yourself

pairing: Simon Riley x reader

wc: 1082

warnings: none c:

Simon admired your determination. While he’d never been entirely clueless when it came to school, he was never a gold-star student, nor did he ever care to be. He showed up, did his work, and dragged himself back home. He understood the material, got good enough grades to pass, and was satisfied with it. 

For a mind like his, the military made sense. His brain had to analyse, integrate, refocus, and adapt in a matter of seconds. He could predict a strike or dodge bullets that hadn’t been fired yet, but the papers laid out on your dining table made his brain feel like his neurons had committed collective suicide. 

You looked horrible, and he meant that in the nicest way possible. 

There were dark shadows beneath your eyes, testament to the many sleepless nights you’d subjected your body to for the past two weeks. There was a faint tremor in your fingers that no one would notice, save for the man who happened to know you better than you knew yourself. You sat slouched on the chair like your spine had given up on supporting you and your body had yet to catch up. There was a mug next to your laptop, but the drink looked so forgotten it had practically grown cobwebs. 

He looked at the clock above the stove—four in the morning, on the dot. Outside, your street was dark. Inside, every single light was on. 

Simon padded into the dining room wearing nothing but a loose pair of grey joggers that had lived in your drawer since you first met. Despite the faint drizzle hitting the window, his body was warm from lying under your duvet. The two of you had gone to bed hours ago—supposedly. He didn’t know when you’d snuck out, only that he woke up and the only thing between his arms was your pillow.

You didn’t notice him until he planted himself right in front of you. By the time you finally looked up from the screen, hands still hovering over the keyboard of your laptop, Simon was tempted to hit you on the back of the head and get it over with, but you looked too over the edge already. 

He couldn’t get a word out before your lip quivered.

“I’m so tired,” you breathed out, voice utterly broken. “This guy—he’s useless, Si. He won’t answer my texts, he keeps using Wikipedia as his only source, and he doesn’t even know how to use citations. I was paired with a toddler.”

Simon walked over behind you, leaning forward with his eyes set on the screen. He gripped the edge of the table with one hand while the other rested on your shoulder, fingers warm on your cold skin. The words on the file made no sense to him—he’d always known you were smart, but it became even more apparent now that he stared at words that meant nothing to him. It could’ve been another language and he’d have no clue. He hummed once.

“Is it backed up?”

You turned your head to look at him, mouth inches away from his cheek. “What? The file?”

He nodded his head, still staring at the screen. 

“Yeah,” you replied, confused. 

His question made sense only when he slammed your laptop shut. You opened your mouth to say something—probably cuss him out—but he stopped you by crashing his lips against yours. He tasted like sleep, you tasted like peppermint tea. 

When he pulled away, you pouted at him. He smirked at the sight.

“Alright,” he jerked his chin toward your bedroom door. “You’re done.”

You sighed loud and deeply, like the entire weight of the world rested on your shoulders. “I can’t.”

“Not askin’,” he shrugged his shoulders as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll do whatever that muppet was supposed to do. I’ll learn to play the bloody violin if that’s what you need.”

You sniffed, the sound mixing with a sad, not convincing chuckle. “You’d do a better job.”

“Nice to have a backup plan if I get discharged.”

You dragged a hand down your face. “I’ve been sitting here so long my legs turned to spaghetti.”

He didn’t ask. He leaned down and slid one arm under your knees, the other under your arm. You’d been together long enough to stop arguing with him about it—I can carry Johnny and Garrick at the same time, I sure as hell can carry you, he always said.  You nuzzled his warm skin as you wrapped both arms around his neck. He used his elbow to turn off all the lights, the darkness not hindering him in the slightest when it came to navigating your flat.

“The semester’s almost over,” you pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Then I won’t see that guy ever again.”

He ignored the shiver that seemed to run through his entire spine at your soft touch, one he still wasn’t sure he deserved. He kicked the door open, instantly swarmed with the scent of that candle of yours you only ever lit when he visited between deployments. 

“There’s still next semester,” he added, entirely unhelpful. 

He didn’t need the light to see you stare daggers at him. “You’re a real charmer, Simon.”

Simon’s laugh—an unfamiliar sound he only knew when you were around—bubbled from his chest. He lowered you on your side of the bed, quickly marching over to his side. 

Once he covered you both with the duvet, all the exhaustion you’d been pushing to the side washed over your body like warm water. He pulled you closer to him, arm wrapped around your middle, the other under your neck. 

Your back hit his chest, drawing a soft sigh from you. His hand covered yours, his lips against your ear. He could feel your energy seep through your pores, slowly easing all the tension in your bones and causing your body to go limp between his arms.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, brief as it was tender. “If that wanker doesn’t do his job, I’ll kill him.”

Despite the exhaustion, you laughed—tired, but genuine. “Murder isn’t all that common in my line of work, Si.”

He closed his eyes, letting his body rest now that you were pressed against him again. “Fine. I’ll just rough him up a bit.”

Simon didn’t need to see your face—he could hear your smile, loud and clear. 

[soobkwann]

ON CAM! || ~ LEE HAECHAN ✰

Synopsis: After finding out about your roommates promiscuous side hustle, why not use your new discovery to solve years of tension.

NOTES: NSFW, Porn with a hella plot…. Haechan x fem!reader, roommate + childhood bestfriend!Haechan, Dom!reader x sub!haechan, oral (fem receiving), cow girl, masterbating, recording on LIVE (hehe). Not 100% proofread LMK IF ANYTHING ELSE!!

WC: 4k || >_<

A/N; NGL, my synopsis doesn’t match with the actual writing oops… it’s been a while!! I’m a bit rusty but I hope you still enjoy! Likes and reblogs appreciated! STREAM Go Back To The Future

Unlocking the front door to your shared apartment, you were greeted by the cold air touching your skin as you stepped in. It was colder than usual — freezing, even. You assumed Haechan, your roommate, hadn’t left his room to increase the temperature since you left for work this morning.

This only added onto the irritation that has been growing since you clocked into work. Today has been a long day, you at least wanted to come home and relax. Not walk into what feels like a snow storm.

You placed your bag on the kitchen counter as you walked over to the thermostat. ‘There’s no way he didn’t feel this cold air all day..’ You thought to yourself as you fixed the temperature to your liking.

You were ready to barge into Haechan’s room and full-on scold him for making the house feel like an igloo. He’s been more quiet than usual, you noticed it the moment you entered the house.

Usually, he’d run out of his room to greet you, or he’d be locked in his room and screaming at his computer as he lost another battle in whatever games he liked to play. Today was different. He didn’t leave his room at all. There wasn’t any noise coming from it either. All you heard was silence.

Suspicious, you tiptoed over to his room to catch him in whatever act he was doing. You hesitantly gripped the doorknob. 

‘What if he was sleeping? I don’t wanna wake him up..’

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of soft hums followed by heavy breaths coming from behind the door. What the hell could he be doing? The sounds only grew louder as you listened closer. You could’ve sworn he said your name a few times.

There were numerous possibilities spiraling through your mind as to what he could be doing. But nothing could prepare you for what you’d be greeted with.

You opened the door slow enough to where the usual creaking noises were silent.

The room was pitch dark. The bright light beaming from his desktop computer was the only thing helping you glance around the room.

Your eyes glued to Haechan as more noises slipped from his mouth. He sat at the edge of his bed, back facing you. You would’ve been blind to what he was doing if it weren't for the — wait, is that your laptop? — recording his every move.

There he was, a moaning mess with his hardened cock on full display in front of your laptop. His free hand gripped the sheets as he stroked himself in a slow, steady rhythm.

You could see comments appearing on the screen as you examined the screen. Was he on livestream?

You couldn’t look away from his figure. It’s like your eyes were glued to the sight, and you weren’t mad at it either.

“Y-Y/n, mm..I’m so close.”

The sound of your name made your heart drop to your stomach. There’s no way he was seriously jerking off to the thought of you. Not the guy you’ve been best friends with since childhood. He was always honest with you, always telling you everything. There were never any secrets between you, or so you thought.

“Fuck—you’re so pretty, Y/n...I’m gonna cum for you. Only you.”

His whimpers only grew louder as he quickened his pace. Breath heaving, legs quivering, and hips buckling as cum spilled from his flushed pink tip.

A loud, restrained groan escaped his lips as he reached his climax. You could see the hairs stuck to his forehead as he threw his head back from the stimulation flowing through his body.

You couldn’t deny that the sight created a damp spot in your panties. You pressed your thighs together as the arousal in your lower abdomen grew stronger.

Once he overcame his orgasm, Haechan ended the livestream and shut off your laptop. He grabbed the Kleenex from his desk and began cleaning the mess he made. You took that as a cue to slowly close the door and pretend like you were busy before he saw you.

Rushing back to the kitchen, you sat at the counter and scrolled through your phone. Your desperate attempt to distract yourself was beyond hopeless.

You could only think about how pretty Haechan’s moans were as he got off to the thought of you. All the irritation you felt prior was replaced with something pristine. Something you’d never felt for Haechan before.

A part of you wanted to be mad at him for what he did: stealing your laptop, filming himself jerking off for probably hundreds of people to see, and never telling you about his feelings.

But you couldn’t help but get turned on by all of it. This has probably been going on for months and you never had a clue. He’s been doing all of that behind your back while acting casual in your face every single day. You couldn’t help but feel excited.

You wondered how pretty the sight would be if it had’ve been you in between his legs instead of your laptop. The idea of him gripping your hair as you sucked him dry, teasing his tip and making him moan louder, watching him unravel before you as he c-

“Hey, when did you get home?” You flinched at the sudden sound of Haechan’s voice. He walked up to you with that innocent smile he always wore on his face, but you could see through it after what you witnessed. “A little while ago, why?”

Haechan shrugged, “No reason, just missed you a little.” His hands found their way to yours. He caressed them gently, as if he were examining them for the first time.

It was a habit of his to fiddle with your hands. One that you didn’t pay attention to until now. There was a certain look in his eyes, a look of lust. Why was he so infatuated with your hands out of everything else?

“Oh I'm sure you did.” Your snarky remark caused him to pause. His expression switched to suspicion, a slight frown tugging at his eyebrows as he squinted his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His confusion assured you that he was unaware of your presence observing him a few moments ago. He seriously should be more conscious of his surroundings. What if it were a robber instead of you? He’d be long gone by now.

“Hyuck,” you placed your phone on the counter and fully faced him. “What were you doing before I got home?”

Haechan’s expression didn’t change, as if he was suspicious of you. “Nothing? Just chilling in my room on the game?”

You tilted your head with a sly grin, raising an eyebrow. “Oh really? And what game requires you to moan my name?”

Haechan’s entire body went stiff, expression growing pale. His heart dropped to his stomach. Was he seriously that loud?

“Um, I don’t..know what you’re talking about?” His lack of eye contact only made him more guilty. You couldn’t help but giggle at his poor attempt to lie. Why couldn’t he just be honest? Was he afraid of how you’d react? Surely, it is slightly perverted to jerk off to the thought of your best friend and record it on their laptop…

Okay, maybe it’s really perverted, but you weren’t mad. Your love for him might’ve grew even stronger after catching him in the act.

“Can you bring me my laptop?” You requested, and he obeyed. You remembered that once he finished, he never closed out of the tab. He simply closed the laptop without a second thought. And even if he closed it out now, you could always check your history.

Not even ten seconds later, he came back with your laptop. You noticed his trembling hands when he gave it to you. He was more than nervous, more like scared.

You opened the laptop and typed in your password. Fortunately, to your luck, he did forget to close out the tab.

There you saw various videos of him in different locations around the house: the kitchen counter, living room, bathroom, your bed, and the balcony. The videos were always titled, “Missing her” or something similar. You already had an idea of who this ‘her’ was.

As you scrolled further, you stumbled upon videos with your panties on his shaft. Pairs you hadn’t seen in months. It appears that the lacy pink ones were his favorite. This new information resulted in a familiar pulse in your core, heat pooling in your lower abdomen once again.

You saw an option on the website titled ‘Payments’ and clicked on it without hesitation.

Your eyes widened at what you encountered. Plenty of payments everyday that varied from hundreds to thousands. They either had requests attached to them or were for support.

“So this is how you pay your half of the rent..” You spoke in an amused tone, not taking your eyes off the screen.

Haechan’s head perked up, “What are you talking about?” He flinched when you turned the screen towards him with the payments tab open.

“Oh my god..” he said under his breath, staring at the screen, mortified. “Y/n, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see any of that.” His voice trembled as he panicked, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor.

You placed the laptop on the counter and brought him closer to you. His breaths were shallow, as if he was suddenly afraid of you. “Calm down. I’m not mad.” You caressed the back of his head as he stood in between your legs.

Haechan slowly looked at you, eyebrows knitting together. “You’re not?”

A soft smile accompanied your face as you shook your head. “Surprised, yes. But not mad. I’m just impressed that you kept this from me for so long.”

This helped him calm down. He was no longer trembling and feeling nervous.

“That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, though.”

“What can I do to make it up to you?” Haechan fiddled with his hands again after hearing your words. He knew you wouldn't just let it slide so easily.

“Let me record a video with you.”

The room fell silent after you spoke, words lingering in the air. Your heartbeat thudding in your chest was the only sound you could hear. Haechan hadn’t moved one inch. Was your suggestion really that crazy?

“Y/n..you know what that means, right? You’d have to..y’know..have sex with me. On camera..” He looked over at you, stating the obvious.

“I’m not a kid, dumbass.” You deadpanned. “I’m not new to sex, Hyuck.”

Haechan swallowed harshly. The more this conversation went on, the more flustered he got. “I know, but..”

You crashed your lips onto his to shut him up. It only took a few seconds for him to reciprocate the kiss, hands attaching to your waist.

You pulled away a few moments later. “I know you want it, too. Can we please go to your room, now?” You pleaded softly with that sweet voice and puppy eyes that he could never say ‘no’ to.

Haechan nodded almost instantly and guided you to his room. It certainly looked cleaner than how you saw it previously. He even changed the sheets. No wonder you were blind to what he was up to all this time.

“So, um, how exactly are we gonna do this?” Haechan turned to face you, eyes darting everywhere but your face. He looked so pathetic. You knew you’d have to take control tonight.

“Well, let’s see, how do you usually start your videos?” You clicked back on your laptop to click on a video.

“Wait- you don’t have to do that!” Haechan quickly tugged your laptop out of your grasp. Voice growing louder as embarrassment rushed through him.

His reaction was cute, you must admit. You couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at how panicked he was.

“Okay, so, I’m usually already undressed by the time I start recording.” He walks over to his desk and places the laptop down, setting up the camera to his liking. “Fyi, I’m completely anonymous on here. Which is why you don't see my face in any videos.”

The dedication in his tone only made you more aroused. “Uh-huh. Got it.”

You walked over to the edge of his bed and took a seat. Haechan was maneuvering things on his desk so that there’d be a clear view on the camera. You grew more impatient, the seconds were dragging on longer as you watched him.

“Hyuck, come here.”

Haechan turned to face you. Body growing stiff when he saw that hungry, lustful look in your eyes. He immediately obeyed, taking a seat beside you.

You turned to face him. He was still avoiding your gaze. Cute.

“Look at me, Hyuck. I won’t hurt you.”

Haechan slowly met your gaze, swallowing the lump in his throat. Your demeanor changed when you sensed his nervousness.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

Haechan shook his head quickly. “No, I..I really want to. I’ve just..never done this before. Not with another person.” His voice grew quiet as he spoke. Almost like he was ashamed to tell you how inexperienced he was.

“Hyuck, I know you’re a virgin. What kind of best friend would I be to not know that?” You tilted your head. Teasing him lightheartedly.

Haechan smiled faintly for the first time all day. Your heart fluttered at the sight. He was truly the most beautiful boy you’d ever met.

“Can I kiss you?” Haechan asked, voice gentle and hesitant.

You nodded. “You don't have to ask, silly.”

Haechan’s lips slowly met yours. His hands found your waist again, squeezing eagerly.

Your hands found his neck, caressing it gently. His tense body softened under your touch.

Your tongue poked at his bottom lip. Asking for permission. Haechan parted his lips enough for you to slip your tongue inside. A soft moan escaped his lips as you swirled your tongue around his.

You took that as an incentive to keep going. Without breaking the kiss, you moved over to straddle his lap. Lips wandering from his lips, to his jaw, then his neck.

You left soft pecks on his neck until you found that sensitive spot that made him grip your waist tighter. Eyes closing shut as he whined.

Sucking lightly, you left hickeys and love bites all over his neck. Your hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging lightly. “I need this off. Now.”

Without hesitation, Haechan obeyed. His shirt was off in a flash. Lips connecting to yours like they had a gravitational pull.

You smiled softly at him before you moved your mouth down to his nipple. One of his most sensitive spots.

The loud cry escaping Haechan’s mouth was like music to your ears. You licked and sucked on his nipple delicately. Pinching the other one to rile him up even more.

Haechan’s entire body reacted to your teasing. He was so sensitive. So innocent. He could cum right here, right now. Merely from the treatment you gave to his nipples alone. His bulge stiffened through his shorts, dripping with pre cum.

You couldn’t let him cum so easily. Not when the fun just began. Haechan whined in disappointment when you pulled away, right when we could feel himself reaching his climax.

“Do you wanna start recording now?” Your sly grin betrayed the innocent tone in your voice. Haechan’s eyes widened as he rushed to the laptop. Almost completely forgetting about the tape that you were supposed to be filming.

He pressed record and kept the camera low enough to where your faces were out of range. Many people instantly joined the stream. You got more aroused just from the idea that thousands of viewers would witness you ruin Haechan tonight.

His lips found yours again. Hands traveling lower down your back until he found the him of your pants, tugging harshly.

“Wanna taste you. Guide me, please?” He whispered against your lips, eager to please you.

You nodded and moved closer to the camera. Lower half on full displayed as you slowly parted your legs. Haechan made his way to the floor, on his knees just for you. He quickly tugged your pants and underwear past your legs, tossing them aside.

You were already dripping from earlier. Haechan almost drooled at the sight. This was truly a dream come true.

“Go ahead.” You demanded, smiling softly. There had to be at least one thing he knew about pleasing a woman.

Haechan nodded. Slowly bringing his mouth to your heat, sucking delicately. You watched him carefully. He was so gentle, almost like he was scared to mess up.

“Move your tongue in circle motions, okay?” You requested, voice soft as you watched him. Haechan nodded and began drawing circles with his tongue around your clit. You threw your head back at the sensation, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Haechan looked up at you with those sweet, innocent brown eyes. He wondered if he was doing a good job. His eyes begged for approval.

“You’re doing so good, baby. So good for me.” You praised, bringing up a hand to caress his head. Haechan’s pace increased after hearing your words. That was all he needed to keep going, your sweet words telling him that he was doing well.

Gaining confidence, Haechan inserted two fingers inside you, thrusting them gently to see how you’d react. He learned it from the numerous porn videos he watched, and this was the perfect opportunity to make use of it.

Your toes curled as a pornographic moan escaped your lips. Your breaths quickened as Haechan licked in between your folds and back to your clit. He was skilled for someone who’s inexperienced.

There was something about the way he looked at you. Like he was enjoying this more than you were. The shy, nervous Haechan you saw before was long gone. A cocky smile formed on his face as he moaned in your pussy, making your thighs quiver.

“Hyuck—! ’m so close!” You cry out, with a whiny moan. Your tight walls clench around his fingers as your body trembles under Haechan’s touch. He detached his mouth from your pussy, allowing the camera to see the pretty sight. Your release came quickly, spilling onto Haechan’s fingers and running down his wrist as his fingers curled into you.

Haechan’s eyes were glued to what he had done. He brought his hand to his mouth, licking every bit of you off his fingers. Your breathing slowed down just in time for Haechan to bring his mouth to yours, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

Haechan was so good to you. It’s like he thought about you more than he thought about himself. You adored it, the idea that he cared more about pleasing you. You wanted to give him any and everything he asked for.

“Tell me,” you broke the kiss, voice low and flirtatious. Your hands found the hem of his shorts. “What do you want, baby?”

Haechan looked at you with heart eyes as he bit his lower lip. His face was so close to yours, there was any space in between. “Want you to fuck me. Please.” His voice was whiny and desperate. This man was head over heels for you, and you loved it.

You nodded, tugging harshly at his shorts for them to come off. His cock sprung out quickly, hitting his stomach. His tip was already dripping with pre cum. He was lengthy, and protruding with small veins. You hadn’t even realized that you paused and stared until he began to speak.

“Want you to ride me, Y/N, please. Need you so bad” Haechan was so good at begging, how could you deny someone so patient.

You take his cock into your hand and slowly stroke the length, he twitches from the stimulation, turned on from the way you’re handling him and thrilled that you’re taking his virginity on camera.

You give him a slow, teasing smile. “Look at you,” you murmur, thumb swiping over the leaking head. He shudders. “already so worked up.”

Haechan whines, hips bucking into your hand, chasing more friction. “Y/N, please…”

You lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then his jaw, your lips brushing against his ear. “Relax, baby. So desperate for me, huh?” You straddle him, sliding the tip of his cock between your folds, teasing him with your slick.

Haechan gasps, your folds brushing against his leaky cock throwing him over edge. His fingers dig into your hips, eyes glazed over, breath catching. “You feel so warm already,” he moans, voice cracking just slightly.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” you whisper, guiding him in slowly. His eyes flutter shut and he leans his head back, you watch every twitch of his face, every gasp he lets out as you sink down onto him inch by inch.

Once your walls fully cage in on his cock, your hands rest on his chest, and you grind your hips in slow, deliberate circles, making sure he feels everything.

“You okay?” you ask, voice low, eyes locked on his flushed face.

He nods rapidly, then changes to a shaky “Y-Yeah. Just—feels like too much. In a good way. So good.”

The camera’s still rolling, but you only care about the way his hands grip your thighs like he never wants to let go. You start to move, bouncing gently, dragging out his moans as he fills you so perfectly.

And when he opens his eyes to look at you — glassy, worshipful — you lean down and kiss him hard.

“Gonna make you feel even better,” you whisper against his lips. “Wanna ruin you for anyone else.”

Your hips start to move again, faster than before —  savoring every drag of his cock inside you, and hard enough that the sound of skin meeting skin echoes through the room, caught on camera.

Haechan’s hands are trembling where they clutch your thighs, eyes glued to where you’re joined. “F-Fuck… you feel unreal,” he whimpers, the words falling from his lips like a prayer. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

You reach up, grabbing his jaw and tilting his face up toward you. “Look at me,” you command softly. “Wanna see those pretty eyes while I fuck the innocence out of you.”

His breath catches. He obeys instantly, pupils blown wide, lips parted as he watches you ride him like it’s the only thing that matters in the world.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” You grind down, making him cry out. “All that teasing, all that flirting—you wanted me to make you mine.”

“I am yours,” he gasps, completely wrecked. “I’ve been yours—always been yours.”

You smile, slow and wicked. “Good boy.”

Your pace picks up, the tension between you coiling tighter with every bounce of your hips. He’s moaning openly now, completely disregarding the camera, lost in the feeling of you wrapped around him. His fingers are gripping you like he needs you to breathe, like if you stop, he’ll fall apart.

Overstimulation sneaks up on him, causing him to buck his hips, meeting your feverish thrust.

“You’re taking it so well, baby,” you pant, leaning forward to kiss his neck, sucking a mark into his skin just below his ear. “Letting me ruin you, just like you wanted.”

“Y-Yeah—fuck, I’m gonna—” he tries to warn you, voice cracking. “Y/N, I’m gonna cum—”

You press your forehead to his, keeping your rhythm brutal and deep. “Do it. I want to see your pretty face when you fall apart for me.”

He shatters beneath you with a desperate cry, eyes rolling back as his hips jerk up into you. Warmth floods your core, and the way he clings to you like he never wants to be anywhere else makes your own orgasm rush up hard and fast.

You ride it out together, bodies locked, breath mingling, the camera capturing every twitch, every gasp, every second of it.

Once you calm down from your high, you slowly slip off of Haechans cock, earning a soft whine from the lack of warmth.

You turn over to the camera and flash a cocky smirk before clicking off the livestream.

Your gaze shifts over to Haechan who looks as if he went to heaven and back.

“Let’s get you cleaned up” you say softly while pulling him up to take him to the bathroom.

As you turn on shower water, suddenly he gets a notification on his phone;

@b!g.d!ckrob69 tipped $650!!: “Bring that lady on stream more often”

Looks like his half of rent is covered for the month.

— End

[p0orbaby]

could i request an alessia russo x reader?

just a little blurb where they're always hugging. i think it would be cute if the media team were just filming a video during training and all of a sudden they just focus on the back of the line where r and alessia are just snuggled up

-

They’re filming something up front—probably some half-baked team TikTok designed to feel spontaneous but approved six times in a WhatsApp group full of emojis and passive aggression—and you, thank God, are not part of it. You’re at the back. As usual. Where the reserves go, where the coaching assistants loiter, where the media team forget to pan.

And yet.

Someone’s shoulder camera twitches—half-bored, possibly tired, possibly hungover, but mostly just bored—and swings back, like a bored teenager scrolling the Explore page. And there you are. Two heads from the end, barely moving. Except not really two. Just one. You and Alessia, a singular, embarrassing, undisguised heap.

You’re not even trying to look casual. You’re standing behind her, arms looped lazily around her waist, forehead nestled just behind the damp strands at the top of her neck, nose not quite in her hair but close enough that you could comment on her shampoo with authority. Her thumbs, for some inexplicable reason, are stroking your pinkies. One of her feet is resting on top of yours. Your shadow swallows hers. You are not so much cuddling as clinging. And you know this. You know it. But you don’t stop.

If anything, you lean in harder.

The camera lingers. Zooms, possibly. You feel the shift. You feel the brief flicker of attention directed toward you like a spotlight in church—hot and disapproving and entirely unearned. You shift your weight, slightly. She squeezes your hands once. That’s it. That’s the only movement. No pulling away, no stage direction. Just one quiet squeeze, like yes, I know, and no, I’m not going anywhere.

You could cry. You won’t. But you could.

It started as a joke, you think. Or a protest. Or maybe a punishment. A dig at whoever decided that PDA is fine so long as it involves facial recognition software and his-and-hers stadium deals, but not, apparently, two women in matching shin pads and a warm-up playlist called ‘bimbo mode’. You had draped yourself over her like a blanket one training morning in January, half-asleep, half-frozen, and entirely uninterested in moving. She’d laughed, of course. She always laughs. And then she’d leaned back. Slotted herself in. Like she was made for it. Like you were.

And now it’s a thing.

Now the other girls ignore it. Not unkindly, but deliberately, in that way people do when they don’t know if something’s a secret or a sore spot or just too intimate to name. Coaches shout over you. Assistants toss cones past you. Sometimes, someone teases her—never you, always her—with a raised eyebrow or a wink, but she shrugs it off. Or she grins. Or she says, I know, I’m soft, and then goes back to pressing her cheek into your hand.

No one tells you to stop.

Which, in some ways, is worse.

Because it means everyone sees it. Because it means you’re not hiding it well. Because it means they’ve all silently agreed that what you’re doing is either too small to matter or too obvious to change. And neither of those things feels very good. Neither of those things gives you any control.

You shift again.

This time she notices. She tips her chin up, just slightly, and you feel the movement through her spine like a message. Are you OK? No, not quite. But yes, also, completely. You lower your head again. Back to her neck, that perfect patch of skin between collar and ponytail where the world ends and you begin.

Someone laughs behind the camera. Not at you—probably. But you pretend it’s at you anyway, just to feel something. You let go, finally. Hands drop. Her body straightens, slowly. She doesn’t look at you. She never looks at you first. You tuck your fingers into your sleeves and blink at the turf. She turns back, casually, almost like she didn’t notice the absence. But then—her elbow brushes yours. Not hard. Just there.

She knows.

She always knows.

The footage will go up later, of course. It always does. Someone in a high-rise media job with too many monitors and not enough sleep will clip it into a reel and label it “behind the scenes” or “wholesome moments” or “Russo & co.” and the comments will do what comments always do: scream, cry, throw up, call you wives. You’ll pretend not to see it. You’ll pretend you’re above that sort of thing, which is almost—but not entirely—true.

She’ll text you a heart emoji later. Just one. The red kind, not pink or sparkly or pulsing. You’ll leave it on read. Not to be cruel, but to maintain balance. You can’t be the needy one and the clingy one and the responsive one. That’s too many ones.

She’ll know what you mean by the silence. She’ll reply with a selfie in bed, face smushed against a pillow, captioned with something tragically sincere like “wish u were here.” You’ll respond, finally, with a kiss. Just an ‘x’. Simple

You’ll sleep terribly. You always do.

But for now, you’re still at training. Still in the queue for some pointless finishing drill that you won’t even make the cut for. Still vaguely damp, vaguely freezing, vaguely mortified by how natural it feels to climb inside someone else’s space and live there like it’s yours. Like you deserve it. Like it belongs to you.

She leans into you again. Her ponytail hits your mouth. You let it. You lean back. You both stay there.

Still no one says a word.

[silentheiss]

Sun rises in the east, flowers bloom in the spring and Luo Binghe deserves better. These are simple truths Shen Yuan lives by.

On Monday he wakes up at noon, reads newest PIDW chapter as he eats what can be called breakfast if one is being generous, and curses the author. After, he spends unadvisable hours playing gatcha games, boils water for ramen, and writes the most seething, derogatory comment highlighting every instance of his favorite character suffering unnecessary pain.

Shen Yuan knows the book is nearing its completion — even Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky cannot drag it out for much longer — and he has a crawling suspicion that Luo Binghe might not get what he deserves. And he deserves so much. He deserves everything.

Once in his bed, in the early hours of morning, Shen Yuan still can’t stop thinking about it. About him. He closes his eyes and for a moment, just for a short moment, he lets himself imagine.

He imagines sitting on the edge of Luo Binghe’s king sized bed, gently, quietly, as not to wake up the fearsome Emperor. He imagines Luo Binghe sleeping fretfully, his beautiful brow furrowed. Poor thing is unable to relax even in his sleep. So many things to do, so many monsters to fight.

Shen Yuan lets his hand reach for Luo Binghe’s soft curls. He can almost feel their softness as he runs his fingers through them.

“Ah, Binghe.” He whispers. “I know I keep saying this, but. You deserve so much more than this.”

Shen Yuan imagines that Luo Binghe stirs in his sleep, moving just a little bit closer to him.

If only… if only Shen Yuan could do something to make Luo Binghe’s life a little easier. Lighten his burdens just a tiny bit.

Wait. It’s his daydream, isn’t it? He can do whatever he likes- well, whatever he dares to do.

If Luo Binghe had one good friend, wouldn’t that friend protect him when possible? Shen Yuan would like to be that person.

He imagines leaving a small note on his pillow. A note describing the poisoning attempt being planned in his harem right now.

Luo Binghe of the latest chapter doesn’t know about it yet and Shen Yuan suspects it’s going to bring him a whole lot of trouble. Cautioning Binghe makes him feel sated.

As an afterthought he imagines placing a small chocolate bar on top of the note. Just because Binghe deserves something sweet.

He strokes Luo Binghe’s hair one more time and imagines the man sigh contentedly under his touch.

Then, feeling his fantasies turn into pure delusions, Shen Yuan makes himself stop and open his eyes.

The light of the morning sun shines through his curtained window. Shen Yuan sighs and tries to summon sleep, somehow.

*

*

*

*

Luo Binghe sits up with a start. His eyes fly open, burning red, and survey the room. It’s empty. Of course it’s empty, who would’ve dared-

And yet, he can swear, just a moment ago, he felt a soft touch and- no matter. He must’ve dreamed.

Just as he’s moving to lie back down, Luo Binghe notices something right there, on his pillow.

A thin, foiled package of something that smells faintly sweet, and underneath it, written on the thin, perfectly square, strangely white piece of paper, a note.

So someone was here.

Luo Binghe grabs the paper and reads unfamiliar handwriting, huffing at the letter’s contents. It’s as likely to be complete falsehood as it is likely to be the truth. He sniffs at the paper but can’t detect anything at all. As if no hands ever touched it.

Then, he grabs the second offering and unwraps the silvery foil to sniffs at what he guesses is an unusual, highly suspicious, treat. The smell is a little off. It’s not like anything he ever smelt before.

Without a second thought Luo Binghe drops both items into the nearest drawer and crawls out of his bed.

Maybe his guard saw something. He needs to find this mysterious benefactor and he needs to do it as soon as possible. No one enters his rooms uninvited and leaves unharmed.

[holysmokesblog]

Summer Love

Harry Potter x reader

Summary: Every summer, Harry Potter returns to Privet Drive. But this year, the heat brings much more than a reunion.

wc: 1.7k

Masterlist

The summer heat was unbearable; your mother had insisted you wait inside, but you politely refused. From your yard, you could see the moment Mr. Dursley's car turned the corner and parked in the front yard. You sighed anxiously. It was supposed to be today, like every summer, that your friend would return to his aunt and uncle's house once again. You knew it wasn't a situation he would find pleasant at all, but having him around after another year of studying at St. Brutus's Secure Centre.

Finally, the car you'd been waiting for turned the corner and abruptly parked right where you were waiting. Mr. Dursley slammed the door before walking straight into his home. Harry calmly got out of the passenger seat. You watched him walk distractedly, with a resigned expression, to the trunk of the car to pull out a heavy trunk with his school's insignia on it.

You looked both ways before crossing the street to where he was. Upon seeing you, his expression changed to a genuine smile, and without another word, the two of you melted into a tight hug.

"I missed you so much," you confessed, hiding in his neck.

"Me too," Harry responded. Hedwig's complaint in the backseat forced them to separate. Harry hurried to get her cage out of the car. The animal hooted with delight when she saw you, remembering the treats you gave her every time she delivered a letter. "It seems I miss you too."

"Well, I spent all my allowance on treats, it was the least I could do," you played with the owl between the bars of its cage. "How are you feeling? Are they tough at that horrible school?"

He hesitated before answering. "Uh, no, it's actually great. I swear I'd spend my summers there if I could." You couldn't help but feel your heart ache at his revelation. You knew Harry's relationship with his family well enough, but the fact that he didn't want to come back at all hurt you deeply. He seemed to notice the noticeable change in your face, so he quickly added, "I mean... If it weren't for you... You're the only thing worthwhile in this place."

Your cheeks flushed at the revelation, and Harry, likewise, seemed to have just realized his revealing confession. He was about to speak when the front door swung open abruptly.

"Boy!" Mr. Dursley growled from the doorway. "Come in this instant!"

Vernon stood in the doorway, waiting for his nephew to enter. Harry gave you an apologetic look before grabbing his suitcase and pet and entering his home. Mr. Dursley didn't take his eyes off you until you reached your garden, when he slammed the door shut.

You'd never liked the Dursleys; you'd lived across the street your whole life, and they were unpleasant neighbors. You'd never had any problems with them, but everything changed when you started school and inevitably became friends with Harry Potter. Since then, you'd received nothing but annoyed glances and awkward comments. Like the time Petunia casually commented that your clothes were inappropriate and only drew inappropriate looks from the neighborhood boys. Or the time Vernon told your parents that you only came to their house to bother their beloved son in cahoots with their nephew, the rebellious criminal. You couldn't even count all the times Dudley had bothered you at school and on the way home.

You sank down onto your bed, frustrated at not being able to talk to your friend after almost a year without seeing him. You looked over the nightstand at the countless letters he'd sent you using his (extraordinarily trained) owl, telling you about his friends and teachers. Even though he'd never mentioned a girl to you before, an uneasy feeling formed in your chest at the mere thought of the possibility.

It was around eleven when a small rock hit your window. You ignored it at first, but it kept coming again and again. You walked sleepily to the window when you saw Harry standing in your yard. He motioned for you to come down quietly, which you quickly obeyed, but not before checking your hair on the bathroom vanity.

Harry was sitting on the curb with his back to you, making sure the Dursleys' lights were off. You walked over to take the spot next to him.

"Are you okay?" you asked quietly. But he didn't even look at you, his gaze fixed somewhere on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, well... At least we're here, and so are you..." He leaned in slightly, causing your shoulders to bump. You responded playfully.

The night was warm and the silence comfortable, so, wary of being rejected, you rested your head on his nearest shoulder. "I really missed you," you said almost in a whisper. Harry didn’t respond, but he rested his head on yours, making your heart race. "How was your year?" he asked without changing his tone.

"I feel like your letters are too limiting to tell the stories."

"It’s impressive how well-trained Hedwig is," you commented. "I’ve never seen a bird travel such a distance just to deliver a letter."

Harry tensed beside you and stood up straight again. You raised your head, not understanding what had made him uncomfortable. You watched him, waiting for an explanation, but again, he didn’t dare look at you.

"I don’t like lying," he said finally. "I don’t like lying to you…"

"Lying to me? About what?"

He sighed heavily once more before standing. He held out his hand for you to stand up as well. You took it confidently. He firmed his grip before leading you down the street. For the first time, you noticed he was carrying a bag.

You walked in silence for a few minutes before reaching the local park, which, due to the schedule, was completely deserted. Harry made you sit on one of the swings. You obeyed, but he was still standing in front of you.

"I haven't been honest with you," he confessed. "It's not true that I go to St. Brutus's... I don't know what. That's something the Dursleys force me to say to avoid questions."

"So, where are you all year round?"

"The school I attend is actually called Hogwarts... It's a school for wizards."

You looked at him, your expression unreadable. You searched for a smile or something that would indicate he was joking, but he remained completely serious, waiting for an answer from you.

"Is this the part where we laugh about this or..."

"It's not a joke, I swear," Harry quickly answered.

"Are you trying to make fun of me? Is that it?" You began to get annoyed at the possibility that he had only made you leave the house at late hours to laugh at you.

"No, no, I swear it's not like that... I can show you." He quickly pulled some kind of old rug out of his bag. You looked at him with a raised eyebrow, not knowing how to respond. He sighed nervously before shaking his cloak, trying to gain confidence.

"I just need, no matter what... Don't freak out."

"Frighten me how?"

Harry covered himself with the cloak, disappearing completely before your eyes. You looked at the ground, expecting to find a large hole he'd fallen through or a large structure in the sky that had pulled him up, but there was nothing, just the emptiness of the park, where you were now alone.

Suddenly, your friend's brown head popped out of nowhere, floating in the air. You brought your hands to your mouth, holding back the gasp of surprise you wanted to give. Harry finally completely uncovered himself from the invisibility that surrounded him, becoming visible once again.

"I would have liked to show it another way... But you can't do magic outside of school. I might get expelled," he excused himself. But you couldn't stop trembling in place.

Harry knelt on the ground, lower than you. He took your hands to stop them from moving and looked at you, waiting for an answer.

"Harry... This is... Incredible."

Those green eyes that were so familiar to you shone with emotion at your affirmative response. With a jerk, he had you up from the swing and wrapped his arms around your waist. You responded to that tender hug with the same intensity as him.

When you broke away, Harry didn't remove his hands from your waist, nor did you remove yours from his shoulders. You were so close that you could feel his breath mingling with yours.

And then it happened, just as you had imagined for years.

He joined his lips with yours in a tender kiss. It didn't last more than a few seconds, but it seemed like an eternity.

When you broke apart, you both looked at each other with a mixture of nerves and tenderness, not entirely sure of what you had just done, as if afraid of ruining everything.

"Would you like to try it?" Harry suggested. 

"Does it hurt?" 

"Of course not!" He downplayed it before wrapping the thick fabric around your shoulders. A part of your body disappeared from view, although you still felt it there. You laughed nervously, unable to believe it. 

The two of you continued hugging, neither wanting to separate from each other, until the sun began to rise over the horizon. Only then did you start walking home. Without saying anything, Harry intertwined his fingers with yours, trying not to break contact. 

When you reached the door of your home, his hand felt so comfortable intertwined with yours that you didn't dare let go. Although he didn't seem to have any intention of doing so either. 

"Good night Harry" you murmured, leaving a soft kiss on his lips, which was quickly reciprocated. 

"Can we meet tomorrow in the park?" he asked without taking his eyes off yours. You just smiled and gave him another quick kiss before hurrying into your house. You watched through the peephole as he quickly crossed the street and entered his own.

You couldn't help but smile like a fool. You were hopelessly in love with Harry Potter... Who turned out to be a wizard.

[rewriterory]

I've been marinating about Jade not calling Aventurine by his name and it brought up the thought for me— do you think Aventurine would even like being called Kakavasha anymore?

I am an avid Aventio fanfic writer / consumer, and a theme I notice a lot is that people headcanon that Ratio would call him by his name when they're in private. It's always depicted as a very sweet and vulnerable part to their relationship, but I wonder if in actuality, it would perpetuate Aventurine's identity disturbance.

Though I do constantly argue that he shows clear signs of having BPD, regardless of the formal diagnosis, it's undeniable that his identity issues are a massive part of his character. The game goes to extensive lengths to solidify this idea, as well. He had a whole life before he was Aventurine, one that very few people know the actual details of. Nobody knows his name aside from Jade, so he hasn't associated with that identity in years. In the Penaoncy quest line, the one time he says the name Kakavasha, he's saying it as if that's an entirely different person. And if we wanna get real fourth-wall-breaky, all the official honkai merch + character photos in the game have Kakavasha and Aventurine listed as two separate people.

Despite his defensive claim to his evil shadow self in his fuckass trauma maze, Aventurine has changed, whether he likes it or not (and deep down, he knows that).

But if he did end up in a relationship and that person wanted to intimately know him + honor his past and his 'real' identity, I wonder if it would just make things worse. If being Aventurine in public and Kakavasha in private would bring even more attention to the fact that he's stuck playing a role for the rest of his life.

Jade told him he'd essentially have to kill that person to become who he wanted to be—collateral, since no miracle is free, ofc. And while it's obviously extremely traumatic that it happened to him, I wonder if she was lowkey onto something in the sense that like, once he's Aventurine he needs to stay Aventurine. Kakavasha was a name "destined to be buried in the dirt". Concerning himself with the past will only intensify his pain and regret (as we see consistently throughout his character). There's a reoccurring theme in his character of trying and failing to outrun the past, and I wonder if it's because he is constantly thinking about it and torturing himself over it. He's fully severed Kakavasha publicly, but internally, he's still grieving. If he could stop thinking about the past, he'd literally be unstoppable. I mean hell, Ratio basically says exactly this when you ask him about Aventurine—he says he has more than enough luck and intelligence to get whatever he wants, the only thing holding him back is himself and his own self hatred. Obviously he hasn't killed off Vasha internally 100% or he wouldn't be suffering with such intense self hatred. If he was able to convince himself he's a completely different person, there wouldn't be anything to feel guilty about.

I've talked in length about his intense self hatred and shame regarding his new persona and how ashamed he is that he (in his opinion) exemplifies so many traits his family would have hated. Would he really like linking that person back to Kakavasha? If Vasha died in that courtroom, he died as himself, at least. As someone his family loved. Somebody he was proud to be. Now, though? I wonder if referring to him that way now would just exasperate the self hatred because Kakavasha would never do the things Aventurine does. I don't know if it would be healthy or possible for him to mix those two identities together. Maybe working on surrendering to his new identity is the most logical way for him to stay sane and let go of his suicidal ideation.

Or maybe I'm reaching entirely too hard and when someone calls him Kakavasha he kicks his little feet and squeals, who knows? I'm not making a claim either way though, not atm at least. Just thinking out loud about my pookie

(I hope my thoughts are coherent as they were, admittedly, my Saturday night I-got-a-tiny-bit-too-high-thoughts, so who knows)

[fiamat12]

PSA: Unverified Information

There has been a run of unverified info. coming my way lately. I know everyone's tired, including me, and a few things have slipped through because of that, but it's also why my mantra is:

Always wait for more information!

When you take time to research/ double check things, it makes a world of difference. I had to make 2 corrections lately (small details but still irritating) so from now, I will not post any Asks that do not have receipts - and that means source, dates, times and any other pertinent info. If it's just speculation or a thought, that's ok, but just say so (it takes one extra word: maybe, perhaps, possibly) and we can decide whether we think it has legs or not.

Tbh, and no offense to those who are struggling, but so many of you still get confused because your research is listening to gossip instead of doing the work yourself. I have and did for months w/ a partner and it was indepth, w/verifiable FACTS, which is why I'm locked in on my 3 non-negotiables.

Why be so insistent upon receipts?

1- You can cause fandom panic because you make an assumption

2- It can lead people into incorrect theories that then cause unnecessary chaos & confusion

3- Things change as quickly as they happen, esp. in the celebrity world, so if you have a receipt, it shows you were working w/ the most accurate info. you had at the time

4- So people don't take things to heart - yes, hearts & minds are invested in Lukola to all varying degrees so please be mindful that what you say may affect others 🙏

5- We're the Lukola F*cking FBI not The Housewives of pick your city (Sorry, Nic!)

Examples of unverified info.:

• "S is in NYC" - it took two secs to look at the caption to see she wasn't staying to visit *yet*. Why cause a jumpscare? Rather note it and wait.

• "BM is filming in Aug & Sept" or dates of filming for anything... until we see an official notice or picture, it's speculation. Even Lukola may state something w/ the info. they have at the time and it changes. Life is not static!

•"A followed NYC dance accts" - I'm sure some are watching her every move so it should be easy to provide receipts. It could be true, but she's also been in NYC previously and she's known to troll. It tells us nothing rn, so we move on until it matters...

Also, this ⬇️

+ There are details that don't matter in the big scheme...

Examples of details that don't matter:

• "You can't wear jeans at Wimbledon" - Seems you can in certain areas and not in others; some say it's technically not a rule but frowned upon. The bottom line is it's IRRELEVANT when we know it was fake, esp. when pics pop up and are then deleted. He could be wearing a garbage sack, and it was all SUS, SUS, SUS.

• "There's a pic of N w/ other pregnant women in Malta last summer" - Hmm. Ok, that was 11 mos. ago now and we've had way more telling pics since (although we know she was obviously pregnant then🤰🤷���‍♀️)

Note: Btw, I don't mind notating these details that may serve some purpose later, but keep your eyes on the prize. There are more FACTUAL/ convincing or even integral pieces of info. that ensure us that Lukola is together w/ an almost 6 mo. old now. 👫👶

Lastly, I've been around to watch mis- information spread, and it can infiltrate the ship, only to create unnecessary doubt/ hate toward Lukola. Things like: A was living w/L, Lukola is beefing, L said he wanted to play a villain, and so much more - all easily debunked.

So think before you speak, be kind and check your receipts as much as possible, OR qualify your thought as speculation. We all want to see and celebrate the same thing in the end, so let's not make this any harder or more disruptive than it has to be!

[a-bad-case-of-the-stephs]

KAY my take on Steph’s most recent appearance in the preview for Wonder Woman #23:

Now, you might be thinking: “Tumblr user a-bad-case-of-the-stephs, what POSSIBLY could you have to complain about! You’re always saying ‘I miss Stephanie Brown’ and ‘Where is my daughter Stephanie Brown’ and such things. Now she’s here! You should be rejoicing!”

Well, for one, I am! Stephanie brown, on her own, not in a panel of miscellaneous bats, speaking lines of dialogue, in 2025!! I’m happy for her!! I’m overjoyed at Proof that Steph has a degree of remaining relevance!! However I would be even happier if she was a smidge more in character!

Now, you might be thinking: “but tumblr user a-bad-case-of-the-stephs, how can that be? Didn’t Steph act a very similar way in the Robin 80 Page Giant when she meets Black Canary for the first time? How about her similar attitude in Gotham Knights #22? you Love Gotham Knights #22! Don’t you remember Gotham Knights #22?”

I do! I promise I remember Gotham Knights #22! And the Robin 80 Page Giant! But I still think there’s a few key differences in play here! Let’s break it down.

When Steph meets Black Canary for the first time in the Robin 80 Page Giant, she’s immediately starstruck. But she’s also still distinctly Steph! Almost immediately after meeting her, Steph tries angling to be Black Canary’s partner and then, when rejected, to be her apprentice. Steph has a purpose, and her admiration doesn’t render her too shy to act like herself: she’s just as gregarious and outgoing and forthright as always.

And this continues on when Steph completely uninvited returns to Dinah’s the next day, and makes her case to learn from Black Canary again. And, when rejected again, she keeps pushing, and when Dinah brushes her off again, Steph is still at it, offering to do her errands. When Black Canary finally assents, Steph leaps to start, asking ‘What do we do first?’. Noticeably, Steph’s core characteristics (her stubbornness, her defiance, and her determination) are intact and in play. Her admiration of Black Canary makes her giddy and overeager, but she is never cowed and her actions are all rooted in who she is.

“But tumblr user a-bad-case-of-the-stephs!!” You might cry, “there’s a big difference here! Steph doesn’t already admire or even seem to know of Black Canary until they meet! Sure she’s awestruck by meeting a female hero she looks up to, but it’s not the same situation at all!”

And you’d be right to say so. Damn, if only we had an example of how Steph acted when meeting a hero she looked up to since childhood and who had massive significance to her.. Oh wait! The Batman!

It isn’t really useful to analyze Steph’s first meeting with Bruce in Detective #648, because from a doyalist POV, Steph’s childhood admiration of Batman hadn’t been established yet. But in the retelling of her backstory and where her childhood admiration of Batman is established in Secret Origins 80 Page Special, we also see a retelling of her first meeting with Batman, and lo and behold: turns out she is able to form a complete sentence!

“Ah, but tumblr user a-bad-case-of-the-stephs! You still have forgotten Gotham Knights #22!”

Fine, let’s talk about Gotham Knights #22 then. On first blush, the style of Steph’s dialogue seems mostly the same! She flounders with her words briefly, she rambles, and she is overeager. But let’s take a closer look at what’s different. In Gotham Knights #22, Steph is not overly apologetic. This makes sense, Steph is a character who deals with self doubt but who does not show it very openly. She is self assured and blunt and makes her decisions quickly. While she has, and does, apologize when she thinks she’s done something wrong, I wouldn’t say shes the type to apologize for a faux passé in a social situation, and I can’t see her doing so three separate times in between her handful of sentences like she does in the preview.

Additionally, although in GK #22 Steph trips over a word once or twice, she is never downright stuttering and she isn’t nearly as shy. This is another strong element of Steph’s character. She is not bashful, she is not nervous and sheepish. Even as she is obviously somewhat nervous in GK #22 she’s also distinctly herself. Steph doesn’t become any less bold.

“So sure, maybe Steph isn’t the most in character she could possibly ideally be in this - what - one page of a comic that’s not at all about her. Is that really such a big deal? If you agree she has at least acted nervously and ramble-y in the face of other heroes she’s looked up to, what’s the big fuss about?”

Well, first and foremost, I love Steph and again, am super happy to see her in something current! I wanted to break it down a little, and would probably be making a similar post talking about Steph’s history with meeting heroes she admires even if I agreed 100% with the execution here!

But also, well, because I’ve neglected to mention one little tiny detail. Context.

When she meets Black Canary, Steph is 15 years old. She’s a scrappy, fresh, a new-to-vigilanting high schooler who is desperate for some real training from someone who will take her seriously. Black Canary is the third superhero Steph had ever met at that point, the second to give her the time of day, and the very first to give her the time of day who was also an actual adult instead of a teenaged boy a year younger than her. That influences how she acts- a fucking lot.

Same goes for Gotham Knights #22: context plays a big role here. She’s been struggling to prove herself to a cold and aloof Batman since she met him, and now is her chance! She’s also still only 16, with, again, still limited experience with other heroes.

Today, Steph is no longer 15, and She’s met quite a few more heroes and she’s been a vigilante for quite a few more years. Besides that, she’s also met another childhood favorite superhero - and we all know how that went - and the disastrous result likely should’ve by all means instilled in her an inkling of a ‘don’t meet your idols’ notion. At the very least a degree more caution, or a degree less hero worship.

I’m not saying it’s impossible for Steph as an adult hero to look up to Wonder Woman, or be a little shell shocked in her presence, but I do think the execution works and fits better for the character she was at 15 than the hero in her own right she is (supposed to be) today, and for the reasons I’ve gone into above, I don’t think the characterization is quite right even for that 15 year old. So if it’s too meek, too shy, too untethered and aimless for 15 or 16 year old Steph characterization, I really don’t think it works well for an older, more experienced Steph.

And I think it matters especially because Steph’s age is still weirdly in flux, as unfortunately some comic authors (Batgirls.. cough cough) have thought of her and wrote her as a young teen instead of the adult she should by all means be.

Again, I don’t think the concept is totally flawed, and I don’t think my small nitpicks mean Steph is being written HORRIBLY out of character or anything, but I do think it could be better, and I wanted to provide my thoughts on why, given how rare a focus on Steph is nowadays!

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Judex, Judicum, Infantem - Chapter 12

(Eventual)Reader x Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist | my masterlist

summary: You and Frank have a heart to heart about his past.

warnings: AFAB Reader. Pregnancy. No use of Y/N.

notes: Two chapters for you all this weekend since this was supposed to all be one chapter. Whoops.

w/c: 2,490

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks*

“You want some coffee?” you asked, quietly padding through the kitchen as you walked through your getting ready for bed routine.

Since Matt had left for the evening, you’d found yourself very much not tired. You were putting off going to bed as long as possible, trying to stay awake until he returned, just to make sure he was okay before turning in for the night.

“Nearly midnight, sweetheart. Ain’t it a little late for coffee?”

“Is it ever too late for you to have coffee, Frank?”

He scoffed with a grin, shaking his head at your comment.

“’Spose not.”

Putting the kettle on the stove, you impatiently tapped your fingers on the counter while glancing out the window hoping to catch a glimpse of the Devil. Clouds were rolling in quickly through the dark sky and the notion of rain began to concern you. What did Matt do when it rained? Or snowed? Or any other manner of unpleasant weather? Was the suit waterproof? Did he tough it out even in the extremes? Or would the skies opening up be the thing that brought him home to you early?

Would you ever get used to this? The worrying?

“Red’ll be fine. He knows what he’s doing.” Frank commented, noticing the way you stared out at the city

“I know. Doesn’t make me worry less, though.”

Frank shrugged and returned to reading your copy of Death of the Nile.

“Where’d that nickname come from, anyway? Red?” you asked

“First time I met him. On some rooftop in those stupid pajamas. Guess it stuck.”

The kettle whistled from the stove and you grabbed it quickly, fixing your tea and pouring the rest in the coffee maker. Once Frank’s mug was ready, you made your way to sit beside him on the sofa, setting both beverages on the coffee table.

You were happy that Frank was going to stay and be a part of your daughter’s life, but you still weren’t sure where the two of you stood with each other. It felt a little awkward, sitting beside him and trying to fill the silences without hating what the two of you had become.

Frank seemed unfazed by your presence, setting the book down and taking the coffee in his large hands, thank you with a grunt before bringing the warm liquid to his lips.

“So how’d you figure out it was Matt? Since you met him as Daredevil. Or did he tell you?” you asked

“Asshole was my lawyer. Running his mouth in court after getting me arrested in the costume. Not hard to put it together after that.”

“No, it’s not. All it took was one night saving me from a mugger in an alleyway and I knew it was him the moment he opened his mouth. He’s not exactly subtle is he?”

“No, he ain’t.”

“What was he your lawyer for?”

“Murder trial. After I went after the gangs that, um…”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence. You knew the rest of the story. Maybe things hadn’t really changed between you and Frank. Before you’d slept with him, he’d get like this too. The two of you would be having a perfectly normal conversation and then something undetectable would totally shift his mood. His eyes would go blank, like whatever innocuous thing you said dragged him back into the shadows of that night and he just wouldn’t be able to shake it off. Maria and the kids were still here, haunting him when he least expected it. He’d shut down and lock you out and then the next time you saw him, he’d be back to his usual gruff and sarcastic self.

You dropped the subject, content to sit together with him in the slightly uncomfortable silence. Your gaze remained fixed on the windows, jumping at every sound in case it was Matt landing back on the roof.

“He’s good, you know.” Frank said softly

“Who, Matt? I wouldn’t call lying to me good, but generally speaking I agree with you.”

If Frank had opinions on your relationship with Matt or how he’d been treating you lately, he was keeping them to himself. Biting his tongue and taking another sip of his coffee, he shrugged.

“He’s gonna be a good dad.” you conceded “So are you, Frank.”

“Think so? Don’t know if I did such a good job the first time around.”

“I know you don’t really talk about them much, but the little I’ve heard you tell me about them, it’s very clear you loved them a lot.”

“Loving your kid and being a good parent ain’t exactly the same thing.”

If Matt’s complex history with both his parents was anything to go off of, you knew that statement was absolutely true.

“Fair. What makes you think you weren’t?”

Frank hung his head, eyes cast downward as if he was watching the memories play out right before him. Swallowing deeply, his chest expanded as he took a sharp breath in, as if he needed to brace himself for what he was about to say.

“I had two families, yeah? I had Maria, I had the kids and I had my unit. I was a father and a husband, but I was also a Marine. And I loved being a Marine. Look, there were times, whether I wanna admit it or not, but I would've rather been neck deep in blood and bullets and shit and be with my unit than with my kids. And now they’re gone. That's something I gotta make peace with.”

“So now… is that gonna be the case now? There are gonna be nights when you’re happier bashing some guy’s skull in than being home with her?” you asked, cupping your bump

“I don’t know.” he replied softly “Look, there’s still a couple loose ends that need tyin’ up and I want to make sure none of my bullshit comes ‘round for her or you.”

“Right.”

“I’m gonna stay here a couple more days. Get in better shape. Then take care of that so it’s something we don’t have to worry about.” he continued

You chewed at your cheek as your eyes stared at the mark on his neck, the stitches still fresh and the vision of him laying lifeless on the floor not leaving you anytime soon. Wherever he got it from was clearly still a looming issue.

“How long will you be gone?” you asked

“As long as it takes.”

Frank must’ve clocked your apprehensiveness, unable to hide the tears welling in your eyes from the fear that he was just finding another excuse to disappear again.

“You good with that?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.” Frank said sternly, finally making himself meet your gaze. His eyes swam with all the pain and regret he held as he stared you down. “But, I gotta keep you both safe. I can’t— sweetheart. I can’t loose another person that I….”

Again, the unspoken reality of Frank’s past weighed heavily in the space between the two of you. He had lost everything once. You had only heard of the carnage he left in his wake after loosing his family the first time around, you knew he would fight to the death to prevent that from ever happening again. But it didn’t make the possibilities less scary.

“Bein’ a dad, it was the best damn thing I ever did. I don’t wanna make the same mistakes again. I ain’t gonna miss anything sweetheart. That’s a promise. I told Maria I was done and I meant it and I mean it with you. But I gotta take care of some things first.”

“Done?”

“You know Karen asked me once what it would take to quit choosin’ another war and find an after.” He reached out to you, gently running his thumb over your bump. His eyes still remained on yours. “Think I finally got an answer for her.”

You wanted to believe him, really. But Matt had already torn apart your trust and you weren’t sure stopping being the Punisher was something Frank could just do. At the same time, Frank had never been this open with you.

“You said you were going to keep a few of your hiding spots. That doesn’t feel very done.”

“Yeah, I know. I just— I think some of the shit I’ve done, there’s no escaping it fully. I need you to know that’s always gonna be a risk with me. But I’m gonna try my best to keep you and her safe always. Keeping a couple spots to stash you two if something happens is just good planning, even Red would agree.”

Heavy was the nauseous feeling sinking in the pit of your stomach as your brain began to run with all the real possibilities of danger that came with raising a child with two vigilantes. It was foolish to ever think you could live a version of life with Frank in it where there wasn’t the possibility of men lurking in the shadows in the forms of the enemies he’s made.

So even though he said he was done, he wasn’t. And even though he said he wasn’t going to leave you again, he was going out to finish his work and couldn’t tell you when he’d be back or where he’d be.

“Sweetheart, talk to me. Tell me what’s running through that pretty head of yours?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Frank could hear the lack of faith in your tone as you stood and made your way back into the kitchen, depositing your mug in the sink. He followed behind you, eyeing you as you fidgeted with the faucet.

“Bullshit. We’re not doing this, baby. The not communicating shit. So talk.”

“I’m not your baby anymore, Frank!” you exclaimed, whipping around to face him “And that’s really fucking rich coming from the man who disappeared for months instead of communicating about his feelings!”

“I left to keep you safe. To keep you away from my bullshit! I told you, I can’t loose you too.”

“Is that really the excuse you’re going with? See, I think you left left because you’re too damn scared to feel any other emotion that isn’t anger or grief and when I was around you felt too fucking human so you ran away from it and buried it under that stupid fucking vest!”

“You’re goddamn right, I’m scared!” he shouted back

“Of loosing me or the baby, yeah I know.”

“Ain’t just that…”

He leaned against the counter of the island, head hung as he clasped his hands.

“Since I got here and Red told me about the baby,” his eye twitched as his voice became strained, brown eyes cast downward as he tried not to let any tears spill past “All I can hear is Lisa. You know, she had this little, squeaky voice for the longest time. It was the cutest shit. And you know she’d run into a room and just shout ‘Daddy, look I colored you a picture’ or ‘Daddy, I wanna go play outside’ or some shit.”

Would Frank ever tell you something about his family that didn’t absolutely shatter your heart?

“It’s just been playing on repeat in my head that sweet little voice calling me daddy and— it’s like I’m losing her all over.” Frank continued “I’m just worried once our little girl starts talkin’ she’s gonna sound just like that and every damn day, every little thing she does; I’m just gonna think of Lisa and Frankie instead of bein’ there with her.”

“You might. But I don’t think it’s a bad thing to keep thinking about them.” you reassured

“I just keep thinkin’, what if I mess this up? You know am I gonna be able to love her like I loved them or am I just gonna look at her and miss them and is that gonna mess her up? I’m scared I’m not gonna be enough for her.”

“I don’t think you will. I think you will love her just as much and that will be enough for her.”

He exhaled deeply, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he shook his head.

“Like I said, did a hell of a job the first time. Shit, I wasn’t even there when either of ‘em were born.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Got deployed when Maria was 7 months with Lisa, but they let me go on leave to come meet her when she was a few weeks old. And Frankie, I left right before he was born and didn’t even get to meet him until he was over a year.”

“Jesus, Frank.”

“Told you, I don’t want to miss anything. I’m gonna be right there in room while you’re pushing. Wanna be the first to hold her after you and Red.”

“I’m not sure I want you to see all that Frank. Might never look at me the same way again.”

“Nah sweetheart, still gonna think you’re just as beautiful.”

Letting out a scoff, you rolled your eyes and folded your arms across your chest, trying not to notice the way his stare lingered on you.

“I’m scared too, you know.” you spoke in a hushed tone “I’m scared that I’m gonna mess her up too. Like I’ll be a terrible mom.”

“I know that ain’t gonna happen.”

“No you don’t!” you argued back

“You really think so? Cause you’re so damn smart sweetheart. And you got the biggest fuckin’ heart. And you’re almost as stubborn as me. If she’s even a little like you, she’s gonna be perfect.”

Another thing that Matt and Frank both shared was their ability to see right through you and know just what to say. It fell silent between the two of you as the weight of his words settled in your chest.

With a shaky hand, you reached out, lightly tracing over the jagged stitches on his neck. He had changed so much in the months since you’d last seen him. Like time had taken him by the throat and thrown him into the river styx.

“Where did you go Frank?” you asked quietly

Frank dipped his head, leaning forward to fully catch your gaze. His hands stayed swinging at his sides, but out of the corner of your eye you caught the way his index and middle finger twitched.

“You should get some sleep. I’ll have Red check on you when he gets back.” he said, turning away and walking back towards the living room

Whatever moment you’d had with him faded away with a whoosh, back to the awkward silence of the night. You made your way down the hall towards the bedroom, unsure of what else to do. As you were about to shut the door, you looked back to where Frank sat, catching the way he fiddled with the chain on his neck, twirling the gold band between his index finger and thumb.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag list: @xxdrixx @a-leg-without-fear @echo-ethe @capswife @xoxabs88xox @allmyn1ghts @laaadygisbooornex3 @ninacotte @uncertified-doc @moth-murdock @danzer8705 @endofthelinegang @buckyssugarchick @hellskitchenswhore @pixviee @themikkapika @bisexualbith @labellapeaky @theoraekenslover @sexyvixen7 @tanyaherondale @marysucks-blog @0callme-mimi @aesthetic0cherryblossom @lokifae42 @plutosbearr @kneelforloki @uselessnewt @its-in-the-woods

[savyindeepspace]

The Vampire 🩸

Description: You’re a struggling journalist and you meet him after an encounter at one of his lavish parties. He decides to keep you around a while longer.

Tags: smut, Sylus x reader, fem reader, vampire Sylus, romance, slow burn, plot, mutual biting, mentions of alcohol and blood.

MDNI 🔞

___________________________

The first thing you noticed about him wasn’t his scarlet eyes, pale skin or sharpened canines. Not the way he lurked in the dark—bathed in moon light. It wasn’t his cold stare, because he was surprisingly warm, the kind of warm that draws you in the like a crackling flame in a fireplace. That blankets you like wool, keeping heat flush to your skin. It was his scent. His aroma carried the kind of spice that warmed your tongue, like ginger, cinnamon or clove. It was aromatic and intoxicating like patchouli. Once it drew you in for the first time, it was a like drug you weren’t willing to sober from.

His manor was incredible in size, almost castle-like in its stature. Your eyes studied the large double doors that were carved with intricate filigree patterns. The hum of music could be heard behind them. Whining violin strings and the deep groan of cellos wrapped around your ear drums. Guests poured in, dressed in the finest gowns and three piece suits with long coat tails. Their faces hidden behind masks of various shapes and colors—some adorned with gems, sequins or feathers. Since this was your first masquerade ball, you went with more muted designs. A simple, cream gown, gloves made of crushed velvet that reached your elbows and a mask that only covered one eye. Your neck was decorated with a string of pearls that sat just above your bosom. When you walked over the threshold you inhaled sharply, from nervousness and the tight restriction of your corset. Not a single face was familiar, but you needed to make an impression.

As a growing—and struggling—journalist, you wanted a story that would get your foot in the door to a renowned magazine in Linkon. A masquerade party hosted in the N109 Zone that could be something more than just music and hors d'oeuvres could be the perfect story. You carried a small pad and pen in your purse, taking note of any details that stood out. The mansion wasn’t strange by any means, marble floors, large pillars, glowing crystal chandeliers—gaudy but typical. Everything looked like it cost your entire year’s salary, down to the tablecloths. Classical music and haughty laughter filled the room, you couldn’t help but feel out of place. To your relief, there was an open bar. “Any wine you have, please,” you asked the bartender wearing a tux and intricate black mask. The long stemmed glass glided across the bar top, “here you are miss.” “Thank you,” you bowed, then regretted it, feeling awkward and a little too formal.

The wine stung as it trickled down your throat, but you hoped it would bring out an inkling of confidence or comfort. As you walked through out the ballroom, your eyes skimmed over the guests as they drank, danced and whispered gossip behind ostrich feather fans. “I heard he never leaves his room,” “yes, well I heard he only comes out at night,” “must be a demon,” “or a vampire.” Numerous rumors floated through the air from mouths lucky enough to sip wine and dine on appetizers. You scribbled every word, ‘demon’, ‘vampire’? Those only ever existed in fiction—fairytales. The year was 2044, there was no way either could possibly exist. After a while, the ball was becoming nothing more than rich people peacocking and pretending to be interested in each other. So you decided to wander deeper into the mansion.

There were many long hallways throughout the manor, almost every door sealed shut. You frowned, wondering if attending this party was even worth the trouble, but as you turned a corner, there was a faint glow emitting from a single cracked door. You followed the path of light and peaked inside. It was a bedroom, large like it belonged to someone important—someone who owned the place. Cautiously, you pushed the door open further, stepping inside. The furniture was gothic style, dark with red accents, floor to ceiling windows shielded by black curtains and large Persian rugs covering the floor. Was this the bedroom of the ‘demon’ man mentioned earlier and why would he just leave his door wide open? Caw-caw! A crow crooned in your direction from its perch. You hesitated slightly before walking closer, “a mechanical crow? How strange,” you murmured. The bird squawked at you again, maybe in response—or warning. Then your eyes fixed on aged organ at the far side of the room.

You sat on the stool before it, running your fingers over the keys. The instrument looked more like a display for dust than a tool for music. Still, you pressed down, eliciting a rich, deep sound. You played for all of one minute before a deep voice joined the melody. “You play well,” your hands froze, the room’s owner caught you in the act. When you turned to see who the voice belonged to, your breath caught in your throat. He stood tall, broad, filling the doorway entirely. His suit was deep burgundy, but he wore no mask. His features were as sharp as glass, looking carved by hand, hair a snowy-silver. And his eyes…were red—a glowing crimson that made it hard to look away. Your arms pulled to your sides, “my apologies…the door was open and I…was being incredibly nosy,” the words tumbled from your mouth hurriedly and shaken. The man never spoke, he just took in the sight of you. His stride was confident and measured as he approached the bench. It slightly creaked from his weight as he sat beside you, “won’t you continue?”

You nodded, stunned and slightly enamored. The keys sank beneath your fingers again, finishing the song you had originally began to play. His gaze burned your skin and he was quiet, painfully silent. “I–I’m so sorry for intruding, I’ll see myself out…” The silver haired man caught your wrist, his grip pleading rather than harsh. “Are you not even going to introduce yourself?,” he asked with a raised brow, “after all, you did trespass.” You swallowed in attempt to dampen your throat, your name came out with a dry croak. “Lovely…now, do you always intrude in stranger’s bedrooms?,” his expression softened with a playful grin. Your lips parted, but words wouldn’t escape. “No matter, I’ll escort you back to the party,” he sighed. The swell of violins and senseless chatter returned in your ear once again, but he stopped just before the dark hallway met the ballroom. “I never got your name?,” he hummed, letting the question linger before answering, “Sylus. Sylus Qin, if you’re interested in formalities.” “Nice to meet you, Mr. Qin.” He waved dismissively, “please, enjoy the festivities.” You turned to thank him, but the hall was empty, a warm draft surrounded you like he had disappeared into thin air. You expelled a breath you felt you were holding in all night, something about his presence and scent left you with a sense of yearning. Your fingers traced over your wrist where he grabbed you, feeling the ghost of his touch.

Many weeks had passed, you wrote several drafts about the ball, but it wasn’t interesting enough—not even for the last page of a newspaper. Burying your face in your hands, you felt a wash of defeat. The piling letters of rejection growing taller on your desk. Suddenly, the sharp flapping of wings and a familiar caw caught your attention. In a flash, the mechanical crow from Sylus’s bedroom flew away, leaving a black envelope on your windowsill. It was sealed with a deep red wax, the impression of a cursive ‘S’ pressed in the center.

“I’d like to hear you play again.”

-Sylus

Your eyes scanned the text several times. The gold ink against ebony paper was luxurious and his penmanship was perfect—ancient looking. How did he find your address? Perhaps he was just a rich man with too much time on his hands. It seemed too good to be true, but you were desperate to know more about him. Sylus asked for you to return the next night, when the full moon was passed. That last detail struck you as odd, but you complied. His manor appeared more ominous when it wasn’t hosting hundreds of guests, yet the warm glow of candle light still beckoned you closer. When you knocked on the doors the sound echoed through the foyer and they creaked upon opening. Sylus appeared in tendrils of black-red mist, “I was hoping you would come,” he said. You shrugged out of your coat, draping it over your crossed arms, “of course, thank you for the invitation, sir.” He looked at you with amusement, eyes wandering from head to toe. His intense gaze made you squirm. Sensing your discomfort, he spoke again. “Would you like a tour, or did snooping in my bedroom satisfy you enough?” Your cheeks felt hot as blush crept across them. A deep chuckle vibrated from his chest, “I’m only teasing, come along now. Also, the formalities won’t be necessary, my name will suffice.”

You followed behind as he guided you through his giant home, listening intently as he described every art piece and antique weapon that hung on the walls. Swords, maces, shields all looking from a different time, polished as if they hadn’t seen battle nor blood. “You have quite the display…” “it’s been a hobby of mine for many, many years. Art, literature and music are my most precious possessions in this entire mansion.” He opened a dark, mahogany door, revealing an enormous library, every towering shelf was filled with books. You stared in awe, he must of had every genre imaginable. “But this is where I spend most of my time,” he said, approaching a plush velvet chaise. Beside it was a record player, and a glass case filled with hundreds of vinyls. “These records are…old do you collect them as well?” “I do, but some of them I’ve owned since I was…young,” Sylus replied, the pause before his last word planted itself in your mind. He couldn’t be more than 35 years old. “I see,” you scribbled down several notes, feeling his burning gaze as the pen scratched across the lined paper. “Do you always stare like that?,” you asked without looking away from your writings. Sylus made a sound of disbelief, “only when my eyes are fixed on something I want.” A chill ran down your spine, “um..did you want me to play the organ now?,” his lips curled into a small grin, “I’d love nothing more.”

His bedroom looked the same, but this time the curtains were slightly open, letting the cool moonlight stream through. The air smelled of incense and burnt kindling. When you sat before the organ, you noticed the dust was gone, the ivory keys polished. “The same song or…?,” you asked, fingers hovering. “Play whatever your heart desires,” Sylus murmured, sinking into a leather chair. Drawing in a deep breath, you began. The powerful sound reverberated through your bones and the manor walls. As you played, your eyes closed, feeling the music flow from your hands. Sylus watched intensely, eyes flickering with amusement and admiration. There was something enchanting about the way your body swayed with the melody, how your brow furrowed with focus. He was absolutely enthralled. “So?,” your eyes met his, seeking some kind of validation. “Where did you learn to play so elegantly?,” his voice was tender when he spoke. You shrugged, pointing your gaze to the floor, “in college. I took a unique instrument course for extra credits. No one ever chose the organ, so I took it upon myself.” “It comes so naturally, I would have guessed you wrote the music yourself,” he praised.

Your heart fluttered, “well…I did, actually.” It was subtle, but Sylus’s eyes widened and breath hitched. How much more perfect could you possibly be? That first night he heard you play, the sound called to him like a siren’s song. Finding you in his room, seeing you in that dress, your intoxicating scent. He wanted nothing more than to keep you all night—or forever. “Incredible,” he whispered, “I’ve been on this Earth many years and I’ve never heard sounds as exquisite as your playing.” He spoke as if he was ancient himself, an antique that blended in with the rest of his collection. “Pardon me for asking, but…how old are you?” Sylus stopped infront of the floor to ceiling window, his frame backlit by the moon. His ruddy eyes met yours, “would it frighten you if I said hundreds of years?” Your body felt heavy, you couldn’t blink or speak. He approached you slowly, closing the distance before curling his finger beneath your chin, pulling your gaze upward. “So the rumors I heard…,” he chuckled “a bit dramatic, but not entirely false. I’m not the monster people make me out to be.” Your heart pounded harder, but you weren’t afraid, if anything his answer only drew you in like a spell. “I’d like to know more, if you’re willing?” Something in Sylus’s chest tightened then, the way you wanted more of him instead of cowering, or running away.

“As long as you continue playing that organ, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

So you did. Every month you’d play him a new song or he’d present you with hand picked sheet music. He would tell you a little more about himself each visit. Sylus was the leader of Onichynus, he enjoyed art, music, literature and animal documentaries. He had a soft spot for feeding stray kittens, you giggled at the thought of seeing this frightening man soften at the sight of tiny creatures. “You’ve told me so much, yet I still feel like something is missing,” you prodded. “I only visit you at night, never on full moons.” You stared, waiting for a response. Sylus released a heavy sigh, carding his fingers through his silver hair. “You don’t smell as appetizing, it allows me to focus.” You swallowed, making your throat bob, Sylus’s eyes darted to the movement. “Appetizing…,” you choked, holding your pen a little tighter. “That night, when I found you in my room, the sound of the organ wasn’t the only reason I felt drawn to you,” he stood between your knees and lowered his face to your neck. He inhaled, shuddering slightly, “your fragrance…is sweet, so saccharine that it could rot teeth.” Your hands trembled in your lap, “Sylus…what are you, really?”

His gaze was dripping with an insatiable appetite, eyes a deeper red than normal. He circled you like a bird of prey. “It appears you already know,” his fingers sank into your shoulders like talons. The answer was written boldly in front of your eyes, yet you didn’t want to believe it. “Are you going to drink my blood?,” you rasped. “Not without an invitation. I have manners, you know,” he scoffed, “and I’ve already fed, tonight.” Fed? He spoke so casually about his consumption habits. The weight of his touch abandoned you, the echo of footsteps disappeared down the hall leading to his room, “you are more than welcome to stay, but I do not take kindly to the brightness of dawn.” Just as his voice trailed behind the bedroom door, the sun’s light began to peak over the horizon. You pressed your palm to your chest, feeling the rapid pulse beat against it. But despite the confession, the closeness of his mouth to your flesh and his desire to taste you—he didn’t. Didn’t lunge, nip, even lick the skin and you didn’t run nor flinch. Were you so curious about the man that you’d be willing to serve yourself as a meal to him?

A sudden heaviness weighed on your eyelids and after fighting it, attempting to draft something of a story from your notes, you laid down on the couch and slept. Even during sleep, your body recognized the warm breeze and woody scent that caressed you. Sylus emerged from his quarters when the sun dipped below the hills, covering you with a blanket, running a finger along your jaw. The couch sank beneath his weight as he sat beside your sleeping form. “Should you stay, should you allow my bite—you will want for nothing.” He played with the ends of your hair, letting the strands seep through his fingers like sand. You stirred, letting out a drowsy whimper, “S-Sylus?,” his name fell from your lips like a hymn, soft—almost a moan and it made his gut knot. “Everything alright?,” god, your eyes, big, glossy and doe-like when you looked at him. Sylus blinked rapidly, clearing his throat, “the chefs are about to prepare dinner, I wanted you to join me.” For the first time he looked…unsure, bashful, avoiding your gaze. Then he laid a black dress across your lap, “and I’d like if you wore this. The room next to the library…you may use it going forward. Please return to me at 7:00.” You nodded, holding the garment at eye level, “I–thank you, Sylus but you didn’t—,” “it’s the least I could do,” he interrupted. Without another word, he vanished into black-red mist. “It’s already 5:30, best I not keep him waiting.”

Your room was just as large and gaudy, fully decorated with you in mind. On the vanity lied jewelry that perfectly matched the dress Sylus gave you and enough make up to stock a boutique. Several bottles of perfume lined the bathroom counter, you reached for the cherry liquor scent and sprayed the pulse points on your neck, wrists and the valley between your breasts. The black gown slipped over every curve on your body with tailored grace and the slit just barely reached your hip. The choker and earrings were set with gems you had never seen before, yet they matched your complexion perfectly. Twirling before the floor length mirror, you were at a loss of your own reflection. You looked…expensive.

The grandfather clock in the living room rang out like church bells, announcing 7 o’clock. You emerged from your room, walking carefully in the ridiculously tall heels Sylus left you to wear. Your ankles wobbled a bit and seeing him didn’t help. He wore all black, broad shoulders filling his dress shirt and slacks molded tightly around his muscular quads. There was no doubt the man was handsome, beautiful even, but tonight something was different. And when he saw you, his already stiff posture straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed a choked breath. Sylus outstretched his hand and twirled you slowly, “you are simply a vision,” he professed. “You clean up nicely yourself, Mr. Qin.” A hearty chuckle rattled through him and his elbow hooked around yours, “shall we?” He guided you through grand double doors into the dining room, the table was long enough to accommodate an entire city, but was intimately set for two. Sylus pulled out your chair and tucked you in snugly before sitting himself. The entire space was candlelit, softening his sharp features and adding an orange glow to his crimson eyes. You shared the most decadent dishes and drank wine from crystal glasses. “This is all so…unbelievably good I’m not used to this sort of luxury,” you sighed patting your mouth with a cloth napkin. Sylus hummed, his gaze trailing to your wine stained lips. “I’m happy you find everything exceptional.” The wait staff cleared away all the plates and glasses, leaving just the two of you sitting across from each other. “I’d like you to play a new piece I found,” he said. “Of course.” His hand molded to your waist as you walked to his bedroom, the warmth of his palm felt like a brand burning through the fabric of your gown. You couldn’t ignore the prickly sensation or blooming goosebumps crawling over your body from his touch.

The sheet music set before you was more complicated than any of the pieces you played so far. Adjusting your posture and settling on the wooden bench, you gently placed your outstretched fingers on the keys. “Take your time,” Sylus said with a relaxed tone. Each note blew from the brass pipes, filling the air with rich music. Your body rocked back and forth, lashes resting against your cheeks as the sound flowed through you. Sylus found his eyes closing as well, memorizing every note. The subtle clicking of the keys, the gentle strain as you pressed each pedal with the toe of your heels, and your voice humming along with the music, he wanted to remember every detail. Eventually the song came to an end, fading out into the room and sinking into the walls. “Beautiful,” he exhaled. “Yes, where did you find—,” “I wasn’t talking about the music.” Your cheeks grew hot from his confession. Sylus stood, slowly approaching you and the organ. You looked up at his towering form, eyes twinkling. He reached out, using the back of two fingers to smooth over your cheek, “thank you…for playing this piece. I haven’t heard for a very long time,” his expression was distant, as if reminiscing a life long past. “Sylus?,” he blinked, his dark lashes dusting his high cheekbones. “I must retire, dawn is approaching,” you watched his hand return to his side, squeezing into a knuckle-paling fist, as if he was holding something back.

You started to grow accustomed to Sylus and his reversed schedule, sleeping during the day while being lively at night. Propped against the headboard, you wrote about him while he was resting, finding yourself smiling each time your pen wrote the curves of the ‘S’ in his name. The moon was full, tonight, meaning his hunger would be more insatiable and your scent harder to ignore. Yet you still dressed in an elegant chiffon dress, and wore the same cherry liquor perfume— deliberately misting on both sides of your neck. You left your hair in long, curly tendrils down your back instead of your usual messy bun. As you finished getting ready to meet Sylus for dinner, a familiar black paper with golden ink slid under your door.

“Before dinner, please meet me in the library.” -Sylus

It was always so endearing that he chose to write you instead of sending a text, you placed the card on your vanity, giving yourself one last look in the antique mirror. When you entered the library, Sylus was awaiting your arrival. A soft gasp broke from his lips, legs falling boneless as he tried to remain composed. The fabric of your gown surrounded you like an evening mist, the light from the candelabra adding a golden aura. Finally you reached him, just toes width apart. “You look—,” he swallowed dryly, you’d never see him look so stunned, “ravishing,” he rasped, bowing his head. Your smile crinkled the corners of your eyes, making your cheeks rosy and sore, “thank you, Sy…” His body seemed to be hiding something, you slightly craned your neck, trying to steal a glance. “What’s this?,” when he moved away, your eyes widened at the sight before you. A fully equipped desk made its home in his study. Everything you could ever need to write was provided, from pens and paper, to a brand new laptop—its screen glowing with a blue-white light. Your mouth fell agape, a lump beginning to form in your throat. “I thought…maybe you could stay and write your articles here. Your commute home is awfully long and I feel guilty seeing you make the trek.” Sylus’s gaze was soft and his tone gentle. “And…I’ve grown far too fond of your company to not have you to myself.” It almost burned how he spoke to you, making your eyes sting with tears and heart strain. “Sylus…I–I can’t thank you enough. This is the kindest gesture anyone has ever done for me,” your finger ran beneath your lower lashes in attempt to preserve your make up. “It’s nothing rea—,” “it’s everything.” Your body lunged forward, hugging tightly around his waist. Sylus choked on his breath, slowly wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

He rested his chin on your hair, inhaling sharply, eyes squeezing tight as your scent invaded his senses. Pulling away but keeping a grip on your arms, Sylus stared down at you for a moment, his features looking the softest you had ever seen. “Better not keep the kitchen staff waiting,” he murmured, hooking his elbow around yours. Like many mights before, you ate several courses, savoring flavors from salty to sweet, every bite pouring over your tastebuds—lips stained with wine. And Sylus watched, eyes lidded and lips curled into a pleased grin. For the first time something other than bloodlust came over him, an emotion he wasn’t quite familiar with—nor expecting. He didn’t want to only keep you for your body or blood. He wanted to spoil you, to care for you. The vampire would not be satisfied until you knew of his devotion—his utterly tangible promise and reverence. Sylus took your hand, “are you…happy here?,” he asked, thumb rubbing circles on your skin. You smiled warmly, “of course I am. Learning about you has been very rewarding.” His head lowered, as if he’d never experienced such kindness. “You speak too highly of me despite what I truly am…” Your brow furrowed and you squeezed his hand, “a man who enjoys art, music and feeding stray animals is not one I fear.” He hummed quietly and thanked you by kissing your fingertips. “But I still don’t know when you were changed,” your voice trailed off, not wanting him to feel pressured to relive it.

Sylus stood, leading you to the livingroom, sitting close on the couch. The air was still and quiet as he collected himself. “I was caught in an ambush. Nothing but a runt in my new position with Onichynus. Being 25, the other members didn’t take kindly to such a young leader,” he paused, adjusting his posture. “But they waited for ten years before sending me for a business deal that put me in my current state.” You gave his hands a reassuring stroke with your thumbs. “I remember how it burned—like fire or venom. And it pains me that I want to do the same thing to you.” Sylus met your eyes with guilt in his own, “I don’t know if I’d forgive myself if my hunger got the best of me. Even now, I yearn to taste you.” Despite his confession, you wanted nothing more than to embrace him, to crawl into his arms and hold him tight. He wasn’t the monster people made him out to be, just a man seeking out purpose and was ensnared with a permanent affliction. You didn’t feel sorry for him, he wouldn’t want that, but you couldn’t deny how his story tugged at your heart. “If you truly wanted to hurt me,” you cupped his cheek, “you wouldn’t have wasted your time with me. All these months of interviews, dinners by candle light. You’re just a man who wants to be understood, Sylus.” You leaned in, closing the already intimate space between your bodies, “and I want to understand you entirely, every single detail.” Finally, you kissed him, melting your lips against his. Sylus let out a soft groan, curling his fingers around your hips. You still tasted like wine and the whipped cream from your dessert. It felt like he was trying not to give in, restraint heavy in his touch.

“Sylus…,” you whispered against his lips, “please, don’t hold back anymore…”

His breath left in ragged huffs, looking deeply into your eyes, “if that is your wish.” You laced your arms around his neck, pressing your foreheads together, “I want all of you, even the unsavory parts.” With your confirmation, he hoisted you in his arms, holding you flush to his chest. His dark, midnight sheets cradled your back when he laid you down on the bed. “No coffin?,” you teased. Sylus let out a scoff mixed with a laugh, “I’m not Nosferatu, sweetie.” His mouth lowered to the shell of your ears, pursing chaste kisses down to your collar bone. You sighed from his careful touch, curling your fingers into the hair at his nape. The sounds rising from his chest became more primal, and your growing arousal only made your scent more permeable. It was so tangible that he could see it rise off your skin like smoke, like he could bottle it and keep it stored for eons. The vampire pushed his way between your legs with his knee, resting his weight on top of you. Wet lips left a trail down your chest while his slender fingers curled into the neckline of your dress, revealing your nude breasts to his gaze. Sylus took a pebbled nipple into his mouth, suckling softly. Your back arched off the mattress pressing into him further, “hah—Sy.” He growled, giving your neglected tit equal attention. The lace panties beneath your dress began to soak through and you writhed with need. “P-please, want—more…,” you begged, gripping his snowy strands by the roots. His palm supported the small of your back, pulling you off the satin sheets. With one fluid motion, he pulled the zipper along your spine down, the buzz vibrated against your flesh. Seeing you fully disrobed, soft and pliant, Sylus bit back a guttural sound. His lips traveled down your stomach, hands squeezing the fat of your thighs. “I’ve wanted to taste this since the first night I laid eyes on you,” he purred, planting a kiss on your clothed mound. “Please…,” you keened, lifting your hips to his mouth.

Sylus dragged a languid stripe over the wet stain soaking through your panties. Your heels dug into his back, growing impatient as he slowly teased you over the lace barrier. He nuzzled into your heat, finally pulling at your underwear with purpose. They slid over your thighs, leaving your glossy pussy on full display. “I believe,” lick “this is the finest piece of art,” suck “I have ever seen.” The silver haired man dove into your folds with his tongue, nudging your swollen clit with the broad hump on his nose. “Hah—fuck,” you moaned rolling slow circles against his mouth. Your body ignited with sensation, heat was climbing up your squirming form like a wildfire. Sylus lapped hungrily at your arousal, swallowing your pleasured sounds like a warm swig of whiskey. Two fingers sank into your center, pumping at a tortuous pace. With his mouth still enclosed around your clit, he wrecked you again and again with harsh sucks and rumbling hums. You made a wet, messy sheen on his chin and lips. “Mm, please I—I need to feel you,” you pleaded, skin dewy and beading with sweat. After several minutes of agonizing pleasure, Sylus withdrew from between your thighs. His lips were glistening from your slick and when he kissed you, the taste was left hanging on your tongue. He tenderly brushed away the hair tangled around your face, tucking it behind your ear. His sanguine eyes glowed bright red, showcasing a growing thirst. It had been days since his last feed and the supply he acquired from the hospital had run out.

“I will do my best not to hurt you, please don’t let me lose myself,” he whispered against your jaw, pressing his groin into you. Heavy emotions settled over you, a mixture of fear and want. You craved every last part of him, even if that meant submitting to his most primal desire. Wrapping your legs around him, you pulled him in, “I want you entirely, I promise.” Sylus’s gaze was longing and his heart ached. You became so selfless in such a short amount of time, accepting his truth more than he could bear. “After this night, you will want for nothing. You are mine to serve—to protect.” Rusting fabric sounded between you, his bare length sliding between your folds. “But you will change. Are you sure you are willing to give up humanity?” His voice was tinged with worry and doubt, but when you kissed him again, that all faded away. “If it means I can stay with you forever, then please don’t keep that away from me.” Sylus cradled your face, “as you wish,” then sank his length to the base, keeping his body still as you adjusted to his size. “Ah, mmm,” you cooed clenching around his inches. He melted a wet kiss against your lips, invading your mouth with his tongue. His thrusts were slow and reverent. His cock made you feel perfectly full, like you were molded just for him. When he wasn’t kissing you, his hot breath fanned over your shoulder as he nuzzled against your skin. Sylus wasn’t using your body, nothing about his touch was rushed or careless. He wasn’t just fucking you, he was making love to you.

The way your hips were crashing together sent harsh ripples through you, making drool collect at the corners of your mouth. “F-fuck Sy…feels s’good,” you cried, digging your nails into his sculpted back. “I want nothing more than to see you fall apart beneath me,” he growled, draping your leg over his shoulder. This new position had your pussy pulling in inches you didn’t know he had, the sting was splitting but intoxicating. “You feel…hah…I can’t—,” unable to form full sentences, Sylus began to falter. With every moan, sigh and mewl, he fell deeper in love. The music you played for him didn’t compare to every pleasured noise that floated from your lips. “I need you, I knew I always have…,” he professed, flipping you to your belly. His praise caressed your ears like molten silk, “you are a goddess, a treasure so rare…I do not deserve you.” You whimpered, fisting the dark satin sheets. A sharp pinch met your earlobe, “but even then…there is no doubt that you’re mine.” Your body was pulled into him, back molded to his chest. His kiss was dizzying, making your legs wobble and fingers curl into his hair. When you tugged on the strands, it was harder than Sylus prepared for, making him sink a bite into your bottom lip. A wanton moan ripped from you, then you tasted it—a subtle hint of something metallic.

Sylus pulled away, eyes locking on the bead of red fluid. He ran his tongue over it, eyes squeezing shut and chest heaving. His hold on your hips grew more and more possessive as the bloodlust began to flood any sense he had left. Suddenly, you found yourself pinned beneath him, caged my his lean arms. His muscles were twitching and sinewy, thick veins throbbing across his biceps. “Sy..?” When his gaze lifted, his eyes were black with red rims, pupils blown to the edges of both irises. With his cock still buried inside you, he rutted harder, shoving your knees to your chest. A large hand pressed your lower belly, “do you feel that? How utterly full I’ve made you?,” he rasped. Sylus was succumbing to his instincts, inching his mouth closer to the soft skin of your neck. The vulgar slapping of your wet skin and then friction it made against your clit left you weeping, begging for release. “Forgive me…,” Sylus soothed. He cradled the back of your head and with a final thrust, hilted himself fully, sinking his knife like fangs into your flesh.

The pain was so foreign to anything you had ever felt. It stung, burned so hot that you began to sweat. Instinctively you clawed at Sylus’s back, leaving ruddy lines along his spine. Your body begged for it to end, yet when you came, it was euphoric. Your essence ran fluidly down your thighs and his abdomen. Overwhelmed by his cum filling your core, teeth tearing your skin and the warm blood trickling down between your breasts—you felt weak. He moaned as the crimson fluid flooded his mouth, eyes rolling back in his skull. Your blood was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. It was thick and sugary like syrup, deep maroon as it coated his lips and tongue. He didn’t want to stop, but you felt more limp the longer he drank. Panic washed over him when the light in your eyes began to fade. He winced in pain like the drowsy expression you were making pierced his heart. “I’m so sorry..,” Sylus soothed, voice shaky and broken. You reached up and stroked his cheek, “don’t be, now I can be yours.” He held your hand against his face, nuzzling lovingly into your palm. “I don’t deserve you…”

Your lover lapped away the blood, kissing the teeth shaped wound on your neck. Every press of his lips an apology, a promise of devotion and healing. “Thank you…for allowing this,” he said, warmth returning to his eyes. You hummed, pulling him into your embrace. You kissed his cheek and it tasted of salt. It hurt him to bite you, to change you forever. “Please don’t cry, this is what I want,” you cooed, rubbing gentle patterns over the raised marks on his back. Sylus became limp in your arms, kissing the already healing impression. “Your wound is nearly gone,” he stuttered, feathering over your skin with his fingers. “I don’t feel any pain either, but I’m…thirsty.” You straddled his lap, pushing him into the headboard with a newfound strength. His hands planted firmly on your hips, pulling you closer and turning his chin. Something about him smelled more appealing than his normally spicey—woody aroma. Your nose brushed the tendons in his neck, “I want to taste you…,” you rasped, letting your tongue drag over the warm flesh. Sylus held your face with one hand, smothering you with a bruising, sloppy kiss. You moaned in his mouth, tongue swirling around his, wetness pooling from your core. This arousal was different, more fierce—more feral. You inhaled, drawing in a slow breath full of his scent, “I want…to bite you…” “I won’t stop you,” he whispered, fisting your hair, pushing your lips to his throat.

Your teeth began to ache and they grew into sharp fangs, lightly jabbing your bottom lip. You hissed, letting your jaw slack. “Sylus…I love you.” His breath dropped as you sank a loving bite into him. His blood was warm, smooth, flowing down your throat as you drank. He tasted devine, like he was yours and yours alone. A deep purr fluttered in your chest, you pulled away, lips and chin dripping. “You look beautiful like this,” Sylus praised, wiping the cabernet mess from your face. You took his hand and sucked each finger clean, not wanting to waste his offering. Feeling full and satisfied, your eyes lidded with exhaustion and you slumped against his firm chest.

Sylus bathed you, dressed you in the finest silk and tucked you under his plush bedding. He closed the black drapes in preparation for the rising sun, slowly walking to the edge of the bed. You were glowing from your night of passion and first feed. His finger traced the spot where he first tasted you, reverence swelling in his heart. As Sylus melded his body to yours, tangling your limbs together like roots, he kissed your shoulder, jaw and neck. His eyes slowly and softly closed, “I love you too, my beloved.”

Eventually, you finished your article on Sylus. It became a popular story in Linkon Magazine, changing the public’s perspective of him and the N109 Zone:

“Who is Sylus Qin, truly? To the unknown and ignorant, a crime lord, a monster—but at his depth he is so much more. The quiet, mysterious man collects the finest art and antiques, reads genres from fiction to poetry and has a taste for aged wine and old vinyls. His heart is soft and words kind. What I grew to admire about him most was his ability to grow and adapt in a world unbecoming of him…”

Sylus trimmed the excerpt from one of the many copies of the magazine, framing it along side his other collected art pieces. For the first time since his transformation, you had been the only person to truly understand him. To choose him entirely, even if he didn’t think he deserved it. As your thirst grew stronger, Sylus never left your side, he taught you how to preserve energy and strength between each feed. The body you were in felt new and indestructible, your eyes even glowed a bit brighter. What didn’t change was your love for the man that gave you this life, how he continued to pour into your basin until it overflowed with devotion.

Although, you could no longer grow old, you wanted to become more ancient with him, until there was no blood left to drink or moonlight illuminating the sky. Darkness wouldn’t matter, not when he was your light.

End.

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Writers Note: thank you so much for reading! :) Please do not steal or repost. More LADs Fics are pinned on my profile.