#and something I think I'd like to see more of

[dxmurewrites]

Messy

lil one shot based on the drunk Remmick post I made a couple of days ago lmao

pairing: Remmick x Fem!Reader (I guess an established relationship?)

summary: You had come home after a night out to find Remmick had gotten drunk off of someone's blood. Messy drunk Remmick, that's it.

Story based off this post I made.

unedited

warnings: mentions of alcohol, drunk characters, language, nudity (no smut), blood, sexual tension (Remmick tries it but you're not in the mood, he's drunk duh), mentions of violence (the people Rem ate), just a funny drunk rem and reader who takes care of him.

let me know what you think!

_________

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"Oh hey baby," He grins, dropping the man in his arms with a grin. The body drops to the floor in a heap, and your eyes dart around, finding more and more bodies of men sprawled out amongst your living room. "You're home early." "Early?" Your eyes narrow back to Remmick who still sat on the floor, a cheesy grin from ear to ear staring back at you. "What the fuck?"

He hiccups, wiping his bloodied mouth with the back of his hand.

It was useless, seeing as he was completely covered in what seemed to be in the blood of - you did a quick headcount, 4 grown men.

"S'all good baby," He hiccups again, shrugging his shoulder as he leans back on his hands. It's there your eyes narrow again, walking towards the man who just stared up at you like you were the sun itself. "Come join the party." "Why are you naked?" you ask, glossing over his party comment, looking him over properly.

His fangs were out, engorged even, and his skin glistened with blood. His chains were completely stained, and there wasn't an article of clothing in sight.

Remmick looks around, his head swaying slightly as he tries pinpointing where he had thrown his clothes.

"Remembered you bein' mad at me last time for staining, thought I'd," He begins to chuckle. "Thought I'd help my girl out."

You repeat his words back to you, trying to make sense of them. He was acting unusual. He never fed in your house, and if he did, he never left anyone behind for you to find.

Kneeling in front of him and carefully avoiding the deadman beside you, you reach out, gripping his chin in your hand.

The smile never leaves his cheeks, even as you force his head up to be levelled with yours.

"What's gotten into you?" You utter, turning his head to the side over and over, looking over his naked body for any signs of an issue. "Something's wrong."

"Wrong?" He sings back, shaking his head out of your grasp. "I'm on top of the fuckin' world darlin', n-never been better."

Up close, it's easy now to hear the slurring in his words. With a glare, you tilt your head. "You're drunk," You whisper, more to yourself than anything. "You little freak, you're drunk."

Remmick scoffs, waving you off. "Vampires don't get drunk," He slurs again, attempting to stand up from the ground. He sways instantly upon standing, your hands reaching out to catch him as he grips your forearms. "We... We're too strong for that, built differently."

"Uh huh," you nod, grimacing as the naked man in front of you continues to grip your arms tightly, knowing he was seconds away from falling. "That's why you're naked in the living room then huh? Cause you're built differently?"

"I'm not, I'm not in the..." Remmick looks around, his eyes lighting up when he realises where he is, his fangs looking sharper than usual as he smiles. "Oh would ye look at that."

Motherfucker.

"You are drunk honey," You repeat, smelling the air. Over the strong smell of blood and the faint scent of his cologne, you could just make out the remnants of liquor. "Jesus, did you have to drain all these guys in the house?"

He shrugs, his fingers beginning to toy with the hem of your shirt. "I ain't drunk, we just, uh - I decided to bring the party here."

"You can't even get a sentence out Rem," you smack his hands away from your shirt before he can stain it further. "Where did you even find these people?

Remmick looks to the man closest to your feet. "Bachelor party," He recalls, the last few hours feeling like a blur. He kicks at the mans shoulder, sniffing as he attempts to pull you in for a hug. "C'mere." "Absolutely fucking not," Your hands press against his bare chest, stopping him from getting closer. "You need a bath, I gotta, christ," you curse. "I have to deal with this."

"Pfft," he waves your words off. "They're not going anywhere."

Glaring at him, you turn him around, your now stained hands pushing against his shoulders as you urge him forward. "Go and wash up Rem, I'm not asking you again." He purrs in his chest, wiggling beneath your grasp. "You usually this gutsy when you're mad baby?" he tries turning around again. "Ye gonna meet me in the bathroom?"

Pushing him forward again, you shake your head. "Stop getting horny, now is not the time Rem."

Remmick scoffs again, his head turning to look over his shoulder. He pouts, his fangs having returned to their normal state. "I'll always have time for you, and what's between those be-," He thinks the word over, as if testing the syllables. He clicks his fingers. "Beautiful legs of yours."

"Good job honey, you got there," He was like a teenager and it was his first time drinking. "That would be sweet if you weren't completely covered in blood and butt naked," a sigh leaves your lips. "Now go."

"I'm not drunk." Remmick wags his finger at you but listens, walking away. He sways in his steps, knocking his hip into a console in the hall. You hear him curse, followed by his heavy footsteps thudding down the hardwood.

You would've laughed at the sight, the dim light of the lanterns in your home bouncing off of his pale, bare behind.

"Christ." Looking around, you wonder where you would even begin. The men sprawled out in your home weren't exactly small, and you sighed, stretching out your arms.

The things you do for love.

It was in the early hours of the morning when you had managed to drag out the men Remmick had fed on. They were covered by a sheet in your garden shed, a problem Remmick will have to deal with once the sun goes down again.

There wasn't a way in Hell he was going to be able to dispose of them properly even with the few hours of darkness left.

Your back ached slightly, your clothes now stained with blood and your house still reeking off iron.

Cleaning up what you could, it was clear within minutes that one of your living room rugs was going to have to be burned. The stains were deep and had already dried.

"Mother fucker," You whisper, folding up the rug and throwing it to the front door. "I'm not drunk he says, come join the party he says." Your face scrunched up as you mocked your lovers words from before, your voice forcing a bad rendition of his accent.

"Darlin'?" Remmick calls out from behind, and you turn around, face dropping upon seeing your man still naked. He had bathed, but there were still traces of blood on his face and chest, spots he had missed seeing as he couldn't see his reflection.

He looked paler, his hands on his toned stomach as he looked around the room.

"You feeling okay Remmy?"

"Peachy baby," He nods, but swallows audibly as he points behind him. "You comin' to bed?"

Your face deadpans. Seriously?

"Bit busy cleaning up your mess baby," You scoff, shaking your head as you lock your front door, determine to deal with your ruined rug in the morning. "You better not have laid down yet, there's still red on you."

Remmick grins once more. "Guess you're gonna have to come help me clean up then huh." His words were still slurring, and you don't miss the way the vampire leans against your doorway for support.

"Why do you need my help with that?" You retort, eyebrow raised. "Thousand years old and you can't wipe your own cheeks?"

He scoffs, reaching up to scratch at the skin of his jaw. "I can clean," He hiccups. "I can clean just fine." "You're wiping the wrong side Rem," You pinch the bridge of your nose, shaking your head as a sigh leaves your lips. "Just, fine, c'mere."

Walking past him, you grab his hand, pulling him along as the two of you walk to your bedroom.

His hands attempt to pull at your hips, to which you smack him away like a parent scolding a child.

Dragging him into the attached bathroom, Remmick follows behind with no complaint.

"Let me hold ye damn it," He whines, and you smack his hands again. "Ow, bitch."

"You are so lucky I am even doing all this," a huff of air leaves his mouth as you push him down gently, making him sit on your toilet as a makeshift seat. "You're dealing with those dead folk in my shed tonight, you hear me?"

"Like tonight as in now tonight?" He asks, his eyes following the way you wet a cloth under the sink. "Or tonight as in, later in the day tonight."

Looking at him as if he were an idiot, you just shake your head, gripping his chin and dragging the cloth over his face, making sure to drag it over his lips.

He preens under your touch, eyes closing as he lets you clean him as if you were a mother hen. "Feels good baby, real good," He sighs in content. "Could let you touch me like this for hours."

"You gonna admit you're drunk yet?" You ask, turning his head to wipe at the dry blood behind his ears.

How the hell did he manage to get blood here?

"Not drunk," the liar immediately answers, smiling from ear to ear as he opens his eyes. "I swear."

"Remmy I came home to you naked in a puddle of blood, a dead guy in your mouth like some cat with a dead bird," you step back, your hands on your hips. "You're still naked, sitting on the toilet like you don't know what day it is."

"S'Wednesday." He replies defensively, ignoring everything else you had said.

"It's Saturday dumbass," You scoff, looking at him in disbelief. "Who is having a bachelor party on a Wednesday? Y'know what, I don't care, I know you're drunk so you can lie all you want."

His mouth opens again to defend himself, but the words get lost as you shove the cloth over his lips again, silencing him.

The two of you are quiet as the vampire begins to hum a tune, words coming out muffled as he eventually says something.

Pulling the now stained cloth away, Remmick looks up at you adoringly, lyrics of a song leaving his lips as your own frown. "Really?"

He continues to sing, and as you wipe down his neck and towards his chest, he attempts to pull away. "Quit fussing," your fingers grip his other shoulder in a tighter hold. "Rem I'm serious."

His serenading doesn't cease, and you throw the bloodied rag into the sink, your arms held up in defence as you step back. "Whatever, I'm bathing now," you nod your head towards the bathroom door. "Out you get."

"Oh come on," He says your name slowly, the word coming out weird, elongated in a way. Remmick pulls his head back, leaning it against the wall behind the toilet uncomfortably. "Can't a man appreciate his woman?"

With your hands on your hips, you nod towards the door again. "You can sing for me out there, I gotta get this shit off me."

Your clothes were no doubt ruined for good, the fabric well and truly stained and smelling of a slaughter.

"W-What if I wipe you down this time?" That familiar grin returns, his head lolling around as he thinks about the various activities you could both do whilst the moon still reigned in the sky. "Whaddya' say?"

"Bed," You order, already turning around to turn on your bath. "There's no way in hell you're gonna be able to keep your hands to yourself."

With your back turned, he watches intently as you bend over the tub, empty the cold water he had used hours prior before you turned the tap, refilling with hot water.

As if sensing your answer, Remmicks hands are already on your behind, runnings his now elongated nails over the cotton covered mound. "Would that be so bad?"

Standing straight and wiggling away from him, you turn around, pointing a finger at his chest. "Yes Remmick, it would be,"

His face softens upon hearing his actual name out of your lips.

No Remmy, No Rem or honey, Remmick.

“You are somehow drunk off of some dead guys blood, so I ain't touching you like this and you are not touching me."

He huffs, hands bunched at his sides as he fights the urge to argue and defend himself, to say you were wrong and that he was completely in control.

Truthfully, he knew he had gotten affected by drunk blood. It wasn't common in his community, having only happening to him before once a couple centuries ago.

He didn't realise how much all the men in the party had digested before he showed up and gatecrashed.

Admitting it to you, his sweet little human was another thing. Too smart for her own good.

Remmick was sobering by the minute, but his mind was still hazy as his natural healing factors attempted to push away at the infected blood.

"Okay," he admits defeat, stepping back. "But I'm holdin' yer little body in bed, can't stop me from doin' that."

"Fine, fine, just get out so I can bathe," Waving him off, you begin to peel away at the layers of clothing that stuck to your skin, turning around to see the drunk man still standing there. "Your ears glued on baby?"

You felt mean, but it didn't take much for Remmick to get turned on - and you'd rather not have to deal with him like that in this state.

"Ye mad at me?" He asks, frowning now as he clenches his fists, looking you in your eyes.

"What? No, just," You exhale, unbuttoning your shirt and throwing It to the floor. "I just want you to go to bed, sleep this off."

"So you love me still." Yeah, he was still out of it.

Remmick still stood naked as the day he was born, now clean of any blood from his earlier endeavours.

"Of course I do," His behaviour was causing you to soften with every passing second, so you step forward, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. "So do me a favour and go lie down, I won't be long."

He nods eagerly, walking out of the bathroom. Within minutes, he pops his head through the doorframe once more.

"Can I tell you a story 'bout the time I went on a uh, what was it called, shit, it was some boat," He immediately starts smiling again, and you roll your eyes. "Titanic! Yeah, t-that was it."

That got your attention, and your head peaks over your shoulder as your eyes widen. "You can tell me just how your Irish ass got off that boat in one piece tomorrow," You shake your head, reaching down to undo your pants. "Jesus."

The fucking Titanic?

Remmick hums in acknowledgment, pleased with your answer as he leaves the bathroom, letting you bathe in peace.

Hoping he would be asleep when you finished, it was no shock to find the man well and truly awake, waiting for your finish in the tub.

He was under the covers, no doubt still naked, and he groaned, seeing you dressed in one of his shirts.

"C'mon now, match me," He coaxes, nodding towards your (his) shirt. "Take it off."

"No," you pat his shoulder urging him to move over as you climb in beside him. "You bloody deviant."

Remmick sighs once more in defeat, muttering something about not being bloody anymore as he moves over, holding the covers up as you climb in and get comfortable.

Immediately his hands reach out, pulling you tighter against him as he presses his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent.

Seeking your warmth, he wraps his arm around your stomach, almost in an attempt to keep your skin flushed against his. "Mm," He mumbles into your flesh, nose nuzzling the skin. "Love you." "I love you too Rem," your voice was a whisper now, and you drag your fingers softly over his arm. "You gonna' tell me stories later yeah?"

"Mm hm, 'course," he presses a kiss to the junction between your throat and shoulder. "All m'stories, they're yours."

"You can tell me everything whilst you clean the rest of the place up," you quip, grinning as you hear him groan against you. "That is if you're not hung over." "Ain't drunk," His words soften as he begins to doze off, hands still gripping you like there was a chance you'd slip away. "I'm not."

You hum in reply.

"You ever heard of Jack the Ripper?" Remmick suddenly says in your ear, his eyes still closed as he exhales.

"Sorry?" Your eyes widen, looking down at the man as he begins to lose himself to sleep. "What are you saying?"

"Mm," His words were softer, still slurred as he snuggles closer. "Goodnight baby."

"No, Remmick - what the fuck," Wide awake, you couldn't believe him right now. Well, you could. "Wake up, what are you talking about?"

Remmick just smiles. "I love you too."

[deerspherestudios]

How long do you think it will take for Chapter 4 to come out? I mean, not because I'm trying to rush you or anything, but I'd really like to know if we'll get Chapter 4 before the end of the year, or even before the end of the year.

I've been following this beautiful game since December 2023, and believe me, I'm excited about every one of your updates on the progress of the project.

Oh boy,.,,,,, I'll be honest I've been a little avoidant in answering when the next update will be released, or how the progress is going. All I can say is I hope to release it sometime this year for sure!!!

It gets a bit personal under here as to why it's taking so long, so feel free to skip!!

TLDR; progress on the script has been slow simply because I get the jitters whenever I continue working on it hahaha.

For a full explanation, I genuinely appreciate people looking forward to the continuation, and I understand people wondering when it'll be done! But it does end up as a bit of a double-edged sword because while I get the reassurance people are still interested in this project of mine, at the same time it makes me anxious to continue in case this next update isn't as good as the previous ones haha. It's definitely the self-doubt speaking!!

I normally wouldn't let feelings like this get to me but something about it this time around has me skirting around the script in fear I could do better if I just postpone it a bit more?? Especially with more and more VNs coming out, it just makes me wonder if I could keep up with everyone.

So I write and re-write and re-write again or distract myself with previous days instead of moving the plot forward. I hate being openly vulnerable about it, especially since I should be grateful for everyone's support; it should be enough to keep me going!! It's just something I really have to work on myself and I figure a little bit of honesty is a good start...

But!! I promise the project isn't abandoned, it's nowhere near being abandoned. I'm just hammering away at it with an unfortunately small hammer.

Hopefully by yapping about it a little bit it helps me see the road ahead better and help me lock in!!! I really truly wanna deliver the next part of the story the best I can, and I hope I'm strong enough to get over this mental block I've been struggling with lately.

If you've read this far, THANK YOU ❤️❤️❤️!!!!!!!

I know it's so very "woe is me" but I think I can trust the people on this platform to be understanding, as you've always been. I hope everyone has a lovely night and day.

[butyoudidthis4what]

I hear you.

Andrew Pope Cody x F!Reader

Based on this ask for the 1k celebration! The prompt was "show me that bruise please."

6.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: Discussion of reader being very briefly assaulted in the form of her arm being grabbed hard; diverges from canon; a fairy bad bruise but no heavy graphic description; canon typical violence in the form of the guy who assaulted you being taken care of by the Cody boys™️; reference to use of a bat as a weapon; mention of a shotgun; super vague reference to drugs if you've watched the show and/or know Craig; mention of a bar; Pope struggles; heavy allusion to sex; emotional-ish but I think still quite fluffy; no use of y/n or related.

Summary: You come home to Pope with a bruise.

AN: My first time writing for Pope. He is a tough one to nail down in all aspects, voice, characterization, movement. So I'm very nervous and concerned about whether this reads and feels like him in those ways. I'm also only about half way through season 4 so I haven't seen all of him quite yet. I didn't get into too much into either Reader or Pope's internal thinking and feelings how I sometimes do. I was trying to keep it lighter and shorter. 😂 Anyway, I hope it reads and feels like him and is nevertheless enjoyable if it doesn't. I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments and thank you so much for reading!

You’re still thinking about how you’re going to tell Pope as you turn down the street of your house. 

You suppose it doesn’t really matter in the end. His reaction will be the same no matter how gently you tell him or how much you play it down. Because it’s you. And so it’s visceral for him. Instinctual. 

Especially when it’s you being injured by someone else.

The two of you met shortly after Deran bought and opened the bar. He hired you as a bartender. To the surprise of everyone, Pope included, the two of you hit it off. He’d come in and sit at the bar before opening while you prepped. You’d talk, he’d listen, would talk some. He talked more over time as he became comfortable with you. You started going to parties at the house which gave you more time together, got him more comfortable around you. Particularly because you generally spent about five minutes in the backyard before slipping with Pope to whatever free room was available and shutting the door. 

You only ever talked. You’d lay on the bed side by side and stare at the ceiling while you talked and during the periods of comfortable silences. You never made him talk. Never made him try to be something he wasn’t. Never tried to push for more while in a bedroom with him. 

He let you help with Lena. It was you he turned to when he had to let her go. He spent considerably more time at your place after, both because he wanted to be there and because you saw what Smurf was doing to him. 

Your relationship was a slow progression. But he finally asked you out like you hadn’t been dating in a way already and things grew from there. You probably moved in together a little too quickly but you had to get him out of that fucking house and away from Smurf. The progression wasn’t linear. Nothing ever truly is. Both of you had things to work through, pasts that made relationships difficult. You stuck together though. And here you are a few years later. You just bought a house together and are both thinking about more in your own heads.

Pope’s on the couch waiting up for you and watching another nature documentary when his phone rings. His brows furrow a little when he sees it’s Deran. “Yeah?”

“Hey, so listen… little physical altercation at the bar tonight-”

“Involving her?” He’s already up and grabbing his keys.

“Yeah but she’s fine, man,” Deran sighs in that vaguely impatient and resigned way he does. “She already left and is on her way home. It really wasn’t much. Some guy grabbed her arm and that was really all he was able to do before it was handled. I just didn’t want to get yelled at for not telling you, so I called.”

Pope’s voice is even lower than usual, seething. “You better hope she’s really okay.” 

He hangs up, turns all the living room lights on, sits back down, and turns the TV off. He’d love to know why the fuck you didn’t call him. 

He hears the garage door opening, your car pulling in and it closing again. He’d taught you that when you guys moved in. To keep the car in reverse and close the garage door before parking, unlocking your car doors and getting out. Safer. Thirty seconds or so later the door leading from the garage into the house opens and you walk in, set your stuff down with its usual clatter. “Hey! I’m home.” 

You toe your shoes off and kick them onto the bottom shelf of the shoe rack how Pope likes. The second you step into the living room and find the TV off, all the living room lights on, and Pope sitting straight up in the armchair you already know. His eyes find yours immediately and stay on you. 

“Deran?” you confirm as you walk further into the living room. You stand near the armchair, close enough that he could stand and reach you or grab your hand as he sits but far enough away to give him space and not be looming over him. 

“Called.” Pope’s face would be unreadable to anyone but you. Everyone would just see anger and his scowl. And yes, he is angry. But you see the slight softness to his eyes, the way his eyebrows furrow just a little differently than when he’s angry, and the way his head isn’t bowed in anger but rather lifted just a little with the slightest tilt. Worried. Pope is worried about you. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

It’s acerbic. It’s Pope being worried and struggling with the vulnerability that worry brings. He’s not sure what he would be without you. Not sure he would continue to be for very long without you.

You tilt your head at him a little, keep your tone soft and volume normal. “Of course I was.” You nod as you say it. “I just thought doing it in person would be better so that I’d be here and you could see I’m okay.”

After a few seconds of consideration your answer earns you an almost imperceptible nod. He likes that thought process, the way you were trying to make this even a little easier on him. “Are you hurt?” You shake your head at him and he accepts it for now. “What happened?”

You shrug. “I was walking back from a table and some guy stopped me and started talking. When I tried to excuse myself to get back behind the bar he grabbed my arm. I got away quickly enough. Left a bruise but it’s really not bad.”

“What?” It’s low, eerily calm and all gravel. And there’s anger, you think. Real anger. Not anger that’s in part masking worry. You can see it and you can hear it. 

“Pope, I’m okay-”

“He left a mark on you. That’s not okay.” His breathing has gotten heavier as his anger grows. It’s not at you and you know that. He’s just livid at the thought of someone leaving a mark on you. He’s glad he can’t see it, that you’re wearing one of his shirts and the sleeve is long enough on you to just about hit your elbow. Glad he has time to try to prepare himself to see it.

“It’s not that bad, it’s just a bruise.” You offer him a small smile to see if it’ll help show him you’re okay. It does. Just slightly. Your smile helps him. Always helps him regulate and come back to center even if just the slightest bit.  “I give myself them all the time.”

He shakes his head a little. “Doesn’t matter how bad it is or isn’t. And if it’s already visible it’s bad enough.”

“Pope, I’m okay. Look at me.” You offer him your hand and after a few seconds he takes it and stands up. You take one of his hands in yours and press his index and middle finger into your wrist, his fingers automatically adjusting until they find your pulse. You cup his face, keeping looking into his eyes. “I’m here,” you murmur. “I’m here with you and I’m okay.”

His jaw grinds a little but he nods and lets out a breath. It’s helped him come down a little. “Show me that bruise please.” His tone has evened back out. He’s not demanding. It’s a statement, but there’s just enough of a slight upward intonation at the end of the sentence that you know you could refuse. 

You don’t want to refuse though. And there’s no point in refusing. He’s going to see it at some point tonight unless you change in the bathroom with the door closed and wear one of his shirts or something long sleeved. 

“Okay.” You nod at him. Pope lets go of your wrist and your hands move from his face, one hanging at your side as the other grabs your sleeve and pulls it up, bunches it at your shoulder before coming down so he can see. You hold that arm out a little for him.

Pope’s breathing picks back up as looks at your arm, uses his finger to ask you to hold it out more and turn it for him. He’s a little lightheaded and a lot nauseous at the sight, red and purple blotches are already settling into your skin. But it’s not so much the red and purple that makes him lightheaded and nauseous. 

“That is not just a bruise,” he grits out, his breathing picking back up again. “That’s his fucking handprint on your skin! That is his fucking handprint bruised onto your arm!” He doesn’t raise his voice or yell though he says the words with force behind them. The words are strained too. A man trying to keep himself collected. At least for now. At least for this conversation with you. 

Pope thought he was livid before, thought he was full of rage. At whoever did this to you. At himself for not being there to protect you. But one look at the handprint shaped bruise on your upper arm has him thinking he’s never truly been livid before. Hasn’t come close to hitting true rage before.  

“I’m okay. It doesn’t really hurt and it’ll fade.” 

“Who was it?” Pope finally pulls his eyes off the bruise and back up to yours. “Is he a regular?” 

You shake your head and let out a concerned breath. “Deran and I already took care of him, Pope. Please. I don’t want you to leave tonight or put yourself at risk while you’re this upset about it.” Your eyes grow a little glassy and the corners of your lips pull down.

Both your words and the look on your face make Pope pause for a second. He can’t let his anger go. But he can at least try to set aside for now. For you. 

“You took care of him?” His eyebrows raise slightly.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Pretty sure I broke his nose. If I didn’t, Deran definitely did. He was there within seconds of my punch to take over for me.”

“With?” You know he’s asking how you might’ve broken the guy’s nose.

“My fist.” You smile a little at the way the quickest little smirk of pride flashes on his face.

“Does your hand hurt?”

“A little maybe.” You open and close it. “Nothing I’d be desperate to take ibuprofen or tylenol for.” 

“Let me see.” He holds his hand out and you place yours in his. Pope looks down and doesn’t love what he sees. Your knuckles are very clearly bruised. “It’ll be worse tomorrow,” he releases your hand and looks at you, “it always is.”

You shrug. You don’t really care. “But hey, it’s not broken because I had such a great self-defense instructor who taught me how to protect myself for the times when I can’t be with my boyfriend.” Something about ‘instructor’ gets to Pope a little, makes his heart beat a little faster. You pull your sleeve back down, covering the bruise. “Probably the most handsome man I ever laid eyes on.” You hold out your hands for Pope and pull him gently and start walking backwards towards your bedroom once he takes them. 

“He can be taken care of again.” He’s talking about the guy who did this to you. You give him a little nod, shrug in admission and acquiescence. The guy could. 

“Auburn curls,” you continue, squeezing his hands. He goes to squeeze back but stops, doesn’t want to make the bruising worse. “The most beautiful hazel eyes. Big hands that enveloped mine. Soft yet firm tummy I could feel whenever he was right behind me helping me position my hands or something. Muscular arms.” You cross the threshold into your bedroom, warmth flooding through you when you watch the corners of his lips twitch up, his eyes crinkle a little as your words make him give you the smallest smile. “Sharp jaw with some stubble that made me shiver when it would scrape lightly over my ear and face when he leaned in from behind to give me instructions.” You stop walking when you and Pope are standing face to face at the end of your bed, stepping close to him and resting your hands against his chest.

“You were supposed to be paying attention.” He tilts his head slightly as he slides his arms around your waist. “To what you were being taught.” 

You smirk at him. “Evidently I was.” You pull your bruised but not broken hand from his chest and wiggle your fingers at him.

“Maybe you need to take a refresher course from this instructor.” It seems teasing. Or the closest to this kind of teasing Pope will probably ever get. And perhaps it is in part, slight part. But really it’s a type of vulnerability Pope only gives you. It’s a veiled ask and expression of concern. He wants to teach you again, assure himself that you know how to defend yourself when he’s not with you. 

“I’d be more than happy to do that.” You nod at him. 

He swallows. “Thank you.”

“Always,” you murmur. You press your lips together and up, ask him for a kiss. He leans down and in to give you one. More than one. Brings a hand up to hold your jaw gently. Like you’ll break. Another silent ask, though you’re not entirely sure for what. You’re not sure he knows. You pull away a little at a natural break in your last kiss. “What do you need?” 

He shakes his head a little. “I don’t…” His eyes wander around your face, jaw rolling as he tries to find the answer. Not because he feels he needs to give you one but because he wants to find the answer for himself. A few quiet moments pass, but you’re patient. You’re always patient with him. He finally gets what he needs articulable, brushes the thumb of the hand still holding your jaw over your lips, just enough force to tilt your head a little. “To look at you. To feel you.” 

You nod as you study him, his eyes. There’s really two ways to give him both of those. But there is only one way he’s using his eyes and body to ask for, consciously or not. 

If he wanted to strip you and lay you on the bed and look over you by kissing every inch of you his free hand would be playing with the hem of your shirt or the waistband of your pants and his eyes would flick to the bed at least once. But neither of those happen. 

Instead his eyes stay locked with yours the entire time. His free hand squeezes your hip gently, gives it the slightest tug to the right. It matches with the way his thumb tilts your head slightly to the right. The bathroom is off to the right. 

It’s obvious. 

“Shower me?” Your words are important. Especially now, especially to Pope. Shower me. Not shower with me. You want him to do this for you. You’re giving this to him. Giving yourself to him. “Wash him off me. Please. I only want you on me.” 

“Yeah,” he nods, “okay.”  

You smile at him as he lets his hand fall from your jaw and take yours. He leads you to the bathroom, closes the door so the steam will heat the room, turns the shower on and lets the water get warm as he strips you, pants and underwear first, then himself completely, and then his fingers play at the hem of your shirt for a few seconds as he tries to brace himself to see it again before he takes it off, makes quick work of your bra.

His anger hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s right there beneath the surface. It flares when the bruise is revealed again, rings in his ears. But you’re more important than it. You need him right now. To take care of you and wash the guy who did this from your skin as much as he can. 

And he needs you. Now and always. Needs to know you’re okay. He feels like his emotions, his worry and resultant need to see and feel you might be out of proportion with what happened, especially to an outsider. Because at the end of the day you are right. It is just a bruise. It’s not life-threatening. You don’t need any medical treatment. But for Pope it might as well have been. It was life-threatening to him because you were in danger and he wasn’t there. The situation was life-threatening even if the bruise it left you with isn’t. 

The whole thing is a reminder of something he knows all too well, how fragile life is, how easily it’s taken away. How easily the woman he loves could be taken away. It makes him breathless if he thinks about it for too long. So maybe his emotions and his reaction feel out of proportion, would seem that way to an outsider. But they aren’t to him. He’s had too much ripped away, seen too much violence and death, and so every threat to you is life-threatening in his mind. 

Pope grabs your hand again before he uses his other to feel the temperature of the water. You bite your lip at it because something about it is just adorable and precious. He wants to hold your hand here in your bathroom. Doesn’t want to be not touching you. 

Once he’s satisfied with the temperature he gets you in first, makes sure you get completely wet and are warm before he lets you spin the two of you so that he’s under the stream of water. When he’s done he moves you back, has you get your hair wet again before grabbing your shampoo. He’s thorough, massages your scalp a little before rinsing and applying your conditioner. He holds you while it sits, hugs you to him, his head turning to rest on your shoulder. After enough time has passed he rinses your hair, makes sure all the conditioner is out. 

The breath of air he lets out as he takes a step back to grab your body wash would be just that, him letting out a breath, to anyone else. But you see it for what it is, a small sigh of relief that he can now finally do what he’s been aching to do. He can wash you, can run a soaped up washcloth over you, follow behind it with his other hand so he can feel you as he looks you over, go over every inch of you to reassure himself. To comfort himself.

You grab the washcloth and start to get it wet as he grabs your body wash. But you stop him. “Yours, please.” He’s still for a few seconds before grabbing his and turning around to take the washcloth for him. You love smelling like him. And you know that smelling like your shampoo and conditioner and his body wash is going to be perfect for him in bed tonight. Because he loves the smell of you but also loves the possessiveness of you smelling like him. Best of both worlds.

The shower has been quiet and continues to be as Pope washes you, kneeling to wash your legs to make sure he feels all of you, looks at all of you. It’s not unusual. It’s Pope. He doesn’t need words to express himself right now. His hands and eyes and lips say everything. He’s worried about you. He’s scared. He’s angry at the guy who did this. He doesn’t like you getting hurt. He hates it. It’s unacceptable. He’s sorry he wasn’t there. He’s going to take care of you. He’s got you. You’re safe with him. 

He loves you. 

You don’t speak because you know how focused he is and wants to remain. You talking might interrupt or distract him. He might not get everything he needs from this. So you watch him wash you, run your hands through wet curls when he’s on his knees in front of you. 

Pope occasionally presses kisses after the hand following the washcloth. To your hip, your collarbones, your knee, your inner wrist, your tummy, the back of your calf, your lower back, up your spine, your shoulder, your hands, your fingers, your neck. He doesn’t care about the taste of soap on his lips, he doesn’t even really register it. 

He avoids it though. That one upper arm. But once the rest of you is finished and it’s the only unwashed part of you he turns his attention to it. You watch the maelstrom of emotions behind his eyes as he looks at it, watch his jaw clench and unclench. Pope looks at you, waits for the soft smile and nod you give him before his eyes turn back to your upper arm.

He’s exceedingly gentle as he runs the washcloth over the bruise, the hand that follows behind it feather light, fingertips dragging over your skin lightly enough to bring goosebumps to your skin even with the heat of the shower. The washcloth hitting the floor makes a slapping sound that neither you nor Pope really hear. He’s too focused on you and you’re too focused on him.

He leans down, drops his head enough to bring his lips to your arm, shifting as he needs to in order to kiss every single square inch of the bruise. His eyes stay on it once he’s done, fingers tracing over it again. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as he brings his eyes back to yours. His scowl has tightened enough to reflect how sad he is, how responsible he feels. They match his slightly glassy eyes. Shame clouds his features and he has to look away, afraid of what he’ll see on your face once his apology processes even though he knows your face isn’t going to change. 

And there’s the fear you knew was coming for him. 

The fear that he fucked up, that he wasn’t there and let this happened and failed to protect you so you’re going to revoke your love. Break up with him. Leave him. Or maybe just punish him with the silent treatment and put downs and little snide comments designed to inflict maximum damage until you decide it’s enough. He knows you won’t do any of that but that type of treatment is all he’s known and even with the years between you where you’ve never done anything of the sort, it’s still almost impossible for the fear to not take him over for a little when he feels like he’s messed up and let you down. It’s a Pavlovian response. And he knows you know that. That you don’t hold it against him or think it’s reflective of what he thinks about you. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Your voice is warm and even. It’s normal, how you always talk to him. You have to fight to keep it that way not because you’re mad at him or upset with him but because seeing him like this, being this hard on himself, feeling this guilty, makes your heart ache for him and hurts worse than the bruise or when it was left. 

“I should have been there.” He shakes his head and you can see his scowl relax back into anger at himself, jaw setting.

You move your hand within his field of vision so that he knows it’s coming when you slide it into his and squeeze. “I know it feels that way, and your feelings are valid and your guilt makes sense, I promise. But we can’t be together every second Pope. And even if you had been there unless you were following me from table to table it would’ve happened all the same.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he’d have seen us together and not tried.” You tug on his hand a little, try to get him to come closer to you so that he’ll be in the stream of water. You can see that he’s cold. But you’re not surprised when he doesn’t move, knows he thinks being cold is just part of the penance he feels he deserves. So you step out of the stream and drop his hand so you can wrap your arms around him and rest your head on his chest. “And I’d have been there. I’d at least have been there.”

As you expected, Pope slides his arms around you and walks you both back into the stream of the shower. You stand there quietly with him for a few moments until he relaxes enough to truly hug you back, lean over you and rest his head on your shoulder. You rub his back, try to give him as much comfort as he’ll accept before you pull back and lean in to kiss him. 

You break the kiss and let your hands leave his body to hold his face so that he’ll look at you again. “I know I can’t take it away from you or convince you that you don’t need to feel responsible or guilty or like you let me down or failed me. But I can tell you that I don’t feel like you’re responsible for it, I don’t feel like you let it happen or that you weren’t there for me or that you let me down or failed me. This doesn’t change anything between us. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going silent.” You give him another couple of kisses before smiling at him, watch him fight to accept your words. “I still love you more than I know what to do with and I still feel loved by you. There hasn’t been a single second since you first told me that I haven’t.”

“There hasn’t been a single second I haven’t.” He’s urgent in the way he says it, like he needs you to know, needs you to believe him. 

“I know,” you murmur. You steal a lingering kiss from him and then settle him back into you. It doesn’t upset you that he doesn’t really verbally acknowledge the rest of what you said. You know he was listening and taking it in and is trying to process it all.

After another minute or so Pope pulls away from you so that he can quickly wash his hair and body. Normally you’d ask to do it for him but you know it would be too much for him right now, that he’d let you but grow even more tense with how much he’d feel like he didn’t deserve it. So you just watch, step out of the stream when he needs to rinse. And when he’s done he pulls you into him so that your back is against his chest, positions you just right so that the water falls on you both but keeps your heads out of the stream as you soak together. 

Eventually you start to talk softly, chatter at him like you do. It’s something he loves about you. That you’ll talk to him and not expect him to talk in return. But you don’t talk constantly either. You know when to and for how long. You’re not afraid of the silence that often falls between the two of you, it’s always comfortable, always feels safe. Sometimes you just like to break it. Sometimes the energy shift within him as he starts to get in his head is so palpable you can feel it and start to talk to bring him out of it before he gets too far in. Sometimes it’s some of both.

He comments from time to time, gives you hums of acknowledgement to make sure you know he’s listening. He doesn’t need to because you know he’s always listening. Always remembering. He’ll bring up something you randomly spoke about as you guys make dinner a month after the fact. Sometimes you don’t even remember. 

You bring a hand up and back and run your fingers through his hair for a second as best you can. “I love your curls when they’re wet,” you sigh happily. 

“You always love them.” 

You giggle a little at him and the way he says it so simply, like he’s saying water is wet or some other obvious fact, almost a little distracted, voice stoic in a way and low enough to be all gravel. “True.”

From there you tell him about other things that happened at the bar. Give him a little more info on just how well Deran took care of the guy. 

“And as Deran’s hauling him over to the door Craig leaves the bathroom,” you pause in a silent we both know why, “and is like ‘yo, what the fuck?’ and starts yelling for Kai to hand him the bat and when she wouldn’t he started to go for the hidden shotgun. Luckily Deran had the guy out by that point, but then Craig found out what happened and was asking for the bat again and saying he was just going to find and have a talk with the guy and make sure he knew I was yours and that he was lucky it was him and Deran there and not you.”

“Fucking Craig,” Pope huffs. But you know his lips are upturned at least a little, know that he loves it, his brothers protecting you, that he loves them. “Deran should’ve let him.” You hum in acknowledgment and stand in comforting silence for a bit. “I’m glad they had your back.”

You don’t comment on those words, know he doesn’t want you to. Instead you tell him the rest of the night was uneventful, let there be a few minutes of silence before you start talking again, this time about whatever pops into your head. Things you need at the grocery store, somewhere you think you guys should go on vacation, another random story someone at work told you, how you need the oil changed in your car. 

The entire time you chatter at him Pope holds you close, kisses at your neck and just below your ear, occasionally letting his lips pull up just a little at something you say or how animated you get, content to listen to you and let you drown out the thoughts in his mind trying to take over. 

“Leave your car tomorrow and take mine. I’ll change the oil.” He gives your neck one last kiss and then moves his hands to squeeze your hips gently. “Let’s get out. The water is getting cold.”

“That would be very nice of you, thank you.” You spin to give him a kiss quickly before you wait for him to turn the shower off and step out, dry himself and wrap his towel around his waist. He holds his hand out for you and you take it, let him grab your towel and dry you off. 

Pope wraps your towel around you to help keep you warm while he sorts out your wet hair for you. You both hang your towels to dry before heading back into your room. 

“No.” He says it softly but it’s loud enough to hear and you turn to him, abandoning the pair of pajamas you were about to pull from the dresser. His eyes flick to the bed and then back to you. “Please,” he whispers. He needs you skin on skin, no fabric between you. He needs to feel your warmth seep into him. Needs to know you still want his skin on yours.

“I’d love that.” You smile brightly at him. It makes his heart seize a little. He’ll never get over you wanting him in every way, of you looking at him like that. Like he’s your world.

Nor will he ever get over sliding into bed next to you and laying on your side, you seeking him out, tangling your legs together and resting your arm across the side of his waist as your heads lay on the same pillow and you look at each other. 

There’s a couple moments of silence as you both settle in. 

“How’d your day go? Anything you want to share?” The smile you wear reassures him he can say no if he wants. 

He shrugs with his top shoulder. “It was fine until that phone call from Deran. Didn’t really do much.”

You hum at him. “Well I’m glad it was otherwise fine.”

He gives you a single nod and the peaceful silence returns. The two of you just rest together, looking at each other, hands running up and down your sides. You watch his face slowly tighten. He has something to admit. 

You give him time to work it out in his head, don’t prompt him or ask him anything. And eventually the silence is broken.

“I’m finding him,” Pope admits.

You let out a small laugh, smile at him and nod. You squeeze his hip. “I know.” 

“Does that make you mad?” That question is quieter, like he’s afraid of the answer and feels like shit for the way he’s not sure a ‘yes’ would be able to stop him. 

“No.” You shake your head. 

“I don’t want to make you mad.” He swallows thickly, like he’s trying to take his next words down with it. “But he bruised his handprint onto your skin. I can’t let that go, I can’t let that go.”

“It doesn’t make me mad, my love. I promise.” You run a hand through his hair. “Just be careful, yeah? Can’t have you getting hurt on me. Or anything else.” You don’t need to specify you’re talking about him getting caught and going back to prison. He knows. 

There’s a brief pause as he accepts your words. “You like taking care of me when I’m hurt,” he mumbles like it doesn’t mean everything to him.

“Well yeah!” you huff a laugh. “But I’d gladly accept never getting to take care of you in that specific way again if it meant you were here with me and never got injured, or sick for that matter, again.”

Pope nods. More silence. He shifts in bed, just a small wiggle. But he has been the whole time. He’s restless. He knows you’re okay but he needs more to quiet his mind. 

“You’re okay?” He breaks the silence again.

“I’m okay.” You smile at him and nod. Your eyes roam his face and then settle back on his as you hear what he wants. “It’s okay if you need more.” You grab Pope’s hand and roll on your back, tug on his hand to get him to follow you so that he’s on top of you. “If you haven’t felt me quite enough to really believe that I’m okay.”

“Yeah?” he breathes with a nod. 

You lean up and kiss him, run a hand through his curls and use it to guide his head down with yours as you kiss. “Yeah,” you whisper against his lips. 

He kisses you this time, gives you a tiny grunt of appreciation when you open your mouth for him so he can taste you. As you kiss you grab his hand, guide it over your body to remind him that he can touch you, that you’re his, all of you. He doesn’t need much of a reminder, hands roaming all over you as he kisses you breathless. His hands are softer than usual, gentler. He doesn’t squeeze quite as hard. It’s not that he doesn’t want to mark you, he loves marking you. But not tonight. He can’t tonight. 

You whine in discontent when he breaks the kiss and pulls up to look down at you, hazel eyes blown and chest heaving slightly. “Thank you. For not making me ask.” He gives you another lingering kiss and pulls up a little and looks at you again like you’re unreal, a figment of his imagination. But he could never imagine something as good as you, no matter how hard he tried. “You never make me ask.”

“You do ask.” You sigh softly as he moves one of his hands closer to where you want it. Where he wants it. “Just not with words. You ask with your eyes. With your hands, your body. And I learned quickly how to listen. How to hear you.” You widen your legs for him letting his pelvis drop down and settle against yours more as you continue to look him in the eye. His hips and yours roll and his hand falters as you both find friction another way. He gives you a soft groan as his hand starts moving closer again, though for a different purpose this time. The pleasure Pope’s sending through you has your voice breathy and low as your hands tangle in his hair and pull him closer again so that your lips touch. “I hear you. I’ll always make sure I can hear you.”

I hope it was okay and 'Pope' enough! I love hearing your guys' thoughts and comments, they give me serotonin, motivation and inspiration!! Liking, replies and reblogging are always so so appreciated! My inbox and DMs are always open for thoughts, comments, and general screaming!

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[factual-fantasy]

Soooo I decided to take the plunge and try something new. 👀💎💎💎

Now I know what you're thinking-- "FACTUAL IS SUPER UNCOMFORTABLE WITH FANART!! WHY WOULD THEY JOIN ARTFIGHT??" Hear me out--

There's two✌️things I've been wanting to try recently. 1: I've wanted to try getting out of my comfort zone and find a way to allow people to draw fanart for me. And 2: I've wanted to test the waters of drawing others peoples OCs, since I will likely need to start doing those kinds of commissions soon..

So I thought hey! Why not try Art Fight this year?? So here's my plan-

I imagine I would be uncomfortable with people drawing Bibi or my sona, but what if I made a brand new OC? One that I'm not emotionally attached to yet and one I specifically designed for other people to draw? Maybe that wont feel so bad, right? So that's what I did!

Right now there's only one character up on my Art Fight, but I'd like to try and add 4 more before the event is over. And as soon as the event starts, anyone is free to draw her! I don't know all the rules of who is allowed to post what where, but I'm sure ya'll know!

Well. I guess that's all I had to say! I spent all day drawing this character so I hope ya'll like her! See you on the battle field in 13 hours! XDD💎🦴

[vigilante-3073]

Daddy's Credit Card

Cullen Family x Female Reader

Jacob Black x Female Reader

PART 14

Summary: The Volturi make their way to Forks and Carlisle wonders if the witnesses they've gathered will be enough.

TW: Mention of broken bones/accidents/blood/religion/death.

Carlisle stood at the window, watching the snowflakes flutter down onto the ground. The tension in the house was palpable as everyone prepared to face the Volturi. Alice and Jasper still had not returned, but it was beginning to look like they never would.

Esme stepped over to her husband, "I'm sure that everything will work out, Carlisle. We've done everything that we possibly can to show them that we've done nothing wrong," Esme assured.

"Something feels off about all of this. I can't figure out what it is, but it worries me," Carlisle said.

"It's a tense situation. I'd be concerned if you didn't feel a bit off," Esme admitted.

"I was hoping that Alice and Jasper would be back by now, but we're out of time," Carlisle said.

"Hopefully they'll be back with us soon," Esme replied.

"Hopefully," Carlisle repeated, looking out into the forest as more snow fluttered down to the ground below.

"I should give Y/N some more pain medication before we leave," Carlisle said, Esme nodded.

"Jacob is still with her. They make quite a pair, don't you think?" Esme questioned.

"I do... I just wish that they had more time together," Carlisle said.

Esme smiled sadly, "You did everything that you could for her, Carlisle. She can't be saved," Esme said.

Carlisle nodded, "I should've done more for her. More travel or more research. If I pushed hard enough, maybe I could have stopped this," He admitted.

"She hasn't been happy for quite some time, Carlisle. Y/N has come to accept what's happening to her and you should too. You can't blame yourself for this," Esme said gently.

"You're right," He nodded.

Carlisle's eyes flickered over her face, "I don't know what I'd do without you," He said, resting his hand on her back and pressing a gentle kiss to her temple.

Edward made his way around the corner, lingering a few steps away. Carlisle looked over at him, "We should get going," Edward said.

"Alright... I just need to check on Y/N one last time before we leave," Carlisle said, Edward nodded.

Carlisle picked up his medical bag from the table before making his way down to Y/N's bedroom. Carlisle knew that he would always regret not taking action sooner, but all he could do now was make her comfortable.

Carlisle opened the door to her bedroom, stepping inside to see Y/N asleep on Jacob's chest as they laid together in her bed. Jacob looked over at him before gently brushing his palm over her bicep.

"Hey, Y/N... Carlisle has more medication for you," Jacob said, she hummed softly before lifting a hand to rub at her eyes.

Carlisle set his bag on the table, pulling out his supplies as Y/N began to stir slowly. Carlisle filled a syringe with medication before approaching the bed. He tore open an alcohol wipe, cleaning the skin on the back of Y/N's bicep before injecting her with the medication.

"We're leaving for the battlefield," Carlisle said, looking up at Jacob.

"Who's staying behind for Y/N?" Jacob asked.

"She'll be fine on her own for a few hours," Carlisle assured.

"I don't know about this... She's sick," Jacob said.

"I'll be fine. Go," Y/N mumbled.

Jacob sighed, "Don't do anything stupid while we're gone, okay?" Jacob questioned, Y/N nodded.

Jacob brushed her hair out of her face before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, "Be safe," Y/N murmured.

"I'll try my best," Jacob assured.

He got out of the bed carefully, pulling the blankets up over her shoulder with a sigh. Jacob straightened up, reluctantly making his way over to the door.

Carlisle followed him out into the hallway and down to the living room. Bella knelt down in front of Renesmee, buttoning up her coat for her.

"How's Y/N?" Bella asked.

"She'll be alright. She's pretty tired with all the pain medication so hopefully she'll just sleep the whole time," Jacob said.

"At least she's comfortable," Bella said, standing up from the floor.

"That's true," Jacob nodded, picking up a few bags from the floor, "Shall we?" He questioned.

Edward nodded, "We found a good spot to set up camp in for the night," He said.

"Lead the way," Jacob said.

The Cullen family, Jacob, and nearly thirty Vampire witnesses set off into the woods. They walked for a few hours before they entered the clearing that Edward had found earlier in the day.

A tent was set up for Renesmee to sleep in and a fire had been started by Benjamin. The group told stories and chatted with one another for a few hours until Jacob decided to get a few hours of sleep. He let himself into the tent and laid down, watching Bella stroke Renesmee's hair as she slept soundly.

He hoped that everyone would survive the battle against the Volturi, but there was no way for him to really know. It felt like it was going to be their last night on Earth. Hopes within the group were either incredibly high or abysmally low as they waited for morning.

Jacob was trying to be optimistic, not for himself but for Y/N. Jacob had fallen in love with her and he made her a promise that he'd return safely. It was not a promise that he ever intended on breaking.

...

The sky was just beginning to brighten as the morning sun rose over the horizon. The Cullen house was silent as the Vampires, Werewolves and the small Hybrid girl made contact with the Volturi a few miles away.

Y/N began to wheeze in her sleep, chest stuttering as she struggled to fill her lungs with air. Y/N woke up in a panic, suddenly aware of the sharp pain on the right side of her chest.

Y/N threw off the blankets and climbed out of her bed quickly, her knees buckled and sent her body tumbling to the floor. Her muscles were weak and she could feel her kneecaps fracture as they collided with the wood.

Y/N got back up despite her body aching in protest, stumbling over to the door as she gasped for air.

"Carlisle," She wheezed, opening the door and moving out into the hallway. Her shoulder slammed into the wall, the bone crumbling at the contact.

Y/N pressed her hand against her chest as she shuffled down the hallway, lips turning blue as she gasped for air. Y/N moved over to the top of the stairs before taking a final desperate inhale. Her eyes rolled back into her head as her knees buckled, sending her body tumbling down the stairs.

Y/N's head collided with the edge of the metal railing before her body stilled at the bottom of the staircase. Her lips were blue as blood began to flow from the wound on her head.

Y/N's panicked eyes stared up at the ceiling as she silently prayed for someone to find her. She couldn't move and she couldn't speak, paralyzed and powerless as her body failed her. Her bones were shattered, the pool of blood expanding across the floor as she let out soft gasps for air.

Y/N was terrified, dying alone had become her worst fear and like some form of poetic justice, it was the death she would get. She would never get to see Jacob again and he would never forgive himself when they found her here.

Y/N blinked up at the ceiling as tears gathered in her eyes, watching the morning sunlight inch across the white walls. Her body trembled, adrenaline beginning to wear off as the pain made itself evident.

Y/N hadn't thought about what she hoped to get from her last moments. She wished that someone could be with her, holding her hand and telling her it was going to be alright even if they didn't know.

She wanted to see the sunrise one last time.

She wanted to feel the breeze on her skin.

She wanted to talk to Jacob.

She wanted to hear the sound of his heartbeat one last time.

Y/N wanted to tell him that she loved him.

But now she'd never have the chance.

For the first time in her life, Y/N prayed. She had never had a real understanding of religion, but in her final moments, it finally made sense. Y/N had a lot of regrets over her lifetime, she knew that she had never been a very good person.

Y/N allowed the hardships that she endured to turn her cold and make her vengeful. She should have been kinder or tried to make amends, but she hadn't. Y/N prayed for forgiveness, desperately hoping for another chance even though she knew it wasn't possible.

Y/N heard the door open, unable to turn her head as multiple sets of footsteps moved across the floor. She was saved. They had come back. She was going to be alright.

"Oh, my dear, what a sad end for you," A familiar voice said.

Y/N couldn't move, waiting silently until the figure approached her. Aro stared down at her with a grin, hands folded in front of himself as he watched her struggle to stay alive. He knelt down beside her, taking her hand and looking through her memories.

"Such a poor girl. Fallen so far from grace," Aro said.

"We are wasting time, Aro. The Cullens could return at any moment," Caius spat.

Aro released Y/N's hand, allowing it to fall onto the floor limply before standing up, "The girl comes with us," He said.

Marcus tilted his head, staring at the blood as it spread across the floor, "The girl is as good as dead, Aro," He rasped.

"As good as dead?" Aro repeated, "Death seems so final, doesn't it? Yet, for us, finality is often... Negotiable," Aro mused.

"Is there something you're not telling us, Aro?" Caius questioned.

"Patience, my friends, all will be revealed in time," Aro said, slowly making his way out of the room.

Marcus stepped over to Y/N, kneeling down and sliding his hands underneath her broken body. He carefully lifted her body into his arms before following Aro and Caius out of the Cullen home.

All that remained was the pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs.

...

The Cullen family returned home, the witnesses dispersed and the Wolves returned to their land. The group slowed to a stop as they approached the driveway, the smell of blood hanging heavily in the air.

"Is that blood?" Bella asked softly.

"Y/N," Jacob mumbled, running up the stairs and bursting into the house.

"Oh my god," He mumbled, immediately locating the large pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs.

Jacob stepped over it, searching the entire ground floor of the house while calling out for Y/N. He returned as Edward completed his search of the upstairs.

"Where is she? Where could she have gone?" Jacob questioned.

"I don't know. She clearly left her room in a hurry, so maybe she fell," Edward said.

Carlisle stared down at the pool of blood on the floor, "It's possible that the Volturi never cared about Renesmee," He said.

"What? What do you mean?" Jacob questioned.

"You told them that Y/N was sick," Alice mumbled.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? You think that they took her?" Jacob asked, looking over at Carlisle.

"I had a bad feeling about this and I couldn't put my finger on why. I think they wanted us away from the house so they could get to her," Carlisle said.

"Why would they want her?" Rosalie asked, Carlisle hesitated.

"You think they're going to experiment on her?" Emmett asked.

"I don't know. But I'm sure they want to conduct their own research into whether or not it's contagious," Carlisle said.

"You think that they want to weaponize it?" Jasper questioned.

"I don't know. I just- I don't know why else they would take her," Carlisle said.

"We have to go find her," Jacob said firmly.

"Let's do it," Emmett said, clenching his fists.

"There may not be anything we can do, the amount of blood alone-," Carlisle started.

"No, no, she is not dead. She can't be dead," Jacob snapped.

"We can't go up against the Volturi. If Alice's vision came true today, a lot of lives would have been lost. One life may not be worth the risk, especially if she's already injured, " Edward said.

"Are you serious? I thought you cared about her. All that talk about making things right with her was just a lie?" Jacob questioned angrily.

"It's an impossible situation," Carlisle stated.

"She's hurt and none of you even care. Y/N deserves better than this and you all know it," Jacob spat.

"We care. She's family," Rosalie snapped.

"You certainly aren't acting like it," Jacob said.

"Jacob's right... We have to do something," Bella said, looking over at her husband.

"I'll reach out to them and try to figure out why she was taken," Carlisle replied reluctantly.

Jacob scoffed, "They're not going to tell you anything and you know it," He stated.

"I can't push the envelope with the Volturi, Jacob. I will do my due diligence, but you need to understand that she was very sick and has likely passed away," Carlisle explained gently.

"And what if she's not? What if they're hurting her? She's probably alone and scared," Jacob said.

"And if she's already dead, we'd be risking our lives for nothing," Edward said.

"You people are ridiculous," Jacob muttered, shoulder bumping roughly into Edward's as he exited the house.

"He's right," Bella said.

"No, he isn't. Not this time... She's gone," Edward stated.

[revelboo]

Hi revel! I don't know of you've ever considered writing for him but I love my malewife G1 Mirage and I never see any fics of him, so I thought I'd come to my fave writer (especially because I can't write for the life of me) with the idea g1 mirage I feel like would have sugar daddy vibes. Like he cares deeply about his person of interest but can't communicate his feelings so he just absolutely SPOILS them, especially when u look at his background and story. Bonus if the reader is kinda poor and has never had anyone to spoil them and is absolutely living for it but also kinda oblivious to his feelings because surely this older rich bot wouldn't ever look at them like that. last tidbit because this is getting long I feel like mirage would also love a partner with a bit of an attitude and playful personality and trusting of him since the other autobots aren't too sure about him and his loyalty :(. I think he would love that. Anyways thats all! Ty for ur service to the fandom <3

Sure, I can try!

Scenario-Pampered

Mirage x Reader

• “I have something for you, sweetspark.” Head lifting from where you were doodling with charcoal at Mirage’s coaxing tone, you smile. Because you know some of the humans complain about having been abducted, but you? Going from working a horrible, minimum wage job and struggling to pay bills while living off ramen packets to being fussed over by an alien socialite who seems to want nothing more than to spoil you? You’re definitely not complaining. He’s sweet and seems happiest making you happy. Though sometimes his expression is so lonely when he’s watching you that you have to reach and touch his servos.

• Dangling a slinky, silken covering from his servos, he smiles indulgently when you grin up at him. ‘It’s gorgeous,’ you breathe, fingers reaching to touch it and he lifts it above your head, rumbling. “Darling, you’ve made a mess of yourself,” he says, reaching out his other hand to brush the tip of a servo against your cheek, chuckling when it comes away smudged with charcoal. Your hands and arms up to your elbows smudged and you flash him a sheepish smile that makes his spark ache. Because you’re happy to see him even when he doesn’t come bearing gifts, but he enjoys making you comfortable. Making sure you have everything so you stay happy. Stay with him. “Go wash.”

• Huffing, you head into your little private area to wash the charcoal off, scrubbing under your nails so he’ll let you have your present. And he seems to love dressing you up, sipping energon and laid back watching you try on outfits for him, his optics bright. Silk, faux fur, leather, feathers. You have no idea where he keeps getting the clothes, but you like the way he watches you model them for him, his optics half-shuttered as one corner of his mouth curls. Flushing when you find him leaning over your sketches, you wish you’d flipped them over.

• You’ve drawn him. Over and over. Smiling, frowning, recharging. And his head lifts when you walk over, face red. You’d mentioned once that you’d wanted to be an artist as a child, so he’d found you every art supply he could. Wants you happy, because without you, he’s alone. Most of the other Autobots wanting little to do with him, because he’d not struggled like they had in the early days of the war. He’d been comfortable, aware of the rumblings of war on the horizon, but sure it couldn’t touch him. He’s almost certain that because he’d had wealth, he’s associated with the corruption of the senate. An Autobot, but never able to actually belong, because his loyalty can never be trusted and it hurts. But you just see him. Like him. “With the black fur, I think,” he murmurs, holding the covering out to you and smiling when you smooth your fingers against the material. “Go show me.”

• Carrying the loose dress into the little privacy area he’s set up for you, you strip and pull it on over your head. Find the plush, faux fur he loves to see you in and drape it over your shoulders. And the dress is provocatively cut, the neckline plunging and a slit running up the thigh. It’s a negligée, you realize flustered. He’s been bringing you lingerie lately and you know he doesn’t know better. He’d just seen something he’d thought you might like. Walking out, you see him smile, leaning his chin on his fist. “Do you like it? Are you happy?” Smiling as you hold your arms out from your body and do a little spin for him, you freeze when his servo brushes against your collar bone to push your hair over your shoulder before dropping to slide against your hip feeling the material as your heart races. ‘I love it,’ you whisper as his head tips, those lovely optics hungry.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

oh could you write something cute about the reader and Lando please, maybe something funny where the reader says "oh yeah I'll do this but for that you'll buy me a Porsche" and Lando actually buys her a car 🧡

iconically bankrupting 𖹭

★ ln x reader ˎˊ˗

★ fluff + humour ˎˊ˗

masterlist ☾☼

i'd love your support! https://ko-fi.com/kavi2305

"landoooo," you teased, lounging on his motorhome couch, "i might be persuaded to help you with that sim setup, but... you know, i'm a high-maintenance sim consultant."

lando, tangled in a web of wires, glanced up, a playful grin spreading across his face. "oh, really? and what outrageous fee are we talking about?"

"oh, just a little something," you said, waving a hand dismissively. "a porsche. papaya orange, of course. the works." you were obviously joking, you knew he knew, it was a running gag between the two of you.

lando chuckled, shaking his head. "you're ridiculous. i'm not buying you a porsche. we're dating, not running a luxury car giveaway."

"but think of the content!" you exclaimed, feigning a dramatic pose. "the instagram posts! the tiktok trends! 'lando norris buys girlfriend porsche after sim setup help!' it'd be iconic."

"iconically bankrupting me," lando retorted, but his eyes twinkled. "how about i buy you an ice cream instead? a really big one?"

"ice cream's not a porsche," you said, but you were laughing now. "but i'll take it."

you spent the next hour helping him with the sim, offering playful jabs and genuine advice. he, in turn, grumbled good-naturedly, occasionally stealing a quick kiss when he thought you weren't looking.

finally, the sim was working perfectly. lando, beaming, launched into a virtual lap, setting a blistering time.

"see?" you said, grinning. "i told you i could fix it. now, about that ice cream..."

lando laughed, pulling you into a hug. "you're never going to let that go, are you?"

"nope," you said, hugging him back. "but i was joking about the porsche, you know that right?"

"i know," he said, and kissed the top of your head.

a few weeks later, you were at your apartment, scrolling through your phone, when you heard a loud honking from outside. you looked out the window, your jaw dropping. parked in front of your building was a brand-new, gleaming papaya orange porsche 911.

you rushed downstairs, your heart pounding. lando was leaning against the car, a wide, slightly sheepish grin on his face.

"surprise," he said, tossing you the keys.

"lando!" you exclaimed, your voice a mix of disbelief and laughter. "you didn't!"

"i did," he said, shrugging. "i know you were joking, but... i wanted to. and you really do look good in orange. plus, you deserve it."

"but... i was kidding," you said, shaking your head. "i didn't actually want a porsche."

"i know," he said, his eyes filled with affection. "but i wanted you to have it. and i really like spoiling you."

you launched yourself into his arms, kissing him soundly. "you're absolutely insane," you said, pulling back, "but i love you so much."

"i love you too," he said, his eyes twinkling. "now, how about we take this beauty for a spin? i'll even let you drive, but only if you promise to drive carefully."

you grinned, grabbing the keys. "deal. but you're still buying the ice cream."

and with that, you and lando sped off, the roar of the porsche engine a testament to his extravagant affection and your playful, loving relationship.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

i'm just clearing out my drafts/inbox! i can't write x reader anymore, i'm more interested in being gay! (this is a joke, but fr, i can only do rpf now)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @anamiad00msday ; @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @peterholland04 ; @justaf1girl ; @greantii ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry ; @hiireadstuff ; @midnight-and-books ; @landoscarino ; @stylesmoonlight12 ;

[angelltheninth]

Jinu Uses You For His Pleasure

Pairing: Jinu x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, dub-con, rough sex, creampie, breath play, enemies who fuck, being pinned down, growling, possessive sex, edging, cum swallowing, slight breeding kink, marking, cunnilingus, blowjob, demon x human

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: I've had multiple requests for more dub-con with Jinu, so here it is! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it because I really enjoyed it.

Jinu hated you right now, more than he usually hated you, which was probably the reason he was so rough and forgiving as he pounded your cunt relentlessly. "You thought I'd let you get away with that? You thought you were innocent when you batted your eyelashes at all those fans, blew kisses at them while signing pictures for them. Did you think I wouldn't notice when others look at something that's mine?!"

He didn't care how you squirmed or fought back against his grip, you can't break it, it only makes him grip your wrists tighter, pin you down against the couch harder.

"You don't own me, and the fact that you act like you do… it's funny to see you pissed off." Jinu growled at your taunting insult, his marks appearing around his body more clearly, his human facade fading the angrier he got. You couldn't help but think how attractive he was, half way between the human idol everyone worships and half the demon you've been fighting for what feels like lifetime.

"You say that and yet your body wants me, your pussy so tight I can hardly pull out. You can fight, scream, curse me out all you want until your voice is gone but until I make sure your body knows who it belongs to, who can use it, I won't stop." His cock twitched inside of you, the fat tip hammering into your womb, pushing more and more of his seed in and showing no sign of stopping.

You didn't exactly want to piss him off, you didn't even want to see him, ever again. But given that it was inevitable and he was a complete asshole to you last time he fucked you it was only right that you got some payback. Even if it hurt to get fucked like this, it made your whole body ache, it made your head dizzy, but it was worth it to see Jinu lose control.

Jinu groaned as your hips snapped up against his, not enough to knock him off, not nearly enough. "I love it when you fight me." You blinked and there he was, fully in his demon form. "Women like you are my favorite to break, so strong, so beautiful, and before you know it, all mine. Mine to use, mine to have whenever I want, mine to fuck and fill you up with as many babies as possible."

"You're delusional if you think that's going to happen. I'll never… ugh.. submit to the likes of you. You're nothing but a lowly… demon. Nothing but a- mmn… wh-" He sopped. He was fully buried inside of you but he wasn't moving. You hiccuped, voice breaking from the sudden lack of stimulation. "What are you doing?"

"Having fun with my human. What else?" He moved back slowly and then even slower slid back in. "Mmm, let me enjoy your sweet pussy, so warm and tight, already full of my seed. Bet your fans would think of you differently if they knew how much you were craving a good fuck. Saw how utterly full of cum you are, and wanting more. Tch. Not very idol-like of you, is it?"

"Shut up. I don't want to hear that from you. You god damn hypocrite!" You moved up as much as his grip allowed you to, a hair between the two of you. "Are you scared you can't measure up? Is that why you do this? You know you can't get any unless you're being forceful with me?" You could see your words were making him angry, but never the less his cock reacted, his hips too, snapping harder and faster with every taunt.

"Human… you need to learn some manners." Jinu pulled out of you entirely, all his cum spilling from your pussy. What was even more surprising was that he let you go, at least you thought he did before his legs pressed against your arms, once again pinning you down on the couch. "You have quite a mouth. Let's make you put it to a better use shall we?"

With a sharp growl he plunged his entire cock down your throat, fucking your mouth mercilessly, making you choke on his dick, gasp for air. You moaned and gurgled around his cock, every word you tried to speak only adding to his pleasure as your tongue lapped against it. Jinu leaned over and wrapped his arms around your hips to pull your lower half up, letting his cum drip down your ass as his tongue lashed at your clit.

"What's wrong, is my bitch struggling to breathe? My cock too much for you? You better come quickly then. Cause I'm gonna keep fucking you until you do. Teach you to mouth off to me. Oh, and all of this…" Jinu pushed two fingers into your aching pussy, "…for every drop of cum that you waste I'll fuck more into you, so don't think I'm gonna let you go so easily."

His still full balls smacked against you as he fucked your mouth and throat, his tongue drawing patterns on your clit, fingers fucking you hard but not enough. You didn't want to let him win, but you also didn't want him to have you in this humiliating position, making you choke on his cock. Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes as you begrudgingly focused on his cock, your tongue licking the salty cum that dripped down, licking the pulsing veins, your hips rocking towards his face.

"That's a good girl. Yeah, you're mine. Best to accept it. Let yourself be mine, all mine. Let yourself come." His knees lifted from your arms and you felt shame well up inside of you as you gripped his thighs to keep his cock in your mouth as you came, swallowing around it, making him release down your throat, greedily gulping it down. "Such a good slut."

Jinu's let your legs fall against the couch and pushed himself off. He looked down at you, your face flushed, eyes red, tears running down your face, his seed leaking from between your legs and from the side of your mouth.

As he grinned you felt the urge to hide. "Pretty cumslut, filled with cum on both ends." You threw your arm over your face and chewed on your bottom lip. A mistake as you tasted his cum even more intensely. "I'm feeling nice so I'll let you catch your breath for a moment." Jinu walked around and pushed himself between your legs, his still hard cock nudging between your dripping folds.

His hands massaged across your body almost gently, helping to ease the tension enough to push his cock back in. "That… I… can't anymore…"

"Yes, you can." He sighed as he bottomed up, his mouth curling upwards at the whimpering sound you made. "Shhh, this is all I'm doing. Just want to be inside of you. Rest up, my darling. Because I'm not sure how long I'll be able to hold myself back."

[mrpenguinpants]

From the start. [ Sneak Peek ]

— When you’ve bestied so hard, you end up stuck in a nine-year pining phase. You were sure Phainon would eventually get hitched to Mydei, letting you finally move on with your feelings—but things didn’t go as planned. Now, he’s back to being single, and you’re not about to let this drag into double digits. It’s now or never.

Contains: Modern AU | Failure reader vs boyfailure Phainon | Probably OOC | Phainon x Mydei (not end goal)

Full Fic: [ TBA ] [Masterlist]

My offering to Phainon: a happy ending. I am literally posting this right before I roll, so please come home with your lightcone, and my life is yours.

"Mydei and I broke up."

The words barely have time to settle before you choke—loud, graceless, like you’ve just inhaled the ash from every cigarette butt ever discarded on the streets. It’s ugly. It’s embarrassing. It’s entirely expected.

Phainon, to his credit, is polite enough not to laugh or comment. He doesn’t even give you one of those insufferable, knowing smirks. Instead, he simply slides a cup of water toward you—because, despite everything, he’s a gentleman. You snatch it up, throat burning, lungs spasming in betrayal. Tiny tears prick at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as you desperately fight to suppress the hacking. You take a slow sip—careful, measured—because the last thing you need right now is to choke again and actually die before you can process what the hell you just heard.

"Sorry, one more time. I think I just had a brief hallucination," you say, blinking rapidly as if that might reset reality itself. Your voice wavers between disbelief and queasiness, your throat still raw from choking. There’s a ringing in your ears as your brain is actively rejecting the information, trying to overwrite it with something that makes more sense. Because seriously—what the fuck did you just hear?

"Mydei and I broke up… yesterday," Phainon repeats, sounding almost sheepish as he drops his gaze back to his food—the same food he’s been absentmindedly poking at for the last few minutes, pushing grains of rice around. Which, in hindsight, should have been a massive red flag. This man, who has raided your fridge at three in the morning as a starving raccoon in the throes of a failed calorie deficit—who has, on more than one occasion, inhaled an entire meal before you even had time to sit down—has been sitting here, not eating.

Yup. You heard that right.

Phainon—the very same Phainon you were pretty sure was going to drop to one knee by the end of the year, who spoke about Mydei like the sun wouldn’t rise without him—is now single.

"I'll kill him. Where did you say he was now? I have a shovel in my trunk," you say, keeping your voice as serious as possible. Because there’s just no way Phainon did anything wrong—this man is the biggest green flag you’ve ever seen in your life. The kind of person who would help an old lady cross the street, return extra change to the cashier, and offer you the last slice of cake without hesitation.

Thankfully, Phainon laughs at your joke.

(It’s not a joke.)

His laughter is bright and full-bodied, the kind that fills the entire room and makes everything feel a little lighter, and the air itself is easier to breathe. He throws his head back, shoulders shaking, eyes crinkling with pure amusement. And, seriously—Mydei. How the hell did you fumble this bag?

"Please don't. I'd be upset if I couldn't see you again," he chuckles, the sound warm and familiar. But the laughter barely has time to settle before his expression dims, like a candle flickering against an unseen draft.

"It's not like that," Phainon says, his voice quieter now, more measured, "We still care a lot about each other, it's just… with me here finishing school and him moving back to Castrum Kremnos to take over his dad's company, the distance is… hard."

His fingers idly trace the rim of his cup, slow and deliberate, as if the motion alone can ground him. But his gaze—fixed somewhere on the table—is distant. Somewhere far away, lost in thoughts he isn’t saying out loud. It’s not just about the breakup. It’s the weight of everything unspoken, the quiet acceptance of something slipping through his fingers, of a future he must have once imagined but now has to let go of.

"Plus," he exhales, shoulders slumping just a fraction, "We barely even get a chance to see each other. So it's… for the best that we end things here before we start—before things reach the point of no return."

His words hang in the air, heavy yet resigned like he's already gone through every possible outcome and settled on the least painful one.

Ah. Healthy communication and putting yourself first. Can't relate.

"B-But… I mean, yeah, sure, but… maybe just go on a break?" you blurt out, your voice catching on the words as your fingers twist together, the nerves in your chest coiling tighter with every passing second, "I'm sure—no, I'm positive—that the two of you could work it out. I mean, from the sound of things, it’s not as if you’ve completely cut each other off, so…"

Your words spill out in a frantic tumble, desperate, scrambling for something—anything—to hold onto, because this doesn’t make sense. It can’t. Not when you know Phainon, when you’ve seen it all unfold from the very beginning. You were there for the late-night hangouts, for the bleary-eyed conversations stretching into the early hours, for the quiet moments when he thought no one was watching and the messy ones when emotions boiled over.

You were there that night at the bar, sitting across from him as his whole world tilted on its axis—watching in real time as he fell in love with that blonde guitarist, his expression caught somewhere between wonder and panic. You were the one who got blasted with late-night texts, Phainon slipping into full schoolgirl mode, overanalyzing everything—every glance, every word, every infuriatingly cryptic emoji Mydei sent back. He filled your notifications with fire emojis and tongue-sticking-out faces over literally anything Mydei did, as if each moment was proof of something bigger, something just out of reach. You were the one he ran to, sobbing in full-blown hysteria because he thought Mydei had a crush on Castorice, even though everyone knew Castorice was very uninterested. You were the one who sat beside him through the worst of it, suffering through the absolute shittiest action movies just to take his mind off things, pretending not to notice when his eyes stayed glassy long after the credits rolled.

So no, you don’t get it. You can’t get it. Because after everything—after all of that—how is he just letting this go?

"Mmm, perhaps," Phainon says mysteriously, his voice tinged with something you can't quite place, as he finally takes a bite of his food—food that's surely gone cold by now, the steam long gone. God, he looks like a sad puppy, his posture slumped, and the soft, distant look in his eyes makes something tighten in your chest.

"Don't get me wrong," he continues, chewing slowly, his gaze flicking back to the table, avoiding your eyes, "I'm not fine with this. With any of this. But with the way things are going... I don’t think we would have lasted long."

Bullshit, but okay. Go on.

"We have different futures that don't mesh well," Phainon says quietly, his voice thoughtful, "It would be unfair for me to ask him to drop everything, just as it would be unfair if he asked me to drop everything here and move back to Kremnous with him, to stay there for the rest of my life. You know, right person, wrong time. I know, on the outside, we looked fine, but I think I was unsatisfied with the relationship for a while. It wasn't what I was expecting, and even after we got together, things never really changed. Maybe that was for the best..."

Phainon doesn't elaborate on that last point, and though you want to ask, it's not your business, nor is it your place to probe. So, instead, you nod along slowly, trying to make sense of it all.

"Will you… be okay?" you ask tentatively, your voice soft with concern. Phainon looks at you, and for a moment, there’s a painful stillness in his gaze. Then, heartbreakingly, he shakes his head, the movement slow and resigned.

"No," he murmurs quietly, "not for a while."

Silence settles between you, thick and unfamiliar, as you absently fiddle with your utensils. Usually, conversations flow effortlessly between you and Phainon, even when you’re at each other’s throats over the stupidest disagreements. Snark, banter, teasing—it’s always been easy. But this? This is different. This Phainon—the one staring down at his barely touched plate, the one who looks lost in his own thoughts, like he’s carrying something too heavy to bear alone—is not the Phainon you’re used to. And you don’t know how to reach him. Do you pretend everything is fine? Crack a joke to lighten the mood? Leave it alone and hope he talks when he’s ready? Do you just… give him a hug? Would that even help? What are the steps you’re supposed to take here?

"Sorry, I must have brought the mood down. How did your presentation go? Get any of those snobby professors to laugh?" Phainon chuckles, but you can see it for what it is—a mask, stretched thin over something raw. Still, you play along.

You launch into a rant, hands moving animatedly as you recount the sheer terror of nearly blanking out the moment one professor looked at you funny. The kind of look that makes your stomach drop, that makes you feel you’re already failing before you’ve even opened your mouth. And then—just as you stepped into the room—she started writing something down. What did you do wrong? Did you breathe incorrectly? Or worse—did she somehow know about the bruises from when you ate shit on the pavement after tripping over absolutely nothing? Because let’s be real, at this point, it wouldn’t even be surprising. Maybe she had psychic powers. Maybe she could sense your inherent lack of coordination. It’s not your fault that you’re just a citizen. A normal human doomed to battle gravity every damn day.

As you finish your meals and prepare to leave, you find yourself locked in a battle over the bill, but Phainon is an immovable brick wall. Every time you try to grab for it, he skillfully evades—sidestepping, blocking, even flicking your forehead at one point as if you were a pesky little sibling. Before you can make a final desperate attempt, he effortlessly strong-arms you away, pressing his card into the hands of a bemused waitress with the confidence of someone who’s already won. With a satisfied smirk, he turns to you, adjusting his scarf as the wind picks up, threading through his hair and sending stray strands dancing across his forehead. It should be annoying, but of course, it only makes him look effortlessly cool—a true protagonist in a melodramatic film, standing against the backdrop of a crisp evening sky.

"Thanks for listening to me. I really appreciate it, especially since we haven't seen each other in a while," he says, a soft smile tugging at his lips. His voice is quieter now, the usual bravado dimmed just enough to make your chest ache.

You nod—maybe a little too rigorously—because of course. Of course, you’d be there for him. You always have been. And you know, without a doubt, that he’d do the same for you. It’s just who you are to each other. And you’re just… glad. Glad that Phainon, for all his easygoing grins and insufferable teasing, trusts you enough to let his guard down. That he knows he doesn’t have to keep up the act around you. That for once, he can just be—no witty comebacks, no forced smiles, no pretending. Just Phainon. But then, because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, he tilts his head, mischief creeping back into his expression.

"When are you going to get a crush on someone? I've got at least three years of pining and dating woes on you."

He grins like it’s a joke, like it’s just another thing to tease you about, but your stomach twists, because—

Ah, right. That’s the thing, bestie.

I've been in love with you from the start.

---

Alright, I'll be back in 10 minutes on whether or not this man has scammed me. Your full 20k word fic rides on this buddy, don't disappoint me :)

Update: Alright, he gets a part 2. Phainon wanters will be havers.

[lyssakinzzz]

anything with Remmick🫣🫣

maybe readers small town is slowly being killed off by vampires and Remmick is the one that finds her and tells his group not to kill her, cause she belongs to him? 🤯🤯

Oooh? Lowkey. FUCK YEAH.

Why the fuck do I keep on forgetting to post.

Might be the longest thing I've done written...

uhm btw! This is how you imagine remmick during the part where he eats you.

YOURE TRIPPIN IF YOU DONT THINK IM GONNA WRITE IT BASED OF THIS SCENE.

Warnings: Dark remmick if you stand really car and look at it through a microscope while in THICK glasses and head turned sideways. Protective remmick, posseive remmick, SMUT. Oral! (F receiving bc why not?), p in a v!

Wc:1780

It felt like you've been living in this town since the beginning of time. All your major life events happened here. In this small southern town, off the coast of the Mississippi delta. Hell, it was more of a Hamlet then town.

But something was just so off, ever since some Irish man moved into it, you never understood him for it, I mean he could've passed as white and went on to live in a white neighborhood with a beautiful wife and a couple of kids, maybe a dog too, if he felt like it. But no, at first you thought it was some grand plan, the klan wanted to kick y'all out, maybe gentrify it. Or the Whites wanted to live in some cute coastal town. Either way folks weren't having it.

There was something just so off with the fella, it gave you the willies. I mean, he honestly turned into a urban legend, old folks swore they saw him, grandma's felt they were a thing back in the day. Some lady even said he was her baby daddy. But, nothing truly added up. He was just too young. But the thing that really scared folks were that people were missing. Everyone was just vanishing, it was crazy. You'd swear you'd see a sliver of them at night, but nope. No where to be found.

You thought all those years finally caught up with them, everytime people told you to watch out for him. How they'd scare little children into being home by dark, you could really care less. Until, everyone started to go. Your town of 1000 slowly turned into 209. Something was definitely up, it was like he was a parasite. Taking over everyone's minds, body's. He was the devil himself.

So, you were gonna leave. Move up north, maybe stay down here. Marry, have kids. You were of age anyways, it wouldn't be too much of a problem. That's when you heard it. Loud, anxious, desperate banging. It sounded alarming, yet it reeked of a poor soul needing aid. Your aid. You had to let them in, especially with that Lunatic out on the loose. You rushed to the door, and opened it to find the familiar pale man on his knees sobbing.

"Oh, they tryna get me!" He sobbed, as he reached out to your foot, gripping onto it like a lifeline.

"Oh, then done got just near everyone in town, please y/n you gotta help me! Y-y-you gotta save me."

He swallowed, as he looked up at you with those blue, puppy eyes. You exhale, and swallow.

"Come on in..." You whispered as he sobbed getting off your leg and walked into your now packed up home.

"Oh, ya leavin'?" He asked, as he examined the moving boxes.

"Yea, this towns just too damn crazy..." you whispered.

"Would you like something to eat, or?" You asked, innocently. He chuckled and nodded.

"They'res lots of things I'd love to eat, Ma'am" He smiled, you could've sworn his teeth were awfully sharper than normal.

O-oh.

You ignored his recent sentence as you heated up some chicken for him.

"This good, sir?" You asked, placing the plate of chicken and rice down for him.

"Oh, more than good, ma'am..." He answered, before picking up his utensils and eating the freshly heated food.

He groaned as he savored the food.

"Delicious." He smiled as his pace grew faster.

You smiled to yourself at the compliment, as you washed up and was about to go back to packing, then you heard the deep Irish accent, smooth like molasses call out your name.

You hummed in response, as you walked to the round table and sat down.

"You don't wanna sit with me?" He asked, mouth half full with chicken and rice.

You chuckled. "I'll sit with ya." You smiled, softly as you felt the rough texture of the lace on your dining table. You and Remmick got to talking, it was nice. Refreshing, truly. You chuckled at his little joke as he excused himself to wash up his plate. The faint smell of lemony dishsoap filling up your nostrils.

"Y'know I still don't get why yer leavin', miss Y/n." He said, inhaling a bit. Taking a pause for you to register his words. "I mean, I'm gon' miss, that's all...but you shouldn't let some strange myth kick ya' out. I mean ain't it a miracle that ya ain't go missin' with all the others. Maybe, some higher powers protectin' ya. It would make no sense if he just stopped right 'bout now, right?" He argued as you still played with the lace.

"Sir, I've been here since God made Eve from Adam's rib. Even with the protection the kind lords granted me, it'd make sense to just go, huh? Explore, find me a man." You smiled, as you chuckled slightly. The pale werido was going to miss you.

"But, if it makes ya feel better I'm gon' miss seein' you beg like a stray, and yo eyes. Those big, blue eyes." You smiled, as he turned around.

"What about my eyes ya like, sug?" He whispered as he looked into yours deeply. It was almost like he was luring you in. It was silly to think he was.

"T-they're very...very..." you were losing your words. It sounded like your old stutter in primary school, even though you kept trying to say the words fully, it didn't work. At all.

He chuckled. What hoodoo did he put on you?

"Well, since ya leavin' I'd like to say a thing or two about what I like about you, huh?" He asked, as you nodded, lump in your throat.

"Well, I like the way my palm can perfectly fit your neck, and I most definitely like how squeamish you are right now, love." He smiled as he kept looking at you, with those eyes. Those puppy eyes hiding lust, and malicious intent. You inhaled trying to speak again but it felt like he was holding your tongue.

He inched closer and closer to you, a devious smirk appearing on his face. You inhaled, backing up a bit, but your eyes trailed down to his very hard length.

He starred to give you an open mouthed kiss, you moaned into it, as he fell into the chair with you, he bit your lip so hard it bleed, he moaned as he saw the familiar crimson stain your soft, full lips. He sucked the blood from the acute wound.

"I'm sorry, angel. You shouldn't have ran from it huh?" He whispered as he breathed heavily, leaving open mouthed kisses on the nape of your neck, you let out soft moans, then you felt little bites at your neck, he gave you a hickey and looked down, at your flustered and shocked expression.

"So, they all know you belong to me..." He whispered, as his thumb ran down your bottom lip. He picked you up as you wrapped his around him and carried you to your bedroom. He laid you down, and slowly stripped you. You did the same but found some blood on him, your eyes narrow as he just smirked down at you.

"Some people just don't get yer mine, you know. They were tryna hurt you but I took care of it, don't you worry love." He smiled, acting like he just killed a spider before you could see it. Acting like he saved you the last piece of cake at a busy party. He chuckled.

"Dont be scared, I won't let anything happen to you, you know. You're mine. You've always been mine." He smiled, he pushed you back down gently as he took off your tight nightgown.

"You wore this for me, huh? You done knew I was coming. Didn't you?" He whispered, as he slowly slid it off your body.

"You know, i awfully enjoy pink." He chuckled to himself. He left hickeys on your brown soft skin, as he kissed your stomach as his lips lead down to your thighs. He spread your thighs apart and slowly sucked your inner thighs, he moaned as he muttered. "I'm gon' make you feel so good, love. I swear." He said looking into your eyes, still sucking, leaving open mouthed kisses on your inner thighs. You pushed his head down, he moaned the second his tongue made contact with your pussy. His eyes rolling back a bit, fluttering.

"Mmm, you know how much I've been yearnin' for this thing." He whispered as he savored your taste on his tongue.

"I haven't had nothin' this good in years, darlin'' he exclaimed as he kissed around your labia. He treated it like good ice cream he saved up for in town. He was holding back, until he wasn't, that's when he started lapping at your pussy like he hasn't drank water since the 1800s. He left a little bite causing you to whine loudly. Pleasure coursed through you, your body arching as his mouth worked in perfect, desperation. To bring you closer and closer to the edge every minute. You're hands went down into his hair, you gripped each time his tongue pushed deeper, he Rocked his hips into the bare mattress, since everything was packed up of course. He grinded into the mattress going deeper everytime you moaned, or even touched him. You felt heat pool in your stomach as his tongue kept roughly exploring you.

"Fuck..." you whimpered as you gripped his hair harder, pushing him down into your pussy. Your eyes fluttered rolling back as you came on his tongue. You whined as he circled your labia like a shark the second he came up to take off his soaked pants, you shut your legs. Tight. He groaned as he tried to pry open your legs for your overstimulated pussy.

"Come on, I've done killed for you. You ain't never gonna meet a man who's gonna do that for you, huh,girl? The least you can do is let me feel that sweet pussy 'round my cock, huh?" He asked, as you slowly let your legs be pryed open by the starved man. He teased your folds with his cock head. You gasped, slightly as he rubbed it on your clit.

"Mm...that's it, don't run from this dick, baby." He whispered, as he aligned his cock with your needy hole. He slowly slammed into you, you moaned, loudly. Your hands ran up to his hair as he slammed repeatedly. He moaned in your ear, his movements erratic, he kept speeding up, pounding into you.

"Ain't no one gon' handle you like me, huh baby?" He whispered, in between loud, lewd moans. He whimpered as he continued to grow faster.

His eyes rolled back as he had your legs on his shoulders as he thrusted into you, he whined as he was growing closer. You felt him about to grow closer and closer to his finish. That's when he spilt into you.

He stayed in there for a bit too long.

"Gotta make sure, it doesn't all go to waste, love." He said, a casual smile.

[emskryptonite]

Dinner

a/n: the first fic of the southern!batmom au let's gooooo!! I'm so excited to share this with y'all and i hope you all enjoy it as much as I've been enjoying planning it! also please remember that my inbox is always open!! if you have any thoughts, ideas, questions, or even little headcanons about this au, come share it with me!! i'd love to hear it!!

Summary: Bruce's wife talks him into inviting the Justice League over for dinner. They're quite shocked, however, when they finally get to meet the Dark Knight's wife for the first time.

Pairing(s): Bruce Wayne x southern!fem!reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Content/Warnings: reader is very much depicted as a southern woman, she has an accent, not proofread, that should be about it, this is just silly and fluffy :)

Masterlist | Bruce Wayne Masterlist | Southern!Batmom Masterlist

She’d been pestering Bruce for weeks. Now that the Justice League was closer to friends than teammates, she thought it was the perfect time to meet them all. Bruce, of course, was much more wary. He wasn’t overly keen on his teammates knowing so much about his personal life (no matter how much he had known about theirs from the start). After all, the two of them weren’t overly public with their relationship anyway. Gotham only really knew that Bruce was married, but they knew barely a thing about who his wife is. 

Eventually, though, she talked him into it (he can’t really say no to her anyway, but he’d never admit that to her). So, here Bruce is, standing in the Watchtower, cowl and all, begrudgingly about to ask his friends over for dinner at his wife’s request.

He approaches silently, as he always does, and clears his throat to gain the attention of the others, “I would like to invite you all over for dinner tomorrow night at Wayne Manor. If that’s something you all would be interested in, that is.” He looks away from them all quickly, more embarrassed to be doing this than he would like to admit.

“Uhh, yeah, sure, Bats. Is it okay if Lois joins?” Of course, Clark is the first to respond.

“Yes. The more the merrier,” he gives them all a tight smile and silently hopes he doesn’t appear as awkward as he feels.

“Welp, you know I’ll never turn down Alfred’s cooking. I’m in!” Barry decides.

“Same here!” Hal agrees, throwing an arm over Barry’s shoulders.

“Actually, my wife will be cooking dinner. She’s been wanting to meet you all, and she’s been looking for an excuse to cook.”

“Your wife? I didn’t even know you were married,” Oliver screeches.

“Yes. My wife.” Bruce leaves no room for questions, and as the rest of the League members tell them they’ll be at dinner, he takes his leave.

“Oh, dear God. Do you think she’s as broody as he is?” Barry shoots a nervous glance at the other heroes.

“Barry, give the woman a chance. I am sure Bruce has chosen well for himself.”

“Diana is right. Have some faith in the man. Besides, Dick doesn’t get his whimsy from Bruce. It’s gotta be from Bruce’s wife, right?” Clark looks around.

“I don’t know, Clark. I just can’t picture the guy with anyone who doesn’t aesthetically resemble Count Dracula.”

Just as Lois and Diana are about to scold Ollie for his words, the door swings open, revealing Alfred, Bruce’s more-than-kind butler.

“Ah, welcome in. Madam Wayne is finishing up the meal in the kitchen, if you all would like to join her. It’s just down that hall and to the right. I’ll go retrieve Master Bruce from his study.” Alfred wanders off in the other direction, leaving the League members to trade looks. Soon enough, they all give a silent shrug and head down the hall to finally figure out who in the world could handle being married to Bruce Wayne.

As they enter the kitchen, they’re met with the welcoming smell of a home-cooked meal. On the other side of the room, they can see a woman, Bruce’s wife, stirring a pot of something on the stove. She seems calm, in her happy place, definitely a contrast to Bruce’s usual brooding. Their observing is cut off, however, when Clark Kent decides to speak up.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry, but do I smell green beans?” He takes a cautious step forward, not wanting to spook you. She turns around with a bright smile, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Hey, y’all!” she greets them all warmly, her accent seeping through every syllable. “Ya know, I was just wonderin’ when one of y’all was gonna speak up. You’ve been standing there forever.” She turns back to the pot on the stove, making sure to turn slightly so she can still speak to everyone. She ignores the shocked looks on their faces; she was more than used to people not expecting Bruce Wayne to be married to some hillbilly. It made her laugh, really. “Clark, right? Yes! This is green beans, straight from the garden! I also made some fresh corn, some fried chicken, some mashed potatoes, a garden salad, and some banana pudding for dessert! I left the actual bananas out, though. I promise it’s better without them!” She gives them all a bright smile, and their jaws drop even further.

“Well, sounds like all that’s missing is some cornbread,” Clark jokes, and the rest of the team is shocked even further to hear Clark’s own accent peaking out. They watch as a light bulb goes off in Mrs. Wayne’s head, and she quickly dons oven mitts and bends down a bit to retrieve a cast-iron skillet of cornbread out of the oven. She stands upright, presenting it to the team of heroes in her kitchen with that same bright smile on her face.

“You reminded me at the perfect time! Now, Bruce likes to complain because my food is greasy, but that’s just how we cook where I’m from. If you’re like him and think it’ll mess up your diet, let me know, and I can see if Alfred will whip something up for ya real quick.”

They all share a quick glance with one another before silently agreeing that they wanted to try her food. Diana speaks up for everyone, “That’s alright. We are perfectly happy to eat the food you’ve prepared for us.”

At that moment, Bruce follows Alfred into the kitchen. He doesn’t spare a single glance at his teammate as he immediately moves to kiss his wife on the cheek and begins helping her plate everything.

“Well, everything is just about ready, so why don’t y’all go have a seat at the table while me and Bruce take everything up?” Once again, she hits them with that same honey-sweet smile.

Lois steps forward, shyly offering the couple the bottle of wine she and Clark had brought along. Mrs. Wayne takes it gingerly, thanking the other woman before telling Bruce to get out some wine glasses.

“Bruce, you complain about that? That meal was amazing. You have to share your recipes with me!” Lois jokingly scolds Bruce before complimenting his wife, and she wasn’t lying. Each of the League members had eaten well, especially Barry and Hal.

“I do not complain, but I mean, it is a bit greasier than what I would normally eat…”

“Darlin’, just the other day you were telling me how Timmy was craving some of my gravy and biscuits, and then you ate half the pan!” She laughs as she spills the story, and Bruce is looking at her like she hung the stars, the moon, and everything in between. Lois takes a moment to really look at the couple, and she decides, yeah, this makes the most sense. Someone as dark as Bruce needs someone like her to brighten up his life. After all, the Earth would be in complete darkness without the sun there to provide a way for the Earth’s beauty to be seen. If anyone ever wants to see the best sides of Bruce Wayne, they’d just have to watch him while his wife is around.

“Hold up. You put gravy on biscuits? The brown sauce most people put over mashed potatoes and various kinds of meat?” Barry questions, leaning forward in his seat.

“Oh, honey, you’ve got to let me make you some breakfast sometime. I had to open Bruce’s eyes, too. Don’t worry. Gah-lee, you people from up here just have me running ‘round like a chicken with its head cut off sometimes. I’ll fix you up, though.”

“Honey?” Barry whispers in Bruce’s direction.

“It’s a southern thing. She calls everyone either honey or sweetheart. It’s not always a compliment, though.”

“So, what? You have to share your pet names with everyone else?”

“Oh, no. Darling is reserved for me.” The Dark Knight couldn’t fight the smile that crept up on his face when talking about his wife.

Tags: @heartsforjh @alexxavicry

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~ Emmy

[vixenscratch]

Me right now is basically big wet eyes emoji.

That's all so incredibly sweet of you, I can't believe you went and read my fic so you could tailor your advice! I appreciate that so much you have no idea. Thank you so much!!!

It really helps to see how you reason around these tags, too. I can see where the "found parents" vibe comes from; Nate's definitely taken on a caretaker/protector role at this point in their relationship. I'm going to have to think about where (if) I'd want to go with that, as the progression of the series does take them from & to / down the line. (Then again the / is in the fucking series name so maybe that's me overthinking. It's probably me overthinking.)

And yeah, you're probably right that a lot of it is imposter syndrome. I am... very good at that. Maybe with how nice you and everyone else in the notes have been I'll manage to find a bit more confidence. I need to shake the little (metaphorical) voice in my head that says there's a Right Way to do this and everyone has the instruction manual but me.

;_; Nice to me. It makes me really happy that you enjoyed my writing. Thank you so much, again, for taking the time!

(At this point it's more than anything "fandom by technicality" - the Wolf's Bane crew have an askblog (currently on hiatus), but I'm the only one who's posted fic. I'd be feral about Nate even if I weren't friends with the guy behind him, though. We became friends because I saw Nate and liked him so much I couldn't not say something.)

I know "I'm bad at summaries" and "I'm bad at tags" are not sentiments to voice in the summary/tags of a fic. But, genuinely, I don't consider myself good at either. (This is background.)

The actual question is, how do I learn these? Especially tagging. My fandom background is sparse, at least far as participation in broader fandom culture is concerned, so I wasn't part of fandom when current tagging practices on AO3 evolved. It's difficult for me to grasp, and I suspect I end up treating the tags more like CWs than search terms as a result.

Great for people who want to filter out particular unpleasant elements. Not so great for people who can't find my fic because I didn't think to tag something someone else might see as obvious. I have severe social anxiety so joining e.g. a Discord to ask for help isn't really a viable option. Tagging fic isn't worth panic attacks.

Tagging fic isn't worth panic attacks.

100% agreed!

When it comes to being "good at tagging" that definition is going to vary from person to person. It will also vary depending on what your goal is.

I'm a fairly minimal tagger myself. I'll tag the fandom and the major characters, the general vibe (e.g. humour, smut etc) and then anything else I might think of. I don't personally like to tag smut fics with all of the various sex acts in them, but I've done it before because I thought I was supposed to. Since it doesn't really feel like "me" though I've since stopped doing that. If folks want to avoid my fic as a result, that's totally fair. If folks who would like it can't find it 🤷‍♀️ maybe it'll be a rec someday.

All that is to say that tagging is not a thing it's possible to be perfect at, so just aim for accomplishing whatever your goal is.

I get what you're saying, though. I wrote a fake dating fic once without tagging it as fake dating because I didn't realize that fake dating was a trope. It was only when a couple of friends started referring to it that I realized and added that tag to my fic.

One way to learn about those kinds of tropes is to pay attention when you see them tagged on other people's fics. You can browse through tags that are similar to ones you already use and see what else people add to their fics and whether those would work for yours or not.

You can also visit Fanlore! It's another project by the OTW (the people who run AO3) and it's a great resource for learning about fandom. You can look up a common tag like Alternate Universe, and it will give you examples of different types of AU and link out to pages that will link out to pages that will... you get the idea. It's wikipedia but for fandom stuff.

As for summaries, there are a lot of ways to go about that too. I'll let folks add ideas in the notes. The way I do it is that I include the name(s) of the major character(s), and outline the inciting incident for the fic. Since I post as I write, I might or might not tease something that happens later on (because I might or might not know yet).

The way to get good at doing it is just to keep practicing. When I was in university, I took a Russian Lit course where we had to write a summary of each novel in 200 words or less, 10 sentences or less - and semicolons were cheating. I did that 13 times in 8 months, and by the end of that I was really good at writing summaries. Add in the fact that I started posting fic back on FF.net where there was a character limit on summaries and you can see why I keep them pretty short.

That's another thing that you can analyze in others' fics, though. Find a summary that you think is well-written for whatever type of summary you like and then look at that author's other fics to see if you can spot a pattern to how they do it. Once you find the pattern, it's a lot easier to replicate it and then it's just a matter of repeating it until it feels natural.

[womanofwords]

Hay, um, I don't know if you're taking story requests right now or if this is how it's supposed to be done, but I've had this one reader x batfam thing stuck in my head for a while and I figured I'd at least see if I could get your thoughts on it.

So y/n runs away after the yandere starts getting out of hand. Maybe it starts similar to Cold Hearts with y/n getting hurt. Eventually, y/n runs into Bane while trying to get out of Gotham. He hears her story and helps her get out using his private boat or something. The family sees her getting while searching for her in costume.

Bane takes y/n to some island compound and gives her a room to stay in while he decides what to do with her. Eventually, he takes her on as an apprentice, and they start to bond, three or so months in, she accidentally calls him dad and then again and again, and soon enough, she's unironically calling Bane things like papa and daddy and he's calling her his own little pet name( in my head I imagine it "little dumbbell " but you do whatever). They, of course, create a costume for her to where when she's helping Bane with his stuff, I imagine it being various shades of blue with a mask reminiscent of her papa's.

One day, the batfam finds the compound and crashes in demanding to know where y/n is. Bane is surprised to see them but takes the opportunity to introduce his new partner

"Well, Batman, I don't think she'd want to go home even if you could take her. But how we take the time for you to meet my new apprentice"

Y/n leaps onto the scene in costume, now a tower of muscle thanks to Daddy's exercise regiment. The fam doesn't recognize her thanks to the costume and new muscles.

"Where is y/n Whane??!!!" Batsie screams

"Dead," y/n replies, "killed herself, something about how even if her family cared enough to want her back, they'd never get to her."

The bats are horrified by this and leave after a large brawl ensues.

They find out the truth eventually and start trying to get her back to no evail.

I don't have much more than that, but I still feel it was worth presenting to you.

I honestly think you read my mind, because I've been having a similar idea for a while now. Bane would make a great parent, if the standard for 'great parent' was being slightly more attentive than Bruce Wayne and remembering things other than their name and maybe their school. Since none of the Batfam really look at Reader (that plus the bulking up), that would go some way to explaining why they don't recognise her when she shows up with a new identity.

Bonus point for the Batfam realising that after searching Gotham for a dead body matching your description and not finding one because you're not dead (and they couldn't describe you anyway), you never actually died and was in front of them the whole time, as Bane's 'daughter'.

"How did you not notice her leaving to go and meet me, Batman?" Bane taunted. "If she's really so unfortunate as to be your biological daughter."

"Alfred handled most things," Bruce admitted. "We just want Y/N to understand that she has nothing to fear from us."

"But I always do!" you insisted. "Your son stabbed me with a serrated katana and you told me to consider his feelings. Hell no. Not taking my chances."

"Y/N, get away from that monster!" Damian demanded. Typical Damian, expecting things to go his way.

"Leave my daddy alone!" you yelled. "You have your dad and I have mine! Now go away!"

"But Y/N, I'm your daddy," Bruce said. "I'm the daddy to both of you."

"No, you're not! Don't be disgusting! Daddies play with their kids and know things about them! You're not my daddy!"

"Good girl, Y/N," Bane said, hugging you proudly. Bruce's stomach turned. "Let's leave this flock of bats in their belfry. You need to meet your protein goals, don't you?"

"Uh-huh," you said, relaxing into Bane's touch as he led you away.

"My sister doesn't love me," Damian whimpered. "And she thinks I'm not her brother."

"I should kill Bane just for looking at Y/N," Jason growled.

"I'll help you get away with it," Dick said.

"We'll need a new tactic." Bruce's voice cut through the plotting. "Something to aid Y/N in realising that we love her."

"She used to always want to read my books. I'll gift some to her," Jason suggested.

"Y/N could totally use a girls' day," Stephanie said. "She can't be left alone with just Bane. She needs girls around her."

"We can discuss the details later," Bruce said. "Let's go home."

The bats retreated to their belfry, which was much colder than they would have liked.

[stargazedwinchester]

can you do more younger-sibling!winchester stuff? I'd love to see it <3 <3

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `family comes first, sam & dean winchester ༘♡

summary: you opted out of the family business, to follow in sam's footsteps. that's until there's a knock on your door in the middle of the night. word count: 733 pairing: sam & dean winchester x younger sibling!reader notes: this is based in s1, roughly just after sam leaves college thank you for requesting!! if you have anything particular in mind, please let me know!

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

You’ve only been asleep a few hours when the knock at your door awakes you.

Three sharp raps. You blink into the dark, your heart jumping in that way it hasn’t in years.

You sit up slowly, glancing at your alarm clock. 2:37 a.m.

Another knock.

This time, you get out of bed. Padding over to the peephole on your front door. Two tall men almost completely shield the hallway behind them.

You sigh as your shoulders relax, realising it’s just your older brothers. Sam is standing with his arms crossed against his chest, and Dean with his hands in his pockets.

You turn around, rubbing the space between your temple.

They’ve always been your biggest headache.

“It’s me.” A gruff voice raises on the other side of the door. “I know.” You tell him. You feel as if you can’t face them. Not yet. Not after the yelling, the walking away, and the huge fight that left you screaming “I want a normal life!” that split your family unevenly down the middle.

Sam and Dean took their leave in your father’s Chevy.

You open the door, they’re standing there; raindrops sit on Dean’s leather jacket, Sams’ hair curling at his ears from the drizzle outside. They both look troubled.

“What happened?” You ask. Because this isn’t a social call. Neither of them show up unless something is wrong. Especially Dean.

He doesn’t answer right away. He scans you up and down—your dorm room behind you, the textbooks piled on the desk by the back wall. You’re living Sam’s old dream, one that Dean never let himself want.

Sam steps closer. “Dad’s missing.”

The words settle in your gut like a weight.

“Went on a hunt,” he explains. “He hasn’t checked in. It’s been a week.”

“So? Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he—”

“He won’t pick up his phone. Straight to voicemail. He’s missing, Y/N.” Sam hushes, careful to not wake your roommates.

You press your lips together, eyes darting between both of your brothers. You shake your head. “No. No, this wasn’t part of the plan. I’m out. I’ve been out.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Deal’s change.”

You fold your arms, trying to hold yourself together. Trying to not burst into anger right in front of them. “So—let me get this right,” you huff, “you show up to my dorm, two thirty in the morning, expecting me to throw away my education because you need me to find dad? I’m okay, thank you.” You attempt to shut the door on them, but Dean stops you with his boot.

“Not everything is about you, kid. He’s our dad.”

“You think I don’t care?”

Dean’s jaw clenches, and Sam cuts in before either of you can escalate. “We didn’t come to fight. We just… need your help. And you’re still family.”

You look up at him. At both of them. And suddenly it’s all crashing down. The long car rides, arguing who has the better music taste—which is you (obviously). The late night hunts that included laughing over diner milkshakes and patching each other up with shaky hands.

You pushed all of those memories to the back of your mind, into a locked safe the day that you left.

“But I’ve got a mid-term on Tuesday,” you say weakly.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Great. You can study in the car.” He turns around, and Sam shows you an apologetic smile. You laugh dryly. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Sam steps closer. “You’ll be back by Monday. Promise.”

You hesitate. “Okay.”

You rapidly get changed, and grab your duffel from under the bed; still packed and untouched. Muscle memory takes over as you sling it over your shoulder, making your way to the front door.

The second you step outside, the cold hits you. So does the familiar growl of the Impala’s engine. You climb in to the middle of the back seat, slamming the door shut behind you.

“I better be back by Monday, or I’m going to kill you both.”

“You might wanna sharpen your knife, then, kid.” Dean purses his lips together as he reverses the Impala out of the car park.

The past is already catching up to you, and you hope it doesn’t last long. And you hope it doesn’t bite.

[sugxto]

flip the switch - eddie/volt/reader

⋆syn: It's Volt's birthday, and he has a special request for his present.

⋆wc: 4.2k

⋆cw: m/m/afab threesome, bottom volt and top eddie, fingering fucking, rimming, cunninglinus, erotic electrostimulation

⋆notes: reader insert uses g/n pronouns and is not described with feminine attributes. AFAB genitalia, terms used include hole, folds, entrance, cunt and clit. e/v masterlist.

this does include dialogue and references from the final day of their route, so if you haven't finished them, i'd avoid for spoilers. there is also a few sentence description of what Volt's realization outfit looks like - they're not being realized, I just want to use the outfit, which you can see here in high res.

⋆snippet:

Before you can blink, Volt's above you, hands on either side of you, and you shudder at his white hot eyes when he says, in a voice smooth as silk, “I would rather love to fuck you, my live wire.”

Okay, that wasn’t too wei--

“While our Eddie fucks me.”

Oh, fuck.

flip the switch

“I didn’t realize it was actually this big of a deal.”

Eddie cranes his head at your voice, only being able to catch a glimpse of you from his precarious angle atop the ladder. “Ah, hey live wire,” he says as he turns back to his task. “Gimme a minute to finish this, yeah?”

He’s hanging a banner across the top shelf of the bar, decorated with bright, hand-painted lightning bolts and stars across the dark fabric. In a darling, cursive font, it reads, “Happy Birthday Volt!”

You look around the empty bar, see the stage adorned with balloons, the tables strewn with party hats and glitter. The Breaker Box, on any given night, is vibrant, lively, electric, but not often is it bright, with an anticipation in the air for celebration. You like it, you think, it’s different, in a way that makes you feel like a kid again.

You hear Eddie sigh, and you turn to see him lean back, survey his work. He studies the banner for a moment before calling over his shoulder, “Hey babe?”

“Yes?”

“Is it straight?”

“As an arrow, Eddie.”

He huffs as he descends the ladder. “Works for me then.”

You meet him behind the bar after he puts the ladder away, and he gives you a kiss on your cheek before he starts to fix himself a drink. “Want anything?” You nod, accept the cocktail he creates, and you lean against the bar with him. He must notice how your eyes keep flitting to the balloons, to the banner, to the white cake box that sits at the end of the bar, because he takes a long sip of his drink before saying, “It, uh, yeah, is a pretty big deal.”

You look over at him, surprised by the shyness in his voice that you haven’t heard notes of in months. “A big deal, because it’s Volt?” you ask, watching his face, see his brows furrow. “I know he’s a diva, he’s our diva, but surely he doesn’t ask for something like this every year.” You pause when Eddie doesn’t answer, only takes another sip. You ask, a bit incredulously, “Does he?”

Eddie sighs, tilts his head back, his grey eyes staring holes into the bottles behind the bar. “It’s not a big deal for us.” His fingers spin the tumbler in his hand, the liquid sloshing around the glass. “It’s… a pretty big deal to the rest of the house. Holly,” he nods at the banner, “Mitchell,” at the white box, “Stefan. Winnie. Mayor Celia.” He shrugs his shoulders, shuffles his weight on his feet. “It means a lot to them, I guess, having someone in the house that was actually… born.”

You blink, the connotation his words registering, aware of the silence that’s growing between you and Eddie, but he seems to pay it no mind, taking small sips of his drinks. Your brows furrow, and you turn your body to face his, steady yourself with one hand on the bar, before you finally ask, “Volt’s… the only one with a birthday.”

It comes out a bit more like a statement than a question, but Eddie nods all the same. “Yeah. Birthday, ‘sparked into existence’ day, whatever you wanna call it.” He puts a hand out in front of him. “There was a time before Volt.” He makes a sweeping arch with the hand. “And then, Volt was here.” Finally, he turns his gaze to yours, his lightning brows arched on his forehead. “That’s as close as we can get, I guess.”

“But what about -”

“Days they joined the house? Dates of manufacturing lots?” Eddie cocks his head, and you can’t quite read the look in his grey eyes, though it almost seems amused. “That doesn’t apply to all of us.”

Us?

Your lips fall open, words stuck on your tongue, and now you’re really, really studying Eddie’s face. “Eddie,” you finally manage, and his brows raise even more, expectantly. “How old are you?”

He chuckles, softly, and raises the glasses to his lips as he asks, “How old’s the house?”

“I… don’t know.”

He nods, the smallest of smirks on the corners of his lips. “Then, I don’t know. Like I said, it’s not so simple for all of us. You wanna ask River how old she is? She’s fucking water, live wire.”

Huh, you think. Guess that was true. 

He finishes his drink, sets it on the bar, and crosses his arms as he turns to face you. “Like I said. He and I would be more than happy to treat it like any other day. Well, maybe me more than him. But the others like…” he pauses, and you can see the wires connect in his mind as he finds the right phrase, “they like the idea that, we could create something. Create life.”

You nod. “But,” you ask, quietly, “can they?”

Eddie inhales deeply, his chest rising before letting it out, heavy through his nose. His own voice is quiet now too. “I don’t know that either.”

You’ve never asked about where Volt really came from, outside of the cursory explanation Eddie had given the night of the reset. That Eddie had split himself, made Volt out of necessity, their very essence comprised of something that powered both of them. “Sparked into existence,” was how they always phrased it, and they never offered more than that.

“But you did.”

Eddie’s quiet at that, but he nods. “Yeah. I did.”

“How?”

Eddie groans, and he rolls his eyes, exaggerates it, before running a hand through the coils of his hair. “I knew one day you’d ask me that. And live wire, I’ll tell you what I tell everyone else.” He points a finger at you, a sparkle in his eye. “That I. Don’t. Know.”

You blink, immediately confused, feeling the gears in your brain try to process. “What?”

“I don’t know how I did it.” He throws his hands up in surrender before dropping them to the bar, leaning against the cold, curved wood. A small veil of something falls over his face, almost always, stoic face, making him look more… contemplative. Yeah, that’s the right word, you decide. “I just… remember the pain. How frayed I was, a fucking dead man walking. And I thought, if I could just,” he gestures with his hands, like tearing a paper, “rip it out of me, split myself off from what was holding me back from doing my literal fucking job…” his hands turn to fists, and he studies them for a moment before dropping them. “I remember wanting, needing that with every electron inside me. And then, there was just this flash of white light. And I woke up,” he nods his head towards the back room, “to a white eyes staring at me.”

You’re quiet, a bit unsure what to say, and waiting to see if he speaks again. You reach out to touch his arm, wanting to be near him, and he settles into your touch, grey eyes finding yours, and a soft smile on his lips.

“Sorry it’s a bit anticlimactic,” he says with a small laugh. “But I’m not harboring any secrets on how household objects can procreate under my sleeves.”

You smile too, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You hear, in the back of your mind, something else they’d said that night - “we’re not one thing, but we’re not two things, either.”

You turn the memory over in your mind, working out how to phrase your next question. You swallow, purse your lips, then say, “Eddie, I don’t want you to be freaked out by what I’m gonna ask.”

He cocks a brow, and a corner of his mouth twitches up, and you see a flash of his canines. “Alright.”

You steel yourself for whatever answer he gives. “What is Volt, to you?”

Eddie licks his lips and studies your face. You see him catch your implication, and he takes a deep breath. “I can tell you what he’s not. He’s not my brother, and he’s not my kid, if that’s what’s suddenly worrying you. Though your timing is a little late in asking that.”

You fight how your eyes want to roll. “But he’s something.”

His eyes soften, and he worries his bottom lip with his teeth before saying, in perhaps the smallest voice you’ve ever heard from him, “I think… I think he’s my soul.” He must notice how wide your eyes get, how high your brows shoot, because he adds, quickly, “Most, or part, of it, at least. I don’t,” he runs a hand through hair again, tugging slightly at the frayed ends, “I don’t know. But, what I feel, what we feel, it’s… deep. Cut from the same thing. So, that’s my best guess.”

The look in Eddie’s eyes makes your heart swell - it threatens to rip itself out of your chest and throw itself at his feet. It’s a look of pure, electric, love, and you, not for the first time, cannot believe that you are lucky enough to be loved by him. By both of them. Because maybe you knew, deep down, that that would be Eddie’s answer, that there was no other explanation for how they literally completed each other. 

And what a privilege, what a wonder, that they thought you completed them.

You bring your hands up to his chest, press yourself against him, needing him, his touch, and he brings his hands to your face without a word, the two of you fitting together with ease. His thumbs run over your cheeks, hot under his touch, and he asks in a teasing voice, “Did that answer your question?”

“Yes,” you admit, your voice full of more emotion than you were expecting. “I love you. I love you both, Eddie.”

He hums as he smiles. “Yeah? Well, we love you too. And I didn’t even have to make you in a blind fury to ease my suffering.”

You try to smack his chest, but he’s too quick, and his lips are on yours before you can retort. He’s warm, always so warm, and you wonder if he’ll truly make you melt one day.

“Kissing our partner before me, live wire? On my own birthday?”

You break away at Volt’s voice, echoing in the unusually empty club, and your breath catches at the sight of him. His usual vest and wired coat have been traded for a stunning black suit, adorned with golden lightning bolts across the shoulders, and his usual copper cuffs replaced with a few gold bangles. He looks lush, expensive, gorgeous, and so fucking hot.

He chuckles at the look on your face, your slack jaw, as he steps to meet you and Eddie. “See something you like, darling?”

“Hell yes,” you say, at the same time that Eddie says, “Fuck you.”

Volt’s grin is devilish, charming, electrifying. “Later, Eddie dear. We have to entertain before I can open my presents.” As he says it, his white eyes rake over your body, taking in every inch of the glam ensemble you’d thrown on for the party, and he licks his lips. “And I think I’ll take my time unwrapping them.”

“Uh huh,” Eddie grumbles, though his eyes sparkle, and he pecks your forehead. “Now I gotta get changed, everyone’ll be here soon.”

He takes a step to leave, but Volt shoots him a teasing look as he blocks him with a hand. “Ah ah, as I said, the birthday boy is lacking in kisses.”

“The ones I give your dick this morning not count?” 

You can’t contain your laugh as, shocked, Volt lets him pass, Eddie not even giving him a glance back. But you stop, immediately, when he turns his attention back to you, and the look on his face is both terrifying and exciting as fuck.

“Fine,” he purrs. “I’ll just have to get my fill from you, then.”

When Eddie comes back downstairs, he has to tear him off you, has to repeat over and over to Volt that no, just because it was his birthday, he still could not eat you out on the bar.

You’ve never seen the Breaker Box as full as it is for Volt’s party. Nearly everyone is here, packed together around the tables, sitting on the edge of the stage, primed with champagne and a charge of excitement you’ve not seen them buzz with before. Volt greets them all with ease, like he was made to mingle - you wonder, actually, if he was. You help Eddie behind the bar, knowing this sort of thing isn’t his forte, though he doesn’t look as fatigued as you expected, even as he serves cocktail after cocktail, as Mitchell grills him on the origin of their citrus, or as Barry talks a mile a minute. 

Mayor Celia makes a small toast, tells a story about how everyone remembers the shock (she gets laughter at that) of Volt’s arrival, and how he truly brings a warmth, an ease, to the house. You and Eddie are with him as she speaks, and after the Cheers!, he kisses you, then Eddie, to whoops and hollers, before pulling both of you onto the dance floor.

It’s late when the crowd finally thins out, and you’re playing some incomprehensible drinking game with Parker and Rainey when Eddie announces last call. Volt’s with him behind the bar, chatting with him while he has yet another slice of cake, and your heart swells again when you glance over at them, in awe of how easy and how right everything is. Volt, ever observant, must feel you looking, and he throws a wink over at you that makes you blush.

When finally, finally, the club is empty again, the three of you are sat at the bar, your bare feet thrown over Volt’s lap, your head resting on Eddie’s shoulder. Connected. Together.

“Volt,” you say, your voice tired, and he hums as he looks up at you. “Did you have fun?”

He smiles, runs a hand over your leg. “Always, little spark. But,” his touch creeps higher up your calf, “don’t I still have my presents to open?”

You’re all up the stairs in a flash, a trail of your clothes on the steps, all of you a mess of hands, lips, teeth, pulling and petting and just wanting to feel each other, and it’s only because you know them so well that you can feel the difference of their skin on yours - Eddie’s, that hums like a current, and Volt’s, that buzzes with power. You melt under their hands, and suddenly, you’re on the bed, watching them kiss, watching them pull each other’s coats off without even parting. 

When Volt’s lips move to Eddie’s neck, Eddie’s steel eyes find yours, and he keeps your gaze as he wraps a hand in Volt’s hair and says into his ear, “Hey birthday boy, you gonna tell ‘em what you want?”

You hear Volt’s chuckle, muffled against Eddie’s skin, before he stands back up and turns to you, his hand hanging off Eddie’s neck. “Mm, I suppose I should.”

Before you can blink, he’s above you, hands on either side of you, and you shudder at his white hot eyes when he says, in a voice smooth as silk, “I would rather love to fuck you, my live wire.”

Okay, that wasn’t too wei--

“While our Eddie fucks me.”

Oh, fuck. 

“Oh, fuuuck,” you moan, your cunt clenching at the thought, the anticipation, and you press your legs together as tight as you can. Volt’s resulting chuckle only makes it worse. 

“Do you think we can do that for me, my darling?” He coos, dipping his head to your ear, the ends of his hair shocking your skin where it tickles your neck. “For my birthday, hm?”

You moan again at this voice, his lips, his fucking everything, a shiver enveloping your body pinned beneath him, and it takes every ounce of your resolve to nod, to moan a, “yes, yes, please.”

Volt’s tongue licks your ear, and you throw your hands up to claw at his chest as your back arches off the bed. “Very good, little spark. How about,” another lick, another plea from your lips, “I finish what we started at the bar? While Eddie gets me ready for him?”

You nod, but then quickly whimper a yes, knowing you’d get a shock to your skin if you didn’t, and he leans up, finds your waist with his hands, and pushes you up the bed. You curse when he spreads your legs, settles on his stomach, and his eyes glimmer at the sight of you, wet and aching for touch.

You see him bite his lip, and there’s a shock to your clit as his fingers find your folds, and you hear him mutter, in a quiet voice, “Happy birthday to me,” and then you scream, because he feasts.

Your back shoots off the bed, your fingers claw at their sheets, and your ankles lock around Volt’s neck as his tongue works you, expertly, knowingly, and the warmth, the current he creates within you travels to every inch of your body. When you feel his fingers press inside you, your eyes open, needing to see him, but it’s then you notice Eddie’s dark hair at the end of the bed, settled between Volt’s legs, having a feast for himself.

You think it might be the fastest you’ve ever cum, screaming their names, and you hear both of them hum as the legs shake, lightning flashing behind your eyes.

But Volt doesn’t let up, doesn’t slow his fingers, and you feel his breath against your throbbing clit as he pulls away, says, “let’s have another, my darling, as a present, hm?” and your throat is raw as he goes right back to giving you long, slow licks, before his tongue practically starts vibrating around you.

You hear him groan after a minute, and through heavy lids, you watch Eddie lift himself up, run his hands over Volt’s ass, before you watch his fingers slide inside, and Volt’s resulting moan sends shockwaves through your belly. 

Eddie’s titanium eyes pin yours down, and his free hand finds the small of Volt’s back, pressing him down when he starts to arch. You know he can see the tears that are pooling at the edge of your eyes, the uncontrollable shake of your leg, and he fucking smiles - you think you hate him, hate both of them, as you feel Volt’s teeth scrape against you.

“They’re close, Volt,” Eddie hums, his grin showing his teeth. “You gonna make them gush for us, birthday boy?”

Volt’s tongue finds a truly brutal pace, his fingers slipping in and out of you with quick, slick sounds, and he does just that. The lightning flashes again, stealing your breath, and your body goes slack as your orgasm rips through every electrified cell in your body.

When you blink, a moment later, Volt is above you again, peppering small kisses to your collarbones, your shoulder. He feels you stir, and white eyes dart to yours. “You, our spark, are the most delectable birthday treat.” A kiss to your cheek. “Now, tell me. How would you like me fuck you? Like this? Or on your stomach?”

Both are equally appealing, you think, but the thought of him plowing your ass into the mattress does reignite the sparks that the orgasms threatened to drain, so you tell him, with a hoarse voice, “stomach, please.”

You’re flipped by four hands in a flash, and your hips are being lifted, just enough for Volt’s hot, aching cock to find the right angle to your entrance, and he slips inside with ease, coating himself with your own climax as he fills you in one sweet thrust. You both gasp at the feeling, the shock of his skin against you. He steadies himself when his hands grasp your waist, and his lips kiss your shoulder blade when he moans.

You feel, a moment later, his arms quiver, and a curse hisses through his teeth, and you know that Eddie must be fulfilling his end of the deal. Volt rocks his hips into you, groans Eddie’s name, and fuck, maybe the stomach was the wrong call, because you wish you could see.

Somewhere, deep in your mind, a little voice tells you that you can, and you remember the mirror on the armoire across the room, and flip your head.

Thank the fucking stars, it’s the perfect angle.

Eddie has one hand on Volt’s waist, and the other encircles his neck, his face hungry, powerful, savoring every little sound the two of you make, and he thrusts inside of Volt, sending Volt deeper inside of you.

One day, these men would be the death of you.

You watch, transfixed, as Eddie finds his pace, languid strokes combined with harsh thrusts, each in turn making Volt’s cock throb inside you, trying as much as he can to set his own pace, but Eddie’s hold on him not allowing for such freedom.

As Eddie moves faster, Volt loses his grip on your waist, his hands falling to the mattress beside your skin, his muscles trembling with the effort to keep himself up, to keep rocking inside you. The room is filled with moans, curses, and the sounds of skin on skin, brutal, relentless, and you wish it could be this way always.

“F-fuck, Eddie, yes, more,” Volt’s usual collected voice is anything but, he’s burning, greedy, and barely hanging on to his composure, and a silent scream leaves your lips when Eddie complies, your body being thrust further and further into the mattress, and you feel drool spill from your lips on the sheets.

Shocks light up your back, and now Volt speaks to you, nearly pleading, “Give me one more, live wire, give you j-just one, fuck, more.”

And it is his birthday, after all.

It’s Eddie’s tell-tale groans that make the spring inside you start to tighten, but it’s Volt’s whimpers, his pleas, and you feel him pump erratically inside you, that bring you to the peak once again, your walls clamping like a vice around Volt as tears from your mix mix with the puddle of drool beneath your cheek. 

Like a tripped circuit, Volt is next - he nearly collapses above your back as he fills you, one of his hands finding your arm and holding on for dear life, and you wouldn’t be surprised to find a hand-shaped burn in the morning (maybe, in fact, you’d welcome it). His whole body shudders as Eddie groans his name, how good he is, what a sweet birthday boy, until finally, he stills too, coming with Volt’s name on his lips.

When, finally, you’re free from the pile of bodies you all created, one of them (you’re not quite cognizant to register which) pulls you to their bathroom, and again, in the shower, you’re between their bodies, each of you helping to rinse off each other between quiet, slow kisses.

Clean in the bed, a new blanket over you, Volt holds you nearly atop his chest, Eddie on his side as he leans over the both of you, and your heart sings at their touches.

But, there’s one thing on your mind.

“It’s not fair,” you say in a small voice, sleep desperately wanting to overtake you.

Volt stills his hand on your back. “What’s not, darling?”

“Eddie’s the only one of us without a birthday.”

They glance at each other, as if it were the first time they realized it - maybe it is, in their world, Volt is the exception - before steel and white eyes find yours, and Eddie says simply, “Then pick a day.”

You raise your head, flick your eyes between them. “Really?”

“Why not,” he says, and you see the hints of a smirk he’s trying to hide. “If tonight was any indication, they certainly have their benefits.”

You smile, knowing without a doubt that you are the luckiest person in this house. “Okay. Um. Do you have a favorite month?”

Eddie chuckles, love and amusement both swimming in his eyes. “Not at all.”

“Well you’re a big help.” You turn to Volt, that same mixture in his eyes. “Volt, pick a month.”

“November.”

“Why November?’ Eddie asks.

“It’s got a V in it, of course.” He winks, and grey eyes roll.

“Alright, November… third,” you decide. “Cuz there’s three of us.”

Both pairs of eyes soften, their faces beaming. 

“Then that’s my birthday,” Eddie hums, his voice laced with devotion, adoration, pride.

Volt cups his cheek and strokes his stubble with his thumb. “I can’t wait, then.” He smiles softly, looks at you both. “Because I thoroughly enjoyed mine, my darlings.”

He kisses you both, and you settle in together, exhausted, but now, you dream of November thirds to come as well.

[minhoetaur]

nsfw/dark. knight!gargoyle x fem!queen!reader – monster fucking, smut, unhappy marriage, cheating, death, kidnapping, possessiveness, drugging (using his magic), blood (mentioned)

the king you were forced to wed cares nothing for your marriage, so the knight!gargoyle in charge of his royal guard takes care of you instead.

some nights, he squats on the roof of the castle over the window of your private chambers. eyes sharp as to not miss any danger that could be a threat to you.

other nights, he rails you silly in the quarters of your private room. he holds you close while fucking you raw. drowning in the feeling of your skin smushed sweet against the wings he's wrapped around you.

the words that leave him would be enough to convince the ruler to sack him. he curses your spouse, degrading the man who is too foolish to recognize the belle before him. too stupid to take you the way you deserve.

the gargoyle fucks you deep, so you'll feel it the next day. so that when you look and give a faux smile to your husband, you'll feel the phantom of the knight's cock stretched all the way to your stomach, just as he is now.

"i'd die for you, do you know that? no matter what he thinks, i answer to you. not that fool with the crown. you."

he chants the words with a tone as low as the stone castle is tall. claws digging into your sides as he pounds you faster. his cock warm and spearing into you as hard as rock, his tip touching places your husband hasn't even thought about.

the next morning, you wake in the sky. wind blowing against your face, you inhale a startled breath upon seeing how far you are from the ground. a familiar voice hushes you and you finally hear it... distant but there.

bells of your home clanging at a panicking speed. the tones unique and only used for the worst of events.

fires. invasions. assassinations.

when you speak the title, your voice is slurred like something's keeping you from returning to full consciousness. it takes all your strength to peel open your eyes, and you do so with a struggling groan. through the blurred vision, you see him.

"m'lord?"

the gargoyle peeks down at you, clutching you closer. swearing to himself for the thousandth time that he will not drop you. he waits for you to say more but you don't. back asleep, limp and peaceful.

good. the remaining journey will be a long one, and he needs you still so he can focus on getting you to the caves.

flapping his wings, the two of you soar. there's drying blood on his claws but he knows you'll understand. he did it for you, after all.