#and thinking: this shouldn't feel like water in the desert

[sabrina-senpai]

Let's go with steamy headcannons for the demons shall we? Manager reader (no specified gender)🧍‍♀️🙌

Saja boys x gn!manager reader

Character/s: Jinu, Romance, Abby, Baby & Mystery

Character pairings: Jinu/you, Romance/you, Abby/you, Baby/you & Mystery/you

A/N: I wrote this purely out of boredom so don't come after me thanks 🥱🫰

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Jinu

• his gaze alone makes you shiver, it's dark, it's hot and it's unfiltered. Scary sometimes, glowing eyes observing you from what feels like everywhere all at the same time.

• He doesn't flirt, not directly anyway. He hunts- and you're his chosen prey. And he watches, even when you don't think he does. He watches everything with a sly smirk.

• He'd deliberately bump into you on set just to watch you flinch under his gaze. Lifting your chin up with his slender fingers making you stare at his mesmerizing eyes..

• Whispering things into your ear at completely random times just to watch your throat gulp down his words, making his absolute goal to have you shivering and completely under his mercy.

"You look at me like you're trying to decipher me, I can help with that..all you have to do, is say please"

• When you fix his mic pack backstage, your gaze and in turn your touch, lingers. And he noticed, of course he did..

"Don't start now angel, otherwise no one will be able to stop us."

• When helping around set, he walks up to you from behind, an arm wrapping around your waist as he hums "Your Idol" on the crook of your neck, whispering the line "I'll be your idol" like it's a declaration.

• ...yeah I don't know how you survived either

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Romance

• relentless, would not stop at a small reaction

• He wanted you to squirm, to feel so seen that every small action of yours would cause a reaction out of him

"you're so cute, ma..na..ger..-nim!"

• When you hand them their water bottles, he doesn't take his from your hand.

• He would instead place both hands around yours, cupping both your hand and the bottle, and lifting it all the way up to his mouth. Gulping it down like a parched man in the desert all while maintaining heavy eye contact with you.

• And to mess with you even more, he'd inch his face closer to yours, noses touching at some point.

• He'd lift your hand up, to wipe his jaw from the spilled water

"Ahhh kamsamnida~ I was so thirsty dear manager"

• He doesn't break eye contact as he kisses your palm before jogging to go back on stage.

• But of course, it wouldn't be romantic of him not to blow you, what feels like a very sensual, kiss! Followed by a teasing wink.

• You may or may not have collapsed under your knees

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Abby

• He's the type to flex when you’re mad, lean extra close when you're frustrated, and weaponize his body like it’s second nature.

• Because for him, it is.

• you walk in l, clipboard in hand only to drop it when you bump into.. abs.?

• you've learned not to question the peculiar idols anymore but before you could walk off, he holds you in place and keeps you trapped in his arms, squeezing ever so slightly to flex.

• and when you ask why his shirt is off

"It's humid in here" the AC is blasting..the staff are freezing

"well I have body heat, and I don't mind sharing if it's with you.."

• proceeds to flex like it's part of his job description to be fair it kinda is..

"like what you see? c'mon manager-nim I know you like it"

• Whenever you carry something remotely heavy looking, he's already by your side, grabbing at whatever despite your protests.

• "you really shouldn't carry heavy things like this manager.. don't worry, you'll have better use for your hands later"

• kisses your hand while maintaining eye contact and a growing smirk

• He walks off with a wink and a flex, the cocky smirk never leaving his face

• you definitely locked yourself in the bathroom or in the closet to avoid him a few times before..

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Baby

• He doesn’t tease loudly.

• He knows exactly how to get under your skin without lifting a finger.

• will absolutely grab your water bottle mid sip and take a long messy sip as well, handing it back to you with his famous baby like smile but a devilish glint in his eyes

His entire shtick is acting like he’s innocent while utterly destroying your composure in five seconds flat.

"what? I was thirsty" before walking away like it was a normal day at work

• would 100% open a lollipop he doesn't like, stick it in his mouth and take it out just to squeeze open your mouth and plop it in, already moving to grab a flavor he actually likes

"ah much better, right manager-nim?"

• Would go up behind you and cling to you like a cat, nuzzling every so often into your neck as you try to focus on work

• you pretended to be busy everytime they come back (back)stage

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Mystery

• He's an enigma

• He likes to randomly get behind you, breathing down your neck, sniffing you as if wanting to inhale- ravish every part of you.

• He doesn't speak no, but just the pace of his breath beating against the surface of your neck you can tell. He wants you. He wants to devour you, keep you all for himself. Like a dragon hoarding his treasure, and you are his.

• Would take any chance he could to wrap his arms around your waist just to feel your breath hitch and your body shiver.

• He would lick long wet stripes from your neck to the bottom of your ear, and when he's feeling extra possessive? He'd bite you, a nibble really.

Even as a human his canines remain sharp, sharper than most at least.

His bites rarely left a mark, because it's not his intention. But he could if he wanted to. He just wanted to make sure you know, that you're his, and him, yours

• you make sure to carry extra bandaids and restocked your concealer in case he did..

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

A/N: can you tell i gave up on Baby's and Abby's parts?

Note: I might edit this even after posting so uh yeah

[beingatoaster]

man I don't mean to be a bitch, and people can write what they want, but when I ship characters who have tension between them, resentment/bitterness or rough history or even just giving each other a hard time, that's part of the ship for me and it sucks when people make that go away as soon as they get together. like, cozy domesticity years later with vague reference to old issues fading is one thing, but when McCoy stops sniping at Spock or whatever the moment they kiss and suddenly they're calling each other pet names and being super saccharine... my first thought is always, why did you ruin it?

(this also applies to, and given some of my ships overlaps with, reconciliation stories, which are real common in Genshin because a couple fan-favorites have tensions around past incidents/arguments. whether platonic or romantic, the dynamic doesn't change instantly when one character says "I love you and I'm sorry"--it changes slowly over time as they (both, ideally) demonstrate that, and work out who they are in the aftermath, and that's the only way in which taking that tension out is interesting to me. if it's a shortcut to healthy well-adjusted schmoopy kisses and/or snuggles then you have once again Ruined It for me)

[eldritch-spouse]

You are running naked in the Jungle, searching frantically.

You look and you see another human, the first one you've seen in months and you run towards them.

“Thank God! Listen, we need to get out of here immediately, it's dangerous! Do you know the way out? Back to civilization?”

You feel a tentacle around your ankles

[Months? Couldn't be me, I'd just die. Let's downsize that to a week. Fem reader.]

TW: Reader has a self-loathing inner monologue; Reader is in a bad place mentally; Dubcon to full consent.

It was a stupid idea.

You knew that when you started it. So did everyone that tried to convince you otherwise. But common sense isn't something that could have stopped someone like you, someone who was ill enough to think taking a break from life in the middle of buttfuck nowhere would work out.

You didn't even have any sort of experience in this type of thing. Neither did you seek any kind of useful tips.

You just wanted to escape.

And you did, literally, into a forested nightmare that you got lost in not even hours after your arrival.

You just wish you could find your car, you just wish you could find somewhere warm and comforting to sleep in.

It's been days. Probably a week by now. Your stuff all disappeared, somehow. You swear you're not tripping, it all just vanished! Your phone, your bag, your keys...

Your back hurts, the nights are cold and humid and you're sure you're getting sick by now. Clean water would be a godsend, you've been drinking and cleaning yourself with some questionable-looking sources for a while. Not to mention you can't feed yourself properly, and you certainly don't know how to hunt.

Not that there's much to hunt. Every time you think you hear a peep, there's a brush of foliage and silence dominates seconds later.

You're going to die.

A horrifying reminder that has your chest pounding painfully and sweat glistening on your forehead.

You don't want to die.

But the modern human wasn't born for the wilderness, and you can only stand being clothed for a little longer before the sensation of being dirty has you clawing the skin off your body.

It was a fucking miracle that you managed to get a small fire going.

Finally.

You can heat up that fish you caught earlier.

If it's still good. Is... This is safe to eat, right?

You lean to sniff at the leaf-wrapped catch.

Eh. You can stomach it...

God, you're starving.

One thing that's been bugging you for a while is how... Deserted this whole place feels.

You're no wildlife expert, but isn't this kind of location supposed to be brimming with animals? Why is it that, everywhere you go, it's mostly just you and insects bumbling around?

Shouldn't there be some mammals here? Some birds? Maybe a squirrel or a snake... Aren't there predators you'd have to worry about in this kind of scenario?

Ironically, being alone makes you feel even more stressed out than if you were constantly surrounded by wild animals.

You huddle closer to the small fire.

Alone.

But always so on edge.

Always getting that tingling feeling crawling up your spine.

The one that screams- Look, look behind you! You're in danger!

The phantom feeling of something hovering behind your neck, goosebumps that hardly fade every time you do turn around to check and find nothing.

Is this a normal amount of paranoia for your situation? Is this your brain trying to cope with the fact that you haven't seen much wildlife so far?

Or is there something watching you from beyond the trees?

Something stalking.

A persistence predator, coming and going, to check on its latest prey.

Oh, and what a catch you are. Big and juicy compared to the things that probably roam this place -Roamed, more like...

Have you wandered into the territory of something that'll inevitably snap its jaws around your neck?

...

Just eat the fucking fish already.

Food.

Focus on the present.

The smell starts to hit your nose. Salt, oh what you wouldn't do for some simple salt. How do people get salt?

You're glad you got some berries along the way too, because this fish is probably going to taste like ass. You're sure they aren't poisonous or anything of the sort. If they are, then you've been eating them for the past few days so honestly you could keel over at any moment.

You'll see.

Once the fish has roasted enough where it's likely safe to consume, you peel it open messily and start munching indiscriminately, ravenous.

It's... Well, it's sustenance.

It's about the most nutritious thing you've eaten since you got here.

This survival thing is harder than the fake actors on TV make it seem.

A sudden crack of a branch has you pausing mid-chew.

You truly feel like a deer when your head snaps up and you stand very still to listen for a follow-up.

Nothing.

Tired eyes strain, trying to make sense of a darkened blob in the distance.

Huh.

What the fuck is that thing?

Tall.

Two legs...

Arms?!

Shit- Could it be?!

That can't be possible, someone else roaming around this maddening forest. Is that a sign that you're somehow getting closer to civilization? That you're making it out by sheer luck? What cosmic force could be on your side this time? Maybe they just live here, like some kind of off-grid retired agent- Okay, you've been watching too many movies.

Without stopping to think twice about frankly important concerns regarding this sudden development, you place the cooked fish down on the leaf it was previously wrapped in and start scooting forward towards the silhouette you saw.

That build can only belong to a man. Well, you assume as much anyway. It's hard to spot more from here, with the foliage covering their form.

" H- Hey... "

You haven't used your voice in a hot minute. Some part of you almost doesn't recognize it. A healthy dose of paranoia stops you from brushing aside the obstacles and facing this person.

But you need to at least try, right?

The worst that can happen is that you really are hallucinating for some reason or another.

With a surge of bravery, but mostly desperation, you push all the branches and greenery away to run towards this person, opening your mouth to greet them, to beg for help, ask for new clothes or just something cooked!

" Hey! Please, I need your... Help? "

Nothing.

There's no one.

But that doesn't make sense, you clearly saw a silhouette, someone was there! You didn't even have to run that far, how could it be that you already lost sight of them? That they could get away so silently?

No. Everything's wrong.

Before you know it, your vision is blurring and your face heats as tears stain your cheeks.

Why... Why would your mind fuck with you like this? Going from a shining shred of hope to complete despair in seconds has you screaming inside.

Why is this happening to you?

Are you really about to die in a stupid fucking patch of nothing just because you can't deal with the stress in your life like a normal person? Just because you made one bad decision when everything was weighing heavy on your conscience? Are you really so incompetent and so pointless as a human that this is how your story ends?

Anger and regret blind you to everything, fingers course through your knotted hair as you sob and tug, having no way to calm yourself and nothing to unleash your tension onto.

The moment you try to stomp your foot in a petulant act, you find it rooted to the ground. It takes a couple more insistent tugs upward for you to realize that something is coiled around it, keeping it firmly planted.

The train wreck of emotions and bile of self-hating thoughts takes a backseat, goosebumps pricking your skin from tip of the head to your very toes. The first thing you think of is some kind of snake, eyes bulging behind digits.

You look down frantically, shaking, but in spite of the sky being clear, all you see is this reddish mass, with neither end nor beginning. What... What the fuck is it?!

The thing tightens around your ankle, starting to slide up the length of your right leg, up to your knee. And immediately, you panic, kicking and shrieking, achieving absolutely nothing and getting promptly tugged to the ground.

Yeah.

Maybe freaking out isn't the best bet for your survival here.

Twigs and dirt get on your face, it takes some coughing and swiping to finally clear your field of view. But honestly...

You almost wish you hadn't.

Curved over your prone figure, staring down, is a creature you have never seen before.

Bipedal and quite large, like the silhouette you had glimpsed before, but so very far from human. The reddish coloration spanning the length of that bizarre body makes him -Because, again, you can only assume that is a male- Look as if he's made of flesh quickly molded together to imitate the figure of a human. What initially made you think he was skinless soon turns into the realization that there was never room for skin anyway.

Because his body is quite literally comprised of what you can only call tentacles. Tendrils and coiling tissue that clings and organizes itself in the vague lie of an organism like yours.

From elbows to fingers and knees to feet, the tendrils become a lot more discernable, coiling and uncoiling while he watches curiously. The thing around your leg is one of said tendrils, coming from the mass forming his own. Along the length of its torso, sharp-toothed mouths form and shift, almost seeming to have a mind of their own as they scent the air and snap at nothing.

That head has got to be the most striking feature. It's an amalgamation of tentacles all wrapped around each other, leaving room for an incredibly sharp golden eye to fix you in place. This thing looks like it crawled out of a sleeping ocean, like the roots and vines of an ancient jungle came together to form a totally new extension of themselves. He looks like he's been sculpted from the guts of others yet also composed in a way your mind could never hope to grasp.

Somewhere between trying to determine if you're dealing with an animal or a person, you reach the conclusion that an animal wouldn't stare you down for this long.

An animal would take a couple of seconds to determine if you're prey or predator and act accordingly. He would have snapped your neck or suffocated you like a boa constrictor with those tentacles by now.

And yet, he just stares.

Like you're the strangest creature to ever grace the woods this thing probably calls a home. You're as freaky to him as he is to you, enough so that he seems out of depth on how to proceed.

You stare back.

This has got to be the monster that you saw back there. Watching you. Now that you think about it, maybe this was the reason you'd always have a tingling sensation reminding you that you're not alone. Because he was there all that time, stalking.

Plenty were the moments he could have dug your grave until now. It's strange that he hasn't. Because surely, he's seen how you're failing to adapt to this location. Every step you take, you're stumbling and getting pricked, hungry, thirsty, afraid, disoriented- You're a fish out of water and he could have ended that misery a long time ago.

Odd.

Neither of you move. It blinks, vertically. You blink too.

And then, it makes this chitter.

Wet, like a gargle, followed by some kind of rumbling as more of those tendrils that form his limbs unwind, explore.

They reach down towards your frame when he squats, and you stifle the urge to scream at the sight of them getting nearer. Because who knows what he's going to do...

They poke and prod, grabbing lightly at parts of you, wet yet not quite. Two coil around your arms, then elbows, then wrists.

Other strays squirm around your sides, unintentionally triggering a squirming reflex as you muffle helpless laughter.

The monster seems intrigued by the noise anyway, making his own vocalizations as if attempting to communicate with you.

Abruptly, there's a blur of movement and you're yanked into the air by the arms, shrieking in fear and pain.

Not for long, because more of his freaky, flowing appendages wind around your middlesection, hips and knees, pulling in different directions.

In seconds, mere moments, this being has you suspended in the air.

Immediately, your panicked mind is going places where it absolutely shouldn't.

He seems more relaxed now that you're restrained, that gaze becomes softer, clouded with curiosity. To be monitoring you this long, you don't doubt he has his own questions and intrigue regarding how you work.

When that hulking red mass walks towards you, anxiety prevents your mouth from staying shut.

" H- Hi? "

A sound not too different from the peep of a skittish bird.

One that causes him to cock his head in a brief pause, processing the noise, and returning it with his own light gurgle. One of the mouths on his figure gets the pitch right down to a T.

Soon, he's lacing a hand through your hair, grabbing it, manipulating the protrusion and stroking your head inquisitively. He squeezes and almost scritches at your scalp, reminding you of the way someone acts when spotting a particularly cute cat. Yes, hair is likely a mystery to this creature, you can kind of understand why it'd linger here.

But that doesn't change the fact that you're being patted like a pet by a strange, unknowable creature- And that's morbidly hilarious.

When your cheeks start to puff with laughter, his attention finally deviates. You can feel the tendrils that form every digit when he splays them across your face, tracing your eyebrows, playing with the tip of your nose and even trying to poke into your ears- Something he halts when you jerk away rapidly each time.

When he starts trying to put a digit in your mouth, he's a lot more careful, aware that you have teeth and can bite, even if yours are quite small and blunt compared to the ones he sports. He succeeds, because your strength is nothing compared to that of a monster of his size and nature. The digit he dips into your mouth rests there placidly for a couple of moments.

You aren't sure what to do. Biting is not a bright idea when you know this creature can probably easily dismember you in this position. He himself looks slightly lost, as if he put his finger in your mouth out of impulse mostly. A false sense of security begets your own curiosity.

Perhaps you're just insane already -That probably says a lot about your overall mental fortitude- But seeing another living being that behaves and looks vaguely like what you might call a person makes you feel calmer than you have since the beginning of all this. You know it's an irrational feeling, that you're not any safer than before, but it's a thread of comfort you desperately cling to.

And it's what allows you to look this thing in the eye while you experimentally lick his bizarre tendril-clump of a finger.

It was only a little flick.

But naturally, he felt it.

The monster rumbles something incomprehensible at you, leaning closer still to cast a shadow upon your front. In this position, he looms between your clothed legs, though seems mostly unaware of the lurid position he's got you in, fixated on your mouth.

The sensation of his digit unfolding into two separate thin tentacles is bizarre. You picture a human finger splitting in two and curse your brain. Said tentacles poke and wriggle, capturing your tongue between themselves.

Yes, that's probably the part of your body that most closely resembles the mass of prehensile tissue composing his own.

The touch has you drooling, saliva trying to break down something probably few to no humans have ever come in contact with. He tastes slimy yet slightly rugged in some areas, not something you'd write home about.

Reflex has your poor muscle squirming to be freed, but that only causes him to tighten the grasp upon it. And, surprisingly, to let out this humid noise that sounds far too much like a groan of delight for you to interpret it as anything else.

There's a pause from your part as you wonder, incredulously, if this thing just got turned on.

There's not much time to ponder, because that digit very quickly slips out, and as he examines the sheen of drool on it, something else steadily approaches your mouth.

Ah, you've graduated from finger to proper tentacle mouthfucking. Commendable.

Making light of the situation is about the least recommended course of action, but after what you've endured so far, you think you deserve to be a little, tiny bit, insane.

Apparently convinced that you won't try to harm him, the crimson monster wiggles that darkened appendage and taps it against your lips, seeming very interested in how this is unfolding.

You should not have opened your mouth.

But you did.

And he visibly brightened up.

The tendril wedges itself in without much hesitation, resting upon your tongue. Much thicker than his digit, your jaw has no choice but to stretch, and your lips wrap around it in a rather phallic, dirty image. You barely realize you're making an effort not to scrape your teeth on the appendage. Perhaps because the sensation of it is a tad spongy and remarkably similar to that of any standard manhood.

And, as if to give reason to your lewd comparison, he shudders at the warmth of your wet mouth, the thing pulsing within you.

While he mostly simply lets the extremity sit there motionlessly, you do explore, trying to lick around it out of morbid curiosity. He watches you avidly, but apparently, what really gets to this bizarre entity is feeling you suck down the saliva that pools in your cheeks, swallowing.

Suction. Because of course he'd enjoy that. What man doesn't?

That begs the question, is the thing in your mouth part of his genitals?

Again, thinking is a privilege you can't afford when that tentacle starts sliding down your throat experimentally. It doesn't take him long to trigger your gag reflex, a violent kick and curve forward from your part causing him to pull back quickly. But he continues to test the waters afterwards, probably seeking the sensation of your stressed throat muscles tightening around him.

Instinct takes over.

Because even if he seems truly out of his depth maneuvering a human body, he's curious and, if you had to guess, attracted to you. Enough to put sensitive things in your mouth, to fetishize that part of you. Hormones make things work, which means he soon realizes he can make repetitive back and forth motions to get friction.

And so, just like that, you're getting fucked in the mouth, inside the woods, by an eldritch abomination of a monster you might find in a cheaply made H. P Lovecraft rip-off.

It should not arouse you.

It should horrify you.

... But it doesn't.

Those reactions are missing, leaving you befuddled at your own enjoyment of the situation. Are you just happy to have someone around? Has it truly been so long since you received this type of attention that you don't mind if it comes from an entity of unknown origin who is clearly not civilized? Are you just a freak actively discovering new sides of your sexuality?

Who knows anymore.

All you know is that there's a wet noise ringing every time he thrusts that slimy thing into your mouth, that he's resorted to gripping your hips hard while making intense eye contact, that he growls and gurgles whenever you have enough control to suck at him. If you had to guess, it's his unwavering, lewd and fascinated observation of your face and lips that has you likely forming a wet spot on your poor pants.

You think your wanton squirming is subtle, but reality proves otherwise when the monster starts getting distracted, one of those pupils shifting to the rhythmic movement of your legs as you shamelessly seek friction. At first, he seems irritated, as if questioning why you'd want to leave when you'd been so docile so far.

Then it appears to click.

You can almost see it in his face, in spite of how inhuman it is, that eureka moment.

And the tendril in your mouth slows down to a crawl.

He starts pawing and pulling at your pants, but not aimlessly. Not at all. He's studied you, he knows what he's looking for, the button and the zipper. You pale a few shades, the only way this thing could know how to take pants off is if it saw you doing it, if it saw you relieving yourself or trying to bathe to avoid infections.

Just how many embarrassing moments did he catch?

Too many, probably.

Still, you're pleasantly surprised to see him so easily remove the garment, fluidly shifting the positions of his tendrils to avoid tangling the fabric in them. Your pants come off without a single blemish, aside from those they sustained previously. Is he removing them so carefully because he thinks you need them to survive or is he just being considerate?

Your underwear is treated the same way, he spares no extra thought to it, and only appears to pause once your pussy is exposed.

Usually, you'd feel self-conscious in this position. There's not a lot you can do to properly groom yourself without the simple privilege of soap and whatnot... But what does it matter here? As far as you know, for this monster, pussy is pussy regardless of it being shaved or bush-heavy, "perfumed" or au naturel.

And a soaked, needy hole is hard for a lonesome monster to ignore.

He looms closer to your womanhood, watching closely, gargling a string of vocalizations you still can't interpret, until another tentacle slithers into scene and slaps against your cunt.

No, literally.

The thing whips from mound to the bottom of your entrance, swiping up and down in a pace that has you seeing stars every time it flicks your clitoris and catches on a clenching entrance. To say your legs kick out occasionally from the intensity of the stimulus is no exaggeration, but he's quick to adapt his hold so you have no way of wiggling aside.

You don't know why it's doing that, but frankly, you don't care much, it just feels good. A racing heart and a heaving chest have you tipping your head back to moan against the thing stuffed in your mouth. You realize, a little belatedly, that he was probably mostly just trying to lube that appendage with your own arousal.

Your plump pussy still tingles when the assault stops on all sides, you strain to watch what he's doing, observing the monster evaluate the sheen now coating that wriggling extremity.

He's less careful than before now, a product of excitement no doubt, parking the somewhat thicker length at your entrance and pushing in tentatively for only a couple of moments before ramming a decent chunk of that tendril into your cunt.

Eyes bulging, you spit out a beastial sound that startles the monster, panting as you try to get used to the sudden stretch. He's reached a depth within you no one else has found before, and the pressure is such so that you've been robbed of the ability to speak.

He shouldn't be that far in you.

You may come from extremely distinct backgrounds, but some things are vastly universal, like the facial expression of pain. Which, credit where credit is due, he picks up on relatively fast. The moment the entity removes a good chunk of its length, you sigh and sag in momentous relief. That's a lot better. You still feel as if you're being stuffed to the brim, but there's no longer that stabbing pain.

He understands what he did wrong after a couple of still moments and some bizarre palping sensation from your insides.

Much like the previous tendril in your mouth, this one too starts to thrust back and forth, with more care now, experimenting with differing speeds and curling in various ways as he gets closer and closer to watch how you react.

You're no researcher, but maybe if the mounting pleasure wasn't swimming to your head and making it very very hard to think coherently right now, you'd be fascinated with the way this monster is being so thorough in his examination of you, wanting to learn what makes you tick in every way, what has you choking out noises and rolling your eyes.

So intense is the heat rushing through your body from his repeated, filthy motions that you hardly notice anything happening until his all-seeing eye is almost glued to your face. The tips of the tentacles that make up his rather disturbing head unfurl and appear to drip downwards, clinging to the sides of your face so he can fix it in place, observe every detail as soon as you part your mouth to moan and gasp and babble nonsense. Each noise you make is eagerly eaten up, he tries to mimic the same motions that make you squeal as if begging for more of them.

There's no time to warn or even shriek about it, your orgasm barrels its way down your body with the intensity of a bullet, curving you in its tentacles, a breathless "oh" being all you can offer as your abdominal muscles contract and you squeeze the life out of the tendril inside you, making a mess that drips to the ground between you two.

It may not have been easy to spot in that pleasured trance, but the monster halted to watch it all unfold, mesmerized. Retracting to test the nature of the new slick now grossly painting you.

By the time you're done riding the high of your climax, you've been shifted again, this time a little lower, and you find the entity staring down to the spot where your core meets something that wasn't there before.

You'll admit you didn't have the time to properly process the full extent of his appearance when he first appeared before your stunned self. Now you're unsure if this monster had some kind of pelvic pouch, or if he merely unfolded two more tendrils out of his mass where one would expect a dick to be.

The two appendages wriggle and roll impatiently, seeking each other before parting in search of heat, of wetness, slapping against your belly and thighs. They may not look like it, but you can only guess those are his cocks. And he's considering something quietly.

It's hard to tell what he's thinking right now, the communication barrier doesn't help. Maybe he worries that the length of them will hurt you. Perhaps he wonders if he can impregnate you this way. It could just be that he thinks perhaps mating with a strange human is not a good idea, but the way those things are spreading a coat of thick precum on your skin says otherwise.

Instead of letting his stall further, a small hand reaches down to feather over the tip of one of those members, immediately getting captured and pulled at in the process. His figure rattles, hips offering a useless piston before his head snaps back up to watch you.

" ... Try putting one in. "

You murmur, knowing damn well it can't understand a single word.

He looks back down, peels back to spread your cuntlips invitingly, then seems to make up his mind, allowing the very tips of both squirming cocks to connect with your entrance. They've found warmth and they're desperate to worm in, stretching and flirting with your walls.

You grin incredulously, already trying to guess what it'll feel like, gasping as soon as he leans forward and allows more exploration. The first hint of a burn arrives as he rumbles in delight-

But a branch snaps in the distance.

And the moment is ruined because he halts immediately, your cry of frustration ignored entirely.

His body twists in an unnatural way so he can glance behind, inhuman eye seeing through greenery and undoubtedly spotting something off.

In the tense quiet that has now settled, even you pick up on the faraway mumbles of what must be people.

Eyes widening, snapping out of this episode, you begin to squirm earnestly now, wanting to see them, to find a way back, to go home!

Finally, people came looking for you!

The monster snaps back around, making you realize how truly fucked you are in these circumstances. Something flashes in that gaze, a hint of contempt, of hurt maybe.

Something too human to fall upon such a nightmarish face.

You can only scream as more tendrils dart in lightening speeds to cocoon you inside them. That single noise being all that escapes before you're forcibly gagged and physically thrown over the monster's shoulder.

His molding body swings from tree to tree in a blur of movement, taking you God knows where...

And leaving your saviors in the dust.

[sashiavi]

Kent ramble incoming ehehe.. gonna be dumping all my nasty old man ideas onto you and neet cause i love how u two write him <33 (if that’s all right, that is)

But ive been thinking ab the farmer going to a free use/glory hole & Kent following her.. she’s trying to get her feelings for Kent out of her system with an anonymous fuck but she ends up getting used by him without her even realizing. He ends up giving himself away while they fuck and he makes sure she can’t do anything but take it while he admonishes her for even thinking about going to anyone else- nobody will be able to fuck her like he can ( ˋ⁻̫ˊ) Ψ

@neetily we're being fed •///• and now my brain has been sparked, whoops, I wrote smth..

Need Kent to dump his cu

Longing for Kent at the Glory Holes</3

Warnings: age gap, implied infidelity, glory holes, cum.. like a lot of it... piv, fingering, cunilingus, daddy talk, choking, general sashiavi nastiness yk how it is

Word Count - 2k

•·············°·············•♡•·············°·············•

You knew you were wrong for it. Watching the older man from across the bar, late nights at the saloon, knowing better that you shouldn't- You couldn't! You cannot be thinking about him like this.

Not when you're best friends with his son, always around the house, coming out of Sam’s room for a glass of water when you know Kent would be lounged on the couch - Just to give him a little, nervous wave. It was wrong.. skittering around his home with his family around, catching a greedy glimpse of him any time you could, eyes flicking to him at the dining table after his own wife had invited you to stay for supper.

You shouldn't eye him up like that at the luau, eyes locked on to the heavy drag of his boardshorts, weighted down with the drippings of ocean water. Just below his tummy, soft with age and fit with his lifestyle, happy trail moist and tacky against his skin as it disappears into his bottoms. The fabric runs taught on his hipbones, deliciously low before the show is over and he pulls them up with a hook of his thick finger.

You're embarrassing yourself - Wearing pretty outfits in his presence, that ditzy demeanour truly born up from the bubble of anxiety swirling in your tummy from just being around him! So nervous and stuttery, dolly eyes flicking up to Kent's hardened gaze.. Of course it works, of course he starts cracking, falling for a sweet cutie like you.

But you don't know that- So lost in your worrying, dreamy and sweetly moaning into your knuckles as your cunt squelches around your fingers, milky and gushy insides making a mess on your fingers. Crying for him, mewling out his name unapologetically as you carefully sink yourself down on your new dildo - Silky and velvet silicone, fat in width, kissing yours insides while your vibrator buzzes aggressively against your pert clit in an attempt to soothe the wild stretch.

But soon that's not enough, is it? Such fantasies carried out all alone? You needed more, but you couldn't have him... Right?

You couldn't fool around in town either - Whispers would carry faster than the wind. You needed an out.

The Calico Desert was far enough.. An elusive Casino stands with an underground secret, Red Rooms for pleasure, anonymous glory holes for those who just needed a release with no strings attached. A perfect place for your fantasies, with real partners to play with!

Especially your new mystery man..

With his weighty cock poking through the cut out hole in the wall, struggling to stand tall with the sheer thickness of it, bobbing with arousal. It was pulsey, a thick vein running up the undershaft giving a flex as blood rushed to the rosy pink tip oozing up droplets of milky pre cum, practically dripping like drool, Yoba, it was as if it was crying for you.

He was thick, girth making irony saliva pool under your tongue, swallowing proving pointless at the sight of this cock - Picture perfect for your fantasy, a thick brush of hair on his base and balls, sack hanging heavy surely filled with plenty of thick, ropey cum. Scent the perfect musk, it felt manly- One of the traits that drew you to liking Kent in the first place!

Not like the people you hung out with, those younger males that could be the picture perfect partner for you, save for just how unsure they were about everything. Or those other Bachelors.. A little older and still just as lost- Kent had a bout of maturity attached to him, life seemingly plenty figured out, stable.. And yet you wanted to break it down.

Any guilt that dared to ping in your chest didn't last long. Not with the crane of your partner's hips, forcing the head of his cock to press a wet kiss to your cheek. If only he could see the hearts in your eyes, the dribble of spit that slipped from your tongue as you licked your lips

Soon, his length was down your throat, fat and chubby tip gagging up a sweet gurlgy moan, spitty and slick from your lips, wrapped around his thick length. He played rough with you, a heavy hand coming through the hole opening, thick fingers twirling into your hair for a better grip. Forcing your throat to be a personal toy, a rough face fucking you could only dream about.

You jaw aches, stingy with the stretch of this stranger's girth, tongue sore from rough use- Your eyes roll, bleary and pooled with fat tears, looking up all crossyee at nothing, pretending you were locking eyes with the Military Man that had tugged on your heart. Soft hazels surely hardens with a scrunch of his brow, nose crinkled in hot pleasure.. You blink your tears, letting them roll down your cock filled cheeks.

Your pussy drools, pooling behind the sheeny fabric of your panties, sticky to the touch of your fingers as you rub, easily bleeding through the fabric. Your mind chants his name, over and over like a mantra, 'Kent, Kent, Kent~!' Throwing in dirty-sweet petnames into the mix, Would he let you call him Sir? Mister Military Man so strong and authoritive? Would he groan if you cried out something more? 'Daddy, Daddy! Oh pleaseee Daddy!' Begging on your knees for him, that gentle and sweet family man taking out all those frustrations on your body. You breathe against your mystery man's base, huffy and hyper, desperate to take him all.

It's so much, maybe even too much. The perfect fantasy nearly coming true! Just missing that one main ingredient..

No time to think now though, right? Not when your mystery man groans from behind his gritted teeth, fist tightening in your hair when he busts himself down your throat, a healthy dump of cum squirting rope after rope. It's a wonder you don't choke - more than you already had been - With the thick white paint of his cum load, sputtering from your cheeks with a struggled cough fron yourself. He uses it like lube, hips snapping to fuck himself through it all, long and strong, milking out Every. Last. Drop.

You don't want it to end. Wanna keep the lovely weight of this stranger's cock nestled sweetly on your tongue, wanna pepper Kisses and Kitten licks over his flushed tip, wanna imagine you were pampering your older crush, treating him sweeter than any other could.

Ah but he pulls away, forcing up a pitifully sad whine from your throat, making you swallow thickly, savouring the remnants of that musky milky cum he'd gifted you. You lament in the loss, lips pouted in a little wobble, heart hammering blood to your head, beating with the achy throb of your neglected cunt.

The hand in your hair moves to your cheek, cupped warm, skin rough, a calloused thumb tracing over your swollen, cum stained lips.

"S' your turn. Yeah?" His voice was deep. Rasped and rough with a twinge of an accent, hearty and southern, tainted with a touch of age. Yoba your heart flutters- This was too good to be true!

You dare to peek, watery, doe eyes looking up at this man woth a doll-like look, seeing the outline of his features in the dim light - God your chest pangs, a spike of embarrassment, lust, nervousness, excitement, arousal - His thumb pulls on your bottom lip, dragging the swollen plumpness before he let's it go with a pop.

"S'Get 'outta here." The corner of his mouth barely lifts into a quip of a smirking grin.

"Kent..?" Disbelief gnaws at your tone. He only hums, a short sound of agreeance, kicking his head in the direction of the more intimate rooms with a short lift of his chin.

Ooh he treats you well. Head between your legs, lips smacking at the folds of your pussy, heavy hands planted on your thighs while his battle-worn fingers wrap around, blunt nails digging into your soft and sensitive flesh. He feasts like a starved man, suckling at your supple-sweet wetness, fat lapping licks of his pink tongue, jamming the muscle into your cunt hole before he's back on your clit. You squeal and squeak, fingers tugging at his hair, weaving into desperate fists, grinding your core on his lips and tongue- Yoba he takes it too, works with your movements, following your hips in sweet tandem.

He's rough with your cunt, spitting a fat glob of hot saliva before he laps it up, hazel eyes on you as he does so before they flutter shut with a scrunch of his brow and a shake of his head- Devouring your pussy once again, nose jutting into your clit while his tongue fucks past the ring of your pussy.

You have to be ready for him, yeah? Nice and wet and gushy.. Squirting all over his face before he even thinks about sinking his cock into you.

He makes you lick it off of his lips, tongue cleaning up the mess you left on his chin and cheeks, stealing hot slick and saliva filled kisses in the mix, tongues swirling, catching and suckling against eachother as two deft fingers jam into your waiting cunt.

Your fingers were incomparable to his own, too small to reach into the depths of your sweetness, too weak to curl and finger bang the fuck out of your poor pussy, squelchy and wet despite the messy squirt of your orgasm.

"Eyes on me, Darl'.." Kent orders, voice softer than his actions. Your lips part, jaw dropped in hot pleasure, eyes going into a blurred fuzz, his features disappearing as his fingers curl and curl and curl- Until you're left empty, gasping as fingers smack lovingly on your sticky clit, spiky pain and pleasure jutting up your body.

You're not empty for long though, easily plugged up with the thickness of Kent's cock, slowly sinking into your prepped up pussy just like you always imagined with your silly silicone toy. He kisses you through it, the whines and wobbly frown, a hand coming to rest a supple squeeze on your throat, hushing you as he bottoms out.

"S'okay Darlin'.." He coos roughly, hips beginning to hump a pace, rolling grinds against your public mound. "S'What you wanted, right Dolly? Yeahhh? Pretty lil' fuck doll aren'tcha? Thaaaats right.." All coos and sweet words despite the mean squeeze of his palm on your throat and the quick snapping of his hips.

Yoba, he mounts you. Hooking his free palm under your leg, knee to ear while he pounds at your pussy. Plap, plap, plap, skin on skin, wet and slick from the thin sheen of sweat that dared to wash over your skin and the gush of fluids from your supple cunt.

This was it- this was everything you had ever imagined, your perfectly lewd fantasy finally coming to fruition, taking the Kent's thick married cock, lovingly squeezing at his girth, hearts in your eyes as you choke a choppy babble past the tenseness of his hand on your throat; "Wa..nt need- Lov- Y..ou... please- Da..ddy...~"

It's enough to have Kent groaning deep, once fast fucking hips favouring a hard Roll. Slow. Mean. Snapping. Thrusts. Breath huffed in time with his hips, teeth grit as he speaks.

"Tryana' be my Baby? Hmmm?? Daddy's. Sweet. Lil'. Girl?" Words punctuated with his thrusts, pudgy tip kissing your insides with every snap. It seems to have triggered something in him, hazel eyes blown up, pupils dilated big and black, sweat dripping from his brow. "Daddy's sweet n'- Fuck.. His pretty Dolly, yeah??" You nod, strained against the hand on your throat, his fingers guaring your jaw, movement limited, the most pathetic and eager little nod he'd ever seen.

His hand comes off, planting under your other knee and you're manhandled into a dirty mating press, cock drilling into your poor pussy from above.

You knew you were wrong for it. And you're sure he knows it too. But Yoba be dammed if you ever go back to pitiful, longing looks from across the bar after this.

[zrvllya]

𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒

pairing - remus lupin x fem! reader

heart — „ that's not love. that's self-destruction — they look the same. "

warnings - blood mention, poisoning, self-destructive behavior, near death experience, illness, medical content, lycantrophy, codependency

word count — 4,400

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the shack groans under the weight of morning. not the cheerful kind of morning—the gray, reluctant kind that spills through splintered boards like watered-down milk. it smells of copper and sweat and something animal that never quite leaves these walls.

you've been awake for hours. your knees protest against the rough wooden floor, but you don't move. not while he's like this.

remus lies curled on his side, all angles and exposed ribs beneath a blanket too thin to offer real comfort. his breathing has finally steadied, no longer the ragged gasping of transformation but the heavy rhythm of exhaustion. dried blood crusts at the corner of his mouth. you resist the urge to wipe it away—he hates being touched immediately after.

instead, you wait. your fingertips trace patterns on the floorboards, ghosting over splinters and old stains. your heart beats sluggishly in your chest, a clock winding down.

"how long have you been there?" his voice cracks, desert-dry.

"since before dawn," you answer, and the truth feels inadequate. you've been here for years, really. in this same position, watching him emerge from the wolf like someone crawling from wreckage.

remus shifts, winces. his eyes remain closed. "you shouldn't."

"we've had this conversation."

"and we'll have it again," he murmurs. "until you listen."

you smile despite everything. "then we'll be having it forever."

he opens his eyes at that. amber in this light—more human than wolf but carrying echoes of both. they fix on your face with the intensity that always makes you feel translucent, like he can see straight through to the lies you've been telling.

"your hands," he says.

you tuck them under your thighs. "just cold."

"it's may."

"poor circulation."

he struggles to sit up, and you don't offer help because you know he'll refuse it. the blanket slides from his shoulders, revealing fresh scratches across his collarbone. not as bad as they used to be. not as bad as they should be.

"give me your hand," he says, and it's not a request.

you hesitate, then extend your right hand. his fingers wrap around your wrist, pressing against your pulse point. his thumb strokes once across your palm, and the touch sends electricity up your arm.

"your heart," he says, "is beating too slowly."

"must be all the running i do," you attempt a joke, but it falls flat between you.

remus says nothing, but his grip tightens. those eyes—professor eyes, you used to tease—cataloging, analyzing. you see the moment understanding breaks across his face like a fever.

"you've been taking it." not a question. horror coats each word. "the wolfsbane."

you don't deny it. can't, really, not with the evidence written in your slowing pulse and the constant chill in your fingers. three years of goodnight kisses after he's taken his potion. three years of letting the poison build in your system, molecule by molecule.

"just traces," you say, as if that makes it better. "just enough to—"

"to what? kill yourself slowly?" his voice rises, then breaks. "merlin's fucking beard, what were you thinking?"

"that i could help." the words sound small in the vastness of what you've done. "that i could share it. ease it."

"by poisoning yourself?" he releases your hand like it burns him. "this isn't—you can't just—"

"it works," you interrupt. "you've been having better transformations. less pain. the wolf is calmer."

"at what cost?" remus pushes himself further away, back hitting the wall. the distance between you feels oceanic. "do you have any idea what you've done? wolfsbane is toxic. even in small doses, over time—"

"i know what it does."

"and you did it anyway." disbelief colors his words. "why would you—how could you—"

"because i love you," you say simply. "and i was tired of watching you suffer alone."

he flinches like you've struck him. "that's not love. that's self-destruction."

"they look the same."

silence stretches between you, taut as a bowstring. outside, birds have begun their morning songs, oblivious to the storm brewing within these walls. remus runs trembling fingers through his hair—more gray than brown now, though he's still young by wizarding standards.

"how long?" he finally asks.

"since that night at the potter‘s house. when you collapsed even days later."

he remembers. you see it in the way his eyes darken. "three years."

you nod.

"three years of—" he can't finish the thought. "and what happens when it builds to toxic levels? when your heart stops? when your nervous system fails? did you think about that?"

"of course i did."

"and?"

you look down at your pale hands. "i decided you were worth it."

"don't you dare," he whispers, voice dangerous and low. "don't you dare make me the reason for your death."

"it's my choice, remus."

"it's not a choice i will allow!" he shouts, then immediately crumples, energy spent. "i already have enough blood on my hands. i won't add yours."

you crawl toward him, ignoring his attempt to retreat further into the wall. "you think i haven't considered everything? that i jumped into this without research? i've been working with an apothecary in knockturn alley. there's a cleansing potion—"

"an illegal potion, i assume."

"yes," you admit. "but it works. i take it every full moon after... after i've helped you."

he stares at you, incredulous. "so your solution to poisoning yourself is to use more illegal potions? brilliant. truly brilliant."

"it's kept me alive so far."

"and what about next month? or the month after? how long until your body builds resistance to the cleansing potion? did your knockturn alley friend mention that part?"

you hadn't considered that. the silence answers for you.

remus closes his eyes, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. "you need to stop this. now. before it causes permanent damage."

"i can't."

"you must."

"would you?" you challenge. "if our positions were reversed, would you stop?"

a memory flashes between you—his body shielding yours during the a fight with slytherins, taking a curse meant for you. the weeks of recovery afterward. his insistence that he would do it again without hesitation.

"that's different," he says, but the argument sounds hollow even to him.

"it's exactly the same."

the sunlight has strengthened, cutting across his scarred face in golden bands. he looks both ancient and boyish in this light—the marauder, the man and the wolf.

"i never asked for this sacrifice," he whispers.

"you never had to."

three months earlier

"you're doing it again," sirius observed from the doorway of the library at grimmauld place, watching as you pored over ancient potion texts.

you didn't look up. "doing what?"

"that thing where you try to solve moony‘s furry little problem through sheer force of will." he crossed the room, peering over your shoulder at the yellowed pages. "thaddeus thornberry's advanced poison control? light reading, is it?"

"just curious," you said, closing the book casually—too casually.

sirius barked a laugh. "right. and i'm just curious about motorcycle maintenance. not planning to enchant one and fly it over london."

you sighed. "is there something you needed?"

"yeah, actually." he leaned against the table, arms crossed. "need you to stop whatever insane plan you're concocting before moony finds out and has a complete meltdown."

"i'm not—"

"save it." sirius cut you off with a wave of his hand. "i've known you both too long. he's getting better after full moons, but the wolfsbane isn't improving that drastically on its own. and you—" he gestured at your face, "—look worse every month."

your heart stuttered. "maybe i'm just tired."

"your lips were blue last moon." sirius's voice softened. "blue, love. like you were half-frozen from the inside out."

tears pricked behind your eyes. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"yes, you do." he sat beside you, suddenly serious in that way only sirius black could be—the gravity that lived beneath all his jokes and recklessness. "whatever you're doing to help him is killing you."

"it's not."

"it is. and when he figures it out—and he will—it'll destroy him more thoroughly than any transformation ever could."

you stared at the table, tracing wood grain patterns with your finger. "i found a way to share it. just a little. enough to make a difference."

sirius exhaled slowly. "the wolfsbane."

you nodded.

"bloody hell." he ran a hand through his hair. "that stuff is toxic enough that slughorn has to wear dragon-hide gloves to brew it. and you're what—ingesting it?"

"not directly," you mumbled. "just... residual traces. from when we..."

understanding dawned on his face. "after he takes it. when you kiss him."

you nodded again.

"does it hurt?" he asked, voice gentle.

"sometimes. mostly it just makes me cold. slows everything down." you forced a smile. "small price to pay."

sirius was quiet for so long that you finally looked up. his gray eyes were focused on some middle distance, his face a complex map of emotions.

"you remind me of james," he finally said.

that surprised you. "what? how?"

"that particular brand of self-sacrificing stupidity." a ghost of a smile touched his lips. "he'd do the same for any of us. does do the same, really,"

"it's not stupid if it works," you argued.

"it's stupid if it gets you killed." sirius took your cold hand between his warm ones.

"it won't."

"promise me you'll find another way," sirius insisted. "one that doesn't involve slow-motion suicide."

you'd promised, but some promises were made to be broken.

"how did you know?" you ask now, as remus stares at you across the dusty floor of the shrieking shack.

"i suspected something was wrong for months." his voice is steady now, professorial. "your symptoms match chronic wolfsbane toxicity. slower heart rate. decreased body temperature. the blue tinge to your fingernails during winter." he swallows hard. "i thought perhaps it was something else. an illness you were hiding. i never imagined you were deliberately poisoning yourself."

"not poisoning. sharing," you correct gently.

"semantics." he sighs, shoulders slumping. "when did sirius figure it out?"

you startle. "how did you—"

"he's been watching you like a hawk before every full moon. slipping you potions when he thinks i'm not looking."

of course he'd noticed. remus notices everything.

"about three months ago," you admit. "he caught me researching antidotes."

remus nods slowly. "and he didn't tell me."

"he promised not to. said it was my secret to tell."

"typical." there's no heat in the word—just weary resignation. "loyal to a fault, even when loyalty is the wrong choice."

you inch closer, until your knees nearly touch his. "i'm not going to stop."

"yes, you are."

"no," you reach for his hand, relieved when he doesn't pull away. "i'm not. but i will be more careful. better antidotes. proper monitoring."

"there's no safe way to do this." frustration edges his words.

"there's no safe way to love you either," you say softly. "i chose this life—chose you—knowing what it meant."

he looks at you then, really looks, and something inside him seems to crack open. "i am not worth this."

"you don't get to decide what you're worth to me."

his fingers tighten around yours. "i can't watch you die by inches."

"then help me find a better way. but don't ask me to stop trying."

the transformation has left him raw, defenses stripped away. tears gather in his eyes but don't fall. "why?" he whispers. "why would you do this?"

you could answer with platitudes. with grand declarations. instead, you give him the simple, terrible truth.

"because the night you first transformed in front of me, i saw your bones break and reform. i heard you scream until your voice gave out. i watched you tear at your own skin." your voice doesn't waver. "and i decided then that if i couldn't stop your pain, i would share it. even a fraction. even if it killed me."

remus makes a sound—half sob, half bitter laugh. "merlin help me, but i don't deserve you."

"probably not," you agree with the ghost of a smile. "but you're stuck with me anyway."

he pulls you against him then, arms wrapping around you with desperate strength. his body is warm against your perpetually cold one. you fit your head beneath his chin, listening to his heartbeat—too fast, while yours is too slow. somehow perfect counterpoints.

"we're going to find another way," he murmurs into your hair. "a way that doesn't hurt you."

you don't argue, though you both know there might not be another way. the wolfsbane is the only modern advancement in lycanthropy treatment. everything else is medieval torture or folk remedy.

"i love you," you say instead, because it's the only truth that matters.

his arms tighten around you. "enough to poison yourself."

"enough to do whatever it takes."

remus sighs, his breath warm against your scalp. "that's what terrifies me."

outside, the morning has fully arrived. sunlight streams through the cracks, illuminating dust motes that dance between you like tiny stars. the wolf has retreated for another month, but its shadow remains—in his scars, in your slowing heart, in the space between kisses that tastes of bitterness and aconite.

"come home," you whisper against his chest. "let me take care of you."

"only if you let me take care of you too," he counters.

you nod, knowing neither of you will keep that promise completely. love between broken people is never neat or simple. it's messy and desperate and sometimes dangerous—a constant negotiation between what you're willing to give and what you can bear to take.

remus stands slowly, muscles protesting the movement. you rise with him, supporting his weight without making it obvious that's what you're doing. he's too proud for open help, even now.

"sirius will be waiting," he says.

"with tea and chocolate and a lecture for both of us," you agree.

remus almost smiles. "and several illegal potions, apparently."

"those too."

as you help him toward the hidden passage, he pauses, framed in weak sunlight. "promise me something."

"anything."

"no more secrets." his eyes search yours. "not between us. not anymore."

you hesitate, then nod. "no more secrets."

it's a promise you intend to keep this time, though you both know there will always be things left unsaid—the way he sometimes wakes growling in the night, the way your fingers sometimes turn blue when you're tired, the fear that lives in both your hearts that one day the wolf will win or the poison will.

but for now, in the fragile morning light, it's enough to walk together through the tunnel, toward whatever comes next. the wolf sleeps. the poison ebbs. and love—fierce, foolish love—carries you forward through another dawn.

the journey back to hogwarts is always the worst part. the tunnel seems longer after full moons, stretching endlessly beneath the whomping willow, damp earth pressing in from all sides. remus leans heavily against you, his breathing labored. you support him without comment, knowing his pride is as fragile as his post-transformation body.

"we should rest," you suggest when his steps falter.

"no," he says, determined. "almost there."

you don't argue. the sooner you reach the castle, the sooner you can both collapse somewhere warm and safe. but with each step, the cold spreads through your limbs, a familiar numbness creeping from fingertips up your arms. you've learned to hide it well—the tremors, the dizziness that follows every full moon now—but today feels different. worse.

by the time you emerge from beneath the willow, pale morning light making both of you squint, you're not sure who's supporting whom anymore. the castle looms ahead, a stone sentinel against the dawn sky. gryffindor tower has never seemed so far away.

"we should go to pomfrey," remus murmurs, noticing your pallor.

"and tell her what?" you manage a weak smile. "that i've been voluntarily ingesting traces of a controlled substance? i'm sure that will go over well."

he frowns but doesn't press the issue. not yet.

the castle corridors are mercifully empty this early on a saturday. your footsteps echo against stone floors, a stumbling rhythm that carries you up staircases and through passageways until you reach the fat lady's portrait.

"phoenix tears," remus whispers.

the portrait swings open, revealing the warm glow of the gryffindor common room. sirius is there, as expected, pacing before the fireplace. he looks up at your entrance, relief washing over his features before quickly transforming into alarm.

"bloody hell," he breathes, rushing forward to help. "what happened?"

"i know," remus says simply.

understanding floods sirius's face. "shit." he takes remus's other side, guiding you both to the sofa nearest the fire. "sit. both of you."

you sink into the cushions gratefully, the room swaying slightly around you. the fire's warmth doesn't penetrate the chill that's settled into your bones. your fingers are distinctly blue at the tips now, no matter how close to the flames you hold them.

"where is it?" sirius demands, rifling through his pockets.

"where's what?" remus asks, confused.

sirius ignores him, producing a small vial of pearlescent liquid. "here. drink this. now."

you take the vial with trembling hands, uncorking it with difficulty. the liquid burns going down, but it's a welcome heat—something to fight the ice forming in your veins.

"what the hell is that?" remus demands, watching as color slowly returns to your face.

"cleansing potion," sirius answers tersely. "more potent than the one our friend here has been using."

remus's eyes narrow. "and you've been providing it?"

"someone had to." sirius runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "since neither of you would listen to reason."

"you knew." remus's voice is dangerously quiet. "all this time."

"not all this time," you interject weakly. "only a few months."

"and you didn't think to tell me?" hurt bleeds into remus's anger.

sirius meets his gaze unflinchingly. "it wasn't my secret to tell."

"so you enabled this instead?"

"i kept them alive," sirius snaps. "which is more than they were managing on their own. merlin's beard, moony, what would you have done? let them collapse in some corridor alone because you didn't know what was happening?"

remus falls silent, the truth of sirius's words hanging heavy between them.

your vision blurs suddenly, darkness creeping at the edges. you try to focus on the flames, on the familiar tapestries adorning the walls, but everything swims in and out of focus. your heart stutters in your chest—too slow, then racing, then slow again.

"something's wrong," you whisper, voice sounding distant to your own ears.

both men turn to you sharply. remus's hand finds your wrist, fingers pressing against your pulse point.

"her heart's racing," he says, alarm edging his words. "sirius—"

"shit," sirius mutters, digging in his pockets again. "this hasn't happened before."

the room tilts suddenly. your limbs feel leaden, disconnected from your body. distantly, you're aware of falling forward, of remus catching you before you hit the floor, of his voice calling your name with increasing desperation.

"what's happening?" remus demands, voice cracking. "what's wrong with her?"

sirius kneels beside you, face grim. "the cleansing potion. she's building a tolerance."

just as you'd feared but refused to acknowledge. just as remus had warned mere hours ago.

"do something," remus pleads, cradling you against his chest.

"i'm trying!" sirius's voice rises. "i don't—i don't have anything stronger here."

your fingers clutch weakly at remus's shirt. his face swims above you, features blurred but beautiful—always so beautiful, even ravaged by transformation and fear.

"i'm sorry," you manage to whisper.

"don't," he says fiercely. "don't you dare apologize."

"should have told you."

"yes, you bloody well should have," he agrees, but there's no anger in it now, only terror. "stay with me. please."

sirius reappears in your narrowing field of vision, another vial in hand. "this is all i have left. it might help. might not."

"might make it worse?" remus asks.

sirius hesitates, then nods. "possibly."

"her choice," remus says, though it clearly costs him. "always her choice."

through the fog wrapping around your mind, you appreciate this small concession—that even now, terrified as he is, he respects your agency. your right to choose the manner of your loving him, even when that love might destroy you both.

you nod weakly, and sirius tips the contents of the vial between your lips. it tastes of ash and metal and something ancient. your body convulses once, violently, and then everything goes perfectly, blessedly still.

for a moment, you float in darkness. not unpleasant—just nothing. no pain. no cold. no weight of choices made or unmade.

then sound filters back. remus's voice, raw with emotion.

"—can't leave me. not like this. not because of me."

your eyes flutter open. the ceiling of the common room comes into focus gradually—rich red fabric draped between wooden beams. remus's face hovers above you, tear-streaked and desperate.

"there you are," he whispers when your eyes meet his. "there you are."

you try to speak but can only manage a weak cough. sirius appears with water, helping you sit up enough to sip from the glass.

"how do you feel?" he asks cautiously.

the honest answer is: shattered. like something inside you has broken irreparably. but the blue has receded from your fingertips, and your heart beats with something approaching a normal rhythm.

"better," you lie, because the relief on their faces is worth the deception.

remus helps you sit up fully, arranging cushions behind your back. his hands linger, as if afraid you'll disappear if he stops touching you. sirius collapses into a nearby armchair, suddenly looking every one of his years and more.

"that was too close," he says quietly.

no one disagrees.

morning sunlight streams through the tower windows now, painting golden rectangles across the worn carpet. somewhere in the castle, students will be waking, preparing for weekend activities with ordinary concerns. the simplicity of that existence feels alien to you now.

"it's over," remus says after a long silence. "this experiment. these potions. all of it."

you want to argue, to insist you can find another way, but your body's betrayal is too fresh to deny. your mouth tastes of copper and aconite and fear.

"i can't lose you," he continues, voice breaking. "not for this. not so i can have marginally less pain once a month."

"it was more than marginal," you protest weakly.

"nothing is worth this," he insists. "nothing is worth your life."

sirius clears his throat. "there might be... alternatives."

you both look at him.

"not wolfsbane," he clarifies quickly. "something else entirely. something i've been researching."

"your mysterious correspondence," remus says with sudden understanding. "the letters from abroad."

sirius nods. "there's someone in eastern europe. working on a different approach to lycanthropy. less about controlling the wolf, more about... integration."

"that sounds like dark magic," remus says warily.

"not dark. just... old. predating the divisions we've created between acceptable and unacceptable magic." sirius leans forward. "it might not work. but it also won't kill either of you."

hope flickers, fragile but persistent. you reach for remus's hand, finding it already reaching for yours.

"we can talk about it," you concede. "after."

"after what?" remus asks.

"after i sleep for about forty-eight hours." your attempt at humor falls flat, but remus's lips twitch nonetheless.

"i'll carry you upstairs," he offers.

"to the boys' dormitory? scandal," you murmur.

"everyone's at hogsmeade," sirius points out, and remus continues, "and frankly, i don't give a damn about school rules right now."

remus lifts you carefully, as if you might shatter in his arms. perhaps you might. your body feels different now—fundamentally altered by months of poison and today's near collapse. whether the damage is permanent remains to be seen.

as he carries you toward the spiral staircase, you rest your head against his shoulder. despite everything—the fear, the pain, the uncertainty—there's a strange peace in surrender. in knowing you've reached a limit, that something must change.

"this doesn't mean i love you any less," you murmur against his neck.

his arms tighten around you. "i know."

"just that i love you differently now."

he pauses on the stairs, looking down at you with those amber eyes that have seen too much suffering. "how?"

you consider this as he resumes climbing. "before, i thought love meant sharing your burden. taking some of your pain as my own."

"and now?"

you reach the dormitory. he pushes the door open with his shoulder and carries you to his bed, laying you gently on sheets that smell of parchment and tea and him.

"now i think..." you search for words as he pulls a blanket over you. "now i think maybe love is learning how to carry our separate burdens side by side. not trying to take what isn't mine to bear."

remus sits beside you on the bed, brushing hair from your forehead. "wisdom through near-death experience?"

"something like that." you catch his hand, press a kiss to his palm. "still not leaving you, though."

"i wouldn't let you if you tried," he admits, the possessiveness of the wolf bleeding into his voice.

you smile, eyelids growing heavy. "good."

he stretches out beside you, careful not to jostle the bed. even exhausted and hurting from his own transformation, his first concern is for your comfort. you shift to rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"sleep," he murmurs, fingers combing gently through your hair. "i'll be here when you wake up."

you believe him. it's one promise neither of you will break.

as consciousness fades, you feel his lips press against your forehead. "thank you," he whispers, "for loving me enough to stay. even when staying means letting go."

you don't have the strength to answer, but he understands anyway. he always does. the wolf in him senses what words cannot express—that your love hasn't diminished, only transformed. like him, it contains multitudes. like him, it survives.

the last thing you register before sleep claims you is remus's heartbeat against your ear and sirius's voice from the doorway, uncharacteristically gentle:

"they'll be alright, moony. as long as you are."

[annaswrites00]

We Probably Shouldn't - Kimi Antonelli

Kimi Antonelli x Rory Bearman (OC)

(4.2k)

Chapter Eight

Chapter Seven, Chapter Six, Chapter Five, Chapter Four, Chapter Three, Chapter Two, Chapter One

Summary - Kimi and Ollie’s sister start something they probably shouldn’t… warnings - suggestive content, not too explicit

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Bahrain - Race Day

The desert held its breath in the dying light.

Race day had dissolved into dusk. The paddock, once electric, was quieting now, softening into shadow. Bahrain’s air was dry and gold-edged, the kind that clung to skin and made every inhale feel weighted, like you were breathing in sand and salt and something unspoken.

Rory waited near the Mercedes hospitality unit, one ankle crossed over the other, her arms folded loosely, camera slung heavy across her chest. Kimi had finished eleventh — outside the points. She hadn’t seen him since parc fermé.

He’d disappeared into the post-race machinery: debrief, cool-down, media. It chewed drivers up, that stretch of time, and spat them out quieter than they’d gone in. She hadn’t texted him. Didn’t need to. There was something about him today — something slow-burning, cautious. She knew better than to tug at the thread.

So she waited.

Above her, the lights still buzzed over the track like artificial stars. A few engineers passed, trailing equipment and exhaustion. She leaned her head back against the wall, letting the stone cool her spine. It had been a strange day — long in that slow, sticky way where time lagged behind her thoughts.

Footsteps approached, and she expected Kimi — felt something stir in her chest, that strange flicker — but it wasn’t him.

It was Ollie.

His curls were messy, his shirt half-untucked, water bottle dangling from his hand. He looked like someone who’d run ten laps of the circuit himself.

“You waiting for Kimi?” he asked, voice dry.

Rory rolled her eyes. “I—don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Ollie smirked, leaning beside her on the wall. “You’ve got that look. That I’m-not-waiting-but-I-am look.”

She nudged him with her shoulder. “He just had a tough race.”

“Yeah, I saw.” Ollie’s voice gentled, not teasing anymore. “Tough’s one word for it.”

They watched a couple mechanics wheel past with tire blankets. The scent of burnt rubber still lingered in the air.

“You alright?” he asked, after a beat.

She shrugged, then nodded. “I don’t know. I just… he looked tired. Not the kind you fix with sleep.”

Ollie tilted his head, thoughtful. “You care.”

It wasn’t a question. Rory didn’t answer.

Silence settled between them. Not awkward, just full — like when they were kids, sitting on the swings and watching the wind move the leaves. He’d always been the one to let quiet things be quiet. Let her feel whatever she needed. 

“I don't think you should invest your feelings here,” Ollie said eventually.

Rory blinked. “What?”

He grimaced at her, voice softer. “I love Kimi. He is my best friend on the grid, no doubt. But Rory, this lifestyle…all the pressure, stress, and issues it comes with…I don't want you to get hurt”

Her heart pulled tight. She looked down at her hands.

“Who says I’m investing my feelings anywhere,” she murmured.

“Rory.” Ollie stated as he reached out and flicked a piece of hair from her forehead. “Just listen to me. Trust me on this.”

He pushed off the wall, gave her shoulder a squeeze, and wandered off toward the garages. She watched him go, heart thudding strangely.

She didn’t know how long she stood there after that. The night grew cooler. The air started to lose its heat.

And then—finally—Kimi appeared.

He moved slowly, eyes drawn, suit half-unzipped, hair damp at the nape. There was a stiffness to the way he carried himself, like everything in him had been wound too tight and released too fast.

His eyes found her instantly.

For a second, he just looked. Like he hadn’t expected her to still be here.

“You waited,” he said, voice low.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell the lingering heat of the car on him, the faint tang of sweat and engine oil. His mouth was tight, unreadable.

“You didn’t have to,” he said.

“I know.”

His gaze flicked down, then back up. “I don't feel like going back to the hotel yet.”

“Okay,” she said softly. “I can wait with you. Until you’re ready.”

There was a long, still pause.

Then she shifted slightly, lifting her camera. “I got some photos of the race. Want to see?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

They sat on the low stone ledge outside the building. She turned the camera on and scrolled through, letting him lean in, letting his shoulder brush hers.

She could feel the quiet in him. It wasn’t anger, not even disappointment. Just… weight.

“Eleventh feels worse than last sometimes,” he said, not looking at her.

“I know,” she whispered.

He was silent for a moment, watching the tiny screen as a blurred image of turn four clicked past.

“I wanted to do better.”

“I know.”

“I can do better.”

“I know that too.”

Another photo: his car, mid-corner, rear tires feathering dust off the track limits.

He exhaled. “They always ask the same thing. What went wrong? What would you do differently? It’s like—I don’t know. Sometimes it just goes how it goes.”

She didn’t try to fix it. Just let him talk.

“I felt… slow,” he said finally. The word cracked a little.

She turned the camera off. Let it rest in her lap.

“You’re not,” she said, and when he looked at her, she held his gaze. “You know what you’re capable of. You shouldn’t let today’s results take away from what you’ve accomplished the last few races.”

He looked like he might say something. Then didn’t.

Instead, he shifted closer.

His thigh pressed lightly against hers now. Not intentional, maybe. But steady. She could feel his breath, slow and controlled, like he was trying not to let something slip out.

“Rory,” he said, her name thick in his mouth.

She didn’t move.

His hand brushed hers on the ledge — not a grab, not a reach. Just a touch. Barely there. But it stayed.

And she let it.

They sat like that while the paddock emptied around them. Two figures tucked into the margin of a long, dusty night — not saying anything, not needing to. The stars were out, bright and breathless.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer than she’d ever heard it.

“Thanks for staying.”

She didn’t look at him. Just leaned a little closer. Her head moved to rest on his shoulder. His head met hers.

“Always.”

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Saudi Arabian Grand Prix - Saturday

The air was warm. The kind of heat that held close like breath. In the still moments between sessions, the paddock shimmered with spotlights and low murmurs. Engineers murmuring telemetry, photographers trailing cables, fans pressing their faces to the edges of fences. Time moved in slow sweeps under the artificial glow, and behind closed doors, things cracked open.

It started in silence.

Not the soft kind. Not gentle or shy. Just quiet, like the pause before something inevitable.

She found him behind the garage — tucked in the narrow corridor between shipping crates and spare parts, the smell of burnt rubber still clinging to the air. The world was still spinning, but not here. Here, everything stood still.

He was pacing, or trying to. Running a hand through his hair, unzipping his suit to the waist. His fireproofs clung to his chest, damp from the heat, collarbone slick with sweat. Practice three had just ended. Qualifying would be starting soon.

She didn’t call his name.

She didn’t have to.

He looked up — and that was it.

Two steps forward, maybe three, and her back was against the metal wall of the garage. His mouth was on hers before she could say anything. Fast. Messy. Hungry.

She gasped into him and his hands found her waist, pulled her closer until there was nothing between them but breath and fabric and heat. Her fingers slid under his fireproofs, skimming the skin there — lean muscle, tense and twitching. His teeth grazed her lower lip and she let out a sound, soft but aching, and he swallowed it whole.

“Kimi—” she whispered, head falling back as his mouth trailed along her jaw.

He didn’t answer. Just kissed the hollow of her throat, hands tight on her hips like if he let go, the moment would shatter.

“We can’t do this right now,” she breathed, even as her body arched into him.

“You’re here,” he said simply, lips brushing her collarbone. “So I am.”

The paddock hummed meters away — voices rising, radios crackling, tyres squealing as they were dragged into garages. But none of it made it in here.

Here, it was just heat.

Just the scrape of zippers, the thud of her heart, the press of him against her in a space barely wide enough to hold the tension between them. His hands mapped her like muscle memory, like he’d known this all along.

She kissed him back harder, less afraid now. Pulled at his suit, tugged him closer until her breath hitched and his eyes fluttered shut.

“You drive me insane,” she whispered.

“I know.”

She laughed, breathless. “So smug.”

“You like it.”

God help her — she did.

Her fingers slid along the edge of his fireproofs, up his spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispered.

“I know.”

Neither moved.

The silence thickened again, warm and wanting. She could feel the race weekend closing in on them—like a drumbeat from beyond the walls—but he didn’t flinch. Just leaned his forehead to hers, their bodies still tangled, mouths parted like they hadn’t quite finished saying goodbye.

“Quali,” she murmured.

He groaned softly. “Fuck.”

“Exactly.”

That made him smile—barely, like a secret. She kissed the edge of it, stealing one more second, one more breath. And then she was pulling away, hands smoothing her hair, her shirt, her expression.

He leaned back against the wall, watching her with something unreadable behind his eyes.

“Rory,” he said, as she reached for the door.

She turned.

“I’m not going to pretend this didn’t happen.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the steadiness in his voice. The way it held her name like it mattered.

“Neither am I,” she said, then slipped out into the light.

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The hotel restaurant was glossy with evening polish — low lights in golden sconces, a ceiling that caught sound and held it soft, and glass tabletops that reflected every flicker of expression. The Bearman family had taken over a booth in the corner, tucked just enough out of sight to let secrets simmer unnoticed.

Rory slid into the booth beside her younger brother Thomas, heart still unsettled from earlier. Her skin prickled like it remembered every place Kimi had touched her — her throat, her waist, the inside of her wrist.

She could still feel the imprint of him on her ribs. His mouth behind her ear. His voice, low and uneven, whispering don’t go when she tried to slip away before it could turn into more.

He was already at the table, seated across from her beside Ollie, posture perfect, gaze low over the menu. Hair still a little damp from the shower. She didn’t trust herself to look too long.

Her knee brushed his under the table.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look up. But his fingers tightened slightly on the menu.

“Thank you for inviting me to dinner. I’m excited for you all to stay with us in Imola.”

David Bearman, ever the sharp observer in family settings, clapped Kimi on the shoulder. “Anytime Kimi. But man that qualifying run was something else, mate. Real grit through sector two.”

Kimi gave a polite nod. “Thanks. Just trying to find pace.”

He didn’t look at her. Not once.

Terri passed around a menu. “Thomas, no more chicken tenders. I swear, if you order off the kids' menu at sixteen—”

“Fifteen,” he muttered, sulking, “and it’s not the kids’ menu, it’s just called that.”

Rory’s lips twitched.

Ollie leaned over to swat Thomas’s arm. “Order something green for once.”

“Leave me alone, you order like a wellness coach.”

That earned a laugh from David and a warning look from Terri, and for a moment, things felt easy. Normal.

Until Kimi reached for his water glass — and his knee bumped Rory’s under the table.

Not hard. Not lingering. But enough.

She didn’t move.

Not when the waiter took orders.

Not when to food arrived.

Her pulse stuttered as she traced her finger along the condensation on her glass, trying not to look across the table. He sat so composed, chin tilted slightly, not even blinking. But his foot stayed there, just barely pressed against hers.

Conversation rose around them — Ollie arguing about tire degradation, David chiming in with some old racing anecdote, Thomas digging into a story about a karting kid who threw up in his helmet. Background noise. Cover for the storm just beneath Rory’s skin.

She hadn’t meant for it to feel like this. 

“You’re quiet,” Terri said gently, eyes on her. “Everything alright, love?”

Rory blinked. “Yeah, just tired.”

But it wasn’t tiredness pressing hot behind her knees or making her fingers curl too tightly around her water glass. It was Kimi’s leg against hers under the table. The weight of earlier still wound into her limbs, soft and unrelenting.

He hadn’t looked at her all dinner — not directly. But she could feel him like a current.

Their legs touched, just barely. The tablecloth draped low enough to hide it, their secret tucked in the folds.

She shifted — not away. Closer.

His foot moved, slow and deliberate. The toe of his shoe brushed along her ankle. Her breath hitched, caught in the top of her chest. She reached for her wine glass and missed slightly, fingers fumbling the stem.

Kimi didn’t flinch.

But under the table, his foot stilled. Firm. Present.

Terri launched into a story about Rory’s first karting accident — something about a lost front wing and a tantrum — and Ollie added dramatic reenactments, hands flailing. Thomas was in stitches.

Rory laughed on cue, barely hearing a word. Her heart was too loud. Her skin too hot. And Kimi — Kimi was just sitting there, still composed, still unreadable, while his shoe pressed lightly into the inside of her calf like a promise.

Her cheeks flushed. She could still taste the ghost of him on her mouth. The low rasp of his voice when he’d told her not to leave. The heat of his body crowding hers behind the garage wall, hands tight on her hips like the world might end if he let go.

She dragged her gaze away. Took a sip of water.

“We’ll head up after this,” David was saying. “Early morning, and I don’t trust Ollie to wake up without three alarms.”

Thomas leaned toward Kimi, conspiratorial. “They still make him wear the same pajamas from when he was fourteen. Did you know that? They have little go karts all over them.”

“Thomas! You’re such a liar.” Ollie’s voice cracked with horror.

Kimi smiled — just barely. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Needing a distraction, Rory turned to Thomas, desperate to say something — anything.

“You still have that formula four race next month?”

“Yeah,” he said, bright with pride. “There’s a series in Italy. Dad said you might come?”

“Maybe,” she managed. “If I’m not—”

Busy with Kimi’s mouth on her neck. Busy trying not to fall into whatever this was.

He didn’t move his foot.

Just left it there.

And when the check came and everyone shuffled to stand, Kimi rose last, slow and careful. He lingered by her side, his voice low in her ear:

“I’ll wait for you.”

It wasn’t a question. Just a quiet instruction. As if he already knew she wouldn’t say no.

And when she turned to grab her bag, her hand brushed his.

She held it.

Only for a second.

But it was enough.

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The hallway outside the Bearmans’ hotel suite was hushed, carpeted in silence and warm lamplight. Rory stood with her hand on the doorknob, phone tucked tight to her chest, heartbeat drumming in her ears.

She waited five minutes after everyone had gone to bed.

Then slipped out barefoot.

Kimi’s room was two floors down.

The walk felt like an eternity — like every footstep might echo into something irreversible. She pressed the elevator button with her knuckle, counted the seconds, and prayed no one from the paddock would see her in her oversized jumper and sleep shorts.

His door opened before she could knock.

He must have been watching through the peephole.

Kimi stood in the doorway, backlit by soft yellow light, shirtless, his damp hair curling slightly over his forehead. The sharp line of his collarbone dipped into his chest. Low, grey sweatpants hung loose at his hips.

He didn’t say anything.

Just stepped aside to let her in.

The moment the door shut behind her, her breath caught. Her skin still felt marked — not with bruises, but memory.

“Kimi,” she whispered.

But he was already moving.

And then his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was different now. No stolen seconds behind the garage. No risk of getting caught — only the burn of restraint unraveling by the second. He pressed her against the wall beside the door, his hands splayed wide across her waist, under her sweatshirt, palms flat to her bare skin.

He kissed her like he was drowning.

And she let him.

Her hands slid up over his shoulders, into his hair, tugging him closer like the space between them was too much. His tongue swept over hers, deliberate, claiming. Her back arched under his touch — she couldn’t help it.

When his mouth left hers, it only moved lower — jaw, neck, the hollow beneath her ear.

“Dinner almost killed me,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “I would’ve—fuck, Rory.”

She whimpered as he lifted her, arms around his neck, her thighs bracketing his hips. He carried her to the bed without hesitation, laying her down like he already knew the shape of her.

They kissed until her lips were swollen.

Until his hands trembled where they held her.

Until she felt him through their clothes and she was shaking under him, overwhelmed.

But then he stopped.

Breathing hard, forehead pressed to hers, he muttered, “Shit.”

Rory blinked up at him, lips swollen, chest rising fast.

“What?”

“I have the race,” he said, voice strained. “In the morning. I need sleep. I—I shouldn’t... if we keep going I won’t stop. It’s too soon.”

Her fingers curled in the waistband of his sweats, reluctant. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” It was instant. “God, no.”

He leaned in and kissed her again, slower this time. A deep, aching pull that said everything he couldn’t.

Then he pulled back, chest heaving. “I want to do this right. Not when I have to leave in a few hours. We should talk too.”

She nodded, throat tight.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You feel like it’s just this?”

Rory met his eyes, wide and shining in the dark. “No.”

He waited, silent.

She exhaled. “I don't not want this. But it’s not just this. If that makes sense”

A beat. He nodded.

Kimi laid down on his back next to her, hands on his thighs, grounding himself. “I don’t do this with people.”

“I know.”

“This is a really weird time for me.”

“I know,” she whispered.

His thumbs traced soft circles over her knees. “But I think about you all the time. I don’t know what this is yet, but it’s not casual for me.”

Her eyes welled.

She sat up, arms wrapping around his neck again, her forehead resting against his. “Me neither.”

They sat like that for a moment, still caught in the tension, but softened now, tethered by something gentler.

Eventually, she whispered, “I should go.”

He shook his head, jaw clenched like it killed him to let her. “Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

Her smile was small. “Sure. Just for you.”

He brushed a kiss to her temple. “Thank you.”

Rory nodded, her heart folding in on itself. Something about the way he said it — quiet, like a secret — made her ache.

She slipped under the covers beside him, still in her sweatshirt and shorts. He lay back against the pillows, arm resting behind his head, eyes fluttering shut like the weight of the weekend was finally catching up to him. The room buzzed with stillness, soft and safe.

She turned onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow to look at him.

“You always this tense the night before a race?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curved faintly. “Only since you started showing up in hotel hallways.”

A quiet laugh slipped from her throat. “Right. My fault.”

His eyes opened — not fully, just enough to meet hers in the low light. “No. You make it better.”

She swallowed. The words hooked into something deep inside her, something she hadn’t realized she’d been guarding.

Kimi reached for her hand under the duvet, weaving their fingers together.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured. “But I need you to know… when you’re around, I feel—lighter. Like I can breathe a little easier.”

Rory blinked back the sting in her eyes. “I feel that too.”

His thumb traced the back of her hand, slow and steady. She watched the way his eyelashes fluttered, the way his chest rose and fell as he fought sleep.

“You’re sure you want me to stay?” she whispered.

Kimi nodded without opening his eyes. 

So she did.

She lay beside him, watching the lines of his face soften in the dark, memorizing the subtle curve of his mouth, the way his hair stuck up at odd angles when he shifted against the pillow. His grip on her hand loosened gradually until his breathing slowed, deep and even.

He looked young like this. Not the composed, quiet racer. Not the boy with fire in his veins and control in his bones. Just Kimi. Bare. Human.

Her heart thudded low in her chest, warm and slow.

She reached out with her free hand, brushing a piece of hair from his forehead, fingers ghosting over his skin.

“I think I’m falling for you,” she whispered.

He didn’t stir.

And maybe it was better that way — for now.

Rory pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, barely there, then slowly lifted the covers up, tiptoeing her way to the door. She gave him one last look before walking into the hallway and shutting the door.

She let herself imagine what might come next — after the race, after the secrecy, after the ache.

The hallway was quiet, dimly lit by warm lights and the glow of a vending machine at the far end. Her bare feet made no sound on the carpet, but everything inside her felt loud. Her pulse, her breath, the way her skin still hummed where his fingers had been.

The moment the door shut behind her, the air felt colder. Sharper.

She tightened the sweatshirt around her frame, hugging her arms to her chest as she padded toward her room.

Kimi’s voice was still in her head — the rasp of it, the way it had frayed just a little when he asked her to stay. The look in his eyes before he’d fallen asleep, like letting her in cost him something but he did it anyway.

She could still feel the warmth of him on her skin, the way he held her hand under the sheets like he was afraid to let go.

God, she was falling for him.

Not just in the dizzy, breathless way — though that was part of it too. But deeper. In the way that settled behind her ribs and rooted itself into something permanent. In the way his steadiness calmed the worst parts of her, and how his silences made her feel heard in a way words never had.

By the time she slipped back into her room, the loneliness hit her like a cold draft.

Her bed was untouched. The sheets still perfectly tucked. She climbed in and curled on her side, facing the window, watching the shadows stretch long across the floor.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

Not when she could still feel his fingers laced with hers, not when her chest ached with all the things they hadn’t said — and all the things she wanted to believe might still be waiting for them.

It was selfish, maybe, to want more. They hadn’t even named this thing. But the truth sat sharp in her throat.

She knew this would be different - difficult.

But she wanted mornings.

Not just the nights when tension pulled them together like magnets in the dark — but the sunlit mornings too. The sleepy, slow ones where everything was real and nothing had to be hidden.

She wanted to wake up beside him.

To kiss him without the rush, without the guilt.

To see what it felt like when he wasn’t pretending.

She turned her face into the pillow and closed her eyes.

And in the quiet of her hotel room, her body still warm from his, her heart whispering things she wasn’t ready to say aloud, she let herself hope.

Just a little.

Just enough.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡

Thanks for reading!!!!

tagged: @mywritersmind

ʚ🧸ɞ˚ ʚ🧸ɞ˚

[himasgod]

Neuvillette x Reader enemies to lovers III

Where you keep pressuring him to admit his impartiality to you

You've always worked alone, for years, with the sole objective of uncovering the whole truth about Fontaine. All the corruption that runs through the veins of the Court and the Tribunal. So, you have Neuvillette in the crosshairs of your shotgun, able to destroy his life and dethrone him in an instant. But he could also ruin yours. So, you decide to play with fire against each other, to see who crumbles first.

Neuvillette x Reader enemies to lovers! PART I

Neuvillette x Reader enemies to lovers! PART II

(I'm taking advantage of his birthday to make another part of the fanfic, happy bday to Neuvi and enjoy <3)

The rain had not stopped since that night. Fontaine seemed caught in a perpetual storm, as if the sky itself refused to grant respite. It was not difficult to suspect the cause; the rumors in the city were as persistent as the water that slid down the cobblestone streets: the Iudex was restless. But no one dared to say it out loud.

You couldn't stop thinking about it either.

Since that last confrontation in the tavern, the days had become tense. Neuvillette had not crossed your path, but his presence was almost ghostly, stalking you in every corner of Fontaine. The stares of the Court guards, the constant feeling that someone was watching you, and the echoes of your own words that night… everything had become a reminder that you were playing with fire.

"You're obsessing," your reflection whispered to you as you looked at yourself in a fogged-up window. "You shouldn't think about him."

Pero pensar en él era inevitable. Había algo en la manera en que Neuvillette se comportaba contigo, algo que desafiaba su imagen de imparcialidad y serenidad.

A crack in its facade.

And a dangerous part of you wanted to see how far that crack went.

The opportunity came sooner than expected.

That night, as the storm raged with renewed fury, the echo of a secret meeting crept into your ears. You were no stranger to Fontaine’s intrigues: corrupt politicians, merchants peddling information, and you… you hovered on the edge, where Neuvillette’s laws couldn’t quite reach you.

Or so you thought.

You had very powerful contacts within Fontaine's dangerous lower class.

You had access to the most fragile information that could crumble Fontaine society in an instant.

You didn't work with other people, you didn't belong to criminal organizations or gangs. You worked on your own, you just needed to know the truth, you didn't need to prove it to anyone else.

But you wanted to know the truth about Fontaine, and you had been trying for years, years of having Neuvillette in the crosshairs of a shotgun of information that could ruin his life in an instant.

And you in his.

“If you go there, you won’t come out unscathed,” an old acquaintance warned you as he handed you the meeting location on a crumpled piece of paper. “The eyes of the Tribunal are everywhere.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied, stuffing the paper into your coat before disappearing into the night.

The location was an old mansion on the edge of Fontaine with the Sumeru desert, abandoned for years. The windows were broken, the walls covered in mold, and the sound of rain seeping through the broken roof created a mournful melody. But inside, in the main room, a group of figures gathered around a table. Their voices mingled with the thunder, barely audible.

You hid behind a broken column, listening just enough to know that the meeting was not what you expected. They were traitors, conspirators, men and women seeking to challenge Fontaine’s equilibrium. And, unwittingly, you had become too involved in their game.

“What if someone discovers us?” one of them asked nervously.

“No one will. The Tribunal is blind under this storm.”

A laugh ran through the room, but you did not share its assurance. Because then you felt it. A presence, powerful and suffocating, like the weight of the ocean itself bearing down on you. You turned instinctively, your pulse racing.

And there he was.

Neuvillette stood in the doorway of the main door, his figure framed by the lightning that lit up the sky. His cloak swayed in the wind, soaked through, and his eyes—those eyes as clear as water—remained on you. The murmur of the conspirators faded immediately, replaced by an oppressive silence.

“How disappointing.” His voice rumbled through the room like distant thunder. The people in the room stepped back, and for a moment, it seemed to you that the very air had grown thicker. “I thought Fontaine was capable of more.”

“It’s him!” one of the conspirators shouted, unsheathing a weapon. “Finish him!”

It all happened in an instant. The room erupted into chaos, men drew weapons, and you, in the midst of it all, tried to get away from the center of the battle. But you couldn’t take your eyes off Neuvillette. He didn’t move at first, not even when the blades flashed in his direction. Only when the first attacker was close enough did he raise a hand, and with a subtle gesture, a column of water erupted from the ground, enveloping the man and throwing him against a wall.

There was no mercy in his gaze. There was no anger, not even fury… only something infinitely more dangerous: absolute judgment.

—¡Correremos la misma suerte si no corremos! —gritó otro, y uno a uno comenzaron a huir, sus pasos resonando en el eco vacío de la mansión.

Neuvillette no los persiguió. Se quedó allí, observándolos.

“Why am I not surprised?” you muttered, trying to catch your breath. Rain had begun to seep through the roof, and water formed puddles at your feet. “The great Supreme Judge, once again, right where you least expected him.”

He advanced towards you slowly, his expression unfazed. But there was something in his gaze that made you back away, until your back hit a column.

“What did you expect to find here?” he asked in a calm voice, although his tone seemed to cut through the air. “One more game? Or do you no longer care which side you're on?”

“I'm not on anyone's side,” you snapped, trying to maintain your composure. “Don't confuse me with them."

“And what is the difference between you and them?” he replied, coming close enough for the sound of his voice to seep under your skin. “You defy the law, justice, and yet you expect me to treat you with leniency.”

“And what do you expect from me?” you blurted out, unable to contain yourself. “I know the truth of Fontaine, the one you want to keep under water. I am not someone who bows to your ‘justice.’”

A flash of lightning illuminated his face at that instant, and for a moment you saw something different in him: a shadow of doubt, or perhaps… frustration. His hand rose, and for a second you thought he was going to touch you. But he didn’t. He stopped just inches from your face, water slipping through his fingers.

“You are a problem,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the storm. “But one I cannot ignore.”

“Then don’t,” you challenged, your breathing ragged. “Judge me as you judge others. But you know as well as I do that you are not impartial. Not with me."

Neuvillette didn’t answer. His hand trembled slightly, and then, as if something broke him from within, he jerked away.

“Get out of here,” he ordered, his voice now harsher, colder. “Before I myself decide to end this.”

“Why don’t you?” you challenged, taking a step toward him. “Why do you keep…?”

“Get out!” His voice boomed like thunder, and a gust of water exploded between you, forcing you to cover your face.

When you looked up, Neuvillette had already turned around, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the mansion. The storm raged around him, but he seemed to be part of it, a judge as implacable as the sea itself.

And you, for the first time, began to understand that the crack in his facade was not something you should keep pushing. But it was too late.

The storm wasn't over. And neither was what was between you.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[dragonridernoobie]

Hello! I don't know if you're still staring intensely at your inbox bored... but! I can give you something to do for a little while if you'd like . It's my first asking, so I'll try to be simple.

How about a one-shot of Ganondorf x reader, where they both used to know each other well romantically before ganondorf became the god of power. (When he was still the king of gerudo), the reader could've been a simple traveler who traveled through the desert (they could be injured due to battles against monsters on the way there) and found themselves in the gerudo town or something where they met him in the market in disguise cause he try sometime to find peace away from all the responsibilities once in a while and they bond over thing they both like.

Some time passes, and their feelings to each other grow more and more until the reader has to leave because of an emergency at their hometown (idk a family member is sick and they need special treatment that is very hard to get) so they leave while promising to ganondorf to come back once the situation is over. But they never do.

Heartbroken and angry ganondorf becomes the god of power, and after some times the reader goes back only to find out by the new ruler of gerudo that he became the man that brought hyrule to ruins.

Idk maybe something with a little bit of hope at the end? The reader could meet link and help him get to the palace. Like they see the man they fall in love with still inside the corrupted being in front of them. And tries to bring him back?

It's a long ask, and it's totally fine if you don't want to write it or have the time to do it (I know it's a lot energy to write) But if it gave you ideas for a new story or inspired you little than that's all that matter 😉. Anyways! Have a wonderful day or night.

A ask is never too long, I'm sorry if this took so long. I was trying to think of a way to make this a good way of writing it. Since I write in so many ways. So, I decided to make it seem like a story. I hope you like it or love it, I'm fine with either. Thank you for being Paitent!!!! (Also, i changed the story a bit since I've never seen or played BOTW2, and I rather not spoile it for my self.)

The story of the human and the Gerudo King

Long ago, when life was still new and people were still new to the land. Lived 6 different races that rule these lands.

The first hylians came to the land from the goddess Hylia. They created the Hylians as the first race of Hyrule.

And from that race, came all 5 other races.

Rito, hyilans who became one with the sky. Zoras, hyains who became one with the water. Gorons, hyians who became one with the ground. Gerudos, hyians who have split off and became one of their own.

They are a unique species since they only live in the desert. Where they first became is unknown hut they are known for being made of woman and woman only.

But every 100 years, a male is born from a Gerudo, and it becomes the new king of the Gerudo.

The six species are unknown. No one rarely sees them, no one knows about them, but we only know one thing.

They are wise. They have ways to cure the most evil sickness. They know how to survive in places that shouldn't be possible, and they are hard to kill.

Sadly, at one point in time, a king who was ruler of Hyrule found where these humans were and declared war on them. He slaughtered all of them. Their species were lost in time, and no one them about them.

And this is where our legend begins

Before calamity himself became, to be, there used to be a simple king of his lands of the Gerudo. His name was Ganondorf.

His people lived in the desert. They struggled but were happy. Ganondorf traded with people across the land. People always wanted to trade with the Gerudos.

So this is where ganondorf met his love.

He was on his way to a city when the bridge he rode on collapsed. He fell great distance and fell in the river below.

Ganondorf disappeared for weeks and his kingdom feared the worst. Intel Ganondorf arrived and even more unexpectedly that he had a few people with him.

Word spread around in the city that the king was alive and the city was happy.

The humans showed the Gerudos their ways, showed them how to get food in unique ways, showed them how to fight aginst sickness and even showed them how to plant foods in the desert.

While the humans showed them their ways, a human named (Y/N) and ganondorf grown feelings for each other. They were happy, and for years, the humans lived with the Gerudos. Even the human males.

Sadly, (Y/N) had to leave. They had to cross the land to reach another human settlement that are in need of help. They told ganondorf they will return and set corse.

Weeks past and ganondorf waited, and waited, and waited, he waited for days, weeks, and months. After so long, ganondorf became angry and hurt. Angry since (Y/N) has left and that the hyilans have caused trouble.

Hurt because he believes (Y/N) abandoned him. So he decided to declare war on the hyilans and kick out the humans.

This is where calamity came to be. When (Y/N) found out what has happened, they were stuck with grief and hurt.

When link awakened and they met (Y/N), they both agreed to defeat calamity. When link was able to defeat calamity (The first BOTW) (Y/N), talked to him before he was slayed by the light bow.

"I promise to keep fighting for you love. Please do the same...."

Once he was slayed, they fled away. Zelda and Link never saw them again. Though, they wernt gone forever. They where just praying and helping their remaining village survive.

Though (Y/N) hopes to have her love once more.

[honeyhotteoks]

Is this a safe space to vent about something? If it’s not, feel free to delete my message. Has anyone noticed the sheer amount of AI generated stories lately? I don’t find joy in reading anymore. I'm hunting for fics written by real humans like water in the desert. People don’t seem to understand that reading something created by AI just isn’t a beautiful experience. I don’t feel anything when I read those fics. And if you're going to post a fic written by AI, keep it to yourself, I don’t want to see it. Stop pretending it's your work. I really appreciate people who put real effort into their writing and don’t use AI at all. You are truly amazing, and I’d read a hundred of your stories over any of that AI junk. Oh, and one more thing, those of you who write stories without any help from AI, I truly appreciate the effort you put into your work. I’d much rather wait weeks or even months for the next chapter to be posted than read something written by AI and posted every single day. I hope this message didn’t bother you, but I really needed to say it to someone.

hey! definitely a safe space and definitely happy to have this conversation.

i honestly do have a lot of thoughts about this, and it's for me pretty complicated because outside of my smutty little fic i work in a field that demands a lot of conversations about AI / use of AI and I just feel very weird and torn about it.

obviously there's horrible environmental and economic implications and all of that, which i won't get into but think we can all acknowledge..... but the affect i'm seeing on art is pretty painful to me as someone who spends so much time writing and planning.

i think for me personally.... AI is one of those things where like..... if you want to hop into Chat GPT and be like "write me a drabble about xyz specific thing" because you want to kick your feet over it and just get the dopamine hit, i really don't care. you probably shouldn't do that considering it's going to destroy the planet, but i'm not going to call you a bad person or something, i get it. what you do in the privacy of your internet browser is between you and god.

i also personally don't mind if people use a writing software with AI to edit their works (such as grammarly etc.) i've never actually used them outside of a professional email setting at work where my company pays for a subscription, but i can understand how lengthy the process of editing is and how nice it could be to have something be just like.... a better spell check and grammar check tool. i post stuff with typos all the time and it makes me sooooooo annoyed at myself when i catch it, but i don't have a beta reader and it just is what it is.

the problem for me, which plays into what you pointed out, is actual generative ai and content creation. if you understand how ai works are created, how work online is being scraped for data, and what it means to be derivative.... then ai writing is not writing. you can certainly come to my inbox and explain nuances of using generative ai for content ideas, outlining, etc. and honestly.... whatever, you do you. i don't like it, but i also know writer's block sucks etc.... but the idea of having a tool write something for you in full and then posting that and claiming it's writing? it isn't.

people have scenario ideas all the time, think about every twitter thread or imagine, and those are forms of writing sure, but if i fed that into chat gpt and asked it to turn it into a 10K word fic and then i turned around and slam published that on AO3..... like i'm sorry but what the fuck are we doing? i don't understand who that's for. the only thing i can think is that the people doing that want the attention that writers in these spaces get or wish they could do it, but either they aren't a good writer naturally or they don't want to put the work in to learn. in my opinion.... if you post an AI generated fic and get positive comments, they're not praising you for anything, they're praising chat gpt for successfully plagiarizing actual art. i'm not sure what the comments or clout those people are getting is actually doing for them except for giving them momentary ego boots.

and truly like.... not to talk up my own writing, because i'm not trying to be cringe or pretend i'm some great writer (like i'm out here writing rpf kpop porn trust me i have a good grip on reality) BUT - i spend hours and hours and hours on this. i spend hours outlining, i spend hours researching, countless hours writing, editing, making edits for my headers, like..... truly it's the thing that consumes my brain because i love it. i have a drive in me to write that is unlike anything i've ever felt otherwise.

if you all knew the sheer number of half written fics on my google drive of just like.... i had a dream about xyz scenario or can't get a particularly thing out of my brain. it's insane. i literally have a 60k word fic for yunho that i will never publish because there are topics and experiences in it i don't know if i'm comfortable working through in writing publicly, but i write it in my spare time because it means something to me to do it, and to have that (literally like therapy)

i write because i have to. if you guys weren't here reading it, i'd still be doing it. i can't get my brain to calm down without it, but then being able to share it and have it embraced? that's extra for me.

i really appreciate your words. and i agree, if you're someone using AI to generatively write your fic.... i also really don't want to know. i also really don't think you deserve the comments and kudos at all, and i think deep down you also know this. i personally hope those people can find creative outlets that suit their talents if that's something they want to do, because as someone who's been writing for well over a decade, it's been the most fun and rewarding process of my life. i sucked when i started, like really REALLY sucked, but it's something i had to do, and i got better.

writing is a little bit of a gift, i'm sure, but it's also a learnable skill. ai is never going to help you hone that skill.

okay rant done.... i hope this makes sense. let me know if anyone has thoughts on this!! i'm super curious. i've been noticing other ai fic popping up and just feeling weird about it too.

[bumblesimagines]

Grizz (The Society)

by the time i woke up, you were gone.

it was a mistake to hook up like that.

you've always been on my mind.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Mentions of drinking, best friend trope, grizz is the best i love him

I haven't finished watching the show but i will try to

(Y/N) listened to the neverending ringing coming from his phone, his head tilted back along the backrest of the couch as he stared blankly at the ceiling. The anxiety curled around his body had become a familiar feeling, suffocating and constantly reminding him of how fucked things were in West Ham. Everyone who hadn't gone on the godforsaken buses were gone, leaving the town completely and utterly deserted. All roads and tracks leading out of town were unnaturally overgrown by the forest around and the service only allowed for them to contact each other. 

"Fuck," He whispered and pulled the phone from his ear, his teeth grinding together when his mother's contact picture flashed on the screen while her voicemail began, echoing words he'd memorized. He'd never given much thought to how terrifying and panic-inducing it'd be to suddenly lose contact with his whole family. 

After reluctantly hanging up, he peeled himself off the couch and approached the front door. There was little to do apart from attempting to distract himself through drinking and partying but everything still loomed over him: the absence of adults, the almost neverending forest that seemingly attacked when they walked too far, the slow death of Emily he witnessed, the unknown. He fought hard to push it back, to push the thoughts away and focus on the present. 

(Y/N) took the keys from the table by the door and stepped outside, shutting the door behind him and heading down the driveway to the car parked along the sidewalk. He remembered vividly when they first arrived at West Ham years prior. The neighbors had been welcoming, as had his new classmates, allowing him and his family to settle in with ease. It all felt so long ago. 

"(Y/N)!" His best friend's voice rang out through the street and he froze, his eyes briefly squeezing shut before he turned in the direction of Grizz. The boy quickened his pace into a jog, his brows fixed into a worried furrow. "Hey, I.. I was, uhm... I was going to make breakfast but by the time I woke up, you were gone. I- I got worried, you know? Are you okay?"

"I don't think any single one of us is fine, Grizz." (Y/N) murmured, his eyes drifting over to Emily's memorial down the street where two of her friends stood by staring down at it as if waiting for her to return to them. "I was, uh.. I was going to check the grocery store. I wanted to see if any of my stress-eating snacks are still there or if everyone's ransacked what's left."

"I've got some," Grizz said. "I always have your favorite at my place."

(Y/N)'s teeth caught his lips, digging in and lightly peeling skin as his heart squeezed. Drinking and drinking and drinking the night before had been... "I.. Grizz, it was a mistake to hook up like that." He spoke softly, watching the way Grizz's face fell. It'd been on him, really. It was stupid of him to convince Grizz to drink their sorrows and worries away, stupid of him to kiss the only guy he fully trusted with his life. "I.. I was scared. I don't like being scared, you know that. I.. I don't know what I was thinking but we- I shouldn't have kissed you and we shouldn't have..."

"I didn't see it as a mistake," Grizz admitted quietly, his hand reaching out to wrap around (Y/N)'s wrist. His brown eyes watered slightly and he laughed quietly, nervously as he blinked the tears away. "I- God, I, uhm... you've always been on my mind... ever since you walked into 8th grade English. I know I.. I ignored you most of that year, even when the guys introduced us, but I'm glad you had more balls than me to ask what was up when you joined the football team. I've always liked you, (Y/N). Always. I-I thought maybe when we graduated I'd finally confess but seeing our situation right now and what happened last night.. I don't want you to think I kissed you back 'cause I was drunk. We were wasted but I kissed you 'cause it's all I've been wanting to do for years."

[everydayyoulovemeless]

Hehe seeing a lot of NSFW asks, if you're feeling like writing more maybe now the NSFW alphabet for Joshua?

Joshua NSFW Alphabet

➼ Word Count » 1.2k ➼ Warnings » MDNI ➼ Genre » NSFW, Romantic ➼ A/N » Always in the mood for a good alphabet

A - Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He's so kind. He'll scoop you into his arms and carry you down to one of Zion's rivers to wash you. It's peaceful, private, and just fast enough to feel good against your skin. Not to mention how cool the water feels, which is always a bonus when you live in a desert.

B - Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Joshua loves your face. He loves the adoring way you stare up at him or the way your features shift depending on how you feel. He could stare at you for hours. You're the most divine thing he's ever laid his eyes on. He personally doesn't have a favorite part about himself. He considers all of him to be stained with sin, so it'd be disgraceful for him to be drawn to any of it.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He would never dare to cum inside of you. Someone as sinful as him shouldn't be allowed something so sweet. You deserve someone younger - someone who you actually deserve to have children with, or at the very least, cum inside of you. Instead, he just releases himself on the floor.

D - Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He likes the thought of covering your mouth with bandages to keep you quiet. He won't ever mention it. He thinks it may be too degrading for someone like you, but he does think about it a lot.

E - Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He hates talking about his past experiences, especially around you. Mostly because he finds it rude and unnecessary, but he has definitely slept with a handful of women before you.

F - Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary (haha 'cause he's literally a missionary). It's pretty basic, but he thinks it's the best position to be in when it comes to appreciating his partner. He likes being able to look at your face and trace his fingers over almost any part of your body he wants, but most importantly, it's the most comfortable for him. His burns sadly don't allow much room for experimenting, so missionary is what he sticks with.

G - Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He doesn't like being humorous when participating in something so sacred. As a follower of Christ, he takes the deed very seriously and would be ashamed if he ever took you or the act for granted.

H - Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He can't grow hair anymore due to the severity of his burns, so well groomed?

I - Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

As I've said before, Joshua takes sex very seriously and would do anything in his power to make you feel that. He'll take you by the hand and gently guide you to an isolated part of Zion, where he'll set up a small camp, cook for you, kiss you, and take you to bed. The romantic parts are one of the most important factors to him, and he never fails to make it a priority.

J - Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't masturbate. It can be painful at times and he's too old to be feeling horny all the time.

K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He's generally more vanilla in his kinks, but every now and then, he likes to do some light bondage.

L - Location (favorite places to do the do)

In a nice, secluded spot in Zion will do. Usually, in a cave of some sort, but as long as it's private, he'll be happy.

M - Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He's motivated by you're happiness and pleasure. It might sound cliche, but the only reason he's still fucking is because he likes being able to make you feel good. Even if it hurts him, he feels that it's his duty to honor and worship you in such a way.

N - No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He refuses to degrade, harm, or humiliate you in any way. He can't ever imagine anyone doing that to the person they love, and he certainly couldn't imagine doing that to you.

O - Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers to give, one because he doesn't feel he deserves something so sweet from you and second because he can't help but cringe at the feeling of teeth against his burn scars.

P - Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He prefers to go at a slower pace, one because he doesn't want to hurt you, accident or not, and second, he likes to take his time with you.

Q - Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

The simple answer is no. Joshua doesn't like rushing it with you, especially since neither of you really has to, and would much prefer to take you out on a walk somewhere in Zion before properly pursuing you in that manner. He personally believes that these things were meant to take time, so it's safe to say quickies are off the table.

R - Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

No, never. Hurting you or risking your well-being in any way is the last thing he ever wants to do.

S - Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Usually, he stops after the first round. He takes his time with it anyway, so it's not like it's disappointing at all. He's just old and struggles to stay horny long enough to please you.

T - Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don't think he knows what a toy is, but even if he did, I don't see him using them much at all.

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He hardly ever teases you. His number one priority when being intimate with you is to give you whatever you desire. He couldn't ever imagine depriving you of anything or subjecting you to any kind of humiliation.

V - Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Joshua doesn't make much sound, but you'll occasionally hear him grunting above you. It's still pretty quiet, though.

W - Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He likes to pray with you before and after sex. He thinks it's customary to thank God for granting you both the ability to feel and the chance to find one another.

X - X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's a good 6 inches, bald, and covered in injuries. It's not pretty to look at, but that doesn't mean it can't make you feel good.

Y - Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It's not very high at all. He's old, and it generally hurts to do. 'Getting it up' is more of a holiday than an everyday occurrence.

Z -Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn't like falling asleep afterward, instead, he prefers to hold you and caress gentle symbols into your skin. The Lord gave both of you moments like these to cherish, not to ignore.

[py-dreamer]

Ok so I might've gone over time again a lil bit BUT I STILL MADE IT!!!

"Why is it Nezha? First Mk, then Mei, why Nezha? Shouldn't it be Pigsy or Tang or Red Son? Why are you robbing the less popular characters their spotli-"

SHUSH!!!!

Ok so a reason I made Nezha next, is cause I have an upcoming project due soon and I require our 3rd lotus princey over here to come help me.

Look it's an art thingy and the theme is 'Legacy of the gods' and I did chinese mythology not LMK. As such I couldn't pick an lmk exclusive character like Mk or Mei. Furthermore, since it was about the 'gods' specifically, I'm more focused on the deities and less demons the like.

Also a lot of my project has featured so much JTTW, and I'm sure it definitely will in future...So to break up from that and for a bit of variety, I've added in our lotus friend.

(I mean, I suppose I could've done Chang'e but I just decided Nezha had more myths so he was my best bet)

And I couldn't do Wukong. Cause I'm already doing another piece with him, I made two stickers of him already. They will know I have favorites. And I do, I know I do but damn it if I don't wanna show it so obviously!!!

Actually, originally I had like a list of who I wanted to do and it was mostly like main cast of lmk with some fan favorites/my favs here and there and Nezha was towards the bottom but I moved him up due to the reasons above. And I was going to do Pigsy and Tang today but that's not how things turned out, I'll still do them just everyone's gonna have to be moved up in the list now.

Don't ask me what kinda cake it is, if I had to guess some kinda cheesecake with like a thin layer of jelly on top. The pink/red contributes to his main color scheme and the blue jelly makes it look like a pond and all the decorations and lotuses on top look like they're floating in water.

And I suppose it's different from Mk and Mei's cause like the KNY arts have different cakes sometimes why not do the same for these guys? And Nezha is a prince, and the patron god of children! I think he deserves something nice. (I used Giyu's cake for reference)

The filling is strawberries again, hopefully better drawn this time and actually sakura petals instead of lotus ones. I don't know why I used sakura petals, the color is more like lotuses but the shape is inspired after sakura so maybe it's a hybrid.

I do enjoy that it is more detailed than the previous two (especially since I'm using it for a project-)

I actually had a lot of trouble thinking of the sugar cookies cause there's not much associated with Nezha other than his lotus theme and his weaponry. Like at least Mei had her sword and her dragon insignia in different styles! I didn't wanna just do lotuses for like 3 times so I did his universal ring and that golden brick from that one episode. And yes, that brick is an actual thing in the mythos, it's not just a quick visual gag.

I did copy paste the frosting swirls and shells from Mei, don't @ me pls they just looked cool, I needed something to jush up the cake and COME ON THEY LOOK COOL HOW COULD I NOT

No I did not change the color but the minty green broke up all the pink and gold nicely, I think...

I did add the lotus flower and that green thing that triggers ur tripophobia is a lotus fruit. So for those who don't know, lotuses are edible! Not water lilies though. There's a difference. And lotuses can be made into lotus jam and it's delicious! I do recommend trying a lotus jam bao at least once.

Now I know Nezha is a chinese deity and mochi/dango is japannese but Idk what other desert to use and I didn't feel tanghulu fit the vibe...

But yea, those are his flaming fire wheels he skates on, that's why they're on fire, no it's not the rings of the samadhi fire. (I'll be saving that for RS) though now, I do wish I'd just done the outline in a darker shade to make it look like it was an actual image grilled into the mochi rather than a sticker slapped on.

The sneks! Omg! I almost forgot about them! But yea, those are the golden serpent shears we saw in that one episode. They are a bit last minute but I think they turned out decently well. Lil bleps.

Then we have the fire tipped spear and yes, that is Ao Bing. I'm sorry, I know I said I shipped them, and I still do (I see lmk nezha as both mentally and physically an adult don't try me) but damn that idea popped into my head and it was funny. He's fine...I think

(also funny to think Mei's is all dragon oriented and here's Nezha and Ao bing like bleep)

The reason the ribbon is so long is cause it's the goddamn armillary sash that Nezha uses, and it's its own canon magic thing, why not let it be longer and yes I did add some white detail but I just thought it looked more finished and it's a celebration! Let him be festive!

I really like the pose like Nezha receiving a lil present. I think he's the kind of person to not expect presents but be pleasantly surprised at them.

And btw that balloon has lily pads, it's not a globe. I know they should be elevated for lotuses but I can't exactly make the leaves pop out.

So later today should be Tang and pigsy hopefully!

(Also I've noticed a trend in general lmk posts. Ships, duos, trios basically anything with a relationship of some kind always do better than just one character so if I had to guess this like my other birthday posts won't do that well)

Oh and @leesbian42, before I forget, happy almost birthday! If I remember correctly you're turning like 24 right?

[skyloftian-nutcase]

The Many Languages of Love - Familial (Imprisoning War)

Summary: Merovar & Hemisi share a quiet night together, worrying about their father and their future.

Setting: Calamity Timeline, prior to the Imprisoning War

Crickets chirped, a gentle ambience filling the air softly like water slowly filling a spring. Hemisi stared out at the sky, the stars hazy and distant in the warm summer night, so different from the extreme temperature shifts she'd grown up with in the desert.

"It's still weird being able to sit out here in practically the same clothes as daylight," her brother, Merovar, noted from his perch beside her. The pair had wandered to one of the higher balconies of the castle, sealing the entrance off and climbing up a level to sit on the roof. They'd both wanted some privacy and silence from the chaos below.

"Yeah," Hemisi agreed dully, laying back against the roof.

The siblings didn't speak for a while before Merovar asked, "Do you ever miss home?"

Hemisi huffed. "I thought you liked the fancy stuff here."

"It's not as nice as home," Merovar noted dully. "Hyrule's prize is its natural habitats and resources, not its people or amenities."

"Now you sound like Dad."

Merovar grew silent again as a breeze blew by, playing with their hair.

Hemisi said, "I wish we didn't have to plan to attack this place."

Her brother stiffened a little, whispering, "You shouldn't say it out loud."

"It's true," she emphasized, though more quietly. "I don't want to attack this place. Do you?"

Merovar sighed. "I... don't know. Dad says the Triforce will help us. And I mean... I think it would be pretty amazing. To rule all this. You know?"

"Why?" Hemisi asked, sitting up.

Merovar stared at her. "Why?"

"Why would it be cool to rule this place?" she elaborated, eyes boring into her brother. "Why do we have to bother them and cause that trouble at all? I'm all for a good fight, but it has to be for a good reason."

"You just don't want to fight your boyfriend," Merovar chuckled.

"Give me a reason, Mer."

Her brother's mouth twisted a little in annoyance. "Have you met their king? He's an idiot. We'd be doing Hyrule a favor."

"Who cares about doing Hyrule a favor?" Hemisi questioned. "Dad doesn't."

"No," Merovar agreed immediately, looking away. "He doesn't."

The crickets chirped, though the silence was far less peaceful and pleasant. A heaviness filled the air until Merovar finally broke it.

"Do you think Dad's okay?"

Hemisi didn't choose to argue or provoke her brother. Instead, she bit her lip. "I don't know."

The twins both held a mutual understanding, an observation that their father had grown steadily more obsessed with this mission. Of course, it was an important objective that required a lot of planning. Hemisi knew that. But... when she wasn't caught up having fun with Link, she couldn't help but notice how little he seemed to pay attention to anything pertaining to home anymore.

At least Merovar had noticed as well. It made Hemisi feel less alone.

"Maybe we should talk to him," she suggested. "Just to check on him."

Merovar huffed. "He won't appreciate it."

"You don't know that."

"I do know that. Just because you're his favorite doesn't mean he'll listen to you about this. You haven't been with him as much as I have on this mission. You're too busy fawning over Link."

"I am not," she grumbled. "Ugh, this is stupid. We should just talk to him."

"Whatever." Merovar rolled his eyes. "At least it'll be over soon. You've got the layout of the castle and its patrols memorized, I've got the king talking to me about the Triforce... based on what I got and Dad's planning and spies, we'll probably know the location of the stupid thing by the Festival of Colors."

Hemisi squirmed uncomfortably. She wasn't keen on her part in all this. She didn't want to take Link out of play like her father had asked her to do. She didn't want to betray him like that.

Seeming to read her mind from her body language, Merovar asked, "You think you can do it?"

"I know I can," she replied a little curtly. "It's not a matter of whether I can."

Merovar watched her for a few moments, and his expression grew sad. "He really loves you, you know."

Hemisi grew confused. "Why do you look upset about that? I know he loves me. I love him too."

"Would you marry him?"

"Yeah," she answered fairly quickly. "I would. I want to. But like... this'll... it's so stupid. Can't we just tell him about it? Maybe he thinks--"

"We can't tell him, are you out of your mind?" Merovar hissed. "He's a Sheikah! They're the most loyal to the crown!"

"We already established the king's an idiot," Hemisi argued. "Isn't that why we're doing this, supposedly?"

"Hyrule will fall," Merovar said sternly. "With a king like that, it's just a matter of time. We're stronger and have the right to take over, Dad said so himself. Those with power should utilize it. We'd do a better job. But that doesn't mean everyone will be happy about it. Misi, don't you get it? I... I don't want you to get hurt in this. You have to let him go, or you have to take him out of play, but you can't tell him."

Hemisi chewed on the inside of her cheek, looking away, tears stinging in her eyes. She hated this. This was stupid.

"Look, I--whether we like it or not, it's going to happen," Merovar said carefully. "But I... Dad says you can do anything with the Triforce. And he likes Link. So I'm sure he'll make it work somehow. It's just the mission itself that'll be the problem."

Hemisi glanced at him, hope filling her heart. "You think so?"

Her brother shrugged, but he gave a small smile with it. Hemisi had to laugh at that.

"You know, for you being the one who's better with words, you're not being very convincing," she noted.

"I don't know much about the Triforce," Merovar replied evenly before putting a hand on her shoulder. "I just don't want our family to fall apart because of this. Hemisi... no matter what happens, I'll be there with you, okay? And... I'm sure Link'll join us too, when it's all done. And then you two can go frolicking off into the sunset and leave me stranded out here."

Hemisi cackled at the imagery before lightly punching her brother on the chest. "I'm not leaving you, moron. No matter what happens... we'll have each other."

Merovar's face, scrunched up in response to the playful punch, softened, eyes twinkling in the dull light of the crescent moon. And then he pulled his sister into a hug, tight and scared and loving. Hemisi held him just as fiercely, the two anchoring each other in a sea of uneasiness.

And then Merovar tucked Hemisi's hair into her top, yanking it just as he'd done when they were younger, and laughed as she yelled at him and chased him down to the balcony.

[randomthefox]

despite enjoying idw and the sonic movies ive been loving reading your opinions on everything and seeing your love for scrapnik island has solidified my respect. it really is the best thing idw sonic has put out imo.

I just really like the games man. I feel like asking for adaptations to be made by people who've ACTUALLY PLAYED the games isn't too much to ask. I feel like for any other franchise in the universe, people would consider holding creatives working on an adaptation to the standard of "has actually interacted with the source material at all" to be a reasonable one.

But this is Sonic and people have The Sonic Double Standard, so no. I'm crazy and an asshole and a moron for wanting the adaptation to ACTUALLY PASSINGLY RESEMBLE THE SOURCE MATERIAL. Every time I say "hey, this thing that has Sonic on the title is not like the video games which the title of Sonic comes from" I get inundated with the same fucking thing, over and over and over again from different people.

"Yeah well the games suck anyway. So you're stupid."

They're ALL FUCKING LIKE THIS. Just saying the same shit. It's like a herd of cows mooing. It's actually so fucking scary to me. They haven't utilized a single neuron whatsoever, there is no independent thought being utilized at all. They are mindlessly regurgitating what they've been told to think. They use THE SAME WORDS AND PHRASES. It's like they're reading off a fucking teleprompter. Dozens of different people who aren't even mutuals with each other, sending me messages that are just EXACTLY THIS, over and over and over and over again.

Because expecting an adaptation of Sonic to BE SONIC is just ridiculous. Even though if we were talking about ANY OTHER FRANCHISE THAT EXISTS it would be considered THE BARE MINIMUM.

Scrapnik Island shouldn't be the exception.

Why is it too much to ask that EVERY adaptation of Sonic be like this??? Have creativity and inspiration in how they tell the story utilizing the medium? Write the characters AUTHENTICALLY to how they are in the games? ACCURATELY RECALL THE EVENTS OF THE SOURCE MATERIAL? Those things should be the BARE MINIMUM but because we're talking about Sonic, it's exceptional when Scrapnik Island does it.

Scrapnik Island isn't even fucking incredible or anything, it's just head and shoulders beyond anything else that has ever been printed under the Sonic name on a comic book shelf. It's like drinking a glass of room temperature water after dying of dehydration in the sahara desert for a month.

[honeybee2807]

I have this silly fic idea. Could go crack or serious.

So in this au, Ginny is more strict about the no sweet rule. She informs the prefects and head students to not allow her kids to eat even dessert.

James and Lily have friends who think Ginny is crazy so snuggles them sweets. The gryff prefects kind of turn a blind eye to it cuz they are both popular.

Poor Albus on the other hand, has incredibly strict prefects who don't like him much. In this au, he doesn't meet Scorp until they are adults(Scorp is homeschooled/goes to beaubatons).

Everytime he sneaks a plate of pumpkin pasty, the pumpkin pasty gets confiscated. He begs James and Lily for sweets but they are too possessive of them to give him one. He never experienced sweets/deserts except one time when he was six and he cherishes that memory. Two weeks after he burns the hogsmeade permission slip, he apologizes to his dad and gets another slip. Yayyy!!!!

Except..... Strict prefect follows him and doesn't allow him to buy a single sweet(this prefect is a goody two shoes who is kind of a snitch).

During his fourth year, he made it his ambition to experience the taste of sweets(and recollect the good memory of when he was six) somehow. So when he hears two muggleborns joking about the meme "Welcome to the dark side. We have cookies", Albus takes it seriously(Canonically, he's not exactly familiar with the concept of tattoos so obvi he wouldn't understand pop culture references). And vows to be a dark lord. He researches the history of dark lords and their strengths and weaknesses. He's a Slytherin. Surely he has the evil required to pull this off.

When he was in his fifth year, during the whole career discussion meeting with his head of house, he reveals that he plans to be a dark lord(His head of house is Slytherin. Surely she'll guide him to be evil).

The Slytherin head is incredibly concerned(despite what Albus thinks, Slytherin does NOT mean evil) but decides to amuse him and asks "And what's your agenda?"

Albus(having a shocked pickachu face): Dark Lords have agendas???

So Slytherin head doesn't take him seriously and doesn't inform his parents(which is a big mistake)

Over the summer, dude ends up making up an agenda: Take over the ministry and make it illegal to ban sweets for kids. And also give out unlimited sweets.

Albus is slightly insane in this fic due to having a lot of issues like bullying, Harry saying he wished Albus wasn't his son(in this fic no time travel, so their issues didn't get resolved) and the sweet ban did nothing to help those issues. He fixates a lot on sweets tho and lowkey despises Ginny.

Two ways this fic could go:

1. He anonymously terrorizes everyone(doesn't actually murder or torture anyone cuz Albus still has morals) making threats and being an overall troll.

If this is a crack fic, he "kidnaps" people(takes them to a grand place with tvs and the victims get to contact their loved ones in secret) and "tortures" them by giving them spicy food(buldak 2x spicy ramen to be specific) and no relief except water(that means no milk or ice cream which is way more effective). In the end, his victims kind of pity him and think Ginny went too far with the sugar ban(some think the dark lord idea is brill and pledge to him)

If this is a serious fic, he blackmails and makes death threats.

Ultimately, Harry and Co find out that Albus caused this huge mess and find out the reason why. Harry has this huge realization that parents shouldn't go banning sweets. Ron and Hermione finds Albus disturbed and mentally ill and thinks Ginny exaberated this. Ginny feels very guilty and they all hug it out.

2. This is purely a crack idea. He does all the cracky steps above but Harry and Co don't find him until it's too late. He meets Scorp and Scorp is a sweet addict so he likes the agenda. Albus adores Scorp a lot so Scorp becomes Albus' right hand man. They end up conquering the ministry and implement the rules. Everyone ends up getting diabetes.

I plan on writing a one shot on this. You think I should go on idea one or two? Should I go serious or crack?

If it's serious, it would be focused on mental health issues and eating disorders(if idea 2 happens Albus would start bingeing on sweets). If it's crack it would focus a lot on the humor.

Crack is much easier to write but serious seems very interesting imo.

[velvetvexations]

Memoirs to Prove the Existence of the Devil

Nursed With Kerosene

Zoe Grail is best friends with the Righteous, a group of 'scoobies' who deal with supernatural threats that no one wants to discuss in public. A mysterious man offers to tear off the veil and show her what the Righteous get up to.

In-progress serial novel. 01

Six Underground

Anh Coleman and their husband spend some much needed quality time together while trapped underground, and Anh doesn't think they're alone.

Published in Beyond the Bounds of Infinity.

New Coke

Paul Conrad is the yuppie son of a billionaire who's gone through a streak of bad, bad luck, and hasn't felt like himself in awhile. When he's sent to Mexico to check in on some financial irregularities, he meets a woman of uniquely terrifying beauty.

Witch Hunt

Gerald Oakman barely remembers Gerhard Eichmann. A strange visitor drops in to remind him of a few key facts.

The Fool's Hike

Azariah and Lizard take their son hiking.

Lips Cold as Ice

Tragedy Syn suffers for his art.

The Feral .454 of Lizard Donner

Other barbarians have savage swords. Lizard Donner walks into fights with an oversized six-shooter, an ax, and a cloak that flows like a flaming shadow.

The Black Goat of the Desert

Holly Goodwich and Paris Conrad are two early 20th century lesbians whose relationship has stagnated lately. Hoping to spice things up, they chase a rumor through the desert.

The Wendigo?

Dr. John Silence is an arrogant man, for good reason. This once, though, he may have to reconsider his conclusions and beg for help if he wants to survive the night.

Lighthouse, Lighthouse

A paranormal investigator snoops around the simple lighthouse of a small town in Mexico.

Swimming in a Bottle

A young boy sneaks a bottle away from the party his parents are throwing on their yacht and ends up falling into the water, only to surface in a strange lake under a sky full of black stars.

Scared

A man is hounded by an entity of unfathomable horror that's out for his blood.

The History of the Principality of Averoigne

A short history of Averoigne, from it's de facto independence during the French Revolution to the principality that continues to exist in the modern day.

Zachary Read Something He Shouldn't

It's the 1930s and Zachary Conrad's older brother tasks him with proving beyond the shadow of a doubt that their grandmother, wife of the famous cowboy hero Blue Conrad, was not Native American. As he digs into the family history, however, Zachary learns that their mother kept many secrets.

Wow!

An heiress wants nothing more than to use her family's aerospace business to drag humanity into space and meet aliens. This is the story of the worst day of her life.

Time is the Final Gaol

Calamity wishes the Righteous made more of a difference. But sometimes the big picture doesn't tell the whole story.

Street Heat

To reward their good behavior, Fenris, Plantagenet, Random, and Elixir are allowed to leave Blackchapel unsupervised so Plantagenet can take them to his hometown of New Orleans for Mardi Gras, but before they can relax a woman who wears the head of a goat fursuit leads them to a plot intent on turning the streets into a mass grave.

Circumstances of Birth

Hera is assisted by the rest of the Bacchanalia in a quest for revenge.

Heroes of the Rising Sun

Jay's three siblings aren't his by the blood in their veins, but by the blood spilled to make them what they are. Teaming up feels perverse, but if they want to survive what's coming, they'll have to work together.

No Rest

Wicked meets a couple of spitfires while performing at a festival, and if Melody finds out how strongly one of them is coming on to him, the band trying to open a portal to Hell with their music will be the least of his problems.

The Bitch's Apprentice

Axel formally introduces Chloe-With-A-C to the blood, guts, and other general thrills that come with being a professional scooby.

A Mind Like a Steel Trap

It's Calamity alone against a nightmare from his family's past, a titanic and invincible man of steel intent on amassing even more power than he already has.