#anyways that’s how terrible my day as been

[hellhunde]

This was an illustration requested on my patreon for $5! This was the illustration for December!

homunculushound on Patreon requested "Something About Condor and Crane". There's not a lot I can show without dipping into spoiler territory, so I decided to just go with their meeting!

Instead of a long winded explanation under the cut this time, I wrote a little scene to go with it! My prose isn't the best, but I thought that would likely be more fun than just hearing me talk about it! I'd honestly love to write more little scenes for these illustrations, but we'll see!

--------

Crane was still lost on what to do without her mother. The flock had only lost Goose a couple of days ago to wounds caused by that supposed King. Watching the life drain from her mother’s eyes, hearing her final words rasp out of her mouth—”Keep the colony safe”—it all weighed heavy in Crane’s mind. Crane had been trained and groomed to take Goose’s place since she was a kitten. But now that the time was finally here….

Crane wasn't a fighter. Not many in the Flock really were. While Goose had made the judgement to allow refugees fleeing the King’s conquest to join the Flock’s ranks, many were not battle hardened either. The majority were widowed mothers and fathers with kittens to raise, the elderly, and the already injured. Not much to be able to honor her mother’s dying wish.

The Flock were sitting ducks if she couldn't get her colony in a place to actually defend themselves. She wasn't going to roll over and let that barbarian wipe out Goose's Flock—Crane’s flock—for his own gain. 

“Mother Crane?” Crane’s ear twitched at being called leader’s title. She still was not used to being called it. It was only the original Flock members that used the Mother honorific anyway. She sensed it often made the refugees too uncomfortable. She tilted her head around to see Blackbird, her medic. 

“Yes?” Crane answered.

“Uh,” Blackbird stammered out. “That cat is awake.”

Crane's ears perked. After her mother's passing, she’d taken a walk to clear her head. How convenient then had she instead found the broken body of a muscular cat in a ditch. She thought he had been a corpse, until she saw his body twitch and his eyes train on her. She sent for the medics to treat him only as insurance. She hadn't expected him to actually live. 

“Oh, good.” Crane wrapped her hairless tail around her paws. “What has he said?”

“Nothing,” Blackbird said. “Nothing at all. He just…stares. I think he might be incompetent.”

“Incompetent or not, he must be a strong soul to survive with those terrible wounds,” she said. “And the Flock needs more of those. Take me to him, maybe I can get him to talk.”

Blackbird scoffed. “Don't see what you could do that we haven't already tried.

“You should never doubt the feminine wiles, Blackbird.”

---

Blackbird was right about one thing. This cat sure did like to stare.

His head sat flat with the floor, paws on either side sheltering his muzzle. Without all the blood coating his body, Crane could more easily see the other scars that littered his huge body. This wasn’t his first tussle clearly. Crane winced as she saw the red bandages on the underside of his belly and neck. 

She spared a glance at Blackbird before she walked towards him. His large amber eyes stayed glued on her. In the morning light they showed almost red. 

“Hello, there,” Crane said soothingly, her mother had taught her. He blinked. “I’m Crane and this is the Flock’s base. Or at least a makeshift base. Our old home got ransacked and destroyed by the King’s army.”

The tom blinked again. Crane shot a look over her shoulder at Blackbird. He shrugged. 

“What's your name?” She tried instead, turning back to the tom.

Still no response. In fact, no indication he had understood her at all. Just those same large red eyes looking at her. They reminded Crane of a kitten’s: innocent, curious, scared. What a ridiculous thought. This tom must’ve been several months her senior. 

“See, Mother Crane?” Blackbird called from the entrance. “Incompetent. Can’t understand a word you say to him. We might as well throw him with kittens for all the good he would do in a fighting force.”

Crane sighed. She was about to open her mouth to sadly agree when the tom lifted his head. 

“...mother?” He said, in a raspy voice. His eyes were still blown out wide and staring at her. 

“He can talk—” Blackbird said, trotting inside to stand beside Crane. “Well, why didn’t you speak up before?”

At Blackbird’s scolding, the tom put his head down again. Crane smiled for a moment, thinking it looked like a turtle retreating into its shell with all the neck fluff he had.

Blackbird gave an aggravated huff. Crame ran her tail down his back. 

“Let me speak with him alone,” she said. “Maybe he’ll respond better to me. I’ll report anything he says back to you, okay?”

Blackbird hesitated. He eyed the tom once more before nodding. He leaped back out through the entrance, leaving Crane alone with the strange cat. Crane watched his eyes follow Blackbird out of the den, unblinking.

“Now,” she said, sitting down in front of him and getting comfortable. “how about you tell me your name?”

He took several moments to answer. Crane was beginning to worry he had gone mute again when his mouth opened.

“Tiny,” he said. Crane couldn't help but huff a laugh. She was glad to see whoever his mother was clearly had a sense of humor. Tiny’s ears perked at the sound of it. 

“Well, Tiny,” Crane said, laughter still in her voice. “This is my colony, The Flock. We’re the ones who saved you. Can I ask what happened?”

“Got ambushed.” Crane watched Tiny’s claws sheath and unsheath. 

“Now why would they do that?”

“I killed some of them.” The frankness at which he said the words sent a shiver through Crane. That had not been what she expected to come out of Tiny’s mouth. He pouted. “It's not fair to get ganged up on though. It’s mean!”

Something is seriously wrong with this cat, Crane thought. She considered for a moment speaking with Blackbird and maybe killing Tiny themselves. Something painless. That's what Goose would've done. With so many mothers and kittens joining the colony, he might be more of a liability than anything. Though, Goose wouldn't have dragged a shambled almost-corpse back to their base during this desperate time in the first place. 

But something kept her from making that call. For one, Blackbird and the other medics had used so many resources on helping this cat, it would be a waste to just kill him now. And for two… the way he looked at her. While before he had been staring at her non-stop, now he seemed to find anywhere else but her face much more interesting. He spared shy glances at her, seeming to gauge her reaction. 

She’d done the same with Goose several times. Whenever she’d come back with prey after a long day for them to share. Whenever she made an order around the colony that her mother had taught her. Whenever she’d brought Scout back to her mother, claiming him as her mate.

Approval. 

But Goose wasn't around anymore. Crane didn't need to get approval from anyone.

She fixed Tiny with a warm smile, a purr escaping her throat. “That isn't fair. We’re in that same situation now.”

“Really?” Tiny said, genuinely surprised. 

“Yes,” Crane continued. “See, the King’s Army is bullying us small colony cats, it's just not fair. We need as many cats in our corner to hold them back. You seem like a strong fighter, you can join us if you’d like.”

“I can?” Tiny said excitedly. He pushed himself up, before wincing at the pain of his injuries. “I’ve never been in a colony before!”

“Yup. All you have to do is change your name to a bird. That's all.”

Tiny thought for a moment, his lips pursed like an overactive kitten being asked some history fact. While his demeanor was definitely odd, Crane was becoming more charmed by it as the moments passed. Tiny was handsome. His build was much different than Scout’s, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all. She felt the burning shame of what her mother would think, but Goose didn’t have a say over her life anymore. Lost it the moment life had faded from her eyes.

“That cat called you mother,” Tiny said, pointing with his muzzle towards the entrance. “A mother is the one that names kittens, so you should name me!”

“Oh, I’m not—” she began before cutting herself off. She didn't think it was worth it to explain to this cat that ‘mother’ was just the Flock leader’s honorific. She wasn't sure he would be fully able to understand it anyway. “...Whatever, sure. I’ll name you. Hmmm, how about Condor? We found you in a bloody heap of yourself afterall.”

At that Tiny—Condor—finally cracked a smile, all teeth. Crane wasn't scared by the sight of them. 

“I love it!” Condor said.

[downbad4sylus]

“Spare me, Doctor Buzzkill”

synopsis: While Sylus is away on a business deal, you miraculously get Zayne and Greyson to go on a night out with Tara, except you get very drunk and you miss your boyfriend a lot.

content: sylus x afab!reader; reader is MC; use of Y/N; established relationship; zayne/greyson/tara cameos; excessive drinking; mentions of throwing up; god-awful amount of fluff; mostly proofread

word count: ~2.4k

a/n: the people cast their votes and so here is the fluff fic requested by the masses~~ can you guys tell zayne is my second favorite or no? this is sort of? a continuation of the last fic where zayne and sylus first met (tagged anyone who replied or liked the poll from earlier this week)

You couldn’t believe you’d convinced Zayne to come out with you and your Hunter friends. Tara—who had accompanied you a handful of times to Akso Hospital for your check ups—had been flirting with Doctor Greyson at any opportunity she could. So you both hatched a plan to invite Greyson on a night out and, by some miracle, got Zayne not only to play along but to join you as well. He’d agreed that Greyson would be more comfortable going as long as he had a familiar face there with him.

And so here you all were, at a club many Hunters frequented, having the time of your lives.

Well, you and Tara were.

Zayne and Greyson, not ones for partying, mostly stayed at the bar nursing their (non-alcoholic) drinks. You and Tara managed to get them on the dance floor at one point, and once Tara and Greyson’s attentions were locked on each other, you and Zayne made a swift exit.

“Do you think Greyson will ask Tara out?” you asked Zayne as you ordered another drink. Admittedly you were a bit drunk, but you were having too much fun to quit now.

“I’m not sure,” Zayne replied. “He seems quite fond of her, though.”

You nodded your assent, too busy sipping from a straw to speak aloud.

“How many drinks have you had tonight?” Zayne asked.

“Don’t go all doctor on me right now,” you said. “I’m fine.”

He arched a brow. “I’m not sure your boyfriend will be pleased with me if I bring you home drunk out of your mind.”

You gaped at him. “Drunk out of my mind?” you repeated, incredulous. “That’s a little dramatic, Zayne. And besides, Skye is away on business right now anyway, so you’re safe.”

Talking about Sylus sent a pang of longing through your chest. He’d been away for three days already, handling a rather important business deal involving modified Protocores. He wasn’t supposed to come back for another two days, and you missed him terribly. It was probably why you were pounding drinks, insisting you were fine and not at all drunk. You wished he was here too, to have fun and enjoy the night with you and your friends.

“I feel like him being away means I’m far from safe,” Zayne grumbled. “I am your primary care physician, I’m responsible for making sure you remain healthy.”

You rolled your eyes at your primary care physician. “Spare me, Doctor Buzzkill.” You drained the rest of your drink and slapped the glass onto the bar. “I’m going to dance, you coming?”

Zayne shook his head. “Go on.”

Throwing him a little wave, you rejoined Tara and Greyson on the dance floor.

—

“I’m not drunk!” you yelled, your words blatantly slurred. “I’m not ready to go home yet.”

“Y/N, you can’t walk straight and your eyes are barely open,” Zayne admonished, tugging a stumbling you toward the exit.

Tara and Greyson trailed behind you, their hands grazing with every other step, bright pink blushes staining their cheeks. Too bad you were too drunk to notice the exciting progress they had made, but Tara would be sure to fill you in once you were sober.

“Mmm’not drunk,” you repeated so quietly no one even heard you.

You wished Sylus was here. You missed him so much. You missed his snowy hair, his striking red eyes. The slope of his nose and the curve of his lips. The way those lips felt on yours, on your bare skin.

“Zayne I’m really hot,” you declared.

Zayne turned and placed the back of his cool hand on your forehead. “You feel a little warm but nothing to be concerned with. Would you feel better if I carried you on my back?”

You nodded, your bottom lip sticking out as you pouted.

Zayne smiled softly at the sight before turning again and dropping into a crouch. You clambered onto his back, Greyson and Tara needing to rush forward to steady you when it looked like you were going to fall off. With your arms securely around Zayne’s neck (to the point where you were almost choking him) he straightened with ease.

Greyson looked at Tara. “Were you going to call a taxi because I can drive you home, you know, if you wanted.”

Tara’s face lit up. “Are you sure?” she asked. “You didn’t drink too much?”

Greyson chuckled. “Doctor Zayne and I didn’t actually have any alcohol, I’m perfectly sober.”

“Okay!” Tara agreed excitedly.

Greyson smiled. “My car is at the hospital, but it’s not that far of a walk.”

“I don’t mind,” Tara said. “It’s a nice night out.”

“Zayne,” you whispered in his ear. “Zayne, do you—hic—think Greyson will ask her out tonight?”

Zayne chuckled. “It’s possible.”

“How are we getting home?” you asked.

“Your apartment isn’t far, I’ll take you there then grab a taxi back to my place,” he explained.

“Mmmkay.”

“Looks like we’ll be going our separate ways then,” Greyson declared.

You perked up and began waving excessively. “Goodbye Doctor Greyson! Bye Tara! Call me tomorrow!”

They both laughed at your obvious drunken state and offered their goodbyes before heading off in the opposite direction.

Zayne started the walk to your apartment, adjusting you on his back.

Your thoughts returned to your boyfriend.

“Zayne,” you mumbled. “I miss Sylus.”

His steps faltered. “Who?”

You huffed, not realizing the mistake you made in not using Sylus’s alias. “I said I miss Sylus, you know, my—hic—my boyfriend. I don’t like it when he leaves for his stupid business trips.”

Still slightly confused, Zayne said, “Why don’t you call him?”

“Call him?” you echoed. “Oh! You’re right! I can call him.” You started tapping Zayne’s cheek. “Let me down, let me down.”

Zayne carefully lowered you to your feet, keeping a hand hovering close by in case you started to sway. You pulled out your phone from your pocket, but no matter how many times you pressed the power button, it never turned on.

Tears pooled in your eyes as you stared at the black screen. “It’s dead,” you mumbled. “I’ll never talk to Sylus again!”

Zayne swallowed a laugh. “When we get to your apartment, you can plug your phone in and call him once it’s charged.”

Your tear-filled eyes looked up at Zayne. “Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

—

You threw up once, in a random bush, on your way to your apartment. You almost threw up all over Zayne, whose back you had climbed onto once more, but managed to get him to put you down in time to avoid covering him in vomit.

You walk-stumbled the rest of the way, just in case you had to throw up again.

When you reached your apartment door, it took you three tries to remember the code to unlock it, despite needing only your fingerprint.

The second you walked through the door, another sudden wave of nausea hit you. You bolted for the bathroom, leaving a concerned Zayne in the entryway.

After closing and locking the door, Zayne made his way to the bathroom and found you hunched over the toilet, puking your guts up. He held your hair and rubbed your back as you retched.

“I told you you had too much to drink,” he teased.

“Shut up!” you cried.

You gagged and spit a few more times before collapsing onto the floor. Zayne carefully observed your condition—clammy and pale—and rose to his feet.

“Stay there, I’m going to get you some water,” he said.

You nodded, having zero intention of getting up anytime soon.

Zayne hurried to the kitchen. He had to search through a few cabinets before finding your glasses, then went to the water dispenser in your fridge. As he waited for the glass to fill, he heard a noise from the entryway, like someone was trying to unlock the door.

He moved quickly, depositing the half full glass on the counter and going to the entryway. He didn’t know who had the code to your apartment but he certainly didn’t think you were expecting visitors, especially when your phone had been dead this whole time.

Zayne decided it was best to catch whoever was trying to come in off guard. He grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.

“Doctor Zayne, what a pleasant surprise. Did you help my drunk girlfriend home?”

Skye—no, Sylus? Whatever his name was, stood on the other side of the door, giving Zayne an assessing once over.

Sylus and Zayne—in the little time they had spent together since Sylus became your boyfriend—had gained an unspoken, mutual respect for each other. They both acknowledged the importance of the other in your life, and as long as you were happy and taken care of, that was all that mattered.

So Sylus wasn’t upset that the doctor was currently in your apartment when he was supposed to be away on business. In fact, he was rather relieved that you had someone looking after you while he wasn’t there, especially when you were drunk. But he was here now, and he fully planned on assuming the role of your caretaker.

“Skye, I thought you were on a business trip,” said Zayne, stepping aside for the snowy-haired man. He wasn’t going to ask about the name thing, he honestly didn’t want to know.

Sylus held up his phone, the screen open on a myriad of texts you had drunkenly sent him throughout the night. “How could I not come home early when Y/N was practically begging me to?”

Zayne snorted. “Her phone died by the time we left the club, she was very upset she couldn’t call you.”

Sylus huffed, taking off his shoes. “Poor thing. Where is she—”

“Sy?”

Both men’s heads snapped up to where you stood in the living room, disheveled as all hell. But to Sylus (and Zayne) you were still the most beautiful treasure he’d ever laid his eyes on.

“Hi sweetie,” he drawled. “Miss me?”

You cried out a strangled laugh and ran for him, launching yourself into his waiting arms so hard he nearly fell backward.

“I missed you,” you whispered in his ear, relishing in the way his warmth enveloped you.

“Oh I know, you made that abundantly clear,” he teased.

You drew back, your brow furrowed. “When?”

Sylus raised a brow. “Just how drunk are you?”

“Very,” answered Zayne.

You pouted, craning your neck to look at your doctor. “I feel better now.”

“Because you threw up everything you drank,” said Zayne. He looked at Sylus. “She needs water to rehydrate, but don’t let her chug it. Slow sips only. Have her take some painkillers before bed so she doesn’t end up waking up with as bad of a hangover and don’t let her sleep on her back. If she still isn’t feeling well tomorrow, give me a call and I’ll bring over some medicine. I trust you can take over from here?”

Sylus nodded. “Thank you for taking care of her for me.”

Zayne smiled slightly. “Of course, I’m her primary care physician after all.”

You shoved your face into Sylus’s neck. “He’s Doctor Buzzkill,” you muttered into his skin.

Sylus barked a laugh. “Okay, kitten,” he said, patting your back, “let’s go get you cleaned up, yeah?”

Sylus and Zayne exchanged a curt nod as Sylus finally walked out of the entryway. You waved weakly at your doctor over Sylus’s shoulder as he carried you to the bathroom.

“Don’t forget to charge your phone,” Zayne said by way of goodbye.

“I’m so glad you came home early,” you told Sylus as he sat you on the lip of the sink.

Sylus pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “‘Sy come home, I miss you.’ ‘I miss you, Sy, when are you coming home?’ ‘It’s not as fun going out without you, Sy.’ And many, many more messages like that, all throughout the night. I don’t think you gave me any other choice, sweetie.”

You grinned, not feeling even the slightest bit guilty for being the reason he cut his trip short. “I really did miss you,” you said, reaching for his hand and twining your fingers. “Though I think I said your real name in front of Zayne.”

Sylus shrugged. “I don’t think it’ll be a big deal, plus we could always blame it on your drunken state.” He frowned as he looked you over. “You really shouldn’t drink that much, kitten.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “It’s like Zayne said, I threw it all up.”

Sylus scoffed. “Yeah and your doctor gave me specific orders for me to follow so how about we get you in the shower so I can do that?”

You didn’t move, instead your expression softened as you stared at your boyfriend. “I think you and Zayne could be good friends, if you both gave it a chance.”

Surprise flitted across Sylus’s face. “I don’t need friends, sweetie. I only need you.”

“What about Luke and Kieran?”

“They’re my subordinates.”

“Mephisto?”

“He’s a mechanical bird.”

“Okay, next time we go out, you’re coming with us so we can make you some friends.”

Sylus laughed. “Sure, whatever you say, kitten.”

—

Bonus:

*the next morning*

You squealed into the phone, effectively startling Sylus awake.

“So you’re going on a date?” you asked. You waited for the person on the line to reply, then squealed again. “Tara this is so exciting! Our plan actually worked!”

Sylus stared up at you, wondering if you were even human to have drank so much the night previous yet seemed to have woken up perfectly fine. So fine that you found it appropriate to scream into your phone at whatever unholy hour of the morning it was.

“Okay, so I already have our next mission planned,” you said excitedly. “Operation Make Skye Some Friends.”

Sylus groaned loudly and covered his head with his pillow. He did not want to hear what you had to say next.

tags: @bookfreakk @blorbohunter @randomgurl2326 @worldly-fluster @athanasia-day

[servndipityz]

namgyu with alternative reader? perchance.. smut🫶🫶😁

a/n ── i'm so nervous about this one! i hope i didn't do a terrible job on portraying alt culture (i know nothing about it). i kinda tried to make it not super specific so anyone can feel identified. again, sorry if it's lowkey bad. it's also my first time writing smut, believe it or not, but i've had years of experience reading it so i don't think it's that bad. enjoy :)

STRIPPED

warnings ── smut, +18 MDNI!!! porn w plot. drug usage, sex under the influence, sex in a club, fingering, orgasm denial, degradation, light choking, kinda brat taming? p in v, unprotected sex, creampie.

word count ── 4.6k

he'd ended up there. of course, he'd ended up there. only someone as unlucky as him could wind up at some fucking goth party. or punk. or… whatever. he didn't really care about the whole thing—the dramatic makeup, the dyed hair, the incredibly loud music blaring through the club. none of it.

nam-gyu had envisioned a chill night on his free day, but no. of course, his co-worker had to get sick. of course, nam-gyu owed him money for the pills he'd given him last week. of course, he had to cover for him that night.

and, of course, it was alternative night at club pentagon. usually, his co-worker handled these kinds of nights—special events, themed parties, all that.

what did nam-gyu know about alternative culture anyway? he wondered the same thing as he weaved through the crowd, making sure everyone was having a good time, keeping an eye on bar sales.

so far, he'd been stepped on twice—not too bad, except when it came from one of those platform boots everyone seemed to be wearing. those hurt like hell. but at least the night was going smoothly. for now.

so good, in fact, that nam-gyu figured it was time for a drink. he'd been working for hours, making sure this party ran smoothly. he owed that co-worker a lot of drug money, and this was the only way to settle it. it’s not like he’d ever do this out of the kindness of his heart.

he made his way to the nearest counter, resting his elbows on the cool marble as he waited for someone to take his order. he couldn't help but wonder how anyone could actually dance to this loud-ass english music that sounded more like screaming. he'd take the regular techno dj any day.

meanwhile, you finished pouring a vodka red bull and handed it off to yet another customer. that's when you noticed him.

he stood out—not in a good way.

hunched over the counter, inspecting it like he might find some cocaine stuck in it (which, honestly, he probably would if he looked hard enough), looking like a wet rat. his clothes gave him away. who even let him in like that? plain black shirt, black jeans, a couple of rings.

he looked up as you approached.

his first thought was that your leather top made your tits poke out. his second was that, without all that emo makeup, you'd actually be pretty cute.

his third was what the highest-alcohol-content drink he could order was.

he opened his mouth to ask, eyes flicking to the bottles behind you—

but you spoke first.

"you're ruining the vibe, man."

he frowned, caught off guard.

you just raised an eyebrow, speaking over the loud music. "i said, you're ruining the vibe."

"i'm not doing anything," he scoffed, annoyed. he just wanted to order his damn drink. last thing he needed was some lecture.

"exactly," you said. "you don't belong here. what are you even doing?"

not like you actually cared. you were here to do your job, bartend, make money, go home. but this guy—standing there, stiff shoulders, sharp jawline, judging everything and everyone, probably without even realizing it—looking at you like that, eyes dragging over you like you were some kind of curiosity—

yeah. he rubbed you the wrong way.

being alternative, you already got judged enough. the last thing you needed was someone doing it at an alternative party.

he frowned even further. "i'm here to work. not that it's any of your business."

that caught you off guard for a second. "you work here?" your head tilted, curiosity slipping into your tone. you leaned over the counter, the neckline of your top shifting just a little lower. who knew—if this guy was someone important, you had to use all your charms. especially after being so rude. "i've never seen you around, and i always bartender at these kinds of parties."

his gaze flickered down your cleavage before snapping back to your eyes. but you saw it. the way his jaw clenched, the way he suddenly looked more annoyed than before—like he was mad at himself for looking.

"i'm not thrilled either," he mumbled, clearly uninterested in conversation. "just covering for a friend. now, could you actually do your job and get me something to drink?"

you bristled at his tone, raising a brow as you turned to the shelves of bottles. "jeez, someone's grumpy. what can i get you?"

in reality, nam-gyu wasn't grumpy. well, he was, but that was just how he was. it was just... for some reason, you made him nervous. the girls he usually dealt with at clubs were boring bitches trying to get a VIP card or whatever drugs he had in his pocket.

you were the opposite. rude. annoying. and he didn’t like that. but for some reason, it made his blood rush somewhere else, clouding his brain.

"just give me a shot," he said after a pause. "something strong."

you turned your head slightly, a smile playing on your lips—the kind that sent a shiver down his spine. you walked back to the counter, reaching for a bottle hidden underneath.

"drinking on the job?" you asked while pouring the liquid into a shot glass, then casually grabbing a second one.

nam-gyu let out a short, amused huff. if drinking was the worst thing he’d done on the job, he’d be in a much better place. but he watched curiously as you poured the second shot, his eyes flicking up through his lashes, brow slightly raised.

"what?" you asked playfully. "if you’re doing it, so can i."

you finally set the bottle back and raised your glass. he mirrored you, his eyes never leaving yours. there was something in his expression—almost a smile. you entertained him.

"cheers," you said, clinking your glass against his before downing the shot in one go. he followed suit, setting the glass back on the counter, suppressing a grimace at the sharp burn of alcohol.

“so,” you said, clearing your throat slightly after the shot. “who’s the friend you’re covering for?”

nam-gyu said the name, and your eyes widened.

“that junkie, huh?” you smirked. he chuckled. “yeah, i know him. he’s a little more talkative than you, though.”

nam-gyu narrowed his eyes. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothing. it’s okay to be shy.” your voice was innocent, teasing, calculated. you'd decided that you'd had enough, that you might as well have some fun. “anyway, my shift’s almost over. wanna get out of here?”

“i’m not shy.” he sounded offended, then glanced away, considering your offer. “and i told you, i’m working.”

you huffed. “fine. just needed someone to smoke this with." you reached into your back pocket and pulled out a tiny zip-lock bag filled with greens. "guess i'll have to find somebody else."

now that caught his attention. maybe almost as much as your exposed skin did. suddenly, he was interested. but also suspicious.

“what do you have?” he asked, leaning slightly over the counter, his voice lower, more serious.

“your junkie friend gave it to me for a gig i did. said it’s good shit.” you shrugged, playing it cool, acting uninterested—like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. and he took the bait.

“why would you wanna share it with me?” he still sounded wary, but there was something else in his tone now. curiosity. maybe even something close to interest.

you groaned dramatically. “look, i’m heading to the staff room. you coming or not?” you said, already turning away, signaling to your co-worker that your shift was over.

now, nam-gyu didn’t need weed. not exactly. he could probably find ten of those zip-lock bags hidden in his place, forgotten in favor of other, harder drugs. but he also wasn’t the kind of guy to say no to free drugs.

especially not from such a petty girl.

you grinned to yourself as you felt him rush to walk behind you, trailing after you through the club like he didn’t know the way like the back of his hand.

as you reached the hallway leading to the staff room, nam-gyu couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on your half-ripped fishnets, the way they framed your legs under that short black skirt. was he here for the weed or for you? he wasn’t really sure, and he didn’t care much.

you finally reached the door, slipping past a few couples too caught up in each other to notice, and he shut it behind him. the staff room was small, dingy, and reeked of bleach and cigarette smoke, but you still sank onto the worn-out sofa next to the table like it was the most comfortable place in the world.

you leaned back, stretching your legs out just enough for your skirt to ride up slightly. not too much—just enough to make him notice. and he did.

nam-gyu stood near the door for a second, like he was reconsidering this, before scoffing to himself and dropping onto the couch beside you. he was close, not touching, but enough that the warmth of him was noticeable. enough that when he exhaled, you could feel the faintest brush of his breath against your shoulder.

"roll it," he said, nodding at the bag in your hand.

you raised an eyebrow. "you're really bad at asking nicely, huh?"

he just looked at you, serious. "you’re really bad at shutting up."

that made you laugh. he was watching you now—really watching you—as you pulled out the papers, fingers working effortlessly, licking the edge just to see his reaction. you weren’t disappointed. his jaw flexed again, his eyes dark, tracking your every move like he was trying to pretend he didn’t care. like he wasn’t already leaning back, manspreading, trying to act like he had the upper hand here.

cute.

you tucked the blunt between your lips, lighting it, taking a slow drag before passing it to him.

nam-gyu hesitated, just for a split second, then took it, bringing it to his mouth. his fingers brushed yours in the handoff, and it was stupid how that tiny touch sent something sharp down your spine. or maybe it was just the way he inhaled, head tilting back, exposing the sharp line of his throat as he exhaled, smoke curling lazily from his lips.

you licked yours.

the weed hit, slow and warm. the music outside was muffled, the sounds of the party fading into the background, leaving only this—dim lighting, the scent of smoke and alcohol and something else, something charged.

"you always do this?" nam-gyu asked after a beat, voice lower, lazier. "lure random guys into the staff room for a smoke?"

you smirked, tilting your head. "only the rude ones."

he huffed, shaking his head, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch like he was trying not to smile. he passed the blunt back, his fingers lingering just a second longer this time. you let them.

the room felt smaller. warmer.

"you always this uptight?" you asked, taking another slow hit. "or just with me?"

nam-gyu let his head roll against the back of the couch, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes. "you always this annoying? or just with me?"

you exhaled smoke, letting it curl between you. "you like it."

he didn’t answer. but he also didn’t look away.

you were both leaning back now, legs almost brushing, breaths slow and measured like you were both pretending not to notice the heat building between you.

nam-gyu wet his lips, head still resting against the couch, eyes flicking to your mouth before he caught himself and looked away. like it was a habit. like he was trying so fucking hard not to slip.

you took one last hit before stubbing out the blunt in the ashtray beside you. then, shifting slightly, you turned toward him, letting your knee press against his thigh. deliberate. slow. testing.

"you're staring," you murmured.

he scoffed, but it came out weaker than he probably meant. his hands clenched into fists on his thighs like he was keeping himself still on purpose.

"you’re high," he muttered, looking away.

"so are you." you tilted your head, voice dropping, playing with the edge of your ripped fishnets like you weren’t watching the way his gaze followed the movement of your fingers. "and what, does that mean i can’t see the way you’ve been looking at me all night?"

nam-gyu exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "i haven’t been—"

"you have," you cut in smoothly, shifting closer, feeling the warmth of his body now, solid and tense. "you’re mad about it. i can tell."

his jaw clenched.

"tell me," you purred. "are you mad because you don’t like it? or mad because you do?"

his fingers twitched on his thigh. his breathing was heavier, controlled, like he was still fighting it. fighting you.

so you leaned in, lips just close enough to ghost over his ear. "it’s okay," you whispered. "you can touch me."

and that was it.

nam-gyu moved so fast you barely had time to smirk before he grabbed you by the back of the neck, his lips crashing into yours, hot and desperate, all teeth and pent-up frustration. his other hand found your waist, yanking you onto his lap, and fuck—he wasn’t holding back anymore.

he was done fighting it.

and so were you.

his lips were all heat, all pressure—nothing hesitant, nothing soft. you barely had a second to adjust before his teeth caught your bottom lip, his fingers gripping the nape of your neck like he wanted to own you. his other hand, firm on your waist, yanked you flush against him, and fuck—he was hard.

not that he acknowledged it. not that he’d ever admit that you’d done this to him.

your knees bracketed his hips as you settled onto his lap, rolling your hips down just enough to feel him. his grip tightened, nails digging into the meat of your waist. he hissed against your mouth—half warning, half surrender.

“you don’t play fair,” he muttered, lips grazing your jaw now, teeth scraping skin, testing.

your fingers tangled into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt. “neither do you.”

his hands dropped—one to your thigh, sliding under your skirt, fisting in the torn mesh of your fishnets. the other traced the curve of your ass before shoving you down against him again, this time deliberate, a slow grind that made both of you exhale sharp.

his breath was uneven, warm against your throat. “you think i haven’t noticed?” his fingers curled, gripping tight enough to bruise. “the way you’ve been—” a sharp pull at the fishnets, a rip, cool air hitting skin—“fucking teasing me?”

you laughed, half-gasping when his tongue flicked against the pulse at your neck.

his fingers dipped, pressing against the damp heat of your panties, no patience, no hesitation. his other hand was now tangled in your hair, keeping you locked right where he wanted—breath hitching as he rubbed slow, teasing.

then his hand moved, fingers slipping beneath the fabric, warm against your skin, sliding between your thighs. the first touch was barely there, just a single fingertip running along your slit, slow, teasing.

you squirmed, but he didn’t let you go. “look at you,” he murmured, mocking, the pad of his finger dragging over your cunt, pressing just enough to make you shudder. “all that attitude, but you’re already—” he exhaled sharply, felt it before he even had to say it—so fucking wet.

"fuck," he muttered, more to himself than to you, his forehead resting against yours for a second like he was trying to collect himself. but his fingers were still moving, sliding along the slickness of you, testing, exploring, spreading it just enough to make you squirm.

"yeah?" you murmured, voice breathy, teasing. "you like that?"

his only response was a low, quiet curse under his breath before he pressed his fingers in deeper, the tips just barely pushing inside before pulling back, slow and torturous. he was watching you now, eyes dark and half-lidded.

and then, without warning, he slid one finger in, slow but firm, curling just enough to make your breath catch. your nails dug into his shoulders, and his other hand tightened on your hip, holding you steady.

"fuck," you whispered, rolling your hips into his touch, chasing it, needing more.

nam-gyu chuckled, low and smug, and then he added a second finger, stretching you just a little more, fucking you slow and deep with just his hand. the angle was perfect, his fingers pressing against that spot inside you that made your toes curl, made your breath come faster, needier.

"you’re so fucking tight," he murmured, more fascinated than anything, watching the way his fingers disappeared inside you, the way you clenched around them. he twisted his wrist slightly, his palm pressing against your clit as he fucked you with his fingers, setting a rhythm that had you grinding against him, chasing that pressure.

your moan was quiet but desperate, and he smirked, eyes flicking up to yours.

"you always this easy?" he murmured, his voice taunting, dark.

you opened your mouth to snap something back, but then he crooked his fingers just right, pressing deeper, and your words dissolved into a gasp, your head tipping back. his lips were on your throat a second later, sucking, biting, leaving marks you’d have to cover up later.

his pace picked up, fucking you harder with just his fingers, each drag of his palm against your clit sending another sharp wave of heat curling low in your stomach. the room was quiet except for the sound of your breathy moans, his heavier breathing, the slick sounds of his fingers working you open.

"you gonna come?" he murmured against your skin, his voice rough now, strained.

you swallowed hard, your fingers tightening in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. "fuck—don’t stop," you breathed.

nam-gyu felt it—felt the way your body tensed, the way your thighs shook against his hips, the way you were right there, so fucking close. he could see it too, in the way your mouth parted, in the soft, breathy little gasps escaping your lips, the ones you were trying to swallow back like you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

but he wasn’t that generous.

just when you thought he’d let you tip over, when your body clenched down around his fingers so tight he could barely move them, he pulled away.

just—gone.

the sudden loss was so sharp, so fucking unfair, that you let out a frustrated, needy little whine before you could stop yourself, your hips rolling forward, chasing after the feeling, after his hand, anything. but nam-gyu just sat back, bringing his wet fingers up to his lips, slipping them into his mouth with a slow, deliberate hum.

"mm," he mused, tongue flicking over them, eyes locked on yours. "not bad."

"are you fucking kidding me?" you were panting, legs still shaking where you straddled him, your body on fire, needing more, needing anything. your eyes flashed, your hands curling into fists against his chest like you were two seconds away from either punching him or ripping his shirt off.

he just smirked. "what?"

"you—" you gritted your teeth, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. "you’re such a fucking asshole."

nam-gyu chuckled, low and lazy, his hands dragging up your thighs again, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just to remind you he still had you exactly where he wanted you. "maybe, but you're still here," he murmured. "still dripping for me."

"yeah, because you didn’t let me cum, you dick," you snapped, rocking forward again, grinding against him, feeling the hard, thick press of him through his pants. he was just as worked up as you were, and you could tell—he was trying to play it cool, but his breathing was heavier, his fingers twitching against your skin like he was barely holding himself back.

that made you smirk. "ohhh," you taunted, rolling your hips again, slower this time, watching his jaw clench. "that’s why, huh? you’re hard as fuck and don’t wanna finish before i do."

his eyes darkened, his grip tightening on your hips. "watch your fucking mouth."

"or what?" you leaned in, brushing your lips against his ear, letting your breath tickle his skin. "you gonna do something about it?"

that was it.

one second you were teasing him, playing your little game, and the next you were flat on your back, your spine pressing into the shitty, worn-out couch, his body caging you in. his hand was already shoving your skirt up, fingers hooking into your panties and dragging them down your thighs, not even bothering to be careful.

"you talk too much," he muttered, voice rough, breath hot against your jaw.

"and you do too little," you shot back, just to push him, just to make him snap again.

it worked.

his hand was on your throat, not squeezing, just there, just pressing, just reminding you that he could if he wanted to. his other hand yanked at his belt, the metal buckle clinking as he undid his pants, as he shoved them down just enough to free himself.

fuck.

you’d felt it before, pressing against you, teasing, but now you saw it. thick, flushed, leaking at the tip, the kind of length that made your thighs press together instinctively, made you bite your lip even as you refused to let him see you flustered.

nam-gyu saw it anyway.

"knew you wanted it," he muttered, running the head of his cock along your slit, dragging it slow through your wetness. "acting like a brat, but your pussy’s already begging."

"shut the fuck up and—"

he pushed in, just an inch, just enough to make you gasp, make your nails dig into his arms.

"yeah?" he exhaled sharply, his jaw tight, like he was already holding himself back. "that what you wanted?"

you barely had time to adjust before he thrust forward again, burying himself deep, stretching you in one slow stroke that left your back arching, your head tipping back against the couch.

"fuck—"

nam-gyu groaned, low and almost desperate, his forehead pressing against yours as he bottomed out, as he let you feel every fucking inch of him.

"you feel that?" he murmured, breath ragged, his hips rolling just a little, just enough to make you whimper. "how tight you are? how you’re fucking squeezing me?"

you couldn’t answer. you couldn’t think. all you could do was feel—the way he filled you, the way he stretched you, the way he stayed there for a second, teasing, waiting, making you want it more.

you swallowed, trying to catch your breath. "you gonna move, or you just like teasing your own dick?"

his laugh was low. then he pulled back and slammed into you, knocking the breath from your lungs.

"fuck—"

your back was pressed against the couch, legs spread wide, thighs trembling as he held you open. his body caged yours beneath him, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other gripping your hip, keeping you still as he drove into you with rough, unforgiving thrusts. his cock filled you completely—thick, hot, deep—dragging against every sensitive spot inside you, making you gasp with each desperate slap of his hips against yours.

"you gonna be good now?" his voice was low, ragged, dark with amusement. his grip tightened, fingers digging bruises into your skin. "or you still wanna run your mouth?"

you tried. you really did. you opened your lips to snap something back—something mean, something cutting, something to remind him you weren’t easy to break.

but all that came out was a choked moan as he grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his.

"that’s what i thought," he murmured against your lips, his breath hot, his mouth just barely brushing yours, teasing. "bratty little thing—talking shit. but look at you now."

his hand wrapped around your throat, fingers pressing just enough to keep you in place. not squeezing. just controlling. just owning. his other hand slipped between your bodies, two fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the swollen bud.

"fuck," you gasped, your hips rolling up instinctively, chasing that pressure, that friction.

nam-gyu chuckled, low and smug. "yeah? you like that?"

you wanted to tell him to fuck off. you really did.

but then he twisted his fingers just right, his cock hitting that spot inside you at the same time, and your body jerked, your moan breaking into something desperate.

"that’s it," he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw, his pace still brutal, relentless. "don’t fight it. you wanna cum, don’t you?"

"yes—yeah," you panted, nails scraping against his wrist where he held your throat.

he pulled back suddenly, dragging his cock out until only the tip remained, making you whimper at the loss. his fingers abandoned your clit, and before you could protest, he did something worse—something filthier.

he spat.

the wet warmth of it landed directly on your pussy, slick and obscene. your whole body jolted.

"fuck—" your breath stuttered, your back arching as heat shot through you.

nam-gyu groaned at the sight, at the way you clenched, the way your body reacted so instantly, so helplessly.

"you like that, huh?" his voice was thick with satisfaction, his fingers dragging through the mess, smearing it over you, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles.

you shouldn’t. you really shouldn’t.

but the heat in your stomach coiled even tighter.

"say it," he ordered, his voice rough, his cock pushing back inside you, stretching you open again, slow and deep, making you feel every inch. "tell me you fucking love it."

your pride cracked. your body betrayed you.

"fuck—i love it," you gasped.

nam-gyu groaned, his breath hitching, his pace quickening. "good girl."

and then his fingers returned, rubbing messy circles over your spit-slicked clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, pushing you higher, harder—

you were already close. too close.

"fuck—fuck, i’m gonna cum," you choked out, hips jerking against his hand, against his cock, chasing it. "please—please don’t stop—"

and this time he didn’t.

he fucked you through it, his fingers never letting up, his pace relentless, driving you higher, harder, until it finally snapped—

your orgasm hit like a fucking wrecking ball.

your body clenched down on him so tight he cursed under his breath, his rhythm faltering for the first time. the pleasure crashed over you, your whole body shaking as you moaned through it, loud and wrecked, the sound swallowed by the shitty little staff room.

"fuck—fuck, yeah, that’s it," nam-gyu groaned, his grip on your hips bruising now, his thrusts rough and desperate as he chased his own release. "god, you feel so fucking good—"

he buried himself deep, his breath stuttering, his cock twitching inside you, and then he was coming, his grip tightening, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as he groaned low into your skin.

for a second, all you could hear was the ragged sound of your breathing, the quiet hum of the party outside, the distant bass thudding through the walls.

nam-gyu exhaled, slow and shaky, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your waist, still holding you, still pressed against you.

then he pulled out, groaning at the sight of his cum spilling out of you, dripping between your thighs.

he smirked, dragging a lazy finger through it before pressing it against your lips.

"open," he murmured.

you did.

and fuck, the look in his eyes when you sucked it clean—

you were so fucked.

© servndipityz 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content without my permission.

[calebslittleapple]

feels like home: sticky fingers

After a few weeks apart, Caleb reconnects with his Pip-squeak, only to find that she's pretty beaten up after a mission. Fortunately, Caleb knows exactly what to do to take care of his girl. From one moment to the next, everything changes, and what starts as an innocent interaction quickly evolves into something else entirely... two-shot, post club-interactions, but can be read as a standalone as well (though, this is part of my feels like home series).

Pairing: LaDS Caleb x MC (she/her)

Genre: Smut (with feelings); chapter one is M, chapter two is E; 18+

CW: Codependency; Pip-squeak as an endearment; MC is named "Emme" short for "Emme Sea" lmao; Finger Sucking; sensual massage; Vaginal Fingering; humping

Also on AO3

Complete: Chapter One; Chapter Two

feels like home series page

After that dizzying night at the club, things settle back into the same old, same old, mostly because work’s been insane for both of them. At least, that’s what Caleb’s telling himself.

Naturally, he can’t stop thinking, feeling, reeling over the memory of his sweet girl, his beloved Pip-squeak, coming apart in his arms. Along with that, the way she’d woken early the day after, slipped from bed and made him breakfast.

That was normally his role to fall back into, but it was a domestic kind of sublime to walk into her kitchen, and see her standing there, cooking bacon, while wearing one of his t-shirts—old, stretched out, and way, way too big for her.

Caleb couldn’t put his finger on why, but he liked the way she looked in his clothes. Felt a bit like she was wrapped up in him. The possessive pieces of his heart shifted upon seeing her there, ever so slightly falling into place as if a simple moment like that could make his fractured heart whole once more.

They didn’t talk about what happened, because, of course, they didn’t. But she was different. A little surer in her touch and teasing. Hands lingered as the food was shared between them. Her eyes fell on his lips, the line of his neck, the broad stretch of his chest, which was purposefully emphasized by the two-sizes-too-small tank top he was wearing.

He flexed some, and she noticed that too. What was the point of having a physique like his, if not to show it off to the one person he’d crafted it for? Judging from the way her chewing stopped and how her eyes lingered, his many, many hours spent working out weren’t going to waste.

“See something you like, Pip-squeak?” he teased, but his voice was raspier than he’d thought it would be. Catching her staring was painfully intoxicating.

“Hmm?” she replied while shaking her head a bit. “What did you say?”

Caleb huffed out a laugh. “Pass the syrup.”

Picking up the nearby vessel, Emme quietly cursed as some of the sticky liquid sloshed over the edge and onto her fingers. After setting the syrup down, she stood and started to turn toward the sink, but Caleb caught her up in his gravity before she could move away.

“C’mere,” he murmured.

Shifting on her feet, she cocked her head at him, and Caleb couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes fluttered, just a little, as he let his power roll over her before pulling back.

Caleb held his hand out for hers. “Let me see.”

She swallowed, looked at her sticky fingers, and immediately focused on his lips. Caleb’s mouth curved into a knowing smile, which earned him a pretty pout.

“You’re terrible,” she breathed but held her hand out, anyway.

“Oh, c’mon, Pip-squeak,” he murmured, his warm hand gently skimming along the length of her forearm before curling around her wrist. “I know you like it when I’m bad.”

Her lips parted with a soft sigh that sounded anything but perturbed, pink tongue flicking out to lick her lips as her actions betrayed her thoughts.

“What are you going to do…?”

“You don’t know?” he asked while leaning closer to her hand, slow enough that she could pull back if she wanted.

He needed to prove something to himself, needed to prove that it wasn’t just the alcohol or the strange anonymity of that seedy club. Caleb needed to know that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

He could see it now, in the way she stood there, legs spread just a touch too wide, as if she was imagining what it might be like to fall into his lap and straddle his waist. Or maybe it was in how her hips switched, swaying almost the same way they had while she’d ground herself into his thigh the night before.

No, it was definitely in how glassy her eyes looked and the pretty flush on her cheeks. There was no alcohol coloring this interaction. What other places on her body would flush, he wondered. The tips of her nipples? The soft skin at the juncture between her legs and thighs? What about her ass? As decadently formed as it was, would her ass look even better with a bite mark… or two?

Caleb could feel himself growing hard in his gray sweatpants but was marginally relieved that he wouldn’t need to reach down and adjust himself this time. No distractions. Just her eyes locked on his as he pulled her hand closer and closer.

She didn’t gasp when he sucked her fingers into his mouth—index and middle; warm, sticky, and sweet. No, what she did was much, much worse than that.

Watching for every single reaction, Caleb swirled his tongue before delivering a long, soft suck, and his girl took in a halting breath, fluttered her fingers in his mouth, and fucking whimpered his name.

“C-Caleb!”

Broken, halting, haunting. He wanted to hear her say it again. To hear her say it while he pressed into her from above, while his head disappeared between her thighs, while he did every single thing he’d ever dreamed about doing to her, but dared not do.

They were growing closer and closer to the day when they would dare, and he was doing his best to be patient. He’d draw out every moment so when that day did come, when she finally gave in to her desires and realized that everything she’d been wanting was right before her eyes, it would be after he so thoroughly seduced her that she’d never think of denying either of them.

Ever. Again.

Caleb wasn’t a patient man, but he could play pretend with the best of them. For her, he would make the planet collapse in on itself if she but asked. But all she needed right now was patience and time. As his tongue swirled and his mouth pulled, he lingered there, and let her think of all the other places on her body that would feel oh so good if he ever got his lips, teeth, and tongue on them.

And he would. But, for that moment, he let her go and was not so secretly smug about the sweetly blissed-out look on her face, and the way she stumble-sat into her chair before picking at her food again, desperate to look somewhere, anywhere but at the face of the man she knew the best, and needed the most.

Weeks flew by. She texted, same as always. She called, and he answered on the second ring, same as always. But where once Caleb could soothe himself with the knowledge that he’d be able to see her soon enough, now he is consumed with the memories of their interactions and, more to the point, her reactions.

The clothes she left at his place for use during her visits no longer smell like her, likely because he spends most nights with his face wrapped up in them. The only peaceful rest he’s able to get is when she’s near. When he knows she’s safe. Now, her shirt and shorts just smell like him, and as much as he enjoys leaving his scent all over her space, he wants the same for his home.

Logically, Caleb knows that Linkon is a safer place for her, for a multitude of reasons, but the greedy, dark spaces of his heart want to keep her high in the sky, in Skyhaven with him. He’s smart enough to know how to keep her safe at his apartment. God, he’s done it before. But as good as it makes him feel to know without a doubt that she is safe, he can’t stand the look in her eye at that particular betrayal.

Just one more sin for the consummate sinner. But with her, ahh… It feels like he can find absolution in her arms. No matter how dark he gets, his girl will always be there to pull him back into the light. She promised him, just as he’d promised to always be there with him.

Finally, when Caleb thinks he’s at his wits’ end, he gets a text from Emme asking if he wants to meet up at her place on the weekend. Naturally, he agrees. Even if he didn’t have the time off, he’d have figured something out. He’s so excited about it that he decides to surprise her the night before, which isn’t uncommon for him.

So, with snacks and an overnight bag in hand, he lets himself into her apartment and waits for her to get back home from work. From how she tells it, she’s been overtime on something important. Caleb did some digging and managed to find out it had something to do with Wanderers convening just outside of the city limits.

It’s miserable work, as important as it is, and he worries because that’s who he is. Caleb wouldn’t be Caleb if he wasn’t worrying about his Pip-squeak. He’s just wired that way. And this time, he’s right to be concerned because when she finally gets back to her apartment at just after 2 a.m., she stumbles in.

Of course, she’s not entirely surprised that he’s there—who else would be watching movies this late in her living room, who else would know the security code to her suite, and who else would show up unannounced, like him—but she looks put out, all the same.

He watches her for a moment longer as she pauses at the entrance to her home, leaning against the doorframe as she breathes deep, head hanging heavy, body drooping… He’s moving before she can fall, her body pitching forward into his strong body instead of the floor.

“Whoa, Pip-squeak! What’s wrong?”

She looks up at him, and the dark smudges under her eyes, along with the scrapes on her cheeks and neck tell him everything he needs to know.

“Caleb.” One word spoken, half annoyance, half supplication. It’s all he needs. A moment longer, and she’s swept up into his arms.

“Let’s get you washed, dried, and cared for,” he says, sounding more competent and put together than he feels. In truth, his heart is pounding in his chest, and it’s taking everything he has not to drive over to the Hunter’s Association and ream out whoever is responsible for putting her in the situation that got her in this state.

Not that he’d dare leave her now.

He carries her through the small space of her apartment and walks them both into the bathroom. Her bathroom is cramped on a good day, and with the two of them in there, it’s even worse. She bats at his hands and tries to tell him she can manage on her own.

“I’m not a child.”

“Of course you aren’t, but you’re still my girl. How could I live with myself if I left you alone now? What if you fell in the shower, or worse?”

She frowns, but some of the roughness of that expression is smoothed away as she thinks about it.

“You owe me, then.”

“Oh?”

“Next time you get sick. You call me. You let me in. No excuses.”

Caleb sighs. Of course, she’d bargain for something like that. It’s not in his nature to show weakness, least of all to her, but he’d promise just about anything and mean it to keep her happy.

“Deal. Now, strip.”

She blushes at that, only for her lips to frown again.

“What?”

As Caleb eases her from his arms, she’s unsteady on her feet. “I really… just don’t think I can.”

“Need some help?” he asks, trying to sound casual, but very much feeling like his heart is going to explode.

“Promise not to get mad?”

“No.”

“Caleb!” she exclaims while giving him a halfhearted shove. “There’s just a few scrapes. And I’m sure I’ll be bruised tomorrow. But it’s nothing major, okay?”

“Okay. But you’re going to let me treat your injuries.”

She pouts. “Fine, but it’s mostly just… really sore muscles. I think a Wanderer was trying to tear my spine out…”

He hates the sound of that but manages to transfer some of his anger to the fastenings of her clothes, quickly and efficiently stripping the layers of her outfit from her body until she’s standing there in nothing more than her underthings and the bracelet he gave her.

He loves that no matter where she goes, she’s got a piece of him with her, but he keeps that bit of information to himself. She already has his heart. Any more leverage and she’ll have him following her like a puppy… more than he already does, that is.

Caleb tries to be level-headed about this, but it’s a challenge given how very fuckin’ long he’s dreamed about seeing her like this, albeit in very different circumstances. Still, he loves her, loves her more than he longs for her, even, so he schools his features, wills his body to calm down, and has his Evol prop her up while guiding her roughed-up body into the shower.

And though it’s strange, and not entirely logical, Caleb swears he can feel her pressing back into his gravitational touch, leaning into his power as he works to support her and not lose his damn mind. Maybe it has something to do with her Resonance. God knows it wouldn’t be the first time that their shared connection bridged the gap between fantasy and reality.

Once the shower curtain is closed, his power slips away, leaving her to stand on her own two feet.

“You good?”

“I’ve got the wall,” she says with a sigh. “Can you help me after I’m done?”

“Of course.”

She manages to take off the rest of her clothes. They fall to the floor of her shower with a soft thump.

“Want me to grab ‘em?”

“Everything’s filthy,” she admits. “Guts and blood and gore. I think I’m gonna burn them.”

Caleb chuckles and shakes his head. He’ll get the gore out for her. He’s good at that. Listening attentively, he makes sure to check in with her as she bathes. Truthfully, she’s sounding better, at least, until a soft hiss sounds from behind the curtain.

“Everything alright, Pip-squeak?”

“Just a very, very sore muscle.”

The water stops, and she gingerly peeks her head out from behind the curtain. She’s adorably drenched, and every part of him is itching with the need to care for her. He’s pleased to note that most of the blood is washed away, and doesn’t seem to belong to her.

Guts and blood and gore, indeed.

“I got a towel ready,” he says, spreading it out and turning his head so she can step out of the shower without having to worry about him leering.

Caleb swears she snickers at him, but she ducks into his arms and lets him wrap her in the towel, just the same. She’s swallowed up by an excess of plush fabric, with only her feet and head peeking out from the edges.

It almost reminds him of when she was young, and how after playing with the sprinkler and tiring herself out in the summer sun, she’d complain about being cold, only for Caleb to wrap her up in a towel and help her dry off.

Well, he’s not that boy anymore, and she’s certainly not that girl, and what they are to each other is so much more than childhood friends.

Still, he tugs at the edge of the towel and lifts it so that he’s better covering her neck. “Can you turn around? I’ll dry your hair.”

“The blow dryer is—”

“Beneath the sink, I know.”

With everything ready, he first works at detangling her hair with her paddle brush. Her work’s made a mess of her hair, but he’s good at this—the best, actually. He has to be because the last thing he wants is to cause her any more pain.

After her hair is detangled and pulled back, he slowly runs the blow dryer over it while combing it on low heat. He’d hate to damage her hair. Once her hair is mostly dry, he quickly pulls it into a braid. Another thing that he’s quite good at.

“Hair ties?”

She holds up her wrist.

“Hair ties that haven’t gone through hell and back?” he clarifies while tugging the band from her wrist and throwing it in the trash.

“Medicine cabinet.”

He gets what he needs, ties off her hair, and picks her up again. This time, she squawks a little, but he gently rubs his lips against the top of her head and softly begs, “Please? Let me help.”

And mollified by his words or his actions, she settles and lets her head fall against his shoulder. It doesn’t take long to get to her bedroom, the door of which he gently nudges open with his power.

Caleb settles her on the bed and walks over to her dresser. “What d’ya wanna wear?”

“Mmm, I have some clothes ready in the top drawer.”

Pulling open the heavy wooden drawer, Caleb is surprised to recognize her clothes as his. “I was wearing this the last time I visited.”

“Yeah, your clothes are comfier than mine.”

“The shorts aren’t mine,” he points out.

“Your shorts would slide down my legs. The shirt is big, but it’s sooo nice to sleep in.”

As Caleb tugs the shirt and shorts closer, he can’t help but notice that it still smells faintly of his scent.

“Didn’t you wash this, Pip-squeak?” he drawls.

“Oh. No…” She sounds embarrassed, and he’s just about to tease her for always leaving her dirty laundry for him to do when she soundly sucker-punches him with what she says next. “It still smells like you… So… that’s why.”

That soft admission has the air retreating from his lungs in a wicked rush, words hitting with precision impact. Caleb doesn’t turn to face her. He can’t. His fist is tightly clenched around his shirt—the one that smells like him—his eyes are closed, and his breathing is so erratic that he needs to take a moment to calm himself.

Of course, he keeps her clothes at his bedside when she’s not in his home, but to hear she does the same—no, that she wears clothes that smell like him to bed—makes him feel fucking feral. He is not a good man. Far from it. He is who he needs to be so that he can keep her safe.

But when the reality of her words hits, it shifts his intentions for the evening entirely. He’d meant to put her to bed with a heating pad after checking for wounds, and then go to make her something to eat. Now she’d be lucky if he let her sleep at all.

“Where’s that massage oil that Tara got you?”

“How do you know about that?!” she balks.

“She was bragging about it at your birthday party. She’s remarkably chatty when she’s been drinking.” Tara was remarkably chatty all the time, but she got downright obscene with alcohol. Caleb got the sense that she was intentionally making him aware of the oil, almost as if she was giving him a not-so-subtle nudge.

As if any of this was up to him. Still, the knowledge came in handy. He’s feeling not the least bit smug about it, at least, until she hits him with another jab. “It’s in the drawer of my bedside table.”

Caleb closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and specifically does not think about what that likely means.

He clears his throat, but his voice is still rough when he finally manages to ask, “Can you dress yourself?”

“I can manage. But what are you going to do with the oil?”

Caleb shakes his head, turns, and fixes her with a look. “Massage your legs, silly girl. You could barely stand earlier. They’re gonna be hellish in the morning if you don’t take care of them now.”

“You’d do that for me?” she asks, cheeks still flushed from her shower, and towel wrapped tight. She looks good enough to eat, and Caleb expects that if he doesn’t somewhat sate the beast inside of him, he’s going to make a meal of her sooner rather than later.

Caleb stands before her, bunches her shirt—his shirt—up, and slides the top over her head. “Can you manage the rest?”

She nods, and he turns around to give her some privacy. “The shorts?”

“I can manage,” she replies, but her groans make his stomach twist with concern.

“They’re working you too hard.”

“My job is hard. This is what I signed up for.”

“Then you need to do a better job of taking care of yourself during your days off.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“I think ‘Daddy’ would be more fitting.”

“Caleb!” she squeaks. “Don’t say things like that.” But she certainly doesn’t sound as scandalized as she should…

“All right, all right. I’m sorry. You finished?”

“…Yeah, I got it.”

Caleb turns, tilts his head, and gives her a look. Her hair’s messed up now from the shirt, and she looks tired. A perfect pout greets his smile.

“Poor baby,” he softly croons. “Lay back and let me take care of you.”

He can see her swallow at that, like she’s having a hard time making her vocal cords work. “You’re just taking advantage of my weakness.”

“Naturally. How else am I gonna get you to understand that you need me?”

She huffs at that. “You need me just as much as I need you, Caleb.”

He snorts softly, teeth pressing into his tongue, before he softly admits, “You have no idea… Now, no more stalling.”

Caleb points to the bed, and she dutifully scoots back onto the sheets, albeit slowly and with effort. He manages to dig out the oil from her dresser and pointedly ignores literally everything else that’s hidden away in there because he won’t be able to behave if he does otherwise.

“I guess I should have grabbed the oil,” she starts to say.

He frowns. “Why?”

“Oh… never mind.”

“Something you don’t want me to see in there?”

She nibbles her lip, eyes fluttering softly as she murmurs, “Maybe… maybe not.”

The look she gives him is so coy and tempting that his mind goes completely blank and he utterly forgets what the hell he’d been in the middle of doing. At least, until she points to the oil.

“Are you gonna massage my legs or…?”

“Yeah… yeah. Right. Roll over, Pip-squeak. Lemme see where it hurts.”

She rolls over and Caleb’s eyes trail reverently over the length of her legs. She looks good. Too good. He hates that her coworkers get to even see a measure of this. Of course, he knows it’s insane to want to be the only one who can appreciate her, but his greedy heart feels it just the same.

“You been workin’ out more lately?”

“Hmm? Why?”

“Things look… tight,” he rasps, voice betraying his interest and desire.

Her reply is soft and teasing. “Someone did make me join that squat challenge last month. And here, I thought you had ulterior motives, but you’re acting all surprised.”

Caleb coughs to cover up some of his embarrassment and dispel a measure of his lust. Yeah, he had gotten her to agree to that challenge. Honestly, he’d been grasping for things to say, because he caught her right after a workout and the fine mist of sweat on her brow, along with the gorgeous flush in her cheeks, had him thinking of exercise of a different kind.

And here she’d taken him seriously.

“Gonna be as strong as me soon,” he manages while stepping closer to the bed. Her legs are spread on either side of him, and for one long moment, he doesn’t know what to do, or where to look next.

“Doubt it. Your legs are too long, and your thighs are too strong.”

“Been thinking about my thighs, baby?”

He’s teasing, sweet, and he means to catch her off guard, but she hits back so hard as she replies, “Yeah, your thighs… and other parts of your anatomy.”

Caleb sighs, long and hard. Says a prayer for courage to whoever happens to be listening, the Gods of the earth and the sea and space, or otherwise, and then, he gets to work. He kneels on the floor at the edge of the bed, and he’s tall enough that this gives him a good vantage point. He knows exactly what he wants to do next, and he’s as ready as he’ll ever be.

 “Tell me if it hurts.”

feels like home series page; sticky fingers: chapter two

~~~

Author’s Note:

Sorry, this was so big that I had to cut it into two chapters because I hate editing and I got busy with other stuff. I’ll post the other chapter tomorrow, so you can have something to enjoy (I hope) over the weekend. The second part is spicier :D

I listened to the hipsterist hipster music for this one to get me into the right headspace, please enjoy haha. Also somewhat inspired by what has to have been the most painful massage I’ve ever had in my LIFE (did not have the same ending, there was only pain lmao, but I was like hmm maybe Caleb would be good at massages for MC, and then, PAIN). Also Deeply inspired by that secret times where Caleb takes care of MC when she’s sick. Like GOD DAMN, Caleb. “You’re worried I’ll spoil you rotten. Too late for that!” ??? ARE YOU KIDDING ME????

Also, not that it matters in the slightest, but I wrote this before I learned it’s canon that she likes to keep his clothes around (and wear them???) because they smell like him. They’re just really transparent with how fucking down bad these two are for each other lmao.

Still really fucking obsessed here, guys. Chokehold, I think is a good way to put it. Caleb is a mf bias wrecker, like oh my literal GOD. I swear, some of these are gonna be from MC’s pov, but I’m working through some SHIT rn lol.

I also gave the MC a little name, “Emme” which is short for Emme Sea lmao. I have a challenging time with writing y/n or like using second person present tense. No judgment or anything like that, it just makes it hard for me to think of the characters properly when I’m writing them. ANYWAY, I’ll use it sparingly, but sometimes, it’s just better to have a name lol.

Anyway, thanks so much for reading! And extra hugs for anyone who left a comment. You are the apple of my eye, and thank you for giving me a space to channel this whatever it is? Obsession lmao. I’ve got a few other interludes planned (shower), and I’m taking requests (on tumblr), so either give this/me a follow, or check up on my tumblr :) If you enjoyed, I’d love to hear from you! Or feel free to share with a friend, if you’re lucky enough to have some Caleb-obsessed friends haha.

Don’t forget! I'll be posting any updates as installments (not chapters), so be sure to sub to the series or my user name to get updates on ao3, or just check my tumblr, i'll post here too♥️🍎

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

shoutout to getting sick now i can stay up until 5am thinking about how sy reacts when lbh tries to consummate their marriage. he’s shocked at first—why would lbh do something like that with him?? he’s a man?? and anyway isn’t their marriage really more a non-agression pact for which he’s being held as collateral? the contract is valid whether they fuck or not, right?

(it’s not; the agreement was that marriage to shen yuan would ensure lbh’s non-agression toward cqms. the marriage isn’t complete; it hasn’t been consummated. binghe is maintaining non-aggression out of respect for sy)

so after the marriage celebration, lbh is like ‘time to consummate’ and sy is like ‘ahaha my disciple is so funny joking like this; your shifu is retiring to his rooms now binghe good night! 😀’

binghe brings it up a couple times a week for the first month of their marriage and each time sy panics and is like ‘haha of course binghe is joking he would never want to fuck a man, least of all me!’

meanwhile binghe like. doesn’t want to fuck sy but is absolutely perplexed by the idea that sy doesn’t want it either?? isn’t that what people want from him when they agree to marry? is there something wrong with him in sy’s eyes? why won’t his shifu let him into bed?so binghe, very misguided and confused, sets out to seduce sy.

the problem is that sy does find binghe terribly attractive. he’s handsome and strong and powerful and so sweet, and sy is bothered by some of the things he thinks about his disciple and how flustered he feels when binghe looks at him in certain ways. he feels horribly guilty for being attracted to binghe, even though he can’t help it (everyone is attracted to lbh!! it’s a law of nature!!)

so he starts feeling more awkward and avoidant toward lbh, and lbh is trying unsuccessfully to seduce him which only makes it worse.

eventually it comes to a head when lbh gets frustrated with his advances being denied again (why won’t sy just do it already so they can get this over with?? why is he making lbh wait so long?? does he hate lbh for torturing his brother? is that why he’s making lbh wait in fear for the day when sy finally says ‘it’s time to make use of you now, binghe.’ lbh just wants it over with so he can try to recover a relationship with him afterward)

so he’s frustrated and anxious and finally just asks ‘when are you going to make me sleep with you? the waiting is killing me; just do it so it can be done.’

and sy is…horrified. first of all nobody can make binghe do anything, right? and second of all is this what all the flirting was about?? it takes sy too long to answer and lbh gets upset and anxious and tries to initiate things right then. he kisses sy a few times but sy feels so uncomfortable that he puts a stop to things and is like ‘binghe you don’t even like men, stop, we don’t have to do anything i promise. not ever. i’m not gonna make you do something you don’t want to do?? obviously??’

this concept is…novel to lbh. not having to have sex when he doesn’t want or need to. having a spouse who doesn’t implicitly demand it of him. it’s so earth shattering he has a little cry about it, and he falls asleep in sy’s bed, being held and comforted by sy for the rest of the night.

i don’t want to work tomorrow i want to stay up until 5am thinking about gray ace luo bingge who receives shen yuan as a peace offering from cqms (meaning sy ran away himself in order to beg for his piece of shit ge’s life).

sy was binghe’s shifu, but after sqq threw lbh into the abyss sy (nearly died of grief-induced qi deviations again and again for almost a year) struggled to keep up with his responsibilities as a master of qjp. he wound up spending most of his time in the bamboo house or at the sword mound he’d built for zheng yang. sqq destroyed it once in a fit of rage and his didi didn’t speak to him for weeks.

when lbh arrives back on the scene and puts sqq on trial, sy seems to come back to life and rushes to meet him at huan hua. but it’s too late; sqq is in the water prison and the hhp disciples won’t let sy in since they see him as party to qjp’s abuse of lbh.

eventually one of the disciples gets so fed up with sy that they’re like ‘fucking fine, we’ll let you in and lbh will kill you and we’ll all be better for it.’ and instead lbh is terrified and elated at once. he treats sy as a guest of honor and bluntly deflects any inquiry after sqq.

eventually sy comes to the conclusion that his ge is dead and he’s like. he understands bc sqq was a piece of shit. but he’s also devastated bc sqq was the only family he had in the world. he transmigrated as a child shortly after the two of them were taken into the qius’ household, and he saw how the cruelty broke his brother down and hardened him. and he saw how his brother always had softness for him, even after that.

so he’s grieving his brother and lbh realizes that sy isn’t just giving him the silent treatment but is actually devastated, and he’s like ‘fine your shit brother is still alive in the water prison, now stop looking so miserable.’

sy begs binghe to send sqq to a regular prison or just to banish him or something —the water prison is just too cruel. and binghe decides that he’ll only let sqq go if sy stays. sy agrees at once (oh no i have to stick with the cool and interesting and handsome protag how horrible) and a few weeks later yqy is tearfully hauling a weak, hissing, snarling sqq back to cqms and leaving sy behind.

to get married.

he didn’t realize staying by lbh’s side meant marrying into the harem—he didn’t even know there was a harem yet??? but well. there are a few wives (maybe 20-35-ish) and now sy is among them.

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Cauldron of the Reborn: Escape from Black Castle

a fanwritten Halloween event

summary: when Malleus receives an invite from a distant relative to a historic castle in Briar Valley, he can't refuse characters: malleus, lilia, rook, epel, jamil, original character(!) additional info: reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

I hate everything I've written in the past month except for this series so this is what you're getting now. ENJOY MY TERRIBLE OC!!!

prologue / chapter one / chapter two

taglist: @whatever-fanfics @chloemari-e @frog-fans-unite @sugar-sprinkles

Forest Path - Morning

"I'm hungry!" Grim demands, paws on his hips.

He'd stopped walking in the middle of the crumbling cobblestone, facing the six as if they were a pack of ravenous wolves and he, a band of huntsmen.

...Though, it was more like the other way around.

"We've been walking for hours, and all I've had is seeds! I ain't a bird!"

You sigh, walking around Rook and Jamil to scoop the direbeast up. As soon as he's out of the path, their feet begin treading it again.

"We're almost there, Grim. And there's going to be a banquet, remember? You wouldn't want to spoil your appetite, would you?"

Grim pouts, grumbling something about mashed potatoes and chicken.

Lilia smiles. "He's quite the handful, isn't he?"

"He's two handfuls,"

"Khee hee. And yet you care for him anyway. How fortunate it is that you've found each other in this crazy world," the fae says. "Not everyone has such close friends."

He falls silent. He turns over his shoulder and looks at Malleus, pleasantly reading as he walks.

Lilia catches you looking, too, and smiles again. "He's had his head buried in that book of ancient carvings all day. Cymur is known for their beautiful inscribed stones,"

"This place is pretty old, huh?"

"Ancient. Though not isolated. It was once a powerful kingdom, an important ally to early Briar Valley. Of course, the days of trade and war are long over, and it's rather quiet here, now. Lots of sheep,"

You snort at that, and Lilia's smile softens. The soft pitter-patter of shoes against stone catches up to you, and Epel appears at your side.

"Oh? Come to join the conversation?"

The boy shakes his head, nods, and then- "No- I mean, yes. I wanted 'ta hear the rest of the story you were telling,"

That seems to spark some interest between the five of you (Malleus is still reading, quite contently), and Rook, then Jamil, both join you at your sides.

"I would also like to hear!"

"It would help pass the time, at least,"

Lilia laughs. "Oh, my, you remind me of children, asking for a bedtime story. But... I don't see why not. Let's see...

...Ah, yes. The Lich King, the cruel warlord, who sought to conquer Briar Valley, was powerful indeed- he could summon fire and lightning, disappear and reappear at will, some say he had even immortalized himself... but he was still not powerful enough to see through his plans. And so, he sought for a magical artifact, one so powerful it could raise an entire army."

"An artifact?" Jamil says. "Like something that could grant wishes?"

Epel shakes his head. "It has to be a weapon of some kind. A sword, or a spear!"

"Perhaps a powerful enchantment?" Rook chimes.

"Or a magic mirror?" you ask.

Lilia laughs again, amused by your childish interest and your ambitious guesses. "Khee hee... what imaginations you have! No, no. It was a cauldron,"

The four of you look between each other, and then: "A cauldron??"

"Like the kind you cook in?" Epel asks. "Or the ones Deuce's always dropping on people's heads?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of the ones we use in alchemy, but I share the disbelief," Jamil mutters.

"Khee hee. Technically, Epel's guess was most correct. It was just like one you would cook in!"

"...I don't get it," the boy mumbles.

"What's so special about a cauldron?"

"Ah, you see, it-"

"I recognize that stone," a quiet, yet leering voice calls out from behind your shoulder. You, Epel, and Jamil jump. Rook admires a beetle on the ground.

Lilia is picking his teeth. "Do you, Malleus?"

"Yes. It's in this book," the prince says, pointing towards a tall rock, jutting out of the earth at the precipice of a hill not too far ahead.

"The book says it marks the entrance to Black Castle...

...Which means, we've arrived,"

Black Castle - Bridge

"...Wow,"

Grim is the only one who speaks, and that's all he can say.

Black Castle (or what's left of it, really), sitting atop an island of black stone, casts its shadow over the seven, over the shallow, murky lake that surrounds it, and the dark woods and rolling plains beyond it. Despite its crumbling facade, its boarded holes and missing turrets and wind-whipped canvas cloth, it's massive.

"My," Lilia whistles. "Someone has certainly been keeping it well."

"It's almost as large as Castle Blackscale. Perhaps that's where it got its name?" Malleus asks.

The shorter fae clicks his tongue, and starts towards the thin stone bridge ahead. "Oh, no. This is much, much older than the capital, Malleus,"

The others (Grim still curled up in your arms, chewing the end of your uniform tie) follow him towards the imposing wooden gates ahead.

"There's no doorbell. Surely, no one will hear a knock through that," Jamil says. "We are on time, but-"

The gate responds with a sickeningly loud screech, opening its gaping maw, and the doors beyond.

"Well-guarded," Rook murmurs, an appreciative hand trailing down the wrought-iron case of the doors.

"...Yes, Black Castle was an important stronghold in many wars," Lilia goes in first.

Malleus follows. "Mm? Even-"

"No, not that," the fae says. "This place was already crumbling and decrepit in my youth, and supposedly abandoned. Though now, I see that's not right."

Black Castle - Hall

The rest stays close behind Lilia, as if hiding. None would admit it, but, with the exception of Rook, all were a little intimidated by the castle.

The interior is just as you would have imagined; dimly lit by sconces along the grimy stone walls, ancient tapestries hung along the drafty corridors, silver light from the lancet windows slivered across the floor...

Malleus and Lilia look right at home.

"You say it was abandoned?" Jamil asks, his tone steady, although he's practically clinging to your arm, diligently searching the halls for spiders.

"Oh, yes. Well, that's what we thought," Lilia says. "But it's not uncommon for fae to shack up in whatever old hovel they can find, khee hee."

"This is no hovel," Epel murmurs.

The six (and Grim) walk further into the cavernous castle. Aside from the torches and the rather well-kept state of it, there's no sign of life. Lilia seems rather unbothered by this, but Jamil's brow is knotted and his hands are tight around your forearm.

"Ah, here. Do you hear that?" Lilia asks. Malleus nods, though he's alone.

Epel raises an eyebrow. "Hear what?"

Lilia doesn't answer, rather, walking further, and then you hear what he was talking about- mingled with the scuff of shoes against the stone and the breaths of their peers, is the sound of music.

Malleus tilts his head up, a smile on his lips. "Smells like..."

"Roast lamb," Lilia finishes.

Grim perks up at the word "roast", wiggling out of your arms and scampering ahead on all fours. "I smell it, too! And sausages, and fish, and cheese, and cakes!"

"He can smell all that just from a whiff?" Jamil mutters.

Rook hums, leering over your other shoulder. "Non, he is right. I smell it, too,"

Lilia leads you around a corner, and another, and then to another pair of iron-bound doors, warm yellow light spilling from the cracks in the wood, the smell of food and the sound of merry music stronger than ever.

"A proper reception. How hospitable," Malleus smiles, admiring the engravings in the iron around the doors. "Shall we?"

Lilia nods, but before he can even lay a hand on the wood, the doors open from the inside. Light, the smell of meat, and the sound of harp and flute wash over you.

It takes but a moment to adjust to the starkly different atmosphere of the banquet hall. Its vaulted ceilings and wrought iron chandeliers, floating baubles of light, account for its size, a roaring fire in every corner, tables of food and drink of every palette across each long wooden table. Hooded servants in long black robes move in and out of one of the many doors, carrying silver trays of delicacies, tending to the fires, tidying up in chainmail gloves.

"You two are drooling," you mutter. Grim has stars in his eyes, and Epel isn't far off. Lilia chuckles.

Then, a voice, deep as the valley in which in the castle sits,

"Ah. My esteemed guests of Briar Valley," it says. You all turn to it, and atop a throne, raised high off the ground, is... a boy.

He stands.

If the staglike horns coming from the tousles of dark brown hair, rutilant in the warm light, atop his head and cascading down his shoulders weren't enough to stare at, when he stands, he becomes taller than anyone in the hall. He's pale, almost gaunt, and looks as if he has not slept for a millennia.

The shadow he casts over you is big enough to swallow you whole.

"I humbly welcome you to my home."

[myfairkatiecat]

The Katielife Soap Opera™️

Here's the drama that's going on, all in the past 24 hours! I kid you not. 24. I almost said 48 but then did the math and realized it really was 24. This day will never end

Part 1: The Roommate Saga

Making this one short bc I've told you all about it, but long story short: my roommate in the first semester was seeing this ugly ass guy and she was on and off with him in this awful situationship. He ended up giving her mono (which he knew he had) and she still went back to him. Eventually she ended them for good--until she was drunk at a party last weekend! Okay but seriously they're done for good now.

Don't believe her? Yeah, neither did I. You can read all about it in my past roommate saga posts, which have been made. But now there's ANOTHER guy! I found out bc last night he slid a note under our door telling her to send him a cute pic! She spilled the tea and it turns out he's a player but he's cute so she's going for it anyway! Technically he's Christian, so she's like, "he doesn't break The Rule!" But... he's... he's a fuckboy... I am floored by her poor decision making.

Part 2: The Mr. Friendtoallwomen Saga

Mr. Friendtoallwomen has been making friends with a lot of women at this college. He's a genuinely nice guy and even made friends with me and my best friend. But here's the thing... he always has a crush on a new one of those women. He's always asking girls out. He hangs out with all these girls one on one. He's just desperate.

Desperate, but genuinely nice, so my friend doesn't want to STOP being friends with him.

Then it became increasingly obvious that he liked her.

And she began to catch feelings for him, but we all warned her it was a bad idea and she agreed. She eventually, after an agonizing week, managed to lose feelings for him.

He was being super touchy feely with her the other night, but then abruptly switched on the same night to being touchy with another of our friends. Afterwards, he told my best friend that he liked the other friend. (The other friend already had been asked out by him and rejected him.) My best friend cried about it before remembering that she didn't like him or want to date him.

Mr. Friendtoallwomen got stood up by the other girl, and is now back to liking my best friend. But my best friend has bigger problems now...

Part 3: The Urgent Care Saga

For you see, then my best friend got very very sick. Incredibly sick. Her roomate and I were incredibly worried about her (even her roomate, who is an overall terrible person and always mean to her, which is how you KNOW something is wrong). (Oh I should do a tea spill session on why we hate her roommate on another date.) So I went to get my car to take her to urgent care but found out my key was broken. Awesomesauce.

I have an old car with a manual key insert though, so it was ok and I was able to get my car working.

I take her to urgent care. We sit in the waiting room for 40 minutes while she's about to puke, trash talking the people working there in Spanish because they weren't doing their jobs? Like they just sat there gossipping while they had her id and insurance card.

She eventually gets in, sees a male doctor, the male doctor figures out she's on her period and dismisses her entire illness as symptoms of Being A Woman. When she pointed out that she had a fever, he considered that it could be an STD. She said no, it's not that, I'm not sexually active. He considers pregnancy. She again is like did you not just hear me. By the way, if you're wondering what her symptoms were and why he was assuming THAT had to be the cause? WHO KNOWS?! major nausea, involuntary shaking, fever, hot cold flashes, inability to move, fuzzy vision, wheezing, coughing up green chunks, and being unable to think definitely seem like your average womanhood symptoms.

He gave her some nausea meds, referred her to a gyn (????????) and sent her home. (???????????????????)

Part 4: The First Breakup Saga

Today, I get a text from a friend from home who said he broke up with his boyfriend. This was major news. The two of them have been dating for two years. Even worse, all of their friends are the same people.

Now, I knew their relationship wasn't going to work out. The guy I was friends with first just has some quirks about him that meant he and this other guy, who I also liked a lot and is a great person, were never going to be able to work out long term. It's complicated and I don't want to get into it, but I just knew.

I still felt awful for him, though. So when he needed someone to talk to, I was there for him and let him explain the story. Apparently the guy did it in a few text messages out of nowhere after a week of silence. A+ communication, folks. My friend said he's not even angry, he's just sad and still loves him. I jokingly told him to put on SOUR.

Basically, my friend was broken up with (for the exact reason I figured would happen) and I texted my family (who was close with these friends and who also were worried their relationship wouldn't work out) and told them it happened. I needed somewhere I could say "I'm glad they broke up sooner rather than later" without seeming insensitive, and that couldn't be my friend group. But I really did feel for my friends.

While I'm on this call, I get a text from my brother saying he wants advice on how to break up with his girlfriend.

Part 5: The Second Breakup Saga

I leave the call with my friend to talk to my brother. He's fifteen, he's in a great, healthy relationship with a girl he was close friends with, and I'm like, HELLO??? They were a fantastic relationship. They were good friends, grew closer and closer until they were obviously going to date, and then they started dating and everything was great.

And then my brother texts and basically says the same thing my friend's boyfriend said about their relationship. I was like, this cannot be happening.

I grilled my brother for reasons, making him articulate his feelings (he's a 15 year old boy. he's scared of emotions. I get it.) He basically says the vibes feel weird and he wants the friendship back. My heart is breaking for his girlfriend because they're so cute and sweet and she loves him so much, but I agree he shouldn't string her along, no matter how sad it is. So I tell him to not do it over text, and he agrees.

He wants to do it in person, but it isn't going to be an option, so we resolved he would do it over facetime and I coached him slightly on how to talk to her about it gently. I mention the breakup between my friend and his boyfriend.

My brother goes oh yeah, about that....

Part 6: The Accidentally Starting a Rumor Saga

Turns out, remember how I texted my family? Here I'll copy and paste that part: I texted my family (who was close with these friends and who also were worried their relationship wouldn't work out) and told them it happened. I needed somewhere I could say "I'm glad they broke up sooner rather than later" without seeming insensitive, and that couldn't be my friend group. Yeah so remember how that happened?

Turned out, my brother opened that message sequence while a mutual friend of us and the boyfriends who broke up was looking over his shoulder. That friend took the phone and read over the whole dang exchange, seeing me say that I was secretly glad it happened. It looked really really really bad.

He went into basically shock, because no one thought this couple was gonna break up (EXCEPT ME!!! BECAUSE I KNEW MY FRIEND REALLY REALLY WELL!!!!!) and he was really attatched to them both. He found out simultaneously that the two of them were officially over AND that I never believed in them in the first place! And now he's probably going to spread that around! Which is great!

I texted my friend to let him know that this happened and told him I was so sorry. Well... I told him about the "this guy found out by looking at my brother's texts" thing. I didn't tell him the whole "I never thought this relationship was going to work" thing, and I am PRAYING that doesn't get spread around. But this guy is in high school, and high schools are breeding grounds for atrocious rumors.

THIS WAS ALL IN 24 HOURS

THIS DAY WILL NEVER END

[drunkwithmouthwash]

There was something that made me think for a while: if she was first intended to be Anya's partner, how u came up with the idea of her being with jimbob at some point? I would like to know bc there's a big gap there n all. I mean, a healthy to unhealthy gap. It made me curious abt the reasoning! Also I didn't rb before your post sorry for that 😩

(Sorry for late response dear)

I guess that decision was affected by my own personal feelings towards the characters during the creative process :’) The first time I watched a let’s play of MW, I was left feeling very protective of Anya and I HATED Jim with a burning passion. So, originally, Sammy was gonna be an ex-military, roughed and kinda buff, and she was going to protect Anya (here’s a rough sketch I made of that, plz don’t mind the anatomy or flawed perspective, I was experimenting 🤣)

But as days went by… You know, I kept having MW in the brain, and started to realize that the one that had actually made a VERY PROFOUND IMPACT on me had been Jim. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and thinking about him would make me so angry. Like, I really, REALLY FUCKING HATED him. But it got to a point in which I was like “…Wow. I don’t know how long it’s been since a character has made me feel something so intensely.” And then I started to appreciate him more for the character and the villain that he is. He is SO WELL DONE, like I bow down to Wrong Organ. So… little by little, love started to bloom from that hatred, and I wanted to use Sammy to express those feelings :’3 (Don’t be fooled tho, the love and hate I feel for him go hand in hand and neither replaces the other. I still hate him for his actions in the game and rejoice whenever I see fanarts of him getting what he deserves, lawfully or violently, but I love him as a character all the same, and who am I kidding? I do find him physically attractive, he’s my type lmao).

Now, in regards to Jim and Sammy’s relationship, I’m obviously well aware that Jim is not a sweet pea, and that if they were to be together romantically, it would be a terrible, terrible relationship. Since Sammy is a self insert, I decided to have her know better than to stay with him, and, well… that reminded me of a personal experience that I had with an ex boyfriend of mine :’) Thankfully, my ex was NOT NEARLY AS BAD as Jim (it would be like comparing a newborn tabby kitten to a full grown tiger lmao), but I still knew that he was no good for me and that I deserved better, so I broke up with him. However, I was still so madly in love with him, and stayed in love with him for around 10 years 🫠 I went to therapy, “got over him”, and then cried for him again the next time I saw him. Took me a LOOOOOT to finally get over him for good, but I was able to have closure. And, well… I decided to base Sammy and Jim’s relationship on that. She knows she deserves better, and she’s not afraid to hold him accountable for the things he says and does, but deep down she’s still very much in love with him (and those feelings will ultimately doom her) YwY

Anyway, I should probably wrap this up before it keeps getting longer 😅😅 I’m so sorry

Thank you for coming to my ted talk ❤️

[outer-andromeda]

What 5 hours of puppet rigging does to a man (that's me I'm the man)

[christakisbang]

chanlix moments i think about a lot (9/?) - Channie's Room Ep.59

[kirby-the-gorb]

[al-luviec]

juvie buddies

[certainlyathrill]

look at these losers they look like they stink

[feroluce]

Thinking tonight about Caelus, and the nature of his loss and his grief after the Everything that went down in Penacony during 2.0.

Because Acheron, Black Swan, and Misha kind of knew of Firefly, they at least met her, but they didn't like really know her, and Caelus never even got the chance to introduce her to the rest of the Astral Express Crew. The only person who would have talked to her much was Sparkle, who is. Probably not really someone Caelus is interested in grieving with skznmsks

Anyway, all this to say, I like thinking about how alone poor Caelus is in his grief, because he was the only one who knew Firefly. He's the only one really mourning her. There's no one to talk about her with. There's no stories to trade or memories to reminisce with anyone over. It's not as though he knew her for long, but still. No one else knew her at all.

And I love the thought of all of this coming bubbling up, hot and acidic and bitter, during a conversation with Sampo, who Caelus just so happens to run into in the Golden Hour. Poor Sampo is kinda blindsided, he knew shit was going down in Penacony, but yeesh. And he just. Isn't quite sure what to say about it all, because he's never really encountered this before. His feelings about the Masked Fools are...a mixed bag, but he's been a part of them for a very long time, and when you're with a close organization like that, it's hard to feel alone, in grief or otherwise.

So Sampo sits there on their little bench that the two of them have occupied, and he thinks of his old friend April, how she'd died in his arms cackling and spitting her own blood after a heist gone wrong, and how after he'd dragged himself back to the World's End Tavern they'd all held a Fool's Funeral- which is basically just a big party where everyone gets really really drunk and reminisces and toasts the dead and celebrates their life.

He still thinks about her a lot, and he remembers how the time he'd most keenly felt her absence was on Jarilo-VI, the one place where he couldn't talk about her because he couldn't say anything to give himself away as an alien. The Fools still tell stories about her every time he goes back to the Tavern. His first toast of the night is always in her name. Even now, all these years after she'd died, Sampo is still learning new things about her. He's never had to grieve her alone.

Caelus doesn't have any of that.

He might never have that. As they speak, Caelus has no proof that Firefly was even her real name, or if she dreamt with her true appearance. He might not ever find out who she even was.

And just imagining that kind of loneliness hollows out a strange little pit, right behind his sternum, deep between his ribs.

So Sampo claps Caelus' shoulder and offers him a deal. Come find him outside of the dream. He knows a guy who can get them a lot of beer for really cheap-

("Is that guy you and your five finger discounts?" "Whatever do you mean, dear friend, I don't even know the meaning of the phrase, hehee.")

-and they can hole up in a bar or a hotel room or something, and get completely shitcanned. Tell him all about Firefly, tell him everything, and he'll tell Caelus about April and everyone else he's ever lost. Sampo will carry Caelus' memories of Firefly with him, and at least this way, Caelus will be a little less alone in remembering her. And the next time they cross paths, Sampo will be the one to bring her up, and to tell her stories, and Caelus can get to be the one listening. He won't have to be the only person to talk about her anymore.

Caelus rolls his eyes when Sampo avoids another remark about sticky fingers, but...ok, yeah. That sounds good. Nice, even. Thank you. Caelus bumps his shoulder against Sampo's. Sampo bumps back.

(They find each other again the next day, and true to their word, get themselves completely and utterly shitcanned. Caelus talks more than Sampo has ever heard him; every minute detail, every word choice, Firefly's every odd little mannerism and habit. Because Caelus wants to make sure this will outlive him, that even if the Stellaron dwelling within him finally burns him to a crisp and he really does up and kick the bucket, or even, godforbid, if he forgets, he wants to make sure someone remembers her. She deserved that.)

((And it takes quite a while, after that. Caelus doesn't see Sampo again until after everything has settled down. On his last day in Penacony, he finds the guy slinking out of a seedy back alley and all but runs right into him. Sampo happily leads him to some dive bar in an even seedier back alley that Caelus has never even heard of, and Sampo raises his glass. "To Firefly! Who sounds like she probably would have hated me at first, but I would have liked to have met her anyway."

And Caelus stares at him, almost looking startled, long enough that Sampo worries that he's read him wrong and brought this up too soon. He's halfway into planning how to talk himself out of this situation when Caelus finally throws back his head back and laughs, tells him that yeah, Firefly would have politely called him out on every lie he told, and all their conversations would take twice as long with the way Sampo is so full of shit.

And he can see it, the same way he watches and sees through everyone, that Caelus' eyes have a tightness to them, his knuckles are nearly white around the handle of his mug. But he smiles. He hits his glass against Sampo's far too hard and throws it back and gets foam everywhere like he does every time they drink because the guy's about as elegant as a raging bull, but those things don't lessen the genuineness of his smile.

The grief is there, but so is the elation, and those emotions aren't a sliding scale between one or the other. It is all of both and both at once, and that's what contents Sampo enough to throw his own mug back when Caelus makes a toast of his own, "to April!!".))

[deoidesign]

.

[gamebunny-advance]

Oh.

If you ever wanted to know what Yonny looks like when he's falling asleep/sleeping, the comic's got you covered.

(Source)