#as if saying to ash ‘you can move away from this if it’s not welcome’

[quarterlifekitty]

So DEEPLY inspired by this bc I love giving Johnny a scent and panty kink

(I hope you don’t mind @3amfanfiction I just loved it sooo much)

Imagine some more of that tasty post medical discharge Soap. The bullet that unlocked a little part of his brain that should’ve been cast into the sea with his ashes. There’s a lot of things he should keep to himself, but doesn’t. The gated mechanism just isn’t there anymore.

He comes back to his flat from his morning run and sees you struggling to move in— clearly no one had warned you that the lift seldom works around here, so you hadn’t thought to hire help.

He’s kept himself fit and he has nothing to do, so he figures he can help out.

You’re pretty, sure, but what really sends the current through his spine is how fucking cute and grateful you are— like no one has ever offered to help you in your entire life. Always thanking him and asking if he’s sure he doesn’t mind— saying you’ll manage on your own, you’d hate to take up his time or get in the way of his day, and he just keeps grabbing those heavy boxes and hauling them up the stairs with a crooked grin and a “dinnae fash yerself, bonnie”.

And he can’t help but notice what a sweat you’ve worked up.

So when he tucks the last few things away in your flat— conveniently next to his, he notes, he can’t fucking help himself. You ask if there’s anything you can give him or do for him to thank him for all of his help. Dangerous question.

“The panties yer wearin’ right now, fer a start.”

He mentally prepares himself for the slap, the tongue lashing, the whole nine yards. He’d welcome it. Instead, you sheepishly ask him to excuse you for a second, in the middle of your new living room. You don’t even go to the bathroom, you just step behind the kitchen counter, shimmy down your jeans, and slip off the pair. He tries to peak, but you’re too damned fast tugging your pants back on.

It’s just cotton. Has a stupid little satin bow. They’re kinda stained— worn thin, clearly an old pair you’d worn on a day you’d expected to have a long drive and heavy lifting. Gusset soaked. You fucking fold them in to a neat little square. Your hand touches his when you hand them off, like you’re a cashier giving him a bunch of loose change.

He’s stunned but he can’t stop the perverted smile spreading across his face.

He’s gonna like being your neighbor.

[rafecameronssl4t]

I LOVED the “Who invited you?” one, so i was thinking… maybe a Thornton!reader x season 3!rafe, where Rafe and reader are secretly dating and reader tells about it to sofia, not knowing she had a crush on Rafe, so she tells everything to Topper

Stay in your lane || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

A/n: so sorry this took me forever to reply to but hope you like it!!! added my own little twist in the end reminder that requests are open!!!!

Warnings: mentions of smoking, suggestive content, if theres anything else, lmk!

Word count: 1,884

MASTERLIST (rafe x thornton!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

As you step into the country club, the cool air conditioning providing instant relief from the summer heat, you're greeted by a familiar face. "Hey," Sofia's voice carries a warm, welcoming tone as she catches your attention. Her honey-coloured hair is pulled back into a neat ponytail, and she looks every bit the part in her crisp, white polo shirt.

"Sofia, right?" you say with a smile, sliding your sunglasses up onto your head. She nods with a bright smile, her eyes sparkling. "That's me! And you're Y/n, Topper's sister," she says confidently, her gaze lingering on you for a moment as if to commit your face to memory.

"Yeah, that's right," you reply, your tone light and friendly as you confirm her guess. "Can I get you a table?" she offers, her hand subtly gesturing towards the dining area where groups of people are already seated, enjoying their meals and conversations.

You shake your head gently, your smile widening. "Oh no, I'm here with someone," you explain, a hint of warmth in your voice. Sofia's expression shifts as her lips form a small 'o' of understanding. "Well, enjoy!" she responds, her smile returning, though there's a hint of something else in her eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or intrigue.

You reciprocate her smile, offering a small wave before you turn to walk away. As you move towards the back of the club, you can feel Sofia's gaze following you, her attention unwavering until you disappear from sight.

~

Sofia stepped into the secluded section of the country club, balancing a tray of drinks with practiced ease. The chatter of the main dining area faded behind her as she ventured deeper into the quieter, more exclusive part of the club. As she approached the table, she quickly recognised you sitting there, and a curl of smoke caught her eye, obscuring the person seated across from you.

"Iced tea and a Westbrook?" Sofia announced as she drew closer, her voice steady. But as she placed the drinks on the table, her eyes widened in surprise as she finally saw who you were with—Rafe Cameron, his presence unmistakable.

“Thanks, Sof,” you responded warmly, your smile reaching your eyes as you accepted the glass of iced tea from the tray. Sofia’s attention drifted towards Rafe, who sat across from you with an air of nonchalance. He casually exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke, his intense blue eyes never leaving you as he flicked the ashes into the nearby ashtray.

His gaze was unwavering, almost possessive, as he watched you, barely sparing Sofia a glance. It was clear that his focus was entirely on you, as if the rest of the world, including Sofia, simply didn’t exist in that moment. The casual way he leaned back in his chair, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, contrasted sharply with the tension in Sofia’s chest.

"Y-you're welcome," Sofia stammered, caught off guard by the sight of the two of you together. She quickly realised that her surprise was showing, and she forced a polite smile before retreating, her mind racing as she walked away, the image of you and Rafe together lingering in her thoughts.

~

As Sofia made her way outside, she hauled the heavy bags of rubbish towards the bins at the back of the country club. Her thoughts were preoccupied, replaying the scene she had witnessed earlier of you with Rafe. The image of the two of you together lingered in her mind, stirring a mix of emotions she couldn’t quite pin down.

Lost in these thoughts, something in the parking lot suddenly caught her attention—Rafe Cameron’s truck parked in the parking lot. Her steps faltered as she saw you step down from the passenger side, a playful smile on your lips as you tugged your dress back into place.

Sofia’s heart raced, and without thinking, she ducked behind a nearby tree, hoping to remain unnoticed. Peeking out from her hiding spot, she watched as Rafe emerged from the car, his confident smirk evident even from a distance.

He moved towards you with a casual grace, his hand trailing down your back before giving your ass a light, possessive squeeze. The gesture was intimate, familiar, as if this wasn't the first time he'd done it. Then, Rafe leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that seemed to linger just a little too long.

Sofia could feel her chest tighten as she observed the scene, her mind reeling from the implications. She watched as he then walked you to your Porsche, his hand resting on the small of your back, guiding you with ease.

He opened the driver's door for you, the gesture almost gentlemanly, before leaning in for one last kiss. The way you smiled at him before driving off sent a pang of something unidentifiable through Sofia’s chest—jealousy? Surprise? Disbelief? Maybe all three.

As your car disappeared from view, Sofia’s eyes remained glued to Rafe. Just as she was about to breathe a sigh of relief, he suddenly turned his head in her direction, as if sensing her presence. Panic surged through her as she let out a quiet gasp, instinctively slapping a hand over her mouth and pressing herself harder against the rough bark of the tree.

She remained frozen, barely daring to breathe, until she heard the roar of Rafe’s engine as he sped off. Only then did she dare to move, her heart pounding in her chest. Of course, you and Rafe were together. The thought settled heavily in her mind, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. It was almost expected, yet seeing it with her own eyes was something else entirely.

~

"Hey, Sof," you greet her with a warm smile as you walk up to the bar and take a seat. Sofia returns the smile, but there's a slight tension in her expression, a tightness that you don't seem to notice. "Hey, what can I get you?" she asks, her voice pleasant but lacking its usual warmth.

"An iced tea will be fine, thanks," you reply, settling into your seat. Sofia nods and begins preparing your drink. As she works, your phone buzzes, drawing your attention. Sofia can't help but eavesdrop as you answer it. "Hey," you say into the phone, your lips curving into a smile as you listen to the person on the other end.

"Yeah, 1 p.m. is fine." Sofia continues making your iced tea, her curiosity piqued, wondering who you're talking to. When the call ends, you smile at Sofia, who quickly averts her eyes, focusing on placing a straw into your glass before pushing it across the bar towards you.

"Thank you," you say, taking a sip of the iced tea. You then pick up your phone again, your fingers tapping away as another smile forms on your lips, seemingly in response to a message. Sofia, now cleaning some glasses nearby, can't hold back her curiosity any longer.

"So… you and Rafe, huh?" she asks, her tone laced with subtle intrigue as she glances over at you. You look up from your phone, a light giggle escaping your lips. "Yeah?" you respond, a bit amused by her question. Sofia purses her lips, nodding as she tries to process this new information, a flutter of jealousy stirring in her chest.

"I didn't know you guys were dating," she continues, her voice careful, as if trying to gauge your reaction. You hum softly, playing with the straw in your glass. "Between you and me, we were friends with benefits for a while before he asked me out properly," you admit with a small, almost secretive smile.

Sofia nods, doing her best to hide her surprise, but there's a flicker of something in her eyes—disbelief, maybe even a touch of envy that she quickly tries to suppress. Her mind races, wondering how she missed the signs, and why the thought of you with Rafe unsettles her so much.

"Does Topper know?" she asks, her tone slightly more pointed as she looks at you. Your eyes snap to hers, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged with something unspoken, a tension that Sofia struggles to ignore.

"No, he doesn't know yet. We'll tell him soon enough, though," you reply, your voice steady. "Right now, he just thinks we're really good friends." Sofia hums in response, trying to mask the pang of jealousy as she watches you return to your phone, clearly engrossed in your conversation with Rafe.

You finish your drink and stand up, offering Sofia a warm smile. "Thanks for the drink, it was so good," you say sincerely before turning and walking off, leaving Sofia standing behind the bar, her thoughts racing as she watches you disappear from view.

~

When Sofia caught sight of Topper and Rafe walking into the country club, her heart began to race, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety flooding her system. The two of them made an imposing pair, effortlessly commanding attention as they approached the bar.

Sofia's gaze followed their every step, her pulse quickening when Rafe’s eyes met hers. He held her gaze for a brief moment before leaning in to whisper something to Topper. Without a word, Rafe then turned and walked outside, leaving Topper alone at the bar.

"Just my usual, thanks. Make it two," Topper said, leaning casually against the polished wood. His tone was indifferent, his eyes lazily scanning the room as if the bar and its staff were just another part of the scenery. Sofia nodded, accustomed to his detached manner, and began preparing the drinks.

As she worked, she stole a glance at Topper, feeling a sudden surge of boldness. Clearing her throat, she decided to speak up. "Y/N's not joining the two of you tonight?" she asked, her voice steady despite the nerves bubbling underneath.

Topper’s attention snapped back to her, his brows knitting together in mild confusion. A dry chuckle escaped his lips, the sound laced with a hint of amusement. "And what makes you think my little sister should be here with us?" he asked, his tone edged with curiosity as he watched her skillfully mix the drinks.

Sofia felt her confidence grow, fueled by the moment and the subtle power shift she sensed. She met his gaze head-on, refusing to be intimidated. "I'm not sure, I just thought she'd join you guys since she and Rafe are a couple now," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant as she shrugged her shoulders.

For a brief second, Topper went silent, and Sofia braced herself for his reaction. She expected surprise, maybe even a flash of anger or disbelief. But instead, Topper's response was cold and indifferent, his expression unreadable. "Don't see why that concerns you, Sofia," he said, his eyes drifting towards the view outside, his interest in the conversation fading as quickly as it had sparked.

Sofia's eyes widened, not prepared for his dismissive tone. "Oh, no—I was just wondering—" she stammered, her initial confidence rapidly dissolving under his gaze. Topper’s stare sharpened, cutting her off before she could finish. "I think you forget yourself sometimes," he said, his voice chillingly calm.

"Just because you work here in Figure 8, it doesn't give you the right to go sticking your nose in our business, yeah? So stay in your lane," He grabbed the glasses she had just finished preparing, his hand steady, his demeanor cold.

With that, he walked off without another glance, leaving Sofia standing there, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She hadn’t expected Topper to speak to her like that—so harshly, so dismissively. The words stung, lingering in the air long after he had disappeared, and Sofia was left alone.

[skitzrep]

i should be doing homework right now but instead i'm thinking about dante

Here's an extension of half-angel x dante: enzo hires them for a job (warning: aura farming)

"So what's the job again?" you ask, glancing at the back of Dante's head. He always walked ahead on a job.

"Enzo said there's a demon here. A few lucky lives got away to spread the news." He didn't look back, sending alarms off in your head.

"Why are you acting weird? You've been quiet since we left the apartment." You step forward to match his step,

"I don't know what you mean." Dante smirks, nudging you off balance with his hip, causing you to stumble out of pace.

You scoff because of course he wouldn't admit he's worried again. It's your first job since he refused to let you join after the incident. He was ready to leave you behind again, but you were practically on his heels as he was leaving.

You unlatch the whip from your hip and lob it around Dante's waist, using your superhuman strength against his, to pull him to a stop.

"Oh~ Lovely," Dante murmurs smugly, allowing you to drag him closer before leaning down to give you a kiss. You welcome his lips and loving caresses before cutting it short. "What?" Dante groans, bending down for more.

"There'll be more later," you promise. So stop worrying. "We should split up to get this over with."

"Huh? Not one of your better ideas." Dante frowns. "It's safer if we stay together."

"We've split up before," you remind him, pushing against his chest. "Let's just get this over with so we can get home faster."

Dante's teeth gleam as his grin widens, pulling you against him again. "I like the sound of that-"

"Perfect," you say with a disarming smile, pinching his side to make him jump off of you. "I'll take the west side, you'll take the east. Give me the signal if you find it before me."

Dante watches you with a gloomy expression as you send him a wave before turning around the corner.

The west side of the building was quiet. Usually, you can feel a demon's sinister energy—a shiver running down the back of your neck—but so far, nothing.

And then—

It was behind you, peaking around the corner and looking at you. You stop walking and hone in on its location, sensing it's about to attack.

"Well, come on then," you call out, turning on your heel and cracking your whip. "I need you to send my man a signal."

A bird-like monster crept into view, screeching dreadfully and flexing it's claws and wings.

The demon roared at you as you flicked your whip, striking it in the face. As it was disoriented, you wrap the whip around the monster's leg.

Yanking on your leather, the demon flies foward, over your shoulder, and into the opposite wall of the hall. The building shivered from the commotion.

And there's the signal. As the demon picked itself up against the wall, you sent a barrage of strikes against its torso and limbs, keeping it discombobulated until Dante arrives.

The demon's wing folded in front of your attacks, shielding it's body. Gritting your teeth, you aim for it's open areas, but it advances with it's wing protecting it.

"Shit," you curse, leaping out of the way before it could barrel through you. Your ankle is suddenly grabbed and you're swinging in the opposite direction, bracing for the impact against the ground. You release a guttural laugh before the demon throws you up again.

Wrapping your whip around the demon's beak, you pull yourself in and land your foot into it's skull. Falling on it's shoulders, you move your weapon around it's neck and squeeze with one hand. Your other hand grabs the demon's face.

"Die, asshole!" Your hand on it's face glowed bright as the demon screamed under you. In the next second, it withered away to ash.

You were left kneeling in the ash pile, holding your side and catching your breath. Maybe Dante was right and you should have stayed together for the first job back. You were a little out of practice.

A disruptive crash rang out somewhere in the building, close to your location considering how violently the floor shook beneath her feet.

The wall down the corridor caved in, revealing Dante riding another demon through the construct.

"Hey sweetheart, look what I found on my way to you." His smile is wide until he recognizes the state you're in. "You doing alright?"

"I'm fine," you assure him, holding your hand up. "Waiting on you, slow-poke."

"I guess it's time to stop messing around," Dante tells the demon, drawing his broad sword. "My lady's waiting for me." It screams at him, but it's soon permanently silenced.

"You think there are more of them?" You ask, staggering to your feet as Dante paces over to you.

"Nah," Dante says aloof, scooping you into his arms before you could even stand straight. "They've been taken care of."

"When did you-"

"I know how to keep a fight tidy and quiet," he tells you, knocking his forehead against yours, giving you a cheeky wink. He kept you in his arms as he walked you both out of the building. "Wasn't expecting the patrol though. Your signal caught me off-guard."

With your arms wrapped around Dante's neck, you drop your head against his shoulder. "Yeah, maybe you were right."

"Me? About what?"

"We should've stayed together." You ignore how Dante tries to look down at you, but your head is too close to his neck. His hands tighten around you, pulling you closer to his body.

"We'll stick together on jobs from here on out, alright?" Dante says it with no room for discussion, not that you would argue against it. "It's a lot more fun when I can keep my eye on you anyways."

"I was going to say the same thing."

note: i have so much more tropes for this man but the half-angel sweetheart that indulges in Dante's wild/aura-farming side is so cute to me

[sierrale8ne]

paige bueckers x teammate!reader

nsfw // oral, public sex, more fwb trope because i love it

gc had me thinking things during tonight’s game so here’s a blurb drabble oneshot thing? @thaatdigitaldiary @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch @lupinqs @bueckersfive

“Good games from you four.” Geno says to Ashlynn, Sarah, Paige, and yourself. “How’s that ankle?” He asks, directing his attention solely to you.

“Good. All good.” You nod.

You no longer cared about the slight sting of your ankle, all you were able to think about was the feeling of Paige’s hand on your back, fisting your jersey between her fingers.

You didn’t play much tonight, still nursing that injury and on a minutes restriction. But you didn’t even need to, when Ash and Paige started the game 8/8 from three, you, your team, and the huskies fans knew what time it was.

“Take a shower, you all stink.” Coach jokes, leaving the room along side CD with an emphatic clap.

You untuck your jersey, rucking it over your head and tossing it in your duffle. The white nike sports bra on your body clings to you from sweat, 11 points and 3 steals compiling your stats for the night.

“Giving me a show, huh?” You hear her from behind you. Paige is a little too cocky tonight, something about the air in Mohegan Sun just give her that extra.. something. Confidence booster maybe?

“Is that what you call how you played tonight?”

“Shit, you think so?” She teases, sitting down by your locker tugging her own jersey off.

“You can quit with the humble shit. I know you.” Your comment makes her smirk. And it’s something about that, coupled with her rosy cheeks and flaked mascara that makes your legs tremble just a bit.

It seems like that’s always how it is around Paige. When you first transferred, she was the most welcoming, slightly annoying with a potty mouth that you’d never expected, but still charming. Then as the days passed and the relationship between you both became stronger, she had you wrapped around her finger. Literally.

“I played good?” She asks, praise kink evident in the way she’s speaking to you.

You nod, knowing that speaking anymore would give you both away to your teammates. “So good.” You cheese, reaching for the white towel in your locker. “Imma go shower, you’re welcome to join me.” You whisper the last part with a bite of your lip.

—

“Paige shut up.” You mumble against her lips. Hand tugging at her ponytail holder and releasing her hair down her shoulders in any attempt to keep her grounded to you.

Her hands were everywhere, gripping your ass and kneading it eagerly. She’s loud, and it’s been a while since she’s had you like this. Two days maybe three, and when your apartments are across the hall from another that’s too damn long.

“Fuck me then.” She retaliates, biting your bottom lip as you pull away. “Talkin’ all this shit. Do something, ma.”

And you are, eagerly kissing at her neck, sucking at that spot near her jaw that makes her writhe. The moan she lets out is pretty, high pitched and thankfully hushed behind the sound of the water hitting the ground.

“27 points? Who you feelin’ like?” You tease, trailing your lips down the column of her neck. Your hands grip her hips tight, keeping her still as you slowing move down her body. “Would fuck you crazy if you dropped 30.”

“Imma strap you so good tonight, y’ont even know.” She groans against you. “11 in 10 minutes? You’re like that, baby?”

You stop at her chest, nipples pink and perky and so fucking mouth watering. Your mouth encloses around one, softly rubbing circles over the other with your thumb.

“Maybe.” You giggle, kissing her chest again. “Been so wet for you tonight, P.” You comment. By the time you sink to your knees in front of her you’re pealing her legs apart to find she’s just as wet as you are. Maybe even more.

“Yeah, ma?”

“Mhm. Seein’ you all sweaty and shit.” You mumble, licking your lips at the sight of her. “I can’t play with you anymore, get me too distracted.”

Paige groans, sinking her hand deep into your hair and pulling it hard. A moan flys past your lips as you look up at her. Her chest is heaving, abs clenching, crystalline blue eyes looking down at you eagerly.

“Put your mouth on me. Stop talkin.” She says.

You oblige, knowing that waiting any longer would piss off not only your team, but your future self too.

Your tongue lolls out to make contact with her cunt, laying flat as you lick a stripe through her folds. Paige’s body shudders, her head tossing back against the shower wall. Seeing her face nearly made you leak down your legs.

You hum against her, wrapping your lips around her clit and sucking it into your mouth, tongue running over the underside of her clit.

“Good, mama. So good, like that.” Paige moans, nodding her head as her eyes close. The dark black of her lashes meet her cheeks, jaw dropping slack.

You’re both so lucky that the curtain covers you both fully because the sight of you on your knees in the shower would probably send the other to girls in the locker room into cardiac arrest.

Your jaw falls slack as you lap at her cunt eagerly. Paige’s hand holds you close, nearly suffocating you between her but in that moment, with your tongue deep inside, you decide you don’t care.

“Seniors hurry it up!” You hear Sarah call.

You pull back with an electric pop, catching your breath and looking up at Paige as if to tell her to speak up.

“Gotchu!” She says. And they can’t hear it, but you can. The obvious shake in her voice.

Paige looks back down at you, her eyes wide as she mouths, “make me cum.”

You’d be a monster to deny such a request.

As soon as the locker room door closes you’re right back on her like white on rice. Your tongue dives back in, fucking into her in that way you know she likes. Your thumb circles her clit, and Paige is slamming her hand against the shower wall.

“Baby.” She grunts, her hips bucking against your face. “Fuck, mmph fuck! Like that, jus’ like that.”

“Wanna cum on my face?” You tease. The question is rhetorical, because you and her both know the answer.

The blonde nods emphatically, toes curling underneath her and just slightly knocking her off her already fleeting balance. She doesn’t even try to hold back her moans anymore, grinding and bucking into your face that you nearly pass out at how good she tastes.

Her eyes roll back to her head, a loud moan passing past her lips before she’s cumming on your face. Juices dripping and you don’t even know if it’s her cum coming down your chin or water from the shower head.

You pull back with a breath, her arousal still lingering on your tongue. Paige’s hand finally leaves your hair, pushing you further away and attempting to regain what’s left of her composure against the wall.

You stand up, gripping her cheeks and meshing your tongue with hers. “Tastes so good, P. Right?”

“Mhm.” She hums into your mouth, slapping your ass and pulling her closer. “You might taste better.”

Paige reaches behind you to turn off the shower, the sudden silence in the room dawning on you both. “Lemme get you real fast.”

“We gotta go!” You push at her chest, shaking the water out of your hair.

“Yeahhhh, but I need that shit. I’ll be quick.”

“You and quick don’t belong in the same sentence.”

“Ight then, I’ll take you on the bus.”

And knowing her, she would make sure of it.

[morganaawriterr]

MORGANAAWRITERR'S WORKS;

AUTHOR'S NOTE ➺ Welcome to my masterlist! Here you can find all of my works. Watch out for the keywords to check the genre of each fic!

s; suggestive f; fluff a;angst

— Events:

- The Enchanted Corner - OT7; Synopsis; To honor the 1k followers, The Vampire’s Lover (me, Morgana) has carefully crafted this request event to give you guys some new exciting fics and to make us interact more! If you check the masterlist, you can find a long list of fics about the boys related to the event! Requests - Closed - Waiting List (Masterlist)

— Books:

- (f/s/a) Your sweet love - Park Sunghoon; Synopsis; In a marriage born out of convenience and plagued by bitterness, You and Sunghoon find yourselves trapped in a cycle of cold indifference and unspoken resentment. Your quiet strength and tender care begin to reach the heart Sunghoon has so carefully guarded. Slowly, walls built from years of hurt and mistrust start to crumble, revealing a shared loneliness neither had acknowledged. With every tentative step toward connection, your hearts yearn for a closeness you’ve long denied yourself selves, leaving both to wonder if you can build something real from the ashes of your forced bond. 05 chapters - Done!

- (f/a) Dracula's Daughter - Park Sunghoon / Sim Jake / Park Jay; Synopsis; In a world where vampires and humans coexist, Dracula defies tradition by marrying a mortal — his human lover from long ago. From their union, you are born, but despite your father’s powerful bloodline, you arrive in this world as a human. Or so it seems. A prophecy reveals that one bite could awaken a strength to rival Dracula’s own. On your twentieth birthday, your father hosts a grand two-week event to find the perfect suitor who will shape the future of the vampire world. Among the contenders are Sunghoon, Jay, and Jake — three powerful and captivating men chosen to fight for your hand. But with power, love, and destiny at stake, the question remains — who will you choose? And what will you become? 05 chapters - Paused!

- Park Sunghoon ♡;

— Short Scenarios:

- (f) Eyes across the room; Synopsis; Your biggest crush, Sunghoon, is at the same party as you, and he just can't stop looking for you in the crowd.

- (f/s) Unspoken Truths; (TOP FIC) Synopsis; Your best friend shows up at your door late at night with a bloody face. You lead him inside and take care of his wounds as the both of you try to ignore the growing tension between you.

- (s) Your first bike ride with Sunghoon; Synopsis; Sunghoon takes you on a date on his bike for the first time. But you can't focus because he looks so fucking hot.

- (s/f) Showering with Sunghoon; Synopsis; You love showering with Sunghoon. He is the best boyfriend, takes care of you even in the shower, not letting you lift a finger. Not even to wash yourself ;)

- (s) Too Bad; Synopsis; Sunghoon insisted that you go out with the girls to relax, but when something happens at the bar, he can't control his jealousy and possessiveness over you.

- (a) Drive; Synopsis; Sunghoon drives through the quiet California night, haunted by the memory of you. The road ahead blurs as his heart wrestles with confusion and longing, replaying moments of laughter, intimacy, and the unspoken tension between you.

- (s) Vampire!Sunghoon; Synopsis; Just thinking about vampire!Sunghoon's sharp teeth sinking into your smooth, naked neck...

- (a) Wildflower; Synopsis; Sunghoon loves you, but guilt eats away at him—because you are his best friend’s ex. Every time you say I love you, his silence cuts deeper, making you question if he truly wants you or is just using you. Torn between love and loyalty, Sunghoon struggles to move forward. But when faced with the possibility of losing you, he must decide—finally cross that line or risk destroying what you have.

- (s/f) New Haircut; Synopsis; Sunghoon looks stupidly handsome after cutting his hair, and when you arrive home and see him wearing a sleeveless shirt and teasingly showing himself off, you cant control yourself no more.

— Long One-Shots;

- (s/f/a) Bite Me; Synopsis; You wrestle with the shocking truth about Sunghoon's true nature after a dangerous encounter in the woods. The tension between you two grows, and your deepening connection pulls you both into a dangerous web of secrets, emotions, and desires. Sunghoon is torn between protecting you and controlling his overwhelming attraction, leading to a complicated and seductive path that neither of you can escape.

- (f) Drunk Confessions; Synopsis; After a quiet night in, your peace is interrupted when your brother Heeseung shows up with a very drunk Sunghoon at your place. Left to take care of him, you find yourself flustered by Sunghoon’s unexpected warmth and vulnerability. But when his drunken state leads to a sudden confession of feelings, you are left wondering if his words are just alcohol-fueled — or the truth you’ve both been avoiding.

- Nishimura Riki ♡;

— Short Scenarios:

- (f) Can't take their hands off of you; Synopsis; When you look this good, Ni-Ki literally can’t stop touching you. However, it’s starting to annoy you because you’re hanging out with his hyungs.

- (a/s) I could never hate you; Synopsis: When Niki returns to his parents’ countryside home, memories of a past love resurface, along with the regret of losing you. Despite his rising fame and a new girlfriend, Niki can’t escape the feelings he still has for you.

- (f/s) Bathing with Ni-ki; Synopsis: In a tender moment, you and Ni-ki share an intimate bath, exchanging teasing touches, and sweet kisses.

- (a) You don't have to say it back; Synopsis: For a fleeting moment, it’s just you, Ni-ki, and the beach as he confesses his love for you before leaving for Korea.

- (f/s) Love Lake; Synopsis: When Ni-ki moved to your neighborhood, he didn’t think much of it—until he met you. One night, he unexpectedly shows up at your house, and a calm walk transforms into a seducing game by the lake. Between playful teasing and intimate touches, the tension between you grows, impossible to ignore.

- (a/s) Coming Down; Synopsis: You battle the lingering pain of your first love and heartbreak, only to face the unexpected return of the man who once shattered you. As past wounds resurface and kisses are shared, you are torn between the ghost of him and reality.

- (f) Valentine's Day with Ni-ki; Synopsis: Just when you're about to leave the house to have a date with Heeseung, your best friend Ni-ki shows up at your door with a sweet confession to make;

- (a) I Do Not Deserve Your Love; Synopsis: Ni-ki drowns in self-doubt, believing you deserve more, but you refuse to let go. When a chance at Hybe Entertainment appears, will it be enough to stop him from leaving?

- (a/s) Touch Me More; Synopsis: Ni-ki and you started dating just a few months ago, and this is your first heated make-out session.

- Jang Jungwon ♡;

— Short Scenarios:

- (f) Mornings with Jungwon; Synopsis; On a quiet winter morning, you and Jungwon share tender moments of love and playful teasing, savoring the warmth of each other’s embrace before the day unravels.

- (a/f) Home; Synopsis; Years after an abrupt breakup, you and your first love, Jungwon, meet again at a gathering, and the changes in both of you are undeniable. As tension rises between you two, old feelings resurface, though the wounds from the past remain. After a night of wine and confrontation, you find yourself back at his place, where the lines between love, regret, and longing blur. But the next morning, faced with reality, you are heartbroken by the truth that you can’t undo the past.

- Lee Heeseung ♡;

— Short Scenarios:

- (a) You too; Synopsis; Caught between pleasure, you confess your love to Heeseung, only to face his cold resistance. For two years, your connection was built on sex, but your feelings have grown deeper than he can accept. As emotions spiral, raw truths and unspoken pain surface, culminating in a bittersweet goodbye.

- Park Jongseong ♡;

— Short Scenarios:

- (f) Lazy Sunday; Synopsis; On a lazy Sunday, you watch your sleepy boyfriend, Jay, play guitar for you. His deep voice, messy hair, and shy glances make your heart race as he sings with affection. Seeing you wrapped in his oversized hoodie he can't help but pull you close, the moment becomes a quiet promise of love and intimacy.

- (s/f) Rockstar; Synopsis; Hired to babysit Jay’s daughter, you never expected the quiet tension between you two to turn into something more. Jay tells himself it’s just admiration, maybe loneliness... but one night, with tension hanging heavy in the air, he finally confesses what he feels for you.

— Long One-Shots;

- (a/s) Love's the death of peace of mind; Synopsis; You always believed your obsession with Jay was somewhat harmless — the stolen glances, the job you took just to stay close, the nights spent following his every move. But when familiar faces start vanishing and strange coincidences pile up, a chilling truth begins to surface.

@ all rights reserved to morganaawriterr on tumblr (2024) reposts, translations, or any type of distribution is strictly prohibited.

[shiningjustforreid]

aura

where Spencer Reid meets someone who shares his pain - if only for a bit.

word count: 1774

a/n: hi! this is my very first published fic (even though i’ve read for years!) and it’s nothing major, but i thought it would be fun to finally write! i hope you enjoy <3

warnings/tags: 18+ (implied intimacy), migraine-era spencer reid, reader has migraines, reader is called ‘girl’ once, heavy themes at the end, spencer rambles about stars, hospitals, spencer calls reader ‘angel’, no use of y/n

- ✩ -

Hospitals may be one of his least favorite places.

“Did you know that actually on any given day 1 in 31 people in a hospital have a hospital induced infection? these include things like a surgical site infection, MRSA,”

Cue the smell of the antiseptic, drowning out the smell of people dying. It’s too clean.

Makes him on edge. But then again, most things do. When people give him that look that clearly says ‘shut up.’ He seems to pull in darkness, trouble, and maybe it’s because he creates it for himself.

Currently, he’s sat, in one of those uncomfortable hospital benches, foot tapping anxiously, sunglasses on, because everything hurts. Notably, his head and eyes.

The lights. The lights build a nausea in him that’s like a tidal wave, build an agony behind his eyes that threatens to reduce his thought process to ash. He still squints, behind the black plastic; it’s not enough, not enough to quell the pain entirely.

“No, I’m, about to go in, actually.”

Is what he should’ve said. But Spencer Reid, a forward man, an eloquent man, is not.

“Can I sit here?”

Quiet, but polite. He makes the mistake of looking up. Your hair is messy, probably from the wind outside, and tucked away from your face. The coat you have on is a deep admiral blue, and it just makes the lack of color in your face all the more apparent. A green bag, slung on your shoulder, as you fiddle with the zipper. Chapped lips form into a halfway smile, and, most noteworthy of all, you have black, plastic glasses on.

“I have an appointment, it’s probably, it’s right after yours, but if I can’t sit here, it’s okay, I-“

You’re backtracking, which means you’re nervous, probably because he’s just been looking at you with an impassive expression, even more unreadable due to the glasses. He clears his throat, and opens his mouth.

“No, um, actually I’m waiting. Hopefully not much longer though.”

God help him, because there’s a shared struggle here, between the two of you. He sees it, in your tense shoulders, the way you sit down slowly, as to not generate any more pain than necessary, the way your hands tremble like leaves in the wind when you adjust your glasses after slowly turning to him. Your halfway smile stays put, though, even through the slow movements.

You move like that, because every movement seems to intensify the burning hot behind your skull.

He knows. He doesn’t know you. Not at all.

But he knows your pain. And maybe that’s enough.

You don’t nod, because it’s unnecessary movement.

“Yeah, I finally gave in and booked an appointment. I’ve had to call out of work for them at least 3 times in the last two weeks.”

Them. The migraines. You don’t need to name them, you both just know. You’re clearly both there for a reason.

“I’m uh, Spencer, by the way. I’ve had mine for a bit now too.”

You tell him your name, and the sound makes a welcome warmth flood through his chest. A star, tiny, but burning, is born. Gravity in his chest, tugging you in, as your heat floods his heart.

Bad idea, bad idea - the alarm bells are clanging. He doesn’t know how sick he is, and he really doesn’t know how sick you are. This could spell disaster, and yet-

He’s intrigued. You radiate this nervousness, a distinct desire to be understood, seen, known. He knows that desire. He has that desire. He wants to know you.

“I think mine might just be due to stress, but, I don’t know. It’s the easiest explanation to deal with.”

For your sake, he hopes that’s all they are. Stress.

And, you’re still sitting there, head bowed, when the nurse comes out and asks questions.

She asks about hallucinations. As if this hell is all in his head. You sit there, silent, biting your lip, worrying the cracked skin in your teeth, your hands picking at the fraying edge of your coat.

When he comes back out, somehow even more tired, even though all he did was lie there and answer some questions, he speaks your name, softly.

As if he has the right to.

You jump a little, look up, and remove your glasses. He stares, he can’t help it. Visible, is the pain, the way your ocular muscles are tense, your skin without color, but you smile, still.

He makes you smile.

“Everything okay?”

Spencer nods hurriedly.

“Fine, for now, I have to get to work. You uh-you’re next?”

“Mhm. Will I—is there any chance I’ll see you again, Spencer?”

You don’t know him. You know him, you must.

“Uh, I mean, I—you want to see me again?”

When will he learn to speak when it actually matters?

“Only if you want to, I-I know I would like to see you again.”

He leaves the hospital, that damn hospital, with a small slip of paper, with ten numbers scrawled in purple ink, and your name below it, a tiny smiley face beside it.

When he gets home from his next case, he fishes that paper out of his messenger bag and types each digit into his cell phone with shaky hands.

Is he tempting fate? Perhaps. But fate answers, your soft voice coming through the phone.

Soon, he finds himself at a café with you, sipping his saccharine sweet coffee and telling you about his job, or some book he just finished, in detail that you don’t seem to protest against. It’s refreshing, really - just to be listened to. To be heard. When you leave, you give him a barely-there kiss on the cheek, a soft goodbye. The star burns brighter.

“I had my follow up appointment.”

He tells you, on the third date, as you two sip coffee once more - are these dates? Would Morgan be impressed? - trying to keep the conversation casual, yet relevant. Your eyes widen with interest.

“And? Did they give you answers?”

He makes a face, shaking his head.

“No. Well, yes, but they told me it’s psychosomatic.”

All in his head.

Your face falls, and you look truly sympathetic.

“I’m sorry, Spencer. I knew how much you didn’t think that to be the case.”

He takes comfort, then, in the way you hug him goodbye, your cheek pressed against the cotton of his cardigan, eyes shut against the light. He tenses, only for a second, before his arms curl around you, resting against your coat.

“We should do dinner.”

He mumbles into your hair, before he can stop himself.

A real date.

And you do. You have dinner, and he makes you laugh, even though it’s quiet, like a bell ringing at Christmas, tiny, joy-filled, and the star in his chest just glows. Your face is tense, though, and he can’t figure out why. You won’t say. either. You never do. You keep your responses composed, and careful, calculated. Like you’re afraid. He wonders why, but won’t press it. You are made of nervous energy. He knows this now.

A few months, of appointments for both of you and cases for him where he aches for your hand in his and coffee and dinner and museum dates, and one ice skating excursion he will not mention, and then—

He makes another mistake then, when he asks you to come over, after a case.

“Just for coffee, or to talk, not to-you know, unless that’s what you want, I—“

Yet, that’s how he ends up with you in his bed, in his lap, your warm hands sliding over his skin like you’re in awe, your wide eyes meeting his own, because he dimmed the lights, and thank God neither of you are hurting right now.

He takes you apart, piece by piece, with his mouth on your collarbone and fingers across your ribs, learning, seeking to know. Because that’s what he wants, to know you, fully, in every way he can, until there’s nothing left for him to study.

After he watches you tremble under him, with his name on your lips, he realizes he’ll never be able to memorize all of you. You’re too extensive, with the blush on your cheeks and the way you cling to him and the way your eyes sparkle for a moment, just a moment, before they dim again.

You’re tucked into him, under his chin, as he traces shapes mindlessly into your back with his fingertips. He feels that star, burning bright in your arms, for millennia to come.

“I love you.”

You smile against his chest, before you speak again, choked up.

“You shouldn’t.”

“Whyever not, angel girl?”

Because you are like an angel, come down from the heavens, his angel, gracing his life during some of the most incredible pain he’s ever felt.

“They told me I’m dying. They found the source of it all.”

And the star fizzles, and sparks, and slowly, a cold ice begins to dwell where the star was. Months fly by, and yet drag, each day feeling long but the weeks short.

He finds himself in the hospital - miraculously, his migraines have given him respite today - your hand in his, his eyes on you. You don’t say much, you never did, but now, he feels like you don’t ever speak at all.

Until you do.

“Spence?”

The light in his chest flickers, illuminating his darkness.

“Yes, angel?”

“Can you talk? About anything? I just wanna hear you.”

He nods, and his voice gets quiet, almost breathless, the longer he speaks.

“Did you know that stars actually are simultaneously pulling apart and being pushed together? The heat from inside the star creates a pressure that causes the atoms to separate, but the gravity attraction forces them back together, as it burns. The bigger a star is though, the less time it takes to go through that fuel.”

He stops, looking down at you. He wonders if you’re listening.

“But when the heat is gone, when it stops burning, there’s nothing to counteract the gravitational pull, and—“

And it collapses in on itself.

“And it just sort of sucks everything else in without its heat, the light, if it’s large enough. Pulling everything in, everyone in-“

He’s said too much. You open your eyes, your voice barely a whisper.

“I don’t want you to do that. You won’t, Spencer, I swear.”

In a rare moment of strength, you tug yourself up, to hold his face in one hand.

“You burned before me. You’ll burn again.”

He nods, desperately trying not to weep.

But I won’t burn like I did with you.

“The brightest stars burn the fastest, so we must love them while we can.”

- Anna Todd

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: gotta right my final reflection today and then I don't have schoolwork for a while!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“So, when is the wedding?” Lillians asks over a half-empty plate. 

You take your time chewing. You don’t have an answer. As far as you’re concerned, this is Lloyd’s plot so he can come up with the detail. You're here to enjoy the wine. 

“Uh, the spring,” he blurts out. 

“The spring?” Gwenyth repeats. “Don’t you have a specific date?” 

“Erm, May something...” Lloyd says. 

“May? That’s so soon. If you don’t even have a date, I doubt you have a venue or a dress or--” Lillian counters. 

“Oh, well, we were thinking of. Er...” Lloyd turns his fork in this hand. “Eloping?” 

“Eloping,” Gwenyth hisses. “Eloping? Does that mean we’re not invited? It’s simply not fair.” 

“Mom, I--” 

“Gwen, he didn’t say that, did he?” 

“Well, dad--” 

“We are invited,” William states. It’s not a question. 

“You see what happens?” Gwen takes her cloth napkin and folds it, dabbing her tearless eyes, “the groom’s mother is always excluded. He is my son--” 

“A destination wedding would be nice,” William suggests. 

“Uh, of course. Yeah. We’d like to go somewhere far away, but uh, not far from you...” Lloyd stammers and you kick his foot. You could laugh at how flustered he is if you were entwined in his lies. He sits straighter, “We’ll have the invitations out soon. Everyone’s invited of course--” 

You kick him again. He slips his hand on your knee and squeezes, “we’re still figuring things out,” he declares. 

“Oh, it seems so!” Gwenyth clasps the napkin between her hands. “Darling, you must let me help. And Lillian. Her wedding was fabulous.” 

“Which one?” Lloyd snickers. 

“We’ll see if you even have one,” his sister retorts. 

He cackles and William sighs. 

“Yes, weddings. All that mess,” William drawls. “The ladies can suss out the details but I do believe it’s time for the yearly rematch.” 

“You still do that?” Lloyd asks. 

“Hm, of course. It is a tradition. What’s the matter? You too old, boy?” 

“Speak for yourself,” Lloyd bounces back, shocking you with the snipe. 

Another surprise, William laughs. 

“Ben may need to sit out,” William suggests. 

“Oh, to the contrary, old boy, I’ve had just enough bourbon that I am a prized asset in my state,” the man with the fluffy ash hair doffs his mug. 

“Hm, yes, Carter, Linus, Ransom, Ben, myself, Lloyd,” William counts on his fingers, “Dawson, Lewis, Hudson, and Owen. Quite the lineup this year.” 

You look at Lloyd confused. He doesn’t look excited. You reach under the table and move his hand off your leg. He flinches and glances over at you. 

“Is this some sort of cribbage tournament?” You scoff under your breath. 

He shakes his head. “Touch football...” 

“Football...” You peer across the table with concerns. At least four of the players named are a bit too old to be running around in the snow. 

“It’s fine. Just like tag,” Lloyd shrugs unconvincingly. You chew your lip as you consider him. His eyes follow the movement and you stop yourself. “What?” He asks. 

“I’m just trying to picture it,” you say. “You don’t seem like a football person.” 

“What does that mean? You don’t seem like one either? What would you know?” You hiss back. 

“Ah, dear,” William calls across the table, “do not fear for his safety. We are all family, no one means to hurt each other.” 

Despite his assurance, you’re even less convinced that there won’t be some horrible accident. Again, you remind yourself, it’s Lloyd’s problems. Your sole focus is the money. And the wine. 

You reach to drain your glass, “I’m not worried at all,” you smile, “oh, and honey,” you turn to Lloyd, “you never asked but I love football. I’m a big Bills fan, actually. Remember, laces out.” 

Lloyd grumbles and stands. The other men do in a lazy succession. They stretch and groan over the scraping chair legs. The women rise too and start to clear the table. You’re not a fan of that divide; the men get their fun and the women get to tidy, but you will not be as rude as they’ve accused you. 

You start to gather cutlery and plates. Lloyd startles you as he puts his hand on your hip to stop you. You face him. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” He says. 

You bat your lashes and smirk. You’re amused that he thinks you’re that concerned. 

“Oh, I’m sure you can handle a game of tag, but you might want to stretch. There’s no one you can pay to run the ball for you,” you snort. 

You move past him and follow Lillian. He huffs as you leave him to the rabble of old man talking trash. As you enter the kitchen, Lillian sets the plates on the counter and you put yours next to hers. You take the top one and scrape it clean. 

“You’ll enjoy it. It’s always a good show. I am interested to see the teams this year,” she trills. “Of course, without Lloyd around for so long, I had to step in. Unfortunately, this year, I'm in no condition to lace up.” 

“Oh, it sounds like a fun tradition,” you remark. 

“It’s wonderful fun,” she assures as Gwenyth enters. Lillian shifts closer and lowers her voice, “also, you might want to consider, Lloyd wasn’t keeping us from you, perhaps it was the opposite. We are a rather selective bunch.” 

You meet her bruising sneer and smile. The wine helps drown your agitation. Why should you be bothered? Once you have your money, it won’t worry what the bloated bitch thinks? Oops, let’s keep those thoughts inside. 

“Oh, I’ll be sure to thank him for that,” you wink. She frowns. 

“Leave the plates at the sink, ladies,” Gwenyth commands. “Let’s grab out coats! The powder’s fresh. It’ll be a good match.” 

It’s odd. You really didn’t take this horde of pretentious ghouls as the football type. Well, maybe not the NFL-watching, tailgating type in pickups or minivans. Still, you can’t help but be a little amped for a Christmas game. 

There’s a crunch at the front door. Andrea, Angela, and Raquel warble with Gwenyth, as Shanna, Linda, and Lana come over to admire Lillian’s bump and ask her about the birth plans, while you stand to the side and watch Beatrice with a few younger girls, the elder daughters from all those pairing, who are less than enthused about the whole show. The parade of names escape you though you hardly wonder who is who. 

Your eyes wander to the next room. The younger kids are kept busy before the large Christmas tree by women you haven’t been introduced too. You assume those are the nannies Lloyd mentioned. It’s rather grim, a family divided as if the younger generation were a nuisance. Despite the enthusiasm for Lillian’s coming child, the poor soul will only end up at kids’ table apart from their mother. 

The men chatter near the open door as a brisk wind flows in. As you reach for your coat, you collide with another. You turn in the tight space to face Ransom as he cracks his neck. 

“You going to cheer me on, baby girl?” He smirks at you. 

You stare at him crisply. You continue to pull your coat on as you censor the variations of ‘hell no’ rolling through your mind. You look around for an escape but there isn’t one. The entry way is packed with bodies. 

“It will be cathartic. You’d just be cheering on the team, not necessarily, cheering against your beloved fiance,” he snickers. 

You look at him dully, “oh, I'm certain you’ll run circles around a team full of middle aged and elder men.” 

“You love to see it,” he grins and reaches around you. Before you can react, he pinches your ass again. You hit his chest as he pulls away and rubs his fingertips together, “for good luck.” 

“You’re nasty.” 

“Look at who you came with, sweetheart,” he sticks his tongue out and turns away. “But I understand if it’s my ass you’re watching out in the snow.” 

You curl your lip as you zip up your coat and shuffle over near the women. The men disburse through the front door ahead of you. They holler at each other, pointing impatiently, “over there.”; “Ben, too far”, “No, you snap--” 

You watch them break into team in the snowy street, barren of cars in the calm of Christmas Day. You tuck your hands into your pocket as you stand along the curb and the other women puff clouds into the frigid air. Lazy flakes swirl down and add to the glowing ambiance of the wintry midday. 

William, Ransom, Linus, Dawson, and Hudson huddle on one side with the ball as the others, Benson, Lloyd, Carter, Lewis, and Owen watch, waiting to respond to the first play. You’re not expecting anything more than wobbling throws and clumsy runs, still, it’s better than arguing at the dinner table. 

Ransom gets down to snap to William. The ball passes hands as Dawson runs a route and Ransom and Linus block the front light. Hudson takes the running backs route for the fake handoff before William searches for his receiver. Not bad for amateurs, especially given the demographic. 

The ball is caught as Owen makes the touch. No proper tackle, just a tap on Dawson’s shoulders. The play end as the next play is called in the huddle. Instead of moving down the street, the team resets at the same line, counting yard from that point. 

Another snap. The run is stuffed as Lloyd makes the touch on Hudson, almost indifferent about the play. The women cheer but not at the right times. They’re not really paying attention as they garble about desserts or their hair stylists. 

“You know what would be perfect, some mulled cider,” Beatrice suggests. The comment does make you thirsty but you’re not so sure you’d trade the cold outside for that inside. 

The ball switches possessions. Lloyd takes the snap. You’re a bit surprised but Benson is swaying in his blocking position. That’s less shocking. 

Snap. A pass. Straight and on target. Carter, one of William’s brothers, makes the catch and runs for ten more. Or what’s assumed to be that man. 

A new call. Lloyd rambles out signals in a parody of a real game. “Blood. Wine. Beemer, beemer beemer. Black sheep...” Your eye is drawn by Ransom as he shifts low. You tilt your head. 

“Offside,” you mutter as the ball snaps. Ransom’s across the line before the blockers can react and before the ball can change hands. In an instant, Lloyd is in the snow beneath the other man. 

“Oh my!” “Gosh.” “Ransom...” The concern washes over the audience of women as the men stop the play and turn to look at the two men in the snow. 

The latch onto each other in a toothless brawl. Lloyd knocks Ransom into the snow and grabs his neck. Ransom grips him in turn and they roll back and forth, trying to throttle each other. The other men move to separate them. 

“You two,” William booms. 

“Oh, Ransom, what are you doing?” Linda rushes over. 

“Linda,” William growls as Lloyd is dragged away from her son. “We were kind in letting him come here after everything--” 

“Oh, don’t blame him. Your son is just as bad.” 

“My son has a job,” William snarls back. 

“Don’t worry, that cuck barely got a ding on me,” Lloyd sneers as he shrugs the other men off. There’s a raw and red patch on his cheek bone and snow in his mussed hair. Scratches peek out above his collar as he coughs. 

“Fucker’s weak as pudding,” Ransom jeers back. 

“Both of you. That’s disgusting,” William growls. “Enough. Both of you, benched.” 

“I didn’t do anything,” Lloyd whines. 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re ruining the game,” William says. “Both of you, go inside.” 

“He antagonized him,” Linda squalls, “you heard his play call--” 

“Your son’s grown. He can handle words,” William rebuffs. “You can go inside with them.” 

You’re disappointed. It wasn’t bad while it lasted. Lloyd chuffs and steps around his father. Several bodies move to keep him away from Ransom. He rolls his eyes and waves them off. 

“He’s not worth it,” he stomps over to you. “Whatever, let’s get some hot chocolate or some shit. Better than standing in the snow with a bunch of geezers.” 

He grabs your arm and you have no choice but to let him lead you away. You can hear Ransom pleading his own case, whining at his mom, as she huffs and sighs. The argument fades as you near the front door. 

Lloyd pushes through and drags you in with him. He checks his reflection in the wall mirror, fixing his hair as he winces. He left his coat and blazer inside, wearing only his black turtleneck, now wet from the snow and streaked with salt along his back. He shakes his head at himself. 

You undo your coat and hang it. You almost want to call it a day. You came to brunch, you faced the wolves, and there isn’t enough wine to make them tolerable. 

He touches his cheek and hisses, “ugh, bastard.” 

“Hard hit,” you say. 

“Sure was. Who knew the brat had it in him?” He gingerly presses his cheekbone, “ugh, well, Pix, how about you kiss it better?” 

“What?” You grimace. “No way.” 

“But it hurts,” he turns to you and pushes his bottom lip out. 

“Uh uh,” you cross your arms. “We need to talk. About the wedding.” 

“Really? You wanna talk about that?” 

“Lloyd, I said a courthouse.” 

“I know but...” he pauses and glances around the entry way, “come on.” 

He ushers you down the hall and into the bathroom. He shuts the door and you’re once more trapped in the tight space with a Hansen twin. He stands in front of the door as he faces you. 

“Look, I’m just trying to get this done. It’s good for both of us. You want your money, don’t you? So you need to play along.” 

“I am.” 

“It’s just a fucking ceremony and a dinner.” He argues. 

“It’s not what I agreed too.” 

“Yeah, well, we have to be convincing if we want our prize.” 

You scowl, “I really am not enjoying this whole ‘we’ narrative.” 

“That’s the script, Pixie pie. So put a little bit of energy into it.” He steps closer and you stiffen as he puts his hands on your shoulders. “Loosen up and you might actually have a bit of fun.” 

“It was supposed to be the holiday and the courthouse,” you insist. 

“Not good enough. We both know it.” 

“I want more money,” you grit. 

He pouts again, “you drive a hard bargain for such a soft little thing.” 

You push him away as he goes to stroke his cheek. 

“Two million. I’m not wearing a white dress for anything less.” 

“Baby, please, you’re bleeding me dry--” 

“I’m not blind, Lloyd.” You look around emphatically, “I know what I’m asking for is a fraction of what you’ll get. I’ve worked for you long enough to know your tactics. Whatever I ask, I’m being undersold. Two or I walk right now.” 

He takes a deep breath and lets it out, “let me just see a little ass.” 

You blink, stunned by his barter. You shake your head. “Not for a three million.” 

“Ugh, fine. You’re so damn stubborn. I like it but I also hate it,” he sighs. “Two,” he pulls his hand free and offers it. You shake it with a triumphant smirk. “Let’s seal that the right way.” 

He tightens his hold on you as he grabs the back of your head and bends to smother you with a bristly kiss. You squeak before you can pull away. You scoff at him and yank your hand free to wipe your lips. 

“It’s gonna happen, Pixie,” he grins. “Trust.” 

[blueeyedgirll]

he'd loooove that - sal fisher x tough f!reader

a/n: for lack of better words when i say tough i mean like …. you defend him from bullying and kind of skip class idk. also we’re pretending ash wasn’t there when travis was harassing sal ok? ok.

this fic includes: fem reader, second person pov, bullying, skipping 10 minutes of class, use of the term “holy roller,” Travis being rude to you (i.e. b word, telling you to fuck off), cussing, vague threats of violence, Larry teasing Sal cause he likes you. read at your own risk yadda yadda yadda

You ignore your teacher’s command for you to return quickly from the bathroom as you walk down the dingy hallway. Of course, you didn’t plan to return to class at all, much less return quickly. Who cares about what happened 100 odd years ago? Whatever.

You continue down the hallway, wondering where you should spend the next 10 minutes before lunch starts, when you see two familiar looking boys down the hall. The one furthest away, Travis, the preacher’s son who gives anyone who isn’t a total holy roller shit, was clearly insulting the one closer to you.

Sal.

The thing about Sal is that the only thing you share is a math class. You don’t share a social circle, or sit at the same lunch table, or even talk outside of that math class. However, this didn’t stop you from noticing that he was very attractive. The electric blue hair, mask, and his unique style was oddly alluring.

As your feet keep moving closer to the two boys, you hear some of what travis is saying.

“Nobody likes a goody-two-shoes, Saaaally Face.”

Without missing a beat, Sal responds.

“Nobody likes a cliché bully, Traaaaavis.”

His appearance aside, Sal’s wit and demeanor was another reason you’d fallen for him. Every time you talked, Sal made you laugh in some way. He’s so funny and nice to talk to, and it outrages you to see someone like Travis being so disrespectful to him.

Before he could say another word, upon closing the distance between you and the boys, you butt in.

“Do you have a problem?” You say, staring Travis in the face and fighting the urge to sneak a glance at Sal.

“This is none of your business, bitch.”

“Don’t call me a bitch. And definitely don’t give Sal any attitude. Don’t you have a class to go to?”

Of course, this made Travis even more upset. Turning fully to you and taking a few steps forward, he raises his voice and exclaims “Go fuck yourself! I’ll do whatever I want.”

Your anger rises with his refusal. Without batting an eye, you decide that you number one, need to get Travis out of here, and number two, need to take this as an opportunity to win Sal over. You take a step forward so that you’re almost toe-to-toe with Travis.

“No the fuck you won’t. Not on my watch. I need you to turn your holy blonde ass around and go back to class before I show you what happens when snotty little pricks like you can’t keep their nasty attitude in their mouths,” you say, jerking closer to Travis with every insult. You pause for a moment, hoping you wouldn’t get the shit beat out of you.

Travis grits his teeth, calls you some very colorful names, and walks off.

Relief floods you as you take your first look at Sal. Shock floods you as you see he was already looking.

“Thank you,” Sal says.

“You’re welcome,” you respond.

“You really didn’t have to do that. I’m tough, I promise.”

“I know, but I can’t stand to see people like Travis being assholes for no reason.”

“I get that. Thank you for standing up for me. Really.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would say that the exposed tips of Sal’s ears looked rather pink.

Before you can respond, the bell rings and Sal’s close friend Larry came running up to him.

“I heard yelling, is-… Oh! Hey, man…”

Larry trailed off when he noticed you. Suddenly, he was staring at you and it made you feel the need to explain yourself.

“I… Just so happened to be walking past and I saw Travis giving Sal shit-“ When you said Sal’s name, Larry looked at Sal and smiled, as if surprised you knew his name, “- So I stepped in, I guess. He’s gone, but I’m sorry for getting all up in your business.”

Larry, after staring at Sal with a less than necessary smirk, responded “No problem, dude. Listen, if you ever want to defend Sal again, I’m sure he’d loooove tha-“ Sal interrupts Larry with a swift elbow in the ribs. He gets the point and stops.

“Thanks. Enjoy your lunch,” Sal says, and Larry follows him as he walks away.

You pretend not to watch them walk down the hall, seeing Larry punch Sal in the arm encouragingly and yell something about protective girls.

[clockwayswrites]

Masked

WC: 1054 CW: talk about slut shaming Phantom was the last person that Dick expected at his door, but there the other was. After almost three weeks of no contact, Phantom was back.

Phantom had disappeared; he did that.

Usually it was only for a few days, a week at most.

Usually it Phantom would still chime in on the group text.

Usually Phantom didn’t look so absolutely wrecked.

“Hey, um,” Phantom glanced away, as if that could hide how red rimmed his eyes were. The faint green glow just made the color all the more obvious. “I… sorry. Right, I know you weren’t expecting me, so if you have something else going on I can just…”

Dick just stepped back and held his door open for Phantom, who slipped inside.

“I mean it,” Phantom said. He was tugging on his sleeve. The end of it flickered, like a glitching screen, between various sleeves: his gloved suit, a hoodie, long sleeved, fraying knit. “You can tell me to go. I’m not going to crash your night if you, I mean, you might have invited someone else over or something and—”

Dick silenced Phantom with a soft kiss— both to silence Phantom and because he wanted to, needed to. The glitching was unnerving to watch and Dick just needed to know that Phantom was there and solid and real. Phantom’s breath hitched into the kiss.

Dick rubbed his hands up and down Phantom’s arms. His hands tingled. “Just breathe for me for a moment, okay boo?”

Phantom laughed, the sound worryingly hysterical, but he took an exaggerate breath and let it out slowly.

“Okay, good,” Dick praised when Phantom started to relax. “Do you need to eat anything? Or something to drink?”

“Something to drink,” Phantom said with a grimace like he was tasting something bad. “Sports drink or juice or whatever.”

“Sure.” Dick grabbed one of the little boxes of apple juices he kept in his room for when he needed a hit of sugar or woke up from nightmares tasting ash and blood.

Phantom speared the box with the little straw and sucked on it as he paced a little. He shook his arm not holding the drink out and the glitching finally settled into the fraying knit cuff. The rest of his outfit rippled and changed and the oversized, black sweater settled with a flop over green and white leggings. The empty juice box got crushed and tossed into the trash bin by the desk.

“Feeling better?” Dick asked. He changed stepping closer to Phantom. Sometimes the other seemed to crave touch and sometimes touch would only drive Phantom away. Dick was taking a chance that since Phantom came to him, touch would be welcome.

“Yeah,” Phantom said. His shoulders slumped and he started to pick at that frayed cuff of the sweater. “Sorry.”

“Okay, hey, boo,” Dick reached up and tilted Phantom’s chin up, “stop saying sorry. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’m bothering you.”

“Bother away. I’m happy to have you here.”

Phantom tried to look away again, but Dick moved his hand up to Phantom’s pale cheek to stop him.

“Phantom, I mean it. I know that… I get that people say things about me, but I’m not actually a slut! And even if I were, because sure, we’re not exclusive or anything and haven’t talked about that, you’re still my friend and that means you get to bother me. You’re my boo.”

Phantom gave a little scoff at that, but finally there was a smile pulling at his lips. Dick had to lean in and press a quick kiss to the corner of that smile.

“I’m sorry,” Phantom said and then quickly followed up, “and not about that. I wasn’t trying to… imply you were doing anything wrong? Or were a slut or whatever?”

Dick shrugged and smile. “It’s fine.”

“I think maybe it isn’t really fine,” Phantom said. “Do people really say that about you? Like, in a bad way?”

“It’s maybe been a thing, and comments in that… realm. I guess if you wear a skin tight suit and have an ass as good as mine…”

“It still doesn’t give people permission to harass you. One, an outfit isn’t consent and two, most of us run around in a skin tight suit!”

Dick smiled sourly. “Yeah, but I’m friendly.”

“Do I have to go haunt people for you? I will. I’ll scare them shitless,” Phantom said, and Dick believed that he would. He was starting to drift up off the ground. “They’re acting like every creepy guy who ever thought the check out girl was flirting with them because she was in customer service mode. That shit is not okay!”

“No haunting people,” Dick said, even if it was tempting. “It’s just what people think. I mean… you thought that I was…”

Phantom landed back on the floor. “N, no! I thought… I just guess I figured if you were doing this stuff with me that you liked it, the feeling of it, and so that maybe you had other people you liked to do it with too. Like you said, we never talked about it, not past that I’m clean and can’t catch anything like that and you said you were clean too and— wow, I’m rambling. I didn’t mean it as anything bad, N, I just wanted to, you know, let you know I wouldn’t get in the way of anything.”

“Why are you saying ‘me’ like you’re some sort of bad catch?”

“What?” Phantom blinked. “No, look, that’s not the point of what I was saying. I just want you to know that I’m not judging you or looking down on you if you were fucking other people—”

“I’m not.”

“What?”

"I’m not sleeping around with anyone else right now,” Dick said as clearly and evenly as he could. This felt like risking everything, but he needed Phantom to understand. “That’s not what I like to do. I get that you don’t want to take things further, not while I’m masked, and we don’t have to, really, but when I’m with someone, I’m with them, not anyone else. You’re the only one I think about.”

The way the almost blue blush rose on Phantom’s cheeks was really beautiful, but Dick kept that thought to himself. He’d already said too much.

--- AN: Muse said that we were writing more of this, so who was I to say no? They're starting to clear some things up between them! But where will it go? And what had Phantom so upset?

Zero percent proof-read and I am very exhausted so sorry for any word salad. (Hopefully it came across but 100% full support on ethical non-monogamy and people who want to have fun with sex having fun. Dick- in this fic- is just very dedicated, even if it's to his 'fuck buddy'.)

[kiwi-on-ice]

we need ashe smut w fem reader if u can🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Ashe x fem!reader

Summary: As the new waitress at Panorama Diner, you quickly meet the infamous Deadlock Gang, while also gaining the interest of their ruthless leader.

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: 18+ smut, dom!ashe, no use of y/n, lots of flirting, fingering, strap ons, spanking, slight overstim

Notes: Thank you for requesting my fav fav fav character anon! God i love Ashe and I love writing her. Also phew this is the longest fanfic i've wrote so far, hope it was worth the wait!

Having recently moved, there was one resounding fact you’ve learnt from practically everyone you’ve met so far; don’t mess with the deadlock gang.

Getting a job as a waitress along route 66, you’d been told by neighbors, new friends, even fellow colleagues to watch your back. That the deadlock gang were dangerous, unpredictable, undefeatable. And as you glance at the wanted posters that adorn the diner wall, your eyes are drawn to the leader, her mascara running down her cheeks. But its her expression that really strikes you, how severe and intense her gaze is. Reading the warning ‘Dead or Alive, Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe, $65,000,000 reward’, it really dawns on you how threatening she seems. Your finger traces the edge of the slightly ripped material, not being able to identify why exactly you can’t rip your gaze away.

Not being able to idle for long, you tear yourself away and get back to serving food and drinks, getting used to the flow of the diner and its patrons. It’s almost relaxing, most customers being pretty polite and calm as you work. You fall into a routine, especially since you have a specific uniform to wear. The diner’s management thought it would be good to have almost a 1950s theme, meaning you and the other waitresses were given blue stereotypical dresses to wear, complete with a small white apron to go around the waist. Yours was a little too tight, not that you minded. It flattered your figure quite nicely, even gaining you a few compliments.

It was quite a slow day as you stood behind the counter, in your own world as your fingers tap rhythmically on the marble. Light streamed through the glass windows, brightening the fairly empty diner as you daydream passively. Although the other waitress on staff seemingly drops a cup on the counter, causing you to turn at the noise. She seems...flustered, just as the bell rings to signal the door has opened. Following her nervous gaze, your breath catches. The deadlock gang, well only three of them, but the leader you’d recognise anywhere from how often you find yourself gazing at her wanted poster. Your colleague quickly busies herself with some coffee that you’re sure hasn’t been ordered, leaving you to seat them. You breathe slowly as you walk towards the new patrons.

Ashe seems a little frustrated, snapping at who you assume is her lieutenant as they wait to be seated, her rifle idly resting over her shoulder. She turns to look at whichever waitress will probably annoy her today, and then she sees you. Immediately her demeanour changes, looking you up and down as the furrow of her brow dissipates.

“Welcome to Panorama Diner, table for three?” you say softly, a polite smile etched on your features.

“Yeah, thanks. Preferably by one of those windows.” The leader replies, her red eyes not moving from you as you lead them to their table. Placing their menus down, you smile and leave them to decide. Releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you catch the other waitress glancing at you slightly apologetically. But you don’t particularly feel that threatened or scared…but you’ve been wrong before.

“Ready to order?” you ask with your notebook out, once again putting on the customer service smile.

“Three coffees, black.” Ashe says, before looking you up and down again. “That a uniform? Or d’you just like to dress like that?”

“It’s a uniform, management are going for a 1950s theme.” You reply with a soft laugh, which Ashe seems to delight in.

“Suits ya dollface, can see why they suggested it.” She says smoothly, causing heat to unexpectedly rise to your cheeks.

“I’ll grab your drinks.” You say quickly, turning and hoping she didn’t catch how flustered you looked. You reprimand yourself as you put the coffee on, why on earth were you affected by a simple compliment? You get compliments all the time…and especially why were you affected by the compliment of a criminal gang leader? You try and shake those thoughts from your mind as you pour their drinks, placing them on the tray and carrying them.

“Here you are, can I get you guys anything else?” you ask as you place their mugs in front of them. The two men shake their head dismissively, but Ashe hums softly.

“Hm…any recommendations?”

You hesitate for a moment. “Well a lot of the waitresses here recommend the apple pie.”

“But not you?” she asks, her eyebrow quirked.

“To be honest I hate apple pie.”

This dry response cause the gang leader to laugh, actually laugh, causing the two men to stare for a moment, bewildered. “That right? Appreciate the honesty there sweetcheeks, what would you recommend?”

You take a moment to think. “The French toast is lovely, and we also have a few cakes on stand that the staff made. Chocolate and red velvet.”

“Well I think red velvet would be just sweet enough, thanks doll.” Ashe replies with a small smirk, her red lipstick illuminating as the suns rays pierce through the glass panes. You nod and quickly go to get her a slice, a little short of breath from her intense gaze. You really need to stop acting like a blushing schoolgirl, you reprimand yourself. Coming back and serving her the cake slice, she thanks you, and that delicious accent of hers has you fidgeting as you turn and serve another table.

You try and continue your shift as normal, although her occasional glances at you prove difficult to ignore. Still you manage to keep your composure until one of her lieutenants pipes up.

“Hey lady, can we get the check?” he says loudly, snapping his fingers a little condesendingly, and as you hurry to the table, you see Ashe glare daggers at him.

“Don’t snap your damn fingers at her, she ain’t a fuckin’ dog.” Ashe seethes at him, which causes him to shrink a little and nod.

“Cash or card?” you ask, before Ashe pulls out a wad of cash from her pocket. Counting how much they owe, she places it on the table. You collect it as they stand to leave, but before they do Ashe stands to her full height and steps in front of you.

“Your tip, and an apology for my lackey’s rudeness.” She says, handing you a wad of cash. Your eyes must betray your shock at how much she’s giving you, as you shakily take it and start thanking her profusely.

“Don’t mention it dollface, didn’t catch your name.” You tell her, and she hums and smirks at you. “Pretty name for a pretty girl, guess I’ll be comin’ in here more often.”

With that, she tips her cowboy hat which makes you giggle softly before leaving. You watch as they step outside, mounting their motorbikes. You glance down to check your tip, counting the money in amazement. She’d tipped you 200 dollars, at least that’ll go a long way to paying this weeks rent.

Making good on her statement, two days later the gang are back. This time it’s Ashe and three members of her gang, alongside two omincs. One looked smaller, with a hood and a sniper rifle, but the other was huge, his hulking frame contrasting the cute little bowler hat that lay askew on his head. Even though a waiter was on hand, you almost sprinted to be the one who served them.

“Welcome back to Panorama Diner, table for…five?” you ask as you count them, and Ashe nods. They all seem a little dishelved, a few cuts and scrapes present on the human members which causes you to wonder where they’d been or what trouble they’d caused. You lead them to a table, connecting two so the bigger omnic could fit more comfortably, which seems to please Ashe greatly.

“Wasn’t sure ya’ll accepted omnics, there are a lot of establishments who sure as hell don’t.” Ashe remarks, causing you to shake your head.

“Of course we do, we don’t discriminate.” You say with a smile, before glancing at the bigger omnic. “Love the hat.”

He gives a nod and a little thumbs up, as Ashe continues. “His name’s B.O.B, he ain’t a talker.”

You nod, flipping your notebook out. Two coffees and a milkshake, to which Ashe raises her eyebrow at the dark-skinned woman clutching a laptop to her chest.

“Seriously Frankie?”

“What? You said it was a celebration.”

You smile a little. “So two coffees and a milkshake, got it.”

Leaving them to it, you go to prepare their orders. You can’t deny that you’ve been secretly picturing Ashe coming in again, giving you a small rush now that it’s actually come true. You try and convince yourself it’s just for the possibility of another tip, and not for the way her voice makes you weak at the knees, and her eyes are the most gorgeous you’ve ever seen.

“Here you guys are, anything else just let me know.” You say brightly.

“Thanks doll.”

God you can’t deny how much that nickname is affecting you when it slips from her red lips, as you turn and serve some other tables. You notice a few patrons glancing at the gang as they eat, but you aren’t afraid anymore, and you sure as hell aren’t gonna turn them in, however you try and push away the feeling of guilt at how flippant you’re being regarding a wanted gang of criminals. All because the leader was hot.

Still, you go about your shift easily, growing to like whenever Ashe would unashamedly look at your ass whenever you bent over to pick something up from a table; in fact, a few times you did it on purpose in the hopes the older woman was looking at you. After a while, it was near closing time so you check on them to get any final orders. Upon asking for the check, you hand it to them.

“Cash or card?” you ask.

“Cash” the leader replies, this time opening a bag that was sat beside her. You can’t help but glance inside, and the sheer volume of dollar bills nearly has your eyes watering. That explains why they look so bruised and scraped, you think to yourself, as she counts out the amount and places it on the table. As they get up to leave, Ashe is again the last one as she hands you another wad of cash.

“Your tip.” She says in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Oh…miss I really cant accept that much again- “

“You can, and you will.” She replies, her tone leaving no room for argument as you shyly take the money, electricity spiking up your back as your skin brushes against hers.

“Thank you so so much, I really can’t thank you enough.”

“No need sugar.” She waves her hand dismissively as she grabs her rifle. “Stay safe, these parts ain’t gonna be quiet for too long.”

You nod a little at her warning as she leaves, your heart beating rapidly. She gives you a final look up and down as she leaves, and you release a shaky breath, god you really have to stop getting so worked up about her. Although it’s hard when you glance at the 300 dollar bill tip she just gave you.

However a few days later, things really take a turn for you. Two of your fellow waitresses invite you out to a bar, and you’d been polite enough to say yes despite your reluctance. Once you arrive, they’re both taken with a few men who buy them drinks, leaving you alone at the bar, tapping your finger anxiously on the table. You get a few offers from guys trying to buy you drinks, but you blow them off, your dress suddenly feeling too tight in the warm lights. Thinking about leaving, you move a bit through the bar before you hear raucous laughter from a nearby cards table.

The deadlock gang…they were here. Clearly nobody was brave enough to ask them to leave, or hell they might even own the place…it strikes you just how little you know about them; dangerous considering the leader now knows your name. The same leader who you’ve just locked eyes with, the red hue causing your breath to catch. Hesitating, you turn to leave. Maybe she didn’t recognise you outside of your waitress uniform, as you attempt to walk casually towards the exit.

“You better not be leaving doll, not when I’ve just saw ya.” You hear a smooth southern voice say, and god it’s like the blood rushes to your face immediately. Turning, you see Ashe coming up to you, her lips, tie and eyes all the same colour. Danger.

“Seems my friends have left me, I was just heading out-“

“Awe don’t worry, how about I be your friend, hm?”

It feels like the devil tempting you as you hesitate for a moment, but ultimately you find yourself nodding before you even realise. The smirk on her face makes her look like the wolf whose seduced the lamb into her den, as she leads you into the bar with a hand on the small of your back. Taking you to a smaller table away from the rest of her gang, she looks at you.

“Let me at least buy ya a drink.” She offers, and goes to order what you asked for. Tapping your fingers nervously against your thigh, you glance around as you wait. Her gang are still sat where you’d seen them, laughing and playing cards. You recognise a few of them who’d came into the diner, but quickly look away before they catch you staring.

“There ya go sugar.” Ashe says as she gets back, two glasses in hand. You quickly thank her as she slides into the booth with you, her thigh slightly touching your own. “So y’friends abandoned you?”

Laughing a little, you nod and explain that they’d been whisked away with some patrons who’d caught their eye. The smirk on Ashe’s face gives away her train of thought.

“But not you?” She inquires, eyes glancing around your face as if mapping out every detail.

“I prefer girls.” You say before even thinking about your words, but the older woman smiles all the same.

“Perfect.”

Forcing yourself to not show how flustered you are, she starts to ask questions about your life, your job, your family. As you speak, she seems genuinely interested in what you have to say, something you can’t say you’ve ever had with the dates you’ve been on in the past. Not that this is a date…

“What about you?” You ask softly.

“Me? All ya need to know is that deadlock is my family now.” She says, before grinning. “Well, B.O.B is extra special family.”

“The one with the little hat, right?” You reply, peering over her shoulder to her gang, where the hulking omnic sat with his eyes firmly on the two of you.

“Yeah that’s it, my bodyguard. Not that I need him all the time. Best believe I can handle myself.” She smirks, leaning in to murmur the last bit close to your ear, causing you to giggle a little.

“You’re known for being quite dangerous around these parts, right?”

“Oh you could say that doll. What, you scared?” She teases, before you quickly shake your head. “Good, I like a brave girl.”

Smiling a little at her praise, you aren’t even focused on the fact she’s a gang leader anymore. Like Eve biting the forbidden fruit, you let Ashe place her hand on your knee as you speak, the sinful spark of electricity seemingly travelling from her manicured fingertips all the way up your spine. As you both talk, her fingers tracing small circles on your knee, before slightly rising higher.

After an hour or so, her gang approach, rowdy and clearly intoxicated as they giggle.

“C’mon Ashe, let’s hit up some other places.”

You smile at the cowgirl, thinking it’s the end of the night for you. But she hums, glancing at you for a moment before replying.

“Ya’ll go and have fun, but not too much.”

One of her lieutenants tilts his head, “huh? You ain’t comin’?”

Ashe cuts him a glare that tells him to shut his mouth, before readjusting herself so her arm is around your shoulder. “I’m doin’ just fine here.”

With no room for argument, her gang takes off after Ashe gives a nod to her omnic bodyguard. You on the other hand feel your breathing quicken at the feel of her arm around you, subtly leaning closer to her as you giggle.

“You’re doing just fine here?” You ask, to which she smirks.

“Damn right I am, got a pretty girl hangin’ off my every word. What’s not to like?”

At the reassurance that she does in fact find you pretty, the heat rises within you. Not being able to help glancing at her lips for a moment, the ever perceptive criminal obviously noticing, her breath tickling your cheek as she speaks.

“But just cause I’m doin’ fine here, don’t mean we can’t go somewhere else…maybe away from pryin’ eyes.”

At her announcement, you glance around to notice the other patrons sneaking glances as you. But another thought comes creeping through your mind, the thought of going home with her. Of letting her touch you in the way you’ve been fantasising about ever since she came into the diner. You wouldn’t dream of admitting the nights you spent playing with your clit, imagining the infamous gang leader’s fingers instead. So you nod, knowing you’d give in, and the self-satisfied smile on her face tells you that she knew you’d say yes.

She leads you with by the hand, warm and slightly callous in your own, before coming upon her motorcycle parked outside the bar. Seeing your expression, she giggles softly.

“First time on one of these?” she asks, to which you nod, “Don’t worry sugar, just hold on good and tight f’me, alright?”

And you really do, clinging on to her waist as she speeds down dirt roads, hair wispy in the wind. Try as you might to relax and take in the scenery, you can’t deny the relief you feel when she finally brings the bike to a stop. She takes you once again by the hand and leads you inside, shutting and bolting the door behind you both. Now should be the time to feel at least a little intimidated, but butterflies of excitement uncurl in your stomach as she glances at you.

“Want another drink?” she asks smoothly, to which you shake your head. Drinking really is the last thing on your mind, especially as she stalks closer to you. “Maybe you want somethin’ else…”

Feeling your back against the wall, you nod slightly as she brings her hand up to slowly trace your cheekbone. Her thumb rubs smoothing lines, and at this proximity you can see every line and pore on her beautiful face, every eyelash, how her tongue darts out a little to lick at her lip.

“D’you want me doll? Gotta tell me now or I ain’t touchin’ ya.”

“I want you.” You say, trying to sound confident but melting at her grin.

“Alright, you gotta know though…I’m a woman who likes control, likes to be in charge. You sure you can handle that?”

You’re sure that your cheeks are burning as she says that, nodding quickly again. At your consent, she leans in and kisses you, the tension between you both finally exploding. She presses you further up against the wall, tongue running along your bottom lip before exploring your mouth. Eagerly swallowing your slight whimpers, she uses her free hand to wrap around your hip, keeping you where she wants you. Pulling away, she observes the slight red stain her lipstick as left on your mouth, before kissing along your jaw.

“So sweet sugar, like candy.” She mumbles against your skin, kissing down to your neck and licking. “Gonna let me leave a mark?”

You stutter out a yes, before she sucks a dark hickey into your neck. There really isn’t any going back now, she’s marked you. The leader of the deadlock gang has truly staked her claim on you, and you couldn’t be happier.

Feeling the material of your dress, she slowly inches the fabric up, exposing more and more of your thighs as she kisses to the junction between your neck and shoulder. She lets out a soft moan as she grips your upper thigh, feeling the soft skin under her touch and squeezing. Although she quickly grows tired of waiting, instead slipping between your thighs to grope your clothed pussy instead. At the action, you can’t help but buck forward into her touch, feeling her smile against your skin.

“So wet already, bet you were drippin’ in the bar huh?” she accuses you, knowing she was right. Her fingers cup your panties, feeling the wet material beneath her skin, exploring. With a soft whimper, you let her touch you how she wants, eyelids fluttering closed before she slaps your pussy lightly.

“Nuh uh doll, eyes open.”

When you do as she instructs, she rewards you by slipping into your panties and rubbing your clit in slow rhythmic circles. The result is instantaneous, a quiet needy moan escaping you as you feel her touch. Her eyes never leave your face, head tilted as she watches your reactions.

“Look so pretty, y’know that? Know how pretty you are?” she praises you teasingly, meaning every word but mostly saying them because of how flustered you act when you hear them. Her praise goes straight to your cunt, clit throbbing under her touch as she speeds up her movements.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen sugar. You’re gonna cum on my hand, and all I’m gonna do is play with your clit. If you’re a good girl and do what I say, imma take you into the bedroom and fuck the brains outta ya.”

 Her tone doesn’t leave any room for argument, and you voice your confirmation. She grips your waist, encouraging you to rock into her hand as she keeps up the movement of her fingers, strumming your core expertly. It’s clear to you she’s experienced, and you wonder if this is a normal occurrence for her; to seduce and play with pretty girls who happen to cross her path when she isn’t out being a criminal.

Shakily, you grip on to her waistcoat for stability, feeling yourself get closer and closer the more she touches you. When she releases your waist to grope your tits, that’s when your thighs really start to shake, grip harder on her outfit.

“Yeah baby, that’s right. Cum on my hand, make a mess.” She encourages, her voice igniting that fire inside of you as you finish on her hand with a soft cry. Not slowing down, she gets every last bit of your pleasure before she finally removes her hand, bringing it up to the light to observe your fluids sticking to her digits. “Awe, ya really did make a mess.”

Catching your breath, you blink for a moment as she uses those same fingers to tap at your lower lip, before parting them to clean her fingers for her. Tasting yourself was a little strange, but it was worth it for the way her pupils dilated and her breath caught in her throat at your performance. Without another word, she grabs your upper arm and hauls you into the bedroom.

Getting you on your back, she grabs the zipper of your dress and yanks it down, removing it quickly as she leans to give you another kiss. Moaning softly, you reach to unzip her waist coat, pushing it off her before your hands go to her tie. She grins against your lips and helps you undo it, before he grips your wrists and pins them above your head, mattress squeaking slightly.

“Can you guess what I’m about to do?” she purrs, before wrapping the red tie around your wrists, not tight enough to hurt but just enough to give the illusion of incapacitation. Bound like a present for her, she straddles your waist and looks at her handiwork, before slowly unbuttoning her dress shirt. You buck up a little in excitement, as she reveals her white bra. Removing her fingerless gloves, she tugs your ruined underwear down roughly, exposing your dripping cunt to the dim light of the bedroom.

“So many things I wanna do to you baby, so many things.” She says as she runs her finger along your pussy lips, smirking as you twitch. “Anythin’ completely off limits?”

You tell her and she hums in acknowledgement, before glancing at the wardrobe. She lifts herself off you, hissing at you to stay still as she grabs a box from beneath a few clothes and bullet shell casings. Bringing it over, she smirks as your eyes widen at the sheer number of toys in the box.

“I’m a wealthy woman doll, and I’m a wealthy woman with…needs.” She answers your silent judgement, before leaving the box on the floor next to the bed. “Now if you do well, I promise I’ll fuck ya, how does that sound?”

Before being able to ask what you need to do well at, she unbuttons her trousers and slides them down her legs, removing all of her harnesses and belts with precision. Just in her bra and underwear now, she winks at you before ridding herself of her panties before climbing up your body. Oh. You know what she wants, and you whimper desperately in anticipation.

Grabbing the headboard, she positions herself over your face, thighs on either side. You’re practically salivating, as she moves your bound hands to be resting on your stomach. Without warning, she finally sits on your face, and you get to work immediately. You lap at her pussy, wanting to taste her all night and finally being given the opportunity. She groans softly, the feeling of your warm tongue between her thighs was heavenly. She wanted you like this since she saw you, in that silly waitress dress that was too small for your curves.

Rocking into your tongue, she watches you squirm with glee, moving one hand to hold your hair; keeping you in place as she uses you. Uses your mouth, all for herself. Whimpering, you lick up to her clit before sucking gently, delighting in how a soft moan escapes her throat. She tightens her grip on your hair, pulling to angle you to where exactly she wants. Her pussy was dripping, mixing with your saliva as she makes a mess of your face. Not that you mind, excitedly pleasuring her as best you can.

“Fuck sugar, ain’t you a good girl.” She slurs out, as you move your tongue over her cunt. “Keep it up and I’m, shit, I’m definitely fuckin’ ya.”

You whine in excitement, doubling down on your effort, jaw slightly aching as you please the criminal above you. Feeling herself get close, she grinds faster into your tongue, taking the sensations you’re willingly providing her. She finally cums in your mouth with an uncharacteristically higher pitched moan, her hips slowing until she stills.

You catch your breath rapidly as she climbs off you, leaning into her hand as she wipes your mouth of her wetness. The action causes your chest to feel tight with happiness, before she taps your cheek in a slightly condescending manner.

“Alright then doll, I’m a woman of my word.”

With that, she leans off the bed to rifle through the box, before bringing up a bottle of lube and squeezing a glob onto her fingers. With a nod of confirmation from you, she pushes two fingers slowly inside, feeling how your practically suck her in. She groans quietly, as you make a stranged gasp at the sensation. Removing them, she sinks them inside again before repeating, the wet noises from your cunt echoing off the walls.

“Hear that? Hear how much this pussy wants me?” she taunts, curling them to prod at that spot inside that makes your toes curl.

She sets a slow but firm rhythm, focusing on stretching you out for whats to come as her other hand gentle strokes circles on your thigh. You’re having the time of your life, hands still bound helplessly infront of you as your digits flex. This is exactly what you wanted from her, what you needed from her, and she hadn’t even got to the main event yet.

After a while though, and a third finger being slipped inside, you grow impatient with the growing desire for her to fuck you. So you do your best to voice that desperation, hips twitching and voice pathetically higher pitched than normal.

“You want it baby?” she says, slowing her fingers to a halt before grinning at you. “Say it nicely.”

“Can you please fuck me Ashe?” you ask.

With a nod and a quick spank to your oversensitive pussy, she leans down and grabs the strap on she was keeping which causes your eyes to widen. It’s a black harness, with a purple dildo attached. It wasn’t overly big at around 6 inches, but it certainly seemed thicker than anything you’d taken before. Suddenly glad of her prep, you watch as she moves a pillow beneath your hips, before lubing up the fake cock.

She pushes in slowly, and you both moan at the sight and sensation. God you look gorgeous, she thinks, as her red eyes watch your face contort in pleasure and the slight pain that comes with the stretch. You whimper her name softly, cunt tightening around the dildo as Ashe strokes at your hips soothingly.

“I know, I know sugar. But you can take it, I know you can take it.” She praises, bottoming out inside you. Thighs shaking, you’re grateful for the way she lets you adjust to the size, and after a few moments you offer her a shaky nod.

Smiling, she pulls out slowly and pushes you back in, getting you used to the rhythm of being fucked as the grip on your thighs tightens a little. She clearly has a lot of core strength, able to keep the pace effectively and slightly speed up when she senses you get more comfortable. The slick sounds of your pussy getting fucked by her should make you embarrassed, but the shameless noise only serves to turn you on further.

“That’s it, look at ya. Takin’ my cock so well, such a good little girl.” She grunts out, cowboy hat laying askew on her head as she keeps fucking you. You lift your bound hands to paw at her bra, before she clearly gets the hint and chuckles. Not slowing down at all, she reaches behind herself and practically rips the garment off, exposing her breasts to your gaze. You go to touch them before she grabs your wrists easily, moving them above your head as she moves your thighs up.

This new angle means she can drive the toy impossibly deep inside you, pinning your hands down and making sure you have nowhere to go, nothing to do but take. You moan louder at this, eyes nearly rolling back as you’re sure she’s fucking your brains out. The mating press makes her feel good too, the harness bumping her clit with every thrust, serving the mental image of her fucking you with physical sensation.

“So cute, like my own little doll. Maybe I should keep ya.” She drawls, causing you to whimper more at the insinuation. Hell, in this moment she could threaten to lock you up in her basement and you’d probably blindly agree, needing to feel more of the delicious friction she was providing you. Moving her one hand down, she rubs a little clumsily at your clit, causing your cunt to tighten around the dildo.

You aren’t sure how long she fucks you like that, time an illusion that pales in comparison to the pleasure of being fucked by the gang leader, but eventually you need to cum. So you tell her, beg her, which only fuels her dominate headspace further.

“Yeah keep beggin’ me, that’s right. You know who’s in control right now.” She groans out, slamming her hips against yours. Every muscle in your body tightening, you barely have time to tell her you’re gonna cum until you’re gushing around her fake cock with a drawn out moan. Grinning, she slows down, stroking at your arms.

“Good job, you looked so pretty baby.” She whispers, red nails gently dragging on your skin soothingly. Just when you’re about to thank her though when she pulls out, she grabs under your hips and flips you, landing face first into the mattress with a grunt.

“Ashe-“

“Oh come on darlin’, you didn’t think we’d just stop at one, did you?”

With that, she pushes into you for a second time from behind, your back arching. This time she doesn’t wait for you to adjust before pulling back and thrusting inside. With your loud, overstimulated moans, she grins sadistically and starts to fuck you again, your hands limply in front of your face.

“Oh fuck doll, ain’t you just the prettiest thing.” She gets out through her shaky drawn out breaths, focusing on railing you firmly into next week. Your thighs tremble with every thrust, feeling your g spot get battered by her dildo. You feel a sharp smack as she spanks your ass, and at your reaction she repeats the motion.

Eyes rolling back, your front falls into the sheets as you lose the strength to hold yourself up, moaning incessantly at her rough treatment. She fucks you like she already owns you, like you’re her property, and you love it. The sensations are so much, you find yourself whimpering her name over and over.

But a part of Ashe wants you to call her by her first name, a name she hardly lets anyone call her. But ultimately decides against it, it feels too real, somehow too intimate. Reluctant to break down her walls, she instead channels her mental doubts into fucking you better, harder, with more passion. She holds your hips for stability, pushing your hands down so you can crudely rub yourself while she fucks you.

Soon it all becomes too much, and you feel yourself barrelling towards your next orgasm quickly. Your breathy whines and whimpers let her know, as she moves her hand up your spine before nestling her fingers in your hair. She gives a sharp pull, forcing you into an arch as she coos in your ear.

“Awe baby, you gonna cum again? Gonna let me fuck another one outta ya?”

You nod dumbly, almost drooling as your pussy tightens yet again.

“Good, make some noise for me m’kay?”

Making good on her word, she thrusts into your g spot with conviction, forcing noises to come tumbling out of your throat as you cum for a third time that night, twitching and almost convulsing. This time when she slows, she pulls out for good, unclasping the harness and letting the strap fall to her side as she takes you in her arms. She tosses the cowgirl hat and nestles herself into the pillows, pulling you with her so you’re laying on her chest.

“That okay for you?” she asks, like she hasn’t just given you the railing of a lifetime, but you giggle softly anyway and nod. “Alright good, just checkin’. I’ll run ya a bath in a minute, how does that sound?”

You relax into her embrace, content to let her take care of you as you hum softly in appreciation. Her nails gently drag along your scalp, the soothing gesture threatening to send you to sleep before she can clean you up. You can’t deny how safe you feel, in the arms of someone so dangerous. But she’s showing you such affection, such softness which contradicts the rumours that swirl around her.

“Are you gonna come to the diner more?”

That innocent little question you ask, so full of hope and contentment causes an unfamiliar sensation to rise up in the cowgirl, as she glances down at you.

“You want that? You wanna see me some more?”

At your nod, she swallows thickly. You actually want to see her more, maybe as more than someone to fuck. Someone to…she doesn’t let herself finish that thought, instead smirks teasingly.

“Sure doll, gotta come back to the diner. Gotta make sure nobody else is tippin’ my favourite waitress as much as I am.”

You giggle at that, teasing her back. “Oh? So if someone tipped me higher then you’d match it?”

“I’d go beyond matchin’ it darlin’, might have to start paying your bills as my tip.”

You really laugh at her dramatics, cuddling up to her more and making her cheeks involuntarily flush. With a soft sigh, she allows herself to bask in the moment before slapping your ass gently.

“Come on then dollface, let’s get ya in the bath.”

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 41 Chapter 41 | born of laurel and curse⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Hermes stepped forward before you could say anything else—expression unreadable, eyes glinting with something hard to place. Not quite relief. Not quite sorrow.

He reached for you without hesitation, like this part had already been decided.

Like he couldn't bear to stay here any longer.

His arms circled beneath your knees and around your back, gentle but firm, the way you might hold something precious that had only just stopped breaking. You didn't resist.

The moment he lifted you, the magic shifted.

You felt it stir beneath your skin—a flicker, a pull, a quiet breath in the bones of the earth.

And then—wind.

It ripped past your cheeks in sudden gusts, cold and fierce, rushing upward like the world itself had tilted beneath you. Your hair fluttered wildly against his shoulder, tangling in the collar of your tunic as your legs curled instinctively closer to his chest.

The air howled in your ears, a thousand whispers caught in a single breath, too fast to hear and too strange to understand.

Your eyes cracked open just enough to see.

The Underworld blurred past in flashes.

Ash-grey pillars.

Twisting stone bridges.

Gardens wilted and bloomed all at once.

And shadows—so many shadows—some still, some watching, some turning away the second they met your gaze.

Colors flared at the edge of your vision: copper gold and sickly green, flashes of bone-white paths and flickering riverlight from the Styx.

You caught glimpses of spirits drifting in the distance—some reaching out, some shrinking back, all blurred by the speed.

And Hermes didn't stop.

His hold tightened as you climbed higher, past the gates, past the Asphodel Fields, past the river's edge that shimmered like an old bruise in the dark.

But just before the veil split—before the light of the living world could break through and claim you again—

You shifted in his arms. "Wait."

He stopped mid-step. Mid-flight. The magic hiccupped around you like a breath held too long.

Hermes turned his head slightly, brows furrowing as if he wasn't sure he'd heard you right. "What?"

You lifted your hand—soft against his shoulder, not pushing, just anchoring yourself.

"...Can we go back?"

The wind stilled.

Not completely. Just enough to notice. Just enough to make the silence feel heavier.

He stared at you. Not moving. Not blinking. Like the question had rearranged something inside him.

"Back?" he echoed, flatly. "You mean to the Underworld?"

You nodded once. Slowly. "Just for a moment. I... I want to see my parents again." Your voice cracked a little at the end.

Hermes didn't respond at first.

His jaw twitched like he wanted to argue, like the instinct to move forward was stronger than anything else. But he didn't speak. Just stared ahead, gaze flicking to the veil above you—then down again, past your shoulder, back toward the Underworld where the shadows still lingered like ghosts of a memory you weren't ready to lose.

Finally, after a long beat, he sighed.

It wasn't theatrical. It wasn't annoyed.

It was... tired.

Like someone giving in. Like someone who always gave in when it came to you.

"Fine," he muttered, under his breath, "Hades shouldn't mind if you linger a little longer. Not like he's ever been good at goodbye either."

And with that—Hermes turned.

The wind twisted backward.

And the shadows welcomed you once more.

.☆.     .✩.        .☆.

You weren't sure how much time passed—maybe a minute, maybe several—but eventually, the cool air shifted. Hermes had said nothing when you stepped through the veil. He simply caught your arm to steady you, like he had done before, then guided you quietly through the gray.

The Underworld didn't jolt you this time. Maybe it should have. But your soul felt heavier now, more settled.

You didn't ask where you were going. You didn't need to.

Hermes led you to the edge of a low, vast hill—jagged and windswept, coated in a veil of mist that hugged the stone like breath on glass. Below it, the fog dipped into a sprawling field... familiar in its shape, but not in color.

The fields looked darker now, deeper in hue. And less clouded. You could actually see shapes moving in the distance—shadows stretched like brushstrokes across a canvas.

He stopped, glancing down the incline. "This is as far as I go," he said. "For now."

You blinked. "You're not coming?"

He gave a small smile—one of those unreadable ones that told you it wasn't really up for debate. "I have to stir up a bit of noise elsewhere. Just enough to keep it on the low that you're still here."

"It shouldn't be an issue since I'm already here, right?"

"Not exactly. Souls aren't too welcome here unless it's their time. And if it's found that you're still here, they'd come for you first and me second." He brushed something off his shoulder—dust or stardust, you couldn't tell. "So I gotta make some trouble. Just enough to buy time. I'll be done before the hour turns. You'll know when I'm back."

Your stomach churned. "How will I know?"

He tapped your forehead gently. "You'll feel it."

Then, just like that, he was gone—his form dissolving into wind and shimmer, swept away before you could call out again.

So, as you had done once before, you turned and walked into the fog.

But it didn't feel the same.

Your footsteps didn't echo this time. There was no pounding fear in your chest, no dread dragging at your ankles. It was quieter now—not in sound, but in weight. The mist wasn't as thick. You could actually see where you were going.

Your head turned slowly as you walked, your eyes tracing outlines that were impossible to see last time: faint ruins in the distance, pillars swallowed by ivy, archways carved from black stone. The field had shape now. Definition. And it wasn't just a field anymore.

It looked almost like a courtyard—or a garden left to decay.

Brittle hedges formed low walls in crooked rows. Marble statues, worn down to featureless forms, watched from raised platforms. The air smelled of ash and dry earth, but also of something faintly floral. Faintly alive.

You walked without thinking, feet crunching against gravel, mist licking at your shins. Each step felt easier. Lighter. As if your soul knew the path even if your mind didn't.

Then—music.

Your ears perked up at the soft sound, a hum more than a song, low and careful and deeply familiar. You knew that voice.

Your pace quickened before your mind caught up. You pushed past a leaning column, stepped around a cracked basin that once held water, and the sound grew clearer. A melody now. Words curling at the edges. A lullaby. Or maybe a memory.

Then, through the branches of a long-dead tree, a figure appeared.

Just like before.

Beneath the withered limbs sat a man, his back turned to you, bent forward ever so slightly. His head tilted to one side as he sang to the bundle he cradled in his arms. The same slow rhythm. The same hush in his voice. Like the world would break if he sang any louder.

Polites.

You skidded to a halt just behind him, your breath hitching in your throat. "Polites." 

The lullaby cut short.

He turned slowly, startled at first. Astyanax shifted in his arms as Polites adjusted the blanket protectively, his brows lifting as his gaze landed on you. For a heartbeat, he didn't move. Just stared.

Then the recognition hit.

His face lit up, blooming into a wide, warm smile. "Well, I'll be," he murmured, a soft chuckle in his voice. "Look at you, back again already?"

You let out a shaky laugh, breathless from the walk. "Guess I just couldn't stay away."

He stood carefully, rising to his full height, the baby bundled against his chest. He stepped toward you, his expression soft with welcome, fondness settling behind his eyes. But then—his smile faded. Just a little.

His gaze drifted downward. Then back up. A flicker of something passed across his features—his brows knit together, the corners of his mouth pulling into something more thoughtful. His hand shifted on Astyanax's back, fingers stalling mid-motion.

"You..." he began slowly. "Wait. Are you...?"

His voice trailed off. You didn't need him to finish the question. The look on his face said enough.

You glanced down at yourself instinctively.

Your fingers still moved. Your feet still pressed against the ground. But you weren't solid—not exactly. There was a faint shimmer clinging to your edges, like moonlight trying to hold shape. You were fading in some places, more outline than figure. Not fully here. Not fully gone.

Like him.

"I'm not dead," you said quickly, lifting your gaze again. "I promise. I mean... I was. For a bit."

His expression tightened.

"But—Hermes. He made a deal. With Hades," you added. "I'm just here for a short time. I'm going back."

That seemed to unstick something in him. Polites let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His shoulders sagged slightly, the tension easing from his stance.

"Gods," he muttered, shifting Astyanax to one arm as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. "You scared me. I thought—" He shook his head, a half-laugh breaking through. "You're too young to be down here for good."

You shrugged, your voice light despite the lump in your throat. "Tell that to the streets of Ithaca."

Polites gave you a look—half exasperated, half fond. "You and that mouth," he muttered, though there was no heat behind it.

Astyanax let out a small coo, his fingers stretching against the edge of his blanket. Polites bounced him gently, his gaze returning to you. "So... what brings you back, then? Risking divine tantrums just to say hello?"

You gave him a small smile. "Something like that."

And for a moment, the heavy quiet returned. But it was a warmer quiet this time. A knowing one.

He smiled again, softer now. "Well. I'm glad you did."

You returned the smile, though it wobbled a bit. The words you wanted to say pressed at your throat—more than just greetings or thank-yous or even memories. This wasn't just a visit. It was unfinished business, still pulling at the edge of your chest like a loose thread you hadn't meant to leave behind.

You hesitated a moment, then shifted your weight, glancing past him toward the mist-covered distance. "Polites... can I ask you something?"

His brow lifted slightly, patient. "Go ahead."

"I... I was wondering if you could take me to see my parents again. Just for a little while."

He blinked, a little surprised—then his face softened into something steady and sure, like it was the easiest request in the world. "Of course," he said without pause. "You shouldn't even have to ask."

A breath you hadn't known you were holding slipped from your lungs.

And with that, the two of you began walking, his steps sure against the ashen earth, yours a little slower, still feeling out the shape of your form in this space.

The air was less fogged than before—thinner, somehow. The trees more defined. The sky a dark slate above, like a never-ending dusk. It looked more like a garden now. Or maybe a courtyard that had long since forgotten it was ever meant for living things.

The silence between you wasn't awkward—it was companionable. But after a few steps, Polites glanced over at you, shifting the bundle in his arms slightly.

"You wanna hold him?" he asked, nodding toward the baby.

Your eyes widened a little. "I—me?"

Astyanax answered before you could. His small hand peeked from the blanket, reaching toward you with a soft, open-palmed stretch. He made a tiny noise—something between a sigh and a whimper—and his gaze locked onto yours with such simple, trusting want that it made your chest ache.

Your fingers twitched. "I don't know if I should. He's..."

But Polites was already moving, stepping closer, cradling the child toward you with gentle encouragement. "It's alright. He likes you."

You didn't argue further.

You reached out and carefully took him into your arms.

And gods—he felt real.

He wasn't warm exactly, but he wasn't cold either. His weight settled naturally against you, small and firm and soft all at once. His little fingers curled instinctively into the fabric near your collar. He blinked up at you, those wide hazel eyes gleaming softly in the half-light.

A ghost, yes—but not empty. Not forgotten.

You held him tighter than you meant to.

"Hi there," you whispered, your voice cracking just a bit. "You remember me?"

Astyanax just yawned, burrowing into the crook of your elbow like he did.

You walked in silence for a while after that, the only sound the hush of mist shifting around your ankles and the soft rustling of fabric as the baby wriggled gently in your arms. You stared down at him, marveling at the weight of someone so small. So still.

Then, quietly, you asked, "Why isn't he... with his father, Hector?"

The question hung between you like a windless chime.

Polites didn't answer right away.

When you finally looked up, his face had shifted. There was something shadowed in it—grief, maybe, or guilt, or something heavier. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes unfocused as he looked ahead.

"Honestly," he said at last, "I don't know. I've wondered the same thing."

You said nothing, watching him.

He adjusted the satchel on his hip and let out a breath. "I think... I think this is my punishment."

You blinked. "Punishment?"

"For surviving," he murmured. "For being part of it."

You kept still, your arms curling protectively around Astyanax.

Polites didn't meet your eyes. "He was a baby," he said, voice tight. "Just a baby. Killed for what he might grow into. For what his father represented. And I didn't hold the sword, no. But I helped the Greeks reach Troy. I scouted paths. Warned of traps. Passed messages."

A pause.

"And when we got in... we didn't stop to ask who deserved to die."

The silence wrapped around your throat like ivy.

You'd grown up with tales of valor. Of the Greeks as heroes. Of Odysseus' cunning. Of the fall of Troy as destiny fulfilled. You'd never really questioned what it looked like from the other side.

Not until now.

Not until you held the child they never got to keep.

You looked down at Astyanax again—his peaceful little face, his gentle breathing, the way he trusted the world in your arms.

You'd never thought of it like that.

Not really.

But now... you weren't so sure who the villains were.

And the Asphodel Fields stretched endlessly ahead, silent and watching.

The mist curled gently around your legs with each step, soft as breath. The wind barely moved here, but when it did, it stirred the grass like whispers—low and half-forgotten, like dreams someone tried to remember after waking.

You glanced down at Astyanax in your arms again, brushing your thumb softly over the edge of his cheek.

He stirred slightly but didn't wake.

Beside you, Polites walked with quiet ease, the silence around him familiar—worn into his bones like a well-traveled path. But something about the moment started to feel too heavy, too sharp-edged with guilt and old regrets, so you cleared your throat softly, searching for something lighter to hold on to.

"Hey," you asked, almost hesitantly, "can I ask something... not exactly cheerful, but maybe less sad?"

Polites huffed a breath through his nose—somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh. "Sure," he said. "You've earned a few questions, I think."

You shifted Astyanax slightly in your arms, careful of his swaddle. "I've been wondering... how did you get here? I mean—past judgment. Most soldiers... especially the ones who weren't buried... they get stuck on the banks, don't they? Wandering."

Polites went quiet for a beat, long enough that you almost regretted asking. But then he gave a slow nod, eyes still fixed on the distance ahead.

"You're not wrong," he said. "Most of us didn't make it very far."

Your brows furrowed. "You mean... from the war?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Later. The Cyclops—Polyphemus. After the lotus eaters lead us to the cave, he managed to kill a few of us. To retaliate, Odysseus blinded him..." He trailed off for a second. "Luckily the rest got out."

You listened, holding your breath without meaning to.

"When I woke up down here," he continued, "it was just me and a handful of others. Confused. Half-formed. Like echoes stuck between two cliffs. The River Styx was close—you could hear it—but no ferryman would come near us."

"Because you weren't buried," you said softly.

Polites nodded. "Exactly. No graves, no rites. No passage. Just that endless stretch of bank. And later..." He exhaled. "Poseidon caught up with the fleet. Sank it. Five hundred men, pulled into the sea."

You swallowed.

"And when they died," he said, his voice quieter now, "they ended up there too. Same bank. Same stretch. All of them confused. Angry. Some still thought they were drowning."

Your fingers tightened a little on the baby.

You imagined it—those wide, haunted eyes. The weight of all that lost hope, pooling in the dark like driftwood.

"So... how did you leave?" you asked softly. "How did you make it past?"

Polites was quiet for a long time.

And then he smiled faintly. "Hermes," he said. "And Athena."

You blinked. "Wait—Athena?"

He shrugged, almost sheepish. "I don't know the whole of it. But one day, Hermes came walking down the riverbank like he'd just wandered in on accident. He found me. Looked me up and down. Said, 'You're Polites, right?' I said yeah, and he just nodded and told me to follow him."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," Polites repeated. "Said it was 'by Athena's request.' That she wanted to make sure I didn't rot there like the rest of them."

You frowned slightly. "Why you?"

"I've asked myself that," he admitted. "A hundred times. I wasn't a king. I wasn't even a commander. Just a soldier who tried to do the right thing more often than not. But maybe... maybe she saw something. Or maybe Odysseus said something to her, after everything. I don't know."

You were quiet for a while, your thoughts swirling like the mist.

Polites kept walking beside you, his gaze steady.

"I don't get to live in the Isles of the Blessed," he said eventually. "That's not for people like me. But I get peace. I get the Fields. And... I get him." He nodded toward the bundle in your arms. "So maybe that's enough."

You looked down again at Astyanax, the baby still asleep, still nestled safely against your chest.

Maybe that was enough.

Or maybe peace could look like different things for different souls.

And maybe, just maybe, the gods sometimes made quiet exceptions.

.☆.     .✩.        .☆.

You weren't sure how long the two of you walked after that—minutes, maybe more. The silence had settled back between you and Polites like an old cloak: not heavy, but not quite light either. You didn't mind it.

After everything, it felt... earned.

Then the mist shifted ahead.

At first, it looked like nothing—just another bend in the never-ending fields. But as you stepped closer, you noticed the terrain dipping slightly, forming a shallow alcove tucked beneath the arms of two withered trees. Their trunks leaned into one another like old friends, branches interlocking above a patch of soft grey moss.

And there—huddled together at the base—were two figures.

Your breath caught.

You would've recognized them anywhere.

Your mother sat nestled beside your father, her body tucked against his like a secret. One of his arms wrapped securely around her shoulders, while her head rested beneath his chin, her hands gently folded over his. They looked carved from light and memory, still glowing faintly against the dusk.

Safe. Whole. Together.

You froze.

Polites paused beside you, and when he turned, his gaze was already soft. Wordlessly, he reached out with both arms, silently offering to take Astyanax.

You looked down at the baby.

He was still curled in your hold, eyes closed, but the second you began to shift him, his little nose twitched, and he let out a faint, questioning coo.

Your heart clenched.

You gave Polites a small nod, careful as you passed the bundle into his arms.

"Shh, little one," Polites whispered, rocking him gently as the swaddle shifted. "Go back to sleep."

Astyanax let out a sleepy hum, a flutter of movement beneath the cloth. His fingers curled reflexively, catching the edge of Polites' tunic. And just like that, he stilled again, soothed by the familiar rhythm of arms that knew how to hold him.

Then—

Your mother stirred.

Her head lifted from your father's shoulder, her brows furrowing as if sensing something just beyond her reach. Slowly, she turned.

And when her eyes landed on you—

They bloomed.

Lit up like a sky before sunrise. Her hand flew to her mouth, her lips parting in disbelief. Her body trembled with the effort of rising, but she stood all the same, voice cracking like glass under heat.

"My dove...?"

Your father's gaze followed hers. His face, worn by sorrow just a moment ago, lit up like a man catching sight of the sun after a long winter. "Sweetheart?" he breathed.

You choked on a sob.

Polites smiled faintly. "I think this is where I leave you," he murmured, keeping his voice low so it wouldn't break the moment. "This part... belongs to you."

You turned toward him, trying to find the words—but your throat was tight, your hands trembling.

He just nodded, his expression soft with understanding.

"Don't worry," he added, adjusting the swaddle gently as Astyanax squirmed once more. "We'll be just fine."

And before you could speak, before you could thank him again or ask when you'd see him next—

He turned.

Disappeared into the mist.

And you were left standing there, heart racing, feet frozen—

—as your parents reached for you like they had never stopped waiting.

They didn't hesitate. There was no pause, no disbelief long enough to weigh the moment down—just open arms and trembling hands and a surge of emotion that collapsed the space between you.

Your mother reached you first. She pulled you close with a strength you'd forgotten she had, her arms tightening around your shoulders like she was afraid you might disappear if she let go. Her cheek pressed against your hair, and you felt her shoulders shaking as she whispered your name over and over again, the sound thick with joy and something that almost sounded like relief.

"My baby," she wept, clutching the back of your tunic, holding you tighter. "My sweet girl, how—how are you here? Are you real?"

Your father wrapped his arms around both of you, pressing a firm kiss to the crown of your head. His voice rumbled low and warm against your back. "You came back to us," he said, voice cracking. "Gods, you came back."

You let yourself sink into their hold for a moment—just a moment. Because for once, you weren't fighting to be strong. You didn't have to. You were just... theirs.

But then, your mother pulled back.

And when she did, her smile faltered.

Her hands moved up to cup your face, but paused halfway through, her brows drawing low with confusion. Her fingers hovered near your jaw, her eyes scanning your form like something was off.

And it was.

You saw it in her face—like Polites before her. That dawning awareness.

Your body was faint. Not fully, but enough to see the flicker in her eyes. The way her hands passed through your shoulder just slightly before adjusting.

"You're..." Her voice wavered. "You're here."

Your father stepped beside her, his eyes narrowing in concern. He reached for your wrist and felt only the faintest resistance beneath his touch. His brow creased deeply. "What happened to you?"

You smiled weakly, lifting a hand to cover theirs, even if the gesture didn't feel as solid as it once had. "I'm okay," you said quickly, softly. "I promise. I'm not... dead."

Your mother's gaze jumped to yours. "But—"

"Not really," you added gently. "I mean, I was. Briefly. But Hermes—he made a deal with Hades. He brought me back. Or... almost."

Your father looked like he was holding his breath. "Then why are you still here?" he asked carefully. "Why haven't you crossed over fully?"

"I asked him to give me a little time," you explained. "Just a little longer. I needed to see you both again."

Your mother turned her head, glancing behind you as if expecting someone to leap from the mist and pull you away. "Are you sure it's safe?" she asked, worry sharpening the edge of her voice. "You shouldn't play with boundaries like this. Death is not something to bend."

You nodded gently, your hands still cradling theirs. "He's keeping watch," you reassured her. "Hermes said he'd make a distraction, just enough time for me to come see you again. He's always been good at slipping between lines."

They exchanged a glance—quick, full of unspoken words like all long-married couples have—and then looked back to you, still holding you close.

You hesitated.

Then took a breath.

"Honestly... I came because... because I needed to know more," you admitted. "About what happened. About my birth. There's so much I still don't understand."

Their hands tightened just slightly in yours.

The mist around the alcove swirled softly, the silence pressing in.

Your mother's eyes dimmed just a bit, and your father let out a breath through his nose, slow and steady.

And together, they nodded.

"Alright," she said, brushing your cheek with her thumb. "Then we'll tell you... everything."

You leaned in slightly, your hand still resting over hers. Her touch was soft—even through the thin veil of your semi-ghostly form—and something about the way her thumb lingered just below your eye felt like home. Like comfort you hadn't known you'd needed.

She pulled in a breath, like she was bracing herself, then gave a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. "You were... stubborn," she said, her eyes glinting with something warm and worn. "Even before you were born."

Your father huffed gently, his smile curling tiredly at the edges. "Thirty-six hours," he said, glancing down at the ground as if the memory still winded him. "Your mother was in labor for thirty-six hours straight."

You blinked. "What—?"

"She wouldn't come out," your mother said, shaking her head as a bit of hair slipped from behind her ear. "You. You wouldn't come out. The midwives had no idea what to do. We'd tried everything. The healers were panicked. We were losing strength... Losing hope."

Your father rubbed his jaw, his voice quieter now. "We thought... we thought we'd lose you both."

Your breath caught. "But... you didn't."

"No," your mother whispered, eyes drifting past you—toward the still grey horizon. "Because we prayed. All of us. We called on our god."

There was a beat.

And then she looked back at you.

"Apollo."

You straightened instinctively, your brows knitting in surprise. "Apollo?" you echoed, almost disbelieving. "But I—why would he—?"

Your mother nodded slowly, her expression calm but serious. "Your father and I were both born on Lyraethos. It's a small island—not famous, not powerful. But known. Known for its music. Its devotion."

You felt your heart skip. "Lyraethos... I've heard of it. Barely. I thought it was just... a myth."

"Most do," your father said softly. "But it's real. Quiet, but real. And those who come from there... we've always believed that Apollo's favor lingers in the hills, the stones. The instruments passed down in families. The songs that come to us in dreams."

Your mother's eyes shone. "We grew up learning to play lyres before we could walk properly. We sang before we could write. And when you came—when it felt like we might lose you—we didn't cry out to Athena. Or Artemis. We prayed to him. To the god of music. To the one we'd always believed watched over us."

You tried to speak, but your voice didn't come right away. Your lips parted, then closed again, your stomach twisting in knots you couldn't quite name. 

It wasn't quite dread, wasn't quite grief.

Just a hollow, spinning feeling that made it hard to breathe for a second.

Because now... now you didn't know what to feel.

You had answers—real ones. Tangible pieces of truth that should've satisfied you. But instead, they only opened more doors. More shadows with names you didn't know how to say aloud.

And suddenly...

Suddenly, Apollo's gaze in your dreams, the way it burned gold and ancient and aching—

The way his name always came so easily to your tongue, even when your mind was cloudy—

The pull in your chest, the quiet tremor that always came when he was near, whether in vision or song—

None of it felt like coincidence anymore.

Your father must've seen the shift in your eyes, because he gently reached for your hand, his fingers curling around yours with a steady warmth that tugged you back to the present.

He looked tired—but not weak. Just weathered, like someone who'd seen the storm pass and was willing to walk through it again, if only to guide someone else through.

"I suppose... I should've told you sooner," he murmured, his voice low but certain. "On my side of the family... we were warned. About Aphrodite's curse."

You blinked, lifting your gaze to meet his. He wasn't looking at you directly—just past you, like he was watching a memory play out in the mist.

"We thought we were being careful," he said softly, almost to himself. "We built her a small altar behind the house. Kept it clean, left offerings every first sunrise. Your mother sang hymns. We thought maybe—just maybe—that kind of devotion would soften her."

Your mother gave a bitter little laugh, wiping beneath her eye. "But it didn't. Nothing did."

He nodded. "When the messenger boy came—when he handed us that flower... I thought it meant something. I thought maybe the curse had passed us by. That Apollo had finally decided to help one of his people. Someone who believed in him."

He looked at you again then, and there was such sorrow behind his smile. Not regret—just the sad sort of clarity that came with hindsight.

"But we were foolish," he admitted. "To think the curse wouldn't find a way. That it wouldn't just... wait until we were unguarded."

You felt your throat tighten, the air sharp as you inhaled.

Your mother shifted closer, placing a hand against your cheek. Her eyes were soft but strong. "But we don't regret it," she whispered. "Not a single bit."

You blinked, startled. "Even though—?"

She shook her head before you could finish. "Even though we're here."

"I'd rather it be us than you," your father said. "Every time."

"You were our miracle," your mother added, her thumb brushing your cheekbone like she was memorizing you all over again. "Our greatest gift. Whatever the gods meant by it... we'd still choose you."

Their words settled in your chest like a quiet song—one of mourning, yes, but also fierce, blinding love. The kind that didn't ask to be understood. Only felt.

And for a moment, the ache eased.

Just a little.

Just enough.

A second later, you felt it—first, the soft flutter of feathers behind you, like a bird settling after a long flight. Then, a warm hand found your waist, steady and familiar. The gentle pressure was grounding, a subtle pull back to reality.

"Time's up," Hermes murmured low near your ear, his voice quieter than before. No teasing edge this time, just something soft and knowing. "We gotta go."

You turned, blinking up at him. His golden eyes were solemn, his expression unusually gentle beneath the lazy curve of his brow. His hands twitched, pulsing with restrained urgency. Still, he wasn't rushing you.

You nodded slowly, the weight of goodbye crashing over your shoulders all at once. Your throat burned. You turned back to your parents—still holding each other, still waiting. "I... I have to go."

Your mother reached for you instantly, pulling you into her arms as if she could imprint her love into your very bones. You crashed into her, burying your face into her shoulder, fingers curling tightly into the folds of her dress. "I love you. I love you both."

"We know," she breathed against your hair, voice cracking. "You've always loved with everything you had."

Your father wrapped his arms around both of you, his taller frame folding over yours like a shield. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, then another. And another. Over and over. Like he couldn't stop. Like he wanted to mark the memory of you with every single one.

"My little one," he whispered. "Be safe. Be strong. Be happy."

You nodded against his chest, your tears hot and quiet. "I'll try."

Your mother's hand framed your cheek as she leaned back, her smile tremulous but shining. "That's all we ever wanted."

With one last, deep breath, you pulled yourself away—slowly, painfully. Hermes stepped in without a word, his arms slipping beneath your legs and around your back in one fluid motion.

He lifted you effortlessly, bridal style, like before. His cloak flared behind him, brushing the ground in a silent sweep.

You clung to his shoulder as he began to rise, but your gaze stayed locked on your parents.

They stood together, arms wrapped around each other, watching you with tearful smiles. Your mother waved softly. Your father nodded once, firmly—like a promise passed between souls.

And you didn't look away.

Not even as the wind picked up. Not even as the mists curled around Hermes' sandals. Not even as the Underworld began to fall away beneath you.

You watched them—until they were nothing more than shapes in the fog, until your heart couldn't hold the ache any longer.

And then... you let Hermes carry you home.

A/N: it's storming pretty bad in my area (tennessee) so i decided to update while my fav weather is flooding the streets 🤣🤣😩❤️also ngl i was tearing up a bit writing the reunion with mc's parents out 😩😭 also, if anyones wondering (i know theyre not) i based the underwolrd off of 'krapopolis' underworld (why the descriprtions talk of galaxies etc.), i found it cool of the shows interpertation of it and thought, why the hell not hahah. so on to the fic 'WARRIOR'.......ok so imma hold off on screaming about WARRIOR in full detail—cuz a lot of y'all said NO SPOILERS and honestly?? fair. super fair. BUTTTTTT just know I am currently vibrating out of my skin and ascending spiritually bc of how GOOD that fic is 😭😭 LIKE Y'ALL. the way it's structured?? it could lowkey be two books fr— ➤ PART 1: Trojan War arc?? Penelope leading like an actual general?? Running tactics, dodging divine wrath, looking hot and haunted??? ➤ Book 2 (TBA and currently eating me alive in its absence): [REDACTED] but just know I will be screaming. AND THE WORLD. BUILDING. Bro. If you EVER wondered what actually happened during those 10 years of war?? The ones Homer just kinda skimmed over like "and then they fought for a decade 💅"? This book fills in the blanks in a way that's smart, emotional, bloody, and ✨fanservice-y✨ in the best way. Like—cough—Achilles??? sir??? why are you written like a terrifying war god and also hot enough to ruin my entire bloodline 😭 And don’t even get me STARTED on Polites getting actual action and emotional depth?? My man finally said I will not be background no more and I respect it. (I've been so obssessed, it's even influenced a bit of my own writings; so if you noticed some... similarities in my fic with hers... maybe reference or two as a way of telling her to hurry up... no you didn't 🧍‍♀️.) Anyway, that's all I can give without combusting and spoiling literally everything. Just know that I am waiting for the next update like a Victorian widow at the shore. Every breeze makes me think it’' finally coming. Every delay breaks me a little more. 😭

also i've been blessed with more fanart, hehehe ❤️❤️❤️

from DragonWhiskers12

Repetitive??? Plz don't apologize!! You can send 50+ doodles over and over again and I'd still love them! This is a series, and I am fully subscribed 😭👏This is absolute divine chaos in the best way. The "THIS IS AN ARMED ROBOT" next to an eyeball holding a gun?? (like is he really trying to rob Hades??? be fr 😭) Birdmes yelling "NO!! POOKIE" like he just witnessed a crime scene?? I am HOWLING. Please never apologize for this again. It's giving "gods losing their minds in a group chat while the mortal world crumbles." You've basically turned Olympus into an  sitcom and I want ten seasons.

from chipsiscurious (same username on tumblr)

OMG NO BECAUSE THIS?? THIS IS PEAK ENERGY. Like... I don't think anyone understands just how perfectly you captured MC's entire vibe after coming back from the dead  😭💀 no spoilers but yeah, death did change MC, so who knows?? You might actually be on that type of timing 😩😩

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog trashcannotbealive idkanyonealrr

[ghost-proofbaby]

okay no but bbf!perv!eddie unable to stop his hand from lingering a liiiitttle too long on your skin after he slaps the tattoo. obv he cant do anything too rough (although he would give anything to just be able to dig his fingers in to the soft skin there), but that's almost WORSE because instead you're aware of every one of his fingers on your overly sensitive skin, the warmth of his palm against your stinging ass, both soothing and burning at the same time

he doesn't even realise he's doing it, and you peek over your shoulder and nearly get a jumpscare at just how intense he looks - eyes fixed on where he's touching you, the boy is practically vibrating from holding himself back

HELPPPPPP

he should probably pull away.

he knows he should. he’s well aware his touch has long out-lingered its welcome on your warm skin. but he can’t. he tells his hand to drop, to come back to him, to just fall anywhere else but your ass — all his fingers do in response are curl into the flesh, feeling the soft muscle beneath his joints and his breath catch painfully between his ribs.

all he can do is squeeze softly and stare at where his skin is meeting yours. all he can do is continue to take abnormally deep breaths, teetering on the verge of gasping as his stare starts to burn hotter than where he’d slapped your skin.

“e-eddie?”

you’re all nervous laughter and wide eyes, and it almost makes it worse when you stutter out his name. somewhere between a plea and a sigh, falling between the raveens of asking him to stop touching you and begging him to never stop.

“sorry,” he whispers, but his hand doesn’t move.

“can you…” can you move your hand? can you stop driving me insane? can you stop looking at me like some helpless prey and igniting this damned warmth in my belly that is 10 seconds from turning this entire friendship to ash? “can you do it again?”

eddie munson’s heart officially stops. the last and hardest beat of it echoes in his silent chest and he’s looking up at you wildly, stunned, quietly. for the first time since he’s met you, his tongue has become a foreign and heavy object not fit for his instruction.

and you take his silence as a no. you take his silence as you pushing too far and projecting one too many fantasie onto him for a final time. you take his lack of response as a you just fucked everything up, idiot.

“i’m- fuck, i’m sorry,” you start, “forget i ask-“

“again?”

his hand finally moves, and it’s trailing down now, fingers dancing along the back of your thigh in unsure movements. not ready to no longer feel you. not ready to leave the moment.

piqued interest, palpable curiosity, buzzing eagerness — there’s not one sliver of disgust in his tone.

it’s the only reason you’re brave enough to wear a fragile smile as you nod, cheek lowering to the pillow as you say it more surely this time, “again.”

this time, the slap is more deliberate.

and this time, it lands where you want it. between the apex of your thighs, stinging in a way far more pleasurable than before, making you cry out a bit more surely this time.

maybe it’s his sudden smirk. maybe it’s his dark eyes. or maybe it’s that goddamn tent in his pants and the wet spot he can’t hide from you.

yeah. he’ll do it again. he’ll do it as many times as you ask for it, because this time, he gets it.

you both get it.

[weirdsht]

Hi! Good day/evening to you. Would it be alright if we get more of yan!cale? 😽 I read ur yan!cale stories and I deeply stand by you.

Overboard

notes: i'm not experienced with writing yanderes and I couldn't think of a specific scenarios so i went with this a short fic instead. If you have any scenarios in mind feel free to send them and i'll do my best to deliver!

tags: subtle yandere cale (tbh you have to squint huhu), established relationship, vague novel spoilers

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

Buy Me Dessert

Navigation Masterlist

The clock strikes just after midnight. It was quiet as everyone had gone to their designated rooms to sleep.

Almost everyone that is.

Cale and Ron are still awake and talking. With the young master sitting on the couch and the servant standing up beside him as he reads the documents he has been given.

Usually, Cale would have been asleep long ago. At this time he would be cuddling with his significant other and the children averaging nine years old. In fact, he can hear the bed that’s just 10 steps away calling him already.

But alas he still has something to do.

“A viscount’s son huh? Where does he get the audacity to try and touch what’s mine?”

Ron stayed silent at his young master’s calm voice. Instead, he peeked at the document in Cale’s hand.

The document was something the servant had written himself. It consisted of every detail that happened when Cale’s significant other was away. Getting a much-needed vacation after being cooped up at the underground villa during the entirety of the war.

It consisted of places they went to. Things they bought. People they talked to. Even things they looked at for more than 30 seconds.

Every move they made was written in that document.

“Ron, everyone knows that the Henituse is a duchy now right?”

“Of course young master.”

“And everyone knows who my significant other is right?”

“Yes, young master. You are a famous figure in both continents, your significant other is bound to be known too.”

Usually, Cale would grimace at the thought of him being famous. But not right now.

“Then why would such a lowly noble like this trash here dare make a move on _____?”

“Some rabbits just don’t know the value of their lives, young master.”

Cale could feel his anger rising. However, he held it in. He can’t raise his voice right now. Not only was it late but _____ and the children were already asleep on the bed a few steps away from him.

Huuu

“I wanted for _____ to relax for once. The war was quite detrimental to their health.”

The young master sighed once more before fully calming down.

“You did a good job not letting that bastard go near them again after the 2nd time it happened.”

Ron flashed his usual benign smile at the compliment. Despite that, Cale could see in the old man’s eyes that he was not yet satisfied.

“Was _____ bothered that much?”

“Yes, young master. They felt distraught during the first two days of their vacation because of him.”

Ah, so that’s why Ron was still angry.

“Then I guess looting him dry won’t be enough. I’ll you handle the rest. Go do whatever will ease your heart. Just make sure to clean up afterwards.”

Molan’s last patriarch only bowed before going out of Cale’s room. The documents that Cale had been reading are in his hands, ready to be burned at the fireplace. Despite the lack of verbal response from the benign old man, Cale knows he will follow the orders given to him.

Which was why he could go back to bed with a lighter heart.

Meanwhile, the documents are now successfully fueling the fireplace of the villa. Ron watches the paper turn to ash. He oversees how the last thing that was burned was the description of the viscount’s son. Written below that was his offence.

His crime?

Trying to flirt with _____. Twice.

Even had the nerve to say a pickup line.

“Maybe I’ll let Choi Han handle him instead.”

[skyrigel]

“Fire on Fire”

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x sister!reader

Benjicot blackwood masterlist

˙⁠❥⁠˙⁠๑ You are betrothed to Cregan Stark and it's your wedding day, but your brother wants to give you a wedding gift, somthing lovely — something you carry with you and what's better than a child.

˙⁠❥⁠˙⁠๑ Targcest, incest, justifying infidelity( not married yet but still ) also be read as twin!reader, kissing and making out, suggestive themes so 18+ rated, pouty and cute Aemond, some jealousy and possesivness, choking ( blink and miss), mentions of hickey. [ Wc: 2k ]

Reblogs and thoughts are always welcome <3 credits to @cafekitsune for text dividor and title from Sam Smith song, “fire on fire”

“Mother, I want to see Aemond.” You saw your reflection in the mirror, the gown was adored with scales and a cloak of fur, a close resemblance to your marriage to Cregan Stark.

“I would see that.” She rubbed her hands on your shoulder, leaning to kiss your head.

“You're the most beautiful bride.”

You tried to smile through your misery.

“Haelena is the most beautiful bride.” You raised your chin, she sniffed through her tears, her throat constricted with words she never managed to say.

“You are doing great, child.” She said, and that was all.

~~~

Everything was getting on your nerves or it was just how wedding days were supposed to be, your skin itched with the furs that tickled your collar bones.

“Martha...fix it.” You tisked when someone moved behind you, it was only a moment before you knew him by scent alone, the way his feet struck the earth.

“Aemond ! ” You jumped back at him and he straightened up like he wasn't just about to ‘boo’ you.

“How did you know ? ” He said, sitting next to you and plucking the furry fabric out that got folded while wearing, releasing you from your torment, like he always did.

“Because I know you.” you told him, sucking in a breath as his finger traced your collar bone, cold against your skin.

“Yes, you do.” He smiled, his jaw hard and eyes glinting like sapphire in moonlight.

You looked away, feeling your insides clench in a sensation that aroused you very much lately.

“I was waiting for you, where were you ?” You said instead, showing forward the bracelet mother gave you with Targaryen sigil, green diamonds circling it's frame.

“Very beautiful.” He brought your hand to his mouth, kissing each knuckle tenderly, looking up and stealing glances from you every time.

“I was actually thinking about your wedding present.” He whispered it low, his voice deep and you frowned, “For me ? ”

He cocked his eyebrow, ofcourse he wasn't going to give Cregan Stark a wedding gift because now that would be ridiculous — He hated Cregan the day your match with him was announced, his loathing only blazed by each day that passed by.

“Ofcourse you, sister.” His mouth tugged at corners, he was admiring you, not surprised because you were always so beautiful, there was this very sad ache in his eyes.

“Then give it to me.” you chirped at him, eyes going wide with the way Aemond flushed.

“I wanted it to be—” He drew closer to you, taking your chin in his hand, “—something you could remember me by.”

You could faint at the intensity, sure Aemond's touch was fire but for the very first time you saw yourself bursting into ashes.

“I wouldn't forget you.” You swallowed, he traced the side of your face, halting at your lips and continued admiring you.

“Shhh.” Aemond hushed, his gaze dropping to your lips as his thumb smeared across your rose tint.

“Something you can carry with you... something that would remind you of me, always.” He whispered, face leaning down and down until his nose was touching yours.

“You will always love me, won't you sister ? ”

He asked it so tenderly, so sweetly that your heart ached, how would you live in the north, despite all the wonders Cregan told you about, it would always be less endearing, less lovely, less yours without him.

“Always, Aemond.” You smiled as his lips pressed on the corner of your mouth, his hands cupping your face and then he pulled back, too soon.

“What happened ? ” You asked him, startled, Aemond grabbed your wrist and brought it to the back of his head and you understood what, you giggled softly, removing his eye patch.

“God, i would miss you so much Aem.” You ran a hand through his hair, soft and silky as you touched them.

“Really ? ” He asked, tilting his head sideways and you nodded, smiling your brightest.

“Very much.” You told him, Aemond took your hand, urging you to follow so you did.

Aemond pulled you towards the mirror, resting his face on your shoulder as he stood behind you, your joined hands crossing your heart.

He teased the crook of your neck with his nose, making you laugh at his mischiefs.

A pause.

“Do you love Cregan ? ”

You looked unsettled at the question, almost shooting him a glare, why would he ask that ?

“I...a wife should love his husband.” You laughed, it was hollow and Aemond's mouth curted.

“That's not what I asked, Do you love him ? ”

“I would happen to.” you would right ? Someday you will happen to love your husband, Haelena and mother and every one does, wouldn't you do just the same ?

You looked away from the reality that was staring back at you, the future that awaited you, duty towards your family.

“Do you love me ? ”

“Yes, I love you.” You said, in a heartbeat, turning back to him and watching how his smile faded to desire.

“I love you so much.” He cupped your face, eyes softening as he pulled you closer to him, grabbing you by your hips and that was okay, He's your brother, half your soul.

“You were telling me about your gift.” You gasped a little, his whole body was pressed against you, heating up.

“I was.” He caressed you, his touch sipping through your bones, mouth clamped, you liked his mouth—soft, warm and sweet, and the way he spoke to you, like honey dripping from his to tongue, your brother, your soul.

“What is it ? ”

“Close you eyes.” He hummed, side glancing at your reflections, so perfect together.

“Okay.” you closed them, He tutted, and you stiffled the smile, finally closing them perfectly blind.

“Good Little bird.”

And your smile was claimed by him, his soft sweet mouth pressing against yours, in slow music that echoed through your body.

“Oh—” You snapped open your eyes, pulling back and touching your lips where his were just few moments ago, his warmth lingering like a tattooed kiss.

“Sister—” He started but you were already kissing him again, pulling him to you by the back of his neck and he was just a starving man.

His mouth was every bit honey that he spoke of, lovely as he was to you, his sweetness melting on your tongue and you were breathless with the way he kissed you.

“I love you.” He muttered breathlessly on the your lips, pulling you to embrace him completely and divinely.

You heard his heartbeats, the heart that grew along with you, with same womb nourishing your veins and plumbing your chambers.

“Aemond, we..we can't..” you saw no reason why you can't, perhaps if times were different it could have been Aemond waiting on the altar for you, a dream so beautiful.

“Do you want me to stop ? ” He was placing soft kisses at the side of your face, keeping his hands off the furs of your gown and instead wrapping around your waist line.

“No.”

He smiled, taking you by your shoulder and helping you sit on your bed, where he had snuggled in countless times, when he couldn't sleep, when he lost his eye and cried with the one that was left, and that one time when he came buzzing after Vhagar chose him, that night you were both looking at the ceiling as if there were stars— but then again, everything was beautiful with him.

Aemond smiled wickedly the way you were glowing crimson, a bride was usually blushing but for their husband-to-be, your hands fisted the silk sheets when his tongue started to work his magic in your mouth.

It wasn't a sin, it wasn't infidelity or cheating, Aemond and you soul were connected and for seven heaven's sake —just the same.

The way he smiled and your heart bloomed, the way he talked and you felt heard, and all those ways he completed you.

“He can never love you like me...” He tore away the fur cloak, kissing your bare skin in a wave of heat.

“Aemond—” But he was far too gone.

His hands were everywhere, grasping your throat and driving your wild with the way he nibbed at your collar bone.

“Aemond...oh dear...” You let your head bliss back into time and space, heart too heavy so you let go.

“I am marking you mine sister.” Aemond purred beside you, his breath teasing the newly purplish mark and you gasped at the angry brusie forming on your neck.

“ Oh god, oh fuck— what have you done ? ”

Aemond smiled, following your gaze in the mirror and basking in his brilliance work, his mouth curved in a smirky pout.

“Cregan can't know Aem ! ” You glared at him, north wasn't common to incest.

“So are you going to make love with him ? ” He turned back to you, almost bored, “ Is that how you love me ? ”

Your face brunt red, aching with the your lips throbbed at the swolleness, you tried to speak but no words came out.

“He'll consummate the marriage someday.” You said, tears spilling through the edges, face crumbling under the sadness of being parted with him.

“ Oh no, sweet love.” He shushed away, standing beside you and pulling your head to his chest, kissing your braided hair softly.

“I just can't see you with him...with anyone who's not me...yes I am jealous but—” His voice broke, “ I want you to know that your heart is mine sister, that your soul belongs to me and mine belongs to you.”

You sniffed as his words hanged heavy in air, his soft sweet nothings were soothing the pain that swirled in your chest.

“ You'll have to sleep with him.” He said, “there's no other choice.”

Aemond then tipped a finger under your chin, raising your face to him — He shaked his head at the tears that ran down the side of your cheek and smeared them away with the pad of his thumb.

“ But you'll have a choice to love, will you make love with me sister ? ”

A small smile broke between the grief and he kissed you down, massaging the back of your neck.

“I will give you something you can always take with you, something small and lovely.”

You looked at the glint in his eye, the same when he was about to do something awfully stupid or brave.

“And what could be better than our child my lovely sister.”

And whatever souls were made of, his and yours were just the same.

A beat, a pause — the mist cleared and you can see him and you, tangled with bodies and soul, with each other's blood and breath lingering like one soul two bodies.

“I want our child to have your eyes.” you blushed, the way Aemond smiled was worth every star.

~~~

“Do you take this man ? ” Aegon asked, you looked at Cregan, he was almost smiling in his big furry cloak and wolfish-ness.

Your eyes flickered to Aemond who was standing by Alicent — your mother was sniffing with her eyes beaming at the sight.

He was looking at you, a smile crossed his lips, a small nod that anyone would've missed but not you, you would know him anywhere.

“ Yes.”

You would take this man, again and again—over and over, after all he's half your soul as the poets said.

Navigation

[moody-alcoholic]

The Missing Piece

Chapter 7 - Boundaries

Summary: Ghoap x Reader, throuple. 2.5k words. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe.

CW: Alcohol, mentions of sex, language.

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

You sit at the table your leg nervously bouncing up and down. Simon comes to sit down pushing a cup of tea over to you. 

“Thank you,” you say blowing on it, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about this since Johnny mentioned we all needed to have a chat then refused to talk about it until after food. What if they think things are moving too fast? They’re already married. 

“Right!” Johnny says standing up his palms flat on the table. 

“I call this first official family meeting to begin.” He says way to enthusiastically for your energy level.  

“Christ.” You hear Simon sigh next to you, you look at him his fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose. You smile sipping on your tea. 

“We’ve all had a nice time but I think we need a debrief.” You cant help chuckling.

“You want a post sex debrief every time?” Simon asks Johnny who taps his knuckles on the table.

“I don’t have a hammer thing.” He says. 

“Is this a court room or a meeting?” Simon asks. They’re winding each other up it makes you smile.

“It’s a meeting, casual, a safe space to air out all your problems.” Johnny says. 

“Now first order of business, boring stuff out the way first.” Johnny puts a key down on the table moving it towards you, you pick it up. 

“You’re welcome over any time,” Johnny says smiling. That’s not boring that’s a massive thing.

“Do you guys want keys to my place?” You ask looking at them, it seems only right, you have access to their home they should have access to yours.  

“Up to you.” Simon says. You make a mental note to look for a key-cutter tomorrow.

“PDA! Now I love a good smooch in public but Simon’s all about that stiff upper lip, sometimes he won’t even hold my hand.” Johnny says pouting.

“Nothing wrong with keeping your private life private.” Simon says defensively.

“What about you?” Johnny asks turning to you.

“I don’t mind I guess, I can get self conscious easy.” You admit, Johnny nods.

“Okay we’ll work on that.” Johnny says. 

“Sex, do you have any limits? No-go’s other then the obvious ones.” Johnny says looking at you. 

“Eh, I don’t know I’ve never really done much other then the normal stuff.” You feel heat rushing to your cheeks.

“That’s fine, we can work it out as we go along, don’t worry we’re not going to do anything crazy. Plain old vanilla sex is also fine, besides Simon’s the kinky one anyway.” Johnny says winking at you.

“Sure I’m the kinky one,” Simon chuckles. Johnny rolls his eyes sitting back down in the chair. 

“Anything you want to add?” Johnny asks Simon who shakes his head, then his eyes fall on you. You don’t know what to say, maybe now would be a good time to ask them to stop being so…nice. 

“You don’t need to be so accommodating, if you guys need some time alone, I can make myself scarce. And I don’t mind paying for things, food and what not, and I don’t mind treating you guys, it’s the least I can do.” Simon’s hand finds your thigh as Johnny smiles at you. 

“Don’t worry about that, you just being here is enough.” Johnny smiles.

“I need to make the most of it, when I get posted I could be gone for up to 6 months.” You say, your last post was 5 months after a month of probation. You could be sent abroad, it had been a while but it could happen, then you would feel even further away from them. Your hand rests on top of Simon’s hand, he squeezes your thigh.

“S’okay, we’re all over the place too, could get a call right now and we would have to drop everything and leave.” Johnny says. The thought of them leaving makes you sad, you know Johnny is only trying to help but it just fills you with dread. 

There’s a pit forming in your stomach, their job is harder then yours more dangerous, they could leave any second then you might never see them again. Johnny defuses bombs, you’re not sure what Simon does but it’s enough that it makes him hide his identity. 

The most danger you have ever experienced was a field hospital in a run down building in the middle of a war-zone, even then you were surrounded by soldiers who’s sole job was to keep the medical staff safe. You Squeeze Simon's hand, now you can’t imagine being without them.

“It’s very rare we get called like that.” Simon says as he moves his hand to hold yours. You look up at him, he must be able to see something in your eyes, his face softens and he brings his hand up to stroke your cheek. 

“I never know where you go, how long you’re going to be gone for. If you’ll ever come back.” You say looking in Simon’s eyes. He kisses your forehead pulling you into his chest.

“I know I’ll come back I have the worlds best marksman watching my back.” Simon says. 

“Yeah and you should see the things Simon can do with a knife, or a sniper, or a pistol.” You hear Johnny say. It makes you feel a little better, that they’re being so blasé about it, that pit is still there though as you pull out of Simon’s arms. 

“How about we go out, get some food just chill? We can try out that new place on the corner you’ve been wanting to go to Johnny.” Simon says, Johnny’s eyes light up and he’s out his chair before he can respond. It makes you smile, you’re not really in the mood to go out but you you could use the fresh air, maybe a nice meal out will be good. 

“You okay?” Simon asks as you stare off towards the bedroom. 

“Yeah, I need to start bringing a change of clothes.” You say, Simon smiles.

——————————

The place is nice, not fancy or anything and there’s a cosy looking beer garden in the back Johnny excitedly leads you to. You sit outside under the strung up lights and Johnny leaves to go order. Simon reaches into his jacket pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. 

“Sorry,” he says lighting it. “I’m trying to quit.” He turns his head blowing the smoke away from you. You move to sit next to him on the bench.

“I could get you some nicotine patches.” You say. He shakes his head smiling. Johnny comes out with a try of beer placing them on the table. You reach out picking one up. 

“It’s 2 in the afternoon.” Simon says chuckling. 

“Stressed?” Johnny asks sipping his beer. Simon sighs, Johnny winks at you. 

“Simon only smokes when he’s stressed.” Johnny says as you take a sip of your beer. 

“Not true, I smoke when I want to.” Simon replies. Johnny laughs, it’s a proper laugh and it makes your heart flutter. You look up at Simon who looks less then impressed, they’ve been teasing each other all day.

They start bantering back and forth until Simon finishes his cigarette. Johnny opens a menu and starts reading the options out, well the options he likes the sound off. Simon just says he’ll have whatever Johnny’s having. Johnny seems to see that as a challenge his eyes going back to scan the menu as a cheeky grin appears on his face. Simon’s hand finds your thigh again, you didn’t think he would be up for touching with the conversation this morning but you don’t mind it’s nice feeling his hands on you.

Johnny orders food asking what you want, honestly you haven’t been paying attention but you’re not hungry so you just order a sandwich. Johnny sighs ordering you a side of chips. You sigh but don’t argue. When the food comes out you switch to sit next to Johnny, you’re not sure why, but this whole relationship seems to be about finding what works, at least for now.

Your leaning your head on Johnny's shoulder his arm wrapped round you picking at the last of you chips which you’re convinced at this point he bought just for himself. 

“Another round?” He asks as Simon finishes his beer off. Simon nods and Johnny peels himself a way from you collecting the glasses and heading inside. You smile at Simon, today has been nice, the food was good the beer warming your belly as the evening breeze is rolling in. You could almost say it was perfect. Then the sound of glasses crashing forces your head to snap looking for the source of the noise. 

“What the fuck man!” There’s a voice shouting now. 

“Sorry but you came out of fecking nowhere mate.” You hear Johnny’s voice, Simon is already on his feet moving to the back door of the restaurant Johnny had disappeared into a few minutes earlier, you gingerly follow after him. 

“I came out the bathroom mate.” The man replies his voice still loud. You can see people turning to look, it feels like there’s a million eyes on you. 

“What’s going on? You alright Johnny?” Simon asks as he reaches them. You look past Simon to see Johnny and a man both covered beer broken glasses on the floor. 

“Yeah, I’m fine ‘e just came outta nowhere slammed the door in my face.” Johnny says . 

“It’s okay, we’ll get you new drinks.” You look over and see a waitress with a mop in her hands waiting for them to move.  

“I came out the bloody bathroom!” The man says as he takes a step closer to Johnny who holds his ground meeting the mans eye line. “I’m supposed to be going on a date, now my suit is ruined.” 

“Shame, you wouldn’t want her to think you’re incompetent.” Johnny says, that cheeky grin on his face. 

“Johnny.” Simon’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife, low and commanding. You feel hairs stand up on the back of your neck. Simon grabs Johnny's arm pulling him out the way as Johnny’s eyes follow the man until he walks past Simon turning to look at you. 

“You okay?” You ask not really knowing what to say, his expression changes almost instantaneously when he sees you a smile appearing on his lips. 

“‘Cause lass, no one’s fault!” Johnny says his arm wrapping round your shoulders leading you back to the table.

“Oi!” You hear the man call, Johnny doesn’t turn or stop walking. 

“Alright, calm down,” is all you hear from Simon as you move out of earshot. 

“Think Simon will be okay?” You ask as Johnny sits you down next to him, his arm never leaving your shoulder.

“Pff Simon, who spends his days ordering soldiers round, he’ll be fine.” Johnny laughs. “Between you and me he could use some practice in conflict de-escalation.” You relax into him not realising how tense your body has become, he kisses the top of your head. 

“You stink.” You chuckle the smell of beer is almost overwhelming making your head spin. A few minutes later a waitress comes over with fresh drinks apologising for the situation, explaining that the builders installed the door wrong and it’s just been an accident waiting to happen ever since. 

Johnny laughs it off telling her it’s no problem and he’ll pay for the replacement drinks. Simon comes back as she leaves sticking his hand in his jacket looking for another cigarette, he sighs muttering under his breath as he sits down. 

“All good?” Johnny asks Simon who nods sipping his beer. I guess he’s out of cigarettes. 

“Paid for his taxi home so he could change.” Simon says leaning back, his eyes landing on you, you smile at him. He seems tense.

“When I was a kid my dad dropped a pint on my head.” Johnny says trying to lighten the mood.

“That explains a lot.” Simon says seeming to relax after a few sips of beer. The sun is setting quickly now and wind chill is picking up. 

Johnny promises you’ll go home after this drink.  

——————————

As soon as you get in Johnny is rushing into the shower. You fall on the sofa with Simon as he flicks the TV on. You lay up against him stroking his chest. 

“Is it true you get to boss people around all day?” You ask him. 

“What did Johnny tell you that?” He chuckles. You nod.

“Price does all the shouting, I’m just there to make sure they listen.” He says. 

“Is he nice Price, your boss?” You ask, you want to know something about their work maybe it will make you feel better when they inevitably go away. 

“Yeah he’s nice, we go way back. He’s a good boss.” He says as he lands on the football satisfied he puts the remote down. 

“I’ll go home tomorrow, I’ve got some errands to run, I could use a shower, and a change of clothes.” You say, but as you say it you realise how little you want to leave. 

“I can come with you if you want, or Johnny can?” He says his arm stroking your shoulder. 

“It’s fine you should really spend some time together.” You say not wanting to be a bother but at the same time that does sound nice having them just following you around. The more time you can spend with them the better. 

“I doesn't work like that, if we want some time alone we’ll let you know, besides you were right this morning, at some point we’re both going to be back at work and then it could be months before we see each other.” You look up at him the pit reforming in your belly. 

“I wish it wasn’t like this.” You let out a sigh. “I never used to care about deployments anymore. Now it’s different.” 

“We’ll make it work,” he says, you turn your face up to look at him. 

“Yeah. Besides, I’ll probably be stuck on some base again. You’ll be the ones on the front line.” You say.

“You’d be surprised how often we’re just sitting around waiting for the world to do something crazy.” You hum against him. 

“Where’s the craziest place you’ve been?” You ask trying to move the conversation away from deployments. 

“Urzikstan is pretty hectic. Nice place though.” He says.

“Oh hey who’s playing?” You hear Johnny ask as he comes down to the sofa. Simon plants a kiss on your lips as Johnny comes to sit next to you. 

“Man city and Sheffield.” Simon says you put your head back on his chest. 

“I forget do we like that one?” Johnny asks. Simon chuckles.

“Yeah we like that one.” He replies, going back to stroking your arm. Johnny scoots closer to you and you lay your legs on him, his arm reaching over to his fingers through Simon’s hair. Now you just hope and pray the world stays quiet for another few weeks.  

next Banners by the-aesthetics-shop

[lrithill]

Unzipping You (pt. 2)

Hello everyone, this is the second part of my Terrifier fanfic, "Unzipping You."

I want to thank everyone who voted "like" on the first part and comented—I couldn’t leave you without the second one (wink wink).

For those who haven’t read the first part, I’d love for you to do so!

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/775317132986744832/unraveling-you?source=share (Part 1)

Finally, I did an epilogue too

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/776114225232887808/unzipping-you-epilogue?source=share (Epilogue)

It’ll be much more satisfying, as you’ll get a better understanding of the characters’ dynamics and how I’ve interpreted them (I did my best!).

Hope you enjoy it! And stay tuned for my upcoming posts—there’s more to come!

I will also take request, so leave a comment and I will happily make your desires come true (everything is allowed).

With all that said, here you can enjoy 2,300 words of smut.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The air in the room had grown thick, intoxicated by the heat radiating from your bodies—an infernal fire consuming you, reducing you to ashes… You needed to put an end to this torture.

And there you were, half-naked, and though trapped beneath Art’s body, you had never felt so free.

You found yourself smiling at the thought of being his captive forever—you truly wanted this creature from the underworld to take your soul and swallow the key that would keep it locked away. Right now.

You felt Art’s movements become more inquisitive, insistent, almost possessive. His body moving instinctively, tending to his primal needs—a remnant of lost humanity flickering in his obsidian eyes.

And then, his fingers dug into the small of your waist, gripping your flesh as if clinging to the last shred of self-control he had left.

"Is this lust?"—Art wondered—"I wouldn’t mind burning in the second circle of hell with you."

His blood burned, he was dying of hemophilia—and of desire.

Silence.

Neither of you needed to say it—the heat between you spoke for itself.

– Art…—your voice was more of a plea than a call— Make me yours…—you prayed— Please...

Art was intoxicated with passion—seeing you so devoted to him, a true slave… You set his forgotten ashen heart on fire again.

– Please, Art…—you begged— I can’t take it anymore… I need you inside me.

At this, Art completely lost control. He lunged at you, brushed your hair away from your nape, and began devouring you with kisses as if he were starving.

He buried himself in the crook of your neck and bit you passionately—you bled; but his teeth were followed by his warm, thick tongue, savoring you—you were melting.

His arms were no longer on your waist; they were traveling to your belly, claiming you completely, pressing your body against his as if he wanted to fuse with you—as if he wanted you to become a part of him.

You felt his chest against your back—you fit together like a puzzle.

And that’s when you felt it… his hard, demanding erection—beneath his suit—settling against the curve of your ass.

God.

He’s huge, and he’s so close to your entrance… You can feel his swollen tip pressing against your lips.

You arch your back to welcome him, to increase the friction between your desperate bodies. And, God, does it intensify.

At this, Art lets out a muffled moan—his mouth opens, but no sound comes out. His eyes are half-closed, his breathing ragged—he’s never felt anything like this before.

He’s trembling. He doesn’t know what to do.

–It’s okay, Art…—you soothe him— Just feel. Feel me.

And then everything changes. Art pulls away from you, and with one swift motion, he rids you of your panties—the last piece of clothing you had left—before stripping off the bottom half of his suit.

Now, you are both completely naked. Completely real. Completely surrendered.

Curiosity is killing you—you can’t help but glance over your shoulder at the man you’re about to give yourself to. You thought your eyes would go straight to his cock, but instead, they lock onto his gaze, trapping you.

He’s looking at you, and for a moment, you don’t see the psychopath the world fears. You see a man—a lost soul, desperate to understand something that has been stolen from him since the moment he became conscious.

He winks at you—an attempt to ease the tension with his charm—but it’s obvious he’s extremely nervous, insecure.

You take his hands, guiding them to your thighs, encouraging him to claim what is his.

He positions you on your stomach once more and lowers himself over you. You suppose this makes him feel safer—less exposed if you can’t see him directly. Less judged. Hiding behind you.

His cock—hard and slick with precum—throbs as it presses against your entrance, dripping, ready for him.

–I’m yours, Art,—you whisper into his ear—Enjoy my body.

And that’s when he penetrates you. Pushing himself inside you, inch by inch.

You feel his cock stretching your pussy slowly—both of you have stopped breathing—until finally, he’s fully inside.

Art remains still, savoring the sensation of having a tight—too tight—and warm cunt wrapped around his length.

He had to grit his teeth just to make it all the way in.

–Hold on, Art—you say urgently—Don't move yet, I need to adjust to you,—you breathe—You're deliciously big...

You turn your head, your lips meeting his, and you kiss him—you kiss him as if he were the last man on earth.

Art's kisses are timid, but desperate—kissing you was what he needed to completely fall apart. Or to let go.

As your mouths indulge in each other, Art pushes even deeper inside you. You can feel his balls pressed tightly against your clit. His tip kissing your cervix intimately, nestled in the warmth of your belly.

You're so happy to have him inside you—you want him to live in you.

Art can't help but ignore his body's natural urges screaming at him to move—that delicious rocking motion, that primal need.

He starts fucking you—at a pace neither too fast nor too slow—and you feel small sighs escaping his mouth, music to your ears. His hot breath caresses your bare neck. Kisses and touches here and there.

The whole time he's fucking you, his eyes remain shut—you can feel him melting, surrendering to the pleasure you are giving him. His arms have you trapped in a prison of desire, and you wouldn’t mind rotting there for eternity.

His cock is so big that you swear if you touched your stomach, you’d feel a bulge protruding obscenely. You slide your hands down your abdomen, searching for your womb with your fingers, and you feel it—the bulge. You massage his cock from the outside—you truly want him to feel at home.

Art is in ecstasy. "This is the closest I'll ever be to heaven," he thinks.

"I'm flipping off Saint Paul right now,"—he laughs at the thought—"That heaven of yours has nothing on this tight pussy I’m fucking so well."

Art kisses you again, and you can feel him growing more confident with each passing minute.

In this position, his cock can hit your G-spot directly. As Art picks up the pace, his movements become sharper, more precise, striking that sensitive spot over and over again.

Your sighs turn into loud, unrestrained moans—a prayer to Art. Who is lost in the sound of your voice

You moan erotically, your high-pitch, feminine voice ringing in his ears. "So submissive, just for me," Art thinks. "Perfect for me."

He gestures for you to "turn up the volume." He doesn’t need to give you orders—if there’s anyone else in this godforsaken motel, you want them to hear the name of the Miles County Clown being screamed from your lips at the top of your lungs.

He thrusts into you brutally.

—ART.

Again—his teeth sink into your neck.

—AAAAAART!

Another thrust, nearly breaching your womb. He’s an animal.

—OH MY GOD, ART, KEEP GOING! --Jesus has abandoned you at this point. —DON’T STOP, YES, YES, YES, YES…

Your prayer turns into a cacophonic mess as Art fucks you mercilessly. You feel like your language has been reduced to a single word—Art—it’s all you can articulate. He’s fucking your brain out, and you don’t want him to stop. You want him inside you in every possible way.

Art can feel you getting close—so is he—your moans are doing things to him. But he doesn’t want to come without seeing your tits first. That means facing you, looking you in the eyes. It overwhelms him a little… but fuck it, right now, another part of him is doing the thinking.

Art pulls away from you.

Confusion washes over you. Your abused hole clenches at the abrupt emptiness, desperately trying to suck in something that’s no longer there—uselessly.

Art meant to be quick—he's just as eager to continue—but he decides to take his time… He knows it won’t take long for you to beg for his cock, and he wants to see you squirm for him, a bit.

"Art…?"—your voice is a whisper—"Come back, my king… don't leave me now…"

Art watches you—his usual grin spread across his face. He wants to mock you, to imitate sobbing sounds just to tease, but no… he actually wants to take this seriously.

He makes a circular motion with his finger—the same one he used earlier during the massage—telling you to turn over and lie on your back.

Your eyes shine with excitement at the gesture. You obey without a second thought.

You roll onto your back, your legs spread shamelessly—just for him. Art adjusts himself, letting your legs wrap around his waist. He grips his hard cock with one hand, searching for your entrance.

He finds it and thrusts into you again, filling you completely. A wave of pleasure rushes through both of you—a different kind of pleasure in this position, a fresh new sensation.

Art moves back and forth, but he can't stop himself from collapsing over you as the new feeling overwhelms him.

His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving violently.

You hold him with your arms and legs, your hands roaming his back, your thighs squeezing around his waist—locking him into an erotic embrace.

Art looks into your eyes, then at your tits, then back into your eyes… then back to your tits. And that’s when he realizes his mistake: he can't hold on any longer.

He rushed into this position without thinking about the consequences.

He doesn’t want to come before you do.

His gaze drops, staring at your belly. His eyes are wide, almost in shock—paralyzed, submissive… Cold sweat drips down onto your skin like falling icicles.

And then, you realize what he needs.

You grab his head and pull his face close to yours, capturing his mouth between your lips as you kiss him passionately. You part your lips, letting your tongue slip out in search of his, and he responds by welcoming you, accepting your kiss.

The kiss is electrifying, full of raw energy.

You feel the hairs on Art’s skin stand on end as he melts into the moment, drinking you in, as if you were breathing new life into him.

Art pulls away, staring at you with admiration—his expression softened, almost tender, almost loving.

He fucks you at a fast rhythm, your bodies colliding with obscene, wet, sinful sounds.

His forehead rests against your collarbone, his hands gripping your hips so tightly that you know it’ll leave bruises.

You can’t hold on anymore—your walls start clenching uncontrollably around his cock, begging him not to stop—that electric sensation coursing through your entire body.

You scream.

You can’t help it. Your body arches and writhes against his, surrendering completely to the orgasm taking hold of you.

You keep screaming.

—I’m yours, Art—you moan.

Your orgasm feels endless, stretching on indefinitely as long as Art keeps pounding into you.

Your lips part into a silent "O," your head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut—yet the image of Art is seared into the darkness behind your eyelids.

Art’s gaze drops to your neck, his eyes locked onto the pulse of your jugular—throbbing just beneath your delicate skin.

The bloodthirst rises in him, his instincts clawing their way to the surface. He kisses the spot, tracing it with his tongue, feeling the rush of life beneath his lips.

So delicate… and you, offering yourself so freely. It would be so easy.

So easy…

The thought crashes into him: sinking his teeth into you, tearing you open, devouring you whole. Cumming while your blood spills, while the life drains from your body, while he has your flesh in his mouth, drunk on you.

To have you inside him.

The thought alone—combined with the way your tight cunt is milking him, breeding him, pulling him deeper—is all he needs.

His body tenses.

A deep, primal moan escapes his lips. Spilling himself completely inside you—like an overflowing cup.

Art comes in shots. 

First shot—The thickest one. He squeezes his eyes shut, his body trembling, muffled moans and ragged breaths escaping him. Overcome. He never thought he would experience this in his life.

Second shot—His teeth sink into your neck, into that precious, vital place. His treasure.

Third shot—His lips crash into yours. Both of you moaning into each other's mouths, a kiss that, if it were up to you, could last forever.

Art paints your walls with his seed, and you accept it like the precious liquid it is. All of it, deep inside you—where it belongs.

Art pulls away, exhausted but content.

You see a satisfied smile on his face. It’s obvious—he needed you just as much as you needed him, after all.

You pull the blankets over yourselves. Words aren’t needed—you understand each other without them.

Beneath the intimacy of the sheets, you pull him into an embrace.

He nestles against you, needing your skin.

The image pulls you back to the shooting—to that moment when, after escaping the grip of that wretched abuser, you had instinctively sought out Art’s warmth. You remember how vulnerable you felt, how desperately you needed the safety of his presence.

And now, you wonder… “Is Art feeling just as vulnerable in this moment? Clinging to me? Needing me?”

You kiss the top of his head and gently caress him.

And then, Art does the last thing you expect.

He lifts his head, looks at you, and makes a gesture—his hands clasped together, pulsing lightly over his chest, imitating a pulsating heart.

You stare at him, trying to decipher its meaning.

"Does this mean he loves me?" you wonder. "Or maybe… maybe it means he feels alive?"

You don’t get much time to think about it.

Sleep overtakes both of you as morning comes. The sun peeks over the horizon.

It’s a new day for both of you.

In every sense of the word.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading this far, I really appreciate it ;)

I will also take request, so leave a comment and I will happily make your desires come true (everything is allowed).